USS Lincoln: A novel of the Civil War

USS Lincoln ebook

Scott Perry

Winged Hussar Publishing

USS Lincoln

By

Scott Perry

Cover Art by Jaimie Cooper

USS Lincoln by Scott Perry

This edition published in 2016

Published by Winged Hussar Publishing,LLC

Zmok Books

1525 Hulse Road, Unit 1

Point Pleasant, NJ 08742

ISBN 978-0-9963657-4-1

LCN 2016958760

Bibliographical References and Index

1. Fiction.  2. American Civil War.  3. Military

Winged Hussar Publishing 2016 All rights reserved

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Editor’s Note:

This story does contain some language or phrases some may find offensive.  It is a work of historical fiction. so it contains language consistant with that time period.  The author and editor does not endorse it’s use, but it is contained strictly for accuracy.

Chapter 1

"Where’s the captain, anyway?" Jones didn’t particularly like the look of this hand. Two Jacks and a King looked promising at first and it might be enough to hold him, but the draw didn’t turn out the way he had hoped and now he was looking at a pair of Jacks. Hesster had already folded and Carleton looked a little nervous too, but Benoit was grinning with his jack-ass grin. That may have been due to his hand or the woman, in Jones’ estimation lady was not the right term, perched on his lap. She could see his cards and she was grinning too.

            He had a letter when I saw him earlier today, mumbled Carleton, playing with his cards.

            At first Jones was playing for time but now he was somewhat intrigued. A letter? he asked.

            Yeah, from his old lady.

            The captain is married?

            Yep, Hesster was looking interested in the events occurring around him again.

            I wouldn’t have guessed, murmured Jones; he was back at the cards again. While all this talking was going on he thought Benoit seemed a little too concerned looking at his cards and had whispered something in the woman’s ear. She returned the look for a second and then laughed; Benoit grinned all the more widely.

            Jones decided to meet the up and stacked his coins on the table. Carleton called. Benoit showed his three Kings and as no one could beat him, he started raking the pile in.

            You should be careful with winning, Benoit, Jones said caustically, you are going to end up being one of those aristocrats that you hate so much.

            Oui, Oui, mon ami, Benoit replied, a frown spreading over his face as he piled the money he had just pulled towards him into stacks arranged semi circularly around his place at the table, that might happen. However, this time, if it comes to fighting, it will be the aristocrats who fight behind the barricades, he finished with a broad grin as if that was a terribly original thought which brought a chuckle from everyone at the table except Jones. They were still laughing a bit when the door opened.

            The captain walked in through the door and purposefully strode through the tavern towards the door that would take him up to his room. He paused only slightly as he walked by the table and greeted them. A round of Captain flowed around the table and he walked past.

            Jones got the sense that the captain didn’t approve of him and felt resentment at this. His body was still sore from re-loading the ship. They had just been given a new ship, while the oldone was in the yard for refitting. This, he was told, was the only reason the captain wasn’t sleeping aboard; his quarters weren’t yet ready.

            The captain had made darn sure the cargo was in however. Jones, Hesster and Carleton had been loading all morning when the captain came out of his meeting with the owners. He took one look at the hold and then gave a quizzical look at Hesster. Sensing he was about to be reprimanded Hesster put aside the crate he had been about to load onto the pallet destined for the hold.

            What have you got there, Hesster? Captain Rawley asked in a way that made you realize he already knew the answer.

            Porcelain.

            And is that a heavy or a light load?

            Hesster would have been hard pressed to say anything but the former with the sweat streaming down his face.

            I’d suggest you men reload this cargo and get it right, if you aren’t sure how to do that I can help you and make sure it is done correctly, There was an air of heavy sarcasm in the captains voice. Jones looked indignant.

            Excuse me, sir, Jones surprised himself with his tone, but this isn’t a sailing ship in the ocean, this is a steam ship going up the Mississippi.

