The Gray Ship

by Russell Moran

  "Gentlemen," said Lincoln, "you are about to experience the strangest meeting that you will ever attend." Lincoln sipped slowly from a cup of coffee to let his words sink in. The cabinet members glanced around the room at each other to see if someone understood why Lincoln said this. They noticed that Gideon Wells smiled broadly behind his huge white beard.

  "Yesterday I had a long meeting with Secretary Wells over here," said Lincoln, nodding in Wells' direction. "That, gentlemen, was the strangest meeting I ever attended, and now Secretary Wells and I are going to let you join in the fun." That brought a nervous chuckle from everyone.

  As arranged, Wells reached into a large briefcase and withdrew a stack of documents, copies of the report summary that Campbell had given him. He passed them around. "Amazingly clear typeface," noted the Postmaster General.

  "Please take a few moments to read this report, and I'll then ask Gideon to summarize his recent experience."

  Wells gave his report, summarizing his day on the USS California with Admiral Farragut and Commander Roebling. He also passed around the Navy photographs of other amazing vessels. Wells then got to the most salient point, the point that he, Farragut, Roebling, and now President Lincoln had reached.

  "Gentlemen," said Wells, "the Gray Ship, the USS California, does exist. It's real, and it came here from the year 2013."

  Looks of shock and skepticism took over the room, the same shock and skepticism that recently hit Wells and Lincoln.

  Wells then summarized the "history" of the Civil War that Chaplain Sampson provided, a history that would unfold over the next four years and would result in 620,000 casualties.

  No one spoke for at least five minutes, each man hoping that someone else would ask a question or make a point that would dash this nonsense and bring them all back to reality.

  Secretary of State Seward spoke. "Can we know for certain that the California is the only such ship afloat?" Secretary of War Cameron chimed in. "Exactly," said Cameron, "from a military point of view that is the most important question."

  "I'll ask President Lincoln to answer that question," said Wells.

  Lincoln stood and spoke. "The truth is, gentlemen, we don't know. Gideon tells me that the captain and officers on the California are unaware of any other vessels."

  Lincoln raised his voice a bit. "But to say that there are no other American ships like the California plying the seas would be a lie. It would be as much a lie if I told you that I was certain there isn't a herd of buffalo behind that wall. There may be a herd, there may not be a herd, but the truth is I don't know." Gideon Wells concealed a smile with his hand. This was the Abe Lincoln, the skilled lawyer that he heard yesterday.

  Lincoln continued, "And, gentlemen, we don't want to lie and say that there are no more Californias, because we don't have actual knowledge that there are not. And we certainly don't want to lie to Jefferson Davis and his rebel government do we?"

  Everyone laughed, because everyone just got it. Cameron, the Secretary of War, said, "If I were in the Southern command, I would be frightened by the California. If I thought there may be dozens or hundreds more like her, I would be looking for a white flag to wave."

  Lincoln was about to bring the meeting to a close. "Gentlemen, we have in the USS California a potent weapon, the most significant military advantage we could ever imagine. But the very thought that there may be more is the most potent weapon of all. The word will spread forth, in ways to be determined, that we don't know how many Californias there are out there. We just need to keep speaking the truth."

  ***

  Two days later, on April 19, 1861, President Lincoln would formally announce the beginning of the Anaconda Plan. Devised by Union General Winfield Scott, the Anaconda Plan called for the blockade of Southern ports, to prevent the import of supplies and weaponry as well as to block the export of goods, especially cotton, to Europe. The name Anaconda came from the idea of a snake wrapping its coils around its prey to suffocate it.

  Chapter 33

  Navy policy requires at least one officer to eat in the crew's mess every day. The idea behind the rule is to ensure that enlisted personnel receive good treatment. The officers on the California loved this rule because the food in the mess hall is far superior to wardroom fare.

  Chaplain Sampson had another reason to eat in the crew's mess: he wanted to keep his finger on the elusive pulse called morale. He asked and received permission to eat in the crew's mess five times a week.

