The Titans (11 page)

Josiah Cheever, she was afraid. Her hands moved on the sleeves of her dress. Fingers flexing, she tried to squeeze warmth into her body. Behind the door to the smaller bedroom, she heard a book thud on the floor. Then Jeremiah's voice: "Oh, hang!" She was too upset to go and speak to him. CHAPTER V The Riot AT SEVEN-FIFTEEN that same evening, Jephtha Kent left the city telegraph office, having just dispatched copy to Theo Payne. Much like a symphony, the story contained dominant themes; themes that had come to him almost unconsciously while he wrote at his desk in the Star office. Terror and haste. He'd seen examples all day long. At the Capitol the Assistant Adjutant General, Major Irvin McDowell, had already started work crews fortifying the building. The iron plates meant for the base of the unfinished dome were being set up on the ground as temporary breastworks. Inside, men hammered planks over the windows and built covers for valuable paintings. Wagons kept arriving with lumber. Other wagons brought barrels of stone and hardened cement. The barrels were manhandled into place to barricade main entrances. Two huge drays delivered loads of firewood to be used to heat the Capitol in case some of the relief troops had to be quartered there. At the same time, stoneworkers continued to chip away at the capitals of the immense Corinthian columns for the porticos of the new Senate and House wings. Eventually, one hundred columns would be erected. But so far, only three had been put in place. Others lay scattered in the mud. The masons seemed

The Titans163 cheerful, unaffected by the grim work going on around them. Terror and haste. He saw it in every one of the government buildings he visited. Clerks and undersecretaries were clearing their desks and packing their portmanteaus with personal belongings. Although most of Jephtha's sources were still forbidden to talk for the record, he didn't have much trouble finding out that those who had resigned were Southerners. Officers were quitting the Army and Navy as wen. He heard that one of the best-regarded Army men in the city, Quartermaster-General Joe Johnston- another Virginian-was preparing his resignation in case his state seceded; the Lee situation all over again. Terror and haste. He saw it when he made the rounds of the hotels. At Willard's a hand-written notice announced a special meeting that evening. A volunteer guard unit was to be recruited from hotel guests who were remaining in Washington. The unit's organizer was tough old Cassius M. Clay of Kentucky. Clay's politics-abolitionist Republicanism comhad involved him in several duels in his native state. Some of his opponents had lived to regret their challenges; some hadn't In the Willard bar, Jephtha heard that another lately arrived Republican, lanky Senator Jim Lane, was putting together a second defense group composed of men like himself-veterans of the factional fighting in Kansas. In the lobbies of the National, the Kirkwood and several smaller hotels, he saw Senators and Congressmen from states likely to secede settling their hills and supervising the removal of their baggage. A gold piece slipped to the clerk at the National provided him with the information that Mr. and Mrs. Edward Lamont were registered there. The desk ledger carried the words and comfamily after Lamont's name. 164The Riot At least two of the boys must be with Fan and her spouse. Which ones, the clerk didn't know. He thought one was fourteen or fifteen. Jeremiah. The description of the older boy was vague. It could be either Matthew or Gideon. Jephtha's spirits soared. He hadn't seen his sons in almost nine years. He had to visit Fan-doing his best to keep a rein on his temper. He almost went directly from the desk to the suite occupied by the Laments. Then caution-and a practical problem-checked him and spoiled his mood. What if Fan denied him admittance? What if she even refused to speak to him at the door? The possibility wasn't all that farfetched. He had to approach her properly. If she was unwilling to talk to him, creating a scene would insure that he'd never see the boys, or find out anything about them. He couldn't afford the time to sit in the lobby in the hope that he might spot one of them passing through. So he left the hotel, struggling to come up with a plan to guarantee Fan's cooperation. By day's end, he still hadn't thought of one. He put the problem out of mind deliberately. Sometimes when he was having difficulty with a key phrase in a story, forgetting about it for a few hours provided the quickest solution. His mind often produced the answer unexpectedly. He hoped it would now. A steamy twilight was settling as Jephtha walked from the telegraph office toward Canterbury Hall. Pedestrians crowded the sidewalks even though night was coming on-another sign of upheaval. Ordinarily, most people hurried indoors at sunset Washington City provided only minimal police service. A notoriously inefficient force of fifty officers patrolled the capital by day. Their salaries were paid by the municipality. At night fifty others took over. But they worked for the The Titans165 Federal government and spent most of their time guarding its buildings and grounds. Events seemed to have overcome fears of being assaulted and robbed after dark. On Seventh, one of the city's main business thoroughfares, a good many respectable-looking people were abroad. But he also noticed plenty of disreputable types. Earlier in the day he'd