Perish from the Earth

by Jonathan F. Putnam

  Lincoln did not wait for the judge to speak but rather turned back to his seat and started organizing his papers.

  “Your outburst is completely improper, Mr. Lincoln,” the judge called angrily over the dull roar of the gallery. “The jury is to disregard every word.”

  Lincoln did not look up from his papers. He’d fired the warning shot, loud and clear, into the sky. The question now was whether his intended target—whoever it was who had the most to lose by Lincoln actually getting to the heart of what had been happening along the river—would react as we hoped.

  A minute later, we found ourselves out on the hillside above Captain Ryder’s offices. Lincoln, Tessie, Martha, and I huddled together against the chill.

  “Your examination of Telesphore could hardly have gone better,” I said.

  Lincoln nodded. “I think I made the jury question his veracity. And of course I furthered the suggestion of a scheme aboard the War Eagle in which Jones got entangled.”

  “Isn’t it perfectly obvious Pemberton was in pursuit of a runaway slave?” said Martha. “I mean, what other reason could there be for Telesphore to send his principal man north?”

  “He could have sent him to St. Louis to buy more slaves to bring down the river,” said Tessie. “Indeed, he does so regularly.”

  “But if that’s what was happening, surely he would have admitted it. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “My aim, Miss Speed,” said Lincoln, “was to further the idea that a scheme was afoot without having to specify exactly what it was. Remember, we don’t want to suggest to the jury that Bingham was on the side of a fugitive slave—and not just for your father’s sake. As it turned out, Telesphore’s reluctance to discuss his business played into our hands perfectly.”

  “What was the purpose of your statement at the end, the one the judge struck?” Martha asked. “Were you trying to gain favor with the jury?”

  “He was trying to warn someone,” I said as Lincoln nodded.

  “Whom?”

  “That’s exactly the question.”

  As I said this, raised voices drifted our way, and we saw Prickett and Daumier continuing their vigorous discussion. About thirty feet below them on the hillside, I noticed two other distinctive figures in animated conversation: Captain Pound and Hector.

  Elsewhere on the hillside, tightly formed groups of spectators congregated to debate the evidence. The men smoked to keep warm, and the women pulled their shawls close. Based on the few remarks I’d overheard on our way out of the courtroom, we weren’t alone in thinking Lincoln had begun to turn the tide with his examination this morning.

  I looked over at Pound and Hector again. The man-mountain was nodding vigorously at something his captain was saying.

  “Are you calling Pound as a witness?” I asked Lincoln.

  “My strategy depends on it. He’s the captain of the enterprise. And remember, we still don’t have an explanation for what he was doing at the gathering at Roman Hall in the first place—why, apparently, he showed up without an invitation. Do you really think it’s a coincidence he was there at the very moment one of their slaves took flight aboard his ship?”

  “Surely the slave could have stowed away without his assistance,” Martha said.

  “True, but it’s hard to believe there was a scheme on board that he wasn’t at least aware of. You’ve heard the testimony about the loyalty of the crew—it’s a point everyone agrees on.”

  “Maybe no one in the crew other than Sary had any involvement, or even any knowledge,” I said. “We know of her interest in trying to help her relatives escape. No one else would have had the same motivation, or anything close. I don’t see why you can’t put all the blame on her.”

  “But in that case,” said Martha, “we’re back to the problem of whether she could have killed Jones and disposed of the body on her own.”

  “Let’s see if my little speech at the end had the effect I hoped,” said Lincoln.

  The clerk appeared at the doorstep of Ryder’s offices and bellowed that court was coming to session. We followed the tide of spectators flooding inside. As I walked down the hillside, I gazed out at the beautiful vista—the levee and river spread out in front of us. The river looked smooth and crystalline this morning, as if an early freeze had descended.

  I was about to head up Ryder’s steps when I realized something about the river scene was amiss. I stared out again. And then I saw it—and my heart gave a flip. Two thin wisps of smoke had started to leak from the War Eagle’s smokestacks.

