“When Edwin fell from the boxcar, he impacted foot first on the right leg, severely dislocating his ankle, snapping the fibula, fracturing the tibia, and tearing the patellar ligament in the knee.”
Without breaking his gaze at the skylight in the operating room, Edwin corrected them on his name; and continued by asking whether his father knew where he was. He wanted his family to know that he was safe? The foreman assured him he had sent word to the telegraph office at the new Union Depot before they left the upper yards. The foreman would stay at the hospital until somebody representing the company arrived to see after the arrangements.
The morning edition of the Messenger described in detail, and exaggerated where possible, the heroic exploits of the daring young telegrapher: He tried to stop the runaway train, risking his own life to save others, and was quintessentially heroic. They omitted all consideration of alternative actions, namely, by telegraphing that it was on the way, superintendent Wyche could have derailed it in the upper yards, or elsewhere before. Having a person on the cars to worry about changed the problem. That the boy came out of his adventure alive was a triumph. But Edwin Martin now had a story, a story that everybody wanted to hear. It was a story that elicited admiration from boy and man alike, and sent young girls’ hearts aflutter. Only Edwin’s mother, an individual who thought it was just another day, was horrified when her husband and father-in-law came home joyfully proclaiming her son was a hero. Chilled by the unsuspected recklessness of the boy’s nature, she was dumbstruck. Always nurturing the hope that her boy would not charge pell-mell into the fray like her husband was so inclined to do. Jane Wyche on reading the article remarked to the Colonel,
“Even though quite contradictory, some ladies find that quality, particularly attractive in a man.” He found her statement rather amusing. Edwin’s mother resigned herself to waiting for his next charge over the hill.
As his recuperation at County Hospital continued, Doctor Lowe took an interest in Edwin’s desire to continue his education, as did Doctor Everett. They supplied him with reading materials to pass the hours, mostly issues of medical journals and a fascinating anatomy book with some very informative illustrations. Colonel Wyche granted his immediate family an unconditional pass on the trains coming into Old Port while he was in the hospital so they could visit whenever they pleased. Mr. Thomas explained his rationale for the generous patronage the company provided Edwin for his education thusly:
“As company attorney, I recommended to the board of directors, it might better serve the interest of the railroad to pay his medical expenses. In addition, the board could set up a trust to finance his education at the state university. Technically speaking, this young man performed amazing feats of bravery on company property, for the benefit of the company, and during his shift. A show of appreciation and good faith at the time was in order.” Dr. Lowe cynically told Thomas, “Considering the boy was unaware he probably would not ever walk right again.” Thomas replied to this statement flippantly, “I was confident that my recommendations would likely diminish the amount of a settlement, or eliminate it all together. The boy might consider it a “lucky break,” if the end result of the injury fulfilled all his aspirations. The board, seeing this as a reasonable experiment, agreed.” Myrtle wrote in her journal,
“It is worth considering for a moment the role that chance plays in the lives of men and women. Often it is dismissed because, unlike the ancients, an enlightened person places their entire confidence in engineering the future. The unlikely future of Edwin Martin provides cause to doubt. In the fall of 1882, Edwin entered the university to study medicine. His heroic reputation followed him. Not because he brought it, but by that time, the national publications had taken up the story, and exaggerated it into an epic. He was a favorite with the boys; and the young ladies at the nearby women’s college were extremely fond of him. A girl that accepted his invitation to the annual Cotillion, knowing dancing for him was impossible with his injury, eventually became his wife. The union could not have been more fortunate: Her father was the owner of a prosperous textile mill. After earning his medical degree, he was appointed lecturer in the college of medicine at the university – all the while working in a nearby hospital. Soon, he was awarded a full professorship; and then later, he was made dean. His practical skills in medicine never stopped: tirelessly, he continued his shifts at the hospital. While working there during the 1918 influenza epidemic, he contracted the illness, dying within two days of its onset. At Northeast Station, life continued as it had since the war. The boys that Edwin went to school with became men, the lucky ones became old men, and one by one, they succumbed to ailments that attended their advancing years. Fate took its inevitable course: all attained equality in the grave. But that is another story.”
The spectacular thunderstorm that accompanied the events of that January night lost its punch by a quarter of eleven, and a cold rain continued into the early hours of the next day. The unforeseen had happened as Doctor Greene feared. Now, quiet had returned. He walked out on the porch to have his cigar.
CHAPTER FIVE
The body of William P. Grundy Esquire was badly tossed about in the crash, but his death was caused by a fatal dose of tincture of Aconitum, better known as monkshood or wolf’s bane. Death occurs rapidly with a high dose. Allow me to refer to my mother’s notes,
“It produces vomiting, diarrhea numbness in the limbs, and the victim dies of paralysis of the heart and lungs. Senator Grundy appeared to have died from hypoxia. The clue that prompted Doctor Lovejoy to turn chemist in his investigative technique was the messiness of the gastrointestinal distress the man suffered. He surmised that the victim received a fatal dose.”
