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  Rebecca found it difficult to hold her pose. “I don't know. No: of course I know. Yes: I do want it to go further.”

  “Then tell him. If not in words: tell him in actions. He is a widower and you are a widow. Better you are both young. Do you think you will ever take him to bed with you?”

  “Ever is an interesting word, dear Valerie.”

  “Then do you want him to be pleased with you as a lover? Do you wish to be pleased as well?”

  It was a question she would not have even considered answering a few months ago, but now everything was so very different. Now she could imagine Nathan Hunter's strong arms around her and she knew that their lovemaking would be different from what it had been with poor confused Tom. When she permitted herself to think of it. she felt stirrings of pleasure that had been totally lacking with Tom.

  “Yes,” she answered quietly.

  Valerie smiled knowingly as she continued to work Rebecca's lithe body onto the sketch pad. Rebecca's answer might have been demure, but her body had betrayed her. Her firm and younger breasts showed definite signs of arousal. Valerie smiled inwardly. It was time to prepare young Rebecca for Nathan Hunter.

  Chapter Seven

  Rebecca took Nathan’s hand and led him through the myriad and jumbled stones of the graveyard just across the Potomac in Alexandria. Some of the stones were quite old, dating back to the last century, but a number of them were new: very new, and belonged to the dead of the new war.

  They stopped before one of the newer ones, It simply said, “Thomas Devon, b, March 7, 1824, d, August 15, 1861.” Nathan realized with a jolt that Rebecca's husband had taken awhile to die after Bull Run.

  “His wound was hideous,” she said. “He'd been shot in the stomach and there was nothing to do for him but to use narcotics to keep the pain at bay.”

  Every soldier knew that to be gut shot was to be killed, whether it happened immediately or agonizing days later. The bullet invariably ripped the intestines, which spilled filth into the body. Death was inevitable and often longed for.

  “I found him in the hospital and brought him home.” She had been horrified by the scenes of horror and filth. Even though she had no love for him, she could not let a dog die like that. “For a while we thought he would be one of the few lucky ones who survive such a wound, but it was not to be. His agonies were terrible. Sometimes he cursed me and tried to blame me for his torment.

  “Morphine was in short supply,” she continued. “Several times I had to buy opium from disreputable people in the slums south of Pennsylvania Avenue. They saw me so often they probably thought I was addicted to it and not buying it for medical purposes.”

  On more than one occasion she had been offered the opium in return for sex. These had included traditional sex as well as other varieties. She later told Valerie she'd been rendered nearly speechless when one drug seller asked if she'd like to suck his cock in payment for the opium.

  “It must have been extremely difficult for you,” Nathan said in what he realized was an understatement. “Death was a mercy for both of us. Did you know I was one of the fools who went to watch the battle?”

  When the Union army under McDowell had finally marched south from Washington, its departure was hardly a secret. It had also been no secret that the Confederates were only a few miles away at Manassas Junction, or the creek called Bull Run.

  Along with thousands of others, Rebecca and the D'Estaings had taken a carriage out to watch the pageant. They'd camped on a crowded hilltop and picnicked while the battle commenced before them.

  “It was all so exciting,” she said. “There was the boom of cannon and the rattle of muskets. We couldn't see the entire battlefield, of course, but we did see a portion of it where there was actually some fighting. We cheered when Union soldiers advanced. It was then that I realized that the men who were falling and lying on the ground weren't acting in a pageant. They were dead and dying. Thank God we were too far away to hear their screams.”

  She took his arm and guided him away from the grave site. “After a while, we saw Union soldiers running away and past us. We thought they were cowards and yelled at them to return to the battle. Then the trickle of humanity became a flood and we realized that the North had lost the battle. We left the field in a panic along with a score of senators and representatives. The rebels were coming, we thought, and we didn't want to be captured. As we headed north, we found several wounded by the side of the road. We put them in the carriage and tried to make them comfortable. It was then that I really saw the horror of war. Their wounds were terrible. One poor boy'd had his arm torn off. He died before we reached a hospital.

