CSS Appomattox: A Thomas Devareaux Alternative History Military Adventure (The Thomas Sumter Devareaux Series Book 1)

by Chris Stoesen

  There were both grumbling and agreements, but in the end no one could come up with a better plan. The village was a six hour march. By the time the bedraggled group arrived, everyone was ready to drop and several did just that.

  The village welcomed them. Each man was taken into one of the huts and given food and drink. There were fruits and vegetables and a hearty vegetable soup. There was watered rum as well and soon a quarter of the men were fast asleep.

  Pena was in conversation with the village headman. This was a large villainous looking character named Carlos. He pounded Pena on the back while puffing on an obscene looking cigar. He began to gesture with the cigar and poked this way and that while explaining some fine point of the village to Pena.

  Benjamin and Devareaux watched the exchange. Benjamin tilted his head and stared at the fat hanging from beneath Carlos’ shirt and he frowned.

  He leaned over to Devareaux and whispered confidentially.

  “He certainly is well fed.”

  Devareaux stifled a giggle and just shook his head.

  “Be nice. This guy could help us. For that matter, he may just kill us, but he and Pena seem to know each other.”

  Finally, Carlos pointed at the two gringo officers and more high speed Spanish followed.

  Pena came over and said in a low tone to the two Confederate officers.

  “Carlos will take us across to Isla de Vieques.”

  He glanced about and did not look at ease.

  “His men have four fishing boats. They can move us tonight. They have lost two ships to the Germans and are unhappy with the Hun. I promised them we would pay him when we reached the island. Is that a problem?”

  Devareaux shrugged his shoulders.

  “Why not? We have some discretionary funds on the island for things like this. I will pay him, as long as we don’t get captured along the way.”

  With the plan set, Benjamin set guards for the evening. A pair of marines would stand watch for two hours a shift. Those not on watch fell quickly to sleep.

  Chapter 33: A Mad Dash

  A rough hand shook Devareaux’s shoulder. The ugly face of Carlos was inches from his own. Devareaux’s eyes flew wide at the sight.

  “It is time my friend. Let’s go. Apurate! Hurry, we need to go with this tide.”

  The man walked away. Devareaux’s eyes blinked as he attempted to recover from the man’s breath. He pulled himself to his feet and gathered the few things he still owned. He met Benjamin’s gaze and the two both grinned and shook their heads.

  “That man spoke English. And did it fairly well. I hope he did not hear your comment yesterday.”

  Benjamin just shrugged as he gathered his gear. They walked down to the dock at the foot of the town. The fishing boats were ready. They were small sail powered craft. It would be a cramped and uncomfortable journey. Making the best of it the men boarded.

  The marines and officers were split between the boats. Pena was on the first ship with Carlos while Benjamin on the second and Devareaux boarded the third. Several of the Puerto Ricans did not wish to leave and remained behind in the village. Carlos said he would take care of them and not to worry. The rebels staying behind promised to keep up the fight. Devareaux wished them well and boarded the small boat.

  Upon taking a seat against the bulkhead, he realized that since their ambush on the German warehouse, he had not even drawn his pistol from its holster. He withdrew the weapon and groaned at what he saw. The beginning of rust spots near the crown of the muzzle and on the hammer had started to form.

  He rummaged through his things and found his cleaning kit and began to work on the weapon. He unloaded the large 45 long colt cartridges and laid them beside him and worked with a cloth and some oil on the weapon.

  He worked on the weapon without looking up. The motion of the boat changed as they shoved off and headed out to sea. When he finished, he looked up as he slid the rounds back into the chamber of the revolver.

  All around Devareaux, the marines and the rebels were cleaning their weapons in a professional manner. The fishermen were looking nervously around at the well-armed men. Their only weapons were a few fishing knives while the marines were either stropping their long bayonet over sharpening stones or oiling their rifles.

