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Sir, he said. The whole countryside is bringing their wagons. I'll start loading these two as soon as we
bring them up."
Belay that. I want your people unloading the ram. Once we get it ashore, we can worry about getting it
onto the wagons."
Ay, sir."
Jase returned to Arcola and its fight with the Yankee squadron. For the remainder of the afternoon Faren
Smith continued the unequal contest. The Federals couldn't get all their boats positioned to fire up the
narrow chute, and had to settle for using two at a time, the rest of their flotilla hovering behind, waiting
their moment to attack. Their firing improved, and before long a nine-inch solid slammed into Arcola
every few minutes, bounding off Argus McBride's railroad iron with a shriek, a clang, and a shower of
sparks. The stacks and air intakes were riddled, and one of the aft gunport shutters was disabled by a
lucky shot. The enemy's howling iron solids killed a half-dozen Confederates engaged in transferring
money, and several times cut the lines by which the gold was being taken ashore.
Smith, for his part, managed to drive the first Federal ironclad out of the fight, but it was promptly
replaced by another, with fresher crews and unexpended stocks of ammunition.
After two hours of the pounding Jase could hear the armor beginning to break, the oaken beams that
supported the casemate cracking with each hit. The casemate filled with smoke, heat, and noise, the
boom of the Blake and the crash of Yankee shot.
Just hold out till nightfall, Jase thought. They have tied me to a stake, I cannot fly.
At dusk he saw that one of the Eads boats was moving upstream, and despair howled through his veins
as he realized why. The Yank was going to enter the chute at the top of Cottonwood Bar and catch
Arcola between two fires.
But night fell before the Federal boat came down. Apparently they were wary about feeling their way
down the chute at night. The Yankees withdrew to repair damage and wait till morning. Smith, staggering
with weariness, reported to Jase that the Blake rifle had only five rounds left.
I could put one of the thirty-two-pounders in the aft port, sir, he said. Plenty of ammunition for those."
Jase shook his head. He felt as if he were already in a kind of mourning.
You've done well, he said. Get something to eat, then help move the gold."
The last bags of specie came ashore around midnight. Arcola bobbed high in the water, completely
unballasted. Jase considered his situation. In the morning, the Yankees would attack down both ends of
the Cottonwood Bar chute, catching Arcola between two fires. Jase didn't have enough coal even to get
up steam, let alone maneuver. The armor on the aft end of the casemate was about to cave in. His crew
was exhausted, and the gold was ashore and would need guards.
He ordered all the guns loaded, double-shotted, and run out the ports. Then he ordered Arcola set on
fire and had men stand by the lines to cast the ironclad adrift down the chute.
Maybe she'd take some Yankees with her when she blew up.
He stood by the bank as flame glowed from the iron monster's ports. He ordered the lines cast off, and
watched as Arcola slowly gathered way, drifting stern-first for the Gulf of Mexico.
My God, he thought, she was a sweet boat. Done everything he asked, and more. Even now he wanted
to put men aboard her and steam out to fight the Yanks, give Arcola a proper warship's funeral, the
enemy's broadsides thundering like volleys fired over her grave.
Sadness rose in him like a tide. His boat. When she floated down the chute toward the enemy, she
would take a piece of his heart with her.
He felt a hand on his arm and gave a little start of surprise.
I'm sorry about your boat, Melia said.
He turned away from her, watched Arcola drift slowly away into the night. She was a means to an end,
he said.
The lieutenant died two hours ago, Melia said. It was very peaceful. I told him we'd beaten the
Yankees, that they were running away."
That was good of you, Jase said.
Her fingers tightened on his arm. And now we're rich, she said. And together. Forever."
Jase spat on the ground. Let's get out of here, he said, before it starts raining guns."
28.
The Golden Fleece is brought home in triumph
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