Because it was still early, Donizzio put on a pot of coffee for his guests. As captain of the motor launch, he considered anyone aboard to be his guest.
“You’d make a great tour guide with your own boat, Mike,” said Father Rick.
“Planning on it, Padre,” said Donizzio. At 0800, Campbell said they should head for the Navy Department. Donizzio stepped onto the pier and walked up to a small building on the roadway that appeared to be a general store. He asked the proprietor where he could call for a carriage. The store owner called up to his son, who came bounding down the stairs.
“This young man will be happy to assist you,” said the store owner. The kid, maybe 17 years old, ran behind the store and a couple of minutes later brought the horse drawn carriage to the front of the store. Donizzio hopped in and they rode down to the pier.
The carriage pulled up to the Navy Department at 0900. All three officers were wearing the period clothing that the SEALs had stolen from Morton’s Dry Goods Store in Charleston.
The building that housed the Navy Department was a two-story structure with plain but elegant stone carving around its entrance, which was four steps above the street.
As they strode through the front door they all had the same thought: “No metal detector?”
The lobby of the building had no windows and was dimly lit by gas lamps. An officer sat at a desk off to the right about 25 feet from the entrance. On the other side of the room, opposite from the officer’s desk, was a couch and a couple of chairs. Campbell walked up to the officer and got right to the point.
“Good morning, Lieutenant. We’re officers from the USS California, which you may know as the Gray Ship. We’ve been sent by our captain to contact Secretary Wells.”
Looking at their Morton’s Dry Goods best the officer asked, “Are these your normal uniforms?”
“The Captain ordered the uniform of the day to be civilian clothes for the purpose of our visit,” Campbell said.
“Please wait, gentlemen. I’ll ask if Secretary Wells can see you.” The officer walked through a large doorway opening.
Lt. Jack observed, “I guess they haven’t invented an intercom system yet.” They expected to be kept waiting awhile so they sat on the large sofa in the lobby. The union officer burst into the room in less than a minute.
“Secretary Wells will see you immediately,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “Please follow me.”
I guess the Secretary is anxious to see us, Campbell thought. They walked down a long hallway with quaint opaque windows on the doors, each imprinted with the purpose of the office. The officer opened the door and led them into Wells’ office. The room was 20 feet by 20 feet, tastefully decorated with dark wood paneling. Each wall boasted paintings of famous naval battles.
Gideon Wells, age 59, with the largest white beard any of them had ever seen, sprang to his feet and almost sprinted around his desk to greet his visitors.
“So you’re from the Gray Ship I’ve been hearing so much about,” Wells said. “It is fortuitous indeed that you should seek me out.” Charmingly stuffy language, thought Fr. Rick. “Gentlemen, my staff and I have been struggling for days to devise a plan to contact you. Please be seated.” Campbell introduced his colleagues and himself.
A sailor appeared carrying a large tray with coffee, tea, and baked snacks. Wells asked, “Do you mind if I ask my aide, Commander Roebling, to join us?”
“Mr. Secretary, we’re officers of the United States Navy,” Campbell said. “That makes you our boss, sir. Please ask anyone you wish to join us.” Commander David Roebling appeared and Wells introduced him.
Secretary Wells began the meeting. “I have heard many reports of Gray Ship sightings, most of which sound fanciful and not quite believable. Commander Campbell, please enlighten us.”
Campbell began with the Daylight Event, and all of the strange things that happened over the last three days. He discussed Fort Sumter and how he witnessed the bombardment along with the captain. Campbell decided that he should get right to the major point and backfill the details. Gideon Wells was amazed. He didn’t know that his mind was about to be blown, even though he wouldn’t describe it that way.
“Our ship and all of its crew have somehow managed to stumble into an opening in time itself,” Campbell said. “We’ve been calling it a time portal, also known as a wormhole. Moments before the Daylight Event that I mentioned, the date was April 10, 2013, 152 years from now. We can’t explain it, but one thing is certain: We have travelled through time; we are from the future.”
