by Jim Musgrave
The prow "battering ram" was of cast iron, wedged shaped and weighed 1500 pounds. It was to be about two feet under water, and project two feet from the steam. The rudder and propeller were unprotected.
The battery consisted of ten guns, four single-banded Brooke rifles and six nine-inch Dahlgren's shell guns. Two of the rifles, bow and stern pivots, were seven-inch, of 14,500 pounds; the other two were 6.4 inch (32 pound calibre) of 9000 pounds, one on each broadside. The nine-inch gun on each side nearest the furnaces was fitted for firing hot shot. A few nine- inch shot with extra windage were cast for hot shot. No other solid shot were on board during the fight.
The engines were the same the vessel had whilst in the United States Navy. They were radically defective, and had been condemned by the United States Government. Some changes had been made, notwithstanding which the engineers reported they were unreliable. Brooke was worried about their performance under battle conditions, and this was why he was there to see his craft put into the water.
Brooke watched, as his ship slid down into the Chesapeake. My God! She's going under too deep! He thought, as the water kept rising up the giant craft's superstructure, until the water line was almost to her railing. "Lieutenant Jones! Get those tugs alongside her! We must get her back into dry dock. She'll need several thousand pounds taken from those planks before she can sail safely."
"Aye, Sir!" said Catesby Jones, realizing this would take longer than the Confederate Generals would like. They were worried their early victories would soon turn to losses if they did not have the blockade broken soon. McClellan and his army were moving down the peninsula, and it would be a disaster if supplies couldn't reach their brethren in time. Not only this, but word was that the North had launched their little ironclad, the Monitor, and even though she was still being repaired for sea duty, it would only be a matter of time before the Virginia would be confronted. "Let's go, men!" Jones shouted, finally getting the feel of his new command after these few days. "We can get her trim as a Southern belle before the end of the week!"
Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Actor
February 28, 1862, New York City
Walter was waiting inside the Continental Club on Broadway. The signs on front of the tavern advertised the appearance of "P. T. Barnum's Famous Siamese Twins, Chang and Eng, with Master of Ceremonies, General Tom Thumb!" The atmosphere was cloudy with cigar smoke, the sound of clinking glasses, and the laughter of New Yorkers who were looking for an escape from the realities of wartime. I wonder why Booth wanted us to meet here? Walter was wondering, just as a tall gentleman sauntered up to his table and bowed deeply before him. "Mister Ellwood, I presume?" said Booth, in his eloquent stage voice.
"Yes, I've been expecting you, Mr. Booth. Please be seated." Walter pulled out a chair and motioned for the younger gentleman to sit.
Booth looked both ways across the bar, as if he were being followed. "I think we'd be better positioned back here," he said, moving toward a sheltered table near the rear of the establishment. It had red-velvet curtains in a semi-circle and over the top, to keep the sound inside, yet they could both still watch the stage presentation. Johnny Booth seemed eager to watch, as he squeezed into the cushioned seat and immediately pointed to the little man in the miniature Union Army uniform who was taking the center place on-stage. "Look at that!" he laughed, "General Ulysses S. Grant has come to tell us how badly the North is losing! Oh, but he should change whiskey brands, as it appears he has recently lost some stature."
Walter smiled at the jest. I'll let him begin. They want me to learn from him, so I'll let him convene. When the waiter came, he ordered a pint of ale, and Booth ordered a bottle of champagne. The man was an active sort, constantly gesturing and smoking from his long, European cigar. Walter was most impressed by Booth's eyes. They were deep and darkly mysterious, and they had the intense quality of searchlights cutting through fog when they looked at you.
On stage, General Tom Thumb, all of three feet tall, was joking about first meeting the Siamese twins, Chang and Eng. "Chang had joined the Union cause, but his brother, Eng, was a Rebel! No matter how hard they try to separate, these days, it seems they can't break their union," said the little general, and the audience roared with laughter. Everyone except John Wilkes Booth, that is, who was frowning into his champagne glass.
"He's an idiot!" said Booth, twisting his mustache like the villain in a melodrama. "Chang and Eng Bunker are Southern gentlemen who live in Wilkesboro, North Carolina, a slave state! They own at least two hundred slaves between them and run a one thousand acre tobacco plantation!"
