The Mountain

by David L. Golemon

  “Surely you believe in the cause in the North?” Ericsson asked in his heavily accented English.

  “That”—he pointed at the last of the starved men were boarded—“is the end result of two causes. If it weren’t that or this, it would be him, or them. Yes, Professor Ericsson, I don’t give a good damn for causes anymore.”

  Ericsson did not pursue another question. He could see the man before him now saw the end result of his craft and he hated himself for being a part of it. To his relief, the sergeant major reappeared with the Comanche Indian in tow. Ericsson was frightened of the red man, so he quickly tipped his hat toward the colonel and then left to board the more comfortable car farther up the line.

  “Detail is all aboard, Colonel.”

  Thomas looked at Dugan and nodded. The sergeant major, he knew, was feeling the same sense of horror he was at the sight of the prisoners. Dugan was having a hard time justifying his hatred toward the secessionists the way he had only two days before.

  “Are there plenty of blankets and water in those cars?”

  “Yes, Colonel. They have rations for the ride to Washington.” Dugan was about to turn and walk away when he stopped and, without turning back to face Thomas, said, “Colonel, I can’t bring myself to lock them in.”

  Thomas saw the sergeant major’s shoulders slump as he waited for Thomas to blow up over prisoner security.

  “Those men have to be protected from themselves for the time being, Sergeant Major. They won’t be thinking right until they have their strength back. So until that time comes, lock them in. They would only be committing suicide if they tried to escape like this.”

  “I didn’t see it that way,” Dugan said and then slowly walked off. Gray Dog lingered, watching the small man lower his head as he started to place chains through the doors of the boxcars.

  “Why keep other white men in cages?”

  John Henry started down the platform steps and started to make his way toward the cars in the front of the train.

  “Some things aren’t so easily explained, Gray Dog. Let’s just say the white men are angry and you can thank God they stay that way.” He looked at the Comanche as he spied Jessy Taylor waiting by the steps of the passenger car. His old gray coat had been replaced by a private’s blue blouse and he was wearing a Union cap. “Because when this madness is done, they only have one way to turn after that.”

  Gray Dog did not need an explanation of the words of John Henry. He looked at the last of the locks and chains going on the doors and then followed the colonel. He didn’t board the train but climbed to its roof instead and then sat. Thomas shook his head as he confronted Taylor.

  “Is this the treatment we can expect for the entire journey?” Taylor asked as he placed his arm across the car’s opening, stopping Thomas from entering.

  “Until I can trust you, yes.” Thomas lowered Taylor’s arm and stepped up the stairs to the car’s interior.

  “And when is that? When we’re at sea and can’t run?”

  John Henry stopped and turned. He was backlit by the oil lamps inside the car and Taylor couldn’t make out his friend’s features. He looked like a Greek god looking down from on high with a heavenly glow.

  “No, not even then, Jessy. When we get to Turkey, we’ll discuss your men at length and the ways to earn my trust. Now, let me buy you a drink and figure out how we can do what’s asked of us and get all of these boys back in one piece.” He stepped aside and gestured for Jessy to go ahead.

  “Something tells me you won’t succeed.”

  “That’s why I was chosen. It’s called being expendable.”

  The locomotive sounded its whistle and the train started to move south.

  8

  The train with its human cargo was six miles outside of Baltimore. John Henry Thomas and Jessy Taylor paused while going over the map of the Ottoman Empire. Taylor leaned back on the bench and then toyed with the half-full whiskey bottle. He glanced out of the dingy, soot-covered window and then his heart caught in his chest. Was his bad eye giving him that much trouble?

  “What is the story on that little fella?” he asked while still staring out the window.

  John Henry folded the map and then saw what Taylor was looking at. A surreal vision was staring in at them from an upside-down position. Gray Dog adjusted his feet and then vanished from the window as if he had never been there.

  “Long story. But where we’re going we may need that Comanche’s insight into certain things.”

  “Well, I surely hope he doesn’t go popping his head in with my men until they get used to him,” Taylor said, staring at the spot where the Indian had been. “Now,” he said as he turned back to Thomas. “Tell me about this Sultan Abdülaziz.”

  John Henry pulled out a sheaf of papers and rummaged through them until he came to the page he needed. “From all accounts he’s so interested in modernizing his empire that he pays little attention to his subjects. Secretary Seward believes he hasn’t but a few years in power left before the people oust him. Sultans do not have a good track record for keeping their subjects happy, and every twenty or thirty years they let the monarchy know in no uncertain terms just how angry they are. Seward’s assessment is that he’s so weak of mind that we should have very little trouble posing as railroad and army engineers.”

  “Sounds about as foul a situation as we have here, huh, Yank?”

  “Knock that crap off. Yank, Reb, it all amounts to being idiots.” John Henry put away the report on the sultan but held his eyes firmly on his old pal from the Point. “From the time we board ship until the time we return, we’re neither northerner nor southerner. If we go in separate, they will pick apart our little ruse very quickly.”

  Taylor smiled with his swollen lips. “That’s what your Mr. Lincoln wants anyway, doesn’t he? What I mean to say is, he is not known to be overly zealous when it comes to religion. He doesn’t think that damn children’s tale is even there, does he?”

