Even as this final work was being done the supplies of food for the men, the powder and shot for the guns, were already being put aboard.
Ericsson was on the bridge of the ship, coat thrown aside as he made the final adjustments on a machine of his own invention. A mechanical telegraph that would convey instructions from the captain to the engine room.
“Mr. Ericsson, might I disturb you?”
A growled oath was his only reply as the engineer tightened the thin chain over the cogwheel, that was attached to the ship’s telegraph mechanism. Only after it had been done to his satisfaction did Ericsson bolt on the cover plate and climb to his feet, rubbing the grease from his hands onto a wad of cotton waste. His works manager, Garret Davis, stood there, nervous as usual, a naval officer at his side. The man was quite tall and sported an elegant flared mustache.
“This is Captain Raphael Semmes,” Davis said.
“That name is familiar,” Ericsson said. First offering his hand — then drawing it back when he saw how grease-stained it was.
“During the past hostilities I had the privilege of commanding the CNN Alabama. Perhaps that—”
“Yes, of course. I do remember. A fine ship that you made good use of during the last war. What did the newspapers call her? Ja — the shark of the Confederacy.”
The British-built commerce raider had cut a wide swath through the Union merchant fleet during the War Between the States.
“Where is she now, your shark?”
“Laid up, sir. She’s getting new engines, more guns, some armor and such, I do believe. But, as attached as I am to her, I am more interested in the new ironclads that you are building. I must admit that I pulled some strings, right from Jefferson Davis on down. I pointed out that the new navy must contain officers from the South as well as the North.”
“A forceful argument,” Ericsson said, looking at his hands, then throwing the filthy cotton waste aside. “Were you successful in your quest?”
“I think so. I am to command your USS Virginia here.”
“That is wonderful news indeed. May I congratulate you on your new command — of the mightiest ironclad afloat. Come with me. As soon as I cleanse my hands I will shake yours. Then I will show your around the ship.”
Ericsson was as good as his word, leading the way below decks to the engine room where the gigantic steam engine seemed to fill most of the space.
“The largest and most powerful engine ever constructed,” Ericsson said proudly. “My own design, of course. Four cylinders — no other engine was ever built with four cylinders. You will also notice that the steam is recycled at a lower pressure. My design and that was also never done before. The gun turrets — you must see them.”
They entered the bow turret by the armored hatch in its rear. Semmes looked at the guns with awe.
“Their size — I can’t believe that they are mounted on a ship!”
“It was not easy to do — but I did it. Twelve-inch guns that will hurl an explosive shell for five miles. Breech-loading, as you see. You will notice also the pneumatic shock absorbers at their base. Also my invention, of course.” Ericsson pointed to the cylinders on both sides of the guns. “When the gun fires the recoil drives these pistons into these cylinders. The air is compressed and slows the gun down as the compressed air escapes through these orifices. Now here is the ingenious part. Once the gun has reached its limit of travel these valves are closed, once the compressed air has been released — and steam is let into the cylinder. In a sense you have a vertical steam engine. So, with great ease, and no human labor, the cannon is once more pushed forward into firing position.”
It was almost an hour later when Ericsson and Semmes emerged on deck again, both begrimed and oily from their tour through the ship — but blissfully unaware of their condition. Semmes grabbed the Swedish inventor’s hand in both of his.
“Sir — you are a genius, I do declare. This ship is a work of art, a construct of incredibly fine design, a warship of impregnable strength — and I am the proudest man in the world that I have been permitted to be her first commander. Thank you, sir — thank you!”
“I am most glad you like her,” Ericsson said, almost with the tiniest touch of humility. But not for long. “You are right, it is a machine of great genius that only I could have built.”
Less than two weeks later the Virginia dropped anchor in the harbor of Vera Cruz. Captain Semmes stepped out onto the flying bridge, smelled the hot, moist air. Smoke and decay. A mixture of city and jungle. The harbor seemed filled with ships, more than twenty of them at a rough guess. There were both three-masters and steamships. Two armored paddle wheelers were inside the harbor, close to the ships tied up at the wharves there. Further out to sea another group of ships were at anchor. He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see that the Secretary of State had joined him on the bridge.
“Good morning, Mr. Seward.”
“And good morning to you, Captain. I must thank you again for waiting in port with this fine vessel until I could board her. Not only have I reached my destination with speed and comfort — but I now have first-hand knowledge of our navy. I feel great pride now in this navy, tremendous.”
“It was my pleasure to have you aboard, sir.”
“Mine as well. Now that I have seen life aboard an ironclad I appreciate ever the more the sailors who defend our country. Your ship is like nothing I have sailed on before. More of an engine or a seagoing machine, so different from the wooden sailing ships she replaces.”
“You were uncomfortable?”
“Not at all. Impressed really, for I do believe that traveling in her is like traveling into the future. I do admit that at first the sound of the engine was disturbing, but I soon became used to it. It was a small price to pay for the speed and comfort of the voyage. In peacetime — will there be iron ships like this one in peacetime? Carrying passengers across the oceans of the world?”
