by Jim Musgrave
The serving maid returned with the drinks. "Thank you, Grace," said Sinclair, pulling the large brass ale mug to him and taking a swig. Foam tickled his upper lip, and he wiped it clean.
"You are welcome, Mister Ellwood. I now know of the perfect gift for your lady, sir! We was talkin' about it in the back." The young woman reached over to a box on a table nearby and pulled out what looked to be an intricate quilt with colorful, square designs, which resembled a ladder or tracks of some kind.
"My, how lovely! You are correct, Grace. My Penelope adores quilts."
"Yes, these here are made by women in New York. We call them 'Union Quilts.' This is one we named the 'Jacob's Ladder or the Underground Railroad' print. It's in memory of those poor black souls who are being held in miserable slavery down South. The only way they can find their freedom is to die and go up God's Ladder, or find their way onto the Abolitionists' Railroad up to us in the North!" Grace spread the quilt over the top of the table, and the two men stared down at it.
Walter was about to ask the ignorant wench how she knew these black creatures would be better off in the hands of government profiteers, but he thought better of it. It was best to maintain his neutral decorum. "Quite charming, my dear. Yes, I do believe you have something there. Wrap it up, and I'll purchase it."
Chapter Fourteen: The Virginia
Richmond, September 11, 1861
Chief designer and naval ordnance officer of the Confederate Navy, John M. Brooke, was in the office of naval construction supervisor, John L. Porter. The two men were jawing at each other, toe-to-toe, beard-to-beard, and Porter seemed to be losing the shouting match.
"Look here, John, I've got men tearing up the railroad tracks all over Virginia, down the Carolinas and over into Mississippi. Why is that? Because your iron works can't produce anything thicker than 1-inch armor plate! How is that going to stand up to those big Union guns? I need to enclose and protect my rifles and cannons with a gun deck that has over three inches of armor. What can you do for me?"
Porter grabbed a red bandana he had stuffed into his porkpie hat and wiped it across his perspiring brow. "We're short on iron all over the South. I know you think yours is the most important project going, but there are a lot of men dying because we don't have railway transportation to hospitals in Richmond. Why? Because your men are tearing up all of the tracks for that infernal beast of yours!"
"I have men working day and night paring down those charred timbers on this ship, and I need that iron to lay a good cover over her. This government can't get me iron, so I have to get it somewhere! Besides, the Merrimack's engines were so waterlogged they had to be condemned. I'm working to get them ready as well."
"I understand your dilemma, John. No place in the South can produce the iron you need. I'm trying to get some blockade-runners to deliver the goods from France, England and Austria, but I don't know if they'll get here on time." Porter felt sorry for poor Brooke. He had plunged himself totally into the effort to convert this old steamer into an ironclad, and he did want to help in some way. It was just that Brooke was such a difficult man to work with. He would go off into tirades against the entire Confederate government, and Porter often thought he bordered upon treason, if it had not been for the designer's unrelenting drive toward his goal of creating a true battle ship for the cause of Southern states' rights.
Brooke sat down on a stool near the window and pulled open his shirt collar stays. "I don't know if we'll make it. Sometimes I think it's a useless attempt."
Porter walked slowly over to the taller and much grayer man and put a tentative hand on his shoulder. "We're all in this together. You keep forgetting that. In fact, I talked to an officer on Mallory's staff, and he says we have a secret weapon in the works." Porter leaned over to whisper conspiratorially, "He told me there's a spy in New York right now who has orders to destroy any armored ship that the Yankees can build! You just may have clear sailing up the Potomac, my friend. One of your famous Brooke rifles may give old Abe Lincoln a new part in his beard!"
Brooke stood up. "That's all I hear around here, John. Big talk about spies and secret weapons. Well, I didn't join this fight to build a rumor. My Virginia will be ready for Hampton Roads, or I'll die trying! But you have to get me more iron, do you hear?" John Brooke poked a long finger into the shorter man's chest. "And don't you put your hopes on secret assassins. Wars are won with blood, sweat and tears. But you're right about my feeling all alone. You have to show me I am not!"
