Marcellus was a handsome, coffee-colored man short but muscular, quick thinking, businesslike, all in all and highly intelligent. He worked his way North, carefully choosing when he could steal food, then hide in the woods. He was fortunate, and after many days, he made it to Baltimore. There he was able to knock out a free Negro, steal his papers, and get work on a ship. He jumped ship in Boston.
Just a few years earlier, he would have been returned south without question. This was 1860, though, and war was brewing. I wanted to make this young man a deal.
"Young man, what is your name?"
"Marcellus, suh."
"Where are you from Marcellus?"
"Virginia, on the North side of the James, between Richmond and Williamsburg. It is the plantation of ol' President Tyler."
"How did you get yourself North?"
"Well, suh I ran away, stole what I needed, slept and lived in the woods, and followed the North Star. I ended up in the port in Baltimore, and stole papers of a free Negro and worked on a ship. I left the ship in Boston, thinkin' I was safe. Then your boys found me outside a tavern right when I got off the ship. That's when they brought me here. I thank you for saving me."
"Well don't thank me just yet, Marcellus. I have a proposition for you. Both choices involve your going back down South. You can accept with the risks involved and make a lot of money if you survive. Your alternative is to be returned to your master under the Fugitive Slave Act. The job would be to spy on the South. War is coming. If you accept this, you will certainly be risking your life. If you succeed, you will be a very wealthy man. I prevented my men from harming you because I saw something in you. You are quick witted and intelligent. What do you think?"
Marcellus wasted no time. "I'll work for you, suh. Sho nuff don't want to be no slave again."
"Well that settles it, my boy. William, get back in here," I called through the door. William returned looking miserable. "Take your new associate and get him cleaned up. He is to have new clothes and documents stating he is in my employ." I became angry, because William stood there slacked jawed. "Well don't stand there, get a move on!"
"Professor, are you sure? The boys may not want to work with him."
"By God they will work with him, or there will be consequences!" William beckoned Marcellus to come with him. "If this young man is harmed in any way, you are responsible. Is that understood?"
I made sure Marcellus was provided with other documents, along with his stolen pass, saying I was his employer. If caught by slave catchers, they could not sell him. I did worry they would just tear up the pass, but that was the chance I had to take. Luckily for me, slave catchers had other things on their minds with the storm clouds of war brewing. When war broke out, I used him and the cunning Harriet Tubman to find me Negroes who were intelligent, cunning and resourceful. They would become servants in Confederate camps.
How, you ask, was I able to get in touch with Miss Tubman? I had people in my organization who infiltrated the abolitionists. When I killed Mr. Quincy, I was able to find his papers which listed so many useful contacts. Again, you can see, I was playing both sides if there was something to gain.
The redeeming quality for Negro spies was that white Southerners thought all Negroes stupid and would talk about all sorts of things including battle plans in front of them.
Marcellus and Ms. Tubman discovered runaways were better than free Negroes in Northern cities. Runaways were accustomed to danger and had the gumption to survive in the first place. I preferred people who were illiterate but had excellent memories. I couldn't take the chance they would be seen writing. In the Southern states it was against the law to teach a slave to read and write, so a literate Negro would automatically raise an alarm, and I didn't want them needlessly killed. After all, I had an investment in these people. I used my mathematical skills to invent games to help with their memory and so they could explain what they saw. They would make this into songs using code. The Confederates would think nothing of a Negro singing.
To show you how some Southerners were monolithic about Negroes, the scheme was almost given away only once.
I had a woman named Emma in the camp of General Nathan Bedford Forrest. Emma told me one of Forrest's officers went into his tent. She pretended to be working outside and heard the following conversation.
"General Forrest sir, I think the nigger Emma working outside is smarter than most niggers. I think she is a spy, sir."
Luckily for the enterprise Forrest laughed. "Young Wallace, you know all niggers are stupid mules. Join me in a drink, son, and forget this foolishness."
Hence, their blindness helped us. Pinkerton and McClellan didn't heed what they heard, but Grant did later. We knew exactly what the Confederates were up to. Gettysburg was the turning point in the war. By God, we knew they were coming and how many.
Now you understand why I stopped returning slaves when the war broke out. Before the war, I returned the slaves who would compete with Irish laborers, but kept runaways like Marcellus with intelligence because I could use them. Of course, the abolitionists would have howled like banshees at my selecting who would stay and who would go. They would see it as the equivalent of my playing God, determining who would live and who would die.
After the war, the Negroes in my employ went back to the South to help with my reconstruction schemes or out to the new territories out West. With no more slave codes, I had them taught as far as their abilities would take them.
Marcellus was in charge of them. He was resourceful, cunning, and a good actor in addition to being highly organized. They made money, and more importantly, I made money!
• Chapter Nine
• The Molly Maguires
As stated before, Molly Maguires started as a group in Ireland to attack evil landlords. The Molly Maguires I am talking about here were Irish coal miners in Pennsylvania.
I set up extortion rackets to get Irishmen higher-level jobs and better working conditions. One mine superintendent, an odious little man named Prichard contacted the authorities and opposed me. I took part in his killing. Prichard had a high-pitched Welsh accent and was very sure of himself. There were five of us. Two watched the door and two stayed with me while I spoke to Prichard.
