“No. We keep going. They might send boats after us. They could also contact the shore, have the army come trap us. And this is a trap.” The Count looked up at the sky, then at his watch. “It won’t be dark for hours yet. Damn these long summer nights.” He hammered his fist angrily on the rail. “We must do something, not just stand and shiver like a rabbit in a snare.” He looked down at the muddy river water, then at his watch again. “We’ll wait until the tide turns, no longer than that. It won’t be too long now. Then we will act.”
“What can we do?”
The Count smiled widely, almost baring his teeth. “Why then, my dear general, we head downstream at top speed. That, and the outgoing tide, will mean that we will be exposed to their gunfire for the smallest amount of time. Hopefully we can get by the enemy ship and show her our tail. After that we must trust only to chance and, hopefully, we will have an inordinate amount of luck! If you are a religious man, you might pray for divine intercession. God knows we could use it.”
The Aurora continued slowly upriver until the Count became concerned about the Mersey’s depth; they dropped anchor.
By this time Fox and Wilson were on deck as well, ignoring the rain, and Sherman explained what was happening. Little was said — little could be said. They were safe for the moment. The Count went to the bow and stood, staring down at the river, looking at the debris floating by.
“It will be some time before the tide changes. Let us get out of the rain and into some dry clothes.”
In his cabin General Sherman pulled off his clothing and toweled himself dry. He dressed again, scarcely aware of what he was doing because he was deep in thought. This was a dangerous situation. When he rejoined the others in the main cabin, the Count was just doling out what appeared to be water tumblers of brandy. Sherman accepted one and sipped at it.
“I suppose that there is nothing we can do, other than wait for the tide to turn.”
“Nothing,” the Count said grimly, draining half of his glass. “If anyone, other than myself, could pass as an Englishman, I would put him ashore with all the maps and charts and have him take them to a neutral country. But there is no one — and I cannot bring myself to desert my ship.”
“Should we destroy the charts?” Sherman asked.
The Count shook his head. “I think not. If the ship goes down — they go down with her. And if we do succeed in escaping — why, they will make all of our trials worth the while.” He finished his glass and put it down; the strong spirits did not seem to affect him in any way.
“Is the game worth the candle?” Wilson asked, depressed.
“It is!” Fox said, most firmly. “When this information is brought home, it will be beyond price — that I can assure you. Modern warfare has come to depend on military intelligence. Modern armies don’t just move forward until they meet the enemy, then do battle. Such tactics went out with Napoleon. General Sherman will tell you. The telegraph brings swift information to the general in the field. Trains bring the munitions and materials for support. Without informed intelligence the warring army is blind.”
“Mr. Fox is correct,” the Count said. “The game, my dear Wilson, is worth the candle.” He glanced up at the clock mounted on the bulkhead. “The tide should be turning soon.”
Unhappy at staying below, the Americans followed him up on deck. The rain had settled down to a steady drizzle. The Count walked to the rail and looked down at the river. Most of the drifting debris was just bobbing about now. Then, ever so slowly, a change began to take place. Instead of staying still, the leaves and branches began to drift downstream, faster and faster. The Count nodded with satisfaction and called an order out to the bridge. The anchor was raised and the engine came to life; the propeller began to turn.
“Gentleman, the die is cast. Only fate knows what will happen to us now.”
Smoke poured out the funnel as they worked up speed, moving so fast that the ship heeled over when they went around the first bend in the river. Faster and faster Aurora raced downstream toward her destiny.
Around the next bend they surged…
And there was Defender blocking the reach before them.
A CONVOY IN DANGER
“I’m sorry, Captain, but they are not answering my signals.”
A number of abrasive answers sprang to mind, but Captain Raphael Semmes controlled his tongue and just nodded. This shambles of a convoy could not be blamed on the signalman. Ever since they had left Mobile Bay, it had been one damned thing after another. Signaling was probably the worst part of the difficulty; the cotton ships misread his signals or ignored them. Or they asked them to be repeated over and over again. Not that their assignments were that complex. He simply wanted them to stay together, and not stray or fall behind.
And every dawn it was the same — they were all over the Atlantic, some even hull down on the horizon. So he had to round them up yet once again, signaling with angry hoots on USS Virginia’s steam whistle to get their attention. Herding them back into their stations, like a shepherd with wayward, stupid sheep.
And there w
as Dixie Belle again, the eternal miscreant. Fallen behind and ignoring all of his attempts at communication. The worst part was that she was a steamship, the only one in the five-ship convoy. A powered vessel that should be relied upon to keep position. While the white-sailed cotton clippers rode easily before the westerly wind, day after day the steamship kept falling behind. His biggest concern was always Dixie Belle.
“Hard aport, slow ahead,” he ordered the helmsman. “We’re going after her.”
Virginia’s wake cut a wide swath in the sea as she turned in her tracks and headed back toward the errant ship. This was a bad place for the convoy to start coming apart. The French coast was less than a hundred miles ahead — making this the hunting ground of the British war craft. They had seized too many American cotton ships here, which had necessitated the need for guarded convoys. Which were only as strong as their weakest link. His ironclad warship could offer protection only if the convoy stayed together.
Virginia turned again, this time to match the other ship’s course, slowed to stay abreast of her. Semmes raised the megaphone as they closed to within hailing distance — and strongly resisted the temptation to execrate the captain for ignoring his signals; this would be but wasted energy.
“Why have you slowed down?” he called out instead. He had to repeat his words when the other captain finally appeared on deck.
“A shaft bearing running hot. I’m going to have to stop the engine to replace it.”