Into the Long Dark Night

by Michael Phillips

  I looked up from the floor. There, towering above me, his fingers still fiddling with the suspenders over his long underwear, stood General Ulysses Grant himself!

  Chapter 56

  An Early Morning Fracas

  Again I felt the major’s hands grab me. He yanked me to my feet and away from the general.

  “General . . . General, please!” I cried in desperation, “I must talk to you . . . it’s extremely urgent! I came all the way—”

  “Shut up, little girl!” cried the major, and once more his huge paw closed down over my mouth. I struggled to try to bite it, but he pressed down all the tighter.

  “Major!” commanded General Grant, and it was the first time he had spoken. “That is hardly the way to treat a young lady.”

  “She has disregarded my every command, General. There’s only one thing no-goods like this understand!”

  I was furious, and was struggling and twisting fiercely to get free. “Hey, one of you men—Sergeant—” the major was saying, “help me with this contemptuous little vixen. She’s as feisty and strong—”

  “Major,” came the general’s voice again. “Major . . . let her go.”

  I stopped struggling. The major stopped dragging me across the floor, but did not loosen his hold over my mouth.

  “I said let her go,” the general repeated.

  “But, sir, she has—”

  “Major.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the major. His grip loosened. The instant I was free I sprang from him and ran across the room, nearly crashing into the general again. Now that I was standing instead of looking at him from on the floor, I was almost shocked to find that I was as tall as he was.

  “General Grant, please,” I implored him, “please listen to me before you have them throw me out!”

  He eyed me intently, looking over my face.

  “I’m sorry,” I went on. “I know I had no right to storm in here like this, but I didn’t know how else to see you! It is extremely important, General!”

  Still he was looking me over, unconcerned about being only half-dressed, and not nearly so worried about the early hour or the incongruity of the situation as the men of his staff.

  “Don’t I know you, young lady?” he asked after another moment’s pause.

  “Corrie . . . Corrie Hollister,” I said, trying to make myself as calm and presentable as I could. “We spoke a little at the White House earlier this year.” I took a breath and made the attempt to look mature.

  Suddenly his face broke out in recognition. “Of course . . . yes, I do remember you, Miss Hollister.”

  At almost the same instant, he looked past me to the major and his face turned stern.

  “Don’t you know who this is, you fool?” he barked.

  “She never identified herself, sir.”

  “Did you give her half a chance, Major?” rejoined the general.

  The major stood silently.

  “I just happen to have spoken to her at the White House,” the general went on. “This young lady happens to be a well-known writer for the Union cause, and is working personally for the President on his reelection campaign. Now, do I hear any more words about no-good tramps?”

  His booming voice filled the room. When the echo died down, only the silence of the morning was left.

  “Now . . . what’s this all about, Miss Hollister?”

  “A matter of great urgency, General Grant,” I answered. “I’ve come all the way from Washington.”

  “Did the President send you?”

  “No, sir. I’m afraid he knows nothing about it. He was out of town when I heard, and I didn’t know what else to do but come straight to you.”

  “Heard what?”

  “That’s what I must talk to you about.”

  “Go on.”

  “Not here, please, sir,” I said. “I think we ought to talk in private.”

  General Grant’s face indicated that he was ruminating on it for a moment; then he nodded slightly.

  “Fair enough,” he said. “You don’t mind if I finish dressing first?”

  “No, sir,” I said, smiling.

  “Good!” he laughed. “I’m happy to hear it isn’t that urgent.”

  He turned to the other men in the room. “Is the coffee on yet?”

  “Yes, sir,” barked out one of the sergeants who had been silently observing the drama.

  “Good . . . good! Get me a good strong cup ready, and see if Miss Hollister here wants anything. She is my guest, and I want no more of what went on earlier, is that clear?”

  Without another word, General Grant turned and disappeared again into the room from which he had come. When the door had closed behind him, the sergeant left for the kitchen.

