No Greater Love
Chapter 11
The morning sun of May 3rd, 1862, rose in the eastern skies, as the USS BENTON steamed slowly southward toward the mouth of the Red River and Port Hudson, the massive iron and wood paddle wheel thumping and churning the muddy water. They passed Sailor's Point during the night as they slipped past Johnson Bar. The enemy was gone, the river quiet, with the full moon shining overhead. The men on watch silently saluted toward shore where their comrades now lay in this foreign land. Seven brave men and one very loyal brave boy, who never had the chance to grow up. The men of the BENTON now looked up to their captain; maybe he had balls after all.
Thompson himself seemed to even change after the battle of Belle Bend. Belle Bend was the first battle in which he had full command of his own ship; at Memphis he had Commander Foote along with Porter on his heels. Commander Foote was on the BENTON during that action, but Belle Bend was different because he was in charge. This morning at the sound of the 6 AM bell he was standing high on the casemate roof, looking at the damage that was done the day before. The night before, he had walked the decks and as he passed the wheelhouse he heard his young crewmen talking, lying up on the roof. He slowed his pace and listened as they talked about their young friend who would not be joining them again. Mere boys talking like grown men, he thought as he continued his walk, is this what war is all about, robbing children of their boyhood, killing family and friends and former countrymen for something that was started before we ever became a nation to divide in the first place? Before he retired he told the new first officer, John Scarett Young, to keep an eye on the boys and let them sleep under the stars in each other's company.
"Captain Thompson, Sir!" Chief Engineer Burr saluted.
"Yes, Mr. Burr?" Thompson asked as he returned the salute.
"I have found a way to repair the axle bearing on the wheel, but we must drop anchor so I can get some men down there safely to do it. Also, sir, we need to tighten the bolts on the portside engine. My men can have it done in under one hour, then we can resume chase to that Bastard Rebel steamboat."
"Very well, Mr. Burr, make it happen! And if you plan on cursing the damned Rebel steamboat, well, let's just say we're going to find it and we're going to sink that Fucker!"
"YES, SIR, Captain!" Burr saluted once more before heading below.
Thompson heard the calls echoing up to where he stood. 'Hard to port, Pilot, we're going to drop the fires and tie up at the bank for repairs to the wheel and port engine and check those steering chains for damage."
"AYE, AYE! Mr. Burr, hard to port she is," the pilots called back as the heavy ironclad steered for shore. The engine bells rang as the engines slowed as the extra steam was vented out of the tall funnels, as firebox doors were slammed closed.
The bow of the BENTON scraped shore as sailors with the heavy ropes lashed them to the trees on shore. 15 marines climbed to the casemate roof and took positons as the 12 pound howitzer was readied for action; they were taking no chances this time around.
"MID-SHIPMAN PHILLIPS, you're in charge of the howitzer!"
"Yes, Sir, Captain!" Davie saluted as John and Ernest stood beside him ready to help.
"Drummers, beat to quarters!" Thompson ordered.
John and Ernest sounded the call on the drums as the big guns in the stern were run out into battery to protect the rear.
Gunners were re-roping the forward guns with new ropes as other men continued to check for damage not spotted the night before. The heavy ropes were run through iron rings mounted on the wooden gun carriages, then looped through more rings on the casemate of the ship to keep the recoil of the guns in check. The BENTON was supposed to carry four guns forward but one of the ports was empty - the reason, the Navy lacked enough big guns or so that is what they told Washington. The gunners, like the Army, accepted this answer, and the closed gun port in the bow along with the one on each quarter and the center in the stern, but the crew, like the captain, all thought one thing, Political Bullshit was the reason the BENTON lacked four heavy guns in her armament. Some of the old salts from the blue water navy struck up sea chanties as they worked.
Erik was sweating already in the hot boiler room as he gathered the tools he and the rest of the work gang would need to repair the axle bearing on the paddle wheel. The BENTON carried a complete set of tools to work on the engines and other parts of the ship, also spare parts stored in large boxes. There was even raw lumber stock for the boat's carpenter and sheets of boiler iron stored in the bow section so you had enough to make a temporary patch in case one of the boilers sprang a leak. Five men were alrady tightening the heavy stay bolts on the port engine, stripped bare chested as they turned the big wrenches, tightening the bolts that held the engine mounted in place while others checked the boilers and the steam pipes running to the engines for leaks as the 5 slender boilers hissed as they cooled down. The firemen couldn't believe that the 16 year old boy was in charge of the repairs, but damn, he knew his engines and boilers. They learned quickly his father was a boiler maker and Erik had helped to build what he was repairing. Mr. Burr was looking over the starboard side, passing back and forth, checking on the work being done.
Erik climbed the ladder leading from the engine room up to the gundeck, his pale skin covered in sweat as he mumbled to himself. He passed the busy gun crews as he walked down the narrow passage past the piston rods and rocker arms connecting the engines to the paddle wheel in the stern of the boat. The wooden bulkhead strengthened the rear of the boat on each side of the paddle wheel raceway, leaving the pistons and linkages in view while the wheel itself was enclosed in wood and iron. The passageway between the forward bow and the rear cabins was narrow and cramped, iron lanterns on the outside casemate lit the way with the feeble yellow light from the candles. He reached the stern where several men waited with tools and the replacement part that they hoped would work or at least ease the speed reduction. The axle bearings were mounted on each end of the round cast iron axle of the wheel sticking out from the wood bulkhead. Erik looked at it by the daylight shining through the shattered skylights above on the wheelhouse sides.
"Tell Engineer Burr to spin the wheel forward by one quarter turn." Erik spoke to the fireman closest to him.
"OK, Erik, forward one quarter turn?"
"That's right, forward one quarter turn," Erik replied.
The older teen headed forward down the passageway. He stopped on top of the ladder and repeated Erik's instructions. Burr nodded as he gave the order to just crack open the steam valves. The wheel moaned and slowly moved forward, the bad bearing squealing.
The big rocker arm lowered until it cleared enough room to access the bearing. "THAT'S GOOD!" Erik shouted down the passageway. Burr cut the steam back off and the wheel rocked back and forth for a moment, then was still. "Shit, this looks like a royal pain in the ass!" The older teens just looked at the 16 year old boy as he judged the proper action to take. They had learned that Erik was younger than most assistant engineers but he could cuss like a captain. "OK, guys, we've gotta get this linkage loose from the crank pin, see that square iron pin, take the hammer and gently knock it out. Once that is out we're going to have to get some wooden blocks and put under the connecting rod."
