Belle Slaughter- The Complete Series

by Tony Masero

  ‘Enjoy the ride, fellas. Seeing as you’re Knights an’ all, you should be good at this.’

  With that he jerked the rein and set off at a trot.

  Chapter Four

  From the muddy canal bank, the Tredegar Ironworks was not a prepossessing sight. It lay beyond a small footbridge as a sprawling collection of canted-roofed brick buildings on the water’s edge, the tall chimneys belched smoke and the place had all the grim reality of a factory working to capacity. Wagons ground their way to loading bays and churned a steady path through the damp soil of the access along the riverside. Mostly, Belle had an impression of teeming workers, black smoke and soot stained brickwork.

  ‘Are you sure about this? It looks uncommonly uncomfortable,’ asked Bracken.

  He had hired an open carriage for their trip as it was a warm day and he hauled the pony to a sliding halt on the slurried approach road. Bugs hummed in the hot air and mosquitoes rose in spirals from the water.

  Belle looked across at the guards standing casually on duty, their long rifles were armed with bayonets and she reckoned that was the sharpest thing about them. They looked bored and listlessly disinterested in the duty as they lounged out of the hot sun in the shade alongside the entrance.

  ‘Drive on Linus,’ said Belle. ‘It’s so pretty here next to the river.’

  It was a lie of course; there is nothing pretty about industry in nature. The somnolent slow moving waters of the Haxall Canal were stained with rainbow rings of greasy oil and the riverbanks covered with the rusting remnants of cast-off metal. There was a choking metallic taint to the air and despite her protestations of natural splendor, Belle soon held a small handkerchief to her nostrils.

  The two guards came out of their daydream and snapped to attention at sight of an officer.

  ‘We are come to see the Ironworks,’ Bracken explained as he helped Belle down from the carriage.

  ‘Sir,’ said one of the guards, saluting.

  ‘Is the manager about?’ asked Bracken, returning the salute.

  ‘Down there, sir,’ he said pointing direction to a two-story building with a Dutch-gabled roof. ‘You’ll find him in the offices.’

  Belle gave him one of her winning smiles, ‘It must be terribly tiresome for you men out here in the heat.’

  The guard blushed at sight of this vision taking an interest in a lowly foot soldier. ‘Why, no, ma’am. We just do our duty,’ he managed with a show of soldierly pride.

  ‘And where are you from, may I ask?’

  ‘We’re both from Kentucky, ma’am.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ sighed Belle in appreciation. ‘Well done, the pair of you.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said the soldier, sticking his chest out. ‘We both come to the flag right off after Fort Sumter,’ he added. ‘Seemed the only thing to do in all honor.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Belle. ‘Tell me, there was a soldier stationed here I ran across the other day. An infantryman named Cob Brochius, do you know him?’

  The man’s forehead lowered in a broody frown, ‘Indeed we do. Rascal lit out two days since, fellow deserted and he hadn’t even been with us for more than a few weeks.’

  ‘Has the man been caught yet?’ asked Bracken.

  ‘No, sir. Not hide nor hair of him has been seen since he run off.’

  ‘Too bad,’ said Bracken. ‘He’ll come off badly if he’s caught, I hope you boys take heed and don’t try anything the same.’

  ‘That’s not our intention, Captain. We’re here to see this thing through, though I for one would rather be out there exchanging blows with the enemy in a stand-up fight rather than wrestling with mosquitoes on this riverbank.’

  ‘It’ll come trooper, you’ll get your chance soon enough, I’ll be bound.’

  ‘Hope so, sir,’ said the guard, setting his rifle at rest.

  The owner and manager, when they met him was obviously a military man and Joseph Reid Anderson demonstrated it by keeping his uniform on whilst he went about his business. He appeared a little harassed and his movements spoke of a nervous disposition that was always on the move but he was polite enough and willing to let them see the works.

  ‘Our problem is raw material,’ he explained as he led them towards the foundry. ‘Pig iron is in short supply here and we are stretched at present.’

  ‘It’s probably a silly question, General Anderson but what is it exactly that you do produce?’ asked Belle, with a faked girlish show of feminine dizziness.

