Love and War

'Judah died because of the actions of people on our side. Including your sister.'

Cooper shoved his chair away from the table. 'Spare me your mealy-mouthed pacifism. I'm going back to the office.'

'Tonight? Again? You've been there every —'

'You act as if I go larking off to some bordello or gaming house.' He was shouting now. 'I go to do work that's urgent and vital. General Beauregard will not, I repeat to you, he will not put Hunley into service unless we prove her seaworthy and equip her with a bow spar sturdy enough to hold a charge capable of sinking an ironclad, not merely damaging her. The spar must carry at least ninety pounds of powder. We're evaluating materials and designs.'

With slow, elaborate movements, he rose. Bowed. 'Now if I have once again explained my behavior and motivation to your satisfaction, and if there are no further trivial questions for which you require answers, may I have your permission to leave?'

'Oh, Cooper —'

He pivoted and walked out.

After the Tradd Street door slammed, she continued to sit motionless. His bolting off reminded her of his behavior when he had been struggling to build Star of Carolina. But then, living and working in a state of perpetual exhaustion, he had been gentle and affectionate. The man she had married. Now she lived with a vengeful stranger she hardly knew.

Those had been Judith's thoughts last October following the fatal test. As the holidays neared, nothing changed — unless you considered worsening to be a change. Worsening of matters at Tradd Street, worsening of matters in Charleston.

The city continued to resound and shake from enemy shell fire. Pieces of china had to be set well back on a shelf lest the tremors tumble them off. The Parrotts sometimes boomed all night long, and reflected red light on the bedroom ceiling frequently woke her. She wanted to turn and hold her husband, but he usually wasn't there. He seldom stayed in bed longer than two hours.

Curtness became Cooper's way of life. Just before Christmas she suggested that it might be well for them to travel up the Ashley to check on matters at the plantation. 'Why? The enemy is here. Let the place rot.' One night he brought Lucius Chickering home to supper — the purpose was additional time to work, not hospitality — and twelve-year-old Marie-Louise watched the young man adoringly all through the meal. She uttered several sighs impossible to miss or misinterpret.

When she and Judith left the men alone with brandy, Lucius said, 'I think your charming daughter's in love with me.' 'I am not in the mood to waste time on cheap witticisms.' Nor are you ever, Lucius thought. He found himself possessed of surprising courage as he cleared his throat. 'See here, Mr. Main. I know I'm only your assistant. Younger than you, far less experienced. Still, I know how I feel. And I feel a little lightness isn't out of order even in time of war. May help, in fact.'

'In your war, perhaps. Not in mine. Finish your brandy so we can get to work.'

Now it was January. Old Bory's flagging faith in Hunley had been kept alive by Cooper's pleading and by the enthusiasm of the new captain and crew. The former was another army officer, Lieutenant George Dixon, late of the Twenty-first Alabama Volunteers. The crew had been recruited from the receiving ship Indian Chief, and each man had been told Hunley's history. General Beauregard insisted.

Cooper knew, absolutely, that the submersible could be effective against enemy vessels blockading the harbor. Beyond that, and more important, if she could operate as designed, she could generate fear out of all proportion to her size. This was Mallory to the letter. Innovation, surprise — the sea route to victory or, barring that, an honorable negotiated peace for the nation whose military adventures were failures.

Thus, morning after morning, Cooper and Lucius stepped into their rowboat at the battery for the long pull out past the fallen casemates of Sumter, within sight of Catskill and Nahant and the other monitors, to the inlet on the back side of Sullivan's Island where the fish-ship tied up. The trip was hard, but easier than that of Captain Dixon and crew, who marched seven miles from their barracks just to start the day.

The creaky dock jutting from the sandy beach was pleasant in the winter sunshine. The two Navy Department men and Mr. Alexander, the gnarled British machinist who had helped build the vessel, repeatedly watched the crew submerge Hunley for short periods, with no mishaps.

Finally, late in January, there came a mellow afternoon when Dixon announced: 'We are ready, Mr. Main. Will General Beauregard authorize an attack?'

Cooper's thinning hair fluttered in the wind. His face, normally pale, was the color of pond ice. 'I doubt it. Not yet. You've only stayed down a few minutes each time. We must demonstrate that she can stay down much longer.'

'Well, sir, how long is much longer?' Alexander asked.

'Till the air runs out. Till the crew has reached the absolute limit of endurance. We must find that limit, Dixon. In fact, I want you to choose one man and put him ashore for the next test. I'll replace him — I got Old Bory's permisssion yesterday. I did it because it will help banish his doubt. I must prove the Navy Department trusts this vessel, that all the deaths have been the result of human error, not faulty design.'

'But Mr. Main,' Lucius protested, 'it could be extremely dangerous for you —'

Then, reddening and realizing he was in the presence of someone else who would face danger, he shut his mouth. He avoided his superior's murderous eye. Dixon's own reaction surprised Cooper.

'Mr. Chickering's right, sir. You are a married man with a family. Is your wife agreeable to —?'

'I need General Beauregard's permission, but I don't need hers. For anything. Keep that in mind, if you please. I want Hunley in service, sinking Yankee ships and drowning Yankee seamen, without further delay. I am going to take part in the test dive. We are going to make it tomorrow night.'

His hunched posture, compressed lips, furious eyes made argument inadvisable. Seaward, the Parrotts boomed as the day's bombardment started. A dozen big, black-headed gulls lifted from the beach in fright.

90

Approaching the end of his sixth month in Libby Prison, Billy weighed twenty-eight pounds less than he had the day he walked in. His beard hung to the middle of his chest. His face had a gray, sunken appearance. But he had learned how you survived.

You poke your food with your finger, hunting for weevils. Then you smelled the food. Better to starve than swallow some of the spoiled slop fed to prisoners. Bad food could induce the flux and force you to run repeatedly to a trough in one of the odorous wooden closets the keepers dignified with the name bathroom. You could die before you stopped running.

You inserted no angry words or sentiments, no criticism of the prison or its administration, in the letters you were permitted to write. To conserve paper, the allowable length of each letter had been reduced to six lines. Billy took this as a sign of the war going badly for the rebs. You didn't count on any of the letters reaching the North; Billy suspected some or all were burned or dumped in the James.

You slept lightly in case prisoners from another part of the building staged a rat raid, hunting for items to steal. To sleep lightly wasn't difficult. Each of the large rooms of the prison held between three hundred and five hundred men; the place was bursting because exchanges had slowed to a trickle. Billy's room on the top floor was so crowded that everyone slept spoon fashion. Without blankets. That added to the ease of sleeping lightly now that winter had come.

You stayed away from the windows. You did so no matter how strong your longing for a whiff of fresh air instead of the stinks of fumigation. Guards outside, and even some civilians, occasionally shot at prisoners who appeared at windows. These marksmen received no reprimand from the warden.

You broke the tedium by taking an apple or newspaper or small homemade oatmeal cake from the basket of