North and South Trilogy

by John Jakes

  George was still riffling through the notes and press clippings. “You know, this sounds remarkably like Kelly’s process.”

  Cooper forked a last morsel of rabbit pie from the deep dish in front of him. “Who’s Kelly?”

  George told him about the Kentucky ironmaker. “But if Bessemer has already applied for an American patent—”

  “Did I forget to tell you?” Cooper interrupted. “He got it before I left London.”

  “Then Kelly may be out of luck. In any case”—George’s cigar had gone out; he struck a match and puffed—“I’m going to book passage at once. I can send Constance off to see the French cathedrals while I look into this.”

  Stanley began, “I think you’re a fool to risk—”

  “Risk what? My time? The price of a trip? Good Lord, Stanley, unless you want to stand still in business, risk is inevitable. Why can’t you ever understand that? Suppose Hazard’s could obtain an American license for Bessemer’s process. Think of all we’d stand to gain by being first in the market.”

  “Gain—or lose,” Stanley countered. “Is it not a fact that this process is still producing steel of unacceptable quality?”

  Unexpectedly infuriated, George pounded the table. “What difference does it make to you, goddamn it? I’ll pay for the whole trip out of personal funds.”

  Stanley leaned back and smiled. “Yes, I would be much happier if you did that.”

  George pressed his lips together, drew a long breath, then addressed the visitor. “I’d like to see Bessemer personally. Perhaps he’ll be less suspicious of me since I’m in the iron trade.”

  A thin smile from Cooper. “Not likely. Practically the whole of the British metal working industry is laughing at him.”

  “What do you suppose they know that we don’t?” Stanley asked with a sigh. He stood up.

  George drew the cigar from his mouth and peered at his brother through a squiggle of smoke. “Stanley, I know it’s been years since you practiced good manners, but try to remember how you behaved before you took up with politicians. Cooper did us a great favor by coming here. We owe him the courtesy of listening to whatever he cares to say. There was something else, wasn’t there?”

  “Yes,” Cooper said. Disgusted, Stanley sat down.

  With a sinking feeling, Cooper reached for his valise. He hated to present his drawing of the Star of Carolina in this atmosphere of skepticism and hostility.

  He moved dishes and silver, then unrolled the drawing, which by now had become smudged and dog-eared. Slowly, earnestly, he began to speak. He started with the specifics of his design. He enthusiastically described the great steamer’s capacity and cargo flexibility. Finally he revealed his plan to build the vessel in Charleston. He concluded by saying:

  “Our family has capital to put into the project, but not enough for a venture of this magnitude. If the Hazards came in as partners, we could proceed, and I think both families would stand an excellent chance of making a profit. Perhaps a very large one.”

  Stanley’s quizzical eyes skimmed the drawing again. “What do the banks say about this?”

  “I haven’t approached any banks. I wanted to give you first chance.” To George: “Of course there are risks—”

  Stanley snickered and under his breath said something snide. George heard the word understatement. He shot his brother a dark look. Stanley sat back with folded arms and half-lidded eyes.

  George said: “You’ve already explained those. More than adequately, in my opinion. But I’m not qualified to evaluate this sort of proposal. I know nothing about ship construction.”

  “All I know is what I’ve learned from personal study,” Cooper responded. “I intend to bring the best New England shipwrights and naval architects to Charleston—”

  He talked for another ten minutes. He might have saved his breath. Arms still folded, Stanley announced:

  “I’m opposed, I wouldn’t put a half-dime into it.”

  Cooper’s face fell. George toyed with the corner of the drawing. Then he sat up, squared his shoulders, and said to the visitor:

  “How much do you need?”

  “To start? Something around two million.”

  The older brother snorted and got to his feet again. George glared. “For Christ’s sake, shut up, Stanley. I’m sorry I invited you. This will be my money. I’ll mortgage my assets or, if I can’t, liquidate them. No one will trifle with your precious income.”

