Harry Harrison: Stars and Stripes Triumphant

“As soon as I got your message and arrived here. That yacht is not to be approached, searched, or troubled in any way. Free to come — even freer to leave.”

“I am glad of that,” the Count said, looking through his glasses again. “But one does wish that they could be a little more discreet. That is the fifth large trunk that has been loaded aboard from that dray.”

“The German nobility has never been known for its intelligence.”

“Quite.” The Count squinted at the sun setting behind the rolling hills. “It will be dark soon.”

“Not soon enough. The quicker this escapade is over and done with, the happier I will be.”

“Do not despair, dear Gus.” The Count laughed and pulled at his arm. He snapped a quick command in Russian to the officer on watch. “Come below and share a bottle of champagne. We shall be called as soon as there is any activity on the pier.”

In Osbourne House there was a great stirring when the Belgian Foreign Minister, Baron Surlet de Chokier, was admitted. The Queen was waiting, wearing black traveling dress and fussing over her younger children. The Prince of Wales, known to all the family as Bertie, stood to one side; Alexandra, his bride of two years, also beside him. They were a contrasting pair: she was slight, and very attractive. Young though he was, if the pudgy Bertie had ever had any charm, it was long since gone. Black-bearded and potbellied, he was already going bald. He looked on, apparently bored, when the Baron spoke to the Queen.

“It has all been arranged, Your Majesty. King Leopold was immensely concerned with the safety of you and your family, and indeed was most relieved when you accepted his offer of sanctuary. The yacht is tied up and awaiting only your presence.”

“It will be safe?” Victoria sounded lost, unsure of herself.

“I assure Your Majesty that Belgium will provide a safe haven for you, far from this devastated, war-torn country. Your bags are being loaded. We only await your royal presence.”

The Queen looked down at the children, wrapped warmly in jackets, and then at Bertie and the bare-armed Alexandra.

“You’ll get a chill,” she said firmly.

“Not really, Mama,” Bertie said, a sly smile on his lips. “I think that Alexandra and I will be quite safe here in Osbourne House.”

“But — we planned. For all our safety…” Then Victoria’s eyes widened and she gasped. “You are not coming!” Her voice was shrill, angry. “You will remain here, behind my back? We are the Queen. You have been talking to the monarchists, haven’t you? Behind my back!”

“Of course not, Mama,” he said. But there was little reassurance in his voice and the tiny smile belied the meaning of his words.

“You want me gone!” she screeched. “With me in Belgium, you want the crown for yourself!”

“Don’t excite yourself, Mother, it does you ill. You will enjoy Belgium, I am sure.”

In the end Bertie excused himself and left, waving the shocked Alexandra after him. It was some time before the horrified ladies-in-waiting could convince the Queen that she must go on the yacht — if only for the sake of the children. Weeping and distraught, she eventually entered the carriage, hugging the crying children to her.

Aboard the Aurora, over half of the bottle of vintage champagne was gone before Gus and the Count were summoned on deck once again. Although the lamps on the dock had not been lit, the waning moon cast enough illumination for them to clearly see the arrival of the carriages. Dark figures, one after another, emerged and were hurried up the gangway. Even as the passengers were boarding, a cloud of smoke issued from the little vessel’s funnel and floated across the harbor. Soon after that the lines were taken in and the yacht puffed out into the Solent. Minutes later the Aurora moved slowly in her wake. They sailed past the anchored naval vessels and out into the ocean. The Belgian yacht continued away from the shore a good few miles before she altered her course to the east.

“She is now out of British territorial waters and well on her way to Belgium,” the Count said happily. “Now — let us finish that bottle since this necessitates a little celebration.”

Once in the salon, he poured their glasses full, raised his on high. “This calls for a toast,” Korzhenevski said. “Did your American schools teach you about Bonnie Prince Charlie?”

“Not really. We are not a country that goes in much for British history.”

“A serious lapse. One must always know one’s adversaries. It seems that in Scotland they toasted the deposed prince as ‘the King over the water.’ ”

“That has a nice ring to it.” Gus raised his glass as well. “Shall we drink, then, to the Queen over the water?” They touched glasses and drank deep.

“Did they really think that we wanted to keep her here?” Gus mused. “King Leopold has done us an immense favor. Too bad we cannot thank him.”

Although it was after dark in England, it was still early afternoon in Washington City. President Abraham Lincoln looked wearily at the papers that cluttered his desk, then pushed them away. He pressed the electric button that summoned his secretary. John Nicolay poked his head in through the door.

“Take these away, John, if you will. I can’t bear the sight of them. I foolishly thought that with the coming of peace, there would be a vast diminution in the paperwork. There is, if anything, a good deal more. Away with them.”

“Just as you say.” He squared the sheets into a neat pile, then took more folded papers from his pocket. “I was just going to bring this in. The morning report from the War Department.”

“Ah, the military mind. Their idea of what constitutes morning sure stumps me. Anything there that I want to hear?”

“Mostly passing on reports from London. The constitutional congress is still meeting, and they expect to have a document that they can vote upon by this time next week.”

“Sure are taking their time.”

“Our Continental Congress took a lot longer to draw up the Constitution.”

“Indeed they did. I stand corrected. Any more?”

“Yes. A report from General Sherman. He will be in Edinburgh by now with his commission. The terms of the separate peace with Scotland are all agreed and will be formerly signed now.”

“So the Scots will have their own parliament. That will not go down well with the English.”

“That the Scots do have — and no, it did not go down very well at all south of their border. The English newspapers are incensed and predict riots and blood in the streets.”

“They always do — but thankfully it never happens. Sherman is too good a soldier to permit anything like that to take place. Like it or not, they have had peace thrust upon them.”

“There is also a confidential report from Gus Fox that Queen Victoria is about to be secretly smuggled out to Belgium.”

“God bless Gus! I don’t know how he managed it, but that is the best news ever. Without her presence in the country, the monarchists will have no rallying point. I would be more than delighted if they vote this constitution in, then elect a representative government so I can bring the boys home.”

“There have been no difficulties on that score from the soldiers, Mr. President. Since General Sherman has been slowly reducing the occupying forces, any of them who want to return home have already done so. There have not been many volunteers. Seems their pay goes a lot further over there. They like the public houses and the women. Only complaints I’ve heard mentioned are about the weather.”

“Well, an army that only complains about the rain must be in pretty good all-around shape. Anything else?”