by David Luchuk
“What option does that leave? Defraud the entire telegraph system?”
“As to the whereabouts of the President, yes.”
My thoughts were still scrambled. It was a lot to take in at once.
“One more thing. It is rather important.” Harry said. “My men have spotted a train fast approaching. I am quite sure it is your William Hunt.”
* * *
Robert Pinkerton
February, 1861
My first reflex was to discard the message.
Marooned at PWB, I could not seek medical attention for my heel or mouth. I was in agony. My interest in the case waned to say the least. But Kate had never done me wrong. She didn’t deserve to be ignored.
Robert : - I pray you are still in Philadelphia. Much depends on you now. I cannot fully explain. Telegraph system presumed to be compromised. Felton will grant you access to the eastern hub. Do not cut the line. Messages must be screened. Manage however you can. Send to all: Lincoln itinerary unchanged. – Kate
The scale of what she asked was preposterous. So much so that, in a leap of backward logic, I assumed there would be some simple way of getting it done. I shared this with Felton as he led me to the telegraph office.
“I don’t know.” He said. “If there is, I’ve never heard of it.”
A whole floor of the building was occupied by the hub. Hundreds of twittering telegraphs were arranged in a grid. Narrow pathways, wide enough for a single person to pass, provided access to the machines.
Felton stated the obvious.
“For every message we intercept, dozens will go through. Even if we hired an army, there would be no way.”
A pair of wires was attached to each machine. These converged in a thick trunk that ran along the floor to a panel in the wall. The panel was barred but Felton took a small axe from the fire box and chopped the lock away.
Inside, the trunk of wires was spliced into four main conduits.
“We should just cut the damn things.” He said.
Felton reared back to swing.
“Wait.” I said. “Bring me the bag from my interceptor.”
Felton dropped the axe. He left at a sprint and returned out of breath. I reached into the bag Father had thrown together in Chicago. On principle, he would not have wanted police to seize more of our equipment. The switchbox was inside.
I limped to the closest machine and rearranged its leads. The first message that came through was an obituary. I deleted the notice and replaced it with a confirmation that Lincoln was on schedule. The next message was a business contract. To this, I replied that the President’s itinerary was unchanged. I replaced and replied to every message, sending word in both directions that Lincoln was travelling as planned.
After a twentieth message, the switchbox flared then mimicked my intervention. I pulled the leads and brought it to the wall. Felton helped me attach all four conduits.
The hub fell silent. If this didn’t work, we would have to cut the lines.
“Cripes.” Felton said. “What’s happening?”
The conduits hung in place yet the switches whirled around them like a top. Telegraph machines resumed their chattering. For the rest of the day, the only messages exchanged on the east coast confirmed President Lincoln’s itinerary.
* * *
Kate Warne
February, 1861
We were approaching Harrisburg when the Golden Circle came into view. I watched them from the last car in Lincoln’s train. Hunt leered through a window as though he might try to bite me from a hundred yards out.
Harry brought a pile of telegraph messages transmitted to his office. Each was a confirmation that Lincoln was travelling on schedule. Robert had done his best.
“Send President Lincoln on his way.” I said.
There was no reason to expect Harry would stay behind. Someone had to entertain the socialites on their way to Philadelphia. I was still disappointed when he left without so much as offering to help confront the Golden Circle.
Explosive charges fired and the engine car broke off. Disabled, our car was pushed back by the engine’s thrust. If we succeeded, Hunt would be in custody by the time Lincoln reached Philadelphia with Harry and the hangers-on.
Hunt’s train smashed into us. Iron spikes drove through the ceiling overhead as grapplers on their lead car took hold. I heard the shrill sound of metal sawing against metal. They were cutting through our back end.
I thought of Robert. He would have stayed for the fight. He would also have enjoyed seeing me don two melee gauntlets, one on each arm, and ultraviolet goggles to protect my eyes from the optical stunner Lincoln’s guards employed. Robert understands that this is the future of our profession.
The stunner was mounted on a tripod. Two elliptical trays revolved in opposite directions, each holding an array of polished quartz pieces, mirrors and lenses. A gas flame created a flash of blue light that was captured in the shifting glass. Staring into the light, even briefly, had a destabilizing neurological effect.
The sawing stopped and the wall fell over. The first man through looked straight into the stunner. A violent fit seized him. He tumbled to the ground, cracking his forehead on the floor.
Others followed. Men in this first wave were all overcome.
I punched the iron spikes out of the ceiling. This made me feel part of the action, which I was eager to join, but had little impact on Hunt’s boarding party. The trains were fused together and I could hear men crawling on the roof in magnetized boots and gloves.
The ceiling tore away. Gang members dropped into our car. They smashed the stunner, which cleared a path for the rest to rush through the back end.
It was a ragged bunch. Maybe I had been too impressed by the fashion and finery last night. Hunt’s boys looked every bit like they just crawled out of the forest.
