Mr. Montrose also saw that his eyes had flattened, had taken on the murderer's unblinking intensity, and Mr. Montrose thought, I was not mistaken. He is dangerous, and yet, what marvelous control! A deep and audible exhalation came from Joseph. He turned from the colonel, who had begun to feel a little chill alarm, and he went to a chair near the large center table and sat down. He looked only at Mr. Montrose, who very slightly nodded. Then Joseph said to Mr. Montrose, ignoring the soldier, "Why were the Irish rioting in New York, sir?" "I believe," said Mr. Montrose, "that they did not wish to fight in this war. They had, perhaps, seen enough of the misery of war in their own country. Then-they are hungry, and they live in a starving condition in hastily built hovels in Central Park-far up town and far from the city, itself-and in caves, and depend on sustenance and charity and mercy from the farmers adjacent to Central Park, and in the Park, itself. They find it very hard, even in these days of war-necessary labor for the foundries, to earn a living. No one wants to employ them. It is terrible for a proud and desperate man, who cannot find work, to watch his parents or his wife or his little children starving, or begging on the street for a mere crust of bread. That, Mr. Francis, is the condition of the Irish in New York, and other cities, in this Year of Our Lord, 1863, and if there is a logical explanation, beyond senseless bigotry, I fail to find one." There was the merest rapid flick from Joseph's eye in the direction of the colonel. He said, and very quietly, "Perhaps they do not find this country worth fighting for, Mr. Montrose. I do not blame them." The colonel's hand flew to his sword. Joseph saw it. His lip lifted in his own derision. But he still looked at Mr. Montrose as if awaiting a comment. Mr. Montrose shrugged. He said, "Fools respond to wars. Wise men profit from them-and invent them. Is that not so, Colonel? Have you not said that yourself?" The colonel's face swelled with engorged blood. "I find no fault in taking a little profit from anything, sir." "Now we understand each other perfectly!" said Mr. Montrose, with an air of sensible and happy relief. "All else was misunderstanding. We are here, the three of us, to make a profit, for we are pragmatic men. We did not make this war, not even you, Colonel. We are-ah-victims of circumstances beyond our control. None of us loves Mr. Lincoln and his war. Patriotism does not demand blindness and deafness. We may-ah- have larger plans for our country, beyond war. Colonel, will you not join us at this table? I have whiskey, here, and wine, for our delectation." He pulled forward a large silver tray containing several bottles. The colonel came at once, exuding good-will and fellowship. He even touched Joseph lightly on the shoulder as he sat down. Joseph did not move. He wanted to leave this room, then knew it was absurd and childish, and he was ashamed of himself. The colonel served a purpose, Mr. Montrose and he served a purpose, and girlish outrage should not be permitted to interfere. But his heart continued a sick and murderous thudding in his lean chest and he sweated with the very urgency of his hatred for the soldier, who now represented all the English soldiers he had ever known. The colonel exclaimed with pleasure at the quality of the whiskey and let Mr. Montrose pour him another glass. He leaned back in his chair. He loosened his tight blue collar. He let his short broad legs splay. He was all boyish frankness. He included the silent Joseph in his artless chatter and laughed almost constantly. Mr. Montrose listened, smiling. There was a locked leather case on his knees, the one he had shown Joseph. He drank carefully, fastidiously, savoring every drop. Joseph drank but a little, knowing that refusal would incite the colonel's scorn again, and fearing his own response to that scorn. The heat heightened in the room. The clamor and roaring and rattling outside became more imminent as the day increased, and the sunlight radiated hotly from every wall of the parlor. Mr. Montrose's voice became low and confidential. He said to the colonel, "You have done excellently, sir, in the past for Mr. Healey, when we shipped the direst-necessities-to a certain port. We had no trouble, and for that Mr. Healey is very grateful and is prepared to be even more generous. I convey his compliments to you, Colonel." The colonel's teeth flared and glowed again at this flattery, and Joseph was disgusted. The colonel said, "You must convey my compliments to Mr. Healey and my pleasure in serving him, sir. I deduce this is another shipment similar to the ones before." He added, "Did you say that Mr. Healey is prepared to be even more generous?" His face became eagerly alerted and leaned towards Mr. Montrose.
"Much more generous," said Mr. Montrose, sipping his whiskey. "I might even add that it will take your breath away, sir." "Ah!" cried the soldier with joy, and he slapped the table. "Then Mr. Healey has finally realized the danger!" Mr. Montrose arched his brows. "Was it so dangerous, Colonel, to give clearance to the clipper Isabel in the port? After all, you are military authority of the port of New York, are you not?" "The Isabel," said the colonel, and now there was the slightest scowl on his low and sweating forehead, "is a commercial vessel operating between Boston and New York, and sails openly, with the tide, day or night. When she takes a different tack, shall we say, it takes the utmost discretion and- consideration-to avoid the Federal patrols. This is not without danger." "But beyond the limits of the patrols-who believe she is on the way to Boston or other Union ports-there is not much surveillance?" The colonel again slapped the table vigorously. "You have not heard.
