"Edward, more steam, damn it! We got to outrun that fucking Ironclad!!" the captain of
the WABASH shouted down the speaking tube to the engine room on the boiler deck.

    "Aye, Aye, Capt'n Smith. The boilers are at red line now, one more inch of steam and the
safety valves will open!"

    "Tie the son of a bitch closed, damn it." A shell whistled by and splashed into the brown
water of the Red. "God Damn, that was close. Pilot, hard to port, steer closer to the bank,
get out of the current! One hit on our paddle boxes or our stern and we are dead! You
understand ME!" Capt'n Smith was shouting as the the two pilots handled the big 10 foot
diameter wheel in the pilot house.

    The bow of the little steamer cut into the muddy water, splashing it up on deck while the
deck hands kept a close lookout for snags and other underwater hazards as the two big paddle
wheels bit into the water, churning it into muddy foam.

    "Capt'n, Johnston Bar is two miles upstream, if we can cross it we might have a chance to
warn Belle Bend and the MISS LOU."

    "Very well, Pilot Clark, MAKE IT HAPPEN!"

    "Yes sir, Captain, if we don't kill ourselves trying."

    "More wood, you black bastards, move your asses, bring that pork fat over here!"

    "It's cargo, Edward!" the mud clerk shouted.

    A shell whistled past and landed near the side of the steamer. The mud clerk froze for a
moment, then he lifted the big barrel on his shoulder and carried it to Williams.

    "Where's a damned axe, Edward? Let's crack this bitch open before one of those shells
cracks us open!"

    "About time you show some balls. Here", Edward threw Lacy the single bit axe. Lacy caught
the ax and lifted it in the air and swung down the sharp blade, biting into the wood and
splitting open the top of the barrel. One of the black firemen raced over and grabbed the
barrel and they started throwing the greasy fat meat into the raging fires under the boilers
which were begining to turn red from the heat. The fireboxes glowed as more fuel was added to
the raging fires and the boilers whined and hummed as water was sucked from the river and
almost instantly turned to steam.

    Edward raced over to the brass speaking tube and shouted into it, "150 pounds, Capt'n,
we're on the 2nd red line now and I am not going over it. If we do, her boilers will blow and
we won't do anyone any damned good. We'll be fish bait!"

    "Pilots, we got 150 pounds of steam, get us to Belle Bend," then he leaned over the
speaking tube, "Thank you, Edward, keep up the pressure and keep your eyes open."

    "Aye, Aye, Sir."

    BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The cannons thundered behind them as the little steamer, running full
speed up the river, churned the waters. The passengers crowded the decks, looking at the iron
monster following them; it was nothing like anything they had seen before. Shells splashed the
water, spraying the people on the second deck but they would not move. They knew the risk, the
boilers red hot, the fireboxes even hotter, and one weak bolt, one weak seam, one little flaw
would send the boat up in flames and it was better to be thrown off the boat by the explosion
rather than to be trapped below decks or inside where the huge funnels and steam pipes could
crash down and smash you or, even worse, the hot steam scalding your body but not killing you.

    The USS BENTON was the biggest and meanest Ironclad afloat in the Western waters. The
Benton, commissioned on January 15th, 1862, was 190 feet long, 51 feet in breadth, and had a 6
foot full keel draft and had a max speed of 6 knots. She carried 13 heavy guns. The BENTON and
her six sisters were equal on fire power but not in speed. Captain Thompson was pissed in
several ways. The BENTON, when turned over to him, was supposed to have been fully ready to set
sail down the Mississippi to meet up with the rest of Porter's Fleet just north of Memphis in
January 1862. But there was one small problem, two Rebel forts blocking the way, Forts Henry
and Donaldson, located on the twisting, winding Tennessee River. "No problem," said Porter,
when he called his captains together before they left Cairo that cold January morning. The
CAIRO, commissioned on January 16th, 1862, was to lead the attack.  "THE CAIRO!" stormed
Thompson. "YES, the CAIRO," replied Porter, "she has more speed, 7 Knots," that was a 1 knot
advantage over the Benton, plus Thomas O. Selfridge was a little higher in rank by 3 days over
Thompson. So, with the CAIRO in the lead, they attacked Forts Donaldson and Henry in Febuary
1862. With the capture of Henry and Donaldson, it opened the western half of Tennessee to the
invasion of General Grant's army of the Tennessee and Buell's Army of the Ohio, which led to
the battle of Shiloh April 6th and 7th and the defeat of the Army of the Mississippi under
Albert S. Johnston, who lost his life there.

    The War on the River was a different story after the capture of Forts Henry and Donaldson.
The fleet steamed south and was met at Memphis by a makeshift Confederate Navy. Once it was
destroyed and with only one small steamer, the CSS General Van Dorn, escaping south to
Vicksburg, the Ironclads and Elliot Rams then steamed south toward Vicksburg, Mississippi.

    "Captain Thompson!" Thompson was brought out of his daydream of the battle of Memphis, when
the BENTON led the attack.

    "What is it, Sailor?" the captain barked.

    "Sir, we're losing speed!"

    "Why, God damn it?"

    "The gun recoil, sir, every time we fire and they recoil, it takes steam to turn the
capstan to pull them back into battery, sir!"

    "More boiler pressure, Sailor, more damned boiler pressure!"

    The Sailor saluted and raced back toward the engine room ladder and climbed into hell. The
wooden rungs of the ladder were wet and slick and the young sailor took the first step down
and his right foot slipped.

    "F'Christ's sake, watch your step, Bowen."

    The engineer reached up and grabbed the seat of the young sailor's trousers and helped him
down the ladder. "Thank you, Engineer Burr."

    "Now, what did the capt'n want?" The twenty-eight year old engineer looked the young
sailor up and down in the dark engine room, the lamps casting a feeble glow into the darkness
of the bowels of the Ironclad.

    Counsellor Bowen, all of 14 years old, looked back at the engineer, his sailor's cap
perched on his brown hair, his hazel eyes sparkling, sweat running down his young face,
washing trails of soot down his pale skin. "Sir, he wants more steam and boiler pressure. I
tried to explain to him why we are losing speed and the usage of the capstan to pull the big
guns into battery, but all he did was shout for more steam, Sir. Sir, if I may add, I don't
think he is a sailor."

    George C. Burr smiled and looked at his young assistant. "Very well, Bowen, give the
capt'n more steam." They walked over to where 16 year old Erik Kroner sat, watching the large
glass-enclosed steam gauges, the needles resting on 125 pounds of pressure per inch in the
five long slender boilers. The firemen shoveled coal by the ton into the massive fireboxes
which glowed a bright red. They worked almost naked in the 100 plus degree heat, their bodies
slick with sweat running down their faces and backs, stomachs, and legs. Most were no older
than 18 to 20 at the most, while the older men and other boys commanded the guns up on the gun
deck or served as powder monkeys, toting powder and ball to the cannon.

    "Erik, increase pressure in the boilers. The Capt'n wants more steam!"

    "Aye, Sir, more pressure," Erik replied to the Engineer as he reached up and turned the
brass wheels, letting more water and air into the boilers.

    "Open the dampers on the fireboxes, boys, his Highness wants more steam and speed!" Erik
shouted over the roar of the fires and the clanking of the machinery.

    The firemen opened the doors on the fireboxes located in the front of the long boilers.
The boiler deck was noisy and cramped; engines and boilers took up a lot of the space, then
you had the coal bunkers located on both sides of the ship, plus the fresh water stores, the
ammunition stores for the powder and shot. In the rear you had officers' quarters and the
surgeon's operating room, all surrounding the large iron paddle wheel.

    The heavy iron firebox doors were swung wide as the coal heavers on both sides shoveled
the coal from the bunkers to the fireboxes where the firemen fed the roaring flames. The
needles on the steam gauges began to rise past 130, then 135, then red line 140, as the
minutes passed and the thunder of the 3 forward guns continued to roar.

    "Kroner, what's the pressure?" shouted the voice from the gun deck.

    "140, Mid-shipman Phillips, we're at red line now!" Erik shouted back.

    "Thank you, Erik. Keep up the good work, laddie!"

    "Aye, Davie, and you put that steamer to the bottom!"

    Davie walked over to where the Captain was standing, his arms behind his back. "140 pounds
of pressure, Sir. They are at red line now!"

    "Thank you, Davie, return to the forward upper casemate and keep an eye out on how our
gunners are doing, they are blinded by their own smoke."

    "Yes, Captain." Davie saluted and headed down the gun deck to the ladder that led to the
roof of the gun deck and the upper casemate on top of the ironclad.

    The warm wind hit Davie in the face and he let out a sigh of relief. The outside
temperature hovered in the high 80's but to Davie it was a welcome relief. The thick iron
plating, combined with the heat of the boilers and the thundering of the guns made inside the
Ironclad hell. The gun deck was over 100 degrees and the boiler deck below even hotter. Davie
could not understand how Erik could do it, staying the heat hour after hour, watching the
gauges and shouting orders. He still could not believe that after only 4 months, Erik was now
assistant engineer along with another lad from Illinois, Counsellor Bowen, but hell, himself
was mid-shipman and still had no idea what cannon was what. They all looked the same to him.
'Boy, this was one hell of a way to run a navy.' He put the field glasses to his eyes and
scanned the river in front of him, the WABASH clipped ahead of the heavy Ironclad, black
smoke pouring from her tall funnels as the shells splashed around her. So far not one had hit
the speedy little steamboat.

    John walked up beside him. "How we doing, Davie?"

    "Not worth a damn, my boy, we're hitting all around the bitch but can't seem to land one
shell on her decks."

    "Shit, you mean we going to let a rebel steamboat beat us to Belle Bend and warn them?"

    "Looks like it, my boy, it sure as hell looks like it. Where's Ernest at?"

    "He's tot'n' shells for the gunners."

    "And you?"

    "Capt'n wants me to be messenger between you and him. So what should I report to him
about the shots fired?"

    "You tell the Capt'n they are falling short."

    "OK, Davie." John raced back to the ladder and he vanished into the dark Ironclad, his
blue hat sinking as he went down. The upper deck that, during peace, was the favorite place
of off duty sailors, now was empty except for Davie, and since he knew the other Steamer had
no guns he felt safe up here as he watched the racing steamer up front. The WABASH began to
swing back out into the main channel of the Red and he noticed something strange. He strained
his eyes through the field glasses, then snatched them from his eyes and looked again. "GOD
DAMN IT!!" He raced for the ladder leading to the gun deck and ran to the pilothouse. "FULL
REVERSE NOW!! he shouted to the pilots, "SANDBAR, Port BOW!"

    "FULL REVERSE ON THE ENGINES, SANDBAR OFF THE PORT BOW! Carr, Erik, and Counsellor all
jumped at the shout of the orders and sprang into action. Erik turned the brass wheels as fast
as he could while Carr shouted to the firemen to close the doors and dampers to the fireboxes.
Counsellor raced across the cramped space to the large lever located on the port side engine,
waiting for the word. The steam pressure began to drop as the fires cooled and the big paddle
wheel slowed enough to reverse the engines. Erik stood on the starboard side, his hand on the
lever of the starboard engine, the pressure continued down as the sailors up above shouted
orders to each other and, above all the rest, Captain Thompson shouting curses.

    "Reverse, God damn it, reverse, shat the hell Erik and Carr waiting on?" The ironclad
continued to plow through the water, the bow kicking up little whitecaps in front of her.
Davie once again stood on the forward casemate in front of the armored pilothouse

    "NOW, ENGAGE NOW!" shouted Carr. Erik and Counsellor grabbed the levers and pushed them
forward with all their might; their muscles strained under their skin as the sweat dripped
from their bodies. The reversing levers did not want to budge, too much pressure still in the
engine pistons.

    "They are stuck, SIR!" shouted Erik, still pushing forward on the starboard lever, his
hard rubber shoes trying to slip on the wood planking below them.

