“And look around,” Commander Wilson said, smiling. Since they had come ashore, he had been examining everything with a keen surveyor’s eye.
They went up the few steps and entered the station. A train was just leaving, and like many others, they watched as the carriage doors were slammed shut and the guard blew his whistle. The stationmaster, proudly uniformed and sporting a gold watch chain across his waistcoat, waved his flag to the driver. Blasting out a burst of steam, the engine’s whistle blew, and puffing out clouds of smoke, the train drew out of the station.
“Gentlemen,” the Count said loudly, “I do believe there is a refreshment bar over there. It is a warm day and I think that we would all enjoy a glass of ale.”
They sat around a table in silence as the glasses were brought to them. They drank slowly, eyes glancing about at the busy scene, finished their drinks, and proceeded at the same lazy pace back to the waiting boat.
“I must make some drawings,” Wilson said as soon as they were back on board. “Just quick sketches while memory is still fresh.”
“By all means,” Korzhenevski said. “There will be ample time to put the papers back into the safe if any other vessels approach us. That was a most satisfactory visit, was it not, gentlemen?”
“It was indeed,” Sherman said. “But I would like to see more.”
“And what would that be?”
“A little train trip, Count. I would like you to accompany me on a visit to Plymouth.”
Korzhenevski found his mouth gaping and closed it sharply. It was Fox who protested.
“General Sherman — are you being realistic? Plymouth is a large naval base, patrolled and well guarded. It would be folly to attempt to enter it.”
“I am well aware of that — but I have no intention of going anywhere near the military. Let me show you what I have in mind. Count, if you would be so kind as to get the charts from your safe, I will be happy to explain my thoughts to you.”
Sherman spread the charts and maps out on the table and the others leaned close. Even Wilson left his drawing to see what was happening. The general ran his finger along the Cornish coast, where he penciled in a line just inland.
“This is the route of the Great Western Railway, a masterpiece of construction built by the great engineer Isambard Kingdom Brunei. Before the railroad was constructed, there were no roads the length of this mountainous county. Which means that all communication had to be by sea. Not only did Brunei build a railroad through this difficult terrain, but he also constructed, here at Saltash, a great bridge spanning the river Tamar. Just six years ago — I recall reading about it with great interest at the time. It was held as a truism by many people that the river was too wide to bridge. By ordinary means of construction, it surely was. But this great engineer pioneered a completely new method of construction that replaced the ferry, and linked Cornwall by rail to the rest of Britain for the first time. And here, on the other side of the river, is the city of Plymouth. It is my plan to take the train to Plymouth and return on the next train back to Penzance. I have no intention of going anywhere near the naval station.”
Fox looked at him shrewdly. “Does this trip have anything to do with the plans that you mentioned a few days ago?”
“Perhaps. Let us just say that I need much information about this country before I can think about finalizing my intentions. But I will need your aid, Count.”
“You have it, surely you have it.” He paced the cabin, deep in thought. “But we must make careful preparations if this rather — should I say adventurous? — plan can succeed. Your hair and beard will need re-dyeing if they are not to arouse suspicion. I will take a trip ashore in the morning to buy us suitable clothes, though God knows what gentlemen’s attire I will find here. Then I must buy tickets — first-class tickets — and I assume you have looked closely at your Bradshaw and have worked out a schedule?”
“I have.” Sherman took a slip of paper from his jacket pocket and passed it over. “These are the trains we will take. With proper preparations I feel that this trip will be a successful one.”
“Well then!” the Count said, clapping his hands happily. “We must have some champagne and drink to a prosperous journey.”
A SECRET REVEALED
General Ramsey, head of the United States Army Ordnance Department, had traveled down from Washington City to Newport News, Virginia, on the previous afternoon. He had enjoyed a good meal and a pipe in the bar afterward, then passed a pleasant night in the hotel. He was happy to be away from the endless labors of his position in the War Department for at least a few hours. Now, well relaxed, he was having a coffee in the station cafe when he saw a plump man pause at the entrance and look around. Ramsey stood so that the newcomer could see his uniform. The
man hurried over.
“You are General Ramsey, sir? I received your message and I am most sorry to be tardy.”
“Not at all, Mr. Davis.” Ramsey took his watch from his pocket and glanced at it. “I have been informed that the train is running late, so we have plenty of time. Please join me. The coffee here is, if not wonderful, at least drinkable. You are, as I understand it, John Ericsson’s works manager?”
“I have that pleasure.”
“Then perhaps you can enlighten me about your employer’s message. He simply asked that I appear here today with at least one general officer, an officer who has had field experience. That is why I contacted General Grant, who will be arriving on the next train. But I am most curious as to the meaning of this invitation. Could you enlighten me?”
Davis mopped his sweating forehead with a red bandanna. “I wish that I could, General. But none of us are permitted to speak a word about our work when we are outside of the foundry. I hope that you understand…”
Ramsey frowned, then reluctantly nodded his head. “I am afraid that I do. A great deal of my work is secret as well. Listen — is that a train whistle?”
“I believe that it is.”
“Well then — let us meet General Grant on the platform.”