She leaned over to kiss his cold forehead one last time. And unbidden the last words he had spoken sprang poisonously to her mind.
“The Trent Affair. Those Americans did this. They have killed my love.”
She screamed aloud, tore at her clothing, screamed again and again and again.
Across the Atlantic the winter was just as bad as that in England. There were thick sheets of ice in the river water that were struck aside by the ferry boat’s bow, to thud and hammer down her sides. It was a slow passage from the island of Manhattan. When the ship finally tied up in its slip on the Brooklyn shore of the East River, the two men quickly went from the ferry and hurried to the first carriage in the row of waiting cabs.
“Do you know where the Continental Ironworks is?” Cornelius Bushnell asked.
“I do, Your Honor — if that is indeed the one on the river in Greenpoint.”
“Surely it is. Take us there.”
Gustavus Fox opened the door and let the older man precede him. The cab, stinking of horse, was damp and cold. But both men were warmly dressed for this was indeed a bitter winter.
“Have you met John Ericsson before?” Bushnell asked. They had met at the ferry and had had little chance to talk before in private.
“Just the once, when he was called in by the Secretary of the Navy. But only to shake his hand — I had to miss the meeting, another urgent matter.”
Bushnell, although chairman of the navy committee funding the ironclad, knew better than to ask what the urgent matter was. Fox was more than the Assistant Secretary of the Navy; he had other duties that took him to the Presidential Mansion quite often. “He is a mechanical genius… but,” Bushnell seemed reluctant to go on. “But he can be difficult at times.”
“Unhappily this is not new information. I have heard that said of him.”
“But we need his genius. When he first presented his model to my Naval Committee I knew he was the man to solve the problem that is troubling us all.”
“You of course mean the ironclad that the South is building on the hull of the Merrimack?”
“I do indeed. When the Confederates finish her and she sails — it will be a disaster. Our entire blockading fleet will be in the gravest danger. Why she could even attack Washington and bombard the city!”
“Hardly that. And not that soon as well. I have it on good authority that while her hull and engines have been rebuilt in the drydock, there is a serious shortage of iron plate for her armor. There is no iron in the South and they are desperate. They are melting down gates and fences, even tearing up disused railroad sidings. But they need six hundred tons of iron plate for that single ship, and that is far from easy to obtain in this manner. I have men reporting from inside the Tredegar Iron Works in Richmond, the only place in the South where armor plate is rolled. There is not only a shortage of iron — but a shortage of transportation as well. The finished plates just lie there, rusting, until railroad transportation can be arranged.”
“That is most gratifying to hear. We must have our own vessel ready before she is launched, to stand between her and our vulnerable fleet.”
The cab stopped and the driver climbed down to open the door. “Here she is, the ironworks.”
A clerk took them to the office where Thomas Fitch Roland, owner of the Continental Ironworks, awaited them.
“Mr. Roland,” Bushnell said, “this is Mr. Gustavus Fox who is Assistant Secretary of the Navy.”
“Welcome, Mr. Fox. I imagine that you are here to see what progress we are making on Captain Ericsson’s floating battery.”
“I am indeed most interested in that.”
“Work goes according to plan. The keel plates have already been passed through the rolling mill. But you must realize that a craft of this type has never been built before. And, even as we begin to assemble the ship, Mr. Ericsson is still working on the drawings. That is why I asked Mr. Bushnell’s committee for just a bit more time.”
“That will not be a problem,” Bushnell said. “I always felt that three months, from design to completion, was very little time. Are you sure that ten more days will be enough?”
“Ericsson says that she will be launched after one hundred days — and I have never known him to be wrong.”
“That is good news indeed. And now — may we see this remarkable vessel?”
“That will be a little difficult. The hull is still under construction and there is very little that can be seen at the present time. I feel that if you will look at these drawings you will understand something more of this wonderful invention.” He spread the large sheets out on the table. “The bottom of the hull is made of iron plate and is 124 feet long and eighteen feet wide. It is stiffened with angle iron and transverse timber beams to support the decking above which is much bigger, all of 172 feet long and forty-one feet abeam. And armored, heavily armored on top and on the sides that extend below the water to protect the thin hull. Engines here in the hold to drive the propeller screw. And all of this has but a single purpose — to bring this turret into battle.”
“I am sure of that,” Fox said, turning the drawings about. “But I must admit that my experience in understanding the designer’s craft is less than perfect. The ship is apparently made of iron, with some wood to reinforce it. But is not iron heavier than water? Will it not sink when launched?”
“Have no fear of that. There are a number of iron ships afloat — and iron warships as well. The French have one — the British too. The hull will certainly support the massive firepower of the turret, the new engines will bring it into battle.”
“Then we shall see the turret itself — and the man who designed it.”
The large building echoed with the clamor of metal on metal. Overhead winches swayed up a load of plate iron to be fitted onto the growing hull. Following Roland they made their way toward the rear of the hall where the circular form of the turret was beginning to take shape. A tall, gray-haired man with mutton-chop whiskers was supervising the assembly of a small steam engine. Although he was almost sixty years old Ericsson’s strength was still phenomenal; he easily lifted and slid into place a rocker beam that weighed over ninety pounds. He nodded to his visitors and wiped the grease from his hands with a rag.
“Und so, Bushnell, you come to see what you spending the navy’s $275,000 on.” Although he had been an American citizen for many years he had not lost his thick Swedish accent.
“I do indeed, John. You have met Mr. Fox before?”
“I have. In the office of the Secretary of the Navy — and joost the man I want to see. I want my money!”
“I am afraid that appropriations are not my responsibility, Mr. Ericsson.”
“Then talk to someone to pay up. My good friend Cornelius here has received nothing — even though he is building my ship! He pays for the iron plate out of his own pocket. This is a situation that should not be. The navy commissions this battery so the navy must pay.”
“I promise to talk to my superiors and do what I can to alleviate the situation.” Not that it will do much good, he thought to himself. The navy was tight-fisted and loath to pay any debts that could be avoided. “But for the moment I would dearly like to discover how this vessel’s marvelous turret will operate.”
“It will operate in a manner never seen before, I assure you.” Ericsson patted the black metal affectionately, financial matters forgotten for the moment. “Deadly and impenetrable. This armor is eight inches thick and the gun has not been made that can send a shell through that much iron. Now around here — you see these openings. Through them will fire two 11-inch Dahlgren guns. Remember — this vessel has been designed to work in the coastal waters of the South, to penetrate up narrow rivers in search of its prey. Turning the entire ship to fire the guns, the way navy ships are built now, will no longer be necessary. That is the genius of my design — for this entire 120-ton turret revolves!”