“But the bank failed,” Sherman said grimly. “I lost everything, house, land, everything I had worked for all those years.” He hesitated and went on, his voice lowered. “Lost my sanity, felt that way at times.”
“But you came out of it, Cump—just the way I came out of the bottle. I guess war is our only trade.”
“And you are good at it, Ulysses. I meant it when I wrote that letter. I have faith in you. Command me in any way.”
Grant looked a little discomfited. “Not just me. Halleck said you should have the command under me. I was more than happy to oblige. You have good friends in this army, that’s what it comes down to.”
“General Grant, sir,” a voice called out and they turned to see the sergeant on the bank above. “Telegraph message coming through from the east. About the British the operator said.”
“This could be it,” Grant said, jumping to his feet.
“I’ll put this away. Be right with you.”
The military telegraph was still clicking out its message when General Grant came into the tent. He stood behind the operator, reading over his shoulder as he wrote. Seized up the paper when he was finished. He clamped down hard on his long cigar, then puffed a cloud of smoke over the operator’s head.
“Stuart,” he called out, and his aide hurried over. “Get my staff together. Meeting in my tent in half an hour. If they want to know what it is about, just tell them that we got a second war on our hands.”
“The British?”
“Damned right.”
Grant walked slowly back to his tent, chewing on his cigar and planning out just what he had to do. Sherman was already there, pacing back and forth. As Grant stamped into the tent he knew exactly what orders had to be issued, what actions taken.
Grant poured out a glass of whiskey from the stone crock and passed it over to Sherman. Looked at the jug and smiled grimly; then pushed the corn cob back into its neck.
“They’ve done it, Cump, actually gone and done it. We are at war again with the British. Without much reason this time. I don’t see how stopping one ship and taking some prisoners could lead to this.”
“I don’t think that there has ever been much reason for most wars. Since Victoria has been on the throne there has always been a war going on somewhere around the world for the British.”
“Little ones maybe, but this is sure going to be a big one.” Grant went over and tapped his index finger against the map that was spread across the sawhorse-supported table. “They invaded New York State right up here and attacked the fortifications at Plattsburgh.”
Sherman looked at the site of the attack, just south of Lake Champlain, and shook his head in disbelief, took a sip of his whiskey. “Who would have thunk it. The British always seem ready to fight the last war when the new one begins.”
“Or even the one before it. Stop me if I am wrong—but didn’t General Burgoyne come that way when he invaded the colonies in 1777?”
“He surely did. And that’s not all. Just to prove that the British never learn anything by experience, General Provost in 1814 did exactly the same thing and attacked in exactly the same way. Got whupped though and lost all of his supplies. Maybe that can happen again.”
Grant shook his head glumly. “Not this time, I’m afraid.” He sat back in his field chair and puffed on his cigar until the tip glowed red. He pointed the cigar at his fellow general and close friend.
“Won’t be as easy this time as it was before. All we got in front of them now is some militia with a couple of old cannon. The British field guns and their regulars will run right over those poor boys. The way I see it, it is not a matter of will they lose, but just how long they will be able to hold out.”
Sherman traced his finger down the map. “Once past Plattsburgh the invading army will have a clear track right down the Hudson Valley. If they’re not stopped they’ll go straight through Albany and West Point and the next thing you know they will be knocking on the door in New York City.”
Grant shook his head. “Except it is not going to be that easy. Halleck has already got his troops loaded onto the New York Central Railroad and is heading north even while we speak. As far as we can tell the enemy has not yet penetrated further south than Plattsburgh. A lot depends on how long the militia there can hold on. Halleck hopes to draw the line north of Albany. If he does I will join him there. He wants me to entrain with as many regiments as we can spare from here and come and support him.”
“How many are we taking?”
“No we, Cump. He is putting you in command when I am gone. How many troops will you need if Beauregard tries another attack at Pittsburg Landing?”
Sherman thought long and hard before he spoke. “For defense I’ll have the cannon on the gunboats that are still tied up on the riverbank. So I can fall back as far as the landing and make a stand there. If you can leave me four batteries and a minimum of two regiments I’ll say that we can hold the line. We can always cross back over the river if we have to. Beauregard won’t get through us. After Shiloh we’re not giving away an inch.”
“I think you had better have three regiments. The Rebs still have a sizable army out there.”
“That will do fine. Are hard times coming, Ulysses?”
Grant drew heavily on his cigar. “Can’t lie and say that things are going to be easy. Johnny Reb may be down but he is surely not out. And they’ll just love to see us being kicked up the behind by the lobsterbacks. But I don’t think that the Rebs will try anything for awhile. Why should they?”
Sherman nodded solemn agreement. “You’re absolutely right. They’ll let the British do their fighting for them. While their scouts watch our troop movements and keep track of us, they will have plenty of time to regroup. Then, when we’re tied up on the new fronts, why they can then just pick and choose exactly where they want to attack in force. I cannot lie. Far from being almost won, our war with the Secesh is about to begin to go very badly.”