  ‘Why iron, ma’am,’ said Anderson, with a glazed look of incomprehension on his face as he answered her. ‘Locomotives, rails, spikes, propulsion engines, cannons…. Anything at all that is made of iron.’

  ‘I see and how is that done, if I may ask?’

  ‘Best see it rather than hear of it. And inside here is the heart of the matter,’ explained Anderson, ushering them into the foundry.

  The feral heat reached out for them once they stepped inside and Belle looked around to see armies of Negroes clad in long leather aprons feeding great pots of lava-like molten metal into troughs. It was a hive of smoky industry and full of noise with the shouts of men echoing feebly amidst the sparks and devilish red glow that spumed within the rumbling roar of the stamps and mill machinery.

  ‘You have a deal of colored here,’ observed Bracken. ‘Are they able?’

  ‘Skilled labor has always been a problem,’ Anderson explained. ‘But by the use of slaves, and we have some nine hundred of the black fellas at work just now, we have reduced costs enormously and some of these men are coming along fine.’

  ‘In what way are they skilled?’ asked Bracken.

  ‘Well there are two major capabilities needed in an iron works, you must have what we call ‘puddlers’, they form the molten metal into balls and have to adjudge the weight each time at around a hundred and fifty pounds and that takes some knowledge. Then you have ‘rollers’ who roll out the bars freed of impurities on the finishing mill, you see, over there.’ He pointed across to a great flywheel and a band of men with long tongs working a channel of seething metal.

  Everywhere was glistening black faces working in teams and the vast emptiness above was full of smoke and sparks from the volcanic flows of searing metal.

  ‘It looks like a kind of hell, as one might imagine it,’ observed Belle.

  ‘Looks like hell but gives us so much in return,’ said Anderson proudly. ‘Tracks for our railroads, weapons for our war effort, even now we are in production of over seven hundred tons of sheet metal on our plate press.’

  ‘Sheet metal? And what will that be for?’ asked Belle curiously.

  ‘Why those….’

  ‘My God!’ interrupted Bracken, dragging at his uniform collar. ‘It is infernally hot in here, do you think we might catch a breath of fresh air?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Anderson. ‘Follow me; we’ll take a look at our Woolen Mill. That should be a lot cooler for you.’

  ‘These black fellows,’ asked Belle. ‘How do they fare?’

  ‘They are well cared for, ma’am. Have accommodating tenements on our property, a hospital and such. Usually they complete a ten-hour day but if they want overtime they may earn an extra fifty cents a month if they so wish. Not bad, do you think?’

  Belle’s mind was elsewhere though. She was already thinking of the report she must make to Pinkerton. Seven hundred tons of sheet metal, what could that be for? She wondered. Some new military device perhaps? A vehicle of some sort? It was a considerably large amount of metal to have in plate form. A defensive shield, could that be it? She gave up the theorizing and decided that Pinkerton and his team would probably come up with a solution far easier than her.

  As Anderson rambled on about wool production, Belle thought of the deserted soldier who had looked so like the artillery boy on the Old Fair Ground. She wondered why he had deserted and considered it might be an idea to take another trip up to the parade ground to ask the boy where his cousin might have gone.

  La
te that night she occupied Courtney’s desk again. He was out on a carousing spree with his cronies as usual and she was taking time in his absence to compile the notes she had picked up today and write them out for Pinkerton’s agent to collect. It pleased her in a mischievous sense to complete the treason on her husband’s desk. Something he could never consider or expect coming from his foolish if beautiful wife. Tonight Pinkerton’s go-between, a hat maker she only knew of as Jules, would come to her under the pretense of a new hat delivery. Belle considered the matter to be that important she had asked it would be expedited as quickly as possible.

  Once Bracken had taken his leave to attend to some military affairs, she had made it her business to go up to the encampment on Richmond Hill and ask after the young artilleryman, Joshua Linneker. Excusing herself under the pretext that it was her husband Colonel Monette who had wished her to enquire and reward the private for a service done. It had taken a while but the duty sergeant had eventually informed her that the man had not reported at roll call that morning and was thought absconded and not to be found anywhere.

  Two desertions so close together and both by men that had an uncanny resemblance to each other were too much of a coincidence for Belle. She duly recorded these findings under her earlier recommendation that Pinkerton look into the inordinately large amount of iron sheeting being produced by the Iron Works.

