by Bob Young
At dinner, Jacob tries to bring Patrick up-to-date on the military situation, but he finds the political activities to be a bit more entertaining.
Jacob tells him, “General Wilson is furious because Governor Brown has called a meeting of the state legislature in two weeks without first consulting with him. And he’s complained directly to Secretary Stanton.”
“What’s his argument?” Patrick asks, chewing on a roll.
“Wilson says it’s not proper for a bunch of secessionists to have any influence or control in shaping Georgia’s path to re-entering the Union.”
“What’s he going to do about it, though?”
“The general goes so far as to say he won’t let the legislature meet unless someone in Washington City instructs him otherwise.”
“Truth is, Brown and company would be crazy to try to buck him. As military commander of Georgia, General Wilson carries quite a big hammer!”
“Well, Patrick, I think we’re going to see a lot of effort by local and state authorities to test the Federal government’s resolve. But we surely know who is going to win in the end.”
Flagging down a waitress, Jacob orders another bottle of wine, as the men shovel down their steaks, potatoes, and greens.
“The food, Jacob. The food,” says Patrick, relishing each syllable. “This is what I missed most when I was with the treasure train.”
“You just need to settle down with a good woman, that’s all,” suggests Jacob. “You’ll have your plates filled on a daily basis.”
“I suspect that may happen sooner rather than later,” Patrick says, flicking a fingernail against the pocket where he placed Elisabeth’s letter. The resulting sound is crisp and sturdy.
“She’s a good woman, Patrick. You’ll do well by her. And you’ll be a good father to her son.”
“That kid, Jacob,” Patrick says, guzzling down a sip from his refreshed wine glass. “He’s a real joy to be around. Though he had just started warming up to me when I left to come back up here. I know it will be special to watch him grow into a man.”
Easing away from his smile, Patrick is quick to steer the conversation back to business: “And what about Augusta? Is the new garrison commander here yet?”
Jacob says that General Molineux is to arrive in the morning, fresh from Charleston. “We’re one of his first appointments, so we can get you under oath.”
Showing Jacob his palms, Patrick says, “I’m looking forward to it.”
* * *
In his hotel room before finally getting some much-needed rest, Patrick takes off his coat and pulls from its pocket the envelope that he was given earlier by the bellman. The writing is clearly from the hand of Elisabeth. He would know it from a mile away. He opens the envelope and removes a sheet of paper. Leaning forward into the lamp’s orange glow, Patrick unfolds the paper, revealing Elisabeth’s message.
She starts by calling Patrick “Darling.” He’s heard this word from her lips before, but somehow seeing it in writing gives it a sense of enrichment. It hits him deeper than it ever has. She writes about George and how well and speedily he is recovering from his wound. She also includes an update on the permanent marker for his mother’s grave—a large stone the workers brought in from one of the fields. Patrick learns that Jimmy is adjusting well and is even looking forward to seeing him again. This flatters him, but what about Elisabeth herself? His eyes burrow down into the letter. There it is. Her own longing to see Patrick again and her despair over the fact that the two of them are separated. “I yearn for your presence, your touch, your breath, your heartbeat, the whispered I love you. I want to be with you again—and forever.”
When Patrick puts the paper down, he is surprised to find tears falling from his eyes. This is indeed reality, yet he has met the woman of his dreams. And she has now proclaimed in ink that she has met the person whom she wants to spend the rest of her life with. Soon, they will be together. Patrick’s emotions well up inside him, and he can only imagine that Elisabeth’s emotions took her over as she was writing the letter.
His mood is dampened when he picks the letter back up and discovers a disturbing warning. Elisabeth writes at some length about the operations of something that the Federal government has set up called the Freedmen’s Bureau. In theory, its representatives are supposed to help make productive citizens out of the former slaves, but in real life they are using their authority to oppress white people. In particular, she warns Patrick to beware of the one known as “The Frenchman,” who is presently being posted at Augusta. She claims that she has seen for herself how dangerous the Frenchman and his associates are while spending time in the Sea Islands.
Patrick has no choice but to shake off this section of the letter. He lets his eyes drift back to the earlier part where Elisabeth talks about herself and her feelings of missing him. Sucking in a breath, he renews his determination to finish his work and bring Elisabeth and her son home.
As he knows that even longer days lie ahead, he seizes the hour for rest.
* * *
Saturday morning arrives following a stretch of great anticipation. General Upton has raised the Stars and Stripes over the arsenal in Summerville, an action for which he receives a fairly warm reception. However, it could be that folks are simply pleased to see the fighting at an end, as opposed to being subjugated to occupying forces.
Despite the pit in his belly, Patrick skips breakfast to get into his viewing spot on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. Broad Street is filling up fast because the day will commence with a military parade. The pounding footsteps and cadence of the drums can be heard from blocks away with sounds reverberating off the walls of the buildings. Coming into view is a long line of blue coats, drums beating and banners waving.
A procession of negroes is running along beside them, shouting and yelling. A gentleman next to Patrick observes that the negroes “look like lunatics fresh from the asylum.”
