the fleet to start moving back in closer to shore. The ensign's back was turned, and as Bullfinch approached, the boy looked over at him and pointed off toward the starboard bow.
"Sir, what is that?"
Bullfinch looked to where the boy was pointing but saw nothing.
"There, sir. Looks like a log; there's some water breaking around it."
"I still don't see it."
Though he would not admit it, he feared that the vision in his remaining eye was starting to slip a bit. Maybe it was time to go to Emil and see about glasses, though he hoped that wouldn't be necessary. Glasses would certainly ruin the dashing look that his black eye patch created and which made him easily recognizable to the fine young ladies when he was in port. Having to wear a monocle would certainly ruin the effect.
"There's something out there, sir, I'm convinced of it."
The ensign started down the length of the upper deck, still pointing to starboard, and Bullfinch followed. One of the antiairship gunners was now pointing as well. Bullfinch stopped, straining to look, and at that instant a flash of light burst across the ocean.
Startled, he turned to his right as a boiling cloud of fire erupted from the ironclad Constellation. Stunned, Bullfinch watched as the fireball expanded and a deep, rolling thunderclap washed over him. The light began to subside, and Bullfinch heard the ensign shouting, grabbing hold of his sleeve, still pointing.
Time seemed to distort and move in slow motion. He was still mesmerized by the sight of the ironclad blowing up, wondering if it had been an infernal machine that the Bantag had laid during the night to drift into his line. He shifted his gaze back to where the ensign was pointing. There was something out there. At first glance, in the dying light of the exploding ironclad, it looked like a pole or log jutting out of the water, a thin rippling wave washing out to either side. It was moving, but moving against the breeze, coming straight at them.
A second explosion ripped through the Constellation, this one even more violent than the first. . . The magazine was going, Bullfinch realized. The flash of the explosion illuminated the ocean, and he could see that the pole was still coming toward them . . . and was mounted on top of a dark round object which just barely jutted out of the water.
The Hunley. It was like the Confederate submersible ship Hunley. He spared a quick glance back at the Constellation —the second explosion had broken the back of the ironclad, bow and stern rising out of the water, the sound of the explosion washing over him. Debris was raining down, shells from the magazine detonating in the air.
Bullfinch realized that only a score of seconds had transpired since the ensign had first pointed out the strange object, and already it had drawn twenty, perhaps thirty yards closer.
"Beat to quarters!" Bullfinch roared as he turned and raced toward the bridge. "Ensign, get a crew forward, cut the anchor!"
The deck was still illuminated by the explosions wracking the dying ship as another light flared up. Sickened, Bullfinch saw that one of his wooden picketboats was exploding. How many of the damn things did the bastards have?
Scrambling up the ladder to the exposed flying bridge, he shouted for the helmsman to signal the engine room for full speed astern. His executive officer came up out of the hatchway from below, shirtless and barefoot.
"Get the guns cleared below and order the antiair-ship gunners starboard to start shooting at that submersible!"
"What, sir?"
"The pole, that pole out there!" Bullfinch roared. "It's a periscope for an underwater ship. They're hitting our fleet with them!"
"Sir!"
Bullfinch looked up to the lookout, perched twenty feet above him.
"I think I see puffs of smoke from behind the bluff, looks like it might be from ships coming out."
Bullfinch spared a quick glance to shore but could see nothing, his vision still dazzled from the explosions wracking Constellation and
"Sir, what is that?"
Bullfinch looked to where the boy was pointing but saw nothing.
"There, sir. Looks like a log; there's some water breaking around it."
"I still don't see it."
Though he would not admit it, he feared that the vision in his remaining eye was starting to slip a bit. Maybe it was time to go to Emil and see about glasses, though he hoped that wouldn't be necessary. Glasses would certainly ruin the dashing look that his black eye patch created and which made him easily recognizable to the fine young ladies when he was in port. Having to wear a monocle would certainly ruin the effect.
"There's something out there, sir, I'm convinced of it."
The ensign started down the length of the upper deck, still pointing to starboard, and Bullfinch followed. One of the antiairship gunners was now pointing as well. Bullfinch stopped, straining to look, and at that instant a flash of light burst across the ocean.
Startled, he turned to his right as a boiling cloud of fire erupted from the ironclad Constellation. Stunned, Bullfinch watched as the fireball expanded and a deep, rolling thunderclap washed over him. The light began to subside, and Bullfinch heard the ensign shouting, grabbing hold of his sleeve, still pointing.
Time seemed to distort and move in slow motion. He was still mesmerized by the sight of the ironclad blowing up, wondering if it had been an infernal machine that the Bantag had laid during the night to drift into his line. He shifted his gaze back to where the ensign was pointing. There was something out there. At first glance, in the dying light of the exploding ironclad, it looked like a pole or log jutting out of the water, a thin rippling wave washing out to either side. It was moving, but moving against the breeze, coming straight at them.
A second explosion ripped through the Constellation, this one even more violent than the first. . . The magazine was going, Bullfinch realized. The flash of the explosion illuminated the ocean, and he could see that the pole was still coming toward them . . . and was mounted on top of a dark round object which just barely jutted out of the water.
The Hunley. It was like the Confederate submersible ship Hunley. He spared a quick glance back at the Constellation —the second explosion had broken the back of the ironclad, bow and stern rising out of the water, the sound of the explosion washing over him. Debris was raining down, shells from the magazine detonating in the air.
Bullfinch realized that only a score of seconds had transpired since the ensign had first pointed out the strange object, and already it had drawn twenty, perhaps thirty yards closer.
"Beat to quarters!" Bullfinch roared as he turned and raced toward the bridge. "Ensign, get a crew forward, cut the anchor!"
The deck was still illuminated by the explosions wracking the dying ship as another light flared up. Sickened, Bullfinch saw that one of his wooden picketboats was exploding. How many of the damn things did the bastards have?
Scrambling up the ladder to the exposed flying bridge, he shouted for the helmsman to signal the engine room for full speed astern. His executive officer came up out of the hatchway from below, shirtless and barefoot.
"Get the guns cleared below and order the antiair-ship gunners starboard to start shooting at that submersible!"
"What, sir?"
"The pole, that pole out there!" Bullfinch roared. "It's a periscope for an underwater ship. They're hitting our fleet with them!"
"Sir!"
Bullfinch looked up to the lookout, perched twenty feet above him.
"I think I see puffs of smoke from behind the bluff, looks like it might be from ships coming out."
Bullfinch spared a quick glance to shore but could see nothing, his vision still dazzled from the explosions wracking Constellation and
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