No Greater Love
                                            Chapter 7 D

        Davie kept his arms around John and Ernest as the six-car passenger
train pulled out of the central station, headed north along the lake front.
Once out of the city the train would turn south along the fresh laid rails
of the Illinois Central. These were the charter lines of the railroad that
one day would reach New Orleans.

        The handsome 4-4-0 American number 80, a product of Rogers, Ketchum
& Grosvenor of Paterson, New Jersey, was one of 116 owned by the railroad.
The 50-ton locomotive, shining with all her brass, was a fine looking
locomotive; her crew took pride in how she looked, from the long slender
cowcatcher to the slender diamond stack which many people of the day said
was a cross between the tall funnels of early wood burners of the 1830's
and the giant diamond stacks of the 1860's. The balloon-shaped stack and
other parts of the locomotive were kept bright by frequent polishings.
Ornamentations were in vogue, and enginemen and firemen spent many hours
furbishing the many brass parts. The massive headlamp with its rounded
reflecting glass burned whale oil to cast a white light down the track for
a quarter of a mile. The locomotive was the pride of the line; it showed
the people living in the Prairie State that this railroad had money and
power, something there was little of in the wilderness of central Illinois.
The locomotive, spit and polished, her dark red headlamp box to her Russian
blue boiler and dark crimson red cab and matching tender, eased across the
trestle on the border with the lake, the wheels flashing in the morning
light as the light snow continued to fall.

        The three boys held onto the back iron railing, looking as the lake
and the city they all knew begin to vanish. The car bounced and swayed as
it left the double-track trestle and onto the unballasted single-track main.
The passenger car was crudely constructed; it had a large wood stove at one
end and long rows of rough wooden seats that were rough on the back and
behind ends of its riders. Whale oil lamps hung from the ceiling, casting
a feeble glow at night; they were unlit now, the shades on the windows
pulled up so the light could shine in. The outside was painted a bright
yellow color with black trim at the roof line and Illinois Central painted
in gold leaf. The train was coupled together with link and pins and every
time the locomotive slowed and stopped, the passengers felt the full
effects of the slack running in. There were no air brakes, only the manual
brake wheels located on the platforms of each car. Passengers were
forbidden to walk between the cars while the train was moving. There were
no water coolers in the cars but a single barrel of ice water located in
the baggage car. The newsboy, a simple lad of 13 to 15, would walk through
the cars with a tin pail and a dipper for the comfort of the passengers,
carrying water and hard candies, fruits, and books.

        The city had vanished in the haze and the blowing snow. The skies
were growing darker as the winter storm blew in from the north off the
lake. Ten miles south of the city, out in the wilderness, the train crossed
the Michigan Central line at a place called Grand Junction. The cars
bounced and swayed across the diamond as the unsprung trucks rode on the
rails. 'Yes indeed,' thought Davie, 'trains are faster than anything else
but you had to be one bold son of a bitch to ride the steam cars. He, like
the brothers, was loving every moment of it except for the freezing north
wind. "Come on, let's go inside and try to get warm."

        The three boys walked through the door and into the passenger
coach. They found seats in the rear of the car on the opposite end of where
the pot-bellied stove was. The car was chilly on this end but the
passengers near the stove were burning up. The three bundled up in their
great coats and huddled together on the hard wooden bench and soon all
three were nodding their heads in sleep.

        The train continued south, moving at 25 miles per hour on the rough
track, the engineer riding on the right hand side of the cab while the
fireman threw shovel after shovel of Illinois coal into the firebox; he was
the only one in the cab staying warm. The northern winds began to pick up
in speed, hammering the sides of the locomotive and cars. The engineer
prayed he could make it far enough south before the blizzard struck full
force and snowdrifts blocked the track and trapped the train. He slid the
window open and stuck his face out in the freezing wind so he could see the
line ahead. His mustache and beard soon became white with the wet snow as
his cheeks numbed. The train slowed as it passed the switch leading into
the siding at Kankakee, then stopped in front of the small wood-framed
depot. Women and children, along with hunters, fur trappers, farmers,
and homesteaders debarked from the train while others got on, including
soldiers headed back south to Cairo and other places. The three boys
continued to slumber, hugging each other for warmth and protection. The
engineer reached up and yanked the whistle cord, blowing a sharp long
blast, and pulled the throttle on the engine open. The big drivers slipped
and spun on the slick icy rail, then slowly began to move forward, the
links between the cars clanking together as the slack was pulled out.