“There will indeed!” the captain said with enthusiasm. “No longer prone to the vagaries of the wind, fast — even luxurious. More like hotels at sea rather than creaking and slow sailing craft. Steamships are the craft of the future — you can take my word on that.”
“I do indeed.” Seward turned towards the rail and saw that a small steam launch was coming around the bow of the larger steamship and was headed towards them. The stars and stripes flapped from the stern jackstaff, while standing on her bow was a man semaphoring with two flags.
“Read that,” Semmes said. The signal rating on the bridge was scratching on a slate. When he was done he handed it the captain who scanned it quickly, then turned to the watch officer.
“General Ulysses S. Grant is coming aboard, Mr. Seward.”
“A most fortunate meeting, for he is the man who will know just what is happening with the Mexicans and the French.”
“Drop the gangway,” the captain ordered. “And get the ceremony right for the general’s rank. We’ll see him up here on the bridge.” Now that they weren’t moving, so that the scuttles on deck no longer carried cool air below, his day room would be a metal oven. Semmes made a mental note to check in the regulations to see how a general should be piped aboard a ship. He had gone from master of a commercial vessel right into commerce raiding. Luckily his first officer was a graduate of Annapolis.
They watched while Grant came on deck. He was a compact man with a full beard, wearing a private’s blue uniform, the only sign of rank the stars on his shoulders. He climbed quickly to the bridge, nodded in recognition of the Secretary of State.
“It is very good to see you here, Mr. Secretary. The political shenanigans going on here are far beyond me.” He turned and extended his hand to Semmes.
“Captain, you and your ship are a welcome sight indeed.”
Seward looked towards the shore. “Just what is happening there, General Grant?”
“Well, sir, it seems that the politicians have been talking for weeks, but they finally agreed on terms today. The French ha
ve surrendered. Their troops will be disarmed and permitted to leave. Those are their ships you see over there, the ones tied up along the wharves. The Mexicans wanted to shoot Maximilian, but our negotiators sort of talked them out of it. But he and all of the officers will be held here under close guard until all of the terms of the surrender are carried out. It seems that when the French first started this war here they shipped all the Mexican troops that they had beaten right back to France. When these soldiers are returned, why then the rest of the French can leave.”
Grant looked down at the massive two-gun turret forward of the bridge, as well as the smaller cannon along the ironclad’s side, and nodded happily.
“I am indeed pleased to see those guns. My troops have been on those ships anchored out there for far too long. I didn’t want to land them without some cover, in case anything went wrong. This place is a tinderbox just ready to go up. If you will kindly point your cannon shoreward to cover the landings I would be greatly obliged.”
“That is my privilege, General Grant. I am also going to get this ship as close to shore as I can. Might I suggest you station a signalman ashore where we can see him? That way we can keep in communication.”
“I’ll do just that. Mr. Secretary — would you like to come with me?”
“I do indeed. Consul Hancock will brief me on the state of negotiations so far.”
Even as the steam launch puffed towards the shore the disembarking of the American troops was beginning. At the north end of the harbor, just as far from the French ships as possible, where the American troop transports were tied up. A regiment of riflemen were the first ashore. They were quickly formed up and marched down the waterfront towards the distant wharf. Once in position they were drawn up in a line facing the French ships. At the same time a battery of 10-pounder Parrott guns were being unloaded, winched up from the ships’ holds. Weighing only eight hundred and ninety-nine pounds each, they could be manhandled into position by the gunners and troops. These rifled cannon were fast-firing and deadly.
The troops who descended from the next transport wore butternut gray. Even in this army, united against the British invaders, the regiments still kept their old identity, were still commanded by their own officers.
Then, from the city, bugles sounded and there was the muffled sound of drums. These grew louder and louder as the first of the French troops appeared on the waterfront. They made no attempt to keep in step, but shuffled along aimlessly, the very picture of defeat. Weaponless, bereft of any morale, some of them walked dispiritedly with their hands in their pockets. As they boarded their own ships, the American army was still disembarking from theirs.
“That’s a sight that you’ll never see again,” Semmes said, and the watch officer nodded agreement. “All we need is a few Mexicans waving their new flag to make the picture complete.”
“Well there they are, sir,” the watch officer said, pointing. “Those armed guards marching beside the French. They must surely be Mexicans.”
“I do believe that you are right,” Semmes said, looking through his glasses. “If this is not an historical moment there never will be one.”
A small group of officials stood on the balcony of the ayuntamiento, the city hall. This was where the conference had been taking place to decide the terms of the surrender — and the peace. Secretary of State Seward was there, along with Johnston Hancock, the American consul in Vera Cruz. He was a heavy man, some would say fat, who sweated a lot. He wasn’t the best of consuls, but his family had traded in Mexico for years and his knowledge of Spanish was a great asset. His large form towered over the diminutive President of Mexico, Benito Juarez.
