He shrugged again. “Maybe saving me from prosecution in Mississippi falls under that heading.”
“Maybe. But sending Abe’s brigade here, under your command, has some agenda other than acting as honor guard at your wedding.”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t know. I suppose it’s the newspaperwoman in me. Are you going to keep ducking my question?”
Quincy hesitated for a moment, then leaned closer to Anna. “All right. I’ll tell you. But you must promise me that you won’t repeat it to anyone.”
“I can’t promise that I won’t tell President Lincoln.”
“President Lincoln knows.”
“Then you have my promise.”
Quincy looked around to see if anyone nearby was listening. “Have you heard of the outlaw William Clarke Quantrill?”
She thought a moment. “The bushwhacker?”
Quincy nodded. “Yes. He’s currently the most troublesome bushwhacker, who, if the rumors are true, is now a captain in the Confederate army.”
“Bosh. Quantrill is a brigand. Jefferson Davis would never grant him a commission. Davis may be a fool but he isn’t a thug.”
“Maybe not. But Davis is desperate, and Quantrill’s guerrilla band is a substantial and effective force.”
“From what I’ve read, Quantrill’s only effective against civilians.”
“Yes. That’s true.”
“So?”
“So we’re here to stop him.”
“Okay. But why use the African Brigade?”
“The African Brigade is still officially at Milliken’s Bend, Louisiana. Besides – it’s really a big regiment – too small to be called a brigade.”
She made a face at him. “You’re evading my question by trying to sidetrack me with jabber, Quincy. You learned that from me. It won’t work.”
He nodded. “And I was so successful that I forgot your question, Mother,”
“I asked you why Abe and these colored soldiers are here.”
“Oh yes. Well, you’d have to ask President Lincoln or General Grant about that.”
“I’m asking you.”
“I really don’t know, Mother.”
“Well, you can speculate, can’t you?”
“I’m not as good at that as you are.”
She waved her hand at him in annoyance. “Their reasons must be political.”
“I don’t know.”
“Of course you do. Stop being so coy and talk to me.”
Quincy thought a moment. “Maybe the whole purpose is just to demonstrate to the Confederacy that free blacks and former slaves represent a real threat.”
“That makes some sense, but it can’t be the whole reason. Come on, Quincy. I’m your mother. I know you. I can see that you’re hiding something.”
Quincy looked around nervously. “Lincoln has had little success in finding white officers to command black troops.”
“I know that, but…”
“Do you want to hear what I have to say, Mother?”
Anna nodded.
“Then let me talk.”
“Okay.”
“General William Rosecrans is the director of the St. Louis District. General Thomas Ewing is his deputy. Ewing is also General Sherman’s brother-in-law, by the way.”
“I know all that. What does it have to do with you?”
“If I’d arrived here with white soldiers, Rosecrans and Ewing would scream to Halleck, demanding that I be sent back to Mississippi and that the troops be transferred to their commands. But Rosecrans won’t want the black troops.”
“Ah.” She smiled. “I’ll bet that Rosecrans and Ewing have refused to go after Quantrill as aggressively as the President and General Grant would like.”
“You’d lose that bet. Ewing’s very aggressive, but the President and General Grant disapprove of his methods.”
“Such as?”
“Well, as we speak he’s rounding up all known relatives and supporters of Quantrill’s raiders, including women and children.”
“Rounding them up and doing what with them?”
“They’re being imprisoned in Kansas City.”
“That’s outrageous.”
Quincy shrugged. “Yeah.”
“Why doesn’t the President or Grant order him to stop?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because he’s Sherman’s brother-in-law, maybe for some other reason. I got my orders verbally from Uncle Robert and he was very close-mouthed. The politics here are mind-bogglingly complex.”
“I know.” Anna nodded. “Do you have any idea where Quantrill is right now?”
“Somewhere in the Sni Hills of Missouri. It’s said to be a very wild place.”
“When will you be going after him?”
“We’ll be leaving in the morning.”
