1862 by Robert Conroy Page B

hands.
    McClellan commanded the armies in the field. Although trim of figure and impeccably dressed in a uniform that made him look imperial, he appeared uncharacteristically unsure of himself.
    Last was Secretary of War Simon Cameron. Often referred to as the Czar of Pennsylvania, his appointment to the position was a political debt Lincoln had felt obliged to keep. As Lincoln glanced about the room, Hay noted that he looked on Cameron with contempt. The man had become synonymous with incompetence and corruption. It had been Cameron who had maneuvered the resignation of General Scott. Cameron would have to go. Lincoln had already decided to appoint him ambassador to Russia and replace him with Edwin Stanton.
    In an attempt to dominate both Lincoln and the meeting, Seward spoke first and without awaiting Lincoln’s permission.
    “Ambassador Lyons came to see me today. He said he had assurances from Prime Minister Palmerston that Ambassador Adams and his staff would be sent either to France or on a neutral ship for New York. He inquired as to the safety of his people and I assured him that they would come to no harm. That includes his consular officials at Boston, New York, and elsewhere, along with the observers accompanying our army. Of course, that presumes they do nothing rash. I did ask Lyons to gather his people at their embassy and have arranged for police protection.” Seward laughed gruffly. “I almost felt sorry for the man.”
    “I’m sure you got over it,” Lincoln said drily. “Then what?”
    “He asked for permission to proceed south to Richmond. I immediately realized that he’d been appointed to some position with the rebels and declined his request. I allowed that since Canada was part of his empire, he could damn well proceed north and cross into Canadian territory at Niagara. He wasn’t pleased, but we’re not in this to make him comfortable.”
    Lincoln nodded. It was a petty thing to do, but it felt good. “Do you think they will negotiate now that we are equal?”
    Seward shrugged. It was an obvious reference to the loss of the St. Lawrence. “When they are ready, and not sooner. Old Palmerston has it in his power to see the United States permanently split apart and no longer a threat to England.”
    Lincoln was confused. “We are no threat to him.”
    “Every country is,” Seward said. “He sees enemies everywhere.”
    “The Union must be preserved,” Lincoln said, his voice almost a whisper. He turned towards Welles. “And the navy?”
    Welles was a portrait of controlled fury. “I fear that the loss of the
St. Lawrence
is not the only one we’ve suffered; rather, it is the only one we know about. I’m afraid that British warships are gobbling up unsuspecting merchantmen and some of our naval vessels that don’t even know there’s a war on. It is nothing more than a high-seas ambush.”
    “True enough,” Lincoln said.
    “I have, however, taken certain steps. Fast ships are en route to our blockade stations to warn the squadrons there of the fact of the war and to expect the imminent arrival of the British fleet. They will be informed to flee at the first sign of a British presence. We do not have a ship out there that can stand up to a British ship of the line and I would not have our men slaughtered.”
    “Excellent,” said Lincoln. “Regrettable, but absolutely correct.”
    “I have also ordered that our venerable old wooden sailing ships be sent upriver and otherwise hidden after their guns have been removed and emplaced as shore batteries. Relics like the
Constitution
wouldn’t last more than a moment in today’s warfare, and I’m certain the British would love to sink
Old Ironsides.”
    The
Constitution
had been enormously successful against the British in the War of 1812, and had been in use as a training ship at the Naval Academy. She had been towed up to Rhode Island and hidden.
    “Tell me, can our sailing ships be turned into steam vessels?” Lincoln