“Nor shall I, Mr. President — for you speak the very truth. Until the day I die I shall always remember with great warmth the events of that gorgeous day. If you will recall, it was the first day of a springtime that held out s
uch great promise for our future. That promise is indeed being fulfilled. But, as you know, there have been many problems as well. There has been so much water under the bridge since that blessed occasion. But excuse me, sir, I digress. You remember Vice-President Butt?”
“Of course. I speak only the truth when I say, Mr. Butt, that yours, and the President’s, is a most grave and important labor,” Lincoln said as he took the Vice-President’s hand. “I do marvel every day at the glowing reports I read of your unifying and modernization of Ireland.”
“It has been a mighty task indeed — but well worth every effort,” Rossa said. His expression darkened as he went on. “A task that has been made far more difficult by the continuing harassment by the enemy from the outside. Goodness knows that I, and the people of Ireland, have enough black memories. Our history has indeed been a long and dark one ever since the day when English troops first set foot in our poor country. Now, I am most sure that I speak for every man in the country when I say let bygones be bygones. Enough of painful memories and ancient crimes. We Irish tend to live too much in the past, and it is high time that we were done with that practice. The past is done with and shall not return. We must turn our backs on it and instead turn our faces toward the glowing sun of the future—”
“But they will not let us!” Isaac Butt broke in, cracking his knuckles resoundingly, so carried away was he by the strength of his emotions. “The recent raid on Kingstown was but a pinprick among our greater sorrows. Every day — every hour — sees its like. There are constant landings in remote Irish seaports, where innocent Irishmen are killed and their small craft, their only possessions, burned. Ships are stopped at sea as well, stopped and searched, and many times they have their cargo confiscated. It is as though we have a demon on our backs that cannot be removed, a curse from hell that cannot be lifted. The war was well won — yet it will not end. The British are indeed our demon possessor!”
General Meagher’s quiet voice was in great contrast to Butt’s impassioned plea, and the more damning because of that.
“And there is worse. We have had reports now of kidnapping and imprisonment in the city of Liverpool. We do not know the details — other than that something terrible is happening there. As you must know, there are many Irish resident in the Midlands, hardworking people who have been many years resident there. But now it appears that the British question their loyalty. In the name of security, entire families have been rounded up and taken away by armed guards. And the worst part is that we cannot find what has happened to them. It is as though they have vanished into the night. We have heard rumors about camps of some kind, but we can discover nothing factual. I do not deny that we have had agents among the Liverpool Irish, but that certainly cannot justify the arrest and detainment of innocent people. This is a matter of guilt by association. Are the women and the children guilty as well? They are treated as such. And we have unconfirmed reports that other camps are being built across the breadth of England. Are these for the Irish, too? I can only say, Mr. President, that this is a monumental crime against humanity.”
“If what you say is true — and I have no reason to doubt you in the slightest — then I must agree with you,” Lincoln said wearily as he found the couch and seated himself once again upon it. “But, gentlemen — what can we do about it? The American government can protest these crimes strongly — as indeed we have done in the past and shall do in the future. But beyond that — what can be done? I am afraid that I can read the British response already. This is only a civil matter, an internal one, of no concern to other nations.” In the grim silence that followed, Lincoln turned to Meagher. “You, as a military officer, must recognize that this is not a situation that can be resolved by the military. Our hands are tied; there is nothing that can be done.”
“Nothing…?” Meagher was not pleased with the notion and worked hard to conceal his dismay.
“Nothing,” Sherman firmly concurred. “I speak not for myself, but as general of the armies. The war has ended and the world is at peace. The British are now doing their best to provoke us, and they have certainly succeeded in stirring our rage. They know that after the recent war, we are concerned with Ireland and have a vested interest in Irish freedom. But does that mean that there is ample cause here to go to war again? I frankly do not think so. The British are careful to make this appear to be an internal matter — over which we, of course, have no providence. You must remember that this day we are embarked on a most important civil mission of peaceful negotiation. The major nations of the world are assembling here in Brussels, and one can only wish them the best of success. We can talk of war again only when our mission fails. None here wish that. But, with your permission, Mr. President, I can take a few moments with these gentlemen, and General Grant, to discuss what material assistance we can afford them. About the imprisonment of Irish people in camps in England — it is my frank belief that there is nothing officially that can be done. But the other matters, the raids, halting vessels at sea, I can see where an American presence night alleviate some of the problems.”