felt slightly foolish about taking Molly's pepperbox from the drawer of her bureau. He'd taken it on an impulse comneglecting to ask her permission. But now he was glad he had it in the right pocket of his black coat. Several times, usually Sunday afternoons, he and Molly had plinked away at bottles in the back yard of the boarding house. He knew how to shoot If he had to defend himself, he could. He reached the intersection of Seventh and Louisiana, A white glare illuminated the entire block to his right; Canterbury Hall's outside calcium lights. Before he could turn the corner, a pair of boys converged on him. One was selling secessionist cockades, disthe other a garish broadside featuring the American eagle, the lyrics of "The Star Spangled Banner," and harsh words about the "traitors" of the South. He bought a broadside and stuffed it in his left pocket Perhaps he could quote some of the copy in tomorrow's dispatch. Of course the story Theo Payne wanted most was the Lee interview. He'd wired Jephtha twice that day, demanding it. Jephtha had thrown both messages on the floor of the Star office, for Jim to sweep away. Moving along Louisiana, he saw a large, rowdy crowd in front of the variety theater that occupied the capital's old Assembly Rooms. He elbowed his way through groups of tipsy militiamen; passed small bands of blacks from Negro Hill out on North Tenth, and unshaven Irishmen from the Swampdoodle district. He was conscious of being eyed by both the blacks and the Irish. He kept walking. He had no intention of being 166The Riot dragged into an alley and knocked out with a slung shot. Above the loud voices of the vendors, he heard the shrill sound of a whistle from one of the piers at the foot of Sixth or Seventh. Steamers were still carrying passengers down the river to the railroad junctions at Alexandria and Aquia Creek. He imagined they were jammed with departing government employees and their families. A procession of three open carts rumbled by. The carts stank; he didn't look at the heaped-up contents. The accumulated garbage and human waste of the city-dumped into the streets from slop jars-had to be hauled out every night and deposited in the countryside. The walk in front of Canterbury Hall was bright as noonday. As he approached, Jephtha noticed a short, heavily bearded man in civilian dress leaning against the building. The man's hat brim was pulled down to his eyebrows, putting much of his face in shadow. He looked familiar. But it took Jephtha a moment to recognize him. When he did, he instantly thought of Dorn. He scanned faces. He didn't see Dorn. But he did spot another heavy, gray-haired fellow he remembered from the morning of Lincoln's arrival-the same morning he'd exchanged sharp words with the bearded man. Jephtha squeezed into a place along theaence wall of the brick building adjoining the theater. A large carriage drew up. An unescorted woman alighted. The bearded man was immediately alert. The woman was beautifully groomed and expensively, though heavily, dressed for the mild, humid weather. She wore a pelisse of vivid red velvet with a black fur collar. Her hooped skirt matched the color of the pelisse, and was accented with double vertical stripes of black. The brim of her red velvet hat drooped fashionably front and back. A black-dyed ostrich plume The Titans167 frothed over the crown and trailed down the nape of her neck. People murmured and pointed. Mrs. Rose O'neal Greenhow was one of Washington's most familiar figures. And she made no secret of her Southern sympathies. She'd come to the city "ears ago from Marvland, a fresh and lovelv country girl whose mother had lost her husband. Rose lived with her aunt at the Congressional Boarding House in the old brick Capitol building. She quickly charmed the resident legislators, the most famous of whom was the "South's Sentinel," Calhoun of South Carolina. Many said Calhoun had been the girl's intellectual mentor, instilling in her a strong belief in states" rights and an equally strong antipathy toward abolitionist demagogues. During the term of the bachelor president, Buchanan, her house at First and T Streets became a sort of annex of the executive mansion and the widow, Mrs. Greenhow, was called the unofficial queen of Old Buck's administration. In her forties now, she was still a lovelv woman, with olive skin accented by lively eyes and elossv black hair. As she glided from the carriage to the sidewalk, a drunk lurched in front of her: "Why, looky who's come! The Wild Rose herself-was Mrs. Greenhow pointed with her closed parasol. Her eyes glittered with reflections of the calcium lights. The bearded man watched intently as she said: "Would you step out of the way, sir?" The crowd quieted. The drunk hiccoughed. "Maybe I will. Maybe I won't." "You will, because I intend to take my seat for the performance." "We gonna have a hall full of secesh shits, are we?" Mrs. Greenhow whacked his cheek with the parasol. The man yelped, swore, lunged at her. The widow's Negro driver started to hop down to help, but she didn't 168The Riot need him. She jabbed the ferrule of the parasol in the drunk's neck, then kicked his right shin. The drunk stumbled. Mrs. Greenhow swept around him, her chin high and her eyes daring anyone else to try to stop her. No one did. Jenhtha's grudging smfle was a response to her bravery. He'd never heard it called into question, even by Washington's most malicious gossips. Her morals, however, were a different matter. She