Date: Fri, 23 Mar 2001 22:03:43 EST
From: SWarri1349@aol.com
Subject: No Greater love chapter 11 Gay/Historical
No Greater Love
Chapter 11
The morning sun of May 3rd, 1862, rose in the eastern skies, as the USS
BENTON steamed slowly southward toward the mouth of the Red River and Port
Hudson, the massive iron and wood paddle wheel thumping and churning the
muddy water. They passed Sailor's Point during the night as they slipped
past Johnson Bar. The enemy was gone, the river quiet, with the full moon
shining overhead. The men on watch silently saluted toward shore where
their comrades now lay in this foreign land. Seven brave men and one very
loyal brave boy, who never had the chance to grow up. The men of the
BENTON now looked up to their captain; maybe he had balls after all.
Thompson himself seemed to even change after the battle of Belle
Bend. Belle Bend was the first battle in which he had full command of his
own ship; at Memphis he had Commander Foote along with Porter on his
heels. Commander Foote was on the BENTON during that action, but Belle Bend
was different because he was in charge. This morning at the sound of the 6
AM bell he was standing high on the casemate roof, looking at the damage
that was done the day before. The night before, he had walked the decks and
as he passed the wheelhouse he heard his young crewmen talking, lying up on
the roof. He slowed his pace and listened as they talked about their young
friend who would not be joining them again. Mere boys talking like grown
men, he thought as he continued his walk, is this what war is all about,
robbing children of their boyhood, killing family and friends and former
countrymen for something that was started before we ever became a nation to
divide in the first place? Before he retired he told the new first officer,
John Scarett Young, to keep an eye on the boys and let them sleep under the
stars in each other's company.
"Captain Thompson, Sir!" Chief Engineer Burr saluted.
"Yes, Mr. Burr?" Thompson asked as he returned the salute.
"I have found a way to repair the axle bearing on the wheel, but we
must drop anchor so I can get some men down there safely to do it. Also,
sir, we need to tighten the bolts on the portside engine. My men can have
it done in under one hour, then we can resume chase to that Bastard Rebel
steamboat."
"Very well, Mr. Burr, make it happen! And if you plan on cursing the
damned Rebel steamboat, well, let's just say we're going to find it and
we're going to sink that Fucker!"
"YES, SIR, Captain!" Burr saluted once more before heading below.
Thompson heard the calls echoing up to where he stood. 'Hard to port,
Pilot, we're going to drop the fires and tie up at the bank for repairs to
the wheel and port engine and check those steering chains for damage."
"AYE, AYE! Mr. Burr, hard to port she is," the pilots called back as
the heavy ironclad steered for shore. The engine bells rang as the engines
slowed as the extra steam was vented out of the tall funnels, as firebox
doors were slammed closed.
The bow of the BENTON scraped shore as sailors with the heavy ropes
lashed them to the trees on shore. 15 marines climbed to the casemate roof
and took positons as the 12 pound howitzer was readied for action; they
were taking no chances this time around.
"MID-SHIPMAN PHILLIPS, you're in charge of the howitzer!"
"Yes, Sir, Captain!" Davie saluted as John and Ernest stood beside him
ready to help.
"Drummers, beat to quarters!" Thompson ordered.
John and Ernest sounded the call on the drums as the big guns in the
stern were run out into battery to protect the rear.
Gunners were re-roping the forward guns with new ropes as other men
continued to check for damage not spotted the night before. The heavy ropes
were run through iron rings mounted on the wooden gun carriages, then
looped through more rings on the casemate of the ship to keep the recoil of
the guns in check. The BENTON was supposed to carry four guns forward but
one of the ports was empty - the reason, the Navy lacked enough big guns or
so that is what they told Washington. The gunners, like the Army, accepted
this answer, and the closed gun port in the bow along with the one on each
quarter and the center in the stern, but the crew, like the captain, all
thought one thing, Political Bullshit was the reason the BENTON lacked four
heavy guns in her armament. Some of the old salts from the blue water navy
struck up sea chanties as they worked.
Erik was sweating already in the hot boiler room as he gathered the
tools he and the rest of the work gang would need to repair the axle
bearing on the paddle wheel. The BENTON carried a complete set of tools to
work on the engines and other parts of the ship, also spare parts stored in
large boxes. There was even raw lumber stock for the boat's carpenter and
sheets of boiler iron stored in the bow section so you had enough to make a
temporary patch in case one of the boilers sprang a leak. Five men were
alrady tightening the heavy stay bolts on the port engine, stripped bare
chested as they turned the big wrenches, tightening the bolts that held the
engine mounted in place while others checked the boilers and the steam
pipes running to the engines for leaks as the 5 slender boilers hissed as
they cooled down. The firemen couldn't believe that the 16 year old boy was
in charge of the repairs, but damn, he knew his engines and boilers. They
learned quickly his father was a boiler maker and Erik had helped to build
what he was repairing. Mr. Burr was looking over the starboard side,
passing back and forth, checking on the work being done.
Erik climbed the ladder leading from the engine room up to the gundeck,
his pale skin covered in sweat as he mumbled to himself. He passed the busy
gun crews as he walked down the narrow passage past the piston rods and
rocker arms connecting the engines to the paddle wheel in the stern of the
boat. The wooden bulkhead strengthened the rear of the boat on each side of
the paddle wheel raceway, leaving the pistons and linkages in view while
the wheel itself was enclosed in wood and iron. The passageway between the
forward bow and the rear cabins was narrow and cramped, iron lanterns on
the outside casemate lit the way with the feeble yellow light from the
candles. He reached the stern where several men waited with tools and the
replacement part that they hoped would work or at least ease the speed
reduction. The axle bearings were mounted on each end of the round cast
iron axle of the wheel sticking out from the wood bulkhead. Erik looked at
it by the daylight shining through the shattered skylights above on the
wheelhouse sides.
"Tell Engineer Burr to spin the wheel forward by one quarter turn."
Erik spoke to the fireman closest to him.
"OK, Erik, forward one quarter turn?"
"That's right, forward one quarter turn," Erik replied.
The older teen headed forward down the passageway. He stopped on top of
the ladder and repeated Erik's instructions. Burr nodded as he gave the
order to just crack open the steam valves. The wheel moaned and slowly
moved forward, the bad bearing squealing.
The big rocker arm lowered until it cleared enough room to access the
bearing. "THAT'S GOOD!" Erik shouted down the passageway. Burr cut the
steam back off and the wheel rocked back and forth for a moment, then was
still. "Shit, this looks like a royal pain in the ass!" The older teens
just looked at the 16 year old boy as he judged the proper action to
take. They had learned that Erik was younger than most assistant engineers
but he could cuss like a captain. "OK, guys, we've gotta get this linkage
loose from the crank pin, see that square iron pin, take the hammer and
gently knock it out. Once that is out we're going to have to get some
wooden blocks and put under the connecting rod."