  Thomas had to admit to a degree that Taylor was right. He had never known Lincoln to bend a knee to God or anything else. Lincoln believed in law. The Constitution was his Bible and that was why they were in the war they were in. So, no, he did not believe the president was in awe at Ollafson’s tale of wonder. But then, he also knew the president had absolutely nothing to lose but a military officer whose career was in the outhouse and a Reb colonel who had seen far better days. This was not counting the men under his command—at least on the southern side they were as expendable as both colonels leading them. He didn’t yet know what army dregs were going to be tossed into this bizarre equation.

  Instead of commenting on Taylor’s observation on his commander-in-chief, he brought out the Confederate roster. “You’ll need an adjutant. Who do you suggest?” He slid the roster across the table and Taylor, after downing a small glass of whiskey, looked it over. It only took him a moment.

  “Corporal Poteet. He served with me in New Mexico territory. He’s the only Texan I’ve ever known that could track those damnable Apaches. Yes, he’ll make a fine sergeant major, with your permission of course.”

  “Permission granted,” Thomas said as he underlined the name. His eyes continued to survey the roster of starved men even though his brain had stopped taking in information.

  “You don’t believe in this mission?” Taylor asked as he poured himself and Thomas another drink.

  “Not at all.” He took the drink and downed it and then looked up and saw Gray Dog standing next to him in the aisle. He had come upon them without sound or flash of movement.

  “Riders, John Henry. Twenty or more.”

  At that moment the train started to slow. The whistle sounded as Thomas stood. “Gray Dog, alert Sergeant Major Dugan and the marines. This isn’t right.”

  John Henry looked at Taylor and then stood from his chair. Jessy started to do the same but John Henry motioned him back down.

  “With that drawl of yours, may I suggest you sit this one out, Colonel?”


  “I’ll keep this bottle company. It’s a better conversationalist anyway,” he said as he downed another shot.

  John Henry felt the train decelerate rapidly as Dugan entered from another car with two marines next to him.

  “What have we got?” Dugan asked as he quickly lowered the window closest to him and looked out, first toward the front of the slowing train and then the rear. “Goddamn Injun is right. We have riders, Colonel Darlin’.”

  The train came to a screeching stop and as John Henry stepped out of the car he saw why. Fire was blazing on the very rails on which they traveled. “Sergeant Major, take ten marines and filter into these woods. Wait until you see something untoward and then move on the element if you have to.”

  “And what is untoward, Colonel?”

  “Untoward means me being shot for any reason.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  John Henry saw the first of the riders approach at a gallop. He could see by the long gold stripe on his pant leg that he was a cavalry officer, and by the looks of his mount he had been riding hard for quite some time. The horse and rider were both lathered with the effort.

  “I am looking for Colonel John Henry Thomas,” he said as the horse skidded to a stop.

  Thomas stepped forward and addressed the young first lieutenant. “I’m Thomas.”

  The rider removed his gauntlet, reached into his uniform tunic, and pulled out an envelope.

  “From the war department, sir.”

  Thomas took the message and stepped into the light streaming from the car. He opened the envelope and saw the words. As he read, John Henry realized he was dealing with something he had not been briefed on.

  “Sergeant Major Dugan,” he called out.

  The rider and his accompanying men heard the sound of several Spencer carbines as they were cocked and uncocked.

  “Sir!” Dugan said as he stepped from the trees.

  “Lieutenant, did anyone think to bring me some wagons?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. Twenty army wagons are a mile back.”

  “Sergeant Major, get the men off the train, quickly. Get them lined up and into the woods. Post the marine pickets. Nothing gets inside the perimeter, and especially nothing out, understand?”

  “Not at all,” he said angrily as he quickly moved out.

  “What have we got?” a voice said from behind.

  Taylor’s question was a loaded one. As Thomas turned to face him he gestured.

  “Some congressman has gotten wind of the shipment from Fort Lafayette and is throwing a fit about the illegal transport of prisoners without authorization from the war department.”

  “I thought the war department was in on this,” Taylor said as he hopped from the train car and started to assist in unlocking his men. “They probably believe they were brought to the woods to be shot and buried.”

  “They are aware, but they can’t get caught up in this because they could never explain it properly. They would rather do this thing covertly until it all blows up royally in their faces.”

  “The congressman is aware of your destination.”

  Thomas looked at the young lieutenant and then crumpled the message. “Get the wagons up here immediately. Is there a hospital near the harbor where they treat war wounded?”

  The cavalryman looked confused. “We have three doctors standing by at the pier, sir,” he answered.

  “Lieutenant, is there a hospital near the docks where the casualties from the front are being treated or buried?”

  “Yes, sir. Camp Monroe serves as the main hospital.”

  “Good,” he stepped up to the young officer and spoke to him in a whisper. Taylor saw the cavalryman looking shocked at his new orders, and then he suddenly turned his mount and bolted off to the south with the very confused look still on his face.

  “What are you up to? I don’t believe you can disguise these men. A blind person would be able to tell who they are.”

  “No, I can’t disguise them, so we have to actually turn them into something they are not.”

