1862 – A Beautiful Lady
Posted: Tue Jan 24, 2023 12:21 am
1862 – A Beautiful Lady
Pittsburg Landing, Tennessee, March 31, 1862
The Seer sat comfortably astride his horse, watching a column of men and wagons slowly trundling down the bank of the Tennessee River to the sidewheel steamers waiting at the landing below. Idly, he thought back to rivers he had seen in past campaigns. The Granicus. The Pinarus. The Rhine. Many others, large and small. All of them barriers. For his entire life, the Seer had rarely seen rivers as anything else. They were something that had to be crossed, or something that could be used to trap an army, or something that could be used to anchor a flank. Oh, river valleys had strategic value. But the rivers themselves were just a terrain feature. Something a general could use.
The Granicus, now, that had been a bad one. Befitting a king, Alexander had royally screwed up. When they'd reached the Granicus and found the Persians waiting on the opposite bank, Parmenio had advised moving upriver and crossing at an undefended point by night, then attacking the next morning, using the offensive tactics that had wrecked so many armies during the wars of Philip II. Philip would have listened to Parmenio. For that matter, Parmenio never would have had to offer such obvious advice to Philip.
But Alexander hadn't listened. He'd been afraid that the Greek mercenaries in Persian service - not yet arrived at the Granicus - had learned from the defeats handed them by Parmenio and would use Parmenio's tactics against his army. Never mind that they were mercenaries who had been repeatedly defeated, not the Macedonian professionals trained by Parmenio himself. Alexander wanted to get across the river before they arrived. Parmenio suspected that what Alexander really intended was to demonstrate that he did not need his father's general. So he had gone straight across.
It had been a disaster, of course. Alexander had chosen a poor place for the crossing - a deep, swift part of the river littered with sinkholes and debris. Worse, the Persians held the high ground opposite, so they rained javelins and arrows on the Macedonians as they struggled across. Even so, some of the Macedonians had gotten across, only to be attacked by Persian cavalry before they could get organized. The sight of his forces being beaten had goaded Alexander into leading his own personal charge across the river. It had nearly turned a disaster into a catastrophe: the Persians were already sending more cavalry into the battle and Alexander arrived just in time to reinforce failure. Hed nearly gotten himself killed in the process, saved from death only by the intervention of Clitus the Black, who had practically dragged Alexander back across the river.
After that, a humbled and shaken Alexander had virtually ceded control of the army to Parmenio, who had crossed the river and beaten the Persians the next day. Alexander had soon returned to his former boastful self, of course, claiming personal credit for the victory, but the generals knew. It was Parmenio.
The Seer shook his head. Rivers. They were still barriers, but now they were highways, too. That was why he was here, why the National armies were here, to use the rivers as highways into the heart of the South. It was something they couldn't have done even fifty years ago. Then they could have floated downstream, but if they wanted to get back upstream, they would have had to walk. But steam had changed everything. Now the rivers could carry armies and their supplies in any direction they wanted to go. And river valleys still had the same strategic value they had always had. The land was good there, and where the land was good, people would go and create wealth and power. So the Mississippi and its tributaries, like the Tennessee, had to be captured. Which was why the Union named its armies after rivers, and why he was sitting on a horse next to General Sherman, watching men and supplies being loaded for an expedition upriver to Eastport, Mississippi and Chickasaw, Alabama, where there were Confederate batteries guarding the points where Indian Creek meets the Tennessee.
"One - two - three - heave!"
The shout wasn't what caught the Seers attention. It was the crash that followed - and the explosion that came right after.
"You worthless son of a DEMOCRAT! What in the Hell do you think youre doing? You idiot, did you vote for that damned traitor Breckinridge, or are you independently stupid and a Douglas man? Either way - no, dont try to pick it up! Get out of the way, you worthless landlubbing DEMOCRAT, and let my good stout sailormen do it. There, that's it, boys, get a line on it, now..."
Bemused by the outburst, the Seer looked down the landing at the man who was now directing a group of sailors as they manhandled a howitzer down the landing stage and onto one of the transports. He had the look and bearing of a Senior Chief. And the voice. The soldiers who had incurred his wrath were still standing around looking slightly embarassed. That couldn't last, and it didnt. A shout of "What are you doing standing around like a bunch of useless DEMOCRATS? Move!" scattered them.
And just then the Senior Chief - for that was what he had to be - looked up and, ever so briefly, locked eyes with the Seer. The Seer's horse started, and the Seer felt a slight tingling in the back of his mind. He blinked, and when he looked again, the Senior Chief was gone.