"Erik, no way we going to get that big fucking connecting arm down and
out of our way alone, we're going to hafta have a block and tackle, damned
thing has to weigh at least three-hunderd pounds or more."
"You're right, Simon, we're going to have to ease it down and out of
the way once we get that pin out. Pass me that hammer."
Simon passed Erik the short handled maul and then stepped back out of
the way. Erik began to tap on the pin located in the center of the crank
rod. The pin slowly moved out of its hole about a quarter of the way. "Hand
me something small so I can tap it on out."
Simon found a small round rod about a foot long and passed it to
Erik. He watched the boy tap on the pin, he reached over and grasped the
exposed portion from the top and held it to keep it from falling all the
way out and into the river. "Got it, Erik." Simon pulled the pin out and
laid it in a bucket at his feet so it wouldn't be lost. Two of the firemen
had left to go and retrieve a length of rope and a block and tackle; they
now stood waiting. Erik stood up and stepped back as one of the sailors
tossed the rope up and over a thick beam in the casemate roof. They raised
the block up into the roof and fastened it while looping the thick rope
around the connecting rod. Erik, Simon, and the other three grabbed the
ropes and began to pull. The connecting rod refused to move. "Simon, looks
like we're going to need some extra muscle. Go ask Mr. Burr if he can
spare a few more of the guys to help out up here. If not, I'll see if I can
grab a gunner or two."
"Sure thing, boss!" Simon smiled as he saw Erik's lips mouth, "Fuck
you, Scottish boy."
Simon whispered back, "Is that a offer, or are you just popping your
safely valve again?"
"Go get some help, will ya, you damned coal tar!"
"Sure thing, boss. I told ya, guys, he's a slave driver, just like
Mr. Burr!" Simon laughed as he headed down the passage to get help.
Simon returned with Engineer Burr and four of the gunners. "So, lads,
it is as bad as it looks?" Engineer Burr asked.
"Well, Mr. Burr, depends on which way you want to look at it. We have
to get this big ass connecting rod down off the crank pin, then find a way
to lift the paddle wheel axle from her slot and get this U-shaped piece of
boiler iron under it so the damaged bearing will not cut a hole into the
supporting bulkhead below it or, worse yet, get hot enough to catch
something on fire. It's not like we're going to be able to keep a man back
here pouring tallow wax every five minutes when running at full steam and
pressure," Erik replied while the others just stood there and listened to
the exchange between the grown man and this teen, who treated each other as
equals and not master and apprentice. Not only did the chief engineer treat
Erik Kroner with equality, Captain Thompson once remarked within earshot of
some of the men one day that if Mr. Burr ever fell in battle, they had a
replacement and the men knew he was talking about the German kid. The first
grueling months onboard the USS BENTON everyone referred to Erik as `the
German Kid', now they had a high respect for this young man who was very
special to the Mid-shipman Phillips and their two drummer boys, John and
Ernest.
"OK, boys, let's try it again since we got more muscle." They grabbed
the ropes and began to pull, muscles straining in their arms and backs as
Mr. Burr pried on the connecting rod with a long iron bar to get it to come
loose and drop. The connecting rod moaned and came free, hanging inches
above the wood deck while Burr scrambled to get two heavy wood blocks under
it. Simon wished it would have taken a few minutes more, he liked leaning
back on Erik, brushing up against him.
"Now what?" Simon asked. Everyone groaned. "WHAT?" Simon asked again.
"Well, Simon, since you spoke up, you just volunteered for the job!"
Erik said as he broke into an ear to ear grin.
"Oh Shit!" Simon said as he looked at the rest of the grinning men
around him.
Erik pointed to the bad bearing and the iron plate that held it in
place as he handed Simon the heavy iron open-ended wrench. "Loosen those
bolts, boy!"
"Boy! Who you calling a boy? I am a year older than you are and taller!
Whoops, no wonder I got volunteered!"
Erik laughed and smiled, "You might be a year older but I outrank ya,
you Scottish Bean Pole!"
Simon took the wrench and walked over to the paddle wheel axle and put
the wrench on the first bolt head. He had to reach up and over to reach
them, even tho' they were about shoulder height to Simon.
The removal of the bolts that held the iron plate over the axle bearing
took almost an hour as the men took turns loosening the bolts that most
swore some giant had tightened, The gun crews had finished re-roping the
forward guns and the center gun was remounted, using another block and
tackle to lift the heavy half-ton gun tube back into her carriage and the
barrel securely fastened back onto the mounts where the bolts were
retightened and the heavy recoil ropes replaced. The forward gun captain
did not want another flying gun tube, thank God they were Navy issue and
not the inferior Army cast guns from an Ironworks in Pennsylvania that had
the tendency to blow up. Now the gun crews stretched out in the shade on
top of the casemate under canvas awnings tied from the tall funnels
stretched over the deck which covered the area from the funnels to the
forward jackstaff in front of the pilothouse. Davie lay propped against the
iron pilothouse with John and Ernest on each side of him.
"Davie, how come you didn't grab the jackstaff yesterday when you went
sailing out and over the bow? You know the easiest way to go for a swim is
to skinny dip, that wool gets heavy when it's wet, heck, is heavy enough
dry!"
Davie looked over at Ernest, "Well, little one, when you ram a sunken
mud bank at that force you don't have much time to consider grabbing
something that you completely forget is there and besides I tried to grab
the pilothouse and the rim of the casemate! Not like I was ready to go for
a swim in my Union Blues and while chasing that damned steamer!"
"I wished we could go skinny dipping right about now, these uniforms
itch," John said as he reached around to scratch his back.
"Not me! I am tired of being shot at while buck ass naked, twice is
enough!" Davie smiled as he snaked his hand around and scratched John's
back.
John smiled at Davie as he felt the soft hand rub his back as they sat
in the shade of the canvas cover that covered most of the spar deck. One of
the officers had started calling it the 'flight deck' after Davie's solo
flight the day before, always giving Davie a smile and a wink if he was
around when he said it. Several of the men assigned to cook detail sat on
the bow with muskets lying beside them and cane fishing poles in their
hands as they fished for dinner, hoping to catch enough of the river
catfish for lunch.
"Davie, just why is Vicksburg so damned important to us?" Ernest asked.
"Well, Ernest, from what everyone says, Vicksburg is a crossroads of
the Rebel Nation, you see you got the Mississippi River flowing north and
south, then there is two railroads."
"So? why do we want it?" Ernest asked again.
"Sheese, boy, what is with all the questions all of a sudden?"
