“Indeed.”

“But not this time,” the Count said with sudden inspiration. “Makarov here is a professor of engineering at the Moscow Institute. Since we were passing this way, he begged me to accompany him. Otherwise he could not make this trip.”

“Trip?” Fowler asked, puzzled.

“Yes. To see the world-famous Tamar Bridge, built by your Mr. Brunei.”

“A wonder! I can easily understand his enthusiasm. We used to go out in carriages and picnic on the cliffs above while we watched it go up. Laid bets it couldn’t be done. Made a few quid myself, you know. Unspannable, they said. But old Brunei built these ruddy great piers, solid stone. Then the bridge sections, built on land and brought out on barges, then lifted up to the top of the piers. You’ll see for yourself, we should be crossing it soon — right after Saltash.”

At slow speed the train moved out onto the bridge, under the immense tubular arches. “There, look at that!” Archie said with great enthusiasm. “Arches, strong under pressure. And next to them the suspension cables, equally strong under tension. So the way they are built, the forces cancel out at the ends of the sections; therefore, all of the weight is directed straight down onto the piers. Built in this manner, they could each be lifted as a single unit. A wonder of the world.”

“It is indeed.”

“Da, da,” Sherman added, much taken in by the sight.

The train pulled into Plymouth a few minutes later and they alighted.

“Can I show you around our ship? It would be a great pleasure,” Archie said. The Count shook his head. “If we but could. However we must return on the next train; we only had these few hours.”

“Next time, then. Well, you know where I am. And I want you to know that an old friend from Greenwich is always welcome.”

They shook hands and parted, the lieutenant leaving the station.

“What a bourgeois bore,” the Count said, looking distastefully at the naval officer’s retreating back. “Old friend indeed! Oh, how that jumped-up creature must have envied his elders and betters.”

Sherman and the Count had to find their train. As they climbed the stairs to cross over to the down track, the Count patted his forehead with his kerchief.

“I’m afraid I can’t keep as cool as you under fire, General. I hope this little trip was worth the effort.”

“Far more than you can realize. After we return to your ship, I would like to ask you to do me one last favor, if you will.”

“I am completely at your service.”

“Then — could we possibly make a visit to the river Mersey?”

“We could. To Liverpool?”

“To Liverpool indeed. After that, I am sure that you will be happy to hear our little adventure will be at an end.”

“Boshe moi!” the Count sighed loudly. “Which means something like ‘God bless.’ It is what Russians say at moments of great stress — or stress relieved. Come, let us not miss our train.”

President Abraham Lincoln was not happy. The cabinet meeting was not only not producing an answer to the country’s problems — but it was fast becoming a chaos of contrasting opinions.

“There is a limit beyond which we cannot and will not go,” Salmon P. Chase, Secretary of the Treasury, said in a firm and unyielding voice. “During the war, yes, people would put up with high levels of taxation, as well as a certain amount of physical discomfort and sacrifice. But the war is long over and they have come to expect some return for their efforts, some creature comforts. I cannot and will not agree to raising taxes once again.”

“I don’t think that you have heard me clearly, Mr. Chase,” Gideon Welles said with cold fury. “As Secretary of the Navy, it is my assignment to follow the dictates of Congress. In their wisdom, the Congress has ordered an expansion of the navy to follow the world trend. When other countries arm we must follow suit to ensure this country’s first line of defense. Naval strength today means ironclads. Now they are bigger, faster, stronger, better armed, and better armored. And all of that costs money. Have I made myself clear?”

Before the infuriated Chase could speak again, Edwin M. Stanton, the Secretary of War, broke in.

“At this point I must remind you all that it costs a million and a half dollars a day to keep two hundred thousand well-trained troops in the field. Like the navy, I have been instructed by Congress to build and maintain that army—”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Lincoln said, raising his voice to silence the squabbling, “I feel that we are arguing at cross purposes here. That you all have valid points to make, I do not doubt. But I called this meeting today to seek your advice and joint wisdom in facing up to our current and major problem: The intransigence of the British and their flouting of international relationships on a massive scale against our country. That is the intelligence I now desperately need. I beg of you, abandon your differences and speak only to this point, if you please.”

The men seated around the long table fell silent. So silent, in fact, that the hum of a bumblebee could be clearly heard as it flew in through an open window. It thudded angrily against the glass pane before it could find the way to exit. In this silence the low voice of William H. Seward could be plainly heard.

“As Secretary of State, it is my duty to answer the President’s request. My department has not been idle. Abroad, ambassadors and civil servants have been attempting to get other countries to join us in protest against the British. In this I am forced to admit failure. Many of the European countries, large enough and strong enough to impress the British with their views, are linked to the British royal family, while smaller countries are left unheard. Regretfully, there is frankly little more that we can do.”

“I can but advise your representatives to try harder,” Judah P. Benjamin said. After being defeated in the presidential election, he had graciously agreed to return to his cabinet post as Secretary for the South. “Every day I receive more and more complaints from the cotton planters. They cannot depend on the domestic market alone, but must look overseas to ensure their profits. The British seizure of so many cotton ships is driving them to bankruptcy.”

There were nods of understanding at this unhappy state. Then, before anyone else could speak, the door opened and John Hay, Secretary to the President, slipped in. He spoke softly to Lincoln, who nodded.

“I understand,” he said. “Tarry a moment, John, while I put this to the cabinet. Gentlemen, it has been brought to my attention that the President of Ireland is waiting below with the Irish ambassador. He contacted me last night, soon after his arrival, and requested a meeting. I informed him about this cabinet session and asked him to join us. I hope you will agree that what he has to say is of the utmost importance to you all assembled here.”

“It is indeed,” Seward said. “We must have him in.”

Hay went out and the cabinet waited in silence until he returned. When he came back he ushered in two men in dark morning suits. Their mien echoed the color of their garb, for their faces expressed nothing but unhappiness — bordering on despair.

“President Rossa,” John Hay said, and the President nodded. “With him is Ambassador O’Brin.”

“This is a great pleasure,” Lincoln said. “John, do bring over those chairs. Jeremiah, when I saw you last it was during a time of great difficulty.”

“Unhappily, Abraham, the difficulties are still there — and if anything, they have grown, until I fear that my poor country is at the mercy of some biblical plague.”

“And I can put a name to that plague,” the Irish ambassador said. “I beg you, excuse me for speaking out like that, but the words are forced from my soul. The British — they are the plague that is destroying our poor country.”