A Matter of Honor (Dusty Fog Civil War Book 6)

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Easy enough,’ Packard claimed and pointed. ‘Company E’s headed this way, late like always.’

  At that moment, two explosions rang out so close together they merged into a single sound. Spinning around, the pair of hardcases ran towards the rim. Halting on top, they stared into the valley. It was apparent even to Silkin, who was more muscular and brutal than intelligent, that their company had failed in the duty to which they had been assigned. Furthermore, despite Company E approaching fast, the men who had brought about the failure were safe from pursuit and attempts to take revenge.

  Already the Rebels were on the northern bank of the Mushogen River, but the Volunteers would have great difficulty in going after them. They had ridden across the bridge and such a convenient means of reaching the other side was no longer available. Shattered by the explosive charges, much of it was already floating downstream. While it would be possible to swim across with horses, provided the riders had the requisite skill, the men responsible for the destruction were waiting on the opposite rim to counter any such attempt.

  ‘Holy Mother!’ Silkin ejaculated. ‘They’ve sure busted up that son-of-a-bitch. It’s lucky for us’s Moe Buller’s gone to Washington.’

  ‘It’d be easier was he here,’ Packard corrected, having greater perception than his companion and being better able to appreciate the full ramifications of the situation, although his interest was less directed at the strategic implications than upon how he personally might be affected by the demolition of the bridge.

  ‘How come?’ the corporal inquired, coarse features expressing his puzzlement. ‘What I know of Moe, he’s going to be riled as all hell over what’s happened.’

  ‘And so’s that bastard from the Third Cavalry’s running things in his place while he’s away,’ the sergeant major pointed out.

  ‘Yeah!’ Silkin grunted, nodding vehemently. Then he continued with something close to petulance in his harsh voice, ‘I can’t see why Moe didn’t leave Fatso Meacher to run things for him.’

  ‘It’d been easier if he had,’ Packard confessed pensively, but did not offer to explain that Colonel Michael “Fatso” Meacher of their regiment was junior in length of service and time of appointment to Colonel Iain McDonald, commanding officer of the regular Third Cavalry.

  Instead of taking time to instruct the corporal in the matter of military seniority, from which not even a regiment of volunteers favored by the area’s commanding general was immune, the sergeant major gave all his attention to the future. Having been associated with the Buller family for several years, he had come to know them very well and felt certain the elder brother would do everything possible to prevent blame for the destruction of the bridge falling where it belonged, on his brother. However, such a sentiment would not be caused by feelings of love, or even fondness, for his sibling.

  A man consumed by ambition, Moses J. Buller was ruthless in his determination to have his desires fulfilled. Experience had taught him that, as a result of their family ties, the misdeeds of Gerald could have an adverse effect upon him regardless of him being unaware they had taken place. Therefore, in the past, he had on more than one occasion been compelled to take drastic steps to keep his much less intelligent younger brother from the consequences of various far from harmless escapades and sometimes more than minor infractions of the law.

  Unless Packard was badly mistaken, a situation demanding such protective action had once more occurred. Nor would the need for it be removed by the death of the younger Buller.

  Due to his crass stupidity, as the sergeant major now knew the pursuit of the Rebels to have been, his superior had cost the Union’s Army of Arkansas a much needed, even vital, bridge. What was more, it emphasized that the brigadier general was no more able than his predecessor to cope with the enemy. He would be furious when learning that such a fiasco had taken place, particularly as the responsibility for it could be laid upon his sibling. Offered the means by which some of the blame could be placed elsewhere, perhaps all of it, he would be grateful to the man who made this possible.

  Watching Cogshill struggling erect by the ruined bridge, a savage grin came to the far from prepossessing face of the burly sergeant major. Remembering the thinly veiled hostility between the volunteer and regular officers of the regiment, added to the knowledge he had acquired on certain military matters, he concluded this could be turned to his advantage.

  ‘How’d you mean, “easier”, Pack?’ Silkin asked, breaking into his superior’s train of thought.