  Chapter 57

  A Frightening Plan

  Fifteen minutes later I was seated in General Grant’s office in another room of the farmhouse. The door was closed. We were alone.

  He was completely attired in his dark blue uniform and boots, although not wearing his hat. He took a long swallow of his coffee, then turned his eyes upon me.

  “All right, Miss Hollister,” he said. “You’ve got your private hearing. Tell me what was so urgent you had to bring it to me direct from Washington personally?”

  I recounted the events of three nights earlier, repeating everything I had heard.

  “And you say you know this fellow Burton?”

  “Yes, sir. We worked together closely back in California before the war broke out and in the first months of it.”

  “And you say he defected to the South?”

  I told him as much of the story as I felt I needed to. He listened to the whole thing very patiently. If he looked worried about his life, he didn’t show a trace of it, though his expression was certainly serious.

  “And the other fellow’s name again?”

  “Surratt,” I replied. “I think it’s John Surratt.”

  “Hmm . . . Surratt,” mused the general. “It has a vague ring of familiarity to it. I seem to recall the name in connection with an intelligence report about southern spies our people had identified.”

  “They said they would meet on Wednesday, General. It’s Monday now—you’ve got to do something, sir! They’re going to try to kill you. They said one of your own lieutenants—”

  “Right . . . yes, I heard everything you said, Miss Hollister,” said the general. “And I see why you insisted on seeing me alone. Hmm . . . ,” he muttered again, obviously thinking very hard, “it could be any of a hundred men . . . there’s no way to find out the identity without—”

  He stopped abruptly. His eyes were wide open and his face animated. Even behind the beard, I could tell he was hatching some plan to undermine the plot against him.

  “Hmm . . . yep, there’s no other alternative . . . what we’re going to have to do is nab your friend and bring him back here. If I’ve got a Reb in the ranks of my command, I’ve got to find out who it is!”

  Before I could reply, he was on his feet. He strode quickly to the door and opened it.

  “Sergeant!” he called.

  A moment later one of the men I’d seen in the house before appeared at the door.

  “Get me Captain Dyles.”

  The sergeant disappeared as quickly as he had come and again I was alone with the general.

  “We have a man on the staff who’s been infiltrating the Confederate ranks the whole time. He’s been with me since Fort Henry. I’d trust him with my very life—which, I suppose, is what I’m doing now! He’s from Alabama, talks with as thick a southern drawl as you please, but loyal to the Union as I am. I’ve sent him behind enemy lines a dozen times. He’s never failed me yet. And a scrappy fighter when push comes to shove. You won’t be safer with anyone.”

  I didn’t know what he meant, but he kept talking, and before I had the chance to ask, a knock on the door came, and a moment later he was introducing me to Captain Geoffrey Dyles, who was dressed in plain clothes instead of a uniform.r />
  “Geoff, we’ve got to get into Richmond,” General Grant said. “Gotta get in and back out again safely . . . and soon. Before Wednesday. Can you do it?”

  “I reckon so, General,” replied Dyles. It was indeed one of the strongest southern accents I’d ever heard—perfect for a Union spy.

  “You’d have forty-eight hours.”

  “I can manage it.”

  “You got another man or two you can trust?”

  “The more men the more danger, General. You think I gotta have more men?”

  “You’re going to have to grab a high-placed Rebel agent—nephew of their vice-president, no less—and bring him back here. I doubt he’ll take too much a shine to the notion, so I figured it might take more than one of you.”

  “I’ll take Crabtree.”

  “The Negro?”

  “Plays as good a compliant slave as there is. I’ve used him before.”

  “Big man, isn’t he?”

  “Huge, General,” laughed Dyles. “Three hundred pounds, if he ain’t eaten for a week. More if he has! A better man in a pinch I couldn’t have. Saved my life half a dozen times.”

  “Doesn’t he call too much attention to himself?”

  “As long as I treat him like a slave, and he keeps his head lowered, all we get is comments about his size. That way, nobody pays me the least attention. Best cover I could have.”