  She had placed the letter in an envelope and was in the process of sealing it when the knock at the door came. Ushering their maid away, Belle took the letter and went to answer the door, expecting to find her hat maker on the doorstep.

  ‘Why, Linus, what are you doing here?’ she asked, finding a rather stern-faced Captain Bracken standing there. Behind him, Belle saw four armed soldiers bearing lit torches. ‘What’s this about?’ she asked, beginning to feel a little concerned.

  Bracken arched an admonishing eyebrow. ‘We know all about you, Belle,’ he said grimly. ‘You won’t be receiving a new hat today. Unfortunately, my dear, I’ve come to arrest you.’

  He leaned forward and snatched the sealed envelope from her raised hand.

  ‘Arrest me!’ gasped Belle, in a show of surprise. ‘Whatever can you be thinking, Linus? Arrest me for what exactly?’

  ‘For spying,’ he said, with an amused smile. ‘You really did remarkably well for so long.’

  ‘Spying!’ cried Belle. ‘Surely not.’

  ‘Yes,’ Bracken breathed a long sigh. ‘It gives me great sadness you can be sure. I have grown somewhat attached to you, I must say. But I am required to do my duty no matter how disagreeable. I was commissioned, you see, not as the cavalry captain you think I am but more,’ he paused to chuckle. ‘As a spy to seek out a spy. Your hatbox man told all, you know? He waits to join you in the carriage below, now will you come with us?’

  Saying no more, Bracken took her arm.

  ‘My letter,’ said Belle quickly. ‘A letter to my sister, may I have it back?’

  ‘Don’t worry Belle I’ll see it gets to the right destination.’

  ‘Then some clothes, might I bring night attire?’

  ‘Your housemaid will see to it, I’ll have her make sure of that.’

  With that he took her firmly and pulled her briskly to the closed carriage that waited in the street.

  ‘In you go,’ he said, pushing her a little brusquely into the carriage. In the darkness inside she found a sorry-looking Jules, his face battered and bloody. It was obvious he had suffered a severe beating.

  ‘Mrs. Slaughter-Monette, good evening,’ he said, making space for her on the seat with a voice muffled by the swelling on his cheeks. As he moved over she heard the chink of chains and saw his wrists were bound in iron bracelets with a loop of chain between.

  ‘Too bad,’ whispered Belle.

  They were alone in the carriage and she could hear Bracken giving orders to the maid that clothing should be brought for her.

  ‘I beg forgiveness for this,’ Jules mumbled through swollen lips. ‘I fear I have brought you to a sorry pass.’

  ‘No matter,’ said Belle, taking a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiping away some of the blood on his face.

  ‘We’re in a bad way, I think,’ whispered Jules. ‘They’re taking us to Castle Thunder.’

  Belle knew Castle Thunder was the name for the old tobacco warehouse that was being used as a civilian prison, at least, she was relieved to note, it was not the dreaded Libby Prison and Belle Island where the military prisoners of war were kept under a harsh regime.

  ‘Listen,’ hissed Belle. ‘If you can manage to escape you must tell Pinkerton something. They are manufacturing a huge quantity of iron plates at the Iron Works. I cannot think why but it may be of vital importance that he hears of this, if you can make your getaway then make sure Major Allen hears of it.’

  Jules nodded, ‘I’ll do my best but you must realize the odds are against it. The city is surrounded by troops and there are forts on either side of the railroad.’

  ‘Best to try the river if you can, or stow away on a railcar. The prison is down on the old Tobacco Row near the tracks and I’ll distract them somehow before we get there, so be ready when I do.’

  Bracken leaned down from his horse and interrupted them as he poked his head in the window, ‘Ready then? I’ve arranged with your maid to have your clothing carried to the prison.’

  ‘Thank you, Linus,’ Belle answered calmly.

  ‘Once again, I am sorry, Belle,’ he apologized.

  ‘I would expect no less of you as a Confederate officer, Linus.’

  He nodded and called out to the guards, ‘March on. Driver, keep pace with the foot soldiers.’

