So Travis is gonna die in England with the 1st South Carolina making a last stand like his counterpart at the Alamo! It will be remembered and will the English republic get a navy soon?October 1865
Portsea
James Longstreet nearly broke down in relief as the forward elements of his winding column approached the narrow bridge linking the island of Portsea to the mainland. Once safely across the passage, the pair of stone bridges to the north could be detonated, offering some measure of protection from the encroaching ERA hordes. Granted fifty feet of tidal creek might not quite compare to the Walls of Jericho but it would grant his downtrodden soldiers at least a momentary respite. Reportedly, the ERA possessed few howitzers and heavy siege guns.
Glancing northward, his ten thousand soldiers, both Carolinians and the traumatized survivors of the Queen's other dominions, lifted weary heads to spy the faintest glimpse of sanctuary from the near-constant waves of cavalry assaults they'd endured over the previous three days. Only Longstreet's nimble and unexpected maneuvers from one southbound lane to another to avoid English Republican Army roadblocks, bitter forced marches in the dead of the night and Colonel Hampton's heroic cavalry countercharges preserved what was left of the Army of Liberation from comprehensive annihilation.
Longstreet sent Cleburne ahead to prepare Portsmouth's defenses and ensure the tiny garrison left within the city was moving with suitable alacrity in preparing their comrades’ less than triumphant return. To hasten his army's flight from the southern approaches of London, Longstreet ordered all non-essential baggage tossed aside, including the dwindling rations. Most of his army hadn't eaten a morsel of sustenance during that time barring whatever happened to remain in their haversacks as no time could be purchased to scour the countryside for non-existent victuals.
Several hundred scurrying forms dotted the southern shore of Portsbridge Creek. Obviously, Cleburne rousted every able-bodied soldier and civilian to prepare for the defense of the island. Though hardly invulnerable, the tide of the narrow creek would slow any ERA advance and provided an adequate first line of defense. Backed by trenches and what was left of the artillery, Longstreet felt certain he could successfully repel any assault. The sharp beak of Gosport jutted out towards Portsea Island past Portsmouth Harbor to the west. To the east lay Hayling Island and Langstone Harbor. Fortunately, the lack of an ERA navy allowed the dozens of monarchist transports to anchor largely unmolested. Beyond the Spithead lay the Isle of Wight, the only other territory controlled by the Army of Liberation.
And just what do I do then? Longstreet considered despondently, though his outer demeanor reflected naught but abject confidence to the soldiers trudging past their commander's horse. Holding this little city-island off the mainland would accomplish nothing of note but prolong the misery of both Republicans and Monarchists. And the Army of Liberation's (even in its wretchedly diminished state) meager provisions would shrink to nothing within months, possibly weeks.
Longstreet had just opened his mouth to offer his discouraged soldiers a few meaningless exhortations when his musings were interrupted by the telltale echo of cannon fire booming from the north. The officer gauged the distance at two or three miles, the approximate location of his rearguard…the 1st South Carolina Regiment.
Commanded by Colonel William Travis.
Later:
"I'm sorry, Colonel," Colonel Hampton apologized from atop his brown mare, an unexpectedly frail creature bespeaking its arduous labors the last several days. "I simply didn't have the firepower to even consider a direct assault."
The cavalry commander flinched slightly as the sole bronze cannon attached to his regiment belched forth another three-pound shell. The slight weapon had been worth its weight in gold when called upon to shift small enemy formations attempting to block the Army of Liberation's flight. But the small shot could do little against thousands of ERA soldiers marching abreast towards Longstreet's infantry rearguard. Hampton estimated the formation to be a half mile west and marching at the double-step in hopes of swiveling on its axis eastwards to cut off the Queen's men before they could cross onto Portsea Island and into the city of Portsmouth. A few dozen butternut-clad horsemen sallied forth fire a handful of pistol rounds into the ERA columns, all to little avail. Only a few sharpshooters broke stride to engage the cavalry. The enemy infantry continued marching inexorably south.
For twenty-four hours, the 1st South Carolina endured a near constant state of combat in the face of the advance elements of General Nolan's army, nipping so doggedly at the fleeing invaders’ heels. Only Longstreet's cunningly executed retreat (and the narrowness of the roadways of southern England) prevented the general engagement that the General feared. Any pitched battle would inevitably become a last stand. The delaying exercises utilized by Longstreet worked well in the thickly wooded roadways, where haphazard blankets of forest intermixed with small pastures hindering the pursuers. As the retreating Royalist army approached Portsmouth, however, the land opened adequately for the determined ERA commander to simply bypass Longstreet's chokepoints. As the Army of Liberation clung desperately to the southbound lane, Nolan matched his adversary's cunning and marched his own advance force across open country, swinging past the wooded morass where his cavalry continued to harass the fleeing monarchists, and prepared to hit Longstreet's column from the western flank, only a few miles from safety.
Travis' men were marching along a small parallel trail, flanking the main army, and protecting the vulnerable force as the mass struggled to retain integrity as an army during the disheartening retreat. The 1st South Carolina endured numerous charges by white-clad English cavalry but succeeded in shielding the majority of Longstreet's column. Travis marched alongside his men, having three horses shot out beneath him within the past twenty-four hours. His elegant uniform disheveled and permanently stained, soot black rings circled Travis' eyes.
"I quite understand, Colonel," Travis dismissed his colleague's apology, "You men have done yeomen's labors these past days and can hardly be expected to be in all places at once. The 1st South Carolina will hold as best we can. Even an hour’s respite might be enough to preserve the remainder of our army."
As an incongruous bead of sweat trickling down Hampton's brow in the face of the cool October morning, "I can dragoon my force…"
"No, Wade, thank you," Travis shook his head, "A hundred men wouldn't make much of a difference and I fear the enemy cavalry might appear again at any moment, perhaps from the east. Pray, continue to guard the wounded and usher the column across the creek as swiftly as possible. General Longstreet must be alerted!"
Hampton remained silent, calculating the numbers of the encroaching enemy force. Travis would be outnumbered at least ten to one. Pointing southward, he noted, "Is that Portsdown Hill, where the late Duke of Cambridge "won the war" in that first skirmish? It appears to be the most commanding ground between the enemy and the crossings."
"Hmm," the cavalry commander murmured absently. "Portsdown Hill, Portbridge Creek, the city of Portsmouth, Portsmouth Harbor and Portsea Island. Our English friends can be less than imaginative in their nomenclature, can they not?"
Travis nodded slowly, gauging whether he could even reach the hill in time to cut off the steadily approaching enemy. Finally, he bellowed out to a command to his junior officers, still marching southward through the fields, to advance at the double-step. In the face of overwhelming exhaustion, the five hundred battle-hardened survivors of the 1st South Carolina Regiment nevertheless obeyed without hesitation.
Turning towards the South Carolina aristocrat who’d become such a friend, Travis promised, "We shall hold to the last, Wade. Commend my boys to the General, for I fear I shall not have another occasion to offer my compliments again."
Travis tipped his hat one last time towards the cavalryman and turned to rejoin his men. Hampton noted the Regimental commander limped noticeably and wondered when the infantry officer sustained his wound. On the balance, he supposed it didn't matter. Though parallel to the shallow creek, there was no escape from Portsdown Hill beyond tossing aside one's weapons and swimming for one’s life. And few soldiers could endure the prospect of wading across a tidal pool as the enemy sniped at his vulnerable back.
Fearing his friend was indeed prescient in his pessimistic pronouncement, Hampton whirled his exhausted mount one more time and galloped off to report this latest hideous development to the General even as the 1st South Carolina raced their enemy to the high ground.
Arrogance and Empire - An Alternate 7 Years' War Novel - Part 10 - 1865
- Thread starter Alt History Buff
- Start date
So Travis is gonna die in England with the 1st South Carolina making a last stand like his counterpart at the Alamo! It will be remembered and will the English republic get a navy soon?
Chapter 43
October, 1865
Portsdown Hill
“Lieutenants!” Colonel William Travis bellowed over the shrieking explosions of artillery shells passing over the 1st South Carolina’s position on Portsdown Hill, gesturing towards the pair of officers donning the scarlet jackets of the Household Guards. “Take command of 5th and 6th Companies! They’ve lost their officers!”