        Just as number 80 and her train pulled out, there was a sharp blast
from another train. A troop train was running on the same schedule as the
passenger train. They were supposed to be 15 minutes apart but the troop
train was gaining speed. The engineer of number 80 looked behind him and
saw the approaching smoke.  Was he running that late?  He pulled the
throttle open more and closed the window in the side of the cab. He knew
that his engine was faster than the one following, which was number 50, a
wood burning locomotive built in the '40s. It was time to make up lost
time, snowstorm or not. He nodded to the fireman to keep up steam as they
raced down the line.

        Number 80's engineer knew the dangers of the high speed he was
running and the dangers of derailment if he was not careful, but the
headlight of number 50 was still close behind. He clocked his speed at
50 mph, that was plenty fast for him. The engine swayed like a ship in
a gale as the high winds blew the snow across the track ahead of it,
caking on the glass in front of him. The storm was getting worse by the
minute. The train raced through Clifton, sounding her whistle as it
passed the station, then raced on.

        The engineer of number 50 eased his throttle back on his wood-
burning, diamond-stacked 4-4-0. He watched the rear markers on the last
passenger car and wondered why they were going so slow with such a new
engine. His fifteen cars of troops, cannon, and supplies were needed at
Cairo and he would be damned if he were going to let a blizzard stop him
from doing his job. Next stop was Gilman, where there was a coal dock
and wood yard, along with a water tower and yard. Here the Peoria and
Western crossed the Illinois Central. The two trains reached Gilman in
3-1/2 hours and both eased to a stop beside the massive wooden water
tower. The water tower sat between the main line and the passing siding.
Both engines were panting from the fast run, like race horses.

        The two engineers climbed down from their cabs as the firemen
went to work, filling the tenders with water. The men checked their
engines and oiled the bearings and checked for anything out of place.

        "Goddamn, Jeffery, what the hell is the matter with you, coming
up on my ass like a bat out of hell!"

        "Not a fucking thing, William, I just wanted to see you actually
open up the throttle on 80 like a real engineer. If you can't tell by
now, we got a fucking snowstorm blowing in and I want to make it to Cairo
with this heavy ass train I am pulling. I got 15 cars of cannon and
supplies, along with 2 passenger cars packed with hardheaded soldiers
spoilin' fer a fight and I be damned if they is going to fight on my train.
Kentucky is just over the Ohio River and they can fight the goddamn
rebels." Jeffery spit into the snow and they turned to watch their
firemen fill the tenders.

        The soldiers mingled around the cars, laughing and picking on each
other, calling each other any and every kind of name, to the horror of the
women on the passenger train who could hear it through the closed windows.
Davie woke up and looked around and noticed the train was sitting still.
He nudged the brothers awake. They stretched and yawned. Davie stood up
and walked toward the rear platform to get some fresh air and the two
brothers followed him out to the rear platform where they saw the troop
train and the soldiers playing like children in the fresh snow.  The
snowflakes were getting larger by the moment. The wind had almost stopped
but the snow hadn't.

        The firemen were having trouble with the water supply; half of it
was frozen in the damned tank. Instead of pouring from the spout it
trickled. What should have been 10 minutes at the max. turned out to be
40 minutes. They kept the fires hot and carried coals on their shovels
back to the tender and waved them under the iron spout to melt the ice so
the water could flow. The day was growing darker as the afternoon grew to
dusk. The engine crews soon saw a headlight approaching from the south,
the northbound flyer for Chicago from Cairo. The engine eased to a stop and
the passengers debarked while more got on. Fifteen minutes later the two
firemen climbed aboard their engines while Jeffery and William mounted the
cabs. A long blast from each engine sounded their departure from the water
tank and they eased down to the coaling and wood dock where number 80 would
take on coal while number 50 wooded up. The northbound passenger train
blasted its whistle and pulled out of the station while a switchman threw
the switch, lining it for another siding. The northbound train eased into
the siding and glided past the two southbound trains; the engineer tooted
his whistle and waved at the crews. The front of his locomotive was a solid
white, caked with snow.  The two engine crews waved back, then shook their
heads, wondering how much more damned snow they would have to go through
before Champaign and supper.

        Davie, John, and Ernest stayed on the back platform, watching the
soldiers scurrying like rats to get back on their train, only to have a
look of dismay as the train stopped again at the fueling point. The process
was repeated as the two firemen began to fill their tenders with fuel. 80's
fireman had it easy; he reached up and pulled a heavy chain with his gloved
hand and watched the black diamonds pour into the tender bunker, while on
number 50, the fireman and two brakemen threw stick upon stick of cordwood
into the tender bunker.

        The soldiers, seeing the grueling task, decided to chip in and help
and 20 minutes later number 50 had a full load of seasoned oak.  Soon both
trains were ready to depart. The small brick depot could barely be seen in
the swirling wind and snow.

