Free Stars and Stripes in Peril by Harry Harrison Page A

putting that plate on the train today."
    "That they had better do—or else," Ericsson said ominously, but not specifying what the "or else" would be. "Very soon we will not need them."
    He looked around and almost smiled with satisfaction. It had been a running fight with the Navy Department, but he had finally got what he wanted. They had complained about the price, but in the end had given in. Now he had a completely integrated shipyard, every unit of which he had designed himself. From this immense stone-walled drydock, right through to the foundries, plate-shops, machine shops, steam hammers, drills and steam engines. All of the equipment for handling the massive amount of iron needed to build this new leviathan of the seas.
    A totally new design, of course. Twice as large as the Avenger, it had two turrets, each mounting two 12-inch cannon, one forward and one aft. A belt of armor ran along the waterline, and there were armored decks over the engines, the boilers, and the magazines. Armor around the base of the turrets as well. As well as the two main batteries there were a variety of small guns along the sides. This would be a seagoing ship that could patrol the oceans of the world and dread naught from any other vessel of war. Particularly the British. Locked in his safe was a report sent to him by the Navy Department. He had not questioned its accuracy, although he had no idea how it had been obtained. It contained details of three British ironclads now under construction. All the same, all compromises, all built on a modified design of Warrior. They would be no match for his Virginia, that he was sure of. He also had details on a larger ship that had already been launched, HMS Conqueror. An improvement on the others—but still not good enough. Should she come up against the Virginia he had no doubts as to the outcome.
    "There is something else," Davis said. "There are two gentlemen in the office who want to see you."
    "I am too busy."
    "They are from the government, sir. They said that it was important."
    Muttering at this interruption of his work, Ericsson went down to the office. One of them he recognized, for he knew him far too well. Litwack was his name and he represented the US Treasury and was the channel by which Ericsson received his funding. There was always a battle over money whenever they met.
    "Mr. Ericsson," Litwack said, stepping forward, "This is Mr. Frederick Douglass, of the Freedmen's Bureau."
    Ericsson nodded perfunctorily at the tall Negro, a striking-looking man with a great beard and a towering mass of hair. He shook his hand briefly, since he had no racial prejudice—any hatreds he might have had were directed against the stupidity of the people he had to deal with. He turned back to Litwack.
    "What is it this time? You are here about funding?"
    "No, not this time. It is Mr. Douglass of the Freedmen's Bureau who has some questions for you."
    "I know nothing about your Freedmen's. I am an engineer..."
    "Then you had better learn right now," Douglass said in an irritated grumble. Ericsson turned, angrily, to face him, but Douglass spoke before he did.
    "The Freedmen's Bureau was founded to see that the laws passed by Congress are carried out to the letter of those same laws. It is one thing to free slaves, another thing altogether to see that they have gainful employment once they are freed. How many Negroes exactly are there in your apprentice program?"
    "What is this man talking about?" Ericsson shouted furiously. "I have my work to do. I know nothing of politics nor do I care nothing."
    "I assure you—that is not the case." Douglass raised his voice even louder to drown out the angry Swede. "One war has ended, the war between the states. But a new war is just beginning. By law the slaves have been freed. This has been done. Slave owners have received compensation for what they so foully considered property. But this has been only the first step along the road to freedom. If former slaves