Pat O'Malley Historical Steampunk Mystery Trilogy

by Jim Musgrave

  We were placed on the second floor, and we each had our own room filled with what was left of Southern hospitality. As I got comfortable with the quilt spread out on the four-poster bed, and mint tea boiling in the pot on a small table beside me, I remembered that Tennessee was where General Sherman lost his favorite horse, Dolly.

  In fact, now that I could remember that day in October, 1863, I recalled that it was right here in Collierville that the skirmish occurred. It was just before we took Chattanooga, and Southern Confederate Colonel John McGuirk's 3rd Mississippi Cavalry and 1st Mississippi Partisans had made a run at our flanks.

  About 12 noon that day, the train containing me and my Major General William T. Sherman arrived from Memphis with the 13th U.S. Infantry, which brought the total number of men fighting in the battle to about 4,000.

  The 13th U.S. was ordered to the left of the 66th Indiana into the woods. Moving north, Confederate Colonel McGuirk's command came upon a 40 acre Union cavalry camp on the north side of the town. After routing the Union 7th Illinois Cavalry into the river bottoms and capturing 150 prisoners and five stands of colors, McGuirk's men loaded 18 wagons of supplies and destroyed an additional 30 wagons. Because of this delay, Colonel McGuirk was unable to attack the fort from the north as planned.

  The battle raged around the fort and depot of Collierville, and eventually the Confederates drove all the Union forces into the fort, the depot or railroad cars for protection from the shelling. Neither side was able to gain control of the battle. Fearing Union reinforcements from Germantown, the Confederates withdrew without taking the fort. The battle lasted five hours. Union losses were 164 killed, wounded or missing and Confederate losses were 128 killed, wounded or missing.

  General Sherman and I narrowly escaped capture as the Confederates boarded our train and captured personal items, including his horse, Dolly. We were looking back at the train, about fifty yards away. I remember the general muttering, “Dolly! Damn it all to blazes, she was a good horse!”

  I recall that one of our men got a good shot off and hit Colonel McGuirk in the head, putting out one of his eyes. I knew it was his eye because I could hear him curse as he fell off his horse, “Blasted Yankee blinded me!” We were able to make our way out of Collierville without another incident slowing us down on our way to Chattanooga, where we routed the Southern forces in the third major battle fought there in three years.

  We knew we had to get our little science act together as soon as we could. Anson Burlingame had advised us to be ready for a big meeting of the World Eugenics Collective, which was to take place on May 2 at the Wainwright Mansion in Collierville. He said he would be sending about fifteen of the most important members of this group to our laboratory to be tested for genetic flaws and given our Panspermia serum. He believed it was the most momentous event in the history of his movement, and he was going to show us a surprise of his own at this meeting.

  Our laboratory was going to be in one of the twelve former slave cabins behind the Wainwright Mansion. We brought a bunch of flasks of some of my father’s Irish whiskey that we colored with red dye and flavored with menthol. This was going to be our “serum” to give to these rubes. First, of course, we were going to examine these men to make certain they met the high standards of genetic evolution to move onto the highest level of procreation.

  I still did not have a definite clue as to the location of Dr. Mergenthaler, but I knew he must be close. After uncovering the conspiracy of Dr. Jonathan Letterman, who had worked with the kidnappers at Mt. Sinai Hospital, I knew that Mergenthaler’s unique genius was being exploited in some way. I just did not know for what purpose they needed him. Were they doing some business to make money to invest in their world eugenics movement? Were they inventing new weaponry to sell on the world market? There were very many possibilities.

  I also knew I had to visit General Grant to make certain he understood what these southern extremists were doing under the liberal policies of President Johnson. We could not allow these people to gain any more power. The fact that they would believe my irrationally contrived scientific myth proved that they were extremely dangerous to the fabric of American society. As a reaction to the war, these racist groups had banded together to suppress the rights of immigrants and freedmen, and they were a dangerous faction that had to be stopped.

