Cooper and Lucius arrived then. They pointed out to Beauregard that Hunley offered one advantage that David did not: silence. The official reports showed that David's engine had alerted New Ironsides to danger before the torpedo boat struck. Beauregard protested that he had had no time to scrutinize the reports, else he would have drawn the same conclusion. Cooper suspected the pompous little Creole was lying but settled for the general's promise of encouragement and cooperation. It was needed, he discovered. Hunley had already been nicknamed "the Peripatetic Coffin."
Hunley himself reached Charleston a few days later to take charge of the next test, on October 15. He and the entire replacement crew brought from Mobile lost their lives. "She was buried bow first, nine fathoms down, at an angle of roughly thirty-five degrees," Cooper said the night afterward. He hunched before a plate from which he had eaten nothing.
His daughter asked, "How deep is nine fathoms, Papa?"
"Fifty-four feet."
"Brrr. Nothing but sharks in the dark down there."
And that Peripatetic Coffin.
"But you've already raised her —" Judith began.
"Raised her and opened her. The bodies were twisted into horrible postures."
"Marie-Louise," her mother said, "you are excused."
"But, Mama, I want to hear more about —"
"Go."
After their daughter left the room, Judith briefly covered her mouth with her napkin. "Really, Cooper, must you be so graphic in front of her?"
"Why should I sugar-coat the truth? She's practically a young woman. The disaster happened, and it needn't have." He thumped the table. "It needn't have! We studied the bodies carefully. Hunley's, now — his face was black and his right hand was over his head. Near the forward hatch, which he was clearly trying to open when he died. Two others had candles clasped in their hands. They were down by the bolts that secure the iron bars to the bottom of the hull. The bars are extra ballast, unfastened and dropped when the captain wants to come up. But not a single bolt had been removed, though the poor wretches had clearly been trying. It was all a puzzle till we made the important discovery: the seacock for the ballast tank at the bow was still open."
"Telling you what?" Her tone and look said she wasn't sure she wanted to know.
"How she went down! Another crewman was manning the pump that empties the tanks. Panic must have ensured. Perhaps they used up the air, and the candles went out. In that confined space, that would do it. They were trying to bring her up, don't you see? But the seacock was open, and in the dark, with the panic, Hunley failed to order it closed. Or the man responsible was incapable of doing it. That's why they died. Operated properly, the vessel is seaworthy. She can kill plenty of Yankee sailors, and we're going to test her and train a crew until she's ready."
Judith gave him a strange look: sad, yet not submissive. "I'm frankly tired of hearing about your holy crusade to take human lives."
He glared. "Judah means nothing to you?"
"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?"