Rebels of Babylon (40 page)

“Well, right and proper it is, Mr. Barnaby. Right and proper. I shall draw funds in the morning and—”

“Begging your pardon, sir, begging your pardon. I doesn’t mean to seem ungrateful and nasty … but if I could ’ave but two dollars tonight … you see, I’ve been turned out of the place I was boarding, sir. I never thought I’d live to fall so low …”

The fact is that my own pockets were empty, and had been for some time. Had I been better organized, I would have seen the need for funds in my purse.

Embarrassed I was for the fellow. Twas as I said before: The honest do not prosper during wartime.

“Wait here,” I said. I saw one forlorn hope.

I took me back aboard the
Cormorant.
Captain Senkrecht was gone off, but I asked for the gunboat’s commander. In his stateroom he was, which hardly deserved so eminent a name. He worked at a stack of papers by a lantern’s light. After a battle of shot and shell, the long campaign of ink and paper begins.

He was a fair young man. Had he not been so intelligent, he might have been well-suited for the cavalry.

“Major Jones?” he said in some surprise. He had thought himself rid of me. His face bore the look of a man wrenched from deep thought, the confusion of leaving one world for another.

I produced the letter prepared by Mr. Nicolay and signed by Mr. Lincoln. Granting me authorities that even I found excessive.

“I am in need of funds. Urgent need. Have you a hundred dollars on board? No, a hundred and fifty?” I decided that I might have needs myself before I had time to call at the paymaster’s office. Where corruption had reigned of late.

“Of course, this is irregular …”

“I shall pay the money back in a day. Or in two days at most.”

He finished scanning my letter, then said, “Yes. Of course. I didn’t realize …”

I find I lack the rigor of my youth. And, perhaps, the strictness befitting a Methodist. I am uncertain, even now, that it was proper of me to draw funds from the
Cormorant
for purposes that were but half official. But no ill come of it. And lest you wonder, I paid the fellow back.

I returned to the wharf well satisfied that I had done a good deed, if by flawed means.

Mr. Barnaby, despite his bulk, looked haggard and hard used.

“Did you see ’er?” he asked eagerly. “Did you see ’er, is she all right?”

I wanted a moment to understand his meaning.

“No, Mr. Barnaby, I did not see the lass. She is sleeping, see. And that was not my business.” I drew him away from the brightness of lamp and torch to a spot where I might pass him his funds discreetly.

Now, Mr. Barnaby had always maintained a demeanor of handsome dignity. But that night I feared the fellow would kiss my hand.

This life of ours is not a fair one. Our Savior Jesus Christ accepted that and specified that our reward is to come. Yet, it troubles me at times that, even in America—which is the best of
countries on this earth—the contents of our pockets shape our fates. I wish that goodness counted slightly more.

Twas then I got my comeuppance, well and true. No sooner had Mr. Barnaby set off, than a flood of shame swept over me. In the emptiness he left behind, I saw a thing I should have seen long before I let the poor fellow embarrass himself by admitting his funds were exhausted.

I recalled the first evening of our reaquaintance. When he spirited me off to that voodoo hag who got the poison out of me. He had laid seven coins upon the floor. Gold coins. From his own purse. As the price of my restoration.

In the press of events, my debt had escaped me entirely. Those coins must have been his last wealth on this earth. Yet, even in his present destitution, reduced to begging a loan, he had been too much the gentleman to remind me of my financial obligation.

He was a splendid fellow, Mr. Barnaby was. And here is the nut of it: He hardly took an interest in religion. At least not in a proper Christian way. And yet I think Our Savior must have been fond of him. If there were no hymns upon his lips, Mr. Barnaby had a Christian heart. And a better one than many a man who praised the Lord and pocketed his rents.

I COULD NOT pause for revery and regret. I had a task before me, and a grim one. But as I set off to locate a conveyance, a fellow come trotting along the wharves, shouting, “Major Jones! Major Abel Jones!”

I turned to respond and waved from an eddy of lamplight. I did not call out, since the smoke in the slaver’s hold had scorched my throat. And I would have more need of my voice before dawn.

At least my jaw had improved, though it still gave me needles.

