by Bob Young
[signed] Jefferson Davis
Stephens says that Davis proceeded to use this statement as a basis for mass meetings in the capitol and elsewhere to stir up anti-Union sentiments. Justice Campbell spoke harsh words in one of those Richmond meetings, “We will teach them that when they talk to us, they talk to their masters.”
And so it was that Stephens came home to Georgia with a new case of sorrow. He disappointed those who expected him to make grand war speeches and denounce the terms offered by Lincoln. Instead, Stephens always spoke of Lincoln as an old friend. They had generally voted alike in Congress during their time serving together.
“Say what you will about Lincoln,” Stephens shared. “I know he has a good heart and fine mind and is undoubtedly honest.”
Patrick grinned softly while walking away. The birds were chirping and the sun was shining white and gentle rays. He knew he would fondly remember his afternoon with the Vice President, and promised to visit again when his travels permitted.
Stephens had Travis take Patrick to the train station in his personal carriage so Patrick could continue onward to Washington. From Patrick’s breast pocket protruded a fine, thin envelope.
He carried with him a personal correspondence from Stephens to his good friend Robert Toombs.
* * *
This is Patrick’s first visit to Washington, and it doesn’t take him more than a moment to figure out that the Stagecoach Inn is the local gathering place. Upon entering, he is hit by a wall of fervent chatter. Of course, virtually all of the talk is about the war. From his table, Patrick hears some of the harshest critics of the Davis government explain exactly how their own political and battle plans will rescue the Confederacy better than those of Davis. Patrick shakes his head; it is always easy to strategize from the comfort of armchairs or barstools. He is not impressed. That is, until Robert Toombs walks in and joins a group of hard-faced men gathered at a long table across the room.
His arrival is acknowledged by political friend and foe alike. No single figure stands taller in Washington, or all of Georgia for that matter. Even before the war, Toombs was an important man in town and something of a Renaissance man at that—planter, lawyer, U.S. Congressman, Senator. When Georgia joined the Confederacy, Davis picked Toombs as the first Secretary of State, this despite the fact that everyone knew that Toombs would rather have been president himself. Just like his close friend Alexander Stephens, Toombs never got along with Davis. Before a few months had run their course, he submitted his resignation from the cabinet.
Toombs knew that a battlefield resume always serves a politician well, so at age fifty-one, he was appointed Brigadier General in command of a brigade of Georgia Regulars assigned to Longstreet’s Corps in the Army of Northern Virginia. Even in the context of the army, where the high stakes were much easier to taste, Toombs had a hard time getting along with superiors. Professional soldiers made him tighten with frustration. He was even arrested on one occasion for insubordination, but nothing ever came of it. And in one striking show of guts, he even challenged Major General Hill to a duel.
Just like in the political field, on the battlefield Toombs had a knack for being where the action was—the Peninsula Campaign, Seven Days Battle, Second Manassas, and Fredericksburg. He even walked away from Antietam with a wound. Then, after two years and no promotion, Toombs had had enough of the army, so he resigned in 1863 to return to his home in Washington. Last year, Governor Brown managed to convince Toombs to put on the uniform one last time to serve as the chief of staff of the state militia. That was the very post Toombs occupied when General Sherman invaded Georgia and set fire to Atlanta.
Whether he’s operating in politics, the army, the state militia, or the courtroom, Robert Toombs projects a magnetic personality that easily pulls people in. Such is evidently the case on this day, as men go out of their way to pull their chairs up to his table and hear his latest pronouncements.
Colonel Liston enters the establishment and quickly draws Patrick’s attention away from Toombs. Happy to see each other, they greet one another with a vigorous handshake and a hug. Although it has only been a couple of weeks since their last meeting, a great deal has happened to alter both their lives.
Charles is the first to speak: “Patrick, I am so glad to see you.”
“It’s mutual, Charles,” Patrick replies, giving Charles a pat on the arm. “Did you have a good ride over?”
Charles settles into his chair and responds, “Actually, it was a bit easier to get here than I imagined it would be. A couple of months ago, General Fry had the engineers construct a pontoon bridge over the Savannah River near Petersburg, between here and Abbeville. It’s a big one, too. About sixty boats. The bridge makes it just a two-day ride on horseback.”
“Charles…” Patrick says, hoping that his tone telegraphs the seriousness he wishes to impose upon their discussion. More to the point, he hopes that his compatriot can provide him with some reassuring news. “The world is going crazy. It’s spinning out of control.”
“There’s a lot of truth in that,” Charles sighs. “President Davis is clearly running a government that is positioned on top of quicksand, yet all he talks about is going to the Trans Mississippi and reorganizing. He even envisions the South continuing to exist as some underground guerrilla organization!”
“I’m as Southern as anyone and as loyal as the next,” says Patrick, “but from what I’m picking up in Augusta, and what I heard just yesterday from Vice President Stephens, I don’t see any of that happening. Outside of the realm of dreams, that is.”
Patrick then asks what the current situation is regarding the government because nothing new has greeted his ears for a week.
