Down the Sky: Volume Three of the “Strike The Tent” Trilogy

by W. Patrick Lang

  The animal stood between them, his big head swinging back and forth between the two men. It stopped swinging when he saw the little Italian.

  Farinelli rubbed its nose, and scratched under the chin. “Thank you, soldier. What is name?”

  “Mine or his, Sor?” the soldier asked.

  “He has no name. What is yours?”

  “Concannon, Sor, John Concannon.”

  “Colonel Spear,” Farinelli said. “I will be leaving soon and I will need an orderly.”

  “You want the job, Concannon?” Spear asked feeling certain that Farinelli would not be happy with the answer.

  Trooper John Concannon knew Major Farinelli by reputation and Colonel Samuel Spear through daily experience.

  As the three horse soldiers strolled away from Spear, Farinelli led the way.

  The bay gelding followed close behind, his reins folded, tied and lying atop the battered McClellan saddle.

  CHAPTER THREE

  — Brigadier General Devereux —

  — 7 July —

  Alexandria, Virginia

  Devereux woke. His face was buried in the pocket made by his wife’s neck and shoulder. She smelled wonderful. She always smelled that way. She slept peacefully. She always slept peacefully, the peace of the good and innocent. She had drifted away into a sleep born of satisfaction in the glow of their lovemaking. He lay next to her for another minute, happy for a little peace, for a momentary feeling of security. Then he propped himself on an elbow to contemplate her. Her rosy blondness and statuesque figure made an appealing picture. She instinctively moved closer to him in the big bed. Hope Devereux, at thirty was an exceedingly fine looking woman. She seemed to be growing more beautiful as time passed.

  He thought of the party they were obliged to attend that evening. His half healed shoulder hurt atrociously as a result of their afternoon’s play. He rubbed the marks of his wound and looked down at his long-ruined knee. The mass of scar tissue was red and he could already feel the pain that would come with standing for hours at the party. Nevertheless, the leg still worked. It had been a long time now since Sharpsburg. The arm and shoulder would recover nearly full motion. I still heal well, he thought. At least there is that…

  He could hear his mother and Betsy White, the cook, down in the kitchen. The Italianate house on Duke Street had an “ell” in the back. He and his wife occupied several rooms on the second floor of the ”ell.” The voices were easily recognizable; Betsy’s contralto and his mother’s slightly foreign cadence were pleasant and easy to distinguish.

  Across the room his new uniform hung on a mahogany “valet” stand. Hope had ordered him a new set of uniforms as soon as she learned that Stanton was promoting him to brigadier general. At the time he had been considered to be “missing in action and presumed dead,” but that had not deterred her at all. She ordered uniforms from his New York and London tailors and they began to arrive about the time the Confederate War Department responded to enquiries by announcing that they held him as a wounded prisoner.

  Their “admission” was a kind of cosmic joke, since he was one of their own people. They were quite pleased to be able to “exchange” him so that he could return to his post as a staff assistant in Secretary Edwin Stanton’s War Department offices on 17th Street in Washington.

  Stanton did not like Devereux. He had never liked him. Many did not. There had been persistent investigations of this “loyalist” Virginian’s true status and activities. There were deep suspicions about him in many minds. The investigations had begun shortly after his return from Europe the previous year. In reality he was in France for six months during his convalescence from the knee wound as a member of a Southern purchasing mission and returned in secret through the blockade at Wilmington, North Carolina. In Richmond he was then told that he must go to Washington, and there resume his ante-bellum life as a loyal Virginian and supporter of the Union.

  He took the Oath of Allegiance to the United States as soon as he arrived in the capital. He hated that, but the oath was inevitable if he were to succeed in his mission.

  Inquiries into his previous whereabouts began immediately. This was anticipated. Records were amended by “friends” in New York to reflect his “recent arrival from Cherbourg.” Somehow, none of the many traps set for him by investigators had quite succeeded and step by step he and his brother, Patrick, made their way into the circle around Abraham Lincoln. Their position as the sons of a prominent family of merchant bankers had been helpful.

