By Gaslight

by Steven Price

  A soldier came out, studied him, unimpressed. Come, he said. Let’s go.

  Edward rose. Rumpled yet in his travelling clothes, mud crusted on his boots.

  Cashmeyer got up from behind his desk and shook Edward’s hand and gestured to a sofa under a window. He offered tea, biscuits. The man had very small ears turned outward from his head, he was wide-shouldered, his blond hair thinning. His eyes were so dark as to look black in the sunlight.

  Your uncle was in the Shenandoah? Cashmeyer said.

  Yessir.

  I know your father. I was sorry to hear of his arrest.

  Spies, sir, Edward said, letting a venom creep into his voice. Someone spoke out of turn, I reckon. Sold him out.

  Any idea who?

  Edward shook his head angrily. I’d cut his throat if I knew it, sir.

  Cashmeyer sucked his lips into a frown, studied the boy. Then he rose and crossed to the window and peered through the slats with his face hidden. He never mentioned he had a boy. You have some colour to you, son.

  Edward cleared his throat. My mother was Spanish.

  Spanish?

  Yessir.

  The Spaniards are the niggers of Europe, Cashmeyer said softly. It is a sad fact but true. That is what comes of a history of being conquered. He stared out of the window at the streets of Richmond, lost in thought. A lad has two bloodlines in him. Which will be the stronger? Does he have a say in it, or is he already what he will be?

  Edward said nothing.

  Cashmeyer grunted, half turned, hands still clasped at his back. Some would say that is what this war is about. A man’s right to choose his own self. Is the North to rule without our consent? Or do we have a right to our own destiny?

  Yessir.

  Cashmeyer turned back to the window. But they would be wrong, he murmured. That is not what this war is about.

  A moment passed. Edward stood with his hands damp at his sides, waiting. The captain said nothing more and at last Edward said: Sir?

  Cashmeyer turned, as if surprised the boy was still there. Welcome to the free Confederacy, son, he said. There’ll be a room for you at the Spotswood. We’ll find a use for your talents yet.

  He took a room on the third floor of the Spotswood Hotel as instructed and rose early the next morning and walked uphill to the Capitol through the rain. The days began their slow passing. A Negro chambermaid near his age made eyes at him each morning but he ignored her. He recorded what he could in a small notebook at night by candlelight though he sent no reports out. The breastworks were of split pine logs with a 64-pounder and a traverse of 180 degrees, he wrote. There were seventeen batteries surrounding the capital, he wrote. The defending soldiers were equipped with Enfields from England smuggled in via Bermuda. He observed that sickness had thinned the ranks of the infantry but that the cavalry remained strong and he noticed that hay of any quality was scarce, the prices wild and fiuctual. He estimated some 75,000 fighting men stood to arms in Richmond. He hid the notebook and the small ivory-handled pistolet between his mattress and the headboard. He did not approach the prisons.

  Edward walked now among the Confederate officers in the rain and he saw the same faces as in the North, the same fever, same youth, same blood. In his second week in Richmond he made his way out to the old fairgrounds at Camp Lee and stared at the scaffold that stood yet where Timothy Webster had been hanged. The grass was still trampled down to mud from the crowds that day and he stood on a low rise alone against the cloudy light and stared across at the devastation of it. Webster had died well, had warned the soldiers to make the noose tight. Edward never met the man but wished he had. The two spies remaining, John Scully and Pryce Lewis, had been arrested seven weeks earlier while trying to locate Webster and when Webster went to the scaffold and they did not rumours started up. It was said Lewis had betrayed him to his death. It was said Scully had revealed the Major’s networks in the South. But the two men remained in prison and the Major did not believe the talk and Edward, if nothing else, trusted the Major.

  In the last days of May after McClellan had taken Mechanicsville and the Union guns rolled to within five miles of the city he became aware of a man following him. The man wore a long unkempt beard and stained grey trousers like a labourer down on his luck but his eyes were clear and very blue. Everywhere a quiet hardness lay across the city and its inhabitants waded through the muddy streets with their hats low and their eyes fierce in the knowledge of what was coming. Edward would leave his hotel in the morning and see the man lounging in a doorway across the street, thumbs hooked in his pockets, his watch chain glinting in the sunlight. An able-bodied man in the heart of the Confederacy doing nothing. Conspicuously.

  He learned from a shoeshine boy that the man was an agent of Cashmeyer’s and something cold and evil turned over inside him to hear it. He had by that time worked out several plans to free Lewis and Scully but each time as the hour drew near some unexpected interference arose. He had learned that the two men were being held in Castle Godwin, a fierce scorched-brick building set back from Carey Street with grim slitted windows in its rear and a rotted fence running the perimeter. He had taken to walking past it on his morning rounds but he ceased doing so in his uneasiness. At first he had thought to work his way into the prison as a visitor but when that seemed to draw too much attention he had abandoned it and began to collect sticks of dynamite for an assault when the Union army began its shelling. As the shells struck he would shatter one wall of the prison from earth to sky and walk through that breach and carry Lewis and Scully to freedom. Then McClellan hesitated at the Chickahominy and did not advance and then Edward grew anxious and started to look for another way. He cultivated a friendship with one of the younger wardens thinking to find some weakness there but that man was redeployed into Lee’s army and killed at Glendale and Edward did not think it wise to approach another. What he needed, in fact, was some accomplice. Some second man.

