The Cotton Run

by Daniel Wyatt

  “I now pronounce you man and wife,” said Sullivan, his steady voice ringing across the deck. “You may now kiss the bride.”

  Denning turned and lifted Marie’s veil. He kissed her on the mouth.

  The sailors cheered.

  * * * *

  Denning locked the door to what would be the couple’s honeymoon quarters in the aft quarterdeck, then lit a gaslight. He watched Marie remove her veil, dropping it on her carrying bag. She smiled at him, tilting her head. He fantasized about what she would look like without a stitch on. That moment was very near. She seemed to read his mind. She stripped to her petticoat, then her underwear and tight-fitting, see-through camisole. He threw his hat and coat to the floor and stopped there, still staring at her, his hands on his hips.

  “Is this really happening?” he said.

  “You know it is.” She removed her undergarments and stood before him. “Now, your turn.”

  Within seconds, they were naked and under the covers. Denning reached for her waist with both hands. “I was wondering,” he sighed.

  “What?”

  “What are we going to do for two days at sea?”

  “Guess,” she said, bending backwards, taking the gaslight and blowing it out. “We’re cabin boys,” she said in the darkness.

  “Right. And we can feast on oysters and champagne.”

  “I beg to differ,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “I hate oysters.”

  “Very well, then. Champagne without the oysters.”

  “Now, where were we,” Marie said.

  Denning was truly happy for the first time in his life. Yes, there was a God in heaven. There had to be.

  That night, mid the calm Atlantic waters, Joshua and Marie were of one mind, one body, one heart, one soul. And Marie was not the least bit seasick.

  * * * *

  Nassau, Bahamas

  Later that week, under a heavy, hazy sun, Clement Sullivan walked down the ship’s gangplank to the wharf, where Denning met him with two sealed envelopes. The Hickory Hill skipper looked at the names written on the outside. “I’ll see that the proper people get them,” he said, stuffing the envelopes inside his coat. “Goodbye and good luck.”

  They shook hands.

  Sullivan turned and made his way up the gangplank. The Hickory Hill was shipshape and seaworthy, ready to sail with her military contraband. Destination: Wilmington. Denning waved to Cogswell at the rail. Cogswell looked down and waved back, pipe in mouth. They would probably never see each other again. Marie slipped her hand into her husband’s. They watched the blockade runner steam out of the harbor. Then they turned their attention to the English freighter on the other side of the wharf. They would be on it inside another two hours.

  Denning thought of the contents of the envelopes. They were his idea, approved by Marie. The first envelope bore the name of The Lads of Liberty and the woman now in charge of the organization. Inside was a bank draft in English pounds — a large donation to the cause that Marie worked so hard at. The second envelope, containing two bank drafts, was addressed to Maxwell Toland at the mayor’s office. One draft was a donation for a building project along the Wilmington waterfront that the mayor had in mind; the other was for an organization that Maxwell Toland helped found that distributed food and clothing to the poor of Wilmington and surrounding area. Inside both envelopes were notes to say that Denning must remain anonymous.

  Denning sighed. He was warmed with an enormous sense of relief. He had now given away more than half the money he had made in the war. The rest, still a sizable amount, he would keep for him and Marie, to start a new life together overseas.

  His conscience was clear.

  Chapter thirty-five

  Liverpool, England — April 1865

  Joshua and Marie Denning relaxed in the back seat of the covered carriage and let the driver take them through the wet streets to the docks alongside the Mersey River. It was the kind of spring weather England was noted for, cloudy and rainy.

  The driver drew the horses to a halt. The rain diminished, then stopped altogether. The sky remained a somber gray. There loomed a heavy smell of smoke. The Dennings were in the heart of the industrial shipbuilding region of England. Many of the blockade runners had been built here and were still being built for the Confederacy. Joshua took his wife’s hand. The two emerged from the carriage and looked upon the dozen or so large runners on the busy dry dock under various stages of construction from the keels up.