  Colonel Lafayette Baker, head of the “National Detective Bureau” kept watch over Claude Devereux, his family and associates. Doubt remained, but this did not matter. President Lincoln liked the Devereux brothers and that was all the credentialing that anyone could need. In the end Claude had been offered a colonel’s commission in the wartime volunteer service and accepted.

  To rid himself of this presidential favorite, Secretary Edwin Stanton sent Colonel Devereux to U.S. Grant’s field headquarters in early May, 1864. “Sam” Grant was then on the very eve of his country-wide offensive against the South. Grant was himself at Brandy Station, Virginia with the forces that he would use to drive southeast from the Rapidan River toward Richmond in the hope of destroying Robert E. Lee’s army along the way.

  Devereux had not met Grant before meeting him in the headquarters mess, but after conversations with him, he was sure that the man was the most dangerous enemy yet faced by the South.

  To explain this to Lee, Devereux needed to cross over from one army to the other. Against odds he managed to crawl at night across the space between the lines in the Wilderness of Virginia. The risk involved was terrible and in the end he had been disappointed in the meeting. Lee already understood the great danger that Grant brought with him from the western theater and was not pleased to see Devereux appear on the “wrong side of the lines”.

  Efforts began immediately to send him back north without unmasking his true identity. The heavy fighting along the Brock Road in the Wilderness made it impossible to send him back the way he came. The main forces were too closely engaged and at the same time Union cavalry had penetrated deeply to the south in the direction of Richmond. Spread across the rear of Lee’s army, the blue horsemen blocked the roads needed to send Devereux “home” by a roundabout route.

  In the sustained fighting of the next two weeks it never became possible to return him to the Union side.

  He was wounded at Spotsylvania Court House. In disobedience of Lee’s order to stay back from the line of battle he fought there as a private soldier in his cousin, John Balthazar’s, battalion of infantry.

  He was in a “closed” ward of Chimborazo Hospital when Secretary Stanton’s letter seeking information about him arrived in Richmond. It was a relief to understand that his masters in Washington did not know what had happened to him. They seemed to know he had last been seen in the flaming, confused forest battle, but nothing after that. Luckily, the last reports of him were admiring accounts of his conduct made by Union troops he had inspired by his conduct.

  Lincoln’s expressed desire for his return had brought on a quick exchange at City Point, Virginia. Grant’s desire to stop prisoner exchanges meant nothing in the matter.

  Hope met the steam launch that brought him home. She stood beside the president on the navy pier in Washington. The wolfhound bitch, Maude sat by her side.

  The next weeks passed in a happy blur of marital reunion.

  She stirred in the bed and Claude looked for his razor. They would have to present a good appearance at General Slough’s party. Slough was the military governor of Alexandria, Virginia and his friendship must be preserved.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  — Mary Whitman —

  “Where have you been all this time?” The redheaded woman who approached Claude to ask this question was unknown to him.

  He was surprised. He had been talking to Philip Hare in a corner of General Slough’s parlor when this creature appeared. She was an annoyance. H
are was recently arrived at the British embassy in Washington from Montreal and this was the first chance Devereux had found to speak to him. Hare and his colleague, Henry Rocklin were employed by British intelligence. They had trained Devereux at a hotel outside Richmond for the work of the Confederate secret service before he was sent to Washington. After that, they went to Canada. Devereux had not seen Hare since then and wished to consult him.

  The woman had watched Devereux from across the room for some time before she decided to intrude herself into this conversation. She stood next to the railroad man, Lieutenant Colonel Frederick Braithwaite and his wife Elizabeth while she watched. Braithwaite was a significant figure in the administration of the U.S. Military Railroad. His wife was prominent in wartime society in Washington and the two were frequent guests in Devereux’s Alexandria home.

