at us and rode off. It wasn't until later that I found out that Tom had been mortally wounded and carried off the field in a carriage like mine.”
“It was such an innocent beginning to terrible times,” he said.
She looked at his strong calm face. '^: No more so than when your wife died and you were helpless to do anything about it.”
“True. For the longest time I blamed the army doctors for being so incompetent as to be unable to cure a simple fever. Now I know they weren't incompetent, just ignorant. They actually bled her and purged her in an attempt to cure her. I was a soldier and understood that a man needs blood to live and food for nourishment. It made no sense to deprive a sick person of either, much less both. I thought it was criminal, but I don't feel that way anymore.” He laughed harshly. “Just think. Victoria, queen of England, couldn't find doctors to cure her husband. How on earth could I think anyone would save my dear Amy?”
It was a bright but cold day and they were able to walk down the street in comfort. They would return to their carriage at their leisure. Both would have preferred horseback, but it was still a little chilly for that.
“At first I thought Tom had died because of me,” she said. “I thought he'd enlisted to show me he was a warrior and impress me. Then I found his diary in which he said he did it because he thought it would be a great adventure and possibly save him if his criminal activities were discovered, and what I thought didn't matter at all.”
She did not tell him of the graft and kickbacks he'd written about, or about the woman he'd kept as a mistress. Those secrets would keep, perhaps forever. However, he did understand that their marriage had been a loveless one and that she'd cared for Tom until his death out of a sense of duty, not affection.
“I'm honored that you've told me all this,” Nathan said.
“I have my reasons, Mr. Hunter,” she said with a nervous smile. She was about to take a large step. “I find myself growing fond of you and I believe you are equally fond of me.”
“I am,” he said softly and she exhaled with relief.
“Unless everyone in Washington is mistaken,” she continued, “the army will again march south in a couple of days, and you'll be with it, won't you?”
“Yes.” McClellan had kept his word. Written permission to accompany the headquarters of the Army of the Potomac had come through.
“Very simply, Nathan Hunter, I do not wish you harmed.”
Her hand was in the crook of his arm and he put his other hand over it. “Let me assure you. Rebecca Devon, that I have no wish for that either. I will be with McClellan's headquarters and not at the front. The days of generals actually leading their armies are gone. Caesar might have done it but neither McClellan, nor Lee for that matter, will consider it.”
“I know. I'm being greedy, but I don't want to lose you so soon after finding you.”
Nathan smiled and gave her a mock bow. “I'm proud and honored to be the object of your greed.”
They turned and walked back to the carriage. Rebecca smiled contentedly. She had been a polite aggressor and it had worked. Along with gentle touches, they were also calling each other by their first names. It was yet another small step forward.
The Royal Navy's steam frigate HMSGorgon rode easily in the gentle swells off the entrance to New York Harbor. Along with two other steam frigates and a trio of small sloops, this was the entire Royal Navy force that was available to blockade the entire port of New York. The bulk of the fleet, along with the mightyWarrior, was off Norfolk, where a base was being established.
It was morning and a soft mist covered the sea's gentle swells. Above the mist, the sun was shining, which made it look much warmer than it was. The crews were not deceived and were bundled in winter clothing against the sharp chill.
In the distance, the batteries on Staten Island and Long Island covered the approaches to New York City. In the harbor, there were fingers of coal smoke above the mist as some ships moved about in the harbor. This was not a concern as American ships were always shuttling about.
TheGorgon kept station three miles from the shore, which put her just out of range of the largest guns the Americans had. The Americans had been humiliated by the bombardment of Boston, and had reacted with astonishing quickness and built seaward defenses at other ports. As a result, the shoreline bristled with cannon, and theGorgon and her sisters stayed prudently out of range.
It was a boring way to run a war, thought David Hawkes, the captain of theGorgon, but attempting to run the batteries would be suicidal insanity. The ships on patrol outside New York simply hadn't the firepower for the task.
“Ship ahoy,” came the cry from the lookout. “She's coming through the channel”
“What kind of ship?” Captain Hawkes yelled in exasperation. He was also acting commodore of the small squadron and felt the heavyweight of responsibility on his shoulders.
“Can't tell, sir. The mist is hiding her.”
Then she can't be too big, thought Hawkes. Still, it was coming from the enemy city, so she must be considered hostile. He ordered theGorgon ready to do battle. Her decks were cleared for action, and additional steam was provided. If it was a blockade-runner, he'd take her.
“What the devil is that?” he said as he squinted into the thinning mist at a low shape in the water that had begun to appear. Whatever it was, it was moving slowly towards theGorgon. “Sir,” said Lieutenant Freeland, his second in command. “I do believe it's their ironclad, theMonitor.”
Hawkes grinned. Yes, that's exactly what it was and he was going to have the opportunity to blow her out of the water. As the mist cleared, he saw that the ironclad was much smaller than his frigate, that her deck was almost flush with the water, and that a bulbous protrusion arose from the flat deck. He saw no guns, which puzzled him.
No matter, he thought. If the little American ship had come out to die, he would honor her last request. He ordered theGorgon turned broadside to the approaching vessel and, at long range, fired his starboard guns at her.
His crew cheered as the broadside thundered. Hawkes watched as a number of splashes arose around theMonitor. She was difficult to see, although he thought he saw hits on the bulbous thing that sat on top of the ship. TheMonitor ignored them and continued her approach.
“What the devil?” Hawkes wondered. A second broadside roared and this time he did see shells strike and bounce high into the sky off what Freeland said was a turret, There was still no return fire from the American,
The other ships in the British squadron moved closer but were unable to fire for fear of hitting theGorgon as theMonitor drew closer, “Is she going to ram?” Freeland asked.
“No,” Hawkes answered. “She's much too slow and I don't see a ram, No, she's going to close on us and duel,” Now he understood that the turret revolved, and that the guns were not going to be exposed until the last minute. Clever bastards, he thought.
Hawkes ordered a course and speed to run parallel with theMonitor, which was now only a hundred yards away and angling closer, A third broadside roared and, again, with no apparent effect,
“Damn,” snarled Hawkes. TheMonitor had dipped still closer and he doubted that the Gorgon's upper-deck guns could be lowered to reach the American, He had to extend the range, As he pondered this, the turret moved with infinite slowness until two large guns were pointed directly at the Gorgon's hull.
“Eleven-inchers,” Freeland said with professional dispassion. “Probably Dahlgrens.”
The two American guns belched fire. Shells struck low in the hull of the unarmored British ship. Hawkes and others were thrown to the deck by the impact. They were uninjured but there were screams from those less fortunate.
“Keep firing,” he ordered as he lurched to his feet, and then, “What damage?” He was informed that it was substantial, but that it could be contained.
TheMonitor's turret revolved away from theGorgon as the guns were reloaded. Agonizing moments later, the guns returned and again fired, hulling the British frigate. This time there was the scream of machinery crashing in theGorgon's hull, and, within seconds, she started to lose way, This time, the damage was serious and not going to be contained.
“Raise our sails,” Hawkes ordered anxiously. TheGorgon was dead in the water. “We have to be able to