Patrick thinks that on this day, it looks like everyone is fresh from the asylum of war. He elects, however, not to speak his mind.
The army takes over the City Hotel and the former Third Georgia Hospital for barracks. Lots of Union soldiers are here now, and the word is that many more will flow in during the summer.
With a terse nod, Jacob joins Patrick in front of the hotel, and they follow the parade up Broad Street. It ends in front of the Mechanics Bank, a massive granite building on the street’s north side. There, General Molineux and his staff dismount and take over the building to use as his office. It’s going to be a busy place, as Patrick and Jacob are about to learn firsthand.
The general greets them in his office, exchanging pleasantries with his eyes half-averted, as he removes his pistol and scabbard and hangs up his coat.
“What a dusty ride down the street this morning. But I like what I saw. Looks like people will appreciate us here. Certainly, we want to get Augusta back to normal as soon as we can.”
“General,” Jacob says, his tone upbeat to curb any air of unsupportiveness, “you have an incredible task ahead of you.”
“You don’t say! Let me give you an idea, Reverend Anderson.” Molineux reaches into his bag, pulls out a stack of papers, and starts to thumb through them, breathing heavily as he does. “These are my orders. From six o’clock to midnight, my offices will parole prisoners, feed the populace, interview planters and merchants, secure ten million dollars in quartermaster and ordinance stores, sixty thousand bales of cotton, and two hundred seventy-five thousand dollars in gold and silver. And that’s before we censor newspapers, clean up houses and streets, and restore law and order. Not bad if you’re an octopus.”
Jacob and Patrick look at each other. The general’s attempt at humor notwithstanding, it’s chillingly clear to them that his soldiers are going to pre-empt the mayor and all others in local authority for some time to come.
Patrick says, “I think law and order will be the highest priority, yes? For nothing else matters if we’re not safe in our home
s and our businesses and on our streets.”
“How true, Mr. Graham.” There’s a distinct presence of condescension in the general’s words. “And do you know the extent to which this sudden freedom for the blacks is really a terrible thing? We are certainly not prepared for the consequences. Keeping the peace will not be easy. I will need your help, just as you previously helped the Confederate government.”
Patrick tenses before he replies. “I appreciate the opportunity, sir. We are all Americans, and that’s more important than whether we come from the North or the South.”
The general looks at him, clearly taking notice of Patrick’s lack of agreement on the race matter. “Good enough,” he grumbles. “That’s the kind of attitude we need right now. My staff will take your signed oath this morning, and you’ll have orders from me to continue to serve as you have. And you’ll assuredly keep your weapon.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Reverend Anderson has already vouched for you and briefed us on your current investigation into Mr. Roads’ activities. I for one would like him out of our way, and that’s my first order to you as a U.S. Agent.”
Patrick says, “I’m grateful for it. And there’s a bit more to the case now.”
“Yes,” the general says, “I know what he did to your mother and father, and what he put your fiancée through.”
Fiancée? Patrick thinks. What has Jacob told Molineux? He has to smile, for the word doesn’t sound that bad.
The general continues, “You’ll have the full resources of the Federal government at your disposal, Agent Graham. We’ll sweep him away like the trash he is and make this city safer.”
After Jacob thanks the general for his support and his time, both he and Patrick take their leave and visit with a clerk to handle the oath and paperwork.
Always, even in the midst of such a massive transition, there is paperwork.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Following the Sunday morning service, Patrick and Jacob are reunited at their usual bench in the church cemetery. This time Jacob has something he wants to show Patrick. Given Jacob’s prior reveals, Patrick can only regard this news with tension.
But the congregation is slow to disburse this morning. Something is weighing on their minds. They’re not talking about Reverend Clark’s sermon, nor the scripture lesson. They’re not even talking about praying for the President of the United States.
From their vantage point in the cemetery Jacob and Patrick can overhear the church members grousing about the edict from General Molineux.
What has the business people all stirred up is the threat of jail if they refuse to use greenbacks to set the official price for trading. The merchants, many of them sour-faced, claim the Union government has thrust them into an impossible situation. They’ll be selling their goods and services at levels well below market prices. And what about making change? The general’s edict directs that where small notes or fractional parts of notes cannot be obtained, the traders will have to agree upon a value. But if the buyer and seller fail to agree, then the dispute will actually be settled by the Provost Marshal.
Folks are naturally upset, but there’s no time for the captain and the cleric to solve everyone’s problems. Got to leave something for the mayor, and no doubt Mayor May will be hearing from these parishioners.
Jacob initiates their departure from the cemetery. At the entrance is a carriage with the team hitched to a post. Once Jacob unties the reins, the pair climbs aboard.
“Come with me, Patrick. I want you to meet someone.”
With a harsh pull on the reins, Jacob turns the team toward Broad Street. Off they go.
“I had a visit last night from Richard Walker,” Jacob begins. “He was scared to death. Richard told me that he works for Adolphus Roads, as his accountant, and is afraid for his life.”
