“I’m sure they are mixing up famously.” Claire took one more sip of coffee and then reached out and handed the steward the cup. “Thank you for the coffee.”
“Now, now, you hold up and I’ll make sure you get back to your cabin.”
“No, you have work to do. I assure you, I’ll be fine,” she said, smiling as she turned and made her way down the darkened passage. She could hear the prisoners one deck below snoring and coughing, but tried to pay the sounds no mind.
She eased around a barrel of flour and was almost to the door when a rough and smelly hand closed around her mouth. She was pulled into the darkness next to the hull and then forced down. Her eyes widened when she saw three men in civilian clothing. One was pawing at her bodice and ripping at her blouse while two others held her down to the damp deck. The man straddling her was bearded and his eyes were wild. She had seen him numerous times when the prisoners’ exercise period had ended and they passed on the lower decks. She had noticed the way he had looked at her. That should have been warning enough to heed the colonel’s words about putting desperately lonely men in a position where they reacted and didn’t think before doing something stupid. The man was ripping her blouse and painfully grabbing her. The two other men holding her down looked to be frightened. She thought she could take advantage of that. Her eyes were pleading with the two men, who looked as if they would rather be somewhere else at that very moment.
Suddenly there was a roar from the darkness behind the three men. The next thing she knew, one of the men jerked wildly and then she saw his body being lifted straight up from where he had been, while the other two soldiers’ eyes went wide. It was the black mess steward who had come to help. He brought a ham-sized fist down upon the top of the first man’s head. He fell limp as a caught squirrel. Now the black man looked frightened at what he had done. The attacker, who was still squeezing and battering her upper chest, failed to help his companions because he was so intent on what he was doing.
The second man disappeared suddenly as a war whoop sounded against the hull. Gray Dog was there. He had a knife to the third man’s throat, holding him in place by the sheer look of bloodlust in the Indian’s eyes.
A gun was deliberately cocked right behind the ear of the man who straddling Claire, and his groping motions quickly stopped. Claire’s eyes were wide as the man slowly turned his head and saw the cocked Colt pistol aimed right at him. John Henry Thomas was increasing the pressure on the trigger as his temper was close to boiling over. The mess steward and Gray Dog had the other two men well in hand. Claire felt the pressure leave her mouth and that was when she tasted the blood flowing from her cheeks where the man’s fingers had dug in hard. She spit and then slapped the man across the face. He was attempting to smile at John Henry and knew immediately that the colonel was going to kill him right then and there. He felt the pistol waver minutely as the pressure on the trigger grew.
“John Henry!” came a voice from behind him, and then that was quickly followed by another.
“Colonel Thomas, stop!”
Claire saw the blue eyes of the colonel slowly start return to normal as he eased the hammer down on the Colt. He grimaced when he realized how close he had come to killing the man without a word being spoken.
Thomas finally stood and slapped the man out of his way with the barrel of the Colt. He helped Claire to her feet as she wiped blood from her mouth.
Soon Captain Jackson, resplendent in a dressing gown, had his pistol trained on the three men as Gray Dog pushed the second man forward roughly and the mess steward pulled the groggy third to his feet. Jessy Taylor was there also, having heard the commotion from where he had curled up for the night. The three assailants had passed him in the dark and had awakened him. He was furiously glaring at his three men. Jackson reassured the steward, who was afraid he would be in trouble for nearly killing one of the prisoners.
“Captain, take these men to the brig. They’ll stand charges of assault,” John Henry said as he looked from Claire to Taylor, expecting one or the other to protest.
Jackson, with the aid of five other sailors who had come belowdecks after hearing the commotion, moved the three men out. Before they could leave Taylor took the one man by the collar and stopped him. It was Corporal Loudermilk. Taylor should have known it would be him.
“You’re lucky if they don’t hang you tomorrow,” he said, slamming his fist into the man’s collarbone as he pushed him away. Loudermilk cursed as four navy crewmen led him roughly to the brig.