Gideon Wells’ eyes were riveted on Campbell. He then looked into the eyes of Fr. Rick and Lt. Jack. His aide Commander Roebling sat motionless, letting the Secretary deliver the response. “Gentlemen,” said Wells, “do you expect us to believe this nonsense?”
“No sir, we don’t,” said Campbell. “That’s why I’m here to extend the invitation of our captain to visit the USS California, the Gray Ship. We’re inviting you to visit the future and see it with your own eyes.”
Chapter 16
Gideon Wells didn’t want to waste any time, and he told Campbell that he would prepare to visit the California the next day. He ordered his aide, Roebling, to cancel all of his appointments for the next two days. He also told Roebling to find Admiral David Farragut and order him to join them. Farragut was an experienced admiral in the Union Navy, and Wells wanted an officer with a lot of sea knowledge to look at the Gray Ship.
Roebling arranged for sleeping quarters for the Gray Ship officers.
A coach took them to the waterfront at 8 a.m. the next day, April 14. As they approached the launch, Wells, Roebling, and Farragut exchanged glances. This elegant vessel was only a tender for the Gray Ship, Wells thought. Donizzio had tightened the lines to make it easier for his new guests to board the launch.
When they were all aboard, Campbell invited them into the pilot house. He introduced Donizzio, the boat captain, and asked him to explain the workings of the motor launch. Donizzio showed them the radar and depth meter, and described all of the switches on the large console. He pointed to the GPS plotter and explained that they had no satellite navigation. “Global Positioning System?” asked Farragut. Campbell, deciding that their education on twenty-first-century technology would begin now, answered his question. He described the rocket technology used to put satellites into orbit. He tried to explain how a metal object can orbit the earth.
“How many of these satellites are in the sky, Commander?” asked Wells.
“Over 1,000, sir, about half owned by the United States. But, of course, I’m talking about the year 2013. Now, presumably, there are none,” said Campbell.
Donizzio asked Corporal Falanga to cast off the lines. When Donizzio turned on the twin Cummings diesel engines, each with 320 horsepower, the rumble was something that his new guests had never heard, or felt, before.
***
Within a half hour, the California came into view. As they approached the ship, all that Wells, Farragut, and Roebling could do was stare. Neither they, nor anyone else in 1861, had ever seen a vessel so large. Farragut asked what about her top speed. When Campbell told him it was over 30 knots, he just shook his head. Campbell also explained the armaments that they were looking at. It was difficult to explain a guided missile to a man who fired cannon balls.
When they pulled next to the California, the ladder awaited them. Donizzio guided the boat so the exit gate lined up exactly next to the ladder threshold. As Wells stepped aboard, the shrill sound of the boatswain’s pipe sounded across the ship, followed by, “United States Navy, arriving.” It was the traditional way of announcing that a dignitary has just boarded the ship and what office the dignitary held. When Captain Patterson came aboard, the announcement would always be “California, arriving.”
When the group reached the quarterdeck, the ship’s ceremonial entry area, a phalanx of sailors in dress blues came to attention and saluted. Campbell escorted his guests to the captain’s office.
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Wells and his colleagues would meet with the captain alone. The name Ashley can be male or female, and they were expecting to see a man. When Wells, Farragut, and Roebling were escorted into her office, Ashley almost felt sorry for them. As they looked at her they were more than confused, they were visibly flummoxed. In 1861 the very idea of a woman on a Navy ship was an anathema, but a woman captain was unbelievable. And a colored woman captain was unthinkable. Ashley approached each man individually and gave him a warm, firm handshake.
“Gentlemen, please be seated.” They sat around a conference table. Ashley didn’t want to sit behind her desk, in deference to the Secretary of the Navy. Ashley got right to the point.