  ‘Moe’s not going to take it kind that the bridge’s been blowed up, ’specially with his brother running things when it happened,’ the sergeant major explained. ‘And, knowing him like I do, he’ll be looking for somebody else to take the blame. So we’ll give him Cogshill.’

  ‘Cogshill?’ repeated the corporal, face blank with incomprehension.

  ‘Nobody else but,’ Packard affirmed. ‘He’s the goddamned bow-necked regular officer’s knows all about such, so he should’ve warned Gerry-boy what the Rebs was up to. Instead, he stopped down where it was safe and let us get led into a trap.’ Glancing to where the relief guard was almost within hearing distance, he finished, ‘Leave me do the talking and back up everything I say. Handled right, Silky, there’s money in this for you and me.’

  Nine – Get Rid of Lincoln

  ‘Good afternoon, General!’ Mary Wilkinson greeted, glancing sourly around the sitting room into which she had been fetched by Second Lieutenant Robert Cryer, after having waited downstairs for over an hour. Her all too obvious displeasure had been created by two sources of annoyance. Since her arrival at the hotel, finding herself unable to conceal some of the injuries given to her face by the fight, she had been subjected to much unwelcome attention and, amongst those familiar with her background, what she had known to be mocking commiseration over her appearance. Nor had her mood been mellowed by having discovered the identity of one person responsible for the delay. ‘I’m so pleased you can spare the time to see me at last!’

  ‘I said I’d see you,’ Brigadier General Moses J. Buller replied, but the words were not delivered in anything approaching an apology. ‘And I sent for you to come up as soon as I could.’

  ‘I was told you were occupied,’ the yellowish-brunette admitted, swinging her gaze from the table which was littered with the debris of a single person’s meal, to the door of the main bedroom. Then she returned her gaze to the man she had come to visit. ‘Is that god-damned redhead still with you?’

  ‘No!’ the General growled, glaring at his visitor through bloodshot eyes, in a way which warned her the subject was one he would not tolerate being continued. ‘She’s not still with me!’

  There was good cause for Buller to be in a bad humor where ‘Francoise’ was concerned!

  Waking up that morning, suffering from what he still assumed to have been nothing more than the after-effects of excessive drinking, the General had felt far too ill to care that he found himself alone in the bedroom. What was more, he soon had other things upon his mind. Hearing him vomiting into the chamberpot, Cryer had entered followed by Captain Raymond Berry from the office of the Provost Marshal. Although they had come to tell him that First Lieutenant Martin Flannery had been found dead in mysterious and still unexplained circumstances, the condition in which he had been left by the drugged brandy rendered him almost incapable of comprehending anything he was being told. However, succor had been forthcoming from an unexpected source. Having arrived with a letter from George Wigg, Thaddeus Barnes had offered his assistance on being informed by the surviving aide de camp of the General’s ‘indisposition’. The concoction produced by the butler, apparently from ingredients obtained in the kitchen of the hotel, had proved sufficiently efficacious to allow its recipient to understand what had happened.

  When the captain had started to ask questions, it had become apparent that he was not aware of the existence of the ‘redhead’. This had come about as a result of Cryer having appreciated the need f
or discretion when, on being aroused by Berry in the early hours of the morning, they had gone into the main bedroom to tell Buller about Flannery. Finding they were unable to wake their superior and realizing that the girl was missing, the lieutenant had concluded she must have left in disgust when her ‘customer’ had succumbed to the drunken stupor. Knowing Buller and—due to the reticence of Flannery—having had no reason to suspect ‘Francoise’ was in any way connected with the killing, Cryer had considered it would be impolitic to mention her. The General had the kind of mentality which would resent it becoming known he had been associating with a prostitute, particularly as she appeared to have deserted him in such unflattering circumstances.