        William reached up and yanked the whistle cord and opened up the
throttle, the big 60-inch drivers spun on the slick rails, then he opened
the sanders and the heavy train began to roll. Davie, John, and Ernest
watched the snow from the back platform and waved at the men in blue on
the other train. Most just stared back, wondering who the three boys with
special privileges were. Just as they passed the switch, the fireman from
number 50 reached and grabbed the handle on the harp switch stand and
shifted the rails to line up with the spur, and number 50 and her train sat
there and spun and puffed and snorted, trying to get the heavy troop train
rolling again. Then with a clatter and clang of the links and pins, the
heavy train started rolling. The fireman swung up on the tender steps as
the engine passed the switch stand.

        The two trains began to pick up speed until they reached 15 mph.
The station agent stood on the platform and waved at the train crew of
number 80 as it clanged across the diamond of the Peoria and Western, a
five-foot gauge that was wider than the standard gauge ICRR which was
built to the English and now the American standard of 4 feet 8 1/2 inches.
The boys watched everything from the back platform of the train and
waved at the agent as he stood and watched engine number 50 gain speed.

        "Davie, should we really be standing here? Because if we stop,
that other engine is going to plow right into us. I saw that happen one
time. A farmer was trying to get across the tracks and the train just ran
right smack over him, wasn't nothin' left but a bunch of splinters and
corn all over the place."

        "Well, Ernest, if we slow down or stop I don't really think it
would matter where we at because we going to get hurt or killed. That
engine is pulling a lot of stuff and it would be hard to stop a train like
that." They could barely see number 50 as she crossed the diamond because
of the snow. They turned and headed back inside the car.

        The conductor was walking down the aisle, lighting the lamps as the
sun set behind the dark gray clouds. They sat back down and looked out the
window at the drab landscape, the barren fields of the prairies, the
scattered farm houses and small towns, until darkness blocked their view
and the swirling snow blanketed everything in white.

        At 8 PM the train, with bell clanging, pulled into the 3-story wood
and brick station at Champaign where the train would stop for a 20-minute
supper stop, then continue south to Centralia.

        The passengers rushed from the cars and into the large station
dining room. The boys ran also into the warm, well lit station and dining
room; long wooden trestle tables were lined up in the center, covered with
oil cloth. Steaming urns of hot black coffee and teas sat on the ends of
the long counter. Silver platters of food were laid out, piled high with
fried beefsteak, potatoes, and other vegetables, loaves of bread dripping
with butter, and sweet desserts piled high with fresh cream. The boys
stepped into the long line of passengers and grabbed tin plates and forks
and knives, along with a tin mug for coffee or tea. Black men dressed in
white refilled the platters with more food as soon as they were emptied.
The boys moved down the line, piling their plates full with the beef and
potatoes and sweet ginger cookies. Davie poured coffee while John and
Ernest selected the hot tea. They carefully balanced their overloaded
plates and steaming mugs and moved slowly to one of the long wooden tables.
They sat down beside a large middle-aged man and a blonde teenager who
looked to be about Davie's age.

        "Evening, lads," spoke the middle-aged man.

        "Evening, sir," replied the three boys as they sat their plates
down on the table beside their steaming mugs, then they sat down on the
hard wooden benches.

        "My name is Otto Kroner." He spoke with a thick German accent and
held out his large chubby hand toward Davie.

        "Davie Phillips, sir." Davie grasped Otto's hand and shook it.

        "This is my son Erik." He pointed to the blonde-haired blue-eyed
boy as he spoke.

        Davie and Erik shook hands and Davie introduced John and Ernest to
the father and son and they all shook hands.

        "I see you boys are in the Navy."

        "Yes sir, we are. We are headed to Cairo to report to the USS
BENTON, our first Ironclad."

        "Very wise choice, my friends. The BENTON will be completed on
January 15th. She will be a very fine fighting ship. Erik and myself helped
to build her boilers. I am a boilermaker originally from Cincinnati, Ohio.
I was born and raised in the Fatherland in Berlin and moved here to the
States 20 year ago. Me and my sweet wife had Erik here 4 years after we
settled here in this great land." He patted his son on the back.  Erik
continued to eat, chewing the tough beef. John and Ernest also ate, chewing
and swallowing the hot food while listening to Davie and Otto talk. John
and Ernest scanned the blonde boy up and down while they ate. Erik was
giving the brothers the eye also as he ate and listened.

        The 20 minutes passed quickly as they ate and talked. "Papa, I want
to join the Navy when we get back to Mound City."

        "But, Son, you're only 16 years old. You have to be 18 before you
can sign up."