Chapter Fifteen: Romantic Interlude
September 12, 1861, New York City
Dana Greene was spending his first three-day leave of the war with his beloved Anna, who had come down from Maryland to spend time with him in New York. Greene was beside himself with passionate joy, as he believed he was truly on a hero's journey, right out of the pages of Walt Whitman. As he waited for his love under the street lamp in front of the New-York Times building on Printing House Square, he felt for the small book of poetry in his uniform's coat pocket.
There was a special poem he wanted to read to Anna before he explained how, after the war, they were going with Captain Ericsson and his wife to Easter Island where they would live out their lives in native splendor under the palm trees. The poem was "A Woman Waits for Me," and Greene knew it would thrill Anna.
He knew a lot of the poem by heart, and it began, "A woman waits for me, she contains all, nothing is lacking, yet all were lacking if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of the right man were lacking. Sex contains all, bodies, souls, meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, results, promulgations, songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery, the seminal milk, all hopes, benefactions, bestowals, all the passions, loves, beauties, delights of the earth, all the governments, judges, gods, follow'd persons of the earth, these are contain'd in sex, as parts of itself, and justifications of itself."
The poem told of women like the ones on Easter Island, who freely gave of themselves to men, and who were independent and strong, unlike the weak, emotionally clinging women of Europe and the United States. Captain Ericsson had explained to him that the women on Easter Island were equal to the men, as women's suffrage had been part of the early practices of Lemuria. The natives owned nothing in Nature, so all was freely communal, and women were given the same rights as men.
Greene opened the book and read a few more lines from Whitman's poem, "They are not one jot less than I am, they are tann'd in the face by shining suns and blowing winds, their flesh has the old divine suppleness and strength, they know how to swim, row, ride, wrestle, shoot, run, strike, retreat, advance, resist, defend themselves, they are ultimate in their own right— they are calm, clear, well-possess'd of themselves." Anna would be one of these independent women—as they would all be autonomous from war and from the government's tawdry civilization.
When he first saw Anna on foot, walking toward him down 42nd Street, he could see she was proudly wearing her new Coiffure Josephine, the newest chic from France about which she had written in her letters to him. This new hairstyle featured a "birds nest," a small bow formed in the center of the nest (noeudpapillion), on which the puffed hair was supported. The chignon, or nape of the neck, was formed of the natural hair arranged over Topseys, or tight curls. Surmounted with a comb, the whole was covered with an invisible net.
As she came even closer, Greene's visions of her running topless in a grass skirt on Easter Island began to fade, and he could make out the expensive bonnet she had purchased that day from the showroom of Miss Mather’s on Broadway. It was of white chip, trimmed with a rushing of white blonde lace across the top and down over the crown. White silk curtain, trimmed with white crape was decorated with half-open, large blush roses on the stem so as to form the outside trimming; the roses were set in tulle and intermixed with green grasses. A broad white ribbon extended across the bonnet and terminated in strings that hung down on either side of her beautiful face. She also wore a white, four whale-boned, ruffled hoop dress, with a match
ing Battenberg Lace Parasol, which she was twirling in nervous expectation as she, smiling broadly, strolled up to him.
"Good afternoon, sir! Is this where I can get an escort for the big city?" Anna's voice held its usual hint of mischievousness. This, above all, was what had attracted her to him. Most of the other girls he had known were always so full of themselves and how their appearance affected others. Anna, in contrast, had always placed her wit and charm before her good looks, even though she dressed impeccably well.
"Yes, Madam, I shall be your escort. We have reservations at the Officers' Club on Broadway. Shall we?" Greene put his hand on his hip, and gave his elbow to Anna. She draped her delicate arm inside the circle, and they began the walk toward Broadway. There was no need for talk, as they were the most dashing couple that day. Men and women turned to stare as they passed, and even a few horse-drawn cabs and surreys slowed down to notice the sharp-dressed young naval officer and his lovely paramour.
