women and children, are locked up in these vile places. The conditions in the camps are appalling. No one has been charged with any crime—they are just held against their will. This is more than a crime against individuals—it is a crime against a race!"
Lincoln listened in silence, staring out of the window at the growing darkness, felt the darkness growing in himself as well. "We must do something about this—though for the life of me I cannot think what. I must call a cabinet meeting. Tomorrow morning. Perhaps cooler and wiser heads will have some answers. I suppose a government protest is in order..."
Stanton shook his head. "They'll ignore it just the way they have ignored all the other ones." Then, the thoughts obviously linked, he asked, "Is there any word from General Sherman yet?"
"None. And how I wish that there were. During the past years of war I have come to depend upon him. This country owes him an immense debt. Without any doubt he is the man to rely on in a national emergency. I am concerned with his safety because I am sure he is involved with some desperate matter. I just wonder where he is now."
Across the ocean, on the shores of the country that so tried the President and his men, Sherman was staring through a spyglass at a peninsula jutting out from the rapidly approaching coast.
"It's called the Lizard," Count Korzhenevski said. "A strange name—and a very old one. No one knows why the peninsula is so named. But on the modern charts it does look like a lizard—which I doubt the people who named her could have known. Bit of a mystery. The very tip is called Land's End—which it indeed is. The most westernmost place in Britain. That is where Penzance is."
Sherman turned his telescope to focus on the town. "The Great Western Railway line terminates there."
"It does indeed."
"I would like to go ashore and visit the place. Or would that be too risky?"
"It would be a piece of cake, old boy, as Count Iggy might say. This will not be entering a military establishment, visiting the lion in its lair, so to speak. This is a quiet, sleepy little town. With a passable basin where we can tie up among the other yachts. A stroll ashore would be very much in order, drink some warm British beer, that sort of thing. As long as I am the only one who speaks to the natives, there should be no danger."
"Then let us do it," Sherman said strongly.
The sun shone warmly on the slate roofs of Penzance. A steam ferry was just emerging from the harbor as they approached, bound for the Scilly Isles. Clad in yachting outfits, the Count and the three American officers were rowed ashore. Korzhenevski had been right: No attention was paid to their arrival. A fisherman, mending nets on the shore, looked up as they passed. He touched a worn knuckle to his forehead and went back to his work. It was a Sunday, and others in their best clothes strolled along the shore. It was a pleasant day's outing.
There, just ahead of them, was the bulk of the train station. Sherman looked around to be sure he could not be overheard, then spoke softly to the Count.
"Is there any reason we can't go in there?"
"None. I will make some inquiries in the booking office while you gentlemen stand and wait for me."
"And look around," Commander Wilson said, smiling. Since they had come ashore, he had been examining everything with a keen surveyor's eye.
They went up the few steps and entered the station. A train was just leaving, and like many others, they watched as the carriage doors were slammed shut and the guard blew his whistle. The stationmaster, proudly uniformed and sporting a gold watch chain across his waistcoat, waved his flag to the driver. Blasting out a burst of steam, the engine's whistle blew, and puffing out clouds of smoke, the train drew out of the station.
"Gentlemen," the Count said loudly, "I do believe there is a refreshment bar over there. It is a warm day and I think that we would all enjoy a glass of ale."
They sat
Lincoln listened in silence, staring out of the window at the growing darkness, felt the darkness growing in himself as well. "We must do something about this—though for the life of me I cannot think what. I must call a cabinet meeting. Tomorrow morning. Perhaps cooler and wiser heads will have some answers. I suppose a government protest is in order..."
Stanton shook his head. "They'll ignore it just the way they have ignored all the other ones." Then, the thoughts obviously linked, he asked, "Is there any word from General Sherman yet?"
"None. And how I wish that there were. During the past years of war I have come to depend upon him. This country owes him an immense debt. Without any doubt he is the man to rely on in a national emergency. I am concerned with his safety because I am sure he is involved with some desperate matter. I just wonder where he is now."
Across the ocean, on the shores of the country that so tried the President and his men, Sherman was staring through a spyglass at a peninsula jutting out from the rapidly approaching coast.
"It's called the Lizard," Count Korzhenevski said. "A strange name—and a very old one. No one knows why the peninsula is so named. But on the modern charts it does look like a lizard—which I doubt the people who named her could have known. Bit of a mystery. The very tip is called Land's End—which it indeed is. The most westernmost place in Britain. That is where Penzance is."
Sherman turned his telescope to focus on the town. "The Great Western Railway line terminates there."
"It does indeed."
"I would like to go ashore and visit the place. Or would that be too risky?"
"It would be a piece of cake, old boy, as Count Iggy might say. This will not be entering a military establishment, visiting the lion in its lair, so to speak. This is a quiet, sleepy little town. With a passable basin where we can tie up among the other yachts. A stroll ashore would be very much in order, drink some warm British beer, that sort of thing. As long as I am the only one who speaks to the natives, there should be no danger."
"Then let us do it," Sherman said strongly.
The sun shone warmly on the slate roofs of Penzance. A steam ferry was just emerging from the harbor as they approached, bound for the Scilly Isles. Clad in yachting outfits, the Count and the three American officers were rowed ashore. Korzhenevski had been right: No attention was paid to their arrival. A fisherman, mending nets on the shore, looked up as they passed. He touched a worn knuckle to his forehead and went back to his work. It was a Sunday, and others in their best clothes strolled along the shore. It was a pleasant day's outing.
There, just ahead of them, was the bulk of the train station. Sherman looked around to be sure he could not be overheard, then spoke softly to the Count.
"Is there any reason we can't go in there?"
"None. I will make some inquiries in the booking office while you gentlemen stand and wait for me."
"And look around," Commander Wilson said, smiling. Since they had come ashore, he had been examining everything with a keen surveyor's eye.
They went up the few steps and entered the station. A train was just leaving, and like many others, they watched as the carriage doors were slammed shut and the guard blew his whistle. The stationmaster, proudly uniformed and sporting a gold watch chain across his waistcoat, waved his flag to the driver. Blasting out a burst of steam, the engine's whistle blew, and puffing out clouds of smoke, the train drew out of the station.
"Gentlemen," the Count said loudly, "I do believe there is a refreshment bar over there. It is a warm day and I think that we would all enjoy a glass of ale."
They sat
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