  “Your friend isn’t here yet,” Marie said.

  Joshua pulled out his gold chain and eyed his pocket watch, puffing on an imported Virginia cigar. “I’m sure he got the message. We got here a little early. We’ll wait. There’s no hurry.”

  “I suppose not. There they are, Joshua.”

  Joshua stared ahead.

  The Silver Sally had been built in these same dry docks by some of the same skilled craftsmen who were concentrating their efforts on the new ships now. Neither Joshua nor Marie had seen a blockade runner in nearly two years. The sight of the ships beam to beam brought back memories for both of them. Although they were thousands of miles across the ocean, Joshua and Marie Denning were staying informed of the American Civil War by perusing dispatches written by foreign correspondents to French and English newspapers, in particular by young Charles Bishop of The Times.

  Only two weeks after slipping through the blockade in August, 1863, the Dennings had learned that the Davis government had acted, as promised and as Denning had predicted. The Rebel president took a more major role in the blockade-running business. The War Department bought ships outright, seized majority control of others, and appointed a government official to administer the export supply of cotton. Not only had they commandeered half the outbound cargo space on ships, but they took first option on half the incoming cargo. Captain Denning was not surprised when a Confederate Act of Congress in February 1864 gave the Davis government the power to ban the importation of most non-essential goods. But those in the know saw that it was too late. Fewer and fewer ships had been sneaking through the ever-tightening Union blockade anyway. The beleaguered Rebel armies, including Robert E. Lee’s once-mighty Army of Northern Virginia, were being pushed back battle after battle. The Confederacy was starving, dying a slow death due to lack of supplies and equipment to wage war against an enemy that was outnumbering them in every precious category.

  Back in January, 1865, the Dennings had opened up a copy of The Times of London to read an exciting Bishop dispatch. The Englishman wrote of the daring exploits of skipper Clement Sullivan of the Hickory Hill. Clement had evaded capture on an inbound run off Fort Fisher, not knowing that the fort had fallen during a massive and successful Union amphibious operation while he was away in Nassau. The Dennings knew then that with Fort Fisher in the hands of the Union, the last Rebel port of Wilmington was blocked completely to any shipping. The cotton runs were at an end. The news came fast and furious. Since then the Union General William Tecumseh Sherman, after plundering Georgia, had wreaked havoc on the Carolinas. The Rebel capital of Richmond had fallen. Grant had Lee on the run in Virginia. The Davis government had fled South. The once-proud Rebel armies were no longer feared. Although it was a nation only in theory, the Confederacy was still fighting on. But it was as good as dead.

  The Dennings looked up.

  Another carriage drew up alongside, and a young man in a raincape emerged, a thick newspaper in his left hand. Charles Bishop stood proudly, not the nervous young man Denning remembered. He had grown a thick beard. He had put on some weight, and he was wearing a more conservative suit and tie than the flashy attire he had worn in Nassau. Now he was an experienced and famous overseas correspondent who had returned from the American Civil War.

  “Captain Denning.”

  “Bishop.”

  “How goes it?” The Englishman asked, sounding like an American.

  “Contented.”

  “It’s over, captain. The war’s ove
r. Here she is,” Bishop said, holding up the afternoon copy of the Liverpool Express.

  Denning saw the bold headline in front of him. LEE SURRENDERS TO GRANT TO END AMERICAN CIVIL WAR.

  “What took so long?” Denning asked, looking at his wife and catching tears of sadness in her eyes.

  “There, there, ma’am,” Bishop said, gravely. “It’s tragic, I know. But the Confederacy was destined to fall. Lee was not invincible. I saw that at Gettysburg.”

  “This is my wife, Marie,” Denning said, a slight smile on his lips.

  Bishop politely removed his hat. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Denning.”

  She wiped her tears. “My husband told me you were aboard the Silver Sally during his daylight run.”

  “Quite right. I was.”

  “And I was ashore, waving to him.”