  “Some horsemen rode by and Valerie said they were rebels. They were wild-looking and shaggy, and when they looked into the carriage and saw the wounded, I thought they would kill us. The leader, though, just nodded at us and rode off. It wasn't until later that I found out that Tom had been mortally wounded and carried off the field in a carriage like mine.”

  “It was such an innocent beginning to terrible times,” he said.

  She looked at his strong calm face. '^: No more so than when your wife died and you were helpless to do anything about it.”

  “True. For the longest time I blamed the army doctors for being so incompetent as to be unable to cure a simple fever. Now I know they weren't incompetent, just ignorant. They actually bled her and purged her in an attempt to cure her. I was a soldier and understood that a man needs blood to live and food for nourishment. It made no sense to deprive a sick person of either, much less both. I thought it was criminal, but I don't feel that way anymore.” He laughed harshly. “Just think. Victoria, queen of England, couldn't find doctors to cure her husband. How on earth could I think anyone would save my dear Amy?”

  It was a bright but cold day and they were able to walk down the street in comfort. They would return to their carriage at their leisure. Both would have preferred horseback, but it was still a little chilly for that.

  “At first I thought Tom had died because of me,” she said. “I thought he'd enlisted to show me he was a warrior and impress me. Then I found his diary in which he said he did it because he thought it would be a great adventure and possibly save him if his criminal activities were discovered, and what I thought didn't matter at all.”

  She did not tell him of the graft and kickbacks he'd written about, or about the woman he'd kept as a mistress. Those secrets would keep, perhaps forever. However, he did understand that their marriage had been a loveless one and that she'd cared for Tom until his death out of a sense of duty, not affection.

  “I'm honored that you've told me all this,” Nathan said.

  “I have my reasons, Mr. Hunter,” she said with a nervous smile. She was about to take a large step. “I find myself growing fond of you and I believe you are equally fond of me.”

  “I am,” he said softly and she exhaled with relief.

  “Unless everyone in Washington is mistaken,” she continued, “the army will again march south in a couple of days, and you'll be with it, won't you?”

  “Yes.” McClellan had kept his word. Written permission to accompany the headquarters of the Army of the Potomac had come through.

  “Very simply, Nathan Hunter, I do not wish you harmed.”

  Her hand was in the crook of his arm and he put his other hand over it. “Let me assure you. Rebecca Devon, that I have no wish for that either. I will be with McClellan's headquarters and not at the front. The days of generals actually leading their armies are gone. Caesar might have done it but neither McClellan, nor Lee for that matter, will consider it.”

  “I know. I'm being greedy, but I don't want to lose you so soon after finding you.”

  Nathan smiled and gave her a mock bow. “I'm proud and honored to be the object of your greed.”

  They turned and walked back to the carriage. Rebecca smiled contentedly. She had been a polite aggressor and it had worked. Along with gentle touches, they were also calling each
other by their first names. It was yet another small step forward.

  The Royal Navy's steam frigate HMSGorgon rode easily in the gentle swells off the entrance to New York Harbor. Along with two other steam frigates and a trio of small sloops, this was the entire Royal Navy force that was available to blockade the entire port of New York. The bulk of the fleet, along with the mightyWarrior, was off Norfolk, where a base was being established.

  It was morning and a soft mist covered the sea's gentle swells. Above the mist, the sun was shining, which made it look much warmer than it was. The crews were not deceived and were bundled in winter clothing against the sharp chill.

  In the distance, the batteries on Staten Island and Long Island covered the approaches to New York City. In the harbor, there were fingers of coal smoke above the mist as some ships moved about in the harbor. This was not a concern as American ships were always shuttling about.

  TheGorgon kept station three miles from the shore, which put her just out of range of the largest guns the Americans had. The Americans had been humiliated by the bombardment of Boston, and had reacted with astonishing quickness and built seaward defenses at other ports. As a result, the shoreline bristled with cannon, and theGorgon and her sisters stayed prudently out of range.

