The Mountain

by David L. Golemon

  The second ship was carrying horses, supplies, and cold-weather gear. This ship, the U.S.S. Chesapeake, would also carry the armaments intended for the expedition inside her large hull. Thomas had decided early on that only the marine guard would have access to sidearms during the voyage. Thomas knew Taylor, or should now that his old friend had tried to escape, and would never allow him the chance to do so again.

  As they approached the third warship they saw her clean lines. It wasn’t like Stanton or Secretary of the Navy Gideon Welles to give up a brand-new warship without what must have been immense pressure from Lincoln. So, with two older, thinner-hulled vessels they tossed in a sweetener, the U.S.S. Yorktown. She was so new that as the whaleboat tied up to her boarding ramp, her brass fittings sparkled in the weak oil lamps of the deck watch. The prisoners, with the exception of Colonel Taylor, were all aboard and already ensconced below.

  First up the ramp to be greeted by the ship’s first officer was Claire Richelieu. The lieutenant held her gloved hand and assisted her down from the ramp. He saluted and half-bowed as he gestured for her to step behind him, where she was again greeted by the young man she had seen walking into the warehouse, Lieutenant Commander Jackson. He bowed with no real enthusiasm. Next was the man posing as Ollafson’s assistant, Steven McDonald. Claire watched the man vigorously jump the last three steps of the small ladder. He landed and then shook each of the two officers’ hands. He nudged up against Claire, who moved easily away from the Englishman. Assisting the professor down from the ladder was the Frenchman Renaud in his guise as student translator Benton Cromwell. To Claire, the man could not have chosen more ridiculous cover name for himself, as if the English name would lend credence to his tale of deceit. Pleasantries were exchanged as Sergeant Major Dugan gruffly made his way past the reception line and went to the railing and watched.

  The last three were Gray Dog, Taylor, and finally John Henry Thomas. The two naval officers saluted John Henry and gestured for him to follow. The others all fell in line as they made their way belowdecks.

  “Colonel, you will of course take my cabin,” Jackson said. “I expect you have ample business to cover during the voyage. The sergeant major and your … your”—he stumbled as he turned to look at Gray Dog—“your Indian can bunk next to him.”

  “Gray Dog will sleep wherever he is comfortable, which may mean five or six places during the night,” Dugan said, cutting in abruptly as he and Gray Dog exchanged looks.

  “We have a separate berth for Miss Richelieu. I hope she will find it accommodating. It’s an old tack room the boys made … well, they made it a bit more private,” Jackson said with an embarrassed smile. Taylor and John Henry exchanged looks that silently noted how very uncomfortable Jackson was around women, especially a woman onboard his ship. “Professor, we have a work area marked out for you and your assistants. You’ll be rather cramped, but it should do fine.” The naval officer stopped at the bottom of the stairs and waited for the others. “Now, I have the main cabin set up for you to brief my officers and those of the marine force commander, Lieutenant Parnell.”

  Jackson waited for his second-in-command to open the door and they proceeded inside. A large table with three maps spread out on its surface greeted them. Each had a chair. Coffee was served by a black steward as they seated themselves. Introductions were made to all. John Henry eyed the two new assistants for the professor with nothing other than mild curiosity as he’d been told the students would be a bit younger. McDonald and Cromwell looked to be well into an academic life rather than mere students.

  As the steward placed a china cup in front of Jessy Taylor, the two exchanged looks of curiosity. The large black steward had graying hair and had been in the navy most of his life. He knew a secessionist uniform when he saw one. Taylor winked at the shocked look on the black man’s face. He took the coffee without thanks. The steward continued to eye the Rebel colonel long after the others had been served.

  John Henry stood over the three maps and looked them over. They showed the seas into which the three ships were headed, their separate dangers made apparent by markings Jackson had placed on them. The man at the middle of the table sipped his coffee and then looked over at Gray Dog, who sat on the deck in a darkened corner of the main cabin. Ollafson saw the Indian look his way and hold eye contact for the longest moment before he turned away. It was as though the colonel’s man could see right into Ollafson’s soul. To the old man it was quite unnerving to say the least.

