Mike stepped out of the house just as Beth came from the barn. “How’s the hardware lady?” he grinned down at her.
“Hello,” she said slowly. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”
“Might be around for a while. It’s getting pretty tight trying to ship along the Ohio. Missouri’s been at it again. Fickle as a flighty female,” he muttered, and Beth giggled. “Naw, that’s not fair to females,” he admitted. “It’s not the state’s fault either; it’s a bunch of cowed people who can’t get up their nerve to send the Rebels packing. First they decided to be on the Union’s side, then they sit back and let the Rebels take over.”
“What happened?”
“It wasn’t one thing, it was a whole series of happenings. The governor is just plain pro-slavery. In the Kansas struggle, back in the fifties, he moved into the territory with his gang. He was pushing slavery. That’s where he first tangled with General Lyon. Might say they had each other’s number before all this started.
“Back in January, Jackson was inaugurated as governor. He made it clear he thought Missouri belonged with the South, even though he had to work with a Union legislature. Long after he had told Lincoln he wouldn’t send men to fight, he turned around and asked Jeff Davis for artillery to take over the St. Louis arsenal.
“Well, I could keep going on and on. Needless to say, when General Lyon came on the scene, the two locked horns. It cost Lyon his life, but it sure set Jackson’s men back on their heels. Now I suppose the Confederates are back to courting his favor again because of forts Belmont and Columbus. Belmont is on the western side of the Mississippi, and Columbus on the eastern. Both are important if the Confederates intend to hold the river.”
Mike watched Beth move to the woodpile and select a log for a seat. “Am I boring you?”
“No,” she said quickly. “But I’m wondering why this is all so important.”
“Just the struggle going on for territory. It’s like watching wildfire. You think it’s out, then it flares up somewhere else. You don’t dare turn your back for fear you’ll get your tail feathers singed.”
Beth laughed and Mike continued. “When General Lyon came, he announced he’d fight to the finish to get the Confederates out of Missouri. He’d already decided they were bound to push as hard as we’d let them. A feisty fighter he was—showed us a good job of it. One time he stood with his men until the Rebels were right under their guns. They fired one volley and then went after the enemy with bayonets. That’s when General Lyon was killed.”
“The North will miss such a general,” Beth said slowly.
Mike nodded. “General Fremont took over for him. Right now there’s Confederate troops gathering in the southeast corner of the state. They’re threatening Cairo in Illinois. That’s why I’m home. In fact, I heard President Lincoln’s calling for closing the Mississippi River to anything except essential traffic.”
“What’s essential?”
“Troops, ammunition. The situation in Missouri’s been touchy for a long time; now there are problems with Kentucky and Tennessee.”
“It’s bringing war close to us. It’s scary.”
She turned her face. Mike hesitated, then finally asked, “Is Fairmont still around?”
She looked up. “Why do you ask?”
“Looking for information—troop movement, and so forth.”
She laughed. “And I thought you were going to lay siege—whatever that means.”
With a grin he came toward her. “That word is best illustrated.” He backed her up against the apple tree, caught her shoulders, and kissed her. “That’s siege.”
“Oh,” she smiled up at him. “I thought siege had something to do with follow-up fighting.”
“It does,” he murmured, kissing her again. “There. Did you miss me a little?”
Beth backed away and touched her red cheeks. Wide-eyed, she looked at him. “A little,” she admitted. Then she turned away. Mike had time for only one swift mental kick before she turned again. In a rush of words she said, “As long as you’ll be here, you might as well come to the frolic next week: a hayride and watermelon feast.”
“Sounds wonderful. I’d stop the war for that.” He hesitated. “Are they still training soldiers down in the pasture?”
“Yes. Roald is in Washington again, but he expects to be back before the end of September.” A question leaped into her eyes.
“What are you thinking?”
“Just wondering if you intend to go to war, too.”
“Right now, no.” He hesitated. “I prefer shipping. But before this is over, we may all be in battle.”
Beth sighed and turned toward the house. “I must go help.”
“How’s the job going?”
“I suppose it’s all I can expect around here.” She tossed her hair back and looked up at him. “It keeps me busy when there’s nothing else to do.”
“Sadie tells me the women are working on packages for the soldiers, getting together socks and sending home-baked cookies.”
She nodded. “We all get in on it when there’s a rush to pack them up.” She slanted a glance at him. “Mike, are there lots of soldiers being killed?”
“And wounded, and taken prisoner. It’s not a lark,” he said slowly. “And I pray to God that it’ll soon be over, even when I’m doubting it will.”
“Do you think God favors the North?”
He looked at her. “No, of course not. He loves all people.”
“Then there isn’t a right side or a wrong side?”
“I’m not certain,” he said slowly. “We feel slavery is wrong, and that it’s wrong to split the Union. But in the end, it’s God’s judgment. Only He knows the real right and wrong of the situation. It seems to me the worst wrong is fighting, regardless of the reason behind it. If we’re Christians, then we ought not to be fighting.”
“Does that make a difference?” She tossed her hair away from her face. Her eyes clouded, “Seems you’re lifting up Christianity like a high and holy untouchable. Doesn’t sound very attractive. Guess I’d rather just admit I’m not all that good, but I’m happy with what I am.” She opened the door and slipped into the kitchen.
