DOWN THE SKY
Volume Three of the
“STRIKE THE TENT” TRILOGY
W. Patrick Lang
iUniverse, Inc.
Bloomington
DOWN THE SKY
Volume Three of the “Strike The Tent” Trilogy
Copyright © 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:
iUniverse
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.iuniverse.com
1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.
ISBN: 978-1-4697-7179-3 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4697-7180-9 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-4697-7181-6 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012902570
Cover art by Keith Rocco
iUniverse rev. date: 3/2/2012
Contents
FOREWORD
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EPILOGUE
For Herbert Nash Dillard
Colonel, Virginia Militia
“The sun’s low down the sky, Lorena,
The frost gleams where the flow’rs have been.”
“Lorena” By D.L. Webster
FOREWORD
— September, 1863 —
(War Department Headquarters, Richmond, Virginia)
General Samuel Cooper was the most senior officer of the Confederate States Army. He was the Adjutant General of that army. The appointment made him responsible for nearly all the staff functions of the military side of the Southern War Department. Among the burdens of his office was sole command of the secret service of his country’s armed forces.
Major Harry Jenkins, an officer of that service stood before him waiting for a response to the report he had just made. Jenkins had brought news of a clandestine meeting that day with “Hannibal,” a man who was the most valuable agent the South had in Washington, the enemy capital.
Cooper knew Hannibal well, knew him by his true name, and had known him as a small boy, the grandson of his friend, Richard Devereux. Devereux had come to Alexandria on the Virginia side of the Potomac from Catholic southern Maryland. He had come in the 18th Century following the lure of business opportunity. He had arrived in Virginia with nothing but a few house slaves from his father’s farm and a head for business. Nevertheless, he somehow became a rich and powerful merchant banker and a major figure of the national Democratic Party.
When Cooper had first met Devereux he was a captain of artillery detailed to the headquarters of the tiny United States Army in Washington just a few miles away. The two men were both strangers in the new and still somewhat “raw’ capital city. They liked each other. They married, Cooper to George Mason’s grand-daughter and Devereux to a daughter of the Richmond gentry. Their families eventually grew to be as close as they.
Richard Devereux’s success in business had begun when he found a business partner and capital for an enterprise that became “Devereux and Wheatley, Bankers and Commission Agents.”
Cooper rose slowly but steadily in the small army. His marriage into Mason’s family was helpful.
Richard Devereux’s son, Charles, had several children, among them, a black haired, clever little boy named Claude who announced one summer day on the Potomac River that he wanted to be a soldier.
He had carried bait buckets full of earth worms aboard Cooper’s flat bottomed river boat that morning and then sat silently between two black men who rowed out into the stream.
The day was warm and humid. Clouds sailed in feathery patterns from the Virginia hills toward the Maryland shore.
Samuel Cooper
“Why is that, Claude?” Cooper finally asked after cogitation over the boy’s words. “Why do you want to be a soldier?” He knew all of Charles Devereux’s sons. This boy’s sudden statement had not been a surprise. Claude had always seemed destined for something other than the family business.
The child said nothing further.
The two boatmen paused in rowing, waiting to hear the response. The little boy sat between them.
“We could arrange a place for him at West Point,” Cooper said to the grandfather not wishing to wait any longer for an answer.
The two blacks listened with interest. They were family servants. The business of the two households was their business as well.
Richard looked at the boy. “He has said this before,” he murmured. “His father is adamant. He will go into the bank. His brother Patrick can seek a military education, and that is all…” He turned to look at the water. His face was immobile. Cooper knew that his friend did not trust his son’s judgment, but would not oppose it.
And now, so many years later, my friend Richard is dead and the boy is a spy, a human cipher known in the official record as “Hannibal.” The old man’s grey eyes focused on Jenkins from behind round steel spectacles. “I remember now,” he said. “I remember that Claude killed one of his childhood friends in a duel,” he said. “1853, I think it was. An insult had been spoken, a great wrong shouted out to the world. There was no way out of it, no way to cover it up, and so the man died. Have you left him a way out? A way to escape…”
“No, we closed all the doors.”
The beautiful, erect, silvery old man stared at him. “Good night, major,” he finally said in a conversational tone. “Good night.”
Harry Jenkins shut the door softly, and walked away down the echoing corridor and out into the night.
