“I think the ‘square head’ burghers of Chambersburg will not pay their country’s debt. I have been there, “ McCausland said.
“Bonne Chance,” Balthazar said.
“Can you come with us?”
“No,” Early replied. “I need him here.”
McCausland looked at his pocket watch. “I will give my men twelve hours rest at Williamsport and then we will be gone…” He waited for an answer. There was none. He saluted and left the tent. His horse could be heard shuffling and snorting among the spirited good wishes of the soldiers.
“He will destroy the town” Balthazar said.
“So be it, John. They could have let us go in peace… They burned…”
“Yes, I know, my General. I saw it but you, we, will pay a price.”
McCausland’s men burned Chambersburg, Pennsylvania on the 30th of July, 1864. Having done this, they moved west intending to burn Cumberland, Maryland as well. A hastily assembled force of 10,000 Maryland militia and “100 day volunteers” met them at the “gates” of the town. McCausland had 1500 sabers in his small brigade. After skirmishing for a day with the larger force, he marched south through the mountains west of the Shenandoah Valley intending to turn east when he was far enough away.
Unaware of the outcome at Kernstown, Devereux rode a special train of the US Military Railroad to Frederick, Maryland. There were three cars. A parlor car was hooked to the tender, then a boxcar for five horses, including those for the Army ambulance that would carry their supplies and tent. There was a flatcar for the ambulance, and finally a caboose for the train crew’s comforts.
In Frederick, Devereux found the army area headquarters and learned of Crook’s defeat. The officer in charge, a lieutenant from Connecticut, told him that evacuees spoke of Confederate cavalry moving north from the Potomac crossings.
Calculating the probable rate of advance of these horsemen, Devereux decided that they must have passed Hagerstown to his west or would soon do so. Trusting in his ability to judge from citizen reports whether or not he was correct, he led his companions west, passing through the green Maryland countryside.
Devereux and Topham led the little procession. Sergeant John Quick drove the wagon with his horse tied on behind. From his place on the driver’s seat Quick could watch the detective and protect Devereux’s back. On the train to Frederick, it was clear that Topham was uneasy to be traveling with two men whom he believed to be Southern spies. He sat at the far end of the car with his back to a corner watching the others in silence. Devereux had anticipated that Topham would envy and hate him. He was accustomed to people who hated him. They generally had the idea that he thought far better of himself than was the case. In fact, he wanted nothing more than for this detective to leave him alone.
We will have to kill him, Devereux thought. Too bad, this is not worth our trouble but he looks like someone who could be dangerous… They will send us another and we will kill him as well, a sad thing.
They traveled through Middletown in the “Happy Valley”, district west of Frederick and then over South Mountain where Devereux’s Confederate regiment fought so hard two years before. They came to Boonsboro where the thoroughly Yankee townspeople turned out to greet the Union Army general.
They told him that the Rebel cavalry had passed through Hagerstown further to the west a day before on their way north. Where they might be now, they knew not…
Topham stood quietly to one side, watching.
“Detective, you are supposed to help me. Do you understand?” Devereux asked.
“What am I to do?” he asked.
“Question people. You were a detective in Cincinnati…”
“Chicago.”
“Act like a detective, or I will speak to Colonel Baker when we return to Washington…”
At Hagerstown, the authorities produced a prisoner who had been captured when he staggered out of a bordello after the Confederate cavalry marched north.
“Jinrul, my rej’mint leff me, leff me in this ness o’ Yankees.” The man peered around to see if he had annoyed the locals.
“Lee would hang you for desertion,” Claude said in anger before he realized the mistake.
The yellow legged trooper in butternut recognized the tone. He looked up, surprised.
At the back of the room, Sergeant Quick shook his head slightly. The trooper saw and nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Did he hurt the girls?” General Devereux asked.
“No, they tried to hide him.”
Chambersburg was a ruin. The central parts of the town were charred piles of bricks and blackened wood. Chimneys stood like cemetery markers beside the streets. McCausland had left the Central Hotel standing. The reason for this was obscure until Devereux spoke to the mayor in the dining room. Quick brought the man for an interview.
After a minute, Claude remembered that courtesy required an invitation to join him at table.
John Quick sat with Topham and the Confederate cavalry prisoner at the next table. Devereux had taken the man from the authorities in Hagerstown. They had not objected. They were glad to be rid of him.
“The kitchen seems to have survived the recent difficulties,” Devereux remarked in an attempt to make conversation easier. He had enjoyed lunch. After a few days of field rations, a decently cooked meal was welcome.
The confederate soldier watched them all. He, too, had enjoyed lunch.
“General, you are a bit late,” the mayor reproached. “They cleared out of here two days ago.”
“I presume that a pursuit passed through here?”
“Yes, but my town is destroyed. Who will pay for this?”
“I would think that you will have to live with the loss. The war will end soon and there will be no interest in this sort of thing in Washington.” You should have thought of this. You should have thought. You are not so far away here from all the houses you burned in Virginia.
“Your people burn everything they can, you bastid,” the Rebel trooper said levelly.
The mayor’s back straightened. “Can’t you shut him up,” he asked.
Devereux ignored that.
