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  “But might you be, someday?”

  “It's possible,” Nathan admitted. It was no longer quite so easy to say never when his conscience asked him if he was going back to the military to serve his country. He knew he was many times better than some of the men who were now called colonel, or even general. “Time will tell.”

  “And what about Mr. Lincoln and his war?”

  “I consider his election a tragic mistake. I voted against him and I think he is the reason the South seceded. I doubt that he is competent to run this nation, and his election was to the South like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Had someone else become president, then perhaps the problems of slavery and states' rights could have been deferred long enough for everyone to grow tired of them and cause them to go away. However, I grant that it would have been unlikely, given the tenor of the times.

  “Having said that, General Scott, Mr. Lincoln is our president, and what the South did is illegal and will destroy our nation unless stopped. Thus, like it or not, I support the war. The South must be brought back to the fold.”

  “Very good. You are aware of the disaster involving theTrent are you not?” Scott asked. “Certainly.”

  The taking of the unarmed British ship was in everyone's thoughts and was discussed wherever men gathered, Every newspaper carried articles questioning whether it would bring war, An astonishing number of them seemed to welcome it,

  “I was in France when the news of it reached the continent” Scott said with a deep sigh. “France fairly exploded in anger against the United States, and I can only imagine what it was like in England. After making a few inquiries about France's position on the matter, I took the fastest ship possible back to the States, as I feel I can be of use here. In my opinion,” Scott continued, “the affair with theTrent will result in war with Great Britain.”

  “I find that hard to believe, sir. Even an incompetent like Lincoln understands the need to mollify the British, We cannot fight both the South and Great Britain at the same time. Lincoln will not give in to the small minds who have proclaimed the irrational and irresponsible Captain Wilkes an American hero, I am confident Lincoln has apologized to Great Britain and that the issue will go away.”

  “Nathan, I am not as confident as you are. Don't forget that I've dealt with England on a diplomatic basis. I assure you that there are forces in Great Britain that wish a war with us, and now that fool Captain Wilkes has given them a reason, Right now. Wilkes is likely speaking before some anti-British group or other and proclaiming the justice of what he did, When he is done, he will be cheered to the rafters, In the meantime, England feels humiliated and demands revenge,”

  Scott slapped the arm of his chair in frustration, “But what if the British do not accept our apology, as I fear they will not? It has been almost a month since the SanJacinio made port with her prisoners, and ships with the news saiied to Britain almost immediately. Less than a week after that a ship with the formal American response set sail.

  “You are right, of course. Lincoln's response is a groveling apology. He has also released Mr. Slidell and Mr. Mason and the others in the party, and they have taken themselves to England. In other times, it would be a generous response to right a wrong, but I believe the British will have had time to let the wound fester before our ship even arrived. And,” he sighed, “I believe they will decide that war is the appropriate course of action,”

  Scott again sighed deeply. “But the taking of theTrent is a grievous insult, and I fear that Britain will wish more than an apology, She will wish her pound of flesh, along with several more.”

  Nathan sagged back in his chair, “That would be tragic, No, a disaster, another one, And what does that have to do with my being here?”

  General Winfield Scott sat straighten and now there was steel in his eyes, “If we must wage war with England again, I wish us to win it. I wish for you to be an instrument of that victory,”

  Nathan looked at him in disbelief, then shook his head. “General Scott, I think I'll have that drink now.”

  Nathan had been to Europe and had sampled a number of the brandies and liquors of the continent, but was unfamiliar with the whiskeys of Scotland.

  “What do you recommend?” he asked.

  “The Chivas Regal is a smooth blend, and the J amp; B also a blend, but a touch less smooth. The Glenlivet and the Glenmorangie are single malts, which makes them a bit on the harsh side to the uninitiated, but, as we are discussing war, they are more appropriate. Try the Glenlivet and pour me a generous one as well.”

