by Ed Gorman
“Of course. Something big is going to happen and I want to be there.”
“Just who are these Sons of Liberty?”
She eyed him curiously. “Aren’t you a Copperhead?”
“Of course.”
“Then you should know about the Sons. They’re a semi-secret society, the action arm of our organization. They operate in the North, doing what they can to support the Confederate cause.”
“Terrorists.”
“Not at all.” She studied him in the flickering light from the gas lamps. “You’re not a Copperhead at all, are you?”
It was his turn to grin. “I’m a spy.”
“How did you get into the meeting?”
“I walked in behind someone else. The guard at the door thought we were together.”
“But what are you doing here?”
“There’ll be plenty of time to tell you on the train to Chicago.”
* * *
All Copperhead members traveling to Chicago for the Democratic convention were given money for expenses. Captain Hines met them personally at the railroad station with an envelope for each one. When he was on the train, seated next to Maggie, Cranston opened his envelope and counted through the bills, in denominations of twenty and fifty dollars each.
“There’s three hundred American dollars here,” she told him, opening her own envelope. “What are we supposed to do to earn it?”
“I’m sure we’ll find out in Chicago.”
There was a slender man named Valland on the train with them, and it developed that he was a close friend of Maggie’s. He was younger than Cranston, in his early twenties, and clean-shaven. A Yankee from New York City, he’d taken part in the draft riots the previous year and fled to Canada.
“What about you?” he asked Cranston at about the midpoint of their journey. “Where are you from?”
“Philadelphia,” Cranston answered. “I worked for a printer there.”
“And you’re opposed to abolition?”
“I’m opposed to the war.”
Young Valland seemed to know a great deal about the Chicago plans. The night before the train arrived there, after they’d all been drinking from his bottle of gin, he told them, “We’re just a diversion, you know. They want us to disrupt the convention enough to draw federal troops there, while the Sons of Liberty attack two nearby prison camps and free twelve thousand Confederate soldiers.”
“Is that true?” Maggie asked, wide-eyed.
“Of course. I overheard Hines and Colonel Thompson talking after the meeting in Toronto.”
The scenario seemed unlikely, but Cranston knew the South was growing desperate. Twelve thousand Confederates freed from prison camps in the Chicago area would certainly cause a major disruption. If arrangements had been made to arm them, they could become a serious threat behind the Union lines.
When the train reached Chicago, the trio split up at the station and went their separate ways, arranging to meet at the convention site that evening. Cranston didn’t know what to expect, but when he arrived there was only a scattering of demonstrators. He had no trouble finding Maggie Little observing events from a park across the street.
“I expected more people,” she said. “We’re almost outnumbered by the abolitionists.”
“If Valland is correct, all the action might be at the prison camps,”
But by the convention’s end they knew the truth. The Sons of Liberty would not fight against superior Union troops that had been dispatched to the prison camps, and the Southern infiltrators could do nothing without them. As for the convention, the Democrats adopted a strong peace plank in their platform, but then nominated a Union hero, General George McClellan, who felt he had a mandate to carry the war to victory.
The following evening the three met at Cranston’s hotel room and he agreed to travel south with Maggie and Valland. “Do you really think you can reach the Confederate lines?” he asked.
“There are regular steamboats up and down the Mississippi,” Maggie told him.
“The entire river is now in Union hands.”
“I’m sure we can reach the Confederate lines somehow,” she argued.
“But why should we?” Valland asked.
“They gave us three hundred dollars each when we left Toronto,” Maggie reminded them. “We owe them something for that money.”
“We don’t owe them much,” Cranston said, taking one of the fifties from his pocket. “These bills are counterfeit.”
* * *
They finally agreed to journey by train to St. Louis and board a steamboat named the Paul Jones, bound for New Orleans. Once Maggie thought she saw one of” Captain Hines’s men and feared they were being followed, but when Cranston strolled among the other passengers he saw no one familiar. With the Mississippi in the hands of the Union, the docks were crowded with militiamen, many in uniforms that were obviously homemade. Cranston could see that Maggie Little was nervous about paying for the journey with counterfeit greenbacks, but no one questioned it and they were soon safely on the river.
It was young Valland, once they were on board the Paul Jones and heading south, who took one of the bills from his pocket and asked Cranston, “How do you know these are counterfeit?”
The older man smiled like a teacher instructing his class. “There was no national paper currency before this Civil War. Various states and banks issued their own notes. These early Union greenbacks can be produced by anyone with a good printing press, and both North and South easily counterfeit them. These are a bit better than usual, and I would guess they were done by an engraver in Columbia, South Carolina, who also prints currency for the Confederacy.”
“You know a lot about it,” Valland remarked.
“I worked for a time with a printer named Sam Upham in Philadelphia.”
“Counterfeiting greenbacks?” Maggie asked.
“And bluebacks, Confederate money, too. When the Philadelphia Inquirer ran engraved pictures of Confederate money, Upham bought the plates from them and used colored ink and heavier paper stock to turn out large quantities of counterfeit Southern currency. The Confederate constitution allows individual states as well as the central government to print their own money, which only adds to the currency confusion and drives up the inflation rate.”
