From midway up the rigging of the Warrior, Admiral Chads watched as thousands of people streamed inland and away from the pounding of the British guns. It was Boston all over again. Chads was not a butcher. He was not going to fire on civilians. They were safe from him, but many of the fires appeared out of control, and those that weren't soon would be. No fire department could hope to deal with the conflagration that was developing. For their sake, Chads hoped no one would even try.

The raid was a complete success, but there was one frustrating bit of news. No one had seen the Monitor or any of her unfinished sisters. British intelligence was incomplete as to precisely where they were, and the cities of Brooklyn and New York were too large to give the casual observer a clue. The Union ironclads were small vessels that could be hidden almost anywhere, especially since they were under construction in private shipyards.

The British were confident that the Monitor was the only ironclad currently available to the Americans, and just as confident that she would not challenge the Warrior and the rest of the Royal Navy with only two guns. No ship was truly impregnable, and it was presumed that a continuous pounding by British vessels would wear the Union ironclad down and sink the hellish thing to the bottom of the harbor. Chads thought that was a marvelous idea.

Chads looked skyward at the sun. It was already after noon. All about him fires raged on the shore, and drifting, burning ships littered the once-clear waters of the harbor. He had won an immense victory. He had lost no ships and any damage sustained was minimal. With no targets of any consequence remaining, he signalled the recall and the Royal Navy began its stately parade out of New York.

Knollys and Wolsey watched and, along with the other soldiers, cheered themselves hoarse as the mighty British warships departed. Swarms of infantry were busy destroying American guns and stores, but they, too, paused and waved their arms at the passing ships.

Wolsey grinned. “I suppose I should be more concerned about discipline, but, dammit, it's a good feeling. Damn the Americans. Damn them for challenging England.”

Knollys laughed. “Indeed, sir. When should we depart?”

“I have a thought,” Wolsey said with an impish smile. “Why don't we plant a colony right here and start all over again?”

A couple of soldiers working nearby heard him and stared in surprise. They thought he was serious.

“Don't worry,” he chided them and they smiled sheepishly. “I shan't leave you here with the savages.” He turned to his senior officers, who had gathered near him. “Once the Americans realize our ships are leaving, they shall move towards here and we shall let them. It's time to depart. We shall march immediately towards the shore, only this time we don't have as far to go or any need for stealth.”

Again, the soldiers began to cheer and, once again, Knollys raised his voice with them.

President Abraham Lincoln lowered his head. He was saddened to the point of despondency. Stanton and Seward were concerned that he might fall into one of those distressing emotional funks during which he was unable to function.

“Mr. Lincoln, it is not as bad as it seems,” said Stanton, his secretary of war and the man on whom most of the blame for the disaster at New York had fallen.

Lincoln looked up and managed a wan smile. “It isn't? Then might it be worse?”

Both men exhaled. The president would be all right. Reports said that New York Harbor was littered with sunken and burned hulks, while the waterfront and almost the lower third of the city had been burned to the ground. Loss of property was almost incalculable, and the financial district had been ruined.

Tens of thousands of civilians were homeless, and it was only the fact that the weather was warm that kept people from dying by the hundreds from exposure and compounding the tragedy. More than eight hundred thousand people lived on Manhattan Island, with an additional quarter of a million across the river in Brooklyn. Martial law had been declared by New York's Governor Edwin Morgan, an act that seemed to have prevented utter chaos and kept down the death toll.

The totality of the disaster had been brought home by many dramatic and emotional sketches that had appeared in the newspapers, but it was the photographs by Mathew Brady, Timothy O^:Sullivan. and Alexander Gardner that were the most disturbing. They showed the stark truth, and it was horrific. The city had been devastated.

“The fires that have ravaged New York are out, and the people are beginning to trickle back in,” Stanton continued. “The army is setting up tent cities in Central Park and elsewhere for those who have lost their homes. Army engineers will commence rebuilding the city on a more permanent basis in a short while.”

Lincoln nodded. “And who is in charge of this? Surely it can't be General Banks.”

Nathaniel Stanton winced. Banks had been the general in command of the harbor defenses of New York and Boston, as well as a number of other cities. He had been forced upon a reluctant Lincoln because of his political connections-among other things, he had been the governor of Massachusetts-and had proven himself totally incompetent. While the destruction of Boston was somewhat attributable to Britain's surprise attack in overwhelming strength, the unpreparedness at New York following the Boston disaster was unconscionable.

“General Banks has resigned and has returned to Boston,” Stanton said. “And good riddance. With your permission, I have given command of all coastal defenses to General Pope.”

“Very good,” said Lincoln.

“Indeed it is,” seconded Seward, who didn't like being left out of any conversation. “Now if we can only get rid of others, like McClernand and Butler.”

Stanton fixed him with an icy glare. He did not like his army's shortcomings being discussed so breezily. “They will not interfere with the war effort.”

“But what of our ironclads?” Lincoln asked, bringing control of the conversation back to himself.

As if on cue, Secretary of the Navy Welles entered the room. “I have the pleasure to inform you that Captain Farragut has informed me that they are unharmed. It seems that the British admiral wasn't certain exactly where they were, or perhaps he didn't consider them a worthy target. Regardless, there was some damage to the facilities where they were being constructed, but, as they were on the Brooklyn side, it was minimal. There is nothing that couldn't be repaired in short order. That is being done.”

“Very good,” said Lincoln, obviously pleased. “And what of the Monitor herself?”

“We were fortunate there as well,” Welles said. “She had steam up at the time of the attack and, seeing herself overwhelmingly outnumbered and outgunned, prudently took herself up the East River and out of sight of the British. She will join with the others at the head of an ironclad fleet in a very little while.”

Lincoln smiled. An ironclad fleet. What a wonderful surprise that would be for the British. Of course, to complete it they had to get the recently launched New Ironsides from Philadelphia to wherever the fleet was going to be assembled.

Secretary of State Seward cleared his throat in an obvious attempt to gain attention. “Mr. Lincoln, sir.”

“Yes_: William,” said Lincoln. “What is it?”

“The French, sir. What shall we do about them?”

“What are they doing now?” Lincoln asked with some exasperation. The French seemed to be always conniving at something. In punishment for nonpayment of debts owed by the Mexican government. British, French, and Spanish troops had briefly occupied Mexico City. The British and Spanish had quickly withdrawn, but the French had remained.

“Mr. President, we believe the French troops will be reinforced and that a relative of the Austrian emperor, someone named Maximilian, will be ordained emperor of Mexico and will have his power enforced by French soldiers. This would result in Mexico being a vassal state of France and that, of course, is a clear violation of the Monroe Doctrine.”