We beg you, Honored Sir: think not our proposal any benevolence, but an expression of our profoundest gratitude, a private act of friends. We can think of One greater than any of us here, trodden by invaders, punished by Imperials, who spurned not the shoulder of the Samaritan when it came, feeble and unneeded though it were. No man is an island, entire of himself. You have had to be, we own, when the turncoats deserted you; when the onetime friend, the posing patriot, chose for gold not glory. But know that you are at the center of a vast archipelago, which will one day be united again.
Honored Sir, there is a book more we would wish to write, but we have presumed enough by now on a great man’s patience. Only know, Esteemed Friend, as you reflect on our proposal, that there are thousands of us out here who never prostituted our birthright, who never bowed a traitor’s knee to Jonathan Yankee or Britannia. Our touchstone in those times was John Fintan Duggan. It would be the deepest honor of our lives to have assisted him.
God keep you in the coming days. We shall never forget your sacrifice. God bless Ireland and the Confederate States of America, which, both, shall rise again.
Sir, we are – we have the privilege ever to remain,
Your countrymen and admirers in the West.
P.S. We are many days’ rough ride from Redemption Falls. No troublemaker out of that miscegenated Sodom ever darkens our country. Did he dare to, he would not return home.
SECOND DAY OF SEVEN
Thursday, December 27th
A fierily cold dawn. Ice on the fleetings. He is stiff from the night in the tent.
A hundred yards ahead of him rides Winterton alone. He has stopped and is standing up hard in his stirrups, as though something unexpected has captured his attention. His horse wheels messily. Winterton doubles around his neck. He is pointing, shouting. Hannigan and English ride up to him hurriedly, pistols drawn and aimed at the horizon. It is only a rare bird he has sighted.
On through the foothills. The temperature falls. Ice-beads form on the riders’ bandannas, and the snorts of the horses come harder. To the north, a mile-long snow cloud. The Indian advises great caution. They take refuge in a grotto and wait for the storm but it does not come and the men are irritable. Time has been lost. It will be dark in four hours. They ford the Missouri at Crow Creek.
Through an ice-glazed forest where once, many years ago, the Koötenais fought with the Blackfeet. Spear-ends and arrowshafts still stuck in the trees. The clavicles of a long-rotted tepee.
If Calhoun were among them, the Governor would feel a little easier. But someone must remain to keep order. A good man, Calhoun. He had wanted to come. There is talk in the town about John Calhoun and Lucia. The Governor knows it is empty.
They enter a cavernous valley with gray limestone walls. The cold diminishes slightly, for the wind is shielded out, and its gusts far above them sound organlike and strange, a basso continuo, he thinks. There is a faint eucalyptus smell and something else – smoke? A long-dead tributary has scored out a track. Above them a loon utters an echoing squawk. The wheels of the gun-carriage canting and slipping on the stones. Scarves of snow on the cage’s bars.
There is unease between the riders. He can see it in their bodies. The rebels keep to themselves when the camp is made, rarely speaking to the Yankees or the Indian. Winterton moves subtly from group to group. Ingratiator. Always seeking information. And Elizabeth and Lucia form a group of their own, although they, like the rebels, rarely converse with anyone else. They talk to one another quietly, in Spanish, about food. Lucia has proved a passable teacher.
Grief bubbles up in him. He is thinking about Demonsland. Why would he think of it today?
FROM LUCIA’S JOURNAL
Thursday Dec. 27. 66. Elizabeth unwell. Severe pain of the head. Hope the reason is not as I believe.
Men dislike having us here. Sly glowers. Collegial grumbling. C not helpful. Hate the way he joins in their remarks. So desperately wants to be one of the filthy mob when he will always be one of the elite.
I can ride as well as any + better than most. I do not know why they look at me.
FROM THE EVIDENCE OF EYE-JOHN THORN BERRY, TRACKER, A BLACKFOOT
The witness, a mute, gave his testimony in sign language. It was interpreted for the commissioners by Corporal J**** O’ B****, who is himself of Indian blood.
EXAMINER:Do you know the English language?
WITNESS:Some words. Not many.
E:I would like you to take an oath. Here is the Holy Bible.
W:The truth should be spoken at all times: not sometimes. No oaths are wanted between men of honor.
E:That is all very fine, but –
W:You have no powers to compel me to take an oath. This is written in your own law.
E:Very well, then. You were employed by the Acting Governor to assist in this mission, were you not?
W:My people do not call him ‘Governor’. We call him ‘Irish General’. That is what everyone in the Territory calls him.
E:In any case, will you tell us why he asked you to accompany him on this ride?
W:His man Calhoun came to me, I cannot remember when. He said they needed a tracker.
E:You were on friendly terms with O’Keeffe?
W:He was willing to pay.
E:And the General told you he wanted to find this boy…
W:I think you mean the Acting Governor. You are not employing the correct term.
[Laughter from some of the Commissioners but not from the witness]
E:Clearly you know the English language better than you led us to believe.
W:You are wrong. I know only what you told me.
E:What were you told had befallen the boy?