  On his first breakfast visit, he walked down the chow line when he spotted a large sign hung over the buffet. "For Your Dining Pleasure, Today's Special – Chipped Beef on Toast Points (S.O.S.) Bon Appétit!" As every sailor knows, "S.O.S." refers to "Shit on a Shingle." Although it was an old Navy joke, the simple dish is very tasty. Father Rick enjoyed Valente's sense of humor. Dominic Valente, the ship's Supply Officer, personally wrote the special menu copy every day.

  His tray full, Father Rick walked over to a table and said, "You guys mind if I join you?" Nobody minded. Everybody loved having Father Rick around. "Anyone wish to join me in grace?" The chaplain made the sign of the cross and intoned, "Heavenly Father guide us through these troubled seas, and save us from peril. In Your Holy Name, Amen."

  "You guys look pretty good for being 152 years younger." Everyone cracked up. The Daylight Event had developed its own genre of humor. The chaplain then asked of no one in particular, "How's everybody putting up with this crazy time?"

  Petty Officer Bill Martin replied. "At first, Padre, it was kind of exciting. I mean the idea of finding ourselves in 1861 was almost fun. But it's getting to be a drag, a real drag."

  "How so Bill?" asked Father Rick. He always made it a point to refer to enlisted sailors by their first name, contrary to Navy rules and tradition. Because the only identifier on a sailor's uniform was a surname, people were amazed how the chaplain could remember so many first names. Father Rick would often tell his religious colleagues, "If a shepherd doesn't know his flock, he'll lose a lot of lambs."

  Martin replied. "A few days ago we knew we were headed to the Persian Gulf. We knew we'd be there for six months, and then home. Now we just don't know the future, or when we'll see our families again. If you pardon the language, Padre, it sucks."

  Father Rick looked into Martin's eyes and said, "If I recall Bill, your wife just had a baby girl a few days before we shipped out. I bet you miss them both."

  "It's not just a case of missing them, Father. It's not knowing when, or if, I'll ever see them again." His eyes teared up.

  "I bet it's not easy, Bill," said Father Rick. Martin just looked at his tray.

  "Anybody else feel like Bill does?" asked the chaplain. Heads nodded in unison.

  Petty Officer Jim Dayton, sitting a few seats down the table, said, "I know exactly how Martin feels. I was engaged to be married after we got back from the Gulf." He took out a photo of his pretty fiancée and passed it around. "Now I don't know when I'll see her again. I can't even talk to her or email her. It's a bad feeling, Father, real bad."

  Petty Officer Andrea Dunne told the story about how she was texting her mother, who has severe liver cancer. "Mom's reply got cut off in the middle of a sentence. She was about to tell me something that her doctor said." Dunne put her face in her hands, wiped her eyes and then said, her voice breaking up, "She may be dead for all I know."

  Father Rick looked at her. "That must be very painful Andrea."

  "It is, Padre, it's real painful. The worst part is not knowing, and not knowing when I'll know anything."

  "Not having the Internet is the worst part," Seaman Gail Robinson said. All heads nodded vigorously. "We've gotten so used to instant communication that it feels like, I don't know, like I'm in the middle of a forest somewhere. What really hurts is that I know my folks, my brother and sister, not to mention my boyfriend, are all emailing, texting me and posting me on Facebook. They must think I'm dead."

  "That's absolutely right," said Martin. "Not being able t
o send a message is bad enough, but the empty inbox is the worst."

  "My father was a submarine sailor on a nuke," Said Petty Officer Juan Portillo. "When they went on patrol they'd be submerged for 90 days at a time. The sub could communicate by raising a buoy, and they could receive messages called 'family grams.' But the messages were censored, and if there was any bad news, it wouldn't get to a sailor until they returned to port. At least they knew that they'd be able to talk to their family eventually. We don't even know that."

  A religious leader, whether a pastor, a priest, a rabbi, or a military chaplain, is part psychologist. He's expected to not only listen to problems, but to offer guidance. Father Rick knew that the first part of healing is recognizing that you have pain. This conversation, Sampson knew, was only the first part, acknowledging the pain. He also knew that this was just one small group of sailors and that there was a lot more pain on this ship.

