Safely past Yankee lines, Jamie turned his horse loose and bought a train ticket for Philadelphia. There were several of his own men on the same train, but they did not speak to one another and managed to find seats in different cars.
Having initially ridden the steam cars much of the way to Washington to meet with Abe Lincoln, Jamie had gotten used to the railroads, but it still bothered him somewhat to be speeding along this fast. When the locomotive hit the flats, the driver really sped along. Jamie didn’t have any idea how fast they were going, but to his way of thinking, it was just too damn fast. It was unnatural. Progress was, of course, a good thing, but this was ridiculous. Next thing a fellow knew, a man would invent some sort of machine to fly through the air like a bird.
Jamie smiled at that silly thought. He made himself as comfortable as possible in the seat and took a nap.
* * *
Jamie got himself a room in a rundown boardinghouse on the seedy side of the city; the rest of his men found equally dismal lodgings. Jamie bought a horse and arranged for other horses at various stables and liveries around the city. But for now, he used a rented horse to get around.
Thomas Thornbury lived a few miles outside the city, in a large home on several hundred acres of land. He had never married, and rumor had it that he enjoyed the company of whores several nights a month. Usually three or more of the soiled doves . . . at a time.
“Fellow must really be a ladies’ man,” Sparks remarked.
“Either that or he is a little bit on the strange side,” Jamie replied.
Sparks gave him an odd look but said no more about it.
Jamie wasn’t really sure what he was going to do to Thornbury, but for certain he was going to teach the blowhard a lesson about shooting off his mouth.
But before he did anything, Jamie had to sit down and figure out an escape route. If they hit Thornbury’s house at ten or so in the evening, and did whatever they intended to do, they might have six hours at the most before Thornbury and the whores worked themselves loose and sounded the alarm. So the escape route had to be as foolproof as possible. And Jamie did not want to hurt Thornbury and certainly not the women. He just wanted to show the Yankees that they were not as safe in their homes far north of the war as they might think.
Far in the back of his mind, Jamie was thinking long range, thinking of another operation that was perfect for the Marauders. But that one was months or even years down the road. For now, it was best to dwell in the present and let the future play itself out.
In the few days that he had been in the city, Jamie had made friends with several working prostitutes, and being very careful how he approached the subject, only after buying the ladies several bottles and getting them drunk, had learned a great deal about Thornbury and his home guard.
Thornbury was a man who liked his food and especially his strong drink. And as more than one of the ladies had told Jamie with a wink, Thomas Thornbury was a bit peculiar when he entertained the ladies. Each morning, when it wasn’t raining, Thornbury hoisted the American flag on a pole outside his mansion. On the evening of the attack, there certainly was going to be a flag raised, but it damn sure wasn’t going to be the Stars and Stripes that would be fluttering proudly in the morning’s breeze come sunup—for Jamie and his men had brought with them a dozen Confederate battle flags, and come the dawning, the Stars and Bars would be flying in certain spots all over the city.
Sparks had carefully reconnoitered the home guards’ armory and was busy working out a plan to blow that up in order to create a diversion just as the Marauders slipped out of the city.
When the deed was done, the Marauders were going to scatter in all directions.
“If we can possibly do it, I don’t want anybody hurt or killed,” Jamie told his men. “What I do want is to kick some of the high and mighty arrogance out of these people and show them they are vulnerable.”
“When do we do the deed, Major?”
“Tomorrow night.”
6
Jamie had paid for a week’s lodging in advance; on the night of the attack, he dropped his bedroll and saddlebags out of the window to one of his men waiting below, then walked down the steps and strolled out the front as if he were simply going out for a bite to eat and some drinks at a local tavern. Jamie walked around the block to where his man was waiting with their horses.
“The rest of the men, Sergeant McGuire?” Jamie asked in a low voice.
“On their way, Major.”
“Let’s do it.”