“Tomorrow morning? Not much of a honeymoon.”
He chuckled. “We already had a fairly long one in a Vicksburg cave during the siege.”
“Oh. That reminds me - I meant to ask. I didn’t see Ginger at the wedding.”
“She’s not here. Ginger and Abe are not speaking.”
Anna started to question him further but saw Chrissy approaching. “Here’s your wife.”
Quincy nodded. “Isn’t she a beauty, Mother?”
“Yes. Yes, she is.”
“I’m a lucky man.”
Chrissy giggled as she reached them. “You’re leering at me, Quincy.”
“I suppose I am,” he admitted.
Chrissy looked from Quincy to Anna and back at Quincy. “You two look like you’re plotting something.”
“We were discussing my assignment here,” Quincy replied.
“Oh.” Chrissy took a piece of paper from her sleeve and handed it to him. “You were wondering about the men that ride with Quantrill. I asked Mr. Jarvis and he wrote down these names.”
Quincy held the paper so that Anna could see it too. “Bill Hickman, Joe Maddox, Cole Younger, Frank James, Bill Anderson, Tuck Hill, Woot Hill, Bill Hulse, Jim Hinds, Ben Broomfield, Dick Yeager, Tom Maupin, Ben Morrow, Sid Creek, Fletch Taylor, Jim Little, Colonel John Holt, Colonel Boaz Roberts, and Sim Whitsett.” He looked at his mother. “The only name I recognize is the horse thief ‘Bloody’ Bill Anderson. Any of these look familiar to you from your time here as a reporter?”
“Cole Younger’s the son of the late Henry Washington Younger.” Anna pointed to Cole Younger’s name on the list. “Henry was the mayor of Harrisonville, Missouri. Last year, while Henry was on his way to Kansas City, he was shot in the back and killed. The official view of the murder is that the motive was robbery. The view held by Cole is that his father was killed because of his pro-slavery sentiments. Cole’s got a dozen or more brothers, and all of them who’re old enough to shoot are fighting a guerrilla war against the Union.”
Quincy nodded. “That’s good to know. Anyone else?”
She nodded. “Yes. Frank James. He’s Zerelda Samuel’s son. Zerelda’s been a rabble-rouser in Missouri for years. She has another son that’s nearly fighting age. Jesse James, I think. None of these other names ring a bell, but…” She blanched. “Dear God.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I was going to say that I’d show the list to Nancy. I keep forgetting that she’s dead.”
August 10, 1863
Fort Delaware, Delaware
The guard unlocked the cell door and stepped back to let the warden enter, then closed and relocked the door.
“I’m Colonel James Bingham, the commander of this prison unit.”
The prisoner, who was battered, bruised and shackled to the wall, said nothing.
“Do you really think that you can conceal your identity from us?”
The prisoner said nothing.
“We have the Confederate missing in action reports from Gettysburg. There are six field grade officers and one general grade officer on the report.”
“I’m Private John Smith.”
“The Union Navy bo
mbarded Fort Sumter today. The South is doomed and so are you.”
The prisoner yawned.
“If you give us your name and rank we’ll exchange you.”
“John Smith, private.”
“You’ll never see your family again.”
“I don’t have a family.”
Bingham walked to the door. “Guard. He’s all yours.”
August 14, 1863
Lawrence, Kansas
Chrissy made her way through the restaurant to where Anna was sitting at a table, reading the local newspaper. “Any news of Quincy?”
“There’s a reprint of a Kansas City story that says he’s in Missouri chasing Quantrill.” Anna refolded the paper into quarters. “There’s also a contradiction by Senator Lane who says that Quincy’s cavalry’s somewhere west of here containing an Indian uprising.”
Chrissy sat down. “Which do you think is true?”
Anna shrugged. “My guess would be neither. The casualty count from yesterday’s collapse of the women’s prison in Kansas City lists four dead: Charity Kerr, Susan Vandever, Armenia Selvey, and Josephine Anderson.”
