Annapolis, page 39
Jack Browne was not a man to be talked to in such a way, either. “If you weren’t my uncle—”
“Now, gents,” said Ethan, “let’s call them nigras and be done with it.”
“Thank you, Ethan,” said Jason, who built any bridge he could to his youngest boy. “Some men don’t seem to know how fine a line we’re trying to walk right now.”
“Well, I’m tryin’, sir,” said Ethan. “You can be certain.”
“By declaring loyalty to the South?” said Tom as the procession began again.
“Now, Tom, I only said that to… unh—”
“To what?” His father stopped again, took a step closer to the youngest and tallest of his sons.
“Unh… to get into the good graces of a young lady… sir.”
“There’s an ideal for you,” said Antonia sarcastically.
“At least my boy was never accused of mutiny,” said Margaret, ever the defensive mother.
“Just incorrigibility,” answered Antonia.
“Incorri-what?”
“Quiet!” snapped Jason, who was growing more irritable with age and impending crisis. “This boy has to be made to see what matters. And it’s not the cultivation of a mustache and a few scraggly hairs on his chin.”
“I was waitin’ for you to notice that,” said Ethan.
“Beards are for men who take their oaths seriously. Men who stand where God puts them… not boys.”
And as if sent by the grace of God, a carriage struck a puddle in the street and splattered muddy water over the whole group.
Brother George took the brunt of the puddle and shook his fist at the driver. Then he saw that the others were laughing at him, so he smoothed his mustache and struck a heroic pose, despite the muddy water dripping off the brim of his service cap. “A lieutenant needs a drink to warm his bones. And Pa’s reserved a table at Willard’s… for all of us, no matter who thinks what.”
“No matter at all,” said Ethan. Then he raised his voice, mimicking Lincoln’s high pitch: “‘We are not enemies but friends.’”
“‘We must not be enemies,’” said Antonia, finishing Lincoln’s line. Then she took her sister-in-law, Margaret, by the arm and together they led their family on to dinner.
As Pennsylvania Avenue made its turn, all of them were struck by the sight of the Capitol in the distance.
The wooden pudding bowl was gone.
It had been handsome enough for the nation into which they were born.
But it never could symbolize the nation they would become.
Two new wings had been added to the building, and a three-tiered white iron dome was rising above the pudding bowl. A skeletal tower pierced the center of the structure like a spindle, and steel cables descended to support the completed portions, so that the Capitol now resembled a work in progress, like the nation.
iii
Dissolution
In the following weeks, the Naval Academy all but came apart.
Young men trained in the code of honor were torn, as only young men could be, by the dilemma of one loyalty against another. The resignations had begun when the first states went out. After Lincoln’s inauguration, more and more secession badges appeared on the chests of midshipmen who had submitted letters of resignation and were now waiting for official dismissal.
Ethan wrote one, but he did not submit it. He still hoped that Maryland would go out of the Union first and the decision would be made for him.
Then, on April 12, Commandant of Midshipmen Christopher Rodgers read the articles of war to the assembled brigade aboard the Constitution. Fort Sumter had been attacked.
The next day, Ethan received an invitation to the Fine Folly.
All America was waiting to see when—it was no longer a question of if—Virginia would go out of the Union, and if Maryland would follow her. And Ethan knew that if he left the Academy, Alexandra would be waiting with more than open arms.
That made his decision easier. So did the knowledge that bags were being packed up and down Stribling Row. More midshipmen were resigning, while loyal mates were preparing for early commissions.
So Ethan took the sheet of paper from his drawer, signed it, and dated it.
It is with regret that I resign my position at the U.S. Naval Academy. While some of my family are committed to the Union, I believe in the rights of the new Confederacy. I cannot, in good conscience, continue as a member, knowing that the Academy is a Federal institution, and that the Federal government is prepared to rescind certain rights that should belong to the states.
Repectfully submitted
Ethan crossed the yard to Blake Row, with his letter of resignation in his pocket. The spring afternoons were growing longer. It was too fine a time of year for all this to be happening, he thought. At the steps of the brick administration building, he smoothed the hairs scraggling over his upper lip and from beneath his lower.