  "In the years I've been on earth," said the chaplain, "I've experienced a lot of pain, and listening to you folks reminds me of it. I remember when my mom had terminal cancer." He looked at Andrea Dunne, who bit her lip as he spoke. "As mom was dying, I came down with a terrible case of pneumonia. I felt like I was going to die, too. It's the closest I ever got to feeling real despair." He let his words linger, looking for a response.

  "What did you do, Father?" asked Andrea Dunne.

  "I decided to let it go, Andrea. I decided to put the problems in God's hands. I prayed. He saved me."

  The chaplain looked around the table and looked into everyone's eyes. "You can't email or text me, but you all know where my office is. Come by at any time."

  Chapter 34

  Father Rick rang Ashley's office. "A word with you Captain?"

  "Sure, Father, come on up."

  "My dining with the crew is turning out to be a good idea, Captain. The idea is good, but the experience is difficult. To be blunt, the crew is feeling the effects of living day-to-day not knowing if they have a future. I heard some pretty heart-wrenching stories from a lot of sailors, and I'm sure we'll hear them in the wardroom as well. People need to know there's something to look forward to, and most of what I've heard is about families. They know their families, friends, and lovers are trying to contact them, and they can't reply. Frankly, Captain, I don't feel too great about the situation either."

  "Nor do I, Rick. Nor do I.”

  "As a naval officer, Father, how much do you think these issues will affect our mission, whatever that may be?"

  "All I can say, my friend, is that the mission can't be too long." He then asked, "When you meet with Lincoln, can you tell him about this growing problem?"

  "I will. I have to."

  Chapter 35

  Ashley buzzed Jack's number. She worried about the crew's growing morale problem and wanted an update on Jack's plans for locating the worm hole for the trip back to 2013. It would also be nice just to see Jack.

  "Lt. Thurber, please come to my office."

  Jack appeared in the Captain's office within two minutes. "Yes, Captain?"

  "I'm concerned about the crew, Jack. Are we telling them enough?"

  "Is there a problem, if I may ask?" said Jack. Ashley told Jack about Father Rick's experience in the crew's mess, how morale was starting to get dicey because people didn't have a sense of their future.

  "I may have something that will make things better, or at least make people feel better. I'm working on a spreadsheet to map the incidents of time away versus elapsed time in the present. It's trickier than it sounds because I never dug too deeply into that issue in my book. But I do have all of my interview notes, so I should have something for you by tomorrow."

  "When I'm done with this spreadsheet, Captain, I think we'll have some good news for the crew. Today is April 17. We've been in the past for seven days. What the crew will be happy to know is that we've been gone for only a few minutes, maybe hours, in 2013 time. It's impossible to calculate exactly because we'll only know how long we've been gone in retrospect. Remember the guy from World War I. He was gone for eight months in the past but only five minutes in the present."

  "Thank God you're aboard, Jack," Ashley said as she looked into his eyes.

  He held her gaze and said, in a soft voice, "I thank God I am, too."

  Chapter 36

  President Lincoln told Navy Secretary Wells to arrange a meeting with the Captain of the California. He also wanted Secretary of State Seward and Secretary of War Cameron to be at the meeting. Commander Campbell would be there also.

  Wells loved his new toy, the two-way radio. "Lima Juliette, Lima Juliette, this is Alpha Foxtrot, over."

  "Alpha Foxtrot, this is Lima Juliette, go ahead," said the Officer of the Deck.

  "May I please speak to the Captain," said Wells. Ashley was on the bridge at the time and the OOD handed her the radio, telling her that Secretary Wells was on the radio.

  "This is Captain Patterson. Good morning, Mr. Secretary."

  "President Lincoln would like to meet with you and Commander Campbell at 11:30 this morning," said Wells.

  "We shall be there, Sir."

  She imagined coming home to her late husband Felix. "How was your day, Hon?" Felix would ask. "Oh, let's see," Ashley imagined saying, "Got up early, showered, had breakfast and met with Abraham Lincoln. Just a routine day."