Port Hudson, Louisiana, July 10, 1863
The Seer sighed happily. It had been a good week. Six days ago he had watched Pembertons troops march out of Vicksburg and stack their arms. He had to hand it to Sam Grant; he might not be the best tactician in the world, but he knew how to run a siege. Of course, the Seer admitted to himself, tactics were changing and even he hadn't caught up yet. Napoleonic tactics didn't work any more, that much was clear, but what the solution was nobody seemed to know. The Seer had thought about the implications of that one and didn't like the answers.
After Vicksburg's capture, Grant had sent him down to Port Hudson, just to keep an eye on Banks, he had said. The Seer knew what that meant - keep Nate Banks from trying another frontal assault on Port Hudson. Hed tried that twice and it hadn't worked either time. But now, with Vicksburg in Union hands, there was no need to try again. The rebels in Port Hudson had to know the game was up.
And, as it turned out, they did. They'd given up the day before, and now Banks was going to pay a courtesy visit to Commodore Palmer in the Hartford, which had been in the river for months. A major-general calling on a commodore was the reverse of the usual precedent, but the Army knew how vital the Navy had been to its campaign in the Trans-Mississippi. The honor did not belong so much to Palmer as it did to the ships and men of the riverine and blockading squadrons, and if there was any ship among them which deserved the honor, it was Hartford.
Banks and his party were piped aboard Hartford with due ceremony. The Seer paid only enough attention to avoid causing insult. After two thousand years, the details of military courtesy bored him. He stood off to one side as Banks inspected Hartford's crew, drawn up in tight ranks on the deck. Theyd been in this river for months and their ship showed the scars of many encounters with Confederate batteries, but despite that and the absence of Admiral Farragut, this was still an admirals flagship and the discipline of her men reflected that. They'd obviously been drilled well.
The general finished his inspection. Don't invite him to address the crew, the Seer thought, else we'll be here all day. Too late. The commodore must not have known that General Banks was one of Lincolns political appointees, a former Speaker of the House and governor of Massachusetts who made a better orator than general. The Seer spent the next ten minutes studying the details of Hartford's rigging.
The shrill sound of the bosun's whistle broke the Seers concentration on a particularly intricate example of a bowline. Hartford's crew was being dismissed. A hundred feet crashed to the deck and a hundred heels spun in unison. As they did, one of the chiefs stared directly at the Seer. For a moment, the Seer felt that old tingle in the back of his mind. Then the ranks faded away and so did the tingling. He searched the crowd for the mans face, but he was gone.
The senior officers rejoined the rest of the party. Commodore Palmer noticed the Seer looking around. "Sir, is this your first time aboard a man of war?"
The Seer tore his eyes from the sailors returning to their work. "As a matter of fact, Sir, it is. I was just admiring the way all these ropes come together. As a soldier, Sir, I do not understand how your officers and men make it work, but I believe they must be very highly skilled indeed."
Commodore Palmer was amused. "Thank you, Sir. As with anything, the proper use of lines and sails is a matter of training and practice. If you like, I can have our Senior Chief speak with you. In the naval service, Sir, it is the Chiefs who are the True Sailormen, and the Senior Chief aboard this ship is perhaps the finest of these in the whole of the service."
"Sir, I would deem it a great honor and be much in your debt if you would do me such a favor."
"It is my pleasure, Sir, for you are my guest. However, Sir, I would caution you not to speak of politics around him. He has very...definite...opinions on such matters. Senior Chief?" Commodore Palmer called.
"Sir!" The man stood ramrod straight in front of the assembled officers. The Seer sighed imperceptibly; what he could have done with such a man in the phalanx. Of course, maybe he had. There was no doubt about what this man was.
"Senior Chief, this is Major Stuyvesant. He would like to learn about rigging. Would you be so good as to educate him?"
"Sir, it would be an honor. By your leave, Sir?" Palmer nodded and the Senior Chief turned to the Seer. "Sir, if youll come this way?"
"Of course." The Seer followed the Senior Chief forward, listening to him lecture on the different kinds of knots, their uses and the proper ways of tying them, complete with demonstrations. When they reached the foremast, the Senior Chief stopped and explained the system of rigging and sails. The Seer found himself genuinely fascinated by the subject. He had never before paid much attention to ships; as he had told the commodore, he was a soldier. But he was beginning to understand the way everything fitted together, and that appealed to his intellect. Besides, the Senior Chief's enthusiasm was obvious - and a little bit contagious.
