The Day After Gettysburg

by Robert Conroy

  That should not be too difficult. Thorne had absolute faith in Archie Willis to keep the speed down.

  Soldiers were swarming over the flatcars searching for comfortable spots. A tarp was being spread to both hide the men and provide a level of shade. The men had been told to bring extra canteens and water, along with food from a mess hall that had been opened up just for them. If there was no Confederate attack, the men would have a lovely picnic.

  Finally, the train was loaded. Someone yelled “all aboard” and it began to crawl forward. An enormous cloud of black smoke mushroomed from the smokestack and settled on the soldiers on one car who swore and yelled, to the delight of the men on the others.

  “I hope this works,” said Meigs. “We can’t continue chasing will-o’-the-wisps. We need to get on top of this thing and end it.”

  There was nothing to say, so Thorne prudently said nothing.

  Provost Marshal agent Charles Rutherford waved happily as he spotted his new friend, Josiah Baird, at the back of the restaurant. The seating was strategic for both of them. As a police officer, Rutherford always wanted to be seated so he could catch the comings and goings of the clientele. Prior to the war, his powers of observation had enabled him to identify and arrest lawbreakers as their meals were being served. The criminals had always been astonished. Some had complained that being collared before eating was somehow unfair and that they should at least be allowed to finish their meal. They were assured that their meals would not go to waste.

  Baird chose his seat for much the same reason, but without any particular target in mind. He simply wanted to observe who arrived with whom and who left with whom. His business rivals were always choosing sides, either for him or against him, and it behooved him to stay alert. He was the predator and had no urge to be reduced to being prey.

  The two men shook hands and Rutherford took his seat. He saw the waiter and signaled him over. When the man left with their order, it was time to talk. “First of all, Charles, how is life in your new world?”

  “Once upon a time my world was peaceful and serene. All I had to do was chase and catch criminals within the military and it wasn’t very difficult since most of them were foolish sods. But not now. It is a hurtful world, both physically and emotionally. This war could end tomorrow and the hatreds would last forever. It’s been said that a civil war is the worst possible conflict. It splits families apart and destroys friendships. I’m sure you’ve heard that several of Mary Todd Lincoln’s relatives are active Confederates, who have chosen to ostracize her. This has put a great stress on the President’s marriage.”

  Baird thought it well past time to change the subject. “And how goes your search for the leak? Who is informing the Rebels about the money shipments?”

  Rutherford shook his head. “There are only a handful of higher-up people who are privy to that information, and they, sir, have been investigated time and again. We’ve even set traps, but caught nothing.”

  Baird relit his cigar. “Then perhaps, sir, you are looking in the wrong places. Don’t clerks and others have that information? Aren’t they the ones who actually make the schedules and pass them upwards for approval?”

  Rutherford clamped down on his unlit cigar. “Could well be. But that’s the thing. Do you have any idea how many clerks there are in the War Department alone? Washington is crawling with them. The number could run into the hundreds.”

  “Well then, my friend, you’d best get started.”

  The wig-wag signals told anyone who could see them that the train was on its way. Wade’s hundred-plus cavalry were primed and ready. Somewhat uselessly, a Union balloon could be seen as a black dot floating in the distance. He wondered what the men in the balloon could see. He shook his head. It was time to return to reality.

  They were three miles from the site of the first attack by Wade’s Volunteers. In Wade’s opinion, this was a much better position. His well-hidden troops could stay that way until the last minute.

  The train was approaching at about twenty miles an hour when he gave the signal to light the fuses. The track blew with a satisfying roar with the train about a half a mile away. Perfect, Wade thought. But what the hell were all those sandbag barricades? Heads popped up and he could see men with rifles. The realization went through him like a shock: he’d been ambushed.

  Wade tried to recall his troops, but they were wild to finish the attack and walked right into concentrated Union rifle fire. Dozens of his men and horses fell in sickening heaps. An aide grabbed his arm and pointed him towards the north where at least a hundred Union cavalry were approaching as fast as they could gallop.

  “We’d better run,” he said to Mayfield. A bugler sounded the call and the Tennessee Volunteers commenced pulling back. Several of his men had shells filled with gunpowder. These they lit and hurled at the flatcars packed with blue-coated figures. One exploded inside the wall of sandbags, sending several Union soldiers into the air. Another Volunteer chucked his package underneath a flatcar and the explosion broke the car in half.

  Union reinforcements were close now, very close. Wade’s remaining men smashed into the flank of the Union troops, scattering them. Wade and his men whooped and yelled as they retreated.

  As Wade rode off, he checked on as many men as he could. They may have been driven off, but they weren’t defeated. On the other hand, he would bet all the money in Washington that there never had been any cash in that armored freight car.

  They’d been euchred and diddled again. Somebody had told the Yanks of their plans, just as the Yankees had found out about their own.

  It had just cost too much to cut up some Federals. He would have to do much better. More likely, however, they would have to find new targets.

