“They are indeed,” Rossa said, nodding agreement. “How fondly I remember those halcyon days when President Lincoln attended my inauguration. What hope was in the air! We had just suffered the agonies of war, but none of us regretted the sacrifice. Ireland was free, free after all those centuries of oppression. You could taste the freedom in the air, hear it in the sound of the church bells. We were at last a single country, from Belfast in the north to Cork in the south. United and free to shape our own destiny.”

Rossa looked around at the listening cabinet members, his eyes deep-set and smeared dark with despair.

“How quickly it was all to end. Instead of rebuilding and reuniting Ireland, we are being forced once more to defend her. Our fishermen see their boats burned. Our seaside towns and cities are attacked and pillaged. While Irish men and women — and children! — are seized from their homes in England and imprisoned in the vileness of the concentration camps. What can be done? What can be done?”

“President Rossa — we have been asking ourselves the same question,” Seward said. “I feel that my department of state is failing the American people. Despite our efforts at finding a peaceful conclusion, our cotton ships are still being seized at sea.”

“Perhaps there is only one answer,” Rossa said in a voice laden with despair. “Perhaps there is indeed no peaceful solution. Perhaps we must do again the terrible and the threatening. I see no other possible conclusion, given the facts as we know them.” He drew himself up and looked around at the assembled cabinet.

“Perhaps we must do as we did — as you did — before. Call on the British one last time to cease and desist their maraudings. Put the weight of history upon them. Tell them they must stop at once. For if they do not, we will come to but one conclusion. That they have declared war upon us. If that is what they decide — so be it. We are a smaller country and a weaker one. But there is not a single person in our land who will not agree that if we are forced to the decision, the Republic of Ireland will declare war upon Great Britain.

“If we do that, will you, the country of democracy and freedom, join us in this noble endeavor?

“Will you join us in a just war against Great Britain?”

TRAPPED!

The Aurora sighted the bar light vessel first as they entered Liverpool Bay. In the early afternoon they continued on through the jumble of tide-ripped water that marked the entrance to the Mersey estuary. A summer storm had been building up all day. Blowing in from the Atlantic, it had grown in strength while it was crossing Ireland, and was now churning up the Irish Sea. Count Korzhenevski and General Sherman were on deck, wearing oilskins to give them some protection from the driving rain. The low-lying shore on both sides of the river was barely visible through the mist and rain.

“Should we drop anchor and wait for the storm to clear?” the Count asked.

“Only if you feel it necessary. I don’t want to stay in this area very long. I just want to see the approaches to Liverpool and its relation to the river.”

“That will be easy enough to do, rain or no. We have come this far and we are reaching the end of our mission. Yes, let us do it — then leave these waters. I am sure that we will all be immensely relieved once we are done with all this.”

“I am in complete agreement. We shall press on.”

The wind abated somewhat when they left the open sea for the shallower waters of the landlocked estuary, but the rain continued to fall relentlessly. Despite this they could easily find their way. The channel was well marked by buoys, and with the incoming tide behind them, the little steam yacht made very good time. They passed smaller fishing boats under full sail, then an immense side-wheel freighter thrashing its way downriver to the sea. By late afternoon the church towers of Liverpool were visible ahead. The Aurora swung closer to the riverbank as the first docks loomed up out of the rain. In the lounge belowdecks, driven there by the rain, Commander Wilson sketched the shoreline as best he could, looking out through a porthole and muttering imprecations at the filthy weather.

The river was narrowing and the little ship stayed in the channel in the center, letting the incoming tide carry them upstream.

“I think that dock we passed back there appears to be the final one,” Sherman said.

“I am sure of it. Any vessel with a draft deeper than ours would be grounding itself about now.”

“Good. I think that we have seen enough — and I don’t want to place our faithful vessel in any more danger. We can go back if you wish to.”

“Wish to! I yearn to.” The Count shouted orders up to the bridge and the bow began to swing about. Despite having to breast the incoming tide, they went downriver at a steady pace. They were making good progress when Sherman and the Count went below. As they shook themselves out of their oilskins, the Count called out to the steward, who, moments later, came in with glasses and a bottle of cognac on a tray. The Count poured, then handed one brimming glass to the general.

“Shall we drink to a mission successfully accomplished?”

“A noble idea. Then we can change into some dry clothing.”

The deck door opened to admit a spray of rain, and the deck officer, Lieutenant Chikhachev, pushed in. He said something in rapid Russian and the Count cursed out loud and began to pull his oilskins on.

“There is a large ship ahead, coming upstream toward us,” he said.

“We’ve seen others,” Sherman said.

“But none like this. It has guns. It is a ship of war.”

Sherman dressed hurriedly and joined him on deck. The rain was ceasing and the ironclad could be clearly seen coming upstream toward Liverpool. The two-gun turret in the bow was pointed ominously in their direction.

The Count called out a command in Russian. “I ordered us closer to the shore,” he said, translating. “I want to give them as much room as possible.”

“I’m sure it is just a chance meeting,” Sherman said.

As he finished speaking, the gun turret slowly swung in their direction, and for the first time they could see the ship’s name clearly.

“Defender!” Sherman said. “Wasn’t that the name of the ship in Plymouth — the one that the officer in the train said he was stationed on?”

The Count had no time to answer him — but his shouted commands were answer enough. Clouds of smoke poured from the yacht’s funnel as the engine raced up to full speed. At the same time they heeled sharply as they came about in the tightest turn possible. Then their stern was to the battleship and they were at full steam back up the river.

“It was that damnable little swine, Archie Fowler,” Korzhenevski growled out angrily. “We should have killed him when we were alone with him on the train.”

“I am afraid I do not understand why.”

“In hindsight it is all too transparently clear. After leaving us, he returned to his ship — where he bragged about meeting me. You could tell that he is a great snob. Someone there was at the dinner in Greenwich — or had heard about it. Whatever it was, we know that the British have no love for the Russians and would certainly resent our snooping around their shores. Once their suspicions were aroused, the Aurora would certainly have been easy enough to follow, since we have made no secret of our presence in these waters—”

He broke off as one of the guns in the forward turret of the ironclad fired. An instant later a great tower of water sprang up off their starboard bow. Then the second gun fired and a shell hit the water to port.

“Bracketed!” Sherman called out. “I’m glad they have no third gun.”

The distance between the two ships grew larger, since the smaller vessel had reached its top speed more quickly. But Defender’s engines were soon turning over at their maximum, and while she did not gain on them, she did not fall farther astern.