“Orders, Colonel,” he said.
“Do what you would normally do, Commander. We’re only sailing to Constantinople.”
“Normally, for a ship coming after us that fast, I would place a twenty-pounder into her main mast.” Again Jackson raised his glass.
Thomas smiled and nodded that Gray Dog should come with him. It was now time to face Jessy Taylor and explain why he did what he did.
The French thirty-five-gun warship came to within a mile and then fell in line behind the Americans.
The supporting cast for this tragic comedy was almost complete.
10
Belowdecks of Yorktown the prisoners gathered for the evening meal five days later. The days since the Yank colonel had pulled off the fake executions had been filled with hate for the other side. The men felt they had been played with at the very least. Thomas had failed in bringing the men closer together. Still, the Rebel prisoners as a whole had nothing but loathing toward Loudermilk and his two accomplices in the rape attempt. They had been segregated from the rest of the Rebels and kept under lock and key. But the surprising thing was, it wasn’t at the order of the blue-belly colonel, as the prisoners called Thomas, it was at the command of their own colonel, Jessy Taylor. The man had not spoken in the five days since the mock hangings. To either the Yankees or the Rebels.
The days and nights had been hectic, with most daylight hours being occupied by speculation as to why the French warship would be tailing them. It was rumored that their mission had been marked by the French as a mission to stop, or at the very least take advantage of. There was even a soldier’s rumor that the French could possibly be tailing them to set the prisoners of war free from their bondage. Most experienced soldiers knew this to be flawed by the simple fact that the French had no true love for either side in the American conflict. Now, if it had been a British ship of war, the prisoners might have had hope of being freed.
The confines of the third deck were stifling. Most of the hundred men had their civilian clothing askew to attempt to allow cooler air to reach their sweaty skin. Keeping them belowdecks after the Loudermilk incident had been Thomas’s idea to make sure the space between the navy, marines, and the prisoners was kept wide, curtailing their animosity toward each other. Jackson had ordered the gun ports opened so the men could breathe the air from one deck above them.
The men were talking when the mess steward, Grandee, came into the space with a cook pot filled with oxtail and potatoes. The looks he received were hostile at best, murderous at worst. Word had spread that one of the attackers had had his head caved in by the giant cook. Grandee kept silent as he set up his serving line. His two assistants, black men also, kept their faces neutral and their eyes down as they served the prisoners. This was the first time they had seen the steward since Colonel Thomas had ordered his exclusion from serving the Reb prisoners for the past five days.
As the men were served, they sat in various positions along the much-cooler hull and watched Grandee pack up his food and plates. Suddenly he was told to stop. He looked up to see the Rebel colonel enter the space with the marine lieutenant, Mr. Parnell, accompanied by the army sergeant major. Each had a tin plate in his hand as they waited for the steward to serve them. The men were silent as they watched the two officers fill their plates. The sergeant major only removed his blue cap and went to a far corner and sat facing the men. For the first time in the voyage they noticed the sergeant major was armed. Thomas had forbidden firearms belowdecks for obvious reasons, so to see the Colt holstered on Dugan’s belt surprised them.
It was Corporal Jenks who had the first words of the evening. He sat with several other noncoms as they ate their evening meal.
“I always said marines are needed as much as ten teats for a five-piglet sow,” Jenks said as laughter filled the darkened space.
Lieutenant Parnell hesitated before taking a seat next to Taylor. Dugan snickered in the far corner, but for the most part kept his silence. Parnell looked over at the ten noncoms as they each eyed him in turn. He adjusted the large spoon in his plate and then eased himself down next to the Confederate colonel.
“You have known a lot of marines, I take it?” Parnell asked as he raised a spoon to his lips and blew on a chunk of oxtail. He chewed as he looked up at Corporal Jenks.
“Well, maybe,” Jenks said with a smile on his face as he stood, handed over his plate to a mate, and then confronted Parnell. His eyes went to Taylor, who was eating quietly and seemed not to be paying attention to the conversation. “Do ya mind standing up, Lieutenant?” Jenks asked as he watched the marine closely.