        "Papa, look at John and Ernest, they not 18. They younger than me!"

        The two brothers smiled. "Just because we are short does not mean
we that young. I am 16 and my brother John is 15," spoke Ernest with pride
in his voice.

        "See, Papa, if they can join, so can I. I am 16 myself."

        Erik's father was about to speak when they heard the whistle blow
and the conductor shouted over the noise of the crowd of passengers. "TRAIN
LEAVES IN 2 MINUTES!"

        They all scrambled to their feet and raced for the panting train.
The oil lamps that hung from the iron lampposts cast a white light onto the
snow covering the brick station platform. They all climbed the steps to the
rear car and sat down closer to the wood stove. The center of the wood car
was actually comfortable, not too hot, not too cold.

        Father and son resumed their argument while John and Ernest sat on
each side of Davie, facing Otto and Erik. "Papa, I want to do my part. I
want to be a sailor on the BENTON and you see, I have three other people my
age. I know we can be friends." Erik's blue eyes sparkled as he looked at
the three teens. They all nodded back and agreed Erik was their friend.

        Otto sighed, "OK, my son, you may join the navy."

        "Thank you, thank you, Papa! I won't let you down!" Erik's eyes
were blazing like diamonds. He stood and hugged his father, then turned and
hugged his new friends.

        The five people sat and talked as old 80 rumbled through the night,
headed south to Cairo. At midnight the train pulled into Mattoon and made a
brief stop, then rushed on. The brothers once again were asleep, their
heads resting on Davie's chest. Otto smiled at the sight and looked down at
his own Erik who was dozing, resting his head against his father.

        "So, Davie, how long have you known your companions?"

        "Two days, sir. Two wonderful days." Davie smiled. Soon Davie and
Otto were nodding their heads in sleep along with the other boys and the
car became quiet except for the clicking of the wheels on the rails as the
train raced through the night and the swirling snow.

    -*-*-

        The sun crept out from behind a bank of gray white clouds and the
golden rays shone down on the glistening white snow. The train was now 15
miles north of Centralia. William kept the throttle pulled back and the
train clipped off the remaining miles at a fast pace of 50 MPH. The track
here was smooth and pretty flat for the most part, having crossed over the
Edgewood cutoff and the Little Wabash River the night before. Centralia was
the junction point where the Chicago branch and the other lines of the
Illinois Central became one, forming what everyone in the area called 'The
Needle's Eye'. The Needle's Eye was the single-track main line that ran
down to Cairo. Number 80 began to slow down as she approached the open
switch at the entrance to the Centralia yards. The switchman waved his hand
in an arc, signaling to come in slow and easy over the points as the engine
eased into the siding beside the massive four-story brick station, her bell
clanging her arrival. The conductor walked through the cars, shouting,
"CENTRALIA, 20 MINUTE BREAKFAST STOP!"

        Davie yawned and stretched his arms, then lightly shook John and
Ernest awake.

        "Come on, me sleeping brothers, time to rise and shine. Time for
breakfast and hot coffee."

        The two brothers yawned and stood, then reached for the ceiling as
they stretched. Erik and his father also were stirring from their slumber
and stood and the small band of strangers who sat down the night before for
supper, 200 miles farther north than they were now, walked out into the
crisp winter air as friends.

        Centralia's large station was full of people. Men, women, and
children rushed here and there, most crowding into the large dining room,
grabbing plates and mugs of steaming black coffee. The food, like at
Champaign, was lined up along the long oiled counter: bacon, fresh stuffed
pork sausage, fried ham, scrambled eggs, biscuits, and honey. The boys,
followed by Otto, fixed their plates, piling them high with the simple fare
and poured the hot steaming coffee into their mugs. They noticed here how
the coffee stayed so hot - a small concealed whale oil burner was set into
the counter and the pot sat on a tripod of iron legs. They smiled as they
pointed that out to Erik and Otto.

        "Well, my lads, us Germans hate lukewarm coffee in the winter time.
This was one of our inventions." Otto smiled.

        They were about to sit down when a large man dressed in buckskins
and a hat bumped them over and sat down, almost spilling John's hot coffee.
Some splashed on the man.

        "Stupid little shit, get out of my way!" shouted the man angrily.
The angry man looked up, then glared at the three boys in their blue
uniforms.

        "Aww, ain't that something, trussed up in your Yankee blue
uniforms like you're really something!"

        Davie wanted to kick the few yellow teeth the man had left down
his throat but Otto motioned for Davie and the others to find another
table and leave the drunken bastard alone.

