by John Holt
“Consumption” said the doctor, shaking his head. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“A broken heart,” said cousin Thomas Lane.
She died on July 15th 1865. Three days later Aaron Thackery was released and sent home, still not knowing why he had been arrested.
* * *
Chapter Thirty-Three
27th April 1865 – A Safe House
It had been very late when Thackery had finally arrived at the house. He had been travelling for many hours. He was tired, cold and hungry. He had intended sheltering at the Garrett Farm, three or four miles back to the north. That was one of the safe houses that he had been told about. But as he had approached the pathway leading down to the farm he could hear the sound of gunshots. As he drew nearer he saw the thick black smoke rising above the treetops.
He quickly left the pathway and rode across the adjacent field towards a small hill that overlooked the farm. A few minutes later he reached the top of the hill. He dismounted and looked down in the direction of the smoke. He could clearly see that a large barn was on fire, the flames lighting up the night sky. He could hear the timbers crackling, sparks and embers flying high into the air. He could smell the acrid smoke that billowed upwards, stinging his eyes. Then part of the roof collapsed spreading burning timbers all around.
There was the sound of more gunfire, and then he suddenly saw the barn doors burst open. He saw a group of soldiers dragging something, or someone out from the burning building, and pushing it down onto the ground some yards in front of them. Thackery took up his field glasses and looked again. Lying on the ground was none other than John Wilkes Booth. Thackery trained his glasses onto the group of soldiers who were standing a short distance away. He thought that he recognised one of them.
He did. It was Chambers, Lieutenant Terrence Chambers the Third, one of Jarvis’ men. He had been there, the day of that first meeting they had with Booth. He was also there, at the theatre that night that seemed like a lifetime away, but was, in reality, only a few short days.
But what Chambers’ actual task was Thackery did not know. Although he had met him on that day he had never spoken to him. Thackery wasn’t sure why, but he disliked him intensely. As Thackery watched he could see Chambers slowly move over to where Booth lay. He could see that in his left hand he was holding a beige envelope. He had seen that same envelope once before. It was the day of the meeting. Jarvis handed that envelope to Chambers just as he was leaving. Thackery looked up as he remembered. It seemed so long ago, another time, and another place.
Booth Is Captured
Thackery looked back at Chambers. He was bending down and placing the envelope inside Booth’s jacket pocket. Thackery turned away, and shook his head. Why would he do that? What was on those papers anyway? Surely there was no need for incriminating evidence. Not now. They already knew that Booth was the assassin. They had all of the evidence they needed. There were more than enough eyewitnesses. What more did they need?
Then he suddenly realised what those papers were. He did not need to see them. He just knew what was written down. It had to be. It could not be anything else. It wasn’t about Booth. There would be no need for that. No, these papers were about all of the others, Booth’s fellow conspirators. He shrugged, and started to laugh. Everything would be written down. All of the details would be included; all of the dates, and times, all of the safe house addresses, all of the names. He shook his head, and smiled. All of the names, that is with one exception. Jarvis had planned it that way from the very beginning.
Jacob could not believe how utterly stupid he had been. If only he could just close his eyes, and then open them again to find that it was all a dream, a bad dream perhaps, but a dream nonetheless. He shook his head. He knew that could not be. He turned and looked back at the scene for a brief moment. It was no dream.
The soldiers had now moved away, and Booth lay on the ground motionless. Was he dead, or dying? Thackery did not know. More to the point, he did not care. He smiled. It had been his task to protect Booth, to make sure that nothing happened to him. He started to laugh. He had failed miserably in that task hadn’t he? Some protection he was. If Booth was dead, there had been nothing that he could have done to prevent it. If Booth was dead, it made no difference to him, not now.
He quickly turned away, and started to move down the other side of the hill. He could not believe that Booth had been found so soon. More importantly the authorities now had all of the information they needed to implicate the people involved, including himself. It was all there, written on those papers lying in Booth’s pockets. Everything was going wrong. They would soon be on his trail.
I must get away, he murmured. A short distance downstream was another safe house, the Douglas Farm. It was no more than two or three miles, four at the most. It shouldn’t take more than an hour.
* * *
It was late when Thackery arrived at the Douglas Farm. He was breathing hard, and sweat ran down his face. There was a sharp pain in his chest. Over on his right hand side were the stables and a small barn. Beyond was a larger barn. Beyond that there was a paddock. He looked back towards the house. Apart from a lantern burning at an upstairs window, the place was in total darkness, and there wasn’t a sound apart from an owl hooting.
Thackery was cold, hungry, and in a lot of pain. His arm was throbbing badly, and it had started to bleed once more. As he entered into the yard he saw a door begin to slowly open. Someone came out waving a lantern. It was a young boy, no more than fourteen or fifteen years old. Behind him was an old grey dog. Thackery stopped unsure, hesitant. Was it safe? Had he been seen? Should he run to the barn and hide?
“Quickly,” called a voice. “We have been expecting you.”
Thackery looked at the boy, still un-certain.
