David Golemon - Leviathan

Stanton ignored the shocked look that covered Smith's face. He just listened to the night and the sounds of water meeting iron. The night had become deathly still, seeming also to await answers as to what this strange object was. Stanton then turned toward a man that was standing unseen inside the pilothouse stairwell. He nodded his head, and the man slipped away unnoticed by all except the Frenchman, who was unceremoniously shoved out of the man's way.

Stanton's man gathered the five selected U.S. Navy seamen and gave them each an oilcloth, which weighed in excess of thirty pounds apiece. Then he watched as they gained the boat deck on the opposite side of the Mary Lincoln and slipped over the side.

"Ahoy the riverboat!" Six deckhands ran to the starboard side, listened, and strained to pierce the fog. Then the call from the river repeated, "Ahoy Mary Lincoln , permission to tie up and board!" The voice was deep, booming, and filled with command.

The first officer looked up at the riverboat's bridge for permission from the captain to allow the unseen to board. Smith nodded his head.

"Permission granted! What is the number of your boarding party?"

"One," was the short answer as a long rope flew through the fog and struck the wet deck as if from nowhere. The deckhands tied off the rope as they heard the heavy footsteps on the gangplank lowered earlier.

Captain Smith watched his men on deck freeze as the unseen footsteps continued up the stairs at a leisurely pace. The fog swirled around the ship's railing as the footsteps stopped. Then the blanket of moisture parted, and there stood a man. He was a giant, standing at least six feet, five inches. His dark hair was long and wild. His blue seaman's jacket was plain and devoid of rank or insignia with the exception of four gold stripes at each cuff. The knee-high boots were as shiny as a polished deck.

"Leviathan requests permission to come aboard," the deep voice boomed.

"Permission granted. May I have your name, sir?" the Mary Lincoln's first officer asked.

The man stood motionless at the top of the gangway. He was silent as his large eyes took in the riverboat's crew before him, an old and battered Bible clutched in his large hand.

"Express my greetings to Secretary Stanton, and convey to him that the man he wished to meet, Captain Octavian Heirthall, has arrived to end my relationship with the U.S. government, and to reclaim my family."

The first officer became confused as he looked from the dark form shrouded in fog at the top of the gangway to the captain and his guest looking down from the bridge. The crew heard footsteps as a lone figure made his way down to the main deck.

Edwin Stanton, using his cane, approached the ship's railing cautiously. His eyes never left the imposing figure standing over him; he felt as if he were a mouse watching an owl, and the owl was ravenous. The stranger's dark blue eyes burned through the fog and into his own. Stanton stopped ten feet in front of the man known to only a few — Captain Octavian Heirthall.

"Please, come aboard, Captain," Stanton said, looking up.

"My wife, my children — they are aboard?"

"Captain, please, join me on deck. Talking up to you, while not quite below my station, is, at the least, uncomfortable," Stanton said, acting as bravely as he could under the circumstances.

"My thoughts are, there is no station below yours, sir, save but one, and that is the hell you will be sent to upon your meaningless death. My wife, my son, and my five daughters, they must be here, or I swear to you, Mr. Secretary, you will fall so far and hard from grace that the mere mention of your name will be a loathsome experience for any soul saying it. I have already sent a dispatch to President Lincoln by ship's courier. If my family is not delivered here to me this night, the courier has instructions to deliver the letter, regardless of the consequences to my children and wife."

"Forgive me, Captain; you have been at sea, so of course you could not have heard the news. President Lincoln was murdered just eleven days ago in Washington, struck down by an assassin's bullet."

The large man seemed to deflate before Stanton's eyes. He reached for the rope railing to steady himself. He missed at the first attempt, and then grasped it with the weakened strength of a dying man.

"Horrible news, I know."

"He… he was — he was the only man of honor I have ever known," Heirthall said as he stepped down slowly from the gangway and onto the deck. "What of the president's promise to me for the protection of the gulf and… and its inhabitants?"

"You now know your courier will do you no good," Stanton said, ignoring the captain's question. "Your threat to me has fallen on deaf — or should I say dead —ears, my good captain."

Heirthall grasped his Bible with both hands, but he could find no solace in its touch. His blazing eyes turned to the river and his shoulders straightened. He then turned slowly to face Stanton.

"I am a prideful man, a God-fearing man. My words were harsh, so I ask you again, sir, please, my wife and my children, are they safe? — And the president's pledge to help me with — my discovery, this promise is still intact? I have done what you asked."

"May I remind you, Captain, you came to us for the protection of the gulf waters. It was just coincidental our spies in England learned of this foul treaty between England and the rebellious states. If they had consummated that despicable document, those bases would have been the death of your amazing discovery, would they not?"

"You had no right to remove my family from my island in the Pacific — I would have fulfilled my part of the bargain without you resorting to your obvious evil nature, Mr. Secretary."

Heirthall remembered the stories told to him by a father long dead. How Napoleon had done the same to his family, destroying them to gain access to the family science: a horrible history repeating itself.

Stanton lowered his head and turned away from those pleading blue eyes. He found himself unable to look the captain in his face as he said his next words. "Your son has died. Consumption, I was told. I am truly sorry."

The wail of the large man pierced the darkened night. River men who heard the cry would forever have it in their nightmares. A sound as such should never originate from a man of Heirthall's stature. He went to his knees and placed the Bible so that it covered his face.

The small Frenchman standing above on the bridge wing watched, his heart going out to this man he did not know. Such anguish chilled his blood. Suddenly, he knew he did not want to be here, even if it meant never confirming the sight he had seen two years prior while at sea, that of a great metal monster.

"It was never my intention for this sad thing to happen. Now you must understand my position, sir, you must continue your good work upon the seas. We cannot allow you to do any different. Your country needs you now more than ever. The foulness of the British try at power in this hemisphere will be attempted time and time again, and maybe your Gulf of Mexico will no longer be a safe haven for your find."

Captain Octavian Heirthall, with his long black hair covering the Bible he held to his face, slowly looked up at Stanton. He lowered the old book and gained his feet until he towered over the secretary. He reached down and straightened his jacket, pulling upon the hem.

Stanton never hesitated upon seeing his own fate embedded in those blazing blue eyes — he snapped his fingers and twenty marines came from the opposite side of the wheelhouse. They leveled rifles at the man standing before him. He became concerned when Heirthall did not react.

"Before you do something foolish, I will tell you that your family has been split up. Your wife and four of your daughters are close, but the fifth — the very, very special one, the one closest in nature to your mother — is being held at the armory in Washington. She will be the lamb that is sacrificed, so think well, Captain, before your next words come from your mouth."