CSS Appomattox: A Thomas Devareaux Alternative History Military Adventure (The Thomas Sumter Devareaux Series Book 1)

by Chris Stoesen

  Spiller and Burr were not the only manufacturers using the design. Griswold and Gunnison produced them as well as Ridgon and Ansley. A few smaller manufacturers also made some, but those were the big three that had contracts with the War Department. Griswold and Gunnison as well as Spiller and Burr were both located in Macon, Georgia. It proved to be an interesting competitive relationship. Different units received pistols from different manufacturers. Spiller had the contract for the Navy and Marines. Griswold had the Army contract for all of the Georgia Regiments as well as Alabama and South Carolina.

  He turned and examined the rest of the bridge crew. Almond was resplendent. He made the fatigue uniform look good. His pistol belt gleamed with fresh polish. The handle of his Spiller pistol had been replaced with ivory that was heavily engraved. His boots had a high polish as well. It seemed that Almond was destined to be a recruiting poster model at all times.

  Midshipman Powell stood looking nervous next to Whytherspoon with a codebook next to them. Powell looked like a rumpled mess. He was sweating and the sweat stained his uniform’s armpits. His boots were scuffed and the knees of his uniform were dirty. Midshipmen always received dirty jobs so it was nearly impossible for them to stay clean.

  Last of his bridge crew was Bosuns Mate Hargrave. He was ramrod straight and was properly attired. He did not achieve the perfection of Almond but he was expertly uniformed. Hargrave too bore a pistol on his belt. Only the lone midshipman and Whytherspoon were unarmed.

  Devareaux bent low over the repeater and spoke into the tube.

  “All hands cast off.”

  …

  The marines moved and removed the mooring lines. They scrambled about nimbly and the airship began to rise. The men moved with competence, but not art. True top men moved about with a grace and style that was beautiful to behold. They move with a rhythm that had a musical quality to it. They were one with the ship, a living part of it that made the vessel sing. But the movements of the marines did not possess the grace and confidence of gifted top men. They did the job. But there was hesitancy. Like when watching a high school marching band play a piece of music and then seeing the same piece played by a seasoned symphony orchestra. Both hit all of the notes in the right places, but you can tell which one is really artistry.

  The marines managed not to fall off of the outside of the hull and scrambled back inside as the airship rose above the Savannah airfield. Inside the gondola, the marines composed themselves and caught their breath. The large gunner Stoe was waiting for the marines in the mess room. He handed them cups of coffee with a big grin.

  “Well boys, what do you think of the air service?”

  The marines looked at each other before Sergeant Benjamin sighed in resignation.

  “Honestly, I would rather be in a gun fight. I feel more in control in combat than I do outside of the hull here.”

  Stoe lifted his head back and laughed.

  “I know what you mean. I began my career in the rigging. I became a gunner as soon as I could.”

  His Norwegian accent had the patterns of Charleston in its sounds. Stoe was an immigrant. He had come to Charleston on a British merchant ship in 1875 as an eighteen year old boy. He had been signed aboard the ship as a cabin boy. He was abused by the ship's master and took leg bail over the side in Charleston harbor. He found refuge on the roof of another Norwegian family’s house near the Battery. His poor English skills grew and he was encouraged by the family to join the military to earn his citizenship. He chose the Confederate Navy. Within five short years, he had achieved the rank of Petty Officer Second Class.

  Stoe found a home in the Confederacy. He loved the people, the warm climate and the service. He had a warm sense of humor and a booming voice. Part of that was due to being partially deaf from operating loud weapons aboard ship and airship for the past five years. Stoe had already completed his term of service to have earned his citizenship and had the rank necessary to achieve voting rights. Yet, rather than rejoin civilian life, he stayed in. He found his home in the navy.

  Benjamin frowned at the cup.

  “This is good coffee. Better than back on base. How did you do this.”

  Stoe pointed behind him to the dark skinned man in the small kitchenette.

  “Julian here made a deal. He made some trades and got a bag of Jamaican coffee beans when we were last in San Juan. He is the best cook I have served with. We don’t have much, but what we do, he can cook it.”

  Julian’s smile got brighter by 100 more watts, as Stoe spoke. Pride straightened his back further as he continued to work on lunch for the crew.

  Stoe was still pointing at Julian as he continued.

  “You see Julian here was the only survivor of the hit we took in our battle against the Blucher and Hamburg. The floor was torn from the room and dumped six sail handlers, their petty officer and one of the two mess men into the ocean below. Julian managed to climb into a cabinet in the kitchenette to survive. His mask was barely able to reach the connector. It is a miracle he survived. We did not realize that the mess men were here working at the time of the hit. Julian’s brother Aelius was sucked out of the kitchen before Julian knew what happened. Julian happened to be holding on to the shelves looking for something under the counter.”

  The sergeant’s face changed. He took his first real look at the mess man now. He had just ignored him before Stoe explained who he was. It was as if the man suddenly appeared. Having just had the experience of hanging on the outside of the airship as it took off and it terrified him. Hearing what this man had experienced with that so fresh in his mind, Julian went from being just another Negro to now being a man who had survived a terrible and frightening experienced that he was not trained for. The man deserved respect for that. It was a lesson he would keep for a long time.