  It was a boring way to run a war, thought David Hawkes, the captain of theGorgon, but attempting to run the batteries would be suicidal insanity. The ships on patrol outside New York simply hadn't the firepower for the task.

  “Ship ahoy,” came the cry from the lookout. “She's coming through the channel”

  “What kind of ship?” Captain Hawkes yelled in exasperation. He was also acting commodore of the small squadron and felt the heavyweight of responsibility on his shoulders.

  “Can't tell, sir. The mist is hiding her.”

  Then she can't be too big, thought Hawkes. Still, it was coming from the enemy city, so she must be considered hostile. He ordered theGorgon ready to do battle. Her decks were cleared for action, and additional steam was provided. If it was a blockade-runner, he'd take her.

  “What the devil is that?” he said as he squinted into the thinning mist at a low shape in the water that had begun to appear. Whatever it was, it was moving slowly towards theGorgon. “Sir,” said Lieutenant Freeland, his second in command. “I do believe it's their ironclad, theMonitor.”

  Hawkes grinned. Yes, that's exactly what it was and he was going to have the opportunity to blow her out of the water. As the mist cleared, he saw that the ironclad was much smaller than his frigate, that her deck was almost flush with the water, and that a bulbous protrusion arose from the flat deck. He saw no guns, which puzzled him.

  No matter, he thought. If the little American ship had come out to die, he would honor her last request. He ordered theGorgon turned broadside to the approaching vessel and, at long range, fired his starboard guns at her.

  His crew cheered as the broadside thundered. Hawkes watched as a number of splashes arose around theMonitor. She was difficult to see, although he thought he saw hits on the bulbous thing that sat on top of the ship. TheMonitor ignored them and continued her approach.

  “What the devil?” Hawkes wondered. A second broadside roared and this time he did see shells strike and bounce high into the sky off what Freeland said was a turret, There was still no return fire from the American,

  The other ships in the British squadron moved closer but were unable to fire for fear of hitting theGorgon as theMonitor drew closer, “Is she going to ram?” Freeland asked.

  “No,” Hawkes answered. “She's much too slow and I don't see a ram, No, she's going to close on us and duel,” Now he understood that the turret revolved, and that the guns were not going to be exposed until the last minute. Clever bastards, he thought.

  Hawkes ordered a course and speed to run parallel with theMonitor, which was now only a hundred yards away and angling closer, A third broadside roared and, again, with no apparent effect,

  “Damn,” snarled Hawkes. TheMonitor had dipped still closer and he doubted that the Gorgon's upper-deck guns could be lowered to reach the American, He had to extend the range, As he pondered this, the turret moved with infinite slowness until two large guns were pointed directly at the Gorgon's hull.

  “Eleven-inchers,” Freeland said with professional dispassion. “Probably Dahlgrens.”

  The two American guns belched fire. Shells struck low in the hull of the unarmored British ship. Hawkes and others were thrown to the deck by the impact. They were uninjured but there were screams from those less fortunate.

  “Keep firing,” he ordered as he lurched to his feet, and then, “What damage?” He was informed that it was substantial, but that it could be contained.

  TheMonitor's turret revolved away from theGorgon as the guns were reloaded. Agonizing moments later, the guns returned and again fired, hulling the British frigate. This time there was the scream of machinery crashing in theGorgon's hull, and, within seconds, she started to lose way, This time, the damage was serious and not going to be contained.

  “Raise our sails,” Hawkes ordered anxiously. TheGorgon was dead in the water. “We have to be able to move or we're going to be pounded to pieces.”

