Devareaux looked over the contents of the folder that contained his orders. He was to patrol the coast as Devareaux had mentioned. He was also supposed to report in to the check stations at intervals. The first one was in St Augustine, the next in Savannah, then Charleston, and the last near Wilmington.
Looking up at Tobias, Devareaux’s mind began to work again. He thought of the import of what was being asked of him and his crew. After a moment or two he asked his question.
“I have to dock at each of these cities as I pass?”
Whytherspoon laughed.
“No, I will be communicating with them as we pass.”
Tobias’ enlarged eyes twinkled behind the goggles.
“You! What do you mean you will be communicating? You are coming back on board? You will operate a wireless? Is there even someone to receive it? Wait, who on earth are you?”
Standing a little straighter, the engineer smiled so brightly that he nearly lit up the room. The smarminess of the smile was the only thing that made it seem less than honest happiness.
“I am just a normal, everyday engineer. Since I know how the equipment works, I am going to be training your crew. Who knows Morse Code or semaphore among your crew? Anyone?”
“Midshipman Daniel Powell handles communications. He knows both Morse Code and semaphore and once was trained on how to use a heliograph. Sykes, in theory knows Morse Code as well.”
Before Devareaux could continue Tobias nearly jumped with excitement.
“Great, that is just great. They will be easy to train. The encoding is rather difficult, but not too bad. I have the keys and men at each of the stations ready to receive. As long as we are within 10 nautical miles, they should be able to hear us. When can I begin talking to Them?”
Devareaux blinked at the engineer’s words.
“But, you said we did not have a way to transmit from the Appomattox?”
“Not everyone in that room was cleared to know what we are capable of. We have to have secrets. No one knows exactly how many spies our enemies have. Come, come. We need to plan.”
With that, the engineer adjusted his goggles and began to stand and move.
Devareaux had to scramble to keep up with the smaller man.
“What are you? Some kind of goggle wearing Sir Isaac Newton and a Richard Zarvona in one? Well, not the dress part, but a super spy, none the less.”
He said the last with a slight smile.
Whytherspoon attempted to cock an eyebrow, but that was rather difficult with the goggles in the way.
“Zarvona, who is that?”
They kept moving towards Devareaux’s room. For the first time since seeing Whytherspoon today, he felt as if he had the upper hand in the conversation.
“You don’t know that story? The Washington Times published one of his less sane plans. He was a Confederate officer in the war. He had an idea to steal the USS Pawnee, while it was in the harbor. As a disguise, he wore a lady’s dress with a full hoop skirt and with his men, took over a passenger steamer. It did not quite work out for him and instead he seized a ship with a cargo of coffee. But even before the war, his career was one that boggles the mind. His life reads like a Jules Verne novel. Zarvona spent time in China and was reputed to have served with Garibaldi in Italy. I suspect that the man was quite mad. After the war, he went to Central America on some fool adventure and no one has heard from the man since. You don’t have a dress, do you?”
Whytherspoon’s face scrunched up with a look of revulsion.
“No, of course not. Why would I have a dress? What are you implying sir!”
Whytherspoon’s back straightened and he had the look of a man who has taken offense.
Devareaux could not keep a straight face any longer and started laughing. He slapped Whytherspoon on the back.
“I am just pulling your chain Whytherspoon. You are a man of many talents it would seem.”
Whytherspoon sputtered for a second, but recovered and gave him a lopsided smile in return. The two continued in silence. As they left, two men in gray uniforms, but with the insignia of the Confederate Signal Service on them opened and held the doors for them. They saluted as they passed. They did not drop their salute until Whytherspoon had returned it. Devareaux’s right eyebrow shot up, but he did not ask a single question.
…
The two men walked towards Devareaux’s quarters. They walked in silence. It did not seem prudent to speak at this point. Everything had the feel of secrecy about it. Devareaux was in unfamiliar skies now. Everything was a shade of gray. Instead of being the master and commander of his ship, he felt as if he was a mere pawn in a game he did not know the rules to.
