Date: Wed, 14 Feb 2001 23:18:02 EST
From: SWarri1349@aol.com
Subject: No Greater Love Gay/ Historical

		NO GREATER LOVE
                    Chapter 10

    Johnny and Adam continued to sit with Billy as the gray skies continued
to pour down, the rain and the high winds blew, howling around the old oaks,
making them sway their backs toward the ground. The Big Black River in the
distance had broken out from her banks as the lower fields began to flood
and the two large lakes that were nearby. The flickering candles could be
seen in the windows of the slave cabins in the distance, set away from the
main house. Holloman House was surrounded by buildings enough to form her
own little town, from the double dog- trot house of the overseer to the
small brick plantation office in front of the main house. The small white-
washed church was near the slave quarters since they were not allowed to
attend the regular services of the white people and, when they did hold
services, a white man watched from the back to make sure nothing was said
against their masters or plots of escape were discussed among them,
especially during this time of trouble. They had heard about a white man
named John Brown who led a slave revolt and then tried to capture the US
arsenal at Harper's Ferry, Virginia, in 1858. The revolt ended with John
Brown's capture, then he was placed on trial and found guilty and hanged in
Charlestown, Virginia, another spark that led the Nation to this horrible
war.

    "Johnny, is Billy going to be OK?" Adam asked, his voice soft and full
of worry.

    "Yes, my love, he'll be fine, he has family that loves him and takes
good care of him so the wound is slowly healing. You know that even if we
did find him in Union blue, how could we not love our dear friend?"

    Billy's eyes slowly fluttered open. The dark blue eyes slowly scanned
the bed chamber, looking over everything with the utmost care. His tired
eyes scanned the features of his friends, his hands gripped on both sides
by Johnny's and Adam's, he closed his own tighter around theirs. "My two
Southern heroes in gray, Oh, how I love both of you." Billy whispered, his
voice weak but his blue eyes brighter. Sometimes the pain in his chest set
his whole body on fire. The pain for Billy was both physical and emotional.
The pain caused by the bullet, if treated properly, would heal in time. The
emotional scars would always be with him. The loss of his companion at
Chickasaw Bluff, sweet Davie Leflore, would always be burned in his mind.

    "Adam, my dear sweet friend, why are those green eyes of yours so dark
and cloudy?"

    Adam gulped for air but could not speak, the tears formed in his green
eyes and ran down his cheeks. Johnny spoke up for him.

    "Billy, without trying to cause more pain, Adam believes that he killed
your Davie when he fired the guns at Chickasaw Bluff."

    "Oh no, my dear Adam, Davie... was... killed by a shot to the head, not
by a cannon shot. Come, lean closer." Adam leaned over and felt Billy's
hand let go of his as it wiped the tears from Adam's cheeks and he pulled
the boy closer and kissed him on the forehead. "Never, my boy, think you
did it. Anyone could have never taken the credit or the blame for a shot
you did not see make contact with the enemy. I feel the time is right for
you, my friends, to learn of how I met Davie." Adam sat down close and took
Billy's hand once more.

    "I met Davie Leflore on March 15th, the day after I received orders to
leave my home regiment and head west to Indiana and join the volunteers. I,
along with 49 of my camp mates and men from the 12th Maryland and others,
after we had completed training, was ordered west to join with the
volunteers to help train the men. I guess the high command figured that six
weeks was long enough to learn how to fire three aimed shots per minute and
to fix bayonets and to march in a straight line of battle. I boarded the
Baltimore and Ohio train in Washington, D.C., and we headed west with two
cramped cars coupled onto a supply train. I huddled alone in a hard bench
seat, sitting on the opposite end of the car away from the stove. Five miles
out the train stopped and this blonde haired boy, not much younger than you
are, Adam, boarded and he took the bench next to me and we started talking.
I learned his name was David but he preferred to be called Davie. He lived
in Elliot Mills with his father and six younger brothers; they were farmers
and had little money. He had joined as a drummer boy and when he boarded
there was rough and rude grunts about watching where he swung that damned
drum. He was looking for a seat when I motioned him over to join me. He had
an awkward time trying to sit his drum down and keeping his knapsack on his
back so I stood up and gave him a hand. That smile he gave me as I took his
drum and the polished smooth drum sticks from his hand was priceless and I
felt that this simple gesture I offered Davie was the first he had received
from another soldier.

    "I see in your eyes, Adam, that you're wondering what Davie looked like.
Davie was 15, standing 5 foot 4, weighing about 110 pounds, with sea blue
eyes and golden wheat-blonde hair. Davie was very cute, I should say
handsome, just like yourself. You're still my favorite boy but I dare not
try and take you away from Johnny. I am not fit enough to fight a duel at
dawn and I know that if I won, I would lose you. So I fell in love with
young Davie from the first soft 'thank you' when I took his drum. His voice
was so soft, sweet, and full of warmness. After he told me what regiment he
was from. I told him I was from the same one and I asked him how come I
never saw him before and he told me that he had signed up that morning as a
drummer and when they asked him if he knew all the calls, he replied that
he did and instantly a drum was sent for, once he passed that test with ease.
The seargent asked him how he learned all the calls and Davie told them
about his father teaching them to him. Davie's father was in the War with
Mexico in the 1840's and had served under Jefferson Davis and his command.
We talked throughout the night as the train rumbled along the track by the
river and started to climb into the mountains."

