“Taking in the brutality above decks?” McDonald inquired with a wry smile.
“Not at all, old man. I have seen quite enough barbarity in my lifetime. Just air for me, thank you.” Cromwell nodded and then left the overheated and stuffy cabin.
“Now,” Ollafson said as he placed the oilskin-wrapped parcel on the tabletop over the displayed maps. The heat seemed to rise in the room as McDonald’s and Claire’s eyes fell on the mysterious artifacts ensconced in the oilskin wrapping. As soon as Ollafson started to untie the wrapping they all felt the change in temperature. Claire felt the cold air strike her neck and she shivered. Even McDonald looked around for the source of the sudden cold draft. He shook his head and then he too visibly shivered.
As the professor finally exposed the petrified wood to the cabin’s weak lighting, they all saw the oil lamp flicker, sputter, and then dim. For a reason Claire would later try to dissect in her thoughts, she glanced into the far corner of the cabin where the captain’s sea chest was sitting and she flinched when she saw the shadow between the trunk and the hull expand as if breathing. She closed and opened her eyes quickly only to see bright sunshine where there had been shadow a second before. The bobbing and swaying warship must be playing tricks on her eyes. She looked down at the Angelic script on the ancient wood. For a reason that seemed impossible, the specialist in ancient and dead languages had to turn away. The symbols made her increasingly uncomfortable, and for a woman in her profession, that was not good. She forced her eyes back to the artifact.
“For now, let us concentrate our efforts on these lesser symbols on the second piece.” Ollafson removed the uppermost petrified artifact and set a smaller, less significant piece over the first.
Even McDonald felt far better having the Angelic curse out of view. He took a deep breath and was surprised at himself for acting like such a schoolboy with deep and hidden fears. He too glanced into the darker recesses of the cabin and noticed the black shadows had seemed to take on more defined shapes. He made eye contact with Claire as Ollafson’s story came slipping into his thoughts. It was as if something were just awakening and taking its first few breaths of the day.
For reasons they could never explain, all three of them inside the cabin that day suddenly felt that death was near—very near.
* * *
Gray Dog slowly slid down the rope and landed lightly beside the form of Sergeant Major Dugan. The Irishman turned and looked over at the Comanche.
“Where have you been?”
“Why does John Henry allow this?” Gray Dog asked as he watched the foolishness happening in front of him.
“He has reasoning we barbarians don’t see, I guess,” Dugan said as he turned toward the smaller man and then winked. “The colonel thinks a little different than most. Differences I can’t explain, Coyote Head.”
“White men,” Gray Dog mumbled, and then turned to face the sergeant major, “are touched by the crazed eye of the sick dog. They have the foaming sickness in their heads.”
Gray Dog turned and left the scene. Sergeant Major Dugan spit a stream of tobacco juice over the side as he shook his head. “Damn Indian. ’Spose we do have a few cogs missing off the main assembly. But at least we don’t go wearin’ dogs as hats.”
* * *
“Huh?” Jenks said, his eyes riveted on the sheer size of the black mess steward. He swallowed and then realized he had gulped his wad of tobacco and sent it burning its way down into his stomach where it coalesced with the stomach acid churning inside.
“Honor, son. This is for the honor of the regiment,” Taylor said, smiling and then looking embarrassingly up at the quarterdeck where Thomas had his eyes glued on the events below.
“To tell you the truth, Colonel, I don’t know how honorable it’s going to be when I shit my pants in front of all these boys. That is by far the largest nigg—, hell, that boy is the largest anything I ever saw.”
Taylor grimaced as he agreed and then gave Jenks a little shove forward. “Damn he is big,” Taylor mumbled to himself as he watched the corporal enter the valley of death.
Grandee stood rooted to the spot as his ears heard the curses of the prisoners and the stunted encouragement of the marines who stood around them with hatred spewing from their mouths. Grandee’s eyes were actually as wide as his opponent’s but for the obvious differences.