With a look toward Taylor, Parnell pursed his lips and then stood, plate in hand. His eyes roamed to the sergeant major, who was watching intently. Dugan kept his eyes neutral but his hand was ever closer to his Colt pistol. The holster flap was untied.
“Now, if you don’t mind, sir, turn around.”
Jenks and the others were watching the tall marine as he looked at Taylor, who only ate his meal. Parnell raised his brows but did as he was asked, expecting a large oxtail bone to slam into the back of his head. Instead he heard Jenks say, “Yep.”
“Yep, what?” Parnell said as he turned back around and stood before the prisoners like a man on display.
“As soon as you showed your backside I knew you were a marine. Hell, I didn’t recognize you as such until I saw your back,” he said and then laughed along with the others.
Parnell stiffened. His eyes remained locked on the corporal as Taylor tried his best not to laugh with a mouth full of food. Dugan for the most part stopped trying not to laugh and soon joined the Rebel prisoners.
“Yes, sir, Lieutenant, I seem to remember a regiment of marines running away as fast as they could at the first battle of Manassas. Yeah, you boys hightailed it out of there that day as if old Patch himself was chasing, as I recall.”
More laughter sounded at the young marine officer’s expense. Even Taylor lowered his plate, stifling his laughter long enough to watch Parnell and his reaction.
“I take it you are referencing the battle of Bull Run?”
“If a battle is what you Yanks call it, so be it. We called it a rout,” he added, to even more howling laughter.
“To correct your statement, we were under army command that day,” was Parnell’s only excuse. He had been a part of that disastrous opening battle of the war. They had expected the Rebel forces would scatter to the winds when the Army of the Potomac came at them. But that didn’t happen. With most of the Washington elite watching from hillsides while picnicking, the Union forces had been routed by these very same men under the command of Stonewall Jackson.
“I would call that the blind leading the blind,” Jenks said, and then joined in the laughter again. This time Dugan lost his smile as he remembered the battle as clearly as if it happened yesterday. The embarrassment would never end and would cause his and Thomas’s eventual exile from the war. No, Dugan had no humor in his soul for remembering Bull Run. The marines were not the only soldiers to cut and run that day; the entire Union force would never be able to live those hours down. That day Stonewall Jackson announced in no uncertain terms that the war would be long and costly.
Parnell looked down at Taylor, who said nothing. The lieutenant sat back down and tried to eat, not understanding why Taylor had brought him down there to begin with.
“Hell, marines are about as helpful as this darkie here,” Jenks said as the laughter quickly died down.
The large black mess steward stopped what he was doing and looked up at Jenks, who was waiting for him to respond. He had been pulled aside earlier and told by Taylor, with Colonel Thomas standing nearby, that he was needed to serve dinner to the prisoners that night. He didn’t understand the Rebel colonel’s orders but did what he was told after Colonel Thomas had nodded his approval. Now he was even more confused when Taylor did nothing to stem the foul words coming from the corporal’s mouth.
“If he had been there, he would
have knocked your ass right out of the saddle,” Dugan said as he finally stood, took a tin plate, and allowed the confused mess steward to serve him. Dugan winked as he hoped the large man was ready for what was about to come his way. “Hell, I can’t wait to get a million of these men of color to fight. That’s when we’ll see all of you Johnny Rebs start shitting yourselves.” Dugan turned with his full plate and smiled. “And that time’s a’ comin’, boyo.”
Jenks was no longer laughing as he eyed the sergeant major.
“There’s not a scrapper among you who can take this fella. He would pull you apart piece by piece.” Dugan again smiled as he placed a bite of oxtail in his mouth and chewed.
“I don’t know. Corporal Jenks was the wrasslin’ champ of the regiment back in the day. He’s mighty tough for a boy from Tennessee,” Taylor said as he finally laid his plate down and stared at Dugan and his dark defendant.
