“That poor lame-brained Rebel kid! Why, he was about to let us go without even having to use the bill of sale!”
“Why didn’t you just go?” I asked. “What difference did it make, after all that?”
“Why, Miss Hollister,” Captain Dyles replied. “I had to show him the paper! General Grant’s orders.”
“General Grant? Why . . . I don’t understand.”
“General Grant’s been practicing ol’ Bob Lee’s signature for two years waiting for a chance to try it out. He told me just before we left to make sure I had a chance to show this to somebody. If we got captured and they hanged us, then he said he’d know he had to practice a little harder!”
Jacob roared with laughter.
I didn’t think it was so funny. At the word hanged, a shiver of dread shot through me.
“Hey, quiet back there,” Dyles said back to Jacob. “We’re coming into the city. These folks around here don’t much like their colored folk looking like they’s having fun.”
“Yes, massah . . . anything you say, massah.”
A faint chuckle followed his words.
Chapter 59
Winder Supply
By the time we reached the middle of Richmond it was about nine in the morning.
Captain Dyles drove the wagon to the street along the waterfront, and after about a mile I saw ahead of us a building with the words “Winder Supply” painted on it. He seemed to know Richmond pretty well. I wondered if he had been here before.
We went slowly past the building, the captain eyeing it carefully, then around the corner onto the adjacent street.
“You say they said there was a room here they were going to use?” he said to me. “But nothing about where it was?”
“No, all I heard was ‘he’s got a room we can use,’” I replied.
“Probably in back somewhere. There’s bound to be another door back here we can get in.”
He took the wagon along the side street, glancing about, looking over the side and rear of Winder Supply, which stood on the corner and then extended down the adjacent street as well.
We went past the end of the building, down to the next street, then turned and headed back toward the river. He reined the horse in at the back of the supply building, glancing around. Several men were carrying bags in and out of a small warehouse, and two others were loading up a wagon.
“Probably in the main building someplace,” Captain Dyles mumbled to himself. “But we can’t stay here too long or we’ll attract their notice.”
He flipped the reins and we began moving again.
“Where you figure to ditch the hay and feed and the nag, Geoff?” asked Jacob behind me.
“Don’t know. We gotta keep it long enough so we’re not just driving around in an empty wagon and attracting notice.”
“Gotta be rid of it before that fool Gibb sees us again,” added Jacob.
“We’ll ditch the stuff. Hate to cut the horse loose, though—nag or no nag,” said Dyles.
“I reckon the general figured one horse was a small price to roust out a traitor.”
“Reckon he’s right at that.”
We were still riding along slowly as they talked, and I could tell the captain was thinking at the same time.
After two or three minutes, a look of resolve came over his face. “I’ve got it!” he said, and immediately pulled at the reins and began leading the horse back around yet again. This time when we approached the rear of the Supply Company building, he pulled the wagon to the side of the street, then stopped, in full view of the men and workers who were about. We sat there and waited.
A few minutes later a man came sauntering our way.
“Anything I can do for you?” he asked.
“We’s just waitin’ on master Jim,” answered Captain Dyles, this time with the sound of an ignorant field hand.
“Jim who?” asked the man.
“Master James T. Bowreeeguard,” said Captain Dyles, stretching the name out slowly. “Master Jim, he done tell me to hitch up the horses an’ take the darkie an’ meet me at Winder Supply an’ he’d be there directly, maybe sometime ’bout noon.”
“It’s three hours till noon.”
“He done tol’ me t’ wait for him no matter how long he was. He said we had a heap o’ stuff t’ get.”
“What about the woman?”
“She’s powerful strong for her size,” said Dyles. “We kinda short o’ darkies now, what with all of ’em leavin’ t’ fight or go North. Master Jim, he tol’ me t’ bring her along t’ help with the loadin’.”
Apparently satisfied, the man turned and began walking back to the supply building. “Just keep this area clear,” he said. “We’ve got a lot of loading that’ll be going on this morning.”
“Yes, suh,” replied Dyles, following his retreating figure with eyes that were shrewdly taking in everything about the place in spite of his backward-sounding tongue. It was becoming more and more obvious to me all the time why General Grant had sent him on this mission. He was adept at playing just about any role.
As the thought of his acting came into my mind, so did the name Booth. Suddenly I made the connection between the actor Mrs. Richards had told me about and the name I’d heard in conversation with Cal. Was it the same man? I wondered what a well-known actor was doing mixed up with Cal and John Surratt.
My thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Captain Dyles beside me. “Time’s come, Miss Hollister,” he said. “You up to your part in this little charade we’re playing?”
“I’ll try, Captain,” I said.
“Then here’s what I want you to do. We’ll stay here, but we can’t see the front door of the place from here. I want you to walk up the street, and cross over there by the river. Find yourself someplace to sit down where you can see the front door and me at the same time. Then you sit there and look bored and tired, and if anybody comes around you put on as thick a drawl as you can. You keep your eyes peeled for your friend. I reckon he’ll use the front, but there’s no telling. But keep your head down underneath that bonnet so he can’t see your face.”
“He’ll never expect to see me here,” I said.