"Erik, no way we going to get that big fucking connecting arm down and out of our way alone, we're going to hafta have a block and tackle, damned thing has to weigh at least three-hunderd pounds or more."
"You're right, Simon, we're going to have to ease it down and out of the way once we get that pin out. Pass me that hammer."
Simon passed Erik the short handled maul and then stepped back out of the way. Erik began to tap on the pin located in the center of the crank rod. The pin slowly moved out of its hole about a quarter of the way. "Hand me something small so I can tap it on out."
Simon found a small round rod about a foot long and passed it to Erik. He watched the boy tap on the pin, he reached over and grasped the exposed portion from the top and held it to keep it from falling all the way out and into the river. "Got it, Erik." Simon pulled the pin out and laid it in a bucket at his feet so it wouldn't be lost. Two of the firemen had left to go and retrieve a length of rope and a block and tackle; they now stood waiting. Erik stood up and stepped back as one of the sailors tossed the rope up and over a thick beam in the casemate roof. They raised the block up into the roof and fastened it while looping the thick rope around the connecting rod. Erik, Simon, and the other three grabbed the ropes and began to pull. The connecting rod refused to move. "Simon, looks like we're going to need some extra muscle. Go ask Mr. Burr if he can spare a few more of the guys to help out up here. If not, I'll see if I can grab a gunner or two."
"Sure thing, boss!" Simon smiled as he saw Erik's lips mouth, "Fuck you, Scottish boy."
Simon whispered back, "Is that a offer, or are you just popping your safely valve again?"
"Go get some help, will ya, you damned coal tar!"
"Sure thing, boss. I told ya, guys, he's a slave driver, just like Mr. Burr!" Simon laughed as he headed down the passage to get help.
Simon returned with Engineer Burr and four of the gunners. "So, lads, it is as bad as it looks?" Engineer Burr asked.
"Well, Mr. Burr, depends on which way you want to look at it. We have to get this big ass connecting rod down off the crank pin, then find a way to lift the paddle wheel axle from her slot and get this U-shaped piece of boiler iron under it so the damaged bearing will not cut a hole into the supporting bulkhead below it or, worse yet, get hot enough to catch something on fire. It's not like we're going to be able to keep a man back here pouring tallow wax every five minutes when running at full steam and pressure," Erik replied while the others just stood there and listened to the exchange between the grown man and this teen, who treated each other as equals and not master and apprentice. Not only did the chief engineer treat Erik Kroner with equality, Captain Thompson once remarked within earshot of some of the men one day that if Mr. Burr ever fell in battle, they had a replacement and the men knew he was talking about the German kid. The first grueling months onboard the USS BENTON everyone referred to Erik as `the German Kid', now they had a high respect for this young man who was very special to the Mid-shipman Phillips and their two drummer boys, John and Ernest.
"OK, boys, let's try it again since we got more muscle." They grabbed the ropes and began to pull, muscles straining in their arms and backs as Mr. Burr pried on the connecting rod with a long iron bar to get it to come loose and drop. The connecting rod moaned and came free, hanging inches above the wood deck while Burr scrambled to get two heavy wood blocks under it. Simon wished it would have taken a few minutes more, he liked leaning back on Erik, brushing up against him.
"Now what?" Simon asked. Everyone groaned. "WHAT?" Simon asked again.
"Well, Simon, since you spoke up, you just volunteered for the job!" Erik said as he broke into an ear to ear grin.
"Oh Shit!" Simon said as he looked at the rest of the grinning men around him.
Erik pointed to the bad bearing and the iron plate that held it in place as he handed Simon the heavy iron open-ended wrench. "Loosen those bolts, boy!"
"Boy! Who you calling a boy? I am a year older than you are and taller! Whoops, no wonder I got volunteered!"
Erik laughed and smiled, "You might be a year older but I outrank ya, you Scottish Bean Pole!"
Simon took the wrench and walked over to the paddle wheel axle and put the wrench on the first bolt head. He had to reach up and over to reach them, even tho' they were about shoulder height to Simon.
The removal of the bolts that held the iron plate over the axle bearing took almost an hour as the men took turns loosening the bolts that most swore some giant had tightened, The gun crews had finished re-roping the forward guns and the center gun was remounted, using another block and tackle to lift the heavy half-ton gun tube back into her carriage and the barrel securely fastened back onto the mounts where the bolts were retightened and the heavy recoil ropes replaced. The forward gun captain did not want another flying gun tube, thank God they were Navy issue and not the inferior Army cast guns from an Ironworks in Pennsylvania that had the tendency to blow up. Now the gun crews stretched out in the shade on top of the casemate under canvas awnings tied from the tall funnels stretched over the deck which covered the area from the funnels to the forward jackstaff in front of the pilothouse. Davie lay propped against the iron pilothouse with John and Ernest on each side of him.
"Davie, how come you didn't grab the jackstaff yesterday when you went sailing out and over the bow? You know the easiest way to go for a swim is to skinny dip, that wool gets heavy when it's wet, heck, is heavy enough dry!"
Davie looked over at Ernest, "Well, little one, when you ram a sunken mud bank at that force you don't have much time to consider grabbing something that you completely forget is there and besides I tried to grab the pilothouse and the rim of the casemate! Not like I was ready to go for a swim in my Union Blues and while chasing that damned steamer!"
"I wished we could go skinny dipping right about now, these uniforms itch," John said as he reached around to scratch his back.
"Not me! I am tired of being shot at while buck ass naked, twice is enough!" Davie smiled as he snaked his hand around and scratched John's back.
John smiled at Davie as he felt the soft hand rub his back as they sat in the shade of the canvas cover that covered most of the spar deck. One of the officers had started calling it the 'flight deck' after Davie's solo flight the day before, always giving Davie a smile and a wink if he was around when he said it. Several of the men assigned to cook detail sat on the bow with muskets lying beside them and cane fishing poles in their hands as they fished for dinner, hoping to catch enough of the river catfish for lunch.
"Davie, just why is Vicksburg so damned important to us?" Ernest asked.
"Well, Ernest, from what everyone says, Vicksburg is a crossroads of the Rebel Nation, you see you got the Mississippi River flowing north and south, then there is two railroads."
"So? why do we want it?" Ernest asked again.
"Sheese, boy, what is with all the questions all of a sudden?"
"I guess I want to learn more about what we trying to capture without getting blown out of the water."