Later, when Valland had retired to his stateroom, Cranston and Maggie went out on deck, watching the moon’s reflection on the water as the steamboat glided past the marshy shoreline. She stood fanning herself by the rail and he told her, “I thought you’d be spending the night with him.”
“With Valland? He’s little more than a child. We’re only friends. I thought he showed very poor judgment on the train to Chicago when he told us about the Confederate plans to free those prisoners. Either one of us could be a Union spy.”
Cranston thought about that. “Or Valland could be a spy, trying to spread the news so the mission might fail or be canceled. It certainly seems as if someone tipped off the Union troops.”
“You told me that night in Toronto you were a spy,” she reminded him.
“Do real spies ever announce the fact?”
“They do if they’re clever enough.”
* * *
A steamboat had run aground ahead of them on the river, and in the morning the captain announced they’d be docking at Memphis until the way was clear. The Mississippi was lower than usual for early September, and they needed a more experienced pilot to guide them.
It was Valland who suggested they leave the boat and move on. Much of western Tennessee was Union territory following Grant’s victory at Chattanooga, and the young man was anxious to go east. “I want to reach the other side,” he told Maggie and Cranston. “We all do, don’t we?”
“Are you still worried about your part in the draft riots?” she asked. “They won’t come after you for that.”
“They might,” he answered glumly. “I killed a militiaman during the fighting. I didn’t mean to, but he’s dead. They’re probably hunting me
for it.”
“You’re right, then,” Maggie agreed. “We should move east.”
“It seems safest right now,” Cranston said. “We’ll stay tonight at a hotel and leave early in the morning.”
Maggie saw a problem. “We still have some of the counterfeit money left, but what good will greenbacks do us in the South?”
Cranston did not answer immediately. Instead he removed his coat and cut some of the threads holding the lining in place. His hand emerged with a packet of currency. “I have two thousand dollars in Confederate notes here. That should be more than enough.”
“Counterfeit?” Valland asked.
“Of course, but they’ll pass casual inspection. I took them along when I left my Philadelphia job.”
“You stole them?”
“Not exactly. Mr. Upham sold them to me for fifty cents.” He smiled at the memory. “I should have purchased more but I didn’t know I’d be this far south.”
They bought a horse and buggy in Memphis, loaded the carpetbags with their few possessions into the buggy, and set out in the morning toward the east. “Didn’t you have two bags on the boat?” Maggie asked Cranston.
“I checked one at the hotel,” he told her. “I expect to come back this way, sooner or later.”
For the most part they traveled the back roads, hoping to encounter Confederate troops. Again Maggie had the feeling they were being followed, and from a high ridge they spotted a small band of horsemen who might have been on their trail. “What should we do?” she asked Cranston.
“Keep going. They don’t seem to be in uniform.” But he knew that meant very little in this war.
Before they’d traveled another ten miles the horsemen had overtaken them. In their lead was Captain Hines himself, the small, dark-haired man with a smile like a serpent’s. “You are under arrest by order of the Confederate States of America,” he shouted, pointing a long-barreled army revolver at them.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Cranston asked indignantly. “You have no right—”
“We’ve been on your trail since Chicago,” Hines replied. “One or all of you are Union spies!”
There were five men riding with Hines. They quickly dismounted and overpowered Cranston and his companions before they could resist. Their hands were tied and one of the horsemen took over the reins of the buggy. “We are in Union territory,” Maggie protested.
“You are in no-man’s-land,” Hines corrected. “And you will soon be behind Confederate lines.”
“That’s just where we want to go,” young Valland told them. “We’re Copperheads, from up north. You must remember us from Toronto. We were at that meeting with Colonel Thompson.”
“I remember you.”
“Then you know we’re not spies.”
“We’ll talk about that when we reach camp.”
* * *
They rode through the afternoon and into the dusk before reaching a glen where campfires burned outside of tents. The Confederate flag was still flying as they were helped down from the buggy and brought into a large tent. Their hands were untied but two grizzled soldiers with rifles stood guard over them. Cranston estimated there were a hundred or more men in the encampment, and most seemed to be Tennessee volunteers. It was hot in the tent and Maggie fanned herself while they waited for whatever was to come.
Finally Captain Hines entered with another officer to question them. “Do you intend to hold us here long?” Cranston asked.
“As long as necessary.”
“On what charges?”
“The Union forces were warned in advance that an attempt would be made to free Confederate prisoners in the Chicago area, A telegram in cipher was sent from the Chicago railway station just after you three arrived by train from Toronto.”
“Which proves nothing,” Cranston said.
“All of you were observed near the telegraph office.”
“We separated there and went our own ways,” Maggie told him.
“You pretend to be Copperheads, but at least one of you is a Union spy. We will search your belongings for code books or a key to the substitution cipher we believe was used. Unless we can determine which of you is the spy, you will all be hanged in the morning.”