  Devereux’s peripheral vision was well developed and the woman’s red hair had early caught his attention. Watching, he knew that the redhead spoke of him. Her concentration flattered at first. He felt gratitude for any woman’s appreciation, but her stare became worrying. He needed to talk to Hare and the necessity to watch the woman was a distraction. It meant that he might miss something in the conversation with Hare.

  Hope stood by the black marble fireplace. Next to her, Major Robert Neville, an assistant military attaché at the British embassy, wanted nothing more than to talk to her, but she needed to watch Claude and the redhead. She could just see them beyond Neville’s gorgeously uniformed arm. The dark green of the Rifle Brigade looked almost black in the yellow light.

  Neville turned to know what she was looking at. After a moment he looked amused.

  Claude saw the amusement in the Englishman’s face. Damn you Neville, very funny…

  Claude’s mistress, Amy Biddle stood beside his wife. She looked stricken.

  I have done nothing, he thought. Don’t look at me like that…

  “I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he said to the redhead after she spoke from beside Hare’s elbow “I didn’t quite hear.”

  “Where have you been?” she said again. Her pretty little face was turned up to him in irritation. The red hair framed her small features. She had deep blue eyes. The voice was melodious. It had the intonation of a young girl, but the breasts looked magnificent in the frame of her bosom.

  He looked around and saw a window behind him. He could lean against the casing to take weight off the leg.

  Hare looked at the woman. Without turning to Devereux, he said that he could be found in the consular office of the embassy. With that, he bowed slightly to her, then turned and maneuvering his bulk from the room, paused to give his thanks to Mrs. Slough. On the way out, he nodded to Neville who said goodbye to Hope and followed him out of the house.

  Devereux looked at the floor, noted that it was in need of varnish, and retreated to the window’s support.

  The redhead followed him.

  “May I know your name?” he asked with a slight smile. The mask still functioned and it managed a smile for her.

  “Mary, Mary Whitman,” she said, still staring at him.

  He saw that there was a wedding ring. “And is your husband here?” he asked. As the words came from his mouth he saw a very young Engineer Corps officer observing anxiously from the U.S. Military Railroad corner of the room.

  Having made eye contact, the young man started across the room to join them.

  “I asked where you have been,” she said again. “I have waited for years. I have just married, and now, here you are… It is not fair. Where is your wife?” She searched the room.

  He knew exactly what she meant. Why me? he thought. “I have been gone in the field… I am not well,” he said. Why the hell did I say that? Ah, I said it because it is true.

  Her husband arrived.

  “General,” he said holding out his hand. “I have not had the pleasure. I am happy to see that you are recovering. I believe I met your cousin, a French gentleman with a British accent. We were on a train to Washington together.”

  “John Balthazar?” Devereux said. “You met him? He has gone off somewhere in the trade of his family’s wine business. I don’t actually know where he is at the moment… He was only here a day or so. That was almost a year ago.” I am starting to feel dizzy. This is too much. I should sit down.

  “Yes, I was coming from Boston to join my regiment, and he was on the train with another man, someone from here…”

  “Fred Kennedy. I sent him to meet the ship in New York. John had never been to America before… What are you doing here now?”

  The man’s redheaded wife clearly resented her husband’s presence. She wanted to talk to Devereux. That was the last thing Claude wanted. His leg hurt abominably.

  Hope looked amused, but Amy Biddle was so distressed that his heart went out to her. “May I sit down?” Devereux asked as he moved to a round backed chair not far from the window. They followed him.

  “I am with the military railroad now. I was a railroad engineer in civil life. I asked for a transfer so that Mary could join me…”

  You poor bugger.

  Hope came to him and with more than a little of the possessive wife in her tone told his “new friends” that her husband was ill and would be leaving. She faced Mary Whitman squarely and reminded her that “General Devereux” was still convalescing and needed rest, a lot of rest.

  Mary Whitman inspected Hope with an “I might have known” look evident in her features.

  In the carriage Hope started to giggle.

