authority from Halleck, who was furious and frustrated at the developments.
“I can't say I'm disappointed,” Rebecca said. “I much prefer you here with me.”
Nathan chuckled. Tm not complaining.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. Once again they were in the parlor of the residence shared by Nathan and General Scott. This time, they were seated demurely across from each other. The look in her eyes told him she wished it were otherwise, but there was too much going on in the house for privacy, and she would be leaving for her own home in a short while.
“I just don't understand why the South is going to attempt this conquest of the North.”
“First of all,” he replied, “it will more correctly be called a raid. A gigantic, long-term raid and not a conquest, which, by definition, is an event of long duration. Lee will try to march through us, whip us in a handful of battles, and then return south filled with glory, and us with humiliation and the realization that we can't beat him. Therefore, it will never be called a conquest.”
“Then why won't he try to conquer?”
“Because it would mean he would have to garrison and try to hold on to what he has taken. With us having overwhelming superiority in both numbers and equipment, it would only be a matter of time before any conquering Southern army would be pounded to pieces.”
It seemed so strange to Rebecca. Ladies did not sit on a chair facing their beloved and talk about mass killings. What a world this war has made, she thought. “Then what is his goal in causing this raid?”
“Jefferson Davis is very clever. He knows that the British want this war ended soon so they can retake Canada, either by force of arms or at the negotiating table. He hopes that a Confederate victory will bring us to that table.”
“And will it?”
“Not as long as Mr. Lincoln is president. Both the Confederacy and the British underestimate Lincoln's resolve in the matter of preserving the Union. Even if the Anglo-Confederate forces do win a battle or two, they will never win the war. At least, not so long as Mr. Lincoln is president.”
She thought she understood. “Then, if the North is defeated in battle, it might cause Lincoln to be defeated in the next election. In which case, he might be replaced by someone less vigorous in defense of the Union. McClellan, for instance. Or, a defeat might cause him to lose control of Congress.”
“Correct.” It was marvelous to be able to talk with a woman who understood matters. “And it is also why General Grant will do his utmost to ensure that General Lee is not able to take any major city. Harrisburg, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and, of course, Washington, will be defended to the utmost.”
“Could Lee continue on to Pittsburgh?”
Nathan shook his head. “I doubt it. It's just too far into the North and too distant from any base of operations. If he were to move on Pittsburgh, his route south from there would be directly through West Virginia, where rebels are about as popular as the devil in church.”
“Then if it's only a raid and Lincoln won't negotiate, what's in it for Great Britain?” she wondered.
“We must be realistic,” said Palmerston. Lord Russell nodded in reply. “We must not lose another army in North America.”
Russell yawned. “A bad habit that began with Burgoyne and continued with Cardigan. I think Napier is made of sterner stuff, don't you?”
“Of course, but he doesn't command. This Lee may be a bloody genius, but he is attacking a superior force led by a general who may or may not be his equal.”
Russell thought Palmerston's comment was interesting. It was only a little while prior that the prime minister had called Grant a drunken street fighter. “Then why are we insisting on such an adventure?”
“Because it is the only way we can make the Union negotiate. As I have said so often, we must end the war soon. Our army is stretched beyond its limit and our navy is in danger of no longer being able to sustain a blockade thanks to the North's damned ironclads.”
“And then there's Ireland,” said Russell.
Palmerston groaned. “Dear God, what a mess. Along with this ridiculous Republic of New Ireland that Lincoln has permitted the Fenians to proclaim within the confines of Canada, we have the uproar of Sepoys enforcing the law in Ireland itself.”
Replacing British regulars who'd been shipped to Virginia, two regiments of Indian Sepoys had been installed as garrison troops in unruly Ireland, with more to follow. The move had been a disaster. The indigenous Irish population had been outraged at being ruled by dark-skinned men, and there had been serious rioting. Then, a few days after the riots had begun to subside, an Irish woman claimed she had been raped and her husband killed by Sepoys. True or not, the rioting was renewed with a fury and had become almost a full-blown rebellion, with many hundreds dead and wounded on each side. The Sepoys had been overwhelmed by the Irish mobs, with only a lucky few finding ships to take them to England. Many of the captured Sepoys had been lynched by Irish rebels. Worse, this meant that British regulars would have to retake a rebellious Ireland that was now armed with the weapons taken from the Sepoys.
Russell looked at him solemnly. “Yet I have heard that Lincoln will not negotiate an end to the war under any circumstances.” Palmerston grasped the arm of his chair until his knuckles showed white. “Then he's a fool.”
“But a fool who will not give in. What then, Prime Minister?”
“If that unhappy chance should arise, we will deal with it. We will make plans,” Palmerston said. “Unwelcome and unpleasant plans, but plans nonetheless. A truly great power must know when to compromise.”
There was so much British shipping in the Chesapeake Bay-Hampton Roads area that several score transports and numerous small naval vessels were anchored well out of the James River. In some areas the congested anchorage was literally hull to hull with ships anchored and awaiting the return to England. They awaited convoys to form up for the journey when unloading was finished, which, since there were no major port facilities in the area, was stretching out from a time standpoint. Getting men and horses off the ships had been the first priority, and now the equipment and supplies were getting their turn. The work of unloading was proceeding, but with glacial slowness.
If any of the lookouts on either the Confederate shore batteries or the British picket ships noted the ugly, slow-moving steamship as she approached the clogged anchorage, they only gave her a cursory glance. The decrepit craft looked like she'd been through more than a few storms and was the product of sloppy care. Someone would later say he thought she looked like she'd been put together by a committee of drunks. At any rate, she was deemed harmless.
They were wrong.
The ugly duckling drew next to a group of British merchant ships that had been lashed together to permit ease of handling of their cargoes. A sailor on one looked at the strange steamer that was only about a hundred yards away and closing steadily. He paled. A large gun barrel showed from what looked like a pile of lumber on her deck.
He never got a chance to sound a warning. The gun roared, sending a shell through the thin hull of his ship as well as the one behind her. A second gun thundered and smashed into two more hulls. The concussion from the guns caused the flimsily built false deck and cargo to fall off the attacker. There, in the midst of Hampton Roads, stood a Union ironclad with the Stars and Stripes waving proudly from her stern.
It was thePotomac, and her twin turrets revolved like the eyes of some malevolent beast. There was nothing the British ships could do. They had no steam up and their sails were furled. Even if they wished to get under way, they couldn't, as many had virtually all their crews on shore, drinking themselves blind in the taverns and whorehouses of Norfolk and Richmond. They were helpless as tethered lambs while the lion slowly prowled and selected its prey.
Some of the remaining crews panicked and cut their anchor cables. This allowed the ships to move with the currents, crashing into other ships or running ashore. A lucky few found themselves drifting safely away, but most found themselves in as much danger as they had been before. As thePotomac approached, those sailors who had remained onboard solved their personal problems by abandoning their ships and diving into the water.
ThePotomac mounted four twelve-inch guns, and one of them fired every minute or so in methodic execution. Each shell meant the death of a helpless merchant. Fires began and, with no one available to put them out, swept through tarred rigging and over painted, wooden decks, and then, as flaming embers, flew from ship to ship. Within a short while, the British merchant fleet was the scene of a conflagration of epic proportions.
