There was the crack of a gun and a bullet passed close to General Sherman.
"Up there!" one of the soldiers shouted, pointing to a puff of smoke from the window of a residence. One after another the cavalrymen fired, their bullets crashing the glass from the window and sending chunks of frame flying.
"Leave it," Sherman ordered. They galloped on.
It was late afternoon before they passed through Windsor Great Park and saw the crenellated towers of the castle ahead. As they came through the woods, they saw that there were American riflemen who had taken up positions behind many of the trees facing an open green field. A sloping lawn led up to the castle beyond. A major of the Kentucky Rifles stepped forward and saluted Sherman as he slid down from his horse.
"Men all in position, right around the castle, sir."
"Any resistance?"
"They tried some potshots from the windows, but stopped when we returned their fire. We stayed away, like you ordered. Gates closed tight, but we know there are a passel of people inside."
"Is the Queen among them?"
"Don't rightly know. But we rousted out some of the citizens from the town. All say the same thing, and I think they are too frightened to lie. Lots of carriages came today—and the Queen's was one of them. Nobody come out since."
"Good work, Major. I'll take over from here."
Sherman returned the man's salute, then turned to look up at the grim granite walls of the castle. Should he wait until they could bring some cannon up to batter an opening in them? There were a number of doors and windows; a sudden attack might take the castle by storm. But many good men would be lost if the defenders put up a stiff defense. A moment later the decision was taken out of his hands.
"The big front gate is opening, General," a soldier called out.
"Hold your fire," Sherman ordered.
The gate swung wide, and from inside the castle there sounded the roll of a drum. The army drummer emerged, accompanied by an officer carrying a white flag.
"Bring them to me," Sherman ordered, greatly relieved. A squad trotted toward the two soldiers and accompanied them forward, automatically falling in step with the drumbeat. The officer, a colonel, stopped in front of Sherman and saluted, which Sherman returned.
"I wish to speak to your commanding officer," the British colonel said.
"I am General Sherman, commanding the American army."
The officer took a folded sheet of paper from his belt. "This message is from His Grace the Duke of Cambridge. He writes, 'To the commander of the American forces. There are women and children here, and I fear for their safety if this conflict continues. I therefore request you to send an emissary to discuss terms of surrender.' "
Sherman felt an intense wave of relief—but did not reveal it in his expression. "I shall go myself. Sergeant, pick a small squad to accompany me."
It was a large and elegantly furnished room, awash with light from the ceiling-high windows. A tiny woman sat in a large chair, dressed in black, quite chubby, with a puffy face and perpetually open mouth and exophthalmic eyes. She wore a fur miniver over her shoulders and a white widow's cap with a long veil, as well as a diamond-and-sapphire coronet. The group of ladies-in-waiting around her looked uneasy and frightened. Lord John Russell, diminutive and ancient, was at her side. Along with the uniformed Duke of Cambridge, appearing his usual assertive self.
General Sherman and his party stopped before the waiting group; no one spoke. After a moment Sherman turned away from the Queen and addressed the Duke of Cambridge.
"We have met before," Sherman said.
"We have," the Duke said, fighting to control his temper. "This is Lord John Russell, the Prime Minister."
Sherman nodded and turned to Russell—presenting his back to the Queen. There were horrified gasps from the ladies, which he ignored. "You are leader of the government—while the Duke heads the army. Are you of a like mind that the hostilities are to cease?"
"Some discussion is needed..." Russell said. Sherman shook his head.
"That is out of the question. I was instructed by President Lincoln that the war would be ended only by unconditional surrender."
"You presume too much, sir!" the Duke raged. "Surrender is a word not lightly used—"
Sherman silenced him with a curt wave of his hand. "It is the only word that I will use." He turned back to the Queen. "Since you are said to rule supreme in this country, I must tell you that your war is lost. Unconditional surrender is your only option."
Victoria's mouth gaped even more widely; she had not been spoken to in this manner since she was a child.
"I cannot... will not," she finally gasped.
"By God—this has gone far enough!" the Duke raged, stepping forward and pulling at his sword. Before it was free of its scabbard, two soldiers had seized him and prisoned his arms.
"Outrageous..." Russell gasped, but Sherman ignored them both and turned back to the Queen.
"I will cease all military operations as soon as surrender is agreed. You will remember that you sent the white flag to me. So tell me now, is the killing to stop?"
All eyes in the room were now on the diminutive figure in the large chair. The color had drained from her face and she pressed a black handkerchief to her lips. Her eyes found Lord Russell and sought help. He drew himself up but did not speak. When she turned back to General Sherman, she found no compassion in his grim expression. In the end she simply nodded and dropped back in the chair.
"Good," Sherman said, then addressed himself to the Duke of Cambridge. "I will have the papers for surrender drawn up for you to sign in your capacity as commander of all the armed forces. The Prime Minister will sign as well. You will remain here until that is done." Once again he spoke to the Queen.
"It is my understanding that you have a residence on the Isle of Wight named Osborne House. I will see to it that you are taken there with your family and servants. The war is now over."
As he looked around at the luxury of Windsor Castle and the silent witnesses, Sherman could not hold back a sudden feeling of triumph.