“They are murderers and they are escaping,” Juarez said bitterly.
“They are but common soldiers, Excellency. Here against their will, conscripts in the service of the tyrant Napoleon. Remember, their officers are still here, as well as the usurper Maximilian, hostages until your Mexican troops have been returned.”
“He should be stood up against a wall and be shot.”
Juarez shot a look of dark malevolence at the next balcony where the French officers stood, surrounding the tall form of the deposed emperor. The men on both balconies ignored each other completely as they looked down at the defeated troops below. Seward nodded approval and turned to Hancock.
“Kindly tell the president that this is a great moment in the history of Mexico. The usurper driven from power, his elected government in control of the country once again.”
Hancock translated, then turned back to Seward.
“His Excellency thanks you for your good wishes. And for the generous aid that made this victory possible.”
“Good. Then this might be an appropriate time to remind him that there still are invasion forces in his country — the British. Peace will not be secured until they are also driven from these shores.”
Juarez was not happy to be reminded of the British. They were dug in and well armed and his troops had little incentive to continue the battle. It meant nothing to them. Let them build the road, and then use it and leave. He made some vague reassurances to the fat Yankee and turned back to watch the departing troops. This really was an historical moment and he wished to enjoy every second of his enemy’s humiliation.
The troop movements continued throughout the morning. A little before noon General Ulysses S. Grant reboarded the Virginia.
“Going about as smooth as can be expected,” he said looking across the harbor from the height of the bridge. “I want my troops here until the French have all gone. Besides, they need a spell ashore after being jammed aboard those ships. While that is happening I need your help, Captain.”
“Anything you say, General.”
“General Joe Johnston can look after things while I’m gone.”
“Joseph E. Johnston?”
“The same. My second-in-command. And I’m most happy to have him fighting at my side — instead of being on the other side. Before I take my men out to attack the British road I want to know more about it. Particularly the port at this end of it. The Coatza-something place.”
“I would greatly like to see it myself.”
“And seeing it from your ship, Captain Semmes, appears to be the safest way of going about that task.”
Captain Fosbery, commander of HMS Valiant, was awoken by his servant soon after dawn. Valiant and her sister ship Intrepid were stationed just offshore of the Mexican coast.
“Lookout reports smoke on the horizon, sir. East-northeast.”
“Bring me some coffee.” He yawned broadly as he pulled his trousers on. He had only been asleep a few hours. But he had left orders to be informed of anything sighted out to sea.
“There sir,” the watch officer said when he came up onto the bridge. He handed his binoculars to the captain.
“Ironclad,” Fosbery said. “With those lines — certainly not one of ours. Notify Intrepid if she hasn’t seen her yet. And get up steam.”
They were anchored as close to the port as they could get without running aground, with less than two fathoms beneath the Valiant’s keel. Well within the covering range of the land-based batteries. Still, in war, one never knew. He did not like the possibility of an enemy finding him dead in the water.
Aboard the Virginia General Grant was slowly sweeping the defenses with his glasses. The small fleet of transports at anchor, the two warships getting up steam. He did not speak, but his jaw was hard set, his expression grim.
“Quarter speed ahead,” Captain Semmes said. He had no fear of the smaller ironclads, but had great respect for the batteries dug into the hills ahead.
They were still over four thousand yards from the shore when there were three sudden bursts of light from the batteries, instantly obscured by clouds of smoke. Two pillars of water rose up not two hundred yards from their flank. Another was almost directly in line with the ship’s bow.
“Hard aport,” Semmes ordered. “Give me full steam.”
“That’s prett
y good shooting,” Grant said.
“Too good,” Semmes said as water fountained off their starboard bow. Where the ship would have been if they hadn’t changed course. “We can’t go up against those guns without suffering serious damage — even with our armor.”
“Any chance of a large force taking that port from the sea?”
“I doubt it. Ironclads might be able to stand their fire, but wooden transports wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“That’s about what I thought. So I guess we will just have to see how it looks from the landward side.”
From the reports he had read things were not a lot better there. Well, he would see, he would see.
WIDENING THE BATTLE
Gustavus Fox was too busy a man to enjoy any variety of a social life. Nor did he dine out very much — or not at all, when he came to think about it. But he always ate a hearty breakfast, because many times that would be all the food that he had for the entire day. Too much of the time it was just bread and cheese in Room 313, or at best some cold fried chicken. But this invitation had been too good to refuse, considering the identity of his host.
Nor had he ever been to Wormly’s before, despite its reputation as the finest restaurant in the capital — which boasted some fine restaurants indeed. He paused at the entrance, looking through the cut glass in the door at the brightly lit interior; at the well-dressed diners inside. Should he have changed into his navy uniform? There really had not been time. And here he was, gawky as a youth on his first date. He smiled at his own hesitation and pushed his way in.
“May I help you, sir?” The maître d’hôtel wore a handsome tailcoat; his moustache was waxed and curled to points in what must have been an attempt at a continental manner. His accent however was pure tidewater.
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