The Sea is a Thief

by David Parmelee

  The Parrott Rifle on one of the gunboats exploded, killing the gunner and blinding his mate. Fourteen of Galena’s crew lay dead, victims of cannot shot and gunfire. Progress was impossible, and persistence promised only further losses. Three hours after the fleet dropped anchor, they retreated towards the mouth of the James. For the time being, Richmond was safe.

  Taking stock of the damage, Ship’s Carpenter Dreher listed forty-five places where enemy fire had pierced Galena’s hull. He could not begin to calculate how long it would take to repair her.

  She was not, it turned out, shot-proof.

  Two years passed, almost to the day, before the Navy set its sights on Drewry’s Bluff again. A desire for vengeance helped choose the target. The first encounter was an embarrassment for more than one high officer, and a victory at that particular bend in the James River would set things right. The commanders of the Union forces learned a valuable lesson during the defeat of Galena and its sister ships. Drewry’s Bluff was a tough target by water, but a vulnerable one by land. If enough troops could be ferried up the James, they might be able to fight their way past the bluff by an overland route. If they could, they would find themselves just seven miles from Richmond. The city was very lightly defended. By 1864 more than one Union general had expressed the thought, privately or publicly, that it was high time to get the war over with. The capture of the Confederate capitol would contribute greatly to that end. So it was written, and so the ships went forth up the James.

  “Were you and Sam still serving together then?” asked Anna.

  “We were,” Ethan replied. “And a difficult time it was for us. We set out from the mouth of the James on the fifth of May, with forty thousand soldiers—forty thousand—to ferry up the river to a neck of land called Bermuda Hundred. We brought a fleet of ships to haul his army to its destination. ‘Twas a safe spot for General Butler to set up his lines; a river lay on either flank, so an attack could come only from directly ahead.

  “It was no easy thing to find enough boats to carry the lot of them. Seven gunboats met at the mouth of the James, but they didn’t begin to handle it. Sam and I would walk the deck in the morning and watch the ships coming up the bay: river steamers, ferryboats, canal boats, schooners, tugboats, sloops, barges. Strangest parade of sailing vessels you could ever imagine. And four ironclads with them. Low black things, close to the water, creeping up the bay like beetles, bristling with guns.

  “We counted the guns the day before we left. A hundred and seven, Mrs. Daisey. A hundred and seven.”

  Mary and Anna listened, quiet.

  “We took the troops to Bermuda Hundred and sent ‘em off. The ironclads couldn’t stay with us. The water was too shallow for them, but the gunboats went upriver as the men advanced on land.

  “We weren’t leading the parade, Sam and I, and it was a good thing. The Commodore Jones sailed at the head of the fleet. It was calm for maybe two hours, until we spied a Negro running along the bank where we could all see him plainly. He was jumping in the air, waving his arms. The captain of the Jones was disturbed by it, and sent a boat to bring the man aboard. He was so grateful he knelt down and kissed the deck, tried to embrace the Captain, and he talked as fast as he could, without stopping, just as soon as he set foot on the ship.

  “He was a runaway slave. He wanted to tell us that the Confederates had set mines in the river. It was certain death to proceed. He knew where they were, and he was ready to show us. That brought everything to a halt right quick. The next two days we covered less than a mile. They sent men out in open boats, dragging for the mines, but they were nowhere near as easy to find as the runaway figured they would be.

  “We found the first one too late. Four of our shipmates were out in a launch, one man rowing, three searching the water, when one of them spotted a pair of wires. They led to shore, so they followed them, thinking some rebels might be ready to set off a mine.

  Ethan stopped speaking. He leaned back, seeming to look hard at something outside the window. Anna and Mary were uncomfortable in their chairs.

  “They saw the wires too late. Over their shoulders they heard a sound like an earthquake, and turned to see the Commodore Jones lifted straight up out of the river, blown in two. The ship fell back down in pieces, and they rained on the water. Sam and I were at the rail. We took cover as it came falling down.” Ethan fell silent.

