“Should we turn around?” asked Mariah.
“And go where?” snapped Cassie. She was driving and held the reins tightly.
They could hear the thunder of horses’ hooves coming down the road from the other direction. They would be trapped if they didn’t do something quickly.
“There,” said Mariah as she pointed to a path that probably led to some farmer’s house.
Cassie turned the carriage quickly and headed down the road. After a hundred yards or so, she halted.
“Why are we stopping?” asked Mariah.
“If we keep moving we make noise and motion can be seen. I want us to become invisible.”
They hopped off the carriage and held the horses’ heads down to prevent them from whinnying. Seconds later, a number of horsemen cantered past the cowering women. As hoped, they weren’t noticed. The horsemen appeared to have rifles and, a moment later there was a fresh eruption of gunfire.
“We stay right here,” said Cassie. “We wait for the dawn or for the arrival of the army.”
A scream pierced the air and they shuddered. More screams followed. “Those are women,” Mariah said, “and we can guess what’s happening to them.”
Cassie squeezed her eyes together until tears came. The cries became sobs and then silence. They simply did know what to do. That people would be looking for them was a given and their route back to Washington was a constant. They decided that they would simply wait. They were cold, thirsty, and hungry, but no one had noticed them.
Just after dawn, Cassie walked down the trail towards the road. Even though it was far more difficult and doubtless was ruining her dress, she stayed off the path and in the brush. When she reached the road she stopped, looked and waited. She wasn’t alone for long. Mariah came to her side. Her clothes were tattered and covered with leaves and twigs. Despite her concerns, Cassie managed to smile.
“You look awful. May I assume I do as well?”
“Indeed. And nobody’s come down this road? That’s surprising.”
“Not for long,” Cassie said. Her ears had picked up the sound of horses approaching. They ducked back into the brush and well into the shadow. Moments later, several troops of Union cavalry trotted past them.
They yelled and screamed and the column halted. They explained their situation and their commander detailed a troop to stay with them and escort them to the Bairds’ house. The troopers helped get their carriage onto the road.
“I’m not too sure you ladies want to be seeing what’s up here,” the officer said. “We got word that it was a real nasty raid.”
“We heard much of it,” Cassie said. She was mildly amused that the young Yankee had referred to Mariah as a lady. She was, of course, but she was also a colored woman.
They didn’t have to travel far to arrive at the scene of the carnage. Bodies had been laid out in a neat row and covered by blankets. They were all fully clothed except for three who were women. She could tell because their bare feet stuck out from the blankets. Articles of women’s clothing were strewn about.
“You don’t have to look at this,” Mariah whispered.
“Yes I do,” Cassie said firmly. “If this is what war is about, then everyone should see.”
A quarter-hour later they were back home. There were hugs, cries, and recriminations, and Cassie admitted that she’d been very foolish, that she’d endangered both herself and Mariah. She should never have left that late and should have insisted on an armed escort, although she wondered just what use an escort would have been. Those other travelers had been more numerous and armed, and what good had it done them?
An hour later, they were clean and in fresh clothing. Mariah was in the kitchen, where a friend of Hadrian’s was waiting, and Cassie had joined the others in the parlor. Steve had also arrived.
Josiah Baird’s hand shook as he took another healthy swallow of Kentucky bourbon, his favorite. “If you ever do anything like that again, you’ll send me to my grave.”
“I understand,” she said, sincerely contrite. “But what I don’t understand is what makes the Confederates behave in such a barbaric manner.”
Thorne answered. “Don’t count on those raiders being Confederates. As close as they were to Union lines, my bet is that they were Union deserters out to prey on the helpless. And just to be truthful, it isn’t only the Confederates who are becoming outlaws. If you’re down South and close to a place with a Union garrison, you’ll see Union patrols seizing crops and cattle and from there it’s a small step to outright banditry. No, Cassie, there are no saints in either army. When there are no police or soldiers to maintain order, then people become like wild animals. Not everyone, of course, but enough to create terrible situations like that of today.”