  They set out and as the carriage lurched through the streets, Belle wondered how her errant husband would take the news. He was so afraid of anything marring his good name with the military hierarchy that she guessed he would be livid. Not that she cared much, she was done with the man, he had served his purpose and he could take his chances now as far as she was concerned. It was a callous dismissal and for a moment Belle considered how she had changed in the intervening years since running the saloon back in Variable Breaks. She had definitely toughened up her outlook; she saw that and wondered if it was for the better or worse.

  Then she ripped the seam of her dress sleeve from her shoulder and threw a screaming fit.

  ‘Get him away from me! Rape! Rape!’ she cried and began to wail piteously.

  Within seconds, Bracken had dismounted and thrown open the carriage door and Belle threw herself into his arms. ‘Save me, Linus,’ she sobbed clinging to him and looking fearfully over her shoulder at Jules. ‘Keep that beast away from me.’

  Bracken took one bitter look at Belle’s torn sleeve and then Jules and he indicated to the soldiers that they should drag the man from the carriage.

  ‘I should shoot you on the spot,’ he snarled at Jules, setting Belle to one side.

  ‘I…. I did nothing,’ pleaded Jules.

  As the soldiers all stared accusingly at poor Jules, Belle slipped away backwards into the shadows.

  ‘What did…. ‘ Bracken asked, turning back to the empty space where he had left Belle standing. ‘Belle? Where are you?’

  ‘She’s run off,’ said one of the guards. ‘She’s damned well escaped!’

  ‘Quick then, after her,’ shouted Bracken, sprinting into the darkness.

  As they were all occupied with the disappeared Belle, the forgotten Jules stepped back a few steps into a shadowed alley and then ran.

  It did not take them long to catch up with Belle and an hour later, whilst Bracken continued to search for the escaped Jules, she was delivered to the ominous looking Castle Thunder.

  The place had a terrible reputation in the town and the locals had made several complaints to the newspaper over the brutality of the guards.

  It was a huge three story building with attic space in the canted roof, a grim looking jail with its barred windows and red brick walls guarded by patrols in the str
eet outside. Originally the building had been three separate tobacco warehouses, they had now been joined into one large block that held a mixture of civilian prisoners inside the copious drying halls. Inside, common criminals rubbed shoulders with spies and political prisoners.

  As Belle was to find out, the three buildings had been divided up to hold deserters and political prisoners in one, women and blacks in another and some overflow of captured Union troops in the third.

  Belle was shown into a small office and confronted by a sour faced captain with a large Pit Bull Terrier beside his desk. It was a thuggish looking beast with small red-rimmed eyes and the dog growled ominously as Belle entered.

  The captain, a predatory, gaunt-faced looking individual, kept her waiting whilst he wrote in a hefty ledger, taking his time and ignoring her whilst the vicious looking dog continued its low growling.

  ‘Quiet, Brutus,’ the captain murmured, finally laying aside his quill. He looked up and his wintry gaze ran over Belle from head to toe. ‘My, aren’t you the pretty one?’ he said, leaning back in his chair.

  The office was a small shabby affair with a single oil lamp on the desk and the room held a chill that was unusual on such a warm night.

  ‘Name?’ he said, taking up his pen again and dipping it in the inkwell.

  ‘Mrs. Belle Slaughter-Monette,’ she said. ‘And I am wrongly accused, Captain. This is ridiculous, I am the wife of Colonel Courtney Monette, the army’s Richmond Quartermaster and I suggest you contact him before this silly matter goes any further.’

  ‘The first thing you learn in here,’ said the captain icily. ‘Is to keep your mouth shut until spoken to. Is that clear?’ he turned to the sergeant who stood guard alongside Belle. ‘What do think of this one, Sergeant? She never did it and she’s innocent.’

  The sergeant gave a rusty chuckle, ‘Don’t matter to us none either way does it, Captain Meriwether?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said the captain, scribbling in his ledger. ‘Very well,’ he said blotting the page when he had finished. ‘I am the commandant of Castle Thunder, my name is Jonas Meriwether and you are now held prisoner under suspicion of spying for the enemy. You will stay here at the pleasure of the War Department of the Confederacy until such time as they see fit to question you under Court Martial proceedings. Until that time you will cause us no trouble and will do exactly as you’re told at all times. Understood?’