Dozens of stragglers of the shattered Guards Division and other Royalist Regiments, separated from what was left of their parent units, had joined the 1st South Carolina over the past two days after the bitter battle of Reigate in hopes of reaching the safety of the coast. As the 1st acted as rear guard for the retreating Army of Liberation, Travis accepted any men who could fire a rifle and limp fast enough to keep up.
“Which are the 5th and 6th, sir?” one of the officers shouted as a shell burst a mere fifty paces from their position atop Portsdown Hill’s summit.
“To the east!” Travis gestured frantically. “Mr…Chard, was it?”
“Yes, sir! Ensign John Chard of the Welsh Guards…”
“I don’t care! Just find the 5th Company and assume command!” Travis ordered in frustration. Both of these officers seemed too young to shave much less command men in combat. He turned to the other, this one donning Lieutenant’s garb. "Lieutenant…”
“Arthur, sir…” the skinny youth gulped. “I am…”
“I don’t care who you are! Just find the sergeant of 6th Company and tell him I said you are now in charge!”
Both Britons saluted smartly in an absurd display of military etiquette given the situation and charged off towards the eastern slope of Portsdown Hill. In truth, Travis wasn’t particularly concerned with their performance. The 1st South Carolina was surrounded, running low on ammunition and vastly outnumbered.
How much damage could they possibly do?
Returning to his own task, the Carolinian officer grimly took in the scene atop the commanding…but unfortified…peak of Portsdown Hill. While Travis took the position with the intent of forcing the Army of Liberation’s pursuers to halt and reduce the 1st South Carolina upon the high ground (lest the ERA commander face a potential attack from the rear should he bypass the 1st in pursuit of Longstreet’s main column), witnessing the successful result of his strategy was proving less satisfying than he’d assumed.
At least three or four thousand English Republican Army troops swarmed about the base of the hill, firing upwards through the scrub and trees towards the South Carolinians and assorted hangers-on desperately attempting to scratch out any form of cover. Having already distributed the last of the powder and shot to the ranks, Travis realized he was now completely superfluous. Even the dimmest of his infantrymen must know their duty…fire until they ran out of ammunition and pray the ERA was inclined to take prisoners after that.
Beyond drawing his saber and walked about the crest of the hill in the hopes of inspiring the men with his stoicism in the face of death…there just wasn’t much for Travis to do.
“Well,” Travis murmured to no one in particular as most of his adjutants had been assigned to command troops bereft of officers, “I suppose this is the end of my…”
A violent blow then struck the South Carolinian in the temple. Stunned, the officer sank to his knees for a long moment before collapsing limply forward. After a few twitches, William Travis’ heart ceased to beat…though the man was already well past the point of pain.
Perhaps fortunately for Colonel William Travis, the South Carolinian would never learn that “Lieutenant Arthur”, whom he’d dispatched to command 6th Company, was, in fact, Prince Arthur of the Welsh Guards and third in line for the throne of Great Britain.
Even more mercifully, the Colonel was spared witnessing the virtual destruction of the 1st South Carolina as the ERA forces, irate at the stout and stubborn defense of Portsdown Hill, spared few of the Regiment’s rank and file as they ground inexorably up the slopes over the next fifteen minutes.
However, the 1st South Carolina nevertheless succeeded in its task. So intent upon reducing Portsdown Hill were the ERA that the last remnants of the Army of Liberation managed to stumble through the city of Portsmouth to Portsea Island. From this tiny speck of land (and the Isle of Wight), the last embers of the Royalist Army dispatched to reconquer Britain desperately sought to survive.
Portsdown Hill
“Lieutenants!” Colonel William Travis bellowed over the shrieking explosions of artillery shells passing over the 1st South Carolina’s position on Portsdown Hill, gesturing towards the pair of officers donning the scarlet jackets of the Household Guards. “Take command of 5th and 6th Companies! They’ve lost their officers!”
Dozens of stragglers of the shattered Guards Division and other Royalist Regiments, separated from what was left of their parent units, had joined the 1st South Carolina over the past two days after the bitter battle of Reigate in hopes of reaching the safety of the coast. As the 1st acted as rear guard for the retreating Army of Liberation, Travis accepted any men who could fire a rifle and limp fast enough to keep up.
“Which are the 5th and 6th, sir?” one of the officers shouted as a shell burst a mere fifty paces from their position atop Portsdown Hill’s summit.
“To the east!” Travis gestured frantically. “Mr…Chard, was it?”
“Yes, sir! Ensign John Chard of the Welsh Guards…”
“I don’t care! Just find the 5th Company and assume command!” Travis ordered in frustration. Both of these officers seemed too young to shave much less command men in combat. He turned to the other, this one donning Lieutenant’s garb. "Lieutenant…”
“Arthur, sir…” the skinny youth gulped. “I am…”
“I don’t care who you are! Just find the sergeant of 6th Company and tell him I said you are now in charge!”
Both Britons saluted smartly in an absurd display of military etiquette given the situation and charged off towards the eastern slope of Portsdown Hill. In truth, Travis wasn’t particularly concerned with their performance. The 1st South Carolina was surrounded, running low on ammunition and vastly outnumbered.
How much damage could they possibly do?
Returning to his own task, the Carolinian officer grimly took in the scene atop the commanding…but unfortified…peak of Portsdown Hill. While Travis took the position with the intent of forcing the Army of Liberation’s pursuers to halt and reduce the 1st South Carolina upon the high ground (lest the ERA commander face a potential attack from the rear should he bypass the 1st in pursuit of Longstreet’s main column), witnessing the successful result of his strategy was proving less satisfying than he’d assumed.
At least three or four thousand English Republican Army troops swarmed about the base of the hill, firing upwards through the scrub and trees towards the South Carolinians and assorted hangers-on desperately attempting to scratch out any form of cover. Having already distributed the last of the powder and shot to the ranks, Travis realized he was now completely superfluous. Even the dimmest of his infantrymen must know their duty…fire until they ran out of ammunition and pray the ERA was inclined to take prisoners after that.
Beyond drawing his saber and walked about the crest of the hill in the hopes of inspiring the men with his stoicism in the face of death…there just wasn’t much for Travis to do.
“Well,” Travis murmured to no one in particular as most of his adjutants had been assigned to command troops bereft of officers, “I suppose this is the end of my…”
A violent blow then struck the South Carolinian in the temple. Stunned, the officer sank to his knees for a long moment before collapsing limply forward. After a few twitches, William Travis’ heart ceased to beat…though the man was already well past the point of pain.
Perhaps fortunately for Colonel William Travis, the South Carolinian would never learn that “Lieutenant Arthur”, whom he’d dispatched to command 6th Company, was, in fact, Prince Arthur of the Welsh Guards and third in line for the throne of Great Britain.
Even more mercifully, the Colonel was spared witnessing the virtual destruction of the 1st South Carolina as the ERA forces, irate at the stout and stubborn defense of Portsdown Hill, spared few of the Regiment’s rank and file as they ground inexorably up the slopes over the next fifteen minutes.
However, the 1st South Carolina nevertheless succeeded in its task. So intent upon reducing Portsdown Hill were the ERA that the last remnants of the Army of Liberation managed to stumble through the city of Portsmouth to Portsea Island. From this tiny speck of land (and the Isle of Wight), the last embers of the Royalist Army dispatched to reconquer Britain desperately sought to survive.
See my next chapter for the 1st South Carolina's fate.
And yes, the Gladstone government would eventually form a navy but that would likely take decades and obviously (for lack of an Empire and the reduced population of Britain) never reach the heights of OTL.
Once again it seems the Cavaliers have been routed. I sincerely doubt we'll see anything like the Stuart Restoration this time around.
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Chapter 44
November 1865
Nagasaki
Commodore David Dixon Porter gazed southwards in the wake of the USS Michigan and took in his command with the utmost of pride. Twelve mighty armored monsters followed his flagship, including five of the most modern vessels not only in the United States Navy’s arsenal but the world, representing an enormous investment for the Douglas Administration.