"I guess I want to learn more about what we trying to capture without
getting blown out of the water."
"Well, my young bluecoats, let me see if I can enlighten you on those
facts, that our Mid- shipman here is kinda in the dark on!" First officer
John Scarett Young smiled and walked over to where the three boys sat
propped against the iron pilothouse.
Ernest smiled, "Would you please, Sir?"
"Sure, my lad, sure. Davie is pounding on the nail but let me see if I
can help him pound it on in. Vicksburg is the key link in Rebel supply
lines from Texas. So how can I explain it best?" Young rubbed his clean
shaven face. "OK, Vicksburg is here," he squatted down onto the deck and
pulled a sheet of paper from inside his jacket and a pencil stub; he drew
an X in the center of the paper. Then he drew a line down past the X
spot. "The Mississippi River." Then another line intersecting the center of
the X.
"OK, you got the River flowing north and south. Both ends we control
but right here this center section from Vicksburg south to Port Hudson is
in Rebel hands. So we can't very well ship our corn and products to the
Gulf of Mexico without being fired on and sunk by the Batteries at
Vicksburg. You remember the night we floated past them. How the Rebels lit
the entire river up so their gunners could aim better. Well, you see,
Vicksburg, just like Master Davie said, is a crossroads. You got the River
in which we are trying to take, then you got two small railroads running
east and west. A little line called the Vicksburg and Shreveport runs from
Vicksburg to Monroe, Louisiana on the Ouachita River (Pronounced
Washitaw). The Ouachita flows into the Red River above Belle Bend, which we
know waters the richest cotton producing land in Louisiana, and then we
also know the Red River flows into the Mississippi between Natchez and Port
Hudson, a small village on a high bluff like Vicksburg. Supplies from the
Red River Valley are moved up the Ouachita River to Monroe, thence over the
little Railroad to Vicksburg. Then they are transferred to the Vicksburg
side and reloaded onto the Alabama and Vicksburg line which runs east to
the state capital of Jackson, Mississippi and there interchanges with the
Jackson and Great Northern line, as it continues east to Meridian to
Demopolis, Alabama on the Tombigbee River, which flows south to Mobile and
open water. So you see, if we capture Vicksburg we have just cut the supply
lines from the west." Officer Young stood back up.
"Wow!, thanks, Mr. Young, you sure are smart about this Rebel lands and
places." Ernest said as he smiled.
"I'll tell ya my little secret but you must promise not to tell
anyone. I was born in Natchez, Mississippi."
All three of the boys' jaws wanted to hit the deck. "WOW, Really?"
"Yep, I was, just don't tell the Yankees that now." He winked, then
walked off laughing as the three boys shook their heads in amazement.
They sat there stretched out and propped back, as they listened to the
river and the curses coming from the gun deck as the firemen and mechanics
hammered away at fixing the paddlewheel. The job had taken two hours
already more than what Mr. Burr had said it would. Suddenly from shore they
heard a high pitched voice of a boy.
"OH! have you heard the lastest news
Of Lincoln and his kangaroos;
Fight away, fight away, fight away for Dixie's land.
His minions they would now oppress us,
With war and bloodshed they'd distress us!
Fight away for Dixie's Land.
Abe Lincoln tore through Baltimore,
In a baggage-car with fastened doors;
And left his wife alas! alack!
To Perish on the railroad track!
Fight away for Dixie's land, fight away!"
The fifteen marines jumped up, reaching for their rifles as other men
just looked on toward the shoreline, some even snickered at the hasty
action of the marines reaching for their guns. Davie stood up and walked
toward the end of the casemate with his field glasses that he kept around
his neck now ever since Captain Thompson said he earned them the day
before. The young mid-shipman was turning into a true sailor.
Davie spotted the tanned blonde-haired boy through the trees, "Aww,
hell, he ain't but about 10, damned flintlock is twice the size of him."
The marines sat their guns back down, some crimson in the face as the boy
on shore walked to the edge of the water about 20 feet below the bow of the
USS BENTON.
"YA' DAMN'D YANK, I AM 12 YEARS OLD! AND MY PAPA TOLD ME TO NOT WASTE
ANY LEAD ON A YELLER BELLY SCUMBAG! THAT'S WHAT THE SOLDIER BOYS ARE FER!
YOU TWIT AND BEFO' YOU SAY ONE WORD I GOT YA ANOTHER SONG!"
"512 TONS OF IRON, 512 TONS, BUT LET ONE OF OUR SHELLS, SO NICE BIG AND
ROUND, FALL UPON 512 TONS OF IRON AND IT'LL BE 512 A GONE!
512 TONS OF IRON, 512 TONS, COME ON BOYS, THROW THEM A ROUND TO PUNCH A
HOLE IN THAT IRON AND WE'LL DROWN THE DAMNED YANKS A HUNDERD AT A TIME!"
The boy laughed as the men on deck grumbled and shook their fists at
him. "GO HOME TO YER MOMMA, BOY, AND QUIT BEING A LITTLE TROUBLE MAKER JUST
LIKE THE REST OF YOU SECESS' TRASH!"
"FUCK YOU! YELLER BELLY COWARDS!" The boy took off for the woods, and
soon they heard galloping hooves through the trees.
"Shit, bet the Rebels going to know our exact position as soon as he
tells his paw about us."
"Don't worry, we be long gone before they can get here." Davie turned
to face the voice and smiled when he looked into Erik's eyes.
"What you doing up here?" Davie asked.
"Getting some fresh air, boyo!" Erik smiled.
"Boyo! Hmm, I'll show you who's a boyo, you little boy!" Davie smiled
at Erik because they both was playin'.
"Erik, get to your post, time to test the repair since we got the
boilers hot and ready again."
"Yes Sir, Mr. Burr! See ya in little bit, Davie," he smiled at John,
throwing him a wink as he ran down the top of the casemate to the gundeck,
then below to the engineroom.
"Mid-shipman Phillips, release the bow cables and prepare to shove off
in five minutes!"
"Yes sir, Mr. Burr. A'right, boys, let's loosen those ropes and reel'em
in!"
The men on the bow released the taut ropes and rolled them up on the
bow as the pilots returned to the pilothouse. The men on deck heard the
shout from below, "Reverse slow!" The engine bell rang and the big
paddlewheel began to spin as coal smoke shot from the tall lean
funnels. With creaking and groaning, the big ironclad began to back up into
the river, as the pilots spun the large wheel. "Ahead slow!" The engines
were once again reversed as the camshafts stopped spinning and stood still
as the levers were moved to the forward position, then they dropped as the
pistons shot fresh steam into the steam chests and the big wheel started to
move slowly, shoving the Ironclad forward and back into the midstream of
the rolling brown water. The wind caught the square Naval ensign on the
fore mast and it snapped to attention, its blue background with the circles
of stars whipping in the breeeze as the big ironclad picked up speed. "Full
Ahead, Mr. Burr! Full Ahead!" Thompson called as the cam levers were shoved
all the way forward and the engines pounded as the wheel turned faster, the
boilers were at max pressure, hissing at 230 pounds as the rods rotated and
clanged as the big wheel plowed the water with the steady thump, thump,
thump. The patch worked as men clocked their speed. Mr. Burr shouted, "7
Knots, captain!"
