Hawkinshield sat there with the same smirk I had seen on his face while he was humiliating Ginevra Hale.
“And you may well be right,” Sam added.
“What I have done has been a cherished part of the way our government has functioned since the glorious War of Independence,” said Hawkinshield. “Just take a look at George Washington’s expense vouchers sometime.”
“Congressman, I have watched hundreds of noble young men sacrifice their lives today while bastards like you go on destroying the basic values they are fighting for.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, General,” Hawkinshield said, glancing down at Sam’s withered legs. “I can fully understand your frustration.”
“By the powers invested in me by the provost marshal general, I sentence you to death,” said Sam, raising the revolver from his lap and placing it against Hawkinshield’s temple.
“This is absurd,” said Hawkinshield, turning toward Val and me with another mocking smile. At the last moment, he looked back into Sam’s eyes and went as pale as wood smoke.
The smile was still frozen on his arrogant face when the gun exploded in Sam’s hand and blew Hawkinshield’s brains out. His body convulsed once before it slid down from the chair and fell in a heap to the floor.
Sam lay the revolver back on his lap and looked up at us.
“No more code of chivalry,” he said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The door to the corridor burst open and the two provost guards who were posted in the hallway rushed into the library. Lieutenant Hanks quickly moved to block their view of the congressman’s body on the floor.
“We have things under control here,” he said calmly. Stepping forward, he herded them back out into the hallway and closed the door.
“Well, that is resolved,” said Sam, rolling his wheelchair back to the field desk and putting the revolver down on top of it.
“Sam,” began Val, “you didn’t give the man …”
“He would have escaped justice,” General Hathaway said without pause.
“Maybe,” replied Val, his voice hoarse with emotion, “but we could have publicly exposed him in a way that …”
“I put him down like the rabid dog he was,” interrupted Sam, as if he was late for an appointment. He removed a batch of papers from his desk and began sorting through them. One file went into an open satchel that was sitting on the floor next to his field desk. The others he threw into the fire.
“I am truly sorry, Sam,” Val said, “but you know there will have to be a full inquest on this … execution.”
Completely unruffled, Sam nodded in reply as he continued adding papers from the field desk into the fire.
“Of course,” he said, “but first I have one final task to perform on behalf of those men across the river. Have you made the arrangements, Frank?”
Major Donovan nodded in reply.
“A packet boat is fueled and ready at Aquia Creek,” he said. “There is a coach waiting outside.”
“Very well,” said Sam, placing the revolver in the kit bag and clasping the top buckle.
Without being sure exactly why, I suddenly knew that what Sam was about to do was directly related to the murder of the prostitute. Turning to Billy, I said, “Why did you kill Anya Hagel?”
Val stared at me, speechless. It was the first and only time I ever saw him at a loss for words.
Billy looked away as if struck, saying nothing in reply.
“I am solely responsible for her death, Kit,” said General Hathaway. “I ordered Billy to do it. Unfortunately, she was attempting to blackmail him after he made the mistake of confiding some things to her that he should not have. Because of the importance of that information and the sensitivity of it to our plans, I could not allow her to live and possibly compromise them. Billy reluctantly obeyed my order.”
“What plans, Sam?” asked Val, although by then I was confident he had already divined the answer.
“You at least deserve to know, my friend. I am leaving now for Washington. Along with some far more deserving officers and men, the president is awarding me a commendation for valor.”
“And you will return that honor by killing him,” said Val.
“His life to save the many,” said Sam. “Like our dead congressman here, I, too, have a plan for bringing this war to an end. Mine is less complicated than his and will hopefully be more effective.”
As he spoke those words, Major Donovan stepped behind me and removed my revolver from its holster. I stood dumbfounded at the implications of what Sam was saying. Even then it was impossible for me to believe that he was actually planning to kill Abraham Lincoln.
“Why the president?” said Val.
“He alone is prosecuting this war with the single-minded determination to see it through to the end, regardless of the cost,” he said. “And the cost is too high. If President Lincoln is removed, then Hannibal Hamlin becomes president.”
“But he is an ineffectual fool,” said Val.
“Yes, exactly,” replied Sam, “but my friends tell me that he is as appalled at the bloodletting as we are. We have every reason to believe that, as president, Hamlin would seek to end the war on honorable terms. Even if that isn’t the case, the death of Lincoln will bring immediate recognition of the Confederacy from Great Britain. As you know, their prime minister was already prepared to do so if Lee’s Maryland campaign had achieved success.”
“You fought for the Union, Sam,” said Val, with a deep sigh. “You paid a heavy price for doing so. What you are now planning to do will leave the nation divided, perhaps forever.”
“I was never a fervent Unionist, Val,” he said. “It was for the rights of the black man that I fought … but now that cost is too high to bear.”
“But we are winning the war, Sam,” said Val. “Look what Grant is doing in the West. With one or two more victories here …”
“One more life is too many,” came back Sam, turning to stare through the window toward the heights across the river. “You didn’t witness what happened over there today, Val. God knows how many more eighteen-year-old boys Burnside will kill before he is finished. And to know that while they are dying, men like Hawkinshield are profiting on their sacrifice … it cannot stand.”