Colonel Thomas nodded his head as he looked down at the man he had chosen for this most difficult of tasks: to make the Rebels learn the simple fact that there were no slaves, no South and no North. There was the company of men on the three ships. And he wanted these ships not to be flying any particular flag over the next few weeks and possibly months. He needed one unit of Americans and one only. He had chosen the object of all hatred and frustration to make his point. The large man stepped to the center of the deck to prove men were indeed equal—if not in size, then in honor and bravery.
Taylor stepped up and stood between the two men. He saw the young marine lieutenant step through the crowd so he could see through the men. Jessy watched as the tall kid from Annapolis patted the mess steward on the back.
“Okay, gentlemen—and I use that term in loosest sense”—the men around him laughed—“let’s get to it,” Taylor finished as he snapped his hand at the deck and waved the two reluctant antagonists forward.
The war between North and South commenced once more as the three American warships approached Gibraltar.
* * *
Ollafson’s eyes kept returning to the artifact. As he explained how the naval ordnance men would lay explosives to assist in digging out the Ark if they found it, he kept losing his train of thought. As he looked up at the others in embarrasment, he apologized. However, Ollafson could see that the piece of petrified wood was occupying their minds as well. The professor intentionally covered the piece with another map and immediately felt better for doing so. Claire noticed this.
“The artifact never had this effect on us while we were ensconced inside of a laboratory,” she said as she stood from the table. A distant but loud cheer erupted from the main deck as Colonel Thomas continued to commit to the fiasco’s possible disastrous ending.
“Yes, for some reason it feels as though the artifact is slowly awakening the closer to our destination we get.”
“Come now, we’re being a bit overly dramatic here, are we not? It sounds as though you are quoting a god-awful penny dreadful,” McDonald said as his eyes were also on the map covering the ancient wood. “I think we had better concentrate on the possibility that if we do find what it is you are looking for, Professor, we may not have the ability to capitalize upon it. For instance, how in the world would we begin to get an artifact that size out of the Ottoman Empire without raising quite the fuss?”
“That particular job, my dear sir, has been delegated to our naval genius, Captain Jackson.”
“By the high-handed way in which you speak of him you would think that this man has magical powers of engineering.”
“Maybe not a magician, but a man who is known as a certified genius thinks he is something very special indeed. Mr. Ericsson believes in him, so therefore, we must have faith the man knows what he is talking about. According to Mr. Lincoln, we are being led by three very bright and distinctive men. Yes, they are having a hard time believing in what it is we seek, but they will seek it nonetheless because that was the order given them. Colonel Thomas, although not a believer in our cause, will do exactly as the president has asked, because that is what he does. Now, we have to discuss the route we must take to the glacier.”
The three settled in to examine the route leading to the summit of Ararat. As they did a sea breeze came unbidden through the open hatchway and blew off the map covering the artifact. They felt the ship beneath their feet shake momentarily as if the keel had dragged along the bottom. They exchanged glances as the sun vanished behind a rain-laden cloud. As the shadows dimmed, something in the far corner moved. Three sets of eyes looked in that direction as the wi
nd ceased. The artifact jumped underneath the partially covered wood. The map lifted and then settled, still covering a corner of the petrified wood. None of the Angelic writing was exposed. Then the map started smoldering. The written words seemed to be heating up, but before the three scholars turned back, the smoke had drifted away and the map had settled. The sun broke through the rain cloud once more and the shadows returned, only this time they seemed deeper and darker than before.
* * *
Corporal Jenks heard the cheers of the Confederate prisoners as they encouraged him forward. Grandee meekly took a tentative step toward the center of the main deck and waited. His eyes roamed toward the colonel, who was looking down upon them. He again nodded his head. Grandee took the final two steps toward the frightened fighter from the south.
“That is one big son of a bitch,” Taylor said to the marine officer, Parnell.
“Yes, I would most assuredly say your man is quite overmatched,” Parnell said, hoping beyond hope that the navy mess steward could do the job he was tasked to do. Grandee was not a marine, so Parnell had his doubts. He had volunteered his marines for this stunt, but Thomas had insisted it be Grandee.
