This is going to be a bit different from the usual, because I know a bit more about what was going on in the author's mind. So I'll indulge a bit.
In late January of 1863 I was an idler, assigned to the War Department office at 88 Whitehall Street in the city of New York after my ship, USS Tisdale, burned when the Rebels took Norfolk.
We start off with a super-sentence -- a single-sentence paragraph. I'm trying to set a 19th century voice, a more florid and leisurely narrative style than is common now. Thus "of 1863" rather than plain "1863," and "city of New York" rather than "New York City." (Alas, I was unable to convince either my co-author nor the editor that New-York should properly be hyphenated.)
The War Department building was, indeed, at 88 Whitehall St, New York City. This had personal meaning for me -- I'd been there, back when it was still in its Civil War dress; it's where I got my induction physical when I joined the Navy, so I know exactly what it looked like and where it is situated, and what you could see from its windows. I didn't actually describe it in the novel, but the fact I could still see (and smell) it -- helped me out.
This paragraph is setting the scene, and filling in details of the American Civil War for folks who slept through history class.
This also brings me to my first large whopper: there was no USS
Tisdale involved in the American Civil War. The name actually belongs to a WWII destroyer escort. There are several compressions here, too: the Union burned the Gosport Shipyard in Portsmouth when the Rebels took Norfolk in 1861, shortly after the attack on Fort Sumter. The Rebels burned the same navy yard in 1862, when the Federals retook Norfolk. The first burning of the Gosport yards left USS
Merrimack burned to the waterline; she was later raised and converted into CSS
Virginia (famous for fighting USS
Monitor in the Battle of Hampton Roads).
The Battle of Hampton Roads would have taken place a year before the events in the story we're telling here; it's never mentioned. That's because in this world (an alternate history/secret history), it never took place. Instead, the duel between two unusual ships forms the core of our story. So where we are in the first paragraph: A ship that never existed is named, while a battle that actually took place is not. Still, the shadow of the
Monitor and the
Merrimack lies long across our tale. We're in 1863 in order to allow time for events in our story to have unfolded. 1862 wouldn't have allowed enough time to pass after the start of the war to do everything that I had to do, as will be revealed in the course of the narrative. (The other Civil War ship duel that's heavily referenced is CSS
Alabama vs. USS
Kearsarge, two more vessels that are never mentioned, even though they were both active during this period.)
History is the fantasy author's secret weapon; those are the sources I'm using.
I trust that the term "idler" is obvious from context; it's someone who doesn't stand watches.
Time weighed heavily upon me.
After that super-sentence, a short sentence for rhythm.
The war, which some had at first expected to be over in a matter of weeks -- or a few months at most -- would soon be entering its third year, and I could not fail to perceive that matters stood at a most perilous juncture.
For the folks who hadn't stayed awake in American History.
In the west, the free movement of our forces up and down the Mississippi still broke upon the rock that was Confederate-held Vicksburg; to the east and south, in the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico, Rebel commerce raiders and blockade runners ranged freely.
More brief history -- enough so the readers will know what's going on. The hunt for blockade runners and raiders forms most of the rest of the book. (Vicksburg will be mentioned again in the last chapter.)
Everywhere, my brother officers were gaining rank and experiencing sea-time, whether in gunboats on the inland waterways or in more conventional warships on the open seas, maintaining the blockade and chasing Confederate raiders.
Motive and discontent for our narrator. Reveals him to be an ambitious man. So ends this paragraph, again with a very long sentence. Our narrator will soon be at sea in a very unconventional warship.
Meanwhile, I sat filing papers in an obscure office.
Short sentence for rhythm. Alliteration for emphasis. The ambition theme again.
President Lincoln had freed all the slaves in Rebel territory.
On 1 January 1863, thirty days before the narrative commences. A bit more history, and anchoring to time.
My daily hope was that some similar edict would arrive to free me from my own labors.
Ambitious, self-centered, given to exageration.
From my window overlooking the harbor, I could watch the Navy's vessels come and go -- a species of keen torture, since I feared that such a long period of shore duty would see my career stalled, if not derailed entirely, the ultimate goal of command at sea forever placed beyond my reach.
Back to the very long sentences, the ship theme pointed up. As far as torture goes, he isn't really being tortured. Certainly not in the same way as the slaves he compares himself with in the previous sentence. We're also setting up the ending here -- John Nevis will get command at sea before this book is over. Foreshadowing the climax, right on page one. End of paragraph, a position of power.
So it was that on the morning of January 31st a messenger found me laboring at my desk, checking one long bureaucratic list against another.
Finally, our story is about to start. Something happens. (Also, fixing the date. Dates are going to be important from now on.) Some attitude toward his job. This was, in fact, a Saturday morning. But then, the five-day work week wasn't invented until 1908, and didn't go nation-wide until 1940.
He had an envelope from the Navy Department in his hand, with my name on the front. I fairly tore the envelope from his grasp and opened it.
Now that we're out of setup the sentences are shorter, to speed up the pace. 19th century word choice and word order.
What it contained was indeed the answer to my nightly prayer.
Our narrator is the sort of person who says his prayers every night. This is, in fact, an important plot point, and will be repeated several times. LT Nevis had been chosen for one quality; and he was (though he does not know it) stashed at 88 Whitehall St. to make sure he didn't get his silly head blown off, so that he can serve his purpose on board his new ship. He'll learn that sometimes you
don't want to have your prayers answered.
I was detached immediately from my current assignment and ordered to travel by fastest available means to the Naval Arsenal at Watervliet.
I have no idea if that's how orders read in the 19th century, but that's sure how they read today. There was, and is, a naval arsenal at Watervliet (just north of Albany, along the Hudson).
There I was to inspect and take possession of a dozen ten-inch Rodman guns, thence to accompany them to the place where USS Nicodemus might lie, in order to take my position as head of her gunnery department.
Super-sentence. Much longer than my usual, but again, I feel, necessary for the impression of pre-Hemingway prose. Much of this language is cribbed from the standard phrases in modern Naval orders.
There was no USS
Nicodemus, either. Rodmans were a variety of cannon, very similar to the earlier Dahlgrens (which USS
Monitor and USS
Kearsarge mounted). Climax technology for smoothbore muzzle-loaders. The name
Nicodemus comes from an Abolutionist song, "Wake Nicodemus." While it was important to me to know this, the readers don't need to know, and are never told. Nicodemus is a Biblical name; Nicodemus the Pharisee was associated in John with the phrase "born again," and the Gospel of Nicodemus (an apocryphal Gospel) tells about the Harrowing of Hell (another theme in this book). Nicodemus is involved in the spirit, and water. Spirits and water are going to be themes.
Nicodemus was new construction; I would be a plank owner.
A definition demanded by my co-author who argued that civilians wouldn't have a clue what a plank owner was. Verges on as-you-know-Bob dialog.
I was further informed that Nicodemus was even then being fitted out in preparation for her sea trials.
It's the exposition. It has to go somewhere.
The remainder of the morning I spent in checking out of my temporary billet, drawing my health and pay records, and turning over my responsibilities to a hapless civilian clerk.
What with this and that some hours passed. More insistence on paperwork. (Books, papers, manuscripts, orders, logs ... writing will form a major theme. ) "Clerk" is braced up with two adjectives, partly to show our narrator's attitude, partly to show how trivial his assignment had been up to now. But mostly to get "clerk" noticed. "Clerk" is a form of "cleric." Until now our lad had been acting as a cleric.
Purely by chance, page two ends with the end of that paragraph.