Jackson eased the hammer of his Colt down and then attended to Claire, who was leaning against the wet hull.
“Please, Captain, I’m fine.” She looked up into the steward’s eyes. “Thank you.” She looked at Thomas, who seemed as if he were about to say something kind, but then his demeanor turned hard once more.
The steward didn’t respond; he only looked at Jackson, who nodded that he could return to the kitchen. He nodded at Claire once and then sadly moved away.
“Colonel, I … I…,” she started, but was soon cut off by John Henry.
“I assume there will be no more timely points being made about you being unescorted belowdecks?”
Claire only nodded and then burst past the men in the companionway. She had expected a little more concern from the colonel. Instead she got nothing but a blast of iciness.
John Henry watched her go and then turned on Taylor.
“They will hang in the morning. I suggest you learn to control those men left in your command, Colonel.”
“You are not hanging anyone. Those men will be brought back to the States for trial. There will be no summary executions of any of my men. We will handle their discipline ourselves, the southern way.”
John Henry smirked. He then looked at Jackson, who was watching the confrontation with trepidation. He didn’t need this volatile mix of emotions on the high seas.
“Twelve hundred hours, Captain. I believe you navy men call it captain’s mast?”
“Well, there is more to it than that, Colonel,” Jackson said as he stared into John Henry’s hard features.
“You are not hanging those men,” Taylor repeated as he took a menacing step forward.
John Henry matched the move with his own forward step. Jackson saw what was coming and then he stepped between the two army officers, looking ridiculous in his nightcap and gown.
“Gentlemen, if I may remind you, we are on a warship full of angry men. May I suggest we take this up in the morning to allow heated tempers to cool?”
John Henry, with one last look at Taylor, moved away toward his cabin. “Twelve hundred hours, Captain. Every man aboard ship is to be present for the execution.”
Taylor turned on Captain Jackson. “You know what will happen after that, don’t you?” Taylor moved off past the stunned naval officer, who saw disaster approaching his ship’s horizon.
The Yorktown’s company would not sleep well the rest of that long night.
* * *
At eleven thirty the next morning the marines were the first to gather. Lieutenant Parnell had placed four sharpshooters into the high rigging of the Yorktown as she made her way over the calm sea. The Chesapeake had been signaled from a mile off to come alongside to witness the punishment. The crews of both ships had never seen anything like what was happening on a United States ship of war. The Carpenter and her tow, the Argo, were too far back to participate in the execution of the Rebel accused. The crew of the Chesapeake had lined her railings and were high in the ship’s rigging to witness the army colonel’s stern mandate.
Captain Jackson had issued to John Henry his official protest in writing over the hastily tried prisoners. The trial had taken place early that morning with a panel consisting of Thomas, Jackson, Dugan, Parnell, and Taylor. Colonel Jessy Taylor was the only abstention on the panel. He had angrily stormed out after the trial’s only witness was silenced when she tried to describe the assault as less than what it was, only for the sake of holding this motl
ey crew together for as long as possible. They all knew it had been attempted rape, and one man had already paid for the indiscretion by having the top of his head crushed in by the mess steward’s blow. When Claire Richelieu said that she was never actually frightened of the three men and that she was of the opinion the attempted rape could have been avoided, Colonel Thomas silenced her, and then excused her.
Taylor knew John Henry had already made up his mind to use his three men as a harsh example to the other men. After Taylor had stormed out of the proceedings and after Claire was excused, it was Jackson, this stiff-nosed naval commander who brooked no breach of regulations from anyone, who spoke in defense of the accused.
“As the naval representative in charge of seagoing operations, I must disapprove of your actions, Colonel. This event can only further separate the men even more than they are now. My crew has already been in several fights with the Confederate prisoners since this happened. The marines are walking around as if it had been their own mothers or wives that had been attacked. I implore you to keep these men in the brig until they can stand courts-martial when we return home.”