They'd reached the forecastle and the Senior Chief had finished explaining how the bowsprit fit into the system. Now the two men stood looking down the length of Hartfords deck. "Have you any questions, Sir?"
The Seer shook his head. "No, Senior Chief, but I thank you for explaining your art to a soldier."
"She's a beautiful lady, a ship is, Sir. I am glad to be of service."
"Quite so, Senior Chief, quite so. Until today I had never seen the beauty of a ship, and I must thank you for showing me that as well, for truly this is a beautiful ship." The Seer paused. "Tell me, Senior Chief, how long have you been a sailor?"
"All my life, Sir, since I was a boy. I was born in Rhode Island, Sir, and I cannot remember a time when I was not a sailor."
The Seer nodded. "Have you been long in the Hartford?"
"No, Sir, I joined her last year. Before that I served on the upper rivers, mostly in the Tyler."
"The Tyler! That is a name I shall never forget, Senior Chief. All of us in the Army of the Tennessee are much in debt to the men of the Tyler for your services, particularly at Shiloh. We were hard-pressed by the rebels for two days and your efforts may have saved the army. In fact, I think we may have met just prior to the battle, when the Tyler went up to Eastport. As I recall, there was some confusion during the loading for that expedition.
"There may have been, Sir. Begging your pardon, Sir, but soldiers are not sailors. Aboard ship, most of them are a danger to themselves and everyone around them, Sir."
"I shall keep that in mind. You said you have been a sailor all your life?"
The Senior Chief nodded. "Yes, Sir. My grandfather was a fisherman, and my father was a merchant captain. I tended my grandfathers nets until I was old enough to be a cabin boy, and then I went to sea with my father. A long time ago, Sir." He smiled at the distant memories.
The Seer looked around. There was no one within earshot. He looked hard at the Senior Chief. "Just how long ago was that?"
"Sir?"
"Senior Chief, you have spent a lifetime at sea. It is a life filled with many dangers and hardships, and you bear some of the scars. But you do not bear all of them." The Seer paused. "Senior Chief, you have all of your teeth. When did they start growing back?"
For the first time in his life, the Senior Chief was left speechless. How could this man know about that? However it was, instinctively he knew that it was related to the faint tingling hed felt in the back of his mind all morning, the same feeling hed had that day on the stage at Pittsburg Landing.
The Seer was still talking. "Senior Chief, you are what we call a long-lifer." The term demon could wait. "You and I and others like us share a gift. The ravages of time have ceased to affect us. But I must caution you, Senior Chief: you are not immortal. A rebel shot may kill you as easily as it may kill any other man. But if no accident befalls you, you shall not die."
The Senior Chief was staring at him. "There are others?"
The Seer nodded. "There are. In fact, a group of us have been travelling together for many centuries. If you like, you are welcome to join us. I understand that the Hartford is due to be paid off; it would be a simple matter for you to disappear and join our group." The Seer stopped abruptly. The Senior Chiefs face had turned red.
"Do you take me for a cowardly DEMOCRAT, Sir? Do you believe I shall desert my post when the Union is in danger? God forbid it, Sir! My duty is to God, the Union, and the United States Navy! If the Lord has blessed me with long life, it may be that He has done so for this hour when my country and my Navy are in need! No, Sir, I shall not join you and your group. My duty is here, and here I shall stay. Good day, Sir." The Senior Chief snapped off a textbook salute and left.
Portsmouth, Virginia, October 27, 1948
The Seer enjoyed Navy Day. It gave him an excuse to get out of the office for a few days, which was one of the reasons he'd invented it in the first place. Not that hed needed much of an excuse in those days; running the Herreshoff yard meant that any time he felt like an outing on his yacht, he could take one on the grounds that some new bit of gadgetry needed testing. But he hadn't taken a single vacation during the war. Last year's Navy Day had been the first since The Big One, and it had turned into a national celebration of the Navy's role in the victory over Germany. The Seer had spent that one up in Rhode Island, wrapping up affairs at the old yard. It was really too bad; he'd miss the old place. Once, the Herreshoff brothers had built some of the worlds finest yachts and torpedo boats there. But times had changed and technology had moved on. The yard had had one last hurrah building small craft for the war effort, but peace had ended that and the yard had closed. The Seer hadnt decided what to do with the property yet. All in good time.
