by Alex Myers
The meeting was being held five months nearly to the day of Jack’s meeting with Ralph Waldo Emerson. Almost everyone in attendance was handpicked to attend and personally invited by Emerson. It was a testament to the man’s influence and power .
Emerson had suggested they convene at the Washington Square Reformed Dutch Church, next to NYU on the corner of Washington Place and Wooster Street. It was one of the great architectural spaces in the City of New York, with a capacity of fifteen hundred. It was almost two hundred feet long and sixty feet wide, and the ceiling soared to a height of over sixty feet. The walls were lined with large, ornate stained- glassed windows that came to a point. Pointed arches, spires and windows were characteristic of the Gothic architecture of the Middle Ages. The most dramatic elements were the two rows of majestic white columns that lined both sides of the cathedral running parallel to the outer walls and windows. It was a bigger space than they needed and too dimly lit, but Emerson knew the minister and had gotten them the space for free.
Jack would have been more impressed if he’d recognized some of the faces of that filled the room. While the dress of the men and the few women that attended were the fineries of the day, they still looked like costumes from a movie to Jack. The men’s hairstyles and facial hair did nothing to lend distinction; most of the men themselves moved like gods. Some were full of features striking and harsh, others were strikingly handsome, but all glowed in their virtue. The few that he did recognize, like Lincoln, Robert E. Lee and Jefferson Davis, seemed like alien figures from the past, somehow less than real.
Emerson, despite the fact that he’d organized the assemblage, would have been at its center regardless. His dynamic energy lit the room and attracted groups to him. Every person in the room was extraordinary in some form or fashion, whether through intellect or their influence on the masses.
From politics, there was Abraham Lincoln and Stephen Douglass, Jefferson Davis, William Seward, Salmon Chase, Lieutenant Colonel Robert E. Lee and several senators and representatives along with a few spouses.
Former slaves included Frederick Douglass, Sojourner Truth, and Harriet Tubman. Writers included Nathaniel Hawthorne, Herman Melville, Harriet Beecher Stowe and Emerson’s friend Henry David Thoreau who’d built his hut on the shores of Walden Pond on land that Emerson gave him.
From industry, there was Cyrus McCormick and his former arch rival John Deere, Conrad Poppenhusen, Samuel Colt of Colt Firearms, Ezra Cornell of Western Union, and chemist Charles Pfizer. Inventors attending included Joseph Henry and twenty-two-year-old George Westinghouse. Frenchman Louis Pasteur and Belgian Etienne Lenoir, inventor of the gasoline engine, had been invited, both of whom worked with Jack on his complex. George Templeton Strong and Mary Chestnut from South Carolina were invited because Jack remembered their names from watching Ken Burn’s Civil War documentary on PBS.
Jack had pitched the list of people to Emerson from memory, according to how much influence they would have on history. Emerson was surprised by the list and insisted on a few names himself, including Sam Houston from Texas and famous abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison. The only name Jack vetoed was the radical abolitionist John Brown.
Notably absent from the assemblage were members of the press; either they had not been alerted or had stayed away because of the bad weather. Carefully planned press releases were to be handed out in accordance to the predetermined plan.
They eventually sat in pews as Emerson called the meeting to order. Only someone with a personality as strong as his could hope to hold a gathering like this together. There was not one man more powerful than another, sitting in a place more prominent; they simply sat in the seat that was closest to where they stood. Abraham Lincoln sat two people away from Jefferson Davis and Jack was the only person in the room who understood the irony.
Fifty of the most influential men and women in America were gathered to hear the plan that Emerson would describe. He stood at a podium to the right of the altar. His voice was, clear, loud, and commanding.