Thomas was silent as he wrote the official verdict in his journal. He finally looked up when Jackson had completed his tirade.
“Sergeant Major Dugan, please be sure to enter the captain’s statement into the record.” He looked at Jackson and his eyes were cold. “Duly noted for the record, Captain.”
Jackson grimaced but remained silent as he stood and left the cabin.
“Lieutenant Parnell, you haven’t said much,” Thomas said as he eyed the young marine officer.
The well-dressed marine stood and looked at Dugan and then Thomas. “I, sir, am a United States Marine. What those men did deserved summary execution. However, with that being said, sir, my opinion is in line with Captain Jackson’s. Now is not the time, Colonel. I have the overall picture to look at, and frankly, sir, we are going into a semi-hostile empire with men that cannot be trusted as of now. Just think how loyal to our cause they will be after we hang three of their compatriots.”
“These men are not compatriots, they are not even Confederates any longer, young lieutenant. They are members of a small regimental combat team that is extremely short handed. They are all under my command.”
“I understand that, Colonel, but—”
“That is all, Lieutenant. You may return to your duties.”
The marine was caught off guard as he’d been fully expecting this man to hear him out. His reputation as an even-keeled officer and one who always took care of his men was a distant memory now that he had seen the coldness of Thomas up close. He didn’t salute as he left the cabin. John Henry watched him leave and then tossed his pencil down on the closed journal.
“Why didn’t you tell them what you’re up to, Colonel Darlin’? It would make for a lot less tension in the next few minutes.”
“If I had to stop and explain to my officers every object lesson it would be no less than my explaining everything to you over and over again. These officers have to realize that I need them to pay attention to what we are about to do.”
“Just sayin’, Colonel, you’re taking a risk. That Colonel Taylor, your friend, he’s gonna bear watching. He won’t take this lying down.” Dugan gathered up the minutes of the panel and then saluted as he moved out of the cabin.
John Henry heard the naval drummer calling all hands to stations to witness punishment. He closed his eyes and hoped he could keep the Reb prisoners in line until his harsh point was made. He lightly whistled and then he heard the noise behind him.
Gray Dog appeared from the shadows and John Henry spoke without turning.
“You know what to do,” was all he said as the Comanche vanished without speaking.
The crewmen of the Yorktown were all lined up in a square surrounding the prisoners. The Rebs were all in an angry mood. Their words to the navy men and marines were filled with hatred. Thomas, in his short time standing on the quarterdeck, had seen several instances of marines pushing the men a little too hard to stay in place. He hoped the situation would be calmed after the festivities of the afternoon were complete. The drums continued their sorrowful beat as the three prisoners were led onto the main deck and then up a makeshift platform to face their executioners.
Thomas’s attention was drawn toward the back of the gathered Rebel formation as men started pushing and shouting. Thomas saw the mess steward as the big black man made his way up from the kitchens. The man who had gained the respect of the Confederates by supplying them with the best meals they had had in more than two years had instantly become the face of their imprisonment. Most of the southerners had never seen a black man raise a hand to a white man in their lifetimes.
The last people to take to the upper deck were Claire, McDonald, Ollafson, and the ever-silent Benton Cromwell. Taylor was the very last to take his place at the head of his formed men. His eyes bored into John Henry’s. Thomas didn’t flinch as he saw Taylor looking at him as the accused were led up the four steps to the wooden platform. Loudermilk’s eyes pleaded with Taylor to stop this from happening, but he knew the colonel would never stop the hanging. He had seen that in Taylor’s demeanor last night when Thomas had threatened to shoot him before the hanging could even take place. No, there would be no sympathy for him.
The drums stopped as Sergeant Major Dugan placed hoods over the three soldiers’ bearded faces. This caused a stir inside the prisoner ranks. Taylor ordered them to calm down and to stand at attention.