  Then in the second week Cashmeyer’s agent was replaced by a different man, much older, and in the third week Lee began his counterattack and the Infernal Week boiled over in all its fury and the Union forces were pushed back past Malvern Hill and Edward found himself again alone.

  He was ogling the windows of a harness-maker’s display on Carey Street in early July when he saw in the rippled glass two dark figures pass at his shoulder. He stood very still, his own reflection blurred and pale. Then he turned and followed.

  This was after the Union retreat, after the slaughter of Malvern Hill. He was trapped in Richmond by then. He followed the men towards the centre of the city and walked slow and kept his distance. The smaller of the two, a man with a bony neck and a delicate white suit, spoke furtively and rapidly. The taller only listened. Then the taller nodded farewell and slipped alone past the lintel of a storefront and inside. Edward crossed the street at a jog, followed him in. It was a butcher’s shop and the man he sought stood at the counter with his back to Edward and he was holding out a hand for a wrapped paper package. The man chuckled and tipped his hat to the butcher and brushed past Edward’s shoulder and a moment later the shop door banged open and then he was gone without so much as a glance Edward’s way.

  His beard had come in since Edward had seen him last, yes, his accent was thicker here in the heart of the Confederacy. But the scars were the same.

  Ignatius Spaar.

  At breakfast the next morning Edward found the two men in silent concentration over plates of sausages and eggs and he sat at their table in his grey cotton suit and took off his hat and held out a hand. Both men lifted their faces: surprised, interested, calculating. Spaar took Edward’s right hand in an awkward left-handed grip, grunted in greeting. His companion set down his knife and fork, smiled. He was an attorney-at-law out of Texas named Marvell.

  I’ve seen you about, son, Spaar said pleasantly, still chewing. You’re that courier came down out of Baltimore. Folks say you crossed the lines alone.

  Yessir. Edward dipped his head. My mama alw
ays said I was lucky as a duck in a puddle.

  I couldn’t speak to luck, young man, the attorney said. But you’re certainly brave.

  Thank you, sir.

  His father was arrested, Mr. Marvell. In Baltimore.

  Marvell crushed his eyes shut in sympathy. I am sorry to hear that. I am.

  You’re not from Richmond either of you, then?

  Marvell chuckled. I don’t know as anyone is, really.

  Edward lifted an eyebrow, smiled vaguely.

  I’m just to passing through myself, Spaar said. I come up here to the capital on wheat business. Trying to establish some sort of norm to keep the prices steady. Won’t do if our boys all starve to death before they have a chance to knock on Mr. Lincoln’s door. He smiled around the room in the clean July sunlight and then he fixed his pale eyes on Edward and he held his gaze. Smiling with all his long teeth, his burned skin webbed with scars.

  Edward looked away. And what’s your business in the capital, Mr. Marvell?

  Ah, his is an interesting affair, Spaar said.

  Marvell wiped at his mouth, set his crumpled napkin in a ball on his plate. I’ll tell you, son. You’ve heard of those spies captured here in Richmond, last April?

  I heard a little, sir.

  Marvell shrugged. Well. I’ve come to offer my services to the Confederacy. To defend those two men in their case.

  Edward smiled a confused smile. Defend them?

  Marvell nodded.

  I don’t understand. You mean you want to help them?

  The attorney laughed. I don’t wish to help them, no. There’s no helping those men. I wish to help the Confederacy. They shall need to go to trial. And when they do, the law requires they be provided with counsel. You might say I have come to expedite the process.

  To expedite it.

  It’s all somewhat strange, son, Spaar interjected. But it wouldn’t do for the Confederacy to appear to be flouting its own laws. We have allies we need to court, see. Britain, France, and such. It makes it far harder for Mr. Davis to draw in their support if we appear to be less than lawful. Is that about the matter of it, Mr. Marvell?

  Marvell smiled. And to think I feared I had bored you, sir, with all my talk yesterday.

  Edward had always liked Spaar in spite of himself. There was in him something brutal and merciless but too the man could be easy and fine and strong. Someone had told Edward once that Spaar never won a game of cards against a private and never lost a game to an officer.

  They rose now from their breakfast with Edward wiping at his mouth and they went out into the white sunlight of that July street, the smell of the heat coming off the walls of the buildings and the dust under the hooves of the passing horses. Their shadows long and crooked before them. Marvell took his leave: a nod and two fingers to his brim, an excuse. Edward and Spaar walked on slowly, talking the while. When clear of any’s earshot Edward dropped the accent and said, Affable fellow, interesting line of work. How did you meet?

  Would you believe by chance?

  Edward cast a sharp sidelong look. I don’t believe I would.

  The man ran a finger along his ravaged lip where the sweat was already beading. They had been walking west through the city and they made their way out towards Camp Lee where Webster had been hanged those two months gone. The scaffold long since dismantled. The grass scavenged and yellow.

  What are you doing here, Mr. Spaar?