            Rawley considered this for a second. He looked at Jones with icy dark eyes. Jones withered a bit under the glare.

            "Mr. Jones, there is a correct way to pack the cargo on a ship. It doesn’t matter whether it is a steam ship or a sailing ship and it doesn’t matter if it is plying a river or the widest ocean.

            It lends to the stability of a vessel. Of course you are right that a steam ship on this river is going to face less chance of capsize than an ocean going ship but that is no reason not to do things in the safest way," and with that he walked onto the deck and looked through a small pile of luggage. He selected a trunk and opened it. Jones’ eyes followed Rawley while Carleton and Hesster did their best to look at anything but Jones or the Captain.

            Captain Rawley selected a book from several that were in the pile and brought it over to Jones. It was a squat officious looking volume whose very appearance would dissuade a man from reading it. He put it in Jones’ hands.

            If you want to learn all about it, this is your key, Rawley said, you can borrow it while we are on this little cruise. By the time you’re finished, you won’t need me to direct the work.

            With that Rawley dropped into the hold and filled his now empty hands with a crate. Jones looked on at the captain as he shimmied down the rope, then as Carleton and Hesster followed Rawley down into the hold. Jones held the spine up close to look at the title, "Stevens on Stowage". Then he looked again at the captain moving crates around in the hold with his shipmates, put the book down and joined them.

            That explained why his body ached so tonight. If there was anything good about the night it was that he wouldn’t have to add to his aching muscles carrying a heavy purse about with him.

            Benoit had fixed him up on that score.

*****

            The crew had been the recipients of stares and glares all night; but this had been the case since they had arrived. Since they pulled their new steam ship into the port they could feel the tension around them which was understandable given the circumstances.

            The governor had just called a convention two days ago to determine where Louisiana would stand on the issue of secession. Since Louisiana state troops had just taken over all of the federal property in the capital and places like New Orleans it didn’t look good for remaining with the Union as far as Jones could see it. Still he wasn’t overly concerned about the issues of war, he was just looking to get his job done and hoped he still had one when the war came.

            The card game broke up when Benoit had all of their money, or at least the portion of his earnings that each man was willing to risk in a card game against such a lucky opponent. Benoit

was half dragging, half being dragged back to his house. He lived in the Big Easy and had done so for about a dozen years now. He needed to escape from France after the events in ’48 and New Orleans seemed like the best place to go. Half the people already spoke a version of French and Benoit was smart enough to pick up English for the other half. There was a river here and he had worked the Seine when he lived in Paris. In his mid-thirties, the man seemed to be having as good a time as anyone could, travelling up and down the Mississippi; and spending both his hard earned and easy-won money on a life of gratified appetites.

            Jones envied the ex-pat as he watched him go on his way up the street from the window of the hotel bar. The other men from his crew decided that they had no more money to drink and were moving upstairs to retire; they planned to leave tomorrow morning so he might as well get his sleep.

            He heard the door open behind him as he was just about to go up the staircase leading up to their rooms. Are they still here? the creole accent crooned to the bartender, the latter answered that the last one was right in the middle of the room.

            Jones turned around to see about a half dozen militia men in various degrees of uniforms had entered and they were all armed with a variety of firearms from shotguns and smoothbore muskets to one brand new Enfield. What is more is that there were at least twice as many men behind them outside. The bartender was stuck in a pose pointing right at him.

            The air was chilly even in New Orleans at the end of January.

            Where were you born, a barn? Jones shouted, Its cold out, close the damn door. Out of habit the militia officer moved to comply and Jones was on his way up the stairs before they even had a chance to react. A bullet whizzed past him as he ran and he heard the officer and the bartender cussing out the overzealous soldier for shooting inside and at a civilian. Jones reached the landing and the doors opened as half-dressed men stumbled out into the hall.

            Rawley came out into the hall ready for action as Jones ran past him.

            Looks like the convention went against us, Captain. There are militia here looking for us.

