by David Luchuk
President Lincoln did not make this strength available to Sumter’s commanders. He never authorized the use of such weapons against the rebels. I have come to understand his decision.
The President believed that the Constitution did not recognize any right for States to secede. He sought to ensure that no legitimacy was granted to the rebels as a breakaway nation. If his army exerted its full strength in skirmishes such as Fort Sumter, how could President Lincoln deny that the Union was at war with another nation? He could not.
Lincoln ordered Major Robert Anderson, commander at Fort Sumter, to stand down while waiting for supplies. Merchant ships sailed from New York on April 10th.
The leader of Confederate forces in Carolina was General Gustave Beauregard. AnH engineer by trade, Beauregard had built bases like Fort Sumter.
On April 11th, Beauregard turned fifty guns toward the island. Under the shadow of this artillery, he sent a messenger to offer Major Anderson terms for a peaceful surrender.
According to this messenger, who spoke to journalists after the attack, Anderson received him with full military rites even though the boy had been a common Union rifleman before the rebellion. The soldier placed a sheet of paper on Anderson’s desk, outlining terms that Beauregard would honour if Fort Sumter were turned over without a fight.
Major Anderson never read it. Instead, he placed his own paper over the Confederate terms. It was an offer of amnesty.
“Come back to us.” Anderson said. “You will face no court martial. You may yet salvage your military career. At minimum, your life will be spared.”
“But you are surrounded, Sir.”
“Young man, the President’s patience has limits. Before this is done, I will raze these hills and dine with your General as my prisoner.”
The messenger returned to Beauregard with a polite refusal from Anderson. That evening, ships from New York assembled around Fort Sumter. At 4 o’clock in the morning, the fighting started.
Shells slammed Fort Sumter from all sides. Intense mortar fire targeted the battery platform.
Anderson’s soldiers took cover behind stone walls reinforced with iron plates. Beauregard knew there was no point trying to penetrate them. Wood buildings beyond the barrack walls, on the other hand, made good targets. They could be set ablaze.
When the fires broke out, Union soldiers were forced into the open. If the Fort was engulfed, they would be cooked alive. Anderson sent teams to suppress the flames. Most were cut down in the hail of shot.
Anderson could only watch so many die. He ordered the battery platform raised and the cannons deployed. He would show these rebels the magnitude of the fight they had started.
This was what General Beauregard hoped would happen. Sustained shelling weakened the foundations around the pistons. Crumbling outer walls were exposed. The platform stalled ten feet off the surface. Its underbelly was open to heavy guns.
Direct hits rattled the platform. Pistons cracked and Fort Sumter disappeared in a cloud of steam, hot as boiling oil. Residents of Charleston claimed the screams were louder than the guns. The soldiers’ torment only lasted a moment before the steam chamber exploded.
That blast drowned all other noises for miles. It sent a shock across the bay that blew half the merchant fleet over. A deep fissure opened in the bedrock. The top of the island broke away and tipped into the foot of the peninsula.
Soldiers inside were lost. Their bodies were never recovered. It was not known what became of Major Anderson.
Fort Sumter was in ruin. Lincoln was savaged in Congress and by the press. Most people in the Union wanted the army to pummel southern cities. The President responded to the attack by sending ships to blockade Confederate ports.
Lincoln’s opponents in the North howled against what they viewed as a half measure. His enemies in the South tried to have the blockade declared illegal.
Americans clamoured for war. Lincoln chose to do his fighting in court.
When Fort Sumter fell, I was bogged down in the courts as well. Robert’s trial came to a close on the same day in New York City.
The charges stemmed from his attempt to prove that a former client of ours, Northern Central Railroad, financed southern extremists with money they embezzled but claimed was stolen. To prove it, Robert broke into their office. This was mischief and trespassing.
Following his arrest, Robert was authorized to leave New York City on promise of returning for trial. Despite this agreement, Superintendent John Kennedy sent officers to Chicago to seize him without legal notice. Robert fled to help Kate Warne prevent President Lincoln’s assassination. His escape amounted to resisting arrest.
Robert’s actions helped prevent William Hunt from killing the President but he was still guilty of the charges. That was the crux of the trial.
I put my faith in our Agency lawyer, Byron Hayes. I believed the absence of a valid warrant, considered in the light of our cooperation with police and the threat against President Lincoln, would win a dismissal in Robert’s favour.
Mr. Hayes took a different tack. There were times when it seemed he had no intention of answering the charges against my son. He brought every question back to how Kennedy’s police responded to Robert’s alleged break in with such speed.
These tangents were a constant annoyance to Judge Terrence Mansfield. They turned the trial into a farce.
I am tempted to read Robert’s notes just to understand what he and Hayes thought they would accomplish. There is more than curiosity driving me to open the files.
I wanted to keep us out of the war. I wanted to protect us from the conspiracy gaining strength around us. After Robert’s trial, there was no way for me to do so.