Cassie’s hands shook. She’d had a couple of glasses of sherry and was feeling it. The events of the night and the day were overwhelming her. She needed sleep. She wondered if her parents would let her nap with Steven beside her. Not likely, she decided. “I have learned a terrible lesson this day and I will not forget it. I will also try to learn from it.”
★ CHAPTER 12 ★
Otto had become a celebrity of sorts after the shooting of Jeb Stuart. Everyone wanted to shake his hand and the story got embellished with each telling, although not by him. He told it straight, and now people thought he was playing too humble. Now the range of the shot had been extended to more than a mile and the night had been pitch black. All the new versions didn’t have, Otto thought whimsically, was him having his rifle hanging upside down while shooting between his legs.
On a more positive note, he and Martha had gotten married the next day. With his newfound celebrity, there was no problem finding a pliant Lutheran minister. After that he’d been given time for a brief honeymoon. Otto and Martha had made love almost every minute of every day. They were trying to make up for all those days lost in the past. He’d also gotten promoted and had another stripe sewn to his sleeve.
Too soon, it was over and he returned to duty, where he found a note saying that General Couch wanted to see him as soon as he returned. And yes, he should bring his rifle.
He managed to find a clean uniform and reported. Couch returned his salute and shook his hand. “Damn fine shooting, young man. Is it true that the distance was over a thousand yards, in the dark?”
“Nein, mein Herr . . .” Otto said, in his nervousness slipping into his mother tongue. “Uhh . . . no sir. No more than four hundred yards.”
“Yet you still managed to slip away?”
“The Rebels were thrown into utter confusion, sir.”
“Nicely done. I sent a dispatch to Washington advising them of your feat. They could use the good news.”
Otto smiled, though actually he was less than pleased. The fewer Rebels learned his name, the happier he would be.
General Couch was a small man and looked frail. Rumors had him being very ill on a number of occasions. So how did that square with his being such a fighter?
“Your action against Stuart has caused a lot of people to think, and that includes me. I have guards, it is true. I would hope a sufficient number of them. However, their task is to form a defensive circle around me and protect me from any close-in dangers. On the other hand, your successful attack on Stuart showed the futility of all that.” The general eyed him a moment. “What I need is a hunter, someone who can operate at a decent distance, stalk trouble, and snuff it out. Someone familiar with such action, who knows how to carry it out, and is aware of what to look for. Do you find the description intriguing?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good, now let me see that rifle, Sergeant.” Otto took it out of the leather case and handed it over. The general took it in his hands and admired it. “How the devil did you get the money to buy this rifle? . . . and if you did anything illegal, I don’t want to hear a word.”
Otto grinned. “Nothing illegal, I assure you, sir. When it became obvious that I was going into the army, I simply worked harder, sav
ed, and some of my new friends here in this country gave me the rest of the money. If I was going to fight, I wanted the best weapon money can buy. I already had a reputation as a shooter, so it struck me as wise to get the best rifle I could. I have a specially modified 1860 Colt as a handgun.”
Couch chuckled. “Sounds like you don’t want to fight fair, son.”
Otto shook his head. “Nothing’s fair about war, sir.”
Couch passed the Whitworth to several other senior officers. Catching Otto’s expression, he laughed. “Nobody’s going to steal it, Sergeant.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Don’t be. Now what do you think of yourself and maybe a couple of others being my long-range security detail? It might just keep you out of the next big battle that everyone knows is coming down the road. And I know it would make your young bride happy.”
Did everyone know about his personal life, he wondered? “General, I’d be proud to serve under you.”
“Excellent. My aide will have your orders cut posthaste and you’ll begin your new job as my guardian angel just about right now.”
“Thorne, would you like to take this train out for a while?”