Chrissy gave her a blank look.
“Anderson as in Bloody Bill Anderson,” Anna explained. “Josephine was his fourteen year-old sister.”
Chrissy still looked puzzled.
“Quantrill will either be riding toward here or toward Kansas City to get revenge,” Anna explained, “and Quincy will be trying to head him off.”
“What should we do?”
Anna thought a moment. “Well, we can’t leave until we hear from Quincy, but if Quantrill does attack Lawrence, this hotel is bound to be a target.”
Chrissy nodded. “Where should we go?”
“Josiah Trask, the editor of the Lawrence State Journal, lives in a boarding house owned by a doctor named Griswall or Griswold. We can ask at the desk.”
“Don’t forget that we have Jefferson with us. Most rooming houses don’t take families with small children. Is your friend Trask married?”
“Yes. But he’s a newlywed. No children.”
“Let’s find out if we can stay there with Jefferson before we discuss it with Urilla.”
Anna shrugged. “Okay, but why?”
“She’s very nervous.”
“About what?”
“Her life’s been sheltered and this is all just too much for her.”
“Oh, now. I have a hard time being sympathetic.”
Chrissy shrugged. “You don’t have to be sympathetic. Understanding is enough.”
Anna gave her a searching look. “So you understand people who buy and sell other people?”
“I understand bigotry in all forms. Urilla can’t help believing what her parents taught her any more than you can help believing the things you were taught by yours.”
“Are you calling me a bigot?”
“If the shoe fits, wear it.”
With a humph, Anna raised the newspaper in front of her face.
~
“Thank you, Mrs. Griswold.” Anna closed the hallway door and walked into the bedroom where Urilla was tucking Jefferson into bed. “Are you all right?”
Urilla looked over her shoulder at Anna. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Anna shrugged. “You seemed upset about having to share a bedroom with me.”
Urilla turned around and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I was upset at the fuss that Chrissy made about not wanting to share a room with Jefferson. It’s not like he cries all night, or wets the bed or anything. He’s a good little boy.”
“I know he is,” Anna said. “I probably shouldn’t have given in to Chrissy so quickly when Mrs. Griswold told us that there were only two rooms.” She sighed. “But Chrissy’s under a lot of pressure right now.”
“She’s a bitch,” Urilla said.
Anna looked surprised. “What makes you say that?”
“She never misses an opportunity to make me feel guilty that our family owns slaves.”
“What? She climbed all over me for being unsympathetic to you.”
“To me? What do I need sympathy for?”
Anna shrugged. “You’re a long way from home and you’ve lived a sheltered life.”
“I’ve not lived a sheltered life,” Urilla said angrily. “Don’t let that bitch Chrissy fool you. She’s very good at finding fault in anything you say.”
August 14, 1863
Blackwater, Missouri
Abe Van Buskirk dismounted and walked toward the shack with his hands above his head. “We mean you no harm,” he shouted. “We’re United States cavalry searching for outlaws and we need to ask if you’ve seen them.” After several seconds of silence, he looked over his shoulder at Quincy. “They’re too scared.”
“Very well,” Quincy replied loudly. “If they don’t cooperate we’ll just assume that they’re aiding Quantrill. Burn the place down.”
“Wait,” a voice from the shack shouted. “We’s comin’ out. Don’t shoot.”
“Come on,” Abe replied.
The door creaked and a black man peered out. “Quantrill ain’t around here no more. Him and his bunch done rode out las’ night.”
“How many with him?” Abe asked.
“Five hundred, there-abouts.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“I was up to their camp near the Pardee place. Just workin’, mind you. Cleanin’, cookin’ and whatnot. I ain’t no part o’ them folks.”
“We know that you’re not one of them,” Abe said. “How sure are you about the number?”
“I cooked ‘em five hundred and fifty beefsteaks for last night’s supper and there wasn’t none left over when they rode out. They was big steaks. I don’t reckon that many men could of eat two of ‘em.”