  CHAPTER 38

  I pushed through the crowd to catch up with Lincoln and told him about the War Eagle’s apparent preparations to depart. Indeed, staring through the tall windows overlooking the river, we could see the wisps of smoke rapidly becoming thicker.

  We gazed around the courtroom for Pound and his crew. None were present.

  Lincoln strode up to Prickett, who was consulting some papers a few feet away. “You’ve ensured the continued attendance of the ship’s crew for the remainder of the case, haven’t you?” Lincoln asked.

  Prickett put down his documents. His face shone in all innocence. “Why should I have done that? I’ve rested my case. Or perhaps you were too busy making that little speech of yours to hear.”

  Lincoln turned to me with an anxious look. “If I can’t call the captain,” he said quietly, “I’ll have to call you as the agent of the boat owner.” I must have looked shocked, because he added, “I’d avoid it if I could, but I don’t see any other way.”

  “Well, Lincoln?” called the judge over the boisterous crowd. Silence descended at once. My heart was beating so loudly I was afraid everyone could hear it. “You were so eager to begin. Who’s your first witness?”

  “I call Captain Richard Pound,” announced Lincoln.

  There was, of course, no Pound to step forward. The crowd started chattering excitedly. Judge Thomas squinted around the smoky courtroom. “Where is he?” demanded the judge.

  From a back corner, someone shouted out, “I saw him heading toward the levee not five minutes ago. All his crew was with him too.”

  “Did you secure the captain’s presence through service of a subpoena, Mr. Lincoln?” asked the judge.

  “My brother Prickett had assured me he was calling him during his case, so I saw no need to do so.”

  “You saw no need to follow the proper procedures, you mean,” said the judge, glaring at Lincoln with disdain and disbelief. “You did so at your own peril, and now you and your client will bear the consequences.”

  Bingham and Tessie looked at each other frantically. Lincoln was pale. He looked over and nodded toward me. There was only one thing to do.

  I stood up and faced the gallery. “The captain’s fleeing from justice,” I shouted. “He must be brought back. Who’s with me?”

  Without waiting for a reply, I pushed my way through the crowd, which was shouting with excitement, toward the entrance to the shipping offices. By the time I got to the door, four other men stood there, a ragged assortment of townsmen. I had hoped for more. Glancing at them, I sensed at once that they were motivated neither by antipathy toward Pound, nor by enthusiasm for Lincoln or Bingham, but rather because the prospect of a quasi-sanctioned kidnapping seemed more exciting than another hour in the courtroom. But whatever their motivation, I was in no position to refuse the help.

  “You and you, come on board with me to get him,” I said, pointing to the two largest men in my newly formed gang. “You two others, make sure the ship doesn’t cast off in the meantime. Let’s go.”

  We raced down the hillside. Within a minute, we were at the approach to the levee. The War Eagle’s stacks were belching smoke now, and I thought I saw the wheel at the back of the ship starting to strain against the waters. A dockhand was bent over at one of the pilings, working away at the knotted ropes. The appointed men descended on him, while the other two followed me up the plank.

  Unchallenged, we scrambled up to the
hurricane deck and along the walkway to the barbery. I forced open the door to the captain’s hidden office with a great heave.

  Captain Pound looked up from behind his massive mahogany desk. Hector was at his side, breathing loudly. Pound’s heavy revolver was lying in front of him on the desk.

  The men following me shrank back at the sight of Hector in such close, unregulated proximity.

  Pound and I stared at each other. Without any hurry, he reached out his hand with the five golden rings and picked up the revolver. I had full confidence it was loaded this time.

  “From the very first time you entered this room, young Speed,” said Pound, “I feared our relationship would not end well.”

  “You’re needed in court as a witness,” I said, willing myself to ignore Hector and the gun and keep my eyes focused on Pound. I could only deal with one problem at a time.

  “I’m needed here,” said Pound. “I’ve determined it’s time to steam off to the next port. As captain of the ship, that decision is mine and mine alone.”