“I’m afraid that you are right. They’ve got spies everywhere—just like us. They’ll know where we are weakening the line, and they will also know just what their friends the British are doing. Then, soon as they catch us looking away for a moment—bang—and the battle is on.”
Grant was silent for a moment, weighing their problems. “Cump, we have both had our problems in the past—in the army and out of it. Mostly out of it. I used whiskey to drown my problems, as you know.”
Sherman’s face was grim. “Like you, life has not been easy. All of the things I did when I left the army suddenly don’t seem that important. Before the battles started I was fearful and upset. Saw troubles where none existed. That’s all over. But funny enough, it is all a lot easier now. There seems to be clarity in war, a fulfillment in battle. I feel that I am in the right place at last.”
Grant stood and seized his friend’s hand, took him by the arm as well. “You speak the truth far better than you know. I have to tell you that. Some people’s facilities slow down and go numb when faced with battle. Others sharpen and quicken. You are one of those. They are rare. You held my right flank at Shiloh and you never wavered. Got a lot of good horseflesh shot out from under you too, but you never hesitated, not for one second. Now you have to do it again. Hold the line here, Cump, I know you can do it. Do it better than anyone else in this world.”
DEATH IN THE SOUTH
Alexander Milne, admiral of the British Navy, was a courageous and bold fighting man—when it was time to be courageous and bold. He had always been bold in battle, had been badly wounded in his country’s cause. When the Americans had seized a British ship and taken prisoners from it, he had gone at once to the Prime Minister and requested active service once again. This had been the right and bold thing to do.
He was also cautious when it was necessary to be cautious. Now he knew, as the squadron plowed ahead through the warm, star-filled night, that this was indeed a time for caution. They had been out of sight of land ever since his flotilla had sailed from
the Bahamas at dusk two weeks ago, on a northerly course. The islands reeked with spies and his departure would surely be noted and transmitted to the Americans. Only when night had fallen and they were out of sight of land had the squadron turned south.
It had been dead reckoning ever since then, without a sight of land since Andros Island; a quick inspection at dusk of its prominent landmarks in order to check their position. It was good navigation training for the officers. They had sailed south almost to the Tropic of Cancer before they had altered course west through the Straits of Florida. They had held to this course since then, far out from the American coast and well clear of any coastal shipping. In all this sailing they had seen no other vessel, had assumed they had gone undetected as well.
It wasn’t until the noon sun observations agreed with the ship’s chronometer that they had indeed reached eighty-eight degrees west longitude that they had altered course for the last time. Sailed due north toward the Gulf Coast of the United States.
WARRIOR AT SEA
Admiral Milne flew his flag from the ironclad Warrior. He stood now on her bridge, besides Captain Roland who was her commander.
“How many knots, Captain?” he asked.
“Still six knots, sir.”
“Good. If the calculations are correct that should have us off the coast at dawn.”
Milne climbed up onto the after bridge and looked back at the ships keeping station astern. First were the two ships of the line, Caledonia and Royal Oak. Beyond them, just blurs in the darkness were the transports. Out of sight to their stern he knew were the other ships of the line, the frigates and corvettes. The largest British fleet that had been to sea since 1817.
But he was still not pleased. That a force this size had to circle out of sight of land—then slip in at night like a blockade runner—was a humiliating thing to have to do. Britain had ruled the waves for centuries and had won all of her wars that had been fought at sea. But the Americans had a large fleet guarding this coast and it must be avoided at all cost. Not because of fear of battle, but out of necessity of keeping their presence in these waters a secret.
Captain Nicholas Roland had joined him. “Clouding up ahead, sir,” he said. “Too late for the rainy season, but the weather can be foul along this coast at any time of the year.”
They stood in silence, each wrapped in his own thoughts, the only sound the metronome-like thud thud of the ship’s engines. Ahead of them the brilliant stars were vanishing behind the rising darkness of the approaching cloud. Out here, where the watch officer and the helmsman could not hear them, they could speak together as they could not in the crowded ship.
Roland was married to the admiral’s niece. Their homes in Saltash were quite close and he had seen a good deal of both of them when he had been recuperating from the wound that he had received in China, at the Battle of the Peio River. He and Roland had struck up an easy friendship despite their difference in years.
“I’m not sure, Nicholas, that I like the way warfare at sea is developing. We always seem to be a little bit late with engineering advances, too prone to let others lead the way.”
“I cannot believe that is true, sir. We are now standing on the bridge of the most advanced warship ever seen. Built of iron, steam-powered, with twenty-six 68-pounders, not to mention ten 100-pounders. A forty gun ship with guns of the largest caliber, unbeatable, unsinkable. We know that the senior service must be conservative, sir. But once we get our teeth into something we are a bulldog.”
“I agree. But far too often we tend to fight present wars with the skills of the past war. There is a weight of tradition and a tendency to suspect innovation that I feel will cost us dear.”
“That is possibly true, sir, but I am too far down the ladder to have an opinion. But surely you exaggerate. Just look at this ship. As soon as the navy discovered that the French were building La Gloire, an iron warship, there was the instant decision by the Secretary to the Admiralty to build an iron-belted frigate. Two of them in fact to go the French one better. Like our sister ship, Black Prince, we make the most of the modern science of the sea. We have sail as well as steam so we can stay at sea longer. I am most proud to command her.”