  On being told of the presence and subsequent disappearance of the ‘redhead’, previous experience had made it unnecessary for Berry to ask why nothing was said about her during his earlier visit. Being aware of the need for discretion where such matters were concerned, the captain had waited to see how the General reacted to hearing of the omission and, when it was passed over without criticism, followed the lead he was given by accepting she did not appear to have anything to do with the killing.

  However, despite an examination having established that none of Buller’s property was missing, he had stated his intention of visiting the brothel personally and questioning ‘Francoise’. Although his real reason was to persuade her to accompany him to Arkansas as had been arranged, before he could set off, Mrs. Amy Cutler had arrived and demanded rather than requested an interview with him. On being admitted, she had said that Miss Wilkinson was downstairs at the desk. Sending Cryer to deal with the brunette, the General had asked the madam why she wished to see him and if she wanted to speak in private. She had replied that she was aware of Berry’s official status and assumed the same business had brought them both to the hotel.

  According to the story told by the madam, the ‘redhead’ had returned to the brothel in the early hours of the morning and taken almost immediate departure without reporting to her. Instead, while collecting her belongings from the room assigned to her, ‘Francoise’ had explained to the other ‘young lady’ who shared the room what had taken place to cause her flight from the hotel. While going in search of a lavatory after the General had ‘fallen asleep’, (realizing he might have need of the chamberpot beneath the bed on ‘waking up’) she had been molested by Flannery. In the ensuing struggle, a push had caused him to fall through the window. Being aware that he came from a very wealthy and influential family, who she had felt sure would be determined to prevent the truth becoming known, she had stated her intention of taking up an offer of sponsorship for her ability at fighting received from a person whom she believed was sufficiently important to be able to guarantee her safety.

  Acting in the manner of a brothel keeper genuinely enraged by having been deprived of a lucrative employee, Mrs. Cutler had demanded to be told whether Buller was, or knew the identity of, the sponsor. Declaring he was not, but refraining from mentioning he had had designs along those lines, he confessed that the ‘redhead’ had spoken of such a person without supplying any name. Asked by Berry if she could suggest the identity of the sponsor, the madam had admitted that she could think of four possibilities. She had also asserted that she would supply the names of the quartet, but only if he and the General signed a statement saying this was done at their insistence and absolving her of all responsibility should there be objections from any of the four to being questioned on the matter. The impression she had conveyed was that each of the quartet was sufficiently prominent and influential for there to be most unpleasant consequences if any hint of their bizarre taste in entertainment should become known outside the immediate circle of fellow devotees. Satisfied she had achieved her purpose in that direction, she had next pointed out how the well connected family of the dead lieutenant would not be enamored of the reason for his death being treated in anything other than a confidential fashion, and this might prove impossible if the search for ‘Francoise’ was continued.

  It said much for the reputation Mrs. Cutler had acquired as being a confidant to many of the most important men in the hierarchy of Washington, District of Columbia, that the General and the captain had accepted the line of thought she had created without raising either questions or objections. In fact, knowing with whom she was dealing in each case, she had felt sure this would happen. Furthermore, in tribute to her shrewd judgment of character, the affair turned out even more satisfactorily than she had anticipated.

  Although he was far from distressed at having lost a subordinate who was never respectful or—he suspected—entirely trustworthy, Buller wanted to avoid any chance of antagonizing the Flannery family. With that in mind, he had proposed a solution. It could be claimed the lieutenant had been killed in a gallant and, as no thefts were reported, successful attempt to drive off a gang of thieves surprised in the passage outside the suite. This would, he had declared, be far more acceptable to the family than having the sordid truth made known.

  Being a professional ‘office filler’, and therefore more concerned that he should remain in the comfortable sinecure which kept him clear of the more dangerous aspects of soldiering, and knowing that pursuing a line of inquiry about Flannery’s death would be likely to put his position in jeopardy, Berry had been only too willing to concur. He had claimed that, as there had been a spate of such robberies in the city, he would make his report in the manner proposed by the General. Knowing the kind of man he was, and aware that such robberies were indeed taking place, the madam had felt sure he would comply and had meant to offer a similar ‘explanation’ for the killing if Buller had not done so.