"David Prichard, can you guess why we are here?"
"I can, you slovenly men. There is a reason Welshmen run Pennsylvania's mines. We established them. You just do work in them. We know how to run them and run them properly we will. You should count yourselves lucky to even be allowed to work here!"
"Oh, but what if we all went on strike," I said with a smile.
"Shiploads of Irish land in Philadelphia regularly. You are always easy to replace. You are basically human mules."
"Who is going to bring Irish from the ships here? My men in Philadelphia have been busy." I took a photograph out of a folder. It was the bullet-riddled body of a bearded man. Ah, Prichard, my lad, you must recognize the poor sod in this photograph, even riddled with bullets."
For the first time, Prichard showed fear and sadness. "You killed my friend Davy Jones?" Your vile men did that?"
"They also did this," I said and showed a photo of a man who was beaten.
"And that is Owen Bevan!" Prichard cried. "I still will not change my ways for you."
"Last chance Prichard. Will you give in?"
"Never!"
"Right! Lads, do your worst!"
These miners were hard men before they began in the mines. I was giving them the chance to take their revenge on one of their many oppressors.
"Prichard, you can end this any time. Say the word and they will stop."
"Never!" he cried through a split lip.
My men ended up beating him to death. I had to admire Prichard's bravery as much as I hated him. We photographed his dead body with a lump of coal stuck in his mouth. The picture was reproduced and shown all over Pennsylvania. Alas, the Irish miners would not benefit in the end. It turned out an Irishman was a traitor and working for Pi
nkerton. I had already had nameless Pinkertons killed. This one survived, though, and infiltrated the organization. Arrests were imminent. The ones who avoided arrest remained loyal. Miners have to be loyal to one another to survive in the pits. My miners became my explosives and tunneling experts. They would come in handy in other matters. I realized I had to flee Pennsylvania at once. I took the train to Washington, to meet with my old friend Nathaniel Banks.
This time, the meeting was not as pleasant. I sat in the same chair I sat in before the war with a whiskey in my hand.
"James, you have done many good things for the United States. This business in Pennsylvania, though, cannot be swept under the rug. Allan Pinkerton may have made mistakes; however he now has higher connections than I. It would be better for you to heed Horace Greeley's advice: Go West young man!"
I knew he was right, and he had to disown me. I finished my whisky stood and shook his hand. "Good luck, James."
I strode out of his office. I had to return to Boston to turn over my affairs there. As many an American, I was going to have to disappear into the territories.
I would keep in touch with the lads. William would run my Boston operations. Hughie was to return to London. Marcellus was to live in Albany. I had set him up so he could live independently. I would certainly need all of them down the road.
We had a little farewell party in my warehouse. There was drinking, but very little conversation. It was like the America Wakes held in Ireland when someone left. The difference being in this case, I hoped I would see them again.
• Chapter Ten
• Arrival in the American West and Finding Love
My first destination was Omaha. I had used the contacts I made during the war to provide work for Irishmen building the Union Pacific railroad. I was paid a nice stipend for doing this. Omaha was far enough from the business in Pennsylvania where I would be left alone and because I was doing work the United States government considered important, I was safe for the time being. I made more money, but felt I needed to get farther away from the States. I quickly sold my business interests in Omaha because I wanted to move further West.
I was reminded of a California Gold Rush song that went like this:
Oh, what was your name in the States?
Was it Johnson or Thompson or Bates?
Did you murder your wife?
And fly for your life?
Say, what was your name in the States?
I traveled the Santa Fe Trail as part of a wagon train. It was a slow, at times boring and at times tense, ride through the prairies. You had to be on the lookout for Indian attacks. We rode through the rugged Raton Pass where the Santa Fe railroad would be built and into New Mexico where I found respite in Santa Fe. As a Catholic, I was not strange. For centuries, there had been a large Spanish-speaking population. I was wealthy enough, so I could settle without working.
I attended mass for the first time there. I saw a beautiful young girl with her mother. I was smitten. I realized she was a teenager, and I felt embarrassed by my feelings but I could not help it. I had never really taken the time to look at the ladies during my travels. I was so busy with my schemes; women had not entered my life at all, much to my mother's annoyance. Her beautiful brown face and brown eyes took me in. Would she accept me with my balding head and gaunt, lean, hawk-like figure? Her mother caught me staring and frowned.
After helping out in the church and getting to know the priests, I finally summoned the courage to invite my new friend Father Aguilar to dinner and ask him about the young lady.
Father Aguilar was in his 50's, intelligent and pensive. He narrowed his eyes and frowned. "Oh, my son, you should give such thoughts up. Senorita Duarte has already been promised to the young man, Miguel Valencia. Her mother and aunt have already complained about your attentions. Her father and Don Miguel are most displeased. Please give up this hopeless quest. Don Miguel especially is not a young man to be trifled with.
Father Aguilar went on. "I should tell you a little of the family history."
