by Jim Musgrave
His life changed when Mister Ellwood checked into the hotel. Chip was fascinated with the foreigner's speech, his dress, and his secretive ways. He knew this man was up to something, and he made it his duty to find out what. From that first day when the gentleman came to the door of his suite in that silk dressing gown with the colored flowers all over it, Chip began to follow his every move. It was not difficult to do, as Chip was short and black, and the shadows were excellent hiding places. He knew this man was in America to watch the shipyard down the street, as he observed him during the first few days, looking down into the grounds with a long spyglass. Was he a spy from England? Chip's father said the English war profiteers were running blockades for the South, as they wanted the cotton and other foodstuffs they needed. But Mister Ellwood did not seem like a sea captain. He seemed as if he were interested in the construction going on inside the Continental Ship Yard.
Chip Jefferson made it his secret duty to follow the mysterious Mister Ellwood whenever he could, and he was bound and determined to discover what this stranger was really up to. Chip expected there would be something important happening inside that ship yard, and the new adventure gave him a purpose beyond the boring drudgery he had to experience each day at his job in the hotel. This new employment made him feel as if he were doing something for the war effort. What if this Mister Ellwood were a spy? What if he were stealing secrets from the Navy? It was all very exciting to Chip's young imagination, and it became his personal, underground obsession.
Chapter Seventeen: Measure of Manhood
September 14, 1861, Green Point, Brooklyn
Walter Sinclair stood with Robert Whitehead on the banks of the East River. The winds were brisk as the two men gazed out at the passing ships and steamers. The ships were a mixture of military and civilian craft, and Sinclair was thinking about the day he would have to be here with his boat to do his "duty." The Confederates were getting him a fishing sloop just large enough to go unnoticed yet big enough to transport the single torpedo.
Whitehead bent down and opened a satchel he had brought with him. It contained the various colors of paint to be used to smear onto the square of metal he also pulled out of the bag. He wanted to get the perfect camouflage shade to hide the torpedo as it sped underwater toward its target, the newly launched U.S.S. Monitor.
Walter hoped his little craft would be able to slip out of the harbor during all the commotion, and then he could concentrate on taking care of the inventor and stealing his plans. Everything had to go perfectly for his plan to work, and with each passing day, Walter was becoming less certain that his plan would go off smoothly. He needed some insurance in case something went wrong, but he had yet to figure out what that assurance could be.
After several attempts at different shades of color, Whitehead finally pulled the metal out of the water and smiled. "There! I think that is a perfect camouflage color. The MK will not be visible to anyone on the surface."
"And are you certain my fishing boat will be able to handle this weapon without suspicion?" said Walter, fingering the metal.
"It should not be difficult to place her in the bow. The lift I will install will get the torpedo into the water, and then the propeller will do the rest. The problem will be the moment of lift. It must be exactly timed with the speed of this Union craft."
"Yes, we need to get that information before the launch date. I believe I'll be able to get into the Ericsson home and find this out. He is employing a lead draftsman who is prone to imbibe a bit too much on the weekends. I will enter on one such evening when I can move around without notice."
Whitehead grinned. "These Americans do love their liquor, eh what?"
"Let's go back to the pub. I'll buy you a pint!" said Sinclair, putting an arm around his compatriot and guiding him away from the banks of the river and away from the future site of their destructive mission.
About fifty yards distance, standing in the shadows of an Elm tree near the Continental Ship Yard fence, Chip Jefferson was watching the two men as they bent over into the waters of the East River. He was wondering what they were doing. He made a silent vow to himself to find out. Chip now knew when Mister Ellwood would be away from his room in the hotel, and this would be a good time to investigate. The prospect of solving this mystery sent a satisfying tremor through his body.
"Excuse me? Do you know this property is off limits to civilians?" Chip jumped at the hand that grasped onto his shoulder. He turned to look up into the face of a young Union naval officer.