  It was almost absurd. They had been discussing imminent war and now the old general was discoursing on the differences between liquors. The general had always been an expert on food and drink. Even in the roughest of military camps he had demanded excellent food if it could possibly be procured. Strangely, his men, many of whom had been rough frontiersmen, had thought it humorous and liked him for it. Their affection became part of Scott's legend.

  Scott took his glass and raised it. “To the Union, Nathan.”

  Nathan touched his to the general's and repeated it, They sipped and Nathan felt the slow fire of the whiskey warm his body, He decided he should have had one right away, as it quickly did an excellent job of dispelling the chill brought on by the rain.

  “What do you expect of me?” Nathan asked.

  “First let me explain something. I resigned as commanding general of the United States Army because Secretary of War Cameron connived against me. He thought I was untrustworthy because I was a Southerner from Virginia, and he also thought my age and general weakness would not permit me to exercise day-to-day command of an army at war. In peace, Old Fuss and Feathers could function adequately, In wartime, Cameron and his cabal thought a younger and more energetic man was needed, There is also the fact that no one believed in my plan for subjugating the South, I estimated it would take a couple of years and they said that was far too long. As a result, I was coerced into directing General McDowell to advance on Manassas with an army that was unprepared and was led by a man who was not ready. I take the blame for that decision,

  “Secretary of War Simon Cameron is a fool. I served the United States all my life. I was not going to change now. Are you aware that Jefferson Davis offered me command of the Confederate forces?”

  Nathan was, There was more than a little irony in the fact that while Scott had been offered command of the rebels, Robert E, Lee had been offered command of the Union forces by Scott,

  As for Scott's plan to defeat the South, it called for a blockade of the South and a slow strangulation of her military and economic resources. It was realistic and well thought out. Unfortunately, the nation would have none of it. They wanted immediate victory; two or three years was far too long to wait.

  Scott's plan had been derided as overlong and pessimistic. Someone had dubbed it the Anaconda Plan, and the name had stuck. The plan had been tossed away and the Union forces had jubilantly attacked the Confederates at Bull Run, confident in an easy victory that would end the war in one day.

  It had not worked out that way. The Union had endured a smashing defeat, and now the South was being blockaded, and the Union armies in the west were forming for slow advances. By default, the Anaconda Plan was being put into slow, grinding action.

  “You were right, of course, sir.”

  Scott took a swallow of his whiskey. “Sometimes I wish I was wrong. But it does prove that there is nothing wrong with my mind. No, I do not want to command again-that would be folly. I am not senile, or demented, but I am old and do lack the energy of a younger man, and, when I get tired, I get forgetful. No, I do not wish to command. I only wish that Cameron had permitted me a more graceful exit.”

  “What then?”

  “I wish to advise.”

  “McClellan?”

  “Hardly. I doubt the Young Napoleon would take advice from God, although he might presume to give it to the deity.”

  Nathan thought the indictment was a litt
le harsh. McClellan certainly had an enormous ego, but he was still a reasonable man. Or at least the man Nathan had met prior to the war had been a reasonable man.

  “Then who, General?”

  “Lincoln. The president is the commander in chief. He must act like it. He must grow into the position, and he must do so quickly. He must not be dominated by minds like McClellan's.”

  Nathan understood Scott's dilemma. He could not openly try to advise his president lest it look like he was undercutting the responsibilities of the new commanding general, George Brinton McClellan. Therefore, Scott wished Nathan to act as a conduit between himself and the president.

  “I see why you weren't very upset that I hadn't taken a commission,” Nathan said. “As a civilian, I can move around freely and am not subject to any military officer's orders.” Scott smiled. “Precisely.”

  Nathan poured himself another inch of whiskey, and then added the same quantity to Scott's outstretched glass. Despite his lack of confidence in Lincoln, he found himself intrigued. Then he hated himself for realizing that Scott had planned that he would be intrigued. Damn him.

  “Just how do you intend for me to start? I don't know Mr. Lincoln, or anyone else in the current administration.”