            As if to add emphasis to the truth to his words the half dressed man could hear the stomping of feet on the stairs. Jones got to the window only to see more militia stationed outside. He turned around to see the first of the Louisiana guard at the top of the stairs moving towards him. The officer in charge put his hands out and palms down as if trying to calm down an animal. Now, I don’t want any trouble, he sounded more like he just didn’t need this headache and threat I just need you men to come with me for a time. I’m sure all will be right after a bit and then you can all go home.

            I’m the captain of this crew, Rawley replied, My men will offer no trouble to you, I just want to know what is your purpose here.

            You are all, the officer managed with a slight pause before he spoke so that he didn’t say ‘ya’ll’ and finished just as deliberately, Yankees.

            That isn’t true, objected Hesster, Carleton and I here are Ohioans. Jones is from Illinois.

            You are all, again the deliberate speech was noticeable, from the North then.

            We are all from the North, agreed Rawley, I guess this means that your state has voted for secession?

            It does and it also means that you are, it came slightly easier that time, in our country as potential belligerents. I hope it will not come to that, but we’ve been ordered to impound your vessel and take you into custody.

            There was a pause while the men looked around at each other and then back at the militia officer.

            In that case I place you under arrest and will ask you to come with me at this time. I will allow for you to gather your belongings as I understand that you are not willfully breaking the law and only find yourselves the victims of changed circumstances that, while they were predictable, were not known to you at . ..

            We’ll get our stuff and come with you, Rawley interrupted. There are guards everywhere, Captain, the officer said as he followed his men down the stairs, It would be unwise to try to escape.

*****

The crew was moved to a large warehouse, mostly empty except for the few crates that were awaiting shipment to newly forming garrisons along the length of the Mississippi all the way up to where the federal government would be in control. With the impending political problems merchants had shipped out as much as they could, anticipating a blockade. These crates were marked with a stencil saying, Property of the U.S. Army, but U.S. was crossed out.

            They were allowed to keep all of their kit, the government in New Orleans wasn’t sure what to do with them or their ship yet. They certainly were not combatants but they were Northerners.

            The next day Rawley was informed that while he and his crew were free to move about town they were not to leave and their ship was being temporarily impounded while the political situation sorted itself out; and so they remained for the next ten weeks.

            Rawley had a small boat that he towed behind his ship. Most nights when he was in a port he would spend the evening going up and down the river, sometimes fishing but usually just reading over letters he received from his wife. Each time he had gotten a new letter from her he would take it out to his little boat and well away from the mass of people in whatever city it was the letter found him in and read it on the open water. The current situation for Rawley made this practice unfeasible.

            Every day he presented a petition, in writing, to the commander of the garrison to be allowed to traverse the river in his little craft, most of the time the petitions went unanswered but about once a week the commander would put in writing why he thought the plan was unadvisable from his point of view, although he would gladly grant that and more if Rawley would take an oath of allegiance to the confederacy. Rawley wouldn’t and following his example neither would any of his crew. So the stalemate persisted.

            During the day Rawley and his men were press ganged into helping unload and load ships that were coming in from various places and to stock warehouses with cotton that had been brought down. They were paid for their work but had to spend most of the money they made in this fashion on room and board. What little money they had left over they were happy to give to Benoit who spent it on God-alone knew what.

            In the middle of April word came across the wire that the Confederates in Charleston had fired on Ft. Sumter and after a lengthy bombardment the United States had surrendered the fort.

            With that news Rawley knew that their situation had changed dramatically. His crew, along with the crews of three other ships in a similar situation, were summoned by Mayor Monroe who informed them that they would no longer be at liberty to move about in the city and that the New Orleans government considered itself in a state of war with the government of the United States of America. As citizens of that country the sailors could be repatriated to their country or remain in a Louisiana prison.

            Automatically most of the men chose repatriation, but Rawley would not.

