by J. T. Edson
Since the end of the War, Butler had allied himself with the most radical section of the Republican Party. He was notorious for his inflammatory speeches advocating strict controls and restrictions being retained on the Southern States; which did little to make ex-Rebels forget his iniquities in New Orleans. Butler’s behavior made an even more telling point than Sherman’s, for the latter had proven a humane and moderate man in peace.
Although Smethurst’s command of the Union’s prisoner-of-war camps had been notorious with stories of deliberate starvation, wanton brutality, vicious torture and general mistreatment of the captives, Winslow felt that he was a weak link in the intruders’ arguments. There had been rumors of prisoners being used to test experimental weapons—hotly denied in the North, but firmly believed below the Mason-Dixie line—but he had been killed in Texas after the War had ended. [1] So, while the memory of his misdeeds remained, the crowd would be less inclined to hate Yankees in general on his account.
The speaker pointed out that conditions had undoubtedly been bad in the South’s Andersonville prisoner-of-war camp, but explained that there had been mitigating circumstances. Due to the United States’ Navy’s piracy and blockade on Confederate ports, food and medical supplies had been in short supply all through the South. While the camp’s staff had done their best, obviously the prisoners had had to take second place to Southron needs. In the event of a further confrontation, the undisclosed European country would ensure that similar shortages did not occur.
Much as Winslow would have liked to make a further investigation into the identity of the European ally, he was denied the opportunity. Launching straight into the subject of the last poster, the spokesman was on firmer, more familiar ground.
Vividly the spokesman catalogued the abuses and injustices perpetrated by Union officials and carpet-bagger politicians who had been sent to administer the beaten Southern States. In this he was helped by the fact that the kind of situation illustrated on the portrait had been very close to the actions and sentiments of the North’s occupying Armies during the early days of Reconstruction. Memories were still fresh of Negro ‘committees’ set up to govern communities; many of which had been comprised of a drunken rabble intent on defiling or destroying everything white, knowing that the Army’s bayonets would back them up no matter how bad their actions.
In Winslow’s opinion, the spokesman had just made his best argument. The behavior of the soldiers under Szigo’s command had served to keep alive the resentments of Reconstruction.
‘And, my friends, that is what Yankee “fair dealing” and Reconstruction has meant—Nay! Still is meaning to the South!’ the masked man thundered. ‘For too long we have been held in bondage by the grasping Yankees. You have all witnessed and suffered from the arrogance of the garrison in your town. Do you wish to continue living under its heels?’
If the thunderous response from the cheaper tables at the rear was anything to go by, at least one section of the audience had no wish for the prevailing situation to continue. To give them their due, the occupants of the lower-priced tables were the citizens who had seen and suffered most from the worst aspects of the soldiers’ behavior. It was at their saloons or entertainments that the antipathy had flared many times into open conflict. So there was little love lost between the blue clad troops and the people who saw them at their worse. Especially as the commanding officer had never seen fit to give compensation to those who had suffered financial losses through his men’s bad conduct, nor to control and punish the offenders.
‘May I ask, sir,’ Winslow boomed, springing to his feet in an attempt to prevent the intruder from stirring up even greater ill feeling against the soldiers. ‘Why you have come here tonight?’
‘Because the day of reckoning is at hand for the Yankees,’ the spokesman replied. ‘The time for striking back is drawing near.’
‘You mean for us once again to secede from the Union?’
‘That, sir, is exactly what I mean!’
‘Are we ready for such an extreme step?’ Winslow inquired, hoping to sow the seeds of doubt amongst the audience. ‘It would mean open war with the North.’
‘We didn’t flinch from that before,’ the spokesman pointed out.
‘But we were prepared—’ Winslow began, meaning to point out that the South had been in a condition of readiness for war which no longer existed.