Grandee faced down Jenks. The bearded Confederate was wide-eyed as he watched the giant black man raise his equally giant hand. He was shocked when he realized the black man was offering his hand in sportsmanship. With the whites of his eyes showing Jenks turned toward Taylor, who nodded that yes, he should shake the man’s hand. When he nodded he raised his brows with a wry smile. Jenks knew his next step.
He took the offered hand and then suddenly pulled the large man forward. The steward’s massive bulk leaned in at the same time Jenks hit the giant in the mouth with his left hand. The blow actually staggered Grandee momentarily as the surprise attack caught him unawares. He was shocked. Another blow came in and landed on his right cheek, stunning the mess steward. A loud cheer went up from the circling Confederate prisoners.
“That was rather unethical,” Parnell said as he angrily looked over at Taylor, who was smiling as if he had been given the world’s best Christmas gift.
“Ethical goes out the window when you’re outnumbered, son, you know that,” Taylor said, jabbing at the air with his closed fist as he watched another solid blow land on Grandee’s nose, causing him to stagger once more.
“It’s one against one!” Parnell shouted over the noise of the cheering prisoners, naval personnel, and Marines.
“Precisely,” Taylor said, laughing aloud. “Outnumbered!”
Parnell turned back and had to admit that Grandee’s size alone made the odds a little long for the Reb fighter.
Grandee stopped the next blow by grabbing Jenks’s right fist and holding it in mid-throw. The large man shook his head to clear it, and then he became angry at the sneak attack by the corporal. Grandee brought up his right forearm and pounded Jenks on the back. Every centimeter of air expelled from the smaller man’s body as he crumpled to the deck. Before Grandee could take advantage of his blow, Jenks knew he had to think of a better attack. He came up between the steward’s legs and drilled him harshly in the testicles. The big man grunted and his hold on Jenks loosened. Jenks did it again, to the moans and groans of those men watching—even the southerners. After all, the man was hit in the true equalizer of all men, white or black.
On the quarterdeck Thomas worried Jenks’s blows would take down his man for good. But he saw Grandee shake his head once more and then he roared like a caged animal and grabbed the kneeling man’s fist in mid-strike with his massive paw.
“Uh-oh,” Jessy said as he saw the demise of his man fast approaching.
Grandee pulled Jenks upright and then held him up by one arm with the frightened Rebel kicking and screaming. For a moment, the men watching thought the steward was going to just toss the Confederate overboard, but instead he slung the man like a paper doll into the crowd of cheering men. Jenks landed between four marines who laughed and called for his quick surrender. This infuriated Corporal Jenks, who was hefted to his feet by the very marines who were laughing at him. He quickly turned and hit the face closest to him. The marine went flying backward into several Rebel soldiers, who were now afraid of their man’s eminent loss. They turned angrily toward the one man who had slammed into them. One of the angry Rebs then struck the fallen man in the nose. This action brought more marines forward as the Rebel prisoners simultaneously did the same.
Jenks was just about to throttle a second marine when a giant hand stopped him once more. Grandee was at him again as the marines and the prisoners started to exchange serious blows.
On the quarterdeck John Henry Thomas smiled.
Captain Jackson gestured for the marines in the rigging and the guards along the rail to be ready. “I knew this would happen.” He looked over at the smiling John Henry and was confused by his utter lack of worry about what was taking place onboard his ship.
“When you are trying to make a sculpture, you start out by kneading your clay mercilessly.”
“What in the hell does that mean?” Jackson said, astonished at Thomas’s utter lack of concern.
Thomas just smiled wider as the brawl below was turning into a full-scale riot.
“This is enough! I’m going to stop this.”
“You will do no such thing, Captain. You let this play out.”
No one saw Gray Dog as he slipped from the high rigging, slid down an exposed rope, and then disappeared into the bowels of the Yorktown.