  Jackson went to the door and then gave the orders to his second-in-command to get the Yorktown under way.

  “Gentlemen,” John Henry started and then stopped and dipped his black-haired head at Claire. “And lady. This is our route to Turkey. Commander Jackson’s latest naval intelligence briefing conducted this morning indicates that we should not encounter any interference from here to Spain. To get past Gibraltar without the British getting their hackles up will be a challenge, but our navy has done that a few times before.”

  The no-nonsense Jackson bowed his head. “Yes, we run a regular game with the Brits. They look to harass us, we dodge them, and slip from one corner of the world to the next with them always a day late and a dollar short, as it were. The British have not given us any concern.”

  Thomas was looking at the young and very arrogant Jackson. He understood the boy was steeped in naval history. Could recite Nelson’s entire battle plan from Trafalgar, even noting where his lordship made more than just one crucial mistake during the battle that could have finished off the French a full year earlier than they had. His entire family worshipped the sea, and this was why Jackson was so bitter being torn away from a war in which he had yet to contribute anything other than this mission to babysit a professor and his ridiculous theory.

  “Good. I’ll hold you to that prediction. I don’t mind if we get caught going in, it’s the getting out that has me concerned. Gibraltar is one hell of a choke point.”

  “Not only Gibraltar, Colonel,” Jackson said as he leaned over the map. “You have the Aegean and then the Bosphorus Strait to contend with. Now those are choke points that will cause us trouble.”

  Thomas looked at the map as Colonel Taylor joined him. The Rebel’s finger went to the map’s depiction of the Bosphorus Strait. It was the natural choke point that led from the Dardanelles and into the Black Sea. He knew the plan called for the two warships with the equipment to transit the strait while the third, the Yorktown, would anchor at Constantinople to be greeted by the sultan himself.

  On deck came the shouts of men as they lowered sails. The loud noise of the ship’s anchor sounded through the thick wood. Claire exchanged looks with the two spies she had managed to get onboard. Each seemed pleased with himself after the large deceit to get on the ship. She wanted to tell the others during the briefing that the fools didn’t have to dodge the British or the French. The two nations were well represented right here.

  John Henry watched Taylor glide his finger along the map as the Yorktown slowly started to move toward the mouth of the Chesapeake. Finally the colonel looked up and into the blue eyes of Thomas. “Why, I’d just place a twenty-pounder on either side of the strait at its narrowest point and blast any ship trying to transit. That is, if I were the Turks.” The smile widened as Taylor took his seat.

  “That is what the Argo is for,” Thomas said as he quickly moved on.

  “All right John Henry, I’ll bite. Just what is the Argo?” Taylor asked as the other heads, with the exception of Ollafson and Claire, nodded in agreement.

  John Henry smiled for the first time. “Since it probably won’t make the voyage without sinking straight to the bottom of the Atlantic or the Mediterranean, it really doesn’t matter. But if this crazy mission finds something on that little hill of a mountain, and we run into trouble on the high seas, without the Argo, we’ll be blown out of the water if our friends in Europe wish it so. But as I said, our secret weapon will more than likely sink long before she is needed.”

/>   “Well thought out.” Taylor grinned facetiously and then slapped Ollafson on the knee. “Now that’s a Yankee plan if I ever heard one.”

  “Gentlemen, we have gone over so much, but we have not touched on what it is we are after,” Ollafson said, rubbing his leg where Taylor had slapped it. He stood and located the map of Eastern Turkey.

  “I thought we would cover that at another briefing, Professor,” Thomas said, eyeing the man, who refused to sit.

  “In other words, Professor, old John Henry wants to go over it in private first, especially since he doesn’t believe in fairy tales, or your God any longer. Why cover something in a briefing the colonel refuses to believe is even there?”