    "GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!" All that extra pressure Thompson wanted was now haunting them, now
the extra pressure was working against the boys on the reversing levers. "You give them boys
a hand unless you want to go a for a fucking swim!" Two of the firemen raced over and grabbed
the reversing levers and grunted as the lever began to slide to full reverse. The huge paddle
wheel ground to a stop, then slowly began to turn in reverse. Erik and Consellor did their
best to stay on their feet as the levers slid forward into the notch in the bar closest to the
big paddlewheel, while the two older firemen leaned their hot bodies against the younger boys.

    "AHHHHH, OH MY GOD, HELP ME!" a shout sounded as one of the firemen near the boilers fell
against the outer one as the big gunboat began to shudder as the 26 foot paddle wheel began to
reverse, jerking everyone on every deck around as she did. The young fireman's arm now was
begining to blister as the skin began to peel off the muscle below.

    "SOMEONE GET THE SURGEON NOW!" Carr shouted over the noise of the grinding paddle wheel.

    Davie felt the jerk as he was thrown back against the hot metal of the armored pilothouse.
He quickly regained his balance and placed the glasses back to his eyes. The bar was looming
closer. He turned toward the pilothouse and spoke through one of the eye slits. "Sandbar 100
yards and still closing fast."

    "God Damn it!" Thompson paced the gun deck, his face covered in sweat. The gunners had
chocked the wheels to their big guns to keep them from rolling back in case the boat hit the
sandbar. Officers stood ready at their posts, not speaking, as the Ironclad continued to move
forward despite the paddle wheel being thrown in reverse moments before.

    "Open the dampers on the fireboxes!" shouted Erik as he turned the wheels to let more
steam back into the engines. The firemen pulled the dampers open and swung the firebox doors
wide as they shoveled coal into the fires to build up pressure again.

    "50 yards!" came the shout from above. As the big wooden paddles beat the water to foam,
trying to make purchase but the dead weight of over 122 tons of iron and the momentum of the
boat moving forward did not help the giant wheel as it pounded the muddy water, boilers whined
as they strained to crowd on more pressure still. While Erik and Counsellor doused the moving
piston rods with tallow to ease the friction and Carr helped the surgeon move the wounded
fireman to the stern quarters where the surgeon did his work. The safety valves began to blow.
The shrill whistle of the escaping steam made everyone jump. Erik dropped his tallow pot and
raced to his position by the starboard engine. "Shit, 150 pounds and it blew. They were set to
pop at 155. Damn it, what now?" thought Erik out loud as he tried to turn the safety valve off.
The boiler pressure was dropping fast and the big wheel began to slow.

    "20 YARDS!"

    "HARD TO STARBOARD, HARD TO STARBOARD!" shouted Thompson.

    "THE HELM IS HARD TO! CAP'T, WE CAN'T TURN FAST ENOUGH!" shouted the pilot.

    "15 YARDS," shouted Davie.

    "BRACE YOURSELVES, MEN, FOR IMPACT!" Thompson ordered.

    "10 YARDS."

    The gun crews braced themselves against the big guns. The officers grabbed beams and other
supports, the other men grabbed what they could find to hold on to. Two of the big men grabbed
John and Ernest and pulled them close and held them. One sailor bowed his head in prayer.

    "5 YARDS." Davie braced himself against the pilothouse, leaning his back against the hot
metal and bracing his feet on the oak decking.

    There was a low groan of creaking wood timbers as the bow timbers hit the mud and sand,
the BENTON's bow and forward keel becoming stuck on the sandbar. Men tumbled and fell to the
decks, pots in the galley crashed to the floor. The surgeon held onto the wounded fireman as
the gunboat collided, the boy screamed like a woman when his scalded arm made contact with the
table. The gun crews groaned as they made contact with the cannon barrels and the wooden
carriages. The pilots stumbled as they held the wheel. Ropes, chains, and davits swayed and
fell, glassware shattered as it hit the decks.

    "OH MY GOD!" shouted Davie as he was propelled forward toward the bow of the boat and the
slanting casemate armor leading to the exposed bow. There was nothing to grab, his hands slid
when they tried to grab the slick iron plate and his shoes slid. "AHHHHHHHHHH!" he shouted as
he tumbled from the upper casemate and rolled down and he hit one of the raised gun ports and
was thrown into the air, arms flailing as he sailed through the air, then a SPLASH as he hit
the muddy water of the river.

    Erik hit the deck of the boiler deck floor as one of the firemen landed on top of him; he
grunted and groaned as the air in his lungs was knocked out of him. There was not a man
standing in the engine room.

    There was a scream as Counsellor Bowen was thrown against the port engine. Then a another
moan as he collapsed to the floor, his stomach bleeding from where the lever had jammed into
it, ripping it open. One of the firemen raced to him as the boy fainted, then his own crimson
blood on his hands where he grabbed the wound to cover the hole.

    The safety valve screamed as the red hot fires burned brightly, the paddle wheel, still
thumping and churning the water. "Close the damned doors, will ya, move your asses, boys.
Erik, Counsellor, ALL STOP ON THE ENGINES!"

    The fireman who fell on him helped the boy to his feet. Erik looked toward the port side
but did not see Counsellor. "COUNSELLOR, PULL THE LEVER!"

    The other fireman shouted back. "HE CAN'T! HE'S BLEEDING TO DEATH! BUT I'LL PULL YOUR
DAMNED LEVER!" The fireman yanked it back as Erik yanked the starboard one back in place,
the huge paddle wheel slowed and stopped, the water dripping off the wooden paddles.

    "I want a damage report now!" ordered Thompson as he looked around the gun deck. "Move the
wounded to the surgeon's quarters."

    "Aye, Captain", replied John A. Bingham, first officer. The gun crews checked their guns,
while others picked up rope and other items that had hit the deck when the ironclad struck the
bar. The fireman passed John and Ernest, carrying the dying boy toward the surgeon's quarters,
the boy's blood covering his chest and stomach as he held the limp boy in his arms.

    John and Ernest grabbed each other, "Where's Davie?"

    "Dunno, John, could still be topside, come on." Ernest grabbed John and ran for the ladder
leading to the top of the casemate. The hot sun hit them and for moment they were blinded by
the bright light. They ran toward the pilothouse, still not seeing Davie. They stopped at the
edge of the casemate and looked down. "Holy Shit, Ernest, look!" His brother looked down to
where John was pointing. They saw Davie floating in the muddy water on his back and they could
see the cuts on his face and he was not moving.

    Ernest ran and shouted, "MAN OVERBOARD! MAN OVERBOARD!" as he ran. John climbed down the
outside ladder that led down the 45 degree slanted casemate to the bow, he kicked off his
shoes and blue jacket and jumped into the water and swam toward Davie as the sun was darkened
by the heavy black clouds of coal smoke coming from the 28 foot tall funnels.

    "Thank ya, Capt'n, That extra steam paid off, plus we're a lot lighter than that damned
Yankee Ironclad."

    The passengers cheered the little WABASH and her crew as they continued to steam around
the bend and north toward Belle Bend. A man in a black sackcloth suit continued to stand on
the stern of the hurricane deck, smoking a cigar as the smoke curled from the tip. He thought
to himself, 'The rebels got lucky with that damned sandbar, but next time Yankee iron will win
the day.' He threw his cigar into the river and walked around the deck to the door to the main
cabin and entered it, thinking just what did the Rebs have waiting at Belle Bend.

    "Mr. Edward, you can slack off on the steam now. We're out of danger."

    "Aye, Capt'n Smith."

    Mr. Edward reached over and turned the wheels located below the steam gauges, cutting the
amount of steam going to the 8 big boilers of the WABASH, then he nodded to the black man who
was standing near, and with that nod he ordered the ones below him to close the firebox doors.
"Y'all can take a breather now, job well done!"

    "Thank ya, Mast'r Edward," replied the big black man. He then ordered half his men to take
it easy and they put down their tools and walked out on the bow of the steamer and lay down in
the shade of the cargo of crates and barrels.

    Edward let the pressure drop to 125 pounds, then closed the valves, taking the strain off
the old boilers of the little steamer. The WABASH had been lucky in many ways; the little
steamer was seven years old when most steamers lasted no more than five years at the most, most
being sunk by snags in the river or by boiler explosions caused by excessive pressure trying to
win a race or carelessness of the master engineer or the impatience of the captain who was the
master of the boat. Steamboat safety was an art that no one practiced. Some of the older,
smaller steamers and tugs did not even have safety valves or steam gauges; the engineer had to
guess steam and water pressure.

    The big bronze bell rang twice to signal the hour of 2 PM. Edward smiled, 'We escaped the
monster,' He smiled once more at Lacy who was sitting on an unmarked keg; there were 50 of
these kegs total onboard and most did not know what they held but the captain on down did. They
held black powder smuggled into Galveston, Texas, then moved overland to Shreveport, then would
be shipped south down the Red, then after half had been unloaded at Port Hudson, the other 25
kegs would go to Vicksburg. Lacy walked over. "What you smiling so big about, Edward?"

    "Them there kegs, Lacy. Maybe we should waterproof one or two of them and put a slow fuse
on them and float em into that Ironclad."

    "Ya, that just might work, then maybe not." He laughed.

    "Lacy, you still got that flask on you?"

    "Sure do, you want a tipper?"

    "Yup, we need a drink to celebrate the WABASH's outrunning of the Yankee beast."

    Lacy pulled the flask out of his pocket and unscrewed the cap. He tossed it to his lips,
then passed it to Edward, who did the same. The strong whiskey burned as it went down. He then
raised the flask "To the WABASH, the fastest Steamer on the Red River!" and passed the flask
back to Lacy after tossing off another shot. The little steamer tooted her whistle as the
paddlewheels churned the water as she headed north with the news of the Yankee beast trapped
on the sandbar two miles south of Belle Bend.

    Davie was propped against the pilothouse, wrapped in a towel and slightly bruised and cut
from his solo flight from the top of the ironclad after it struck the sandbar. The surgeon had
bandaged the cut above his left eye and he was lucky that he was not killed. Now he stood
watching the river and the men trying to figure out how to unstick a 512 ton ironclad from the
sandbar which was more mud than sand, and sticky mud at that. Thompson stood not far away,
looking at the banks of the river through a telescope. John and Ernest stood close by with
their arms wrapped around Davie's waist. Jack Thompson, Captain of the BENTON, had to smile as
he saw the two younger boys looking after their friend. "Just maybe there was a reason behind
every action, whether good or not."

    The four ship's boats, three cutters and the launch, were out in the river, doing depth
soundings around the sandbar; the calls from the men could be heard echoing back across the
water. "MARK TWAIN" from one section and then from another "MARK QUARTER" or "MARK HALF!" The
big guns in the casemate were aimed toward shore and out in mid-river in the stern, so they
were useless unless raiders were spotted coming in those directions. Captain Thompson ordered
the BENTON'S 14th gun to be uncovered and readied for action, a 12-pound howitzer mounted on a
three wheel carriage of light iron, it fired a 8.9 pound shell from its stubby barrel, using a
four pound powder charge. The gunners joked with each other about using the signal gun to
defend their Ironclad but at the same time felt a little bit safer, knowing that they had a gun
that they could aim upriver in case the Rebels decided to show their faces once more.

    In the Surgeon's quarters, John Burns worked to save a boy who he knew was going to die.
Counsellor Bowen's wound to the stomach was fatal, the minute the fireman laid the boy on the
table in his cramped quarters located at the stern on the port side of the boiler deck next to
big paddlewheel. So he dosed the boy with Morphine to ease the pain as he lay there dying; at
times like this John Burns hated his calling of Surgeon but in his 20 years of being at sea and
now on the western rivers he had seen more than he wanted to see of brave young men dying and
him helpless to save them. The young fireman groaned as he slept, the Morphine easing his pain
but when he awoke could he handle the fact that his right arm now ended above the elbow? He
heard the bronze 1000 pound bell ring the hour of 2 PM and the dim calling of the water
soundings as he cleaned the room, washing his bone saw and needles in the tin wash basin of hot
water that was tinted red from the blood, then he would clean the table and rest of the areas
that now were covered in blood. He had just picked up a clean towel when he heard the soft cry.