A strong breeze came down the avenue and rustled Anna's dress and bonnet, until she turned her head to look full into Lieutenant Greene's face. "I have the most dreadful nightmares about you at sea, my darling. I do hope you will be careful!"
"Don't you fret, dearest. At Annapolis, we were trained to withstand the worst sea conditions. Last year, I was also in a typhoon on the China Sea with a very small vessel. Besides, Captain Ericsson says our new Monitor will be a strong, seaworthy craft." Greene squeezed her hand as if to ensure his engaged of his future safety, about which no person could foretell.
"Actually, father was reading an article about the construction of your ship. He said the author had called it 'Ericsson's Folly.' He also said many critics believe your captain to be a charlatan who was responsible for the deaths of Washington political leaders with his other craft, the Princeton, I believe it was called?"
Greene raised his eyebrows in exasperation, "Honestly, don't you read my letters, Anna? Captain Ericsson explained all of that to me before. I told you. His partner was to blame for that horrible accident. He had constructed a cannon much too powerful for use aboard a war ship. Mister Ericsson would never risk the safety of his crew, and he certainly would not endanger civilian lives!"
* * *
The Officers' Club on Broadway was a special association where Union officers were welcomed to enjoy billiards, eat a hearty meal, and find a brief "home away from home." Greene had reserved a back room where they could eat alone. A tall, red-haired woman by the name of Mrs. Cross met them at the front desk when they entered and was quite jocular as she led them to the private drawing room. She pointed to the various photos by the war photographer, Matthew Brady, which hung on all the walls. "See, Matt Brady's done all these famous people. There's President Lincoln, General Grant, and over there's Walt Whitman and Edgar Allan Poe."
Greene stopped to gaze at the photo of Whitman. "Quite impressive!" he said.
"Yes, Mister Brady has a gallery off of Fulton Street. Perhaps you can take your lady there after dinner. He has some startling photos in his P. T. Barnum collection. He took pictures of General Tom Thumb, the midget, and his new fiancée, Lavinia Warren, and the Siamese twins—Chang and Eng—can you imagine? Living your life attached to each other like that?" said Mrs. Cross, glancing down at the young lieutenant's arm, which had affixed itself around Anna's waist.
Greene, embarrassed, withdrew his arm and chuckled. "Yes, perhaps I shall take Anna across the street to the American Museum of Oddities. Mister Barnum has a new collection of strange animals. A wooly horse and a white whale. And Jenny Lind—the Swedish Nightingale—once sang there. Captain Ericsson says he has heard her many times—she is quite excellent!"
"Oh yes! We must hear her sing," said Anna, her brown eyes beginning to glow with happiness.
For dinner, they had the "Bubble and Squeak," a beef dish being served to conserve the more prime cuts for the men at the Front. It was boiled beef and carrots but was quite delicious after their "Hour Before the Battle" drinks, consisting of Madeira wine and a dash of bitters. After dinner, Greene walked with his woman over to the P. T. Barnum Museum on Fulton. As they strolled in the dark, they gazed up at their star and Dana read from his beloved Whitman. Anna, to his surprise, showed a great deal of enthusiasm for the idea of moving to Easter Island after the war. She told him he deserved anything after having risked his life for others. Greene was filled with a deep joy that knew no bounds. He could barely contain himself, as they walked into the Museum of Oddities.
They stood looking at the prehistoric man frozen in granite when Greene told Anna about the native women on Easter Island and read her the final stanza from Whitman's poem. She squeezed his arm and looked soulfully into his eyes, vowing an eternal dedication to him.
"If you want me to dance naked on the sand under the moon, I swear, I will do it!" she exclaimed, and a tall sailor in dress blues looked over at them. They both laughed, and hugged each other, as they were also becoming American oddities. They made plans to go on a picnic in Central Park the following day, and Greene was to return to work the morning after.
"Would you like me to wear a grass skirt on the picnic?" said Anna, the dimples in her cheeks rising.
Greene put his fingers to her lips. "No, my dearest. If you did that you would surely cause a riot!"
