Nathan was, There was more than a little irony in the fact that while Scott had been offered command of the rebels, Robert E, Lee had been offered command of the Union forces by Scott,

As for Scott's plan to defeat the South, it called for a blockade of the South and a slow strangulation of her military and economic resources. It was realistic and well thought out. Unfortunately, the nation would have none of it. They wanted immediate victory; two or three years was far too long to wait.

Scott's plan had been derided as overlong and pessimistic. Someone had dubbed it the Anaconda Plan, and the name had stuck. The plan had been tossed away and the Union forces had jubilantly attacked the Confederates at Bull Run, confident in an easy victory that would end the war in one day.

It had not worked out that way. The Union had endured a smashing defeat, and now the South was being blockaded, and the Union armies in the west were forming for slow advances. By default, the Anaconda Plan was being put into slow, grinding action.

“You were right, of course, sir.”

Scott took a swallow of his whiskey. “Sometimes I wish I was wrong. But it does prove that there is nothing wrong with my mind. No, I do not want to command again-that would be folly. I am not senile, or demented, but I am old and do lack the energy of a younger man, and, when I get tired, I get forgetful. No, I do not wish to command. I only wish that Cameron had permitted me a more graceful exit.”

“What then?”

“I wish to advise.”

“McClellan?”

“Hardly. I doubt the Young Napoleon would take advice from God, although he might presume to give it to the deity.”

Nathan thought the indictment was a little harsh. McClellan certainly had an enormous ego, but he was still a reasonable man. Or at least the man Nathan had met prior to the war had been a reasonable man.

“Then who, General?”

“Lincoln. The president is the commander in chief. He must act like it. He must grow into the position, and he must do so quickly. He must not be dominated by minds like McClellan's.”

Nathan understood Scott's dilemma. He could not openly try to advise his president lest it look like he was undercutting the responsibilities of the new commanding general, George Brinton McClellan. Therefore, Scott wished Nathan to act as a conduit between himself and the president.

“I see why you weren't very upset that I hadn't taken a commission,” Nathan said. “As a civilian, I can move around freely and am not subject to any military officer's orders.” Scott smiled. “Precisely.”

Nathan poured himself another inch of whiskey, and then added the same quantity to Scott's outstretched glass. Despite his lack of confidence in Lincoln, he found himself intrigued. Then he hated himself for realizing that Scott had planned that he would be intrigued. Damn him.

“Just how do you intend for me to start? I don't know Mr. Lincoln, or anyone else in the current administration.”

Scott dismissed that problem. “On Friday, two days from now, there will be a reception, a salon, held by the French embassy. There haven't been many such parties recently, which means that it will be well attended. Lincoln will not go, as his wife gets lost and confused at such activities. This means that several other key people will not attend because they consider it politically expedient to not do so. There will, however, still be a great number of very important people in attendance, and I wish you to be there as the first step in my scheme. I have arranged for you to be invited to the reception, and I have a short list of people I wish you to contact. In particular, I wish you to meet a Mr. John Hay.”

“Don't know him,” Nathan said. He was beginning to feel tired and he yawned hugely. The whiskey on an empty stomach was starting to win.

Scott ignored it. “John Hay is a very young man, only in his early twenties. He is handsome, bright, diligent, and hardworking. He is also one of Mr. Lincoln's personal secretaries, an assistant to Mr. Nicolai. I wish you to give Mr. Hay a note from me to Mr. Lincoln. If you assure him that discretion is paramount, he will understand.”

“That's it?”

“Then we wait and see what transpires. It may be days or even weeks before Mr. Lincoln responds, although I hope not much longer. In the meantime, you may reside here along with me. There's plenty of room for us and we won't get in each other's way. The house was rented on my behalf by a wealthy friend who paid a price well in excess of its worth.”

“Is the renter anyone I know?”

“You.”

“Damn, sir,” Nathan said and then exploded in laughter.

Almost since the first guns had been fired at Fort Sumter, British shipbuilders had conspired with the Confederacy in a great deception against the Union. Specifically, British shipyards contracted to build blockade-runners and commerce raiders for the South. The subterfuge was simple. A foreign company, French or Dutch for instance, would have the ship built as a merchant vessel in a British yard, and sailed out under its national flag and with an appropriate non-Confederate crew. When it reached a neutral destination, the crew was exchanged for a Southern one, the ship was armed, and sent on its way.

Through spies that roamed the waterfronts of England, France, and the other seafaring nations, the Union was aware of the duplicity. The Union's ambassador to Great Britain, Charles Francis Adams, had complained mightily to Her Majesty's government, but to no avail. It served Great Britain to permit the Confederacy to act in such a manner and to pretend it wasn^’t happening. The actions were condoned to the extent that British warships often accompanied the counterfeit merchant ships out to the open sea to ensure that Union warships did not attempt to stop them.

On this day. the unarmed and brand-new “merchant” ship Henrietta was making her maiden run from Liverpool. It was common knowledge that the sleek and swift ship had been built for blockade-running and not for sailing stolidly into a safe harbor with a hull full of bulk goods. At a given place and time, the Henrietta would be renamed and transformed into a Confederate blockade-runner.

On this day, the disguised rebel was escorted out of Liverpool by the Royal Navy's steam frigate Gorgon, as just over the horizon lay the U.S. sailing frigate St. Lawrence. The Gorgon's duty was to ensure that the coyly named Henrietta safely cleared British waters and was sent on her way unimpaired. If she was captured later, well, that would be someone's bad luck. She would not, however, be stopped by an American while in anything approximating British waters.

The Gorgon mounted seventy-four guns to the St. Lawrence's fifty, and the qualitative difference was even greater than the numeric as the Gorgon's weapons were newer and larger. Further, the British ship's ability to use steam instead of depending on sail and the whims of wind made her an adversary with overwhelming advantages.

As the Confederate in disguise and the British warship headed out of harbor, a number of other, smaller craft followed. Their passengers and crew were in search of excitement.

In a short while, the U.S. ship hove into view. The Gorgon interposed herself between the Henrietta and the St. Lawrence and, almost contemptuously, signaled that the smaller American ship must depart the area. The American declined.

On board the Gorgon. Captain David Hawkes fumed at the insolence of America in general and this American ship in particular. There had been no response from the Yank, and Hawkes considered his options. He hadn't received official word that Great Britain was at war with the United States, although it was common knowledge that such notice would be forthcoming. England was not going to sit still while her helpless ships were sunk. For all Hawkes knew, news of the war was waiting for him at the dock back at Portsmouth.