The clever Mr. Cassidy performing his duties as a special detective for the county sheriff discovered that Grundy had boarded a train east on the day of his death. A well-known politician, supporters saw him in the stations and on the train. He met the governor at Wayne City, the last large depot before Old Port. How he ended up at the lumber mill is a mystery. The watchman at the mill had disappeared altogether. Efforts to find him, or his body, proved fruitless. Cassidy said,
“Once again the multitude of clues led to no suspect. The inquest in early February exposed troubling inadequacies in the investigation.” In speaking with Dr. Lovejoy, he asked, “Who would want to murder the senator? Tell me that! I do not know where to start.”
Mr. Cassidy knew where to start. Start with the bonds. The “champions” of Judith Greene all her childhood “devilish boys” were gone because what they knew about the bonds. Except Mr. Cassidy, who technically was a latecomer from the war years, only two were aware of their continuing existence, Wyche and Thomas. Shortly before noon on Thursday, January 26, 1882, Colonel Wyche paid a visit to the office of Caudwell Thomas, the attorney for the Central Railroad Company. He thought it necessary to confront the attorney.
“I have several questions for you Mr. Thomas and I hope you are going to be honest with me. I know that during the war you were an agent for the Confederate Government You said so yourself when we first met in 1863. But until recently I have given little thought to it. Now it has come to my attention that you and the late Fred McAdams were engaged in some enterprise involving English bearer bonds.”
“You would make a fine prosecutor, sir.”
“Well, Mr. Thomas?”
“In 1863, the Confederate Congress authorized the French banking house of Émile Erlanger to issue bonds backed by cotton. I’m sure you recall that the holders of the bonds were to be paid in a fixed quantity of cotton. A group of Southern and Northern speculators and London stockjobbers held a secret meeting in London to form a syndicate to reap profits off the cotton backed bonds. Collectively, they possessed ample secret information about the militaries of both sides of the conflict. They traded in advance of any published account of the outcome of particular engagements.”
“Is that what you were involved with?”
“No. Colonel! That wou
ld be treason! But those gentlemen were the worse of traitors. Lacking any loyalty to their respective sides, they were not above starting rumors and passing intelligence between the competing sides. They tried to tip the scales to be favorable to their own selfish ends. Before the bubble burst, they converted part of their profits into English bearer bonds. The bonds were to be delivered by courier to New York to agents of the Northern swindlers, and to Charleston via Bermuda to the agents the Southern swindlers. Regardless of the outcome of the war, they would profit and the bonds in hand allowed them to engage in other unscrupulous speculation as the war progressed. Swindlers, all of them. What do you think?”
“That’s quite a scheme, Mr. Thomas. If you were not a party to this just exactly what were you doing with those bonds?”
“We stole them. Well, not exactly, as patriotic agents of the Confederacy let us say we recovered government property. Several of us fell upon the courier in London and gave him a considerable bruising, and at great risk to my own life, I smuggled them to France, then to Nassau, and finally Old Port. Remember the seal? I think you know the rest?”
“No, I don’t. Why not enlighten me?”
“You remember that Yankee raid don’t you? Out there at Panther Creek? Remember? I ran off, and tried to make it to Richmond by the roundabout way. There was a problem. Then Mr. McAdams met up with me in the woods. He had a better plan. The only plan.”
“This is the most implausible fabrication I’ve heard in a long time, Thomas. So let’s hear some more. What was that plan?”
“Well, he didn’t know what I was carrying at first. Now, here is something you’ll find interesting. He said a certain lady in Old Port had considerable gumption. Not just that, she had more brass than any man he had ever met. She could get that pouch through to Richmond. This lady made it through the lines again and again, like water through a sieve.”
“But she couldn’t do it this time. Why?”
“She had herself a little boy to take care of. But it seems that Fred became curious about the contents of the pouch after I entrusted it to him, and suddenly he wasn’t eager to do his duty.”
“Why in the hell after all you went through did you come up with the idea of entrusting the pouch to him?”
“I had little choice. You see I ran right into those Yankee raiders making their swing around. They put a ball in my leg – I’m sure you’ve noticed the limp. So, McAdams saved me. Is there anything else you want to know?”
“You haven’t told me anything that I didn’t suspect. You stole the bonds.”
“Then I’ll tell you this. Until a little while ago there was only a handful of us – the friends of the late Mr. McAdams – that knew those bonds still existed. Now the folks that would like to see this little piece of history buried forever know all about it. They know about you. They know about me. They know about the lovely Mrs. Greene and perhaps, the ladies of your household. Fancy that! Who do you suppose did some talking?”
“Mr. Cassidy?”
“No. Let me tell you about a certain gentleman who just couldn’t wait to get his hands on those bonds. I know about this because a close friend of your daughter named Susan told me.”
