The Thackery Journal

by John Holt

  “Andersonville,” repeated the General. “Not good news, Captain. You say he was wounded?”

  “Yes sir, I’m afraid he lost his right arm,” replied Miles.

  “So what is it that you think I could do?” asked Jarvis.

  Miles suddenly became hesitant. Did he really think anything could be done? Did he deserve special treatment? After all there were a hundred or more similar stories. “I was wondering if there was a possibility of a prisoner exchange,” Miles replied. “I know that General Grant stopped the policy some months ago, but I was hoping that because he was wounded, then perhaps …”

  “Leave it with me Captain,” Jarvis interrupted. “I’ll speak to Grant, but I can’t promise anything you understand.” He opened the office door. “Now I really must be going. You’ll let me have those documents as soon as you can.”

  “Oh yes sir,” replied Miles.

  “Good. Goodbye Captain,” Jarvis said saluting. “Sergeant.” He turned and walked out of the office.

  * * *

  “So what do you think about that, Sergeant?” Miles asked, after Jarvis had left.

  The Sergeant took a deep breath, and cleared his throat. “Well, sir let me say I’d be most surprised if he helps with your cousin. He seemed a bit agitated about it if you ask me.”

  “I actually thought that as well, Sergeant,” Miles replied. “What about the Booth story?”

  “It seemed like a lot of hogwash to me, begging your pardon sir.”

  “Hogwash sounds about right to me, Sergeant,” Miles replied. “Come over here and sit down, perhaps you could explain yourself a little more.”

  The sergeant took another deep breath, and sat down as indicated. “Well sir it certainly ain’t my place to be questioning Generals, especially Generals from Grant’s headquarters. But it don’t seem right to me somehow.”

  “Go on Sergeant I’m listening.”

  “Well sir, firstly we never received no formal official request for the information did we?” the Sergeant replied. “There was nothing came from old Ulysses, beg your pardon, I mean General Grant.”

  “And you think that there should been?” said Miles

  “Certainly I does that, sir,” the Sergeant continued. “Why in this ‘ere army we gets notified of everything. When to eat, when to breathe, when to …”

  “I get the idea, Sergeant,” interrupted Miles. He started to tap the table nervously. There was certainly something wrong somewhere but where he wasn’t sure. “Anything else, Sergeant?” he asked

  “Yes sir,” said the Sergeant. “This Booth character supposedly been arrested so the General says. Well once again we ain’t had no official notification have we? Don’t you think we should have?”

  The Sergeant was perfectly correct, thought Miles. In fact Miles had made that very point to the General. “The General said that he would make enquiries about that, and whoever was responsible would be disciplined.”

  “That’s right enough, Captain,” said the Sergeant. “He did say that, I heard him myself, but I don’t think he meant it. After all he is a top General, he hasn’t got time to worry about things like that now has he. He’s got a whole big war to fight, stands to reason.”

  Once again what the Sergeant said made sense. Miles reached inside the top drawer of his desk and took out a sheet of paper. He glanced at it and then passed it to the Sergeant. “This came in a couple of days ago. It states quite clearly that our friend Mr. Booth was in Brecon, a small town in west Texas. He was appearing at the local theatre. It seems a little unlikely, therefore, that only two days later he would be apprehended over a thousand miles away.”

  The Sergeant read the paper and passed it back to Miles. “So what do you think General Thomas Jarvis is up to?

  Miles looked down at the paper. “Well maybe this report is incorrect.”

  “That isn’t very likely is it sir?” said the Sergeant.

  Miles started to tap the paper. “No Sergeant it isn’t. In fact it is very unlikely I would say, and easily checked.”

  “So what’s going on, sir?”

  “I don’t know why he wants this information, Sergeant, but it’s not because Mr. Booth has been arrested,” Miles replied. “General Jarvis is up to something that’s for sure, but what it is I have no idea.”

