Case of the Dixie Ghosts
Page 12
“Now, as to this other matter at a later date, of which I was also ignorant. After the war, when funds from Hotze dried up, Tebbutt and Meakum fell in with the confidence trickster, Fortune, and were gullible or hard up enough to join him in his Resurgent South scheme.
“Tebbutt, who liked to call himself Fairfax when out with his henchman, and passing Mr. Van Trask’s home, having had some hard liquor, was seized by the crazed notion that Mr. Van Trask owed him some personal remuneration for his services concerning the major, though none was promised. So he rushed in and threatened him with a pistol and demanded money. You tell me this caused Mr. Van Trask considerable mental anguish. Well, I’m only grateful that he came to no harm in the incident.”
The Ambassador rose, stretched his arm over his desk and offered Dacers his hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Dacers,” he said. “Again, you have done a valuable service for us.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ambassador,” Dacers replied. “I only hope I have done the right thing by everyone concerned.”
Charles Francis Adams face became grave. “On that point, I will exercise a lawyer’s discretion, keep my own counsel, and leave you to judge that at the end of the case, so to speak.”
Later that same evening, in the lamplit quiet of the Ambassador’s office an earnest conversation went on between Charles Francis Adams and Theodore Van Trask.
“No, no.” protested Van Trask, “I can only resign. I gave aid to our enemy. It was at a time when I had been ill, and perhaps my judgement was weakened but that will not do. It is a feeble excuse. No man should betray his country in time of war. I can only resign. I have disgraced not only myself but the name of Van Trask. You know my family served the nation honourably ever since its founding.”
“Resign? Disgraced?” exclaimed Adams. “I can’t agree, Theodore. You might have contributed to the rebel states, but it was the merest pittance compared to the vast amounts in money and in subsequent damage to the United States’ fighting forces made by those people in this country who financed and built the Confederate commerce raiders and rams. And consider what you achieved. You caused Major Van Trask to be freed from festering in the hell hole of Libby Prison and return to where he was most useful to his country—the field of battle.
“You know I have a son who is an officer in our army. Do you think I would not be tempted to do the same thing as you if I heard he was a captive in Libby Prison?
“Look at the end result. Major Van Trask was killed in that terrible twelve-day battle at Spotsylvania Court House, and it is a matter of record that he and the men he led distinguished themselves to the very end. In his despatches, General Grant wrote in the most glowing and admiring terms of the leadership of your nephew and the bravery of his troops.”
Adams put a firm, encouraging hand on Van Trask’s shoulder. “Theodore, my old friend, if you made a mistake, it was made out of affection for your brother and his son, and far worse mistakes have been made than providing the means of returning a gallant and valuable officer to the work of defending the Union. You have long been as valuable to our diplomatic service and to me personally as your nephew was to the flag of the nation. I will not hear of your resignation.”
Still with one hand on Van Trask’s shoulder, Adams clamped his other hand on the opposite shoulder, shook Van Trask gently and said: “And if you dared to offer your resignation, I would chain you to your desk and insist on your continuing your duties. The matter is closed, my dear Theodore.”
As to the Resurgent South trio, the wheels of the law took their usual slow time in measuring out just deserts, the weight of which fell heaviest on Fortune, who was convicted for conspiracy to murder. Additionally, he was found to be the only one to make any concrete profit from the group’s scheming, for it was proved that, when supposedly pursuing business on his solo trips away from his colleagues, he was attending to the salting away for his own use such profits as was made by their trickery. For that, he was convicted for obtaining money by deception and was given a total sentence of fifteen years in a convict prison, with deportation to the United States at the end of it.
Calvin Tebbutt, judged an accomplice in the conspiracy to murder and on the deception charge, from which he made no profit, received a total of eight years in prison to be followed by deportation.
Samuel Meakum was found to be amenable to the British law and handed over by the United States’ Embassy. Septimus Dacers, who came so close to being a murder victim, appeared as a character witness for him and described how his life was certainly saved when Meakum freed him at Blindman’s Yard. This told well in Meakum’s favour and he was imprisoned for two years for being an accomplice in attempting to obtain money by deception. In his case, there was no recommendation of deportation.
