Sentries stomped their feet on the wooden dock in a vain attempt to stay warm. Nearby, gaslights illuminated a mysterious-looking vessel that was made fast to the wharf. In the flickering light the strange blue-gray craft resembled a huge half-submerged 50-foot cigar. A thin cold December mist had settled over the darkened harbor of Charleston, South Carolina. There was no moon, but the twinkling of stars in an otherwise black sky revealed that the night was clear.

A young naval officer paced slowly back and forth on the wharf above the boat. Occasionally, he withdrew a treasured pocket watch from his vest, and with the strike of a match, checked the time. When the desired moment arrived, he stopped his pacing and spoke a soft command. Three crewmembers followed him onboard.

With a silent nod from the commander, the pilot opened two sea-cocks, flooding the ballast tanks. As the strange vessel settled, soldiers on the wharf cast off the lines and within minutes only her smokestack and cockpit were visible above the surface. With a few puffs of smoke the deadly torpedo boat silently steamed away into the murky darkness.

“The landscape that the author wanted to build is here: wide, informative, and as complete as human effort can make it.”

Raimondo Luraghi, “Journal of Southern History”

About: R. Thomas Campbell

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