  Stanley was taken aback. “Where did you get assets worth two million?”

  “I’m not sure they are, quite. I’ll have to ask the bankers. But I have plenty of money you don’t know about. I made it while you were busy ingratiating yourself with Boss Cameron. Each to his own,” he finished with a shrug that sent Stanley back to his chair, speechless with humiliation.

  George extended his hand to Cooper. “We’re partners, then. At least we’ll explore the feasibility of a partnership. It will take me a week or so to learn whether I can in fact raise the money.”

  “You’re reckless,” Stanley exploded. “You’ve always been reckless.” He leaned toward Cooper. “Just how many years will it take to design and launch this great vessel of yours? Five? Ten?”

  “Three. She can be in service by 1860.”

  “Fine,” Stanley sneered. “Then you can make it the flagship of the navy of your new Southern nation. The one all those traitors in your state keep prophesying.”

  He reached for his hat, stick, and overcoat. George said, “His friend Cameron is flirting with Republicanism. Stanley’s trying on the party rhetoric for size.”

  This drew another hateful look from Stanley. He pointed his stick at the drawing. “That thing is a joke. You’ll all come to ruin, mark my word.”

  He marched out. George sighed. “He didn’t even thank you for supper. If he weren’t my brother, I’d wring his neck.”

  Cooper grinned, holding up the rolled drawing.

  “Never mind. We’re launched without him.”

  Within two weeks, George pledged one million nine hundred thousand dollars of capital to build the Star of Carolina.

  A draft for fifty thousand, matched by a similar amount from the Mains, would pay for the initial steps. These included a survey and plan of the James Island acreage, clearing of the land, and a deposit in an escrow account representing three years’ salary for a man Cooper had traveled north to steal from the Black Diamond firm. The man’s name was Levitt Van Roon; he was one of the country’s top naval architects. Cooper soon had Van Roon moved to Charleston with his family. He then sent Van Roon to England to visit the Millwall Yard and confer with Brunel.

  Articles incorporating the Carolina Marine Company had to be prepared, along with the partnership agreement between the Mains and George Hazard. For this work Cooper went to Ashton’s husband; Huntoon was expensive but expert. Cooper approved the twenty seven-page partnership document and gave it to Orry, who forwarded it to George.

  Several weeks later Orry said to his brother: “George tore up the agreement.”

  “Oh, Lord. Is he pulling out?”

  “No, nothing like that. He doesn’t think a contract’s necessary. He said the two of you shook hands.”

  “And on that basis he’ll trust me with nearly two million dollars?”

  Orry nodded, amused by his brother’s reaction. For his part, Cooper understood more graphically than ever before why Orry had such great respect and affection for the stocky little man from Pennsylvania.

  In the spring of 1857, Billy finished his short tour at Fort Hamilton. There he had assisted the senior officer in charge of repairs on the twenty-three-gun terreplein and, additionally, undertaken a project assigned to him alone.

  It wasn’t much of a project: the restoration of two floors and a ceiling in the magazines at Battery Morton, whose guns guarded the Narrows. But he had worked out all the calculations himself, done the drawings, and hired and supervised six civilian workers, all of whom were at least ten years older, and fr
equently quarrelsome. They didn’t give a damn about his engineering training, but after he broke up a fight and held his own against the bully of the group in two minutes of brutal, clumsy punching, he had their respect.

  Billy liked the color and bustle of New York. Being a Yankee, he was at home there. Yet he felt that his heart now lay in the South. He hoped his next posting would take him in that direction. To Cockspur Island in the Savannah River, for instance. Or—even better—to the fortifications in Charleston harbor. To his regret, the Army’s mysterious bureaucracy chose to move him halfway across the country, to follow in the footsteps of a giant.

  Not quite twenty years earlier, the man still considered the Army’s foremost soldier and Scott’s likely successor had been sent to St. Louis with one clerk and orders instructing him to do something about a problem on the Mississippi River. The river was silting up along the west bank and slowly ruining navigation near the St. Louis waterfront.