“Why, that sounds an awful lot like a wagerin’ proposition to me,” Dugan said as he challenged the colonel. “Your big-mouth corporal here couldn’t stand up to one blow from this man.”
“It sure does,” Lieutenant Parnell mumbled as he also placed his still-full plate down, feeling the sting of embarrassment.
“Boy’s too damn big, too slow,” one of the prisoners chimed in.
“Not your typical slave you can bully, huh?” Dugan said as he eyed the corporal and those men encouraging him to take the wager.
“I never owned no slave in my life. Me and my pa did all the work where I come from.”
The same call was taken up by almost a hundred percent of the prisoners. Dugan quickly saw the irony in their defense. Not one slave owner in the group of Reb prisoners. Yet here they were.
“What is the wager, gentlemen?” Taylor asked as he finally stood. Parnell watched and waited. He knew this was another attempt by either Dugan or Thomas to show the Reb prisoners that a man was a man no matter the color of his skin.
“Easy. You give the colonel every man’s full cooperation until we enter American waters once again. Then and only then will you again become Confederate soldiers. Until that time, you fulfill the mission General Lee sent you on. Bet?” Dugan said as his eyes goaded Jenks from where he stood.
Jenks looked at Taylor for guidance. Taylor only shrugged.
“And if that big feller gets his ass whooped?” one of the men asked.
Parnell’s head went up as he just realized what was happening. It was Colonel Thomas again and his very unorthodox way of making a point. He decided to play along.
“I imagine I could convince the colonel to allow you men free access to the weather decks and free you from this hell for the duration of the voyage,” Parnell said as he saw Taylor smirk.
“It’s a bet,” Jenks said as he looked at his compatriots, who were nodding their heads in agreement.
“How about it, Grandee? Think you can take this Reb braggart?” Dugan asked as he turned and faced the large mess steward.
“I would rather not, sir,” Grandee said as he lowered his head, hoping to blot out the hatred being thrown his way by the prisoners.
“As I say, the darkies don’t have any idea what you Yanks are all riled up about. They’s happy just to cook and tend fields. They’re not fighters.” The man who said the words slapped Jenks on the back. The corporal was seeing the size of the cook for the first time and was having serious second thoughts about what was going to happen. He looked at his fellow prisoners for encouragement and there was plenty of that.
Grandee slowly removed the filthy apron he was wearing and then stood rigid.
“Well, I think we have us a bet,” Dugan said as he placed his plate of food down.
“Gentlemen, there will be no fighting belowdecks.”
All eyes went to Taylor, who started for the stairs that led upward. Jenks grimaced and then closed his eyes only briefly as his heart sank at the lack of reprieve offered by the colonel.
“This will be done on the main deck,” Taylor called back.
Jenks felt his heart sink to its lowest level as the men cheered, confident the black cook was about to receive his just punishment for denting the head of a white man.
* * *
Thirty minutes later Colonel Thomas walked out on deck with Captain Jackson as lamps were lit and lined the railing of the Yorktown. His eyes went to Dugan, who would referee the match that Thomas himself had orchestrated. Taylor had a good job convincing the colonel to allow this to happen, and had made a big show of it having been his idea. This was the payment Taylor owed John Henry for not executing Loudermilk and his two cohorts in crime.
“You are surely not going to allow this?” Professor Ollafson asked as he and Claire, with McDonald and Cromwell in tow, joined the officers on the quarterdeck. Ollafson was seeing whatever cooperation the two sides may have been showing go down the proverbial drain when he heard there would be an exhibition of fighting prowess among the northern and southern aspects of the mission. He saw his dream coming apart.
John Henry looked down at the professor and said nothing. Claire was just as surprised as Ollafson that Thomas was allowing this to happen. She suspected that John Henry was trying to make a point but she didn’t yet know what.
“Foolishness! This is why we have little respect for the Americans,” Cromwell whispered to Claire, out of hearing distance of the others. “This colonel is not an officer to be respected.”
“Perhaps.”