Beards are for men who take their oaths seriously… not boys.
Once he handed in that resignation, he would grow whatever beard he damn well pleased. Then he heard familiar voices coming from somewhere behind him: Lieutenant Rodgers, Lieutenant Tom Stafford, and Captain Jason Stafford, walking along the path from the recitation hall.
At the sight of his father, who was about as venerable as the old ship in the river, Ethan lost his nerve. He was a boy again, with a boy’s scraggly whiskers. He turned quickly in the opposite direction and hurried toward the Fine Folly.
ALEXANDRA GREETED ETHAN at the door. “Did you do it?”
He looked down at his shoes. “I have the letter of resignation in my pocket.”
“Oh, thank the Lord.” She took him by the hand and led him down the center hallway to the library, which was filled with cats and conspirators—Alexandra’s father, Dan’l, and her brother, Robby, along with several other men.
Sitting in a rocking chair, feeding branches into the fireplace, was old Walter Parrish, widowed lord of this cat-smelling manor. “Good to see you, son. Sorry you’re plannin’ to leave the navy school, but—”
“Later, Pa.” Dan’l Parrish still seemed like a man in a hurry. He asked Ethan, “Did you resign?”
“He didn’t,” said Alexandra. “It was as if he knew we would need him to stay where he is.”
Dan’l Parrish had grown heavier, but he still moved with sharp little hitches and twitches, and his eyes never stopped darting. “You come from Union men. Can you be trusted?”
“He comes from Patuxent planters, too,” said Alexandra.
Dan’l shot a glance at his daughter. “Let him talk. Cat ain’t got his tongue.”
“Cat’ll get it if he sticks it out around here.” Robby Parrish wrinkled his nose. “Or breathes too heavy.”
“You know me, don’t you?” said the Saint Mary’s County planter Dunstable Ripley, a big-bellied man with a black beard, a big voice, and by all odds, a big opinion of himself.
“Yes, sir,” answered Ethan.
“Then you know how my family feels.”
“We’re all secessionists here.” Robby Parrish was twenty-two, a self-described gentleman planter with a gentleman’s wardrobe. Today it was pearl-gray waistcoat and trousers, dove-gray coat, blue polka-dot cravat. The Samuel Parrish strain showed in Robby—lean physique, smart face, yellow hair—but his quick little gestures and straight-to-the-matter talk marked him clearly as Dan’l Parrish’s son. The conspiratorial little wink he offered, as a way of including Ethan, was all his own.
“I been buyin’ Confederate bonds ever since they started sellin’ ’em,” added old Walter Parrish. “Eight percent per annum.”
“Pa, you hold on to your money,” said Dan’l. “Wait till we take Maryland out.”
“Which we would’ve done by now,” said Ripley, “’cept we got a governor straddlin’ the Mason-Dixon line like a man sittin’ on a fence.”
“When he should be ridin’ a rail,” added Dan’l.
“It’s time to wake Maryland up,” said ancient Anson Duganey, who sat in the corner, squinting over his cigar.
“Sumter was a foreign fort on the sovereign soil of South Carolina.” Dan’l kicked at a cat twining itself around his legs. “Maryland’s sovereign soil, too.”
“And we have foreign property right here in Annapolis,” said Robby.
“The Naval Academy?” offered Ethan.
“And the Constitution,” added Dan’l. “A ship named for the sheet of paper the Great Ape’s wrappin’ himself in.”
“Think of what they’ll say if we steal that ship,” said Robby.
Ethan looked out the window. Beyond the garden, across King George Street, lights were burning on Blake Row, where his father and brother would soon be dining. Neither of them would ever have taken him into their confidence like this.
“When Lincoln sees that the people are against him, on every side of his capital city,” said Alexandra, “he’ll just plain have to give up the whole idea of a war.”