"Ah, yes sir! I was just trying to see the ships on the river down there. I aim to join the Navy when they'll have me!" said Chip, not knowing what else to say.
The handsome young man's stern face finally broke into a smile. "Well, that's quite noble of you. I suppose we're all fighting for you folks in this war. I don't suppose it's wrong for you to want to become a part of it. But, aren't you a bit young?"
"I'm sixteen! I've seen a colored man beat to death with a horsewhip whilst in Virginia. We escaped to New York with the Underground Railroad. I reckon I've seen enough for any one man." Chip puffed out his chest and frowned.
"My! I suppose you have seen quite a lot, haven't you?" said the young officer, putting his arm around Chip's shoulders. "I want you to come with me and meet someone who may be able to get you into the service. My name is Greene. Lieutenant Samuel Dana Greene. I am executive officer of the future iron ship of war, the U.S.S. Monitor." Greene held his hand out and Chip took it. They smiled at each other warmly.
"Hey! I read about that ship. She's supposed to go down to Hampton Roads to protect the blockade, ain't she?" Chip's dark eyes flashed with excitement.
"Yep, that's the one. I'm going to introduce you to the inventor of this ship, Captain John Ericsson. If anybody can get you enlisted aboard our vessel, he's the man." Greene stopped for a moment to look seriously into the young lad's mysterious face. He had never been this close to a Negro before, and he wondered at his flat nose and flaring nostrils, and his pink, puffy lips. He did not think it unseemly to be so different. In fact, the youth's strong arms and broad shoulders demonstrated a certain nobility of form that Dana had never before seen on any white man. Dana assumed the natives of Easter Island were much like this young man. In fact, this youthful figure of patriotic zeal reminded him of his beloved Whitman's description of the soldiers of 1861, this year that saw many Union men being killed or wounded in the early Confederate victory at Bull Run. The verse came back to him, as he watched the young man walking, self-assured, childish and yet spirited; like Greene, he was anxious to become part of something bigger than himself,
Saw I your gait and saw I your sinewy limbs clothed in blue, bearing weapons, robust year, heard your determined voice launched forth again and again, year that suddenly sang by the mouths of the round-lipped cannon, I repeat you, hurrying, crashing, sad, distracted year.
Chip wanted to tell this kind young officer all about Mister Ellwood, but he thought better of it and decided he would wait until he could get more information about what the foreigner was up to. It would be a good way to show his patriotism to these Union Navy men. However, Chip was now troubled about what his parents would say about his possible enlistment—especially his mother. She was often telling him how dreadful it was to have brother killing brother in a war that seemed to have no visible end in sight. She said she and his father had been stolen from Africa when they were teenagers, and shipped inside a suffocating British slave trader, where hundreds of them were starved to death or were thrown overboard to lighten the weight during a storm, until they landed in Virginia and were auctioned off to the Sims family in a horrible and inhuman ceremony wherein his mother was stripped to the waist to expose her nakedness to the world. Twelve years later, they were free Negroes living and working in New York. Despite his mother's concern for his personal safety, Chip knew it was high time that he did something to make certain his family remained free forever.
Chapter Eighteen: Counter-Espiona
ge
October 15, 1861, Green Point, Brooklyn
Walter Sinclair was ready to put his new plan into operation. By spending several weeks observing the habits of the lead draftsman, Charles McCord, Walter had determined that the best night to break into Ericsson's house would be on a Friday. This was the night. Charles would get drunk inside the house, as usual, and Ericsson would work late at the shipyard. Ericsson and his young officer, Greene, would go to Mug's Ale House before they came home, and this would give Walter about two hours to get the information he needed to put his plan into action.
Walter decided to wear a black fisherman's outfit and a watch cap over his face. He had cut three holes in the cap so he could pull it down over his face when he entered the residence. As he walked over to Ericsson's house on Beach Street, he thought about his insurance plan. Actually, his employer gave him the idea. If the Confederate Government could threaten him by putting his beloved Penelope in mortal danger, then he could return the favor for Mister John Ericsson.