  “Can you smuggle in a gun?”

  “Crabtree’s so big, General, I’ve smuggled whole cannons stuffed inside his clothes past the stupid Confederate sentries!”

  “Good. You might need a cannon to kidnap this fellow. It’ll be broad daylight—what time did you say the meeting was, Miss Hollister?” said the general, turning to me.

  “Noon,” I answered.

  “Hmm . . . yep—broad daylight. And you say in a scrap, Crabtree’s a good man?”

  “As good as four others!”

  “Good. I want to make sure nothing happens to this lady. I may owe her my life.”

  Both Captain Dyles and I looked up at General Grant with looks of amazement. The captain’s was one of question, but mine was one of fear!

  “You want her going into Richmond with us?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  “But it’s behind enemy lines.”

  “That’s why I want to make sure she’s safe.”

  “She’ll slow us down and add to the danger, General.”

  In reply, General Grant just smiled. “Don’t bet your horse on it, Geoff,” he said with a knowing grin. “This lady’s been through some scrapes of her own. From what I hear, she can take care of herself.”

  All this time I was listening to their exchange with mingled astonishment and terror. Me . . . go with Dyles and Crabtree . . . into the middle of the Confederate capital?

  “But why, Sam?” asked Captain Dyles. I’d never heard anyone use the general’s nickname before, but I noticed that there were no other officers around.

  “How else you gonna know the man?”

  Dyles shrugged. “I figured I’d have some description.”

  “It’s too risky. Time’s short, and we have to be sure. Miss Hollister here’s the only one who knows this Burton on sight. There’s no other way to do it but to have her there to put you onto the right fellow. Then you bring him back to me, and we’ll make sure he gives us the name of the spy who’s infiltrated my command.”

  Chapter 58

  Into the Confederate Capital

  Two mornings later, at dawn on Wednesday, I sat on the board of a rickety old wagon, dressed in rags intended to make me look more southern than I had before. Beside me sat a plain-dressed Geoffrey Dyles. The wagon, pulled along by a tired old workhorse, entered the outskirts of Richmond, Virginia, along the road from Lynchburg and the east. Jacob Crabtree sat behind us on a load of hay, ropes tied around his feet. There were also several large wooden barrels in the back, and another horse clomped along behind us, tied to the back of the wagon.

  Captain Dyles had spent all Monday morning devising his plan and getting together everything necessary—the horses, the wagon, our clothes, and the barrels. After lunch, the three of us had left the Union camp on a course due south, which would take us below Petersburg, away from the positions of both armies. It took us the rest of the day to work our way down to Stony Creek, where we made camp. Tuesday morning we headed westward to McKenney.

  Only a few people gave so much as a second look at us, and anyone we did chance to meet, Captain Dyles talked to like a friendly southerner trying to get his wife and slave away from the fighting, all the while cursing the Yankees who were trying to take all his land. No one thought a thing about it. Neither Jacob nor I said a word, and we just kept on moving.

  By Tuesday evening we had come up on the rear of the Confederate lines holding the perimeter around Petersburg and Richmond. This was the touchier part of Dyles’ plan. Most of the southern flank, however, was concentrated between Richmond and Petersburg, so he hoped by getting far enough to the west we would be able to move into the city without opposition.

  We were nearly to the city before anyone said more than a few words to us. But as we drew to within sight of Richmond, we approached a unit of Confederate soldiers guarding the main road. They were stopping everyone.

  We inched our way forward.

  “What’s your business in Richmond?” the soldier asked Captain Dyles when our turn came.

  “Can’t y’all see?” drawled Captain Dyles lazily. “We got us a horse to deliver.”

  “I see the horse all right,” rejoined the soldier. “Looks like a nag to me.”

  “You mightn’t oughtta let th’ genrul hear you say that, son,” drawled Dyles.

  “What general?”

  “The genrul. How many genruls we got us left? Genrul Lee, of course.”