In addition to the sleek, tapered sides of the USS Michigan were the USS East Florida, USS West Florida, USS Transylvania, USS Oisconsin, and USS Maryland. These vessels represented the three latest classes of warship produced over the past eight years for the US Navy. Unfortunately, the USS Louisiana had been towed to Port Jackson after taking a torpedo hit in the Yellow Sea while the USS Missoura sank with most of her crew, including her talented Captain du Pont.
Trailing the heavy warships bearing profiles slung low against the sea were seven frigates, mostly armored ships-of-sail reconfigured over the past decade to steam. These included the Biddle, Decatur and Philadelphia, which served with Porter at the Battle of Okinawa, and the USS Jones, USS Savannah and USS Boston, all of which fought under Farragut in the Yellow Sea. Finally, the USS Baltimore, which arrived unexpectedly from Columbian’s east coast with the Oisconsin some months prior, rounded out the fleet.
It was a fleet to swell the heart of any commander…but anxiety churned in the Commodore’s stomach as Porter knew he might be sailing into infamy. Twenty-four hours earlier, the speedy USS Savannah steamed into Nagasaki fresh from her scouting mission into the Sea of Nihon to find the elusive Chinese Imperial Navy which had made itself largely scarce over the preceding months since the brutal Battle of the Yellow Sea. Beyond serving as protection for huge convoys bearing supplies and soldiers from the Asian mainland and Joseon Kingdom to Honshu…the Chinese fleet had rarely been sighted. Some Columbian officers, even those who’d witnessed firsthand the power of the Chinese steamships in the Yellow Sea, opined that perhaps the enemy losses were greater than generally accepted after that hard-fought contest (it would later be revealed that four Chinese warships were lost and two others severely damaged).
But, first and foremost, Porter feared the advantage those damnable torpedoes granted the enemy. Though only three Columbian vessels had been struck by the weapons in the Yellow Sea, two were so devastated that they sunk…and the other, the USS Louisiana, remained in drydock in Port Jackson. Lacking direct experience himself with the weapons, Porter interviewed any officer who’d witnessed their tactical use as well as inspected their effect.
After heavy discussion, Porter developed a two-stage strategy intended to mitigate the threat of the torpedo:
Beyond the direct consequences of engagement to the United States Navy, defeat would also doom the twenty-thousand or so Columbian soldiers huddled on Kyushu and Shikoku…as well as the surviving government of the Empire of Nihon.
Upon receiving the Savannah’s report of the Chinese fleet massing along western Honshu, the Commodore did not hesitate to put his fleet to sea. With Chinese forces gathering along the southern coast of now-conquered Honshu, only the narrow stretch of the Seto Inland Sea protected the allies from the massive Chinese Imperial Army.
Determining the Columbian fleet’s chances against the Chinese torpedoes were better in the open waters of the Sea of Nihon than in the tight confines of the Inland Sea where maneuverability would, by definition, be severely reduced.
Sailing hundreds of miles along Honshu’s coast, Porter initially feared he’d been outmaneuvered and the Chinese Imperial Navy even now entered the Inland Sea. However, dozens of wafting tendrils of smoke climbing towards the cold, grey clouds coating the sky lent ample evidence the Commodore had found his quarry.
With a calm order to raise the battle flags, Porter wondered just which fleet was the quarry…and which the hunter.
Nagasaki
Commodore David Dixon Porter gazed southwards in the wake of the USS Michigan and took in his command with the utmost of pride. Twelve mighty armored monsters followed his flagship, including five of the most modern vessels not only in the United States Navy’s arsenal but the world, representing an enormous investment for the Douglas Administration.
In addition to the sleek, tapered sides of the USS Michigan were the USS East Florida, USS West Florida, USS Transylvania, USS Oisconsin, and USS Maryland. These vessels represented the three latest classes of warship produced over the past eight years for the US Navy. Unfortunately, the USS Louisiana had been towed to Port Jackson after taking a torpedo hit in the Yellow Sea while the USS Missoura sank with most of her crew, including her talented Captain du Pont.
Trailing the heavy warships bearing profiles slung low against the sea were seven frigates, mostly armored ships-of-sail reconfigured over the past decade to steam. These included the Biddle, Decatur and Philadelphia, which served with Porter at the Battle of Okinawa, and the USS Jones, USS Savannah and USS Boston, all of which fought under Farragut in the Yellow Sea. Finally, the USS Baltimore, which arrived unexpectedly from Columbian’s east coast with the Oisconsin some months prior, rounded out the fleet.
It was a fleet to swell the heart of any commander…but anxiety churned in the Commodore’s stomach as Porter knew he might be sailing into infamy. Twenty-four hours earlier, the speedy USS Savannah steamed into Nagasaki fresh from her scouting mission into the Sea of Nihon to find the elusive Chinese Imperial Navy which had made itself largely scarce over the preceding months since the brutal Battle of the Yellow Sea. Beyond serving as protection for huge convoys bearing supplies and soldiers from the Asian mainland and Joseon Kingdom to Honshu…the Chinese fleet had rarely been sighted. Some Columbian officers, even those who’d witnessed firsthand the power of the Chinese steamships in the Yellow Sea, opined that perhaps the enemy losses were greater than generally accepted after that hard-fought contest (it would later be revealed that four Chinese warships were lost and two others severely damaged).
But, first and foremost, Porter feared the advantage those damnable torpedoes granted the enemy. Though only three Columbian vessels had been struck by the weapons in the Yellow Sea, two were so devastated that they sunk…and the other, the USS Louisiana, remained in drydock in Port Jackson. Lacking direct experience himself with the weapons, Porter interviewed any officer who’d witnessed their tactical use as well as inspected their effect.
After heavy discussion, Porter developed a two-stage strategy intended to mitigate the threat of the torpedo:
- Expand the initial range between the combatant fleets. In ages past, fleets in line formation seldom drifted more than a few hundred yards from their enemies. However, the rapid development of naval guns extended this to thousands of yards…though accuracy obviously diminished accordingly. According to experts on Columbian torpedo development, this would severely reduce the likelihood of a torpedo strike (he hoped).
- Should the line break, then the Columbian ships would close rapidly with the enemy, utilizing a perceived advantage in maneuverability to avoid the torpedo tubes apparently fixed at 45-degree angles from the Chinese hulls. Some experienced sailors and engineers questioned this orientation as it reduced the capacity for the Chinese to aim the weapons as opposed to a forward orientation granting far better control.
Beyond the direct consequences of engagement to the United States Navy, defeat would also doom the twenty-thousand or so Columbian soldiers huddled on Kyushu and Shikoku…as well as the surviving government of the Empire of Nihon.
Upon receiving the Savannah’s report of the Chinese fleet massing along western Honshu, the Commodore did not hesitate to put his fleet to sea. With Chinese forces gathering along the southern coast of now-conquered Honshu, only the narrow stretch of the Seto Inland Sea protected the allies from the massive Chinese Imperial Army.
Determining the Columbian fleet’s chances against the Chinese torpedoes were better in the open waters of the Sea of Nihon than in the tight confines of the Inland Sea where maneuverability would, by definition, be severely reduced.
Sailing hundreds of miles along Honshu’s coast, Porter initially feared he’d been outmaneuvered and the Chinese Imperial Navy even now entered the Inland Sea. However, dozens of wafting tendrils of smoke climbing towards the cold, grey clouds coating the sky lent ample evidence the Commodore had found his quarry.
With a calm order to raise the battle flags, Porter wondered just which fleet was the quarry…and which the hunter.
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Chapter 45
November 1865
Philadelphia
Joining the rest of the crowd in applause, Secretary of War Jefferson Davis and Secretary of the Colonies and Territories Abraham Lincoln politely waited for the crowd to settle before returning to their seats upon the dais as President-elect William Seward was allowed to continue his speech under the November sky which, fortuitously, slowed the persistent frigid rainfall in time for Seward’s formal acknowledgement of his election to the Presidency.
“Though the trials of this nation may continue in Asia…”
Lincoln leaned over and whispered to his old friend, “You received the dispatch from San Diego?” Neither politician was granted a seat behind Seward upon the stage, instead being relegated to the outskirts. It didn’t bode well for their continued employment.