    Johnny and Adam listened to Billy as he told his story of meeting Davie
Leflore on a westbound train, as the wind and rain hammered away at the
house and surrounding countryside, while 120 miles north of Yazoo County in
Greenwood, events were taking place that would change some things forever.
The town of Greenwood was in an uproar. The Ironclad Ram Arkansas was not
complete, only her hull was, and it was leaking. Her engines were in pieces
upon her deck with the iron armor scattered around. They wanted an ironclad
to protect the river and the city and Captain Charles McBlair was doing
nothing about it. The CSS ARKANSAS had been started at a shipyard in
Memphis, Tennessee. In early April the hull had been launched. Secretary
of the Navy Mallory had contracted with John Shirley to build the ironclad
ram. Shirley had drawn all the plans himself, rounded up local labor, and
gone to work. Hardwood timber was cut hundreds of miles away and hauled by
ox cart to local sawmills that worked around the clock to saw the green
lumber into cross beams and decking. Railroad ties were purchased in
Arkansas and bolts and spikes in Nashville.

    A big foundry was set up on Adams Street, fabricated the two steam
engines, and the twin propellers were pounded out by hand. The work dragged
out and Shirley ran out of money, then he mortgaged his home to finish
construction. When Charles McBlair showed up in Memphis to take command he
was shocked to find a half complete hulk of metal rails and wood. He had no
idea the Arkansas was in such miserable shape before he arrived in the city.
Looking over the scattered mess, he thought it would be a waste of time to
even continue working on it since the Yankees would be in the city any day
now.

    After the news reached Memphis that Fort Pillow above the city was
being abandoned, McBlair was ready to quit but Shirley had worked on the
ram too long and had spent too much money to give up. He loaded the iron
rails and engines on two river barges, and McBlair agreed to take
everything up the Yazoo River to complete the work. It seemed to be a
pretty far-fetched idea, but they decided to try it anyway.

    One week before Union gunboats appeared at Memphis, McBlair left the
shipyard with two light river tugs towing the hull of the Arkansas and
the two river barges loaded with materials. They floated down the
Mississippi in the swift current, then steamed 200 miles up the winding
Yazoo River to Greenwood.

    When McBlair made it to the sleepy town of Greenwood the Yazoo was at
flood stage. The town of Greenwood was located in the rich cotton lands of
the Yazoo delta and water from the raging river was everywhere. The pilots
sometimes found it hard to locate the central channel of the winding mad
river. One of the barges in which critical material was hauled promptly
sank at the dock two days after arrival in the swift current, the hull
started leaking and the engine room and coal bunkers started to flood.
McBlair was disgusted with the whole God damned affair.

    The construction dragged on with little being accomplished, the people
of the town telegraphed Richmond because they thought McBlair would never
finish the job in time and they were desperate for a warship to protect
them from attack up the river, so the leaders sent an urgent telegraph to
Richmond to Jefferson Davis and Mallory, begging for a change of
commanders.

   "Urgent message for you, sir!" The messenger in gray saluted Lt. Isaac
Brown as he supervised the fortifications along the bluffs north of
Vicksburg. Brown returned the salute and cracked the wax seal of the
Secretary of the Navy. He scanned the quick telegraph that was less than
20 hours old. The orders were for him to replace McBlair and take command
of the Ram Arkansas and to complete her in due time. Isaac Brown was a
brilliant naval engineer from Grenada, Mississippi; he had been a US naval
officer for 20 years when he resigned his commission and entered the
Confederate service.

    Brown boarded the transport steamer Capitol on April 28th and arrived
in Greenwood May 2nd to take command. He had on the way up penned a letter
to John Kingston of Holloman plantation for his son Johnny who was in the
Confederate land batteries at Vicksburg. He had looked for the boy but was
told that right after the battle of Chickasaw Bluff he had taken leave
with his mate Adam and returned home with a wounded friend.

    Now as he stood looking at the unfinished ship he knew there was no
way he was going to get her to Yazoo City anytime soon so he hastly penned
a second letter and placed it in the care of the Captain of the Capitol and
had it dispatched to Yazoo City. He knew the trip down would only take 2
days with the swift current; the problem was not speed in this current for
damned sure. He now looked around. There were a few carpenters piddling
around on the hull, patching leaks, the ironwork warped and the machinery
lying on the deck in complete disorder.