"Well, my young bluecoats, let me see if I can enlighten you on those facts, that our Mid- shipman here is kinda in the dark on!" First officer John Scarett Young smiled and walked over to where the three boys sat propped against the iron pilothouse.
Ernest smiled, "Would you please, Sir?"
"Sure, my lad, sure. Davie is pounding on the nail but let me see if I can help him pound it on in. Vicksburg is the key link in Rebel supply lines from Texas. So how can I explain it best?" Young rubbed his clean shaven face. "OK, Vicksburg is here," he squatted down onto the deck and pulled a sheet of paper from inside his jacket and a pencil stub; he drew an X in the center of the paper. Then he drew a line down past the X spot. "The Mississippi River." Then another line intersecting the center of the X.
"OK, you got the River flowing north and south. Both ends we control but right here this center section from Vicksburg south to Port Hudson is in Rebel hands. So we can't very well ship our corn and products to the Gulf of Mexico without being fired on and sunk by the Batteries at Vicksburg. You remember the night we floated past them. How the Rebels lit the entire river up so their gunners could aim better. Well, you see, Vicksburg, just like Master Davie said, is a crossroads. You got the River in which we are trying to take, then you got two small railroads running east and west. A little line called the Vicksburg and Shreveport runs from Vicksburg to Monroe, Louisiana on the Ouachita River (Pronounced Washitaw). The Ouachita flows into the Red River above Belle Bend, which we know waters the richest cotton producing land in Louisiana, and then we also know the Red River flows into the Mississippi between Natchez and Port Hudson, a small village on a high bluff like Vicksburg. Supplies from the Red River Valley are moved up the Ouachita River to Monroe, thence over the little Railroad to Vicksburg. Then they are transferred to the Vicksburg side and reloaded onto the Alabama and Vicksburg line which runs east to the state capital of Jackson, Mississippi and there interchanges with the Jackson and Great Northern line, as it continues east to Meridian to Demopolis, Alabama on the Tombigbee River, which flows south to Mobile and open water. So you see, if we capture Vicksburg we have just cut the supply lines from the west." Officer Young stood back up.
"Wow!, thanks, Mr. Young, you sure are smart about this Rebel lands and places." Ernest said as he smiled.
"I'll tell ya my little secret but you must promise not to tell anyone. I was born in Natchez, Mississippi."
All three of the boys' jaws wanted to hit the deck. "WOW, Really?"
"Yep, I was, just don't tell the Yankees that now." He winked, then walked off laughing as the three boys shook their heads in amazement.
They sat there stretched out and propped back, as they listened to the river and the curses coming from the gun deck as the firemen and mechanics hammered away at fixing the paddlewheel. The job had taken two hours already more than what Mr. Burr had said it would. Suddenly from shore they heard a high pitched voice of a boy.
"OH! have you heard the lastest news
Of Lincoln and his kangaroos;
Fight away, fight away, fight away for Dixie's land.
His minions they would now oppress us,
With war and bloodshed they'd distress us!
Fight away for Dixie's Land.
Abe Lincoln tore through Baltimore,
In a baggage-car with fastened doors;
And left his wife alas! alack!
To Perish on the railroad track!
Fight away for Dixie's land, fight away!"
The fifteen marines jumped up, reaching for their rifles as other men just looked on toward the shoreline, some even snickered at the hasty action of the marines reaching for their guns. Davie stood up and walked toward the end of the casemate with his field glasses that he kept around his neck now ever since Captain Thompson said he earned them the day before. The young mid-shipman was turning into a true sailor.
Davie spotted the tanned blonde-haired boy through the trees, "Aww, hell, he ain't but about 10, damned flintlock is twice the size of him." The marines sat their guns back down, some crimson in the face as the boy on shore walked to the edge of the water about 20 feet below the bow of the USS BENTON.
"YA' DAMN'D YANK, I AM 12 YEARS OLD! AND MY PAPA TOLD ME TO NOT WASTE ANY LEAD ON A YELLER BELLY SCUMBAG! THAT'S WHAT THE SOLDIER BOYS ARE FER! YOU TWIT AND BEFO' YOU SAY ONE WORD I GOT YA ANOTHER SONG!"
"512 TONS OF IRON, 512 TONS, BUT LET ONE OF OUR SHELLS, SO NICE BIG AND ROUND, FALL UPON 512 TONS OF IRON AND IT'LL BE 512 A GONE!
512 TONS OF IRON, 512 TONS, COME ON BOYS, THROW THEM A ROUND TO PUNCH A HOLE IN THAT IRON AND WE'LL DROWN THE DAMNED YANKS A HUNDERD AT A TIME!"
The boy laughed as the men on deck grumbled and shook their fists at him. "GO HOME TO YER MOMMA, BOY, AND QUIT BEING A LITTLE TROUBLE MAKER JUST LIKE THE REST OF YOU SECESS' TRASH!"
"FUCK YOU! YELLER BELLY COWARDS!" The boy took off for the woods, and soon they heard galloping hooves through the trees.
"Shit, bet the Rebels going to know our exact position as soon as he tells his paw about us."
"Don't worry, we be long gone before they can get here." Davie turned to face the voice and smiled when he looked into Erik's eyes.
"What you doing up here?" Davie asked.
"Getting some fresh air, boyo!" Erik smiled.
"Boyo! Hmm, I'll show you who's a boyo, you little boy!" Davie smiled at Erik because they both was playin'.
"Erik, get to your post, time to test the repair since we got the boilers hot and ready again."
"Yes Sir, Mr. Burr! See ya in little bit, Davie," he smiled at John, throwing him a wink as he ran down the top of the casemate to the gundeck, then below to the engineroom.
"Mid-shipman Phillips, release the bow cables and prepare to shove off in five minutes!"
"Yes sir, Mr. Burr. A'right, boys, let's loosen those ropes and reel'em in!"
The men on the bow released the taut ropes and rolled them up on the bow as the pilots returned to the pilothouse. The men on deck heard the shout from below, "Reverse slow!" The engine bell rang and the big paddlewheel began to spin as coal smoke shot from the tall lean funnels. With creaking and groaning, the big ironclad began to back up into the river, as the pilots spun the large wheel. "Ahead slow!" The engines were once again reversed as the camshafts stopped spinning and stood still as the levers were moved to the forward position, then they dropped as the pistons shot fresh steam into the steam chests and the big wheel started to move slowly, shoving the Ironclad forward and back into the midstream of the rolling brown water. The wind caught the square Naval ensign on the fore mast and it snapped to attention, its blue background with the circles of stars whipping in the breeeze as the big ironclad picked up speed. "Full Ahead, Mr. Burr! Full Ahead!" Thompson called as the cam levers were shoved all the way forward and the engines pounded as the wheel turned faster, the boilers were at max pressure, hissing at 230 pounds as the rods rotated and clanged as the big wheel plowed the water with the steady thump, thump, thump. The patch worked as men clocked their speed. Mr. Burr shouted, "7 Knots, captain!"