Anyway, he was on vacation, and it was Navy Day. Hed sailed down from Washington a few days ago, a voyage that had reminded him of just how pleasant a body of water the Chesapeake Bay could be. Sometimes he wondered how it had taken him so many centuries to discover that particular pleasure. Now he was at the naval shipyard at the end of what had been a fairly quiet Navy Day, walking along and surveying the many gray hulls tied up there. The Navy had demobilized quickly and hadn't yet decided what to do with all of these ships. Most of them would eventually be scrapped, but the Navy was still lobbying to keep some of them in reserve, just in case. That, too, was a thought for another day.
Seer!
The Seer turned. "Senior Chief! Its been a long time."
The Senior Chief caught up to the Seer and the two men continued walking. "It has, Seer, far too long. Before the war, wasnt it?"
"I think so." The Seer paused. "I was sorry to hear about Shiloh, Senior Chief."
The Senior Chief nodded grimly. "That was a hard day. She was a good ship. By the way, who the hell named those carriers? I saw enough of Shiloh the first time around. Couldn't believe it when I got those orders."
"I don't know. It wasn't me; I've got enough of my own memories too. I guess some Civil War buff got loose in the Navy Department."
"Remember when all those monitor names got changed from rivers to gods right after the war? Maybe we should find somebody to do the same thing."
"I'll tell Achillea. She was very put out when they got changed back, by the way."
The Senior Chief laughed. "She wasn't the only one put out after that little scandal. I think she just liked having an excuse to wear a sword."
"Achillea never needs an excuse to wear a sword," the Seer said dryly. "Of course, it tends to upset people when she does, which I rather think is the point." A few years after the war, Achillea had been the mistress of Grants first Secretary of the Navy and had persuaded him to adopt classical names for warships. Soon after, the two had quarrelled, so Achillea got revenge: she turned up at a formal reception in full dress uniform, complete with sword. At that point the Secretary had suddenly found that his business interests at home in Philadelphia required his full, personal, and immediate attention. Achillea claimed it wasnt her fault that no one had revoked her wartime commission. "Anyway, are you stationed here now?"
"For the time being. I'm supposed to retire soon, but you know how that goes." Most demons dropped out of sight every so often, but not the Senior Chief. He was so much a part of the Navy that generations of sailors just assumed that chiefs were chiefs and the sea stories didnt change much because all chiefs were more or less the same. There was some truth to that, of course. There was just more truth to it when it came to the Senior Chief.
"I'm not going to try to talk you into going through with it. The last time I did that..." The two men laughed. They'd run into each other again near the end of the war and settled their differences. The Senior Chief was what he was; the Seer knew better than to try and make him into something else.
They'd passed all the mothballed ships docked at the shipyard. Across the water, tied up at the end of a disused pier, was an old hulk, long since housed over. She was painted black with a buff stripe wrapped around the upper bulwarks. A single funnel stuck up amidships.
The Seer pointed. "What ship is that?"
"That's Hartford," the Senior Chief said quietly.
"Hartford? The same one? I thought she was scrapped years ago."
"You know the Navy, Seer. Never get rid of anything you might need one day." The Senior Chief smiled. "They used her for training midshipmen until, oh, I guess thirty or forty years ago. She was used as a station ship for a while after that. Just before the war they decided she was old enough to be historical, so they took her up to Washington, but then the war came. Last year they brought her down here for Navy Day and talked about restoring her, but the public lost interest and now theres no money to spend on her. So she's just sitting here rotting."
"Can she be restored?"
"I think so. I inspected her last year. Shes a good Boston-built ship, Seer. The sons and grandsons of the men who built Constitution built her. But no ship lasts forever. Leave her alone long enough and that hull will rot clear through. We could save her now, but in a few years it'll be too late, and we just dont have the money to do anything for her. Its really a shame. She was a beautiful ship once. Its sad to see her like this.
"Senior Chief, the day we met I asked you if you would join our group. Now I want to ask you that again. Now don't get angry!" The Seer held up a hand, for the Senior Chief was already turning red. "Hear me out."
"Senior Chief, you and Hartford taught me to appreciate ships that day. For the last eighty-odd years, Ive been enjoying something I completely missed for the first two thousand years of my life. For that, I'm very grateful to you and that ship. Now, I also made a fair amount of money off that interest. The Herreshoff yard turned out to be quite a good investment. It's gone out of business, but I still own the property. Senior Chief, how would you like orders to the Herreshoff Marine Museum and USS Hartford Memorial? You're the only persona round who has the knowledge and the skills to put her back the way she was."
The Senior Chief stared out across the water at Hartford. So many ships lost, so many men gone. But this one remained.