        "Boys, he is spoiling for a fight. I know the type. He is from
Missouri and holds allegiance to neither side. As far as we know he could
be a bushwhacker or a guerrilla raider, looking at the rails and trying
to decide how to cause damage to them, but right now that is not our job
to stop him or the rest of his gang. Here, let's sit at this table so we
can watch him closer." They sat down at a near table and began to eat but
kept an eye on the man in the dirty buckskin jacket. Soon three other men
joined him at the table and they began talking, referring to places that
Otto and Erik knew but Davie and the brothers never heard of.

        "OK, boss, here is what me learned from the railroad guy over
yonder behind them bars. This here station is busiest when the trains stop
for grub. There are some trains from the east and west but not as many
coming from the north and south. Also there is a gun and a group of
soldiers at the Little Muddy River, guarding that big fucking bridge there.
They number about 20 men and boys in all."

        "Good work, Mo. Now y'all eat your grub and we'll board the train
south to Dubois. Also keep an eye out on those boys in blue over yonder at
that table. I don't like the way they keep eyeing us every now and then."

        "OK, boss," the men replied and they began to chew and slurp their
food and coffee.

        Davie and the others caught bits and pieces of the conversation.
They did not understand most of what it was about but they knew something
was up. They finished the meal and walked outside to the station platform
where Otto pulled out his clay pipe and packed it with dried tobacco. He
struck a sulfur match and touched it to his pipe and drew in the smoke as
he looked up into the sunny sky. The boys looked at the locomotive and
talked about boyish things, for that is what they were, boys in the prime
of their youth.

        Otto pulled out his watch and looked. The train should be ready
to pull out. It was 25 minutes past the departure time. The conductor
walked by and Otto stopped him.

        "Excuse me, sir. Why are we delayed?"

        "Well, sir, we are waiting on a supply train from Springfield to
arrive, also a troop train from Chicago. Your train will be ahead of the
others but the management wants all three trains to head south as a group
to Cairo."

        A whistle sounded in the distance as engine number 50 eased into
the station behind number 80 and her train. The conductor smiled, "We got
one more behind that one and we will depart unless we get another telegram
from the Chicago office."

        Fifteen minutes passed, then twenty minutes. The passengers milled
around the platform or sat inside to keep warm. The silence of the morning
was broken by the sounds of two whistles blowing from the north as the two
trains eased into the crowded siding behind number 80. Two more troop
trains were joining the parade south to Cairo.

        The four train crews gathered in a circle for a conference while
the passengers began boarding the cars. The boys decided to sit once again
at the rear of the last car so they could look out the window set in the
tall narrow door.

        Davie, Ernest, and John watched the barren farmlands slip by their
windows and in other spots the track curved through cuts and bridged
gullies. Each mile brought something new to their eyes as they looked out
the window. Erik was telling them about the land that was called Little
Egypt, the small hamlets and shady groves and the open farmland laid out
fallow, waiting for the spring to come and once again the farmers would
move out into the fields with their plows and work the rich dirt, then
rowing it up, followed by men with sacks of wheat, corn, and other seeds
but for now they were barren with a slight dusting of snow covering the
ground. Engine number 80 had outrun the Snow Belt and now chugged along
at 30 MPH.

        The train whistled at Ashley as it clanged across the diamond of
another short line. Erik suggested they walk out on the back platform and
catch glimpses of the Big Muddy River. Otto smiled at the boys and nodded
his approval while he fished his hand into his pocket for a nickel to give
to the newsboy for the morning paper. The newsboy smiled at the four boys
as they bundled up in their heavy coats and walked out the door and
grasped the cold iron railing with their gloved hands. They watched the
track fall behind them and watched the headlight of number 50 keep pace
about 30 yards behind them. Over to their right ran the Little Muddy River.
They saw the brown water surging down the riverbed. The telegraph poles
glided by, one every few seconds. Before long the conductor opened the
back door and stepped onto the platform. He smiled at the boys and told
Davie to grip the big brake wheel and when he heard the engine sound her
whistle for him to start turning it to the right to tighten the brake
shoes against the wheels to help slow the train for the Little Muddy River
Bridge. The bridge over the Little Muddy River was built of wood, resting
on stone piers set on the hard bedrock of the riverbed. The train
whistled and Davie turned the brake wheel until the conductor told him
that was good enough for railroad work. The engine eased onto the long
wooden span. A soldier in uniform waved to the crew in the cab as the
train passed below him. On the southern side a 14-pound howitzer
protected the southern approach. The engine whistled again and the
conductor pointed to a spring lever that released the brakes and Davie
did that while the other boys watched him.