The sailors shouted as the big Union flag flapped in the breeze from the jackstaff at the rear and the cool breeze started to flow throughout the iron casemate. The BENTON was ready to go on her hunt once more for the damned Rebel steamboat that escaped her iron grip.
"Pa, Pa, the Yankee gunboat is just down river from here!" The gaunt farmer stopped his mule team as he watched his youngest boy gallop out of the woods shouting, the long rifle on his back bouncing, the boy reined in his mount and slid off. "Pa, she warn't smokin' like our steamers do, must be something wrong after ta' battle was over!"
"Whoa, my boy, calm down! Tob, she don't smoke like ours do, she burns Yankee sulfur, Yankee coal and I hope we did do her some damage after the bloody bastards sank the WABASH, her capt'n was a fine man and Irish, always gave me a good deal on haulin my grain to market and our cotton. Come on, son, let's get some lunch, I am sure your Maw has it ready and we both need our vittles."
"Yes, Paw, I hope Jimmy is alright, I miss him already, why couldn't I go with him to protect my big brother, he was always there for me!"
"Tob, you not old enouf' to be fighting no war, besides we can't have your maw worried about both her sons, and you don't want to worry your old pa too, now do you?"
"Pa, you not old, but I guess you're right, I don't need to worry her, she worried enough about Jimmy now. I wish Willy was still with us, I miss my big big bro'. Paw, where is Virginia and Manassas Junction, is that near here?"
"No, my Little Rebel, Virginny is a long ways from here, takes a man many a moon to get there unless you can catch a steamboat or one of them steam trains. From what I hear'd Manassas is a place in Virginny where two of them railroads connect, and what happened was our boys was protecting our land when the Yanks came down from the North."
"Pa, is it true the North is a barren land, where nothing grows but thorns and rocks?"
The father wrapped his strong tanned arm around his son, "No, my boy, it is much like the South, I figure, just the people are differant and talk funny compared to us. We was one nation until the hotheads wanted this here war. I miss Willy too, Tob, I sometimes cry that I lost my boy to a bullet, but I still have my sunshine with me, and, Jimmy, I am sure he is OK, I saw him onboard the MISS LOU, I waved at him before the fightin' started." The father and his youngest boy continued to walk toward the unpainted dog trot cabin that sat in the shade of the tall oak trees as the mother and wife smiled as she watched them approach. Some things were still normal almost, she had forgotten the times she had stood on the porch watching her husband and sons coming in from the fields, but in those days it was four of them with Willy carrying Tob on his wide shoulders, with Jimmy clodding along beside his father. The blonde locks always out of place on all their heads, the only time they seemed to be in place was on Sunday mornings as they rode to church. She smiled once more as she reached out her arms as Tob raced up to her to hug her, "My baby, you not going to leave your momma, are ya, and run off to war?"
"No, momma, I'll stay here with you and papa," Tob said as he was hugged close to his momma as his father stepped up on the porch and hugged both them. "There, we can't leave out Jimmy when we hug our special lady."
"Come on, my men, time for vittles before they get cold." The three people walked inside and sat down at the small oaken table covered in oil skin and bowed their heads in prayer. Jim started off, "Please keep Jimmy safe so he will return home when this cruel war is over, bless all our men in gray and forgive the men who started it...." As the cannon roared 200 miles north in Vicksburg.
Steamboat MISS LOU plowed southward down the Red River. Alexandria lay just around the bend in the river as the little plucky steamboat tooted her whistle as she passed by the small landings that once more teemed with life, the same ones that the crew of the BENTON saw abandoned on her trip up. Cargo and passengers lined the wharves, waiting passage on the next steamer since MISS LOU was to her maximum capacity with her regular passengers, troops from the 3rd Lousiana Cavalry, along with over 800 barrels of black powder, rifles, and clothing for the Confederate Army plus barrels of cotton oil, sacks of wheat and oats, flour, barrels of pork and beef. Her bow had been cleared of the damage done by the USS BENTON the day before, the 12 pounder still pointing over her bow as the first national flag of the Confederacy flapped from her jackstaff at the rear. The morning sun like a fireball hanging in the eastern skies as to the north storm clouds brewed, pilot Williams was at the wheel, while Billings sat in one of the high chairs, sipping coffee and looking out the windows ahead; two pairs of eyes were better than one. Captain King was working in his quarters and they all hoped everything was back to normal. The Red River was deeper and wider here, so there was less danger of snags and sandbars blocking the rushing water, so the pilots were pushing MISS LOU to her limit for speed.
"Looks like one our steamboats a'comin', sure ain't the Yanks!"
"How you know that, Capt'n?"
"Look at that gray smoke coming around tha' bend, that's wood smoke, not coal smoke!"
"Yea', Capt'n, yo'r right, that damned Yank Ironclad was puffing out that dark black smoke when she passed that night!"
"I wonder what she carrying south and if there is any news on that Yank ironclad?"
"Dunno, Roy, there might be, no place for her to hide if she encountered the beast, but a wood steamer is like a lamb before a lion, outrun it or be eaten."
"I hope she passes again at night. We don't stand a chance again't those big guns!"
"Aww hell, Roy, you have no faith in your guns!"
"I know one thing, Capt'n Wood, these guns saw action in Mexico in 45, they might have done good to punch holes in brick and mortar on Spanish fortifications and wooden ships but I dunno about no damned Yank Ironclad, also we ain't in such a good position as that fancy city on the bluffs up yonder in Mississippi either, you know. We got swampland and more swampland, they got hills and hollers and places a man could fall down and land in Satan's lap befo' finding daylight again." Roy shifted his smoothbore musket from his right shoulder down to the ground where the butt of the stock rested in the dust.
