THE BANKS OF the James River were chilly, especially so early in the morning. Molly sat with the Atwaters—Webster at her side. He had not managed to garner an invitation from the men of the previous night’s party. His melancholy returned by the time they returned to the hotel. It plagued him so much that it became hard for Molly to convince him to attend. It wasn’t until she said they were joining Captain Atwater and his wife that he perked up. At once he understood what it meant. They would see the first trials of the new warship.
They sat in a reviewing stand, facing the river. Up front, rows of naval officers and other Confederate officials sat upon hastily built wooden seats. Most brought their wives to see the spectacle. Mr. and Mrs. Cheeney sat near the front. The captain insisted on sitting at the back of the stands where they could barely hear a junior officer narrate the action—his uniform, pressed and starched. He looked so young.
The only thing in view upon the water was a single barge. It bobbed with the light current, anchored in place. The boat appeared old. Captain Atwater kept calling it the “target.” Molly strained her view in all directions to see the new warship that Cheeney had designed.
Captain Atwater’s leg bounced against the seat. Twice his wife leaned over and placed a hand upon his knee to silence his nerves. While the government commissioned Cheeney to design the boat, Captain Atwater managed the project. His career was on the line—maybe more so than Cheeney’s reputation.
“From which direction will the boat come?” Molly asked.
She had leaned close to Mrs. Atwater, as much for shelter from the wind as to make the older woman hear her. Without taking his eyes from the water, Captain Atwater answered.
“It’s already here.”
Molly turned back to the river. Only the barge floated upon the water. Still tugging at the chains that held it fast.
“You mean the barge?” Molly asked.
Captain Atwater pointed to the water in front of the barge.
“Do you see the float?”
A green ring, big enough to hold two men inside, floated upon the water. Molly had noticed it earlier but paid it no mind.
“I do.”
“The boat is below the float.”
Webster looked to her. He didn’t understand either.
“How do you mean?” Molly asked.
“The ship floats below the waves. The only portion you can see from the surface is the float.”
“Under the water?” Webster was confused.
“Watch the float,” the captain answered.
Molly focused upon the green ring. It moved, or at least it appeared to move. The waves made it hard to tell. Then it definitively closed in upon the barge, getting closer with each passing moment. Mrs. Atwater leaned close.
“I wouldn’t believe it either, if I hadn’t seen it. We toured the Tredegar Ironworks last week, and John showed me the ship. It looked like a giant bumblebee, with iron on the outside. The floatation collar, the green ring—it’s attached to a hose. Two men work a handle and gear, which runs a propeller. Then a third man exits the ship with another hose. He swims to the barge, plants an explosive with a fuse, and then they sail away.”
Captain Atwater handed a set of field glasses across the women to Webster. He focused them and watched.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“They’re fixing the explosives.”
“From the boat?”
“This is where the diver swims on alone,” Atwater answered. “We won’t see much for a few minutes. Watch for the flotation collar to move. That way we know they recovered the diver and are heading back.”
A few minutes later the green float headed back toward the shore. It skimmed the surface, bouncing upon the waves as the river flowed between the barge and the shore. When it neared land, a mighty explosion tore through the barge. Molly startled. She had forgotten about the barge. Webster jumped, too. He gripped her hand so tight she worried he might break her fingers. She liked the feel of it. When they looked at one another, he leaned close. Then his grip eased, and he stood.
“My God,” he muttered. “It’s not a trick?” He turned to Captain Atwater.
“Indeed, not,” the captain answered. “Come, they’ll need help recovering the vessel. You can see it up close.”
He let go of Molly’s hand, but she grabbed his coat and pulled him near.
“The water will be cold—remember your rheumatism.”
He smiled, caught up in the moment. His attention fixated upon the shore of the river. The first glimpse of the mysterious underwater boat was coming into view. It broke the surface of the water. He leaned down and placed a hand along Molly’s cheek.
“I’ll be fine.”
Then he leaned close, as if to kiss her. As he whispered in her ear, his lips brushed against her cheek and his breath lingered. It gave her goose bumps.
“I need to see this up close. Don’t fret.”
He followed Captain Atwater toward the water’s edge. They walked down the stands. Then they dashed toward the others who were knee deep in the water and wrestling with the rope lines. More of the vessel appeared upon the surface of the water.
“He seems a nice man,” Mrs. Atwater offered.
“Yes, I suppose.”
Molly still watched the men. Webster was in the water, helping to pull the vessel to the rickety dock. It had been fashioned near the shore for the test. Mrs. Atwater moved closer, ensuring no one overheard.
“But he is not your husband?”
Molly shook her head. She diverted her attention from the mysterious warship and glanced at Mrs. Atwater.
“He would rather I was not in Richmond,” Molly said.
“I don’t think that’s true. I saw how he looked at you last night.”
“That was the dress,” Molly said.
“I think not,” Mrs. Atwater answered. “Thomas used to look at me that way. Sometimes he still does, but I am older. We are both older, I suppose.”
Mrs. Atwater glanced to the men, still struggling with the ship. She held a whimsical look, as if she dreamed of times gone past. Then she shook herself from those thoughts, and once again faced Molly.
“You will join us tonight?” she asked.
“Tonight?” Once more Molly had not heard of any plans.
“Of course, there will be a tremendous celebration at the Cheeney estate. You can meet the intrepid sailors who attacked that innocent barge.” Mrs. Atwater’s sarcasm filled the space between them.
“I don’t know,” Molly said. Did Mrs. Cheeney recognize her?
“You can come with us. And I shall point out Mr. Webster’s inclinations. He is certain to show his true self, especially if you have a similar dress.”
Molly forced the thought from her mind.
“Do you know what happened to her?” Molly asked. She nodded in the general direction of Mrs. Cheeney. “She masked a large bruise upon her face last night.”
“We hear the rumors. Mr. Cheeney has a mean streak when under the influence of the liquor. She is not a bad woman. Rather timid, but nonetheless respectable.”
“That is a pity.”
“It is,” Mrs. Atwater said. “I am lucky to have a gentle soul in my husband. And I like Mr. Webster.” She let her voice trail off with a devilish intonation.
“It’s not like that,” Molly said.
Webster still worked on the ship. He helped the others lash it to the dock. Standing in waist deep water, he shook hands with everyone he could find. Then he helped hoist the sailors from the ship onto the shoulders of several men. Despite the cold, and the likely freezing water, spirits were high. Webster played into the scene. He pulled himself out of the water as he stuck his head inside the hatch of the ship.
“If you insist,” Mrs. Atwater said. “But I am telling you, that man fancies you.”
Maybe Mrs. Atwater saw something she didn’t, or the older woman read some sign from Molly. He made her feel so small. Yet, she craved his acceptance.
Webster trudged up the short hill along the riverbank and joined the two women, clutching Molly as he stopped. His arm was firm around her waist, and he leaned on her. The cold from his wet clothes pushed through her dress.
“What do you think of our ship?” Mrs. Atwater asked.
“I wouldn’t have believed it without seeing for myself,” Webster said. “Whoever would believe a ship could sail beneath the water?”
“They plan on attacking the blockade soon.” She lowered her voice and looked around before saying anything else. “If they do that, the South will get anything they want from Europe—even rifles for cotton. Do you think you can get word North?”
“We will find a way.” Webster looked directly at Molly, a faint smile coming from his blue lips. “Even if we have to take word ourselves.”
Molly’s face flushed. His hand tightened around her waist.
“You cannot fail,” Mrs. Atwater said. “This ship will change the war.”