The sailors shouted as the big Union flag flapped in the breeze from
the jackstaff at the rear and the cool breeze started to flow throughout
the iron casemate. The BENTON was ready to go on her hunt once more for the
damned Rebel steamboat that escaped her iron grip.
"Pa, Pa, the Yankee gunboat is just down river from here!" The gaunt
farmer stopped his mule team as he watched his youngest boy gallop out of
the woods shouting, the long rifle on his back bouncing, the boy reined in
his mount and slid off. "Pa, she warn't smokin' like our steamers do, must
be something wrong after ta' battle was over!"
"Whoa, my boy, calm down! Tob, she don't smoke like ours do, she burns
Yankee sulfur, Yankee coal and I hope we did do her some damage after the
bloody bastards sank the WABASH, her capt'n was a fine man and Irish,
always gave me a good deal on haulin my grain to market and our
cotton. Come on, son, let's get some lunch, I am sure your Maw has it ready
and we both need our vittles."
"Yes, Paw, I hope Jimmy is alright, I miss him already, why couldn't I
go with him to protect my big brother, he was always there for me!"
"Tob, you not old enouf' to be fighting no war, besides we can't have
your maw worried about both her sons, and you don't want to worry your old
pa too, now do you?"
"Pa, you not old, but I guess you're right, I don't need to worry her,
she worried enough about Jimmy now. I wish Willy was still with us, I miss
my big big bro'. Paw, where is Virginia and Manassas Junction, is that near
here?"
"No, my Little Rebel, Virginny is a long ways from here, takes a man
many a moon to get there unless you can catch a steamboat or one of them
steam trains. From what I hear'd Manassas is a place in Virginny where two
of them railroads connect, and what happened was our boys was protecting
our land when the Yanks came down from the North."
"Pa, is it true the North is a barren land, where nothing grows but
thorns and rocks?"
The father wrapped his strong tanned arm around his son, "No, my boy,
it is much like the South, I figure, just the people are differant and talk
funny compared to us. We was one nation until the hotheads wanted this here
war. I miss Willy too, Tob, I sometimes cry that I lost my boy to a bullet,
but I still have my sunshine with me, and, Jimmy, I am sure he is OK, I saw
him onboard the MISS LOU, I waved at him before the fightin' started." The
father and his youngest boy continued to walk toward the unpainted dog trot
cabin that sat in the shade of the tall oak trees as the mother and wife
smiled as she watched them approach. Some things were still normal almost,
she had forgotten the times she had stood on the porch watching her husband
and sons coming in from the fields, but in those days it was four of them
with Willy carrying Tob on his wide shoulders, with Jimmy clodding along
beside his father. The blonde locks always out of place on all their heads,
the only time they seemed to be in place was on Sunday mornings as they
rode to church. She smiled once more as she reached out her arms as Tob
raced up to her to hug her, "My baby, you not going to leave your momma,
are ya, and run off to war?"
"No, momma, I'll stay here with you and papa," Tob said as he was
hugged close to his momma as his father stepped up on the porch and hugged
both them. "There, we can't leave out Jimmy when we hug our special lady."
"Come on, my men, time for vittles before they get cold." The three
people walked inside and sat down at the small oaken table covered in oil
skin and bowed their heads in prayer. Jim started off, "Please keep Jimmy
safe so he will return home when this cruel war is over, bless all our men
in gray and forgive the men who started it...." As the cannon roared 200
miles north in Vicksburg.
Steamboat MISS LOU plowed southward down the Red River. Alexandria lay
just around the bend in the river as the little plucky steamboat tooted her
whistle as she passed by the small landings that once more teemed with
life, the same ones that the crew of the BENTON saw abandoned on her trip
up. Cargo and passengers lined the wharves, waiting passage on the next
steamer since MISS LOU was to her maximum capacity with her regular
passengers, troops from the 3rd Lousiana Cavalry, along with over 800
barrels of black powder, rifles, and clothing for the Confederate Army plus
barrels of cotton oil, sacks of wheat and oats, flour, barrels of pork and
beef. Her bow had been cleared of the damage done by the USS BENTON the day
before, the 12 pounder still pointing over her bow as the first national
flag of the Confederacy flapped from her jackstaff at the rear. The morning
sun like a fireball hanging in the eastern skies as to the north storm
clouds brewed, pilot Williams was at the wheel, while Billings sat in one
of the high chairs, sipping coffee and looking out the windows ahead; two
pairs of eyes were better than one. Captain King was working in his
quarters and they all hoped everything was back to normal. The Red River
was deeper and wider here, so there was less danger of snags and sandbars
blocking the rushing water, so the pilots were pushing MISS LOU to her
limit for speed.
"Looks like one our steamboats a'comin', sure ain't the Yanks!"
"How you know that, Capt'n?"
"Look at that gray smoke coming around tha' bend, that's wood smoke,
not coal smoke!"
"Yea', Capt'n, yo'r right, that damned Yank Ironclad was puffing out
that dark black smoke when she passed that night!"
"I wonder what she carrying south and if there is any news on that Yank
ironclad?"
"Dunno, Roy, there might be, no place for her to hide if she
encountered the beast, but a wood steamer is like a lamb before a lion,
outrun it or be eaten."
"I hope she passes again at night. We don't stand a chance again't
those big guns!"
"Aww hell, Roy, you have no faith in your guns!"
"I know one thing, Capt'n Wood, these guns saw action in Mexico in 45,
they might have done good to punch holes in brick and mortar on Spanish
fortifications and wooden ships but I dunno about no damned Yank Ironclad,
also we ain't in such a good position as that fancy city on the bluffs up
yonder in Mississippi either, you know. We got swampland and more
swampland, they got hills and hollers and places a man could fall down and
land in Satan's lap befo' finding daylight again." Roy shifted his
smoothbore musket from his right shoulder down to the ground where the butt
of the stock rested in the dust.
