“Hip, hip, hooray,” sounded three times from the American vessels as the 317th marching band erupted spontaneously in a rousing chorus of “Yankee Doodle,” even enticing the Rebel contingent, what was left of them, to sing along. The sultan continued to wave at the crowds as he boarded his new ironclad.
“Before you say anything, I must remind you, Colonel Taylor, that you never in your life could keep a secret,” John Henry said as he headed off the anger of the Confederate colonel.
“Who was I going to tell? The fish on the way over here?” he argued.
“For all I know you were going to desert me and take your men with you. Then where would I be with my secrets out in the open, huh?”
“I gave you my word, John Henry!” Jessy argued as he followed close behind Thomas.
“Your word? Please!”
Claire watched them leave as the crews of the two frigates began the tedious repairs needed for their voyage home. She wondered if John Henry’s distrust still included her. Claire smiled as she extended her purple parasol and spun it lazily and then she slowly fell in line as the officers argued onto the gangway. Maybe, maybe not, she thought, but she had plenty of time to work on that trust. She hummed “Yankee Doodle” as she strolled onto the deck of the Carpenter.
“You trust Gray Dog!”
“Gray Dog doesn’t go around drinking and bragging about his exploits as you do, Colonel.”
“I have never bragged about anything that didn’t deserve to be bragged about, Colonel Yankee, sir!”
Claire continued to hum as she thought about the way the argument would continue all the way home. That was when she knew her future.
“Yes, I have plenty of time to work on Colonel John Henry Thomas.”
WASHINGTON D.C.,
APRIL 14, 1865
Private Willard, resplendent in his recently bought suit, made his way down a crowded Pennsylvania Avenue. The men and women he passed seemed jovial and ignored the shy boy from the south. The private held a satchel tight to his chest as he made his way past the gate of the White House. He presented the guards there with the sealed envelope and the satchel sent from Colonel Thomas. The guards eyed the boy and then told him to wait while they delivered the letter and package to the president.
Willard cautiously looked around him. His eyes fell on the fluttering American flags draping the windows of the White House. Before the guard could return to escort him in to see the president, an overwhelming sense of loss filled the boy’s mind. The three-month journey home had aged the nineteen-year-old by at least five years. He once more looked at the flags and then sadly turned away, wanting nothing more than to return home to a father who waited for him and the horses he so loved. He sadly turned away and went into an unknown future.
When the guard returned he faced his fellow soldier. “Where did he go?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
The first guard shrugged and then took up station at the family entrance to the White House.
* * *
President Lincoln sat at his large desk. Secretary of State Seward smoked his cigar and then faced his longtime adversary and friend. He flicked his long cigar ash into the cold fireplace.
“All I am saying is that those … those things should be thrown into the sea,” Seward said as he stared at Lincoln.
“And would you have me do the same when Colonel Thomas arrives? Throw his hard-won prize into the sea?”
“Things have changed since Colonel Thomas and his men left Baltimore and you know it. The war is over. We won. We now have all the time in the world to gain the trust and respect of the southern states. We need not announce to the world what it is that our arrogance has wrought.”
“That is not the problem you foresee, old friend. What is it?”
“This thing could backfire into our faces. If the public had an inkling of what we exposed the nation to on the high seas and at Ararat, the gains we have made since Appomattox would be moot. Trust would be lost when they learn we exposed them to a possible shooting war with the two most powerful nations in Europe.” Seward lowered his head and once more faced the cold fireplace.
“There’s something else bothering you, Mr. Secretary. Tell me what it is,” Lincoln said as he unclasped the satchel containing Ollafson’s original artifacts—the cursed petrified wood of the Ark. He saw the wrapped cloth and slowly opened it. “The Carpenter and her crew will arrive any day now. I’m sure they wish this ordeal over also. Being interned at Gibraltar by the British had to try their patience. Now tell me, after so long at sea what do my intrepid explorers and discoverers of myth and legend have to fear?”