“Gentlemen and gentlewomen, we are gathered here tonight to discuss a vision handed to me from a higher power.” This wasn’t a lie because Emerson believed that Jack’s presence was part of God’s plan. “I recently had the good fortune to hear the esteemed Mr. Crittenden, the regarded Senator from Kentucky, speak.” Emerson gestured with his open hand to the Senator sitting directly in front of him in the second row. The Senator acknowledged Emerson’s words and the murmurs of approval around him. “Thank you once again for those wonderful insights into the Southern mentality, but how can such a question as the slave trade be debated for forty years by all the Christian nations without throwing the great light of ethics into the general mind? The fury with which the slave trader defends every inch of his bloody deck and his howling auction platform is a trumpet to alarm the ear of mankind, to wake the dull, and drive all neutrals to take sides, and to listen to the argument and the verdict. I say no, gentlemen; I say no compromises. It is a compromise for me to rise every morning with such cruelty as the slave trade in my world.”
Emerson’s words rang throughout the hall. “Civil war is nearly upon us. It is not a question of if but rather of when, because left on our current path, it will visit us within three-and-a-half years.”
There was talk in the crowd, not people talking to each other as much as talking to themselves. Emerson continued. “Three million will fight, six hundred thousand will die directly in the fight, countless others will perish indirectly. Lives will be indelibly changed, families and fortunes set asunder, and the face of this nation will be forever scarred.”
He didn’t speak in a manner that one would question, but with a certainty that everyone felt. Only Emerson with his spirit so pure, his motivations so transparent, his life so singularly guileless could have persuaded the people in the church.
“Brother against brother, friend against friend, at a cost of four billion dollars to the North and double that for the South.” Not one eye moved from the pulpit; men leaned forward enraptured, enchanted. “We and our influence need to change the course of human events. This is my destiny and now it is yours.”
It was the Senator—soon-to-be-Governor—from Texas, Sam Houston, who broke the long silence. “Mr. Emerson, as a man who holds my country in my heart more than I do my own life, I have thought of this a thousand times and it seems that inertia is propelling us toward conflict. How can a man, even the great men, loyal patriots, aggregated in this room, ebb the mighty flow of this raging river?”
“Compensated emancipation.” Emerson let the words hang in the air.
Jack looked at Jefferson Davis, then to Robert E. Lee. Neither looked opposed, but neither gave an indication of agreement either.
Writer Nathaniel Hawthorne, of all people, stood and harrumphed. “The North will never pay and the South will never accept. Northerners would never agree to compensate for something they believe defies the laws of God.” There were a few sounds of agreement in the room. “And the Southern man believes the Negro is his property and it’s the right of the state, not the federal government to dictate.”
Senator Calvin Chappee of Massachusetts spoke. “Without the Negro, how can the Southern landowner get his crop to market?”
“That is the easiest thing to remedy,” Emerson said.
Hawthorne was still standing “And what of the flood of unskilled Negroes to the North? We can’t feed the masses now—we don’t want or need them.”
Jefferson Davis from Alabama said, “And we can’t support them here in the South.”
A woman’s voice yelled, “Send them back to Africa!”
"We don't want to go back to Africa. This is my country; this is my home,” Sojourner Truth said. She was small and very dark in the dimly lit hall, but her eyes burned bright with passion.
"And who would pay if we had a mind to pay?" Senator Chaffee from Massachusetts asked.
"He would," Abraham Lincoln, the trial lawyer from Illinois and Republican Sen
atorial candidate, said standing and pointing at Jack. Everyone in the crowd turned to look at the man standing and the one he was pointing at. Jack was sitting behind and to the right of Ralph Waldo Emerson on the altar. Even Emerson himself turned to look at Jack’s stunned face and give him a sly wink and a smile in the process.
"Who is he?" Robert E. Lee asked.
The industrials knew, and so did the inventors, but nearly everyone else was clueless, evidently, with the exception of Lincoln.
Emerson, still smiling, turned back to Lincoln and asked, "Why would you think that, Mr. Lincoln?"