The ‘civilian’ Whytherspoon was at least a bishop in this game. He felt as if he did not even know the man any longer. Yet his whole body thrummed with excitement. He was entering into a new world.
The grass of the parade deck crunched under their feet. The sky above them was cloudless and perfect weather for flying. He longed for his beloved airship. If this new assignment would keep him in command of an airship, he welcomed it.
…
“You see, we are trying to change the role of the Appomattox into a more flexible fighting ship. With a complement of marines, we can expand the types of missions that you can engage in. With these communications, you can become the eyes of the Confederate Navy.”
The two men sat at the small table in Devareaux’s room. Whytherspoon sat with a glass of water in his hand while Devareaux’s glass held something a bit stronger. He still could not believe how fast things were moving.
Trying to get his head wrapped around the rapid course of events he finally asked his question.
“We still do not have a solution for the naval vessels. What can we do to interrupt what they are doing?”
Whytherspoon nodded in agreement.
“We don’t have a useful answer for that yet. We have tried dropping dynamite from a balloon equipped with contact fuses, but there have been issues. We don’t have a truly stable explosive that we can use yet for an air dropped bomb. We know the physics needed, but not the chemistry for it. The wet navy has dispatched two more ships to Puerto Rico and a Hunley Class submarine – the CSS Tarpon. No idea why they are naming them after fish. Seems like foolishness to me. The Hunley has a chemical torpedo in the bow that can sink nearly anything afloat. Anyway, they were sent as soon as your report was read. They were sent with a new shore gun that we have been working on to try to better protect San Juan Harbor. It may not work. Not my project at any rate.”
“How the hell do you know all of this?”
Whytherspoon just smiled. He reached for his wallet and opened it and laid it on the table. There was an ID card identifying Whytherspoon as a Chief in the Department of Engineering in the Signals Bureau. It was starting to make a kind of sense. The engineer was connected to be sure. He was smart; there was no doubt of that. Now he just became even more mysterious in Devareaux’s eyes.
Not knowing what else to do or say, Devareaux took another drink. Whytherspoon placed his hand over the top of Devareaux’s glass.
“From this moment on, you are not allowed to drink to excess anymore. You possess too many state secrets that you are not allowed to talk about. Keep yourself under control, unless you want to be patrolling the western frontier against the Apache and Comanche, understood?”
The quiet determination in the younger man’s voice startled Devareaux. He managed to nod his ascent.
…
A short week later, Devareaux stood out on the landing field. He watched as he saw the small dot appear on the horizon that gradually grew in size. The Appomattox was returning home, just not under his direct command. Standing next to him in full dress uniform was Almond again. He looked the man over. He was just told yesterday, that the man would be his second in command. It seems that Midshipman Sykes was being transferred out of his ship with no apparent reason. Sykes, he was told, was not even aboard the Appy at this minute
. He stayed behind in Saint Augustine in his new posting. Something seemed fishy about that.
Almond stood with no service ribbons on his uniform or medals of any kind. Typically by this point in one's career in the navy, you had several service ribbons detailing your accomplishments. When he first met the man, he had been wearing his service ribbons and his general staff pin. The only qualification badge was for Airship piloting, but none for navigation or sail handling or gunnery or anything else. It just added to the puzzle of who Almond was. He had asked Whytherspoon about Almond. Surprisingly, this was a subject that Whytherspoon did not know anything about. All he could say was that the man was not part of Signals Bureau.
Whytherspoon approached, still in civilian clothes. The three men stood in silence as the airship slowly approached the field. Devareaux clenched his fists to keep them from shaking with nerves. The airship made it to the field and the ground crew raced forward to secure the airship. Once it was secured, Devareaux released his breath that he had been holding.
“Well, at least Powell did not crash it.”