    "Papa, papa?" Cousellor called. John walked over to the boy's side.

    "Yes, my son?" John did all that he could and decided if the boy wanted his father then for
now he would be.

    "I see the angels and mama and me little brother. Papa, please don't be mad at me for
leaving you all alone in the world." He coughed and again while reaching blindly out for a hand
of mercy.

    John took the boy's hand and held it, gently stroking the smooth flesh and wishing he could
do more. "My son, I am not mad at you. I am proud of you and what you have done. You're special
to me in many ways and I could never be mad at you."

    "Papa, I love you." Counsellor's breath was ragged and he struggled to continue on.

    "I love you too, my son." John tried to hold back his tears but he couldn't as he watched
the hazel eyes grow dim and the last breath escape the boy's lungs. As he sat there he heard
the engine bell toll. 'How fitting,' he thought as he reached over and closed the boy's eyes
for the last time, without realizing he was still holding the boy's hand.

    "QUARTER REVERSE!" Carr shouted.

    "AYE, Sir!" Erik shouted back to the Engineer. Then he looked over to the port side at the
fireman who took Counsellor's place and nodded through his sweat and tears. Ollie grabbed the
lever with his gloved hand and watched Erik for the 2nd nod and once he saw it he pushed the
lever one notch forward and the big paddlewheel started to turn, kicking up mud off the river
bottom. "FULL REVERSE NOW, MY BOYS!" shouted Carr. They pushed the levers all the way forward
and the big paddle wheel spun faster in the water but the ironclad refused to budge from her
spot on the sandbar. They felt the entire ironclad vibrate from stem to stern as the massive
wheel beat the water. Then there was a jerk, the gunboat began to move, then once again stopped.
The sailors above cursed.

    Captain Thompson continued to walk and pace the upper casemate, then finally he walked
toward the stern and the wheelhouse on top of the casemate. Two hours had passed since the
ironclad had run aground, the bronze bell rang the hour of 4 PM. The Rebel steamer would be at
Belle Bend now, warning the Rebs of his ship's location. It was time to post guards and
lookouts.

    "Bingham, I want the marines to go on watch for any sign of the enemy by land or river I
want to be ready."

    "Yes, Captain, how many men and how many rounds each, Sir?"

    "20 rounds each for ten men. Those 1842 smoothbore muskets are not the best in the world
but they shall do."

    "Very good, Sir!" Bingham saluted and headed below to unlock the gun chest and ammo boxes
for the rifles. Then he gathered ten men and gave them the Captain's orders.

    Davie and the two brothers continued to sit, laid back against the pilothouse, talking and
watching the river flow past them. Thompson had ordered them to stick with Davie and keep an
eye on him after the surgeon had looked him over.

    "Davie, how we going to get off this damned sandbar?" Ernest asked.

    "Looks like they are going to have to pull us off," Davie replied, his arms still around
the brothers.

    "Huh? Pull us off how?" John asked, looking puzzled.

    "Well, you see the men in the boats headed toward shore over there with the heavy ropes
trailing from behind them?"  Both brothers nodded.

    "Ok, they're going to take those ropes and tie them around the big trees. Then once they
are out of the way they are going use the capstan to pull the boat up and over the sandbar
with the paddle wheel pushing from behind."

    "Wow, Davie, you're smart, how you know they was going to do that?" John asked.

    "I overheard the Capt'n talking to Mr. Burr, the engineer." Davie winked at John and pulled
him closer. The other sailors just looked and smiled as they continued about their duties. They
knew the boys were closer than brothers.

    "TIGHTEN THE ROPES!" came the cry across the river. Steam was let in to the capstan and the
gears started to grind as it pulled the heavy ropes in through the gun ports of the bow.
Sailors stepped back from the ropes as they lifted from the water; no one wanted to be close if
one snapped under the strain.

    The ropes tightened and began to strain. "FULL AHEAD, MR. CARR, FULL AHEAD!"

    "FULL AHEAD SHE IS!" Carr shouted back over the vibrating, thumping, pounding engines and
the splash of the paddlewheel, the ironclad shuddered and vibrated as the heavy ropes groaned.
The ironclad began to inch forward slowly as the men held their breath and stood as far back as
they could from the ropes.

    Davie felt the lurch of the ship and grabbed the boys tighter as they watched. Captain
Thompson stood not far away and the marines with their rifles ready staggered at the jerk,
while below John Burns held the wounded fireman and prayed.

    On shore no one paid attention to the soldiers on horseback galloping toward the helpless
Ironclad. A scream arose from shore as the sailors who still stood near the ropes, watching,
were charged upon by the Confederate horsemen. The ones who did not jump into the river and
swim toward the boats and safety surrendered or died trying to escape.

    "FIRE THE HOWITZER!" Thompson shouted. "BLOW THOSE GRAY BASTARDS TO HELL,
GOD DAMN IT!"

    The gunners aimed quickly and the gun crew covered their ears as the lanyard was yanked and
the little gun barked and rolled back. The ball whistled toward shore and exploded in a cloud
of smoke and dust. The horsemen dismounted and started to fire upon the men in the cutters,
rowing back toward safety. Bullets hit the water like rain drops around the small boats as men
rowed with all their might to get back to the ship. Every now and then a man grabbed his chest
or slumped over with a bullet in his chest or leg, others fell overboard. The Marines on deck
started firing, aiming high to try to avoid hitting their own men, while the gun crew reloaded
the howitzer with powder and ball, the captain of the gun crew ready with his next friction
primer to be shoved down the vent hole.

    "GET BELOW DECK NOW, BOYS!" shouted Thompson to Davie, John, and Ernest. Davie pulled the
boys to their feet and began to run, forgetting about the towel, and ran naked with the
brothers down the ladder and into the safety of the iron casemate. Once again he thought, 'I
am being shot at buck ass naked.' Once below deck, Davie raced over to his berthing area and
grabbed his blue trousers, slipping them on, then his shoes. The noise coming from the engine
room was deafening as they listened to Erik shouting orders and replies back and forth.

    Just as one of the cutters neared the tightened ropes, a soldier removed his sword and
swung down, chopping the heavy strained rope in two. The rope ricocheted across the water,
making a low whistling sound. Just as the lead man in the cutter shouted, "LOOK OUT!", the rope
sliced his head off cleaner than a sword. Others in the boat were not so lucky as the heavy
rope swept them out of the boat and into the water, some with broken arms. Out of the 12 in the
boat, only 6 made it back to the ironclad. The ripped end of the rope shot across the bow,
clanging against the armor plate and spun around on the capstan. The other rope, now under full
pressure, began to fray as the capstan whined. No one dared to get close enough to it to stop
the steam. The big paddlewheel pounded the top of the bar as the other rope snapped. Men on top
of the casemate dropped to the deck to escape it. Now the ropes spun out of control on the
capstan; they were a blur to the eyes, but Carr refused to slow down the engines as long as the
big ironclad continued to move forward off the bar. The men were thrown to the deck again as
the bow of the ship plowed back into deep water. The men below cheered and raced for the big
guns. Primers were rammed into the vents as the men on top clambered down the ladders to the
inside and the other two cutters and the long boat rowed to safety behind the BENTON. Ropes
were fastened to the ship as the men climbed on deck and raced up the stern ladder to the top
of the casemate, then inside.
 
    "ALL AHEAD SLOW, MR. BURR!" Thompson shouted. "HARD TO PORT!" he roared to the pilots.
"PREPARE TO FIRE STARBOARD GUNS ON MY COMMAND!" The BENTON's guns were primed and readied, then
run out into battery. The lead gunners held the lanyards tight as the pilots lined the ship up
as the Confederates continued to pepper the pilothouse with bullets.

    "FIRE!" Thompson shouted. The gunners yanked the lanyards and the four heavy cannon roared
to life, sending ball and shell toward shore. They hit seconds later as tree limbs cracked and
fell as the four heavy shells tore into the shore and the Confederate horsemen. The BENTON was
once again back in action. The gunners and sailors cheered. The gunners swabbed the bores of
the heavy guns and began to reload them with grapeshot and canister - in effect you now had
four very large shotguns.

    The Confederate cavalry began to regroup and rein in their horses. Out of the 40 men that
left Belle Bend, eight would not be going anywhere. The shells had ripped them to pieces. Some,
their own mothers would not be able to recognize, their arms and legs torn from their bodies;
one had his head missing. The others quickly gathered up the muskets and ammo boxes of the
dead. 'It was weird really,' the captain thought, 'a battle with no wounded - either you lived
or died.' The four sailors from the BENTON stood there with muskets aimed at them, wondering
what next.

    "Capt'n, what you want to do with these four Blue Bellies?"

    The Confederate captain looked down at the four men and smiled. "Put a bullet in them!
After they tell us why they are here in the first place! Well I'm waiting, boys, or does a
catfish got your blue tongues!"

    The four men looked at the black bearded man dressed in gray, sitting high on his mount,
the man's gray eyes trying to burn a hole in their very souls. "Sir, we can not give out that
information to the enemy, Sir!"

    "Oh you can't, sailor!"

    "No, Sir!" the sailor replied.

    "Private, your Arkansas tooth pick, please!"

    "Yes sir, Capt'n!" The soldier pulled a long knife out of its holder. The blade was a foot
long and shined in the light. The blade formed a sharp tip at the end and the soldier grinned
when he saw the Yanks draw back.

    "Now, boys, tell me the truth or your smart mouthed speaker of the group will have his
tongue cut out and fed to the rest of you in pieces. Then if no one talks, we'll cut off his
balls and guess what you boys get to sample then. Boys, grab the smart mouthed Son of a
Bitch."

    Two of the men grabbed the sailor and held him while the one with the knife moved closer.
His comrades dared not move to try and help.

    "Now, once more, sailor, why are you on the Red River?"

    "Sir, We were ordered by our high command to search and destroy all boats, barges, and
wharves on this river, Sir!"

    "Well, well, boys, the blue belly spoke in a proper tone to his superior officer and at
the same time is a fucking coward. Are there any other boats of yours on my river?"

    "No, Sir!"

    "No sir, what? Yank!"

    "No, Sir, The Benton is alone on this mission."

    "I see, but he still has no manners, none at all."

    "Private, since he has learned to talk, let him keep his tongue, but since he thinks he is
talking to a nigger, remove his balls! He will make a nice servant once he learns how to
address his master! and if he survives the pain!" The captain burst into a hearty evil laugh as
his men looked at him and the Yankee sailor who had turned whiter than a ghost.

    "Yes, sir, Captain!" replied the private as he eased the long knife forward and downward
toward the sailor's crotch.

    'I am dead,' thought Richard Moore, his light brown hair blowing in the breeze as sweat
beaded on his face and his stomach knotted. His eyes did not move from the skinny Rebel with
the long knife. The man looked like he didn't own a razor and smelled like a chamber pot. The
long face was pock-marked and the ragged beard hung low down to the man's collar. The man's
eyes seemed to glow red as he smiled; several teeth were missing and the ones left were stained
with tobacco juice and who knows what else. 'I got to get away from this mad man, but how?' He
felt the pressure of the knife as it rubbed his groin through his thick woolen trousers.

    "Boys, tie the others' hands and put them on those spare horses. We might need more answers
later."

    The other three Union sailors were tied and then placed on horses, while they watched the
Reb torture Richard.

    "Boys, head out, take the prisoners north while Private Daws finishes the smart mouthed
bastard!"