  “I hereby relieve you of your captaincy.”

  Pound glanced over my shoulder at my two fellows, who had—at the least—not yet fled, but whose deflated postures betrayed little appetite for battle. Pound broke into a broad smile. His golden teeth glittered.

  “I refuse.”

  “It wasn’t a request.”

  “Nonetheless, I refuse it.”

  I took a deep breath and decided to pursue a new tack. “Why are you afraid of testifying?” I asked. “If you did nothing wrong, you should be happy to tell the court what you know. If you have evidence Bingham truly is the murderer, why not share it with the jury?”

  “None of this is my concern,” said Pound. “You can leave the boat voluntarily, right now, or Hector can help you off.”

  “If you help me, Hector, I’ll make sure you’re provided for,” I said, turning to the man-mountain. “Pound’s done for, one way or the other.”

  “I would like to help you, Speed,” the crewman said in his deep voice, “but I am loyal to my captain. He save me. You know that.”

  “He can’t take care of you anymore,” I said. “His command is over. Not just on this ship but on any other. Once it comes out what’s been going on aboard his ship, with his knowledge, no doubt, he’ll never steam again.”

  “And what exactly,” Pound asked with a sneer, “do you believe has been happening aboard my ship?”

  “Don’t answer that,” came a raspy voice from behind me.

  I swung around. Nanny Mae was standing in the middle of the barber’s shop. One of her arms was leaning on her walking stick. My sister was supporting her other arm.

  “Let me speak with the captain alone, Mr. Speed,” the old woman directed.

  “He and I have unresolved business,” I said.

  “Your business cannot be more important than mine.”

  “What business could you have with him?” As far as I knew, the two were strangers. They had never acknowledged one another in the courtroom, nor while Nanny Mae had been on board the ship. “I’ve relieved him of his captaincy, but he’s refusing to leave the ship. And he’s needed in court to testify.”

  “Those are precisely the matters I intend to speak to him about,” she returned.

  “You’ve been trying to impede us from the moment you came aboard with Martha,” I said. “Why should I let you conspire with Pound now?”

  “Because it’s your only chance.” She hobbled past me and settled herself in one of the chairs at Pound’s desk. “Hector, please escort Mr. Speed out and leave us be.”

  The man-mountain looked at his captain. Pound gave a long sigh and nodded. His eyes wide, Hector grasped my arm and led me from the office. The door slammed shut.

  “I was leaving the courtroom to follow you when she called to me,” said Martha. “At first I thought she was trying to prevent me from coming to your side, but she insisted she could aid our cause if I helped her make it to the levee on time. So I did.”

  “Why would she want to help us? If I didn’t know better, I’d guess she had something to do with the murder herself.”

  “I’ve been trying to figure out the same thing,” said Martha.

  “How do the captain and Nanny Mae know each other?” I asked Hector.

  The man-mountain shrugged his broad shoulders.

  I turned back to Martha. “What was happening in court when you left?”

  “Lincoln asked the judge if he could wait to see if Pound could be retrieved, but the judge refused. So Lincoln called Tessie as his first witness. From the way he started his examination, I think he’s planning to go very slowly, to give you as much time as possible to produce Pound.”

  “He’s going to have to wait a long time, unless Nanny Mae can perform a miracle in there. My gang”—I jerked my head toward the doorway, where my two fellows were lingering—“turned out to be a poor one. If it’s the three of us against Pound, his revolver, and Hector, I don’t like our chances.”

  “Me neither,” intoned Hector.

  Time passed. There was nothing to do but wait. Eventually, the door to the captain’s cabin opened, and Pound shuffled through it. His face sagged even more than normal, and his eyes lacked their usual malicious gleam.

  “Walk with me to Captain Ryder’s offices, Hector,” he said. The man-mountain gaped at his captain as if he’d lost his mind.

  Nanny Mae was still inside the captain’s office, resting her weight against the desk. Her broad face gave no hint of emotion.