    All letters and messages used a code word for the real site of the
Ram's location and the persons receiving them understood the code word at
the moment. When Yazoo City was mentioned it ment the Ram was at Greenwood
in case the letter was captured before it could be delivered. Brown knew he
had to take the risk when he asked John Kingston to send some of his best
men over 120 miles away from his plantation but he needed craftsmen and
blacksmiths, something Greenwood lacked, but what really burned his hide
was that the largest plantation owner, a damned red Indian that had sold
his people out but had stayed behind.

    Greenwood Leflore was a wealthy half-breed, one of the principal
chiefs of the Choctaw Nation when they ceded all their land to the Federal
Government at the treaty of Dancing Rabbit Creek in 1831. He was the only
principal chief who sold out to President Jackson's envoys, and he urged
his people to leave for Oklahoma. For his role in removing the Choctaws,
he recived a large bounty of land from the Government and his own people
called him a traitor ever since.

    Leflore was a shrewd businessman. His 15,000 acre cotton plantation
was worked by 400 slaves and he lived in a huge mansion with fine
furniture imported from France. It was rumored by the locals that one
room cost over $10,000 to furnish alone. Leflore refused to help the
Confederacy, hiding the needed forges on the plantation and threatening
to shoot any man who left to help build the Ironclad. Once Savvy Read
arrived along with Johnny Kingston, the Confederate navy was going to pay
Mr. Leflore a visit. Over a week had passed since the battle of Chickasaw
Bluff. The first letter should have been received by now and a reply
returned.

    Brown smiled when he thought the dummy clad at Yazoo City was a nice
ploy to fool anyone trying to nose around, with only 20 men piddling on the
converted barge. Every now and then a Confederate officer from the land
batteries that surrounded the Navy Yard at Yazoo City would walk down and
do a so-called inspection. Once Johnny and the men arrived at Yazoo City
they would board a transport steamer to Greenwood where the real ironclad
was located. Now it was time to see McBlair and take full command of the
ram.

    McBlair was sitting at his desk in a old rambling cotton warehouse.
Sweat rolled down his forehead as he read over the papers that he was in
charge of signing and having dispatched to the suppliers asking for needed
material, including the Order of the Southern Cross located in Natchez,
Mississippi, a secret society if you wanted to call it such. Franklin
Framne was in charge of it, a book binder by trade, a Jew by birth, and
one of the richest men in the state besides the smuggler Charles Starke
who owned a large cotton plantation and several steamboats and held a 10%
interest in the Natchez and Hamburg Railroad. They had been busy collecting
iron from the surrounding area under cover since the Yankee gunboats had
made it that far up river. Natchez never fired a shot, the few Confederate
defenders, mostly old men and outdated field pieces, withdrew and left the
city to the Yankee Army and the Federal gunboats. The city fathers decided
it was best if they just surrendered to save the town from being shelled.
McBlair was not fond of this secret group; they supported Isaac Brown and
some other people's recommendation to replace him as commander of the Ram
Arkansas. 'He'd be damned if that was to happen without a fight.' Just as
McBlair was finishing his thought, a tall man entered the warehouse; his
dark brown hair and thick beard hid most of his face. McBlair paid the
newcomer no attention until his desk clerk, a slow ass Texan by the name
of Phillip Grifon stood and saluted the newcomer.

    "Good Morning, Captain!" Phillip said as he stood and saluted.

    "Good Mornin', Ensign," Brown said as he returned the young man's
salute. "Where's Capt'n McBlair at?"

    "At his desk, sir," replied Phillip.

    Brown walked over to McBlair's desk and pulled a brown leather pouch
from his officer's jacket and placed it on the desk. "I am Commander Isaac
Brown, here to take command of the RAM CSS ARKANSAS! I have heard of your
threats to Gen'l Earl Van Dorn at Jackson, sir, and I do not like being
degraded by a fellow officer, especially one I have not met!"

    McBlair turned red in the face at being cut down by an officer of
lower rank than he in front of one of his men. "SIR, WHO GAVE YOU THE
RIGHT TO MARCH INTO THIS OFFICE LIKE YOU OWN IT?"

    Brown smiled, the dark eyes sparkled as he replied, "Jefferson Davis,
Secretary Mallory, and Gen'l EARL VAN DORN! THAT'S WHO AND YOU'RE
DISMISSED, COMMANDER BLAIR! FOR INCOMPETENCE TO THE THIRD DEGREE!"

    McBlair stood up, his face growing redder by the minute. "I do not
believe you, sir!"

    "OPEN THE GODDAMNED POUCH AND READ THEM FOR YOURSELF THEN!"

    'Holy shit,' thought Phillip to himself as he sat at his desk, keeping
his face somber as much as he could, but he was enjoying this all so much.
Ever since the Bastard McBlair had called him a dumb wit Texan, just
because he did not come from Virginia like McBlair did and was not raised
in some fancy plantation house.