    "Yes, Sir, Capt'n!"

     The horsemen and prisoners headed north, the three men in blue looked back at their
shipmate just in time to see the long knife being jammed into the groin of Richard. He let out
a bloodless scream as the Reb laughed.

    On board the BENTON the scream was heard, then the galloping horses returning north toward
Belle Bend.

    "FIRE ANOTHER BROADSIDE NOW, DAMN IT!" shouted Thompson.

    The guns boomed and sent their deadly cargo toward shore.

    Private Daws had just pulled Richard back up when the rounds of canister tore him to
pieces. He tried to scream but the hot metal ripped through his body like sharpened razor
blades. The smile of pleasure he had when he jabbed his blade into the Yank froze in place.
Later when the Benton's crew found his and Richard's bodies, there was that smile on his face.

    The crew on board the BENTON was uneasy at this surprise attack out of nowhere; yes, they
should have been better prepared and, yes, it was stupid to send unarmed men to shore. The gun
crews reloaded the 4 big cannon on the starboard side while the marines paced the decks above
with rifles ready. Other crewmen raised the two cutters back onboard, using the davit pulleys
and ropes while the longboat was prepared to go out and pull the third cutter in and to search
the shore. Thompson stood on the casemate roof, watching his men and the shore. He would be
damned if he was caught with his pants down again. He wondered how many men he had lost already
on this foolish expedition into the heartland of the Confederacy. Where was one of Boy Wonder's
rams when you needed one? Everyone in the fleet knew about the Boy Wonder and his famous Rams,
they had helped to defeat the Confederate fleet at Memphis and Colonel Charles Elliot was the
Union hero for his actions and his idea to convert 9 old steamboats into fast, lightly armored
rams. His rams turned the tide at Memphis and Elliot lost his life when a Confederate
sharpshooter on board a Confederate ram had shot him while he steered the QUEEN OF THE WEST
into battle at Memphis.

    "Captain, Sir, we have 20 men armed with rifles ready to leave and pick up the other cutter
and search for wounded and the enemy," spoke Bingham, the first officer. He was a tall lean man
of 28 with brown hair and hazel eyes and a ruddy complexion. Most of the crew loved his easy
going manner when the ship was at rest or riding at anchor in a safe harbor, but once the
fighting broke out he was all business, storming the decks like John Paul Jones himself. John
A. Bingham was a deep water man, transferring from the blockading fleet when the call was given
for trained officers for the river fleet in late 1861. So he transferred, looking for a new
adventure.

    "Mid-Shipman Phillips, Front and Center!" barked Bingham.

    "Yes, Sir, Mr. Bingham?" Davie had redressed in a clean dark blue jacket, but left it
unbuttoned halfway as he hurried over. He did not want to address his superior officer half
dressed.

    "You are going to lead the men in the long boat. I want to see what kind of cloth you're
made from. I want the two younger boys to stay on board, no need for them to see what I know
you surely will find."

    "Yes, Sir." Davie saluted and walked toward the rear of the ironclad, then down the
slanting casemate to the stern and stepped over the two large anchors lying on the deck and
stepped over into the long boat and sat down at the bow.

    "Shove off!" Davie commanded, looking forward from the bow. He dared not to look up at
Bingham and the two brothers who he knew were smiling their heads off. Davie was the youngest
person in the long boat and everyone knew it.

    "Aye, Aye, Capt'n Phillips!" the crewmen replied as they lowered their oars in the water.

    High up on the casemate came a booming laugh over the water. Davie looked up and saw
Captain Thompson laughing and when the Captain saw him look up he saluted Davie by lifting his
wide officer's hat high in the air and noticed Bingham and the brothers doing the same, all
with large grins on their faces. Davie saluted them back and then felt a large hand slap him on
the back. Everyone was trying to relax just for a few moments before they knew what was coming
once they landed on shore.

    Six men rowed the long boat out into the channel and headed toward the shoreline where the
big guns had fired last. The marines in their white linen pants and dark double-breasted blue
jackets kept a keen lookout with their long rifles pointing in the air as the six sailors rowed
toward shore and the shell-pocked ground. Once in the center of the stream they closed in on
the abandoned cutter where the fresh blood from the wounded sailors and the man who lost his
head was still wet and sticky on the fresh whitewash of the boat. Two sailors stepped over in
it and picked up the oars and headed back toward the ironclad.

    Davie felt his stomach tighten in a knot. He heard the other men breathe harder as the oars
pushed forward again in the muddy water. The six dead sailors were taken onboard the Ironclad -
already so far seven dead in less than 30 minutes of fighting. The oars splashed in the water
and the boat creaked but otherwise there was a silent stillness on the river, the Ironclad
sitting silently in the wake of the bar. The long boat made its landing and Davie jumped out of
the bow, followed by the other 24 men. The marines moved forward, followed by Davie and the
regular sailors. They stepped over the downed tree limbs and branches ripped off by the rounds
of canister, then as they walked farther inland they saw the bodies. A limbless mass of raw
meat covered in what once was a gray uniform lay on top a man in blue. The odors coming from
the two dead men made Davie grab his stomach; he wanted to puke but did his best not to in
front of the other men. One of the marines rolled the dead Rebel off of their shipmate and the
man's lifeless grin met them head on. Some of the men no longer could stand the sight of the
blood and guts and smell; oh, how awful the smell. The marines had spread out and they found
eight more bodies in gray, well what was left of them anyway after the grapeshot and canister
had ripped the life out of them. 'WELCOME TO HELL,' thought Davie, eight dead on our side,
seven on the Reb side.

    Davie walked back to shore and blew the small tin whistle he held in his pocket seven
times, then paused and blew it once more. The clear ring of the ship's bell signaled the reply.
Once again the cutters were lowered into the muddy water along with picks and shovels - 'time
to bury the dead.'

    Davie watched the boats being lowered and part of the crew loading a stained white sheet
into one and the bodies of the others in the other two boats. He saw Captain Thompson and John
and Ernest get into one, along with John Burns, the surgeon.

    The three small white boats pulled away from the shadows of the black ironclad with her men
standing on top of the casemate, watching the small boats and the river for signs of the
approching enemy. The cutters rowed toward shore. As Davie watched them approach, he wanted to
stay away from the stinking bodies. The bows of the three boats landed and Captain Thompson,
John Burns, John, and Ernest got out, followed by the other seven men. The other two boats were
also unloading and men carried picks and shovels toward where the marines were standing; they
had gathered the other dead and piled them up in a mass of gray and red. Richard lay separate
from the dead Rebs.

    "OK, men, time to lay our proud boys to rest now." Thompson spoke with a sadness in his
voice.

    The men walked over to a fairly flat piece of ground, then, picking up their shovels and
picks, began to dig into the hard ground. While the men took turns wielding the shovels and
picks, other men stood guard against a sneak attack. Thompson stood overlooking his men while
Davie and the brothers helped to dig the shallow graves for their shipmates. One by one the
graves were dug and one of their shipmates was lowered into the ground and covered over. The
grave for Counsellor Bowen was last. The men dug the grave deeper than the others and it seemed
with more care. Once it was ready, the men, along with John Burns, lowered the boy's limp body
into the grave and they covered it and patted the earth down on top.

    Now the men began to dig one large grave for the Rebs, they hastly dug it and rolled the
bodies into it like they were burying a dead animal and not humans. When done, the bodies lay
with only a few inches of dirt covering them.

    "Gentlemen, if you would, please all gather around," Captain Thompson asked.

    The men gathered around their captain. "Please, let us bow our heads in a prayer for these
brave young men," Captain Thompson spoke as he removed his hat and the other sailors removed
theirs and bowed their heads. "Our Lord in Heaven, receive these proud men into your care,
Father, may you let them look down upon us and our foolish wars, while they sit on the
silkiness of the clouds with their golden wings resting upon their tired backs, let them be
free, Lord, and forgive them for what they believed was right. We know killing is against your
laws and our country's. Again I ask these things in your name, Lord, bless and preserve this
nation during this horrible time. In Christ's name, we pray, AMEN." Captain Thompson put his
hat back on as the men did the same and picked up their tools and weapons.

    "Counsellor, you hug your momma for your papa now, my lad, I know you're in a better place
than you were, but I'm sorry it was when you were only 14 and not 94." John Burns wiped the
tears from his eyes and walked toward the waiting boats to carry him back to the ship. As
everyone joined him in walking, they knew and understood it was not the last time they would
gather like this.

    The three boats rowed across the muddy water and to the safety of the ironclad, ropes were
thrown out and the three little boats were pulled close to the stern and the men got out. Once
the boats were empty except for two men in each, the ropes were loosened and each boat rowed to
the proper set of davits for it. Once in position, the ropes from the davits were lowered and
the men fastened them to the boats, one rope on each end, the oars were stowed, and the men
grasped the ropes and started to pull, raising the boats out of the water. The men pulled until
they were in mounting postion, then the boats were tied down and secured. The men gathered on
deck and the Marines came in from their lookouts on top of the casemate.

    "Sailors of the USS BENTON, please come forward to the gun deck. In order to pay our final
respects to the brave young men who lost their lives in the defense of our proud nation. Pilot,
please pull into the main channel and, Mr. Burr, please, once in position, all stop on the
engines and have your men to join us on the gun deck, please." The commands were carried out
and the ironclad sat still in the water as the crew gathered on the deck. "Gun Captains, ready
your guns." The 13 heavy cannon were run out into battery. "May GOD SHINE UPON YOUR NEW SHORE,
YOU, THE MEN WHO DIED TODAY IN DEFENSE OF YOUR NATION, YOUR FAMILY, YOUR GOD. YOU NOW ARE IN
CARE OF THE VICE ADMIRAL OF THE UNIVERSE ON THE SHIP OF LOVE AND HAPPYNESS. Look down upon us
humble men as we try to set things right. May each ray of sun upon our weary backs be reflected
off your golden wings as you soar above us, looking down on this earth, and may our salute to
you be heard upon high to let the world know you did not die in vain. Gun Captains, FIRE THE
GUNS FOR OUR BRAVE MEN."

    Lanyards pulled tight and, with the command, the gun captains jerked the lanyards and all
13 guns roared and in flame and smoke the volley of shell and shot roared from the guns across
the water in honor of the brave men who now rested upon the shore.

    "Now, my men, back to the business at hand. Mr. Burr, full steam ahead, Sir! Pilots,watch
out for those damned sandbars. AND YOU DAMNED REBELS, LOOK OUT, HERE WE COME TO SEND YOU ALL BACK TO HELL!"

    "Aye, Aye, Capt'n," and the crew cheered and the bell rang the hour of 6.

    "Dunno, Amos, sounded like a boiler explosion down river. You don't reckon it was that
Yank iron boat dun blew up, do ya?"

    "Don't think so, Sam, sounded like it had a bunch of little booms in it. When a steamboat
blows up, it is one giant roar, the proof she's gone to tha battom. Maybe that horse officer
over there, one with the yeller chicken guts on his sleeves and that fancy western hat would
know?"

    "He might, Amos, looks like he done had some book learn'n. I am worried about that damned
boat coming up here and burning my house down. That's the reason I'm here I don't give shit
about some rich planter and his plantation house."

    "Yah, I have to agree with ya there, Sam. I wonder who them two young'ns over there is all
dressed up in those fancy gray uniforms with the yeller stripes on the jackets and britches.
The tall black-haired one talks like he comes from down south of here, you know from the bayou
country. The other one has a queer way of talking like he is from Texas or farther west, sounds
like he is a smart one."

    "Capt'n Hayes, Sir. The men in the militia wants to know where to move those three cannon
they have."

    "Well, Conway, they need to be up on that bluff facing the river to the south. What kind of
shot and shell do they have for them?"