The surveillance has become very close, and sleepless, far from the coast. You are not the only ones engaged in-commerce-Mr. Montrose, sir. And different tacks, frequently observed, are usually questioned, and papers beforehand, at the home port, have been minutely examined recently." He added, "There is perhaps another thing you have not heard. British vessels, leaving this port more or less innocently, have been observed by the Russian Czar's patrols, who are determined that the British not help the Confederacy." "The Russians have not dared to halt the British vessels?" said Mr. Montrose. "No. They dare not. The British vessels have the most remarkable- protection. They are very valiant seamen, sir, the British, and I am proud to belong to their race-" He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Joseph, who stirred. Joseph said, with hard clear precision, "The British, Colonel, are composed of the Celtic races, the Irish, the Scots and the Welsh, who are really one race. The English, on the contrary, are not British. They are mere Anglo-Saxons, who were brought as slaves to England by their masters and slaveowners, the Normans. Have they," he asked, with an air as artless as the colonel's own, "lived down the stigma of slaves as yet?" The colonel's face enlarged enormously and became purple. Joseph smiled. He said, "Then there is hope for the Negro, too, that he will live down the stigma of once being a slave. After all, Colonel, he has just to remember the English who were slaves also. And behold what they have accomplished, once becoming free! The Catholic Church, sir, accomplished that." Touche, thought Mr. Montrose, with silent enjoyment. Joseph continued: "I assume, sir, when you speak of the 'British' you mean my fellow. Celts? And not Her Germanic Majesty, Queen Victoria's, former bondsmen and slaves?" "Come, come," said Mr. Montrose, smiling sweetly, "we are not about to begin a discussion of racial origins, are we, sirs? I have read that once the vast majority of us were slaves from the beginning, owned by but a few masters." He gave Joseph a cryptic glance. "There is nothing I dislike more," said the colonel, with an attempt at a quelling glance, "than the discussion of irrelevancies-" "Between businessmen," said Mr. Montrose. "Let us continue." He noticed that the colonel was not only angry but sullen. "We were discussing, I think, the slight contretemps between the-ah-Russians and the English." "The Russians," said the colonel, "have been reporting erratic courses taken by obviously innocent British vessels plying between Union ports. This has led to the outrageous seizure of British vessels by the Federal Government, and some very warm international exchanges between diplomats. The Russians only desire to embarrass the British, for, one day, they will contest for empire." "And so shall we," said Mr. Montrose. "That is inevitable with empires. Shall we continue? What time can the Isabel sail tomorrow?" "At midnight," said the colonel, who was still sullen. "The usual cargo, I assume?" Mr. Montrose leaned back in his chair and contemplated the smoke from his cheroot. "We will need more men. There will be sixty very large crates and some two hundred smaller crates. They will be very heavy." The colonel whistled. His eyes squinted at Mr. Montrose. Mr. Montrose smiled shyly. "This is a first run. If it succeeds there will be larger runs-and more profit for you, Colonel." The colonel refilled his glass. He swirled the golden contents in it and stared at the liquid. "There are more important personages than I engaged in this, Mr. Montrose. They may not like it." Mr. Montrose said, "I am aware of those more important men. Nevertheless, we have been chosen this time-by Barbour & Bouchard." The colonel stared at him. "But Barbour & Bouchard have been-conveying -a far larger cargo from the beginning of the war." "True. But their operations arc increasing. I believe some of their transports have been seized, also, quietly. They have never been prosecuted. They continue." He paused. "Barbour & Bouchard are very powerful men, Colonel. They own senators. Still, they must operate with discretion. The families of Union soldiers must not become indignant. And, though it seems incredible, there are still senators and congressmen and other politicians who are incorruptible. The other conveyers of Barbour & Bouchard have apparently become a little careless. So, we have been approached." The colonel goggled at him with sudden deep respect and awe. "You," he almost whispered. "And Barbour & Bouchard." "Let us not name names casually and indiscreetly," said Mr. Montrose. "It is decided? There will be enough loaders tomorrow night?" "I have never given clearance to that-that-before," said the colonel. "It is time for you to become more important," said Mr. Montrose. "And to engage in transactions which are more lucrative. You are ready to enjoy the company of very powerful men, who have been giving clearance to various ships, even in New York." The colonel said, "How are the crates marked?" "Tools for Boston and Philadelphia and various other ports. They are marked Barbour & Bouchard." He wrote quickly on a slip of paper. "The wharf," he said. The colonel read it and then Mr. Montrose burned the paper.