‘And we’re prepared to fight again!’ the man interrupted. ‘We were willing to continue the fight in ’Sixty-Five, but our leaders made peace. No, gentlemen, I don’t blame General Lee for doing so. He acted, according to his belief, for the best and according to his orders from our Government. They were men of honor, deluded by the belief that they were dealing with honorable men. So they stopped the fighting, accepting honorable terms. But did the Yankees keep to their end of the bargain?’
‘Like hell they did!’ roared a voice from the rear, and rousing cheers echoed the sentiment.
‘As our friends says, like hell they did!’ the spokesman shouted. ‘So, I say to you, we Southrons are no longer bound by the Yankees’ dishonored allegiance. The time is coming when the South will rise again. To arms! To arms, in Dixie!’
As if in answer to the clarion call of the man’s final words, a large Stars and Bars flag of the Confederate States unfurled—apparently of its own volition—at the back of the stage. Raising his baton, the conductor of the attenuated orchestra—Sabot’s charity had not extended to paying the theater’s regular staff of musicians and he had been making do with only his own four men—gave a signal. The familiar strains of a tune rose from the orchestra pit. It was ‘Dixie’, long since adopted as the anthem of the Confederate States.
Snapping into smart military braces, the two masked men on the stage began to sing General Albert Pike C.S.A.’s fiercely patriotic words to what Daniel D. Emmet had originally composed as a cheerful, innocent minstrel song. Wood scraped on wood as man after man stood up. Slowly, yet with an ever-increasing volume, the singing spread through the hall.
‘Southrons, hear your country call you!
Up, lest worse than death befall you!
To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie!
See the beacon fires are lighted!
Let Southron hearts now be united!
To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie!
Standing as straight and proud as any member of the audience, Winslow added his voice to that of the others. His eyes met those of the elderly woman who had been part of Sabot’s committee and he could read the deep concern and worry on her face.
Three – Tell the Frenchman About It
‘Well, Alburgh,’ said the plump, perspiring president of the Shreveport Rivermen’s Bank as their party left the theater. ‘What do we do now?’
‘We gave our words in there that we wouldn’t do anything before tomorrow morning,’ Cullinan, owner of the town’s biggest livery barn, grain and fodder store, pointed out.
‘That we did,’ agreed a third, equally prominent, member of the party. ‘And, let us not forget, they’ve taken Sabot’s girl along with them as a hostage against his good behavior. If we should set the law on to them, they might think he’d done it and harm her.’
‘Would they go that far?’ the bank’s president inquired. ‘The two on the stage sounded like gentlemen.’
‘And both know what they can expect from the Yankees if they’re caught after tonight,’ Cullinan answered. ‘Are we prepared to take the chance that they won’t harm her?’
‘Well, I for one don’t intend on going back on my word,’ declared another of the party. ‘I gave it of my own free will and I’ll keep it. So I’m going straight home and staying there.’
‘Szigo’s going to be riled to hell when he hears about it and that we didn’t go immediately to tell him what had happened,’ warned the president of the bank. ‘He might even claim that we were a party to it and will certainly say that we should have done something to prevent it happening.’
‘Tha
t’s for sure,’ Cullinan agreed, sounding worried. A large proportion of his profits came from supplying the Army’s needs. ‘The fact that we gave our words not to report the incident until morning won’t carry any weight with him.’
‘Szigo’s no longer in command,’ Winslow remarked quietly.
‘No longer in command?’ Cullinan repeated. ‘I hadn’t heard any mention of him being replaced.’
‘Nor had he,’ Winslow replied. ‘I want you to treat this as confidential, boys, although there’ll be no great need after tomorrow. A friend of mine in Washington heard of Szigo’s behavior and passed it on to the War Department. They’re putting a new man in command. I met him this afternoon, before he went out to the camp. Take it from me, Colonel Manderley’s not like Szigo.’
‘So what do we do, Alburgh?’ Cullinan insisted.
‘Here’s Hector with my carriage now,’ Winslow answered, pointing along the street. ‘I’m going home. What I suggest is that you boys leave it with me.’