had contacts throughout the government, in both the Democratic and the Republican party. Her detractors claimed she wasn't above using her charm-and her body-to obtain information or arrange political favors for special friends. A number of armv officers had also been seen going in and out of her home. In wartime, their knowledge of confidential militarv matters could be useful to the Southern side. No doubt that was why the bearded man watched her so closely. Four well-dressed young men, each with a secession- felt cockade pinned to his top hat. surrounded the drunk who had accosted Mrs. Greenhow. They began to push and curse him. Frightened, the drunk suddenly darted between two of the men, fled into the street and vanished behind another waste cart. The young men transferred their hostility to those in the crowd who were applauding the drunk's escape. Glares and taunts were exchanged. One of the Southerners lifted his cane. The bearded man slipped his hand under his coat and kept it there as the four Southerners rearranged themselves, standing back to back, ready for a fight. No one in the opposition seemed willing to start it, though there was a flurry of fist-shaking and swearing. The young men waited. Two had canes; all looked capable of defending themselves. The arrival of another carriage broke the tension. The quartet casually strolled inside, laughing. The Titans169 The bearded man pulled his hand from beneath his coat. Jephtha started to work his way toward him. The man didn't notice. His attention was concentrated on the couple who had just climbed down from the carriage. Jephtha maneuvered to within a couple of feet of the man. He felt the man sensed his presence. But he had to force an acknowledgement: "Hello, Pinkerton." The man pivoted as if hit. His eyes, on a level with Jephtha's chin, glared: "You've made a mistake. My name's Allen. Major E. J. Allen." Another carriage unloaded three men wearing blue cockades. There were more taunts from the Northerners jamming the walk "Allen, is it?" Jephtha chuckled. "I realize not many people in the capital know what you look like. But you won't get away with that name for long. Especially if I say your real one again. Perhaps a little louder." Pinkerton clutched Jephtha's arm. "Don't cause trouble for me, Kent. We're on the same side-was "I work for a newspaper. I don't know who you're working for-or why you're in Washington. I take that back. One of those thugs you employ told me you're studying the security of the rail lines from Baltimore." "You mean Dorn." "Ah, you got a report from him." "Yes." "He was watching the Long Bridge pretty closely yesterday. That's a good distance from the rail yards. So is Canterbury Hall." Pinkerton's eyes were moving again. Noting arrivals; filing away faces. "Take a word of advice. Don't go into the bar." "Why not?" "Dorn's there. He doesn't like you." Pinkerton's eyes flicked to Jephtha. "I can't say I do either." in Sourly, Jephtha said, "What a surprise." "Kent, I'm trying to do you A favor!" "Oh?" "The least you can do is reciprocate." "How?" "Forget you saw me." Keeping his voice as low as the other man's, Jephtha answered, "Why should I? You don't have any official government assignment. So I'm wondering why you're spying on citizens who've committed no crime other than coming to a public place." "You damn hacks are all alike! Pry, pry-to " "And I'll keep prying until I get answers. Major" Pinkerton's teeth clenched. But Jephtha refused to be stared down. Finally the detective whispered: "There's going to be a secesh demonstration in the theater. You know that or you wouldn't be here." "I'm asking why yotfre here." "I have no comment." "Well, I do. I don't like my activities reported on because I ride over to Virginia. I don't like being threatened by clods like Dorn. Who's backing your illegal work?" "There's nothing illegal about taking precautions." "Considering the kind of bullies you hire, there could be. In fact, I'd say it's more than likely." "I hire the best men I can get!" "That doesn't speak very highly of your profession, does it?" "You're just taking it out on me because of Dorn." "In part," Jephtha admitted. "But you're evading my questions. Why are you here? And at whose request?" "Kent, don't you understand? Washington could go up like powder before the relief troops arrive! The government needs to identify potentially dangerous agitators." 70The Riot greater-than The Titans171 "Sounds to me as if the government's suffering an advanced case of hysteria." "That shows how little you know. There are traitors right here-tonight!" Jephtha shook his head to show he wasn't convinced: "If the Confederacy attacks the Union on the battlefield, that's one thing. But making secret lists at a theaer-you are making lists, I assume-?" "Mental ones." Pinkerton's belligerent gaze suggested Jephtha might find himself on one of them. "Well, I call that assigning guilt without proof. I don't like it. I have my doubts that the President would like it, either." "There's no way the President win find out-unless someone talks too freely." Jephtha shrugged. "I report the news." "Merciful Christ! You're not going to-was "A little softer, Major." Jephtha smiled. "People are noticing you." Flushed, Pinkerton leaned closer. "You're not going to report any of this?" "It depends." "On what?" "First of all, on what happens the rest of the evening. If your bully boys get out of hand, it'll be in my paper as soon as I can write it and they can