"You will see that the wharf number has been changed, Colonel." The colonel was silent. He stared at the ceiling. He seemed deflated. He finally said, "I give clearances to the port. Is it possible that-others- have been clearing, unknown to me?" "Indeed," said Mr. Montrose. "After all, there are many distinguished men in Washington, with investments. You are about to join them." "Mr. Healey owns a senator?" "Two," said Mr. Montrose. "And several congressmen." He smiled tenderly at the colonel. The colonel said, "Execution is the punishment for clearing such contraband." "If caught," said Mr. Montrose. "An intelligent man is rarely if ever caught. I am Mr. Montrose of Titusville, and this is Mr. Francis, also of Titusville. Under no circumstances will any other name be mentioned. It is settled, then? There will be enough men to handle the crates, and the Isabel will sail tomorrow at midnight, fully cleared. It is not the affair of the military authority to open and examine each and every crate. Crate number thirty-one contains nothing but machine tools, and the crates are openly marked with the name of the respected manufacturers. In short, this is a safer run than for mere food, clothing and the essentials of life. Too, the payment is far greater." The colonel assumed a serious and even virtuous expression. "It is quite a different matter, sir, to supply innocent women and children with food and covering than gunrunning-" Mr. Montrose lifted a fine hand in warning. "I have said the payment is far greater." Joseph stared at the colonel's profile with larger disgust. "How much more?" asked the colonel with blunt avarice. "Twice as much." "Not enough." Mr. Montrose shrugged. He lifted the case from his knees to the table and opened it. It was filled with bills of large denominations and the colonel leaned forward to look at them and his face expressed total greed and delight, and even humble worship. Mr. Montrose slowly removed half the packets of bills-which were tied with colored string-and laid them on the table. "Count them," he said. There was silence in the room while the colonel counted the bills. His fingers clung to them lovingly; he released the crackling packets with reluctance. His hard mouth trembled with a kind of sexual passion. His fingers began to quiver. Mr. Montrose smiled as the last packet was laid on the table. "The second half," he said, "will be given to you when the Isabel returns safely.
Take these with you now, Colonel. I have another case which I am happy to present to you." He brought another case, empty, from his bedroom and the colonel watched him closely as he laid the money within it, then fastened the straps. He pushed the case towards the colonel. Slowly, the colonel lifted his hands and then let them rest on it tightly as he would rest his hands on the breast of a beloved woman. "I am satisfied," he said, and his voice was hoarse. He looked at the case with the remaining money and his fierce eyes bulged. Then he licked the corner of his lips. "The extra men," said Mr. Montrose, "will be paid by us. It will not be necessary this time for you or any agent to pay them. This is another safeguard for you, Colonel. So, all the profit is yours." "I am satisfied," repeated the soldier. His forehead was hugely beaded with moisture. Mr. Montrose closed the other case. "We hope this will not be the last time you will be satisfied, sir." Only Joseph saw the merest little flicker run over the colonel's face, and he thought about it. The colonel said with enthusiasm, "I trust not!" He did not wait for Mr. Montrose to refill his glass. He filled it himself and drank it down at once with a flourish, and his face flushed. "We will meet here again in eight days," said Mr. Montrose. He drank a small glass of wine. "I suggest you return to your own rooms at once, Colonel. It is not sensible to remain here any longer." The colonel stood up, saluted, and laughed a little recklessly. Mr. Montrose opened the door and cautiously glanced up and down the corridor. "Now!" he said. The colonel snatched up his case and ran from the room and Mr. Montrose closed the door after him. He turned to Joseph. "What do you think of our boisterous soldier, who is so useful to us?" "I don't trust him," said Joseph. "If possible, I'd put a guard on him." Mr. Montrose raised his brows. "We have trusted him for nearly three years and have had no occasion to doubt him." He sipped his wine and looked over the brim at Joseph. "Are you not speaking solely from natural dislike, Mr. Francis?" Joseph considered. He rubbed one dark-red eyebrow with his index finger. "I think not," he said at last. "I never permitted dislike to interfere with business, or expediency. It is just-perhaps I should say intuition. Smile if you will, Mr. Montrose." But Mr. Montrose did not smile. He looked a little grave. "I have respect for intuition, Mr. Francis. No intelligent man deprecates it. However, we must operate empirically. The colonel has been very valuable to us in the past. There is no reason to think he will not continue to be valuable." He looked at Joseph questioning!}', and then when Joseph made no comment he said, "We have no other choice. There is no time.