Midshipman Powell was the first to disembark from the airship. The gangway was lowered from the hatchway that was nearly in the center of the mess deck. Powell moved towards the three men and saluted. Powell looked tired, but exultant. After all, he just held his first command, if a brief one.
Devareaux returned the salute.
“Well, Powell, you managed not to completely destroy my airship. Well done.”
Almond and Whytherspoon laughed quietly while Powell blushed. He recovered quickly and asked his commander the question that had been bothering him.
“Sir, why did they transfer Sykes? He was a much better pilot than I am. Bosunsmate Hargrave had to help me through some of the evolutions, sir.”
Devareaux nodded and thought better of Powell for the admission. He patted the young man’s shoulder and gave him a wink.
“I have no idea about why Sykes was transferred. Instead, we have been privileged with the services of Master Almond here.”
He introduced Powell to Almond. The remainder of the crew had exited the airship and formed up in front of the airship. He noticed that the Spaniards were not part of the formation. He heard some noise behind them and turned to see the seven marines approaching. They were marching in formation in column of twos. They came to a stop and immediately assumed the position of attention. Sergeant Benjamin saluted and reported in.
With the entire crew gathered together, Devareaux looked at Whytherspoon who was starting to look a bit too smug for his own good. From the corner of his eye, he could see two wagons approaching the Appomattox from the sheds. Additional equipment was being rushed to the airship. Under his breath Devareaux muttered in resignation.
“I never even got to give Sykes his weekend pass.”
Standing straight and tall Devareaux called the entire formation to attention.
“Gentlemen, I have the good fortune of informing you that you have each been given a forty-eight hour pass for liberty in Savannah. Please use the time wisely as I believe I have already worn out the good graces of the military police.”
The men chuckled and winked at one another. With a quick order of dismissed, the men of the Appomattox quickly vanished to the four winds. Soon only Devareaux, Almond and Whytherspoon were left before the airship. The airship was already under assault from a huge team of engineers that were dragging all sorts of equipment about.
Whytherspoon turned to the others.
“Gentlemen, if you would please follow me, we have plenty of things to discuss and prepare for.”
…
Frank Hinkey stared in disbelief. He knew something fishy was happening. He could feel it. Instead of taking advantage of his pass, he stayed close to see what was going on. The men installing the new equipment in his boiler room were doing unnatural things to his boilers. He had tried shouting, he tried glaring and he was left with trying begging.
“What are y’all doin to mah boilers boys? Why on earth do you need them wires? What the hell do you think you are doing?”
Not for the first time, the Chief in charge of the details turned to him.
“Chief Hinkey, you have read our orders. Please desist in your interruptions or you will be removed from the airship until our work is done.”
Frank was not about to allow someone to destroy his ship, orders or no orders. He balled his fists and advanced on the interloper who dared to foul his domain. As he approached, the Chief Warrant Officer withdrew a whistle. Be blew two sharp notes on it. This stopped Frank, who just stared at the man. The door to the boiler room burst open and four large men bearing Vettereli model 69 carbines with fixed bayonets. They wore the gray uniforms of Confederate Marines and bore the humorless faces of men who were about their duty.
The Chief spoke out in exasperation.
“Sergeant, please ensure that Chief Hinkey does not harm himself and take him to the enlisted club for a friendly drink for a few hours so we can do our work please.”
With that, the Chief who bore no other insignia on his uniform, turned back to his task and Hinkey allowed himself to be led away. He stared at the marines. The marines were the smallest element of the Confederate military service. They trained constantly and were in excellent shape. They wore gray uniforms like the rest of the navy. Only the army had completely converted over to the butternut uniforms that began arriving from England during the late war.