  Anna spoke up. “How many died?”

  “Seventy. Most were not found. Those we did find, we wished we had not.”

  “God rest their souls,” said Mary.

  “The launch made it to shore right quick, figuring the rebels were still nearby. They found them all right—ran right into them on the bank as they tried to make their escape. It was just four of them that did it. They had a stack of electric batteries set up in the brush, and when the Jones came by they just touched the wires, and the powder blew.

  “They were celebrating when we ran into them, whoopin’ and hollerin’, you know how they do…” He caught himself. The ladies did not. “But all the celebration stopped when we brought them onboard at the point of a bayonet and sent them out in the boats to find the rest of the mines. All their courage sort of melted away. Found the mines pretty quick, then. Some of ‘em had been in place for two years. With the channel clear, we set up off the river again. We lost one more gunboat, just to the rear of us, to artillery fire from the banks. After that we sailed on without much trouble. And it wasn’t too many days later that Sam and I parted ways.”

  Anna pressed her fingers to her lips and asked him quietly, “What do you know, Ethan?”

  “He left the ship to join the attacking force. It came upon him all of a sudden one night. We were dead set on taking Richmond. I know Sam took that first battle hard, two years before. It stayed with him: the way we retreated, us in a spanking-new ironclad ship, loaded for bear, and a little gang of greycoats sitting on a dirt mound with a few cannon driving us off in a couple of hours. He would talk about it with me from time to time. It didn’t affect me nearly the same as it affected Sam.

  “Some Army officers came on board, and Sam just walked up to one of ‘em and volunteered to go. It was highly unusual, the man said, and he spoke with our Captain, but in the end they agreed Sam could go if he was set on it, and he pronounced that he was. They issued him a rifle and a haversack with some rations, gave him powder and shot, and he left the ship that morning. It was dark and rainy, foggy too. Sam was ready to set off, and he set his rifle aside, and he embraced me like a brother. ‘We can celebrate after we return from Richmond,’ he said, and I just said ‘aye, we will indeed’, and he picked up his rifle and stepped into the launch. I watched until it hit the shore, in a little cove where they could land safely. The men were headed up the bank and disappeared into the woods. At the distance I couldn’t see which one was Sam anymore, so I turned away.”

  His voice rose. “We were all confident. We knew that we’d be taking Richmond within three days. We knew it!”

  Mary spoke softly. “But you did not?”

  Ethan did not wish to continue, but he did.

  “They marched to within a few miles of the city, right up to Fort Darling. The Confederates had built a regular fort on Drewry’s Bluff by that time. For some reason, and nobody’s told me what it was, they stayed right where they were for nearly a week. That gave the rebels time to bring in more men. In the end, the rebels struck first. They attacked them head-on and drove them back to where they started. Took less than a day. They retreated by night.”

  “And how many died that day?”

  Ethan shook his head. “More than three thousand on our side, and I imagine just as many on theirs. They came at us with everything they had. They knew we were aiming for Richmond. Once we got past that fort, it was ours for the taking, and we could dictate the terms from then on.”

  Anna spoke up quickly. “You must tell me the truth, Ethan. Do you believe that he has been killed?”

  Ethan looked to heaven as
if for guidance, then directly into Anna’s searching eyes. “God help me, Anna, I cannot say. If I knew it to be so I would tell you, on my soul. Many men died, but I do not know Sam’s fate. He didn’t return to our ship. I figured he was all right, anyway, being Sam, so I got myself sent ashore and I asked about. Nobody recalled meeting a sailor. I didn’t find him. He wasn’t there.”

  Anna interjected quickly. “Surely you could not have looked everywhere for him.”

  “We stayed at Bermuda Hundred three days. On my soul, if Sam was there, I would have found him. He should have returned to the ship. He didn’t return, Anna.” She saw the pain in his eyes. He watched hope retreating from hers.

  “It is my duty to tell you,” he concluded. “I despise it, but it is my duty nonetheless.”

