“Ambassador Adams had instructed me to inform you to report to him immediately upon your arrival. There is a train for London leaving this afternoon. I took the liberty of buying your ticket. I will escort you through your registration with the Custom House here and then see you off at the station.
“You must not lose a minute, literally a minute. As the warship of a belligerent, British law allows the Gettysburg only a forty-eight-hour stay in any British port to water and victual. That forty-eight hours begins when your papers are filed at the Custom House. You must get to London, see Adams, and take the next train back here. You will have just enough time. Thank God the British trains are so fast and dependable. They’ve built their tracks and grades with such care that there is almost never a derailment or delay. Unfortunately, that is something we cannot say at home.” Dudley did not wait for Lamson to comment but stood up and said, “Let’s go!”
Along the way to the Custom House, they were stopped in traffic by the open windows of a grog shop. The words of an enthusiastically rendered drinking song were clear.
When the Alabama’s keel was laid,
Roll, Alabama, roll!
It was in the city of Birkenhead.
Roll, Alabama, roll!
They called her Number 292,
Roll, Alabama, roll!
In honor of the merchants of Liverpool.
Roll, Alabama, roll,
Rooooooll, Alabama, roll, Alabama, rooooooll
Rooooooll, Alabama, roll, Alabama, roll!
The carriage lurched forward as the traffic began to move. They could hear one last verse as they sped away.
To the western isles they made her run,
Roll, Alabama, roll!
To be fitted out with shot and gun.
Roll, Alabama, roll!8
Dudley ground his teeth. “Even in song, the popular sentiment of this country favors the rebels. They should be singing her praises; after all, her crew is made up, almost to the man, of former Royal Navy sailors. This country might as well be at war with us.
“No, Captain, I must correct myself. If they are war with us, it is only with their little finger. We must keep them from using both fists. I have been here over two years now, and I am aware of the industrial might of this country. No one will come well out of such a fight.”9
ALBERT DOCK, LIVERPOOL, ENGLAND, 2:35 PM, SEPTEMBER 1, 1863
Bulloch prowled the dock as if his presence would speed the already desperate pace the Laird Brothers’ work crews were setting. The arrival of the Gettysburg in Liverpool, now docked barely a quarter mile away, had driven him from his normal behind-the-scenes station. His friends at the Custom House had reported immediately on Lamson’s presentation of his papers and keyed on the fact that he had stated his ship was to replace the purpose-built sloop, USS Kearsarge, as the single American warship on the U.S. Navy’s English Channel Station. He had mentioned casually that every purpose-built warship was needed in American waters to close the noose tighter on Charleston and Wilmington. That only momentarily reassured Bulloch. He would feel better when Gettysburg actually left for the Channel Station, and given British rules on belligerents, that should be in two short days.10
Anything that was not absolutely essential to get the ship simply seaworthy enough to escape the harbor and cross the sea to the Azores had been abandoned. Bulloch had arranged for the last work to be completed in those islands before the guns and stores were fitted. He could feel the minutes slipping away as if they were grains of sand in his own life’s hourglass. This time he had avoided the last-minute commotion with the Alabama’s crew. The men that would take her out of the harbor were a skeleton crew, only enough men to run her trials at sea if anyone looked closely. The rest of the crew had already been quietly paid in advance and sent due west to wait in Moelfre Bay off Anglesey in Wales.
Bulloch’s presence had not escaped notice of Dudley’s horde of agents who buzzed around the Albert Dock. Not a bolt or mouse could enter or exit the dock without being noticed. John Laird had paid a gang of local toughs to clear them off, but Dudley had paid even more for a bigger gang. Club-wielding bobbies had more than once had to break up the street battles. It was no wonder that Bulloch was feeling besieged. He felt that he held the last hope of the Confederacy here in Albert Dock. The Confederate armies had suffered major defeats at Gettysburg and Vicksburg, and he realized it was only a matter of time before they wasted away. The South was consuming itself while the resources of the North only grew. The rams had to live up to their fearsome reputation in order to break the blockade and let new life flow into the Confederacy. The rams would then be free to trail the Confederate Navy’s coat up the entire Yankee coast all the way to Canada and back, destroying the North’s shipping and savaging their ports. He had no doubts because he had no more hopes but these. There was nothing he would not do to see that they lived.