            Carleton, that ship and its cargo are my responsibility. I will not leave them in the hands of these traitors, he explained, if they won’t let us go, or allow us to sell our goods and return to United States soil with that ship then we will stay.

            Initially, the men resisted, but finally agreed with him and shortly all eight of them were locked in the warehouse where they had spent their first night as prisoners of the rebel state.

*****

            The guards did not keep a close watch over them as this was a new responsibility and they didn’t think the men would be able to travel too far if they did escape. They were fed decently and allowed to go about in the yards especially if they were willing to help load and unload ships as they had before. Through this period, however, they remained defiant of their status, holding with the position that they were American citizens, being unfairly imprisoned by other Americans. Whatever spirit had taken hold of Rawley in this respect infected his crew as well. The days were hot and by this time of year even the night was uncomfortably hot too. The warehouse was stifling and it was almost impossible to get to sleep when the rebels locked it at nights. Rawley awoke at night soaked in sweat, as wet as if he were the child of Thetis at his baptism, except at least Achilles had one dry spot on him.

            In the mornings, they awoke to the light dimly filtering through a vent near the roof of the building as there were no external windows. They could see the clothes they had been wearing the previous day, the salt from their sweat formed white rings on the shirts and even the trousers now. They were dirty, smelly and unkempt.

            Late on the fourth night of their imprisonment none of the crew had fallen asleep yet when they heard a key twist in the lock on the doors of their room which prompted them to get to their feet quickly. Because there was a self-imposed blockade the warehouses was filling up pretty quickly with cotton and there wasn’t much space left for them. A single man stood in profile as the light from outside shone past him as he entered.

            Captain? he whispered.

            Benoit, what are you doing here? said Rawley arching his brows. The French man stopped moving. He tilted his head slightly to the side, I’m here to get you out.

            How did you get in, asked Jones.

            Did you think I’d been spending all of that money you so kindly gave me on whores and wine?

*****

            Rawley and his crew moved out of the warehouse. Mysteriously there were no guards about. Benoit lead them towards where the ship was being kept. It wasn’t there.

            Where is it Benoit? Rawley asked, somewhat exasperated.

            I was told it would be here, the Frenchman replied, My man was paid very well.

            Men were moving by torchlight about the ship yards despite the hour. They were working on various ships, obviously converting them for a more warlike purpose than the transport of china and cotton up and down the Father of Waters.

            Rawley scanned the ships in various stages of reconstruction, then grabbed Benoit’s sleeve. There it is, he whispered.

            As the men followed the line of his finger they could see their former ship had been transformed. There were carpenters working on the front of the ship, putting in a new beam and reinforcing the prow in other ways.

            They must want it for a ram. We won’t be getting out on that, Rawley said, Do you know where they took my steamer?

            I didn’t think to ask about that, responded Benoit.

            It could be anywhere. There must be a steam launch around here somewhere though, we’ll need to find one to get away, Rawley said.

            He said, Okay, everyone spread out, act natural, maybe carry something. There’s a pile of wood over there, take some of that over to the crew over there, just look like you belong. We will meet back here in twenty-minutes, which will be when the bells chime eleven. If you find one, come back right away.

            Does everyone understand? he asked, a question that received a round of nodding heads in response and they all moved off in different directions.

*****

            It would be another ten minutes before the bell chimed eleven o’clock but the men were all assembled at the prescribed rendezvous. A steamer for their needs had been easy enough to find, it was actually tied up to a steam boat that was moored next to where they had originally docked, it only took them a walk to the other side of the dock to find it. It was nearly thirty-feet long and six-foot abeam. The wheel was just behind the stack and there was a small cabin enclosing it on three sides. The glass had been removed from the launch. The boat was dirty, but in the dark and their hurry no one noticed that. The paint on the wooden sides looked new and the brown would probably blend in well with the color of the river they would need to access.

            The rest of the time was taken up disposing of the implements they had picked up to look natural.