  It was a delightful day. Outside, fall was in its glory as the leaves started to change from vibrant green to yellow. Thorne had just been congratulated by Meigs and had his hand shaken by a thoroughly pleased Henry Halleck. Even better, a radiantly smiling Cassandra Baird stood beside him and held onto his arm so tightly that she might have been afraid it would fall off. The railroad menace was not over—far from it. But now they had a tactic that, even if it didn’t work all the time, would keep the southerners off balance and alert to enemy forces that might not even exist. The Army of Northern Virginia had just had its lunch stolen. It felt good. Morale was sky high and the Sixth Indiana had begun receiving reinforcements and he’d been promised the time to train them. Of course, that depended on the whims of Robert E. Lee.

  Later that afternoon, Thorne issued himself a three-day pass and headed directly for the District of Columbia. He detoured through Washington to drop off some reports that would probably not be as detailed as the War Department would like before heading for the Bairds’.

  Inside the city’s defenses swirled a mass of humanity, much of it in uniform. Washington’s roads were unpaved and rains had reduced them to mud that was further churned up by passing soldiers. Mud, plus horse dung, plus the feet of tens of thousands of soldiers, had turned the roads into deep quagmires. Nor were the city’s parks any better or cleaner. The Mall between the capitol and the Potomac River was a stinking horror. Trash and garbage flowed freely and every dawn showed the bodies of men and animals floating in the city’s creeks. The lawn itself was covered by soldiers or refugees. It seemed that every available place to pitch a tent was taken. He wondered just how many more people could fit into Washington before the city exploded. He was thankful that he was only passing through.

  He left the city behind and rode northwest through much cleaner and more pleasant county. All the same, he arrived at the Bairds’ house dirty and angry. He slipped Lem, their stable boy and all-round hand, some coins to clean his tired horse and give it a good rubdown. The poor dumb thing deserved so much better.

  In order to keep the carpets clean, he entered through the kitchen. Cassandra spotted him immediately and smiled warmly. “You stink,” she said happily. “Fortunately, I had a suspicion you’d come in sme
lling like a piggy so I’ve got some bath water heating and a clean uniform is being ironed while we speak.”

  “You are a pearl beyond price, or whatever the Bible said.”

  “I certainly am and, no, I am not going to wash your back or any other part of your anatomy you’d desire me to clean.”

  The water was only lukewarm, but the soap was strong and took care of the filth that was caked on the lower part of his body. After a number of scrubbings and rinses he decided enough was enough. He dressed in a uniform that he’d prudently decided to keep at the Bairds’ residence. Dinner was nothing special, just cold meat, fresh bread, and butter. But Cassie was present, which made it a banquet fit for a king.

  “Steven, as you’ve said so many times, this cannot go on forever. I too was in the city and I have no idea where all these people go at night. Perhaps they hide in caves or under rocks. I just don’t know.”

  “I do and I almost wish you wouldn’t ask.”

  “Tell me,” she insisted.

  “Cassie, the army has controls and General Meigs’ organization to ensure that the soldiers are fed and dry. However, the civilians go anywhere and everywhere to get food and shelter. They eat whatever they find no matter how bad it might smell or taste. And the plight of the children is gut-wrenching.”

  “What can be done for them?”

  “Ending the war would solve a lot of problems.”

  “I know that there are charitable groups trying to help them, but they are so few. Why doesn’t President Lincoln do something, and don’t tell me it’s because the war takes priority.”

  “Then I will remain silent.” He yawned. “And I think I should get some sleep before I say something I might regret. These are terrible times, Cassie. Just think—here we are enjoying ourselves while a deadly and determined enemy is only a few miles to the north and west.”

  She agreed that they should say no more. They kissed and went no farther. This was neither the time nor the place. They smiled and went their separate ways to their separate rooms.

  Across the lawn and the dirt road, neither had noticed a lone horseman pull up and take out a small, cheap telescope and aim it at the house. Richard Dean knew that Cassandra Baird, the bitch who had nearly gotten him hanged, was only about a hundred yards away from him. Oh, how he longed to take vengeance on her and the rest of her family! While he was somewhat satisfied to be working for John Wilkes Booth, he was beginning to think that Booth was a little mad. Of course, Booth probably thought the same of him, now that he’d become a killer.

  Dean was longer the tidy, educated gentleman that Cassandra Baird had once known. He was an agent of her country’s enemy, hardened and brutal. A predator who had tasted blood, who had taken lives and would soon take more. He yearned to make that revelation to her. She would sneer at her first sight of him, those prissy little lips quirking with distaste. But then her expression would change—fear overtaking self-assurance, her mouth quivering, her eyes growing wide as he seized her, pounded her with his fists, tore her clothes off, and possessed her. She would whimper and cry and beg and call for her father, that old cripple. For that matter, he ought to start out by giving the old man a good beating, right in front of her. That would show the Bairds who Richard Dean was.

  That day would come. Until then, he would maintain a high degree of self-control. He would also remain invisible to her. Booth would have been angry if he’d known that Richard had gotten so close to the Bairds. Not that he cared what Booth thought. He walked slowly and carefully to where he’d tethered his horse. He admitted that it had been a mistake to come so close to where Cassandra and the others were living, but the anticipation of his vengeance felt so good. He would be back.