  As I fell asleep, I pictured these men taking our serum. Their bodies slowly became infused with a green color, and their fingers and toes dropped off. Their mouths disappeared, for they had no use for their tongues, and I could hear their thoughts ringing in my mind: We are the supreme beings! No longer shall the mongrel hordes of the world plague our countries with their inferior genetics. There is no god; there is only the power of the Panspermic evolution! Thank you, Dr. Wentworth, for bringing us your universal drug. We will be indebted to you forever.

  In my dream, they hoisted me on their shoulders and began to march me around. Hail to our first king! King Wentworth, the great. Bringer of the magic serum! He who has finally brought peace to planet Earth!

  My body slowly turned into the shape of a gigantic monster. I was like Gulliver amidst the Lilliputians. I was green, but I also had a mammoth body, a huge mouth, gnashing teeth, and these little green men all around me were shoveling blacks, Jews and other people of color into my mouth to be chewed-up and devoured! I began to choke on them, and I believed I was going to suffocate. That’s when I awoke.

  I got up from the bed and ran to the window, threw open the shutters, and breathed in the springtime air of the Tennessee night. My nightclothes were drenched in perspiration, and my mind was reeling with desperate thoughts. What was I doing? What if they turned on me because I was such an obvious fraud? I was not only putting my own life in danger, but I was also endangering the lives of the two people I loved most in this world.

  Off in the distance, I could hear a man scream. His scream was coming from one of the slave cabins. Could that be where they were keeping Mergenthaler? I made a mental note to try to search those cabins when we organized our laboratory the next day.

  * * *

  Becky was her usual perky self during breakfast at the gigantic dining room table downstairs the next morning. We could see up into the rafters where there were mechanized fans that had been manipulated by the house slaves during meals to provide a breeze when there was none during the humid Tennessee summers. I had to explain how they worked to my father.

  “You mean they actually had folks sitting up there? They could have fallen and broken their blasted necks!” he opined.

  “I do believe this was one of the most favored jobs of a slave. Working in the big house was an honor and a privilege for these folks, as you call them,” I said.

  When Anson Burlingame and his three assistants came in for breakfast, we had to put on our act. There were white Irish servants working the dining room area, and Burlingame motioned for one to bring him the platter of sausage and eggs. The servant piled his plate high with the victuals and then backed away, waiting for the next order.

  “Dr. Wentworth, I trust you slept well,” said Burlingame, slipping a greasy sausage, in its plump entirety, between his rosy pink lips.

  “Yes, quite well, sir, and you?” I said.

  After chewing his food completely and swallowing, Burlingame replied, “I’m afraid I’m rather anxious concerning some of the guests we shall be entertaining tomorrow evening. We have men of industry from as far away as Prussia and Italy, and I want to be certain they will enjoy their stay here. Do you have any ideas as to types of entertainment they might enjoy?”

  “Perhaps you could host some kind of masquerade ball,” said Becky. “Europeans are always impressed by masquerades. I believe it must come from the sexual intrigue one can experience not knowing exactly with whom you might be fraternizing.”

  “What a brilliant idea!” said Burlingame, and his monocle fell off into his plate amongst the slimy egg yolks. One of the Irish servants sprang to his side and adroitly extracte
d the monocle from the plate and cleaned it off with a linen napkin. He then handed it politely back to his master, who placed it back into his eye socket.

  “You could invite some ladies from around here, and perhaps you could even establish a theme of some sort. I was thinking it would perhaps be entertaining to have a Venetian type masquerade. I know they do so in New Orleans during Mardi Gras,” said Becky.

  “Oh yes, my wife and I have been there on many occasions. What would you suggest for the masks?” Burlingame was quite enthusiastic at this point.

  I kept my look of British aloofness.

  “There are several different types of masks that can be worn. The Medico della Peste or Plague Doctor mask has its characteristically long beak. This mask is accompanied by black clothes and white gloves. The Bauta mask has a simple design. It has a square face with a triangular chin that points outward allowing the wearer to talk. The nose is usually well defined, but can be subtle if so desired. The Columbina mask is a half-mask, often highly decorated with gold, silver, crystals and feathers. It is held up to the face by a baton or tied with ribbon as with most other Venetian masks. The Moretta is feminine in nature and the Volta was worn for the gentlemen’s or ladies’ night out.” Becky, as a Madame in the wealthy theater section of New York City, was obviously well versed in the party accoutrements of the ruling classes.

