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

by J. T. Edson

  ‘I’d a god-damned sight sooner you’d come and told me something’s being done about the son-of-a-bitching thing!’ the General asserted, glowering unpleasantly at the junior of his subordinates and speaking with savage bitterness. ‘Because I want the bastard found guilty!’

  As the response indicated, the attempt at ingratiation on the part of the burly sergeant major was failing to produce the results he had hoped for!

  What Packard had not taken into account until it was too late for him to withdraw was that bearers of bad news are never welcome!

  Under the prevailing circumstances, in fact, the information delivered by the sergeant major was only adding to what his superior regarded as having been—with only one possible and one positive exception—a most unsatisfactory sequence of events.

  Apart from the excellent ministrations he had received at the hands of Thaddeus Barnes and the possibilities suggested by the deadly liquid David Aaranovitch had produced, but which still had to be proved capable of doing what was claimed of it, the General regarded the visit he had paid to Washington, District of Columbia, as having been closer to a disaster than the triumph he had sought to attain in more than one field of activity.

  Not only had Buller been refused the extra troops and more modem equipment he had requested from the General Staff, but there had been broad hints that his conduct—or rather his lack of any positive action—since assuming command in Arkansas was far from being regarded favorably by the War Department. It had been made clear to him that his current rank would be in jeopardy if there was no improvement in the situation. While remaining a brigadier general—or even attainting advancement—meant nothing to him on a military basis, either would offer benefits when the War was over. On the other hand, if it were to become known that he had been reduced to the rank of colonel, or even lower, for such reasons it could have an equally adverse effect upon the high ambitions he held for his return to civilian life. No door could be closed, not even those previously beyond his reach, to a man who came back acclaimed as a hero and successful campaign commander; but there were plenty of people who would be willing to use the excuse of his failure to keep him from their society.

  The hopes nourished by Buller of acquiring political backing in the Capital had proved no more fruitful. Only a few minutes in their company had warned him that, being alike only in their mutual devotion to self-interest, neither George Wigg nor Colonel Horace Trumpeter would be of use in helping his advancement. He drew some satisfaction, however, from the knowledge that he had deprived the former of a most efficient and competent butler. This had been one small source of consolation. Another was that, although his most illicit and potentially dangerous association had fizzled into nothing, his own involvement in what had amounted to high treason had remained undiscovered.

  It had never been Buller’s intention to remain in Washington until the proposed assassination of President Abraham Lincoln was attempted. He had meant to leave the supervision and, no matter what the result might be—having decided Mary Wilkinson would prove too dangerous an ally, regardless of her potential as a possible contender in fights—the silencing of all the conspirators when it was over to Montreigen. However, he had been unable to take his departure as soon as he had intended.

  For once, Second Lieutenant Robert Cryer had carried out a duty without delay. He had already left the hotel by the time Buller had tried to recall him and give him revised orders for Montreigen. However, his diligence had not included travelling at the greatest possible speed. As a result of the leisurely way in which he delivered the message and returned, the major had already set out for Arkansas with Aaranovitch and their equipment before he reported to his superior. Nor had it been possible for him to go after Montreigen with the news of the change in arrangements, which had placed him in command of the escort, until the following morning. However, this had proved to be of no importance. Although the authorities had no idea how it happened, Buller had already heard that the badly charred bodies of Mary Wilkinson and five men had been found in a burned out farmhouse north of the city. Despite wondering how they had met their end, he was relieved to know he was not being connected with the brunette in other than the most casual and apparently innocent fashion.

  Catching up with the remainder of his party, who had been telegraphed to await his coming, the General had devoted all his energies to speeding their return to his headquarters. He was helped in this by the excellent transportation system which had been extended westwards, although not actually into Arkansas, by the Army. Travelling as far as possible on the railroad, the crossing of the Mississippi River being made by ferry boats designed to carry heavy transport, the latter stages of the journey were in the well-guarded wagon train he had ordered.