Below, the entire prisoner group was in a tight circle around wide-eyed Jenks, full of false bravado as he watched the large black man slowly remove his shirt. He swallowed when he saw the scars on the man’s back. Claire winced when she saw how this man had been treated in the past.
“Mr. Grandee was a slave?” she asked Thomas, turning away. She did not want to see the horrible reminder of the pain this man and people like him had suffered over the years.
“Born into and escaped from, Madame,” Captain Jackson said as he watched the proceedings below with disdain. He glanced at the older army officer and wondered what he planned to accomplish with this fiasco on his deck.
Colonel Taylor stepped into the center of the main deck. “Gentlemen, the wager has been accepted by the entire ship’s company. The agreement will be respected. If my man loses, which he assuredly will not, we will cooperate fully in Mr. Lincoln’s folly. However, if he wins, we will be accorded the open spaces of the ship and an opportunity to return to our army and our people when we return, and without the loss of honor. That’s the agreement.”
John Henry Thomas made eye contact with Jessy. The two men knew one another better than any two men in the military. Thomas knew Jessy would never wait until their return home. Thomas figured he would get his men out of this mission at any opportunity. That was the reasoning for him to sacrifice his man for a possible beating—to get his men above decks. Finally Taylor smiled and then caught the attention of Claire, who raised a brow underneath the dark veil of her sun hat before turning away from the Confederate officer.
“If you gentlemen will excuse us, the professor wants to meet with his team belowdecks,” Claire said as she turned away from the barbaric spectacle readying itself on the deck below.
Thomas watched her, Ollafson, and the other two strange birds leave the quarterdeck. He had understood the emphasis she had placed on the word “gentlemen” as she departed. He smirked, as he had the same mocking opinion of not only Taylor, but of himself. Perhaps he had been away from society too long and had forgotten how to do things the civilized way. Perhaps.
A loud cheer went up from the divergent group of men as the navy crew, marines, and prisoners started to gather around in a circle.
On the quarterdeck the men failed to see Captain Jackson nod his head. The marines on the main deck were all off duty and were in a light circle around the hundred Confederate soldiers. What everyone failed to notice was the fact that thirty marines were missing.
All voices went silent as the heavy sound of boot thumps sou
nded on the wood decking around the men. As the prisoners looked up, they saw the remaining marines file out on both the starboard and then port sides of the Yorktown. They came to a stop and then went to rigid attention. Each man was armed with a Henry repeating rifle.
Taylor angrily looked at Thomas once more. John Henry had sent his message and it was now being received loud and clear. The marines would not hesitate to shoot anyone who got out of hand. The Rebel prisoners gave the marines who had joined them on deck foul looks of distaste at the insult. There were more than a few choice words offered to the off-duty marines.
The mess crew was tending to Grandee and offering words of encouragement. The large man looked reluctant to take part in John Henry’s little idea, and the colonel felt badly for having to pick the one man onboard who didn’t deserve what was happening.
“I honestly hope you know what you are doing, Colonel Thomas.”
John Henry smiled. “So do I, Captain Jackson.” His eyes met those of his former friend below as he made his way to his man to offer encouragement. Taylor didn’t look back at John Henry. “So do I.”
* * *
“Insanity,” Ollafson said as he spread out a large map on the table inside the captain’s cabin. The sound of the men on deck gave the interior spaces of the Yorktown a vibrant feel. Ollafson was not impressed with the military’s foolishness.
“Yes, this Colonel Thomas seems to work in mysterious ways. I believe he will have those prisoners at our throats before this voyage is at an end.”
The old professor looked into the eyes of McDonald. He didn’t know the man but he came off as far more than an amateur historian. However, if Claire vouched for him he had to tolerate his abruptness and arrogance. His eyes went to Cromwell, who seemed to be off in another world. He cleared his throat and then smiled.
“Gentlemen, and lady, I feel a closeness down here that is making me feel quite nauseated. If you’ll excuse me, I think I am better suited to the air topside.”
The Mountain Page 24
