“Do you really think that will happen?”
Palmerston chuckled. “No, I do not. I expect that Mr. Lincoln and his government will be paralyzed and indecisive, thus letting the window of opportunity close. By the way, General Campbell will report to the overall commander, Lord Cardigan.”
Russell winced. “Is that wise?”
Cardigan had been a controversial figure in the Crimean War and was held at least partly to blame for the failure of the Light Brigade's attack on Russian positions. He was unpopular with his fellow officers, querulous, stubborn, and argumentative.
“At the moment, he is the best choice available. As in previous conflicts with the United States, several general officers have declined to participate. We will control Cardigan, which brings up another point. We need the Atlantic cable.”
Two attempts had been made to connect North America with Europe by means of a telegraph cable. The first had failed utterly, but the second attempt had been a partial success. Signals had been transmitted back and forth for several weeks until they became weak, distorted, and finally ceased.
“It now takes ten days for a message to cross the ocean in a fast ship,” Palmerston said. “Presuming, of course, that a fast ship is available and that neither bad weather nor mechanical problems develop. That is intolerable. We can communicate with virtually every major city by telegraph except those in the Americas. The good ship Agamemnon was our half of the cable-laying enterprise, and I have directed her to seek out and repair the damage. She is at sea as we speak.”
“Excellent,” said Russell. “Although not having swift communications with Washington served us well in the past weeks. Think of what might have occurred had Ambassador Adams been able to contact Lincoln with the news of our taking of the St. Lawrence. Lincoln might have called it a quid pro quo and pushed harder for a peace that we might have had to accept. God knows Adams did.”
Ambassador Adams had virtually gotten on his knees in front of Palmerston to make the case that, since each nation had lost a ship, honor had been satisfied. This viewpoint had been iterated in Parliament by Palmerston’s opponents and by opposition newspapers. The attack by the Gorgon on the smaller American ship had managed to dampen some people's enthusiasm for the war, although others thought it was a grand start to an ultimate victory.
“You are correct, of course,” Palmerston said, “but now we need communications. Along with the declaration of war, I have sent Ambassador Lyons in Washington notification that he is to proceed to Richmond and be our representative there.”
Russell arched an eyebrow at the terminology. “But not ambassador?”
To call Lyons an ambassador would mean that Great Britain had officially recognized the existence of the Confederacy as a sovereign nation. This was what the Confederacy desperately wanted. However, after almost a year into its existence, no major nation had officially recognized it.
“We are not quite ready to recognize the Confederacy as a sovereign state. I have had several notes from our beloved Queen Victoria, who, despite her anguish over Prince Albert's most recent death, has managed to make her views known on the issue. Although she dislikes the Union for its arrogance, rudeness, and crass commercialism, she considers a formal alliance between ourselves and a nation that condones slavery to be most repugnant. She said she would do all in her considerable powers to stop such an alliance and I am afraid she would succeed. The queen may only reign and not rule, but she is beloved and has enormous moral influence. No, there shall be no recognition and no alliance at this time.”
“So what are you planning?” Russell asked. He was confident that Palmerston had something planned. Palmerston always planned.
“Historically, Great Britain has preferred to fight on the oceans while other nations did the bulk of the fighting on the land. We are a seafaring people, not a land power. Let others fight land battles. The armies of the Confederacy fill the bill. They will fight on the land while we sweep the oceans.”
“But we will not be allies?”
“Associates,” Palmerston amended. “The fact that we have a common enemy does not necessarily require that we be allies any more than that relatives also be friends. We will be associates in name and allies in fact. I have sent a message on to Richmond for Lord Lyons in which this is outlined. It also contains stipulations regarding the future of slavery as it may impact on any formal treaty and any specific future aid that we might give the Confederacy.”
Russell thought the whole idea to be an excellent one. Still, he saw several potential problems. For one thing, the Confederacy had been victorious in its battles with the larger and potentially stronger Union, proving that the Union armies were inept and poorly led. But how long would that last? If the larger Union forces found leaders, then the smaller Confederate army might start to bleed away.
And then there was the question of the British people's support for a war that supported slavery and did not threaten national security. How long would that support last?
And finally, there was the question of the enthusiasm of Lord Richard Lyons. Ambassador Lyons was a shy, retiring, and almost scholarly bachelor who abhorred violence and seemed to be quite fond of the United States. How effective would he be as the representative of Her Majesty to the enemies of the United States? Russell sincerely hoped that Lord Palmerston knew what he was doing.
Abraham Lincoln came at night with John Hay. The only others with him were the carriage driver and another man, a bodyguard.
The first thing that impressed Nathan about Lincoln was his height. He was even taller than General Scott, who towered over most people. Between the two men, Nathan felt positively diminutive. At least Hay was shorter than he and seemed to enjoy Nathan's brief discomfiture.
Where Scott was enormously bulky, Lincoln was as lanky and lean as the pictures the nation had seen. Like Scott, he truly was a living caricature of himself. What was surprising was Lincoln's face and his hands. His deeply lined face was that of a man a decade older than a man not yet fifty-three years of age. Although his sad eyes were rimmed with wrinkles, his mouth curled in a friendly smile.
Lincoln's hands were large and his fingers extremely long. His hands looked almost delicate, and it was difficult to relate them to the fact that Lincoln had been a wrestler and a farm worker in his youth. The hands were those of an artist or a pianist.
“Let me guess,” Lincoln said, speaking first to General Scott, “you have returned to Washington because you are concerned about the direction the country is taking and that there might be war with Great Britain.”
“Indeed, sir, although I have no doubts about war with England. It will happen.”
Lincoln accepted coffee from a very confused and nervous Bridget Conlin, Scott's housekeeper. She curtsied and left abruptly.
“I hold out every hope that Ambassador Adams will see to it that cooler heads prevail. I have also heard it from Ambassador Lyons that England does not want war.”
“But Palmerston does,” Scott said tersely. “I've studied his speeches and his writings, and I've spoken to those who know him. He sees this as an opportunity to advance British causes while hampering ours. We will have war.”
Lincoln blinked. The blunt statement had surprised him. “Let us presume that you are correct. What do you propose?”
“I wish to counsel you. I love this country and do not wish to see her dismembered. Remember, everything I said about the duration of the war and what would be necessary to win it is coming true. What had been disparaged as an Anaconda Plan is now reality.”