    McBlair opened the pouch and broke the waxen seal, and read the
parchment paper inside that was signed by Jefferson Davis and Mallory and
the other paper signed by General Earl Van Dorn.  "Fakes!" McBlair stated
as he started to rip the parchment. In a flash Brown pulled his Naval sword
from its leather scabbard and aimed it at McBlair's heart.

    "Tear one corner of those orders and I will run you through in a
heartbeat!" Brown added slight pressure to the hilt of the gleaming razor-
sharp sword, as he heard the private whisper "Holy Mother of God" under his
breath.

    "Ensign, come here!" Brown ordered.

    Phillip stood and walked over. "Yes, Commander Brown?"

    "Find me a strong rope. We have a traitor on our hands!"

    "ENSIGN, I AM YOUR COMMANDING OFFICER. PULL YOUR WEAPON AND SHOOT THIS
MAD BASTARD, BEFORE HE RUNS ME THROUGH!" McBlair ordered.

    Phillip turned and walked out of the warehouse and was met by a group of
men who had heard the shouts and commotion inside the building. "What is
going on in there?" one of men asked. Phillip replied he did not have the
time to answer but he would soon find out. Phillip ran down to the hull of
the ram and grabbed a length of carriage rope and ran back to the warehouse
as fast as he could. He re-entered the doorway to see McBlair pinned to the
wall and Brown glaring down at the man.

    "Here's your rope, sir!" Phillip said, out of breath and panting hard
in his wool uniform.

    "Very good, Ensign, I am sure you know how to tie up swine such as
this!" Brown poked McBlair as he spoke the words. "TURN YOUR YELLOW HIDE
AROUND, McBLAIR!" Brown ordered with a jab of the sword. McBlair slowly
began to turn around, then quickly knocked the sword back when he saw the
chance and reached for his own. The metal made a zinging sound as it was
pulled up and out of its scabbard. "How dare you, you son of a bitch,
threaten me with that sword of yours, you BASTARD!" McBlair jabbed forward
and Brown countered the thrust with a block with his own weapon.

    "IF IT IS A FIGHT YOU WANT, YOU COWARD, THEN SO BE IT!!" Brown thrust
forward, ripping a button from McBlair's uniform. The doorway now becoming
packed with men as they heard the challenge and ringing metal. Phillip
stood back; it was now a challenge between the two men and a matter of
honor now. He knew that much of the old Southern Code, dueling in the most
part had been outlawed for years by the states but still it continued on
and no one stopped it.

    The two Commanders moved farther out into the room as Phillip continued
to back up and watch the dueling captains. He thought, 'Lord have Mercy,
the ship was not even finished.' The ringing swords continued on as each
man shouted threats and thrust forward and the other blocked or darted back
from the metal. The men watching were silent but they did notice the high
ranks on the uniforms and soon realized it was over the command of the Ram.
One spectator watched closely and continued to write in a small leather pad
with a pencil stub as the two men continued to battle it out in the hot
warehouse, the ringing swords growing louder by the minute, each man
covered in sweat and McBlair in blood from a cut on his hand. "God DAMN
YOU, SIR!" McBlair shouted as Brown's sword sliced his cheek, then with a
thrusting blow by Brown the sword was knocked from McBlair's hand. The tip
of Brown's sword now rested upon McBlair's stomach. "SURRENDER, YOU
COWARDLY BASTARD, BEFORE I RUN YOU THROUGH AND FINISH THIS JOB ONCE AND FOR
ALL AND IT WILL BE A PLEASURE, SIR!"

    McBlair glared at Brown. "I surrender to you for one reason and one
reason only! I want to see you comdemned to failure with that hulk out
there that never will fire the first gun in battle but see you, SIR,
personally put the match to her and watch it burn when the Yanks come up
river to destroy you and everyone else!" Brown glared back at McBlair,
"YOU GOD DAMNED TRAITOR! I SHOULD DO YOU LIKE THE ROMANS DID, SLICE OFF
YOUR BALLS AND FEED'EM TO THE DOGS AND WATCH YOU BLEED TO DEATH!, but, sir,
I am a gentleman and not a barbarian. You shall live, sir, and you shall
see the Arkansas fight and win. I will even be so kind enough to let you
walk out of here a free man without one word or mention of this by me to
any of my commanding officers, if you will accept my written orders to take
command of the Ram Arkansas and finish her on time. I have witnesses
present and I am quite sure the journalist in the crowd has a nice complete
description of the events that just took place." Brown looked over to the
man who was quickly tucking his pad into his vest pocket. The journalist
nodded back to Commander Brown. "See, Mr. McBlair, I do believe the CSS
ARKANSAS does have a chance if we give her one." The workmen behind Brown
nodded in agreement. "So, Mr. McBlair, what shall it be? Your resignation
as a gentleman and a believer in Southern Rights to move on and command
other ships of our Navy or.." Brown paused for a minute to let his words
soak in. The warehouse was so quiet you could hear a pin drop to the old
floor. "Or will I have to have you tied up like a traitor, your rank
stripped from you like a coward sent home in shame to your beloved Virginia
soil, tarnished for the rest of your days. I am sure the Virginia press
would love to have a copy of the Greenwood Daily News, so they could copy
it and spread your shame and what, my dear Sir, would your family think,
your father ruined by his son's cowardness. No blue blood banker would dare
to loan him the funds he might need and just think of your poor old mother,
kicked out of her social status like a street tramp, talked about behind
her back. So, Mr. McBlair, what will it be?" Brown's dark eyes never left
McBlair's face during this talk.

