by J. T. Edson
‘No,’ Winslow declared, after considering the girl’s question. ‘I don’t think either of them was French.’
‘Did you recognize either of them? I mean, did they seem familiar?’
‘Not that I could put a finger on it. And I know all the men of their class in Caddo and Bossier Counties. Do you know something about them?’
‘Not much,’ the girl answered. ‘I’ve heard a little about their activities.’
‘Do you mean that they’ve done this kind of thing before?’
‘Nothing so blatant and open. But I was told that Shreveport would be different from the other meetings which have been held throughout the South.’
‘How did you become involved, Belle?’ Winslow inquired.
‘I’m a member of the United States’ Secret Service,’ the girl explained, sounding just a mite defensive and challenging.
‘Dad-blast it, Belle!’ Winslow barked, showing no great surprise at her answer. ‘I never took to the notion of you and Cousin Rose playing the spy in the War—’
‘Not playing,’ the girl protested indignantly. ‘We both did useful work for the South.’
That was a point which Winslow could not deny. Rose Greenhow and the girl facing him, Belle Boyd, had carried out their originally self-appointed—but soon officially recognized—duties in a most satisfactory manner. Each had achieved considerable fame and success. Gathering information had been Rose’s forte. Belle had specialized in delivering the results of her cousin’s work through the enemies’ lines. Later, she had graduated to handling assignments of a tricky and frequently dangerous nature. [2] The Yankees had named her the Rebel Spy and her efforts had caused them a great deal of trouble.
‘I’m not gainsaying it,’ Winslow stated. ‘Vincent Boyd always wanted a son and at times I’ll swear he had one.’
‘Why thank you ’most to death, as a good friend in Texas says,’ Belle replied, looking very feminine and not at all like anybody’s son.
‘Blast it, girl, he taught you to sit astride a horse and swore you could outride any man in Baton Royale County. He had you handling a sword and a gun when most girls of your age were playing with dolls—’
‘Fencing and shooting were more fun,’ Belle interrupted. ‘And I always enjoyed savate lessons better than dancing. But mama saw to it that I didn’t neglect the more ladylike accomplishments. If it hadn’t been for Tollinger and Barmain, I’d probably have forgotten all about riding, shooting and savate, married and settled down to a life of dull respectability.’
‘Tollinger and Barmain!’ Winslow snorted, knowing them to have been the leaders of a drunken pro-Unionist rabble who had attacked the Boyd plantation before the start of the War. Belle’s parents had been murdered and she was wounded. On her recovery, she had become a spy, seeking revenge against the pair. ‘If I could have laid my hands on them—’
‘I did,’ Belle said quietly. ‘Down in Mexico, just after the War. In a way, that was how I joined the Secret Service.’ [3]
‘I wondered why you insisted on going to the theater in disguise,’ Winslow commented, knowing that it was neither the time nor the place to seek further details of his niece’s adventures.
‘There wasn’t time to explain. I only arrived this afternoon and knew that, as it was Sabot’s last performance, whatever was due to happen must happen at it. I went in disguise because I wasn’t sure if anybody would recognize me.’
‘You are after them?’
‘Yes,’ Belle agreed, a touch defiantly. ‘Despite their loyalty to the South, I’m after them.’
‘Loyalty!’ barked Winslow. ‘I yield second to no man in my loyalty to the South. But, by cracky, I fail to see how starting another war with the Yankees will help Dixie.’
‘Or me,’ Belle said quietly. ‘Uncle Alburgh, just how dangerous do you think the situation might be?’
‘It could be very serious,’ Winslow replied. ‘Or it could fade into nothing. I’ll have my paper treat it as no more than a stupid practical joke. After a night’s cool and sober thought, I think that the rest of the audience will decide peace beats war any time. It’ll all be forgotten in a week.’
‘Unless something happens to keep it in the public’s eye,’ Belle warned.
‘Such as?’
‘I only wish I knew. They certainly didn’t go to all that trouble just to make a speech and then sit back and hope for developments. It’s my belief that they plan to make sure their words aren’t forgotten.’