  With the meeting concluded to the satisfaction of himself and Mrs. Cutler, although he was unaware of the reason for the latter’s satisfaction, Buller had not sent for Mary when his two visitors had taken their departure. In response to a hint from the madam, he had decided to delay seeing her until he was more presentable. Despite the soldier who acted as his servant having failed to report for duty, his task was made unexpectedly easy. Having waited in the main bedroom to take any answer there might be to the letter from his employer, Barnes had offered his services. Claiming he was never one to waste time, he had taken the liberty of ‘tidying up’ and would, if the General wished, perform the duties neglected by the absent servant.

  Already impressed by the stimulant prepared by the butler, Buller had agreed. He had soon discovered Barnes to be far superior in every way to the missing man. Using the voice-pipe installed in the bedroom which led to the kitchen, the butler had ordered a breakfast acceptable to a still somewhat queasy stomach. Then he had set about washing, shaving and combing Buller’s hair. With that done, apologizing for not having had the time to clean it adequately, he had produced another uniform and pair of boots with an unaccustomed shine. While eating the food, the General had read the letter from Wigg asking if they could meet again in the future. Deducing this implied there was no urgency and certain the undertaker could do nothing to further his own plans, he had asked whether Barnes was contented. Admitting he found the parsimonious nature of his present employer distasteful, the butler had accepted the offer to accompany Buller to Arkansas. Feeling in a more amiable mood as a result of the ministrations he had received, he had announced he was ready to meet his next visitor and she was summoned.

  ‘Anyways,’ the General continued after a moment, deciding there was nothing to be gained by antagonizing the brunette. In fact, as she might be an acceptable substitute for the departed “Francoise”, he could be the loser if he did so. ‘I don’t reckon you came here to meet her.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Mary admitted truthfully, being more relieved than disappointed by the absence of the “redhead”, her comment of the previous evening notwithstanding. ‘I came because you said you would tell me about whatever it is Aaranovitch is doing for you. I hope it’s worthwhile?’

  ‘Worthwhile?’ Buller repeated. ‘You can bet your life it’s worthwhile and more!’


  ‘Will it take long for you to tell me?’ the brunette inquired with thinly veiled sarcasm, glancing pointedly at a chair by the table.

  ‘You better sit down,’ the General ordered rather than offered, showing not the slightest embarrassment over the need for the reminder. As Mary and Cryer did so, he went on, ‘By god, yes. You’ve never been more right than when you asked if it was worthwhile. It’s going to win the War for me!’

  ‘It sounds as if the son-of-a-bitch will do all you say,’ Mary declared, at the conclusion of a description of the experiment Buller had witnessed the previous night. ‘But there’s one thing stopping you.’

  ‘What’d that be?’ the General challenged.

  ‘Lincoln!’ the brunette replied.

  ‘Lincoln?’ Buller queried, despite a suspicion that he could supply the answer.

  ‘Lincoln,’ Mary repeated. ‘Hell, General, you know that mealy-mouthed Sucker State jury fixer is too soft hearted to let you use stuff like that against the Rebs!’

  ‘It’ll have been used against them before he hears about it,’ Buller claimed. ‘Nobody apart from Aaranovitch and Montreigen have seen what it does, or even know about it.’

  ‘That girl you took with you knows!’ Cryer put in, not without a suggestion of malicious satisfaction.

  ‘Did she see what you saw?’ Mary demanded.

  ‘Yes!’ Buller admitted and his surly face showed apprehension.

  ‘Where is she?’ the brunette snapped.

  ‘She ran out on me last night,’ the General answered and explained the circumstances as he had been led to believe they had taken place, concluding, ‘But she wouldn’t say anything about what she saw.’

  ‘How do you know,’ Mary challenged, seeing a chance to obtain revenge upon the girl who had beaten her. ‘If it was me, I would make sure she couldn’t talk about it.’