    "Capt'n, they are 12 pound guns, smoothbores, one of the volunteers said. They have round
shot for them and plenty of powder now, since MISS LOU was carrying so much they got four kegs
of it, plus the WABASH has some too. I saw her deck hands unloading it and putting it in wagons
so it can be hauled out of danger. Captain King and Captain Smith are talk'n now about what to
do."

    "Thank you, Conway. For a farm boy, how you know something like gun size, my boy?"

    "Papa, Sir, he served with Robert E. Lee in the Mexican War. He was a gunner's mate with
the Mississippi battery."

    "Very noble of him. My father also served in that war with Jefferson Davis and his
Mississippi Boys; who knows, they might have met. Where's Michael?"

    "He's helping to move all the passengers off the steamers and telling them to go to the
tavern in town to wait and see what happens if the Yanks come up the river."

    "Very good, let's go help the volunteers move their guns in position and get some slaves to
pile cotton bales in front and around them to help protect the men and guns."

    Captain Hayes put his arm around Conway's shoulders as they walked up the dirt road from
the landing to the top of the bluff. They laughed together when they heard an outburst from the
two steamboat captains over whose boat was the fastest but they both agreed that MISS LOU would
stay at Belle Bend while the WABASH headed back upstream and out of harm's way. They continued
up the bluff road to the top while Sam and Amos watched while leaning on their shotguns. The 25
men of the Louisiana Militia were a mixed assortment of men and weapons. Some carried shotguns
that they had used forever, it seemed, to hunt, while others had Kentucky long rifles from the
War with Mexico and there was a rumor that one old timer still had a Brown Bess his father had
captured at New Orleans when the British surrendered there is 1814.

    The small village of Belle Bend had grown quiet as merchants closed their shops and the
taverns began to operate full boom, full of old men drinking whiskey, they did not plan to
fight someone else's war, as they deemed it.

    Conway and Captain Hayes ran into Michael as he was headed back toward MISS LOU. "We have
moved all the supplies from the WABASH to the MISS LOU, Capt'n. Now the Capt'ns have decided
that the MISS LOU will stay at the landing behind the guns on the bluff. The Militia has moved
them to positions in front of the church so they can use it as a lookout. Their Captain and Mr.
Delatte is waiting on you and Conway to join them. They have requested that if you could, would
you please send them 25 of the Mississippi rifles along with powder and ball for them."

    "Well..." Captain Hayes scratched his chin while thinking, "OK, Michael, have two of our
men take two crates up to the Militia along with 20 rounds for each gun. Do not tell their
Captain that we have 38 more crates onboard the boat, those must reach Vicksburg."

    "Yes, Sir!" Michael replied as he ran down the bluff to the MISS LOU.

    Michael walked across the wood landing to the gangplank of the MISS LOU. He met Sergeant
Wells standing at the bow, looking over the 12 pound gun mounted there. Five of the cavalry
troopers were cleaning the gun tube with the rammer and preparing it for action, area around
the gun had been cleared of all cargo and the black powder except for 10 kegs; the ammo chest
lay open on deck. "Sergeant Wells, Captain Hayes wants to move two crates of the rifles up to
the milita men on the bluff and to give them 20 rounds for each gun, plus powder."

    "OK, Michael, you and three of the guys go get the supplies for the Captain while I finish
preparing this piece for action. I hope the three guns on the bluff are halfway servicable."

    "Sergeant, they look to be in fair shape, they are 12 pounder Napoleans from the Mexican
War. From what I heard they been on display at two county courthouses from around here.
Captain Delatte said they have been test fired since receiving them."

    The Sergeant chuckled, "I hope they have men that know how to aim them."

    Michael smiled, "Yes, they got some gunners in the group; their long beards might get burnt
off before we are through. They are veterans from the War with Mexico, would not surprise me if
these are the same men with the same guns."

    Wells let out a bellow of a laugh, "I be damned, old men and young boys! Go get those
rifles before we see smoke coming from the south. Three men are on the Texas deck; get them to
give you a hand. All the Cavalry will be onboard the MISS LOU. That way, once we see a break we
can escape and not slow down till we reach the Mississippi River."

    "Yes, sir!"

    Michael ran up the main staircase to the Hurricane deck, then around the main cabin to a
ladder. He climbed it to the top of the Hurricane deck and walked over to the Texas where he
saw Private Fisher lounged back against the big bell, he walked on around to the ladder and
climbed up on the raised portion of the roof. Fisher's eyes were closed, his jacket
unbuttoned, and the deep toned skin with light blonde hairs was exposed to the hot sun. Michael
deepened his voice, "Private FISHER, ATTENTION!" Michael sounded. Jimmy Fisher liked to have
knocked himself silly when he jumped, causing the bell to lightly ring.

    "Gawd Damned, Michael! You liked to have scared the shit out of me," Jimmy said as he
looked at Michael.

    "Serves you right for sleeping while everyone else is sweating our asses off. Come on, we
got to tote two cases of the rifles to the militia, along with ball and powder. Captain Hayes'
orders."

    "And, damn it, you had to pick me," Jimmy said.

    "Not me, Wells told me to get you and two of the others to help out."

    "Can't get the others," Jimmy said. "They up on the pilothouse nailing boiler plate around
it to help protect it from the marines in case they decide to open fire on us."

    "Shit, OK, Jimmy, looks like it is us then." They walked together over to the main entrance
to the Texas deck Officers' cabins and entered. They walked side by side down the narrow
hallway, their arms brushing each other and giving Michael a chance to check out this fellow
soldier of his while the one hidden in his trousers started to awaken. They entered the
purser's office and picked up one of the heavy crates. Jimmy put one of the ropes of one of
kegs of fine black powder over his shoulder while Michael picked up one of the heavy bags
holding the round musket balls. They grunted as they moved out of the office and down the
narrow hallway to the open air of the roof of the Hurricane deck. Once down and on the main
roof after easing down the ladder, they paused for a moment. "Let's take a breather, Jimmy,
these crates are fucking heavy."

    "Good idea, Mike," said Jimmy as he sat down his end of the crate onto the tar paper roof,
his gray jacket swinging farther open as he leaned down and the blonde hair falling over his
eyes. Jimmy stood up and brushed his long blonde curls out of his eyes and smiled at Michael.
"Watcha lookin' at, Mike?"

    "Huh, Oh, nothin', just thinkin about what's going to happen." Michael smiled lightly,
hoping that Jimmy didn't notice what he was looking at was him.

    "Oh yeah, you reckon we will make it through this alive?" Jimmy's voice was quiet and there
was an unsure tone in it.

    "I hope we do, Jimmy. I have made a wonderful friend and I sure don't want to lose him or
any of you, all of y'all are great friends."

    "Your friend Conway? How long have you known him? You two seem real close."

    Michael smiled, "I have known him for almost half a day now and, yes, we are getting close
as friends."

    "A half of a day, wow!" Jimmy smiled, "how did y'all meet?"

    "On board the MISS LOU this afternoon. He needed a place to bunk since all the rooms were
full so I offered to share mine." Michael blushed a little as he thought, 'If only Jimmy knew
how close we have become.'

    Jimmy noticed the blush but did not say anything and thought to himself, 'They more than
friends, no one blushes over talking about a plain old friend or bunkmate.' "Come on, Mike,
let's get these guns to the Militia boys."

    They bent over and once again lifted the heavy crate and headed to the ladder leading to
the Hurricane deck. Once down the ladder it was easy going. They had flat deck once again and
from the Hurricane deck to the boiler deck was actual stairs and not a narrow ladder.

    Sergeant Wells smiled when he saw Michael and Jimmy pass him and onto the gangplank and up
the bluff. "That Michael is going to be one tough cookie!" The other men looked at him. "What
you mean, Serge?" asked one of them as the shirtless man rammed the long rammer down the barrel
and pulled it back out. "What I meant is that boy has both book learning and willpower, he is
not that big, but look at him move with that crate plus a another 20 pounds of musket balls
banging on his back as he totes a crate of 12 muskets. Just like his friend Conway, that boy is
a Cajun if I ever met one but I be damned if he is not smart too, and the way the Captain done
took to them boys it is amazing. Hayes has never been that close that fast to anyone and I went
to school with him in Orleans."

    The five men nodded in agreement. When they first met their Captain, Isaac Hayes, he seemed
almost cold and heartless; at first you only spoke to him when you were called by him or
given an order by him. The 30 men serving under him got used to the rugged life of a cavalry
man quick, learning the drills and proper ways of firing your rifle while charging on a rushing
horse. Then once you fired your rifle and hoped you hit your mark, you put your rifle in the
mount and, while holding the bit in your teeth, grabbed your sword and went head on into the
fight. As the early weeks passed, Isaac Hayes became a better captain and leader and, most
importantly, a friend to every man in the small company. The company had left New Orleans two
days before her capture by the Yankee army and with them they brought out one gun, the 12 pound
Napolean, the gun that they now readied with ease after they had drilled with it day after day
as they moved north, yes, to most of them it seemed weird. Both Gunners and Cavalry men, now
this dual training might just save their hides.

     Captain Delatte stood watching his rough green men move the heavy cannon into position in
front of the little wooden church. The small church sat on the highest of the bluffs south of
Belle Bend and the bell tower would work perfectly for sighting the ironclad before she had
time to spot the guns. He noticed the Cavalry officer and one of his young privates walking up
the bluff where he stood. The one he had met earlier, Michael, seemed like a very fine young
man, both smart and willing to do anything to help out. 'Better than some of the ragamuffins I
got in my sorry lot,' he thought as he put his spyglass back to his right eye. He scanned the
river to the south, then toward the lower landing where the two steamboats sat with dark gray
smoke rising from their tall stacks. He saw Michael step on board the MISS LOU and stop to talk
to the men there working with their gun, then disappear up the stairs. One of his own young
boys walked past. "Robby, step over here for a moment, please?"

    "Yes, Dad?" Robby Delatte was 16 years old and stood 5'7, three whole inches higher than
his father. The dark brown hair was short under his kepi cap, his gray eyes sparkled and were
alert to every movement around him as he stood with his father.

    "My boy, I want you to go ahead and get ready to climb the bell tower of the church, you
got the best eyes of anyone I know. Our friend Michael is going to bring us some of the
Mississipi Rifles they have on board the steamer, plus powder and ball. They are better than
our Kentucky Long rifles, the Misissippis have riflings in the barrel to make the ball spin.
Here, take my telescope with you up into the bell tower. Now, the minute you spot smoke from
the south, you ring that damned bell."

    "Yes, Sir! Dad, here comes that Cavalry captain. Is the soldier with him carrying one of
those Mississippi Rifles? It sure looks longer than the ones we got."

    "Yes, it is, my boy, it uses a percussion cap just like your Kentucky but, like I said, if
that is the modified version, it is rifled so it is more true when it fires." Dave pulled at
his graying beard, watching Captain Hayes approach and the young man beside him.

    "Papa, promise me one thing. That when the ironclad shows up that you don't take off your
hat, becaue if you do they might see us with your bald spot shining like it does." Robby
grinned as his father swatted him.

    Captain Hayes and Conway walked over to where Captain Delatte and his son stood, looking at
the river. Captain Hayes and Conway saluted the older man and Captain Delatte returned the
salute. "Captain Isaac Hayes, 3rd Louisiana Cavalry, and this is Private Conway James."

    "I am Captain Dave Delatte, Shreveport Home Guards, and my son Robby. I see one of my
junior officers sent for on helping us to place our guns. I figured since this is the highest
point of the bluffs south of town, this would be the perfect position. Also we have the church
steeple we can use as a lookout and signaling tower. I have ordered my son here to climb the
tower with my telescope and one of the Mississippi Rifles. It will give us ample time for
warning, Robby here can spot the ironclad before it can make it around the bend."

    "Very good, Captain Delatte, I have to agree with you this is the best place for your guns,
and you're right about using the church steeple for a lookout post. How good of a shot is your
son with a rifle?"