“No, not this Susan again! That’s all make believe!”
“No, it is not. When you sent me over to the McAdams House to coax Laura out, I met Susan. Yes! It might have been Laura in body but she wasn’t Laura. She was a different person altogether. Now, this Susan would not let me cross the threshold. She told me that some men broke into the house “looking for plunder” and their leader was Captain Grundy. There was a faint red mark on her neck I believe was caused by a cord.” Wyche was infuriated!
“Why didn’t you tell me? I thought she was imagining all that!”
“And what would you do about it? Nobody would believe her! Not in her state. It looked like she made an attempt at suicide.”
“But you believed her! Why?”
“Because there were only three people at the time that knew that McAdams had removed the casket from the tomb. Apart from me, the late senator and his Mr. Cassidy knew. Fred didn’t think Mrs. Greene could be trusted considering her other secrets.”
“Why exclude Cassidy?”
“Mr. Cassidy is a little man. He wouldn’t know where to start. Who would he know? He was Grundy’s creature – a hireling with no vision. Regardless, we must now devise a plan to bring the traitors out in the open. It must begin with the capture of the murderer.”
“But before we start that discussion, I would like to know who you represent Mr. Thomas, if anybody other than yourself.”
“Things have not changed Colonel. The truth must out; the evildoers must be brought to justice; and we must remain dutiful to the Cause. I represent the honest men rebuilding the South.”
“If you like, sir. I suppose you need the bonds as a contribution to such ends?”
“Am I not their rightful guardian Colonel?”
“Not if you don’t have them.”
“Excluding the ladies of your household who but you could have them?”
“The bonds mean nothing to me, I am concerned with an old score. Bring me the murderer of my daughter’s husband.”
“Have you considered the possibility that Mr. McAdams was killed by an act of sabotage perpetrated by someone with a grudge against the railroad and it had nothing whatsoever to do with these other murders? What if Mr. McAdams, the person whose absence led to our present dilemma, was merely the victim of chance rather than intent?”
“That would not make a difference. Just the same tell me what would you do?”
“Continue from where we are now... the murders of Judge Pugh and Senator Grundy. Above all we must protect Mrs. Greene... and the house of Wyche.”
****
Thursday, January 26, 1882. Mrs. Greene and Laura had been on the rails for two days, most of the time not moving. Colonel Wyche had planned to keep the ladies away from harm with a shell game strategy. The events of the previous night had proven that the murderer knew something about creating mayhem with rolling stock, so the railroad no longer seemed any safer than being at home. The Colonel employed his watchmen as body guards instead. Mrs. Greene, already upset over the death of her childhood friend Judge Pugh, was dealt a second blow when she learned about what happen to Senator Grundy. Johnston told Mrs. Greene,
“We’re supposed to stay put out here until the Colonel comes out. You know what happened last night. There is a lot of activity down there on the company wharves. Mr. Chance gave me this here pistol when he came up earlier. I’m supposed to protect you. The problem is that I have not shot a gun since I was a boy. I don’t even know who to expect would want to harm you, Mrs. Greene.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that, Mr. Johnston. A frontal attack in plain view is not this fellow’s style.”
“I’m sorry about the senator, Mrs. Greene. Mr. Chance said he was a family friend.”
“Thank you, Mr. Johnston. These last two weeks have got the better of me. Somehow I feel we are no match for the evil men.” Trying to reassure her, he said,
“Don’t say that! It is easy to get drawn into things that are bigger than you are. As long as some men have the itch to have everything, they’ll open up some hole to hell for the rest of us. But they can fall in just as easy.”
At about this time, Colonel Wyche came riding up on his horse. Following behind was his personal carriage, a landau with seats front and rear. A man with a shotgun was seated in the driver’s seat beside the uniformed driver. Laura, who had been waiting in her father’s private car, came outside when she saw him coming. He said,
“Judith, allow me to express my condolences on the loss of your friend Senator Grundy.” Wyche called out for his daughter, “Laura would you come over here. I have something to say to both of you.”
Laura joined the group assembled in front of the locomotive. She, unlike the rest, was in a pleasant mood. Her smile beamed.
“These fine gentlemen that hav
e accompanied you on your excursion the last two days-”
“The soldiers?”
“Well, Laura, you can call them soldiers if you like.”
Laura smiled at the armed guards, and themselves, not knowing whether they should return her smile, half-smiled with darting glances between Laura and the Colonel.
“As I was saying, these gentlemen and a few more like them will be keeping an eye on you two from now on, as long as it takes, until we track down the scoundrel that is doing all the killing around here. It is just the way it has to be and I don’t want to hear any objections from you, Mrs. Greene. Your husband is going to be out here in a few minutes to become acquainted with our dire situation, and I think it is high time you be honest with him for a change.”
JUDITH GREENE: The Old Port Chronicles, Part 1 Page 11