‘There’s no great point in breaking our words, anyway,’ said the man who had insisted he would not. ‘That fifteen minutes’ grace they had us grant them will have given them time to make good their escape.’
‘They’re long gone already and will be well clear before the Army can start looking for them,’ Cullinan decided, sounding relieved at the other’s support to his conclusions. ‘I’m all for doing as Alburgh says. There’s nothing to be gained by going to the Army and making a fuss.’
‘That will only keep the affair in the public’s eye,’ the president remarked. ‘We’d do better to let it be forgotten. Who wants a ride home with me?’
‘I’ll come,’ Cullinan offered. ‘Let us know what this new colonel thinks about it, Alburgh.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Winslow promised, and watched his party disintegrate as its members went to their waiting carriages.
‘Could I trouble you for a ride, Colonel?’ asked the elderly woman, crossing the sidewalk before Winslow could board his own vehicle. ‘A poor old body like me’s not used to such exciting goings on.’
‘It’ll be a pleasure, ma’am,’ Winslow replied, doffing his hat gallantly. ‘Allow me to help you to enter.’
If any of the excited, chattering crowd streaming from the theater noticed the woman addressing Winslow, they attached no significance to the sight. Their heads were too full of what they had witnessed in the building for them to think about what was perfectly natural behavior on Winslow’s part. A Southron gentleman of the finest kind, he could be expected to render assistance if it was requested by a member of the opposite sex.
Slouching casually in the doorway of the cafe adjacent to the theater, two big, burly men paid greater attention to Winslow’s activities. Bareheaded, with close-cropped hair, they had hard, clean-shaven, tanned features. Their long black civilian cloak-coats effectively concealed all their other garments except for highly polished, spur-decorated, Wellington-leg rising boots. Retaining their positions, they watched Winslow open the door of his carriage and help the woman to climb in.
‘Well, that’s done,’ said the shorter of the pair, sounding pleased, as Winslow followed the woman.
‘How’d you mean?’ demanded his companion.
‘We don’t need to keep watching him. He didn’t come out before the others. Now he’s got that old gal with him, he’ll not be going to the camp or the marshal’s office.’
‘The Colonel said for us to follow him—’ began the larger man.
‘And stop him if he looked like he was going to fetch the law—’ the other interrupted.
‘And trail him home if he went there,’ the larger reminded the shorter coldly. ‘Then we wait for the other boys to join us.’
‘Aw, Matt—’
‘Don’t forget, Winslow’s the main one we’re after,’ Matt growled, watching Winslow’s carriage drive by. Its curtains had been drawn across the windows and he could not see inside. ‘Let’s go.’
Followed by his scowling companion, Matt went to where a buggy stood in an alley. Taking the reins as he climbed aboard, Matt started the horse and guided it after Winslow’s carriage.
If the hard-faced pair had been able to see into their quarry’s vehicle, they would have received a surprise. Letting out a long sigh of relief, the ‘elderly’ woman straightened and flexed her ‘age-bent’ shoulders.
‘Whew! That’s better,’ she ejaculated, in a vibrant Southern drawl far different to the tones she had used in the theater. ‘Stooping that way’s not the easiest thing to do for any length of time.’
‘I don’t suppose it is,’ Winslow answered, showing no surprise at his passenger’s remarkable change of voice. ‘You did it very well.’
Reaching up, the woman removed not only her hat but her gray ‘hair’ at the same time. Doing so exposed black locks which had been cropped boyishly short to the contours of her skull. Producing a bandana from her vanity bag, she rubbed vigorously at her cheeks. The powder and ‘age’ lines departed, leaving behind a beautiful face that showed intelligence and strength of will.
‘I was getting worried that the magician had realized I was disguised,’ she remarked at the completion of her metamorphosis. ‘He kept glancing at me in a nervous manner. This wig is good, but it’s not the same as real hair.’
Unconsciously, the girl had struck upon the cause of Sabot’s perturbation. He had noticed, in passing, a slight unreality in the ‘elderly woman’s’ hair and the memory of it had remained in the back of his mind but was unable to break through.
