“So pleased to see you, Miss Devereaux,” she murmured in a soft, maidenly voice, but Katherine could see the pure venom in the girl’s blue eyes.
Katherine led the party to the dining room, pondering on the girl’s hatred. “She must dislike me because she thinks I’m angling to become her stepmama,” she thought and almost laughed aloud. “If only she knew how little I desire that position.”
The dinner conversation, as always these days, centered on the War. Mr. Stephens’s pet concern was the inadequacy of the Navy to stop the Southern sea raiders. “Why, look at that rascal Read last summer, sailed all the way up the coast to Portland, wreaking havoc all the way, burning a federal revenue cutter, all with nothing but a little stolen bark that had one six-pounder and a few Quaker guns.”
“Whatever are Quaker guns? I get so lost in this military conversation, don’t you, Miss Devereaux?”
Katherine, who had taken an interest in the lively chase at the time it happened, said, “They were fakes, Miss Stephens; wooden spars painted and mounted to look like cannon.”
“But could the Navy catch them? No! Let him slip through their fingers. Why, it was citizens from Portland finally caught him. And then was he hanged? Hell, no— excuse me, Miss Devereaux. They just locked him up in Fort Warren is all, just like that blockade runner Hampton. A pirate, that’s all he is, and he should be hanged for it.”
Katherine, nettled as always by Stephens, said, “But it is a war, isn’t it, Mr. Stephens?”
“Rebellion, Miss Devereaux.” He forced his face into a smile. “Of course, I don’t expect a pretty lady like you to understand the difference.”
“I understand the difference perfectly, Mr. Stephens, but what to us is treason is to them a war for independence, and I can’t help but think that no doubt the British looked upon John Paul Jones as a pirate.”
“Katherine Devereaux!” her father said, his voice shocked but his eyes twinkling. “That’s the first pro-Rebel statement I think I’ve ever heard you make.”
“It’s not at all pro-Rebel, Papa; you know me better than that. But I think this political argument about whether a state can legally secede from the Union is mainly a coverup on both sides of what the real issues are.”
“And what are the real issues?” Stephens asked, his voice amusedly tolerant. Mr. Devereaux, who knew his daughter better, hid a smile, knowing that Stephens’ attitude—meant to convey that he found Katherine a bright, amusing child—was swiftly killing what little chance he had with her.
“The issues are (1) slavery and (2) which section of the country is to be the dominant one.”
“What a cynical remark, Katherine.”
“Just realistic, Papa. People don’t go to war over legal questions. And though I’m quite an abolitionist, I don’t think it’s solely over slavery. It seems to me that ever since we started this country, the North and South have been on divergent courses, growing more and more apart every year in economics, modes of life, philosophy, and politics. They have become so opposed that they aren’t reconcilable, so one must dominate. The South saw their power slipping when Mr. Lincoln was elected; so they seceded to prove their power. And we must defeat them, in order to show ours.
“And I find it silly to pretend that it’s not a full-fledged war but only a treasonous rebellion, just so we can call sailors pirates and hang them for piracy, when they’ve done no more than what is always done in war.”
“Bravo!” Lillian laughed delightedly and clapped her delicate white hands. “Miss Devereaux, you are as smart as a man,” she cried and shot her a look of triumph—her father would think twice about marrying such a bluestocking as that.
Mr. Devereaux just sighed a little. He was a hard-headed businessman who had greatly wanted a son and never paid much attention to his daughter. But when his wife died and Katherine had taken over so efficiently, he had begun to admire her. And his admiration grew as the years went by; she was a good companion, able to converse intelligently, and quite interested in what he had to say. She soaked up the information he imparted about his business, and he found himself listening to her opinions. The past few months he had been pleased by her performance in his office, and he found in her the son he’d never had. But while he had come to respect her for her qualities, because he loved her he was distressed at the way these qualities were keeping her from happiness. He wanted to see her happily married, with a home of her own and children. But she intimidated men who were not confident of themselves and pricked the balloons of overconfident ones like Stephens. And she was in fact becoming a spinster. Not that he particularly wanted Stephens for a son-in-law—God knows, Katherine had better taste than that.