“You men, stop that!” Parnell yelled at his men as they were quickly losing control. They outnumbered the Rebel prisoners, but the worn and tired men were giving his fresh troops all the fight they could handle. He had to stop this before it got out of control. As he stepped forward, a tired-looking old man he recognized as one of the Confederate cooks from Taylor’s division smiled up at him. As he was about to order the gray-bearded old fool out of his way, the old man reached up and clocked the lieutenant right in the mouth. He fell backward into Taylor’s arms. His hat went flying free as Taylor pushed him forward.
“For right now, you better worry about your own front, Lieutenant!” Taylor said, trying to control his laughter.
Parnell quickly recovered and was about to turn on Taylor when he saw the small, old man approach with his fists raised.
“Now you halt right there, soldier! I am an officer in the United States—” Boom, he was struck again in the nose, and he staggered backward once more only to be caught again by a furiously laughing Colonel Taylor. The man and his men had lost all control at this point. He again pushed Parnell forward. This time the marine lieutenant turned quickly and before the roaring Taylor could react, Parnell punched him right in the nose. The lieutenant laughed himself and then put his fists up in a prize-fighter stance. Taylor held his bleeding nose and then broke out laughing as the old man had recovered and jumped on the lieutenant’s back. The two twirled off into the melee taking place in the center of the main deck.
Thomas outwardly laughed as he watched the fights below. Men were taking out the frustrations of a war that had sapped all of their will power to ever laugh or be friendly to men different than themselves ever again. He watched the men actually smile as they were struck and struck hard by the marines, who were watching their hard-earned brawling reputation go down the drain pipe as the Rebel prisoners were more than holding their own.
The gunshot froze every man in place as they thought the marine guard had opened fire on them. Grandee, who had lifted Jenks over his head, turned and saw Colonel Thomas holster his smoking Colt revolver. Grandee let the beaten Jenks slip through his hands and land hard on the deck. When the large black man saw what he had done he quickly reached down and helped the stunned Rebel to his feet. He brushed at him as the other men, marines, sailors, and prisoners alike, started to return to their senses. There were some cuts, bruises, and missing teeth, but otherwise no serious injuries. Thomas looked at Taylor as he picked himself up from the deck. He wiped blood from his nose a
nd then looked up at John Henry.
“At ease,” Thomas said, as the naval officer Jackson watched this very confusing army officer and his strange methods. He slowly started to realize that Thomas had taken a shortcut as far as getting the men to become comrades rather than continuing enemies. He also realized that John Henry had taken a chance on his prank failing and seeing the prisoners cut down by the marine guard if the fight had gotten serious.
“Feel better?” John Henry asked as he watched the embarrassed marines starting to realize they’d had their hands full defending themselves. Respect for the weakened prisoners had sprouted in just the past three minutes—just as Thomas had hoped. “Okay, every man is to clean himself up and then get below. Prisoners are not to be shackled, and have the full privileges of the ship. Lieutenant Parnell?”
Parnell wiped the last of the blood from his nose, recovered his hat from underneath the boot of a Rebel, and then came to attention, expecting Thomas to ream him a new ass for fighting with the prisoners.
“Sir!” he said as his polished heels came together. Taylor smiled and then looked from the frightened marine officer to his old friend.
“I want new hammock assignments for all Confederate and marines. They are to be placed in together, and physical training is to commence in the A.M. with mixed troops. Is that clear?”
“No, sir, it is not,” Parnell said, still at attention.
“Lieutenant, I want a mixed command. These men have now fought alongside each other, against each other, and I am here to tell you they are all lacking in the arena of defending themselves, even the marines. A new roster, Lieutenant. Now do you understand?”
Parnell finally relaxed and then looked at Thomas. “Not at all, Colonel.”
Thomas looked frustrated. “Let me explain,” he said as he stepped up to the set of stairs leading to the quarterdeck. “Colonel Taylor, join me please.”
Jessy smiled, wiped his nose once again, swiped it on his civilian clothes, and then stepped forward, climbing the six steps slowly, watching John Henry the entire time.
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