"I know we are in swampy land, hell, I was born and raised here, just like you, we not much higher than the Cajuns that we boss around like the darkies. Hell, man, you been to Natchez, you noticed they use a lot more Irish than blacks and you know why, they can hire a Irishman for a little of nothin, and a slave is worth 1,500 dollars. So if an Irishman passes out or is kilt loading a steamboat, they just hire an nother one. The cream of Southern Society treats us and Cajuns the same way and no, we never will be a Vicksburg or Baton Rouge, but we make it and we have everything we need, good homes, good soil, vittles on the tables, powder and ball for our muskets and tobaccy for our pipes. We might not drive around in fine carriages and have fancy horses and homes, but we are the life blood of the South. I am not standing here on this bank fighting for some rich bastard in Vicksburg or New Orleans, I am fightin' for my home, my land, my family, who do they think they are tryin' to tell me how to live my life! Nobody has that right under God. Why you think Andy Jackson gathered all the men he could find to defend New Orleans in 1815 fer, because we did not want no King sitting on his throne in England telling us how to live. Hell no, he saw his home being invaded so we took action, free blacks, Cajuns, and Kentucky Riflemen, standing on the field at Chalmette against Pakenham and his 8,000 British Regulars. My father was there standing with Jackson behind those makeshift defenses that protected the Orleans. Manned by River rats, Creoles, and Kentucky riflemen and the River Pirates. Jackson was outmanned, outgunned, but damn it, he held the ground and drove the British back to the Mississippi screaming. Creoles, Spaniards, negroes, and his pirates who manned the defenses continued to drive them back as our cannon hammered the redcoats and as the Kentucky boys hid in the swamps shooting them down, as the mud bogged them down, and that famous shout, 'Don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes!' Roy, your own father was there, one of Napolean's old soldiers. My Lord, man, there is no differance except we're firing on blue coats and not red ones!"
Roy spit into the dust, "Yo'r so right, Jean, damn, after we win this war you need to go into politics, you make a damned fine one!" The steamboat's whistle sounded again as the two soldiers watched the trim white boat come into view around the bend, her paddlewheels kicking up the muddy brown water. The engine bell clanged as they heard the shout for "ALL AHEAD SLOW!" The little steamer hove along the wharf and tied up, Captain King standing on the top of the Texas deck with Captain Hayes. Roy and Jean spotted Micheal and Conway standing not far away. "Will ya look at that now, defenders of Vicksburg way down here, look at those yeller stripes around their caps and on them gray uniforms!"
"Yeah, Capt'n, there ain't nuttin' wrong with our butternut tho'!"
Jean slapped Roy on the back. "Damn, there's that Creole fire!" and smiled.
One of the youngsters of the town was racing up the short bluff to the city, shouting "STEAMBOAT A COMIN'!"
"Kinda late to be shouting our arrival!"
"I guess he wanted to make sure we was one of the good'ens before he shouted, Captain Hayes!"
"Yeah, I guess you right there, Captain King." They saw the Southern gunners standing behind their outdated bronze field pieces, looking at the slender barrel of the 12 pound Napoleon and at the pock marks where the grapeshot from the BENTON had plowed across the wooden deck.
"Roy, I think they met the BENTON, look at that bow on the boiler deck, shit, grapeshot close in!"
"Yes, it does, Capt'n', looks those boys caught hell for a few, must a been a fight!" Roy said as he gazed at the damage and the shot up cotton bales that were on her deck.
The mud clerk stepped off the gangplank and walked over to Captain Wood. "Afternoon, gentlemen!"
"Afternoon, sir!" Jean and Roy replied. "Looks like y'all had a run in with a bear wearing Yankee blue up river!"
"That we did, sir, they sank the WABASH, but the guns on the bluffs at Belle Bend did that Yank monster some damage tho' and allowed us to slip past her with only one shot of canister to the bow!"
"Damn, bub!" Roy said as he spit tobacco juice onto the parched red clay. The spring of 1862 had been one of the dryest on record; everything was suffering from the unending heat - crops, cattle, people all worried about finding water as the water levels in the rivers continued to drop.
"Where's my cargo at, gentlemen? Supposed to have 25 barrels of sugar, 5 barrels of salt, and 5 barrels of saltpetre."
They pointed over to the road and two wagons piled high with barrels, "They decided it would be best if they left the wagons loaded in case the Yanks made it back before you did."
"Come on, you black scandalerals and you Irish rats, let's get this cargo loaded!"
A rider spurred his mount to go faster as he headed south to Alexandria as he looked over to the river and saw the black coal smoke of the Ironclad as she once more steamed southward toward the small southern town, the Enfield rifle bouncing in its holster on the saddle. "Come on, Rebellion, Come On!" he called to his chestnut horse as he rode him hard and with little mercy. He hated to have to ride the horse so hard on such a hot day but the message was too important. He slowed his mount as he crested the low hill and saw smoke coming from the wharf, he had passed the ironclad earlier that day but still how far had she made it downstream since then?
He galloped through town to the landing where MISS LOU was tied up as her deckhands loaded cargo. The other soldiers, part of the Alexandria Rifles, looked on as the dust settled down and he dismounted and quickly ran past the sweating deckhands and onto the steamboat, past the clerk and up the stairs, weaving through the steamer past passengers and crewmen as he raced up the stairs to the Hurricane deck roof and to where Captain Hayes was standing. He saluted.
"Captain Hayes, Sir, message from General Van Dorn at Vicksburg!"
"Thank you, Andrew, but General Van Dorn?"
"Yes sir, he is in charge now at Vicksburg, General Pemberton is headed to Richmond on some urgent matters, President Davis sent for him."
"You're welcome, sir! Sir, may I ask just where in the hell are we going, Sir?"
"Andrew, my boy, you have just brought orders for us to join the forces at Vicksburg, so it looks like we got a three day trip ahead of us on the this here fine packetboat." Captain Hayes noticed the smile from Captain King regarding his steamer.
"Sir, what about Rebellion? I hate to leave him here. I had my horse since I was 13, sir!"
Captain Hayes did not answer but walked over to the edge of the Hurricane roof. "Boys, once the cargo is onboard, bring Rebellion onboard as well, Andrew can't leave his horse behind and besides, I might need to borrow him at times to do some scouting!"
The mud clerk started to protest the idea of bringing the mount onboard. "MR. FOSTER, IF YOU WANT TO KEEP YOUR JOB, YOU WILL HAVE THE YOUNG MAN'S MOUNT BROUGHT ONBOARD. YES, I KNOW SPACE IS TIGHT, BUT YOU WILL FOLLOW ORDERS OR FIND YOURSELF JOBLESS BEFORE THE SUN REACHES HER CENTER PEAK!"