  “Well, that does it! Please inform McIntyre, my butler, of all your needs. He’ll get them in Memphis and be back before this evening. I’ll get the invitations out to the ladies. I hope you won’t be offended if we use some of the local women who are experienced with these kinds of affairs?” Burlingame raised his eyebrows and leered at Becky.

  “Oh, no! We certainly understand how difficult it is to get single women at such short notice,” said Becky. She then turned her head toward me and winked.

  The Irish servants helped us load our lab equipment into a wheelbarrow and trundle out the front double-doors, down the steps, and out to our assigned slave cabin. Father asked the two men how they liked working there, and they said it was the best job they’d had since coming over from Dublin two years ago.

  “Mister Burlingame pays us a handsome wage, me boy-o, and we get our three meals, and we goes ta mass on Sundays,” said the tall one with red hair and a long horse’s face.

  After the two servants left, we put up our “chart of genetic flaws” on the easel. It showed all the places on the human body that were not acceptable to us. If the nose, for example, were too Jewish and elongated, this would nullify one from getting the serum. Or, if the spine were too curved or deformed, or the head too much shaped like a Negro’s or ape’s cranium, then that would certainly negate a serum transformation to a higher level of evolution.

  It was quite a ghastly and insane chart, but we needed something to show these scoundrels, and we imagined it would fit the purpose of our ruse. Of course, we would pass all these men, and they would each receive a flask of the serum. We could not afford the risk of rejecting someone and causing an immediate confrontation.

  The small glass flasks of the red-colored “whiskey serum” were placed in a line on the table. They each had a scientific label that read “Panspermia Serum.” We were going to administer these flasks when the prospective Panspermic humans passed our screening. It was all jolly good fun, as my character Dr. Wentworth would express it, but it was also tinged with imminent danger.

  “Patrick, I hope you don’t mind my idea about the masquerade,” said Becky, as she massaged my shoulders. “I thought it would be an excellent diversion for you to do your sleuthing. Nobody would expect a man in Victorian attire with a full mask to be spying about, now would they?” she said, kissing the back of my neck.

  “You watch it, girlie!” said father. “Patrick’s the doctor and you ain’t,” he added, chuckling.

  “My father’s correct, Becky Charming. We aren’t at one of your brothel parties. What if one of these wealthy men of industry gets offended? We get blamed,” I said.

  “Offended? I can see you two men have not been around the wealthy when they can successfully hide from the public. These rich men become little boys again, as randy and as ridiculously unfocused as a ram in heat.” Becky again nibbled at my neck, and this sent a warm shiver up and down my spine. I glanced over at the chart to see if my spine matched the one in the skeletal drawing. Not very close. I doubt I could pass my own screening. I certainly would not pass with a beautiful woman like Becky nibbling at my neck and causing my spine to contort into a question mark.

  “I want to look around in the adjoining cabins,” I said, “before these men come to us for their screening. I heard a man screaming last night when I awoke from a nightmare. His voice was coming from one of these cabins, if I am not mistaken, and I want to see if it might be Dr. Mergenthaler.”

  “Yes! I also heard that scream. I thought it might be one of the Irish on a drunken spree, so I turned over and went back to sleep,” said Becky.

  “I don’t enjoy your casting aspersions upon us Irish, my lady,” I said, and I pulled away from her grasp.

  “I don’t mean you, silly!” she said.

  “Wait here. I shall return post haste. Father, come and warn me if you see anybody coming, will you?” I asked, opening the wooden door of the slave’s cabin.

  “Sure I will, me boy-o!” said Robert, opening one of the extra bottles of serum and taking a drink.

  “Don’t you be gettin’ potted on me, either,” I warned him, and he immediately set the flask back down and smiled up at me.