    "He is a fine shot with a rifle, he has won the last two shooting matches at the Parish
Fair." Dave sniled while talking about his son.

    "Very good indeed. Conway, give Robby your musket and ammo box. I want to see what the boy
can do!" Captain Hayes smiled as Conway unshouldered his brand new musket and handed it to
Robby along with his leather ammo box.

    Robby smiled, then gently took the long musket with its oiled walnut stock and blued
barrel, "WOW, it's brand new!"

    Conway smiled at the boy, "Yes, it is only been test fired twice since I got it."

    "Well, let's see what you can do with it," spoke Captain Hayes.

    Robby sat the butt of the long musket down on the ground and pulled the ramrod out of the
brass bands that held it below the barrel. He then reached into the ammo box and pulled out a
paper-wrapped ball and powder charge. He bit the end off the paper and poured the powder down
the barrel, then seated the ball on top of the muzzle and raised the ramrod. He seated the end
of the ramrod onto the ball and shoved it down the barrel, then, lifting the ramrod back up, he
pushed it again down the barrel to pack the powder and seat the ball on top. Robby then put the
ramrod back into its holder and reached into the ammo box once more and removed the small brass
percussion cap. He cocked the hammer back half way and seated the cap on the nipple and cocked
the hammer all the way back; the musket was now ready to fire.

    Captain Hayes scanned the river for a target and spotted a log in the middle of the stream
floating down. He pointed it out to Robby. "There's your target. Let's see how good you really
are."

    Robby shouldered the musket and took aim at the floating log. His finger tightened on the
trigger and squeezed gently. The musket fired with a loud bang and a flash of smoke and flame.
They all looked at the log and saw splinters fly from it. Captain Hayes looked impressed and
pleased, while the boy's father beamed.

    "Now climb the steeple to the bell platform. Conway will hand you the musket and telescope
once you're in position. I am quite sure the Federals will want to attack today instead of
waiting out the night. So, my boy, keep those eagle eyes open."

    "Yes, sir, father!" Robby and Conway walked toward the small clap-sided wooden church and
to the ladder leading up into the steeple and bell platform. Robby handed Conway the musket,
ammo box, and telescope while he mounted the ladder and began to climb up. Conway watched the
firm gray-clad butt go up the ladder and thought to himself, 'Too bad I will be on MISS LOU
when the fightin' starts and, when it is over, I would not mind doing a little bit of ramming a
certain charge up that chute.' He smiled as he continued to watch the boy climb the ladder.
Once in position, Conway passed up the musket and other items and returned to where the two
captains stood.

    "He's in position, Sir."

    "Thank you, Conway," Dave spoke in a high voice, so that Captain Hayes would hear him
thank one of his men.

    Captain Hayes was over by one of the guns, running his hand over the bronzed barrel.
Feeling the warm metal below his fingers, he thought back for a few moments about his father
and what he told him before he left New Orleans. The old man's voice was soft in the room below
the ramparts of Fort Saint Phillip that sat guarding the Mississippi River. "Always take care
of your gun and she will never do you wrong in battle. They are like fine women, treat them
right and they will do the same to you, but neglect her care and she will fail you." He now
wondered if his father had surrived the fight at New Orleans and the bombardment of the Federal
Fleet. His father was no longer a young man, at 61. Isaac loved to hear the stories of the
battles in Mexico and how the American guns had hammered the Mexicans back time after time. His
father said that every time one boomed it seemed to say "Remember the ALAMO", but he wondered
would anyone remember him and his men after this war was over.

    "Capt'n Hayes, Sir, here are the two crates of muskets plus the powder and ball. Where
would you like to stack them?"

    "Set them here right now, Michael. Captain Delatte will issue them to his men. How are
things aboard ship?"

    "Looking fine, Sir. The captain had boiler iron nailed to the pilothouse and Sergeant Wells
has our piece ready for action. We're just waiting now."

    "Thank you, Micheal." Captain Hayes smiled as they walked away from the bronze 12 pound gun
and let Captain Delatte's men prepare her for action. He stood and watched the men and boys
look the gun over like a fine watch. Two others came over and picked up the crate and ammo and
started issuing guns and powder to the other men who had piled cotton bales along the bluff to
protect them and the guns mounted in the positions where they had dug depressions in the ground
as to help control the recoil of the heavy guns.

    They walked over to where Captain Delatte was standing with a group of his men. Delatte's
men saluted Captain Hayes and the two privates and the three returned the salutes.

    "Captain Hayes, I am hoping that Captain Jasper will soon return from his scouting mission
south of here. He left with 40 men. He is part of the Shreveport Home Guards like us. He is a
maverick you could say likes to do things on his own terms. He equipped his own men from his
plantation with horses and saddles, also most of the Enfield rifles they have."

    "Yes, it would be nice to have an idea of what we're facing. I have never seen one of these
Iron Beasts."

    "Nor have I, Captain Hayes."

    "From what I have gathered, they are slow and hard to maneuver, about 160 feet long or more
and mounting about 14 big guns. They have armored plate around the pilothouse and sides and I
understand a layer around the paddlewheel house and machinery. So when we fire, Captain
Delatte, we got to find her weak spot to give MISS LOU a chance to escape. Have your boy to aim
for the pilothouse. All we can do is pray that one of the bullets will kill or wound one of her
pilots and give us the needed time. I would suggest you increase your powder charge from two
pounds to three on the 12 pounders, but I am in no position to tell you how to man your guns."

    "Thank you, Captain, for that information. I believe we can increase our powder charges by
a little since we are using a finer grade powder than should be used, but a word of warning -
once the barrel is hot and too much powder and she will explode."

    "Yes, Captain Delatte, my father explained that to me very carefully before I left New
Orleans before the Federals captured our proud city. I only hope that he surived at Fort Saint
Phillip."

    Captain Delatte's eyes perked up. "Fort Saint Phillip. Was your father Joe Hayes, about 6
foot 1, heavy-set man with a gray beard?"

    "Yes, Sir, he is. What do mean 'was'?"

    "I am sorry, Captain I was there during the bombardment by the Federal Navy. He was killed
while commanding a set of 24 pounders during the night assault, I am truly sorry, Sir, he was
a fine man."

    Isaac's eyes darkened and misted over - his father dead, his home in enemy hands. "Thank
God my mother did not live to see this."  Conway and Michael stood close by as the words of
Captain Delatte sank in with their Captain. He was silent as the tears began to flow, he
reached up and wiped his eyes, then looked at the surrounding men. "THE GOD DAMNED YANKEE
BASTARDS WILL PAY DEARLY, MEN, I SWEAR TO MY MAKER THEY WILL PAY!!"

    Robby was sitting up in the hot cramped space beside the bronze church bell, scanning the
river and occasionly looking toward where the Captains were having their little meeting. He
used the telescope to get a closer look at the two young boys standing with Captain Hayes. He
would look them up and down, 'wishing his own group had a set like that to bunk with'. He swung
back around and almost dropped the telescope from his hands. There it was, he saw black smoke
coming around the bend. He put the telescope down and covered one of his ears and started to
ring the bell with a fevered pace. Then he leaned out from the enclosure and shouted "HERE
COMES THE IRON MONSTER!"

    Captain Hayes' eyes lit up with a blue fire, "TO THE MISS LOU, BOYS, HURRY!"

    "MAN YOUR GUNS, MEN, MAN YOUR GUNS!" shouted Dave Delatte to his men as he raced to the
waterfront. The men of the Shreveport Home Guards raced to the guns and got into position, men
grabbed the rammers and spongers, while others opened the ammo boxes mounted on the two-wheel
limbers. Five men stood at each gun. "LOAD!" Delatte shouted.

    The first man grabbed the sponge and rammer and dipped it into the small leather bucket of
water sitting below the gun, then he sponged the bore as the 2nd man passed the round
cannonball and powder charge to the 3rd man while the vent is closed as the first man rams the
powder and ball down the gun. Then the master gunner aims the gun as men on the hand spikes
turn and level it as the master gunner sticks the vent primer into the fuse hole to puncture
the powder charge, then he pushes the fricton primer in the the vent and holds the lanyard,
waiting the order to fire. The men are silent as they watch the ironclad come into view.

    Captain Hayes stood on the bow of the MISS LOU, the captain with his pilots in the
pilothouse awaiting orders. Cavalry men stood on the hurricane deck roof, their long
Mississippi Rifles loaded and ready. Others lay on the flat roof, rifles pulled to their
shoulders while others sat back, ready to pass another rifle as the men up front fired them and
passed them back to be reloaded.

    Robby had taken the telescope as he watched the Ironclad come into full view. He knew in a
few minutes there was going to be a hell storm of shot and shell. He knew that he could not
hold onto his musket and fire it while trying to use the telescope to aim with at such a
distance, then he saw the small pieces of old bell cord. He picked up a piece and took the
telescope and placed it on top of the musket barrel and tied it in place, then another piece
and tied it in the center and finally the third piece and tied it to the very end of the
telescope. He picked up the musket and looked down the barrel. The telescope worked, he now
could aim and see what he wanted to see. Now he sat and waited.

    "Full steam, Mr. Burr, I want to get in close and repay that Rebel steamer." He paced the
gun deck, his long black beard hanging down as his gray-blue eyes sent sparks of fire.

    "Aye, Captain, we got plenty of boiler pressure this time," the chief engineer replied as
he stood beside the captain on the gundeck.

    The pilots and the twenty marines had the best view of what lay ahead. They first noticed
the two steamers still at the landing and the cotton bales stacked high on the bluffs. No one
paid much attention to them until they noticed the four bronzed barrels sticking above them.
"Captain Thompson, the enemy has mounted guns on the bluff; we count four total. Shall we steam
toward shore or continue in the main channel?"

    "Thank you, Pilot, continue in the main channel for now, no need to risk running aground
again. Most likely they are old 6 pounders, nothing to worry about. I want to destroy those two
steamers."

    "Aye, Captain."

    Davie stood on top of the casemate, looking at the river ahead and the two Rebel steamboats
at the landing. He noticed both had steam up from the clouds of grayish black smoke rising from
their tall stacks. Then the second one cast off her ropes and swung out into the river. He saw
the name WABASH and his blood began to boil. The twenty marines had gathered on the side where
the town lay, checking their muskets once again. He heard them complaining about them and
trying to hit anything with a smoothbore. He heard Captain Thompson curse when the pilot told
him the WABASH was casting off and headed upstream and that the other steamer was just sitting
there waiting, with her ropes cast off and paddle wheel spinning slowly, keeping her in
position. He saw the men standing on her deck, most likely crew members watching for them. He
heard the bronze bell ring six times, then a pause, and once more to signal the half hour. 6:30
PM, the sun was like a fireball in the western sky, glinting off the metal of the ironclad and
off the gun barrels of the four Rebel guns on the bluff. They were silent for now, like him
waiting and watching as they continued to steam closer and into range. 'Who would fire first',
he wondered. The field glasses now hung down onto his chest by the leather strap; they bounced
when he walked toward the ladder and down into the bowels of the ship. Soon they would be
abreast of the cannon.

    "All slow!" Captain Thompson ordered as he peered out of one of the gun ports. Then he
stepped back to the center of the deck. "RUN OUT THE GUNS!" Thompson again ordered to his gun
crews on the starboard side and in the bow.

    "Aye, captain!" the men sounded back as he heard the engine bell ring as the ship began to
slow her pace. Men grunted as the heavy guns were rolled into battery with their long black
snouts pointing at the bluffs. "MAX ELEVATION!" the gun captains ordered and the elevating
screws were turned and wooden elevation wedges adjusted. Minutes passed and all was quiet
except for the thumping of machinery and the slashing of the paddle wheel. John Burns waited in
the surgeon's quarters. He already had moved the wounded fireman to a cot in one of the
recovery rooms, small windowless rooms that were cramped and smelled of whitewash and
turpentine. He bowed his head and said a silent prayer.