    McBlair hung his head in defeat, "Sir, I resign command of the
Confederate States Ship Arkansas to you, Commander Isaac Brown. May victory
upon these waters be yours and glory to our great Southern Nation." McBlair
bent forward and picked up his fallen sword and slipped it into the
scabbard on his left hip and extended his right hand to Brown who took it
in his left and they shook hands like gentlemen, then McBlair saluted
Commander Brown and walked out of the room past the crowd of men and Ensign
Phillips to the waiting steamer CAPITOL. McBlair never looked back.

    Phillip walked over to his new commander and promptly saluted Captain
Brown, "Welcome aboard, sir! I'm Ensign Phillip Grifon from Galveston,
Texas."

    Captain Isaac Brown returned the ensign's salute, "Thank you, Ensign
Grifon, glad to have a fine Texas lad among the crew." Brown turned and
faced the rest of the sweaty men standing in the doorway. "Gentlemen, as
you now know, I am Commander Isaac Brown of the Confederate Navy. I came up
on the steamer CAPITOL to take control of the Ram ARKANSAS. I have faith in
my men and my crew that we shall finish her in time to fight. How many
loyal men do I have working on our ship? If you're one of the workmen,
please step forward!"

    Twenty sweating men stepped forward. "We are all loyal men, sir. We
want to see the ARKANSAS born to fight and to breathe fire, to wipe the
enemy from our shores and waters. We, sir, may only be carpenters and
blacksmiths, but we are part of our nation and, sir, we'll do our DAMNEST
to finish the ARKANSAS!" The carpenter stepped back after he had spoken his
mind to this bold new captain who replaced one who did not give a damn if
the ship was ever finished. The other 19 men agreed, nodding their heads in
approval.

    "VERY GOOD INDEED, Gentlemen, would you like to give me a tour of our
new Ram?" Brown asked as he smiled.

    "Capt'n Brown, sir?" Phillip asked as he looked at the new captain.

    "Yes, Phillip?"

    "Messenger brought this for you yesterday before your arrival, I placed
it in my desk so McBlair would not ask to see it."  Phillip walked over to
his scarred desk and pulled the leather pouch from it and carried it to
Captain Brown.

    Brown opened the pouch and pulled out the single sheet of paper. "It's
from Charles Read, informing us that he will not be able to join us until
late May or early June. He says the Confederate service needs him down
there in Baton Rouge." Brown shook his head when he read proof that the CSS
McREA was lost along with the CSS LOUISANA and CSS MISSISSIPPI; the
MISSISSIPPI was ten days away from being completed. "Come on, men, we have
a debt to pay," Brown said as he folded the letter and placed it inside his
jacket. Then he grabbed his officer's hat and placed it on his head and
headed for the door.

    Captain Brown and the 20 workmen walked down to the wharf, where the
hull of the CSS ARKANSAS rode in the heavy brown water of the Yazoo River.
"Ensign Grifon, what is the current condition of the hull?"

    "Capt'n, at this moment the engine room is still leaking, we know how
to repair it, but McBlair never had the sawmill cut the lumber needed, the
coal bunkers have been repaired, and the coal is loaded now to keep her on
a even keel while tied to the wharf. The armor plate is warped and twisted
and one barge was sunk right over there." Phillip pointed out from the
shore to the point where the angry Yazoo had swallowed the barge and
several tons of iron rail. "We have all the cannon but no carriages, we
learned not one carpenter here has seen how a Naval carriage is
constructed, but we understand that there are men in Yazoo City who know
how it is done. We have six more heavy cannon coming up the Big Black to
Bovina station, near Edwards, Mississippi, on the Alabama and Vicksburg
Railroad. They will be delivered to Yazoo City, no need to bring them all
the way up here."

    Brown smiled at this smart young man who was no more than 16 years old
but speaking like a Commodore. "Very fine work, Phillip and gentlemen. I see
she is level upon her keel and tho' she looks a tad pitiful at the moment,
we will build her and we will fight with her! Gentlemen, continue on with
your work. I need to go speak with the mayor of this fine town." The men
saluted Brown as he stepped off the wooden deck of the ram and headed up the
hill to the town center to speak with the mayor. Brown saluted his men back
as he smiled, turning to continue up the wagon road past the cotton
warehouse.

    "Gawd damn, we's finally got us a fight'n man for a captain! I hear Lt.
Stevens is on his way up here right this here minute! Com'on, guys, let's
see if we can drive some more iron nails in these holes and finish patching
the leaks in the engine room. I am sure one of these boards will fit."