"She's a beautiful lady, a ship is, Sir. I am glad to be of service."
Pittsburg Landing, Tennessee, March 31, 1862
The Seer sat comfortably astride his horse, watching a column of men and wagons slowly trundling down the bank of the Tennessee River to the sidewheel steamers waiting at the landing below. Idly, he thought back to rivers he had seen in past campaigns. The Granicus. The Pinarus. The Rhine. Many others, large and small. All of them barriers. For his entire life, the Seer had rarely seen rivers as anything else. They were something that had to be crossed, or something that could be used to trap an army, or something that could be used to anchor a flank. Oh, river valleys had strategic value. But the rivers themselves were just a terrain feature. Something a general could use.
The Granicus, now, that had been a bad one. Befitting a king, Alexander had royally screwed up. When they'd reached the Granicus and found the Persians waiting on the opposite bank, Parmenio had advised moving upriver and crossing at an undefended point by night, then attacking the next morning, using the offensive tactics that had wrecked so many armies during the wars of Philip II. Philip would have listened to Parmenio. For that matter, Parmenio never would have had to offer such obvious advice to Philip.
But Alexander hadn't listened. He'd been afraid that the Greek mercenaries in Persian service - not yet arrived at the Granicus - had learned from the defeats handed them by Parmenio and would use Parmenio's tactics against his army. Never mind that they were mercenaries who had been repeatedly defeated, not the Macedonian professionals trained by Parmenio himself. Alexander wanted to get across the river before they arrived. Parmenio suspected that what Alexander really intended was to demonstrate that he did not need his father's general. So he had gone straight across.
It had been a disaster, of course. Alexander had chosen a poor place for the crossing - a deep, swift part of the river littered with sinkholes and debris. Worse, the Persians held the high ground opposite, so they rained javelins and arrows on the Macedonians as they struggled across. Even so, some of the Macedonians had gotten across, only to be attacked by Persian cavalry before they could get organized. The sight of his forces being beaten had goaded Alexander into leading his own personal charge across the river. It had nearly turned a disaster into a catastrophe: the Persians were already sending more cavalry into the battle and Alexander arrived just in time to reinforce failure. Hed nearly gotten himself killed in the process, saved from death only by the intervention of Clitus the Black, who had practically dragged Alexander back across the river.
After that, a humbled and shaken Alexander had virtually ceded control of the army to Parmenio, who had crossed the river and beaten the Persians the next day. Alexander had soon returned to his former boastful self, of course, claiming personal credit for the victory, but the generals knew. It was Parmenio.
The Seer shook his head. Rivers. They were still barriers, but now they were highways, too. That was why he was here, why the National armies were here, to use the rivers as highways into the heart of the South. It was something they couldn't have done even fifty years ago. Then they could have floated downstream, but if they wanted to get back upstream, they would have had to walk. But steam had changed everything. Now the rivers could carry armies and their supplies in any direction they wanted to go. And river valleys still had the same strategic value they had always had. The land was good there, and where the land was good, people would go and create wealth and power. So the Mississippi and its tributaries, like the Tennessee, had to be captured. Which was why the Union named its armies after rivers, and why he was sitting on a horse next to General Sherman, watching men and supplies being loaded for an expedition upriver to Eastport, Mississippi and Chickasaw, Alabama, where there were Confederate batteries guarding the points where Indian Creek meets the Tennessee.
"One - two - three - heave!"
The shout wasn't what caught the Seers attention. It was the crash that followed - and the explosion that came right after.
"You worthless son of a DEMOCRAT! What in the Hell do you think youre doing? You idiot, did you vote for that damned traitor Breckinridge, or are you independently stupid and a Douglas man? Either way - no, dont try to pick it up! Get out of the way, you worthless landlubbing DEMOCRAT, and let my good stout sailormen do it. There, that's it, boys, get a line on it, now..."
Bemused by the outburst, the Seer looked down the landing at the man who was now directing a group of sailors as they manhandled a howitzer down the landing stage and onto one of the transports. He had the look and bearing of a Senior Chief. And the voice. The soldiers who had incurred his wrath were still standing around looking slightly embarassed. That couldn't last, and it didnt. A shout of "What are you doing standing around like a bunch of useless DEMOCRATS? Move!" scattered them.
And just then the Senior Chief - for that was what he had to be - looked up and, ever so briefly, locked eyes with the Seer. The Seer's horse started, and the Seer felt a slight tingling in the back of his mind. He blinked, and when he looked again, the Senior Chief was gone.