“Of course,” Davis replied through pursed lips. After nearly two months, a full picture of the disaster in Honshu was finally apparent.
Lincoln peered towards Seward for a moment, “Do you think he is going to continue the war, now that most of Nihon has fallen?”
“He can beg off,” Davis murmured, feigning interest in Seward’s longwinded diatribe. “Though he was Secretary of State, he can always claim Douglas set the policy. Besides, there seems no realistic chance of reconquering Honshu, not with who know how many hundreds of thousands of Chinese soldiers occupying that island. The costs to regain Honshu would be enormous…and probably not worth the benefits of tweaking China’s pride.”
Lincoln couldn’t help but agree. The Empire of Nihon spent decades refusing any ties to the rest of the world, including Columbia. Only upon the Chinese invasion of the Ryukyu Islands did the Emperor agree to…grudgingly…accept Chinese aid. In truth, Columbia only did so due to the deteriorating diplomatic situation in China. Few westerners, including Davis and Lincoln, believed China could wipe the preponderance of the Columbian Pacific Fleet from the Yellow Sea or brush aside the Columbian Army on Honshu with apparent ease.
Was Seward going to spend years of his Presidency, and most of his political capital, to free Honshu from Chinese rule?
Doubtful, Lincoln determined.
But, as Seward as already indicating, the President-elect held no intension of retaining Davis and Lincoln’s services, the former long held to be a rival…and the latter a mere country bumpkin by the haughty New Yorker.
As the skies opened up once more to drench the crowd, William Seward’s speech continued inexorably.
Philadelphia
Joining the rest of the crowd in applause, Secretary of War Jefferson Davis and Secretary of the Colonies and Territories Abraham Lincoln politely waited for the crowd to settle before returning to their seats upon the dais as President-elect William Seward was allowed to continue his speech under the November sky which, fortuitously, slowed the persistent frigid rainfall in time for Seward’s formal acknowledgement of his election to the Presidency.
“Though the trials of this nation may continue in Asia…”
Lincoln leaned over and whispered to his old friend, “You received the dispatch from San Diego?” Neither politician was granted a seat behind Seward upon the stage, instead being relegated to the outskirts. It didn’t bode well for their continued employment.
“Of course,” Davis replied through pursed lips. After nearly two months, a full picture of the disaster in Honshu was finally apparent.
Lincoln peered towards Seward for a moment, “Do you think he is going to continue the war, now that most of Nihon has fallen?”
“He can beg off,” Davis murmured, feigning interest in Seward’s longwinded diatribe. “Though he was Secretary of State, he can always claim Douglas set the policy. Besides, there seems no realistic chance of reconquering Honshu, not with who know how many hundreds of thousands of Chinese soldiers occupying that island. The costs to regain Honshu would be enormous…and probably not worth the benefits of tweaking China’s pride.”
Lincoln couldn’t help but agree. The Empire of Nihon spent decades refusing any ties to the rest of the world, including Columbia. Only upon the Chinese invasion of the Ryukyu Islands did the Emperor agree to…grudgingly…accept Chinese aid. In truth, Columbia only did so due to the deteriorating diplomatic situation in China. Few westerners, including Davis and Lincoln, believed China could wipe the preponderance of the Columbian Pacific Fleet from the Yellow Sea or brush aside the Columbian Army on Honshu with apparent ease.
Was Seward going to spend years of his Presidency, and most of his political capital, to free Honshu from Chinese rule?
Doubtful, Lincoln determined.
But, as Seward as already indicating, the President-elect held no intension of retaining Davis and Lincoln’s services, the former long held to be a rival…and the latter a mere country bumpkin by the haughty New Yorker.
As the skies opened up once more to drench the crowd, William Seward’s speech continued inexorably.
List of Columbian Presidents:
1780 - Benjamin Franklin
1785 - John Adams
1790 - George Washington
1795 - John Jay
1800 - Aaron Burr
1805 - Aaron Burr
1810 - James Monroe
1815 - James Monroe
1820 - James Madison
1825 - John Quincy Adams
1830 - Henry Clay
1835 - Henry Clay
1840 - Martin Van Buren
1845 - Daniel Webster
1850 - James Buchanan
1855 - Stephan Douglas
1860 - Stephan Douglas
1865 - William Seward
1785 - John Adams
1790 - George Washington
1795 - John Jay
1800 - Aaron Burr
1805 - Aaron Burr
1810 - James Monroe
1815 - James Monroe
1820 - James Madison
1825 - John Quincy Adams
1830 - Henry Clay
1835 - Henry Clay
1840 - Martin Van Buren
1845 - Daniel Webster
1850 - James Buchanan
1855 - Stephan Douglas
1860 - Stephan Douglas
1865 - William Seward
I admit some shock Washington became President in general, if also surprised he wasn’t the first as the second commander in chief of the Continental Army and its lynchpin before then.
Chapter 46
November, 1865
Sea of Nihon
Yet another deafening clang emerged from the armored hull of the USS Michigan as a Chinese cannonball rebounded skyward along the angled hull, clipping off the topgallant of the main mast.
Commodore David Dixon Porter sighed. Not a single mast in the fleet will survive this.
While the Columbian fleet had naturally lowered their steam-power augmenting sails prior to the battle to focus their manpower upon the guns. Given the damage taken by shot and shell, few of the ships would be catching the wind anytime soon.
Hours prior, the US Navy fleet of thirteen ships engaged fifteen of the Chinese Imperial Navy cruisers comprising a mixture of Columbian, French and domestic Chinese-built vessels. Fearful of the effectiveness of the enemy torpedoes, Porter initially kept the distance between the two lines of battle at a thousand yards, probably a record. After three “passes”, the fleets almost imperceptibly closed to within two hundred yards, a common range in the age of sail. However, the vastly superior power of modern guns contested with iron hulls and armor-plated sides.
War has not grown more delicate from my grandfather’s day, Porter decided, the only benefit being that the lower quantity of sailors required to serve on deck reduced casualties to an extent. Still, blood slicked the beams of the USS Michigan.
Oddly, the enemy had yet to utilize its great advantage in torpedoes. Only years later would the Columbians learn that only five of the Chinese ships carried the launchers and production problems limited the entire fleet to twenty-three remaining torpedoes. Moreover, the greater the distance, the more likely the mechanical propulsion system would fail and either veer off course or simply cease to function.
Two Chinese ships, suffering repeated blows, fell out of line, one losing power as its engines flooded, the other after a fire forced an evacuation of the engine room. Both ships were victims of a critical design flaw within several classes of warship where compartments lacked easy or effective sealing against fire, smoke or even water intake.
Most of the other ships of both fleets suffered assorted damage but the Columbian gunnery appeared superior. Frustrated, the Chinese Imperial Navy commander’s impatience grew to the point that he ordered the “General Melee” signal raised and the Chinese vessels turned into the Columbian ships, attempting to “cross the T” as the maneuver was referred in Europe. However, Porter had prepared his captains for the eventuality. Indeed, such a maneuver might even precede a torpedo attack. Porter commanded his own ships to break formation in whichever manner preventing the ships’ orientation from hitting forty-five degrees, the angle of the torpedo launchers upon the Chinese vessels.
Two by two, the combatants paired off at close range, seldom granting the Chinese any opportunity to fire their torpedoes. Instead, arguably the greatest sea battle in history degraded into a barroom brawl as each armored behemoth sought to pummel the other into submission.
One of the five Chinese vessels bearing torpedoes was among the two out of action. Another received a strike upon its tube early in the battle. That left three others bearing torpedoes, five each. At every opportunity of inflicting a hit, the increasingly frantic Chinese Captain fired a torpedo. However, choppy waters conspired with superior maneuverability on the part of the Columbian ships to restrict the total number of hits to three.
The first struck the USS Biddle amidships, inflicting a massive scar upon her hold. Lacking compartmentalized features of the more modern ships, the Biddle swiftly began to settle into the water.
The next, fired upon the USS Michigan, missed…but continued eastwards until striking the USS East Florida…and failed to detonate.