Those hopes had flared when the Laird officer in charge of outfitting North Carolina—and that was what Bulloch called her now that her mighty turrets had been fitted—reported that the ship would be ready for sea trials on September 4.11
FOREIGN MINISTRY, LONDON, 3:14 PM, SEPTEMBER 1, 1863
Lord John Russell sat in his office deep in thought as he realized that the diplomatic ground was shifting beneath him. His undersecretary, Layard, sat silently, waiting for him to speak.
The twin Union victories that summer at Gettysburg and Vicksburg had a dramatic and sobering effect on the pro-Confederate British establishment. Ambassador Adams had written his son, Charles Francis Adams, Jr., who was serving with the 5th Massachusetts Cavalry, that the news had filled the London salons with “tears of anger mixed with grief.”12
Adams’s relentless pressure was supported by a flurry of affidavits and intelligence on the Confederate provenance of the rams. Its cumulative weight was having an effect, albeit a very reluctant one on Russell. In August, while on vacation in Scotland, Adams had informed the Duke of Argyll, the Secretary of State for War, that the French consul in Liverpool had denied that the rams were being built for the French. On his return he passed that information to Russell as well.
The British ambassador in Paris confirmed that Adams was telling the truth. Inquiries to Egypt also revealed that the previous ruler had ordered two ironclads from Bravay, but his successor had canceled the order in 1862. Despite this information, Russell responded in a letter dated September 1.
Her Majesty’s government are advised that the information contained in the depositions is in a great measure mere hearsay evidence and generally is not such as to show the intent or purpose necessary to make the building or fitting out of these vessels illegal under the Foreign Enlistment Act… Her Majesty’s government are advised that they cannot interfere in any way with these vessels.13
Yet on the same day that letter was written, Russell was convinced by Adams’s efforts that where there was all that smoke, there was probably a good fire. The message did not indicate that change of mind because Russell and the Crown’s legal authorities had become fixated on the letter of a badly written law, the Foreign Enlistment Act. It had been suggested in the cabinet that this recognizably flawed legislation be amended, but even that drew opposition from those determined not to give the appearance of succumbing to American pressure.
That change of mind made Layard decidedly uncomfortable. His friend Bulloch had begged for any indication that the government was about to act. Now it seemed that the manifest need to take action was gathering momentum.
Russell put the issue squarely, “Layard, so much suspicion attaches to the ironclad vessels at Birkenhead that they ought not to be allowed to go out of Liverpool until the suspicion about them is cleared up.”
“Then, do you still want to send Adams this letter?”
“Yes, indeed, but I will not give him the satisfaction of our taking precipitous action. I will not act until the Law Officers have supported such action.” He believed that they would, but pride forbade him keeping Adams abreas
t of changing perceptions.14
By now, both governments were seriously talking past each other. Inexplicably, that letter was not delivered with any dispatch. Adams, however, would take the letter at face value in the absence of clarification from Russell.
AMERICAN EMBASSY, LONDON, 11:50 PM, SEPTEMBER 1, 1863
The cab from the station dropped Lamson at the embassy barely before midnight. He rapped at the door with the brass knocker until a young man in rumpled clothes appeared with a lamp. He seemed unhappy at being awakened.
Lamson introduced himself. The young man yawned. “You are expected. Come in.” He introduced himself as Henry Adams, the ambassador’s son and private secretary. “Wait here. I will let the ambassador know you have arrived.” He disappeared upstairs, leaving Lamson standing in the dark.
Lamson sized up the young man in a glance in the way that a fighting man does other men. He was not impressed. There was something soft in Henry Adams, something that would give if leaned on.
