“Nothing that is new,” Stanton said. “You know just what I know, since he left the same message for both of us. He slipped away from here at dawn to meet with Jeff Davis, took the steam yacht. We have had a wire since saying that they are returning together on the River Queen. Since the Vice-President, Hannibal Hamlin, is in New York, until we hear different the Cabinet is in charge and I want it that way. Maybe the President is lucky to be out of the city.”
“Maybe he has been unlucky and ran into those British ships. It would be a black day for the country if he did.”
Seward was less than sincere in this hope. He was the one who should have been President; only Republican party infighting had
prevented that. If the British did capture Lincoln, why that would be a certain kind of justice indeed. He would not have to wait until the next election to take up the reins of government. He was the more qualified man for this important job.
Stanton hurried off to confer with his officers, while Seward paced the room thinking of the possible bright future the war had thrust upon him.
Unlike the civilians in the streets the military was under control and doing the work they had been trained for. The defenses were alerted and what reserves were available were sent to reinforce them. The troop trains had been contacted, stopped, would be returning.
“Not in time,” Stanton said. “The British will be here and gone before they get back. We’ll have to make do with what we have. I have men clearing out the files from the White House, bringing all the records over here. This is a sound building and we are going to defend it if the enemy gets this far. We don’t know their plans but they are easy enough to imagine if you know your history.”
“That was 1814,” Seward said. “That time they came up the Patuxent River and attacked by land. Are they doing that again?”
“No, no landings reported. This appears to be strictly a seaborne invasion up the Potomac. In 1814 everyone fled the city and the invaders had an easy time of it. They burnt the Capitol and the White House before they left. But it won’t be so easy this time. The generals say that if we can defend a few strongpoints that it may be possible to hold out until relief arrives. The civilians are doing a fine job of evacuating themselves so that is not going to be a problem.”
Less than an hour later the first batteries of guns opened fire on the approaching battleships.
Bow on, a bone in its teeth, the British warship charged toward them.
“Go back to Yorktown,” Lincoln said. “There are troops and batteries there.”
“I don’t think that we should, Mr. President,” the captain said, his telescope to his eye. “Hard to starboard,” he shouted and the President grabbed at the rail as the steamer heeled as it began a tight turn. The captain pointed at their pursuer, at her full sails and black-billowing smoke.
“She’s a fast one, lot faster than this old girl. And she’ll fore-reach us if we turn back. That is she will be coming up at an angle and would get to us long before we got to Yorktown. But now she is on a stern chase and it will take a lot more time for her to catch up with us.”
“Where are we going?”
“Fortress Monroe. Dead ahead. The British will never follow us under those big guns.”
Deep in the hold the stokers poured with sweat as they shoveled. Under the highest head of steam she could carry the screw thrashed the green waters of the bay. Ahead was the tip of the Yorktown Peninsula, growing ever closer.
As was their pursuer. Bows on, closer and ever closer. A sudden puff of white smoke blossomed and vanished; there was no sign of where the shell landed.
“Ranging shot,” General Lee said. “Or a warning to stop.”
“They can’t possibly know who is aboard,” Sherman said. “Or we would have had the whole fleet after us.”
“We can hide below,” Hay said, his teeth almost chattering with fear; military glory had never been for him.
“You and I could, John,” Nicolay said. “But why should we bother? I don’t think even the British shoot civilian captives. In any case, if they do stop us, we would certainly be of no interest to them.”
“Indeed true,” Hay said pointing at the uniformed men around the President. “They’ll never believe their luck. Not only Lincoln but all of his commanders-in-chief. This cannot happen! It all cannot end like this. With the ceasefire in place, plans made, a new war, a new world waiting.” Fear was replaced by anger. But what could be done?
Very little, all aboard agreed. The officers stamped about the deck easing their swords in their scabbards, fingering their revolvers. The ship had a small store of arms and these were brought on deck. But how could they fight against the guns of the warship? Flight was their only option. Top speed — and pray that the old boiler held together, that no vital piece of machinery carried away.
The army officers were like caged lions, pacing and muttering in angry frustration. Wanting only to attack and kill their pursuers, they could only wait impatiently and watch the enemy ship’s steady approach. Lincoln left them, sought the quieter haven of the bridge. The sailor at the wheel a solid rock of concentration, correcting every slight sideward movement, aiming toward the headland. On the far side of it was their haven; Fortress Monroe. The captain murmured into the speaking tube, talking to the chief engineer. Lincoln stepped onto the flying bridge, looked aft. Was shocked to see how close their pursuer had come in the few minutes he had been inside.
White bow wave surging. At some unheard command thin black silhouettes suddenly appeared on both her flanks.
“Run her guns out,” the captain said; he had joined the President on the bridge.
“She looks very close,” Lincoln said, running his fingers through his beard.
“She’s too close, Mr. President. I don’t want to say this but I have to. She’s too fast for us. We’re not going to make it, sir.”
“Certainly there is a chance.”