My summoner was a major like myself. I must say he looked untucked, as if he had risen in haste from his couch, if not from a site more intimate.

“Major Jones?”

“I am Major Abel Jones.”

“Thank the devil … we just now heard the
Cormorant
put in … didn’t expect you back as soon as that …”

“Well, I am here. What is it?”

“General Banks. The general wants to see you. He said it didn’t matter, day or night, he wants to see you. He’s been roaring like a bear with his hind leg broke.”

“Well, then we will go to the general.” I began to step out toward the Customs House, which was but a stroll away.

“No … he’s at his quarters.” The untidy major seemed at sixes and sevens. Indeed, his shirt was incompletely stowed and his waistcoat was ill buttoned. He had come out without his greatcoat. Thankfully, the nights had warmed a bit.

We waylaid a sergeant and private driving a buckboard. They were not pleased that we interrupted their business, but, then, I was not certain their purposes on the wharves in the depths of the night were fully legitimate. The sergeant complained, but complied.

And we were off, jouncing away from the Frenchy part of town. Headed for the pleasant reaches of the American side, where the houses of the gentlefolk stood primly apart from each other, shunning the intimacies of the
Vieux Carré,
where even the dwellings embraced each other wantonly.

“I need your help,” I said abruptly. The very lack of comfort in the back of the little wagon seemed conducive to thought. “I believe the general will support my request.”

“General Banks says you’re to have anything you want.”

That was a pleasant change.

“While I attend the general, go back and find me ten or a dozen soldiers. Select the most unpleasant ones you can find. Brutes, the sort you would not trust behind you. For that matter, just choose Irishmen. And place them under a vicious sergeant, the type who makes himself hated by all he rules.”

I had forged a plan, see. To improve my chances of a successful visit with Mrs. Aubrey.

The major thought the request less peculiar than I expected. Perhaps he had been a long time in New Orleans.

The general received me in his nightshirt and cap, made decent by a handsome velvet robe. He still looked rather a dashing fellow, although not quite a general in his sleeping duds. But that is the usual way of things. When you strip off an officer’s uniform, you always find him smaller than he seemed. Generals are especially diminished.

He had taken himself a lovely house, the parlor of which would have delighted my darling. An aide and an orderly fussed about, searching for papers and promising to cook coffee.

The general told them both to get out. And they did.

We sat in that commandeered parlor, rivals in weariness. When the sliding doors clapped shut, with a worrisome quiver of glass, he leaned toward me and ran a hand over his nightcap.

“You were right,” General Banks said. He sounded as if he were tearing out his own liver as he spoke, for such admissions are painful to a general. “The paymaster was in it with Bolt, the two of them thick as thieves.” He rubbed an eye and corrected himself. “Well, I guess they
were
thieves, for that matter. One of the clerks gushed it out the minute we pressed him. Just puked his guts out. Scared out of his wits he was going to be the next one to turn up dead in Jackson Square. And for all his troubles—keeping your Miss Peabody’s money hidden away—the only thing that damned clerk’s going to see is a prison.”

“The money has been recovered, then?”

“No, damn it. Bolt has it. Made off with it first thing in the morning, bold as brass. That bastard. Look. I’m sorry. Believe me, I had no idea … all I was trying to do was to keep him out of trouble so his father wouldn’t raise a stink with his friends in Washington. The bugger had me fooled from start to finish. I never dreamed—”

“No matter, sir. But Bolt has funds, does he?”

“A hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I damned well couldn’t believe it. She was going to waste all that shipping niggers back to Africa. Hell, she could’ve just bought them a piece
of Texas and marched them over.” He snorted. “I guess that was a sum worth slitting throats over.” He grunted. “And it’s plenty to see Bolt down to Mexico. Where the French’ll be happy to help him out, for a price.”

He shaped his hands over the tops of his knees. “Apparently, he’s got other money, too. From this slaving business. It seems to have been going on since last September.” He pointed a finger at me. “But let me tell you this, Jones. If Bolt’s anywhere in this city—or anywhere around it—we’re going to find him. If I have to send out every last soldier between here and Baton Rouge, then hold up a lantern myself.”

“Call them off,” I told him. “Call your soldiers in.”

“What?”