        Meanwhile the band of guerrillas was waiting to get off the
train at Dubois but the train just whistled and began to pick up speed as
number 50 started across the bridge. The group of men walked out to the
forward platform and, as the train passed the station, they jumped to the
ground. The boys saw them and all flipped their middle fingers at them.
One of the guerrillas reached for his pistol and aimed it at Davie. At
the same time the sentry on top of the bridge saw the pistol in the man's
hand and threw his musket to his shoulder and fired. The man holding the
pistol dropped to the ground as a crimson flower formed where his heart
was. The rest of the band continued walking as if they did not even know
him.

        The boys saluted the sentry and he returned it and waved at the
crews of the other trains and began to reload his musket. The rest of the
trip was uneventful and at 1 PM the train pulled into the brick and wood
station in Cairo.

        They walked forward to the baggage car and pulled down their
duffel bags and Otto and Erik grabbed their carpetbags. "Come on, boys,
let's grab a bite to eat at the Holiday House." Otto smiled and led the way
to the hotel.  The soldiers began to pour off the troop trains and began to
set up camp along the Ohio River Levee not far from the Holiday House, also
known as the St. Charles Hotel.

        Otto opened the door and led them inside the 4 story wood building.
They walked through the small lobby to the dining room. Otto picked a
corner table and they sat down. A young blonde-headed lady walked over to
the table and asked them what they would like to drink. There were two
choices - coffee or whiskey. They all chose coffee with a pitcher of cream
and brown sugar. The lunch special was beefsteak and gravy with creamed
potatoes for 50 cents. They ordered the special and prayed it was hot. The
lady brought the coffee and the mugs, then returned with the cream and
sugar. Davie poured the coffee for everyone and then they all passed
around the cream.

        "Umm, Davie, can you burn coffee?" asked John.

        "What do you mean, 'burn it'?"

        "Well, Davie, it is so black. I think the coal the locomotive
burned was lighter than this here coffee."

        Everyone laughed at John. He just looked back with this small
smile as if to ask, 'What did I say?'

        Otto sipped his coffee and smiled, "It is not so bad, my lad,
it's just very strong brew."

        John took a small sip and everyone watched him. He smiled, "Next
cup 50/50 on the cream" and smiled again.

        They all laughed and talked and sipped the strong coffee, Erik
talking about Cairo and the area, with his father chiming in whenever he
made a mistake. Soon the young lady returned with their food and she busied
herself with passing around the hot steaming plates of food. They thanked
her and began to dig into the hot steaming food. The food was not as good
as what they had eaten at the railroad stations but there was an exception
- there was no rush to finish this meal.

        In the distance and high on the bluff a church bell chimed the hour
of 3 PM.

        "Well, lads, I guess this is where we say our good byes. You must
report to the US gunboat fleet and I must report back to the ironworks and
my boilermaking."

        "Where is the USS BENTON docked at?"

        "At Mound City," replied Erik. "We passed the work train heading
toward it right before we entered Cairo. No passenger trains though. If you
want to get there before dark you'll have to do like me and pa here and
ride the work train that leaves in 15 minutes up the branch to Mound City.
Also that is where Navy offices are."

        "OK, that will work!" said Ernest, holding his mug almost to his
lips. He winked at Erik.

        "That it will work. Also we still have about 5 days before the USS
BENTON is ready for action. Admiral Foote is in charge right now but I
understand that Porter and Dixon usually take over once they reach Memphis
and farther south."

        "You're right, Davie." Otto packed his pipe as he spoke. "Shall we
go to the junction and wait on our work train to Mound City? It is not such
a bad day to ride a flatcar."

        The afternoon sun peeked out from behind the clouds as they watched
and waited for the little switch engine to finish its job of loading lumber
and other building supplies for the trip to Mound City.

        The little switch engine chuffed up to the junction switch and
stopped. The engine crew motioned them on board and they climbed on the
first loaded flatcar that carried the gun carriages and cannon barrels for
the big ironclads.  The brakeman threw the switch and the little engine
jerked the train into motion and, when the 3rd flatcar passed the switch,
the brakeman rethrew the switch and climbed aboard.

        The ten miles to Mound City took right at a hour with the little
engine chuffing and puffing wood smoke all over the place as the small
drivers churned on the rickety track. The flatcars swayed back and forth
every time the wheels crossed over a joint between the rail ends.

        "Aye, me boyos, this track is not the best in the land but it had
to be thrown together as fast as possible for the war effort. There was
two hunderd men working on this line when they was building it and I was
one of them. Well, I fired the boiler on little 13 up front there. She
might be small but she does a good job as any engine, I suppose." The
brakeman chuckled and crawled up on one of the cannon barrels and sat down
with the rest of them and engaged in a hearty chat. He asked Davie and the
brothers about the navy and they smiled and replied that they just joined
up and were heading to the USS BENTON for the first time.