“Keep the brim of that bonnet over your eyes regardless. When you see him, you take off the bonnet and give me a little wave—that is, after he’s gone inside. Then you get back here to me.”
“What will we do then?”
“I don’t know. Reckon we’ll have to go inside, find ’em, and then do a little improvising.”
I got down, but then Captain Dyles spoke up again.
“One more thing, Miss Hollister,” he said thoughtfully, still running options through his mind. “Tell me about your friend.”
“He’s not my friend,” I said.
“No matter. I want to know . . . is he likely to fight? Is he a hero or a coward? With a gun in his gut, is he bound to do what we say or risk his life for his cause?”
It didn’t take much reflection for me to answer.
“Unless he’s changed, Captain,” I said, “under those conditions, I’d say he’d do whatever you tell him. Cal Burton’s only cause is himself. I can’t see him risking his life for anybody.”
Chapter 60
Kidnap
Late in the year as it was, after more than two hours sitting in the sun, I was hot, tired, and sweating.
But when I first saw Cal striding up the street, suddenly all my senses jerked to attention. My heart started pounding and I could feel my whole body tense up. I hadn’t actually laid eyes on him since the end of 1862. All the same emotions I’d felt five nights earlier were suddenly back—but this time even stronger! I was angry, afraid, and hurt. But I managed to keep it all inside instead of jumping up and running over and yelling all the things I was thinking. I kept my head down, and watched as he approached and then went inside the front door of Winder Supply.
The next instant I took off my bonnet, gave it a little wave in the direction of the wagon, then stood and
walked hurriedly back in that direction myself.
By the time I got there, Captain Dyles and Jacob were out of the wagon and moving toward the back door of the place. I joined them, and we walked inside. None of the other people around paid us much heed, and I didn’t see the fellow who had questioned us before.
We walked in. It was dark and smelled of grain and hay and boxes and wood and leather. Gradually my eyes became accustomed to the dim light. There were people around. Some of them glanced at us, but no one said anything.
I was afraid, but both Captain Dyles and Jacob acted as if they belonged there, and we didn’t seem to attract any notice.
Suddenly I spotted Cal at the other end of the large room. He was coming straight toward us.
“That’s him!” I whispered to the captain, then turned sideways and bent down my face to the floor. I was so glad it was dark!
We kept shuffling along. Cal was talking to another man and brushed right beside me. I could have grabbed at his arm, he was so close. As he went by, the captain followed him out of the corner of his eye. Cal and the other man entered what looked like a storage room off the large one we were in. The door closed behind them.
“You recognize the other one?” the captain whispered down to me.
“Surratt?” I replied. “I only heard him, but never saw his face.”
“We’ll have to get a listen, then.”
Dyles turned and began sauntering aimlessly in the direction Cal had gone. I stuck as close to him as I could. We edged toward the closed door. He motioned to me to get up next to it and listen.
“Is it him?” he whispered.
“I can’t tell . . . I think so.”
Dyles thought a moment. “Doesn’t matter if it’s him, anyway. All we need is your Burton fellow. You ready, Jacob?”
The big Negro nodded.
“We gotta get the both of ’em before they can yell out, so we gotta be quick.”
Jacob nodded again.
“Then let’s go. Hollister,” he said to me, “you follow us in and get the door shut pronto so nobody hears nothing.”
Even as the words were coming from his mouth, he opened the door and he and Jacob burst through. I was right behind them.
Cal Burton glanced up, and his eyes fell straight on me. A shocked look filled his eyes and a pallor spread over his face. It was almost worth everything I’d been through to finally see the tables turned on him.
“Corrie—” he breathed. But it was the last word he spoke. Jacob’s huge hand clamped down across his mouth. Cal’s struggle was momentary. One look told him he was no match for Jacob. At the same time, Captain Dyles had overpowered the man I took for John Surratt.
“That him, Hollister?” said the captain, nodding his head toward Jacob’s prey.
I nodded, feeling suddenly sick to my stomach. Despite what Cal had done to me, I felt all at once like Judas!
“Then get that rag outta my pocket,” he said.
I found the pocket of his coat and pulled out a length of rag.
“Stuff it in this swine’s mouth,” he said.
I moved toward them. The captain slowly moved his hand aside. But before I could get the rag in, Surratt started to cry out. A slap across the side of his head from the captain silenced him again.
“You try that again and I won’t be so gentle! Now, Hollister, get it in there!”
“I’ll get you for this, little lady,” growled Surratt through clenched teeth. “You may have gotten away that night in the street, but I’ll—”
I jammed the rag in between his teeth and lips. He tried to spit it out, but I shoved it in tighter. Suddenly he chomped down on rag and fingers together and bit me hard.
“Ouch!” I cried, jumping back.
The next instant Surratt lay on the floor unconscious from another blow from Captain Dyles’ fist.
“I warned the varmint,” he muttered. He stooped down, took another length of rag from his coat, and tied it so tightly around Surratt’s mouth I thought his lips were going to bleed. Then hastily he pulled out some rope and quickly bound Surratt’s hands and feet, leaving him lying in a heap on the wood floor. Then he got up and turned his attention to Cal.
