Somehow, with that he drifted into blissful sleep and the CSS Mississippi steamed North all day, and into the night.
At some stage, many hours later, he woke to the sound of cannon fire erupting. The ship rocked under the recoil as she returned a broadside. He counted off the seconds in his head and wondered idly if the gunnies would be able to meet the minimum reload times he knew so well. The ship gave several volleys of fire and then seemed to come about.
Above decks the squeal of a quartermaster's whistle was accompanied by a shift fore and starboard, which shoved the shackled prisoners into one another. The prisoner next to Chestnut cursed a mumbled apology as he tried to separate himself from William as the momentum settled. William figured they had come up alongside a jetty.
Was it possible they had already reached Vicksburg?
Chestnut’s heart raced. How long had he been asleep? Had he waited too long? He stretched out, trying to reach the secret compartment built into the floorboards at the very back of the prisoner’s alcove. He pushed on the floorboard, but it didn’t move. He was in the wrong position. He was still short by a few inches. He yanked on the chain, pulling the rest of the prisoners to the side.
One of the prisoner’s wrists became jammed in the iron eyelet, and he cried out in pain.
It was the Irishman who first realized who was responsible. “What the hell are you trying to do?”
Chestnut ignored the question and yanked harder. The man at the end of the chain screamed out in pain, but Chestnut continued. He felt for the loose-fitting pine board. It had three small grooves cut into the wood. He ran his fingers delicately along the marker. Now certain that he’d found the right board, he used the palm of his hand to put downward and forward pressure on it.
The board slid forward, revealing a hidden storage compartment. He reached in quickly, and gripped the handle of a fully loaded Walch Navy 12 Shot Revolver.
An instant later, the other prisoners pulled the chain in the opposite direction, and he returned to the original position of discomfort. He sat back and relaxed. Only now, he had 12 shots to take control of the CSS Mississippi.
“What the hell was that all about?” the Irishman asked.
Chestnut shrugged. “I was scratching an itch.”
He thanked almighty providence and dammed good luck that he had the foresight to build a hidden compartment within the flooring where any prisoners might be held. He’d designed it with the rest of his men in mind, in case any of them were caught, but had no idea that he would ever have a need to use it.
He carefully gripped the handle of the Walch Navy 12 Shot Revolver. The unique .36 caliber revolver used superimposed chambers — meaning that each of the six chambers could hold two shots, for a total of 12 rounds before reloading. The revolver had two hammers and two side by side triggers, with the trigger for the front loading being positioned slightly ahead of the rear load’s trigger, to help ensure that they are fired in the correct order.
Each cylinder chamber was loaded with two loads — a ball and powder over another ball and powder. The ignition system was farther forward in the chamber for shot number one so that would fire first. After that, the second charge was ready to shoot. Its shot was notoriously weak, but Chestnut had used the weapon since its release in 1859 and he’d developed an affinity for it. Despite its peculiarities he was confident the revolver would be lethal in his hand.
On the deck, the muffled sound of shouted orders being given was audible above the roar of the hissing boilers. The padded knock of boots and shouts of men above was accompanied by the slide and creak of the turret-house floorboards as the Covenant was carried on board.
Chestnut felt the tension disappear. They made it!
He listened to the voice of the ship’s commander as he talked to the leader of the new arrivals.
“Here are your signed orders. You are to head North.”
“North?” the commander was puzzled.
“Yes. We have men waiting with a wagon and horses at the junction along the Yazoo River, who will move that chest to safety. Its survival is the only priority.”
“What about the prisoners?” the commander asked.
“What prisoners?”
“We took on board six prisoners. They were meant to hang at Vicksburg as a deterrent to would be deserters.”
The newcomer’s voice was undeterred. “Forget about them.”
“They were meant to be executed here, today.”
“Then shoot them!”
“I can’t shoot them!” The commander protested.
“Why not?”
“It’s not right. It has to be official.”
“Oh for God’s sake. Where have you got the prisoners stowed?”
“Down below, aft locker. They’re handcuffed and chained to the floor.”
“Good, that will make it easy. I’ll shoot them myself.”
Chestnut waited for the commander to protest, but instead there was only silence. About twenty seconds later, he heard heavy footsteps approaching. The door opened and a barrel-chested man with a trimmed fiery red beard stepped inside.
The stranger lowered a Colt Army Revolver and said, “I’m sorry, gentlemen. I suggest you make peace with your maker.”
Chestnut grinned. “Not today. I still have a duty to my maker here on Earth.”
“Good God, William Chestnut!” The new arrival audibly gasped. “What are you doing here? I thought you had been caught?”
“I was,” Chestnut said. “They were taking me to Vicksburg to hang.”
The stranger laughed. “What were the chances, hey?”
“Exactly, what were the chances, indeed?” Chestnut rattled his shackled wrists on the chain. “Come on, there’s a key over on a hook behind the door. Get me out of here!”
The stranger grabbed the key, shaped like a small teardrop. “This it?”
“Yes! That’s it, now come and unlock me.”
“And the rest of us!” the other prisoners whispered.
“All right, all right!”
The stranger kneeled down to enter the prisoner’s cell. It was the last thing the man would do. A stray shard of cannon shot ripped through the ventilation slit above, tearing a gaping hole through the stranger’s chest, killing him instantly.
Chestnut watched in horror as the man fell backward. His dead, mangled body lying just four feet out of their reach and his hand still gripping the teardrop shaped key.
The little Irishman looked at him. “Well that’s some seriously bad luck.”
The ship’s boilers built up steam, and power was transferred to the screws starting a multitude of mechanized sounds and vibrations throughout the length of the metal clad hull.
Chestnut adjusted his weight and settled against the wall and briefly regarded the adjacent man he was chained to, who was whimpering and seemed to have soiled himself in fear. William turned his face away in disgust.
Is this to be my ending? Surrounded by the pathetic misery of cowards?
It was at that moment that the vessel shuddered, and a massive blast erupted above as a cannon shot struck the casement a direct hit.
136 pounds of steel in the form of a solid shot from an 11-inch smoothbore Dahlgren gun on a Union ship had flown 3600 yards and smashed into the weakest point of the topside, a joint between the armor plates. The effect was catastrophic on the superstructure. A shockwave slammed through the exterior plating rending it from the teak and pine subframe, smashing it wide open, and killing instantly nearly a dozen men working within. The ship's progress slowed and she faltered as the pilot crew attempted to assess the damage to the controls.