W:That the night-man had stolen him.
E:You mean the outlaw Cole McLaurenson?
W:I mean as I said: the night-man.
E:And on the second day of the mission, just before dusk, you detected a track, did you not?
W:Three sets of horse-prints. They were headed north-east.
E:You are skilled at tracking?
W:My father was skilled. I can track a little.
E:How do you do that?
W:By looking.
E:In which sense?
W:By looking at the earth. And opening your eyes. How else would you recommend? By looking at the sky?
E:You do not care for being questioned…
W:I was ordered to come here. I have come.
E:Don’t you want to assist these gentlemen?
W:I do not know who they are. They have not spoken a word to me. They only sit and appear stern while you ask your questions. [Witness here used a phrase that the translator said he did not know.]
E:They are very important men who have journeyed all the way here from Washington. That is in the east. A mighty and powerful city. You will have heard, perhaps, of the great white palace, where the chief of the white man –
W:I know what Washington is.
E:The gentleman in the middle is General –––. To his right is Brigadier General –––. And on the left, sipping the glass of water, is Major ––– –––.
W:Are those medals they wear for bravery?
E:They are brave men indeed.
W:They murdered many south-men? In the War between your peoples?
E:Each of them has done many heroic things. The word ‘murder’ is not –
W[interrupting]:When some go to war, they are called beasts and savages. When others go to war, they pin women’s ribbons on one another.
E:Do not be impertinent. Will you assist the gentlemen?
W:Do they need a tracker?
E:In a manner of speaking. They are attempting to track the truth.
W:Then look at the earth. And let them open their eyes. The truth leaves a mark if you know where to look for it.
[At this point, the Presiding Judge interjected. It was felt that the witness had little beneficial to bring to the proceedings. He was told to stand down and excused from further attendance. He and
his brothers left the room.]
THIRD DAY OF SEVEN
Friday, December 28th
‘Buenos días,’ says Elizabeth Longstreet, glancing up from the fire. Her face is grimy, her hair tied in braids. It occurs to Lucia that she has never asked Elizabeth her age. She might be thirty. It is hard to tell.
‘Buenos días, Elisabetta. Deben comer. You ought to eat.’
‘No tengo hambre, señora.¿Quieres desayunar?’
She ladles out a mess of frijoles and offers it to her mistress. The mush tastes acrid, as though cooked in rancid water. She eats it down anyway. It is all there is.
The Indian walks slowly around the circumference of the camp. Sometimes he looks at the stones.
O’Keeffe is conferring with Hannigan and English. Shortly afterward, each of them saddles, then rides out alone, English to the east, Hannigan west – Lucia does not know where they are going, or why.
She fights a feeling that none of them will ever return from this journey. The plan is too vague, too dependent on luck. She does not want to see anyone innocent die. She does not want to see death, at all.
That private – from Wicklow – who had crawled into a corner and turned his back to the ward so that nobody could see him. She had gone to him, knelt behind him, in case he wanted a companion; but he had never turned around. He had died alone.
It was the day that the news had come from Appomattox. The War was over; Lee had surrendered. In his submission there had been defiance, or what southerners called gallantry. His beautiful uniform, pressed as for a ball; his gloriously accoutered stallion. The conquering troops had watched as he stepped down to their level. His buttons were so polished that they glittered in the sun. Grant, the victor, had on the attire of a private. It was the beaten man who looked like the champion.
When the surrender was signed – it had not taken very long – the rebels had stacked their arms in a pile on the road and crossed to where their vanquishers were standing. The northerners offered handshakes, parcels of food; bandages. Then the rebels had gone home to their families. Those who owned horses were permitted to keep them, so that their farms could be worked again. Six hundred thousand dead. The south in ash. All it took to end the killing was the crossing of a road.
Winterton approaches from the tent near the elders. How can he be so clean in this filthy cold? Does he wash his clothes at night? Where does he do that? The ghost of how he looked before his injuries wrecked him. His eyes marble-green, his hands young and strong. She has an intimation of how Winterton’s child would look: like its father, but without the wounds.
‘I thought I might take a walk,’ he says.
‘Where shall you go?’
‘Into the forest over there. I should like to make some measurements. I shouldn’t think it will require longer than an hour or so.’
‘Shall you take one of the men? It might be safer if you did.’
He lets his disappointment at her rebuff become visible in his expression. That is one of his skills: communicating plenitudes in silence. In that way like her husband; and in other ways, perhaps. But what did he expect? A walking companion? He sets off with Flor Savage in the direction of the woods. She looks at their footprints in the snow.
And she wonders was he telling the truth that night at the house. Had he truly seen the child? Is some game being played?
They are talking about the cannon again. She wishes they would stop.
The Indian is troubled; she can see it in the way he walks.
As though the weight of the firmament is pressing down on his head. He toes the ice-glazed stones.
THE TESTIMONY OF JOHN TREVANION, NEWSPAPER EDITOR
[The witness agreed without objection to take the oath. This done, the examination commenced.]
E:Is your name John Trevanion?
W:John Knox Trevanion.