They had done it. There would still be skirmishes, but with London taken and the Queen in protective custody, the war would undoubtedly be over.
Now all they had to do was win the peace.
BOOK THREE
DAWN OF A NEW AGE
A COUNTRY DIVIDED
It was a time for confusion, a time for control. The peoples of Great Britain were stunned into inaction by the sudden, earthshaking events, and they appeared to be unable to quite grasp the overwhelming tragedy that had befallen them. Superficially, after two days of uncertainty and near riots, life continued in what appeared to be a normal way. People must eat—so the farmers brought their produce to market. Shops and businesses reopened. The local constables, in a great part of the land, remained at their posts, symbols of law and order. Only in the larger cities was there disconcerting evidence that the world had indeed turned upside down. Blue-clad soldiers patrolled the streets, armed and ready for any exigency. They were there in all of the major train stations, billeted in the police barracks and in hotels, or in rows of neat bell tents in the city parks. At Aldershot and Woolwich, and other army camps, the regular troops were confined to barracks and disarmed, the volunteers and the yeomanry disbanded and sent home.
Cornwall and Plymouth were already occupied and more reinforcements were landed there. Trainloads of troops then went west and north and quietly took over Wales and the northern shires. Only Scotland remained undisturbed—although cut off from all communication with the south. The telegraph wires were down and the trains did not run. Scottish troops remained in their barracks for want of any instructions, while rumors were rife. The English newspapers did not arrive, while the Scottish ones, with access to valid information, had more wild speculation than news.
Martial law had been declared in the land and the national newspapers were the first victims. American officers were now sitting quietly in every editori
al office and reading each day's issues with great interest. There was no attempt at editorial censorship—the papers were allowed to print whatever they saw fit. However, if the Americans felt that editorial material was inaccurate, or might tempt the populace to riot, or in any way might affect the new peace, why then, the printed newspapers were simply not distributed. Within a few days the clear message sank home and a blandness and aura of harmony emanated from all their pages.
"You are sure that you are not going too far with this censorship, Gus?" General Sherman asked, slowly turning the pages of The Times. He had summoned Gustavus Fox to his office in Buckingham Palace. Fox smiled as he shook his head.
"When war walks in the door, truth flies out the window," Fox said. "You will remember that President Lincoln closed down the strident, dissenting Northern newspapers during the War Between the States. I think that we can be a little more sophisticated now. People will believe what they read in the newspapers. If the populace of Britain reads only about peace and prosperity—and sees no evidence for them to think differently—why then, there will be peace in the land. But rest assured, General, this is only a temporary measure. I am sure that you prefer to operate now in an aura of numbed peace rather than one of disorganization and unrest while your—what shall we call them?—pacification measures go into effect."
"True, very true," Sherman said, rubbing at his beard as he cudgeled his thoughts. Winning the peace was proving to be more difficult than winning the war had been. He had to rely more and more on civil servants and clerks—even politicians—to organize the peaceful occupation of the country. Thank God that martial law was still in place. He accepted advice, even asked for it, but when it came time for firm decisions, he was the final authority.
"Well—let us put the matter aside for the moment. I sent for you because I've had a delegation cooling their heels in a waiting room for most of the morning. I wanted you here when I let them in. I have had a communication from President Lincoln." He held up the letter. "He congratulates us on our victory, and expresses great pride in the armed forces. I'm having this read out to every soldier and sailor who contributed to that victory. Put it into the newspapers, too—if they will print it. He also includes a letter to the British people, and the papers will certainly print that. But first I would like you to read it to these politicos. See what they have to say about it."
"That will be my pleasure, General." Fox took the letter and went through it quickly. "Wonderful. This is just what everyone wants to hear."
"Good. We'll have them in."
The Prime Minister, Lord John Russell, led the delegation; Sherman remembered him from the encounter with the Queen. He introduced the others, mostly members of his cabinet. The only one to make a positive impression on Sherman was Benjamin Disraeli, the leader of the opposition in Parliament. His lean, spare figure was dressed in the most finely cut clothes; there were impressive rings upon his fingers.
"There are chairs for all," Sherman said. "Please be seated."
"General Sherman," Lord Russell said, "we are here as representatives of Her Majesty's government and, as such, have to present certain grievances..."
"Which I will hear in due course. But first I have here a communication from Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States. Which will be read to you by Mr. Fox, the Assistant Secretary of the Navy. Mr. Fox."
"Thank you." Fox looked at the angry faces before him, the puckered brows. Only Disraeli seemed at ease, intent.
"This is addressed to the people of Great Britain. As their elected representatives it is only right that you hear it first. Mr. Lincoln writes, 'To all of the peoples of the British Isles. A great war has now been brought to a conclusion. Years of strife between our countries are at an end. Peace has now been declared, and it is my heartfelt wish that it be a long and successful one. To this end I must assure you that we wish to be friends to you all.
" 'As I write this, I am told that a delegation is now being assembled here in Washington City and that they will very soon join you in London. Their task will be to meet with your leaders to see that the rule of democracy is restored to Britain as soon as it is possible. We extend this hand of friendship with the best of goodwill. It is our fond hope that you will seize it for the sake of our mutual prosperity.' It is signed Abraham Lincoln."