The original settler from Spain was from Valencia. He was a hard driving conquistador with a violent temper. He came this way from Mexico City to seek his fortune. Instead he settled here when the friars came. He became wealthy and married the daughter of a Gallego merchant. The Gallegos inhabit Northwestern Spain and are, like you Irish, Celtic. They are thought to have a good head for business, and they are stubborn. Later generations married women brought from Spain. This is a proud, devout, hard-driving family. They can also be cruel in their dealings. My reason for telling you this is simple. Be careful, my son. This is not a family you want to conflict with in any way. The women in the family can be just as cruel as the men."
I did not know this at the time, but discovered later that the family kept its nose clean and lay low, first under Mexican rule then American, Ana told me later all they cared about was continuing to own their land and keeping their Spanish culture and ways. Americans had not yet moved to the New Mexico territory in large numbers.
I sat back and looked at Father Aguilar. "Father, normally I would take your advice and move on. This is an affaire de coeur. I am asking for your help."
"Oh, my son, the other priests will not back you in such a matter."
I was not giving up. "What does the church need? I will help with it."
I took out a small sack. It contained a variety of gold coins. I handed Father Aguilar the sack. Money talks.
"I will see what I can do," Father Aguilar said and pocketed the sack.
I was busily at work myself. I hired a troubadour to serenade Senorita Duarte. She smiled and threw me a flower from the balcony. Her family was most displeased. Her father and older brother Martin came out the front door, her father with sword in hand screaming "Vayate!"
Don Diego Duarte won that battle, but not the war. Now, it was personal. I didn't like to lose. I would make Ana Duarte mine.
Father Aguilar went out to the Duarte hacienda to visit. Her told Don Diego about our lunch meeting and how I was providing assistance to help the church. I learned later what a row my attentions caused. Ana never liked Don Miguel. When I arrived in Santa Fe and started paying attention to her, she told her father to cancel her engagement to Don Miguel.
Her father was furious and screamed at her. "Young ladies do what they are told for the sake of the family. They do not dictate family matters to their fathers!"
"He is such an ugly man!" her mother cried. "He is not worthy of you. What could you possibly want in him? Don Miguel is handsome, dashing and wealthy. He is someone of our family type."
Ana apparently made quite a scene. "Don Miguel is ugly inside. He is vain, arrogant and mean. Don Jaime has shown me nothing but kindness. Maybe, they can fight a duel for me."
As you can imagine, Ana's parents were aghast. Her father for family and dynastic reasons, her mother, because I was ugly and would produce ugly children. The idea of a duel was even worse for them. What if I killed Don Miguel? If they only knew how right, they were going to be!
I had now "bought" the priests and the local bishop, and they insisted the Duarte family meet with me. Don Miguel, of course, was told about the meeting by one of Ana's friends. Ana, of course, wanted Don Miguel to know and predictably, he was enraged.
After mass one Sunday he confronted me in the plaza and slapped me. Men got between us.
"I will meet you on the field of honor!" he cried.
Don Miguel was 18 years old and impetuous. He thought the world owed him everything. The thought that someone would thwart him enraged him no end. When his father died, he would be one of the wealthiest men in New Mexico. Everything was given to him. As the challenged party, it was my prerogative to choose the weapon and the place. I chose sunset the following day in the plaza. He had challenged me publicly. I decided on swords for two reasons:
I had trained as a fencer for exercise in London.
Don Miguel thinks himself an aristocrat, so I wanted to oblige and give him
an aristocrat's death.
I was not nervous. Not because I am arrogant, for, as you have seen, I have killed men before. Normally I caught them by surprise when killing them, so this would be a first.
I got up the following day, practiced, and ate lightly as prevent exhaustion.
The word was all over Santa Fe. The authorities obligingly looked the other way.
At sunset, the plaza filled with people, which it would have done, anyway.
Don Miguel arrived dressed as for a ball. He waved his saber around in an arrogant manner and had a smug expression on his face.
Don Orlando Gomez, another wealthy landowner, reluctantly acted as a referee. He spaced us apart, used a sword to have ours held together and cried "engarde!" He pulled his sword away, and the duel was on.
Just from my first confrontation with Don Miguel, I realized what he was like. I used this to my advantage. He attacked. I defended. The clashing of swords filled the evening air. The crowd reacted with Oohs and Hash. I let his narrowed hate filled eyes stare into my cold eyes.
My strategy all along had been to let him attack and tire himself out. He obligingly fought according to plan. After what seemed like all night, he dropped his sword hand in exhaustion. In a split second, I knew this was my chance, like a matador with a sword strike at a bull. I rammed him through his gut. I held my sword as it went through him and he swayed. The crowd let out a collective gasp, sighed and was then silent. Don Miguel cried out, "Aieeee! Ay dios mio, Mama. I don't want to die now, I can't die now!" His last act was to spit in my face. I could deal with that. Saliva can be wiped away, my victory and Don Miguel's death could not be. I wrenched the sword from his gut. Don Miguel dropped to his knees, and then rolled over on his back, dead. You could see the anguished grimace on his face.
Loud noises came from the crowd. It was Don Miguel's father. He cried "Mi hijo!" and tried to come after me but the crowd stopped him.
Moriarty The Life and Times of a Criminal Genius Page 6