“Now, Burton,” he said, “you can make this hard on yourself or you can make it easy. You’ve seen what I can do when I’m crossed. But Jacob here ain’t half so nice a feller as me. Besides, Jacob’s got a gun in your ribs too—Jacob, be so good as to show Mr. Burton what you got aimed at his heart.”
Jacob brought around his left hand, which cradled a small revolver, in front of Cal’s face.
“Now then, Jacob’s gonna let you go. You make so much as a peep, and you’ll feel his hand again. You make any ruckus when we’re outside, and you’ll feel the bullet from his gun, and it’ll be the last thing you ever feel. Now move!”
Jacob removed his hand from Cal’s mouth, then grabbed him by the arm and pulled him toward the door.
“We’re going for a little walk, Burton. And like I said, if you know what’s good for you, keep quiet.”
Cal threw me a look of mingled fear and disbelief at my betrayal of him. All I could think of was what I’d felt in Sacramento to discover him gone—but it didn’t help me feel any better.
Dyles opened the door, and with Cal between the two of them, he and Jacob made their way out into the large warehouse and immediately began walking toward the doorway through which we had come. Jacob stuck so close to him that the gun was invisible, but every once in a while I saw him jab Cal in the ribs as a reminder. I followed behind them.
The moment we were outside and in the sunlight, Captain Dyles ran nearly headlong into the Supply Company man who had questioned him before.
“We found Master Jim,” the captain said, slackening his pace but continuing on.
“Everything in order, Beauregard?” he asked, looking straight at Cal.
I saw him wincing as the steel pressed against the back of his rib cage.
Cal nodded and, encouraged by Jacob’s bulk next to him, continued moving.
The man eyed our small entourage with a question in his eyes. Yet what could be wrong in a well-dressed southern gentleman accompanied by two poor white field hands and his Negro slave? We kept walking. I went past him, and we all moved straight to where the wagon was still sitting. The man continued to watch us.
“Tell us to load in some bags of oat feed,” whispered Dyles to Cal.
Cal was silent.
“You heard the man,” growled Jacob, again reminding Cal of the gun.
“You . . . you men get some oats in there,” Cal said half-heartedly.
“Louder, Cal,” I said. “I think he wants the man to hear you.”
“You heard me,” he said, louder this time. “Get those oats loaded.”
Dyles and Jacob stood shuffling around the wagon another moment or two. I glanced back at the man who’d been watching us. Finally he turned and headed back toward the building.
“He’s gone!” I whispered.
“Into the back, Burton!” said Jacob, practically throwing Cal up and onto the hay as he spoke. The next instant he was beside him.
Captain Dyles sprang up on the board, and I scrambled up to the seat next to him. He flicked the reins, and we bounded into motion.
I glanced back. Cal lay on his back on the floor of the wagon, hay strewn all around him, with Jacob’s boot against his chest, and the gun in his hand pointed toward his head.
Captain Dyles urged the horse as fast as he dared, first up the street to the riverfront, then left, and then along the same route we had followed into the city a few hours earlier.
Chapter 61
The Scheme Is Undone
Now that we had actually kidnapped Cal and were making our escape through the Confederate capital, I was assaulted by many thoughts and feelings.
Mainly, I was just plain scared! What if Cal shouted out? What if someone thought we looked suspicious—which it seemed to me we did—and stopped us? What if we
ran into a unit of Rebel soldiers? They were all around Richmond in the outlying districts! What if someone from Winder Supply followed us? What if Surratt got loose and suddenly all of Richmond was on the lookout for us!?
But mostly I felt an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach about what I’d done. Somehow it didn’t matter that they were trying to kill General Grant, or even that Cal had stolen the money in California and had done what he’d done to me. None of that mattered right then. All I could think of was that I had betrayed another human being, someone I had once cared about! I had betrayed him!
It was no lingering and misplaced loyalty to Cal I was feeling. He was a rat in my eyes. Even worse—he was a spy and a criminal against the Union and a participant in a murder plot. I had no feelings left other than anger for what kind of man he’d allowed himself to become.
Yet what was even more despicable than a spy and murderer? The stool pigeon, the traitor . . . the Judas! How could I have stooped so low! Was this justified to save a man’s life? Was it forgivable to betray a traitor?
And then, right in the middle of my thoughts, I heard Cal’s voice.
“Corrie,” he said behind me, “I’m surprised at you. All that religious talk . . . I thought you were different.”
His words stung me. But any tears I had left for Cal Burton had been wept and were dried up long ago. And the patronizing, disdainful tone of his voice snapped me out of my self-recriminations. Cal had, indeed, changed! His voice was cold—hard, callous, and biting. If I’d thought he might have repented of what he’d done, I could not have been more wrong! The sound of his voice told me that he had continued his downward slide, and that perhaps he had become a man even capable of murder if it suited his selfish purposes.
I turned around and looked down at him where he lay. Seeing him so vulnerable and helpless filled me with a sudden sense of pity. All the pain from the past was gone.
“I’m sorry, Cal,” I said sincerely. “I haven’t changed . . . it’s you who has changed. And whatever you may think of me, I couldn’t let you kill General Grant. The future of this country is too important to me.”
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