"I know we are in swampy land, hell, I was born and raised here, just
like you, we not much higher than the Cajuns that we boss around like the
darkies. Hell, man, you been to Natchez, you noticed they use a lot more
Irish than blacks and you know why, they can hire a Irishman for a little
of nothin, and a slave is worth 1,500 dollars. So if an Irishman passes out
or is kilt loading a steamboat, they just hire an nother one. The cream of
Southern Society treats us and Cajuns the same way and no, we never will be
a Vicksburg or Baton Rouge, but we make it and we have everything we need,
good homes, good soil, vittles on the tables, powder and ball for our
muskets and tobaccy for our pipes. We might not drive around in fine
carriages and have fancy horses and homes, but we are the life blood of the
South. I am not standing here on this bank fighting for some rich bastard
in Vicksburg or New Orleans, I am fightin' for my home, my land, my family,
who do they think they are tryin' to tell me how to live my life! Nobody
has that right under God. Why you think Andy Jackson gathered all the men
he could find to defend New Orleans in 1815 fer, because we did not want no
King sitting on his throne in England telling us how to live. Hell no, he
saw his home being invaded so we took action, free blacks, Cajuns, and
Kentucky Riflemen, standing on the field at Chalmette against Pakenham and
his 8,000 British Regulars. My father was there standing with Jackson
behind those makeshift defenses that protected the Orleans. Manned by River
rats, Creoles, and Kentucky riflemen and the River Pirates. Jackson was
outmanned, outgunned, but damn it, he held the ground and drove the British
back to the Mississippi screaming. Creoles, Spaniards, negroes, and his
pirates who manned the defenses continued to drive them back as our cannon
hammered the redcoats and as the Kentucky boys hid in the swamps shooting
them down, as the mud bogged them down, and that famous shout, 'Don't fire
until you see the whites of their eyes!' Roy, your own father was there,
one of Napolean's old soldiers. My Lord, man, there is no differance except
we're firing on blue coats and not red ones!"
Roy spit into the dust, "Yo'r so right, Jean, damn, after we win this
war you need to go into politics, you make a damned fine one!" The
steamboat's whistle sounded again as the two soldiers watched the trim
white boat come into view around the bend, her paddlewheels kicking up the
muddy brown water. The engine bell clanged as they heard the shout for "ALL
AHEAD SLOW!" The little steamer hove along the wharf and tied up, Captain
King standing on the top of the Texas deck with Captain Hayes. Roy and Jean
spotted Micheal and Conway standing not far away. "Will ya look at that
now, defenders of Vicksburg way down here, look at those yeller stripes
around their caps and on them gray uniforms!"
"Yeah, Capt'n, there ain't nuttin' wrong with our butternut tho'!"
Jean slapped Roy on the back. "Damn, there's that Creole fire!" and
smiled.
One of the youngsters of the town was racing up the short bluff to the
city, shouting "STEAMBOAT A COMIN'!"
"Kinda late to be shouting our arrival!"
"I guess he wanted to make sure we was one of the good'ens before he
shouted, Captain Hayes!"
"Yeah, I guess you right there, Captain King." They saw the Southern
gunners standing behind their outdated bronze field pieces, looking at the
slender barrel of the 12 pound Napoleon and at the pock marks where the
grapeshot from the BENTON had plowed across the wooden deck.
"Roy, I think they met the BENTON, look at that bow on the boiler deck,
shit, grapeshot close in!"
"Yes, it does, Capt'n', looks those boys caught hell for a few, must a
been a fight!" Roy said as he gazed at the damage and the shot up cotton
bales that were on her deck.
The mud clerk stepped off the gangplank and walked over to Captain
Wood. "Afternoon, gentlemen!"
"Afternoon, sir!" Jean and Roy replied. "Looks like y'all had a run in
with a bear wearing Yankee blue up river!"
"That we did, sir, they sank the WABASH, but the guns on the bluffs at
Belle Bend did that Yank monster some damage tho' and allowed us to slip
past her with only one shot of canister to the bow!"
"Damn, bub!" Roy said as he spit tobacco juice onto the parched red
clay. The spring of 1862 had been one of the dryest on record; everything
was suffering from the unending heat - crops, cattle, people all worried
about finding water as the water levels in the rivers continued to drop.
"Where's my cargo at, gentlemen? Supposed to have 25 barrels of sugar,
5 barrels of salt, and 5 barrels of saltpetre."
They pointed over to the road and two wagons piled high with barrels,
"They decided it would be best if they left the wagons loaded in case the
Yanks made it back before you did."
"Come on, you black scandalerals and you Irish rats, let's get this
cargo loaded!"
A rider spurred his mount to go faster as he headed south to Alexandria
as he looked over to the river and saw the black coal smoke of the Ironclad
as she once more steamed southward toward the small southern town, the
Enfield rifle bouncing in its holster on the saddle. "Come on, Rebellion,
Come On!" he called to his chestnut horse as he rode him hard and with
little mercy. He hated to have to ride the horse so hard on such a hot day
but the message was too important. He slowed his mount as he crested the
low hill and saw smoke coming from the wharf, he had passed the ironclad
earlier that day but still how far had she made it downstream since then?
He galloped through town to the landing where MISS LOU was tied up as
her deckhands loaded cargo. The other soldiers, part of the Alexandria
Rifles, looked on as the dust settled down and he dismounted and quickly
ran past the sweating deckhands and onto the steamboat, past the clerk and
up the stairs, weaving through the steamer past passengers and crewmen as
he raced up the stairs to the Hurricane deck roof and to where Captain
Hayes was standing. He saluted.
"Captain Hayes, Sir, message from General Van Dorn at Vicksburg!"
"Thank you, Andrew, but General Van Dorn?"
"Yes sir, he is in charge now at Vicksburg, General Pemberton is headed
to Richmond on some urgent matters, President Davis sent for him."
"You're welcome, sir! Sir, may I ask just where in the hell are we
going, Sir?"
"Andrew, my boy, you have just brought orders for us to join the forces
at Vicksburg, so it looks like we got a three day trip ahead of us on the
this here fine packetboat." Captain Hayes noticed the smile from Captain
King regarding his steamer.
"Sir, what about Rebellion? I hate to leave him here. I had my horse
since I was 13, sir!"
Captain Hayes did not answer but walked over to the edge of the
Hurricane roof. "Boys, once the cargo is onboard, bring Rebellion onboard
as well, Andrew can't leave his horse behind and besides, I might need to
borrow him at times to do some scouting!"
The mud clerk started to protest the idea of bringing the mount
onboard. "MR. FOSTER, IF YOU WANT TO KEEP YOUR JOB, YOU WILL HAVE THE YOUNG
MAN'S MOUNT BROUGHT ONBOARD. YES, I KNOW SPACE IS TIGHT, BUT YOU WILL
FOLLOW ORDERS OR FIND YOURSELF JOBLESS BEFORE THE SUN REACHES HER CENTER
PEAK!"