We fell back, conceding the car. We also gave up the kitchen. Once the last of us ran through, welders sealed the door shut. This would only delay Hunt’s progress but we wanted to give President Lincoln as much time as possible. Every minute counted.
The same device that peeled our roof like a can made short work of the door. As planned, we set the kitchen ablaze and fell back again.
The dining hall was where we chose to fight. The stunner that Lincoln’s guards had mounted on the tripod was a trifle compared to the one built into the crystal chandelier. We pulled goggles over our eyes.
There were a dozen of us. I could have sworn I saw Kennedy amid the guards.
The chandelier spun, drowning the hall in ultraviolet. Hunt anticipated that we would make such a stand. He and his boys crossed the burning kitchen and entered with brute force. The double doors splintered.
Hunt and one of his lieutenants drove some manner of farm equipment into the hall. It raked the floor with long arms, throwing tables into the air and chasing guards out of position. One of the tables brought down the chandelier.
The goggles were useless. Our plan was already in shambles. If not for the fire we set in the kitchen, which did more to slow down the Golden Circle than anything else, we would have been in serious trouble.
I wound the gauntlets at the wrist and ran toward the machine. Hunt’s lieutenant swung the heavy metal arms against me. I caught the first at my knees and the second next to my head. Springs inside the gauntlet slowly unwound. So long as they held, I would be fine.
Hunt looked out from behind an iron plate and growled at the sight of me holding them back. He drove the machine forward, picking me off the floor. His lieutenant thrashed at the controls trying to free the arms from my grip.
I felt the gauntlet losing tension. With all my strength, I lifted the machine’s arms above my head and bent them together. We crossed in front of the bar where Harry had offered me champagne. Standing on the surfac
e of the bar, one of our men fired a pistol shot into Hunt’s lieutenant.
He fell forward, unconscious at the controls. The arms went slack. I twisted them around each other, easy as a pair of shoe laces. Before the gauntlets lost their tension, I drove the front end of the machine into the floor.
It wrenched to a halt and its back end lifted into the air. Lincoln’s guards, good soldiers all, jumped on board even as it flipped over and crashed into the far end of the dining car. The impact tore a hole in the wall and separated our car from those ahead.
A gap opened where the crippled train had come apart. Hunt crawled from the wreckage. His gang was in disarray. Many were burned in the kitchen. None could use the Union equipment he had provided. They were swarmed by Lincoln’s men.
Worse for Hunt, he could see that the President was obviously not on the train. His assault had failed.
Hunt scanned the room with bulging eyes. I stepped forward, gauntlets wound, to take him. He clenched his fists and frowned, ready for a fight.
Beyond the gap, a sound caught Hunt’s attention. He turned his back to us and yelled down toward the tracks below. I ran at him. He took one last scowling look at me then jumped off the train before I could reach him.
I seized the frame of the dining car in the gauntlets and leaned far over the edge. For a fraction of a moment, I saw what I believed to be an interceptor vehicle racing away from us under the track.
It was gone. So was William Hunt.
* * *
Allan Pinkerton, Principal
April, 1861
In my message to President Lincoln, I promised to shake his hand when he arrived at Philadelphia. It was a great pleasure to see my friend step onto the platform and into the protection of a security detail. At last, he was safe.
Newspaper reports the following day stated that Superintendent Kennedy accompanied President Lincoln on the journey. He was even quoted in the article; something about not leaving the President’s side in a time of crisis.
Strange, that I did not see Kennedy among those milling about on the platform. It was unlike the man not to seek me out for one of our chats, particularly with Robert’s trial still looming.
Kate Warne could not confirm, with absolute certainty, that she saw Kennedy during the final confrontation with Hunt and the Golden Circle. Nor could she provide a concrete description of the person or persons who escaped on the interceptor.
There is nothing to be gained by pressing the matter. Kate Warne’s credibility has taken a severe blow.
Rumors about her behavior the night before Hunt’s raid became fodder for gossip papers in Chicago, then around the Union. For a time, it seemed any nonsense related to the assassination attempt was fit to print. The President’s attache, Harry Vinton, has challenged any claims of impropriety against her. The damage is done.
I have assured Ms. Warne that she has my complete confidence. Nevertheless, we have no basis to challenge Kennedy.
Amid these conflicting reports, I remain skeptical as to the role Ernie Stark played in the Golden Circle affair. One of Hunt’s co-conspirators, Saul Mathews, has made wild allegations against Stark from his prison cell.
The accusations of a convict can never be trusted yet his claims mirror my own distrust. Stark hijacked our investigation. He did nothing to prevent Webster’s murder and stepped out of the line of fire prior to Harrisburg.
Robert insists that I have judged Ernie Stark unfairly. Time will tell.
My son has larger worries. After a brief stay in hospital, Robert has surrendered to the court. I trust our barrister to have the charges against him dismissed.