While Lamson waited, he was turning over in his mind everything Dudley had told him and how that information would affect his mission and what the ambassador would have to say to him.
Eventually the light reappeared at the head of the stairs followed by young Adams, lamp in hand. “The ambassador will see you shortly. Please, make yourself comfortable in the parlor here.” He motioned into the dark with the lamp and led Lamson into a room furnished with New England simplicity but quality. Lighting another lamp, he asked if he should rouse the servants to put on some tea. Lamson declined. He discovered to his dismay that young Adams had the gift of small talk to a great degree and, even more, could carry on without much of a response. The content was certainly consistent—Henry’s travails in getting introduced into British society. He prattled on in tones of enervated boredom, aping a cultivated English accent that Lamson found more than annoying.
Bored is he? thought Lamson. I’ve got a cure for that—holystoning a deck soaks up a lot of boredom.
Not more than ten minutes later, the ambassador mercifully entered. Charles Francis Adams, U.S. ambassador to Great Britain, was an American institution. His position was practically an inherited office. His grandfather, John Adams, and his father, John Quincy Adams, had both preceded him to represent the United States. He himself had served as his father’s private secretary, as his father had served his grandfather. Lamson considered Henry Adams and thought to himself that the tradition had no future. The Adams line seemed to have watered down considerably in this latest generation, but that was not true for the father. Charles Adams was all Massachusetts—obdurate, stoic, outwardly cool, duty driven, and humorless. He was a spare old man, balding with a thin remnant of white hair driven to the edge of his scalp. A carefully trimmed white beard ran under his chin. His greatest talent was the ability to relentlessly represent the interests of the United States to the British government with great force against a gale of slights, insults, and hostile acts. He was ever at Lord Russell’s heels with another remonstration or argument.
Unfortunately, he failed to detect the true character of the senior members in the British Ministry. Russell had completely deceived him for two years. Unbeknownst to Adams, he had previously been the leading force in attempting to organize joint British, French, and Russian intervention to stop the war, which would have secured the South its independence. Russell firmly believed that a reunited United States would pose a long-term threat to British world hegemony and so British interests should be on the side of a dismembered Union. Palmerston, whom Adams blamed for the government’s hostility to the Union, had actually been a check on Russell’s rush in 1862 to force a negotiated peace on the North and South.
Charles Adams greeted Lamson politely but to the point. He made no small talk. Henry’s talent in that regard must have been inherited from the female line. Undoubtedly the lack of the convivial nature of diplomacy was a hindrance to his role as minister, but he did not seem to care. He paused only a moment to appraise Lamson.
“I have already been informed of your mission by Secretary Seward. Since he stated that your arrival would be cut very fine, I took the liberty as well of informing Captain Winslow of the Kearsarge, which is lying off Vlissingen (Flushing) in the Netherlands, in case you did not arrive in time.”
“Sir, I believe that the Navy Department was to inform Kearsarge as well.” Lamson was not going to plan on being assisted by the Kearsarge, the one thousand and thirty-one–ton, eight-gun sloop cruising the U.S. Navy’s Channel Station. All well and good if she appeared, but he must act as if that would not happen. Besides, Winslow would rank him if the ships met and garner all the glory.
Adams came to the point. “Dudley has briefed you on the situation with the rams in Liverpool. His daily reports indicate that they are nearing completion. I have submitted to Lord Russell the most damning proofs of Confederate complicity in the building of these ships.
“You see what we are up against. Palmerston had tied Russell’s hands completely. There is not a single important instance in which the British government has not interpreted these issues in the favor of the Confederacy. I will take you into the strictest confidence, since your actions may well have to be guided by this information. Secretary Seward has instructed me to inform Her Majesty’s government that the United States has no choice but to issue letters of marque and will pursue Confederate vessels into neutral ports that ‘become harbors for these pirates.’15
“Moreover, there are strong elements within the British ministry that desire a war be initiated by the United States. That will be the signal for the European dismemberment of the United States. Louis Napoleon only awaits Britain’s lead. Their only break, and it has its limits, is Russia, which has consistently offered its advice and goodwill and its diplomatic support. We are not entirely alone in Europe.”
