“Passenger?” Tombs repeated grimly. “No one who values his life I trust.”

“He has no choice in the matter,” Mallory muttered.

“Where is he?” Tombs demanded, gazing around the dock. “We’re almost ready to cast off.”

“He will arrive shortly,” replied Semmes.

“May I ask who he is?”

“You will recognize him easily enough,” said Mallory. “And pray the enemy also identifies him should you need to put him on display.”

“I don’t understand.”

Mallory smiled for the first time. “You will, my boy, you will.”

“A piece of information you may find useful,” said Semmes, changing the subject. “My spies report that our former ironclad ram, the Atlanta, captured last year by `Yankee monitors, has been pressed into service by the Union navy and is patrolling the river above Newport News.”

Tombs brightened. “Yes, I see. Since the Texas has the same general shape and approximate dimensions she could be mistaken for the Atlanta in the dark.”

Semmes nodded and handed him a folded flag. “The stars and stripes. You’ll need it for the masquerade.”

Tombs took the Union banner and held it under one arm. “I’ll have it run up the mast shortly before we reach the Union artillery emplacements at Trents Reach.”

“Then good luck to you,” said Semmes. “Sorry we can’t stay to see you cast off, but the Secretary has a train to catch and I have to return to the fleet and oversee its destruction before the Yankees are upon us.”

The Secretary of the Confederate navy shook Tombs’ hand once more. “The blockade runner Fox is standing by off Bermuda to recoal your bunkers for the next leg of your voyage. Good fortune to you, Commander. The salvation of the Confederacy is in your hands.”

Before Tombs could reply, Mallory ordered the carriage driver to move on. Tombs raised his hand in a final salute and stood there, his mind failing to comprehend the Secretary’s farewell. Salvation of the Confederacy? The words made no sense. The war was lost. With Sherman moving north from the Carolinas and Grant surging south through Virginia like a tidal wave, Lee would be caught between the Union pincers and forced to surrender in a matter of days. Jefferson Davis would soon be broken from President of the Confederate States to a common fugitive.

And within a few short hours, the Texas had every expectation of being the last ship of the Confederate navy to die a watery death.

Where was the salvation should the Texas make good her escape? Tombs failed to fathom a vague answer. His orders were to transport the government’s archives to a neutral port of his choosing and remain out of sight until contacted by courier. How could the successful smuggling of bureaucratic records possibly prevent the certain defeat of the South?

His thoughts were interrupted by his first officer, Lieutenant Ezra Craven.

“The loading is completed and the cargo stored, sir,” announced Craven. “Shall I give the order to cast off?”

Tombs turned. “Not yet. We have to take on a passenger.”