  Robert Lee of the Corps of Engineers had decided the solution lay in long dikes. He built these at the upstream and downstream ends of Bloody Island, a long, cottonwood-covered shoal on the Illinois side. Two and a half years of his life were devoted to this and other river improvements in the vicinity. When he was finished, the well-planned dikes diverted the current so that it scoured out accumulated sand and satisfactorily deepened the steamboat channel on the city side.

  Lee’s work earned him the gratitude of the St. Louis business community, and then his heroism in the Mexican War turned him into something of a legend. Now Brevet Lieutenant Hazard, again with one clerk, was being posted to St. Louis to effect repairs on the dikes—a job considerably easier than Lee’s had been, but no less lonely.

  Billy wrote Brett that he felt he was being banished to the remote frontier. One good thing could be said: he was still banking part of his pay each month. The marriage fund, they called it in their frequent and highly sentimental correspondence. Brett promised to visit him in St. Louis, provided she could persuade Orry to chaperone her.

  Despite the 1855 expansion program which had created four new regiments, the U.S. Army was still small. Hence it was not at all unlikely for a young officer to be posted to a place where the Marble Model had served—or even to be assigned to his command, which turned out to be the case with Charles.

  Charles graduated third from the bottom of the class of 1857. He ordered uniforms with yellow facings, pinned on the insignia of the mounted service, and went home on furlough. He had been ordered to duty with the Second Cavalry in Texas. The Second was one of the new regiments. There were so many Southerners from West Point in it that the unit was called Jeff Davis’s Own. The term was not always complimentary.

  When Ashton heard of the assignment, her reaction was similar to Billy’s: “Why, that’s the end of the earth. Nothing there but dust, niggers, and red savages.”

  “Nonsense, Ashton. There are Texans, Spaniards—and the best mounted regiment in the Army. Bob Lee’s in command now. He moved up when Albert Johnston was reassigned. Lee has written friends at the Academy, and he says Texas is beautiful. He keeps a garden and a pet rattlesnake. I think I’ll do the same.”

  “I always knew you were crazy,” she said with a shudder.

  43

  A STEAMER FROM NEW Orleans delivered Charles to Indianola on the Texas Gulf coast. From there he traveled by stagecoach up to San Antonio, the headquarters of the regiment and the Department of Texas, which Lee was also commanding temporarily.

  Texas was a new experience for Charles, a new kind of landscape. Neither mountainous like the Hudson Highlands nor overgrown and dank like some sections of the low country, but flat or gently rolling, open to the burning sun and scouring winds, subject to brutal summer heat and miserable winter chill. Something in him responded instantly to the space and the freedom. The land produced a feeling that here a man could live to the full, unhampered by the traditions and trivial rules that forced behavior into a rigid pattern in more settled parts of the country.

  Charles had been happy to leave the East and all the sectional hostility there. In March the Supreme Court had decided the case of Dred Scott, the slave who had sued for his liberty on the grounds that he had become a free man the moment his owner took him into free territory. Charles didn’t understand all the complexities of the case, but the heart of the majority opinion written by Chief Justice Taney was a judgment that Scott had no right to sue because slaves were not citizens, not legal persons in the constitutional sense. Hence they could not seek justice in American courts. The decision had enraged people on both sides of the issue and provoked a score of nasty fights at West Point during the spring.

  Charles doubted that he would completely escape such quarrels out here, but maybe they would be fewer. Frontier or not, Texas still belonged to the slaveholding South.

  San Antonio spread beside the river of the same name. The city was an odd but delightful blend of three cultures that first became evident to Charles in the architecture. As the stagecoach bumped through the outskirts, he saw neat single-story homes of square-cut white limestone, each with its small painted sign identifying the owner. German names, mostly. Later, on narrow Commerce Street, he sauntered past shops with signs in German as well as in English. The American colony lived nearby, in solid brick residences two or three stories high, with picket fences surrounding them.