“I realize that you’re surprised that the California’s commanding officer is not only a woman but a black woman, or ‘colored’ to use the language of your day.” She gave them a brief synopsis of the advancement of African Americans over the past 152 years. She told them that two Secretaries of State in a row were black, and that the President of the United States in 2013 is a black man.
Gideon Wells, a staunch abolitionist, hated the institution of slavery and the treatment of “colored people.” He even had changed parties from Democrat to Republican in no small part to support Abraham Lincoln in his White House run because he was so enthusiastic about Lincoln’s desire to abolish slavery.
Wells looked at Ashley and said, “Madam Captain, I can only praise God that I have seen this day, and have seen with my own eyes the vindication of what President Lincoln stands for.” He couldn’t wait to report to Lincoln.
“Gentlemen, I fully appreciate how you must feel,” Ashley said. “You’re on a ship that you probably could not have imagined, meeting people who claim that they come from another time, and you’re no doubt thinking that we all must be insane. I know that you would like an explanation of how this occurred. I’m afraid that I can’t give you one because we’re all as mystified as you. But the reality is that a few days ago this ship and all its crew were in the year 2013, and here we are in 1861. For lack of a better phrase, we’ve travelled in time. I believe you met Lieutenant John Thurber. Before he entered the Navy he was an well-known author and had written a famous book on the phenomenon of time travel. In a few minutes I’m going to ask Lt. Thurber to join us for lunch to answer all of your questions. I’m also going to invite Father Rick Sampson, our ship’s chaplain, who you also met. Father Sampson, besides his religious vocation and Navy commission, is an expert on the Civil War. The war for us is history, but we now find that it has only just begun.”
Father Rick and Lt. Jack were escorted into the captain’s office where lunch was served. After lunch and a futile attempt at small talk, Ashley asked Lt. Jack to give their guests a synopsis of his book, Living History, as well as his personal experiences in crossing the time portal.
After Jack finished his report, Wells asked, “Lieutenant, in your two previous experiences going back in time, did you do anything that may have changed the future?”
“No sir,” said Jack. “Although both of my experiences prior to this one were short, something just told me not to change anything. I guess it’s a philosophical point Mr. Secretary. If you change the past, you won’t know what the future may hold.”
“Mr. Secretary, I think you have raised the most important question,” Ashley said. “This ship can have a dramatic impact on the Civil War. Dare we do that?” Wells didn’t reply. He just stroked his beard.
***
Ashley asked Father Rick to discuss the Civil War, and what would happen over the next four years.
“Madam Captain,” Wells shouted, “did you say four years?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll let Father Rick fill in the details.”
“Gentlemen,” Father Rick said, “I’m going to review what I’ve studied in the history books, our history books, and from that history, what is going to happen in the next few years. The books told us that the Battle of Fort Sumter would happen at 0430 on the morning of April 12, 1861. Captain Patterson personally witnessed the first volley and checked her time piece. It was exactly at the time the history books said it would be.” He looked at Ashley, who nodded.
“Over the next two months there will be battles, but they will amount to no more than skirmishes. In about three months, on July 21, the first major engagement of the war will occur near Manassas, Virginia by a creek called Bull Run. There was a great deal of speculation, especially on the Union side, that this battle would be decisive and would convince Jefferson Davis that it would be futile to continue the war. Two inexperienced armies clashed, ours led by General Irwin McDowell, the South led by General P. G. T. Beauregard. Most expected the battle to be a Union victory. Instead it was a defeat. The battle saw 2,896 Union casualties, including 460 killed. The South had 1,982 casualties with 387 killed. Bull Run, or Manassas as the South called it, was the largest and the bloodiest battle in our nation’s history up to that point.”
Admiral Farragut spoke. “Father Sampson, those numbers are startling. Are you sure they’re correct?”