Port Hudson, Louisiana, July 10, 1863
The Seer sighed happily. It had been a good week. Six days ago he had watched Pembertons troops march out of Vicksburg and stack their arms. He had to hand it to Sam Grant; he might not be the best tactician in the world, but he knew how to run a siege. Of course, the Seer admitted to himself, tactics were changing and even he hadn't caught up yet. Napoleonic tactics didn't work any more, that much was clear, but what the solution was nobody seemed to know. The Seer had thought about the implications of that one and didn't like the answers.
After Vicksburg's capture, Grant had sent him down to Port Hudson, just to keep an eye on Banks, he had said. The Seer knew what that meant - keep Nate Banks from trying another frontal assault on Port Hudson. Hed tried that twice and it hadn't worked either time. But now, with Vicksburg in Union hands, there was no need to try again. The rebels in Port Hudson had to know the game was up.
And, as it turned out, they did. They'd given up the day before, and now Banks was going to pay a courtesy visit to Commodore Palmer in the Hartford, which had been in the river for months. A major-general calling on a commodore was the reverse of the usual precedent, but the Army knew how vital the Navy had been to its campaign in the Trans-Mississippi. The honor did not belong so much to Palmer as it did to the ships and men of the riverine and blockading squadrons, and if there was any ship among them which deserved the honor, it was Hartford.
Banks and his party were piped aboard Hartford with due ceremony. The Seer paid only enough attention to avoid causing insult. After two thousand years, the details of military courtesy bored him. He stood off to one side as Banks inspected Hartford's crew, drawn up in tight ranks on the deck. Theyd been in this river for months and their ship showed the scars of many encounters with Confederate batteries, but despite that and the absence of Admiral Farragut, this was still an admirals flagship and the discipline of her men reflected that. They'd obviously been drilled well.
The general finished his inspection. Don't invite him to address the crew, the Seer thought, else we'll be here all day. Too late. The commodore must not have known that General Banks was one of Lincolns political appointees, a former Speaker of the House and governor of Massachusetts who made a better orator than general. The Seer spent the next ten minutes studying the details of Hartford's rigging.
The shrill sound of the bosun's whistle broke the Seers concentration on a particularly intricate example of a bowline. Hartford's crew was being dismissed. A hundred feet crashed to the deck and a hundred heels spun in unison. As they did, one of the chiefs stared directly at the Seer. For a moment, the Seer felt that old tingle in the back of his mind. Then the ranks faded away and so did the tingling. He searched the crowd for the mans face, but he was gone.
The senior officers rejoined the rest of the party. Commodore Palmer noticed the Seer looking around. "Sir, is this your first time aboard a man of war?"
The Seer tore his eyes from the sailors returning to their work. "As a matter of fact, Sir, it is. I was just admiring the way all these ropes come together. As a soldier, Sir, I do not understand how your officers and men make it work, but I believe they must be very highly skilled indeed."
Commodore Palmer was amused. "Thank you, Sir. As with anything, the proper use of lines and sails is a matter of training and practice. If you like, I can have our Senior Chief speak with you. In the naval service, Sir, it is the Chiefs who are the True Sailormen, and the Senior Chief aboard this ship is perhaps the finest of these in the whole of the service."
"Sir, I would deem it a great honor and be much in your debt if you would do me such a favor."
"It is my pleasure, Sir, for you are my guest. However, Sir, I would caution you not to speak of politics around him. He has very...definite...opinions on such matters. Senior Chief?" Commodore Palmer called.
"Sir!" The man stood ramrod straight in front of the assembled officers. The Seer sighed imperceptibly; what he could have done with such a man in the phalanx. Of course, maybe he had. There was no doubt about what this man was.
"Senior Chief, this is Major Stuyvesant. He would like to learn about rigging. Would you be so good as to educate him?"
"Sir, it would be an honor. By your leave, Sir?" Palmer nodded and the Senior Chief turned to the Seer. "Sir, if youll come this way?"
"Of course." The Seer followed the Senior Chief forward, listening to him lecture on the different kinds of knots, their uses and the proper ways of tying them, complete with demonstrations. When they reached the foremast, the Senior Chief stopped and explained the system of rigging and sails. The Seer found himself genuinely fascinated by the subject. He had never before paid much attention to ships; as he had told the commodore, he was a soldier. But he was beginning to understand the way everything fitted together, and that appealed to his intellect. Besides, the Senior Chief's enthusiasm was obvious - and a little bit contagious.