"YES SUR, CAPTAIN!" Mr. Foster replied as he turned his disgust toward
the deckhands, "C'mon, you lazy bastards, move your asses, we don't have
all week!" he growled as he wrote down the new cargo onto his manifest,
doing his best not to waste paper.
The soldiers standing behind their field pieces talked among themselves
as they watched the action as the youths of Alexandria ran around barefoot,
stirring up dust chasing each other. All of a sudden one of the youths
called another one a "yeller' Yank" and a fight broke out between the young
boys. Soon there was hair pulling, eye gouging, and kicking flying legs as
they ganged up on each other.
Captain Hayes turned to his bugler, "Sound Charge!" and smiled.
The bugler put the bugle to his lips and blew the order as the boys on
shore quit fighting and looked around to see what was going on.
"YOU BOYS, ATTENTION!" Hayes shouted. "DO NOT MOVE TILL I GET DOWN
THERE. MICHEAL, CONWAY, WITH ME!"
"Yes, Sir," Conway and Micheal followed Captain Hayes through the
steamer and down the gangplank to where the town youths were standing.
Captain Hayes walked over to where the boys stood at attention as the
men of the Alexandria Rifles looked on and smiled.
"Now, Laddies, who started this?" Hayes asked in a stern voice.
A boy about 10 pointed to an older youth, "He did, Suh'. He called me a
Yank, and I not no Yankee, am I, Pop?"
Hayes looked over to a soldier in uniform that had walked over, joined
with another man. They nodded for Hayes to continue this and wanted to see
what would happen while Captain Wood joined them.
"Well, lad, I see your father is a soldier and a soldier is not going
to rat on another one." He looked to the older youth who looked to be about
14. They both stood there in their ragged patched trousers, frayed rope
holding them on their thin frames. "So, young man, why did you call your
friend a Yank for?"
The boy fumbled for a moment, then, "Uh we...well sir, I wa... was just
fooling, sir... he ..not a Yank."
"Well, now, since this not my area of command, I think Captain Wood
here should issue punishment, and not your fathers. Calling another lad a
Yank is a capital crime in the South and something way above a butt
whipping! Captain Wood, a word please." They turned and winked at the two
fathers who stood there, trying to keep stone faces.
Both boys hung their heads down as they shuddered, wondering what they
would have to do for a foolish fight in front of two Confederate captains,
who now were talking low.
The two men finished talking and walked back over to face the
boys. Captain Wood spoke, "Lads, after talking with Capt'n Hayes, your
punishment will be to polish those 6 guns over there in our battery. We got
to have them cleaned and ready for when the Yank Ironclad comes back down
river in case she wants to fight. NOW GET TO IT, EVERYONE YOU CRITTERS,
MEN, SHOW THESE CONSCRIPTS WHAT TO DO AND MAKE SURE THEY DO IT RIGHT, AND
IF OUR CONSCRIPTS HERE MESS UP TAKE A HAND TO ASS AND STRAIGHTEN THEM OUT!!
Capt'n Hayes, have your two men escort the conscripts to their jobs and if
they try to make a break for it, man your your bayonets." Conway and
Micheal pointed their rifles out and fastened the long flat bayonets to the
muzzles and walked toward the youths who now stood still, looking at the
long shining blades.
"Com'on, ya rats, to your post or do we have to stick ya!" Conway said
in a deep voice. "Don't try ta run, walk nice and slow or we'll have to
put chains on ya. The youths walked past their fathers who just shook their
heads and once the boys were past and at the guns, broke out into laughter
as Conway and Micheal walked back over to where the four men were laughing.
"Fine show, Captains, fine show," the fathers said as they walked back
over to watch their sons, bustling around the guns with oil cloths and
rags, polishing the shining brass.
The whistle on MISS LOU screamed as the mud clerk escorted Rebellion
onboard, him snorting at the stranger holding his bridle as his hooves
echoed on the wood plank.
"Come on, lads, time to board ship and head to Vicksburg, Captain Wood,
may God be with you." Captain Hayes, Micheal, and Conway saluted and
Captain Wood returned it.
"God Go with you as well, Captain Hayes, and the MISS LOU!"
They stepped onboard the gangplank and back on board the bow of the
MISS LOU as the rest of the men of the Alexandria Rifles saluted and
cheered the little steamer off as clouds of wood smoke filled the light
blue skies and the blast of the whistle sounded her departure and the huff
and thump of her side wheels as she headed south once more toward the
mighty Mississippi.
Captain Wood stood there watching the town youths scrub and clean the
guns as the men helped and for once he had a smile on his face, "Just maybe
we do stand a chance at winning this damned war."
The gray smoke plumes from the MISS LOU vanished around the bend in the
lazy river as the town continued on. The homespun soldiers continued their
watch for the Yankee beast as the town herself returned to her lazy sleep
as the spring sun continued to bake the red clay harder and the crops
fought to drink from whatever wetness they could find to survive as the
men, women, and children prayed for rain.
Captain Hayes stood in the blazing sun on top of the Texas deck of the
small steamer, watching the countryside pass; he stared at the fields, the
woods, and the sluggish bayous as alligators sunned on the banks of the
lazy river. He noticed Conway and Micheal up front of him with their feet
draped over the edge of the Texas roof, talking in low whispers, they had
not slept since the battle the day before. He walked over to where they
were sitting and leaned over and placed his hands on the back of their
necks.
"Boys, go get some rest, like I really need pickets on a steamboat!"
"OK, Capt'n, sir," Micheal said as he stood up and then helped Conway
to stand.
"Micheal, it is kind of you to let Jimmy stay in your cabin, he finally
has two good friends. I know he hasn't told you but he lost his older
brother at Manassas Junction in 61. He was close to his older brother, and
we passed his home not far back. The little boy on the river bank was his
little brother. I wonder if he saw him or not? He is a fire eater just like
Jimmy and meaner than a alligator if you make him mad, just like his older
brothers. He got a cousin on one of the Blockade runners, but if you ask
Jimmy he will tell you it is best damned one out of the bunch." Captain
Hayes chuckled as he slapped the boys on their backs. "Now, go get some
rest and if you have to, run Jimmy out of your bunk, even if he is hurt,
just dump him on the floor. Sheese, a bump on the head and a mini ball
graze on the arm, sheese, and he thinks he is hurt. NOW, GO GET SOME REST!
One of the others out of 42 men can stand watch."