  And, of course, there were the adobe houses, distinctively square and flat-roofed. All in all, he liked the look of the town as much as he liked the look of the state. The people seemed friendly, acting as if they believed life had treated them well and given them reason to be confident about the future. Charles saw a good many raffish plainsmen, heavily armed, and he was particularly charmed by the dark-skinned Spanish girls.

  Before reporting to Lee, he took pains to brush the dust from his pale blue trousers and tight-fitting dark blue jacket. He polished the brass eagle ornament and plumped up the two black ostrich plumes on his Hardee hat—the cavalry’s version of a precedent-breaking full-brimmed hat of gray felt introduced in the Army in 1855. The left brim of the Hardee hat was turned up and held by the claws of the metal eagle.

  After Charles handed his papers to Lee’s aide, a cheerful Pole named Lieutenant Radziminski, he was received by the regimental commander. Lee ordered him to stand at ease, then invited him to sit. September sunlight flooded the white-painted room. The open windows admitted dry, bracing air.

  Lee was punctilious, yet cordial. “It’s good to see you again, Lieutenant. You look fit. The Academy agreed with you, then.”

  “Yes, sir. I liked it—though I confess I wasn’t much good in the classroom.”

  “Out here, other qualities are just as important as scholarship. The ability to ride well and endure hardship. The ability to lead men of varying backgrounds.” He turned toward a large lacquered map of Texas hanging behind him. All the posts in the department were identified by pins with small ribbons on them. “Where you are being sent, the troops are composed chiefly of Alabama and Ohio men. Of course we have our quota of recent immigrants throughout the regiment. By the way—”

  Having failed to satisfy Charles’s curiosity and name his destination, Lee faced forward again. “My nephew is serving with the Second.”

  “Yes, sir, I know.”

  “You and Fitz were friends—”

  “Good friends. I’m looking forward to seeing him.”

  Lee nodded, thought a moment. “For your information, General Twiggs will soon be arriving to assume command of the department. Major George Thomas will take over the regiment and transfer its headquarters back to Fort Mason. I’m returning to Virginia.”

  Charles tried to hide his disappointment. “A new assignment, sir?”

  Gravely, Lee shook his head. “My wife’s father passed away. I must take a leave to attend to some family matters.”

  “My condolences, sir. I’m sorry to hear you’re leaving.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. I plan to return as soon as pra
cticable. Meanwhile, you’ll find Major Thomas a very capable commandant. He graduated in the class of 1840.”

  It was said as if to stamp Thomas with a mark of approval. Charles was learning that the mark united those officers who had gone through the Academy and separated them from those who had not.

  Lee relaxed, grew more conversational.” Our work here is confined to just a few tasks, but each is important. Guarding the mail coaches and emigrant trains. Scouting. And of course suppressing an occasional Indian outbreak. The threat of Indian trouble isn’t as constant as our playwrights and novelists would have gullible Easterners believe. But neither is it imaginary. I think you’ll find the duty both interesting and challenging.”

  “I know I will, Colonel. I already like Texas very much. There’s a feeling of freedom here.”

  “We’ll see how you like it after you’ve lived through a norther,” Lee replied with a smile. “But I understand what you’re saying. Last year I read a book by a chap named Thoreau. One line stuck in my mind. ‘There are none happy in the world but beings who enjoy freely a vast horizon.’ That certainly applies to the frontier: Perhaps it also explains why there is so much turmoil and disputation in our country. Ah, but I haven’t mentioned your post, have I?”

  He stood up, faced the map, and indicated one of the ribbons pinned almost due north of San Antonio at what looked to be a distance of about 250 miles.

  “Camp Cooper. On the Clear Fork of the Brazos. It’s two miles upstream of the Penateka Comanche agency and reservation. Your troop commander is also a West Point man recently transferred from Washington back to line duty here. His name is Captain Bent.”