****
The following week when Mike and Beth returned from the hayride, Sadie cornered Mike in the kitchen. Picking straw from his hair, she said, “Mike, if thee touches a hot stove, thou wilt be burnt.”
He searched for a light touch. “Aw, Sadie, a fellow doesn’t get anything without trying.”
“Nonetheless, thou art too good for the likes of that lass.” Her eyes were heavy with conviction, and he nearly asked the reason for her concern.
Finally, managing a grin, he said, “Seems Fairmont and meself are coming in and out of here like puppets on a string. May the best man win!”
“I fear he will,” she said darkly as she passed him on the way to her bedroom.
****
Mike was still thinking of Sadie’s brooding statement and her frown the next week when he took the little tug and one barge down the Ohio.
When he docked at Cairo, a man in uniform came aboard. Looking curiously around, he entered the pilot house. Nodding to Mike he said, “Captain Ammit, Skipper.”
Mike introduced himself. “I’ve expected this. My boss in Pennsylvania informed me the tug would probably be commandeered.”
“We can use it,” Ammit said. “But right now we’re in need of men as well. You’ve been down the Ohio a half dozen times with a full complement of barges since we’ve been stationed here. That tells us something. Have any thoughts about joining the navy?”
Mike sighed gently. “Haven’t given it much thought; this kind of shipping is about all I know. Don’t consider myself an expert.”
“Would you be interested in a couple of trips downriver? We can use your experience, and you can size us up.”
“Sounds like it might work,” he admitted slowly.
“I’ll make arrangements for you to meet with Flag-Officer Foote and General Grant.” The fellow grinned at Mike’s expression. “We don’t usually try this hard to make a good impression on our recruits. I’ve mentioned you to the two of them, and they’re interested in talking to you.” He backed out of the pilot house. “I’ll be in contact; meanwhile stay with your vessel.”
Late the following afternoon, Ammit made another appearance. “Clancy, if you are available now, I’ll take you up to see Commander Foote and General Grant.”
“Guess I’d better change my shirt.”
Ammit laughed. “Go ahead; I hope you find the interview worth a clean shirt.”
When Captain Ammit opened the door to the narrow, box-like room, Mike looked around. He was struck by the room’s resemblance to a packing crate. He eyed the rough, unpainted walls, the equally crude table, and the man hunched down in his chair with his feet on the table. “Good luck, Clancy,” Ammit muttered, backing out of the room.
The man in the crate hunched himself higher in the chair. “Yes?”
Mike cleared his throat and said, “I have an appointment to see Flag-Officer Foote and General Grant.”
“Foote will be along shortly. Please state your name and business.”
Uneasily Mike moved his shoulders. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing secret about it. Captain Ammit contacted me, and said Commander Foote and General Grant wanted to see me.”
“And?”
Mike hesitated. “Oh, I’m Mike Clancy, I’ve been piloting a tug on the river for the past year.”
The man’s feet came down; he stood and leaned across the table with his hand outstretched. “Glad to meet you, Mike. I’m Grant. Sit down.” Slowly Mike sat. He observed the rumpled uniform and the sad eyes. Grant said, “Ever hear of a gunboat? Well, we’re having some put together for us, and we’re desperately in need of pilots.”
The door opened. “General Grant—” The man in naval uniform nodded, came into the room, and sat down at the table.
“Michael Clancy, sir.” Mike sat down and waited.
Grant muttered, “This is Flag-Officer Foote. Andrew, want to tell Mike what a gunboat is?”
Foote studied Mike. “You look young for a pilot, but we’ll know soon enough when we get you in an ironclad.” He pulled out pencil and paper. “This is what it looks like. Designed by a man named Samuel Pook, they’ve been dubbed Pook’s turtles.”
He leaned back and looked at Mike. “The gunboats are paddle wheelers, with a flat bottom. All of the strategic parts are shielded by iron plates. The boat carries thirteen guns, and manpower to handle them. They’re shallow-draft, designed with waterways like the Tennessee River in mind.” Foote began to grin. “I can see the idea is intriguing.”
“Sir, when are you going to build these—turtles?”
“They’re in the process of being built right now. So far we have two completed. We’ll have all of them in the water before the end of the year. Meanwhile, we have a lot of work to do in order to be ready to use them. Ever train a pilot?”
Grant spoke up. “How about taking us on a little fishing trip on that tug?” A half-grin pulled at his serious face. “I’ll provide the fishing poles, and you think of some good fishing hole, like the Tennessee or Cumberland Rivers.”
Foote chuckled. “I hope you’re kidding. Think we can get past those forts?”
“Not in uniform, and I’m not certain you can act stupid enough to get yourself into such a situation,” Grant said with a chuckle.
Mike scratched his ear. “I’m not certain stupid men would be out in a boat like the tug in the first place.” He looked at Grant. “Must it be a tug? If you’re wanting a sounding, I’d take it with a pole. From looking at the terrain and the nature of the water, I can pretty much tell what we’ll get into. Seems best to just go in there in a skiff.” Mike paused, eyed Foote’s expression, and murmured, “Oh, I get you. You wanna know how I handle a clumsy boat in such water, and you’re not serious about going in. I’ve never taken a boat into the Tennessee.”
Commander Foote stood up. “Well, Mike, if you’re interested in giving this a try, we might as well go look at those boats.” He grinned at him and added, “Guess I’m not too worried about how you handle a boat—or won’t be after today. Come along.”