  However, it was not until Buller was almost there that he had heard about the destruction of the bridge over the Mushogen River. Aware that the incident might prove the final straw as far as the General Staff was concerned, particularly as his brother was in command of the guard which failed to protect the vital link in communications, he had been delighted to hear a scapegoat was available to divert the blame from where it belonged. Handled properly, he had concluded, the court martial could be used to remove some of the pressure from him. Knowing the strong connections of the Cogshill family with the Army’s ‘top brass’, he believed they might be induced to lend him their support in return for his intervention to save the young lieutenant from the consequence of a verdict of guilty.

  Everything depended upon such a verdict being returned!

  The news brought by Packard threatened to dash all of Buller’s hopes in that direction!

  Knowing Colonel Iain McDonald of the Third Cavalry, a career soldier of some competence, the General did not doubt the admission of evidence from the enemy officer and men would prove crucial. Although he had never admitted his suspicions, he was sure the events had not occurred as described by the sergeant major and Corporal John Silkin. In fact, he had believed Cogshill turned back to try and avert the disaster being caused by the stupid and ill-advised behavior of his brother.

  ‘Getting a verdict of guilty ought to be easy enough,’ Montreigen commented in a dryly judicial fashion, eyeing the sergeant major sardonically. ‘There’s only whatever evidence these Rebs can give to go against what Packard and Silkin say happened.’

  ‘Are you calling me a liar?’ the bulky non-com growled indignantly.

  ‘It doesn’t matter one way or the other to me,’ the major pointed out, showing neither alarm nor concern over the threatening manner displayed by the sergeant major. ‘But McDonald reckons you could be lying, or at best, mistaken.’

  ‘Shut your god-damned yapper!’ Buller warned, as Packard prepared to speak. ‘Is there anything they could say to make liars of you and Silkin?’

  ‘Who’s going to believe a bunch of “mother-something” Rebs?’ the sergeant major growled sullenly, if evasively.

  ‘I’d say that all depends on what they have to say,’ Montreigen guessed, before his superior could respond to Packard’s heated comment. ‘And which officers are sitting as judges in the court.’

  ‘I’ll damned soon see to that!’ Buller claimed, coming to his feet with a vigor which overturned his chair and nearly upset the table.

  ‘Not if they’ve already been picked out, which I’m betting they will be,’ the major contradicted. ‘In fact, I’m willing to lay money that McDonald’s already let the top brass know what’s going on and he’ll get backing from them.’

  ‘Against me?’ the General asked, touching the insignia of rank on the collar of a tunic which was far cleaner than had previously been the case as a result of the ministrations performed by Barnes. ‘I out-rank any god-damned colonel!’

  ‘On paper,’ Montreigen conceded. ‘But all those Regular Army bastards stand together and they’re not going to sit back and let one of their own, which Cogshill is regardless of only being a luff, go down if they think he’s being railroaded by a volunteer.’r />
  ‘Do you know what you’re implying?’ Buller challenged.

  ‘I’m only telling you how it might look to them,’ the major answered, displaying no greater perturbation by the wrath directed his way by his superior than he had a few seconds earlier from his subordinate. However, he swung around, right hand reaching for the hilt of the epee de combat he carried instead of a saber, as a soft footfall reached his ears.

  ‘What do y—!’

  ‘I beg your pardon, General Buller, sir,’ Thaddeus Barnes intoned, rather than merely said, entering the wall tent as if oblivious of everything except his employer. In some way, he contrived to employ the honorific with a politeness and respect which made it clear he did not include the other two men present, which was most gratifying to its recipient. ‘I came to ask whether you are ready for dinner to be served, sir.’