  “Leave the firearm, Richard,” she said.

  Without a word, Pound reached into the pocket of his captain’s coat, removed his heavy pistol, and tossed it onto the desk.

  “Is this a trick?” I said.

  “It’s no trick,” said Nanny Mae. “Let them pass.”

  I stepped aside. As Pound reached my position, he glared at me. “Don’t think you’ve won,” he said in a low voice full of sorrow or menace or both—I couldn’t tell. “You haven’t won, Speed. This has got nothing to do with you.

  “Come along, Hector. We have much to discuss on the way up the hill.”

  Pound and Hector departed. I gestured to my fellows that they should follow the two sailors back to the courtroom. Soon, Nanny Mae, Martha, and I were alone. I stared at the old woman again, and again I could not fathom her emotion.

  “How did you convince him?” I asked.

  “It’s the only true course,” she said. “I helped him understand that.” She gave me a steely gaze. The effect was twice as unnerving as Hector and Pound put together. Then she added, “There will be casualties in war, Mr. Speed. There always are.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Martha waited to help Nanny Mae back up the hill, so I raced ahead and caught up with Pound, Hector, and his two escorts just as they were reaching Ryder’s building. All of us walked inside together.

  Tessie was in the middle of being questioned by Prickett. The crowd took in its collective breath at the sight of us, and Prickett looked around to see the source of the commotion. A flicker of something passed across his face. But he turned back to his witness and continued his examination. He seemed to be questioning her on the true extent of her devotion to Bingham.

  Pound and Hector proceeded to their usual seats along the far wall of the courtroom and sat down without returning the many stares that came their direction. I slid in next to Lincoln.

  “How did you manage it?” he whispered.

  “I didn’t. It was Nanny Mae.”

  He recoiled in surprise. “Her? How?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “What’s he going to say?”

  “I have no idea. But I know he had no intention of testifying until Nanny Mae prevailed upon him.”

  “Fair enough,” said Lincoln. “So we pays our money and takes our chances.”

  A few minutes later, Prickett concluded his cross-examination of Tessie. From the look of pure adoration Bingham gave her as she returned to hi
s side, it appeared her affirmations of love had been unshakable.

  “We call Captain Richard Pound as our next witness,” announced Lincoln.

  Pound rose and slowly made his way to the witness chair. Every step was freighted. He looked very old and very tired. The courtroom was hushed with anticipation. Although I didn’t dare take my eyes off Pound, I could tell Nanny Mae had finally made it back, as her knitting needles resumed their clacking.

  “Good morning, Captain Pound,” began Lincoln.

  Pound nodded but did not open his mouth. His jowls drooped limply.

  “For how long have you held the captaincy of the War Eagle?”

  “I was the War Eagle’s captain for twenty-one months,” he said. I glanced up at Lincoln, but it appeared he had not noticed the captain’s use of past tense. “Judge John Speed invested me with my command on February the third, 1836.”

  “And before that, you held the position of captain on other boats?”

  “Many others, for many years.”

  “For how many years in total have you steamed or sailed or paddled along the inland waterways of our nation?”

  “For the whole of the time given to me by God on His earth,” said Pound. “I’ve known no other life, Mr. Lincoln.” Pound breathed deeply and seemed to be regaining his strength. I wondered whether this was good or bad for Lincoln.

  “A ship’s captain,” continued Lincoln, “is responsible for the actions of his ship?”

  “Certainly.”

  “And he’s also responsible for the actions of all those under his command—would you agree with me?”

  “No captain worthy of the title could differ.”

  “I’ve heard it said that any good captain knows everything that goes on aboard his ship.”

  “When I was the captain of the War Eagle, it was most certainly true of me. There was nothing—nothing—that escaped my notice.”

  Lincoln looked at Pound for a long time and then turned back to me. I nodded. The captain’s use of past tense had not escaped him this time. Lincoln murmured to himself and continued.