Charles replies, “Here’s the report as of yesterday, when I left the Secretary. Davis and the cabinet are in Charlotte, but I suspect they won’t be for long. Stoneman’s raiders are cutting key rail lines and roads in the Carolinas, and Davis won’t allow himself to become locked in.”
Patrick nods his understanding, briefly envisioning Davis locked up in a cage, as Charles continues.
“In the meantime, the train loaded with the government’s treasury met up with Mrs. Davis’ party in Charlotte, and they’re all due in Abbeville sometime today. We’ve arranged for Mrs. Davis to stay with Armistead Burt, an old family friend.”
“What about the treasury?”
“Well, as the ranking Treasury official, Philbrook’s the man in charge. He got jittery when he heard the Union cavalry was in Pendleton, so he decided to load the train and strike out for Abbeville. But before leaving Charlotte, he secured a company of Marines to join the midshipmen and clerks to guard the treasure.”
Patrick releases an intense exhale. “Sounds like it’s not been an easy ride,” he says.
“That’s putting it mildly. It’s been a rough trip. They’ve had to use a combination of wagons and railroad cars to get to Abbeville. I doubt the good Captain Parker realized what he was signing on for. But then again, I don’t think any of us did.”
“And what’s to become of the treasury?” Patrick asks, feeling too urgent to reflect or comment upon Charles’s statements.
“I’m glad you ask because it will soon be part of your life. Wagons will bring it across the river on that splendid pontoon bridge here to Washington, where it will be once again loaded into railroad cars for transport to Augusta. I suspect you’ll see it by…I’m going to say Tuesday.”
“And once I see it, what am I to do with it?”
“Captain Parker will report to you on his arrival, and you will assist him in securing and protecting the holdings until further notice from the Treasury.”
Patrick shakes his head and says, “This is all moving at a rabbit’s pace.”
His heart was beating fast and his eyes felt restless.
“Now that,” says Charles, “is a truthful observation. Moreover, I have no one to send to help you, so you will be on your own with both your original mission and the Treasury.”
His brows raising, Patrick asks, “Where’s everyone else going to be?”
Charles replies, “That, my friend, is the question. And the options are lessening with every moment. Sherman is squeezing Johnston in the Carolinas. Stoneman is pressing in from the north. Union forces have swept the Alabama gulf coast and are advancing on Columbus to the west. The only safe way out now is to keep heading south. Why, even just yesterday, the Yankees raised the Union flag over Fort Sumter. You want my opinion, my money’s on Florida. Get to Florida and sail on to Cuba or Nassau, then maybe Europe. But I’m not calling the shots.”
Charles has brought with him a bag of dispatches to review. He plants it atop the table in between them, then begs some time to recover from his journey.
Drawing his palm across his forehead, he offers, “Let’s meet back here again for supper. We can eat and plan—and most importantly, eat.”
Patrick smiles. It’s not a good joke, but any joke is welcome at this time. As is the mere sight of his dear friend.
“And don’t forget the drinks. I’m sure we’ll need a couple of stiff ones,” Patrick adds.
The men proceed to walk out just as the conversation from Toombs’ table ascends to a louder and more heated height. Patrick, however, is not intimidated. He stops at the table momentarily to hand Toombs the letter from Vice President Stephens.
Toombs smiles upon pocketing it—a full and magnetic smile. “Join us, boy! You can learn a thing or two!”
All the men around the table break apart laughing.
“No, thank you, sir,” Patrick smiles, moving away with Charles. “Sometimes too much knowledge is a dangerous thing.”
The men laugh anew as Patrick and Charles make their exit.
* * *
Washington is something of a small town, but it has the advantage of being strategically located about halfway up the road between Augusta and Athens. The center of the town’s activity is its courthouse square, which tends to be filled with people from sunrise to sundown. Shops, hotels, and banks surround the courthouse on all four sides. One of the more prominent landmark structures is the Georgia Branch Bank, standing proud on the courthouse’s north side. The two-and-a-half story Federal-style brick building makes a most impressive statement.
Meanwhile, the smallness of Washington is at odds with the current conditions. The population is exploding as a result of all the people passing through—refugees from the war, stragglers from beaten armies, homeless people in search of a patch of street to get some rest on. Washington’s location is also an important crossroad for soldiers on their way to the front and those going in the opposite direction to the haunted familiarity of their homes.
While the town does have a fair number of Unionists among its citizens, most people are hardly timid about grappling with an invading enemy. Eighty-six years ago, during the American Revolution, the Loyalist forces defeated seven hundred Tories just outside of Washington at Kettle Creek. That Patriot victory receives full credit for checking the British advance in Georgia. When it comes to invading armies, the people of Washington preserve a mentality of strict intolerance.
Whereas Robert Toombs is well known across the Confederacy, Washington has produced some other notably important figures. Among them are General E. Porter Alexander, who commanded Longstreet’s artillery at Gettysburg and founded the Signal Bureau, and Justice Campbell, who of course accompanied Stephens in the ill-fated peace mission to Hampton Roads.