Grant’s Final Plan
CHAPTER ONE
— The Mission —
10 June, 1864
Chimborazo Hospital in Richmond, Virginia was the “jewel in the crown” of the Confederate Army’s medical department. In the summer of 1864, medical supplies were hard to obtain, but the staff was well trained. Virginia had a good medical school. Anesthesia and the relationship of infections to dirt were understood. The rate of infection was low, the lowest in North America. A wounded man had as good a chance of surviving in Chimborazo as he would anywhere in the world, but there were an awful lot of wounded that June and a man who had a private room was fortunate.
The ward buildings were white, wooden and o
ne story. Captain William Fowle was happy to have a small room at the end of a ward. The favor of the War Department had made that possible. Outside, in the long, whitewashed room, men suffered communally, suffered without the dignity of privacy. Fowle’s leg was ruined, smashed so badly that the surgeons had wanted to take it. They might yet if healing was not satisfactory.
His younger brother James sat by the window looking out in silences that were hard to avoid.
The early morning sunlight was cheery but the month of June in Richmond always meant that the day would be hot and the wounded man would lie on the bed sweating and itching under the cast covering his leg, unable to escape, unable to scratch the itch that accompanied dying skin.
Bill Fowle had commanded a company of the 17th Virginia Infantry Regiment for almost a year until he received this wound at Drewry’s Bluff a month before. He had not seen his brother James for a long time. “I thought you were messing about with boats up on the Potomac,” he said in trying to fill up the void of silence, “You know, carrying people across, back and forth, back and forth…” He was having a hard time dealing with the other man’s obvious good health. The well cut civilian suit irritated him.
“I did that for a few months,” James replied, “but I got tired of it and came down to Richmond to ask for something else to do.” James was an inch or so taller than Bill. This had always been a cause of uneasiness in their relationship.
The wounded officer shifted his weight in the bed so that he could look straight at his brother. “You could have come back to the regiment,” he said with a smile. “We had a place for you in my company. Actually, we had a lot of empty places.”
“No, no,” his brother said. “I had enough of that. No more camping out for a living if I can avoid it.”
“So, where have you been, Jimmy?” the crippled man asked. There was an edge in the voice. You could hear an infantry officer’s instinctive scorn for shirking…
“Come on, Willie,” the brother replied. “Don’t talk to me like that. I have been doing courier duty all over the North wherever we have friends, friends who need instructions, and money. I‘ve been in the Middle West. I’ve been to Chicago a lot and up to New York City several times… Several of the boys we know from home or Washington City are doing this work.”
“They’ll hang you if they catch you.”
Jimmy waved a hand. “Surely, that makes it more interesting.”
“And who did you persuade to transfer you from rowing boats for the Signal Corps to this kind of craziness?”
“Old Sam Cooper, you remember him.”
“You mean General Samuel Cooper?”
“Yes, old Sam, from home in Alexandria. Father took me in to see him at the War Department. He moved me from one part of the secret service to another. It was easy as pie for him since they all work for him. He said I sounded close enough to a Yankee to pass for one. He should know. You remember. He was from New Jersey originally, like grandpa was from Boston.”
“How did you learn that I was a guest of this lovely establishment?”
“Do you remember that fellow Jenkins?”
“Harry Jenkins?”
“That’s him. He’s a major in Sam Cooper’s offices. He is in the secret part of the offices.”
“I remember him from school, from the military institute”
“Ah, that was before you were sent home for ‘academic insufficiency’. Father is still upset with you for that.” James appeared to relish the thought.
“No more than I am with myself. What about Jenkins?”
“He says that I am to be your assistant and courier in managing someone with the code name of ‘Hannibal,’ but only if that is acceptable to you. Evidently you know of this man, ‘Hannibal’…”
The older brother laughed and then smiled. “Ah, you are here to learn if that is so.”
James nodded, and waited.
The wounded man sighed. “I see the logic of this. I will never be able to get around well enough to do this without help. I agree. Do you know who Hannibal is?”
“No. They wouldn’t tell me until you agreed.”
“Claude Devereux.”
“Our Claude Devereux, from Alexandria? But, I heard that he had gone over to the other side and that he is a colonel in their army…”
“No, not a colonel, they have promoted him. He is a brigadier general now, but he is really one of ours. He works in the office of their Secretary of War, in Stanton’s offices and somehow he has become a friend of Lincoln.”
James looked somber. “Claude was always a little mad,” he said. You know that is true, smart, but a little mad. And, there was that business with his father. The old man couldn’t stand the sight of him. I never understood why, and then he went off to Europe and abandoned his wife, that gorgeous creature.
“Charles is dead, you know.”
“His father is dead?
“He died last month. A courier brought the news across the river.”