The third, almost comically, was fired into the confluence of two Columbian ships passing so closely that they literally scraped paint…and yet somehow threaded the needle between them only to pierce the rear hull of a French-built Chinese cruiser, utterly shattering her rudder and knocking out her engines.
With the sudden evaporation of his advantage (though the Columbians would not know this and continued their rapid maneuvers), the tide shifted against the Chinese as the accuracy of the Columbian guns and slight advantage in maneuverability took its toll.
A fourth Chinese ship caught fire, this one the Chinese flagship. Then another.
Finally, one by one, individual Chinese ships broke off and sailed for Honshu, leaving six ships burning, sinking or stranded.
The Columbians fared better…but perhaps not by much. Two ships, the West Florida and the Biddle already dipped below the waterline. The Michigan, Philadelphia, Savannah and Oisconsin suffered heavy damage…and lacked access to convenient shipyards in Nihon.
His own fleet crippled, Porter signaled the Columbians to rescue any survivors, take any damaged vessels in tow and return to Nagasaki.
Though the Columbians suffered a terrible price…Kyushu and Shikoku were safe.
Sea of Nihon
Yet another deafening clang emerged from the armored hull of the USS Michigan as a Chinese cannonball rebounded skyward along the angled hull, clipping off the topgallant of the main mast.
Commodore David Dixon Porter sighed. Not a single mast in the fleet will survive this.
While the Columbian fleet had naturally lowered their steam-power augmenting sails prior to the battle to focus their manpower upon the guns. Given the damage taken by shot and shell, few of the ships would be catching the wind anytime soon.
Hours prior, the US Navy fleet of thirteen ships engaged fifteen of the Chinese Imperial Navy cruisers comprising a mixture of Columbian, French and domestic Chinese-built vessels. Fearful of the effectiveness of the enemy torpedoes, Porter initially kept the distance between the two lines of battle at a thousand yards, probably a record. After three “passes”, the fleets almost imperceptibly closed to within two hundred yards, a common range in the age of sail. However, the vastly superior power of modern guns contested with iron hulls and armor-plated sides.
War has not grown more delicate from my grandfather’s day, Porter decided, the only benefit being that the lower quantity of sailors required to serve on deck reduced casualties to an extent. Still, blood slicked the beams of the USS Michigan.
Oddly, the enemy had yet to utilize its great advantage in torpedoes. Only years later would the Columbians learn that only five of the Chinese ships carried the launchers and production problems limited the entire fleet to twenty-three remaining torpedoes. Moreover, the greater the distance, the more likely the mechanical propulsion system would fail and either veer off course or simply cease to function.
Two Chinese ships, suffering repeated blows, fell out of line, one losing power as its engines flooded, the other after a fire forced an evacuation of the engine room. Both ships were victims of a critical design flaw within several classes of warship where compartments lacked easy or effective sealing against fire, smoke or even water intake.
Most of the other ships of both fleets suffered assorted damage but the Columbian gunnery appeared superior. Frustrated, the Chinese Imperial Navy commander’s impatience grew to the point that he ordered the “General Melee” signal raised and the Chinese vessels turned into the Columbian ships, attempting to “cross the T” as the maneuver was referred in Europe. However, Porter had prepared his captains for the eventuality. Indeed, such a maneuver might even precede a torpedo attack. Porter commanded his own ships to break formation in whichever manner preventing the ships’ orientation from hitting forty-five degrees, the angle of the torpedo launchers upon the Chinese vessels.
Two by two, the combatants paired off at close range, seldom granting the Chinese any opportunity to fire their torpedoes. Instead, arguably the greatest sea battle in history degraded into a barroom brawl as each armored behemoth sought to pummel the other into submission.
One of the five Chinese vessels bearing torpedoes was among the two out of action. Another received a strike upon its tube early in the battle. That left three others bearing torpedoes, five each. At every opportunity of inflicting a hit, the increasingly frantic Chinese Captain fired a torpedo. However, choppy waters conspired with superior maneuverability on the part of the Columbian ships to restrict the total number of hits to three.
The first struck the USS Biddle amidships, inflicting a massive scar upon her hold. Lacking compartmentalized features of the more modern ships, the Biddle swiftly began to settle into the water.
The next, fired upon the USS Michigan, missed…but continued eastwards until striking the USS East Florida…and failed to detonate.
The third, almost comically, was fired into the confluence of two Columbian ships passing so closely that they literally scraped paint…and yet somehow threaded the needle between them only to pierce the rear hull of a French-built Chinese cruiser, utterly shattering her rudder and knocking out her engines.
With the sudden evaporation of his advantage (though the Columbians would not know this and continued their rapid maneuvers), the tide shifted against the Chinese as the accuracy of the Columbian guns and slight advantage in maneuverability took its toll.
A fourth Chinese ship caught fire, this one the Chinese flagship. Then another.
Finally, one by one, individual Chinese ships broke off and sailed for Honshu, leaving six ships burning, sinking or stranded.
The Columbians fared better…but perhaps not by much. Two ships, the West Florida and the Biddle already dipped below the waterline. The Michigan, Philadelphia, Savannah and Oisconsin suffered heavy damage…and lacked access to convenient shipyards in Nihon.
His own fleet crippled, Porter signaled the Columbians to rescue any survivors, take any damaged vessels in tow and return to Nagasaki.
Though the Columbians suffered a terrible price…Kyushu and Shikoku were safe.
Chapter 47
November, 1865
Upper Kongo Basin
For weeks, Nain Singh’s expedition sought further clues of the whereabouts of Richard Burton and David Livingstone’s party, now lost for almost three years. Communication became increasingly difficult with the locals, mostly the remnants of tribes already decimated by Bleeding Death, African Death and Sleeping Sickness. The Africans hired as porters and translators found the dialects increasingly difficult to parse. However, a series of villagers spoke of men arriving years ago with odd complexions, almond-shaped eyes and strange tongues. In each case, it was claimed the bizarre assortment of men remained in the area…somewhere away from the interior.
No one knew exactly where, but the villagers agreed to send messages to their kinfolk deep into the forests and local tributaries of the Kongo with a message from Singh. If the strange foreign men were found, they would be informed that others were searching for them.
It was the best offer Singh could expect. Exhausted, the party halted in an abandoned village…where three more of the porters succumbed to Sleeping Sickness and were buried among the ruins.
A year of exploration, diplomacy, even some trade, was adventure enough for most of the hired porters and translators even without the specter of disease hanging over them. The Africans and Chinese bluntly refused to go any further…and Singh could hardly blame them. He’d nearly agreed to return down river to Kongoville when a pair of young tribesmen arrived in his camp, bearing news that strange men now inhabited a village less than half a day’s walk from the riverbed.
Excited, the Indian agreed to follow the youths into the bush leaving the bulk of his party behind with the equipment and ill, accompanied only by an equally enthusiastic Samuel Clemens, one translator and a somewhat less than eager John Rowlands. Vowing he would turn the expedition for home upon his return, Singh charged after the young tribesmen who laughed at the translator still struggling with their dialect.
In truth, the march proved quite pleasant as the trail through the forest was, by African standards, both level and dry. The obvious good will of the young warriors also put the foreigners at ease. Too many times, African Tribesmen assumed the expedition to be “Arabs”, typically a byword for slaver in central Africa. However, the boys expressed a litany of questions and comments towards the harried translator, obviously parsing the local tongue with a bit less difficulty. Apparently, the Africans wanted to know what it was like sailing on a ship, the locals rarely seeing anything larger than a modest canoe.
Presently, the trail tapered off into an open field lined with assorted root crops and other vegetables. Fruit trees lined the outskirts of a small village, thankfully prosperous looking. A sharp call emerged from the throats of the residents, a mixture of half-naked men, women and children expressing little reservation for the sudden appearance of such odd-looking strangers.
The young warriors barked back and forth with the villagers, often eliciting laughter or a wave of rapidly responding voices talking over one another. Finally, half a dozen arms raised, fingers gesturing towards a hut near the outskirts of the village. Taking the hint, Singh led his fellows towards the dwelling, at least forty villagers in tow, all talking at once. Approaching the modest home, Singh noted a tall figure emerge from the darkness with…donning western garments.