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  February 1865 - John Wilkes Booth

  Tollesbury was just like any other small mid-West town. There was nothing special, or unusual about it. It was just a normal, dull, ordinary, un-remarkable town. It had only started to grow with the coming of the railroad just a few short years ago. This had opened up the area to trade and settlers.

  The first to arrive was the bank, then the Land Office, next came the traders, the seed merchants, and the general stores. Shortly afterwards the Palace saloon had opened, much to the anger of the local ladies. Then, just a year ago the Tollesbury Hotel had opened its doors for the first time.

  The day was like any other. The townsfolk went about their business as they normally did, and how they had done day in and day out. Today was no different. No different, except for the fact that today the town was being visited by six men - four Union Generals, an ex-Confederate Captain, and one other …

  The six men had certain business to discuss, business that would have a profound effect on future events.

  * * *

  It was a hot dry dusty day. There wasn’t a breeze. Jacob Thackery was seated in a rocking chair on the veranda in the front of the hotel. His eyes were closed as he gently rocked to and fro, although he wasn’t actually asleep. A shying horse startled him, and he opened his eyes. He took out his fob watch and checked the time. It was twenty minutes past eleven. He closed the watch case, and carefully placed it back into his pocket.

  He looked across the street to the stage depot. Two young boys were running up and down the street. They were both carrying wooden guns, and “shooting” at anyone and everyone they saw. Running behind them was a small brown dog yapping at their heels. A short distance down the road two young men were loading supplies into a wagon. Over at the livery stables three riders had just dismounted. One stood by the horses as the others went inside. He casually glanced over in Thackery’s direction.

  Suddenly the two young boys ran past him. The dog ran up to the man and started to bark loudly. The man waved angrily at the dog, and shouted. The dog growled. The man kicked out. The dog stopped barking, and ran down the street howling. The two boys turned towards the man, and started to shout angrily, shaking their fists at him. The man glared at them, and slowly moved towards them. The boys stopped shouting, turned tail and ran away as fast as they could. The man smiled, and looked across at Thackery once again. He then turned away and went into the livery stable.

  Thackery continued to stare at the stables for a few moments. He could hear the blacksmith’s hammer as it hit on to the hot iron. The hammering stopped suddenly, and there was the muffled sound of people talking. A few minutes later the hammering started up once again.

  Thackery looked back at the stage depot. He was to meet two men due in on the noon stage. Not that the noon stage ever arrived on time. It was usually nearer one o’clock, or even two or three in the afternoon. On odd occasions it didn’t actually arrive until quite late in the evening.

  He had never met the two men that were expected, but he had been given their detailed description. He would know them instantly. When they arrived they were to be taken straight to the hotel, where a room had already been registered. They were to wait there until two other men arrived later that afternoon on the train from Rainsburg.

  * * *

  Jacob had arrived in the town on the previous day. He had also been on the noon stage, arriving at a little before two thirty. There had been only two passengers for Tollesbury, Jacob and a young cavalry officer. Two other passengers were going on to the next town. The officer had spent much of the journey boring the other passengers regaling tales of his brave deed
s during the war. Mercifully Jacob had slept for much of the time.

  On the table next to him was a tall glass of cold beer. That is to say it was originally cold, it was now lukewarm. Normally it would have been far too early to be drinking, but today Thackery thought that he just might need one, or possibly two, or even three. Today was going to be quite a day. Besides, it was very hot. Next to the glass was a leather bound journal. It was lying open:

  “January 5th 1865 – What path have I chosen to travel? Where will it lead me? To destruction! I care not. My beloved South is no more; my home is gone; my dear father and dearest mother are dead. What else is there for me?”

  Jacob laid down his pen, closed his eyes again, and soon fell asleep. He was awoken a short while later by the noise of the two boys playing nearby.

  He looked up and called out to the boys. “Has the stage arrived yet?”

  “No, mister,” came the reply.

  Jacob threw the boys a nickel each. “Tell me when it arrives.”