Ethan began to speak, but his mouth was suddenly so dry that his tongue stuck to its roof. He moistened his lips and said, “I guess I’ve always thought that there were better ways than war to get what we want.”
“This is one of them,” said Alexandra.
“What… what is it you want me to do?” Ethan asked.
“Hold your resignation,” said Robby.
“Let them think you’re loyal,” said Dan’l. “Learn what you can.… Are the midshipmen at the gates well armed? Will they fight? Is the Constitution guarded?”
“Then come and tell me.” Alexandra stood a bit closer, so that he felt the hoops of her skirt against his leg. It was like taking his hand in public.
“And we’ll have men comin’ from Saint Mary’s County, from Baltimore, and from right here in Annapolis,” said Dan’l. “Well armed and plenty of them.”
Anson gave a laugh. “Once we take her, we’ll make you cap’n of the Constitution.”
“Do this right, son, and you can ask for Lexie’s hand any time you want. Betray us, and I’ll kill you.” Dan’l put a glass of whiskey into Ethan’s hand and made a little toast.
Ethan glanced at Alexandra, and her smile lit the dark room.
“Yes, sir,” said old Walter. “We been tryin’ to get a Stafford and a Parrish together a long time.”
Ethan fumbled a bit more. He had never spoken of marriage. He did not even think it mattered to Alexandra.
And Dunstable Ripley let out a big guffaw. “Dan’l was plannin’ to take a shotgun to you, but he couldn’t, ’cause you made his daughter so damn happy.”
Dan’l patted him on the back. “When all this is over and there’s still slaves at Stafford Hall, your pa, he’ll thank us.”
AN HOUR LATER, Ethan was eating in the faculty dining room, just off the midshipmen’s mess, with his father and his half brother Thomas. The midshipmen were muted and quiet, but the Old Cap was growling at Ethan. “I come to discuss assignments, and all I hear is how many demerits you’ve amassed.”
Ethan tried to concentrate on his boiled beef, potatoes, and carrots.
“It’s been hard on these boys,” said Tom. “They’ve seen a lot of friends leave in the last few weeks.”
“I know it’s hard.” The Old Cap shook his head. “I thought an Academy would protect all these boys from politics.”
“At least we don’t have many Philip Spencers.” Tom looked at Ethan. “Now Pa’s come to give you a choice. Do you want river operations or blue water?”
Jason added, “I won’t put you before anyone who’s done better in your class, but tell me where you want to be, and I’ll see if I can find a position.”
Ethan’s anger roiled at his father, who would let him make a small choice and ignore the larger torment. “River operations or blue water, sir?”
Jason leaned closer and lowered his voice. “We’re going to blockade the South’s blue-water ports, seize the Mississippi, and strangle the beast. General Scott likes the strategy. Gideon Welles doesn’t know enough to object. We don’t know what Lincoln will say. But you have a choice in the matter.”
Ethan picked at a potato, swirled it around a bit in the grease, and asked his half brother, “Which way are you going?”
“My future’s not under discussion here.”
Jason turned to Tom. “I’ve already told Welles how much you know about iron cladding.”
So the Old Cap had also been considering the future for a son who could consider it perfectly well for himself.
Tom stiffened. “I’d rather have a blue-water command than sail a desk.”
“Maybe you’ll get Merrimack, then, if your brother can get her out of Gosport.”
So son George was on the old man’s mind, too.
The Gosport Navy Yard at Norfolk was the largest Federal property in the South, worth far more to the Confederacy than Fort Sumter. There were ships, drydocks, and an arsenal of eight hundred cannon, including three hundred modern Dahlgren guns. But the prize was the Merrimack.
“It would be a damn shame if the secessionists got her,” said Jason.
“It’s a damn shame she’s been out of commission for so long.”
“We’ve sent men down to help George get her ready. But the Great Ape hopes Virginia will stay in. So he’s ordered that nothing be done to inflame the Virginians—like takin’ the Merrimack out—until the last minute.… Politicians!”
“They make the messes,” said Tom. “We clean them up.”