But there was a quiet young lieutenant in the Navy that he favored. He had been in the merchant marine before the War and if he survived the War, would probably return and steadily rise to a command of his own ship. He wasn’t in Katherine’s social class, of course, but Josiah Devereaux didn’t stand on such formalities; after all, he had not quite been in her mother’s social class either. The lieutenant seemed like a good, solid lad to Josiah. one who would care for Katherine and who could—with Katherine’s help—take over the shipyard when he died. And it seemed to him that the man was interested in Katherine; after all, he often came by the office on some pretext or other. But no doubt the difference in class seemed insurmountable to him—and just let Katherine unleash that tongue on him one time, and he’d be gone forever. Sometimes he wished he could take him aside and tell him that his daughter was not one who chose a husband by the social register and that those things about her which might deter a lover would be highly valued as a wife. But since Mr. Devereaux was a rather reserved man, he did not. Instead he just sighed and wished that Katherine would put a curb on her tongue.
After Katherine’s exposition of her ideas, the dinner conversation lagged, as Mr. Stephens was rather miffed. Devereaux was never a conversationalist, and Katherine inwardly seethed at Stephens’ condescension, so the brunt of the conversation fell on Lillian Stephens. And she, reared to be pretty and modestly silent, floundered under the burden. Unlike her Southern counterpart, she had not been taught to capture attention with her personality, and she hadn’t the spark of one who is naturally entertaining. So the meal limped along through its courses, and the guests did not linger after it was over.
When the Stephenses had gone, Katherine and her father retired to his study to enjoy a companionable glass of sherry before retiring. Josiah (Katherine often wondered how even his very New Englandish parents could have coupled a name like Josiah with one like Devereaux) lit a cigar and sat thoughtfully puffing away for a few moments before he spoke.
“Stephens’s mentioning Fort Warren reminded me of something that happened after you left today.”
“What?”
“Well, a gentleman from Fort Warren approached me with a proposition concerning some of their Confederate prisoners. They want us to hire them to work on the ships.”
“Prisoners?”
“Yes. You know how short of men we are, and the Naval Department wants us to get as many ships built this winter as we can. We’re beating them in the West, and with the blockade and now with Gettysburg—well, we hope to make a real push this spring—and to wipe out those raiders of theirs. Our Navy’s far superior to theirs, of course—the blockade proves that—but the rebel raiders are a real thorn in our side.”
“But is it really wise to use Confederate prisoners? I mean, won’t they do shoddy work, perhaps even sabotage it?”
“Well, those are the doubts I had. Here’s the argument Major Aherne presented to me: they intend to use the prisoners only on building commercial vessels—we have to get those out, too, after all, and the prisoners would be less likely to do poor work on those than on a ship they knew would actually be firing on their own men. And it would release more workers to build Navy ships. And, of course, we’ll be inspecting their work and if they are sabotaging it, we’ll stop using them.”
&
nbsp; “It would speed things up, if they work out And it would be cheap labor for us,” Katherine mused.
“Aherne says they are hoping that the prisoners will be so pleased to spend their days outside the prison that they’ll do good work so as not to lose the privilege.”
“But aren’t they worried about their escaping?”
“They will be in irons and heavily guarded, and it would be so far to go through enemy territory to reach the South that it’s unlikely.”
“I don’t see that it could do much harm to try it.”
“Good. I agree. I shall visit Aherne tomorrow and tell him. He will be pleased; they are looking forward to getting the money I’ll pay for the prisoners. The only thing is—perhaps it would be better now if you didn’t come down to the yards.”
“Oh, stuff and nonsense,” she said stoutly. “No doubt it will make a few old biddies gasp to think that I’ll be only a few hundred feet from prisoners, but I don’t care. I don’t think my reputation will be forever sullied. I mean, it’s hardly as if I’ll be associating with them. And now there will be even more work for me to do.”