  Each man tended to his kit. As they did this mundane and ordinary task, he saw their professionalism return to them. When they boarded the boats, they were beaten men. Now, they looked like grim, determined, but tired warriors again. They had been beaten, but they were not broken.

  Once he placed his revolver back into his holster, he began to move around the boat and encourage his men. When he reached the bow, he drew out his telescope. The night was dark with only a quarter-moon to light the sea. Hopefully, that would help with their escape.

  It also meant that any lights would stand out brighter than normal. To the northeast, he could make out the lights of Humancao. Fires were burning in the town. He swept the glass across the ocean and spotted some lights out on the water. There was a haze above them. This had to be the boilers of some steam vessel in the distance. There was a cone of light sweeping out in front of the vessel. That meant it was most likely a German vessel that was out hunting.

  He moved back towards the boat’s captain ducking under the large boom of the mainsail as he went. Reaching the man he pointed north to the lights.

  The man waved a hand shrugging off the impending threat. Devareaux frowned at the cavalier manner in which these men were operating. It is one thing to be cool under pressure, but another to not care a whit for danger. Devareaux had a nagging feeling that he may be about to get sold out by the piratical Carlos and his villagers.

  Devareaux kept a watchful eye on the distant danger. He was fairly certain that the distant vessel was getting closer. He tried to estimate the distance, but he still could not make out what type of vessel it was nor its size.

  The sail boats were making better time in crossing the distance to the island, but they were losing ground against the steam ship. Devareaux looked at his watch and estimated that it would be anywhere from a half hour to an hour before the enemy ship caught up with them. Their sailing time was at least another two hours until they could reach the safety of the Confederate harbor.

  The men in the boats were too nervous to sleep. But not a single word was heard. Only the groaning of the lines and the slap of the sails was heard over the splashing of the wave against the bow. Still closer the enemy ship drew on. With another glance at his watch, he judged that in less than 5 minutes, the small flotilla of sailboats would be spotted.

  Devareaux set down his telescope. He could make out the form of the enemy ship without it now. As he watched the approaching ship, the air above and to the east of the German blossomed with an explosion of a rocket launch. He blinked his eyes at the sudden bright flash that took away his night vision. He could just make out the trace of the rocket as it moved towards the vessel.

  The first rocket exploded in the water near the enemy. Everyone was now on their feet, staring over the railing at the sight. A second rocket leapt out towards the vessel from the black night sky. This one struck the bow of the vessel and exploded brightly. This time the bloom of the rocket had illuminated the outline of an airship that had launched it. It had to be the Appomattox.

  Devareaux’s heart lurched. He was overjoyed to see his airship but was devastated to see her in combat without being himself on the bridge. The Appy fired two more rockets that bracketed the vessel. He could see flames licking from the bow of the vessel and that it was turning.

  The search lights were now dark on the ship. The vessel was only illuminated by the flames on the deck. A bow Gatling gun began to fire down upon the retreating ship. The airship fired on the vessel for about five minutes before ceasing fire. During that time, the flames were extinguished on the bow of the ship and the sea was again plunged into darkness.

  The Appomattox was for all practical purposes invisible in the night. He lost sight of her
as soon as the last rocket had been fired. Devareaux scanned the sea around them looking for any sign of even their fellow ships. There was nothing.

  The remainder of the trip was uneventful. But the crew, marines and rebels operated in complete silence lest they provoke the attention of their enemy. Or worse yet, they fall under friendly fire which Devareaux and the marines were all in agreement was not very friendly.

  The only sounds were the slap of the waves on the hull and the occasional flutter of the sail when it came out of trim. No one was able to get any sleep. They waited. Devareaux’s estimates were off and it took another two hours to reach the island. Dawn was breaking when he could just make out their base from his telescope.

  In the early light he could see that all four of the ships had maintained their places in the flotilla. All were apparently in good shape. Men began to wave at one another from ship to ship.