In death, Hawkinshield continued to make his presence known to us. The stench that accompanied his loss of bodily functions began to fill the room.
“But we have made progress in stopping men like him, and you are responsible for much of it.”
“Pitifully small progress, I’m afraid. If Mr. Lincoln wasn’t our commander-in-chief, I might think differently about this; but look what he has done … appointing Cameron as secreteary of war, elevating men like Banks, Baker, Pope, Fremont, and now Burnside to important commands. The list goes on and on. Incompetent men, corrupt men, feeding on the army as we fight and die. Bastards like him,” he said, pointing to the heap on the floor.
I must confess that one part of me was glad Sam had shot him. I even found myself agreeing with the fundamental truth of his argument about the president’s misjudgments. But having met President Lincoln, I knew that General Hathaway was underestimating his capacity to learn from his mistakes and to take control of the war. I hoped that Val could still convince him to change his mind.
“So you are not in this alone,” Val said, glancing at Major Donovan and Lieutenant Hanks.
“There are a few of us who recognize that extreme measures are necessary to end the waste,” said Sam, “men who are willing to sacrifice themselves to bring the insanity to an end.”
He put the satchel bag in his lap and rolled his chair toward us.
“Will you and Kit give me your word that you will not attempt to prevent our plans?”
“I cannot, Sam,” said Val. When Sam moved his eyes to me, I nodded in agreement.
“Of course. I completely understand,” said Sam. “Lieutenant Hanks … please escort them to a secure place until it is done.”
&
nbsp; The younger officer nodded.
“And please see that Miss Devereaux is brought there from the stables, Billy.”
“Yes, sir,” he said.
Obviously, my attempts at secrecy had failed miserably. At the same time, I knew that there was no longer any reason for them to harm her.
“Val, I know that you and Kit are only doing your best in the cause we once shared,” he said, heading swiftly toward the door. “I am sorry that we can no longer work for it together.”
Billy opened it for him, and they went out together.
“Good luck and God speed, General,” called out Major Donovan.
When he was gone, Lieutenant Hanks brought in the two guards who were standing in the hallway and told them that Val and I were under arrest for shooting Congressman Hawkinshield. Val’s atrocious appearance did nothing to quell their suspicions that we were assassins, or worse. They took up positions behind us as Lieutenant Hanks headed down the hall.
“I have never shot a brother officer,” Lieutenant Hanks said quietly, as we made our way across the grounds in the darkness. “But you must know that I will not hesitate to do so if you try to run or call out for help.”
“I do not doubt your intrepidity, young man,” said Val, “not after your heroism at the overseer’s cottage. It is just unfortunate that you are so sadly misguided.”
“General Hathaway is the finest man I have ever known,” Hanks said, as if that was sufficient reason for him to participate in a plot to kill the president of the United States.
“Have you considered the possibility that he might have temporarily lost his sanity and needs someone like you to save him from this folly?”
“He is as sane as you or I,” was the reply.
He led us through the legion of wounded that now lay everywhere around the mansion until we arrived at a row of brick-faced cottages that had once housed the plantation slaves. As we went past them, I saw the shadowy form of someone standing in one of the doorways. Glancing back, the figure disappeared into the darkness.
Just beyond the last cottage was a mound of earth built into the side of a low hill. An open door protruded from it at a forty-five-degree angle to the ground. From the acidulous smell emanating out of the dark hole, it was obviously an underground fruit cellar.
“I already put up my vegetables for the winter,” said Val.
“Nevertheless, it will be your quarters until our telegraph operatives at Aquia have received word from Washington,” replied Lieutenant Hanks.
As we were about to descend the stairs, Billy Osceola suddenly appeared out of the darkness. He took Lieutenant Hanks by the arm and pulled him a few feet away from us before whispering something into his ear.
“Conduct a search immediately,” said the young officer.
I knew that, in a small way at least, their plans had already gone awry, and that Amelie had somehow evaded their capture. I wondered then if it was she I had seen standing in the doorway of the slave cottage. There was no way of knowing just then.
“You will have to forgive the accommodations,” said Lieutenant Hanks, as he sent us down the stairs.
The massive door dropped into place behind us, and we were plunged into total darkness. It was like being buried in an ancient tomb. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I stumbled over several low objects. Behind me, I heard a match striking one of the beams over our heads, and a moment later, its guttering flame illuminated our surroundings.
We were standing on a packed earth floor, about eight feet beneath the ground. Constructed of rough logs over a stone foundation, the fruit cellar extended almost twenty feet into the darkness. Rough-hewn ceiling beams and cross timbers braced the earth barrier above us. There were no outlets for fresh air aside from the thick oaken door that was held in its frame with heavy iron strap hinges. The overpowering smell of moldering fruit and vegetables filled the air.