  “Oh, yes, one of the women on the beach. That was you! Remarkable. All three of us were there. Your husband was right about the run.”

  “How?”

  “It made history. He was the only one ever to do it. And The Times loved the story. After that I could do no wrong.”

  “We’ve been keeping track of you and reading your accounts,” Marie said.

  “Thank you. I owe it to one man. I’m indebted to your husband, Mrs. Denning.”

  “Nonsense. You earned it. You obviously had the talent,” Denning said. “You just needed a place and time.”

  “Thank you. That’s terribly kind of you. By the way, sir, Captain Sullivan sends you his regards. He joined the Royal Navy. Just spoke to him last week. He hired your old navigator, Ben Woodson.”

  “They made it. How about that!”

  “And I saw Cogswell.”

  “You saw Homer?”

  “Yes. He and his family retired up in Canada — Nova Scotia — before Fort Fisher fell. He bought himself a big sailboat, he did. He took me on it. Fine ship.”

  “He made it, too! I’m glad.” Denning paused. “When did you get back?”

  “After Fort Fisher fell.”

  “What are you doing now?”

  “I work for myself. I write stories for a number of British papers and magazines through a news bureau that I helped found. They call it freelancing,” Bishop said.

  “Is that a fact? Congratulations.”

  “It’s a new, changing world out there. A trans-Atlantic telegraph cable is coming. And just this week I saw a demonstration of a machine that will print stories by pressing letter keys, almost like a portable printing press. It will revolutionize the newspaper industry and corresponding. Yes, sir, this is quite the age we’re in.”

  It was an age the South hadn’t been able to keep up with, Denning knew. And it did them in.

  “Where are you living, captain?”

  “Near Paris. I bought into a country vineyard. A little sideline of mine. Not as profitable as running the blockade, but it’s legitimate and less dangerous.”

  Bishop laughed. “Splendid. We should have dinner somewhere, and catch up on the last two years. I know a wonderful place not far from here. The Palace.”

  “I saw it,” Denning acknowledged. “We’ll be along. I... I want to look around a while.”

  Bishop understood. “Of course, captain. I’ll run along and reserve a table for us.”

  “Do that. We’ll be along smartly.”

  “Of course.” He tipped his hat to Marie. “Madam.”

  “Mr. Bishop.”

  The Dennings watched the carriage leave, splashing through some puddles. As they turned back to the ships, Joshua was the first to speak after a long silence. “They never got into action,” he said, his eyes hopping from runner to runner. “It’s the end of an era. Funny, you know.”

  “What?”

  “The war. It seems like ancient history. It changed a lot of people. Carlisle. Balsinger. Bishop. Cogswell. You. Me. Some for better, some for worse.”

  Marie put her arm through his. “Let’s forget the war. Let’s talk about us.”

  “Us?”

  “I think now’s the time to tell you, so that we have something to celebrate at dinner.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “You’re going to be a father,” Marie said.

  The words hit Joshua like a cannon shot. “Are you serious? But... I thought... you couldn’t.”

  “It must be this English air.”

  Joshua was so happy he kissed her on the lips. He released her slowly. “Promise me that if it’s a boy we won’t call him Robert or Bobby. I still don’t like that name. I’m not too crazy about Matthew, either.”

  “I promise, Joshua. No Matthew or Robert.” She smiled. “Now we’ll be a family of three.”

  “And maybe more,” Denning added. “How about twins?”

  “Dear me. One at a time. Please.”

  Afterword

  From the list of The Cotton Run’s characters, only Edwin Stanton and Lafayette Baker actually existed. The others are fictional, including the ships and their names.

  The Civil War

  Three million men fought, six hundred thousand died. Two-thirds of those died from disease and not from bullets. The four years of fighting cost the Confederacy $2 billion, the Union $3 billion. Indirect expenses including property damages, pensions, and such pushed the final combined total to a staggering $15 billion debt. It took years for Washington to sort it all out.