  They were still some distance away, but they had the feeling of coming home. It was as if a great weight had come off of everyone’s shoulders. Devareaux spied a small ship that was heading out from the base. It looks like they were going to have a welcoming committee.

  The launch sped towards them. As it came closer, Devareaux could make out a Confederate Naval ensign flying above its small bridge. He lowered the telescope and sighed with relief. He was almost home.

  …

  When the launch pulled even with the small fishing flotilla, Devareaux cupped his hands and shouted at the launch to gain its attention. The launch turned and move towards Devareaux’s boat.

  “Ahoy the boat. Who are you?”

  “Lieutenant Devareaux, CSN with a shore party of marines and Puerto Rican rebels.”

  The midshipman in command of the launch stared with wide eyes. The mouth opened and closed at least three times.

  “We thought you were dead, sir! There has been no word from you in so long.”

  With a shake of his young head, he bellowed back to Devareaux.

  “Follow me home, sir.”

  Their launch and the fishing vessels slowly made their progress back to the small Confederate Naval Base. Moored at the dock were three more launches. One was larger than the other two and looked to carry two torpedoes.

  Looking across the scene, Devareaux noticed that the number of men was greatly increased from his last visit. Once they docked, Devareaux, Benjamin and Pena made their way to headquarters.

  As always, rumor travels faster than footsteps and the base commander was half way to them. Devareaux saluted the man in the flag officer’s uniform.

  “Lieutenant Devareaux reporting in sir.”

  He held his salute for a considerable amount of time before the officer returned it. The man continued to stare at Devareaux. His face was a mask of disapproval. Eventually he spoke.

  “Are you aware, sir, that you and your men are not in proper uniform? You sir, are a disgrace. When was the last time you bathed?”

  Devareaux was taken aback. He just got here, let alone had a moment for personal hygiene let alone much sleep. He was so taken aback; he fell back on his time at the Citadel for a response that should not get him in deeper trouble.

  “Sir, no excuse, sir.”

  He adopted a thousand yard stare. The shorter officer became even more annoyed as Devareaux looked at a spot over his head in the distance. He stood ramrod straight at formal attention, attempting to look as military as possible regardless of his outward appearance.

  The officer growled. But before he could bark out some other useless complaint a hand was placed lightly on the disgruntled officer’s shoulder.

  “Now James, is that any way to greet Mr. Devareaux? He has been so good as to inconvenience our foes to this point it seems rather pointless to fault him for his appearance. You have read the enemy intercepts with as much interest as I have. His band has disrupted the enemy more than any other formation on the island. To the point, the Germans have had to call for reinforcements. Those troops, you will remember, are the same troops that they were going to use for the invasion of Cuba. Now, why don’t we let Mr. Devareaux report in to HIS superior officer and not be bothered by folks who are not in his direct chain of command?”

  The flag officer’s face turned bright red with anger. Devareaux could hear the man’s teeth grind together before he spun on his heels and marched purposefully back to the headquarters building.

  Standing behind the vacated position of the flag officer was a man wearing a broad brimmed white hat with a matching civilian white linen suit. The shirt collar was open and unadorned with a tie. His face bore a wide and white smile below a pencil thin mustache.

  “Well, now that you have met James Theodosius MacAdams, I suspect that you sir are ready for some refreshment. Please follow me to the Signal Bureau offices and I will get some libations for you and your associates, sir.”

  With that, the man slowly turned and walked away from the headquarters building with a rather jaunty step.

  Devareaux broke his position of attention and turned his head to Benjamin, who was also releasing himself from his parade ground pose.

  “What the hell was that about?”

  To which Benjamin just shrugged with wide open eyes. Pena, who had nothing to fear career wise from the angry gringo, was still looking as relaxed as before. But Devareaux did note that the man’s hand had slipped back behind him. Devareaux well knew that Pena kept a large knife hidden in the back of his pants for ‘special’ occasions. Apparently, he felt that this was such an occasion.

  The man stopped and turned and waved his hand indicating for them to follow as he continued on towards a building that resembled a bar more than an office space.