“I have received word from a reliable source that a United States marshal will be awaiting the Carpenter’s arrival. He plans to arrest Colonel Taylor for murder. The warrant was sworn out while the Carpenter was interned for the months of February and March on the bogus plague rumor spread by Her Majesty’s government. But the warrant is very real, Mr. President.”
“Murder, you say?” the president asked.
“Yes, it seems the gentleman bringing the charges is the same disgraced commandant at Lafayette prison that our intrepid Colonel Thomas had arrested. The former officer is highly placed in the abolitionist movement and it seems his father is well connected to both parties.”
The president shook his head slowly as his fingers ran along the cloth that covered the artifacts. “That will not happen, Mr. Seward. Am I clear on this point?” The blaze in the president’s eyes was unmistakable. He was angry.
“Yes, Mr. President, but that, sir, is my concern. The bastard will obviously bring Colonel Taylor kicking and screaming into the forefront right when we don’t need it. I mean, who could ever blame the colonel for mounting a defense against murder? The parameters of your mission to Turkey will come full circle and be out in the open. What then?”
“I see your point, Mr. Secretary. I’m sure we can manage to whisk away our Confederate accomplice before the evil abolitionists make their arrest. See to it.”
Lincoln held Seward’s stare. They both missed the shadow as it slipped from the cloth wrapping and slid off the large desk and then vanished into the wall of the president’s office.
“I’ll do my best,” Seward said as he reached for his hat and coat and slipped them on. A light knock sounded at the door and Seward pulled it open. It was the president’s personal secretary, John Hay.
“Sir, the First Lady is waiting in the carriage. And she stresses beyond reason that you will be late if you don’t hurry.”
“On that note, I’m off to save the world, at least a certain Confederate colonel’s world.” Seward tipped his top hat toward the president, who only smiled that soft smile of his as the secretary of state left the office.
“What was that, John?” the president asked as his fingers undid the twine and then he ran his long fingers over the engraved Angelic symbols. He shivered.
“Mrs. Lincoln, the theater?”
“Oh, Nelly, just about incurred the wrath of the real boss, didn’t I?” the president said as he placed the cloth back over the relics and then placed them inside his desk. He smiled and then accepted Hay’s help in getting into his coat.
“And what horrible miscarriage of theater are we witnessing this evening?” he asked.
“My American Cousin, a comedy, I believe.”
The president buttoned his coat and then smiled at John Hay.
“Well, I guess I’d better skedaddle out of here,” he said as he placed a fatherly hand on his secretary’s shoulder. “You keep your ear to the pavement, John. You get me out of that theater if Colonel Thomas sends word that he’s arrived while I’m at the play, clear?”
“Immediately, Mr. President.”
John Hay watched as the tall, lean president walked toward the doorway. He thought he saw something strange as the president ducked his head to exit. It looked like his shadow, but it was not opposite the lamps in the office.
“Curious,”
he said, and then shrugged it off.
* * *
The president of the United States would never meet his old friend again and see his wonderful prize. He had a date with the man known as John Wilkes Booth, who for the past five months had been plagued by dreams of dark shadows coming at him in the dark. The nightmares had nearly driven the actor insane.
BALTIMORE HARBOR
APRIL 17, 1865
The harbor was eerily silent as the Carpenter slid in on the night’s tide. It was an hour later that her tired crew tied up at the U.S. Navy berth at pier sixteen. The sailors were silent as they went about securing the ragged bulk of the damaged warship. The men kept looking around at the emptiness of the pier. The only sound was the soft whisper of the water as it lapped against the tired old hull.
* * *
A knock sounded on the door and Jessy stepped into the captain’s cabin, once more occupied by John Henry. The colonel looked from Taylor to Claire, who slipped easily into her shawl. She smiled at Taylor as she moved by him to the companionway. She stopped and faced Jessy. She held out her small hand.
