"I appreciate your industry, certainly. But you must take more time for yourself. You can't work every moment."
"Why not? I have debts to repay."
Mallory cleared his throat. "So be it. I have something else to show you, but it can wait till morning."
Cooper unbent his long body and stood. "Now will be fine." He circled the desk and peered into the soft oval of lamplight. The top drawing showed a curious vessel indicated as forty feet end to end. In the elevation, it reminded Cooper of an ordinary steam boiler, but in plan the bow and stern showed a pronounced taper, much like a cigar's. The vessel had two hatches, indicated on the elevation as only a few inches high.
"What the devil is it? Another submersible?" "Yes," Mallory said, pointing to a decorative ribbon in the lower right corner. Elaborate script within the ribbon spelled H. L. Hunley. "That's her name. The accompanying letter states that Mr. Hunley, a well-to-do sugar broker, was responsible for the concept and some of the first construction money. She was started at New Orleans. Her developers rushed her away to Mobile before the city fell. These gentlemen are finishing the job." He tapped a line beneath the ribbon: McClintock & Watson. Marine Engineers.
"They call her the fish ship," the secretary continued. "She's supposed to be watertight, capable of diving beneath an enemy vessel"— his hand swooped to illustrate "dragging a torpedo. The torpedo detonates when the fish ship is safe on the other side."
"Ah," Cooper said, "that's how she differs from David." The department had been laboring to develop a submersible for coast and harbor operations. The little torpedo vessel he had just mentioned carried her explosive charge in front, on a long bow boom. "That and her mode of attack. She is definitely designed to strike while submerged." David, though a submersible, was meant to operate on the surface when ramming with her boom.
An underwater boat wasn't a new idea, of course. A Connecticut man had invented one at the start of the Revolution. But few government officials, and certainly not the President, believed that the idea might have a current application. Its only proponents were Mallory and his little cadre of determined dreamers. Brunei would have understood this, Cooper thought. He would have understood us.
After a moment, he said, "Only testing will show us which design's the best, I suppose."
"Quite right. We must encourage completion of this craft. I intend to write the gentlemen in Mobile a warm and enthusiastic letter — and forward copies of all the correspondence to General Beauregard in Charleston. Now go home and get some rest." "But I'd like to see a little more of —" "In the morning. Go home. And be careful. I trust you've read about all the murders and street robberies lately." Cooper nodded, unsmiling. The times were dark with trouble. People were desperate. He bade Mallory good evening and trudged to Main Street, where he was lucky enough to pick up a hack at one of the hotels. It rattled up to Church Hill, where they had leased a small house at three times the peacetime price. Judith, a book in her lap, raised her head as he came in. Half in sympathy, half in annoyance, she said, "You look wretched."
"We splashed in the James all day. To no purpose."
"The torpedo —?"
"No good. Anything to eat?"
"Calf's liver. You wouldn't believe what it cost. I'm afraid it'll be cold and greasy. I expected you long before this."
"Oh, for God's sake, Judith — you know I have a lot of work."
"Even when you were trying to build Star of Carolina, you seldom stayed out this late. At least not every night. And when you came home, you smiled occasionally. Said something pleasant —"
"This is not a pleasant time or a pleasant world," he replied, cold and aloof suddenly. A droplet hung quivering on the end of his nose. He disposed of it with a slash of his soaked sleeve. "As Stephen says, it is no laughing matter to have the fate of the Confederacy in the hands of soldiers with swollen vanities in place of brains."
"Stephen." She snapped the book shut, held it with hands gone white. "That's all I ever hear from you — Stephen — unless you're cursing your sister."
"Where's Marie-Louise?"
"Where do you suppose she'd be at this hour? She's in bed. Cooper —"
"I don't want to argue." He turned away.
"But something's happened to you. You don't seem to have any feeling left for me, your daughter — for anything except that damned department."
One of his slender hands closed on the frame of the parlor door. He sniffed again, head lowered slightly. The way he gazed at her from under his eyebrows frightened her.
"Something did happen to me," he said softly. "My son drowned. Because of this war, my sister's greed, and your refusal to remain in Nassau. Now kindly let me alone so I can eat."
In the kitchen, seated near the cold stove, he cut into the liver, ate three bites, and threw the rest away. He went to their bedroom, lit the gas, and shut the door. After undressing, he piled two coverlets on, but still couldn't get warm.
Presently Judith came in. She undressed, put out the lamp, and climbed in beside him. He lay with his back to her, his face to the wall. She was careful not to touch him. He thought he heard her crying but didn't turn over. He fell asleep thinking of the drawings of the fish ship.
Once a week, Madeline repeated her invitation to dinner. Near the end of May, Judith finally prevailed on Cooper to stay away from the Navy Department for one evening. At four o'clock on the appointed day, he sent a message home saying he would be late. His hack didn't arrive on Marshall Street until half past eight.
In the spacious rooms on the top floor, the brothers embraced. "How are you, Cooper?" Orry smelled whiskey and was dismayed by the sight of his pale, disheveled guest.
"Very busy at the department." The reply made Judith frown.
"What sort of work goes on there?" Madeline asked as she led them in to the table set with lighted candles. She was anxious to serve the meal before it was ruined.
"We're engaged in the job of killing Yankees."
Orry started to laugh, then realized the remark was meant seriously. Judith stared at the floor, unable to conceal a look of distress. Madeline glanced at her husband as if to say, Is he drunk?
Murmuring a pretext — "May I help?" — Judith followed her hostess to the hot kitchen.
Madeline raised the lid of a steaming pot. "Can you conceive of greens selling for three and a half dollars a peck?"
The false cheer failed. Judith glanced at the closed door and said, "I must apologize for Cooper. He isn't himself."
Madeline replaced the lid and faced her sister-in-law. "Judith, the poor man acts like he's ready to explode. What's wrong?"
"He's working too hard — the way he did when Star of Carolina was on the verge of failure."
"Are you sure that's all it is?"
Judith avoided her eyes. "No. But I mustn't say anything. I promised I wouldn't. He'll tell you when he's ready."
Presently the four were seated with their food — the greens, a few potatoes sliced and fried, and the entree, a stringy saddle of lamb Madeline had purchased at one of the small farmers' markets springing up on the outskirts of the city. "Orry will pour claret, or water, if you prefer that. I refuse to serve that vile concoction of ground peanuts they're selling as coffee."
"They're selling a great many strange things," Judith said. "Pokeberry juice for writing ink —" She stopped as Cooper thrust his glass toward his brother. Orry poured it half full of claret, but Cooper didn't draw his hand back. The goblet sparkled in the candlelight. Orry cleared his throat and filled it full.