“All hands present to witness punishment, Captain,” the first officer said to Jackson, saluted, and then moved away, but not before eyeing John Henry and his stern visage.
Dugan took a step forward and faced the gathered prisoners and crew. He withdrew the verdict from his breast pocket.
“For the offense of assault on an unarmed civilian and for attempted rape of same, Harold J. Loudermilk, corporal; Parsons Whitney, private; and Philip S. Siegfried, corporal, Army of Northern Virginia, have been found guilty by United States courts-martial to be hung by the neck until they are dead. Execution to be carried out this day, the third day of October, in the year of our Lord, 1864.” Dugan replaced the guilty verdict and then without hesitation, as if the act itself would be forgiven if done quickly, he placed the ropes around the necks of the three men.
“This has to stop, now!”
All eyes went to Jessy Taylor, who had taken a few steps toward the raised quarterdeck. Several marines headed him off with their bayonetted weapons at the ready.
“If Colonel Taylor takes one more step, he is to be shot,” Thomas said as his eyes made contact with Taylor. Again John Henry nodded his head toward Dugan. Then he quickly looked above him and into the rigging. He wasn’t looking at the marine sharpshooters there, but was hoping beyond hope that Gray Dog had made it into position in time.
Dugan was going to have to do this the old-fashioned way, like in the days back at County Cork in Ireland. He would have to push the three men off the front of the hastily built hanging scaffold. This he did quickly before Colonel Taylor got himself killed. The men dropped off the edge and the moan from the prisoners was audible and angry as the men started strangling to death, as the fall was not of adequate length to snap their necks. The men were kicking wildly.
The mass of prisoners tried to move forward through the pointed marine bayonets. They were prodded back into position. Suddenly the three men dropped free and hit the deck with a thud. The three ropes had been cut at the last possible moment. Taylor was the first to see the three men, who had been only moments from death, struggling to gain their feet, the ropes still knotted around their necks.
John Henry and Captain Jackson looked up in time to see Gray Dog maneuver through the thick sail lines of the rigging until he easily slid down onto the upper quarterdeck. He nodded at John Henry. The prisoners slowly realized the three accused had been spared. They watched Taylor for their lead on what to do. As for the colonel, he only stared up
at Thomas. He then moved to his fallen men and removed the ropes. He pulled them to a standing position and then snatched their hoods off. He angrily made them face the colonel, who was staring down at them. Jackson was there also with a look of amazement on his face.
“Sergeant Major Dugan, not for the record.”
“Sir!” Dugan said loudly, turning and looking at the prisoners, who stood in stunned silence behind him.
“The sentence of the three prisoners is hereby suspended. The matter will be taken up again when we return home. Their cooperation and performance during this mission will determine if this matter will continue to its natural conclusion.”
* * *
“I have to admit, your methods are a bit strange, Colonel, but effective,” Jackson said as he took in a still-silent Thomas. Jessy was still fuming at not being let in on John Henry’s ploy.
“I need every man I have under my command, Captain Jackson. Killing them piecemeal will only weaken us at a time when we need the strength of all. No, executions can wait. Let’s see how the prisoners react.”
“Yes, I—”
“Ship ahoy!”
Jackson froze. He looked up into the high rigging and shouted, “Where away?”
“Ten degrees off the starboard bow, closing fast!” came the loud call.
Jackson went to the railing and then raised his glass to the east.
“Who?” Thomas asked.
“Can’t be good, coming from the wrong direction. The Carpenter and Argo are three miles astern. Whoever this is, is sailing at us from the east.” Jackson looked at John Henry. “Europe.” He again raised the glass to his eye. “Any identification?” he called up into the rigging.
Silence greeted his shouted call. He lowered the glass from his eye in frustration.
“French flag!” came the shouted return. “Man-o’-war.”
“Damn, I had hoped we would have made it to Gibraltar before we picked up a tail,” he hissed. He again lowered the glass and looked at Thomas.
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