As they left the museum, the tall sailor with blond hair wrote down something in a pad he was carrying inside his blouse pocket. Lieutenant Greene and fiancé discussed the island. The project seems to be going well.
Chapter Sixteen: Chip's New Job
September 13, 1861, Green Point, Brooklyn
Chip Jefferson, whose slave name was Reginald Sims, was a free Negro who had moved two years before with his parents, Emil and Sarah, from a plantation in Virginia. They had traveled the newly constructed Underground Railway to the North, conducted by a white man, James Fairfield, who posed as a slave trader, and purchased the entire family from John and Wendy Sims for two thousand dollars.
It was a wonderful day in May 1861 when they first set sight on the "promised land," as his mother called it, although Chip, at fourteen years of age, did not think New York City was quite as hopeful as Virginia. Brooklyn was a rather crowded, noisy borough, and people did not say, "How y'all doin'?" the way they did back in Tidewater. Chip's family was known as "house niggers," so the Jefferson’s had never experienced the degradation that the "field niggers" were subjected to back at the Sims’ Plantation outside Richmond. In addition, Chip's father, Emil, had learned to read and was constantly devouring the books in the rather substantial Sims' library. Emil often engaged in some rather pointed and heated "discussions" with Master Sims, but Emil was ultimately respected for his intelligence and for his memory of history and geography.
Chip had also been taught to read and write by his parents and by Mrs. Sims, a pale and sickly, yet kind woman, who seriously believed Negroes could become civilized beings. Of course, she did not think they could ever become American citizens, with the legal rights of white people, but she did trust in the Lord that they could "learn to run their own shantytowns with some amount of industry and education."
It was a topic that often escalated into a dinner argument at the Sims table, and Chip and his parents first learned about the "emancipation" for Negroes being "cooked-up" by radical Northern industrialists. Mister Sims said these Yankees were "subjecting their darkies to worse working conditions than the Southern plantations could ever hope to do."
Chip would flit in and out of the white folks' dinner places at the table, like a black ghost, yet he was taking in all that they said with some amount of interest. When his parents told him about Mister Fairfield and the plan to get them to freedom in the North, Chip thought it was all a great adventure. Once, he almost told Mrs. Sims about the plan, but he caught himself at the last moment. "We're going to ride the Underground Railroad, Missus," he began, but then he stopped short, as he watched the eyebrows furrow on the white woman's usually kind face.
"What did you say
?" she asked, turning Chip's chin to face her own, as he was reading from the Holy Bible seated on her lap.
"Oh, I was saying how my Mamma told us we could one day ride the railroad cars to Richmond. They lets us darkies ride in the cattle car for free."
Nevertheless, Mrs. Sims looked suspiciously at Chip for many days after this near disastrous slip of the tongue.
The New York Abolitionists got jobs for his parents at the new Hotel Belvedere, in downtown New York, and they rode the overhead elevator trains to work every day, and it was a miracle to see them sail off into the sky from his vantage point at the Brooklyn station on Bedford Avenue. Chip liked the feel of the wind as it rushed back at him when the cars took off. He called it the "angels' flight," and the grownups standing around him smiled down at him whenever he said this.
It was Mrs. Townsend who came one day to employ him at her Brooklyn Seaward Rooming House. Chip remembered her wearing a gigantic peacock feather sticking out of her red hat, and it kept tickling his nose whenever she turned her head to talk to his parents. "I shall put your son under my immediate stewardship, Mr. And Mrs. Jefferson," she said, swishing her tail at him. "As a member of the Women's Abolitionist League, it is my sworn duty to advance the cause of Negro sovereignty in this great country of ours!"
The job at the rooming house was hardly showing Chip how to be "sovereign," as he saw it, because he had to do all of the dirty jobs that none of the white boys wanted to do, such as cleaning the toilets, carrying the luggage, and mopping all the wood floors on every level of the hotel. However, his parents also did such menial tasks, so he soon learned to take his predicament into stride, as he received something he had never experienced before in his life: he was paid forty cents a week for his work!