Regardless, I expect he will stay in New York. His ambitions are well known. I am inclined to let him pursue his career in that city, even if I have no intention of turning the operation over to his control. Our relationship will benefit from some distance.
As to my violation of Agency rules and my invasion of private case files, I am now convinced that circumstances leave me no choice. It galls me to betray my people in this manner but every effort must be made to ensure that William Hunt is apprehended.
Hunt’s attack against the President was financed and supported by collaborators in the Union north. It also set events in motion that threaten the future of my Agency.
Something Robert said to Felton during our meeting in Philadelphia comes to mind. He said that our problems were only beginning. On this point, Robert and I are agreed.
I will continue using every measure at my disposal, including the files of my detectives, to uncover the truth of a plot that has been launched against us all.
These thoughts were on my mind as I listened to President Lincoln’s inaugural address in Washington. His comments to the entire nation echoed my deepest fear.
“This country belongs to the people. Whenever they grow weary of the Government, they can exercise their constitutional right to amend it, or their revolutionary right to overthrow it. In your hands, my dissatisfied fellow countrymen, and not in mine, is the momentous issue.”
- Abraham Lincoln, March 1861
Repository Note:
Allan Pinkerton’s secret portfolio comes to an abrupt end with this entry. I am convinced that others exist but the same steps he took to conceal them from his agents now prevent us from learning more about his activities during this important period. It is a peculiar account. Either these pages reflect the mistaken views of an elderly man losing touch with current events or they are an important find of historic significance. The reference to Timothy Webster is remarkable enough. The suggestion that President Lincoln opposed slavery on Constitutional grounds is also noteworthy. It supports the view of a small and radical fringe among modern academics. I have requested additional staff to help search through remaining documents. If there is more to Pinkerton’s cache, I will find it.
- Diane Larimer, Chief Archivist – United States Library of Congress
Copyright
Copyright © 2010 by David Luchuk. All rights reserved.
Published by Audio Joe Inc.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
FIRST DIGITAL EDITION
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication information is available upon request
ISBN 978-0-9867424-0-8
THE PINKERTON FILES, VOLUME 2:
Bucholz and the Blockade
David Luchuk
Repository Note:
The first set of secret files discovered among records of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency describes how Allan Pinkerton and his operatives prevented the assassination of Abraham Lincoln in 1861. Publication of this material sparked keen interest. Academics across the country have contested the truth of Pinkerton’s account. Coverage in the media has, for the most part, been skewed toward reporting on the controversy rather than the actual content. This attention prompted the Justice Department to seize the entire collection, interrupting an archival project that has run without pause since the 1950s. They claim that government relations may be damaged if more of Pinkerton’s controversial claims are made public. I find that outlandish and have submitted an objection to Justice’s interference in Library operations. Access to the material will be barred until the conflict between our offices is resolved. The following may be the last of Pinkerton’s papers we are ever able to release.
- Diane Larimer, Chief Archivist—United States Library of Congress
* * *
Allan Pinkerton, Principal
July, 1861
The same day my son was convicted as a criminal our country descended into civil war. I am no admirer of coincidence. The timing would not be worth mentioning except that, after the verdict against Robert, t
here was no way to keep us out of the conflict.
I wanted no part of that fight. We sacrificed enough to save President Lincoln from the Golden Circle. Timothy Webster was killed. Kate Warne’s name was smeared. After paying such a toll, I believed we could leave politics alone.
We are not actors in history. We are detectives.
I was wrong. So wrong, that I now see no option other than to continue reading my agents’ private files. It pains me but too many questions remain unanswered.
First among them, why was the old miser Henry Schulte murdered? Odd as it seems, even months later, that case drew us into the war.
The conflict began in earnest on April 12th of this year. Fort Sumter was attacked.
The army base sitting atop an island off the shore of Charleston, Carolina, was a focal point for escalating tensions. Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana and Texas declared themselves separate from the United States.
Southerners may lack technology. They have no want of audacity.
President Lincoln promised to reinforce all Union bases within the so called Confederacy. He sent merchant ships, rather than military vessels, to deliver supplies yet his decision was still interpreted as a hostile act. The boys at Fort Sumter went to bed as representatives of lawful government and awoke to find cannons pointed at their heads.
Fort Sumter could have repelled any attack had President Lincoln been willing to deploy its full arsenal. It guards two shorelines. Its foundation is mounted on pistons that lift the installation off the peninsula a hundred feet in the air and tilt the battery’s firing platform to near 45 degrees. The result is a vast firing range that allows the cannonade to strike near and far.
Cannons in the battery rotate in a continuous ring. After one cannon fires, it swings off the platform to be reloaded and have its bearings adjusted. By the time nine other cannons discharge, the first is ready to blast again.
Fort Sumter can fire without pausing, and with great accuracy, on multiple targets. There is no Confederate weapon capable of matching its firepower.