“Do you know where they were headed?”
“Columbus and then Lawrence over in Kansas. They was all talkin’ about what they was gonna do when they gets to Lawrence.”
“What did they say they were going to do?”
“They said they was gonna kill some folks and then burn the town to the ground.”
“Do you remember any of the names of the folks that they intend to kill?” Quincy called.
The man came out of the shack and closed the door behind him. “I heard ‘em say some names, but I ain’t gonna remember none of ‘em.”
“What do you remember?” Abe urged.
The man shook his head.
“Anything that would help us. Please.”
“Well, they said that there’s a fella who stays at Eldridge House in Lawrence and that this fella knows General Lane and where all the folks that’s General Lane’s friends stay at.”
“I don’t understand.”
The man shrugged. “I can’t say if they is plannin’ to kill the man at Eldridge House or if the man at Eldridge House is gonna help ‘em. But I surely do remember Eldridge House ‘cause I knows somebody who gots that same name. Eldridge, I means.”
“Did you hear the name of the man at Eldridge House?”
“Yes-sir. I did, but I don’t recall. They was talkin’ back and forth about a long list of names, so it’s hard to pick one out.”
“Is the list you’re talking about some kind of death list?” Abe asked.
“Yes-sir. That’s what I been sayin’. They got ‘em a list of folks they is gonna kill. They got maps too. The maps show where the house is at of them that they is supposed to kill.”
Abe stepped forward and gave the man a gold coin. “Thank you.”
August 18, 1863
Milliken’s Bend, Louisiana
General Ulysses Grant looked up as Robert Van Buskirk came into the room. “Bad news?” He pointed to the telegram in Robert’s hand.
“More annoying than bad, but Quincy needs help with a decision.”
Grant put down his pen and gestured toward a chair. “A decision about what?”
Robert sat down. “Quantrill is planning a raid in Lawrence, but Rosecrans issued an orde
r forbidding Quincy to take the brigade from Missouri back into Kansas. Quincy wants to know if he should disobey the order.”
Grant took a fresh cigar from his pocket. “Where’s Quantrill now?”
“He’s assembling a large force in Columbus. Quincy won’t be able to catch up to him in Columbus so he’s trying to get between him and Lawrence.”
“Can he?”
“He’s not sure if he can catch him in Missouri, but he thinks he can if he can cross into Kansas.”
“Let me see Quincy’s wire.”
Robert gave the telegram to Grant.
“This was sent from Blackwater,” Grant said, after reading the message. “Is Quincy there now?”
“I imagine that he’d still be there, waiting for an answer from us.”
Grant took his time lighting a cigar. “What do you think?”
Robert shrugged. “That depends on whether you want to take the heat for countermanding Rosecrans.”
“What if I don’t?”
“Setting aside the consequences to Lawrence, the brigade’s useless in Missouri. We’ll have to bring them back here. That’s a hell of a waste of taxpayer money.”
Grant nodded. “What if I agree and countermand Rosecrans’s order?”
“You’ll waste a lot of political capital, but you might save Lawrence and put a permanent stop to Quantrill’s Raiders.”
“We could win this war if we didn’t have to fight our friends.” Grant grumbled.
“I’m not sure I’d count Rosecrans as a friend.”
Grant waved his cigar in annoyance. “You know what I mean. Rosecrans is only doing this to spite me.”
Robert nodded. “I agree. My fault. I guessed wrong. Sorry.”
“No, no. Your motives were right. Quantrill needs to be stopped.” Grant looked at the ash on his cigar. “If we tell Quincy to come back, what do we do about your sister, Quincy’s wife, and Johnny’s wife? They’ll be stuck in Lawrence.”
“Don’t worry about them. Anna can get them home without Quincy’s help. She and Nancy were there when Lawrence was just a mud hole surrounded by a few tents full of dangerous people.”
“Quantrill wasn’t attacking Lawrence when she and Nancy were there,” Grant said.
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