The boy held up his hand and beckoned Thackery to come. “It’s all right, it’s perfectly safe.”
Thackery started to slowly walk forward towards the light.
“Hurry now,” the voice called again. The young man moved towards Thackery. “We must get you inside, quickly, before anyone comes.”
He looked past Thackery, down the dirt track that led to the river. He then moved close to Thackery and placed his arm around his shoulders. Thackery winced with the pain in his arm. “Come along,” the boy said gently as he pulled Thackery towards the house. “We’ll get you some hot food, and some dry clothes. We’ll take a look at that arm as well.”
Thackery was led into the house, and up the narrow staircase, to a small room in the attic. The old grey dog followed Thackery into the room. The room was sparsely furnished. It was in darkness apart from the glow from the small fire burning in the corner. In the middle of the room were a small table, and a chair. Along the far wall was a single bedstead. Opposite was a wooden cabinet. There was a small washbasin, and a large china jug. That was all.
Thackery moved over to the bed and sat down. The young boy lit the candle that was on the cabinet. “I’ll get you that food now,” he said, as he left the room quietly closing the door behind him. Thackery watched until the door had fully closed. He then lay down on the bed, and closed his eyes. Instantly he was asleep. The old grey dog looked at the man for a few moments, and then moved over to the fireside. It lay down on the floor and instantly it too fell asleep.
* * *
Thackery slept fitfully, tossing and turning. His mind was in turmoil, the thoughts tumbling over and over. He woke suddenly, startled by a strange noise. He lay in the darkness, listening. There. There it was again, something at the door. He slowly sat up and reached for his revolver. The room was dark, except for the glow of a single oil lamp at the side of the room, and a single candle on the table. He looked towards the door. There was the noise once again, something scratching at the door. Then he heard the low whine from the dog.
Thackery got up and moved towards the dog. The dog nuzzled into him and then moved back to the door. Thackery opened the door a little and peered out. There was no on
e around. He opened the door a little further and the dog ran out. Thackery watched him go down the stairs. He then closed the door, locked it and threw the two bolts. He then leant on the door and pushed. It was secure. He went back to the bed and lay down. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to return.
* * *
The wind began to stir, gradually strengthening, as it rustled through the trees, their branches rattling loudly on the window, scraping at the glass. Thick black clouds filled the sky. There was a flash of lightning. Then the rains started. Just a light trickle at first, gradually getting heavier and heavier.
Thackery rose from the bed and walked to the small table in the corner of the room. The single candle flickered in the breeze, the light casting strange shadows on to the wall. He was sweating, and breathing hard. He was tired, very tired. He had slept badly. Every little sound had woken him, every creak on the floor boarding, the coyotes howling in the forest, the window shutters swinging back and forth, the wind blowing through the trees.
He had to sleep, to rest. He had not slept for three days now. Not really slept, a few minutes here and a few moments there. That was all. Everywhere he had stopped his pursuers would soon close in, and he would have to quickly move on. He needed to sleep. He needed to rest. But he could not sleep, could not rest, not yet. He had no time for that, not right now. That would come later, much later. Then he would have all the time he needed. Then he could rest. Then he could sleep.
A streak of lightning lit up the sky, and there was a loud crash of thunder. Startled, he opened his eyes, and glanced towards the window. He knew that they were coming. He wondered how much time he had left. It wouldn’t be long. They would be here quite soon now he thought. They knew exactly where he would be. Thanks to Lieutenant Terrence Chambers, and thanks to those documents.
Thackery wondered how many of the others had already been captured. How many were now dead, or being tortured? He started to laugh. He did not even know whether Lincoln was actually dead. Perhaps he had only been wounded. Perhaps, even now he was well on the way to recovery. Perhaps Booth had missed, and Lincoln was very much alive, taking personal charge of the hunt for his would-be killers. Maybe this had all been for nothing. He laughed once again. He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. He then nodded his head. There was no maybe about it. Without a doubt he knew for a certainty that it had, indeed, all been for nothing.
* * *
“27th April 1865 – What place is this in which I find myself? What manner of circumstance surrounds me? A wanted fugitive, hunted as though an animal, for that, maybe, is what I have become. No more than a hunted man, a man without hope. They will be here soon, my pursuers. What have I done, and what have I become? I have helped to cause murder. I have brought shame on my father, and my beloved mother. I have brought shame upon the South. It would have been best had I never been born. Will I ever find peace? Not here and now, but with God’s forgiveness maybe there will be a kind of solace.”
His arm was beginning to pain once more. An hour or so ago he had hurt it once more, on the doorframe. He had stumbled and fell against the side of the door, and the wound had started to bleed once again. The sleeve of his tunic was drenched in scarlet. Red droplets were steadily falling on to the table, and staining the papers that he was writing on. The bullet was still deep inside. He could feel it. He could actually move it from side to side. He had lost a lot of blood, and felt quite weak. Infection had begun to set in.