Taking in the newcomers, the man smiled and stated, “So I’ve been hearing you have been looking for me. Mr. Singh, I presume?”
With a sigh, the Indian explorer recognized the features of the missionary and anti-slavery advocate, David Livingstone.
Upper Kongo Basin
For weeks, Nain Singh’s expedition sought further clues of the whereabouts of Richard Burton and David Livingstone’s party, now lost for almost three years. Communication became increasingly difficult with the locals, mostly the remnants of tribes already decimated by Bleeding Death, African Death and Sleeping Sickness. The Africans hired as porters and translators found the dialects increasingly difficult to parse. However, a series of villagers spoke of men arriving years ago with odd complexions, almond-shaped eyes and strange tongues. In each case, it was claimed the bizarre assortment of men remained in the area…somewhere away from the interior.
No one knew exactly where, but the villagers agreed to send messages to their kinfolk deep into the forests and local tributaries of the Kongo with a message from Singh. If the strange foreign men were found, they would be informed that others were searching for them.
It was the best offer Singh could expect. Exhausted, the party halted in an abandoned village…where three more of the porters succumbed to Sleeping Sickness and were buried among the ruins.
A year of exploration, diplomacy, even some trade, was adventure enough for most of the hired porters and translators even without the specter of disease hanging over them. The Africans and Chinese bluntly refused to go any further…and Singh could hardly blame them. He’d nearly agreed to return down river to Kongoville when a pair of young tribesmen arrived in his camp, bearing news that strange men now inhabited a village less than half a day’s walk from the riverbed.
Excited, the Indian agreed to follow the youths into the bush leaving the bulk of his party behind with the equipment and ill, accompanied only by an equally enthusiastic Samuel Clemens, one translator and a somewhat less than eager John Rowlands. Vowing he would turn the expedition for home upon his return, Singh charged after the young tribesmen who laughed at the translator still struggling with their dialect.
In truth, the march proved quite pleasant as the trail through the forest was, by African standards, both level and dry. The obvious good will of the young warriors also put the foreigners at ease. Too many times, African Tribesmen assumed the expedition to be “Arabs”, typically a byword for slaver in central Africa. However, the boys expressed a litany of questions and comments towards the harried translator, obviously parsing the local tongue with a bit less difficulty. Apparently, the Africans wanted to know what it was like sailing on a ship, the locals rarely seeing anything larger than a modest canoe.
Presently, the trail tapered off into an open field lined with assorted root crops and other vegetables. Fruit trees lined the outskirts of a small village, thankfully prosperous looking. A sharp call emerged from the throats of the residents, a mixture of half-naked men, women and children expressing little reservation for the sudden appearance of such odd-looking strangers.
The young warriors barked back and forth with the villagers, often eliciting laughter or a wave of rapidly responding voices talking over one another. Finally, half a dozen arms raised, fingers gesturing towards a hut near the outskirts of the village. Taking the hint, Singh led his fellows towards the dwelling, at least forty villagers in tow, all talking at once. Approaching the modest home, Singh noted a tall figure emerge from the darkness with…donning western garments.
Taking in the newcomers, the man smiled and stated, “So I’ve been hearing you have been looking for me. Mr. Singh, I presume?”
With a sigh, the Indian explorer recognized the features of the missionary and anti-slavery advocate, David Livingstone.
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Love this series! Will you do an update or in depth story behind rhode island and how they are doing and what government it is? Keep up the good work👍👍
Thank you for reading.
I haven't incorporated a subplot involving Rhode Island as most of my books of this series have already expanded well beyond the average size for a paperback novel.
I do plan on doing something with Rhode Island in future books, maybe making the Republic a sort of "no man's land" where smugglers and the like live.
Chapter 48
November, 1865
Portsmouth
“I assume you have not been wasting my time, General Longstreet,” murmured Prime Minister William Gladstone irritably, the fifty-six-year-old leader of the English Republican government. Over a month had passed since the Royalist Army had been forced from the British mainland onto Portsea Island and the Isle of Wight. The latter proved unbreachable without naval support and the former…well, General Nolan was loath to initiate a bloody battle when the war was already won. Most of the Royalist Army lay dead, wounded, or interned, and Nolan saw no reason to expend thousands of lives unless Longstreet proved utterly unreasonable.
“Then I’ve wasted my own,” The Carolinian retorted evenly, already tired of Gladstone’s whining. Though the November sky remained grey and grim, the day remained mild and Longstreet had even shaken off his heavy coat as he sipped sherry with General Nolan, comparing their experiences.
At least Nolan was interesting, having served various potentates on the Continent. His treatise regarding the use of cavalry offered a source of conversation between the soldiers.
Seated about a tent just to the north of Portsea Island, Longstreet requested a parlay from the ERA political and military leadership after receiving a bizarre dispatch from his old friend Daniel Hill of North Carolina, who was reportedly escorting Her Majesty the Queen from Southampton under the “protection” of English Republican Army soldiers. Exactly how or why Her Majesty sailed for Britain without confirming victory remained something of a mystery…or how anyone in authority ALLOWED her to sail into ERA hands…remained a mystery.
Queen Charlotte evidently sailed past the modest fleet anchored in Spithead between Portsea Island and the Isle of Wight and made for Southampton. Though the soldier doubted the ERA would simply execute Her Majesty like Charles I…well, one could never tell. Naturally, Gladstone and Nolan, when informed of the development, dispatched riders to Southampton to confirm…but no response had yet returned.
Hours of waiting reduced the string of false pleasantries to blessed silence only intermittently broken by Gladstone’s bleating. In truth, Longstreet held no intention whatsoever of striking at the British mainland. The broken Army of Liberation, what was left of it after the catastrophic series of battles southwest of London under the command of Cambridge, Bingham and Cardigan…all dead after leading their army to its doom, was in no shape to conquer anything.
Every few minutes, Gladstone would demand an explanation from Nolan as to why no word had arrived from Southampton…and Nolan would reply in increasing irritation that he had no idea.
Finally, as the morning melted into afternoon, a troop of cavalry in ERA white arrived at the head of a small, two-carriage procession. Longstreet felt a brief wave of relief that enemy had not summarily thrown Her Majesty into a cell…though he supposed that was still possible. The soldier set foot upon mainland British soil only by flag of truce. Charlotte would have no such protection.
Only as the carriages circled the clearing did it become apparent that but one bore passengers. The first, covered from the elements, the other carried only a single driver…and a long, black box carefully laid in the bed behind the seats.
Oh, no…
Presently, the cavalry dismounted, and one officer raced to open the door of the enclosed carriage. A tall figure with a balding pate and a round belly descended, donning a military uniform in the Continental style. The middle-aged man turned to assist a woman to the ground…but not the tall, elegant form of Queen Charlotte. This lady was short and plump.
“What is this…?” Gladstone growled under his breath. “If this is some sort of ruse…” The Prime Minister’s voice trailed off as he recognized the woman.
Princess Victoria and her Consort, Prince Albert, swept across the field to Nolan’s command tent. Longstreet bowed deeply to the royal couple. Surprisingly, so did Gladstone and Nolan.
“Your Highness,” Longstreet murmured. Uncertain of what else to say, he added, “Welcome to England.” Nolan’s features smirked in incredulous amusement. The Carolinian shrugged slightly in response as if to reply, “What would you have me say?”
“General Longstreet,” the Princess nodded before turning to the others. “And Mr. Gladstone and General Nolan, I imagine. Your subordinates were thoughtful enough to escort us to Portsmouth. I dare say I am pleased to be home.”
“That…” Gladstone stammered as if uncertain how to respond to the somewhat surreal situation, “…is most gratifying to hear…Your Highness. Might I inquire as to why you have come to this fair city…” “Without an army at your back?” seemed to be the subtext of his question.
Victoria looked towards Albert, to whose arm she clung, before returning her gaze to Gladstone, “I fear, sir, that I bear the most tragic of news. Queen Charlotte…has passed…” She gestured towards the 2nd carriage, apparently serving as a hearse, the black box the mortal body of the Queen of Great Britain, Ireland, France, etcetera.