It was clear to Lamson what the stakes were. The British government was about to connive at the escape of the rams. If they were not intercepted, the United States would have no other choice than to go to war.
For the first time, Henry Adams spoke. “You forget the Germans, Father. Don’t forget the Prussian king coldly refused to receive a Confederate agent or allow any of his officials to have anything to do with him. And I can hardly believe the Prussian prime minister, Otto von Bismarck, would see any advantage in supporting France in such a war, when it is France, and Austria, of course, that stands in the way of German unification, the chief strategic objective of the Prussian Kingdom.”
His speech was another surprise for Lamson. The fop could think. He must have learned something in the last two years. Lamson was slightly impressed.
The ambassador turned to Lamson. “My son has shown you why I am sending him with you.”
“Father!”
“He will be… as a political and diplomatic observer and adviser. You will be facing one of the most difficult and complex situations ever to confront an American naval officer. I have no doubt of your abilities as a naval officer, but this situation would daunt a man more than twice your years and experience.”
The ambassador turned to his son. “Henry, pack quickly.”16
USS GETTYSBURG, KING’S DOCK, LIVERPOOL, ENGLAND, 8:35 AM, SEPTEMBER 3, 1863
Lamson and Porter were waiting for their guest to join them. They turned when they heard footsteps but only the cabin boy approached. “Well, where is he, Tom?”
“Sir,” the boy touched his knuckles to his cap diffidently, “I knocked and knocked on his cabin door and explained that the captain wanted him on bridge.”
“Yes?”
“And, sir, he just yelled at me and told me to go away.” The boy was scandalized that even a guest aboard the ship should treat the captain’s request so. “Three times I tried, sir, and I even opened the door a bit to peak in and tell him, but…”
“Yes?”
“He threw his chamber pot at me, Captain!”
Lamson stifled a laugh. Porter bit his lip and turned away. “Carry on, Tom.�
� The boy fled. “It seems, Mr. Porter, that our guest finds life at sea not to his taste.” They both laughed, looking out at the placid surface of King’s Dock. Lamson’s opinion of Henry Adams had reverted to his original impression on their early morning train ride to Liverpool. He did not know that a man could whine without interruption for so long. The complaints only let up when Adams turned to name-dropping in his obsession with English “society.” He had even found fault with his accommodations aboard ship. The USS Gettysburg’s origins as a mail packet had left her with a number of comfortable cabins, not all of which succumbed to the ship’s conversion for war. The best, of course, was the captain’s, but the executive officer’s was still handsome, and he had graciously given it up for the representative of the ambassador.
“Mr. Porter, I’m afraid this mission is beyond poor Tom’s diplomatic ability. Please, see what you can do with our guest. Mr. Dudley will be here shortly.”
The consul arrived only moments after Porter escorted a very unhappy Adams into the captain’s cabin. He winked at Lamson as Adams threw himself into a chair and asked when breakfast would be served. “Why, Mr. Adams, the officers have eaten already. My cabin boy notified you in plenty of time. I believe your answer was, ‘Bugger off.’ An English endearment, isn’t it?”
Adams groaned.
“But there will be coffee for our meeting with Mr. Dudley.”
“No tea?”
The consul was prompt. He was surprised to see Adams and raised an eyebrow when Lamson noted the ambassador had sent him as an official observer and adviser. Dudley obviously knew young Adams and had no higher opinion of him than Lamson had. Adams just sat there glum faced. Dudley tactfully changed the subject as the coffee was being served. “Coffee! Wonderful.” Dudley exclaimed. “I have become so tired of tea. You can tell when an American has been here too long. He becomes a tea drinker.”
Britannia's Fist: From Civil War to World War: An Alternate History Page 14