Patrick stops at the local express office so that he can send his daily wire to Elisabeth. Thankfully, this one should be his last. He is looking forward to getting back to Augusta tomorrow and delivering messages to her in person from that day on.
* * *
As evening falls, Charles and Patrick, making good on their commitment, are back in the Stagecoach Inn, and their conversation is brisk, formal, and all business. Their time is short, their schedules packed. Amidst all the commotion, Patrick still needs to brief Charles on the Augusta mission. Charles is preoccupied with trying to anticipate the government’s next moves so that proper security can travel with it.
Patrick gets right to it. “Charles, let me bring you up-to-date on what’s going on in Augusta, get some idea where we want to take it.”
“Good,” Charles responds. “I was just about to bring it up.”
The server steps up to the table to take their dinner orders. But both men, anxious to talk, settle for a couple of beers for the time being.
“I’ve been to Paterson’s shop and found no hint of a connection there. It’s clear that Roads is working his own scheme. I also visited briefly with him to take a look at his operation.”
“What’s it like?” Charles asks.
“A store that rivals any quartermaster!” Patrick exclaims, sounding impressed but suitably dark, given whom he’s speaking of. “He must have a pipeline to the markets in Europe. Unbelievable, the stuff he’s got for sale. As for printing, he’ll admit he runs a print shop, but its location is not something he talks about.”
Charles wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Well, that will be the key—finding the press and his plates.”
“So I take it that my original mission still stands?” Patrick inquires—somewhat rhetorically, as he presumes the answer to be yes.
“Most definitely,” Charles confirms.
Charles then goes on to explain that he is trying to keep his office’s operations as normal as possible, even in light of the disruption of the government. He has foresight enough to know that the nature of the Augusta mission will have a profound impact whichever way the war ends.
“That’s understandable; I can appreciate your position,” Patrick says.
“But there is something else that you don’t know,” Charles says, leaning across the table and lowering his voice.
But before he can utter a meaningful word, he’s interrupted by the arrival of the beer. He tells the server, “Make us two of your venison stews. I hear it’s the best.”
“It sure is,” says the server, who’s then off to consult with the cook.
Patrick hasn’t the time to object to being ordered for, and besides, Charles has made a good selection.
Charles continues, “The Signal Bureau has picked up information that a Union spy is operating in Augusta and is aware of your mission.”
“What?” Patrick asks in amazement and disbelief. “This is incredible. Only you, the Secretary, and I know of my mission. Heck, the cat got my tongue when I was with the Vice President. And now you say the Yankees know?”
“Unfortunately.” Clearly, Charles is less than happy about sharing this news. “How they found out, we don’t know—and actually, not much at all will matter in a few weeks, unless Johnston pulls a miracle out of his hat. What is important is that you know you are being watched and followed.”
“But my cover…” Patrick begins.
“Stay with it,” Charles says. “Only the enemy agent knows who you really are. You could get this wrapped up before word goes elsewhere. But as a precaution, I set this meeting today here in Washington to get you out of Augusta. Assistant Secretary Crump is in Augusta today, on business. And all we needed was for him to see you and begin asking why you are there.”
“But how am I to deal with the enemy agent?” asks Patrick. A feeling of genuine concern descends over his being, and he couldn’t care less about Crump.
“Actually, Patrick, if you want to know the truth, I think having an enemy agent involved might be helpful to you, because he would not want to see counterfeit greenbacks in circulation either.”
Now there’s a provocative theory. Patrick’s mind is spinning. He’s thinking back to Augusta. The strange notes under the door. And a missing envelope from his coat pocket…and freshly-printed greenbacks. Now this all is coming together. Yes, he’s being watched – and helped?
“Charles, um…I think the enemy agent may have the evidence we need to take care of Roads.”
Charles looks up from h
is beer. “What do you mean? How do you know?”
Patrick carefully chooses his words. Although he wants to give his boss the facts, he sees no need to draw Elisabeth into the matter.
After a weighty pause, he begins: “I was given an envelope to hold for someone, and it was taken from my coat pocket in my hotel room. The next day the envelope miraculously reappeared in the same place. When I opened it, inside were crisp, new one hundred dollar greenbacks, just about a week old.”
Charles reacts with a look of puzzlement.
Patrick continues, “Which begs the question: Was that money in there when I originally received the envelope, or were there counterfeit notes that someone replaced with real notes?”
Charles puts these questions aside for a moment: “That’s a pretty interesting set of facts, followed by an incredible question. If that agent is indeed helping you, why did he return the envelope?”
Patrick says, “Maybe…the person…who was getting the envelope really needed the money. Even agents show compassion from time to time.” Patrick gives a shrug.
Charles immediately absorbs Patrick’s meaning. For now, he is going to show Patrick a little compassion and not press for more details. They know each other well enough to understand what it takes to be a successful agent. And whatever Patrick is involved in, Charles instinctively knows to give Patrick his space…at least until he can’t any longer.
Dinner arrives, and both men are overwhelmed by the aroma of the venison stew, so much so that it marks the point where the business ends and the dining begins.
And it isn’t long before the night comes to an end.
An express agent races into the dining area waving a dispatch around above his head.