"YES SUR, CAPTAIN!" Mr. Foster replied as he turned his disgust toward the deckhands, "C'mon, you lazy bastards, move your asses, we don't have all week!" he growled as he wrote down the new cargo onto his manifest, doing his best not to waste paper.
The soldiers standing behind their field pieces talked among themselves as they watched the action as the youths of Alexandria ran around barefoot, stirring up dust chasing each other. All of a sudden one of the youths called another one a "yeller' Yank" and a fight broke out between the young boys. Soon there was hair pulling, eye gouging, and kicking flying legs as they ganged up on each other.
Captain Hayes turned to his bugler, "Sound Charge!" and smiled.
The bugler put the bugle to his lips and blew the order as the boys on shore quit fighting and looked around to see what was going on.
"YOU BOYS, ATTENTION!" Hayes shouted. "DO NOT MOVE TILL I GET DOWN THERE. MICHEAL, CONWAY, WITH ME!"
"Yes, Sir," Conway and Micheal followed Captain Hayes through the steamer and down the gangplank to where the town youths were standing.
Captain Hayes walked over to where the boys stood at attention as the men of the Alexandria Rifles looked on and smiled.
"Now, Laddies, who started this?" Hayes asked in a stern voice.
A boy about 10 pointed to an older youth, "He did, Suh'. He called me a Yank, and I not no Yankee, am I, Pop?"
Hayes looked over to a soldier in uniform that had walked over, joined with another man. They nodded for Hayes to continue this and wanted to see what would happen while Captain Wood joined them.
"Well, lad, I see your father is a soldier and a soldier is not going to rat on another one." He looked to the older youth who looked to be about 14. They both stood there in their ragged patched trousers, frayed rope holding them on their thin frames. "So, young man, why did you call your friend a Yank for?"
The boy fumbled for a moment, then, "Uh we...well sir, I wa... was just fooling, sir... he ..not a Yank."
"Well, now, since this not my area of command, I think Captain Wood here should issue punishment, and not your fathers. Calling another lad a Yank is a capital crime in the South and something way above a butt whipping! Captain Wood, a word please." They turned and winked at the two fathers who stood there, trying to keep stone faces.
Both boys hung their heads down as they shuddered, wondering what they would have to do for a foolish fight in front of two Confederate captains, who now were talking low.
The two men finished talking and walked back over to face the boys. Captain Wood spoke, "Lads, after talking with Capt'n Hayes, your punishment will be to polish those 6 guns over there in our battery. We got to have them cleaned and ready for when the Yank Ironclad comes back down river in case she wants to fight. NOW GET TO IT, EVERYONE YOU CRITTERS, MEN, SHOW THESE CONSCRIPTS WHAT TO DO AND MAKE SURE THEY DO IT RIGHT, AND IF OUR CONSCRIPTS HERE MESS UP TAKE A HAND TO ASS AND STRAIGHTEN THEM OUT!! Capt'n Hayes, have your two men escort the conscripts to their jobs and if they try to make a break for it, man your your bayonets." Conway and Micheal pointed their rifles out and fastened the long flat bayonets to the muzzles and walked toward the youths who now stood still, looking at the long shining blades.
"Com'on, ya rats, to your post or do we have to stick ya!" Conway said in a deep voice. "Don't try ta run, walk nice and slow or we'll have to put chains on ya. The youths walked past their fathers who just shook their heads and once the boys were past and at the guns, broke out into laughter as Conway and Micheal walked back over to where the four men were laughing.
"Fine show, Captains, fine show," the fathers said as they walked back over to watch their sons, bustling around the guns with oil cloths and rags, polishing the shining brass.
The whistle on MISS LOU screamed as the mud clerk escorted Rebellion onboard, him snorting at the stranger holding his bridle as his hooves echoed on the wood plank.
"Come on, lads, time to board ship and head to Vicksburg, Captain Wood, may God be with you." Captain Hayes, Micheal, and Conway saluted and Captain Wood returned it.
"God Go with you as well, Captain Hayes, and the MISS LOU!"
They stepped onboard the gangplank and back on board the bow of the MISS LOU as the rest of the men of the Alexandria Rifles saluted and cheered the little steamer off as clouds of wood smoke filled the light blue skies and the blast of the whistle sounded her departure and the huff and thump of her side wheels as she headed south once more toward the mighty Mississippi.
Captain Wood stood there watching the town youths scrub and clean the guns as the men helped and for once he had a smile on his face, "Just maybe we do stand a chance at winning this damned war."
The gray smoke plumes from the MISS LOU vanished around the bend in the lazy river as the town continued on. The homespun soldiers continued their watch for the Yankee beast as the town herself returned to her lazy sleep as the spring sun continued to bake the red clay harder and the crops fought to drink from whatever wetness they could find to survive as the men, women, and children prayed for rain.
Captain Hayes stood in the blazing sun on top of the Texas deck of the small steamer, watching the countryside pass; he stared at the fields, the woods, and the sluggish bayous as alligators sunned on the banks of the lazy river. He noticed Conway and Micheal up front of him with their feet draped over the edge of the Texas roof, talking in low whispers, they had not slept since the battle the day before. He walked over to where they were sitting and leaned over and placed his hands on the back of their necks.
"Boys, go get some rest, like I really need pickets on a steamboat!"
"OK, Capt'n, sir," Micheal said as he stood up and then helped Conway to stand.
"Micheal, it is kind of you to let Jimmy stay in your cabin, he finally has two good friends. I know he hasn't told you but he lost his older brother at Manassas Junction in 61. He was close to his older brother, and we passed his home not far back. The little boy on the river bank was his little brother. I wonder if he saw him or not? He is a fire eater just like Jimmy and meaner than a alligator if you make him mad, just like his older brothers. He got a cousin on one of the Blockade runners, but if you ask Jimmy he will tell you it is best damned one out of the bunch." Captain Hayes chuckled as he slapped the boys on their backs. "Now, go get some rest and if you have to, run Jimmy out of your bunk, even if he is hurt, just dump him on the floor. Sheese, a bump on the head and a mini ball graze on the arm, sheese, and he thinks he is hurt. NOW, GO GET SOME REST! One of the others out of 42 men can stand watch."