‘What did you make of it, Uncle Alburgh?’ the girl inquired.
‘I didn’t like any part of it,’ Winslow admitted.
‘Most of the audience seemed to,’ the girl pointed out. ‘They cheered him loud and long when he finished speaking. And nobody offered to leave for the full fifteen minutes after he and his men had gone.’
After the singing of ‘Dixie’, the spokesman for the intruders had stated that the meeting had lasted as long as was safe for his party or the audience. Then he had taken precautions against the intruders’ departure. First the magician had been returned to the stage. Sabot’s face was no longer bleeding and he had declared that he was unharmed. However, his assistant was to be taken as a hostage by the masked men. If there had been no pursuit, they had undertaken to return her in time to catch the Texarkana Belle. Promising that he would behave, he had begged the audience not to do anything which might endanger Selima.
Next the spokesman had asked the audience—directing his words mainly to Winslow’s party—that they should give their words not to inform the authorities until the following morning, by which time he and his men would be out of harm’s way. Lastly, he had requested that the audience remain seated for fifteen minutes after his party had taken their departure. That would, he had assured them, give adequate opportunity for their escape.
‘He was smart, without a doubt,’ Winslow observed. ‘Although he claimed they were only taking the girl to ensure Sabot’s good behavior, he knew that we would hesitate to do anything that might endanger her. And we, my party, were those most likely to report the meeting to the authorities. Blast it, Belle, I should have followed my inclination and walked straight out.’
‘I’d say the men knew you,’ answered the girl. ‘Or read your character pretty well.’
‘I don’t follow you.’
‘Anybody who knows you would realize that, without forcibly detaining you, they couldn’t have made you stay against your will. And you’re too popular for them to want to use force. So they offered to let you go, knowing they could trust your word if you promised not to report them.’
‘They could.’
‘So they were gambling on you being curious enough to stop, just so long as it was clear that nobody was trying to make you,’ the girl went on.
‘Huh!’ Winslow grunted, but made no further comment on the girl’s assessment of his character and motives. ‘If I’d left, a lot would have followed.’
; ‘Not after the other man’s speech about loyalty to the South,’ argued the girl. ‘And I feel sure that they’d made arrangements to deal with anybody who did try to leave. Tell Hector to stop, please.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Winslow asked, after he had complied with the request.
‘A whole lot of things,’ the girl replied. ‘What was your impression of the man who did most of the talking?’
‘He was well-educated, shrewd and as hard as nails. A gentleman by birth and upbringing,’ Winslow decided, after a moment’s thought.
‘Did he, or his companion, strike you as being French?’ asked the girl.
When Winslow’s carriage had come to a halt, Matt had been compelled to keep his vehicle moving. They were on a deserted stretch of street and the buggy would have been too conspicuous if he had stopped. Warning his companion, whom he addressed as ‘Hermy’, not to display interest in the carriage as they passed, he steered the horse to go by it. Continuing for about fifty yards, he found an intersection. Turning out of Hector’s sight, he reined in the horse.
‘Go keep watch from the corner,’ Matt growled.
‘You’re a mite free with your orders,’ Hermy protested sullenly. ‘Them three bars on your sleeve don’t count for a heap on this chore.’
‘So tell the Frenchman about it,’ Matt sniffed. ‘Only make your will afore you do it. You won’t get a chance after you’ve said your piece.’
‘Ain’t he the mean bastard,’ Hermy remarked in a conciliatory manner, turning to lift a corner of the blanket which covered something behind their seat.
‘Leave the hat there, blast it!’Matt snapped in exasperation, showing no sign of being mollified. ‘If somebody sees you wearing it, they could come and start asking questions.’
Removing his hand, Hermy climbed from the buggy. He swaggered away as if keeping the carriage under observation had been his own idea. The cloak-coat trailed open as he walked, exposing his legs. The dark blue riding breeches which showed had a yellow stripe along the outside of each thigh.