‘How?’ Winslow asked.
‘I’ve no idea,’ the girl admitted. ‘But, if the Frenchman is involved, it won’t be pleasant; whatever it might be.’
‘The Frenchman?’ Winslow repeated. ‘Is France the country to which the man kept referring?’
‘I’ve no proof of that. I only know that this person called “the Frenchman” is a leader in the plot. With the emphasis they placed on the Army’s activities, it could be an incident involving the local soldiers. I hope that new commanding officer isn’t delayed.’
‘He’s here.’
‘And not before time, from the stories I’ve heard. But that doesn’t tell us why they held their meeting tonight.’
‘Perhaps they hoped to stir up trouble before Manderley took over?’
‘It’s possible,’ Belle conceded and stood up. ‘The answer might be at the theater. If so, I intend to find it.’
Peeling off and dropping the mitts, Belle unfastened and removed her coat. She laid it on the seat and slipped out of the Balmoral skirt. That left her slender, willowy figure clad in an open-necked dark blue shirt, form-hugging black riding breeches and calf-high Hessian boots. Nor did her unconventionally masculine attire end there. About her waist, previously concealed by the stiff, over-large skirt, was strapped a wide black leather gunbelt of Western fashion. Butt forward in the contoured holster, which was secured to her right thigh by pigging thongs, rode an ivory-handled Dance Bros. Navy revolver. Although percussion-primed and firing a .36 caliber combustible paper cartridge, it would still be an effective weapon in trained hands.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Winslow offered, studying her preparations.
‘No, thank you,’ Belle refused.
‘Blast it, girl. You can’t go back there alone—!’
‘I can, and mean to. If I was looking for trouble, I’d welcome you. But I’m only going to scout around. And I can do that far safer alone.’
‘If all you’re going to do is scout around,’ Winslow growled, ‘why don’t you go back in your disguise?’
‘If there’s trouble, I don’t want hindering by skirts,’ Belle explained. ‘And they wouldn’t be any protection for me. The Frenchman wouldn’t bother about me being a woman if he caught me.’
‘In that case, I’m coming with you!’ Winslow stated.
‘No, Uncle Alburgh!’ Belle replied, speaking in a grim and definite manner. ‘I have to handle things my own way. This is my work. I wouldn’t try to tell you how to run your newspaper, or how to defend a law case. Anyway, there’s probably nothing to find at the theater. But I’ll feel easier if I’ve checked.’
‘Suppose there is something at the theater?’ Winslow challenged.
‘Then I’ll do my level best to get away undetected,’ Belle promised with a smile. Becoming more serious, she continued, ‘You’ll find an addressed envelope in my trunk. If I’m not back by morning, write a report of everything that has happened and mail it in the envelope.’
‘If you think that’s all I’ll do—’
‘Very well. If I’m not back by midnight, go and tell the new commanding officer what’s happened.’
‘Damn it! I’m going with you—!’ Winslow commenced, then he shrugged. ‘Oh, do things your own way! You Boyd females have a most unseemly habit of doing as you please. I should know. I’ve married one. What if this Frenchman is there?’
‘If he is and I get the chance,’ Belle answered, and her voice throbbed with cold, angry hatred, ‘I’ll kill him.’
‘Shall us wait for Miss Belle, Colonel?’ Hector asked.
‘No,’ Winslow replied, wondering why the note of deadly hatred had come into his niece’s voice each time she had mentioned ‘the Frenchman’. ‘Go home, Hector. She’ll come when she’s finished her business.’
Jerking back his head as the girl quit the carriage, Hermy felt certain that he had escaped being observed by her. He peeped cautiously around the corner and saw her turning to walk off in the opposite direction. Frowning, he swung on his heel to return to the waiting buggy.
‘I don’t know where the hell she come from,’ Hermy told Matt in wondering tones. ‘But a gal wearing pants just got out of Winslow’s carriage.’
‘A gal, wearing pants!’ the burly man repeated, eyeing his companion with cold suspicion. ‘What’re you try—?’