  In the midst of a financial boom in the late 1860s, the Northern states could handle the expenses. The Southern economy collapsed.

  Gettysburg

  Gettysburg was the turning point of the war, as well as the bloodiest battle in the history of the Western Hemisphere. Fifty thousand Americans fell dead or injured over the three-day affair. Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia was soundly defeated. Some say it was due to Lee’s overconfidence. Others say it was his cautious commanders who did not take advantage of opportunities in the first and second days.

  After a day of rest, Lee withdrew his battered army to Virginia, never to mount another offensive operation on the enemy’s soil. Any inkling of foreign intervention retreated with Lee.

  On the same site four months later, Lincoln gave his Gettysburg Address. It lives on to this day as one of the greatest speeches ever made.

  The following year, Lincoln was re-elected for his second term.

  Blockade Running

  September 6, 1863 saw Morris Island, at the entrance to Charleston harbor, surrender to the Union, seriously restricting the port to any major blockade-running operations. This left Wilmington the last of the open Rebel ports, until nearby Fort Fisher fell in January 1865 to Union naval forces, in the world’s largest amphibious operation until D-Day in World War II.

  The Union blockade was instrumental in bringing the Confederacy to extinction. In the first year of war, one in ten ships was caught; by 1862, one in eight; 1863, one in four; 1864, one in three. By the last year of the conflict, blockade running had become a shadow of its 1861-1863 heyday. Only one in two ships was beating the gunboats. All told, sixteen hundred vessels had made eight thousand round trips in the years 1861-1865.

  More than a thousand blockade-runners were captured, of which 355 were sunk, burned, beached, or destroyed. The value of the ships and their cargo was estimated at $35 million. In four years, the blockade runners exported 1.25 million bales of cotton and imported $200 million worth of goods, including 600,000 small arms, 600,000 shoes, two million pounds of saltpeter, used in the making of gunpowder, and over a million pounds of lead.

  None of the above was enough to win the war.

  Lafayette Baker

  He was caught spying on Lincoln’s predecessor, President Andrew Johnson, at the White House and was fired by Stanton shortly after on February 8, 1866.

  Baker published a book, History of the U.S. Secret Service, in 1867, much to Stanton’s embarrassment. In it, Baker stated that he had given Stanton the diary of John Wilkes Booth (Lincoln’s assassin) after Booth had been captured and shot. The statement caus
ed a storm of controversy leading to a House of Representatives commission that eventually found the diary in some forgotten War Department file minus eighteen of its pages.

  Baker had escaped several attempts on his life until he died in 1868, a bitter man. Some modern writers have speculated that Baker had been poisoned and that he and Stanton were both involved in a conspiracy to cover up the true details of Lincoln’s assassination. It has also been conjectured that the missing eighteen pages contained the names of Booth’s clandestine associates, some of them influential Northern businessmen and politicians, people Stanton and Baker knew. There are historians today who believe that John Wilkes Booth was never apprehended and that a look-alike was accidentally shot and buried in his place.

  But that’s another story.

  Edwin Stanton

  He saw his dream of a war-time, state-controlled telegraph network under his control come to pass, when he established the Federal Military Telegraph System in late 1863. The service soon employed twelve thousand men and averaged over three thousand messages daily. Stanton saw to it that the military field commanders, including General in Chief of the Union armies, Ulysses S. Grant, had no power over it.

  Stanton bitterly opposed Andrew Johnson’s soft reconstruction plans and was asked by the president to resign his Secretary of War position in 1867. Stanton refused and was subsequently suspended by Johnson. The Senate restored Stanton’s job, only to have Johnson try to remove him again. The Radicals had the evidence they needed and called for impeachment proceedings on Johnson for his actions against Stanton, in addition to his failing to fulfill the Radicals’ reconstruction plans and for treating Congress disrespectfully. It didn’t work. The Radicals failed by one vote of the Senate two-thirds majority to impeach. Johnson finished his term, only to be defeated by General Ulysses Grant in the presidential election of 1869.