He knew that there was a danger of gangrene setting in. If that happened then he would almost certainly lose the arm. He needed help badly, but there was none to be had. There was nowhere to go, no one to turn to. The young boy had tried to put a dressing on shortly after he had arrived at the house, but he did not know how to stop the bleeding, or how to treat the infection. He had wrapped gauze around the wound, tying it tightly to stem the blood flow. For a while it seemed to be effective, but since hitting the doorframe the bleeding had started once again.
It didn’t matter, not now, Thackery murmured. It was all too late, far too late. It would all be over quite soon now anyway.
“Quite soon, and they will be here.” He looked down at the table and sighed deeply.
He looked up suddenly, startled by the sound of the approaching riders. He listened for a few moments. He did not need to see them, but he knew instinctively who they were. He also knew why they were there. It was hard now to remember how this had all come about. How had he got involved? He shook his head. Insanity, he muttered. Killing Lincoln was nothing more than utter madness, futile.
“Did I really think that it was the right thing to do? That it was just?” Jacob murmured. “That, in some way, it would make a difference? Did I actually think that we could get away with it and that the authorities would just stand by and do nothing?” He shook his head, and hit the table hard with his fist. “What a fool I was.”
Why he couldn’t even remember the name of the man who had actually pulled the trigger. He could not remember whether he had actually met him. He shook his head once again. Of course he had met him. What was he thinking? Had he not been his shadow, his protector? Wasn’t he to be his replacement if anything had gone wrong?
“If anything had gone wrong,” he murmured, and started to laugh. Everything had gone wrong. He shook his head once again. And it had happened so quickly. Why it was only twelve days ago. No. He shook his head, and thought for a few moments, counting on his fingers. It was thirteen days. Just thirteen short days ago. It seemed like years ago, another lifetime, and another place. It was somehow unreal. He could not think straight. His memory was beginning to play tricks on him.
“But what was his name?” Jacob whispered. He shook his head once again. He could see him in the room with Jarvis and the others, at that first meeting. He could see him going into the theatre. He could see him coming out from the stage door of the theatre. He could see the soldiers dragging him from the barn. He shook his head and closed his eyes. He could see him lying on the ground, dead. But what was his name? He could not remember. It did not matter, not now. Nothing really mattered any more.
He shook his head. “Not so,” he murmured. “I will never see my mother, or father, again. That matters.” He started to shake. “That matters a great deal.”
The sound of the approaching horsemen became louder. He could hear the harnesses jangling. He could hear the horses breathing, and snorting. He could hear the pounding of the horses’ hooves. He listened for a few moments more. He could hear a loud thumping sound, the sound of his own heart beating faster and faster. He took two or three deep breaths and looked down at the table.
“They are here. They have come for me. It will soon be over.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
No Way Out
Lying in front of him was a number of sheets of parchment. There was a sudden gust of wind, and the small window to the room blew open, the timber shutters smashing into the wall. Several papers were blown on to the floor. The candle flickered and went out. Suddenly Thackery felt very cold. He looked over at the fire. The flames had died down, and there was only the glowing embers remaining. He shivered and pulled his blood soaked coat closer to him. He laid his pen down. He got up and walked over to the fire, and placed another log into the grate, watching as it caught fire.
He then walked over to the window. He reached out for the shutters and began to pull them closed. As he did so he could see the horsemen enter into the yard below. There were six or seven of them. All wore the dark blue uniform of the Union and all were heavily armed. One man was yelling orders. Three or four of them moved over to the large barn at the side of the house. The remainder moved into the stables. It would not be long before they found his horse, and then they would know. Then they would come for him. It would not be much longer. Not now.
As he watched he saw two troopers emerge from the barn. They walked over to the house and started talking to the young boy. They started to yell angrily. Suddenly one of the troopers hit t
he boy hard across the face. The boy fell to the ground. Instantly he was pulled to his feet. The trooper then hit him again, in the stomach. The boy fell forward and crashed to the ground once again. The trooper bent down pulling at the boy’s tunic. The boy did not move. The trooper let the tunic go, and shook his head. The two soldiers moved away, leaving the boy lying prone on the ground.
Thackery knew that the boy was dead. He turned his face away, and rubbed his eyes trying to obliterate the scene. A moment or two later he turned back to the window. As he did so the man giving the orders suddenly looked up, and then looked away. Thackery was horrified to see that it was his old friend, Miles Drew. He gasped. “Miles,” he whispered. “He must not see me.”
* * *
“It’s Miles,” he whispered, as he spied his friend running down the laneway. “He must not see me.” Thackery quickly ran into the field and hid behind the hawthorn hedge. Miles always found him when they played hide and seek. It didn’t matter where Thackery hid, Miles would always find him, and find him very quickly. He always seemed to know exactly where to look.
Thackery shook his head. Then he smiled and nodded. “He won’t catch me this time though.” This time he had a plan. He had a hiding spot in mind where he would never be found. Not even by Miles. Not in a thousand years. Not in a million. He would make his way to the old abandoned mine shaft, and hide there. Miles hated it there. He could not stand the place. There was no way that he would even look there. He wouldn’t go anywhere near the area.