APRIL 25, 1865

PENOBSCOT RIVER,

MAINE

The riverboat lay at anchor with the fog hiding her entire lower quarter, the gentle lapping of the river against her low-slung hull being the only sound. The many exterior and interior lights were ablaze in the thickening fog. The captain of the Mary Lincolnlooked forward from the port bridge wing and saw nothing but the rising white veil of mist.

"Damn it all, sir, this is far too dangerous. What fool would be crazy enough to navigate the river in this kind of chowder?"

The heavyset man to his left did not respond. He knew exactly what kind of man would brave the Penobscot after dark and in heavy fog, but why say anything until he had to? After all, the captain was frightened enough.

The silent passenger pursed his lips and brushed at his gray beard. The upper lip was freshly shaven and his greatcoat recently cleaned and pressed. His top hat was placed upon his head, tilted forward so that most who spoke with him could not view his dark eyes. It was for the better, since most of the riverboat's crew did not know his identity.

The United States secretary of war, Edwin M. Stanton, watched deckhands pull taut the anchor ropes. They were in the grip of the deepest, widening section of river as it neared the sea.

As Stanton peered into the fog, he thought he heard a shout from across the way. He cringed and shook his head. Every man on this mission was under orders not to make any noise. He strained to hear left and then right, but there was no further disturbance. This damnable fog was acting like an amplifier, and that could doom them all.

"It seems we have caught a shift in current," the captain said as he ventured back inside the wheelhouse.

Stanton felt the large boat shift to the right, and his stomach fluttered as if the Mary Lincolnrose on a small wave.

"It's not a current, Captain; make no adjustment to your station. Our guest will make the appropriate course change in regard to your vessel," Stanton said as he took the situation in.

"What guest? The fog is not yet so thick I cannot see, sir. We have--"

The captain was cut short when the Mary Lincolnrose into the air along with the Penobscot River under her keel--ten, fifteen, and then twenty feet higher than just a moment before.

"My God--"

Edwin Stanton calmly reached out and took hold of the thick railing until the riverboat settled. "Calm yourself, Captain Smith; you are just feeling the displacement of water from the approach of the vessel."

"Displacement of water?" Smith inquired as he returned to the wing and looked out over the calming river. "The river is void of traffic--even in this fog I can see that! And what vessel would displace so much water as to almost capsize a boat of this tonnage?"

A small man approached from where he was standing just inside the pilothouse and cautiously made his way to the even smaller Stanton.

"Has the man arrived, Monsieur Stanton?" the small man asked in his heavily accented English.

The secretary of war turned angrily toward the Frenchman. "You are to observe only. You are not to speak; you are not to approach this man. I am acquiescing to a favor owed of your government. Otherwise, sir, I would not give you the time of day. Now stand to the far railing and disappear, and you may be lucky enough to witness one of mankind's greatest achievements."

The Frenchman placed his woolen cap on his head and backed away from the rotund secretary, knowing he was lucky just to be here on the Penobscot. However, lucky or not, he held information that would embarrass the U.S. government, and if he had not been allowed to board the Mary Lincoln, he would have taken his eyewitness accounts to the capitals of all Europe. Still, he had to play this cautiously. He wanted to know only if this amazing craft truly existed.

"Ahoy on deck, keep your eyes open. I hear movement on the river," the captain called out as he gained the bridge wing and stood next to the secretary.

Stanton nodded his head as giant water geysers shot into the air, causing the mist to eddy, swirl, and then finally part. Then as the two men watched, the great ship rose from the depths. The giant tower parted the river as if a mountain were being born right in the center of the Penobscot. The great glass eyes of the beast glowed green and red, easily piercing the fog.

"Holy Mary, mother of--"

"Such sentiments would not save you this man's wrath, Captain. He is not one of God's children, but a devil born of man."

"What is that ... that thing?"

Stanton walked closer to the edge of the bridge wing and watched as the upper bulk of the great iron beast settled on the surface of the Penobscot. As it did, it sent surface water rushing toward the Mary Lincoln, making her rise once more on the swells and allowing the river to overflow her gunnels. The water geysers ceased their roar and the river became still. It seemed to Stanton he could hear the far off ringing of bells and the voices of men giving commands. Then a bank of fog rolled in and covered the great black submarine.

"The thing is called Leviathan, Captain Smith, and no matter what happens here tonight, you are never to speak of this to anyone, not even to your wife. I don't think I have to make any unnecessary threats, do I, sir?"

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 Lincolnand 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.

"Leviathanrequests permission to come aboard," the deep voice boomed.

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