    Phillip smiled at these hardy men as he watched and they began to pick
up lumber and stack it by the gangway that led below into the engineroom.
About two feet of muddy water was in the cramped area and, once the two
500 horsepower engines were installed, there would be even less room. The
boilers were already in position forward of the engineroom, 5 long slender
things that had been painted black; the firebox doors were open and the
fireboxes unlined since they could not find firebrick in Memphis. This was
dangerous, but so was fighting a war; sometimes you just had to take
chances. Hammers and saws could be heard below as the men, happy for once,
worked on the ship. They knew now what they were doing was not in vain. In
between the bang of the hammers and the zing of the saws, bars of the
'Bonnie Blue Flag' could be heard drifting up from below.

    "Hey, Sailor boy, foun' cha' some tar!" a voice called from shore.

    Phillip looked up and saw a man in a wagon with what looked to be about
ten barrels in the back. He walked down the gangway to the waiting wagon.

    "Afternoon, sir, and thank you for bringing us the tar. We need it to
repair leaks and to seal the decks."

    "Not a problem, sonny. Ye tell yo' capt'n it's a gift. I already
hear'd about that new one with the fighting spirit. I was not about to
bring it down while that yeller' belly son-of-a-bitchy was in charge, No
Sur! I not about to waste good supplies if I know they ain't going to be
used properly! So where ya want this here wagon to park so we can unload
it?"

    "Over by the dock, sir, would be fine, and thank you, sir, I will be
pleased to tell Capt'n Brown about your donation to the cause."

    "Yous' a well spoke young man, sailor boy. Where about you from?"

    "Galveston, Texas, sir!" Phillip spoke with pride.

    "I' be from around here, never been west of the Mississip' River in
my whole life, been to Memphis once before and Vicksburg on a steamer. I
had a brother to go off and fight the Mexicans back in '45, never came
back, dunno if he is still alive or not, he couldn't write and if he could,
wouldn't do me a bit of good cause me can't read." "Com'on, mules!" the
man snapped his whip over the heads of the four mules and the
wagon began to roll toward the dock with the tar.

    Phillip stepped back and walked to the dock and stepped upon it. He
called directions to the wagon driver as the man backed his team and wagon
up to the dock.


    Night had fallen at Holloman House as Billy told his story of the
meeting. Johnny and Adam sat and listened to the early days in camp in
Indiana. Johnny and Adam knew all about camp life since they had joined the
Confederate army late in 1861. The endless months of training at the big
guns, camping in the rain, the cold, and the spring heat, cooking over open
campfires, getting up at the crack of dawn every morning and falling in
line for the muster roll. Billy's voice was strong as he now spoke, but his
body was still tired of being confined to the bed. He soon hoped that he
could get up and out of this room and walk and stand on the second floor
balcony just for a few moments. "Our first real battle was Shiloh."
Johnny's and Adam's eyes became wide. They both had read the newspaper
accounts and some of the men who were there had told them of the horrors of
that battle.

    "The months that followed the Confederate victory at First Manassas
amounted to what we all called a phony war, by what we call it now, as
almost nothing took place in the East for nearly nine months. But out here
in the West." Billy grinned as he said it. "This vast area between the
Appalachians and the Mighty Mississippi, there is a lot going on, and much
of it will exert a material influence on the outcome of this war. You have
heard of the substantial - if confused and ill-managed - battles. At
Wilson's Creek in Missouri, both our sides battled for the Show-Me-state in
late fall of last year, 1861. Then in November, 1861, our newly
commissioned Brigadier General U.S. Grant led his first little campaign at
the other end of the state, leading to a fight at Belmont." Johnny and Adam
both frowned at the mention of Grant's name. "In the months that followed
and while I was still in Maryland with my home unit, helping to train fresh
volunteers to build up our manpower in the east, Grant and the rest of the
Union Army was cementing our control over the Upper Mississippi River. In
late winter, Grant moved in and took Forts Henry and Donelson, where he
coined the favorite phrase in the North and the one that y'all have come to
hate - 'Unconditional Surrender Grant'. Then the other places along the
river, like New Madrid and Island number 10 fell, all leading to the
Confederate heartland. With General Grant taking the forts, tho' it had
some of the most significant achievement, we knew it threw your High
Command into disarray and the strategy planned for the whole region. We
wanted your commanders to respond if they had any hope of holding onto
the northern parts of Mississippi, Tennessee, and Kentucky. We knew it
called for great risks, and men willing to run great hazards for great
gains."

    Johnny looked over at Adam. "Yes, my boy, hearing about those losses
from someone on the other side at the time is hard to bear upon the soul,
but I see no uniforms in this room. Your eyes tell me something you don't
want us to know but I can read them and that fire has not cooled any. Billy
is telling the truth, we know he is. I believe when we leave for Yazoo City
and if the Union army came marching through here I am sure Billy would do
his best to save this home and the lands that surround her because,
remember, it is his home also. Just as if we was in Baltimore at his home
we would protect it along with him. Remember, my wonderful lad, we were
friends first before this war and if it is God's Will we will always be
friends."