  Benjamin nodded. He started to understand. The marines were the one service that did not have any African-Confederates in it. There was actually no regulation preventing it. It just was that the Army attracted the most while the Navy took on the rest. The marines were a tightly knit community so Benjamin just did not have exposure to Negroes on a day to day basis. He kept to the corps and the naval officers that he had to interact with on a daily basis. An airship was too tight of a community to segregate. Larger ships actually were segregated. Negroes worked in the engine rooms as coalers and in kitchens as messmen and on occasion they would serve as gunners. It was extraordinarily rare in the Navy for a Negro to rise above the rank of leading seamen. It was the Confederacy after all.

  He reflected on his duty as a young corporal back in 1872. He served in the consulate in New York. He had several functions that he attended where he met with his counterparts in the United States. He remembered those conversations. Like the Confederacy, Negroes did not have the vote. Unlike the Confederacy, there were very few Negroes in the North. Lincoln’s plan for Liberia came to fruition. Many of the Negroes in the North, especially those that were educated, opted to travel to Africa. The North now had a source for raw materials and a guaranteed trade partner and the start of a colonial presence in Africa. The relationship only grew stronger after Lincoln’s assassination by that woman. What was her name again? Her brother had been maimed at First Manassas. She was angered that Lincoln did not win the war and had signed the armistice with the Confederacy. Hannibal Hamlin continued with Lincoln’s plan and extended them. The newly created colonial office had schools for Negroes that were being trained for low to mid-level bureaucracy in Liberia while the top posts were all held by whites from the United States.

  After the war, the Negro units were disbanded or sent to Liberia. They were viewed with suspicion due to the stalemate that ended the war. Northern losses were steeper than Confederate losses and many resented the Negroes and blamed them for the war. Strangely enough, the former slave states held greater opportunity for Negroes than did the industrial United States. Well, things are what they are but people are just people, regardless of color.

  CSS Appom
attox: diagram of living areas and action stations taken from US Navy intelligence documents.

  The marines thanked both men for the coffee and finished their cups and headed out to their quarters. The Spartan furnishings of the sleeping quarters were a long thin room of hammocks strung three high across the room. The entire crew was squeezed into this one room. Fortunately, with the watch schedule, they were never forced to be in the room at the same time. The midshipman and the master had a partition separating out part of the chamber. Whytherspoon and Devareaux both had small private quarters. Whytherspoon’s was the smaller of the two. The marines had hammocks in the back of the cabin near the rear bulkhead.

  On that rear bulkhead, the marines had their weapons racks. Their weapons were rather straightforward. They had their carbines and accoutrements. In addition to this, they also had some grenades. These were not the impact grenades of the last war, but a newer model with a time delay fuse. These were fairly dangerous as the fuse was not entirely reliable. It could last from two to twenty seconds depending on the quality control at the factory. There were two types: fragmentation and incendiary. The incendiary version was filled with powdered magnesium and explosives that would spread extremely hot burning debris where it exploded. There were only five of those compared to twenty of the other. Lastly, they had their field gear, which included enough equipment to last them over a week in the field.

  To better support the marines, the Gatling gun on the top of the ship was rebuilt to be able to dismount and place on a mobile carriage. That carriage was disassembled and strapped to the wall. If deployed in the field, the gunner and a volunteer or two from the rocket battery could be detached with the marines to give them more punch.

  …

  Back in the boiler room, Chief Hinkey was studying his gauges and dials. He reported in on his repeater.

  “Bridge, this is the boiler room. All systems are nominal.”

  He reexamined the wires as they ran up to the ceiling and forward out of his boiler room. They dropped down and attached to the copper wires strapped around his boilers. The monkeys that installed this stuff did something to his boilers. But somehow, it was a good thing. He was getting more pressure for a lower fuel cost. It would all depend on how it held up under more power.

  He turned to his men. Mark Applegate was back on duty. His face still bore a bandage from the burns he received in action. The man was stubborn. He would not let them leave him back in San Juan after he was hurt.

  “How are you feeling Mark?”

  Hinkey had to shout to him over the roar of the boilers. Mark turned to him and it took a moment for his eyes to focus. His face was covered in the thick grease the doctors had given him for his burns.

  Mark nodded his head slowly.

  “Doin fine boss. Let’s get the girl moving.”

  Hinkey patted him on the back and moved to check on the gauges one more time. He looked up from his station and spotted his other two helpers. The two Negroes, Seneca and Hadrian, were getting more competent every day. He drilled them mercilessly. They were making him proud. He was convinced that both men would be ready to be petty officers in a few years’ time. Not one man back here had book learning, but they all were pretty smart and had a healthy respect for his boilers. And most importantly, he was certain that they could run his engine room.

  Chapter 11: Training Exercises

  The Appomattox patrolled the coast for two weeks. There was no sign of the German fleet. During their cruise, the crew of the Appomattox attempted some exercises with friendly shipping that they spotted and some coordinated exercises with a monitor out of Wilmington.