Hinkey examined the marines in detail. The Vettereli rifles the men bore were made in the Richmond foundry. They bore the large ‘R’ on the top of the breach signifying that they were officially licensed rifles made from the Swiss design. They fired the same large .41 caliber rim fire round as the larger Vettereli rifles that the army carried but the carbines were of more use aboard ship where space was much more limited. Hinkey had heard that the Swiss rifles were supposed to be the finest in the world. The carbines only held 6 rounds in their tubular magazines, unlike the 11 rounds in the full rifle. They were supposed to be very accurate, but he had no idea. On the marines hips were their bayonets. These were 18 inches of sharp steel blade with a hilt that had a full size knuckle guard in front of it that was brass. He heard that the marines had asked for that as a feature to adopt the weapon. It sure looked menacing to him. He was not sure how the contract was achieved to build the rifles here in the Confederacy, but the men in the War Department seemed to have worked a miracle there. There were five factories producing them: Richmond, Birmingham, Austin, Athens and Chattanooga.
Hinkey cleared his throat.
“You boys sure seem ready for war.”
The response was growled by the sergeant.
“We are marines.”
It seemed that this would be all of the answer he was going to get. He wondered where they would take him. They passed out of the boiler room and into the main hallway. They turned right into the mess hall and marched down the ramp from the open hatchway leading to the outside.
Once outside of the airship and outside of the view of the strange Chief Warrant Officer, the senior marine suddenly relaxed.
“Ok Henderson, Wilson and Ramirez, y’all can take off for a few hours. Be back here by 1400 hours.”
They three marines broke out in huge grins and chorused their response.
“Yes, sergeant.”
The men disappeared like morning mist in the sunshine.
The sergeant of marines turned and put out his hand to Hinkey.
“Sergeant Amos Benjamin.”
The surprised Hinkey shook the offered hand while the sergeant continued.
“Don’t let that SB son of a bitch get under your skin. They think they can get away with anything. Half the time those spooky types don’t have a clue of what they are doing. By the way, me and my boys will be working with you once the Appomattox is operational again.”
Chief Hinkey’s eyes went wider than they already were.
“What? We are too damn small to have a marine contingent. W
here would you guys stay? Wait, SB? Do you mean that foul creature is from Signals Branch?”
A lopsided grin took over the sergeant’s face.
“Yes, the foul creature is Signals Branch. We are your new sail handling crew. The Spaniards are being returned back to Puerto Rico. Me and my six men had to train to be sail handlers. I now am rated as a Senior Seaman who can hand, reef and steer in addition to fight anywhere on God’s green earth, on the seven seas and now in the air. They cross trained about 20 of us. We were the only ones to make the cut so far. What I was told was that y’all don’t use the sails all that much. It was more of a just in case thing anyway. It seems that our next cruise is going to get interesting. Come on, let’s get to the club and you can tell me all about the Appomattox.”
A now speechless Hinkey walked next to Sergeant Benjamin towards the enlisted club. He nodded his head for a moment, then muttered to Benjamin.
“I think I need a drink now.”
The marine just laughed.
Chapter 10: Back on the Bridge
On the bridge, Devareaux slowly rubbed his hand across the command console. He was falling back in love with the airship. She was beautiful. The wood and steel of the console felt warm to his touch. The Appy was an honest lover. He felt a wave of pain. His beloved had not even realized how he felt. The Appy had never betrayed him. Ann, well Ann, she just broke his heart. The hum of the boilers could be felt through the entire ship. It was a heartbeat that could be experienced, felt and believed. Devareaux sighed and examined himself.
He was wearing his fatigue uniform with his pistol belt on. He carried a Spiller and Burr revolver in .45 LC. The pistol was essentially a copy of the Colt Peacemaker revolver. Spiller and Burr had a shaky start at the start of the late war. After the peace, the Atlanta based company had moved to Macon. While in Macon, they expanded their operations and became a profitable company. They were one of the largest providers to the Confederate military. The pistol had no innovations separating it from the Peacemaker. Colt had tried to sue Spiller and Burr but given the nature of the relations between their respective countries, nothing ever came of it.
CSS Appomattox: A Thomas Devareaux Alternative History Military Adventure (The Thomas Sumter Devareaux Series Book 1) Page 8