Cranston saw the fear on his companions’ faces. “I’d like to speak with you in private,” he told the captain.
Hines eyed him for a moment and then said, “That could be arranged.”
They left the tent together. One guard remained with Maggie and Valland while the other followed along. Dusk had given way to darkness, and the Confederate flag no longer flew over the camp. “You’re very close to the Union lines here,” Cranston remarked.
“Too close. As soon as you people are dealt with I’ll be on my way back to Toronto.”
“How much would it cost to buy our freedom?”
Captain Hines snorted. “More than you possess.”
“I could offer five hundred Confederate dollars for each of us.”
“You have it with you?”
“Yes.”
The small man snorted. “I must remember to remove it from your body after we hang you.”
“That wouldn’t be wise. The bills are counterfeit, like the Union currency you supplied to us in Toronto.”
“Show me!” Hines commanded.
“May I reach into my pocket without being shot by your guard?” Hines nodded and Cranston showed him one of the twenty-dollar bills.
“These are good quality,” the captain agreed after lighting a match to study it more closely. “Do you have more?”
“Some. And I can arrange for a larger quantity, as much as fifty thousand dollars.”
“What are you charging?”
“Twenty cents on the dollar. A low price for currency of this quality.”
“I believe we can work out a deal,” Hines said. “Where is it right now?”
“In a carpetbag at a Memphis hotel. They’re holding it for me.”
“We can return there tomorrow.”
“If you have ten thousand dollars. Payment must be in Union greenbacks, and none of your counterfeits. After the currency is delivered to you, we will all be set free.”
“Of course. I can raise the money in Memphis once I show people the quality of your counterfeit.”
“Then it’s agreed.”
Hines took out a thin black cigar and lit it, turning to squint at his prisoner. “You are a complex man, Mr. Cranston. I wonder which of us is really the captor and which the prisoner.”
* * *
In the morning they were awakened by the sound of rifles firing in an irregular pattern some distance away over the next hill. Already the small encampment was assembling to join in the battle. Captain Hines appeared with two of his own men, ordering the overnight guards to rejoin their unit. “There’s fighting nearby,” he told them. “We must go back the way we came. Can all of you ride horses?”
“I can’t ride in this dress,” Maggie Little told him.
Valland, who was slim-waisted, volunteered a pair of his pants. “They’re clean, and they should fit pretty well. You can try my spare boots, too.”
The pants were a bit long but she managed to tuck them into the boots, which fit quite well. “I’m ready,” she said finally, emerging from the tent.
Three of Hines’s men were left behind so their horses could be used. Hines and the other two accompanied Cranston’s party as they rode back to the west, the way they had come. “We’ll ride at a gallop for the first hour,” Hines ordered. “I want to put as much distance between us and the Yankees as possible.”
Cranston assumed they would camp for the night, but it soon became obvious that Captain Hines was anxious to reach the relative safety of Memphis. Once they were stopped by a Union patrol, but Hines presented forged documents and they were allowed to proceed. By nightfall the gaslights of the city came into view.
“We’ll settle our business in the morning,” the captain said. “Meanwhile I need mor
e samples of your counterfeit Confederate bills to raise the money for you,”
Cranston handed over a few twenties and fifties. “Where will I find you tomorrow?”
Captain Hines smiled his serpent’s smile. “I’ll find you, in your room. One of my men will be spending the night with you.”
“Not with Miss Little, he won’t. She’ll need a separate room.”
“All right. I’ll have my man in the hallway, on a chair between the rooms.”
Once they were alone, Maggie said, “It shouldn’t be hard to get away from him here in Memphis. We’re safe in Union territory.”
“I have no intention of getting away from him. We’ll be closing a business deal in the morning.”
“I saw you give him some counterfeit bills just now.”
“And I’m going to sell him a great many more.”
When they reached their rooms, the first thing Maggie did was to shed young Valland’s pants and boots and return them to him. Back into her own dress and shoes, fluttering her French fan, she was Cranston’s ideal of utter femininity and perhaps she knew it.
He sent down for the carpetbag he’d checked when they first arrived in the city, and when the bellboy brought it up Cranston set to work on its contents. Valland, sharing the room with him, looked on spellbound. “Is that real money?” he asked.
“Some of it is and some of it isn’t.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“We’ll see.”
The young man eyed him curiously. “You’re a counterfeiter, aren’t you? That’s what this is all about.”
“No,” Cranston answered with a smile. “Actually, I’m not.”
When he finished with the carpetbag he slid it under his bed and turned in for the night. With Hines’s guard outside the door he didn’t have to worry about Valland stealing the money.
* * *
In the morning Captain Hines came to their room. While Valland went downstairs with the guard for breakfast, Cranston completed his business with the officer. He opened the carpetbag and revealed the packages of Confederate money wrapped in brown paper. Handing one to Hines, he told him to examine it.
Hines ripped open the package and fanned the bills. “Looks good to me,” he said after counting the twenties. “One hundred. That’s two thousand dollars.”