  ‘Not just yet,’ Buller refused, delighted as was always the case by the treatment he was accorded by his butler. The deferential behavior of Barnes was so flattering to his ego, he had quickly ceased to wonder what had become of his much less satisfactory “striker” xxiii who had not put in an appearance since having failed to report for duty on the morning after the dinner party at George Wigg’s mansion. ‘I’ll send word when I want it. ’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ the butler replied, as if approving of what he had been told. ‘I had anticipated a delay and have had a meal prepared which will not be spoiled by it.’

  ‘There’s something about that smooth-talking son-of-a-bitch I don’t like!’ Montreigen growled, watching the tall, slender and distinguished looking, somberly attired man depart as unobtrusively as he had come, after having set up the overturned chair.

  ‘He suits me!’ the General declared, guessing the acrimonious comment was caused by the somehow polite lack of deference his butler invariably showed to the major. He had frequently been irritated by Montreigen’s assumption of superiority in matters of etiquette and the social graces, so was far from averse to seeing the other treated with what was clearly indifference. ‘And you say that about almost everybody!’

  ‘I learned early not to take anybody on trust,’ the major asserted, but decided against mentioning certain—fairly accurate, if he had realized—theories he had formed about the girl who had called herself, “Francoise”. ‘And, to my way of thinking, that soft walking son-of-a-bitch came to work for you a sight too eagerly.’

  ‘I’m paying him a whole lot better than that tight-butted skinflint, Wigg,’ Buller pointed out. ‘And he’s less work to do for his money.’

  ‘That would help,’ Montreigen admitted, paying no attention to the sour way in which his superior was looking at him. ‘Particularly if he’s still drawing pay from Wigg for keeping an eye on you.’

  ‘Which is what he’s doing,’ the General answered, his porcine features taking on an expression of triumphant satisfaction over being able to prove that his arrogant subordinate was drawing an erroneous conclusion. ‘He told me about it that afternoon when he came back from quitting Wigg and collecting his gear. He said that the grave-digging, corpse-robbing, son-of-a-bitch had given him money to be told about anything I got up to. Then he let me in on a few things Wigg wouldn’t want known. I reckon he’s trustworthy all right.’ Then swinging his gaze to his second subordinate in a way which indicated he considered nothing further needed saying on the subject, he continued with the briskness of one getting down to something of vastly greater importance, ‘What can you tell me about those god-damned Johnny Rebs McDonald’s bringing in for the court martial, Packard?’

  ~*~

  Returning to the side of the big wall tent from which he had moved when he had seen a soldier approaching, having had no desire to be caught eavesdropping, Thaddeus Barnes listened to the reply given by the sergeant major. What he heard, added to the ensuing conversation, suggested a means by which he might complete his real purpose for entering the employment of Brigadier General Buller.

  As in the case of ‘Francoise’, the doubts aroused in Major Montreigen by the butler were justified!

  Having expressed sentiments similar to those of the two men who worked to remove the threat to the life of President Lincoln, in addition to being most competent in his work, Barnes had proved to be an exceptionally efficient member of the Confederate States’ Secret Service. Making use of the opportunities granted by the nature of his employment, he had produced much useful information and had operated in conjunction with Mrs. Amy Cutler. Alerted to the possibility of dissidents trying to remove the President by assassination if need be, they had decided this must be circumvented. While he had gone to work for George Wigg with such an intention, he had seen how it might also be possible to discover the nature of the work being carried out for Buller by David Aaranovitch. Knowing the unusual diversion favored by the General, he had suggested this offered a chance for Belle Boyd to gain Buller’s confidence and he had persuaded Wigg to supply the ‘entertainment’ which had brought this about.