  Before the sails could be raised, theMonitor maneuvered under the Gorgon's stern and fired again. This time the shells ruined the frigate's rudder and smashed through the length of the ship, pulping screaming sailors, On deck, Hawkes could not help but recall that he had done the same thing to the American frigateSt. Lawrence. Was this some kind of retribution? he wondered,

  There was no time for speculation, His ship was being shot out from under him by the American infernal contraption, He had to do something, but what? He couldn't move and he couldn't kill the damned thing.

  Another American broadside thundered, This time, one shell traversed the entire length of theGorgon, killing and wounding scores, while the second penetrated her hull, just below the waterline, “Can we board her?” Hawkes yelled. A moment later Freeland returned and said yes, the Union ironclad was that close under theGorgon 's stern.

  Freeiand organized a boarding party and gathered them at the stern, Ropes were lowered that touched the Union vessel's deck, That was her Achilles' heel, Hawkes thought, Within seconds, dozens of British tars would slide down the ropes and overwhelm theMonitors crew.

  On board theMonitor, her captain and crew were giddy with relief and excitement, Despite the pounding from the larger British warship, they were safe, The damned thing actually worked. Shells hit the turret and simply bounced away. With the exception of a couple of men who sustained concussions when the portion of the turret they'd been leaning against had been struck, there were no injuries.

  Commander John Worden, theMonitor's captain, felt that he was ripping the guts out of the enemy frigate with each shell. He had just identified the British ship as theGorgon, the destroyer of the St. Lawrence, and both he and his crew appreciated the chance for revenge,

  If only theMonitor's guns could be fired more quickly, he'd destroy theGorgon and then move on to the other ships, But it couldn't be, The two guns had to be run into the turret for reloading, which was awkward and took precious time. To protect the gunners, the turret was rotated away from theGorgon during the reloading process. This meant that the men of theMonitor were essentially blind during the five or so minutes this took,

  Captain Worden was concerned that his very good luck could end quickly. They were almost in physical contact with theGorgon and he had the sense that they were too far under her overhanging stern, It was a gorgeous place from which to shoot, but it was almost too good to be true.

  “Mr. Greene,” he ordered, and Lieutenant Samuel Greene, his second in command, stepped forward, He was as grimy as everyone else in the stifling and noisy turret, but his eyes were bright with the emotion of the battle.

  “Mr. Greene, go forward to the pilot house and see what is happening on the Britisher.”

  Greene nodded and worked his way forward. The pilot ho
use, a protrusion made of logs and heavy glass windows located on theMonitors bow, had been shot away early in the duel, This meant that he was going to have to stick his unprotected head up into the air to observe theGorgon. It was not a duty that he relished. The world outside the sheltering iron walls of theMonitor was a hailstorm of metal.

  He found the ruins of the pilothouse and pulled away enough debris to permit him to raise himself up and see. He gasped. The insides of the Gorgon were visible and a number of fires burned out of control. He could see bodies and chunks of gore lying about and blood running in rivulets along the deck. It was a vision of hell. For a moment he was fascinated by the fact that he could see British sailors moving about and that they hadn't seen him.

  Then he sensed something above him and looked upwards. “Jesus:” he blurted. Ropes dangled from the stern of theGorgon and a couple of them had come to rest on the deck of theMonitor. Heads appeared over the railing and it was obvious what was going to happen. Someone yelled and pointed at him.

  Greene ducked back inside the hull of theMonitor and ran towards the turret. “Pull back!” he screamed. “We^’ re going to be boarded. Pull the ship back.” The din level in the turret prevented his voice from being heard, but sailors in his way relayed the message. Greene's shrieking left no doubt as to its urgency.

  Worden quickly gave the order and the smallMonitor slowly eased away from her dying prey. When they were about fifty yards from the frigate, he took a chance and squinted through the gun port just before the weapons were fired. A half dozen ropes hung down from theGorgon and each one held sailors who were now being pulled back on board the doomed vessel.

  “Too close,” Worden muttered. He had learned several great truths regarding his little ship. First, that it was damned near impregnable and, second, that the advantage of impregnability could be thrown away if he wasn't careful.