“Yes, but the idea of a young lady being exposed to that element—it’s not right, Katherine. Something might happen.”
“Oh, Papa, I’m not the sort who would incite men to riot. Please, let’s not talk anymore about it. I’m sure it will be all right.” She walked over to him and leaned down to place a light kiss on his cheek. “Goodnight, Papa.”
“Goodnight, my dear,” he sighed. He knew it was not proper for her to continue at the office, but he knew he would let her stay because Lieutenant Perkins would continue to come around to the yards to see her, though he would not have the courage to come calling at the house.
Chapter 2
“Oh, miss, I can hardly think straight, I’m that excited,” Pegeen chattered cheerfully as she deftly pinned up her mistress’s hair.
Katherine smiled. “Whatever for, Peggy?”
“Why, the prisoners, miss, didn’t you say that they’d be coming today? Don’t you think it’s exciting? Why, you’ll be that close to them Rebel devils. Why, who knows what they might do!”
“Oh, Pegeen,” she laughed, “I’ll probably never come close to the prisoners. They’ll be working on the ships and I’ll be safe inside the office. Why, I won’t even pay them; we pay the prison officials. Maybe, just maybe, I shall be able to see them if I look out the window.”
“Well, Miss Kate, if you won’t be scared, then I’ll be scared for you. ‘Tis dangerous they are, and there’s no telling what they might try. Why, I have a cousin from Kilkenny, coming across from Ireland on an immigrant ship he was—hundreds of people on it, mum. And that Read fellow stopped ‘em and made the captain sign a bond for $150,000 not to burn the ship. Proper scared they was, for fear of what he might do. Right in front of their very eyes he stopped another boat and burned it, just to let ‘em feel the fear. No, miss, it ain’t safe being that close to them.”
“Surely they aren’t absolutely inhuman, Pegeen.”
“Well, Miss Kate, I’m sure I don’t know about that. But ‘twas you who told me all those horrid things they do to them poor black people down there.”
“They do seem to be a particularly violent group of people,” Katherine agreed. “And yet think of the great men who have come from the South—Washington, Jefferson, Marshall, Madison. They can’t all be monsters.”
“Well, my brother, who’s in the Army of the Potomac, he says they’re like the English landlords back home. Very aristocratic, you know, and full of fine words, but cruel tyrants underneath.”
“Perhaps so. But these particular tyrants will be guarded and in irons. So I don’t think they’ll be able to do me any harm.” Her hair done, she stood up for Pegeen to lace her stays.
“Suck in, miss,” Pegeen said and when Katherine obeyed her, yanked at the strings until the stays were tight enough. Then she quickly tied the laces and proceeded to help her mistress into her hoop and multitude of petticoats.
After breakfast, Katherine, swathed in a heavy cloak, a prim brown bonnet on her head, and her gloved hands encased in a fur muff, set off with her father for the shipyards. Though it was their hardy custom to walk, because of the cold this morning they took the carriage.
When their carriage pulled up at the office, the prison wagons were already unloading. Katherine felt a stir of excitement. Though she had denied it to her maid, she did feel a certain apprehension. She had never in her life seen a Southerner and she had heard tales of their wild drinking and fighting and riding. And in suitably vague and hushed words, she had been told many times that “no woman was safe around them.” (Exactly what they did to women, she was not sure, any more than she was sure what happened to a woman to make her “fallen.”) Moreover, the abolitionist literature she had read and the tales of their terrors on the seas had implanted a definite impression in her mind that they were merciless, whip-wielding tyrants. So she felt the spice of danger at being this close to them, and a certain thrill of curiosity to see what such ogres looked like up close.
Her father stepped out of the carriage and reached back to help her down the steps. As she stepped out, she looked curiously over at the descending prisoners. They were ragged and generally unkempt, and the heavy iron manacles on their wrists and ankles enhanced their dangerous appearance. But strangely enough, her initial reaction was a thrill of pity at the sight of human beings so chained and at the thought that they were not warmly enough dressed.