  John Henry looked at Taylor. The man was quickly learning the habit of pushing his former brother-in-law to the point of anger, where he knew John Henry became unreasonable. He wasn’t going to allow Taylor to get under his skin as he always had.

  “Colonel Taylor, during the voyage you will drill your men. Get their weight and strength back. They are going to need it.” Thomas held eye contact with Taylor for the longest moment before the Reb nodded his head. The smile was still there.

  “Mess Steward Grandee will be in charge of the prisoners’ supplementary meals. He has designed a heavy caloric intake for the duration of the voyage. The colonel’s men should be healthy for their little hike up a small mountain like Ararat.”

  Taylor’s eyes went from Commander Jackson to the brown ones of the steward, who was in the process of winking at the Confederate colonel. Taylor suspected he should show the black man some respect since he could place anything into their meals. He would have to warn his men to keep social commentary to themselves while dining. He smiled again at the mess steward, who smiled back this time.

  “Miss Richelieu, I expect you to keep belowdecks during any exercise time for the prisoners. I don’t know how much control Colonel Taylor has over his men after tonight, so we’ll just remove temptation from the equation.” He looked at Claire, who was not happy with the arrangement but understood the colonel’s chauvinistic ways. “And Commander, anytime our lady guest is out and about, she will require a two-man marine guard at all times.”

  “May I ask when the shackles will be removed from my men?” Taylor asked, the smile no longer in place.

  “As soon as we clear into deep water,” Thomas said as he looked over at Dugan, who stood beside the door at parade rest. “See to it, Sergeant Major.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Besides, if they cause trouble after that, they will be weighted down and thrown overboard.” He again looked at Taylor. “Is that perfectly clear?”

  Jessy nodded. “I find it interesting that you named one of your ships the Argo,” Jessy said as the others rose to leave and to get some sleep.

  “Yes? Why is that?” John Henry asked.

  Taylor turned to others around the table as they stood. “John Henry wasn’t as astute in the classics as I was at the Point. I was always attentive to my studies while John was steeped in military affairs of studentship. But as you can see by my attire”—he gestured to his gray uniform—“I am a true romantic.”

  “Your point, Colonel?” Ollafson said, wondering where the Rebel was going with this line of conversation. John Henry only waited with irritation as he retrieved his hat from the steward and walked toward the door. He stopped and turned.

  “The point is, I’ve read Appollonius Rhodius. Have you?”

  Ollafson shook his head.

  “Well, Rhodius was a Greek poet. His Argonautica was required reading at the academy. I absorbed it.”

  “Colonel, we are all tired,” Jackson said to hurry him along.

  “What Colonel Taylor is trying to tell you is the fact that we will be traveling the very same route as the main character’s voyage in,” explained Thomas.

  “Fascinating,” McDonald said, breaking his silence for the first time. “And who was this brave soul?”

  “His name was Jason,” Thomas finished.

  The others looked at each in turn as they recalled the tale from antiquity.

  “Yes, and everyone here is what Rhodius called the Argonauts.”

  “Imagine that!” said the Frenchman, who looked at Claire with a raised brow.

  “Yes, the colonel is correct. We seek the Ark of Noah, although for Jason, it was a search for the Golden Fleece.”

  They all looked at Claire, who surprised them with her classical knowledge.

  Taylor laughed and then finally stood from his chair and made his way to the door where he awaited the sergeant major to open it. He turned.

  “Each as fictitious as the next.” He smiled, bowed, and then left the cabin.

  John Henry watched him leave as the others filed out behind him. Only Claire remained for a moment as she pulled off her gloves.

  “Tell me you believe the professor,” she asked as John Henry held the door for her.

  “I believe in very little, Miss Richelieu, very little.”

  “A man who can’t believe in magic anymore,” she said as she moved past him into the companionway, “is really kind of sad.”

  Thomas watched her go and wondered what she meant by magic. He shook his head and then saw Gray Dog rise from the shadows. He looked at the colonel and then after the lady.