    "GET HIM BELOW DECKS NOW!" Thompson shouted. "CLEAR THE VENTS AND PREPARE TO FIRE AT MY
COMMAND! ALL HANDS, BATTLE STATIONS, PREPARE FOR ACTION!"

    The crew of the USS BENTON looked at their Captain in a whole new way. Something inside
him had snapped and now he was nothing but fire and smoke, shouting orders and taking control
of his ship and his men. John and Ernest got in line and beat the call to battle stations,
their drumsticks hammering the canvas cloth that covered the drum rims. Once the call was
sounded, they moved their drums out of the way and helped to form a supply line to the 4
starboard guns to pass the powder to the men while others passed the shells. High on the
bluffs they heard the call of a bugler, calling the enemy to the ready. "The Ball is opened
and I pray that our suits of blue do not turn into our suits of burial blue." The big gunner
smiled as he swabbed the bore of his eight inch Navy smoothbore cannon.

    Robby quickly reloaded his musket and once again lined up his sights. 'I have just killed
a man but I feel none of his pain. Is this what war is about? Killing people but not feeling
their pain? Father knows it, so does most of the men and now I know. But will I burn in hell
for my sins?' He pulled the trigger again and saw a sailor grab his stomach. Two down, Robby
thought and not one of our guns has opened fire nor has the iron beast. His fingers quickly
started their work again, reloading the musket as he watched the sailors scramble to get the
wounded man below.

    Captain Delatte looked up and smiled at his son when he saw the second sailor fall to the
casemate roof. His boy had made his first two shots count. Now it was his turn. "Gunners,
prepare to fire at the command! Bugler, sound the call to the MISS LOU that we are preparing
to fire!" The young man lifted the bugle to his lips and sounded the call to the men on the
MISS LOU.

    Captain Hayes smiled at his men, "That boy is a crack shot, but let's see what hot metal
can do. Bugler, answer the call!" The bugler of the 3rd Louisiana sounded the call to the men
on the bluff as they watched the ironclad come closer into range. The men on the hurricane
roof were tense at their open prone positions, lying spread eagle with their rifles ready
while the others bent down low to pass the reloaded rifles back and the others standing at the
bow with the bow chaser waiting. The few cotton bales stacked around the gun offered a lot of
protection from musket fire but none from cannon fire, as the last of the notes echoed off the
bluff. There were four booms and the white smoke rose from the bluff as the 12 pounders fired
their opening shots. Captain Hayes, with a glint of cold steel in his eyes, yanked the lanyard
of the bow chaser, sending the 12 pound ball across the water and toward the enemy in the
river. With that signal, MISS LOU pulled away from the landing and into mid stream.

    Captain Smith of the WABASH heard the opening shots coming from downstream and even
though he was ordered to stay out of the fight, he figured he had nothing to lose, "Pilot,
steer for that barge of cotton and lash on to it!"

    "Aye, Sir!"

    The WABASH pulled out of the still bayou and headed over to the barge piled high with
white cotton bales. The deck crew grabbed the ropes and lashed the heavy barge to the bow of
the steamer. They knew what was up when Lacy brought out the barrel of kerosene to be poured
all over the cotton, a fire raft in case it was needed. The men doused the cotton as the
steamer headed back toward Belle Bend, where the thunder of cannon and the crack of rifles
grew steadly into a roar.

    "FIRE STARBOARD BROADSIDE NOW!" Thompson commanded, pacing the gundeck; he had to counter
that fire. The four shells were aimed for his weakness and he had to silence those guns. The
armor around the paddle wheel was some of the weakest on the ship. The main armor was around
the bow and sides, protecting the guns, past that there was only heavy timber. Two and a half
inch plate protected the engines and boilers while one and a half protected the bow. The two
cutters lashed to the side of the ship were blasted by pieces of metal; the shots were low.

    The three 32 pound smoothbore cannon and the 8 inch Navy roared when they fired, filling
the casemate with burning powder smoke. The gunners reloaded as quick as possiable; they could
fire the guns twice a minute. Boys passed powder as the men swabbed the bores and reloaded
with shot and shell with the fuses set to explode in 15 seconds after leaving the gun. Sailors
did their best to stay away from the iron casemate, the ringing of the iron as the shells hit
could kill an man or destroy his hearing, leaving him deaf.

    The four guns thundered again, sending their shells in a high arc toward the bluff. The
nineteen marines left standing now hugged the iron caremate roof, their muskets leveled as
they fired up the bluff, trying to hit the gray gunners; every now and then they would see a
puff of cotton as one of their balls tore into a bale but not one man in gray had dropped.
They had to find the sniper hidden on the bluff. The other riflemen were hitting all over the
deck and small pieces of the lead would hit them and sting but that was about it but every
time that lone musket sounded, a man fell to the deck dead. The marine Corporal watched the
big shells fall short, hitting in front of the cotton bales, 'Shit,' he thought, 'all along
this river there was nothing but flat land until they came to this area, and the damned Rebels
had to mount their guns on the highest point. The commander at Vicksburg must have trained
these men as well!' "Roll that HOWITZER over here, men!"

    "Yes, Sir," they laid down their muskets and raced over to the Howitzer on its three wheel
carriage and began to roll it toward the center of the ship. Once in position behind the
pilothouse and pointed toward starboard, they began to load it with solid shot. Canister and
grape would do no good at the range they needed. Above the 2nd gun on the bluff he noticed
something glinting in the sunlight, looked like a rifle barrel to him, the corporal raised his
field glasses to his eyes. 'I be a Son of a Bitch!' It was a rifle barrel with a telescope
tied to it, no wonder the Rebel could pick his targets at will. "MAX ELEVATION ON THE SCREW!
9.0 pound shell with a 20 second fuse! 5 pound powder charge!"

    "Five Pounds, that is one pound too much, Sir!"

    "FIVE POUNDS, PRIVATE, NOW!"

    "Yes, Sir." The private put the five pound charge down the muzzle and the shell was rammed
home. The vent was closed and the friction primer inserted. The Corporal took the lanyard and
yanked. The howitzer boomed and the shell whistled through the air, sailing over the
Confederate guns and exploding in the churchyard. "Shit! Reload!"

    Captain Thompson heard the bark of the howitzer on the casemate roof. "God damned Marines
are finally using something they have a chance of hitting something with. Davie, go up top and
spot their shells and ours. I think I know what their target is!"

    "Yes, Sir, Captain!" Davie climbed the ladder to the top of the casemate and stood behind
the Corporal.

    "Ah, Mid-shipman Phillips, come to keep an eye on Thompson's little toy?"

    "I was ordered up here to spot both your shells and the ones from below, Sir! Captain
Thompson knows the target! The Church, SIR!"

    The marine corporal was taken back at the sternness in the boy's voice. "Very good, Mr.
Phillips! Let's see if we can blow the devil out of the father's house of worship, shall we!"

    "God Damn, that was close!" Captain Delatte looked behind him at the smoking hole in the
ground where the shell had hit. They are using the howitzer on top. He looked up at his son
still in the church steeple. He saw the long barrel steady and watched the rifle kick back as
his son fired again. "I WANT ALL FOUR GUNS TRAINED ON THE PILOTHOUSE NOW! The men on the hand
spikes picked up on the rear of the carriages and spun them to match the movement of the
Ironclad, elevation was set as they swapped from solid shot to exploding shells. "ON MY
COMMAND!"

    Robby saw the redheaded boy appear again on the open part of the deck. He looked at the
boy, he was quite handsome. Then he saw the officer of the gun who had fired that last shot;
the sorry bastard had him singled out. "Now it is my turn!"  Robby got the officer in his
sights and aimed a little high to counter the ball drop in flight "I want him right between
the eyes!" He pulled the trigger just as his father yanked the lanyard on gun number 1 below
him.

    "Davie, get below and report how.." The corporal's face went slack as he hit the deck, a
round hole the size of a musket ball had formed in the center of the corporal's forehead.
Davie scrambled to the ladder and ducked down inside just as all hell broke loose on the decks
above just as he hit the gun deck, THUD, KABOOM, THUD, KABOOM. Two of the rebel shells hit
their target. Men on top fell to their knees with bloody body parts of others; out of the 19
marines on top 9 scrambled down below. Dragging the wounded with them, four more were carried
to the surgeon's quarters where 4 men helped him work on the wounded; already the small
recovery rooms were full.

    THUD, KABOOM! The second pilot grabbed his face as blood poured down it, "OH, MY GOD, I'M
BLIND!" The pilot stumbled from the pilothouse and Captain Thompson grabbed the man himself
and passed him to another to be rushed to John Burns. The Ironclad was out of control as the
other pilot still on his feet tried to wrestle with the large wheel alone. Then there was
another thud on the pilothouse roof and claag, then a splash and a muffled explosion as water
shot up from the river.

    Captain King, standing in the pilothouse of the MISS LOU, saw his chance of escape and
blasted the steam whistle. "FULL STEAM AHEAD, MR. MATTHEWS, FULL STEAM AHEAD!", he shouted
into the speaking tube. The steamer pulled out into the current and began to pick up speed.
Captain Hayes stood on the bow, waiting and watching, holding the lanyard tight on his own 12
pounder. He looked up at his boys on the roof and saw Micheal and Conway standing in the
pilothouse with King; they were there to help in case one of the pilots was killed. He knew
both boys were itching for action but he wanted them safe. He did not want to lose two such
fine boys. MISS LOU came closer and closer to the ironclad, her bow now pointing closer to
shore where her big guns could do little harm to the steamer. Hayes wondered why the forward
guns had never fired upon the MISS LOU, "Were they disabled?"

    Davie stepped forward and six other men. "We'll do it, sir!" Davie replied.

    "You men go topside now. Davie, you go but I want you in the ladder way to spot those
guns. Every officer up there has been shot or killed by that damned sniper. Gentlemen, you
have one target - THE CHURCH! blast it to hell!"

    "Captain Thompson, the MISS LOU is headed straight toward us, SIR!"

    "Man the forward guns!" Thompson commanded.

    "We can't, Sir! None of them are ready, they used the carriage ropes to pull us over the
bar. If we fire them we have no way to control the recoil!"

    "GOD DAMN IT! GUN CREW, MAN THE CENTER GUN NOW!

    "AYE, CAPTAIN!" Men rushed over and started to sponge the bore of the 8 inch Navy gun and
commenced loading it. Once loaded, they all stepped far back. Without ropes that gun could go
wild on the recoil and smash bones. The port gun crews were busy removing ropes off of one of
the port side guns.

    "Wait before you fire it", here they brought the heavy ropes over and began to run them
through the arresting holes in the iron casemate and carriage. "One will help control it better
than none at all."

    The chief gunner sighted the piece and pulled the lanyard taut, it was a hit or miss but
what harm would it do.

    "FIRE!" The lanyard was yanked and the big gun recoiled back against the one rope and
snapped. The gun hit the capstan and the barrel broke loose from the trunnions and rolled onto
the deck, useless.

    The shell splashed the water right in front of MISS LOU, covering the men on the bow and
their piece with muddy water.

    "GOD DAMN IT!" Thompson shouted, he was momentarily deaf when all four of the starboard
guns fired, the shells whistling high up onto the bluff and the men cheered when they saw one
of the rebel guns disabled, the barrel pointing downward at a crooked angle. Then from top of
the casemate the little howitzer barked, sending her shell flying through the darkening skies
to land inside the church building where it exploded. setting the building on fire.

    BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, the starboard batteries fired again, the shells exploding around
the Rebel guns. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM came the reply back as the shells rained down on the iron
plates of the armor. The sponger on the 3rd gun collapsed, bleeding from both ears when a rebel
shell exploded right outside the gun port.