The few British dupes gullible enough to give Fortune’s pockets a temporarily golden lining in the belief that they were stacking up future profits from a revitalised Confederate States, and who were forced to give evidence, quickly bolted to their retreats to hide their red faces. They included Sir Oswald Vaillant, the Squire of Cardsworth, who had invested in the fantasy of an improved version of Hunley’s undersea boat.
Well before the bewigged majesty of the law courts balanced the Dixie Ghosts miscreants on the scales of justice, in fact the day after Charles Francis Adams’ warm-hearted interview with Theodore Van Trask, another letter for Dacers arrived at his address. It was handed to him by Mrs. Slingsby, wearing a smile that might be described as one of fond conjecture. For the note was addressed in a feminine hand she had seen before, and she wondered if a succession of such letters might ultimately lead to the “nice wife” she hoped he would find.
In the letter, Roberta Van Trask recorded her heartfelt gratitude for the service Dacers performed for her father and herself. It had resulted in a heavy burden being lifted from her father’s shoulders, and he was working at his diplomatic duties with the sort of vigour he must have had when a young man, new to the service.
A couple of days later, Dacers walked down Little Earle Street to enter the heart of Seven Dials. His mood was light. He was deaf to the wailings of babies and the exchanges of lurid bawling between couples who might or might not have been united in Holy Matrimony. He scarcely smelt the harsh and sickly stench of stewing hops from the big brewery, dominating Castle Street, on the further side of “The Dials.” He even gave two pence each to four small ragged boys, and was spared the usual siege by a horde of their kind with grubby palms open and pitiful pleas for a “brown.” meaning a penny.
At Setty Wilkins’ workshop, he handed the ancient engraver a paper on which he had inscribed a legend.
Setty read it and his wrinkled, gnome’s face split into a grin.
Dacers said: “Setty Wilkins, who claims to have no book learning and who produces literate messages in an immaculate copperplate that even Inspectors of crushers can understand, I want one copy of this on the choicest grade of card you have in the shop. Oh, and please be sure it is unmarred by an acid stain.”
Setty read the paper again, chuckled, and took the clay pipe from his mouth.
“My eye, Mr. Dacers,” he pronounced, “I don’t know vot you mean and I allus thought you vos the perfect bachelor but, as I’ve often remarked, a man never knows vot’s vot these days!”
The paper declared that, at an early forthcoming date:
“Septimus Dacers, Esq, has pleasure in requesting the company of Miss Roberta Van Trask and Chaperone for a little dinner at Carrington’s Hotel, St. James’ Place. RSVP.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Anthony Arthur Glynn was born in Manchester in 1929, and had a disrupted wartime childhood including enduring the Luftwaffe’s blitzing of the city in 1940 and 1941.
Drawn to art and writing from an early age, he was strongly influenced by two uncles, one a newspaperman who, in his spare time, wrote a variety of articles as well as fiction for juvenile weeklies. The other, who settled in Canada, was a chief theatrical scenic artist, working on
the sets for many top stage shows.
Reading avidly from a young age, he became interested in all kinds of books and devoured popular fiction. Discovering the American comic strip Buck Rogers when he was about seven sparked off a lifelong interest in science fiction, and he later became well known among British science fiction fans. This activity led to lasting friendships and opportunities to write and illustrate in the amateur fanzines of Britain and the US.
At twenty-two came his first professional science fiction sale. Others followed and he worked in other fields, including juvenile fiction and, eventually, western and detective novels.
He started work as a textile designer in Manchester at sixteen and studied the subject at Manchester Regional College of Art in the evenings. After two years’ National Service in the army, he changed direction for a short period, his fascination with theatre and film leading him into the professional film world—as a projectionist for the Rank Organisation.
In his early twenties, he became a reporter on a weekly newspaper in Cheshire, serving an enjoyable apprenticeship covering rural events and riding country lanes on a bicycle. Later, he returned to Manchester, produced some Western novels; worked on the features desk of the Sunday Mirror and spent thirty-three years with the Bolton Evening News newspaper group as chief reporter, then assistant editor of one of its weekly papers.
Since retiring, he has written a number of new western novels as well as short science fiction and fantasy stories for Wildside’s Fantasy Adventures series. Currently he is planning on a return to detective fiction, and Case of the Dixie Ghosts reflects his interest in the strong links between Lancashire and America in the Civil War.