  * * *

  A short while later Jacob was woken once again by the two boys screaming at him, and the dog barking. “Here’s the stage, mister. It’s coming now.”

  Jacob looked up to see the stage coming down the street. He thanked the boys and gave them another nickel each. He took out his watch and checked the time. Ten minutes to one. He shrugged his shoulders. “Not too bad,” he murmured. It had been much worse the previous day.

  The stagecoach came to a stop, the door opened and two men stepped out. Generals Jeb Butler, and Jonathon Randall had arrived for the meeting.

  * * *

  Shortly after four o’clock the train from Rainsburg pulled into the depot. Two men stepped down and walked towards the hotel. Jacob knew one of the men very well, General Thomas Jarvis. His companion was General George Walker. Not that anyone would have known that they were generals in the Union Army, for they were all wearing civilian clothes.

  The two men entered the hotel lobby, and joined the first two. The men were then led outside, and round to the back of the hotel. “Up there,” the hotel clerk said, pointing to a flight of stairs leading to an upper room.

  Jarvis quickly stepped forward, the other three following close behind. He then stopped, and turned. “Come along Thackery,” he called out. “You are part of all this, remember.”

  The men reached the top of the stairs, and entered the room. The room was small, with one small window. It was lit by a single paraffin lamp at the side of the room. In the middle of the room were a small desk, and a number of chairs. In the far corner was a smaller table. On the table were a number of glasses, and two bottles of bourbon.

  “Please be seated gentlemen,” Jarvis instructed.

  “So it’s time then?” said Walker.

  Jarvis looked at him and nodded. “Yes, George its time.” He looked at the other men seated in front of him. Randall looked agitated, tapping the desk nervously, not looking at anyone. In contrast Butler appeared quite at ease, as he lit a cigar.

  “Do we have anything to drink?” he asked. “After all this is a saloon isn’t it?

  Jarvis started to laugh. “Thackery could you please do the honors and pour some drinks, there’s some bourbon over on the table.”

  “So Gentleman it has been almost seven weeks,” Jarvis continued. “Many weeks beyond our original plan, and there has been no response to our little request. Lincoln has chosen to ignore us.”

  “What happens now then?” asked Randall, although sure that he already knew the dreadful answer.

  “We proceed to the next phase of our plan,” suggested Butler. “We proceed with the assassination, what else?”

  Randall was visibly shaken. He knew that this time would eventually come but he had been so hopeful. Don’t worry. Lincoln will agree to our demands, that’s what Butler had said. “Is there nothing else that we can do?” he asked hopefully. “I mean to kill Lincoln. Surely we can give him a little more time, another week. What harm would another week do?”

  Walker looked at Randall. “Jonathon you knew that this day would come,” he said. “You were offered the chance to leave, but you didn’t take it. I give you that opportunity once more. You are either with us, or not. It’s your choice stay or leave.”

  Randall looked at the others. He was shaking, breathing hard. Sweat spread across his brow.

  “Go on Jonathon,” said Butler. “Leave now, it’s all right.”

  “Yes,” agreed Walker. “It’s all right.”

  Jarvis said nothing, but simply glared.

  Butler stood up and went over to the door. He opened it slightly. “Come on Jonathon. Come on,” he coaxed. “We understand.”

  Randall looked at the floor averting his eyes. He stood up and slowly walked to the door. Butler opened the door wider. Without a word Randall walked out and the door closed behind him.

  “Well Gentlemen,” said Jarvis. “What about the rest of you? Does anyone else want to leave?”

  “Come on Thomas, let’s get on,” replied Walker.

  Jarvis started to smile. “So it is agreed, gentlemen, Lincoln is to be killed.” He looked at the three men sitting opposite. All three simply nodded their agreement.

  “So who will actually do it?” asked Thackery, still not entirely sure of his own position in the plan.

  Jarvis smiled once again. “I have the very man to do the job,” he replied. “He is a southerner, and he hates Abe even more than we do. He should be here quite soon.”