"Let's look at the facts and most of them stem from you, Mr. Emerson. You were in the middle of a twenty-city tour and suddenly you canceled. This wouldn't be strange for nearly anyone else, but you do not cancel your speaking engagements, or at least you never have, and this was relayed to me by the man who owns the venue in which you were to speak in Chicago. This information came to light on the same day I received a hand-written invitation from you to attend this function. The post was not sent from your home in Concord but from Norfolk, Virginia. I spoke with some people who said you were spending time with Jack Riggs, the inventor. A private detective from Chicago, Allan Pinkerton, informed me that Mr. Riggs was much more than just an inventor and that he had met with Riggs himself and was now in his employ."
"Excellent work," Emerson said. "Tell everyone why you chose to attend."
Allan Pinkerton, who had been standing in the shadows on the extreme left side of the church, stepped forward into the light and gave a two-finger salute to Lincoln.
"Because Allan Pinkerton said that it would be the only way we could avoid a war."
"But how can a bicycle salesman afford to pay the cost of emancipating four million slaves?" Herman Melville asked.
"I think he invented a can opener too,” Senator John Crittenden of Kentucky said. There was a tittering in the crowd.
“Then there are these men.” Lincoln motioned to Horace Smith, Oliver Winchester, Eliphalet Remington, and Samuel Colt. “They are the four biggest weapons manufacturers in the world, and Jack Riggs shut down and retooled their factories with unheard of designs.”
Rumblings from the crowd nearly drowned out Senator Chappee. “Smith and Wesson is in my district. Is he trying to put American manufacturers out of business?”
“On the contrary, they can’t manufacture the new items fast enough. I don’t have all the details, but I have heard that Mr. Riggs has given them innovations that move weapon design ahead ten to twenty years,” Lincoln said.
Samuel Colt, the natural showman of the group, stood and said, “Moved us ahead more like fifty years, wouldn’t you say, gentlemen?” The other weapons makers shook their head in agreement. “I won’t go on record saying that he ‘gave’ the designs to us, though.”
Chuckles were heard from the crowd.
Lincoln continued. “And from my own district, he had an almost similar effect on the two biggest farm equipment makers.”
Once bitter enemies, Cyrus McCormick and John Deere looked at each other and smiled. Between their newly partnered companies they shared at least thirty patents with Jack and his company. They also knew of six or seven with Bessemer Steel, and these were just the ones they knew of. They also knew that Jack was working with rail, power, medical, and manufacturing too.
"I can't pay for everything, not even close," Jack said, standing and stepping up to where Emerson stood. "But I can help provide the means—“
And that was when he saw her—Mattie Turner sitting with Senator Brinkley from Virginia. And she saw him see her.
CHAPTER 52
June 1857
She Gets Away?
“Ah….” Jack said as he saw the look of panic on Mattie’s face and watched her abruptly stand and make her way to the far aisle. The man sitting next to her barely noticed her leaving.
Every eye in the building was on Jack as he struggled to continue. “I’m sorry. As I was saying….” He made his pledge of financial and technological support to the cause and turned things back over to Emerson to outline the details of the plan. He saw Emerson’s stern look as he left the raised platform and made his way down to Pinkerton.
Emerson’s voice was booming as he and Alan Pinkerton stepped behind one of the big columns to talk.
“What’s wrong?” Pinkerton asked, reading Jack’s expression.
“I want you to take a look out there and tell me who the big, white-haired, old guy is sitting two rows behind Frederick Douglass.”
Pinkerton had a notebook filled with pictures or drawings and a short bio of everyone in attendance. He peeked from around the column and immediately came back. It’s Senator Stephen Brinkley, the Senator from Virginia.”
“I didn’t invite him.”
“No, Mr. Emerson did. He’s a senator from a Southern state and he just happens to be against secession.”
“Why is Mattie Turner with him?”
Pinkerton referred to his notebook. “I’m sorry I don’t have much on her. It says that it’s his wife, Margaret.”
“Wife! Margaret? Oh, this is bad. That’s not who she is. Do you have a picture?”
“No, just a drawing,” Pinkerton said, showing him the notebook.
“What else do you have on her?”
“Not much else. We did the checking on the attendees, not their spouses. Wait, I do have that they were married a month ago, quite quickly too. Rumor had it she is pregnant.”