When Tom Thumb brought the twins out, they were each wearing uniforms, one of the Union and one of the Confederacy. They seemed to serve as a humorous metaphor for the insanity raging all around. "Well, sirs, will you partake of some whiskey?" asked General Tom.
"Is it Southern whiskey?" asked Eng.
"No, it's a good Yankee potion!" said Tom.
"Then give it to him. I'll not taste a drop!" said Eng, and Tom handed the bottle to Chang, who immediately began guzzling down the liquid.
General Tom pointed to Eng, and said, "Strange thing about these two. When Chang drinks, Eng gets drunk!"
On cue, Eng began to act inebriated, singing loudly, and trying to get up to dance, but each time he tried to rise, Chang would hold him back in a comedic rendition of "push me, pull you." The audience was enjoying every minute of the act.
Booth, however, had seen it all before, and he chose this moment to begin his lecture. "They did not explain your mission to me, Mister Ellwood, but I am certain it is of extreme urgency to our cause, and I do not ever question my superiors' wisdom in these matters. Therefore, I am going to do everything in my power to assist you in your patriotic endeavor. I am, you see, an actor. My genius is that I can make people believe I am one thing, when, in actuality, I am something quite different. Just tell me your target, and I will assist you with any poison or ruse we will need to develop in order to succeed."
Booth went on to explain how he had been a member of a network of spies and smugglers known as the Knights of the Golden Circle, operating between Richmond and Montreal, Canada. Relentlessly, the group implemented many underground activities, including blockade-smashing efforts along the East Coast and the disbursement of medicines (largely quinine and laudanum) down from Canada, through Union lines, thence to Virginia. The young actor was ready and willing to assist Walter in his effort to assassinate John Ericsson, and they shook hands and agreed to meet at Walter's hotel room following Booth's appearance in a Broadway play called The Apostate.
As Walter left the club with Booth, they stopped to greet Chang and Eng and the little general, who immediately recognized the actor when he approached. "Johnny Booth!
You rapscallion!" said Tom, reaching up to shake the tall man's outstretched hand. "Did you hear? I am courting Lavinia Warren of Massachusetts. Her family name is Bump, and I call her my 'little bump in the road,' but Mister Barnum changed it for her, as he said it sounded ghastly."
"Ah, yes. P. T. Barnum, ever the showman," said Booth. "General, Misters Chang and Eng Bunker, I want you to meet Mister Simon Ellwood of Great Britain."
As Walter shook the hands of the little man and the two joined-at-the-hips brothers, he was thinking about his Penelope, and how she would have been entranced by this experience. Aberrations of Nature were a frequent amusement to her, and she and Walter had once spent an entire fortnight visiting Mister Barnum's circus when it came to London in 1860. Penelope's favorite exhibit was the "Freak Sideshow," and now Walter felt he was an honorary freak. He hoped this young actor of the mysterious Knights of the Golden Circle would not prove to be an anomaly as well. If they did not succeed this time with their plot, then there were some men in England who would pay Penelope a visit, most certainly causing her natural damage beyond repair, and Walter could never stand for that!
Chapter Thirty: The Women
March 2, 1862, London
Penelope Andrews w
as living one city block, about 60 meters, from John Ericsson's wife, Amelia Blackstone-Ericsson. In fact, they both shopped at the same stores in the Mayfair District. Their parents had exclusive homes; several servants were on staff, and the two women were fashionable members of the West End society.
Even though Penelope's parents were wealthy, they were not about to give any money to their daughter's beau, Walter Sinclair, whom they knew to be a sailor. Charles Blackstone, 57, was a distinguished member of British Parliament, and a business owner, and he had little use for the sea and for those who came from such wanderlust environs. He considered Mr. Sinclair to be beneath his daughter in all respects, and as far as he was concerned, there would never be a marriage between the two young people.