Though suspecting as such the moment he laid eyes upon the lady, Longstreet managed to insert, “My most heartfelt condolences…Your Highne…er, Your Majesty.”
Belatedly, the soldier lowered himself to his knee and solemnly intoned, “God save the Queen.”
“Thank you, General,” the new Queen Regnant of Great Britain, Ireland…etc., etc., replied evenly. To the stunned Gladstone and Nolan, she added, “Our cousin’s final wish was to be buried with her husband and family in Westminster Abbey, thus I have travelled to Britain in hopes of satisfying Charlotte’s request.”
“Of…course, Ma’am…Your Majesty,” Gladstone seemed utterly overwhelmed with the situation, belatedly lowering himself to one knee as well, Nolan following. “God save the Queen.”
Victoria demurely offered her hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, Gladstone kissed her ring.
“Please, gentlemen,” she requested gently, “Rise.”
Taking the measure of the men before her…and with a supportive squeeze on her forearm by Albert…Victoria continued, “Though We loved Our Cousin, I fear I did not agree with her actions to reconquer Britain by force.”
“General Longstreet?”
“Ma’am?”
“We offer you and other soldiers who’d served Queen Charlotte in this campaign Our utmost thanks...but I must order its conclusion without delay. Like Charlotte, I’ve longed for nigh thirty-five years to return to my home…but this is not the manner in which to do it.”
His eyes lowered as was proper, Longstreet merely replied, “Yes, ma’am. With your permission, I shall request an immediate armistice with General Nolan so we might discuss the repatriation of prisoners, providing relief for wounded, arrange for safe transport of my army from these lands…and the like.”
Suddenly returning to the moment, Gladstone nodded towards Nolan, “The General will be happy to do so, Your Majesty, though it would be a sign of good faith that General Longstreet agrees to dismantle the fortifications he’s been erecting upon Portsea Island.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged, Ma’am,” Longstreet inserted, “in the armistice…along with an agreement for a free withdrawal of my forces.”
“Good,” Victoria nodded, “please see to that, gentlemen. We shall have no further bloodshed by Our subjects on Our behalf.”
Again trying to reassert his authority over the gathering, Gladstone broke in, “However, Your Majesty, there is a great deal to discuss. Though this nation is gratified that you have ordered an end to hostilities, the reality of the situation has changed since Queen Charlotte was INVITED to return peacefully to this Isle over a year past. The invasion of…Royalist…forces no doubt has altered the views of the public…and Parliament…”
“We understand, Mr. Gladstone. There is much to discuss. You have your terms of allowing Us back upon the British throne…and We shall only do so in a manner WE will accept…but no more young men will die over the matter.” Victoria retorted impatiently. “For the moment, we will be satisfied in praying for the soul of Our cousin with the Dean at Westminster and seeing Charlotte at last laid to rest with her beloved Leopold…”
In truth, Longstreet had been surprised to learn the conquering French Army three and a half decades prior maintained the courtesy of entombing Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, who’d fallen in battle whilst defending the city of London, within Westminster. He wondered if that was a decision by Napoleon II or just one of the conquering Generals.
For that matter, why did Victoria only bring her cousin, and Charlotte’s father and the new Queen’s uncle, George IV, who’d died fleeing Britain in the night and rested within the Royal Chapel of the New York Cathedral?
Maybe the Royal Family didn’t believe the fat coward deserved to be buried on his native soil.
“Of course, ma’am,” Gladstone flinched slightly. “And…if you wish, I shall arrange for Prince Arthur to meet us at Westminster…”
Victoria’s face brightened, the little woman virtually trembling as she grasped her equally relieved husband for support, “Arthur…lives?!”
Nolan answered, “Yes, ma’am, the Lieutenant fell wounded in the thigh at Portsdown Hill…after accounting well of himself, I can assure you. Fortunately, His Highness survived and is currently on parole in London with a local family assisting in his recovery.”
Eyes visibly tearing up, Victoria could speak no further, obviously elated at the news. Albert inquired, “Mr. Gladstone, would you care to share our carriage back to London? I believe you and the Queen have much to discuss…”
“I…would be honored, Prince Albert…” The politicians seemed overwhelmed and uncertain how to reply. Gladstone simply followed the time-honored protocols of the courtesy of the age.
As the Royal Couple…and Prime Minister of Britain…made for the carriage under ERA dragoon transport, the Queen turned back towards the soldiers once more and bid them, “Pray, sirs, no more sons shall shed blood with their cousins.”
Both soldiers bowed in obedience, nothing further required. Within a few minutes, the carriages, one bearing the emblem of the nation’s past and the other perhaps its future, made for London, leaving Louis Nolan and James Longstreet alone in the clearing.
Turning to his counterpart, Longstreet inquired, “Well, shall we sign the armistice?”
“No,” Nolan shook his head wearily, “I’d rather we finish that fine sherry.”
“General,” Longstreet replied with a grin, “You are a wiser man than I!”
Portsmouth
“I assume you have not been wasting my time, General Longstreet,” murmured Prime Minister William Gladstone irritably, the fifty-six-year-old leader of the English Republican government. Over a month had passed since the Royalist Army had been forced from the British mainland onto Portsea Island and the Isle of Wight. The latter proved unbreachable without naval support and the former…well, General Nolan was loath to initiate a bloody battle when the war was already won. Most of the Royalist Army lay dead, wounded, or interned, and Nolan saw no reason to expend thousands of lives unless Longstreet proved utterly unreasonable.
“Then I’ve wasted my own,” The Carolinian retorted evenly, already tired of Gladstone’s whining. Though the November sky remained grey and grim, the day remained mild and Longstreet had even shaken off his heavy coat as he sipped sherry with General Nolan, comparing their experiences.
At least Nolan was interesting, having served various potentates on the Continent. His treatise regarding the use of cavalry offered a source of conversation between the soldiers.
Seated about a tent just to the north of Portsea Island, Longstreet requested a parlay from the ERA political and military leadership after receiving a bizarre dispatch from his old friend Daniel Hill of North Carolina, who was reportedly escorting Her Majesty the Queen from Southampton under the “protection” of English Republican Army soldiers. Exactly how or why Her Majesty sailed for Britain without confirming victory remained something of a mystery…or how anyone in authority ALLOWED her to sail into ERA hands…remained a mystery.
Queen Charlotte evidently sailed past the modest fleet anchored in Spithead between Portsea Island and the Isle of Wight and made for Southampton. Though the soldier doubted the ERA would simply execute Her Majesty like Charles I…well, one could never tell. Naturally, Gladstone and Nolan, when informed of the development, dispatched riders to Southampton to confirm…but no response had yet returned.
Hours of waiting reduced the string of false pleasantries to blessed silence only intermittently broken by Gladstone’s bleating. In truth, Longstreet held no intention whatsoever of striking at the British mainland. The broken Army of Liberation, what was left of it after the catastrophic series of battles southwest of London under the command of Cambridge, Bingham and Cardigan…all dead after leading their army to its doom, was in no shape to conquer anything.
Every few minutes, Gladstone would demand an explanation from Nolan as to why no word had arrived from Southampton…and Nolan would reply in increasing irritation that he had no idea.
Finally, as the morning melted into afternoon, a troop of cavalry in ERA white arrived at the head of a small, two-carriage procession. Longstreet felt a brief wave of relief that enemy had not summarily thrown Her Majesty into a cell…though he supposed that was still possible. The soldier set foot upon mainland British soil only by flag of truce. Charlotte would have no such protection.
Only as the carriages circled the clearing did it become apparent that but one bore passengers. The first, covered from the elements, the other carried only a single driver…and a long, black box carefully laid in the bed behind the seats.
Oh, no…
Presently, the cavalry dismounted, and one officer raced to open the door of the enclosed carriage. A tall figure with a balding pate and a round belly descended, donning a military uniform in the Continental style. The middle-aged man turned to assist a woman to the ground…but not the tall, elegant form of Queen Charlotte. This lady was short and plump.
“What is this…?” Gladstone growled under his breath. “If this is some sort of ruse…” The Prime Minister’s voice trailed off as he recognized the woman.