“We have another one,” the mayor said tentatively. He looked around at the group for friends.
“Another prisoner?” Topham asked.
Claude gestured with a hand and Topham departed with the sheriff’s deputy who had accompanied the mayor to this meeting.
“What are the banks here?” Devereux asked. “You are going to need reconstruction loans for all this…” He waved slowly towards the windows that opened onto the still smoking ruins.
“Banks?” the mayor said. “Why are you interested in banks?”
“Well, my family…”
Topham and the deputy brought the rebel trooper in. His arms were tied behind him and there were bruises on his face. He had no hat and his clothes were torn in places.
Devereux looked at Topham.
“Not me,” the detective said indignantly.
“Untie him.”
The deputy tried to protest.
John Quick rose, and shouldered the two policemen aside. He cut the man’s bonds with a huge knife that emerged from a boot.
The soldier rubbed his arms to get the blood circulating. He looked at the other prisoner and nodded, “Hello, Jim,” he said. “We missed you after Hagerstown… What happened?’
“What’s your name?” Devereux asked.
The corporal standing before him inspected this elegant figure in blue. “Henry Watson, sir. I am or was General McCausland’s trumpeter. I got lost in these streets and the sheriffs caught me.”
“He was looting. We catched him with his pockets full of silver knives and forks.”
Devereux looked at Watson.
“That would be accurate, sir” the corporal said.
“And they beat you…”
Corporal Watson laughed. “Nothin’ serious, not yet.” He looked a little shaky.
Devereux waved him to a chair at
another table. “Hungry?”
“Oh, yes,” the man said.
“Sergeant Quick, get him something from the kitchen. You bring it back yourself.” If not, then one of them will spit in it…
“Now, Corporal Watson, what happened here? I understand that McCausland met with the mayor and city fathers here in this room…”
“The general sat here and ordered breakfast for us all. We filled the room; officers, and some people like me from the brigade headquarters. We filled the room. The mayor came in and McCausland told him that they would have to produce a lot of money to keep us from burning the town. The mayor laughed and the general told him to be quiet. He said that we gave Frederick the same choice a few weeks ago and they paid. The mayor left. It got to be eleven and then twelve… McCausland looked at his watch. He told the colonel of the 14th to have his men pile up all the furniture they could find out front of the hotel and light it off. After a while we could smell the smoke. Another of the colonels said he would not burn anything…”
“Who was that?” Devereux asked. He had been enjoying a second cup of coffee when this detail came from the corporal’s mouth.
“Colonel Cochran, sir.”
“Ah, yes, of course,” Devereux laughed.
The mayor looked puzzled.
“He was one of my brother’s professors at Charlottesville before… You know, before. I think he was involved in Virgil. This business would offend him. So, what did John McCausland do?” he asked the corporal.
“He put the colonel under arrest and removed him from command,” the mayor said. “That surprised me.”
Devereux sat silently, alone in his thoughts, thinking it over.
“It was a joke,” Watson said. “He does that when resisted. I’ll bet he put Colonel Cochran back in charge as soon as they left town.” He looked at the other prisoner hoping for support.
“Yes, that’s true,” the soldier said. “He has a hell of a sense of humor.”
“All right,” Devereux said. He looked amused. “Have them bring me the check,” he told Quick. When he had paid the bill he announced that he was taking the two prisoners to Washington for further questioning.
The sheriff’s men were plainly unhappy with that, but said nothing. They were intimidated by the stars on his shoulders.
A telegram brought the train forward from Frederick to wait for them at Hagerstown.
As they rolled east from there, Devereux brought out his coin silver flask. It was full of the best Virginia whiskey. He passed it around, keeping the little silver cup from the neck of the flask to drink from. After a few drinks the conversation became more convivial. The train conductor produced a deck of cards and a bottle of rye and then departed for the engine to talk to the driver.
Devereux had said that he wanted to know when they would arrive in Washington.
Topham found it in himself to tell a few jokes, but soon drifted off in exhausted sleep.
The train went over the crest of the South Mountain ridge and accelerated down the grade.
Claude looked out the window to judge the train’s speed. When it seemed sufficient, he nodded to Quick.
The big Irish sergeant struck Topham behind an ear with the butt of his revolver. The heavy cap and ball pistol made a satisfactory sound on bone. Quick and the two Confederate prisoners seized the unconscious man, and after carrying him to the car’s platform, opened the door and threw him from the train.
Returning from this chore, they sat with Devereux.
“He was mad drunk lads, remember that,” Quick said.
“Sergeant Quick will find you clothes and money when we arrive. You can then try to make your way home, or you can stay as part of my group in Washington. I need help. I will ensure that our War Department knows that you did not desert. Make your choice before we arrive. I’ll have a shot of that swill, he said,” and reached for the bottle of rye.
Not surprisingly, both soldiers decided to stay with Devereux. Quick arranged their “enlistment” in the US Army under false names and their assignment to the Adjutant General’s office where they would work for him as drivers and messengers.
