“There's no indication,” Welles said confidently. 'They are sending messages without interruption in what appears to be a normal routine. I've had two professional telegraphers working on the problem and they assure me that our tap is quite passive and will not be detected. There may be some degradation of the signal between Canada and Norfolk, but nothing that would cause them to note or worry.”
“The messages are not in cipher?” Seward asked.
“None so far,” Welles responded, “although that may be a future problem if something is sent from London to Canada in code and not decoded before being sent on. In truth, I do not believe they will use cipher, as their signals are often weak and distorted, along with being almost maddeningly slow. During the couple of days we've listened in, several times they've had to repeat messages that weren't understood. Using code would be a recipe for disaster, as no one would know whether they'd received gibberish or a true message. No, they appear blissfully unaware that we are copying them.”
“And we shall keep it that way,” Lincoln said. “How many know of this besides us?”
“There were seven in the ship that found the cable, and the two telegraphers I mentioned were also instrumental in running our cable from the Maryland shore to the British cable. Other than ourselves, that is nine. My assistant. Mr. Fox, the man to whom they directly reported, makes it ten.”
“More than two is not a secret, goes the old saying,” Lincoln said. “Yet, no pun intended, I cannot fathom any other way it could have been done, Mr. Welles, you have done an excellent job,”
Welles flushed happily. “Thank you, sir,”
“And what is the crew of that so-called fishing boat doing now?” Seward asked.
Stanton chuckled. “Why, sir, they continue to fish the area. Their presence is considered routine and, thus, they are able to guard our illicit cable connection. They also provide some senior officers in the navy department with excellent seafood.”
“What we must do,” Lincoln said after the laughter died down, “is the obvious, We shall listen and wait, and never let them know what we have done, Tell me, have you learned anything of note?”
“Well it's only been a couple of days, Mr. President, and it would be so much more interesting if we could read the London-to-Canada messages directly, but we do get the sense that London is not happy with the situation in Canada, and with Lord Cardigan in particular.”
“We suspected that,” injected Seward. He was both intrigued and perturbed. He didn't like being upstaged, but was delighted at the possibility of knowing the secrets of the Union's enemies.
Welles continued. “A General Napier is on his way to Richmond to discuss military matters with Lord Lyons. I also have the sense that England is puzzled by the lack of aggressiveness shown to date by the Confederate armies. I think they would like the Confederacy to assault the Army of the Potomac and take pressure off their problem in Canada.”
“Excellent,” said Stanton. “This shows their marriage of convenience is far from perfect. If there ever was a honeymoon, it may be over. Each partner is waiting for the other to win the war for them.”
“I agree,” said Lincoln. “But now what do we do next? I do not wish clerks copying voluminous information multitudes of times to ensure that we all get what we need, Mr. Welles, are your telegraphers capable of transcribing what they hear?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent, Then let us meet each day and go over what we have learned, If necessary, one of us may read and make notes of pertinent areas of the transcription; however, no other copies shall be made. Of necessity and despite our promises to keep this group small, it will be necessary to enlarge the group somewhat, as there will be times when one or more of us cannot be here. Therefore, we shall each name a substitute. Mr. Welles, may I presume yours will be the able Mr. Fox?”
“It will.” Welles said, pleased.
“Mine shall be General Halleck,” Stanton said, “and God help him if the old gossip tells a living soul.”
Seward chuckled. “I shall use Mr. Charles Adams, our former ambassador to London. His insights could be invaluable, and, as the direct descendant of two presidents, his discretion is absolute.”
“Very good,” said Lincoln. “As I do not wish to be left out, I shall utilize the services of General Scott in my absence. Are there any objections?” There were none. “Then let us depart and fervently hope this results in damnation to our enemies.”
Lincoln rose to his full height. There was the hint of fire in his eyes. “Now if only General Grant can provide us with information that is equally felicitous.”
Rebecca Devon had called on General Scott for the purpose of inquiring into the condition of Nathan Hunter. She had not heard from him since he had departed north from Grant's Ohio camp to Detroit. She presumed that he was with Grant in Canada, but she had no idea if he was well or not. Mail service between Washington and Grant's army was limited at best, and telegrams were almost entirely limited to military matters.
Scott received her cordially. Any question of her late husband's ill repute seemed to have disappeared; either that, she thought, or Scott had been unaware of the suspicions surrounding him.
Scott had assured her that, to the best of his knowledge, Nathan was well, and informed her that he was a brevet colonel on Grant's staff. She was about to depart when a messenger from the State Department arrived and hurriedly deposited an envelope. Scott read the brief note and sagged into a chair, despair and anguish on his face.
“Are you all right, sir?” she inquired. He looked pale and shaken. His left hand began to quiver.
“Through the good offices of the Papal States,” he said hoarsely, I’ve been informed that my dear wife has passed away in Rome. She died of her cancers more than a month ago.”
She knelt on the floor beside him and took his shaking hand in hers. Despite his size and bulk, he was astonishingly frail. A tear welled up in his eye and spilled down his cheek.
“I am so sorry, General,” Rebecca said.
Scott sighed deeply. “My greatest regret is that we hadn't the chance to say good-bye. Perhaps we shall meet again in a better place.”
Rebecca choked back her own sob. “I'm certain of it.”
“If it hadn't been for this damned war, I'd've been with her. I left her there in Europe while I returned to Washington. I never dreamed she would be unable to return home. More likely, though, she was unwilling. She knew she was gravely ill, and went to France and Rome hoping for a miracle. She didn't realize that every day of life is its own miracle.”
Rebecca said nothing. It was hard to imagine a giant of the century so distraught and helpless. She continued to hold his hand. Fromm and the housekeeper, Bridget, had heard the news and arrived to give their condolences.
After several minutes, Scott released Rebecca's hand and stood up. “Enough. I shall mourn later. Now there is work to do. Mrs. Devon, Nathan thinks highly of you and I think highly of Nathan. With him gone, I have no one to operate as an aide or messenger. Will you assist me until he returns?”
Rebecca was astonished. It was not something women did. “I shall be happy to do what I can within the constraints imposed on my gender.”
“Good. Where a male is required, Sergeant Fromm shall do; however, he is not skilled at taking or deciphering messages, are you, Sergeant?” Fromm grinned. “No, sir, but I can knock a man like Pinkerton along his head again, if you'd like.” Scott nodded. “Are you aware, Mrs. Devon, that I had Fromm follow Pinkerton, and that he found him on the grounds of Mrs. D'Estaing's home?”
“Yes, ma'am,” Fromm said. “He was fixin' to climb a ladder up to the second floor, where voices were comin' from, when I hit him. Don't know what he would have found since it was all women's voices.” He didn't add that he'd seen the voluptuous Valerie D'Estaing standing marvelously and totally nude in the window as he'd crept away. It had been a marvelous view, but not one he'd mention in front of a lady.
Rebecca paled. Pinkerton had been within moments of catching her as a victim of Valerie D'Estaing's sexual depravities. But then she settled herself. No one knew anything other than that she had been the weekend guest of a lady friend who had subsequently returned to France. As for Pinkerton, he was in disgrace. He had been found the next morning gagged, blindfolded, naked, and chained to a hitching post on Pennsylvania Avenue, just across