“Why did he come to you?” Patrick asks.
“He’s actually a member of our church, and he knows a minister can keep secrets.”
“How do you think you’re handling this one?” Patrick laughs.
Smiling, Jacob turns the team and heads the carriage toward the canal.
“Well, I am not disclosing everything. Richard told me some things that are important to what we are working on, and I am convinced that his information will keep a lot of innocent people from getting hurt. Maybe keep Richard himself from getting killed.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“I told him that the things he shared with me about Roads must be shared with the military authority. I told him I could do that for him, and he would not be involved.”
“How did he respond?” Patrick wants to know.
“He seemed to be in agreement, but I can’t say for certain. He wanted to think about it. I told him we’d meet him after church to talk some more,” says Jacob.
“What do you mean ‘we’? Did you tell him about me?” Patrick asks, his eyes looking up ahead.
“Not specifically. I told him I had an associate I was working with who could help him. I also told him that the Federals would want some good information up front to be sure they were dealing with him in good faith. So Richard gave me something.”
“What’s that?”
“Hold on to your seat, Patrick.”
So Patrick does.
Jacobs goes on, “He gave me the location of the printing press. Told me it is in full operation, and should have about six million in greenbacks ready for circulation in about two weeks. That’s Roads’ goal.”
Patrick’s eyes are enormous. “Heavens, Jacob! What a breakthrough!”
“I want us to take a look at it one night this week, when no one’s working.”
“The sooner, the better.”
“For now, we’re on our way to meet Richard. He’s in the barn at George Walton’s home at Meadow Garden.”
“A beautiful place, I hear,” says Patrick.
Jacob slows the carriage down as they approach the homestead and the entryway to the grand home of the signer of the Declaration of Independence. The whitewashed farm house stands on a lovely shaded piece of property that looks out over the city’s west side. The barn is off behind the main house.
The Walton family is not at home; they evacuated when they heard the Yankees were coming. The authorities assured them they’d be fine if they stayed, but they said they’d feel much better if they could be among friends in Atlanta. So the Waltons took flight on a night train last week. Richard, who lives not far away, takes care of the animals whenever the Waltons are away, so it’s not unusual for him to be working around the barn, as he is today.
Patrick rather likes this detail about Richard caring for the animals. It makes him sound like a trustworthy sort, who is indeed unfortunate to be mixed up with the likes of Roads.
Jacob pulls the carriage up to the barn door, which is open a crack. He dismounts and calls for Richard, but no one answers. Jacob walks up to the slit in the door and calls Richard’s name again—and again—but no answer.
Patrick speculates, “Change his mind?”
“Possible,” replies Jacob, “but I don’t think so. He was surely too scared to go back to what he was doing.”
They enter the barn together and scan the room—the stalls, bales of hay, equipment. Together, their eyes tilt up above the main floor, to a crossbar used to winch hay to the loft.
Cold horror seizes them.
There hanging by his neck from the crossbar is Richard. His church clothes are still on him, but they are bathed in dripping crimson. After being savagely beaten, he was hoisted above the floor by a rope tied around his neck. Richard paid dearly for talking to his minister.
Jacob and Patrick step quickly back out of the barn and start walking toward the carriage. “Maybe we shouldn’t wait for Roads to get the money printed before we arrest him. We can’t let more people die,” says Patrick.
“The best evidence and the tightest case will come when the work is finished and Roads personally takes delivery. Anythi
ng short of that and he’s liable to find some loophole to wiggle out through,” argues Jacob.
“Okay. But we’ll need to try to put him on a short leash so we can follow his every move,” offers Patrick.
Says Jacob, “You’re right. And we better tell the Provost about this — not what we know, but what we found. We’ve still got to hold our information close for the time being.”
“Good idea,” says Patrick, just as Jacob turns the carriage back to town.
* * *
Patrick and Jacob head straightaway to the office of Major Charles Allen, the Provost Marshal for Augusta, where they report what they found in the Walton’s barn. Allen takes down their account but is not encouraging in terms of orchestrating a rapid response.
“We are just overwhelmed here,” Major Allen complains.
“What’s the worst of it?” Patrick asks.
“Over in Washington, Captain Abraham is asking for more soldiers because two thousand men in the brigades of Dibrell and Vaughn have appeared to take their parole. Hundreds of other stragglers have also arrived along with their muskets and mounts, which they have to turn in.”
“Obviously nothing you could plan for,” observes Jacob.
“Reverend, I don’t think much of anything we meet with can be planned for,” Allen replies, his eyebrows seeming to be knotted in frustration. “We’re inventing this as we go along. You should give a sermon on that. Unpredictability. Ha!”
“Is that your only major issue?” Patrick asks.
“Not by a long shot,” Allen snaps. “We’ve got problems with merchants refusing to take greenbacks. I was just in the market yesterday, trying to reinforce General Molineux’s edict.”
“I heard grumbling after service about that,” offers Patrick.