    "Yeah, I know, Johnny, it's just so hard to understand how they could
just push us back and back south as if we was sheep bound for slaughter.
Billy, forgive me when I looked at you with harsh tones. My eyes have never
seen a ememy in you, never will, my friend. Johnny, I know I promised you
that I would not ask for a pinch of tobacco again after I left the streets
for good and that I never asked you to stop, or Billy, even when the odors
liked to have driven me mad, but for once I need to ask if I could have
enough to roll me a cigarette. See, I am not even asking for a cigar."

    Johnny looked at Adam for a long moment, then down at Billy who had a
puzzled look on his face. "Sure, Adam, I think we both could use one."

    "You two may want one, but I need one. I haven't had one since I was
shot, by a gray tick up on that damned hillside!" Billy smiled at his
friends. He saw the sharp glance from Adam, then it died away in the boy's
eyes as he reached around Adam's back and pinched the boy on his butt.
Johnny let out a laugh when he saw Adam jump from the bed.

    "Hey!, that is a cheap Yankee trick!" Adam spouted.

    "No Shit. I guess I can get away with it since I am one."

    "You the only one that wears blue who can get away with pinching my
cute ass, Ya Damned Yankee! And, by the way, that'll cost ya two gold
pieces!" Adam let out a giggle as he smiled down at Billy.

    "Billy, do you think you're up to getting out of bed to walk out on the
balcony for a smoke?" Johnny asked with a smile.

    "You're a mind reader, Johnny. I have been dying to get out of bed and
to stand on that balcony. Been too long since the three of us has done
that."

    "Well, come on, old man, let's get those sheets pulled back and you on
your feet, gently, that is." Johnny and Adam both stood and eased the sheets
and covers down to Billy's feet and Adam reached over and grabbed Billy's
left leg and swung it out, then the right one. Johnny walked over and helped
Billy to fully sit up with his legs over the side of the big bed. Adam
smiled as he leaned over and Billy eased his arm over the boy's strong
shoulders as Johnny leaned in on the opposite side. They lifted Billy off
the bed and onto his own feet. He grunted at the pain in his chest but
continued to stand. Adam smiled, "Umm, Johnny, we better find his robe. We
can't have a naked Yankee on our balcony. Someone might take a pot shot,"
Adam said as he took his free hand and ran it up Billy's inner thigh to
lift Billy's limp cock and ball sack, giving both a nice squeeze.

    "Hmmm, I see some things about this Fiery redhead has not changed,
Johnny!"

    Johnny smiled, "That is one thing I hope that never changes about my
redhead and, besides, how often does a Rebel Redhead get to play with
Yankee meat." Johnny laughed as Adam looked at him. "Hold our boy, Adam,
while I get his robe!"

    "I got's him, Johnny!" Adam grabbed Billy's cock, "see!"

    "My sweet boy, I mean make sure he does not fall. He is still weak,
and, besides, if you don't behave, I am going to have to find me another
Little Rebel!"

    Adam looked at Johnny with a shocked expression, "Hey, we all friends
here, right, so why can't I have fun with my friend!"

    Johnny laughed at Adam, "So true, my boy, and besides, I could not
find another one to replace you." Johnny walked over with the heavy linen
robe and slipped it around Billy's shoulders and left it untied. "Come on,
you two, let's ease outside for a few minutes to enjoy some fine Virginny
Tobaccy, something I know our Yank hadn't enjoyed in a while!" The three
boys sneaked out of the room, down the dark hallway to the breezeway at the
end of Billy's room. They walked to the high-paned door and Johnny grabbed
the latch and opened it to the night air. It was warm now the spring chill
had left as the rain continued to drizzle out of the dark skies. They
stepped onto the slick wood of the balcony and over to the three rocking
chairs that had adorned the wide balcony since Johnny's youth and they
eased Billy down in the center one while Johnny and Adam took the two on
each side. Johnny reached into his pocket and pulled his leather pouch from
it. He pulled the drawstring and pulled out the thin rolling papers that
were getting in short supply throughout the south. Johnny sprinkled the
fine tobacco onto the paper, then licked it along the side and rolled it
into a tight tube. He passed the first one to Billy, then rolled two more
and passed one to Adam as he stuck the third in his mouth. He pulled out a
box of matches and struck one. He lit Billy's and Adam's, then blew the
match out and lit a second match to light his own. "Never light three of a
kind with only one!" Johnny drew the strong tobacco smoke into his lungs,
savoring the flavor. Adam was doing the same and he hacked a cough at the
strong bite.