Princess Victoria and her Consort, Prince Albert, swept across the field to Nolan’s command tent. Longstreet bowed deeply to the royal couple. Surprisingly, so did Gladstone and Nolan.
“Your Highness,” Longstreet murmured. Uncertain of what else to say, he added, “Welcome to England.” Nolan’s features smirked in incredulous amusement. The Carolinian shrugged slightly in response as if to reply, “What would you have me say?”
“General Longstreet,” the Princess nodded before turning to the others. “And Mr. Gladstone and General Nolan, I imagine. Your subordinates were thoughtful enough to escort us to Portsmouth. I dare say I am pleased to be home.”
“That…” Gladstone stammered as if uncertain how to respond to the somewhat surreal situation, “…is most gratifying to hear…Your Highness. Might I inquire as to why you have come to this fair city…” “Without an army at your back?” seemed to be the subtext of his question.
Victoria looked towards Albert, to whose arm she clung, before returning her gaze to Gladstone, “I fear, sir, that I bear the most tragic of news. Queen Charlotte…has passed…” She gestured towards the 2nd carriage, apparently serving as a hearse, the black box the mortal body of the Queen of Great Britain, Ireland, France, etcetera.
Though suspecting as such the moment he laid eyes upon the lady, Longstreet managed to insert, “My most heartfelt condolences…Your Highne…er, Your Majesty.”
Belatedly, the soldier lowered himself to his knee and solemnly intoned, “God save the Queen.”
“Thank you, General,” the new Queen Regnant of Great Britain, Ireland…etc., etc., replied evenly. To the stunned Gladstone and Nolan, she added, “Our cousin’s final wish was to be buried with her husband and family in Westminster Abbey, thus I have travelled to Britain in hopes of satisfying Charlotte’s request.”
“Of…course, Ma’am…Your Majesty,” Gladstone seemed utterly overwhelmed with the situation, belatedly lowering himself to one knee as well, Nolan following. “God save the Queen.”
Victoria demurely offered her hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, Gladstone kissed her ring.
“Please, gentlemen,” she requested gently, “Rise.”
Taking the measure of the men before her…and with a supportive squeeze on her forearm by Albert…Victoria continued, “Though We loved Our Cousin, I fear I did not agree with her actions to reconquer Britain by force.”
“General Longstreet?”
“Ma’am?”
“We offer you and other soldiers who’d served Queen Charlotte in this campaign Our utmost thanks...but I must order its conclusion without delay. Like Charlotte, I’ve longed for nigh thirty-five years to return to my home…but this is not the manner in which to do it.”
His eyes lowered as was proper, Longstreet merely replied, “Yes, ma’am. With your permission, I shall request an immediate armistice with General Nolan so we might discuss the repatriation of prisoners, providing relief for wounded, arrange for safe transport of my army from these lands…and the like.”
Suddenly returning to the moment, Gladstone nodded towards Nolan, “The General will be happy to do so, Your Majesty, though it would be a sign of good faith that General Longstreet agrees to dismantle the fortifications he’s been erecting upon Portsea Island.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged, Ma’am,” Longstreet inserted, “in the armistice…along with an agreement for a free withdrawal of my forces.”
“Good,” Victoria nodded, “please see to that, gentlemen. We shall have no further bloodshed by Our subjects on Our behalf.”
Again trying to reassert his authority over the gathering, Gladstone broke in, “However, Your Majesty, there is a great deal to discuss. Though this nation is gratified that you have ordered an end to hostilities, the reality of the situation has changed since Queen Charlotte was INVITED to return peacefully to this Isle over a year past. The invasion of…Royalist…forces no doubt has altered the views of the public…and Parliament…”
“We understand, Mr. Gladstone. There is much to discuss. You have your terms of allowing Us back upon the British throne…and We shall only do so in a manner WE will accept…but no more young men will die over the matter.” Victoria retorted impatiently. “For the moment, we will be satisfied in praying for the soul of Our cousin with the Dean at Westminster and seeing Charlotte at last laid to rest with her beloved Leopold…”
In truth, Longstreet had been surprised to learn the conquering French Army three and a half decades prior maintained the courtesy of entombing Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, who’d fallen in battle whilst defending the city of London, within Westminster. He wondered if that was a decision by Napoleon II or just one of the conquering Generals.
For that matter, why did Victoria only bring her cousin, and Charlotte’s father and the new Queen’s uncle, George IV, who’d died fleeing Britain in the night and rested within the Royal Chapel of the New York Cathedral?
Maybe the Royal Family didn’t believe the fat coward deserved to be buried on his native soil.
“Of course, ma’am,” Gladstone flinched slightly. “And…if you wish, I shall arrange for Prince Arthur to meet us at Westminster…”
Victoria’s face brightened, the little woman virtually trembling as she grasped her equally relieved husband for support, “Arthur…lives?!”
Nolan answered, “Yes, ma’am, the Lieutenant fell wounded in the thigh at Portsdown Hill…after accounting well of himself, I can assure you. Fortunately, His Highness survived and is currently on parole in London with a local family assisting in his recovery.”
Eyes visibly tearing up, Victoria could speak no further, obviously elated at the news. Albert inquired, “Mr. Gladstone, would you care to share our carriage back to London? I believe you and the Queen have much to discuss…”
“I…would be honored, Prince Albert…” The politicians seemed overwhelmed and uncertain how to reply. Gladstone simply followed the time-honored protocols of the courtesy of the age.
As the Royal Couple…and Prime Minister of Britain…made for the carriage under ERA dragoon transport, the Queen turned back towards the soldiers once more and bid them, “Pray, sirs, no more sons shall shed blood with their cousins.”
Both soldiers bowed in obedience, nothing further required. Within a few minutes, the carriages, one bearing the emblem of the nation’s past and the other perhaps its future, made for London, leaving Louis Nolan and James Longstreet alone in the clearing.
Turning to his counterpart, Longstreet inquired, “Well, shall we sign the armistice?”
“No,” Nolan shook his head wearily, “I’d rather we finish that fine sherry.”
“General,” Longstreet replied with a grin, “You are a wiser man than I!”
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Nice chapter, will it be threadmarked? Hopefully Queen Victoria will be able bring about peace to England. Maybe she can somehow bring the monarchy back to England? Good work.
I don’t know if she can, the royalist invasion will have left quite a sour reputation of the royal family in their homeland. Victoria will have to be a very charismatic individual indeed to bring about the return of the monarchy, even a symbolic one, to England.
I do wonder if the Isle of Wight will be retained by the royalist forces in the treaty.
Definitely, the mythos of the "Queen across the water" would be severely damaged by the war. But Victoria's actions to arrive unescorted with Charlotte's body would probably endear the new Queen, "innocent" over the conduct of the war, to the population.
The bigger issue is what terms she could be offered to take up the throne and what she would accept. The ERA won the brief English Civil War and can dictate. No doubt there would be an acceptance of the abolition of the House of Lords, abolition of the "profitable" posts once part of the gift of the crown used to influence Parliament, abolition of most "Royal Privileges" related to elections (the Rotten Borroughs, seats in Parliament for the Admiralty and Clergy, etc), restrictions on if/when she could dissolve Parliament, acceptance of the 100% suffrage, acceptance that land distributed by the ERA and French over the past 35 years would NOT be returned to their owners.
Victoria probably wouldn't fight too hard on these points as they would not be negotiable. Once these are conceded, the political power of the Queen would be limited.
She would probably spend most of her limited leverage negotiating keeping authority to appoint positions in the Church of England, her own Household staff, ritual offices free of government control (Privy Seal, etc) and, of course, a reasonable subsidy to support the Crown's lifestyle.
There would be supporters and opponents on both sides. "Royalists" in New York would call any negotiation a betrayal but I imagine a deal could be reached and, with good conduct and dedication to her duties, Victoria might regain much of the lost affection of the British people.
As for the Isle of Wight and Portsea Island, there would be no "Royalist" territory if the Queen was accepted by the British people. For the moment, the "Army of Liberation" only holds these islands due to lack of an ERA navy until they assorted Imperial Regiments (those surviving) are carried home with the conclusion of the war. I'll go into that in a future chapter.
Thanks for reading.