“Damnation,” Grant said as he chomped down on his dead cigar. “Ain’t no place to go from here.”
That was true enough. Below him was the road, the dirt track through the jungle over the possession of which the two armies now clashed. Although the slope below him was clear of any living enemy — the same could not be said of the far side of the road. Dug-in defenders and cannon were raking his position. Wh
ile down the road, in both directions, galloping horses were approaching, hauling cannon forward. Nor could the Americans move left or right down the defensive line because of the well dug-in positions that were there, adding their shells to the withering fire on the attackers who barely held the ridge.
Grant spat the cigar out, stood up despite the increasing hail of lead.
“We are not going to hold here very long. As soon as those guns get into position they can wipe us out at first go. If we stay here it is as good as suicide. And there ain’t any other place to go — except back.” He turned to his adjutant. “Get the Mississippians out first, they got bloodied well enough for one day. When they are clear sound retreat and get the rest of these men back down this hill just as fast as they can run.”
He did not leave until the first men had reached the safety of the jungle. Only then, reluctantly, did he join in the fighting retreat.
Well, they had had their noses bloodied this day. But he had looked into the enemy’s works and faced their troops. All men of color — but real warriors. And he had broken the British line once — and what they had done once they could do again if they had to. Make a real breach next time, then widen it and cut the road in two. He would talk to the engineers. Perhaps there was the possibility of tunneling under the defenses to plant a mine. Put in a big enough one and it might be able to sever the road and its defenses in one go. If he could do that, and hold it, he could very well put the coming invasion of enemy troops down this road in jeopardy.
But it was going to be a mighty hard thing to do.
THE MEXICAN FILE
Gustavus Fox was seated in the anteroom of Room 313, a half an hour before noon, the time when the meeting was due to begin. He had already checked off two names on his list of those who would be present. General Sherman and General Lee, who had requested that this meeting take place. They had been waiting for him when he arrived at eight that morning to unlock the door. Lee had been carrying a battered leather saddlebag which he never let go of. Fox did not ask about its contents — he would know soon enough. But his curiosity was so great that he could not keep his eyes off it. Lee had seen this and smiled.
“Soon, Gus, soon. You must be patient.”
He did try to be patient, but still he could not keep his eyes off the clock. At a quarter to twelve there was a quick rap on the door and he crossed over to unlock it. The two guards outside were standing at attention; he straightened up himself when the tall and lanky form of the President walked in. He waited until the door had been relocked before Lincoln spoke.
“We finally get to look inside — as the boy said when he opened his Christmas present.”
“I certainly hope so, sir. Generals Sherman and Lee have been here all morning. And General Lee was carrying a mighty full saddlebag.”
“Well he will have all of our attention I assure you. How is our other invasion going?”
“Very well indeed. All of our coaling provisions are in place. And I have reports from agents in England that not only have our preparations been observed, but plans for counter-measures are already in progress. Whoever is spying for the enemy here was very quick off the mark. Whatever agent they have in this country is very efficient. I would dearly love to find out who he is.”
“But not at the present time.”
“Indeed not! Whoever he — or she — is, why they are working for me right now.”
“And the British are paying him. A remarkable arrangement. Ah, there you are Seward,” he said as the Secretary of State entered.
The members of the small circle arrived one by one. Welles and Stanton arrived together, completing their number.
“Shall we go in?” Lincoln asked, pointing to the locked inner door.
“In a moment, gentlemen,” he said as there was a rap on the outer door. Lincoln’s eyebrows rose in unspoken query.
“Our numbers have increased by one since last we met,” Fox said as he unlocked the door.
An erect, gray-haired man in naval uniform came in. Fox locked the door, turned and spoke. “Gentlemen, this is Admiral Farragut who has already been aiding us. Shall we go inside? If you please, gentleman,” Fox said as he unlocked the door to the inner room. Went in after them and locked it behind him.
Sherman and Lee were sitting at the conference table, the saddlebag on the table between them. When they were all seated Lee opened the bag and took out a thick sheaf of papers that he passed to Sherman. Who touched them lightly with his fingertips, looked at the others present with a cold and distant look in his transparent eyes.
“I see you all have met Admiral Farragut, who has been of singularly great assistance to us in our planning,” Sherman said. “His naval wisdom was vital in drawing up what we have been referring to as the Mexican File. So if, by any chance, the name of the operation is overheard, the assumption will be that it refers to our Pacific Ocean operations. The Mexican File comes in two parts.” He separated out the top sheaf held by a red ribbon.
“These orders conform to the proposed attacks that the British now know about. We wish to confer with the Secretary of the Navy after this meeting, in order to transform general fleet movements into specific sailing orders. This operation will begin when a group of warcraft, containing four of our new ironclads, proceeds south as far as Recife in Brazil. They will coal there, then leave port and sail in a southerly direction. The ship’s officers have orders to refuel again at the port of Rawson in Argentina. The Argentines have been informed of their arrival. They will also have orders commanding them to proceed to Salina Cruz, Mexico, to engage any British men-of-war that may be stationed there.” He opened the file and smoothed the pages out.
“The next movements will occur two weeks after the ironclads leave. At this time the fleet of troop-carrying transports will be assembled. They will leave various east-coast ports, to rendezvous off Jacksonville, Florida. They will be joined there by more ironclads. At noon on the first day of September they will all form up and sail south.
“That same night, at nine in the evening, they will all open their sealed orders — that will put them on a new course.” He nodded at Fox who stood and went to the map cabinet, unlocked and opened it. Fixed to the open door was a chart of the Atlantic Ocean. Facing it in the cabinet was the map of Ireland. Sherman walked across the room, every eye on him, and touched a spot in the Atlantic west of the Iberian Peninsula.
“This is their destination. I doubt if you can see this group of islands from where you are sitting, but I assure you that they are there. They are the Azores. On the most northern of these islands, Graciosa, there is a coaling port at Santa Cruz de Graciosa. Ships from Portugal and Spain refuel there on the way to South America. This will be the new rendezvous of the invasion fleet. Arriving on the same day will be the ironclads that the world believes were headed for Cape Horn. Once out of sight of land their sealed orders will also have directed them to this same coaling port. Admiral Farragut, will you elucidate.” He sat down as the admiral crossed to the map and ran his finger around the Azores.