“Defender,” Van Horn said, peering through his glass again. “Main defenses six hundred-pounders, the new modified Warrior class.”
The British warship was coming right toward them, smoke pouring from its funnels, a bone in its teeth. As it drew closer it could be seen that its guns were trained on the American ship. When it had closed to within two hundred yards, it turned and slowed, presenting its starboard side. And as it turned, its guns turned as well, keeping trained on the Devastation.
“Has the boat been lowered?” Sherman asked.
“In the water as you ordered.”
Without another word Sherman left the bridge and scant moments later had climbed down into the waiting barge. Eight oars dipped as one and the craft shot swiftly across the water. As it approached the black flank of the British warship, it could be seen that a boarding ladder had been lowered over the side. Sherman climbed it as swiftly as he could. As he pulled himself up onto the deck, he found an army officer waiting for him.
“Follow me,” the man said abruptly, and turned away. Two sailors armed with muskets fell in behind them as they walked to the companionway. In the wardroom below, two army officers were waiting, both general officers. Sherman came to attention and saluted. They returned the salute in the British manner.
“We have met before, General Sherman,” the first officer said.
“Yes, in Canada. You are Brigadier Somerville.”
Somerville nodded slowly. “This is General Sir William Armstrong, commander in chief of Her Majesty’s forces in India.”
“Why are you here?” Armstrong asked brusquely, barely controlling his anger at meeting the man who had conquered his country.
“I am here to save lives, General Armstrong. We know the size and strength of your command from the documents that we seized in London. You will see behind me a major force of ironclads that will not permit you to pass peacefully, should you attempt to enter the Channel. They will avoid your warships, wherever possible, and concentrate on sinking your troopships. Should any of the transports succeed in passing our forces by, I want to inform you that the entire southern coast of England is now defended by American troops and guns. Any boats that attempt to land troops will be blown out of the water.”
“How do you know what we plan to do?” Armstrong snapped, cold anger in his voice.
“It was what I would have done, General. It was the only possible option.”
“Do we have your word that your troops are stationed here?” Somerville asked coldly.
“You have my word, sir. We have had a week to prepare our defenses. Newhaven Fort has been rearmed. The Twentieth Texas has dug in behind the shore at Hastings and are supported by five batteries of cannon. Do you wish me to list the defenders in the other positions?”
“That will be sufficient, General. You have given us your word.” Somerville’s voice was uneven as he spoke; his shoulders slumped. He had tried; they all had tried.
But they had failed.
“Return the Indian troops to India,” Sherman said. “If they come here they will only die. The fleet and the guns are waiting.”
“But my country!” Armstrong said, his voice rough with anger. “You have conquered, destroyed—”
“Conquered, yes,” Sherman snapped. “Destroyed, no. We only want peace and an end to this reckless war between our nations. Even now your politicians are meeting to found a new British government. When they have done that and the rule of law has been restored — we look forward to returning home. We want peace — not continued conflict. When you rule your own country once again, we will go. That is all that we want.”
“And we must believe this?” Somerville said, bitterness in his voice.
“You have no choice, General, no choice at all.”
“Take this man outside and hol
d him there,” Armstrong ordered the armed sailors standing by the door.
Sherman shrugged off their hands when they reached for him, turned, and left; the door closed behind them. In the corridor he looked coldly at the sailors; they shuffled their feet and did not meet his gaze. They had heard what had been said inside. The taller of them, a petty officer from his insignia, looked around then spoke quietly.
“What’s happening ashore, sir? We hear but little, the worst kind of scuttlebutt.”
“The war is over,” Sherman said, not unkindly. “Our troops won the day. There were deaths on both sides, but there is peace now. If your politicians agree, there will be a lasting peace in the years to come. If we can leave your country with that peace guaranteed — we will do just that. That is our desire, just as it must be yours.”
Sherman heard the door open behind him, turned, and entered the saloon.
“You have reached a decision,” he said. It was not a question.
“We have,” General Armstrong said, bitterness in his voice. “The Indian troops will return to India. You can guarantee them a safe passage?”