* * *
Robert Pinkerton
April, 1861
Hayes is a genius. He saw that there was no chance of acquittal. At first, he advised me to plead guilty and avoid the trial altogether.
“Out of the question” I said.
Kennedy had more to answer for than me. Kate Warne saw him on the train at Harrisburg. Kennedy claimed to have accompanied Lincoln to Philadelphia. He could not have been in both places.
The attempt on Lincoln’s life was a national story. Kate was slandered by journalists who spread Kennedy’s version. They also published wicked rumours about her conduct after being drugged on the train before Hunt’s assault.
I do not put it past Kennedy to have planted the opiates and the stories. There was no doubt in my mind that he played some role in supporting William Hunt and the Golden Circle. He may also have helped provide Union equipment to agitators in the south. I was determined to expose this man. How could I, in good conscience, plead guilty to his charges?
At Northern Central, I had used a mechanized lock pick to walk through the front door. No one suspected I was anything other than a railway employee. I entered the file room and fed records into the punch card machine. I was barely there a quarter of an hour when police stormed the room. It is not possible for Northern Central officials to have recognized me as an intruder, for police to have been contacted and for officers to have intervened in that time.
How did Kennedy’s men respond so fast? Why was safeguarding those railway manifests such a priority for police? Those were the real questions.
“We shall raise them.” Hayes said.
The little man wiped his hand over a moustache obscuring the lower half of his face. I could not say whether he was smiling but his eyes were bright with enthusiasm.
“A trial has two outcomes. We agree that the verdict is not in doubt?”
“Yes.”
“Then we will make our stand at sentencing.”
A plan was devised. Our biggest challenge was Papa. We needed him to exert a certain kind of pressure on Kennedy but I could not risk telling him the truth.
I am a bad son. With William for a brother, I’ll still come out ahead.
I had new suits tailored for the trial, dark and severe, cut to the height of today’s fashion. My job was to play a privileged brat who believed himself above the law. We gave newspapers a proper villain. The ones who attacked Kate Warne caricatured me as her lothario counterpart.
I hated seeing her name savaged in the press again. Kate has not been herself since the Lincoln investigation. She has no memory of what took place in the hours after she was drugged.
While she was out of her right mind, William Hunt and his Golden Circle overtook the President’s train. Newspapers reported that she fell from one man to another. She traded clothes, undergarments and jewellery with other women. Other rumours are too shocking to repeat.
Kate regained her senses in time to save Lincoln’s life. The allegations against her have been vehemently denied by Lincoln advisor Harry Vinton. Kate felt ruined all the same.
She has not taken an assignment since. Only Ginny Higgs at the Chicago office has been in regular contact with her.
My only comfort was in knowing that Hayes and I had Kennedy in our sights. If we succeeded, Kate might be avenged.
It was important that my trial be a public event. For the truth to come out, we needed the newspapers.
It is a wonder that Hayes did not end up in jail. From the first day, he tried to have every piece of evidence thrown out. He came close to accusing New York Police of colluding with Northern Central.
“Exhibit Three: a lock picking mechanism used by the defendant . . .”
“I object.” Hayes said. “That machine is under patent to a Northern Central competitor. Its presence in this courtroom violates federal and state laws that protect industrial innovation.”
“Your Honour, we cannot revisit this point again.” The District Attorney said.
“Let us have closure, then. Exclude those items seized illegally by police or let them justify their raid on Northern Central offices. Why were they there?”
In the end, all the evidence was deemed admissible by Judge Mansfield. My defence seemed in shambles.
Kennedy celebrated every victory in the press. The day my guilty verdict was handed down, he was on the front pages not me.
I invited Father to dine with Hayes and me at the hotel. My sentence was to be delivered the next morning. Over dessert, Father relaxed with a biscuit in hand.
“Judge Mansfield will be of a mind to send Robert to jail.” Hayes said.
Father chewed a biscuit and weighed his words.
“You are the barrister, Mr. Hayes. What do you recommend?”
“He might be lenient if we can give him a reason. If we show that the outcome of an important case will be jeopardized by sending Robert to prison, he may suspend the sentence.”
Here was the crucial piece of our puzzle. If Father agreed, we would have our lever.
“Can you be certain this will work?”
“We can only be sure that Robert will go to jail if we do not appeal to the public good.”
Any word I uttered would have turned Father against the idea.
“I know of a case that might be suitable.” Father said.
“In New York?”
“Yes. I could assign Robert to work under his brother.”
“Robert must be in charge or the Judge will view him as replaceable.”
It would be no more than I deserved in my father’s eyes.
“You ask too much of me, Mr. Hayes.”
Papa craves being asked to do too much. This is what Hayes and I were counting on.
“Fine.” Father said. “Tomorrow, you may advise Judge Mansfield that Robert is investigating the murder of Henry Schulte.”
I sipped black coffee and found that I had something to say after all.
“Thank you, Papa.”
It was the same thing I’d said when he retrieved me from the police wagon. I repaid him with lies on both occasions.