  Anna rose and tuned to the window, her gaze distant. Ethan stood as she did, his hat in his hands.

  “You have done your duty indeed, Mr. Platt,” said Mary, rising and taking his hand. “Thank you for your courage and honesty. Can you stay longer?”

  Ethan regretted that he could not; he had found passage across the channel expressly to visit them, and was due back at the mainland that day. From there he would travel north, home to Pennsylvania. Mary wished him Godspeed.

  “Will you walk outdoors with me, Anna?” he asked. She agreed.

  They descended the three steps to the roadway. Slowly they walked side by side towards the town, shaded by the summer canopy of the trees. Ethan broke the silence.

  “It is my fondest wish that I could bring you better news, Anna.”

  “I must seem very ungrateful,” she answered, “after you have travelled so far out of your way to visit us.”

  “No,” he said, “it is a journey I pledged I would make.”

  “The last words Sam spoke to me were his promise to return, and I am certain that he will keep his promise. He is strong and clever. He has survived that battle and others, too, perhaps. He will return.”

  They walked on.

  A little ways down the road was a well where the Daiseys and their neighbors came to draw water. A bench had been built there from the remnants of a fallen tree. Ethan removed his hat and indicated the bench.

  “May we sit for a moment, Anna?” She thought it odd, but sat, as Ethan joined her. As he began to speak, she saw that he was choosing his words with care. “Are you certain that it is your will to wait for him?”

  His words puzzled her at first; she was so sure of her intentions that the request seemed pointless. Then, in a moment, she saw in Ethan’s plain and earnest face the import of his question. He had made the long journey to Chincoteague not just to tell them Sam’s story, but for another reason as well. He would not go back to Pennsylvania if she desired that he stay.

  Ethan’s courage had been tested in battle and always proved strong. The next few moments were a greater test still. “If he has been taken from you, Anna,” he said, “I would joyfully take his place.”

  To declare his feelings to her had taken all his strength. He could say nothing more. She could have answered quickly but held her words out of concern for his heart, laid before her unguarded. She studied his face: his broad forehead, his kind eyes with their heavy brows, his full, curling beard. Five years of fighting had aged him far more than a young man who stayed on a farm, beyond the range of cannon shot. He was ready for a wife and had sought her out.

  She could not give herself to him. She could never forsake the hope of Sam returning. She told him so with the utmost kindness, a kindness she wished she could have been accorded in the worst of her misfortunes.

  “Your loyalty is stronger than I have ever known,” she told him, “and your heart is good. I would be so foolish to let you go, if I did not have the reason that I have. You will find a woman who loves you, Ethan, as I love Sam.”

  She took his hand. He kissed her cheek and said that he regretted his overture to her; she told him that she harbored no regrets but would remember the day fondly as long as she lived.

  He left her disheartened but not despairing. She watched his familiar solid figure as it retreated down the road to Chincoteague and from there to the hills of Pennsylvania. She would draw, and paint, and wait, if she waited forever.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Advance and Retreat

  Sam Dreher could hardly remember an hour without rain from the moment he stepped off the ship. It was steady and unrelenting, a drenching spring rain that would soon bring corn and tobacco to the surface of the brown Virginia earth. For the Federal troops advancing on Richmond from Bermuda Hundred it brought pure misery. Fog lay in the hollows all day; at twilight it rose up, mingling with the smoke from the cooking fires. A blue haze wrapped the Union forces in its arms as they lay down to sleep under the poor shelter of their tents. It moved like a brooding spirit through the sprawling canvas village, murmuring to each soldier as he dreamed. Each morning they awoke anticipating the sight of the rising sun; each morning, the fog remained, and the rain continued. They pulled on their muddy boots, shouldered their clammy haversacks, and resumed their march.

  At the beginning they had all had been very sure of the outcome. They couldn't get to the southern capital quickly enough. One man would scold his neighbor when his steps began to slow. “Pick it up, brother,” he would say. “Can't keep the rebels waiting!” The odds spoke for themselves: by the best estimates, forty thousand battle-tested Union troops massed against fewer than ten thousand of the rebels. Benjamin Butler's army was destined for glory. The officer corps made its expectations clear. The battle plan called for quick and decisive victory. They would call down thunder and lightning against the city, setting the stage for surrender. That, at least, was the way it was written.

