“When war walks in the door, truth flies out the window,” Fox said. “You will remember that President Lincoln closed down the strident, dissenting Northern newspapers during the War Between the States. I think that we can be a little more sophisticated now. People will believe what they read in the newspapers. If the populace of Britain reads only about peace and prosperity — and sees no evidence for them to think differently — why then, there will be peace in the land. But rest assured, General, this is only a temporary measure. I am sure that you prefer to operate now in an aura of numbed peace rather than one of disorganization and unrest while your — what shall we call them? — pacification measures go into effect.”
“True, very true,” Sherman said, rubbing at his beard as he cudgeled his thoughts. Winning the peace was proving to be more difficult than winning the war had been. He had to rely more and more on civil servants and clerks — even politicians — to organize the peaceful occupation of the country. Thank God that martial law was still in place. He accepted advice, even asked for it, but when it came time for firm decisions, he was the final authority.
“Well — let us put the matter aside for the moment. I sent for you because I’ve had a delegation cooling their heels in a waiting room for most of the morning. I wanted you here when I let them in. I have had a communication from President Lincoln.” He held up the letter. “He congratulates us on our victory, and expresses great pride in the armed forces. I’m having this read out to every soldier and sailor who contributed to that victory. Put it into the newspapers, too — if they will print it. He also includes a letter to the British people, and the papers will certainly print that. But first I would like you to read it to these politicos. See what they have to say about it.”
“That will be my pleasure, General.” Fox took the letter and went through it quickly. “Wonderful. This is just what everyone wants to hear.”
“Good. We’ll have them in.”
The Prime Minister, Lord John Russell, led the delegation; Sherman remembered him from the encounter with the Queen. He introduced the others, mostly members of his cabinet. The only one to make a positive impression on Sherman was Benjamin Disraeli, the leader of the opposition in Parliament. His lean, spare figure was dressed in the most finely cut clothes; there were impressive rings upon his fingers.
“There are chairs for all,” Sherman said. “Please be seated.”
“General Sherman,” Lord Russell said, “we are here as representatives of Her Majesty’s government and, as such, have to present certain grievances…”
“Which I will hear in due course. But first I have here a communication from Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States. Which will be read to you by Mr. Fox, the Assistant Secretary of the Navy. Mr. Fox.”
“Thank you.” Fox looked at the angry faces before him, the puckered brows. Only Disraeli seemed at ease, intent.
“This is addressed to the people of Great Britain. As their elected representatives it is only right that you hear it first. Mr. Lincoln writes, ‘To all of the peoples of the British Isles. A great war has now been brought to a conclusion. Years of strife between our countries are at an end. Peace has now been declared, and it is my heartfelt wish that it be a long and successful one. To this end I must assure you that we wish to be friends to you all.
“ ‘As I write this, I am told that a delegation is now being assembled here in Washington City and that they will very soon join you in London. Their task will be to meet with your leaders to see that the rule of democracy is restored to Britain as soon as it is possible. We extend this hand of friendship with the best of goodwill. It is our fond hope that you will seize it for the sake of our mutual prosperity.’ It is signed Abraham Lincoln.”
The British politicians were silent for a moment as they thought about the import of the statement. Only Disraeli understood it at once; he smiled slightly and pursed his lips over his steepled hands.
“Mr. Fox, General Sherman, might I ask a small question, a matter of clarification?” Sherman nodded. “Thank you. All present agree with your president, for we all favor democracy. In fact, we enjoy it now under the benevolent rule of Queen Victoria. Why is there no mention of the monarchy in this letter? Is this omission deliberate?”
“You will have to judge that for yourselves,” Sherman said abruptly, not wanting to become involved in wrangling at this time. “You must discuss that with the delegation which will be arriving tomorrow.”
“I protest!” Lord Russell said, filled with sudden anger. “You cannot trample over our way of life, our traditions…”
“Your protest is noted,” Sherman said coldly.
“You preach democracy,” Disraeli said calmly. “Yet you rule by force of arms. You occupy this palace, while the Queen is banished to the Isle of Wight. The doors of our parliament are locked. Is that democracy?”
“That is exigency,” Fox said. “Might I remind Mr. Disraeli that it was his country that originally invaded ours. The war that you started has now ended. Our forces will not stay in this country one day longer than is needed. What Mr. Lincoln wrote seems very clear. With democracy established in Britain, we will welcome you as a partner in peace. I hope that you agree.”
“We certainly do not—” Lord Russell said, but General Sherman interrupted him.
“That is enough for today. Thank you for coming.”
There were spluttered complaints from the politicians, and only Disraeli reacted calmly. He bowed slightly toward Sherman, turned, and left. As soon as they were gone, Sherman’s head of staff, Colonel Summers, brought in a stack of paperwork needing his urgent attention.
“Any of these important, Andy?” Sherman asked, gazing unhappily at the thick mound.
“All of them, General,” Colonel Summers said. “But some are more important than others.” He drew out a sheet of paper. “General Lee reports that all enemy activity has ceased in the Midlands. Morale is high — but food is running short, not only for his troops but for the freed Irish civilians as well.”
“Have you dealt with that?”
“Yes, sir. Contacted the Quartermaster Corps as soon as his telegram came in. The train with relief supplies should be leaving London now.”
“Well done. And this?” He held up the telegram that Summers had just handed him.
“It’s from our border guards stationed outside of Carlisle. It appears that they stopped a train, really just an engine and a single car, coming south from Scotland. Occupants were a General McGregor, who says that he is commanding officer of army forces in Scotland. There was also a politician, name of Campbell, says he is chairman of the Highland Council. I contacted the editorial department of the The Times and they confirmed the identification.”
“Get them here as soon as you can.”
“I thought that would be what you wanted. I had them, and an honor guard, sent south on a special train which will be on its way by now.”
“Well done. Any word from General Grant?”
“He reports the occupation of Southampton with no casualties. Had trouble with some of the fleet, but nothing to speak of. He should be arriving in London in about an hour.”
“I’ll want to see him as soon as he arrives. Anything else here of any importance?”
“Some orders to sign.”
“Let’s have them. The sooner that I am done with the paperwork, the better.”
A CONSTITUTIONAL CONGRESS
John Stuart Mill looked ill at ease. He shuffled through the sheaf of papers on the table before him, then squared the pile and pushed them away. The room was large and ornate, the walls hung thickly with the portraits of long-dead English kings. Outside the tall windows stretched the immaculately manicured gardens of Buckingham Palace. At the far end of the conference table General Sherman signed the last of the orders in the folder, closed it, then glanced up at the clock on the wall.