Robert Whitehead had recently informed Walter that Whitehead's relatives knew the Blackstone family of London, and that their daughter, Amelia, was home from America, having left her husband of twenty-five years because of dwindling finances, and what some of the London wives were calling "a deficiency of romantic attention."
"Amelia wishes to return to her husband, the inventor John Ericsson, but the Civil War has given him new employment, yet the pay from the Union Government has not been regular and on time. Thus, the poor couple must wait until they can save enough money so that Mrs. Ericsson can live in the proper surroundings with which she is accustomed," said Whitehead, smiling and rolling his eyes at Walter.
Thus, the plan was hatched in Walter's brain to leave a note for Captain Ericsson describing the details of the "insurance policy." If the assassination and destruction of the Monitor were to fail, then this new arrangement would surely keep Walter's beloved Penelope safe.
The twilight lamps were being lit along the streets as Walter rounded the corner of Beech off Canal Street. He enjoyed the fall weather in America, as the odor of leaves and the dampness of the hills filled one's being with a satisfying gift. It was the nearest climate Walter could find to compare with life on the open sea. The swirling tornadoes of foliage all along the boulevard reminded him of the water spouts on the ocean, and the winds that hit one full in the face with their forceful reality were just like those he had felt on the bridge of his Caine after the evening's mess with the crew.
No light was visible inside the house as Walter walked up to the window. He knew Ericsson kept this back window open, for some reason, and it was the perfect entryway. Away from the traffic of the street, this porthole was near an alley on the backside of the house. Walter pulled down the front of his watch cap and climbed up on the window ledge. He grunted as his big hands pressed down and pulled the rest of his body up and over the ridge. He sat on the opening for a moment, to catch his breath, and then he stepped down into what proved to be the library.
Walter could see the shadows of the rows of books along the wall, and as he crept inside the room, he couldn't help feeling intimidated. With only a boarding school education, Walter Sinclair had always felt rather inadequate next to educated men. He believed these "Dickens' types" were always showing off their knowledge of history, literature and the like and were constantly looking down on him. Secretly, however, Walter knew his seafaring maritime experience was worth far more than anything one could learn from a book. The sea was the best teacher, and he had spent most of his adult life learning the harsh rules of life on the bounding main.
Walter knew that Ericsson's drafting room was next to the library, so he tiptoed through the doorway into the hall of the adjoining rooms. The drafting room was a large space with a long table that was raised on four wooden legs. There were several desks and cabinets, and Whitehead told Walter that the information they needed would most likely be locked-up inside one of them. With that in mind, Sinclair had brought several lock picks and other tools that were inside pockets of a bandoleer which was wrapped around his chest. Walter walked up to the first cabinet and began to pick inside the iron lock with one of his long instruments. It made a scratching sound but was not very loud. Nonetheless, Walter kept glancing back at the doorway for any sign of Charles McCord.
* * *
Across town, inside the Brooklyn Seaward Rooming House, Chip Jefferson was entering the private room of Mister Simon Ellwood, the strange foreigner the young man had been following for several weeks. Chip believed he could find out what this man was doing in New York, and if he were indeed up to no good. Whatever he could find, Chip believed, would be handed directly over to his new employers, Captain John Ericsson and Lieutenant Samuel Greene.