“We must leave here in half an hour,” Pierce said, worriedly, consulting his watch.
“I regret that we have taken up your time,” General Meagher said. “Thank you for seeing us, Mr. President.”
“I must thank you for making the effort to come here and present us with details of the current unhappy Irish problems. Be assured that we will do everything in our power to alleviate them.”
Gustavus Fox showed General Sherman and the visitors into an adjoining room, then remained with them to take notes. When they had gone, Lincoln shook his head wearily. “I am beginning to feel like the feller that tried to catch the rainbow, and the faster he ran after it the faster it vanished away before him. I have had enough of war, yet I fear greatly for the peace. With men of strong will and determination in Britain, the matter of peace does indeed take second place.”
“That is why we are gathered here in Brussels, Mr. President,” Pierce said. “As the various delegates have arrived, I have taken the time to have many confidential talks with them. It is my fond belief that all of them are united in their desire for peace and prosperity. Europe has had too much political unrest in recent years, not to mention the wars that have always plagued this continent. The overall feeling appears to be that we must all labor together to bring about some lasting peace.”
Lincoln nodded and turned to the silent Grant, who sat sternly on the front edge of his chair. The general’s hands rested on the hilt of his sword, which stood upright before him.
“Is this the military view as well, General?” Lincoln asked.
“I can only speak for myself, sir. I believe in a world at peace — but I am afraid that not all men share that belief. The bloody history of this continent is mute witness to the ambitions and ancient hatreds of the countries here. Therefore he must consider the situation carefully — and must always be prepared for war, as little as we may desire it.”
“And America is prepared?”
“She is indeed — at the present moment more so than ever before in our history. You read us Mr. Mill’s letter. Certainly the manufacturers who supply and support our military strength are operating at full pace. But we should consider our military manpower as well. With the onset of peace many soldiers will find that their terms of enlistment are up. This is already beginning to happen. It is obvious that the lure of a return to their families will be great. If nothing is done we are going to see a dwindling away of our physical resources.”
“Has not the regular army been expanded?”
“It has indeed. With enlistment bonuses and better pay and conditions, our forces have grown and increased greatly. But at the present time I must admit, in private to you gentlemen, there are not really enough divisions existing to engage in a major conflict.”
Pierce was more interested in protocol than in world politics, worried about being late. While Lincoln sat bemused, trying to understand the ramifications of General Grant’s summation of the military situation, Pierce kept looking at his watch and fidgeting nervously. He relaxed only when General Sherman rejoined them.
“I am afraid that we must leave now, gentlemen,” Pierce said, opening the hall door and making small waving motions, stepping aside as they passed. He walked out after them. Fox remained behind, then closed the door.
The American mission with all their officials, clerks, and functionaries occupied the entire second floor of the Brussels Grand Mercure Hotel. When Abraham Lincoln and his party exited the rooms, they saw before them the magnificent sweep of the wide marble staircase that dropped down to the lobby. There was a growing murmur of voices from below as Lincoln and his party appeared at the top of the staircase.
“We are indeed expected,” he said, looking down into the lobby of the hotel.
From the foot of the stairs, stretching away to the outside door, two rows of soldiers, to either side of a crimson carpet, stood at stiff attention. Silver-cuirassed and magnificently uniformed, they were an honor guard, all of them officers of the Belgian household regiments. Beyond them, outside the glass doors, a magnificent carriage was just drawing up. The soldiers themselves, standing to attention, their swords on their shoulders, were silent, but not so the crowd that filled the lobby behind them. Elegantly dressed men and women pushed forward, all eager to see the President of the United States, the man who had led his country to such resounding victories. A small cheer arose when Lincoln’s party appeared.
The President stopped a moment to acknowledge the reception and raised his tall stovepipe hat. Set it back in place and tapped it firmly into position — then led the way down the stairs. Generals Sherman and Grant were close behind him, while Ambassador Pierce brought up the rear. They made their way slowly down the steps, then across the lobby toward the open doors.
There was a murmur from the crowd and a disturbance of some kin
d. Suddenly, shockingly, apparently pushed from behind, one of the ranked officers fell forward onto the floor with a mighty crash. As he fell, a man dressed in black pushed through the sudden opening in the ranks of the soldiers.