  Scott dismissed that problem. “On Friday, two days from now, there will be a reception, a salon, held by the French embassy. There haven't been many such parties recently, which means that it will be well attended. Lincoln will not go, as his wife gets lost and confused at such activities. This means that several other key people will not attend because they consider it politically expedient to not do so. There will, however, still be a great number of very important people in attendance, and I wish you to be there as the first step in my scheme. I have arranged for you to be invited to the reception, and I have a short list of people I wish you to contact. In particular, I wish you to meet a Mr. John Hay.”

  “Don't know him,” Nathan said. He was beginning to feel tired and he yawned hugely. The whiskey on an empty stomach was starting to win.

  Scott ignored it. “John Hay is a very young man, only in his early twenties. He is handsome, bright, diligent, and hardworking. He is also one of Mr. Lincoln's personal secretaries, an assistant to Mr. Nicolai. I wish you to give Mr. Hay a note from me to Mr. Lincoln. If you assure him that discretion is paramount, he will understand.”

  “That's it?”

  “Then we wait and see what transpires. It may be days or even weeks before Mr. Lincoln responds, although I hope not much longer. In the meantime, you may reside here along with me. There's plenty of room for us and we won't get in each other's way. The house was rented on my behalf by a wealthy friend who paid a price well in excess of its worth.”

  “Is the renter anyone I know?”

  “You.”

  “Damn, sir,” Nathan said and then exploded in laughter.

  Almost since the first guns had been fired at Fort Sumter, British shipbuilders had conspired with the Confederacy in a great deception against the Union. Specifically, British shipyards contracted to build blockade-runners and commerce raiders for the South. The subterfuge was simple. A foreign company, French or Dutch for instance, would have the ship built as a merchant vessel in a British yard, and sailed out under its national flag and with an appropriate non-Confederate crew. When it reached a neutral destination, the crew was exchanged for a Southern one, the ship was armed, and sent on its way.

  Through spies that roamed the waterfronts of England, France, and the other seafaring nations, the Union was aware of the duplicity. The Union's ambassador to Great Britain, Charles Francis Adams, had complained mightily to Her Majesty's government, but to no avail. It served Great Britain to permit the Confederacy to act in such a manner and to pretend it wasn^’ t happening. The actions were condoned to the extent that British warships often accompanied the counterfeit merchant ships out to the open sea to ensure that Union warships did not attempt to stop them.

  On this day. the unarmed and brand-new “merchant” shipHenrietta was making her maiden run from Liverpool. It was common knowledge that the sleek and swift ship had been built for blockade-running and not for sailing stolidly into a safe harbor with a hull full of bulk goods. At a given place and time, theHenrietta would be renamed and transformed into a Confederate blockade-runner.

  On this day, the disguised rebel was escorted out of Liverpool by the Royal Navy's steam frigateGorgon, as just over the horizon lay the U.S. sailing frigateSt. Lawrence. The Gorgon's duty was to ensure that the coyly namedHenrietta safely cleared British waters and was sent on her way unimpaired. If she was captured later, well, that would be someone's bad luck. She would not, however, be stopped by an American while in anything approximating British waters.

  TheGorgon mounted seventy-four guns to theSt. Lawrence's fifty, and the qualitative difference was even greater than the numeric as theGorgon's weapons were newer and larger. Further, the British ship's ability to use steam instead of depending on sail and the whims of wind made her an adversary with overwhelming advantages.

  As the Confederate in disguise and the British warship headed out of harbor, a number of other, smaller craft followed. Their passengers and crew were in search of excitement.

  In a short while, the U.S. ship hove into view. TheGorgon interposed herself between theHenrietta and theSt. Lawrence and, almost contemptuously, signaled that the smaller American ship must depart the area. The American declined.