When Devereux arrived home at the Italianate house on Duke Street, he had in mind to take his ease with his lovely wife. He did not find her in the main floor rooms of the villa. His mother was in the kitchen with Betsy White, the cook. They were watching a scullery maid do the mindless cutting and trimming that necessarily precede the cooking of a fine dinner. The three women looked at him in surprise. He had been gone a week. The newspapers had contained nothing good about events. They had not known if he would ever return.
“Perhaps you could have telegraphed us,” his mother said. She rose to embrace him but there was something missing in her voice, or perhaps he imagined this. Betsy White sat quietly by the kitchen table. The maid faced the sink.
He found Hope on the fourth floor in Isaac Smoot’s sick room. She sat by the window. She turned to look at him.
Smoot slept in the brass bed. He looked like death.
“How is he?” was the obvious question. He knew he must ask and so he did.
“The doctors think he will die,” she said evenly. “The trip has killed him. How could you?”
“I did not.”
She ignored that and walked past him into the corridor leading to the staircase. At the top of the landing she asked if he were coming to bed.
“I need to wash,” he said and shut the door to Smoot’s room behind him.
Secretary Stanton listened to Claude’s oral report in silence, glancing from time to time out the window at the 17th Street traffic. “You are quite right,” he finally said. “We are not going to pay for the damage the damned rebels do on these raids. Citizens can remember that when they think of the possibility of reparations from the traitors after we finish them… You are sure that they will not cross to the north side of the Potomac again?” He was not really happy to see Devereux returned so soon but at least the man had brought useful information.
“They will not be back. Their strength is declining steadily… I understand that General Sheridan is appointed to command in the Shenandoah?”
“Yes, Grant wants this crony of his to take Crook’s place. The president evidently will deny Grant nothing. Sheridan is to be called ‘Commander of the Army of the Shenandoah.’ He will have the troops already there and take with him the Sixth Army Corps and very nearly the whole Cavalry Corps of the Army of the Potomac. That will make something like 30,000 more troops to be used in dealing with Early. George Sharpe thinks Early has something like 20,000 men. That would make the odds approximately three to one?”
No, Devereux thought. The odds are really more like four to one.
Devereux had no intention of clarifying Stanton’s thinking on this. “I have no idea, Mr. Secretary. I would take Sharpe’s word for it.”
“Tell me again what happened to the detective. Colonel Baker is annoying me about this.”
“He disappeared from the train. I believe that he was drunk and fell off somewhere. I was asleep, as was Sergeant Quick…”
“Colonel Ford does not think that this is true.”
“He thinks that I did Topham some injury? Why would I do that?”
Stanton looked thoughtful. Where else can I send him?
I should go over to see Amy. Devereux thought, Ford deserves “payment” for this. “It really is intolerable to have this man Ford in my office. Please remove him.”
“Thank you for your report, general,” Stanton said. “Have you spoken to the president since your return?” Tell me, he thought. Have you seen him? If that connection ever fails, you…
“I saw him yesterday for a few moments…”
“Do you have any new projects?” Stanton asked.
“I was struck on this trip by many defects in the work of the army’s railroad. With your permission I will investigate that.”
“That would be away from Washington?”
“It would, beginning in Al
exandria.”
“A splendid idea, you should do that.”
Devereux welcomed this obvious dismissal. He had in mind to open a little distance between him and the secretary. He could go alone to the White House whenever he wished to see Lincoln and “stay in touch. Stanton would be enraged when Lafayette Baker’s “gumshoes” reported this. What a happy thought that was.
And, that redhead needs attention, he thought… She will know whatever her husband knows about the army’s movements. What is it she said? Where have you been? I should explain it to her…
August and September passed quickly.
Devereux was sad to learn that Topham had not died in the fall from the train… He was found by a railroad repair crew lying in a field of tall grass. The hour was late and the sun had set. His pitiful moaning attracted their attention. At first they thought he was a wounded animal. His injuries were terrible. His clothing was largely torn away and his head was covered in crusted blood. They might have shot him, but at the last second he began to snarl and mutter something about, “the rotten bastards.” That saved him.
Colonel Ford reported to Devereux of Topham’s presence in the Sisters of Mercy hospital in Georgetown.
“Really!” Claude replied. “We should have him admitted to an army hospital.”
“He prefers to remain where he is, sir.”
“Why is that?”
John Quick stood nearby listening intently.
“The National Detective Bureau uses this hospital. He is one of their men. Colonel Baker is taking him back into their headquarters…”
“But we were getting on so well. He was a wonderful help on this difficult trip, wasn’t he Sergeant Quick?”
Quick nodded enthusiastically. His massive presence dwarfed the other men.
Devereux knew that an Irishman of Quick’s raising in the old country would never invade the sisters’ hospital to finish Topham. A confrontation with the nuns or a priest would be a disaster. Perhaps someone else could be used. He thought of Fred Kennedy and dismissed the idea. He knew that Kennedy would not kill again for him in any “personal” situation. The memory of the Yankee secret service major in New York was an indelible scar. Claude had made a serious mistake in telling Kennedy that perhaps they should not have killed the man. Perhaps someone else will do, ah, our two new friends from McCausland’s cavalry. Maybe not, they might be caught.
Down the Sky: Volume Three of the “Strike The Tent” Trilogy Page 10