"Yes Sir!" both boys replied and saluted as they climbed down to the
roof of the Hurricane deck and disappeared down the ladder to the
deck. They walked along the outside of the main cabin entrance to the bow
of the little steamer and looked down onto the boiler deck where the snout
of the 12 pounder threatened anything that wanted to pick on the steamer as
she pushed forward, cutting little bow wakes as she steamed on toward Port
Hudson. They saw the Mud Clerk and Lacy talking, Lacy had boarded MISS LOU
right before the fighting and didn't get a chance to get back on the WABASH
before MISS LOU pulled away from the dock. He was glad now that he didn't
have time, so Captain King hired him to assist his own Mr. Foster. The deck
hands were once again at their poker game as the soldiers kept to
themselves; they didn't care for the deckhands and the way they cheated at
cards. The soldiers liked to cheat by their own rules. Sergeant Wells was
back on with the rest of the men since he turned horses over to other
mounted troops in the area. They could get new mounts in
Mississippi. Sergeant Wells had turned his mounts over to Captain Jasper's
men at Belle Bend; he did not see the captain but the private at Belle Bend
looked like a mean fucker when mad. Conway and Micheal thought they all
looked that way when they saw some of the troops that manned the guns at
Belle Bend.
"Come on, let's go bug Jimmy!" Conway said as he grabbed Micheal's arm
and tugged him through the door. They walked past the regular passengers in
the long main hall that was being prepared for lunch. The furnishings had
been pulled to the sides of the long cabin and long tables set in place,
the black waiters were setting out place settings, they nodded to the boys
as they walked to Micheal's cabin on the port side and entered the small
cramped room. Jimmy was lying on top of the covers on the small bunk,
reading one of Micheal's books, his golden, tanned, smooth body exposed to
catch the air that came through the open window. "Well, lookie here,
Micheal, exposed to everyone who enters the room!'
Jimmy jumped, "Damnit, y'all sure do love to scare me!" He took the
book and covered his groin.
"Too late for shyness, my friend, we done saw that little snake in the
wheat field!" Conway laughed as Jimmy turned red in the face.
"My snake is not little!" Jimmy said as he lay back on the pillows, the
book still covering his groin.
"Is it just me, Micheal, or is that the proper use of books?" Conway
winked at Jimmy and Micheal.
"Well, it sure ain't proper for us to use them that way in Arizonia, we
use clothes and not books!" Micheal laughed as he edged closer to the
bunk. "And my father would kill you if you stained my book, he paid five
dollars for that copy of Edna Mae Alcott's Little Women!" Micheal yanked
the book from Jimmy's grasp as he winced in pain as he moved his hurt arm
too fast.
"Damn, Micheal, don't rip my arm off, I might need it again!" Jimmy
said as he looked at it, the bandage still in place and stained with dry
blood.
"I'm sorry, Jimmy, but look at it this way, now my book is safe and
there is no secrets in the Army!" Jimmy blushed as he thought about what
Micheal just said, his most private parts once again were in full view of
his two friends.
"Besides, Jimmy, we got more than 4 more days on this here boat and I
plan to sleep comfortable, that means as I was born. Micheal is the same
way," and with that said he walked over and locked the door as Micheal sat
down on the edge of the bunk and started to remove his shoes and
socks. Jimmy smiled as he put his good left arm under his head and watched
the show.
"Captain Thompson, Alexandria is just around the bend! Shall we prepare
for action?"
"Yes, Mr. Young, run out the guns. We will give them the bow guns and
starboard broadside and the stern chasers, just to let them know that we
was here and that if they don't learn how to behave we will be back to give
them more."
"Yes, Sir, Captain!" He turned to the drummers. "Beat to Quarters!"
John and Ernest grabbed their drums and sounded the call as Davie
jumped up, full alert and ready for action, He walked over to Boat Howitzer
and uncapped the vent and started the marines to loading the piece as they
rolled it to face the new enemy ahead. "Men, time to send some gray backs
to hell! John, Ernest, go below and help the gunners below down there,
you'll have more protection than up here! No protesting, Liam would have my
ass if something happened to you two. Now, move it!"
"Yes Sir, Davie!" The two boys ran to the ladder and down it with their
drums beating against their backs.
Thompson smiled, he changed his voice slighty and eased up behind his
Mid-Shipman "Mid-shipman, where do you want me, Sir!"
Without turning around, "Where your post is, Sailor!" and continued to
look over his piece.
Thompson let out a laugh when Davie turned around. "So I guess I better
make it to the pilothouse!"
Davie liked to have dropped when he realized he just gave an order to
his captain. "Umm... Captain.. I think you know your post."
"Yes, I do, Davie, keep up the good work at ordering people around in a
nice way the way you do and you'll make Captain for sure!" He slapped Davie
on the back before heading down the ladder.
"Roy, there's your Yankee Ironclad, see that Lucifer Coal smoke
shooting from her stacks!"
"Oh Shit." He jumped off his log and raced over to where the rest of
the men had gathered.
"Sponge!" Captain Wood shouted.
The men grabbed the long spongers and dipped them in the buckets of
water located below the gun and rammed them down the mouths of the cannon
to swab them.
"Load!" The powder boys grabbed the powder charges from the caissons
and came forward where they were taken by the next man and shoved down the
barrels, then rammed home.
"Shell!" The 11 and a half pound round cannon balls were brought
forward and shoved down the barrels with the long rammers and seated
against the powder charges.
"Clear Vents!" A long rod was inserted into the gun's vent and the
powder bag pierced.
"Primers!" The priming cords were inserted in the vents and the ends
held loosely; all was quiet. The scurrying feet of the town boys were heard
retreating fast up the hill toward town and to safety. Then the church
bells began to ring, sounding the warning to the town's people to find
safety from the iron monster that had returned.
"Gentlemen, we shall soon meet the enemy, may God have mercy on us!"
The bow of the Ironclad came into view, her powerful guns aimed out of
the ports. The men were afraid, so was Captain Wood, he never seen guns
that big before. They waited and watched the ironclad easing closer and
closer as they stood behind their makeshift defense of cotton bales and
wooden timbers.
"Captain Thompson, Sir, all guns loaded with exploding shells, 5 second
fuse level, elevation on the screws, Sir!" First officer Young reported.
"Very well, Mr. Young. All ahead slow, Mr. Burr. Pilots, steer toward
the bank to give our bow guns some firing room. Once they fire, steer for
the center of the channel. Mr. Young, tell Mid-Shipman Phillips to fire
once he has range. The young man deserves the first shot, also I want to
see how good his judgement on range and elevation are."
"Yes, sir, Captain!" Young walked over to the ladder hatch and shouted
to Davie he had the first shot once he had range.
"Yes, sir," came a confident reply from Davie as he ordered his crew to
make adjustments to the piece.
"One degree Elevation on the screw, six second fuse!" Davie ordered.
"Yes, Sur!" the men said as they rammed the ball down the bore and set
the screw. The vent was primed and the lanyard handed to Davie. Captain
Thompson walked up behind him. "You may fire when ready, Mr. Phillips!"