‘Go see for yourself,’ Hermy suggested.
‘Which way did she go?’ Matt demanded, making as if to leave his seat and follow the other’s suggestion.
‘Back the way she come. Here’s Winslow’s carriage.’
‘We’ll keep going after him,’ Matt decided, sinking back on to the seat.
‘How about the gal?’ Hermy inquired, unaware of certain suspicions he was arousing. ‘She might be headed back to the theater.’
‘All right,’ Matt grunted. ‘You go watch her. I’ll tend to Winslow.’
‘What do I do if she is headed for the theater?’ Hermy wanted to know.
‘Make sure she doesn’t come away alive,’ Matt replied and set the buggy into motion.
Four – A National Disaster
Belle Boyd’s deep and bitter hatred for the person she knew only as ‘the Frenchman’ had had its beginning aboard the Mississippi riverboat Elegant Lady, as it lay alongside a dock at Memphis before continuing south to New Orleans.
‘There’s a gennelman to see you-all, Miss Winslow,’ announced the colored stewardess, entering Belle’s stateroom on the Elegant Lady and using the name under which the girl was travelling.
Telling the Negress to show the gentleman in, Belle wondered who he might be and, more important, what he wanted with her. That he was in the Secret Service seemed obvious from his knowing her assumed name.
Taking a well-earned vacation, after completing an assignment that had not been without danger, she was on her way to New Orleans. Of course, her superiors had been informed of her destination and the route by which she would be travelling. Every Secret Service organization insisted upon keeping in touch with its members, even when they were taking a holiday. Given luck, the visitor would only be another agent, paying a friendly, courtesy call.
That hope ended abruptly with her first sight of the visitor.
Soberly and plainly dressed, the man was below middle height, lean and with a prissy, self-important air. He looked like the owner, or manager, of a successful business; arrogant, within the bounds of his power, to underlings and a stickler for protocol as it affected himself. Belle recognized him as Alden H. Stenhouse, senior co-coordinator of the Secret Service along the middle reaches of the Mississippi River.
One thing was for sure. Stenhouse was not the kind of man who would pay a purely social call to a mere agent: even to one of Belle’s prominence.
‘Good afternoon, Miss B Winslow,’ Stenhouse greeted, looking uneasy.
‘Good afternoon, Mr. Stenhouse,’ the girl answered, knowing that he would not be travelling under an assumed name.
‘Can I have the stewardess bring you a drink or anything?’
‘No, thank you,’ Stenhouse refused. ‘I have come to see you on a confidential matter of some importance.’
‘Feel free to do it,’ Belle drawled as the stewardess left the stateroom and closed the door. ‘The boat doesn’t sail for three hours.’
‘You won’t be leaving with it,’ Stenhouse warned brusquely, as if wanting to get things straight immediately.
‘I won’t?’ asked Belle, a hint of challenge in her voice.
‘No,’ Stenhouse stated. Another, bigger man might have tempered the word with a more polite, apologetic refusal. Conscious of his authority, he made no attempt to do so. ‘I have an assignment for you.’
‘You realize, of course, that I’m on vacation?’ Belle demanded, annoyed by his behavior.
‘General Handiman assured me that you would be willing to return to duty,’ the man replied, wanting to impress upon her that his demand carried top-grade, official backing. ‘This is a matter of considerable importance, Miss Boyd. I can’t overestimate just how vital it is. In fact, it might even develop into a national disaster.’
‘Sit down and tell me about it,’ Belle suggested, curiosity overriding any resentment she felt at the intrusion, or over Stenhouse’s attitude.
‘I hardly know where to begin,’ the man admitted, taking a seat.
‘They do say that the beginning’s the best place to start,’ Belle commented. ‘And the more I know, the better I can handle my part in it.’
‘I suppose the beginning was in Topeka, Kansas,’ Stenhouse said, producing a notebook from his jacket’s inside pocket and flipping it open. ‘But we aren’t concerned with that—’
‘Not even if it helps me to see the full picture?’ Belle interrupted, more to annoy her visitor than for any special reason. ‘I’d hate to keep asking for you to clear up some point I haven’t heard about.’