The two walked their horses until they were at the edge of the city, attracting no undue attention from anyone. A mile out of town, they met up with several more Marauders. Fifteen of Jamie’s men remained in town, each with a different assignment.
Jamie linked up with his group in a stand of timber about half a mile from the Thornbury mansion, and they waited for a time. Conversation was in low whispers. Jamie opened his pocket watch—a present from Kate with her picture inside the cover—and checked the time. They had one hour to do the deed, for at midnight, all hell was about to break loose in various parts of the city.
“Stay with the horses and keep them quiet,” Jamie told young Pardee.
He nodded his head in understanding as Jamie and his band made their way silently toward General Thornbury’s great house. Just as they reached the rear of the house, a shrill cry came from inside.
“Oh, love!” a woman’s voice cried out, a definite Irish lilt to the words. “You do make a darlin’ lassie!”
Dupree and Jamie exchanged quick glances. Jamie smiled and motioned McGuire on ahead to check out the house.
A dog started barking; but Jamie had anticipated that and softly called the dog to him, opening a packet of food he’d prepared. The dog ceased its barking and immediately began eating the huge portion of meat and bread Jamie laid on the ground.
McGuire returned and said, “You boys have got to see this to believe it. The general’s all dolled up in a dress! ”
Corporal Bates had to put a hand over his mouth to stifle his giggling.
“And the ladies?” Jamie asked.
“Two of them is nekked as jaybirds, and the third one ain’t far behind.” He shook his head. “The general sure likes his ladies on the hefty side.”
“Perfect,” Jamie said. “Let’s go.”
After several nights of observation, it was determined that no guards patrolled the mansion. And since this was a party night for Thornbury, Jamie felt sure the general would not risk having his antics observed by anyone.
The lock on the back door was jimmied, and the men silently entered the house and made their way to the huge room located in the center of the mansion. Jamie stood in the shadows, just inside the archway, and watched the goings-on for a moment. General Thomas Thornbury was all dressed up in an evening gown, complete with gloves and a hat. He was dancing with one of the naked prostitutes while the other two sang a rather bawdy little ditty.
The two singing spotted Jamie and his Marauders and abruptly stopped their singing, their mouths dropping open in surprise.
“Oh, don’t stop, Maggie!” Thornbury said. “You’re just getting to the good part.”
“The good part is over,” Jamie said, stepping into the room, a pistol in his hand.
Thornbury whirled around, his face paling at the sight of armed men. “Get out of my house, goddamn you!” he shouted.
“Isn’t he cute?” Dupree remarked, stepping forward with several lengths of rope.
“Who are you men?” Thornbury shouted.
“Some of those yellow-bellied Southern riffraff you talked about, General Thornbury,” Captain Dupree said. “We came to pay you a little visit. My, but don’t you look military?”
“Get out of my house!” Thornbury squalled.
“Secure them,” Jamie ordered. “Just as they are. And throw some logs on the fire. We wouldn’t want any of these ladies to catch cold now, would we?”
Jamie had already told his me
n that nothing was to be taken from the house . . . except for any papers that might have some bearing on the war. But he suspected that nothing of any military value would be found, and after a careful search he was found to be correct in that.
Thornbury and the Soiled Doves were trussed up securely. Sergeant McGuire noticed that Thornbury was in bare feet, and he looked around for the man’s shoes. He found some ladies’ slippers that appeared to have been made for a big foot and knelt down on the floor.
“Let’s cover up those little tootsies, now, missy,” he said with a grin, slipping the shoes on Thornbury’s feet.
“You vile oaf!” Thornbury said.
At that moment, one of Jamie’s men in town was giving a sealed envelope and a five dollar gold piece to a local man he’d found to be reasonably trustworthy. “At seven o’clock in the morning, you take this to the editor of the Inquirer. Don’t forget now. It’s important. He’ll have another five dollars for you.” The Marauder had no idea whether the editor would give the man any money or not, but it insured the delivery of the letter. His job done, the Rebel walked to his horse and rode out of the city.