        Then he turned to Otto and Erik and asked them how they were doing.

        "Just fine, Patrick. We took mother to visit her parents in
Champaign and now headed back to Mound. Also little Erik here has talked me
into letting him join the Navy."

        Patrick broke out into a big grin. "Sweet little Erik in the Navy,
you don't say."

        Erik blushed. "I ain't little."

        Patrick leaned over and whispered in Erik's ear. "I know that you
ain't little with what you have between those pale legs" and patted him on
the rump.

        Erik blushed harder and Davie saw the pat and smiled.

        The work train pulled into the siding at Mound City. Patrick hopped
off the flatcar after shaking hands all around and patting Erik on the
shoulders again. He stepped between the tender and the flatcar and pulled
the pin in the link that connected the engine to her train. The switch
engine ran ahead to the water tank and the long rack of wood while Otto
and the boys started walking up the muddy dirt street toward the center of
town. They stopped in front of the small wood building with a sign in front
of it. It read, "US NAVAL DIVISION HEADQUARTERS WESTERN RIVER FLEET"

        They all walked into the small building. The young officer sitting
behind the desk stood up when the 5 males walked through the door.

        "How may I help you?"

        Otto spoke up. "My son Erik wishes to join the River Fleet and his
3 friends are here to report for duty on the USS BENTON."

        The officer sat back down. "Your name?"

        "Erik Kroner."

        "Age?"

        "18, sir."

        The officer looked hard at Erik to see if he was telling the truth.
"Mr. Kroner, is that statement by your son correct?"

        "Yes sir, it is."

        "Erik, sign this paper and while you are getting fitted with your
uniform by my helper Bill, your father can give me the rest of the
information I need."

        Erik walked over and took the quill and signed his name on the
paper and smiled.

        Davie, John, and Ernest smiled at him and slapped him on the back.

        "Bill, we got a new recruit that needs his Navy blues fitted!"

        A lanky man walked out of the room behind the one in which the boys
were standing. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and had a long, chest length
beard. "So who is my new recruit?"

        Erik stepped forward.

        "Why, Master Erik, I am most honored you have decided to join the
fleet."

        "Thanks, Jim."

        "Why, who are those fine looking sailors over there in those fine
pressed clean uniforms? They did not have anything to do with your
enlistment now, did they?"

        Erik smiled, "Yes, they did. I figured with Davie, Ernest, and
John and me all on the same ironclad, I would have friends my own age."

        "Very smart thinking, my boy, now come on, let's get that uniform
of yours."

        Jim led Erik to the back room while the officer at the desk wrote
out the rest of the information he was getting from Otto as he puffed on
his pipe as usual.

        Davie, John, and Ernest were standing by the pot-bellied stove,
warming their hands and talking.

        "I wonder what Liam would think of Erik?" asked Ernest.

        "I think Liam would love him. He is a very sweet boy." replied
Davie.

        "Not to mention cute," chipped in John.

        Ernest blushed heavily and smiled. They all smiled at him and
patted him on the back.

        "Yes, he is a very handsome young lad." Davie smiled over at Ernest.
"You can have him and I will keep John."
 
        Ernest smiled, then blushed, then giggled. "Davie, you too much and
it is a deal. You may keep John."

        "When do I need your approval for who my special friends are?" asked
John.

        "Umm, since we met Davie and he fell more for you than he did me."

        Davie's face turned crimson red.

        "See, see, I told you it was true." Ernest wanted to shout it
instead of whispering it.

        "Hey, no secrets aboard ship now, me mateys."

        They all turned around. It was Erik, dressed in his navy blue
uniform, his cap perched upon his blonde hair and his blue eyes sparkled
with joy. The gaze Ernest gave Erik was pure love. "You're beautiful."
spoke Ernest before he realized what he had said out loud. There was
silence in the corner of the room as Erik just stood there for a moment
with the look of surprise and shock on his face. Then Erik smiled.

        "You're not so bad looking, your own self, sailor."

        Ernest beamed from ear to ear, his face turning a dark red as he
stood there looking at the most handsome boy he had ever seen in his 16
years on earth.

        "Attention, Sailors!" shouted the officer behind the desk.

        They all turned and snapped to attention.

        "Very good, sailors, that know how to stand at attention before
they even step aboard the ship. I'm impressed."

