“That’s not its purpose,” David said, with defiant certainty.
Tom smiled. “Go on. Enlighten us, what was it used for?”
“It’s obvious,” David said, matter-of-factly. “They were used for defense. You have to remember this paddle steamer sailed in a time when only the bravest adventurers would travel the Upper Missouri River. Fur traders, trappers, and gold prospectors. It probably dates back before the Great Sioux War of 1876.”
Sam grinned. “Of course. Attack from Sioux Indians would have been a real threat. One of the few means of defense to a riverboat captain at the time would have been to stay in the deep water of the middle of the river, and make sure none of the attackers could climb up on board.” To David, he said, “Good thinking. Come on, we’ll head to the stern-wheel and see if we can climb up from there.”
He followed the starboard side of the hull, walking all the way around, to the stern-wheel.
Once there, he turned to face the rest of the group, a broad grin plastered across his face. “Can you believe it? We’ve been wrong about everything all this time.”
David stared, his eyes wide and his mouth open. “I don’t believe it!”
Breathing fast with excitement, Sam felt his heart hammering in his throat.
For just behind the paddle-wheel, he saw two eight-foot bronze propeller screws.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Sam climbed the false stern-wheel up to the main deck.
Virginia, Tom, and David followed immediately afterward.
“So now we know the truth,” Sam said, his eyes raking the ship with a new light.
David touched the side wall. It was made of cheap wood and crumbled in his hand. “This is why there were never any local reports of having seen an ironclad once steam up past this section of the river. They must have stopped somewhere earlier on one of the rivers, even as far back as the Mississippi. There they erected a cheap, wooden façade.”
“It wasn’t all that uncommon during the Civil War,” Sam said, shaking his head. “We should have considered that.”
“Really?” Virginia asked.
“Sure. There were a number of carpenters and shipbuilders along the Mississippi in the early 1860s who could apparently construct a disguise like this. That was the point, to change the shape and appearance of anything from a barge to a battleship.”
Virginia stroked an old railing, her full lips curled with curiosity. “Whatever for?”
“Mostly for defense to scare away invading ships.”
“With cardboard-like cutouts?”
“Yes.” Sam took pleasure in seeing her astonishment. “There are even reports of farmers transforming barges into ironclad battleships to chase away attacking Union warships.”
Virginia studied what she could see of the ship. “And these men transformed an ironclad into a paddle steamer.”
“Come on,” Sam said. “Let’s see if we can find the logbook.”
It took them five minutes to walk a full circuit around the perimeter of the mighty warship come paddle-wheeler.
Once inside her outer façade, it became easy to see the ship’s original purpose.
Even though the hull was rusted through in several sections, she was still a grotesque and powerful monument to the brutality of the era that spawned her. The whole design reeked of death. Every surface was engineered to withstand attack, and issue destruction.
The main turret stood proudly on the deck with the rusted remains of the smoothbore cannon still jutting from its fore-most side. They could see where the hull had been smashed by cannon shot in several places, and the thick armor that had survived the rust still bore the deep dents from solid shot strikes sustained during battle.
The outer holds below deck had been compromised by decay, but the main structure of the ghastly ship was intact due to the sheer thickness of the armor plating. It took several smashing blows from Tom’s lump hammer to break the rusted seal on the main hatchway before the trio could gain access to the internal ship.
Climbing below decks the atmosphere was stifling. Eerily quiet, it felt entirely undisturbed. They all knew immediately that nobody had set foot in this ship since its original occupants left all those years ago. A tingle of excitement ran through Sam. He glanced at Tom, wide-eyed and eager. He looked like a child in a candy store who found a fifty-dollar bill, and now needed to decide what to spend it on.
Sam knew exactly how he felt.
They worked their way forward, through the boiler room and upstairs to the wheelhouse. The ship was littered with the remnants from the sailors. It was a time capsule to the civil war. A treasure-trove for a collector. Sam and Tom however, were of one mind. They sought the contents of the keep-safe on the bridge.
The bridge was badly damaged from a canon-strike, which had rent the iron skin from the frame in one corner. This had opened that part of the ship to the elements, and as a result most of the wheelhouse was rusted and rotted away. On his hands and knees, Sam instinctively dug down into the silt, which now lay where the bridge floor would have sat. He scooped up handfuls of thick, heavy dirt and methodically tossed each handful aside.
It must be here.
Without a word Tom shoved down beside his friend in the cramped space, and shoulder-to-shoulder they dug. After about five minutes they were rewarded when Sam dusted the dirt off the waterproof-wrapped parcel. He smiled broadly as the oilskin literally fell away in his hands, revealing the embossed leather cover: C.S.S MISSISSIPPI CAPTAINS LOG — REGISTRY OF PRISONERS.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Sam ran his eyes across the nearly 160-year-old document.
The first few sections included detailed ship movement reports, including weather and any maintenance issues. He skimmed through the document quickly, until the date May 17, 1863. There the captain had made a note about a series of prisoners, mostly deserters, who had been picked up at Natchez, Mississippi, and were being transferred to Vicksburg to hang.
This was nothing unusual at the time, Sam mused. Deserters would hang at cities soon to be under siege, as a means of deterring other would-be deserters.
What he did find interesting was the note regarding the last prisoner, a Mr. William Chestnut. It noted that Chestnut was previously ranked simply as a Major. There was no information regarding his Service Branch, which ordinarily would have been one of five areas: infantry, cavalry, artillery, engineers, or ordinance. Instead, there was a single, handwritten scrawl, underlined by the captain: This man is extremely dangerous. He is highly intelligent. Deceptive. Manipulative. Not to be allowed speech with anyone.
Sam felt his heart race and his chest tighten as he flicked through to the prisoner register. The apple rarely falls far from the tree. Were all members of Perry’s family line cunning, duplicitous, and dangerous?
He placed his finger along the list of names, running down each until he reached the arrest document beneath the name of William Chestnut. While Virginia, Tom, and David continued searching the rest of the ship for any sign of the treasure, Sam read the full report.
Regarding prisoner William Chestnut –
Prior to the war, Major William Chestnut was a wealthy tobacco landowner and a well-respected shipping engineer with contracts from New York through to New Orleans. He was approached, personally, by President Jefferson Davis in 1861 for his assistance as a spy, due to his unique, wide-spanning network of engineering connections spread throughout the Union. For twelve months, it is believed he served his duty in this admirably, feeding the Confederacy useful information.
Something happened in 62 and William Chestnut changed his allegiance, becoming a double agent, working tirelessly to produce a secret list of wealthy Southern landowners and senior soldiers who could be enticed to consolidate into the Union on assurances that no financial or physical repudiation would occur.