Penelope Blackstone's love affair with Walter Sinclair was certainly clandestine, and the lovers had gone as far as to use a special post office box at the West End, where Penelope could be seen secretly reading the letters from her lover, who was writing from America. It was just such a day when Amelia came into the post office, and she noticed that the younger woman's envelope had the markings from the States, and this piqued her curiosity so that she approached her.
"Excuse me, but are you corresponding with an American?" she asked, smiling so that her ever-present dimples were clearly visible.
Penelope started, as she was not prepared to discuss Walter's whereabouts with any stranger. However, she knew Amelia from the West End society parties, and she was not about to rebuff her. "Why, yes. I have a good friend over in the Colonies, why do you ask?"
Amelia touched Penelope's arm with the delicacy of a woman in love. "Aren't you Penelope Andrews? I don't mean to be bold, but Margaret Whimple told me you were involved with some pirate or smuggler. Can this be true?"
Penelope laughed in spite of her nervousness. "Heaven's no! Walter Sinclair is a ship's captain doing work in America. He is a legitimate seaman and has never done such criminal deeds. I suppose Margaret Whimple must have quite the imagination. But, I'm afraid, in this particular instance, her comments border on slanderous."
"My husband is also involved in naval work. I am hoping his recent project will make us enough money for me to return to America. I do miss him so!" said Amelia. "Letters can never replace our loved ones, can they?" she added, the tone of her voice falling.
"Oh my! I do believe we've become maudlin. Will you accompany me to the Cheshire Cat for a pint?" asked Penelope. "It is quite a thrill to sit down in a pub, which serves both men and women. Don't say you're not for Suffrage, Mrs. Ericsson. I saw you at a meeting the other night."
Amelia smiled. "Yes, I am a Suffragette. We must stay together, so we shall go over to the pub. I want to hear more about what your young pirate is doing in America!"
* * *
Inside the public house called the Cheshire Cat, Tim Wallach, a tall, sandy-haired Irishman in a dark tweed coat, was sitting at a small table next to the bar smoking a Carolina cigar. When the two women came in, he watched them sit down in the far corner. Tim had been following Penelope Andrews for many weeks, and he was certain she was unaware of his presence. The Confederacy was paying all his expenses, and he was receiving constant coded telegrams about what he should do next. He knew if one particular message came, he was to move in and kidnap the Andrews girl and take her to a warehouse outside Soho. It was all simple and routine. His orders were in place, and he knew his job was secure, unlike many other men whose lives were caught up in the horrors of mortal combat on the front lines. This was easy duty compared to his brother, Albert, who was serving with Beauregard's troops after the attack on Fort Sumter. The two women were becoming more animated as they spoke, and as the waitress brought the two pints of stout to the table, he wondered what they were discussing that was so fascinating.
"I miss John and his perfunctory habits. He would arrange all his suits and shoes in neat, orderly rows. I had to drag him out of his shop to get some fresh air. He was an obsessive laborer, and this was a major reason why I came back to England. He swears it was because of the money, but that wasn't the true reason."
"Yes, I know. Walter was often a frantic beast whenever we spent time in London. He had no desire to be part of the 'landed gentry,' as he called citizens who worked on shore. However, he was very romantic in his own way. He once blindfolded me and told me he was going to take me to a place where sailors were rescued. He walked me, like a blind woman, up hundreds of stairs until we were inside a room. When he took the blindfold off, we were inside the Old Dungeness Lighthouse in south Kent. They had just installed the first electric light to beam over the sea and save ships from the fog and inclement weather. We spent the evening inside Old Dungeness, as the caretaker had taken Walter's money and left him in charge."
"Oh, my dear! That is quite romantic!" Amelia exclaimed.
"We could see the light as it shone upon the waves, and Walter whispered that I was his guiding light, and would I marry him. But then, before we could arrange our wedding, he left for America."
"I'm so very sorry to hear that, Pen. John was never as romantic as all that," said Amelia, putting her pinky finger inside the stein, pulling out some foam, and delicately licking it off with her tongue.
"I'm worried about Walter. He keeps telling me he's visiting a cousin in New York City, but it has been over two months now. What could he be doing over there with the war on?" Penelope was quite unnerved, and Amelia was the first woman who was truly sympathetic to her, as her husband was also caught up in the Civil War over in America.