“Colonel, I did not know if I would ever have the opportunity of saying this since the first moment we met, especially after barely overcoming your brashness and your true southern charm, but despite first impressions, it has truly been an honor,” she said as she looked straight into his dark eyes.
Taylor, dressed as a civilian once more, twisted his hat in his hand and then took Claire’s into his own and instead of shaking it he bent over and once more kissed it.
“The honor, Madame, has been this officer’s, I assure you.”
Claire gave him a small curtsy and then left the two men alone.
John Henry took the colonel in. He looked forlorn without his proud gray tunic. Now Jessy looked like an ordinary man. They had not spoken much, and for that matter the entire contingent of remaining Rebel soldiers, all twenty-eight of them, had remained to themselves after showing such camaraderie with the rest of the Union marines and sailors after the damnable British had gotten word to them while they were quarantined at Gibraltar that General Lee had surrendered to Ulysses Grant that very day in Virginia.
The shock had been hard on the men. While the Union men silently celebrated the end to the bloody affair, the Confederate prisoners became silent and reflective. As for Taylor he withdrew with the question every soldier had to answer for himself—what was it all for?
“What now, Jessy?” John Henry asked as he buttoned his tunic.
Taylor entered the cabin and then walked to the large windows at the stern and saw the calm waters of the harbor. Thomas watched him.
“Mary’s death wasn’t your fault, John Henry,” Jessy said without turning to face him. “But I needed to blame you. I had to make sense out of things and I did blame you for allowing my sister to talk you into her joining you in Texas. I can’t blame two people for loving each other. But when we lost her, I couldn’t see the truth of things, even though I tried. Every time I thought of her, I saw you, my best friend. Love turned to hate so fast”—he turned and faced John Henry—“so hard, that I saw you differently. I resented the fact that you lived and she died. You see, we’re expected to take the risks, fight the good fight, but never are we prepared to lose those who are innocent of that life.”
Thomas pulled at the hem of his coat and then cleared his throat. “You heading west?”
Jessy smiled and John Henry saw his old friend for the first time in years.
“I was always more comfortable west of the Mississippi. You know that.” Taylor placed his boot on a chair and then looked at his brother-in-law. “What about you? Going to let Uncle Abe talk you into staying?”
“I think I’ve given about all I can to my country. Time to take a shot at living.”
“And I thought you still wanted to be King of the Army,” Taylor said as he straightened and walked toward Thomas.
“Being king isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Look at the sultan.”
Both men laughed as they shook hands.
Gray Dog, resplendent in a brand-new purple shirt and his ever-present coyote-head hat, poked his head through the open doorway.
“Fat men with cigars are here.”
“I see Gray Dog’s power of description is getting better,” Taylor said as he gestured for John Henry to precede him out of the cabin.
* * *
Captain Jackson met the three men at the top of the companionway. He smiled and for the first time in recorded history Jackson seemed pleased with life.
“There’s been some snafu. The navy has no assigned men to offload the cargo, so it will have to stay aboard until tomorrow.”
“Then what for the navy?” Jessy asked the young officer he had come to respect.
“I think I’m going to accept the research-and-development position open with Mr. Ericsson.”
“Leave the navy?” Thomas asked, astounded that the career officer would even consider resigning his commission.
“There is a new science rising from the depths of the sea, gentlemen, called submarines, and I want in.”
“What in the hell is that?” Jessy asked.
“Why it’s the most exciting thing to come along in—”
“What it is, is beyond us,” John Henry said, cutting off Jackson’s enthusiastic answer.
* * *
The men were all on deck as the three officers and Gray Dog came up from below. The men all stood on the main deck and looked up at the men who had gotten them home. Many had been lost, but these men, from both sides of the war, had become used to the empty chair at the table when a comrade had fallen. This time there were quite a few empty chairs, but for the men who made it back that spring day in April, the smells of home were enough.