At the Thornbury mansion, Jamie unfurled the Confederate battle flag and ran it up the flagpole in front of the house. Jamie stood for a moment, looking up and grinning. So far, so good. Not a drop of blood had been shed—thus far. But all that could change, quite abruptly.
At the home guard’s armory, the explosives had been planted, and the men waited, one occasionally checking his pocket watch.
At the Philadelphia shipyards, Marauders had swum out to naval ships in the harbor and planted explosives, while others of the band of guerrillas had placed explosives on ships under construction in the yard.
“Who are you, sir?” Thornbury demanded, from his trussed-up position on the floor. Blankets had been tossed over the naked ladies. Thornbury’s pretty party bonnet had been securely tied to his head, with a very tight square knot under his chin.
Jamie smiled at the man. “Major Jamie Ian MacCallister. The Army of the Confederate States of America. We are the Marauders, General. And you Yankees have not heard the last from us. Now I’ll give you a word of advice, sir: There are good men on both sides of this struggle. The next time you want to question the courage of those who chose to wear the Gray—don’t. Good night, General Thornbury. Pleasant dreams now, you hear?”
Chuckling over the screaming curses and wild threats of Thomas Thornbury and the high, shrill laughter of the ladies, Jamie and his men faded into the night and ran to their horses, Jamie stopping long enough to pat the general’s dog on the head and slip him a biscuit from his saddlebags. Jamie and his bunch scattered to the winds.
When the home guard’s armory blew, it shook that entire end of the city, sending flames shooting high into the night skies and scaring the daylights out of the citizens of the city who lived near there—Thomas Thornbury had been stockpiling arms and powder for months, and there was enough ordnance in the warehouses to outfit an entire division for a long campaign. The shipyard, too, erupted into a series of rocking explosions. One ship was totally destroyed, two others partially sunk and several others badly damaged.
The actual damage inflicted upon the Union cause by MacCallister’s Marauders was really not all that great once the dawning came and things began settling down. But it was a terrible blow to Yankee pride . . . which was exactly what Jamie had wanted.
The editor of the newspaper did send a reporter out to the Thornbury mansion. Unfortunately for General Thornbury, the reporter took his wife out there with him. No story was ever written about the general’s strange attire—or if it was, it was never printed. But following the Marauders’ attack upon the city of Philadelphia, Thomas Thornbury did retire his commission and step down as commanding general of the home guard. In a public statement, he said it was time for a younger man to take over. Thomas Thornbury dropped out of the public’s eye and never made another comment about the bravery and courage of the Southern fighting man. Two of the ladies who were found with General Thornbury immediately retired from prostitution (to the absolute amazement of all their friends) and opened successful businesses of their own in the city. Where they got the money to do all this remained forever a mystery. The third Soiled Dove, who was approximately the same girth as the general, married Thomas Thornbury in a private ceremony, and the two dropped out of sight. A dress shop was kept busy for years making dresses... in duplicate. The general’s dog ran away from home and took up residence at a nearby farm, where he lived to be fifteen years old.
The citizens of Philadelphia screamed for revenge over this dastardly act, but not one Marauder was ever caught. When it was learned that Jamie MacCallister was the commanding officer of the Rebel Marauders, a bookstore that had sold many, many copies of The Life and Times of Jamie Ian MacCallister, Hero of the Alamo and Frontier Scout, and still had copies in stock, was looted and burned.
To Jamie’s mind, it had been a very successful raid, for no one had been killed and only a few people injured, none of them seriously.
What really irritated the people of Philadelphia was the Confederate battle flags flying high and proud at various locations all around the city.
One senior Federal officer summed it up this way: “Jamie MacCallister is going to be a royal pain in the Union butt until this war is over.”
7
Training in Massachusetts, Wells and Robert looked at each other in amazement when they learned that Jamie was commanding a guerrilla unit for the South.