One of the prisoners turned after he jumped down from the wagon, and seeing her, insolently returned her stare. He was a tall man, slender but broad-shouldered; his movements were silkily muscular, like the graceful motion of a jungle cat. He obviously had spent his life in the sun, for his skin was brown, his brown hair was sun-streaked with blond, and there were squint lines at the edges of his clear gray eyes. His eyes held her gaze magnetically; though she wanted to look away, she somehow couldn’t.
An icy wind from the harbor tore at her, pushing the prim bonnet back from her head and whipping her cloak apart. The man suddenly smiled, his strong white teeth startling against the brown skin, and his heavy black eyebrows rose, conveying a masculine appreciation of her face and figure as strongly as if he had whistled. Flushing hotly, she jerked her hat back on her head, clapped her cloak about her and, taking her father’s hand, descended from the carriage and stalked into the office.
“Miss Katherine, did you see the prisoners?” Teddy Mathias called cheerfully from his station at the window. “Just look at them Johnny Rebs.”
“Yes, I saw them,” Katherine said, furiously tugging at the bow of her bonnet.
“Katherine, is something wrong?” Her father paused in the doorway of his office to look at her.
“No, Papa; it just unnerves me to see men in chains.”
“Katherine, perhaps you shouldn’t—”
“Papa, we’ve already discussed that. I’m staying right here.”
He shrugged a little and went on into his office. Katherine unfastened her cloak and hung it beside her bonnet, then began to slam things into place on her desk.
How dare he! she fumed inwardly. He had looked at her so coolly and insolently, not at all like a man in chains should look. And that impudent grin on his face when her cloak had blown open. No one had ever looked at her like that before! It was like the way low, common workers at the yard looked at Pegeen and whistled or called brash comments to her. Not that it seemed to bother Pegeen; she just smiled and tossed back a sharp retort. Katherine didn’t see how. That man’s grin had made her feel tongue-tied and knotted her stomach.
Teddy Mathias, in his fourteen-year-old boy’s excitement, was completely impervious to her mood. He clung to the window, staring at the prisoners and chattering away. “Do you think any of them are Read’s men? Or maybe Hampton’s? Or Dawson’s? They look like a fierce lot, don’t they? Why, I wouldn’t put it past ‘em to try to escape, chains and all. Wouldn’t that be exci
ting, Miss Katherine? What would you do? We’d have to barricade the door, pull a desk across it, maybe. And then I’d shoot ‘em out of this window.” He shrugged. “Only I haven’t got a gun.”
“Teddy, don’t you think you had best get to work now? I’m sure all those guards can handle the prisoners if they try to escape.”
“Yes’m, I guess you’re right.” Teddy looked at her, his green eyes sparkling and the very freckles on his nose seeming to stand out in excitement. “But it sure would be fun, wouldn’t it?”
She had to smile at him. “Your idea of fun and mine differ somewhat, I’m afraid.”
It was difficult to concentrate that morning. She found that, like Teddy, her eyes often strayed to the window. It was a relief when Pegeen came in at twelve o’clock carrying a tray with her lunch on it. Teddy took his sack lunch and went out to eat it with the workers. Since Mr. Devereaux went to his club to lunch, Katherine ate by herself, but Pegeen kept up a flow of chatter to keep her amused.
“Law, miss, where are those Rebels?”
“I’ll show you.” Katherine took her to the window and pointed. “Down there; they’re working on that fishing vessel for Wheatley and Sons.”
“Well, you can’t see much from here,” Pegeen said in disappointment. “Maybe we ought to take a stroll down there, miss.”
“Pegeen!”
“Well, don’t you ever look over the ships and see how they’re coming along?”
“Sometimes I do. But not when there are Confederate prisoners all over the place.”
“Oh, but Miss Kate, I’d so like to see ‘em up close and I’m scared to go by myself! What harm would it do?”
“Why, it would be foolhardy, Peg, you must see that.”
“Oh, pooh, mum, they’d probably welcome the sight of a girl, being stuck away in a prison like that.”
“They would probably welcome it too much.”
Gregory, Lisa Page 2