As one the men—all sailors, 317th band members, marines, and all civilian-dressed Confederate prisoners—stood to attention and then as one saluted the three men.
John Henry was the first to react. He did not return the salute, which shocked both Jessy and Jackson. Even Gray Dog raised a brow at the possible snub in courtesy. Claire came up, aware of what was happening.
“Gentlemen, lower your hands, please.”
The men didn’t know what to do at first as hands started down, then went back into salute, but then they all slowly lowered their right hands as they watched the army colonel.
“It is not we who deserve the respect you give us, but it is we who owe you everything. We had the honor of commanding the bravest men in any army in the world. It doesn’t matter how we started out, it is where we ended up—as friends and men we respect. Gentlemen, it has been our great honor.”
The men watched as Jackson and Taylor stepped up beside John Henry and all three saluted the men down below.
The men all saluted and then watched as John Henry, Jackson, Claire, and Jessy made for the gangway to greet the fat men with cigars.
* * *
The three men and one lady waited for the five men to transit from an ornate carriage to the long dock. Gray Dog had left, and where he was John Henry could not say.
The men stepped from shadow into light and the three officers froze and Claire actually gasped.
These weren’t representatives of the president. Three of the men had large stars pinned to their lapels and were carrying papers. The other three wore refined suits and flashed signs of wealth the men noticed immediately. It was the man in the middle who had their attention. He was no longer in uniform and looked quite smug.
“Colonel Jessop Taylor?” the large man in front asked. He had a large handlebar moustache and was armed, as his open coat clearly demonstrated.
“What is the meaning of this?” John Henry asked, cursing himself for not putting his holster onto his belt. All he had was his worthless sword. He looked at Jackson and he was in the same state of unreadiness.
“This is a signed warrant for the arrest of Colonel Jessop Taylor, prisoner number 59503476, Camp Lafayette. Charges are murder while attempti
ng escape from federal custody.”
“This is ridiculous,” Jackson said as he reached for the warrant quickly enough that the two deputies beside the marshal drew their revolvers. The captain immediately shot a look of hatred at the men. John Henry lowered the captain’s hand and eased him back.
“I’m Colonel Taylor,” Jessy said as he stepped forward.
“Did you think I would brush this under the rug? Did you think I would allow a backwoods Rebel officer to ruin my military career without doing something about it? I told you that day I would get to you, Colonel, and now I have.”
Taylor didn’t flinch as he took in the small-framed man he had so embarrassed. The former major, Nelson Freeman, stood between two of his father’s expensive attorneys and smirked.
“We’ll see what the president has to say to your federal warrant.”
Nelson Freeman honestly looked taken aback. He looked from his companions to the lone woman in the group, Claire. He wondered what her story was in all of this.
“You don’t know, do you?” Freeman asked as he placed his hands on his hips as if he were lecturing.
“Know what?” Claire asked anxiously, not liking the smug look on the former prisoner-of-war-camp commandant.
“President Lincoln. He was assassinated three days ago in Washington.”
Taylor reached out and steadied John Henry as the news sank into the deepest part of his soul.
“Oh, my God,” Claire said as she brought her hands up to cover her mouth.
The federal marshal stepped forward and turned Jessy around and placed manacles on his wrists. He turned him around to face his accuser. Angered shouts rose from the deck of the Carpenter as the men watched one of their own being detained. Several curses were flung onto the dock.
“My lawyers have done some investigating of our own. It seems we may have uncovered a web of illegal activity. There will be a warrant issued in the morning, confiscating your cargo. Yes, we know all about the Ollafson expedition and know what it was you were after. Your cargo will be public knowledge by tomorrow, along with a full accounting of certain indiscretions when it comes to war department funds being funneled illegally through the Department of the Navy. Yes, I’m afraid there’s to be an accounting, gentlemen. And the proof we need to scar the president and hang you is currently in your hold. Your friends in office will run for cover on this one. I mean, with a new administration and all, what’s a few worthless old soldiers?”
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