“You should be. But do you remember what I said when word reached us about the battle between Virginia and Monitor?”
“I can never forget it. We had just finished dining and you were passing the port. Robinson was deck officer and he came in holding the report, read it aloud to all of us. Some of the officers called it colonial tomfoolery but you would have none of that. You sobered them up quite quickly. ‘Gentlemen’, you said, ‘we have just entered a new age. This morning, when I awoke, the British navy had 142 warships. When I retire tonight we will have but two. Warrior and Black Prince.’ ”
“What I said then is still very true. Just as the steam engine put paid to the sailing ship, so shall the ironclad eliminate the wooden ship from the navies of the world. Which is why we are entering battle through the rear door, so to speak. The Yankee blockading fleet has effectively sealed off the southern coastline from any commerce by sea. Now I intend to break through that blockade and I have no intention of meeting any of the blockading fleet except under my terms. It is sheer bad luck that Black Prince is having her boilers repaired at this time. I would feel much better if she were at our side.”
Roland stamped his heel hard on the iron plating of the after bridge. “An iron ship that can carry the largest guns made. In her I dread naught.”
“I agree, a fine ship. But I wish her designers had not been so condescending to the Admiralty old guard. Sail or steam, I say. One or the other and not a mixture of the two. With masts and sail we must have an enormous crew to tend them. To raise sail by hand, to even raise the screw by hand—needs two hundred hands to do that job. Where one steam winch would have sufficed.”
Captain Roland coughed politely, then got up the nerve to ask the question that had been bothering him since he had first been appointed to command this ship.
“Sir, perhaps it is out of place, but I must admit that I have always been bothered by this. After all, the merchant ships use steam winches . . .” His words ran out as he blushed, unseen in the darkness, sure that he had spoken out of turn. The admiral was aware of this, but took pity.
“We have been friends, my boy, for some time. And I can well understand your worries about your charge. And I know that you have a sound enough head not to repeat anything that I tell you in confidence.”
“Indeed, sir! Of course.”
“I was part of the committee that approved Warrior and her sister ship. Although I protested I was overruled. I said that the navy would rather look backward than forge ahead. My suggestions were overruled. All of the others believed that the sailors would be spoiled and grow lazy if machines did their work for them. Besides, it was felt, the exercise would keep them healthy!”
Captain Roland could only gape. He was almost sorry that he had asked. The ship’s bell sounded the change of watch. He went down to the upper deck, to the rifle-proof conning tower.
On the deck below George William Frederick Charles, the Duke of Cambridge, stirred in his berth when he heard the bell, wide-awake and cursing it. When he closed his eyes instead of blissful darkness and the Lethe of sleep he saw divisions of soldiers, batteries of cannon, military stores, plans—all the paraphernalia of war that had occupied his mind for weeks—months now. The steel box of a cabin closed in on him. He did not consider for a moment the ship’s Master who had been moved out of this cabin, now sharing an even smaller cabin with the Commander—or the hundreds of ratings who swung their hammocks in the even darker, closer, noisome chambers belowdeck. Rank had its place—and his was at the very top. The Duke of Cambridge, Commander-in-Chief of the British Army, cousin to the Queen, was not used to physical discomfort, in the field or off it.
When he sat up his head struck the candle holder above the bed and he cursed it soundly. When he opened the cabin door enough light came
in from the passageway for him to find his clothes. Pulling on jacket and trousers he went out of the cabin, turned right and went into the captain’s day room; a spacious area lit by a gimballed kerosene light and airy from the scuttle in the ceiling above. Still resting on the sideboard was the excellent brandy he had sampled after dinner: he poured himself a good measure. He had just dropped into the leather armchair when the door opened and Bullers looked in.
“I’m sorry, sir, didn’t mean to disturb you.”
He started to withdraw but the duke called after him. “Come in, Bullers, do come in—not able to sleep?”
“The truth indeed. Soldiers at sea are about as useful as teats on a boar.”
“Well said. Enter and address the brandy, there’s a good fellow.”
Major General Bullers was commander of the infantry, next in rank below the duke. Both were fighting soldiers who had served in Ireland, then in the Crimea.
“Bloody hot,” Bullers said.
“Drink up and you won’t notice it.” He sipped from his glass. “Champion should be well on his way to New York City by now.”
“He should indeed. With his divisions and guns there is no force in the Americas that can stand in his way.”
“Let it be so. God knows we spent enough time in planning and outfitting the expedition.”
“You should have commanded it—to ensure success.”
“Nice of you to say so, Bullers—but General Champion is more than able to handle a straightforward attack like the one from Canada. This one is where certain other skills will be needed.”
As one their eyes turned to look at the maps strewn on the mahogany table. Although they had gone over the plans for the attack countless times before, the maps drew them back, like iron filings to a magnet. They stood, taking their drinks with them, and strode across the room.
Stars & Stripes Forever Page 15
