“Tell us,” the captain said.
“Explosion in the main boiler, sir. Two men killed.”
“How long will it take to repair?”
“First engineer said a day at least. It’s the feed pipes…”
“Dismissed,” Captain Johns said. All eyes were now on Admiral Farragut. He looked once at the map, then turned back to the officers.
“Nothing can be changed. The invasion must go ahead as planned. Dictator will remain here in port until she has made repairs. I am shifting my flag to Virginia. We will now revise the order of battle to allow for Dictator’s absence in the opening phases of the invasion.”
The officers were unusually quiet when they turned to their papers. The invasion would go ahead — but their earlier enthusiasm had been replaced by dogged determination. Seamen are a superstitious lot. None of them liked this grim omen so early in the operation.
In the Cabinet Room, in the White House, the meeting was getting very scrappy, with almost every member insisting that his concerns were more in need of attention than any of the others. Salmon P. Chase, the Secretary of the Treasury, knew that his problems took precedence. He seldom raised his voice, depending instead upon the force of his arguments to convince others of his wisdom. Today he almost lost his temper.
“Gentlemen — I insist that you cease this wrangling and face facts. You, Mr. Stanton, will have none of the new guns you say that the army needs, without the funds to purchase them. Before all else we must discuss the necessary taxes to pay for this war.”
“I beg to differ,” Judah P. Benjamin said in his rich Louisiana drawl. “Matters of war and taxation in this country must be put aside while we consider if we have a united country or not. You must face the fact that these nightriders are enemies of the Union, enemies of the Freedmen’s Bureau, enemies of the fragile peace now existing between the North and South. I have tragic news to convey to you and was but waiting for Mr. Lincoln to arrive to unburden myself upon you. Mr. President,” he said, standing and nodding towards the head of the table as Lincoln entered and settled himself in his chair. The other voices died away as Benjamin sat down as well and began to speak.
“Despite our efforts to consolidate the peace in the South there are still immense difficulties. In spite of our payments for freed slaves, despite the founding of mills, steelworks, even gunmakers, there is still an element that will not accept the new South. They harass freed slaves, threaten, even burn, Freedmen’s Bureaus, are even against the education of Negroes. There have been lynchings and burnings — and now this.” Benjamin held up a folded piece of paper.
“I received this telegram when I was on my way here. I am stunned by it — even horrified — and I don’t know where it will end. It seems that the Negroes have started to fight back against the nightriders — and who can blame them. But the results are terrible, tragic beyond measure.” His voice died to a whisper, his fists clenched, crushing the message that he held. He shook his head, then took himself in hand. Sitting up straight in the chair he looked around at the assembled cabinet.
“A nightrider was killed in Jackson, Mississippi. A man known to all of us. The former President of the Confederacy — Jefferson Davis.”
Stunned silence followed this dreadful news. Lincoln slowly shook his head in despair, then spoke in a voice as weary as death. “He was a great statesman who made the end of our civil war possible. And he tried to warn me…”
Edward Bates, the Attorney General, ever a practical man said, “Mr. President you must declare an emergency in Mississippi — and martial law. Before tempers flare and the killing spreads.”
Lincoln nodded. “Yes, of course we must do that. Have the governor informed at once. Find out what troops we have stationed there and telegraph their commander at once. What a terrible thing to have happen. But you said — that it was a nightrider that was killed?”
Judah Benjamin nodded, and spoke most sadly. “Mr. Davis was with the nightriders. Perhaps he felt that by being part of the protests he could mollify the hotheads, provide rational argument. I don’t know…”
Salmon Chase knew. He had talked often with Jefferson Davis and knew that at heart the man felt that the Negro was inferior and would always be that way. He stayed his voice. Davis now had the dignity of the dead. And had paid the ultimate price for his bigotry. Dissension was not needed now. Old wounds needed to be bound up — not clawed open. “Do they know who did the shooting?” he asked.
Benjamin looked again at the telegram. “It was a young man, a war veteran, by the name L.D. Lewis.” He looked up and sighed deeply. “He is now under arrest, and… he is a Negro.”
“What was his outfit?” asked Edwin M. Stanton, the Secretary of War.
“It does not say.”
“Please make every effort to find out. He is a veteran, a soldier, and of great concern to the War Department.”
They were all in agreement about declaring martial law to prevent the violence spreading. Stanton drew up the order and it was dispatched. There was little fire left in their proposals now and they talked together in low voices, trying to find ways to keep the peace. Only Gideon Welles, the Secretary of the Navy, had other business to attend to. He kept glancing at the ornate clock on the wall, even taking out his watch to determine its accuracy. He finally nodded, put away the watch and stood up.
“Gentlemen — might I have your attention. Some of you here know what I am going to tell you now. To the others I must apologize for keeping you in the dark. But the way to keep a secret is not to tell anyone. But we felt that we had to do as good as the British — do them one better if we could. You will recall how they landed and seized a Mexican seaport when we thought that they were on the way to the West Indies. Most embarrassing for us, as you all know. But that is no longer the case. At this moment I can tell you that our mighty fleet is striking close to the heart of the British Empire. The fleet that the entire world believed was on its way to the Pacific coast of Mexico — did not go there at all. It was a ruse, a hoax, an immense attempt to make the enemy expect us in one place — when in reality we were striking at another. We are not going to fight them any more in Mexico because they will soon be forced to withdraw all the troops that they have there.” He smiled around at the puzzled expressions, the few nods of agreement of those cabinet members who had knowledge of the real invasion.
“The warships and the troop transports that sailed south some days ago — did no such thing. Once out of sight of land they changed course and proceeded to a rendezvous in the North Atlantic. Re
fueled and united they sailed to what most certainly will be a victory.”
Welles looked around at the puzzled faces and could not stifle a wry grin.
“For even as I speak our forces are invading the island of Ireland. The first landings were made at six this morning, Greenwich Mean Time. It is now five in the afternoon in Ireland. The invasion is well under way and, with God’s help, can but succeed. Can you imagine the expression on Queen Victoria’s face when someone tells her this bit of news!”
“May that moment be long in coming,” Abraham Lincoln said. “All of our efforts up to now have been bent on keeping that royal lady — and her armed forces — in the dark. If everything goes according to plan Ireland will be secured well before news of the conquest reaches England. When they do discover what has happened it will be too late to do anything about it. Short of mounting a counter-invasion, they will have little to choose from.”
“May you be speaking the truth, Mr. President,” Judah P. Benjamin said. “May the plans of our officers be successful, may this effort of arms succeed in every way. May victory be ours.”