    "Captain, I could really use some help up here!" shouted the pilot.

    "You there, get your ass up there and help that man now!"

    The sailor climbed into the pilothouse and stood gripping the big wheel. "Now, hard to
Port!" The new man grasped the slick wheel and began to turn it as the bow swung back upstream.
Minie balls peppered the pilothouse as the men on the MISS LOU fired and kept firing at the
pilothouse. The port side gun crew had the big 42 pounder smoothbore loaded and ready with
grapeshot. As the bow of the MISS LOU lined up with her sights, the chief gunner yanked the
lanyard, sending grape into the bow of the MISS LOU, knocking men to their knees and blasting
bits of cotton from the bales. Rifle fire poured into the open gun portal, hitting the gunners
as they fought to reload the cannon. One gunner staggered back, his arm bloody. The others
crouched behind the carriage and iron plate. The starboard guns continued to rain hell upon
the shore battery.

    Davie ducked just as the MISS LOU passed the ladder hole where he was directing fire for
the small howitizer. He was learning fast the gun trade of sighting guns and he had gotten to
know the little signal gun well. He saw men staggering on the bow of the MISS LOU with blood on
their uniforms and their Captain, O' their Captain, looked him right in the eyes with his own
blue steel eyes and Davie swore later that if those eyes were a sword he would be burning in
hell.

    "DAD, HELP MEEEEEEE!" Robby screamed as he held onto the crumbling bell platform as the old
dry church began to burn hotter from that Yank shell.

    "OH, MY GOD!" Dave shouted as he raced to the burning church. "AMOS, SAM, give me a hand,
will ya!"

    "Come on, Sam, the boy is in trouble."

    "A'right Amos." They laid their muskets down and raced for the church where Dave stood
trying to reach his boy.

    "Amos, stand on my shoulders." Amos climbed up on Dave's shoulders and grabbed Robby by his
legs. "Now, ease down, Dave, I got your boy and he still got that damned rifle in his hand."
Dave squatted down and Sam took the rifle from the boy's trembling hands and helped to steady
the boy. Once down low enough, Sam grabbed Robby and helped him to the ground as another shell
whistled over and crashed into the burning church, scattering the flames more. "Let's get away
from here before that damned bell falls and kills us all." Sam grabbed the rifle and Dave toted
his boy out from under the bell platform. Just as they turned to look, it collapsed into the
inferno.

    "FULL STEAM EDWARD, I WANT RAMMING SPEED!" shouted Captain Smith of the WABASH.

    "AYE, CAPTAIN SMITH!" Edward spun the wheels, crowding on as much steam as the boilers
could handle. "LIGHT THE COTTON BARGE!"

    Deckhands threw lit torches upon the barge, and soaked cotton burst into flames. "Now when
we get close, cut the ropes and let the barge crash into the ironclad."

    "Aye, Sur!" the black deckhands replied to Lacy.

    The bow of the WABASH was now 1000 feet away from the Ironclad. She was turned with her bow
toward shore as she turned around in the river to give her starboard guns a needed rest. The
steamer closed in to within 500 feet. "CUT THE ROPES!" The black deckhands sliced the ropes
with an axe. The barge, now free, headed toward the ironclad but the current began to push it
away.

    "OH, MY FUCKING GOD!" shouted Davie. "THE WABASH IS CLOSING IN AND IS ABOUT TO RAM US PORT
BOW WITH A FLAMING BARGE!" He shouted down the ladder to the crew below, the little Howitzer
now silent as the sun set, too dark to see how to aim.

    "HARD TO STARBOARD!" shouted Captain Thompson.

     The Ironclad turned, lining up the 42 pounder on the port bow, the gun crew ready with an
exploding 40 pound shell. Through the smoke the sights lined up with the steamer herself, the
gun crew covered their ears as the gun fired. The shell screamed toward the bow of the WABASH
and before the crew had time to react, her boilers exploded in a cloud of smoke, fire, and
steam. The roar echoed up the bluffs as the Confederates looked on, the steamer, burning, now
exploded, sending fragments of burning wood all over the BENTON and the river men flew in the
air, lifeless as they came back down, splashing the water and turning it red with their blood.
The fire barge continued to float downriver, harmless, as the mighty WABASH, once the fastest
steamer on the Red, settled to the bottom. The battle was over.

    Captain Thompson took a deep breath and sighed, then looked at his exhausted men, "Pilot,
swing her around and let's head south. The ball is over, gentlemen!"

    "Aye, Captain! Hard to port she is, sir!"

    The USS BENTON began to turn, swinging her bow out into the river, facing the now empty
landing, the paddlewheel thumping slowly against the muddy water as she swung in a wide circle,
her guns silent, it was too dark in the casemate to see how to load them. Up on deck the bronze
bell rang the hour of 8 pm. High upon the bluffs the old church still burned, casting shadows
against the silent Confederate batteries and the river. Once facing south, the ironclad swung
out into the current and picked up speed.

    George C. Burr, chief engineer, walked through the engine room, toting a small leather
notebook and candle; he was writing. They were able to keep 130 pounds of pressure up even
without the proper draft; the tall iron smokestacks were riddled with bullet holes. He climbed
the ladder to the gun deck and swapped his candle for one of the iron lanterns as he walked
toward the engines that hummed and thumped. He noticed bolts were loose on the port side. He
climbed topside and in the moonlight he looked at the tall stacks and saw them glowing red from
the bullet holes that had pierced them. Two of the boat's cutters shot away and indentions on
the ironplate from the impact of the cannonballs. Sky lights were destroyed on the wheelhouse,
one of the large air vents destroyed, and the smokestack guide wires and stay wires loosened.
The pilothouse armor had held and was only dented in the places where the shells hit and by a
miracle it seemed that the last ball had bounced from it to land in the river. If it would have
landed where the Rebels intended, it would have crashed through the top and exploded inside,
destroying the wheel and rudder ropes and chains. 'Yes,' he thought, 'Mr. Eads built one tough
ship'. As he closed his notebook he heard a grinding on the portside and walked back to the
wheelhouse and noticed one of the axle bearings had been damaged. He flipped his notebook back
open and licked his pencil stub and noted it 'Paddlewheel axle bearing starboard side damaged,
reduced speed by 2 knots until repaired.' He flipped the cover closed and pulled a cigar out of
his coat pocket and licked it, then put it in his mouth and struck a match.

    Davie, John, and Ernest, all tired and covered in powder dust and soot mixed with the sweat
running down their faces, helped to carry the wounded to the surgeon's quarters where they laid
the men on the deck outside because there was no room inside. The surgeon and his four young
helpers did their best to save the wounded men; some they knew would die in the night. Finally
when there were no more wounded to carry, they asked and received permission to go topside for
a break. They met engineer Burr as he threw his cigar overboard and was headed to the ladder.
"I will send Erik topside for a while, he needs a rest," as he went inside.

    Davie draped his right arm around John as they waited in the moonlight, the river was
peaceful, it had already forgotten a battle was even fought. Erik walked over to where they
were standing, his face covered in soot and sweat, Ernest put his arm around Erik as they
walked toward the wheelhouse and the stern of the ironclad. Fragments of shells and cannonballs
covered the decks along with splinters of wood and bits of metal. Davie told the others to go
ahead and walk around to the rear of the wheelhouse and climb to the roof, he would be there in
a minute. He entered the little shower stall located in front of the massive wheel and filled a
leather bucket hanging on the wall and grabbed two of the towels that were in the little holder
and walked to the ladder and began to climb. He saw the three lying sprawled out on the wooden
roof of the wheelhouse, silent; only the constant thud of the wheel broke it. Davie walked over
to them and sat the bucket of water down and the towels and he too flopped down onto the roof
and took one of the towels and wet one end and washed the grime off his face then he leaned
over and washed John's, John broke into a grin as Davie leaned over and kissed him on the lips
for a brief moment. "It's over for now and we all made it through it." Erik and Ernest looked
over and smiled at John and Davie. "Yeah, but there's one missing from our group now," Erik
spoke softly and they all nodded. Erik and the others looked into the western sky and smiled.
"Counsellor, we know you're watching us from up there and now you don't even have to close your
eyes when Davie kisses John." They smiled as from the top of the casemate as the BENTON steamed
south. the notes of 'Nearer My God To Thee' floated up to where they sat and, without speaking,
the four boys wrapped their arms around each other and lay back against the curving center of
the wheelhouse, already drifting off to sleep.

    Conway sat high up on the hurricane roof of MISS LOU as the steamed south toward the mouth
of the Red River and Port Hudson.  He was thinking of all that took place in one day, the
meeting of Michael and then of Captain Hayes and his company of men, then the battle which
would stay with him for as long as he lived. He and Michael had seen the last shot fired by the
BENTON as they swung around the bend and saw the proud little WABASH blow up. All those brave
men dead, including Captain Smith, who loved to boast and brag but in friendly way. He wished
Michael would soon be finished helping the men stack the crates of rifles in one of the
officers' quarters on the Texas Deck and would soon join him. The river was peaceful with the
moon shining brightly above in the clear western sky with its countless stars shining brightly
as they twinkled. Five of their men would never see that sight again after the charge of
grapeshot had blasted across the bow, six more wounded, including their friend Jimmy Fisher who
was now resting in their cabin. Nothing badly serious, just a graze across his right arm, but
still the handsome lad needed some rest and Conway and Michael decided to let him bunk with
them for the rest of the trip, two more days before Vicksburg. Conway was brought out of his
dream when he felt a warm cup being pressed into his hand and he looked up and saw Michael
standing there.

    "You dreaming, angel?" Michael asked as he sat down beside his best friend.

    "Yeah, I guess I was, thinking about so much has happened in one day, both good and bad,
but meeting you was the best thing to ever happen in my life so it was all worth it." He took
a sip of the strong black coffee and put his arm around Michael as they sat on the raised deck,
their feet dangling down.

    Michael smiled at Conway, "We made it through it all right."

    "Yes, we did, my boy, yes, we did." Michael laid his head on Conway's shoulder as the first
mate walked out on the deck and rang the big bell eight times. He smiled when he saw the two
boys close together like young lovers. He turned around and walked back inside, thinking 'Love
and War, men are fools for both of them.'

    Robby Delatte sat on a cotton bale, alone staring at the river. Not long before he had helped to
finish burying the thirty-eight men who had died while manning their positions and who died
when the WABASH blew up. The glow of the burning church cast his lone shadow across the bluffs.
It was quiet here, the little town was booming tonight, the other men of his company drinking
the free whiskey that poured from the saloons like water. He was not in the mood to celebrate
their little victory if you could call it that. His long Mississippi musket lay at his feet as
he looked at everything and nothing at all. A face burned in his mind - who was the red-haired
boy he saw so many times through his sights but could not pull the trigger. If only they were
on the same side. He dreamed as he sat there alone in the glow of the burning church, the red
glow haunting him like the bright red hair of the young Yankee officer.

The Civil War has been called the first modern war for many reasons, including the first use of Ironclad warships and the first war in which the civilian population was also targeted and not just the opposing armies in the field. The Civil War saw the passing of the old ways of fighting into the modern ways. The Rules of War were not always followed, as seen in the Confederate Cavalry officer's treatment of the Union sailor. This was done on both sides and quite often.

Well, this is the last chapter for this year but there is plenty more to come, as we continue
our adventure into the past and present. May you all have a wonderful New Year.

I must thank Ed for his great work he does on these chapters in both NO GREATER LOVE and HIGH IRON.

As always, I love to hear from you, so drop me line or two.
SWARRI1349@aol.com

and visit my pages at https://swarri1349.tripod.com/

Check out the Writings page located off the main page there. Just click the little black and white drawing of the flag and cannon where it says Idle Thoughts and a Few Good Words In Between.

Thank y'all, and I'll see ya on the gray side of the blue.
Stephen