General Meigs was clearly proud, and why not? The train was a marvel. It consisted of a pair of locomotives, a coal tender, three flatbed cars, and a caboose. The flatcars were edged with sandbags, covered with tarps, to a height of a man’s chest. The train rested on a spur that led to the New Jersey Avenue Station of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad. As this was an extremely busy station, the train itself was, in effect, hiding in plain sight.
“If you order me to, sir, I’ll take it to hell and back. As long as I have a choice, however, I think I’ll stick to my horse and bring up the chase.”
“Do you think it’ll work, son?” Meigs asked grimly.
“It might. Depends on how badly they want that money. We know that they already spent the greenbacks from the first robbery, so an attack wouldn’t surprise me.”
Meigs smiled. After all, this semi-armored train had been his idea. The sandbagged flatcars held a platoon of infantry each and firing holes had been worked into the bags. If nothing else, there was complete agreement that the Confederate attackers were in for a nasty shock. Still, the Confederate force that had attacked the earlier train would be large enough to overwhelm the men behind the sandbags. That was where Thorne came in. The men on the train were infantry, while his men would be mounted. The engineer would be ordered to maintain a slow enough speed to attract the Rebels, yet not be so fast as to let them slip away from the men on horseback.
They would be cutting it very close. The flatcars could be overwhelmed in a matter of minutes. The soldiers could be massacred and yet more money seized to assist the Confederate cause.
“Welcome to the White House, the President’s House, or whatever you want to call the disgusting place.” Booth leaned over and whispered conspiratorially. “I prefer to call it the Gorilla’s Den. But not too loudly. There are those who might take umbrage. But we’ll have the last laugh, young Dean. Don’t you worry yourself about that.”
Booth had simply dropped by Dean’s apartment in Baltimore and said let’s go to Washington. With a little bit of makeup and a few tufts of fake hair, Richard was transformed into someone who worked on the docks or in a factory. Booth had done the same for himself and they laughed as they left the apartment.
“Where are we going?” Richard asked.
“To the White House to see the king,” Booth laughed.
A few hours later found them in the capital of their enemy, the United States of America. Booth rested one foot on the stone retaining wall and stared at the building. “This place is nothing,” said Booth. “You should see the true palaces of Europe. You could put the White House in a closet and still have room left over. A circus cage for a trained ape, that’s what this is.”
He eyed Dean. “You want to see him?”
“Well . . . why not?”
“Then go right ahead.” He pointed toward the line stretching out the front of the place. “It’s the People’s House. You can walk right in. Maybe you’ll run into him shambling down the hallways. I’ve heard he does that since he’s lost so many battles.”
“But . . . you mean alone?”
Booth nodded. “Old Abe is a theater hound. Likes the bright lights and the pretty ladies. He might well recognize me.” He smiled. “Not you, though.”
Dean made his way toward the long line, looking back over his shoulder at Booth more than once.
“Long wait,” said the well-dressed young man just ahead of him.
“Why don’t they give up?” asked Richard.
“Would you give up if you had the chance to talk to a man who could change your life?”
After a surprisingly short time he was inside the building, facing a staircase leading to the second floor. A large red-faced man was pushing his way down. “Sumbitch ain’t giving away anything today, boys.”
“Giving away what?” asked Dean.
“Jobs, sonny. Everybody’s done it before him. It’s called Lar-Chess, boy. He makes me a postmaster or a county sheriff, then I gets a lot of money and he gets my undying gratitude and support.”
The red-faced man departed. Dean hunched his shoulders. He was half-convinced somebody was about to lay hands on him from behind and drag him off. He had a sudden nightmare vision of Colonel Baird limping down those stairs, shouting and waving his stick as he caught sight of him.
Stepping from the line, he began moving toward the open doorway. But Booth was waiting. He’d know that Dean hadn’t been inside long enough to see Lincoln. He’d ask him what Lincoln had said, and what would he tell him? Booth would know he was lying. What would he say then?