  One of Whytherspoon’s upgrades was the addition of a second doorway to the outside. One is present in the crew quarters and the other is in the mess hall. The Gangway was stored in a slot underneath the floor of the room. It could be slid out from the storage place and lowered into place. The engineers also added a steel ring above each of the doorways. A section of the floor in both rooms contained a storage spot near each door. Within the hidden compartment was 200 feet of rope with a clip that could be fastened to the ring.

  The marines were divided into two groups. The sergeant and three men were in one group while three men formed the other group. The sergeant led his men to the mess hall outer door. Two of the men stripped the cover of the rope storage and used the clip to secure it to the ring in the ceiling. The third man opened the door outwards. A strap attached to the door extended back into the airship so it could be pulled closed later. Another strap extended across the doorway as a safety measure. The secured rope was thrown out of the open doorway. Clipping onto the rope, Sergeant Benjamin looked out of the open doorway to the deck of the monitor below. He had his carbine slung on his back with the muzzle down. With a flick of his hand, he removed the safety strap, and he stepped out of the doorway.

  Rappelling was a rather new discipline that was developed just a few years earlier in the French Alps by some guides. Whytherspoon took the theory of what they were doing and changed it for a military application. The Benjamin shot down the rope, possibly a bit too fast. He braked before he hit the bottom and landed hard. He was out of the way in a second with his weapon shouldered. The remaining men dropped down shortly thereafter. Henderson was the first, followed by Ramirez and the last was Hunt. Being the youngest man on the team, he was a bit more reckless than the others. Benjamin watched his descent.

  “Too fast, he is going to fast.”

  Benjamin subvocalized as he watched Hunt streak downwards to the deck of the warship. Hunt hit the deck too fast and too hard. Benjamin heard the loud crack of the man’s legs as the youngster crumpled to the ground.

  “Oh Crap. Henderson, you and Ramirez take Hunt below. They probably have a doctor or something on board.”

  He moved and pumped his hand up and down. Slowly the Appy began to move again and gain altitude.

  On the deck, an officer in gray walked up to Benjamin. He was not sure of the protocol for this since it really had not been done before so he fell back on tradition. Benjamin popped to attention.

  “Sir, Sergeant Benjamin and a party of marines requesting permission to board.”

  The officer grinned and said in a low, gravelly voice that did not seem to fit his slight frame.

  “At ease marine. You are welcome. I watch the descent. I thought you would be the one being taken below on a stretcher. That was quite a dangerous boarding. Get your man below. The doc will take care of him. Well done. Come below and get some coffee.”

  …

  The exercise was good in spite of the injury. The heliograph on the bridge of the CSS Monitor flashed out the message that detailed the success and the one injury. The Appomattox lacked a heliograph to respond with. He positioned Midshipman Powell to wave a flag in acknowledgement out of the crew quarters doorway. Then the Appomattox continued on to the airfield at Wilmington to pick up its marines.

  The CSS Monitor was the third vessel to be so named. The first was named during the late war. The second was an experimental ship that was sabotaged on its maiden journey. An explosion blew the bottom out of the engine room before it left the harbor. Thirty men died aboard her. This most recent variant was launched in 1877. It had only one turret mounting two guns. These were the same weapons as the main guns of the largest of the Confederate vessels. Monitors were a cheaper alternative. They provided big guns that could aid in coastal defense. There were five created in this particular class.

  Devareaux smiled. The captain of the CSS Monitor was his fellow classmate from the Citadel, Lieutenant John Henry Gennick. He had a bigger ship (if you don’t consider the airbag) and a much larger crew. Whenever he thought of Gennik, he always thought of that one liberty from the Citadel where Gennick took him out to Monk’s Corner for a rather wild party. Their condition upon their return earned both of them several demerits and what seemed like a thousand tours of the quad. Yet both men still believed it was well worth it.

  They were now only f
our nautical miles from Wilmington. The Appy clawed for some altitude and put on additional power as it headed for the Wilmington airfield. Below them, the CSS Monitor attempted to race the Appomattox and poured on the speed. The Monitor did not stand a chance at racing the airship.

  …

  In the boiler room, Mark held a hand to his head and tried to shake off the headache. His headaches started after his injury in the Boiler Room. The longer he was in the boiler room the more intense they became. As soon as he was off duty, he was going to head back to his bunk and lay down. His face still bore rather nasty burns, but the ringing in his head was the worst. He took out and glanced at his pocket watch. Only another hour till his shift was over and then he could take a stiff drink and get some rest.

  Frank was watching Mark through the hatchway window. Mark was a good man, but he was not the same since his injury. He would have to talk to the captain soon and have him transferred if he looked as if he was having issues.

  …

  The six marines rejoined the Appomattox. They a full hour after the Appomattox had not only landed but been secured. The marines had left their fellow in the competent hands of the Wilmington base surgeon who had the leg splinted. He would be out of commission for a while. With no suitable replacements, the crew would just be down by one member for a few months. The mood was somber yet excited. The regular crew seemed to have been hit harder than the marines. For Sergeant Benjamin and his men, it was the cost of being a marine. They just seemed happy that the accident was not fatal.