    Billy in the center was nursing his smoke, taking short, shallow draws
into his mouth, savoring the smoke but not inhaling it like Johnny and
Adam. If he was well he could handle it like any man, but he knew better
this evening with his body still healing, but the fresh air and some return
to normal times seemed to help him heal. Billy reached out and placed his
hand on the back of Adam's neck under the long red hair and began to knead
the muscles in the back of Adam's neck.

    Adam let out a low moan as the strong hand worked the muscles in his
neck. "I see I do know one weak spot on a Southern boy." Billy laughed and
smiled as his hand continued its magic. Johnny smiled as he looked over at
Adam with that boyish smile across his face and the one Billy had on his
own.

    "Seems like old happy days again now," Johnny said as he stood and
walked over to the railing. "I know, if only for a few moments in time.
The three us can be together in these dark days, it does wonders for our
souls."

    "Spoken like a old man, my son!" John said as he stepped out onto the
balcony. "But a wise one and, besides, you're not old yet. None of you are,
my sons." John pulled his pipe from his vest pocket and a leather pouch
that was identical to his son's. He packed his pipe and pulled out a match
and struck it against the bottom of Adam's propped up shoe. Adam smiled as
Billy's hand continued to work Adam's stiff neck. "Billy, I am glad to see
you're feeling well enough to catch the fresh air and to give poor little
Adam a neck massage. The poor boy been worried sick over you, so has this
sorry rascal!" John put his arm around his son and hugged him close. "Now
if mother comes out here and finds her three boys smoking, I am going to
step back because she is going to tan some hides!" John laughed.

    "Aww, Pa, you know you will stand up for us!" Johnny said as he watched
Billy and Adam smile.

    "Just once I might for you two, but Billy is going to get a tongue
lashing if she sees him smoking in his condition."

    "I might agree on this strong stuff, I haven't had no real Virginia
tobacco in a while." Billy threw the half-smoked cigarette over the railing.

    "Lads, I am headed back inside. Y'all behave out here and don't keep
Billy out in the damp air very long! And, Billy, don't spoil Adam!" John
laughed as he headed inside the door, leaving a trail of tobacco smoke in
his wake.

    After Adam heard the door close and the clasp fasten, he let his hand
closest to Billy slip down and rest on his exposed leg. Only the center of
the robe was pulled tight, hiding his groin from public view. Adam began to
stroke the lighty hairy leg, running his fingers up and down it from the
knee up to the beginning of the thigh, letting the nails tickle the flesh.
Billy increased the pressure his fingers had on Adam's neck, making the boy
start moaning again. Billy was using very light pressure while John was on
the porch with them. Now that once more it was just the three of them, he
increased the pleasure to his redhead boy, thankfully he could partly
claim, thanks to his other best friend who stood at the railing, smiling at
them and looking into the night skies, with his cigarette dangling between
his pink lips.

    Johnny pitched his cigarette butt over the railing and walked over to
stand behind Billy, opposite of Adam. Johnny squatted down on his knees at
Billy's side and began to copy Adam's motions, Billy put his free hand
around Johnny's neck and decided to give him the same treatment as Adam,
while Adam pitched the glowing remains of his own smoke over the balcony.
The relaxing motions by the three sets of strong hands eased away the
emotional pain that had built up inside their very souls, bringing back
memories of the second day of their meeting in April 1858 and the glorious
weeks that followed and for the next year until December of 1859, when
Billy left Mississippi to return home to Baltimore, Maryland.

    The drizzling rain stopped and a sliver of silver moon broke through
the dark clouds as the three boys enjoyed each other's company, talking and
laughing. For them it was a golden moment in a darkened world, one that was
far away from the killing fields of war. The moment was shattered by the
galloping hooves of a rushing horse coming up the crushed rock drive, a
messenger in gray on horseback...

           *    *    *    *    *    *    *

    Hello, Dear Readers, here we are once more, wondering what will happen
next to our young friends as they listen to the beat of the hooves of the
racing horse approach Holloman House, while 200 miles away the CSS ARKANSAS
has been given a chance to be finished and a chance to be tested under
fire. The CSS ARKANSAS was a real ship, so was her Captain Isaac Brown. The
events of her early days are already recorded in history and so I base my
storylines upon them. Soon we will hear more about Billy and young Davie
Leflore and the battle of Shiloh, but until then we'll just have to wonder
about those days.

    Many thanks to Ed for his fine Job on this and all my chapters.

    I love to hear from my readers, the e-mail is still the same
Swarri1349@aol.com, for everyone on Nifty and for my new readers on Gay
Vikings can contact me through hotmail at Swarri1349@hotmail.com

    Stop by and check out my pages at: http://swarri1349.tripod.com/

    At the moment I am still working on my new Civil War pages. Just click
on the painting and you will be carried to the new site but a note - you
will have to use your back button to return to the main site; there is a
special reason for this.

    I must thank everyone who has supported me in these trying times of the
past few weeks as life has carried me on a roller coaster ride from one
side of the state to the other. Until next time, I will be on the gray side
of the Blue.

    Stephen