  He walked over to the window. He drew the curtain back slightly and glanced out. There was no one in sight. He let the curtain go and fall back into place.

  * * *

  Out on the street the two young boys were running up and down, their wooden pistols in their hands. “Bang, bang,” they yelled every so often, as they would take cover behind a wall, or a buckboard. Running by their side was their dog, barking excitedly.

  As they did so a lone rider entered the town and made his way down the street towards the saloon. As he reached the saloon the rider stopped, and dismounted. He tied his horse on to the hitching rail and walked towards the swing doors. His head bent down, his jet black wavy hair being tossed by a light breeze.

  He stopped at the saloon door and looked back at the two young boys who had stopped playing and who were now staring at him, mesmerized by his black eyes and heavy dark eye-brows.

  The elder of the two boys pointed his wooden gun at the stranger. “Bang, bang,” he shouted. “You’re dead.”

  The stranger grinned, and then he produced a small derringer pistol from his pocket. He pointed it at the boy, his finger on the trigger, and began gently squeezing. “Bang, bang,” he yelled. “You’re dead. Now scat.”

  The boys ran away as fast as they could. The stranger watched until they had disappeared, then he turned away and entered the saloon.

  * * *

  There were two sharp taps on the door, then silence. Then a further three taps in quick succession. Jarvis stood up and smiled. “I know who this is,” he said as he walked to the door. He opened the door.

  Standing in the doorway was a tall, thickset man, with a long flowing moustache. He stood to attention and saluted smartly. On his face was a huge wide grin. “He is on his way sir,” he said

  Jarvis smiled and gave a brief nod. “Come in Lieutenant,” he beckoned, holding the door fully open. “It’s good to see you.”

  The man entered the room, and almost immediately came to attention in front of the others. Clicking his heels together, he brought his right arm upwards, and saluted.

  “Gentlemen, this is Lieutenant Terrence Chambers the Third,” Jarvis said. “He has been with me since sixty-one. He is my right hand man, and I would be lost without him. He does everything for me. I rely on him totally.” Jarvis turned slightly and looked directly at the Lieutenant. “Correct Lieutenant?” he said loudly.

  “Correct Sir,” the Lieutenant replied even louder.

  * * *

  A few minutes later t
here was another tap on the door. Jarvis returned to the window. “He’s outside now,” he said. Jarvis looked at Jacob, and then looked at the other two men. Each nodded in turn. He looked back towards Jacob. “Bring him in,” he whispered.

  Jacob walked to the door and opened it. A young man came in. twenty-seven years old. He was five feet seven or eight in height, of slender build, with a high forehead, and a shock of black wavy hair. He had dark eyes, and a heavy black moustache. On his little finger he wore a large seal ring.

  He looked nervous, and shuffled his feet. He held his hands in front of him, as he walked into the room and stood in front of the four men.

  “I am John Wilkes Booth,” he said quietly. “I believe that you are expecting me, gentlemen.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Plans are Made

  John Wilkes Booth

  “Ah, Mr. Booth,” Jarvis said, as he stood up and moved towards the door. “Do come in and join us.” He watched closely as Booth came into the light. “Do sit down,” he continued, as he pointed to a chair. “It really is very good of you to come.”

  “What is that you want?” Booth snapped. “Why have you brought me here?”

  “Easy Mr. Booth,” Jarvis responded. “Take it easy. We have a proposition for you. I am sure that you will find it interesting.”

  Booth looked at Jarvis for a few moments. He then looked at each of the others in turn. He said nothing but waited for the general to continue.

  “Mr. Booth,” Jarvis continued “I believe that you can be of great help to us. In fact we can be of great help to each other.”

  Booth looked at him, and glared. There was no way that he would be helpful to northerners. “The only way that you can be of help to me, is to shoot yourself, and all Yankees.”

  Jarvis smiled.

  “He isn’t going to help us Thomas,” said Walker. “You’re wasting your time. Just get rid of him.”