“Call them off, sir. They will not find him. They may do more harm than good.”

“
You
know where he is?”

“No, sir. But if you give me a bit of rein, I will find him. If found he is like to be.”

He thought on the proposition. “What makes you so cocksure of yourself?”

“I am not sure of myself, sir. I am only certain your soldiers will not find him. Perhaps Captain Bolt has already escaped. I cannot say. But I will do my best, then we will see.”

He shrugged wearily, then shifted his person from one uncomfortable position to another that looked equally un-promising. The parlor chairs were cruel, but such is the fashion.

“What happened on the river today?” he asked as he straightened his robe.

I told him. Everything. At one point, the orderly rapped on the glass of the parlor doors, offering us coffee. Snarling, General Banks said none was wanted. Which was not completely true, for I would have valued a steaming cup myself. But generals assume that, if they do not want a thing, no one else wants it, either.

I do not wish to exaggerate, but as I told the general how the slaver burned, he paled and looked near a sickness. Offered
my guess of how many cooked alive, his hands twitched in his lap.

“This … this can’t become known,” he said. “It’s unthinkable.”

He was a man like any other, fearful for his position. Still more than that, he saw the effect that such a tale would have upon our Union. The newspaper fellows are shameless in their pursuit of all things lurid. As if the facts were not harsh enough, they would have increased the victims a hundredfold. To read a newspaper properly, a fellow needs sound mathematical skills. Especially the knack of long division.

Yet, I had some hope of keeping things quiet. The crew did not much care about the negroes and seemed to think the Marines had saved too many. And I had promised a special payment of prize money. While stressing that our purpose had been secret.

“Mr. Seward will not raise a fuss,” I assured the general. “Nor will Mr. Lincoln. Not now. Not after I have explained matters.” I set both hands atop the hilt of my cane. “I do not see any blame in this for you, sir. Nor do I expect discord from anyone else. Mr. Seward will speak to Miss Peabody’s father, and he will settle things. The fellow loved his daughter, see. That is what sent me down here. But there are things no father wishes to know. Or wishes known.” I monkeyed my shoulders up and down, refreshing my wakefulness. Stiff as old timber I was from the day’s exertions. “But there is more to do here in New Orleans.”

“For instance?”

“Mrs. Aubrey. The shipowner. She is in this deep. If not the originator of the entire scheme.”

“Well, we’ll arrest her. And see how she likes that.”

I shook my head. “No, sir. That will not do. First, because we do not wish a public spectacle. Beyond those we have already endured. We do not want the South to win with barristers what they have not won in battle. Second, because we cannot prove a thing. And she knows it. She has been crafty, that one. We know her to be guilty, and she knows that we know it by now. But all
she need do is to keep up her manners and go about her business. The witnesses are dead. There are no documents. At least, none we have discovered. Only Bolt could name her, and he’s gone.”

“You mean to let her go? Without a penalty?”

“No, sir. Not exactly. I hope to see justice done. I intend to visit Mrs. Aubrey tonight. In the company of soldiers. If we cannot break her story, we can at least break her furniture. I do not think she will put a claim for damages.”

“That’s hardly justice.”

“I hope there will be more justice than that. But I must begin somewhere. I give you that I am being common and vengeful. In doing her material goods a damage. But there is a sense behind it, not mere nastiness.”

“I don’t care if you burn her house down, at this point. But the law has to count for something.”

I shook my head again. “Burning there has been enough for one day. And for many days thereafter. I still believe the law may count for much. But I will go to her and have my say. Then we will see.”

“And Bolt? You really think you can find him, Jones? That fat friend of yours involved? The Confederate?”

“He is no more a Confederate than I am, sir. But look you. New Orleans is a curious place. You cannot fight against it. For when you press in one spot, it only bulges outward in another. Our only hope is to let the city fix itself.”

“That’s a bit cryptic.”

“Well,” I said, quite cleverly, if I do say so myself, “it is a city of crypts. And, God willing, we will live to see this affair well buried.”

He sighed, then yawned, then cursed. “Well, come to headquarters and see me in the morning. Tell me how Mrs. Aubrey liked your visit. Meanwhile, I intend to round up every last bastard who helped Bolt in any way, whatsoever.”