“Read that,” Semmes said. The signal rating on the bridge was scratching on a slate. When he was done he handed it the captain who scanned it quickly, then turned to the watch officer.

“General Ulysses S. Grant is coming aboard, Mr. Seward.”

“A most fortunate meeting, for he is the man who will know just what is happening with the Mexicans and the French.”

“Drop the gangway,” the captain ordered. “And get the ceremony right for the general’s rank. We’ll see him up here on the bridge.” Now that they weren’t moving, so that the scuttles on deck no longer carried cool air below, his day room would be a metal oven. Semmes made a mental note to check in the regulations to see how a general should be piped aboard a ship. He had gone from master of a commercial vessel right into commerce raiding. Luckily his first officer was a graduate of Annapolis.

They watched while Grant came on deck. He was a compact man with a full beard, wearing a private’s blue uniform, the only sign of rank the stars on his shoulders. He climbed quickly to the bridge, nodded in recognition of the Secretary of State.

“It is very good to see you here, Mr. Secretary. The political shenanigans going on here are far beyond me.” He turned and extended his hand to Semmes.

“Captain, you and your ship are a welcome sight indeed.”

Seward looked towards the shore. “Just what is happening there, General Grant?”

“Well, sir, it seems that the politicians have been talking for weeks, but they finally agreed on terms today. The French have surrendered. Their troops will be disarmed and permitted to leave. Those are their ships you see over there, the ones tied up along the wharves. The Mexicans wanted to shoot Maximilian, but our negotiators sort of talked them out of it. But he and all of the officers will be held here under close guard until all of the terms of the surrender are carried out. It seems that when the French first started this war here they shipped all the Mexican troops that they had beaten right back to France. When these soldiers are returned, why then the rest of the French can leave.”

Grant looked down at the massive two-gun turret forward of the bridge, as well as the smaller cannon along the ironclad’s side, and nodded happily.

“I am indeed pleased to see those guns. My troops have been on those ships anchored out there for far too long. I didn’t want to land them without some cover, in case anything went wrong. This place is a tinderbox just ready to go up. If you will kindly point your cannon shoreward to cover the landings I would be greatly obliged.”

“That is my privilege, General Grant. I am also going to get this ship as close to shore as I can. Might I suggest you station a signalman ashore where we can see him? That way we can keep in communication.”

“I’ll do just that. Mr. Secretary — would you like to come with me?”

“I do indeed. Consul Hancock will brief me on the state of negotiations so far.”

Even as the steam launch puffed towards the shore the disembarking of the American troops was beginning. At the north end of the harbor, just as far from the French ships as possible, where the American troop transports were tied up. A regiment of riflemen were the first ashore. They were quickly formed up and marched down the waterfront towards the distant wharf. Once in position they were drawn up in a line facing the French ships. At the same time a battery of 10-pounder Parrott guns were being unloaded, winched up from the ships’ holds. Weighing only eight hundred and ninety-nine pounds each, they could be manhandled into position by the gunners and troops. These rifled cannon were fast-firing and deadly.

The troops who descended from the next transport wore butternut gray. Even in this army, united against the British invaders, the regiments still kept their old identity, were still commanded by their own officers.

Then, from the city, bugles sounded and there was the muffled sound of drums. These grew louder and louder as the first of the French troops appeared on the waterfront. They made no attempt to keep in step, but shuffled along aimlessly, the very picture of defeat. Weaponless, bereft of any morale, some of them walked dispiritedly with their hands in their pockets. As they boarded their own ships, the American army was still disembarking from theirs.

“That’s a sight that you’ll never see again,” Semmes said, and the watch officer nodded agreement. “All we need is a few Mexicans waving their new flag to make the picture complete.”

“Well there they are, sir,” the watch officer said, pointing. “Those armed guards marching beside the French. They must surely be Mexicans.”

“I do believe that you are right,” Semmes said, looking through his glasses. “If this is not an historical moment there never will be one.”

A small group of officials stood on the balcony of the ayuntamiento, the city hall. This was where the conference had been taking place to decide the terms of the surrender — and the peace. Secretary of State Seward was there, along with Johnston Hancock, the American consul in Vera Cruz. He was a heavy man, some would say fat, who sweated a lot. He wasn’t the best of consuls, but his family had traded in Mexico for years and his knowledge of Spanish was a great asset. His large form towered over the diminutive President of Mexico, Benito Juarez.

“They are murderers and they are escaping,” Juarez said bitterly.

“They are but common soldiers, Excellency. Here against their will, conscripts in the service of the tyrant Napoleon. Remember, their officers are still here, as well as the usurper Maximilian, hostages until your Mexican troops have been returned.”

“He should be stood up against a wall and be shot.”

Juarez shot a look of dark malevolence at the next balcony where the French officers stood, surrounding the tall form of the deposed emperor. The men on both balconies ignored each other completely as they looked down at the defeated troops below. Seward nodded approval and turned to Hancock.

“Kindly tell the president that this is a great moment in the history of Mexico. The usurper driven from power, his elected government in control of the country once again.”

Hancock translated, then turned back to Seward.

“His Excellency thanks you for your good wishes. And for the generous aid that made this victory possible.”

“Good. Then this might be an appropriate time to remind him that there still are invasion forces in his country — the British. Peace will not be secured until they are also driven from these shores.”

Juarez was not happy to be reminded of the British. They were dug in and well armed and his troops had little incentive to continue the battle. It meant nothing to them. Let them build the road, and then use it and leave. He made some vague reassurances to the fat Yankee and turned back to watch the departing troops. This really was an historical moment and he wished to enjoy every second of his enemy’s humiliation.

The troop movements continued throughout the morning. A little before noon General Ulysses S. Grant reboarded the Virginia.

“Going about as smooth as can be expected,” he said looking across the harbor from the height of the bridge. “I want my troops here until the French have all gone. Besides, they need a spell ashore after being jammed aboard those ships. While that is happening I need your help, Captain.”

“Anything you say, General.”

“General Joe Johnston can look after things while I’m gone.”

“Joseph E. Johnston?”

“The same. My second-in-command. And I’m most happy to have him fighting at my side — instead of being on the other side. Before I take my men out to attack the British road I want to know more about it. Particularly the port at this end of it. The Coatza-something place.”

“I would greatly like to see it myself.”