The British politicians were silent for a moment as they thought about the import of the statement. Only Disraeli understood it at once; he smiled slightly and pursed his lips over his steepled hands.
"Mr. Fox, General Sherman, might I ask a small question, a matter of clarification?" Sherman nodded. "Thank you. All present agree with your president, for we all favor democracy. In fact, we enjoy it now under the benevolent rule of Queen Victoria. Why is there no mention of the monarchy in this letter? Is this omission deliberate?"
"You will have to judge that for yourselves," Sherman said abruptly, not wanting to become involved in wrangling at this time. "You must discuss that with the delegation which will be arriving tomorrow."
"I protest!" Lord Russell said, filled with sudden anger. "You cannot trample over our way of life, our traditions..."
"Your protest is noted," Sherman said coldly.
"You preach democracy," Disraeli said calmly. "Yet you rule by force of arms. You occupy this palace, while the Queen is banished to the Isle of Wight. The doors of our parliament are locked. Is that democracy?"
"That is exigency," Fox said. "Might I remind Mr. Disraeli that it was his country that originally invaded ours. The war that you started has now ended. Our forces will not stay in this country one day longer than is needed. What Mr. Lincoln wrote seems very clear. With democracy established in Britain, we will welcome you as a partner in peace. I hope that you agree."
"We certainly do not—" Lord Russell said, but General Sherman interrupted him.
"That is enough for today. Thank you for coming."
There were spluttered complaints from the politicians, and only Disraeli reacted calmly. He bowed slightly toward Sherman, turned, and left. As soon as they were gone, Sherman's head of staff, Colonel Summers, brought in a stack of paperwork needing his urgent attention.
"Any of these important, Andy?" Sherman asked, gazing unhappily at the thick mound.
"All of them, General," Colonel Summers said. "But some are more important than others." He drew out a sheet of paper. "General Lee reports that all enemy activity has ceased in the Midlands. Morale is high—but food is running short, not only for his troops but for the freed Irish civilians as well."
"Have you dealt with that?"
"Yes, sir. Contacted the Quartermaster Corps as soon as his telegram came in. The train with relief supplies should be leaving London now."
"Well done. And this?" He held up the telegram that Summers had just handed him.
"It's from our border guards stationed outside of Carlisle. It appears that they stopped a train, really just an engine and a single car, coming south from Scotland. Occupants were a General McGregor, who says that he is commanding officer of army forces in Scotland. There was also a politician, name of Campbell, says he is chairman of the Highland Council. I contacted the editorial department of the The Times and they confirmed the identification."
"Get them here as soon as you can."
"I thought that would be what you wanted. I had them, and an honor guard, sent south on a special train which will be on its way by now."
"Well done. Any word from General Grant?"
"He reports the occupation of Southampton with no casualties. Had trouble with some of the fleet, but nothing to speak of. He should be arriving in London in about an hour."
"I'll want to see him as soon as he arrives. Anything else here of any importance?"
"Some orders to sign."
"Let's have them. The sooner that I am done with the paperwork, the better."
A CONSTITUTIONAL CONGRESS
John Stuart Mill looked ill at ease. He shuffled through the sheaf of papers on the ta
ble before him, then squared the pile and pushed them away. The room was large and ornate, the walls hung thickly with the portraits of long-dead English kings. Outside the tall windows stretched the immaculately manicured gardens of Buckingham Palace. At the far end of the conference table General Sherman signed the last of the orders in the folder, closed it, then glanced up at the clock on the wall.
"Well—I see that our guests are not as prompt as might be expected," he said. "But they will come, be assured of that." He spoke lightly, hoping to alleviate the philosopher's unease. Mill smiled wanly.
"Yes, of course, they must realize the importance of this meeting."
"If they don't—I count upon you to enlighten them."
"I shall do my best, General, but you must realize that I am no man of action. I am more at home in my study than on the debating floor."
"You underestimate your abilities, Mr. Mill. In Dublin you had the politicians eating out of your hand. When you spoke they were silent, intent on partaking of your wisdom. You will be fine."
"Ah, yes—but that was Dublin." Mill sounded distressed, and there was a fine beading of perspiration on his brow. "In Ireland I was telling them what they had spent their lifetimes waiting to hear. I showed them just how they could finally rule in their own land. They could not but be attentive." Now Mill frowned unhappily at more recent memories. "However, my countrymen have taken great umbrage at my presence in Dublin. The Times went so far as to call me a traitor to my country and to my class. The other newspapers were—how shall I say it?—more than indignant, actually calling down curses upon my head..."
"My dear Mr. Mill," Sherman said calmly. "Newspapers exist to sell copies, not to dispense the truth—or to see both sides of an argument. Some years ago, before I resumed my interrupted military career, I was, for a short while, a banker in California. When my bank fell upon hard times, there were calls to tar and feather me—or, preferably, burn me at the stake. Pay the papers no heed, sir. Their miasmic vaporings rise from the pit and will be dispersed by the clear winds of truth."
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