  On board theGorgon. Captain David Hawkes fumed at the insolence of America in general and this American ship in particular. There had been no response from the Yank, and Hawkes considered his options. He hadn't received official word that Great Britain was at war with the United States, although it was common knowledge that such notice would be forthcoming. England was not going to sit still while her helpless ships were sunk. For all Hawkes knew, news of the war was waiting for him at the dock back at Portsmouth.

  This confronted Hawkes with a dilemma. His orders were to protect theHenrietta and nothing more unless the American tried something rash. But if war had been declared, theSt. Lawrence was a legitimate target and should be taken. If he let her go, then she might prey on other British shipping.

  “Order the American to heave to,” Hawkes commanded. He would board her and have her taken back to England, where people greater than he could sort it out.

  When theSt. Lawrence didn't respond, Hawkes ordered theGorgon's guns run out and a warning shot fired. He noted that, while theSt. Lawrence's gun ports were open, her cannon had not been run out. This was a condition that could be changed in an instant, and the American's gun crews were doubtless poised to do just that.

  TheSt. Lawrence again did not respond. Instead, she turned and started to sail away. For an instant, Hawkes found himself admiring the graceful lines of a ship that belonged to a bygone era. Sail had first been replaced by the steam engine and the paddle wheel. Soon the cumbersome and vulnerable paddle wheel had been succeeded by a propeller, or screw, that was beneath the stern of a ship like theGorgon and safely out of the way.

  TheSt. Lawrence and others like her were two generations behind modern warships. Even the mightyGorgon had fallen behind. She could not compare with ironclad monsters like the Royal Navy'sWarrior andBlack Prince, or France'sGloire.

  “One more warning shot,” Hawkes said sadly. His course of action was now clear to him.

  The Gorgon's naked masts were in stark contrast to the billowing sails of the anachronistic St. Lawrence, The U.S. ship continued to ignore him, and even ran out her guns. It was a threat the British captain could not ignore. Hawkes easily maneuvered theGorgon so that his powerful port-side guns could rake the stern of theSt. Lawrence.

  “Fire,” he ordered and, seconds later, the broadside thundered out, causing the ocean around the ships to quiver. The shells from theGorgon smashed through theSt. Lawrence and streaked down her length, smashing the guns and maiming the crew, who were swept away by the torrent of metal and wooden splinters.r />
  TheGorgon turned and presented her starboard guns to the desperately maneuvering American. A second broadside thundered, again raking theSt. Lawrence, and she shook as if a giant hand had grasped her and pummeled her. A few of the American's guns returned fire, but to no effect. Hawkes wondered if they had been aimed or set off by the fires that were ravaging the ship. No matter, the American's honor was intact-she had fired back. Why didn't she strike her colors?

  A third British broadside brought down a mast and caused a massive explosion within the smaller American vessel. Hawkes watched as a body was flown clear of the ravaged ship. It was enough. The American flag was run down.

  Hawkes ordered the cease-fire and sent men to take over the frigate and to treat the American wounded. From the looks of the ship, there must be literally hundreds of casualties. God help the United States of America if this was the best they had in the way of warships. TheSt. Lawrence had been both toothless and helpless in comparison with theGorgon. It had been an execution, not a fight.

  “Well” Hawkes said grimly as he turned to the knot of officers gathered behind him. “If we weren't at war before, we certainly are now.”

  Chapter Three

  When Nathan returned to what he now referred to as home, it was late at night and he was attracted by the light in the first-floor sitting room. General Scott was in a chair and sipping a brandy. Beside him was an empty plate.

  “I hope you fared better than I did,” Scott grumped. “The sandwich was dry. Sergeant Fromm made it for me since Bridget had the evening off. Fromm should stick to guarding me and answering the door.”

  Nathan grinned. His earlier suspicions about the man who had opened the door had been correct. The man was a retired soldier who was devoted to Scott. Bridget was the young Irish woman who cooked and kept house. Nathan thought it amusing that the old man had been waiting up for him as if he were a child. “Let's say the food was adequate, General, but still superior to the wine.”