            "This will probably work better anyway. Carleton and Hesster, go back to the warehouse and get everyone’s stuff, Jones you get on board and get the boiler started. Benoit, you and Francois, see if you can find any tools lying around. Hayley, take Beaverly and Colter over to that shed and start gathering up some coal.

            We are going to be pretty heavy, we might as well take as much fuel as we can. Terrence, get some barge poles. We won’t be able to really fire things up until we get clear of the docks. We’ll be leaving when that bell chimes 11:30."

            The men set to their appointed tasks, Rawley went with Jones to get the ship ready to launch. Soon the little craft was packed with bags, men and coal. There hadn’t been much in the way of spare tools lying about. The only weapon they had was Rawley’s pistol which hadn’t been taken from him because he hadn’t been searched.

            Carleton, Hesster, Hayley and Beaverly were all poling the boat into the lane that led to the channel which would take them out to the great brown river. Amid the general bustle going on at night they were just assumed to be another crew that was taking supplies to one of the various ships being worked on in the naval yards for the defense of the largest of the cities currently in rebellion against the government of the United States. They just needed to get moving; they had a several hour head start before the morning when the authorities would realize they were gone. They got underway and started steaming off into the darkness.

*****

            Rawley seemed to get new life. He got everyone to a station and a job, then turned to the Frenchman, So what are we looking at here, Benoit? How quickly are we going to be able to get to a federal ship in the gulf?

            We can’t go into the gulf, Captain.

            What!?

            No, there is a blockade, we wouldn’t be able to get through the pickets they’ve set up. There are more than 100 hundred guarded miles to the gulf. I thought we would head north.

            You want to go north!?

            Everyone was looking around at anything other than Rawley. Fortunately the hammering that was going on all over the place had covered up this last uncharacteristic outburst. He looked about too now. Then he looked back at Benoit.

            So the plan in getting us out was to take the ship all the way up to . . . where . . . Minnesota?

            The Captain of the little boat and its small, but bulky crew could see the anger growing in the Gallic face. Before a gust of French profanity could spill over and perhaps alert people that not all was right here, Rawley tacked to get any wind coming from the French man in his favor.

            Actually that isn’t such a bad idea, he said quickly, much to everyone’s relief.

            Francois, you are from down here too?

            Oui.

            There are a lot of free blacks down here. How do you think they would be fixed for helping some Northerners escape with a potential rebel boat?

            I think zey would love it.

            Captain, we should probably have a name for this little life boat, Jones looked at Rawley for acknowledgement. Rawley was silent for a few moments.

            I guess if we are going to defy the Southern government, he said finally, we should give the launch a name that would reflect that.

            The Captain turned around and picked up a half empty green bottle from the deck as if lost in thought. I guess it should be the USS Lincoln, he said, shattering the bottle on the side of the boat.

*****

            The makeshift transport steamed up the river in the dark. For several years until their detention Rawley had taken ships up and down this river most nights he was in New Orleans, which was frequently. He knew every mile of the bottom stretch of this winding river from the city all the way to west of Lac Des Allemandes to near where the river went north towards Baton Rouge. He knew he could cover the roughly 50 miles of the river in about 5 hours if the current wasn’t strong and at that moment it wasn’t.     There was no moon out to light their way, and most people didn’t travel the river at night for fear of snags and obstructions, but that was the audacious part of the plan. He hoped to get toward Baton Rouge, at least as far away from New Orleans, as possible, before the sun washed away the covering darkness of night. He arranged shifts with responsibilities, then told his men to get what sleep they could on the deck. Some arranged the coal bags into pillows and a couple fell asleep but the rest couldn’t sleep at all.

            After the first 50 miles, though, they would need to slow down significantly. Rawley considered how he was even going to go on from there. He knew the river well enough, while he didn’t plié its waters nightly that far up, he had still taken steam boats up and down it a fair number of times in these last two years. Still they would need to keep to the left bank as much as possible as it got towards dawn.