        "Your orders are as follows: For the rest of today go out and have
fun like boys should. Tomorrow, January 11th, explore the naval yards and
ships, talk to people, make new friends. Now the 12th through the 14th,
have more fun but learn something new every day, hang out around the ships,
especially the USS BENTON, your ship. You all have your ID cards. If anyone
is stupid enough to ask who you are, show them the card. Also remember to
keep your uniforms spotless and neat. Now for your final orders from me, on
January 15th be on board the USS Benton at 11 AM sharp. You shove off at 12
NOON, bound for the war zone. That is all, Sailors!"

        "Thank you, sir!" The four boys saluted and smiled when the officer
saluted back.

        They ran out the door and into the streets, all carrying their bags.
Otto was puffing after them, "Wait up, you damned devils."

        They stopped and turned around. "Yes. Papa?" asked Erik.

        "Take your bags to the house and leave them in your room since your
new friends need a place to sleep. You all will have to share your double
bed. Then go have some fun but be careful. I am headed to the Ironworks."

        The boys laughed and began to run up the street toward Erik's
house. Erik reached out and grabbed Ernest's free hand as they ran,
laughing and playing, as teenagers should, while on distant battlefields
men died. For now the boys laughed and played in the chill of the January
afternoon, no cares, no worries, just pure friendship shining its power
down on the four boys. Otto shook his head and smiled. "I haven't seen my
boy so happy in years."

        Otto started down the wood sidewalk toward the Ironworks, walking
and humming an old German song while he watched the boys disappear up the
street.

        A loud explosion erupted from the south where the Ironworks sat
and soon smoke and steam filled the air. Shouts of fear and terror rose
from the citizens of town as everyone raced south toward the smoke and
steam.

     -*-*-
 
        Another rumble followed the first and shook Davie from his
daydream. 'What the hell!' he thought. Then the big 24-pounder fired right
below his feet, causing him to fall to the iron casemate of the ironclad.
"What the fuck!" he looked up and saw a steamboat in the distance and a
Confederate flag flapping in the summer breeze. The drummers beat 'to
quarters' as the other big guns were run out into battery as steam was
increased in the boilers. The steamer turned upriver and headed back
toward Belle Bend. Time to warn the MISS LOU about the Yankees.

        Captain Thompson was soon standing right beside Davie. Davie was
back on his feet, looking through his field glasses at the retreating
stern of the little river steamer. He could read the name on the side of
her paddle boxes - WABASH.

        "Mid-Shipman Phillips, what can you see?"

        "Capt'n, Sir, she is crowding on steam as she swung around
in the river. She is going to outrun us for sure unless we can put a shell
in her paddle boxes. I do not know where she is headed except upstream. If
our maps are correct, Belle Bend is 15 miles upstream. The Rebs might have
a camp or something there.

        "Very good, Phillips! Come with me."

        Davie followed the captain down the ladder and inside the Ironclad.
They walked forward toward the bow battery.

        "Mr. Dufree, blast that rebel steamer out of the water!"

        "Aye, Aye, Capt'n"

        "FIRE!" shouted Dufree.

        The three big Guns erupted in flame and smoke as the shells
whistled through the air!

        "Gentlemen, the ball is opened."

        "FULL STEAM AHEAD!"

        The pilots looked down "Aye, Aye, Capt'n."

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

So, my dear readers, we now know a little more about Davie and his friends
and about his coming to the Western River Fleet. I am sorry about taking so
long on this short chapter. Please forgive me. A lot has been happening in
my life and to answer or try to answer a question I have been asked a lot
by you and others: When will I return to Johnny and Adam and Billy? Well,
they will be back with us before long. I miss my southern boys as well but
I wanted to tell about the Union side also and life on board a Union
Ironclad, which I plan to cover in the next couple of chapters. We will
learn more about Davie and others along with why the WABASH was steaming
down river in the first place. Things are heating up for our boys in gray
and blue.

Now I must thank Ed for his wonderful work on this and all my chapters of
this story and High Iron. Plus the Original version of My Little Stowaway
which can be found on my site. The co-authored version is located in the
Adult-Youth section of Nifty.

I cannot forget to thank my friends for inspiring me to continue this EPIC
tale as some have been calling it. Thanks a million to Ed, Willy B., Al,
Joe, and Chris for having me as a friend. Thank you, my readers, for reading
my work and letting me know that you enjoy it and to the ones who have told
me it could be better and Chris your still one of most special people I know.

Please e-mail me at Swarri1349@aol.com

And let me know what you think or how I might be able to improve my work.

Also visit my web pages at https://swarri1349.tripod.com/

And please sign my guestbook at the bottom. I would love to know who
stopped by. I have added a lot of Civil War art and photos to the pages,
also writings by a good friend of mine. These pages will continue to grow over time.
 Stop by on the Writings page and
enjoy.

Stephen