  It was taking an awfully long time to get there. The rain and mud played havoc. The foot soldiers made slow progress. The artillery caissons and the supply wagons were even slower, their narrow iron-rimmed wheels plowing deeply into the muck. There was no point in marching faster than they could roll. Without them, the troops would be unable to fight once they arrived.

  Sam fixed his mind on the task ahead. His years at sea had taught him to keep calm in the face of danger, but when the days dragged on and the endless deepening mud turned each step into a trial, his spirits sank. Weariness drained his resolve in a way that fear could not.

  In his own mind, his purpose in joining the land assault was clear, though he could not speak of it to anyone else. The word from every quarter was that Richmond would fall this time. With the capitol in its control, the Union could force a surrender; the war, already four years old, would soon end. No general yearned for its conclusion more than Sam Dreher did. He ached to see his Anna, to hold her, to be with her for the rest of his days. As long as the fighting continued, they remained apart. The day the Union was victorious, he could return to Chincoteague. Since their parting, he had measured out a thousand precious days repairing leaky ships, waiting for a northern victory. Those ships maintained a blockade that had brought the Union no closer to its goal. Now success was within their very grasp, and Sam’s patience had been worn to a thread. He judged it was his time to act. He would lend his hand directly.

  He had seen little serious action during his time at sea. The Battle of Cockle Creek hadn’t been much of a fight. The ‘Teaguers were impressed, but the men of the Louisiana were unevenly matched against a ragtag force of ill-trained Confederates who expected no opposition. The first battle at Drewry’s Bluff was very different—an embarrassment to say the least. Galena and her sister ships were routed in a scant three hours, shamefully so, by a very small force that outsmarted the Union captains. Looking back on it, their preparations were the exact opposite of what they should have been. The ships themselves didn’t stand a chance against the cannon dug into the top of the bluff; had they carried a landing force with them, Richmond might have fallen that very day. From the moment he heard the order to retreat two years ago, Sam Dreher had wrestled with the thought of what might have been
. Now he had been given a second chance. This time he would play a part himself. Another man might have waited out the campaign in the relative safety of a gunboat. Sam, for better or for worse, was not another man.

  When they reached a point just out of sight of Drewry's Bluff but beyond the reach of its cannon, Butler's army took up positions across a wide span of woods and fields, with the river on their left hand. Sam knew the marching had ended. Each step would now be gained at the price of blood. Raiding parties were sent out in the dim light. Sam kept his distance from them; they were hard men with steely eyes who moved silently. They carried short rifles and long knives for close combat. They brought back encouraging news: the forward positions around the fort were lightly defended. After that, companies of soldiers joined them, and they went ahead together to engage the rebels. Sam heard the crack of rifles at a distance, and his pulse quickened. When they returned, the men clustered around them to hear their reports, and their spirits rose. They had met with good success. The fort would surely fall. As he lay beneath his blanket Sam awaited the command to assemble at dawn for the final push to Richmond. He slept poorly, his body chilled and weary. When dreams came, they were dreams of Assateague and the days that lay just out of reach, beyond tomorrow’s victory.

  No command was given the first night, or the day that followed it. Each man asked his comrades why. No one knew. Again they slept, the rain soaking the earth around them, and a second night, then a third, passed without a word.

  On the fourth morning the rain paused and the dawn glowed more brightly through its veil of low clouds. The fog lay thickly all around, shrouding the trees.

  Suddenly, in the midst of its waking routine, the whole camp paused as one. Each soldier had heard the same sound. Sam could not place it, never having heard it before, but the men around him knew it, and flew to arms. In the space of ten seconds it sent the sleepiest among them running for their packs, some half-dressed, loading their rifles and fixing bayonets with all the speed they could muster.