Jack looked at the drawing, “That’s her, I’m sure of it. That woman is not who she says she is. And she’s leaving in quite a hurry. Don’t you have men posted at the front door?”
“Certainly, but they were told to keep people from entering, not leaving, and especially not someone on the approved list.”
“I’m going to ask her a few questions. I’ll be back.”
“Is there a problem?”
“I’m betting yes, but I plan on finding out for sure,” Jack said as he started toward the front door. He took the long way between the columns and the windows. Moving in the shadows, he hoped not to attract attention as Emerson continued from the stage to lay out the proposal to the crowd.
Pinkerton watched him leave, followed him to the front of the church, and then proceeded down the other side, heading for the back rear door.
Jack pushed the tall double-arched front door open and hit the street in almost total darkness. Lightning flashed brightly enough to almost sting his eyes. In the image that was burned into his retina, he saw one of Pinkerton’s men slumped on the ground unmoving in the entranceway. Lightning flashed again and this time the thunderclap was so loud it felt as if it shook the ground. Jack could smell the ozone in the air.
The gas lamps of Washington Square barely illuminated anything other than the area directly below them. The shadows of the church made the sidewalks both left and right an inky black cloud. He ran into the street, trying to escape the sinister shadows. He heard the rider coming from the right of the church, directly behind him, before turning and seeing the horse being reined to avoid him. Jack turned to follow his progress and saw Mattie under the cross-street light.
At first she gave no sign to the approaching rider, and then she did so only with the slight leveling of her hand. The horse and silhouetted rider slowed slightly and turned in her direction, approaching at a canter.
“Mattie!” Jack yelled.
Mattie raised the arm that gave the signal, held out her hand, and beckoned the rider. He lowered a hand and was still approaching at a good speed.
Jack started running, trying to close the fifty feet between them.
“Stop, Mrs. Brinkley! Stop!” Pinkerton’s voiced echoed from the side of the building.
The rider looked in the direction of the sound and Mattie wavered as she saw Jack’s approach, just as their hands were about to clasp. They missed. The rider grabbed her coat sleeve. Instead of allowing Mattie to jump up and around to the back of the saddle, the slight miscalculatio
n knocked her backwards off her feet. She would have continued to fall had not the rider continued to lift and try to swing her. Her face hit the running flank of the horse. The momentum of the lift, together with the forward speed of the horse and rider sent her careening in the opposite direction. The rider spun off the saddle and the horse continued onward. Both rider and Mattie hung for the briefest of seconds in midair. Then she dropped to the hard macadam street. The rider came down on top of her.
Pinkerton arrived seconds later as the rider made it to his knees and dived for Pinkerton’s legs. Caught off guard, Pinkerton tumbled down and the rider scrambled on top of him. One of Pinkerton’s arms was pinned beneath his body. The rider clasped his hands together and swung his arms like a mace into the side of Pinkerton’s face. Pinkerton’s head slammed back into the ground. The rider raised his arms and poised them for another blow.
Jack felt as if he were running in a dream in which everything moved in slow motion. “No!” Jack screamed as he left the ground and flew toward them.
The rider looked back over his shoulder just as Jack’s fist slammed squarely into his jaw. Jack rolled past the men and, amazingly, the rider was getting to his feet. The man’s jaw was broken and dislocated and it just hung like lead shot in a sock. His eyes were wild and his face terribly misshapen.
Jack recognized him. It was Bob Cooper.
Bob the rider now turned into Bob the limping runner. Jack was getting to his feet to pursue when a scream of “Margaret!” came from the front of the church. Jack took his eyes off the rider to see Senator Brinkley quickly approaching. He looked down and saw the pool of blood starting to grow under Mattie Turner.
Pinkerton was now on his feet with his gun drawn. He was looking toward the woods in the middle of Washington Square just as Bob Cooper was slipping into the shadows. He fired off a round and Bob’s shoe exploded and he fell flat on his face. Just as quickly, he was up again and limped into the shadows.