‘Very well,’ Stenhouse sniffed. ‘A group of Topeka businessmen, in early ’Sixty-Five, decided that they would raise a regiment of cavalry—’
‘They left it late in the day,’ Belle commented, for that had been the year which had seen the end of military hostilities.
‘Probably they hadn’t foreseen how close we were to victory,’ Stenhouse replied tactlessly. Realizing that the girl might not be pleased with the reference to the South’s defeat, he did not offer to apologies. ‘Anyway, they set about organizing what would have been the 18th “Kansas” Dragoons.’
‘Dragoons?’
‘It would have been in name only. They were to be equipped with Burnside hats, standard uniforms and accoutrements, but armed with Henry rifles.’
‘That would have cost money,’ Belle remarked.
‘Yes,’ conceded Stenhouse. ‘Most of it would have been raised by public subscriptions. However, what with one delay or another, the War ended before the Dragoons had acquired their full requirements. In fact, they had obtained only sufficient uniforms and arms for one hundred men. Although the businessmen cancelled the rest of their orders, they had to purchase those which had been filled. So they found themselves stuck with the rifles and equipment.’
‘I feel for them,’ Belle said dryly. ‘Why didn’t they sell them?’
‘There was no market for surplus military equipment when they decided to do so. It’s my belief that they hung on hoping to have their regiment retained on a permanent basis, but failed to do so. They left it too late to dispose of even the Henry rifles at so much as their cost price.’
‘The new, improved Winchester Model of 1866 certainly reduced the value of the Henry,’ Belle admitted. ‘So what did the speculators do?’
‘They held on, hoping for the opportunity to dispose of their purchases at, if not a profit, something close to the original cost.’
‘Which they eventually managed?’
‘Yes. Two men, calling themselves Duprez and le Beausainte, made an acceptable offer. They said that they were commissioned by the Legislature of Oregon to purchase arms and equipment for the State’s militia. Their price was satisfactory and the spec—businessmen—didn’t check on the story. However, one of their number had misgivings. What nationality do the names Duprez and le Beausa
inte suggest to you, Miss Boyd?’
‘French, or Creole,’ the girl replied without hesitation. ‘But the speculator had reasons to doubt that they were either.’
‘Yes,’ Stenhouse confirmed. ‘Their accents were unmistakably—Irish!’
‘Huh huh!’ Belle said noncommittally, although she could guess in which direction the conversation was heading.
‘Fortunately the spec—businessman had the good sense to mention his misgivings to a U.S. marshal who was in Topeka at the time,’ Stenhouse went on, studiously avoiding the term ‘speculator’ when mentioning the Kansas citizens. ‘Marshal Cole—’
‘Solly Cole?’ Belle interrupted.
‘Yes. Of course, you worked with him.’
‘I did. He’s a smart lawman.’ [4]
‘Smart enough to see the implications in the disparity between the two men’s names and their accents,’ Stenhouse agreed. ‘You understand my meaning?’
‘Yes,’ Belle replied. ‘I understand.’
In 1872, the international membership of the ‘Alabama’ Arbitration Tribunal had completed its long investigations and deliberations. It had rendered a decision most favorable to the United States. For permitting the Confederate States’ naval cruisers like the Alabama, Florida and Shenandoah to be built in and operate from their ports—as well as being involved in other activities which had aided the South—the Government of Great Britain had been ordered to pay compensation to the tune of £15,500,000.
Since that event, the U.S. Congress had trodden very warily where British interests were concerned. Given an opportunity, the British would be only too willing to invoke a similar international body and try to retrieve some of the money. In general, Congress realized that Ireland and British-Irish affairs might easily supply the required excuse.
Over the years, large numbers of Irish nationals had emigrated to the United States. While a few might have fled to escape persecution, or to avoid the consequences for acts of political violence, the majority had merely come in search of new homes and a higher standard of living. The love which many of them expressed for the ‘ould country’ had increased enormously with the distance they had put between themselves and it.