"Yes Sir!" both boys replied and saluted as they climbed down to the roof of the Hurricane deck and disappeared down the ladder to the deck. They walked along the outside of the main cabin entrance to the bow of the little steamer and looked down onto the boiler deck where the snout of the 12 pounder threatened anything that wanted to pick on the steamer as she pushed forward, cutting little bow wakes as she steamed on toward Port Hudson. They saw the Mud Clerk and Lacy talking, Lacy had boarded MISS LOU right before the fighting and didn't get a chance to get back on the WABASH before MISS LOU pulled away from the dock. He was glad now that he didn't have time, so Captain King hired him to assist his own Mr. Foster. The deck hands were once again at their poker game as the soldiers kept to themselves; they didn't care for the deckhands and the way they cheated at cards. The soldiers liked to cheat by their own rules. Sergeant Wells was back on with the rest of the men since he turned horses over to other mounted troops in the area. They could get new mounts in Mississippi. Sergeant Wells had turned his mounts over to Captain Jasper's men at Belle Bend; he did not see the captain but the private at Belle Bend looked like a mean fucker when mad. Conway and Micheal thought they all looked that way when they saw some of the troops that manned the guns at Belle Bend.
"Come on, let's go bug Jimmy!" Conway said as he grabbed Micheal's arm and tugged him through the door. They walked past the regular passengers in the long main hall that was being prepared for lunch. The furnishings had been pulled to the sides of the long cabin and long tables set in place, the black waiters were setting out place settings, they nodded to the boys as they walked to Micheal's cabin on the port side and entered the small cramped room. Jimmy was lying on top of the covers on the small bunk, reading one of Micheal's books, his golden, tanned, smooth body exposed to catch the air that came through the open window. "Well, lookie here, Micheal, exposed to everyone who enters the room!'
Jimmy jumped, "Damnit, y'all sure do love to scare me!" He took the book and covered his groin.
"Too late for shyness, my friend, we done saw that little snake in the wheat field!" Conway laughed as Jimmy turned red in the face.
"My snake is not little!" Jimmy said as he lay back on the pillows, the book still covering his groin.
"Is it just me, Micheal, or is that the proper use of books?" Conway winked at Jimmy and Micheal.
"Well, it sure ain't proper for us to use them that way in Arizonia, we use clothes and not books!" Micheal laughed as he edged closer to the bunk. "And my father would kill you if you stained my book, he paid five dollars for that copy of Edna Mae Alcott's Little Women!" Micheal yanked the book from Jimmy's grasp as he winced in pain as he moved his hurt arm too fast.
"Damn, Micheal, don't rip my arm off, I might need it again!" Jimmy said as he looked at it, the bandage still in place and stained with dry blood.
"I'm sorry, Jimmy, but look at it this way, now my book is safe and there is no secrets in the Army!" Jimmy blushed as he thought about what Micheal just said, his most private parts once again were in full view of his two friends.
"Besides, Jimmy, we got more than 4 more days on this here boat and I plan to sleep comfortable, that means as I was born. Micheal is the same way," and with that said he walked over and locked the door as Micheal sat down on the edge of the bunk and started to remove his shoes and socks. Jimmy smiled as he put his good left arm under his head and watched the show.
"Captain Thompson, Alexandria is just around the bend! Shall we prepare for action?"
"Yes, Mr. Young, run out the guns. We will give them the bow guns and starboard broadside and the stern chasers, just to let them know that we was here and that if they don't learn how to behave we will be back to give them more."
"Yes, Sir, Captain!" He turned to the drummers. "Beat to Quarters!"
John and Ernest grabbed their drums and sounded the call as Davie jumped up, full alert and ready for action, He walked over to Boat Howitzer and uncapped the vent and started the marines to loading the piece as they rolled it to face the new enemy ahead. "Men, time to send some gray backs to hell! John, Ernest, go below and help the gunners below down there, you'll have more protection than up here! No protesting, Liam would have my ass if something happened to you two. Now, move it!"
"Yes Sir, Davie!" The two boys ran to the ladder and down it with their drums beating against their backs.
Thompson smiled, he changed his voice slighty and eased up behind his Mid-Shipman "Mid-shipman, where do you want me, Sir!"
Without turning around, "Where your post is, Sailor!" and continued to look over his piece.
Thompson let out a laugh when Davie turned around. "So I guess I better make it to the pilothouse!"
Davie liked to have dropped when he realized he just gave an order to his captain. "Umm... Captain.. I think you know your post."
"Yes, I do, Davie, keep up the good work at ordering people around in a nice way the way you do and you'll make Captain for sure!" He slapped Davie on the back before heading down the ladder.
"Roy, there's your Yankee Ironclad, see that Lucifer Coal smoke shooting from her stacks!"
"Oh Shit." He jumped off his log and raced over to where the rest of the men had gathered.
"Sponge!" Captain Wood shouted.
The men grabbed the long spongers and dipped them in the buckets of water located below the gun and rammed them down the mouths of the cannon to swab them.
"Load!" The powder boys grabbed the powder charges from the caissons and came forward where they were taken by the next man and shoved down the barrels, then rammed home.
"Shell!" The 11 and a half pound round cannon balls were brought forward and shoved down the barrels with the long rammers and seated against the powder charges.
"Clear Vents!" A long rod was inserted into the gun's vent and the powder bag pierced.
"Primers!" The priming cords were inserted in the vents and the ends held loosely; all was quiet. The scurrying feet of the town boys were heard retreating fast up the hill toward town and to safety. Then the church bells began to ring, sounding the warning to the town's people to find safety from the iron monster that had returned.
"Gentlemen, we shall soon meet the enemy, may God have mercy on us!"
The bow of the Ironclad came into view, her powerful guns aimed out of the ports. The men were afraid, so was Captain Wood, he never seen guns that big before. They waited and watched the ironclad easing closer and closer as they stood behind their makeshift defense of cotton bales and wooden timbers.
"Captain Thompson, Sir, all guns loaded with exploding shells, 5 second fuse level, elevation on the screws, Sir!" First officer Young reported.
"Very well, Mr. Young. All ahead slow, Mr. Burr. Pilots, steer toward the bank to give our bow guns some firing room. Once they fire, steer for the center of the channel. Mr. Young, tell Mid-Shipman Phillips to fire once he has range. The young man deserves the first shot, also I want to see how good his judgement on range and elevation are."
"Yes, sir, Captain!" Young walked over to the ladder hatch and shouted to Davie he had the first shot once he had range.
"Yes, sir," came a confident reply from Davie as he ordered his crew to make adjustments to the piece.
"One degree Elevation on the screw, six second fuse!" Davie ordered.
"Yes, Sur!" the men said as they rammed the ball down the bore and set the screw. The vent was primed and the lanyard handed to Davie. Captain Thompson walked up behind him. "You may fire when ready, Mr. Phillips!"