Even though Ericsson and Greene had no knowledge of what Chip was doing, the new recruit believed they would approve of his actions once he discovered the truth about this Ellwood's activities around the shipyard. Captain Ericsson was like no other white man Chip had ever met. The closest in stature and intelligence was the master of the plantation in Virginia, John Sims. They both had the stern and confident gaze that seemed to go right through you. However, Chip noticed that Ericsson listened to people more, as Master Sims was constantly speaking over you, as if he never heard a word you were saying. Chip liked Captain Ericsson and Lieutenant Greene. They told him he could be their personal steward, and he would be allowed to live in a small space inside the lieutenant's room aboard the newly constructed Monitor. Ericsson had shown Chip the blueprint of the design and exactly where the officers would be sleeping when not on duty. Mister Ericsson pointed out that they were to be berthed exactly the opposite of the usual ship's structure in the United State Navy. Inside the Monitor, the captain's rooms would be at the farthest point in the bow of the ship, rather than in the stern, as was the usual social architecture. Just behind the captain's rooms was the wardroom, where Chip and three other cooks and stewards would serve the nine commissioned officers their daily meals. Directly aft of the captain's stateroom and cabin, on either side of the wardroom, was Executive Officer Dana Greene's quarters, and this was where Chip would stay.
A big trunk was under the foreigner's bed, and Chip grunted as he pulled it out. Alas, there was a huge lock on the front of it, and he had no tools with which to pry it open. How was he going to impress the two older men? Why hadn't he thought about this possibility? Darn it all! Chip pushed the trunk back under the bed.
This was probably an omen. He needed to confide in Ericsson and Greene about this foreigner. They would then be able to help him find out who he really was and what he was after each day that he watched the Continental Ship Yard. They were all going to Washington to interview the new captain of their ship, Lieutenant John L. Worden. This would be a good time to tell them.
Captain Ericsson said that Captain Worden was forty- three years old, and he had twenty-seven years’ experience in the Navy. But, the most exciting aspect of this trip was that Lieutenant Worden had recently served seven months as a prisoner of war, and the Navy Department had appointed him captain of the Monitor to show the South that Union men did not succumb to their terrorism.
* * *
"What in blazes are you doing in here?" the dark figure weaving in the doorway was shouting at him, and Walter knew who it was. There was no time to discuss the peculiarities of his dilemma. Walter lowered his head and rushed with all his might at Charles McCord. Bringing his head up into the tall man's stomach, Walter could feel the air leave McCord's diaphragm with a whoosh. The lead draftsman went sprawling against the wall, as he was still quite drunk, and Sinclair was able to rush past him into the next room. However, the window had been shut, and Walter knew he had to get out, so he wrapped his arms over his head and flung his entire body against the window. The shards of glass shattered, and he felt stabs of pain, as the sharp points dug deeply into his face and shoulders. Nevertheless, he continued to roll over the windowsill, and he finally fell heavily to t
he ground. Walter got up slowly, but he was soon able to regain his energy, and he took off in a sprint down the alley and out onto Canal Street.
You fool! I got what I came for, thought Sinclair, slowing down his pace so as not to attract attention. I'll get the letter to Ericsson in due time. He pulled the black watch cap from his face and noticed his cheek had a half-inch gash on the right side. Blood was streaming into his open palm. He took a handkerchief from his back pocket and applied it to his wounded face. The speed of the Monitor is no longer a secret. Now they suspect me, and I'll have to move. Yes, they'll be looking for me. But the seed has been planted. Soon, the plan will come together as a hurricane that gathers inevitable supremacy from its opposing temperatures and gales to create the Coriolis Force. We shall all be spinning together, toward the unavoidable chasm of our common fates!
Chapter Nineteen: The Captain
October 21, 1861, Washington D. C.
John Ericsson and his entourage arrived in the nation's capitol at sundown. Accompanying him on the three-day journey by steamer, to interview the future captain of the Monitor, were Lieutenant Greene and the newly appointed young steward, Chip Jefferson. Ericsson enjoyed giving them the lay of the land, as they sailed up the Potomac River toward their eventual destination at the United States Navy Yard near 11th Street.
As they crossed the river near the lockkeeper's house on 17th Street and Constitution, Ericsson pointed toward the Washington Memorial. "They have finished only 155 feet up on that monstrosity. The war came, and the engineers decided to leave it unfinished. It seems to me this whole city has been left unfinished. Do you know how many were in the Union Army before the war began?"