  Spaar kicked a heel through the ruff and gave Edward a long cool look.

  The Major sent me, he said at last. I came to find you.

  To find me.

  Spaar nodded.

  Is there a message?

  Yes there’s a message.

  Edward waited but Spaar said nothing, only picked at his teeth with a long blade of grass and stared thoughtfully down at the camp, the soldiers drilling there, the guns and horses gleaming in the sunlight.

  What’s the message?

  Spaar’s hairline glistened in the heat. I’ve been sent to bring you back, Edward, he said. I’ve been sent to get you out.

  That very night Spaar strode into Edward’s hotel and tucked his walking stick under one sleeve and argued loudly with the clerk for a reservation that ought to have been in place but was to his great astonishment not registered and Edward happened by and interjected politely that if there were some error he would be pleased to share his own room. The clerk stared at him in relief. Oh but there were two beds one on either side of a street-facing window and he did not mind, no, anything to help a fellow patriot, gentlemen.

  Spaar’s orders had been clear. He was to locate Edward and smuggle him north again under the cover of a private loss. He had left a loaded cart and horse at a farmstead three miles west of the city and he would take Edward through the trees to that isolated spot at the earliest moment. When Edward asked how he had crossed the lines during the fighting at Malvern Hill Spaar got a strange look and the cords stood out in his neck and he said, tiredly, The Major wants you back in one piece, Edward. We need to go.

  Edward gave him a cautious look. Something did not seem right though he could not explain it. I can’t, he said, not yet. Not until I’ve done what I came here to do.

  Spaar raised an eyebrow. Meaning what?

  You don’t know?

  Spaar shrugged. I don’t know what you were sent here to do, son. My instructions don’t take it into account.

  Edward frowned and rose and crossed to the door and listened.

  No one’s listening, Edward. We’re quite secure. What’s your purpose here?

  But Edward crossed the room again and sat next to Spaar and cupped a hand at the man’s ear and whispered, I could use your help. I’m here to break Lewis and Scully from Godwin.

  Spaar pulled back, squinted at Edward. The hell you are, he said. Alone? Who have you contacted? How do you aim to proceed?

  Edward met the scarred man’s eye and smiled. About that, he whispered. Your Mr. Marvell might prove of use.

  A day passed, a second, the two men turning over in their heads possible approaches. He told Spaar about Cashmeyer and General Winder’s undercover agents. Marvell had come to offer his services to the Confederacy and as such would have access to the two prisoners. Access, Edward brooded, that he himself had failed to secure. If Marvell could be drawn to their purpose then a plan might be executed. Spaar disagreed. His methods were the more brutal.

  On the third night Spaar slipped out into the darkness alone and returned an hour later with blood flecking his wrists and trousers, his blue eyes haunted.

  Edward locked the door behind him. What did you do? he hissed.

  What needed to be done, he said. Mr. Marvell will not trouble us now.

  The next morning Spaar walked to Winder’s headquarters to report his presence in Richmond and to offer his services as counsel. He returned with a slow wide grin and tipped Edward’s hat playfully back on his head and said, They’ve heard of me. Mr. Marvell, who successfully found against cattle thieves in Texas. They found my offer rather compelling.

  Edward grinned.

  But there was a strange look on Spaar’s face sometimes when he thought Edward was not watching him. In the afternoons Spaar would vanish into the cold halls of Castle Godwin to meet with Lewis and Scully and weigh their health and condition against what would be required of them and Edward would begin to prepare their escape. He had Spaar press an imprint of the warden’s keys and then had a duplicate copy made and he took to walking through the hotel stable yard with an apple for the old sorrel in its stall there. He bought items of spare clothing from several different shops over the course of a week and he was careful to wear some of them when he went out. He bought two pairs of boots. Spaar took an interest in Edward’s earlier failed attempts and grilled him on the names of his accomplices. He said it was to prevent such mistakes being repeated. Edward did not entirely believe him. Spaar smuggled the duplicate keys to Lewis. He told Edward that the two men were kept from each other and that they were t
hin and depressed and there was an anger in Scully that was not in Lewis. He said Lewis would run his fingers over the edges of the bricks in the wall of his cell with a kind of obsessive calm and he feared the two men were weakening. One morning as Edward was inspecting the wheels of the small straw-filled cart in the yard the hotel clerk came out with a message for him and he realized he would need to be more careful. He had already visited John P. Jones seeking a pass north and had suffered the clerk’s ferret-like stare and sour questions but now upon his return he was given his requested papers without a second glance. That too should have given him pause.

  On the evening of the twelfth he and Spaar walked again back out to Camp Lee as if to take the air and there Edward drew in the dust with a stick a rough map of the city and he went over the following night’s plan and then he wiped the map clear with the toe of his boot and gave Spaar the stick and had Spaar explain it all to him word for word.

  You’ve got the one chance at this, kid, Spaar told him. You come north with me, whatever happens.

  Evening faded. Cicadas sang, the linden trees were eaten by shadow. Then the stars wheeled up over the horizon and the skyline was sucked down and the man-made lights of the world came on one by one until the face of the earth and the face of the waters burned alike with pinpricks of light.

  Edward nodded.