  “Not funny, damn it!” he growled.

  “No, this time it was not your fault. I watched the whole thing. I am tempted to marvel over your “magnetic” effect on women, but who am I…?”

  “I assure you that…”

  “Don’t bother. I am sure that what you are about to say is true this time, but you are what you are. I have come to accept that.”

  He began to protest, then thought better of it and held her hand on the way home.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  — A Return to Service —

  — 20 June. 1864 —

  (Lynchburg, Virginia)

  Isaac Smoot was surprised when Jubal Early appeared in the hospital mess hall.

  The burly, scruffy man sat down next to him at one of the tables reserved for officer patients. There had been no warning of his arrival. Smoot knew that the Confederate Army had sent a relief force to Lynchburg to stop the advance of “Black Dave” Hunter from the west across the Blue Ridge, but the identity of Lynchburg’s potential redeemer had not been known to him. He liked Early, but did not know him well enough to think that a lieutenant general would be likely to come see him. Suspicion immediately filled him. He held the stump of his arm in his lap below the top of the table. It still pained him and he did not feel like exhibiting it.

  Staff officers hovered in the background. A lieutenant “galloper” stood closer than the rest waiting for some indication of Early’s wishes.

  Seeing that Smoot was looking at the man, Early turned, frowned and waved him away. “God damn it, Funkhauser,” he said. “I’ll tell you when I need your help.” This gesture of humility was for Smoot’s benefit. In fact, Early appreciated the attention that his rank brought. Life was hard and getting harder as the war situation worsened. There had to be some reward for dealing with that.

  Jubal A. Early

  “Where’s John Balthazar?” Smoot asked after absorbing his own surprise at the sudden appearance of the bearded man.

  Early frowned. “He’s out on the outpost line with the battalion, your battalion, major. That’s where I put him. He’s damned near in the mountains out there. The cavalry are beyond them. They say that Hunter and his gang are running for the Valley, probably for Lexington.”

  “What do you want from me?” Smoot asked.

  The stump was hurting badly now. His lunch was getting cold. This war was behind him. He would be mustered out if he chose to be. The crisis of infection had passed. He was fairl
y safe from the surgeons. The hand was gone. He was a strong man. He would gradually recover and then go home to Fauquier County to the wife he no longer loved and the children to whom he owed so much as father. His home was behind enemy lines. In obedience to his orders from John Mosby he had taken the Oath of Allegiance to the United States in order to join Claude Devereux’s spy ring in Alexandria. Perhaps the Union Army had lost the record. He had shot and killed the Union officer who once dared to administer the oath to him. Perhaps that ended the matter. Perhaps he could forget the oath… Perhaps.

  Early looked away and said, “My orders and yours are for you to join my column of advance and that I am to give you to a couple of your friends from Cooper and Benjamin for further transshipment via Ohio to Washington and Devereux.”

  “To hell with that, I’m through. You can see that.” Smoot held up the bandaged, wounded arm. It still wept pink through the cloth. I am not ready to travel. I could die any time. You know that…”

  Early turned and beckoned. Two figures approached out of the shadowy corners of the big room.

  “Hello, Major,” Bill White said. I am sorry to see you feeling so poorly. I am here to take care of you until you feel better.”

  The other man was strange, but looked familiar.

  “I’m Jimmy Fowle,” he said. “You must know some of my numerous relatives in Alexandria.”

  Smoot nodded. “No. I am not going,” he said. “I prefer to live a bit longer…”

  “Jake Devereux has joined Balthazar’s battalion,” Fowle said in a voice that was almost a whisper. “He is a company commander and a captain.”

  “So what,” Smoot replied. “I don’t know him.”

  “We will take you to Alexandria. I am told that you have a special reason to be there,” Fowle whispered.

  Smoot looked up at the blond young man and then down at the cutlery on the plain boards of the trestle table. In his breast the hunger for Hope Devereux swelled to a flame. That means that her husband knows. It must mean that.