Britannia's Fist: From Civil War to World War: An Alternate History (19 page)

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.

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

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.”

Adams rolled his eyes.

“Well, to business, Captain,” Dudley said as he put down his cup. “My agents report round-the-clock work on the
North Carolina
. The work crews are happy for the extra pay and the fat bonus promised by Laird. Bulloch himself haunts the ship as if his presence will speed its completion. He’s scared that the ambassador has put so much pressure on the British government that even his friends in high places will not be able to save him. Their only chance to escape is to try the same ploy as they did with the
Alabama
and pretend that they are going out only for a trial run. I would not believe that would work twice if I did not know how blindness suddenly afflicts British officials where the rebels are concerned.

“He is also very afraid of you, Captain. My agents tell me his men have been asking about you everywhere.”

“Well, Mr. Dudley, I am sent here to provoke just that reaction from him.”

“But, Captain,” Dudley barely stopped himself from calling Lamson a young man, “fear must be carefully applied to be useful. Too much fear will make him become too watchful and circumspect. Too little fear and he may just become careless enough to make mistakes.”

“That is just what I intend to do, sir, calm the man enough so that he takes an eye off the weather gauge. Our forty-eight hours in port are just about up; I have notified the Custom House that we shall be departing on the afternoon tide. Our pilot shall be here shortly. I shall wait beyond the three-mile limit. But I shall have only a small chance to catch him unless I receive word from you of his departure. Can you do that?”

“Yes, I will have a dispatch boat ready to receive a signal the moment
North Carolina
leaves Albert Dock.”
¹⁷

Russell was reading Layard’s account of his discussion with Solicitor General Roundell Palmer of the day before. Palmer had suggested that the Liverpool Custom House detain the ships temporarily while proof was gathered of their ultimate destination. Russell immediately telegraphed Layard, “I quite agree in the course suggested by Roundell Palmer. I have made up my mind that the vessels ought to be stopped in order to test the law and prevent a great scandal.” He then ordered Layard to write to the Treasury to advise that the vessels be prevented from leaving the port of Liverpool till satisfactory evidence had been given of their destination. Layard waited until late that afternoon to write to the Treasury, ensuring that the letter would not be delivered until the following day.

Before he did that, he had slipped away for a few moments. As he returned to write the letter, an anonymous party was sending a telegram to Bulloch. It read: “Flee! There is no more time.”

To Lamson’s distress,
Liverpool
had followed
Gettysburg
out of port the day before and had pointedly followed her as she attempted to prowl across the Mersey’s mouth. The Royal Navy did not appreciate such an overtly predatory statement so close to the lion’s den and was making that known.

“Mr. Porter, set a course for Dublin. We have to put distance between us to make him think we’ve departed these waters. Dudley has
not notified us of
North Carolina’s
escape. If they have not left now, they can hardly leave at night if they are to maintain the pretense of sea trials. We shall return in the morning to catch her if she comes out.”
¹⁸

Bulloch felt the power of the engines through the deck as
North Carolina
followed the tug out through the river’s fast-running current into the Irish Sea. The tug was the normal accompaniment for a trial run in case the ship had to be helped back into the harbor. His bags were stored in the captain’s cabin. It had not been hard to conclude that should he succeed in slipping the ram out of British waters, he would surely have outworn his welcome in that country. He was not thinking of that now. They would soon cross out of British territorial waters and be beyond the reach of British law. There was not a hint of alarm, no fast harbor craft speeding after to overtake him. It was a normal morning tide on the swift Mersey.