Davie looked down his sights once more, then stepped back as the rest
of the gunners covered their ears. He snatched the lanyard and the 12 pound
howitzer sent her ball flying through the air and over the cotton bulwarks
to crash among the caissons and supplies, exploding in a KABOOM, scattering
the enemy troops.
Captain Thompson headed below and ordered all guns to be elevated to 2
notches above center. "I was right about that boy, he's going to make one
fine sailor!" The rest of the gun crews smiled as they heard the second
shot fire from the howitzer above and all tried to see where the shell
would land. It too landed near the gun caissons, scattering more dust and
men as they hid closer to the bulwarks, their small guns still not in range
to reply.
"Bloody fuckin hell!" Roy said as he ducked down lower as the 2nd shell
exploded, covering him in dust. "That there is just the signal gun
according to what people say about them iron ships! Lord have merc..." The
main battery in the bow of the Ironclad opened up, four loud booms. As the
shells whistled toward them the men dropped to the ground as others ran
back away from the caissons.
The first shell hit in front of the defenses and exploded in a large
KABLAM, setting fire to the cotton bales and knocking timbers loose. The
other shells rained around them, exploding as the men cowered. "We don't
stand a chance," one man whispered as the fourth shell plowed into the
ground behind him, throwing more men to ground and pulverizing another one.
A scream was heard coming from the hillside, Captain Wood saw the 10
year old boy running toward the smoking crater in the ground and the
remains of his father. "Stop that boy, Damn it, get him to safety and out
of here now!" Wood ordered as he watched the screaming, crying boy try and
fight off the others as they dragged him back up the hill. "Papa, Papa,"
the little boy called over and over as the tears ran down his grimy cheeks.
"FIRE," Wood ordered. The Confederate guns roared and the balls flew
toward the ironclad, clanging against the iron armor, denting it but not
doing any damage.
"GOD DAMNIT!" Davie shouted. "Lower Elevation to center notch, 5 second
fuse!"
The men lowered the barrel and the fuse was cut and the ball rammed
home. The men stood back as Davie yanked the lanyard. The ball sailed low,
brushing the top of the cotton bales to land under a caisson and explode n
a roar as the secondary explosions from the powder and shell sent men
flying everywhere as burning timber and wheels rolled.
"HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!" Wood shouted as he looked over at eight still men
and the burning caisson. "ELEVATE THE GUNS 1 NOTCH, Exploding shells. #3
gun, use shell from the #4 supply. Quickly, men, Quickly!"
The Confederates replied, their shells aimed higher crashed against
the armor plate as one exploded in front of the pilothouse. The second
pilot covered his eyes as he fell from his post. Young grabbed him and laid
him on the gun deck while he took the wheel and helped the other pilot
steer the Ironclad as the bow guns roared again. The bow guns rolled back
as the casemate filled with smoke, burning the men's eyes and
throats. Their naked chests turning black from the powder and sweat as they
sponged and reloaded. The center naked gun port closed due to it not having
a gun mounted. "Damn, if only they had that 8 inch Brooke Rifle in place
they could really make it hot on the Rebels."
The Alexandria Home Guards wanted to run, but Wood's shouting and
cursing kept them at their posts, loading and sponging and firing without
thinking as others reached for their rifles and began to fire at the
ironclad. Their old bronze guns now hot to the touch as fingers blistered
while loading them.
"FIRE!" Wood ordered, sending shells toward the ironclad as she moved
closer. One hit the closed gun port and exploded, sending shrapnel inside,
hitting the gunners and men. Some cursed as they gripped their arms,
checking for damage, and continued their jobs while others were pulled back
by the portside gun crews and one of them raced to fill the place of the
fallen man.
"Head for the Center of the stream, we'll hit'em with the starboard
guns!" Thompson ordered.
"Oh MY LORD AND THE VIRGIN MARY!" Roy cried when he saw the starboard
guns being run out into battery as more shells crashed into the bulwarks as
the men loaded their pieces.
"You pass the....." KABLAM! the shell exploded inside the bulwarks, the
barrel now cantered toward the ground and the five men that were standing
now lifeless.
Rifle fire continued to pepper the ironclad as Davie and the crew
reloaded again. Soon they would be point blank range across from the Rebel
battery. He yanked the lanyard, sending another shell toward the Rebels as
he watched it land among the men.
"Phillips, get your crew below deck, the starboard guns shall finish
what they started!" Thompson ordered from the ladder gangway. The men
dropped what they were doing and quickly dropped below deck as the big
ironclad came abreast the Rebels and the starboard guns opened up, sending
shells into the smoking remains of the bulwarks. Two more guns were
disabled as the last one active replied.
Captain Wood was bleeding. Shrapnel had hit him in the arm and over
half his command was dead. He looked at Roy who was still standing but hurt
as well, then over at the youth holding the flag. "Strike the colors, my
boy! Maybe they will have some mercy on us." He dropped to his knees as a
marine fired, he looked at the center of his gray uniform and the crimson
rose from a piece of Yankee iron. "Sarah, oh my sweet Sarah," he whispered
as his eyes glazed over and he fell into the clay.
"Quit firing, men, they have surrendered!" Thompson shouted. There was
a shout from the crew. "Pilot, make course for Port Hudson!"
"Aye aye, captain!"
The USS BENTON swung around the bend, her black smoke floating over the
town that slowly started to realize what a price they just paid. When they
quit counting, 45 fathers and husbands would never walk or plow a field in
Dixie again. Little boys cried as their mothers wept and pulled them close
as they looked for something to cover their loved ones. Sarah Wood fainted
when she found her husband in the clay. She knew now he never would meet
his son she was carrying. Alexandria would never be the same again.
**********
Once again, dear readers, we have made it the end of another chapter. I
must apologize for taking so long with this one. Life has been hell,
combined with work and other things. Also over the weekend I found that
Tripod has removed my page. (they claim a technical mistake, hmm, 8 tech
mistakes on Gay Writer Guild pages, hmmm. Sounds like the same bullshit a
certain power company tells my Railroad when they fuck up something.) Well,
enough of my bitching about that. I studied the engines and paddle wheel on
the USS CAIRO and based the repairs from what I could tell about her
operation.
I would like to thank Ed for his work on this chapter and the rest of the
ones for NGL and High Iron.
I must also thank Willy B. and many others, including Chris out in
California, for their continued support of me, also a very special friend
that knows nothing about my writings but still gives me strength to
continue.
I love to hear your comments at Swarri1349@aol.com
Until next time,
Stephen
NOTE: TRIPOD has returned my pages to my site. I would like to think
everyone for the group effort to have mine and the other writer's pages
restored thanks Guys.