  Turning to the marines and rebels, Devareaux just shrugged.

  “Men, follow us. I expect we will be in meetings, but that does not mean you can’t relax a bit. Don’t get me in more trouble, though.”

  He said that last sentence with a bright smile. The men chuckled at the officer and grabbed their gear.

  The three officers hurried to catch up with the white clad man and reached him as he opened the door. Outside of the building was a large area covered by a canvas awning. Several chairs and tables were set up and there were at least two sailors sitting and enjoying a drink. The marines and rebels took up seats in the outdoor area and seemed glad to be able to sit for a moment.

  Through the doors their suspicions were confirmed. This was a bar. The man waved to the bartender who nodded his welcome back. They wove through the tables and chairs in the room and walked past the bar to a door set near the corner of the back wall. The man pushed it aside with his left hand and strode on in. When Devareaux and his colleagues reached the door, they saw a hallway that continued for at least 20 yards. A man with a sawed off shotgun sat on a stool at the end of the hall smoking a cigarette and blocked the next door.

  Upon seeing the man in white, he made some small gesture towards the door and resumed staring ahead.

  The white clad man walked through the door and strode to a desk and sat on its corner. Once Devareaux, Pena and Benjamin entered, he waved for them to close the door.

  “Ah, this is much better.”

  The air in the room had to be 20 degrees cooler than that outside. A wicker bladed ceiling fan stirred the air in the room. There was low lighting provided by a pair of lamps. A huge map of the area covered one wall and a small conference looking table sat to one side that was covered with papers and books.

  “Gentlemen, well done, well done indeed. You accomplished far more than any of us thought was possible. My name is Wilson, General Eugene Constance Wilson, formerly of the Army of Northern Virginia and late of the Signals Bureau. Please grab a chair and have a seat.”

  The men moved to the conference table and liberated some of the chairs and set them before General Wilson. Devareaux felt like a wayward schoolboy sent to the principal’s office.

  “We did not know if any of you had survived the crossing for several weeks. With the heavier German patrols
and your fishing boats not returning for the rest of your men, we believed that you were lost. When the fishing boats returned, we knew you had been somewhat successful at reaching the island. But we first took to understanding that you were actually alive and well when we intercepted some signals from the Germans that told of an ambushed convoy where a Gatling gun was used. While we have given a considerable amount of money, arms and support to the Spanish garrison of the island, yours was the only force with Gatling guns. It seems that you have had an active land service.”

  Before Devareaux could answer, the man picked up a folder on his desk and continued.

  “From the traffic that I have intercepted, we gather that you have destroyed close to two battalions of German troops. Their supply situation has become critical. The Germans must sail directly from Germany to Puerto Rico for fear of passing by our coast. You hurt their fleet with your airship but your guerilla campaign has been the biggest asset yet to this campaign.”

  He reached into his desk and picked up two packets. He threw one to each Benjamin and Devareaux.

  “The Spanish crown has not failed to notice your achievements. You are each given a knighthood by his majesty. I am sorry to say, I was not aware of your participation sir, so I could not pass along word of your achievement, but I will be happy to do so at my next opportunity.”

  Before he opened his packet, Devareaux shook his head to clear his swimming thoughts.

  “Pardon me, sir, but who was the grumpy flag officer? I have never seen him before.”

  “Ah, yes. That was James Theodosius MacAdams. He was most recently in charge of fleet supply back in Richmond. He was related to a few senators and arranged to take command of the naval element here in Puerto Rico. It is his first combat command. He is rather upset that the Signals Bureau is not under his command. So far, only Signals Bureau personnel have been in actual combat. After the first submarines were lost out here, no naval forces have been authorized to engage the Germans. Only the submarines off of the Confederate Coast are allowed to engage. They have taken four German supply ships, thus far. With the restrictions from Richmond on his command, he has not managed to cover himself in the glory he feels is his due.”