Val removed an inch-long chunk of candle from his uniform blouse. After putting his match to it, he handed me the candle stub and motioned for me to follow him. For the next ten minutes, he slowly worked his way around the perimeter of the cavelike chamber, using a small spade to test the walls and ceiling joints. Most of the floor area was covered with barrels and bins of potatoes, apples, and onions, along with kegs full of pickling brine and fermenting wine.
“When we escape,” Val said, as if it was already a foregone conclusion, “I will try to reach the telegraph station, although from what the lieutenant just said, the conspirators may have control over the flow of traffic there. There is no assurance that they won’t try to prevent us from sending a wire to Washington or that it would even be delivered at the other end. Someone must also ride overland to the capital.”
Knowing how adroitly his mind worked, I was not surprised at how quickly he was already defining our next objectives. At the same time, I knew which role would be mine.
“I will endeavour to find a winged Pegasus,” I said.
“It will take Sam at least seven hours to reach the capital by packet boat … maybe longer with all the traffic on the Potomac,” he said, removing his watch and glancing at it.
“This whole thing is simply incredible,” I said. “Perhaps General Hathaway will not follow through with it. At heart, he is a gentle man.”
“Yes, he is,” replied Val, “but personal grief has unhinged his mind. Make no mistake that he will carry out his plan.”
“How far is it overland to Washington?” I asked, as Val began to rummage through some unlabeled sacks along the wall.
“About sixty miles due north,” he said. “From what I heard on the way down here, there are no regular Confederate units operating to the north of us, but there could be irregulars or cavalry. You will have to be careful. The bridges may be out. But if fortune is with you, and you are able to find a fresh mount or two, it should be possible for you to get there before him. In any event, you must try.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said.
Returning to the staircase, he said, “Unfortunately, there is only one way out of here,” he said, “and that is the door above us.”
Planting the candle on the lowest step, Val slowly mounted the wooden stairs and disappeared into the gloom overhead. He was up there a minute or two before coming back down.
“They have left only one man to guard us,” he said, “and he is breathing heavily from the croup. More important, there is no lock on the door. It is held in place by a heavy plank that runs through two iron elbow joints on each side of the frame.”
“We are going to have to get him to open it for us then,” I said.
“Perhaps. Or we will open it ourselves,” he said cryptically.
A course of rough wooden shelving covered the closest wall. It held small garden tools, along with a number of small paper sacks that appeared to contain chemicals and plant fertilizers. As he began sniffing his way through them, I picked up an apple from one of the bins and bit into it.
“Yes … eat something,” he said, grabbing three of the sacks along with a ball of twine and bringing the pile over to a small farm table near the foot of the stairs. “You are going to need all your strength in a few minutes.”
Using a tin ladle, Val began dumping small portions of the powdered compounds onto the table. Then he filled the ladle with some oily liquid from one of the casks and hand mixed the substances together into a small mound of paste. Cutting a foot-long length of twine, he coated it with the mixture and set it aside. He scooped up the mound of paste in both hands, and was carrying it toward me when the low sound of voices reached me through the door.
“Listen,” I said, racing up the stairs.
I was sure that I had just heard Amelie. When I placed my ear against a crack in the timbers, the pitch of her resonant French accent became unmistakable. She was talking to the guard, and there was a flirtatious lilt to her voice.
Val motioned me to back away from him. Slowly climbing the stairs, he quickly applied the paste like a poultice around the
protruding bolt ends below one of the elbow joints. When he was finished, he went back to the farm table, returning immediately with the foot-long section of twine. Inserting it into the paste, he backed down the stairs and picked up the candle stub from the lowest step.
“What about Amelie?” I asked, realizing what he was about to do.
“Don’t worry,” was the reply, as he held the candle to the dangling end of the twine, “this is only Greek fire.”
His homemade fuse sputtered into life, the flame hissing loudly as it moved rapidly toward the poultice charge. Retreating down to the foot of the stairs, Val picked up an axe handle that was leaning against the earthen wall. A few seconds later, the tongue of fire reached the charge, and it ignited with the loud flash of a signal rocket. The door seemed to shudder in place as the fire continued to burn white hot for a few moments around the iron bolts.
The timbers were still aflame when I vaulted up the stairs and drove my right shoulder into the side of the door where Val had set the charge. It gave perhaps an inch, but remained solidly in place. From outside, I could now hear the sounds of two people fighting.
When I heard the woman cry out in pain, I dropped down two steps and hurled myself upward against the door again. This time the wood around the elbow joint gave way, and the door burst open.
I came up out of the ground to find the guard grappling with a still battling, but badly outweighed Amelie. His musket was lying next to him on the ground. Picking it up, I automatically pulled back the hammer and swung the stock in a short arc at his head. He dropped like dead weight.
Behind me, Val emerged from the cellar, saying, “I have to reach the telegraph right away.”
A masked lantern was lying between Amelie and the fallen guard. As she stooped to pick it up, the lamp’s masking shield dropped free, and we were suddenly enveloped in a narrow cone of light. I reached down to cover the glass again, but it was too late. The sound of approaching footfalls reached my ears, and a shot rang out from the darkness.
Unholy Fire Page 29