“Where is he now, Claude, I mean?”
“He is exchanged. They thought we had captured him in the Wilderness. In fact he crossed the lines at night during the fighting to report and then was wounded at Spotsylvania. He’s back in Washington.”
“Jenkins is waiting outside to know if you want me to work with you…”
“Bring him in.”
The absent Claude Devereux once remarked that Major Harry Jenkins was a particularly homely man. Thin, freckled and red headed, he looked like an artist’s cruel caricature. The grey uniform did not improve his looks. The big Adam’s apple made him look even stranger.
“We have stopped Grant for the time being at Old Cold Harbor,” Jenkins said to start the meeting. The bloodshed was terrible. Even if you hate the Yankees, it was terrible. We recovered some of their bodies,” he said. “They had pinned little bits of paper to their backs with their names on them.”
After a moment, Bill Fowle said. “Cold Harbor, that is close. We heard the artillery from here.”
“About fifteen miles,” Jenkins responded, “Grant has sent a lot of his cavalry off to the west along the line of the Virginia Central. We don’t have any idea where they are going. There are some big supply depots over around Trevilian. Perhaps they are going there. Lee sent Hampton in pursuit. With Stuart dead, Hampton commands Lee’s cavalry division, but, there is even more bad news. General David Hunter took over command in the Shenandoah Valley after Sigel was defeated at New Market last month. Hunter is now moving south along the Valley Pike. He was in Staunton last week. We do not know where he is going but we suspect that he will come over the Blue Ridge to Charlottesville or Lynchburg. Perhaps the idea is for him to unite with all that cavalry that is now headed west. If that happens, we are finished. Much of our supplies come over the Virginia Central and we could not survive that loss of food and fodder.”
“It appears that Grant is smarter than we thought?” Jimmy’s question hung in the air as a reproach.
“And the ‘tycoon’ is going to do what?” his brother Bill asked using the army’s nickname for Robert E. Lee. “I can feel in my broken bones that he will act to stop this combination.”
Jenkins smiled. “Your bones are prescient. Jubal Early now commands Second Corps. Ewell was too sick to continue. Uncle Robert is detaching that corps and a few other odds and ends to go and deal with Hunter, and the cavalry.”
“I sense that this is of immediate personal importance to us,” James said from his chair by the window. He had been watching a brown feathered, orange beaked Cardinal in the tree by the window, but she flew away.
“Yes. We have decided that brother ‘Hannibal’ needs closer supervision. His natural… spontaneity and his recent promotion, you see…”
James grunted in agreement.
“A Major Isaac Smoot is in hospital at Lynchburg. He is the second in command of Lieutenant Colonel John Balthazar’s independent battalion of infantry.”
“Devereux’s French cousin,” Bill said
. “I have heard of this. He and Smoot raised the battalion last fall. I hear they are a fine body of men.”
“Jean-Marie Balthazar d’Orgueil” to give him his proper name,” Jenkins said. “Yes, they are fine men, somehow… Balthazar was here as a kind of observer for the French, but Early asked him to take charge of a lot of misfits and Yankee deserters and to make a force of them. They have fought very well for Early. He swears by them.”
“And?” James whispered by the window. He had a pocket handkerchief in his hand and was rubbing spots off one of the window panes. “And?”
“You remind me of Smoot,” Jenkins replied. This was clearly not a compliment. “Smoot lost a hand at Spotsylvania a month ago. He seems to be recovering. He was Devereux’s ‘helper’ in Alexandria before he became involved with Balthazar. He is very skilled in our kind of work. He was with Mosby for a long time. That is where we found him when we sent him to Alexandria to help our friend Devereux.”
“This Balthazar married Pat Devereux’s widow,” Bill said to no one in particular. He was silent for a moment. “Victoria. That’s her name.”
“Yes. That is her name. She is in Alexandria with the Devereux clan.”
“I suppose you know her,” Bill Fowle said. “You and Pat were classmates at VMI.”
Jenkins nodded.
“Let me guess,” James mused even while appearing to be absorbed in the cleanliness of the window glass. “I am to go with Early’s column, perhaps with this Frenchman’s battalion. In Lynchburg I am to collect a man with a month old amputation and carry him to Alexandria where he and I will watch our man ‘Hannibal’ for signs of… what exactly?”
“We are not sure. That is why you will watch him, and help him of course.”
“Do we have to join the Yankee army?”
“Not funny. Be serious.”
Down the Sky: Volume Three of the “Strike The Tent” Trilogy Page 1