The usual press was assembled at the courthouse. I saved my best suit for last; brilliant black with accents of gold on the collar and cuffs. For the first time, reporters parted to let me pass. No one wanted to ruin the outfit.
Inside, Hayes requested a closed session in Judge Mansfield’s chambers. Kennedy insisted on taking part.
Mansfield sat in composed silence waiting for audio equipment to be transferred from the courtroom to his chambers. He had a young face and could have passed for a boy if not for his thinning hair and hunched posture. His body didn’t know how to be old.
It was a delicate job, installing the steam capsules and wax discs that registered our testimony. Flute shaped receivers on each table fed our voices through rubber tubes that amplified the sound. A suction pump in the basement sustained a perfect vacuum inside the tubes. These connected to a sealed box the size of a shipping barrel. Inside, the sound was imprinted as a continuous groove cut into wax discs. The sound of discs being engraved could be heard throughout the courtroom.
The quiet in Mansfield’s chambers was broken by the scraping discs. We could proceed.
“People v. Pinkerton R. Continuance for sentencing. Mr. Hayes, your petition please.”
“We ask the court to recognize that the public good will suffer if my client is jailed.”
“Do the People have a position?”
Kennedy nodded at the District Attorney. He was impatient to announce to his adoring press that officers were dragging me to jail.
“Mr. Pinkerton has been proved a menace. The People wish to see him treated as such.”
“So noted. Mr. Hayes, how will the public suffer by your client paying for his crimes?”
“If my client goes to jail, a killer goes free.” Hayes said. “It’s that simple. Robert Pinkerton is lead detective in the investigation of New York businessman Henry Schulte’s murder.”
Kennedy slapped his palm against the table at mention of the case.
“Impossible.” He said.
“This is smoke and mirrors, your Honour.” The District Attorney added.
“Maybe.” Mansfield said. “The State proved that Mr. Pinkerton tampered with records he had no right to access. I am inclined to agree that these crimes do not outweigh the public’s interest in catching a murderer.”
The District Attorney rubbed his eyes, stalling for time so he could reason his way out. Judge Mansfield helped him.
“If the People can show that Mr. Pinkerton is a danger, the Court will hear arguments against a suspended sentence.” Mansfield said. “Eight armed officers participated in the arrest. Was the defendant acting violently when you responded to Northern Central?”
There it was. If Kennedy wanted to put me behind bars, he would have to explain.
Kennedy turned angry eyes toward the audio recorder.
“We believed Mr. Pinkerton would respond with violence, yes.”
“What led you to that conclusion?”
“When he fled from Chicago, he led officers on a perilous . . .”
“I am aware of what happened after his arrest, Mr. Kennedy. We are more interested in what happened before. Why did you respond with such a show of force?”
The chamber was silent except for the scraping of wax discs.
“Mr. Kennedy. Help me to understand.”
“The police are not on trial.”
“Of course not, the trial is over . . .” Judge Mansfield said.
Kennedy stood and turned on his heel. He hurried to open the door leading back to the courtroom. Any detective would have understood his rush. Reporters were listening.
Courtroom audio devices were modified on the black market as soon as they were invented. New models are hard to tune because they register, not voices, but the sound of scraping discs. That nois
e is imprinted backwards then played in reverse as conversation. Even the best units are delayed by several seconds.
Journalists were known to hide these devices in top hats, briefcases, hollowed-out books, anything. Though we were in Mansfield’s chambers, the scraping was still audible in the courtroom. Kennedy threw the doors open just as reporters heard him say,
“The police are not on trial.”
Kennedy emerged and a room full of writers shouted questions at the same time.
The next day, newspapers were filled with speculation about why he had refused to answer for the actions of New York police. It was good sport but less than I’d hoped. Nothing against Kennedy could be proved.
Judge Mansfield had no grounds to refuse Hayes’ petition. I was convicted but given a suspended sentence. So long as I led the Schulte investigation, I was free.
* * *
Allan Pinkerton, Principal
July, 1861
My first thought was to fire Byron Hayes and have him stripped of his license. Ms. Higgs made me see that doing so would expose the fact that I had been reading Robert’s files.
Robert was happy to have created a minor media stir. Northern Central was in the papers for less than a week. Kennedy threatened to bring charges against any reporter who tied him to the embezzled funds.
None dared call his bluff. The scandal evaporated in a matter of days.
We could not expect much cooperation from New York police in our investigation of Henry Schulte’s murder. I had to let Robert proceed as he saw fit. If I removed him from the case, or put William back in the lead, Mansfield would revoke the suspended sentence.
Henry Schulte was 72 years old when he died. He owned a business in Manhattan and an estate along the Hudson River. On those shores near his country home, Schulte was killed. He was struck with an axe and the base of the neck, then several more times after he fell into the snow. Details of the case impacted me on a personal level.
I am an immigrant to this country. My prospects for success were dim yet America proved a place where a man’s qualities could be made to count. For all her greatness, America failed Henry Schulte. He came to New York to escape tragic memories in Prussia.