  “Not magic, John Henry, but bad medicine waits for you on the black mountain.”

  With that, Thomas watched him leave and wondered if everyone he knew were living in the same world as himself.

  In the world he knew, there was no magic. There was only struggle and death.

  9

  TWO HUNDRED MILES EAST OF CAPE HATTERAS

  John Henry stood upon the quarterdeck of the Yorktown as she speedily made her way to the selected rendezvous point with the Argo. He was looking through the leather-bound journal he had been ordered to keep by the president. As he reviewed the pages he had written, he came to realize that absolutely no one other than Professor Ollafson, and possibly his assistants, believed in what they were attempting to do. He had yet to commit his opinion into the official record of the voyage. While he firmly believed they would find nothing on the slopes of Ararat, while his written words would undoubtedly confirm his nonbelief in the tales of the Bible, he still firmly believed in Lincoln.

  He closed the journal after entering the morning’s events. Thus far the prisoners had behaved, although at several points since departure they’d had to separate several Rebels from their marine guards and the sailors of the huge warship. The animosity between North and South belligerents was readily apparent.

  As he watched the men below, the sailors were going about their business and steering a wide berth around the Confederates, who were washing and mending their old and worn uniforms. John Henry had learned that Taylor and his men were adamant that they would wear their Rebel clothing anytime they thought they would have to fight anyone—that was including John Henry and his men. Until then they would reluctantly wear the civilian clothing given out to them by the war department.

  “I have been meaning to ask you, sir, how in the world did the president convince you to go on this wild-goose chase?”

  John Henry had not realized that Captain Jackson had strolled up behind him. The young naval officer was smartly uniformed even in the harsh heat of the afternoon sun. Even his two-cornered hat was perfectly adjusted to his head. Thomas looked the officer over and then decided it was time for he and the naval element to talk.

  “I don’t think about the orders I am given, Captain Jackson.”

  “I assure you, sir, neither do I, but I am rarely given orders this ambiguous. But then again, maybe the navy explains its orders far more clearly to its officers than the president to you. No offense, of course.”

  John Henry turned away and continued watching Taylor and his men as they tended to their old uniforms after the backhanded comment by a studious Jackson.

  “As I said, I carry out whatever orders I am given.”

 
; “Is that what happened at Antietam?”

  “So, you are a student of land engagements as well as sea tactics?” John Henry asked without facing the twenty-eight-year-old officer.

  “Only in the sense of history. My expertise is in the development of naval tactics in coordination with land forces, as I believe that is the future of America’s military.”

  “So I understand.” Thomas finally turned to face the commander of the small flotilla. “In that frame of context, I am sure that is why Secretary Welles selected you to join us. When and if the time comes, I hope the secretary’s confidence in your abilities is warranted.”

  Jackson placed his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels, expecting the army officer to answer his inquiry about Antietam. He didn’t. Jackson was about to ask again, not understanding the colonel’s hesitancy to answer a question about which every military man in the country had a personal opinion. The hatred shown by General McClellan toward Thomas was legend. One man never showed up the other in front of witnesses. And most assuredly one did not call out his commanding officer on a charge of cowardice and dereliction of duty. He was about to broach the subject again when a call was heard from high above.

  “Ship ahoy!” came the call from the lookout in the crow’s nest a hundred feet above. “Ten degrees off the starboard bow!”

  John Henry and Jackson both looked. There she was. The U.S.S. Carpenter had Argo already in tow. Both vessels were rigged for sail and were under way.

  “Captain Abernathy is right on schedule,” Jackson said as he looked through the telescope in his hands. “I calculate they are at a respectable eight knots. Not bad at all.” He lowered the spyglass and then turned to his first officer. “Mr. Harvey, set all sails and let’s get moving, shall we?”

  The officer saluted and went out to give the order to deploy every sail the Yorktown had.

  “Did Ericsson design the Argo to ride so low in the water?” John Henry asked as he lowered his own field glasses.