  Waiting outside the hotel to receive the Rebel Spy’s report, Barnes had accompanied her back to the brothel as they had realized that the killing of First Lieutenant Martin Blick would prevent her from continuing her assignment. Consulting with the madam, it had been decided the matter was so important that he must try to replace Belle in the General’s entourage. They had been helped to achieve their purpose by Buller being disinclined to spend money on things he considered unimportant. Instead of paying for accommodation in the servants’ quarters at the hotel, he had had his striker stay at the nearest barracks. Waylaying the soldier as he was on his way to work, disguised in a suitable fashion, Belle had lured him away and rendered him unconscious with a drugged drink. On his recovery in the middle of the afternoon, he had been informed that he was listed as a deserter, and as he was disenchanted with the living conditions as a member of the New Hampstead Volunteers, even for one in his employment, he had been only too willing to accept the suggestion made by the Rebel Spy and flee from Washington.

  Knowing Buller would be suffering from the after effects of a similar potion administered by Belle as a means of avoiding his attentions, and delivering her report, Barnes had to time his arrival at the hotel, and he was ready to put to use his knowledge of treating such a condition. He had had a letter from Wigg to deliver and he came upon the scene when the stimulant was most appreciated. After that, all had gone as required.

  Learning of the arrangements being made between Mary Wilkinson and Buller, via the use of a glass tumbler as an extemporized listening device, Barnes had used the need to collect his belongings from Wigg’s mansion as an excuse to warn his associates. By doing so, he had enabled the Rebel Spy and the two male agents to remove the threat to President Lincoln. However, he had been less successful in his primary objective. Despite having come as prepared as possible, he had been unable to find an opportunity to destroy the terrible liquid.

  At the conclusion of the conversation, Barnes left the shadows thrown by the wall tent and into which his black suit, the jacket drawn across to conceal his white shirt, had blended admirably. As he was walking away, he looked about him so as to be sure he had fixed the layout of the camp on the northern bank of the Mushogen River firmly in his mind. Based upon what he had overheard, he believed he might have found a way by which the destruction he required could be brought about. Regardless of the unflattering comments made by Packard, if only a part of the stories concerning the man named as the ‘Johnny Reb officer’ were true, he would have a most useful accomplice for the vitally important task.

  However, being aware of the code of honor with which Southrons of his class were instilled during their formative years, the butler suspected there would be great difficulty in persuading Captain Dustine Edward Marsden Fog of the Texas Light Cavalry to do what would be required of him!

  Fourteen – I’m Asking You to Break Your Word

  ‘May I help you, sir?’

  At the first word, recognizing the polite yet somehow disrespectful voic
e he had come to know and resent, Major Saul Montreigen spun around from where he was examining the contents of the portmanteau he had placed on the bed. Seeing two officers who were not members of the New Hampstead Volunteers standing behind its owner at the now open front entrance of the wedge tent, he returned the almost drawn epee de combat to the sheath on his belt’s slings. If Thaddeus Barnes had been alone, or even accompanied by enlisted men over whom he could exert authority and compel to back up his story, he would have settled his doubts by thrusting home the sword and claiming he responded instinctively to what he had believed to be a thief coming from behind him.

  ‘I thought I saw somebody sneaking out the back there,’ Montreigen lied, pointing to the flaps at the rear of the tent, having severed the fastenings on entering to provide just such an excuse. ‘But I reckoned I’d better make sure I had before I raised the alarm and disturbed the camp.’

  ‘Most thoughtful of you, sir,’ the butler intoned, his austere features and the timbre of the words giving no indication of whether or not he believed the explanation.

  ‘It looks like I was right and somebody got in to rob you,’ the major claimed. ‘Is anything missing?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Barnes replied, after having advanced to carry out a surprisingly perfunctory inspection of his property. ‘Everything is still here.’

  ‘Have you got any other baggage the feller could have gone through?’ Montreigen inquired, glancing around the sparsely furnished wedge tent allocated by Brigadier General Moses J. Buller for his butler’s temporary accommodation.

  ‘No, sir,’ Barnes replied, with seeming gratitude for the interest being taken in his affairs although there was in fact as little veracity as there had been in the explanation for the presence of the major. ‘I have few needs.’

  ‘Shall I have the guard start a search for the man you saw?’ inquired the senior of the officers at the entrance to the tent.