  “What’s he got to do with you?”

  “That’s what I been trying to tell you, son. This here’s his horse.”

  “General Lee’s! I don’t believe you. It’s just an old nag!”

  Dyles started laughing, slowly and calmly at first, then gradually rising for effect. Finally he seemed to be struggling to stop and get control of himself.

  “What’s your name, son?” he asked, still laughing.

  For the first time the soldier looked a little uneasy.

  “Uh, Gibb . . . Lieutenant Jacobson Gibb.”

  “Well, Lieutenant Gibb, nag or no nag, Bob Lee bought this horse offen me last week, down t’ my farm where I raise nags like this. Why, he’s been getting horses from me for years. Afore the war I took ’em all the way up to him at his place at Arlington. You have heard of Genrul Lee’s fondness for horseflesh now, ain’t you, Gibb?”

  “Yes, sir . . . yes, I have.”

  “And you want me to tell Bobbie Lee that it was one Lieutenant Jacobson Gibb who held me up when I was trying to deliver his latest purchase?” Captain Dyles wasn’t laughing now, but eyed him sternly.

  “No . . . no, sir.”

  “You want me to convey to th’ genrul what you think of his nag?” Dyles asked.

  “No, sir. I’m sorry, sir. You’re free to move through.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief, and was surprised when the captain kept sitting there and made no move to go on.

  “Ain’t you gonna ask me about the hay and the barrels?” he said.

  By now Lieutenant Gibb was so flustered he didn’t know what to do! I don’t know if it was hearing General Lee spoken of with such familiarity or the captain’s commanding tone that was more upsetting for him.

  “I, uh . . .”

  “You want me to tell the genrul you let us through without a proper search? That’s as bad as calling his horse a nag. For all you know I’m a no-good Yankee lying to you. Why, Gibb, I might have me a spy in them barrels back thayere.”

  “Yes, sir. Tell me, sir, what’s the hay for? And what’s in the barrels?”

  “I thought you said you knew horses, Gibb! You ain’t as brigh
t as you look, son! The hay and feed in the barrels is for the horse, what else you thank they’d be for? Bob Lee always orders a wagon of hay and two barrels of my special mixed feed so the horse feels at home in his new surroundings. That make sense to that feeble brain of yours, Gibb?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hey, you ornery galoot,” Dyles shouted, turning around to Jacob in the back of the wagon, “open up one of them barrels and show the lieutenant here th’ special mix of grain.”

  “Yes, massah,” replied the big black man in his laziest and most compliant tone. He took the lid off the barrel he’d been sitting on, plunged his thick hand inside, and lifted it high, with the grain pouring through his fingers.

  Jacob sat back down on the barrel.

  Once again Lieutenant Gibb motioned for us to pass.

  “Ain’t you gonna ask to see the bill of sale for that nag, Gibb?” drawled Dyles. “You wasn’t planning to let us through without proof, was you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, here ’tis.” Dyles pulled a sheet of rumpled paper from his coat and shoved it toward the lieutenant. He eyed it briefly, then nodded.

  “What about her?” he said, nodding his head toward me.

  “What about her?” said Dyles.

  “Why’s she along?”

  “Why, Gibb, she’s more important than the horse! What do you thank she’s got under that towel there. More feed for the horses? My wife always bakes the genrul a fresh huckleberry pie to go along with the horses he buys! And she insists on delivering it personal, war or no war!”

  Suddenly Captain Dyles clicked his tongue and flicked the rein and we jerked into motion, leaving a bewildered and relieved Lieutenant Jacobson Gibb standing alongside the road watching us go.

  Slowly we continued along until we were out of sight. Then from behind me I heard a gradual rumble of low laughter coming from Jacob, which grew and grew until he could no longer contain it. I glanced over at the captain. His eyes were sparkling and he could hardly contain himself either. I had been terrified every second, but it was obvious both of them enjoyed this!

  Captain Dyles glanced back at his large black friend, then started laughing himself.