They'd reached the forecastle and the Senior Chief had finished explaining how the bowsprit fit into the system. Now the two men stood looking down the length of Hartfords deck. "Have you any questions, Sir?"
The Seer shook his head. "No, Senior Chief, but I thank you for explaining your art to a soldier."
"She's a beautiful lady, a ship is, Sir. I am glad to be of service."
"Quite so, Senior Chief, quite so. Until today I had never seen the beauty of a ship, and I must thank you for showing me that as well, for truly this is a beautiful ship." The Seer paused. "Tell me, Senior Chief, how long have you been a sailor?"
"All my life, Sir, since I was a boy. I was born in Rhode Island, Sir, and I cannot remember a time when I was not a sailor."
The Seer nodded. "Have you been long in the Hartford?"
"No, Sir, I joined her last year. Before that I served on the upper rivers, mostly in the Tyler."
"The Tyler! That is a name I shall never forget, Senior Chief. All of us in the Army of the Tennessee are much in debt to the men of the Tyler for your services, particularly at Shiloh. We were hard-pressed by the rebels for two days and your efforts may have saved the army. In fact, I think we may have met just prior to the battle, when the Tyler went up to Eastport. As I recall, there was some confusion during the loading for that expedition.
"There may have been, Sir. Begging your pardon, Sir, but soldiers are not sailors. Aboard ship, most of them are a danger to themselves and everyone around them, Sir."
"I shall keep that in mind. You said you have been a sailor all your life?"
The Senior Chief nodded. "Yes, Sir. My grandfather was a fisherman, and my father was a merchant captain. I tended my grandfathers nets until I was old enough to be a cabin boy, and then I went to sea with my father. A long time ago, Sir." He smiled at the distant memories.
The Seer looked around. There was no one within earshot. He looked hard at the Senior Chief. "Just how long ago was that?"
"Sir?"
"Senior Chief, you have spent a lifetime at sea. It is a life filled with many dangers and hardships, and you bear some of the scars. But you do not bear all of them." The Seer paused. "Senior Chief, you have all of your teeth. When did they start growing back?"
For the first time in his life, the Senior Chief was left speechless. How could this man know about that? However it was, instinctively he knew that it was related to the faint tingling hed felt in the back of his mind all morning, the same feeling hed had that day on the stage at Pittsburg Landing.
The Seer was still talking. "Senior Chief, you are what we call a long-lifer." The term demon could wait. "You and I and others like us share a gift. The ravages of time have ceased to affect us. But I must caution you, Senior Chief: you are not immortal. A rebel shot may kill you as easily as it may kill any other man. But if no accident befalls you, you shall not die."
The Senior Chief was staring at him. "There are others?"
The Seer nodded. "There are. In fact, a group of us have been travelling together for many centuries. If you like, you are welcome to join us. I understand that the Hartford is due to be paid off; it would be a simple matter for you to disappear and join our group." The Seer stopped abruptly. The Senior Chiefs face had turned red.
"Do you take me for a cowardly DEMOCRAT, Sir? Do you believe I shall desert my post when the Union is in danger? God forbid it, Sir! My duty is to God, the Union, and the United States Navy! If the Lord has blessed me with long life, it may be that He has done so for this hour when my country and my Navy are in need! No, Sir, I shall not join you and your group. My duty is here, and here I shall stay. Good day, Sir." The Senior Chief snapped off a textbook salute and left.
Portsmouth, Virginia, October 27, 1948
The Seer enjoyed Navy Day. It gave him an excuse to get out of the office for a few days, which was one of the reasons he'd invented it in the first place. Not that hed needed much of an excuse in those days; running the Herreshoff yard meant that any time he felt like an outing on his yacht, he could take one on the grounds that some new bit of gadgetry needed testing. But he hadn't taken a single vacation during the war. Last year's Navy Day had been the first since The Big One, and it had turned into a national celebration of the Navy's role in the victory over Germany. The Seer had spent that one up in Rhode Island, wrapping up affairs at the old yard. It was really too bad; he'd miss the old place. Once, the Herreshoff brothers had built some of the worlds finest yachts and torpedo boats there. But times had changed and technology had moved on. The yard had had one last hurrah building small craft for the war effort, but peace had ended that and the yard had closed. The Seer hadnt decided what to do with the property yet. All in good time.