  I opened the door to the cabin next to ours and stepped inside. There were the frail beds and the small fireplace, and the usual tools of the field hands, but there were no signs that anybody had been kept there against his will.

  One by one, I searched each of the twelve cabins. As I started to open the door to the last one, I heard voices coming from within. I stood still and listened. I could barely hear them, but I was able to ascertain a few sentences.

  “He inspected it, and it works, John. When they bring in the Jews, we can begin. Burlingame says we’ll have important gents here to observe.”

  I knew they were talking about what Burlingame had referred to as the “surprise invention,” but I did not know what it was. I also wondered what they meant by bringing the Jews in. How could Jews be part of any invention? Perhaps Mergenthaler had invented this contraption, and it was a way to sell something to rich Jews. I heard steps coming toward the door. I turned and ran back toward our cabin, making certain my stealth was as light as an Indian’s dash across the prairie out West.

  Just as I was closing our door, I could see the door to their cabin open. Out into the gathering dusk of the Tennessee countryside stepped none other than the man I had seen wounded on the Collierville battlefield in October of 1863: Confederate Colonel John McGuirk, the Irish turncoat and thief of my general’s horse, Dolly.

  He now had a patch over his eye, but he still wore the gray officer’s uniform of the Rebel South. He looked straight over at me, and he grinned, the wide smile erupting beneath his brown, curling mustache like a vision from a child’s nightmare. I immediately remembered little Seth Mergenthaler and his story about the men in his father’s hospital room that night at Mt. Sinai. One went bumpety-bump and the other had a patch over his eye.

  ***

  When I told Becky and my father what I had discovered in the other cabin, they became as excited as I was. We now knew that Dr. Mergenthaler was possibly being held in that cabin and that we were close to finding out.

  “I heard them talking about the meeting. They are bringing Jews in, and we will observe something. What do you suppose they mean?”

  “It must be some invention Mergenthaler made for them,” said Becky.

  “Probably some sneaky way to make money from Jews. You know how O’Hara and his boys make money off the Wall Street crowd? I think they got Mergenthaler to make some investment scheme,” said my father.

  “Both of you sound l
ogical,” I said. “However, I keep thinking about how much of a changed man Dr. Letterman was. Something very sinister must have convinced him to turn against his own people. Of course, it’s not the first time a Jew has become his people’s worst enemy,” I said.

  “You mean the Spanish Inquisition?” Becky knew immediately.

  “Correct. Tomás de Torquemada was a converso, a Jew who had converted to Christianity. He was the Grand Inquisitor who tortured Jews and other non-Christians because he said they were sucking money from the King and Queen of Spain and were blighting the culture.” I was seeing all the inhuman connections as I spoke, and I was becoming increasingly angry at the implications.

  “You mean you think they might be imposing some kind of restrictions upon the Jews or the freedmen?” Becky asked.

  “Yes. All the cards are on the table. Reconstruction in the South has become a game of power politics. These Confederate veterans are radical racists. They hate what the Union Government has planned for them. Now that one of their own is in the White House, they think they can take chances. What better time to try something awful,” I said.

  “How horrible do you think this invention could be?” asked Becky.

  “I can’t imagine, but I know it can’t be anything good. I expect we shall see what it is tomorrow night at your masquerade party. Burlingame plans to show us all what his new surprise invention is and how it works.” I pulled out one of the serum bottles and opened it. I was playing my usual “stare down the devil” game, but Becky did not understand.

  “Patrick James O’Malley! This is not time for you to drink!” she admonished me.

  “I am not going to drink it,” I told her, uncorking the top and putting the elixir up to my nostrils. I took a big deep breath and placed it back down on the table. “There. Now I have enough of the panspermia vapors to get me through this ordeal. I plan to sneak out tomorrow night during the festivities. I will wait until we know for certain what this new invention is. After we find out, I am traveling to Memphis to visit General Grant. He is inspecting the recent riot conditions that have been developing there. I must convince him of the threat going on over here before it’s too late. It’s the only chance we have of rescuing Dr. Mergenthaler and putting a stop to this movement.”