“Yes, sir,” said Father Rick. “It will get worse, much worse. For example, next year, on September 17, 1862 the Battle of Antietam will be fought. The South called it the Battle of Sharpsburg. It will be the bloodiest single day in American history, even up to 2013. All told 22,717 were killed, missing or wounded on both sides.” Wells, Farragut and Roebling just looked at each other. Wells took a sip of water.
“Despite the massive casualties,” Father Rick said, “there was no clear tactical victory at Antietam. There are going to be many other major battles in the next four years. The names are familiar to any school child from our time who studies history.” Father Rick looked at his notes.
“I’m going to read to you, by order of date, the costliest battles of the next four years. These aren’t the only battles but the costliest. The casualty numbers include dead, wounded, missing, or captured.” Father Rick then read from his list. He spoke with a calculated monotony, as if reading a list of the dead at Sunday Mass:
Fort Donelson - February 1862 - 19,455 casualties.
Shiloh - April 1862 - 23,741
Manassas, Second Battle - August 1862 - 25,251
Antietam - September 1862 - 26,134
Stone’s River - December 1862 - 24,645
Chancellorsville - May 1863 - 30,099
Gettysburg - July 1863 - 51,112
Chickamauga - September 1863 - 34,624
Spotsylvania - May 1864 - 27,399
Wilderness - May 1864 - 25,416
He looked up from his notes. “Gentlemen, now I’m going to read the total casualties of the Civil War: All told, there were approximately 620,000 total casualties on both sides. Recent studies indicate that the total may be closer to 800,000. The next four years are going to be Hell on earth.”
Wells, Farragut, and Roebling sat, ashen faced. They said nothing.
Gideon Wells then put his face in his hands and wept.
Chapter 17
Bradley seethed. Why wasn’t I invited to meet with the Union leaders in the Captain’s office? I’m second in command, and who does she invite but a chaplain and a brand new officer. Did I spend 24 years in this Navy to be treated like shit? Dashing Ashley is in over her head as usual. I know every inch of this goddam ship and she brings in the rookies.
Bradley was heading to his office when he saw Chief Petty Officer Albert Ray walking toward him. Ray, the Chief Gunnery Mate, worked directly under the command of Lt. Cmdr. Andrea Rubin, the Weapons Officer. Bradley had known Chief Ray for years, going back to his drinking days. They had closed many a bar together. He was happy that Ray was on the California. The two men had a natural feel for each other. They both considered themselves “old South,” Bradley from Louisiana and Ray from Alabama. They both shared views on various subjects, especially race, that were anachronisms in 2013 America. Bradley didn’t like black people but kept his views to himself, although he couldn’t recall what he may have said during long
evenings on a barstool. Chief Ray had contempt for black people generally and Captain Ashley Patterson in particular. Like Bradley, he saw this young woman’s rise to the command of a Navy ship as a politically correct bow from the top brass because she was a darling of the media.
“Good morning, Chief,” Bradley said to his old friend.
“Good morning, sir, and how are you doing?” Ray asked. Word gets around fast on a ship, and Ray had heard that the visitors from the Union were being entertained without the presence of the XO. “I guess our fine captain figures she can do without your knowledge and experience, Commander,” said Ray.
“Let’s have a cup of coffee in my office,” said Bradley. He escorted Ray in, and closed the door behind him.
Bradley knew that he couldn’t pull off his idea of defecting to the Confederacy without help. The man sitting across from him just may be that help.
Chief Albert Ray, 43 years-old, balding and overweight, had been in the Navy for 21 years. His job, as Chief Gunners Mate, was to oversee the condition and readiness of all weapons on the ship. He answered to Lt. Commander Andrea Rubin, the ship’s weapons officer. He hated reporting to a woman although he hid his contempt. Like Bradley, Ray wasn't pleased with the direction his career was going.
“What bothers me, my old friend, is that it’s easy to figure out what’s going to happen,” said Bradley. “Captain Patterson, or Dashing Ashley as I call her, is meeting with Lincoln’s Navy Secretary at this very moment.”
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