"My John keeps me apprised of his personal life, but he won't tell me one thing about what he has to do with the war effort. Ah, but I have discovered, on my own, that he has sold his Monitor to President Lincoln, and that the Southerners are also building their own iron craft," Amelia whispered, conspiratorially.
"Walter won't tell me any details about his business in America. The last I heard, he was trying to negotiate something with the Confederacy. He won't be in any danger, will he?" Penelope gasped, grabbing tightly onto the older woman's hand.
"John says many people are getting rich at the expense of the Americans and their internal conflict. It's all business to him. He just wants me with him, and he needs money to accomplish our romantic reunion. Truth be known, I really don't care about from which side he gets the money. And you shouldn't care as well! Love is the final refuge of our men, and we shall be their benefactors. Let's drink on it!" said Amelia, and she stood up and raised her stein into the air. Penelope, at first, seemed reluctant; but, finally, she too stood up and raised her ale mug in a toast.
Tim Wallach could hear the women toast, "To love, to honor, to suffrage!" He glowered and got up from his table, shoving his few shillings into a coat pocket and lighting his cigar again. "Women!" he barked, holding the match to the tip of the cigar, puffing in, igniting the tobacco, and blowing out a thick stream of smoke. As he walked by their table he added, "Why don't you go home and tend to your kitchens?"
Chapter Thirty-One: The American Museum
March 6, 1862, New York City
The steering problem of the Monitor postponed the ship's departure for Hampton Roads, and the crew was held over for two days. Lieutenant Greene and John Ericsson decided to stay in New York City to attend the Wax Museum, inside the American Museum of Oddities on the corner of Ann Street and Broadway. It was a rather strange gift, as Ericsson had received the two tickets from an "anonymous patriot," who left a note in the envelope saying, "Thank you, kind Sir, for all you have done for our Union cause!"
As they walked down Fulton Street from the Navy Yard, Ericsson began telling the young lieutenant about their trip to Easter Island. The inventor knew he must keep Greene conditioned with the myth, or else, when the time came for the boy to do his duty against the Virginia, he might not have the nerve.
"I've been corresponding with my wife, Amelia, quite often these days. She's rather supportive of our rendezvous. I think you might consider telling your fiancée what we're about
." Ericsson adjusted his coat, as the wind from the ocean was quite brisk and cold.
"I'm glad you said that, Sir! I want my Anna to have something to look forward to once this is over. Do you suppose they'll take to the rigors of living under such primitive conditions?" Greene's voice was enthusiastic, and it contained no hint of fear. This pleased Ericsson. The time would soon come when they would have to make their break with civilization, and the missionary zeal of the Swede would be needed to pull off the show without any problems.
"I don't believe our ladies will deter us from our goal. We may have to train them as to the discipline and Spartan abilities required of such an endeavor, but they will thank us for it in the long run." Ericsson tripped over a slab of stone and lurched forward so suddenly that the younger man had to catch hold of him to stop his collapse.
"Whoa! You almost took a frightful fall," said Greene, picking up the elder man's top hat, which had toppled from his head. "Here you are. You'll need this to get into the show."
"Thank you, my boy. Getting on in age is not what my brain wants my body to know. It's nice to have the younger generation along to assist me in this era of turmoil." Ericsson pointed toward the big sign in front of the building just ahead. "There it is! P. T. Barnum's world famous American Museum. Shall we?"
"By all means. You know, Anna and I didn't have time to see the Wax Museum when we visited during my leave. I wish she could be here now," said Greene, walking into the lobby.
There were many people queuing up to the entrance of Mrs. Pelby's Wax Museum portion of the exhibit. Some of the visitors were so stiff and well-dressed that they, too, looked to be waxed manikins. As he stood in line, Greene noticed a sign on the wall that read, "Notice to Persons of Color: In order to afford respectable colored persons an opportunity to witness the extraordinary attractions at present exhibited at the Museum, the Manager has determined to admit this class of people on Thursday morning, next, March 10, from 8 A.M. to 1 P.M. Special performances in the Lecture Hall at 11 o'clock."