  The California was still anchored in Chesapeake Bay. At 0900 two sailors swung the boat davits over the side of the ship and secured cables to the bow and stern of the motor launch. One of them hit a toggle switch, lowering the boat to the water. The day was mild, with a bright sun and temperatures in the lower 60s. As Ashley stepped onto the ladder, the boatswain's pipe sounded throughout the ship, followed by the announcement, "California, departing."

  Ashley and Campbell were wearing their service dress blue uniforms. Ashley felt it was no longer necessary to disguise themselves in period civilian dress.

  They looked at each other. They didn't speak. They knew they were about to make history, or maybe even change it.

  The launch motored its way along the Potomac, drawing stares from anyone ashore or on nearby boats. Petty Officer Donizzio, the boat's captain, felt like a hero in a yacht club showing off his new boat. Donizzio eased the boat next to the pier, its twin diesel engines growling as he put it in reverse to stop the boat's forward motion.

  A carriage awaited them. The driver opened the door and Ashley and Campbell climbed in. As their carriage rumbled up the cobblestone path to the White House entrance, Ashley glanced toward an area where the West Wing would eventually be, and noticed that the Rose Garden wasn't there yet either. She said, "I've been to the White House a few times. It looks much better in 2013."

  Although she didn't like small talk, she would do anything, short of reciting nursery rhymes, to calm her growling stomach. An aide ran to open the carriage door for them. As Ashley stepped down her foot caught on a rung and she fell forward. The aide grabbed her arm and kept her from falling face first onto the cobblestones. Calm down, she said to herself.

  Ashley and Campbell were escorted to the President's office, which was rectangular, not oval. An aide opened the door and motioned for them to enter. The thought crossed Ashley's mind that the superintendant's office at Annapolis was more opulent. Lincoln stood behind his desk with Wells and Seward to the right and War Secretary Cameron to the left. All eyes were on Ashley.

  Wells had purposely avoided telling Lincoln that Captain Ashley Patterson was a woman. Ashley is a common name for a man. He also neglected to tell him that she was colored. He wanted his President to have the wonderful shock that he had experienced a few days ago.

  Ashley had an urge to take out her smart phone and snap a picture of the expression on the men's faces. If a dancing unicorn had galloped in instead of Ashley, their faces couldn't have been more shocked. Obviously, Wells kept my identity a secret, Ashley thought.

  Navy Secretary Wells said, "Mr. President, Secretary Seward, Secretary Cameron, it is my honor to
introduce Captain Ashley Patterson, Commanding Officer of the USS California. And this gentleman is Commander Ivan Campbell, the ship's navigator.”

  Ashley and Campbell snapped sharp salutes. Ashley then offered her hand to the President, something a lady of the 1800s did not do. Lincoln, a man accustomed to taking charge of situations, was dumbfounded. He wasn't sure if he should shake her hand or kiss it. He did both.

  "Madam Captain," Lincoln said, "I must say that I'm surprised that you're not only a woman, but a colored woman." Ashley felt calmer, the ice broken. She also marveled at Lincoln's voice. Thinking of the great marble statue in the Lincoln Memorial, she expected to hear a voice like rolling thunder or like Charlton Heston in The Ten Commandments. Instead, the President's voice was slightly high pitched, and his manner of speaking almost soft in tone.

  She smiled and said, "In the good old twenty-first-century, Mr. President, we are known as black or African American." She then told the men about Colin Powell, Condoleezza Rice, and Barack Obama, the nation's first black President.

  Wells beamed. He saw that his friend Abe Lincoln, a man who shared his abolitionist views, was as pleased as he had been to see what human progress can mean.

  "We've received a thorough report," Lincoln said, "thanks to Secretary Wells and the written document that Commander Campbell provided us." Lincoln drew a deep breath. "Once we accepted the incredible fact that you have travelled here through time, and that you are able to tell us what will happen in the next four years, we all came to the same conclusion. We must terminate this horrible war as quickly as possible. I shall not abide the prediction that the war will bring 620,000 casualties. As God is my witness, may He smite me dead if I don't do everything in my power to halt the slaughter."