E:Where were you born, sir?
W:In Dumfriesshire, Scotland. I have resided eighteen years in this country.
E:And you are editor of theRedemption and Edwardstown Epitaph , I think.
W:That is correct.
E:Could you speak up a little?
W:Yes, I edit that paper.
E:Would you tell us what happened on Friday, 28th day of December last? That was the third day of the Governor’s expedition.
W:I had ridden up to the Chelsea River with some associates of mine…
E:Associates?
W:Yes.
E:And?
W:I had ridden up to the Chelsea River with some associates of mine. We wished to survey a parcel of land in which one of us had an interest. It was a gentlemanly excursion. Nothing much more. We had gone into the forest near Clonmel Cross because we had seen a she-bear, a grizzly. We thought we should have a little sport.
E:You are quite the huntsman, I believe.
W:I do not understand your tone.
E:The pursuit of a quarry rather excites you, does it not?
W:Hunting is a gentlemanly pastime. I would not see much else in it if I were you.
E:Please proceed.
W:I saw O’Keeffe and a party of others riding past the clearing. Or perhaps he saw me first. I cannot recall. In any event, he rode over and asked what I was doing in these remote parts. I said I was doing nothing that was his concern, only hunting a bear. He became offensive in his language, which I did not appreciate.
E:When you say ‘he became offensive’ – what did he actually say?
W:I should prefer not to repeat the words. They were odious.
E:Did he say: ‘You crawling whore’s vermin. You worthless shit-ass coward’?
W:It was something like that.
E:‘You are a traitor to this country and everything decent in it and I shall see you stretched from your own filthy noose’?
W:I believe so.
E:Why did he say that?
W:You would have to ask him.
E:To be sure, you have an opinion. A man of your intelligence.
W:My intelligence, if I have any, is insufficient in this case.
E:Did you threaten that you would murder the Acting Governor?
W:That would be a remarkably foolish thing to say.
E:Did you threaten that you would murder the Acting Governor?
W:I suppose one might have said it in the heat of the instant. One was taken aback by the ferocity of his insults. A Celt can say injudicious things when his blood is up.
E:An exculpation that does not extend to the Governor, presumably.
W:Your point is noted, Lieutenant. I am not especially proud of what I said.
E:To revise a moment: I wish to be certain. You saw the Governor and a party of other men riding past the clearing?
W:Correct.
E:How did you recognize him?
W:I knew him all to pieces.
E:The Governor and his party had on bandannas for the cold. So how, I wonder, were you able to identify him?
PRESIDINGJUDGE:Please answer the Examiner. Take a moment to recollect if needs be.
W:As I said, perhaps he saw me first. I do not know. I cannot recall.
E:I suggest that you and your party of gentlemanly associates had been tracking the Governor all the way from Redemption Falls.
W:No.
E:That you knew of his expedition and intended to warn his enemies of it.
W:No.
E:That you wished to make clear to the Governor and his men that you and any supporter of the defeated Confederacy would hold sway in the Mountain Territory.
W:That is a ludicrous fabrication from prolog to fin.
E:Did you ever, in your newspaper, write or publish one line repudiating the depredations of Confederate outlaws?
W:I have not committed to memory every sentence I have written.E: Did you say on various occasions to people in Redemption: [Examiner reading aloud from a confidential document] ‘Any wind that shakes the tree of Yankeedom is good for our cause’? Or: ‘John Cole McLaurenson is a hero of the white race’? Or: ‘One man�
��s outlaw is another’s soldier for liberty’?
W:You seem to have a catalog of my reputed sayings. I do not remember ever having said any of them.
E:‘McLaurenson is the finest man ever to set foot into this Territory. You would not think he had any Irish in him at all’?
W:That does not sound like a sentiment to which a wise man would give public voice.
E:Are you now, or have you ever been, a Vigilante?
W:I decline to answer.
E:Forgive me; I did not hear you?
W:Amendment Five to the Constitution conveys the right to decline.
E:This is not a criminal trial, sir.
W:I decline to answer.
E:You are leader of the so-called Committee of Vigilant Citizens, or the ‘O-and-O Men’, as this fine body is sometimes termed. You have been responsible, in this Territory, for the ‘lynching’ of numerous persons. Flynn. John Harran. James Dunne. The list is legion. Your quarrels with the Acting Governor on this matter are widely known. You have written vilely about him in your newspaper and slandered him about the Territory. He had the audacity to oppose you. He must be punished.
W:I hope I do not write vilely. But I am entitled to free speech.
E:You are quite the constitutional authority.
W:No, sir; I am not.
E:On the Fifth Amendment only.
W:I am no kind of authority.
E:Do you champion the O-and-O Men?
W:I defend my neighbors.
E:Do you defend their contempt for the Government’s laws?
W:The Government is in Washington, not here in the Territory. Were we ordered by the Government when to sow and to reap, we should soon starve to death in our fields.
E:A most touching parable. Which Vigilante said that?
W:Thomas Jefferson said that, sir. I will forward you the reference.
E:You bracket the likes of these hangmen with the father of this Republic?
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