And the Old Cap returned his attention to his third son. “So what would you say to a blue-water billet with Davy Farragut, once he gets a squadron?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Ethan stuffed a potato into his mouth to keep from saying anything else.
“Good.” And the Old Cap put a hand on Ethan’s forearm, the warmest physical gesture he had shown his son in years. “I know I’ll be proud of you.”
Ethan felt the potato stop squarely in his throat. He looked into those blue eyes, unclouded by age or doubt, and he envied the certainty he saw, born of a lifelong commitment to discipline and honor. The old man never doubted that he was doing the right thing, even if it meant serving someone as vacillating as Lincoln.
He wanted to ask his father about everything swirling around him—the resignation in his pocket, his love for Lexie, his invitation to become a secessionist spy. But he knew that his father would offer only one answer.
So he simply excused himself, saying he had much to study for if he was to be commissioned three weeks early.
“Just one thing before you leave, Ethan.”
“Sir?”
“Shave.”
Shave, my ass.
Damn him and his notions of fatherhood. Damn them all.
Ethan now carried intelligence from both sides: He knew what the Annapolis secessionists were planning. He knew the Navy Department’s plans for the war and the protection of the Merrimack. And he did not know what to do with any of it.
So he went over to the river and skipped stones and contemplated the shadow of the Constitution, docked where the muddy Severn met the salt water of the bay, soil meeting sea, like loyalty meeting secession.
Then he went back to his room and wrote a note with his left hand, so that the script would not be easily recognized. He also purposely misspelled words and left out all punctuation:
Lieutenant Stafford
A man with sharpe ears hears much secesh talk in Annapolis bout takin fedral propertie As you sit on the only fedral propertie in town you should pay attenshun to such talk as it might save your school and your ship
Then, he wrote another note:
Darling Lexie:
The school is lightly guarded. The midshipmen are lightly armed. Forty plebes live aboard Constitution, and she carries no guns. But rumors have reached the brass of your plans. Move quickly. Tonight, if possible. If not, meet me at the Tripoli Monument tomorrow and I will tell you what I know.
With those two letters, he had become a double agent.
Dan’l Parrish and his secessionists did not act on Ethan’s intelligence.
But Lieutenant Tom Stafford responded quickly to the anonymous note slipped under his door. At dawn he was pounding on the door of Academy Superintendent George Blake. Before breakfast, howitzers had been wheeled to every gate. Muskets and ammunition had been issued to every midshipman. By lunchtime, the whole battalion was moving cannons from the Fort Severn practice battery onto the Constitution, and armed details were put aboard to repel boarders.
Shortly after lunch, Midshipman Ethan Stafford submitted his resignation.
“RESIGNATION DENIED,” SAID Tom Stafford.
The Old Cap was pacing in front of the windows of his son’s office.
Aunt Antonia, invited for tea rather than a family crisis, sat in the corner. Iris Ezekiel, now grown as gray as her former mistress, sat next to Antonia.
“I’ve made my decision,” answered Ethan. “It won’t be river or blue water.”
And the Old Cap rounded on him. “Then what? Blockade-running? Confederate privateer? Privateers are little better than pirates with licenses.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that phrase,” said Antonia.
“I’m not sure,” answered Ethan. “Sometimes I think there must be better ways than war to get what we want.”
“Resignations must be approved by the secretary of the navy.” Jason picked up a pouch from the desk. “The ones I’m carrying to Washington are here. Yours is not among them.”
“I’ve already sent a copy to Gideon Welles by post,” Ethan answered.
“Good Christ.”
“At least he’s thorough,” said Antonia, “in his delusions.”
Ethan asked her, “Have you ever questioned the things you do, Auntie?”
“I’ve kept to my guns, and the whole world has followed me.”
“Don’t be so smug,” grumbled Jason.
“The boy asked me a question. I make sure I’m right; then I go ahead.”
“And slavery isn’t right,” said Iris softly.
“Maybe it isn’t… but a state can’t surrender its rights,” answered Ethan.
Now Jason came closer to him. “What will your mother say?”