Davie looked down his sights once more, then stepped back as the rest of the gunners covered their ears. He snatched the lanyard and the 12 pound howitzer sent her ball flying through the air and over the cotton bulwarks to crash among the caissons and supplies, exploding in a KABOOM, scattering the enemy troops.
Captain Thompson headed below and ordered all guns to be elevated to 2 notches above center. "I was right about that boy, he's going to make one fine sailor!" The rest of the gun crews smiled as they heard the second shot fire from the howitzer above and all tried to see where the shell would land. It too landed near the gun caissons, scattering more dust and men as they hid closer to the bulwarks, their small guns still not in range to reply.
"Bloody fuckin hell!" Roy said as he ducked down lower as the 2nd shell exploded, covering him in dust. "That there is just the signal gun according to what people say about them iron ships! Lord have merc..." The main battery in the bow of the Ironclad opened up, four loud booms. As the shells whistled toward them the men dropped to the ground as others ran back away from the caissons.
The first shell hit in front of the defenses and exploded in a large KABLAM, setting fire to the cotton bales and knocking timbers loose. The other shells rained around them, exploding as the men cowered. "We don't stand a chance," one man whispered as the fourth shell plowed into the ground behind him, throwing more men to ground and pulverizing another one.
A scream was heard coming from the hillside, Captain Wood saw the 10 year old boy running toward the smoking crater in the ground and the remains of his father. "Stop that boy, Damn it, get him to safety and out of here now!" Wood ordered as he watched the screaming, crying boy try and fight off the others as they dragged him back up the hill. "Papa, Papa," the little boy called over and over as the tears ran down his grimy cheeks.
"FIRE," Wood ordered. The Confederate guns roared and the balls flew toward the ironclad, clanging against the iron armor, denting it but not doing any damage.
"GOD DAMNIT!" Davie shouted. "Lower Elevation to center notch, 5 second fuse!"
The men lowered the barrel and the fuse was cut and the ball rammed home. The men stood back as Davie yanked the lanyard. The ball sailed low, brushing the top of the cotton bales to land under a caisson and explode n a roar as the secondary explosions from the powder and shell sent men flying everywhere as burning timber and wheels rolled.
"HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!" Wood shouted as he looked over at eight still men and the burning caisson. "ELEVATE THE GUNS 1 NOTCH, Exploding shells. #3 gun, use shell from the #4 supply. Quickly, men, Quickly!"
The Confederates replied, their shells aimed higher crashed against the armor plate as one exploded in front of the pilothouse. The second pilot covered his eyes as he fell from his post. Young grabbed him and laid him on the gun deck while he took the wheel and helped the other pilot steer the Ironclad as the bow guns roared again. The bow guns rolled back as the casemate filled with smoke, burning the men's eyes and throats. Their naked chests turning black from the powder and sweat as they sponged and reloaded. The center naked gun port closed due to it not having a gun mounted. "Damn, if only they had that 8 inch Brooke Rifle in place they could really make it hot on the Rebels."
The Alexandria Home Guards wanted to run, but Wood's shouting and cursing kept them at their posts, loading and sponging and firing without thinking as others reached for their rifles and began to fire at the ironclad. Their old bronze guns now hot to the touch as fingers blistered while loading them.
"FIRE!" Wood ordered, sending shells toward the ironclad as she moved closer. One hit the closed gun port and exploded, sending shrapnel inside, hitting the gunners and men. Some cursed as they gripped their arms, checking for damage, and continued their jobs while others were pulled back by the portside gun crews and one of them raced to fill the place of the fallen man.
"Head for the Center of the stream, we'll hit'em with the starboard guns!" Thompson ordered.
"Oh MY LORD AND THE VIRGIN MARY!" Roy cried when he saw the starboard guns being run out into battery as more shells crashed into the bulwarks as the men loaded their pieces.
"You pass the....." KABLAM! the shell exploded inside the bulwarks, the barrel now cantered toward the ground and the five men that were standing now lifeless.
Rifle fire continued to pepper the ironclad as Davie and the crew reloaded again. Soon they would be point blank range across from the Rebel battery. He yanked the lanyard, sending another shell toward the Rebels as he watched it land among the men.
"Phillips, get your crew below deck, the starboard guns shall finish what they started!" Thompson ordered from the ladder gangway. The men dropped what they were doing and quickly dropped below deck as the big ironclad came abreast the Rebels and the starboard guns opened up, sending shells into the smoking remains of the bulwarks. Two more guns were disabled as the last one active replied.
Captain Wood was bleeding. Shrapnel had hit him in the arm and over half his command was dead. He looked at Roy who was still standing but hurt as well, then over at the youth holding the flag. "Strike the colors, my boy! Maybe they will have some mercy on us." He dropped to his knees as a marine fired, he looked at the center of his gray uniform and the crimson rose from a piece of Yankee iron. "Sarah, oh my sweet Sarah," he whispered as his eyes glazed over and he fell into the clay.
"Quit firing, men, they have surrendered!" Thompson shouted. There was a shout from the crew. "Pilot, make course for Port Hudson!"
"Aye aye, captain!"
The USS BENTON swung around the bend, her black smoke floating over the town that slowly started to realize what a price they just paid. When they quit counting, 45 fathers and husbands would never walk or plow a field in Dixie again. Little boys cried as their mothers wept and pulled them close as they looked for something to cover their loved ones. Sarah Wood fainted when she found her husband in the clay. She knew now he never would meet his son she was carrying. Alexandria would never be the same again.
Once again, dear readers, we have made it the end of another chapter. I must apologize for taking so long with this one. Life has been hell, combined with work and other things. Also over the weekend I found that Tripod has removed my page. (they claim a technical mistake, hmm, 8 tech mistakes on Gay Writer Guild pages, hmmm. Sounds like the same bullshit a certain power company tells my Railroad when they fuck up something.) Well, enough of my bitching about that. I studied the engines and paddle wheel on the USS CAIRO and based the repairs from what I could tell about her operation.
I would like to thank Ed for his work on this chapter and the rest of the ones for NGL and High Iron.
I must also thank Willy B. and many others, including Chris out in California, for their continued support of me, also a very special friend that knows nothing about my writings but still gives me strength to continue.
I love to hear your comments at Swarri1349@aol.com
Until next time, Stephen
NOTE: TRIPOD has returned my pages to my site. I would like to think everyone for the group effort to have mine and the other writer's pages restored thanks Guys.