  Taylor saw Thomas deep in thought and knew the colonel had a plan. His eyes would always light up when he had thought something through.

  “Are you going to let me in on your plan, especially since it’s my men with everything to lose?”

  “Well,” John Henry said as he faced Taylor, “it may well be we have to kill you anyway.” He winked and then stepped up to assist in unloading the weakened men.

  Taylor was stunned at the wink and smile of Thomas, but he thought he was beginning to see how his men would be allowed into Baltimore.

  “Sergeant Major Dugan, Lieutenant Parnell will be in command, but you take charge of the prisoners and get them into the woods and march them as quietly as possible to the docks.” He looked from Dugan to the young marine lieutenant. “Mr. Parnell, your job is to get this command into the dock area without being caught. Can the Marine Corps do that?”

  “That and much more, Colonel,” Parnell said as he briskly saluted. He jumped on the large roan mount and started guiding the tired and worn men into the roadway alongside the railroad line. The rest of the marine detail was broken into two groups. One would accompany Thomas, the other Dugan and Parnell.

  BALTIMORE, MARYLAND

  Claire Richelieu and Lars Ollafson stood by the entrance to the U.S. Navy dry-dock area where they had been instructed to wait. Claire nervously looked around, feeling vulnerable as she waited beside the professor and their silent entourage of equipment and luggage. Her eyes often roamed over to the leather case that held the petrified wood with the Angelic curse. She forced back a shiver as she looked up and saw the fog start to roll in off the Chesapeake. Ollafson looked at his watch when they heard the sound of horses coming their way.

  “I was beginning to worry we were going to be left behind. It’s—”

  “Hush, Professor,” Claire said as she stepped forward and placed a hand on Ollafson’s shoulder to quiet him. “Those are carriages, not a military unit coming,” she said as her eyes studied the gateway beyond the front of the dock area. The naval guards at the gate heard the same as they stepped expectantly from their small shack.

  “Suddenly you are an expert—”

  The professor stopped when he saw two carriages filled with men stop at the gate. An unseen man inside the first carriage spoke some harsh words to the two navy men. Then from behind the twin carriages there was the sound of many footsteps as ten men left the rolling fogbank and stood beside the carriages and the two guards. Claire could hear one of the naval personnel explain that the dock area was closed to all civilians. She heard the angry protest from within the carriage, and then she saw the footman hop from the top seat and quickly open the door for the robust man who stepped from its interior.

  “Oh, my God, that’s Senator Harriman, I believe. Not a very nice man,” Ollafson said, worried that their plans had been leaked.

  Claire was well aware who the Democratic leader from Indiana was. The man was a staunch advocate of hanging every southern leader and commander when the war was completed and the South totally destroyed. The man was Lincoln’s staunchest enemy when it came to the way the president conducted the running of the war. A complete and utter follower of one general in particular: George McClellan. Claire was beginning to smell a rat, and the smell was familiar to her.

  “Inopportune timing, I would say,” came the voice from behind them.

  Claire and Ollafson turned and saw the speaker. There was another man standing right behind him. Claire knew he had been there all the while and was forever undressing her with his eyes. Captain Paul Renaud of the French army stepped up and dipped his hat and head at them both. The man was expertly dressed in his new traveling clothes.

  Claire closed her eyes when she realized who it was. She stepped up to the smaller man and leaned into him. She made sure Ollafson was not in hearing distance.

  “This is too bold a move even for you. Are you insane?”

  Renaud tosse
d his half-smoked cigar into the foul waters of the docks and then smiled. “Why? I am a history expert by trade, and my credentials, at least for the moment, are impeccable.” The arrogant man smiled and then whispered, “Madame, you did not really believe I would leave this in your hands, did you? My superiors in France were not very impressed with the way that old man kept certain things from you in his research. They thought a more experienced set of eyes should be on hand. So, here I am, ready to do my part as ordered by the U.S. War Department.” Renaud brought out a set of forged orders that were perfect in every detail, even countersigned by Stanton himself.

  “Those had better be perfect. This Colonel Thomas is no man’s fool. The president picked him for this assignment for a reason.” She smiled halfheartedly even though the man before her terrified her. “He will smell a rat.”

  “He would only smell a stupid rat, Madame. I, on the other hand, am a smart rat.”

  “Excuse me, but who is this man, Claire?” Ollafson asked as he placed the pocketwatch back into his vest.

  “Benton Cromwell, Professor Ollafson,” Renaud said. “A pleasure to meet you.”

  Claire turned to Ollafson with a smile. He says he’s been assigned by the war department as their specialist on historic locations.”

  “I think we should all wait for Colonel Thomas for the introductions. After all, it looks as though we may have a problem brewing here.”

  Claire again turned to the Frenchman. “Why do I smell your work in this?”

  “Not I, dearest Claire, but we did intercept a communiqué from London expressing the desire of Her Royal Majesty Victoria that the expedition be slowed somewhat. I suspect our British friends are behind this little commotion. Now I guess we’ll see if your Mr. Lincoln chose the right man for his adventure.”

  The two naval guards had given up as the large round man burst past them and was joined by other men as he came through the gate. The men with him were the capital police force for this district.