  Hadrian’s latest place of refuge was, like the others, as close to the Union lines as he could make it. All the same, he wasn’t a fool. He had no idea whether or not the bluecoats would defend and protect his colored charges. The Copperheads were becoming bolder and cannier. Just the night before, over the country line, a group of about fifty had attacked an equal number of contrabands, killed several and carried off a dozen others, all female.

  Hadrian knew the South all too well. Many southern whites were live and let live, but others were simply vile, like the Romans of the preacher’s Bible, lynching and beating when opportunities presented themselves. He was now considering moving his flock far to the north, someplace like Minnesota, or even farther, once he got a clear picture of how large the country was and what was where. He’d heard it got bitter cold up there come winter. That was good. That might discourage the southern whites from following them, but as for the northern whites . . . He shook his head.

  They’d all heard rumors that Uncle Abraham wanted to send them all back to Africa, the supposed land of their origins. Trouble was, nobody knew anything about this place called Africa. Some of the older folk recalled it as the land from which they’d been captured by their own kind, people with skin as dark as their own, and then sold into slavery. Who the hell would want to go back to such a place? It was also a place with giant horned animals that liked to trample people and enormous wild cats the size of horses that stalked and ate people as well. Hadrian thought he could do without that.

  Hadrian accepted that there was likely a high degree of exaggeration in those tales, but didn’t want to be the first person to find out the truth. Then there was the question of who ruled Africa. They did not want to be sent back to those who’d sold them into slavery in the first place. And what language did the Africans speak? Hadrian laughed to himself when he thought of the difficulty some of his charges had with English.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Mariah as she stirred beside him. Unlike most other nights, she’d decided to spend the night with him. Cassie hadn’t accompanied her to the camp this day, which made it easier for the two of them. Mariah felt responsible for Cassie, since she was such a naïve young woman. True, she had come a long way and was no longer in her self-inflicted emotional prison, but she still had a long way to go. Mariah despised Richard Dean for putting her there, but she was puzzled by someone who would allow herself to be deluded by a man who was such a snake. She’d tried to warn Cassie, but had been rebuffed. At least this Major Thorne seemed to be a decent sort and not one to go after her money.

  “Go back to sleep,” she ordered him firmly but gently. A few seconds later and his deep breathing showed that he’d complied.

  “Once more, Mary. Just why does your pope think he needs an army?”

  Mary Nardelli laughed, half out of good humor and half out of frustration. Richard Dean seemed to be totally unwilling to comprehend the complexities of life in nineteenth-century Italy.

  “He doesn’t, and that is at least part of the point. The pope is supposed to be appointed by God and God should not need an army. Yet he does because he owns lands called the Papal States which must be governed and government requires an army. Pius IX may be a good and holy man, but he is a prisoner of his own aristocratic world. He must be shaken free of it even if that means war for the Papal States against the rest of the freedom-loving world.”

  Dean yawned. “And just how does that affect you and me?”

  “It affects us because the conflict has brought people like me across the Atlantic to fight for freedom. You want freedom from the dictators of the north and I am here to help you.”

  He grinned at her sincerity. She wanted so much to help him. “You support the South even though the South supports slavery?”

  “Slavery will go away in its own good time. But what is even more wrong is the tyranny of the north. It simply amazes me that more people in Baltimore and Washington don’t see that and haven’t risen up.”

  Now Dean did laugh. “Perhaps it has something to do with thousands of General Butler’s Union soldiers with their boots on their throats. It is awkward at best to think clearly from that position. All we want is the freedom to determine our own future and that of our property. Any attempt to take away our slaves would be
nothing but stealing.”

  Mary nodded happily. “Have you met any of the others that Mr. Booth has recruited?”

  “Some, and I have to admit I’m not terribly impressed. First, Booth’s idea that the two groups, Baltimore and Washington, should be kept separate, seems to be falling apart. I thought it was a good idea. Second, at least a couple of the Washington recruits seem to be very slow mentally. I cannot help but wonder just how they will stand up when we go into action.”

  “I agree, Richard, but I can only hope that Mr. Booth and the others that back him have a good idea what to do.”

  “Mary, what others are you talking about?”

  “Richard, surely you must realize that Mr. Booth could not have thought of this and planned it all by himself. He just isn’t all that smart. He must have backers and they must be powerful people in either the Confederate government or some other nation, like Great Britain or France.”

  The idea of powerful nations supporting the Confederacy pleased him. For a moment he allowed himself to think that he was at the forefront of a mighty endeavor, instead of being a confused deserter from the Union Army. Yes, with another nation’s backing their plans might actually come to fruition. Perhaps he would live through this ordeal and survive to become a great hero. Perhaps too, he would see the day when Cassandra Baird would grovel at his feet. He would like that very much.

  Annette Cosgrove had been crying a lot lately. What had begun as a game had devolved into a morass of violence and death. How could she have been so blind, so foolish? The north and the south were at war, and war was synonymous with death. She had exulted when the first raid on a train carrying cash had resulted in humiliation for the north and with no serious casualties. For some reason she had thought that would be the way of it. The Federal government would be robbed of its ill-gotten gains and her beloved South would be strengthened.