“I never thought Jamie would fight for slavery,” Robert remarked.
“He ain’t fightin’ for slavery,” Wells said, soaking his aching feet in a pan of warm water—the black army did not as yet have shoes and boots and were training in what they had arrived wearing, often bare feet. “He’s fightin’ for the right of a state not to be totally run by the Federal government.”
“Don’t that still amount to slavery?” a friend asked.
“It might in the minds of some, but not to me. Jamie never believed in slavery, and neither did any of his children, or anyone who ever got close to Jamie. He just don’t hold with it.”
“I ain’t got no use for the white man,” another Negro said. “Never have, never will.”
“Then your thinkin’ is all screwed up,” Robert said. “You ain’t never met no man like Jamie MacCallister.”
The former slave looked at him. “Why should I want to? He fightin’ for the South, ain’t he?”
“Yeah,” his friend said. “I want my mule and forty acres like I hear we gonna git when the war is over. And I know where I’m gonna git it. And I hope that white trash that whupped me tries to stop me from gettin’ what’s due me. ’Cause if he do, I’m shore gonna kill him.”
“You got a lot of hate in your heart,” Wells said.
“Yeah?” The man looked at him. “Well, nigger, I got the scars on my back to prove I earned that hate—do you?”
* * *
Jamie and his men returned to a hero’s welcome at the encampment. Even Lee and Johnston were smiles when they greeted Jamie. Johnston had a commendation for him from President Davis.
“You struck a mighty blow for the South, Major,” Johnston said, unfolding a map. “But as soon as you and your men get some rest, I want you to ride north and join up with Beauregard here.” He pointed a finger at the map. “Between Centerville and Manassas, on the south bank of Bull Run. General Beauregard will have orders for you when you get there. Good luck and good hunting.”
When Jamie reached the area, he did not immediately report to General Beauregard; instead he spent several hours riding back and forth over as much of the area as he could, talking with Rebel troops. Jamie did not know much about commanding huge armies, but he did know guerrilla tactics. In his mind, he wondered if the Yankees had any outfit such as his own—they did, but were not as yet ready for action. If the Union army had men such as those Jamie commanded, he saw a flaw in Beauregard’s positioning of troop
s, for the general was so sure the Union forces would attack across Mitchell’s Ford, that he had spread too few troops on the left side of his lines. Jamie understood why the general had done that, for the left side of the line consisted of either thick, almost impenetrable woods, or narrow, twisting roads that no advancing army of any size could use with any speed.
But if the Federals had guerrillas . . . ? Jamie shook his head at that thought.
Jamie had to hide his smile when he reported to Beauregard, for the next words out of the general’s mouth, after he greeted and congratulated him, were, “I want you and your Marauders on this side of my line, Major.” He tapped a map position. “Right here at Sudley Ford. But you are not confined to that area alone. Go where you are needed.” He smiled. “And a man of your many talents will surely be needed, I assure you of that.”
“I’ll get settled in then, General, and get my men in position.”
Jamie turned to go, and Beauregard’s voice stopped him. “Major, we’ll probably be falling back some few thousand yards.” He smiled again. “Be prepared to move out hurriedly.”
“Yes, sir. I was briefed down south.”
“I assumed as much, but I wanted to be sure.”
Jamie saluted and left the tent.
It was July 16.
Beauregard’s army stretched for more than six miles along Bull Run. The Confederate government in Richmond had expressly forbidden Beauregard from taking any type of offensive action, and after seeing that the Rebels were not going to bring the fight to them, the Yankees began a slow advance toward Rebel positions. They had no way of knowing that it was a trap, for when the Federal troops had advanced far enough, Beauregard’s plan was to flank them and cut them off from the nation’s capital.
The Yankees’ advance was slowed to a snail’s pace in the sparsely populated area, filled with thick brush, dense forests, and creek bottoms that seemed to swallow the wagons up to their axles. Many of the Federal troops became separated from their units and got lost.
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