Dean turned back to the stairway. He stood rubbing his arm for a long moment. Then he started toward the stairs.
A few of the petitioners shouted at him, telling him to wait his turn. But most just stared at him quizzically as he made his way up the stairs. At last he pushed his way past the man waiting at the top and walked out onto the landing. And there he was, right through the open door.
Lincoln was sitting behind a desk, resting his head on one hand as he spoke to the man seated opposite him. His voice was so low that Dean could not make out the words. Lincoln’s eyes looked sad and he was very thin. The man got up and Lincoln smiled and shook his hand. When the man turned, he looked slightly disappointed by not really unhappy. It was if he’d gotten something more interesting than just a job.
Dean studied Lincoln as the man at the head of the line went in. He didn’t look like an ape. He didn’t look like a devil. He didn’t look anything at all like what Dean had expected—though he couldn’t quite say what he’d actually expected in the first place. Something out of a political cartoon? Something like Booth’s word-pictures? It was suddenly all very vague and hard to recover in the face of this patient, smiling man.
A thought struck Dean at that moment: suppose he was to go in there right now and announce to Lincoln: “I am here to warn about a grave, impending danger. There is a plot afoot aimed at yourself, sir, a dastardly scheme to lay hands on you and deliver you to—”
“What are you doing, fella?”
All visions of a grateful president and an admiring nation vanished from Dean’s mind as he turned to see a grim, square-faced man advancing on him. He was wearing a dark frock coat and a derby hat. He looked a like a police detective. “I said, what are you doing?”
The waiting job-seekers snickered behind him. “I . . . I just wanted to see the President.”
“Well, you’ve seen him. Let’s go.” He grabbed Dean by the arm and pushed him toward the stairs.
“What’s this, Crook?”
The last petitioner was just leaving the room. Behind him appeared Lincoln. He was stretching his legs before him as if he’d been sitting for a little too long.
“He was trying to jump the line, sir.”
“Oh no . . .” Dean said. “I w
asn’t . . . I didn’t . . . I’m not asking for anything. I was in town visiting and I just wanted you to know how much we all appreciate everything you’ve done. For the country. And everybody.”
Lincoln blinked in surprise. “Sweet Lord . . . Here’s someone who doesn’t want the sun, moon, and evening stars to play with.” He smiled down at Dean, then reached out and shook his hand. Dean was surprised by the strength of his grip.
Dean smiled openly as he was led away. “Well, you cheered him up, sonny. That’s something, anyway. Now be off with you.”
The men waiting in line smirked as he descended the stairs. Dean paid them no mind. At the bottom he stopped to look back up the stairs once again, then left the building to find Booth.
Precisely on time, the train rolled slowly down the tracks. The locomotives and caboose had been freshly painted black and seemed to shine. At six in the morning only a handful of passersby were present in the station. Most took a single incurious look and moved on. One prosperous-looking gentleman asked what the sandbags were supposed to protect and a soldier said it was to keep what they were shipping dry in case it rained. What were they shipping, the man asked? Rice, was the reply. Satisfied, the man walked off.
“Who decided on the name?” Thorne asked.
Meigs grinned. “I did. I thought the ‘Spirit of Columbia’ painted in red on the side of the lead locomotive was uplifting. It’s also where I was born.”
“Wonderful choice, sir,” said Thorne, and both men laughed.
“There’s supposed to be six million freshly printed dollars in the boxcar,” added Meigs. “I guess I can tell you that no real money is being shipped. It’s all counterfeit.”
“Sir, I think it’s time I joined the rest of my regiment.”
“It is indeed, son. And good luck if you do confront the bastards.”
Thorne saluted and the two men shook hands. The regiment was waiting about two miles away and with luck, away from prying eyes. One hundred and twenty mounted infantry would clamber aboard and fill in the sandbagged squares, while the rest of the Sixth Indiana would be mounted and would attempt to keep up with the train.
The Day After Gettysburg Page 16