Anyway, he was on vacation, and it was Navy Day. Hed sailed down from Washington a few days ago, a voyage that had reminded him of just how pleasant a body of water the Chesapeake Bay could be. Sometimes he wondered how it had taken him so many centuries to discover that particular pleasure. Now he was at the naval shipyard at the end of what had been a fairly quiet Navy Day, walking along and surveying the many gray hulls tied up there. The Navy had demobilized quickly and hadn't yet decided what to do with all of these ships. Most of them would eventually be scrapped, but the Navy was still lobbying to keep some of them in reserve, just in case. That, too, was a thought for another day.
Seer!
The Seer turned. "Senior Chief! Its been a long time."
The Senior Chief caught up to the Seer and the two men continued walking. "It has, Seer, far too long. Before the war, wasnt it?"
"I think so." The Seer paused. "I was sorry to hear about Shiloh, Senior Chief."
The Senior Chief nodded grimly. "That was a hard day. She was a good ship. By the way, who the hell named those carriers? I saw enough of Shiloh the first time around. Couldn't believe it when I got those orders."
"I don't know. It wasn't me; I've got enough of my own memories too. I guess some Civil War buff got loose in the Navy Department."
"Remember when all those monitor names got changed from rivers to gods right after the war? Maybe we should find somebody to do the same thing."
"I'll tell Achillea. She was very put out when they got changed back, by the way."
The Senior Chief laughed. "She wasn't the only one put out after that little scandal. I think she just liked having an excuse to wear a sword."
"Achillea never needs an excuse to wear a sword," the Seer said dryly. "Of course, it tends to upset people when she does, which I rather think is the point." A few years after the war, Achillea had been the mistress of Grants first Secretary of the Navy and had persuaded him to adopt classical names for warships. Soon after, the two had quarrelled, so Achillea got revenge: she turned up at a formal reception in full dress uniform, complete with sword. At that point the Secretary had suddenly found that his business interests at home in Philadelphia required his full, personal, and immediate attention. Achillea claimed it wasnt her fault that no one had revoked her wartime commission. "Anyway, are you stationed here now?"
"For the time being. I'm supposed to retire soon, but you know how that goes." Most demons dropped out of sight every so often, but not the Senior Chief. He was so much a part of the Navy that generations of sailors just assumed that chiefs were chiefs and the sea stories didnt change much because all chiefs were more or less the same. There was some truth to that, of course. There was just more truth to it when it came to the Senior Chief.
"I'm not going to try to talk you into going through with it. The last time I did that..." The two men laughed. They'd run into each other again near the end of the war and settled their differences. The Senior Chief was what he was; the Seer knew better than to try and make him into something else.
They'd passed all the mothballed ships docked at the shipyard. Across the water, tied up at the end of a disused pier, was an old hulk, long since housed over. She was painted black with a buff stripe wrapped around the upper bulwarks. A single funnel stuck up amidships.
The Seer pointed. "What ship is that?"
"That's Hartford," the Senior Chief said quietly.
"Hartford? The same one? I thought she was scrapped years ago."
"You know the Navy, Seer. Never get rid of anything you might need one day." The Senior Chief smiled. "They used her for training midshipmen until, oh, I guess thirty or forty years ago. She was used as a station ship for a while after that. Just before the war they decided she was old enough to be historical, so they took her up to Washington, but then the war came. Last year they brought her down here for Navy Day and talked about restoring her, but the public lost interest and now theres no money to spend on her. So she's just sitting here rotting."
"Can she be restored?"
"I think so. I inspected her last year. Shes a good Boston-built ship, Seer. The sons and grandsons of the men who built Constitution built her. But no ship lasts forever. Leave her alone long enough and that hull will rot clear through. We could save her now, but in a few years it'll be too late, and we just dont have the money to do anything for her. Its really a shame. She was a beautiful ship once. Its sad to see her like this.
"Senior Chief, the day we met I asked you if you would join our group. Now I want to ask you that again. Now don't get angry!" The Seer held up a hand, for the Senior Chief was already turning red. "Hear me out."
"Senior Chief, you and Hartford taught me to appreciate ships that day. For the last eighty-odd years, Ive been enjoying something I completely missed for the first two thousand years of my life. For that, I'm very grateful to you and that ship. Now, I also made a fair amount of money off that interest. The Herreshoff yard turned out to be quite a good investment. It's gone out of business, but I still own the property. Senior Chief, how would you like orders to the Herreshoff Marine Museum and USS Hartford Memorial? You're the only persona round who has the knowledge and the skills to put her back the way she was."
The Senior Chief stared out across the water at Hartford. So many ships lost, so many men gone. But this one remained.
"She's a beautiful lady, a ship is, Sir. I am glad to be of service."