The Titans (19 page)

away by sheer strength. The red-bearded man grunted, pushing. The knife quivered two inches from Jephtha's belly. The huge man pushed harder. Already Jephtha's arms ached. Blood oozed from his lower lip as he bit down on it. He was aware of several people watching. No one interfered. This was a day for violent quarrels. He felt himself weakening rapidly. He maintained his grip on the bearded man's arm, but the Bowie moved closer and closer. His fingers were slippery with sweat If he once let go, he'd be dead- Numbness was spreading through both hands. He couldn't hold on much longer- Desperate, he kicked the man's left shin. The man grunted again, seemingly unhurt. But he shifted the weight off the leg Jephtha had kicked. Jephtha yanked the man's arm downward, hammering his wrist over his own raised knee. The Bowie clattered on the plank walk. Both men bent for it at the same time. Jephtha thumbed red beard's left eye. The man yelled; lurched against him. Jephtha crashed to his knees. The man sprawled across his back. Even under that crushing burden, Jephtha found the Bowie. He drove the point into red-beard's dangling forearm. 264Bloody Baltimore The point of the knife pierced homespun- flesh-scraped on bone- Red-beard screamed. Jephtha rolled out from under him; let him fall. The Bowie stuck out of the man's shabby coat, only half its blade visible. Panting, Jephtha looked around. The entire struggle had lasted less than a minute. Something like a dozen people had gathered. A man in a frock coat and string tie stepped forward with an air of authority. "Which side was that fellow on, sir?" Jephtha jerked out the Sharps. A woman covered her mouth. "The wrong one." There was a wild look in Jephtha's eyes. The man in the frock coat hesitated, as if waiting for support from the others. No one said a word. Jephtha began backing away. He spun and leaped into the street, running after the soldiers. They were almost two blocks ahead. He pursued them as fast as he could, driven to escape a trap he didn't understand. His heart raced. His lungs and his bladder hurt. He jumped over a blue bundle lying on the tracks, catching a distorted glimpse of a Massachusetts boy with a black hole in his right temple. The boy's eyes were focused on the cobblestones an inch from his nose. He ran on, A panicky glance backward showed no pursuit. There was too much confusion and carnage on President Street for one fight to attract great attention. He dodged around another body; a civilian. Still no one stopped him. Perhaps it was the pepperbox. He looked as if he were chasing the troops. His lungs burned now. His legs began to hurt as badly as his arms had during the nightmare moment when the Bowie was only inches from his belly. In his The Titans265 mind, one question repeated itself; a question for which there was no adequate answer: Why did he try to kill me? Why? iv By the time he reached the Camden Street Station, detachments of Baltimore police had arrived. They formed a cordon and used their batons to beat back a few determined members of the crowd milling in the street. The mob was small now; two or three dozen. Its size had diminished quickly once the firing started. After showing a frayed card which identified him as a correspondent, Jephtha was passed through the cordon. With a gasp of relief, he pushed open the depot doors. Inside the dim station the Massachusetts officers were trying to form up their commands and get the men aboard the cars waiting in the train shed. Still short of breath, Jephtha showed his identification a second time: "Captain, I'm with the New York Union. I damn near got killed back there-was "You're not the only one." "Can I get on the train?" The officer scrutinized him, then said, "Last car. There's plenty of room-was Bitterly: "We've lost a hundred or so." "A hundred dead?" "Scattered in the confusion. So far as I know, only four of our men were killed. We took care of at least twice that many. Maybe more. Better hurry. We aren't waiting for stragglers, or the band." "The regimental band?" "It's still back at the other station. Get going!" 266Bloody Baltimore He shoved Jephtha aside, wigwagging to fhree young soldiers carrying a fourth on a litter improvised from an overcoat. The unconscious boy's trousers showed a bloody bullet hole above the right hip. The captain pointed to the shed: "Get aboard! We're rolling out before there's more shooting-was Jephtha dashed into the shed, hauled himself up the steps of the rear car and stopped on the platform. He drew several deep breaths. The pain in his chest lessened. He leaned out and peered toward the head of the train. Steam was up. Beyond the engine, he glimpsed men gathering where the shed's roof met sunlight. The men were civilians. Somehow they'd eluded the police. The trouble wasn't over- Jephtha entered the car and sank down on a hard bench beside a young soldier without a cap. The soldier's uniform was torn and dirty. The butt of his rifled musket was planted on the floor between his feet. He held the muzzle with both hands, as if he might fan without the support. The boy stared at the head of the soldier in front of him, totally unaware of Jephtha's presence. Tears ran down his cheeks. More soldiers swarmed into the car. Officers yelled. The locomotive whistle bellowed twice. The engine bell began to clang and didn't stop. The car lurched. The train was moving. The sensation roused the young soldier. He blinked. Noticed Jephtha. Still crying, he said: "They-they killed Ned. He was-right beside me. When he fell, the sergeant wouldn't let me stop to pick him up." "Was Ned a good friend?" "My older brother." The soldier blinked again, several times. "Ned always looked out for me, he-was The Titans267 The words dissolved into a sob. Still gripping the musket, the boy bent his head. His shoulders shook. Some of his companions looked at him. One stretched out a hand from across the aisle and touched his shoulder. Abruptly, sunshine spilled through the dirt-speckled windows. The civilians surged at the train from both sides. Several soldiers lifted their muskets. Up and down the car, officers shouted: "Sit still!" "No firing!" "But goddamn it, Lieutenant-was "No firing!" Slowly, the car creaked ahead. Jephtha stared at the cursing men running alongside the car. He heard one well-dressed, white-haired fellow shout: "Give them one more cheer for Jeff Davis before they go!" The soldier next to Jephtha smashed the window with the muzzle of his musket and pulled the trigger. Smoke and the smell of powder swirled through the car. The well-dressed man reeled back, hit. Someone near him screamed, "You filthy bastards, this man wasn't on President Street! He just got here!" Another man yelled, "Mr. Davis is dead." Jephtha was confused until he realized the well- dressed gentleman evidently bore the same name as the man for whom he'd proposed a cheer. For his zeal, he'd gotten a bullet. Dry-eyed, the young soldier resettled his musket between his heels. A lieutenant rushed down the aisle to his side: "Coyle, you heard the order not to fire!" The boy glanced up. His look was glacial "They shot Ned." "Oh, Jesus, Jimmy. I didn't realize your brother was one of-was 2'He was," the boy interrupted. Before Jephtha's eyes, he seemed to age twenty years. "Now what did you have to say about my shooting-sir?" The lieutenant knuckled his mustache. "Nothing, Jimmy." He faced about and walked up the aisle. The bell on the locomotive kept clanging. The tram gathered speed. Jephtha stared at young Coyle's sunlit profile. The hatred in the soldier's eyes was ageless and ugly to behold. His own brush with death momentarily forgotten, he thought, We've shed the first real blood- On both sides. "i 68Bloody Baltimore The special train chugged through Maryland's rolling green countryside, passing Relay House where the western line from Harper's Ferry met the main track, then Annapolis Junction where an eastern spur came in from Chesapeake Bay. Most of the soldiers sat quietly, numbed by the carnage on President Street. Occasionally someone offered an obscene boast that the Sixth Massachusetts would retaliate harshly when given the chance. No one responded to the boasting. In the silence, the trucks rattled with a forlorn sound. Jephtha had finally calmed down. He was able to think of his own situation. Of the bearded man who had talked with Cheever. Questions spilled one on top of the next: Why was Cheever in Baltimore at all? To help stir up the mob? It was possible. He'd done the same thing at Canterbury Hall. Assuming that, why had Cheever conspired with some stranger to arrange an attack? Because Jephtha represented a pro-adttrinisttation newspaper? The Titans269 Ridiculous. There had been too many other, more important targets along President Street. Still, the more he pondered, the more he was convinced the attack was anything but accidental. Yet he couldn't get beyond a final wall represented by one word: Why? All at once, the wall cracked: Cheever had been at Canterbury Hall to support Edward Lamont. And Lamont had written him that note suggesting he might find it worthwhile to be in Baltimore when the troops came through. Lamont- Could he be the connection? As he thought of Fan and her husband, his hands began to tremble again. My God, was I gutted by Lamont? If I was, did Fan know? He didn't want to believe the suspicions. They undercut his struggle with himself; his victory over his own rage. He didn't want to believe Fan's husband could be involved. But he could find no other explanation. Coincidence comchance-a spur-of-the-moment murder made no sense- While a carefully planned murder made excellent sense, for one very good reason. Jephtha Kent, the trusting fool The stupid ex- preacher. Eager to see virtue where there wasn't any. Easy to convince; to trick- He realized young Coyle was staring: "Mister? You sick?" Jephtha whispered, "No." He hardly saw the boy's face, or the new-leafed trees and the cattle slipping by in the mellow afternoon light He was consumed by the same fierce hatred he'd felt before Molly begged him to 270Bloody Baltimore read the Testament again; pleaded with him to find the good in Fan and her husband- Cheever and Lamont Was there a link? He had to find the answer, no matter how painful and humiliating it might be. vi Toward the end of the afternoon, the special arrived at Washington's B O terminal. The uninjured troops piled off the cars, confronted by reporters already alerted by telegraph. The scene was almost as tumultuous as that in Baltimore-except that here, the crowd on the platform was friendly. Stretchers had been piled at trackside. The wounded were unloaded with great care. Small bands of women came charging through the tangle of newsmen and soldiers. The women carried scraps of every sort of cloth from petticoat linen to toweling. Watching the determined progress of one such group, Jephtha collided with a small, primly dressed lady. He knew he'd seen her before but couldn't recall where. "Excuse me-was he began. "Quite all right, Mr. Kent." She hurried on. He remembered then. She worked at the Patent Office, where he went occasionally in search of filler material about novel inventions. She was only a clerk, with the look of the perennial spinster. Somehow, though, she'd undergone a change. Chin up and head tilted back, she glared at an exceptionally tall officer who barred her way: "See here, sir. I'll appreciate your stepping aside!" "Sorry, ma'am. There are too many blasted sightseers on the platform already." "Those women I'm trying to reach are not sightseers. The Utans271 I am Miss Clara Barton of the Patent Office. The other ladies and I are volunteers. We've come to tend those who were hurt." For emphasis, she tapped the strips of white gauze draped over the sleeve of her drab dress. "Tell me how many wounded you have, Lieutenant," she added. "And be quick about it!" Astonished by the little woman's assertiveness, the lieutenant mumbled, "How many-his Not sure. At least thirty-was "Thirty! Let me by so I can see to them! We'll ride with them to the E Street Infirmary. We have special hacks waiting outside-sir, will you move or must I use bodily force?" Gaping, the officer stepped back. Jephtha lost sight of Miss Barton as she worked her way toward the injured men being loaded on the stretchers. He walked through the station, ignoring questions from a couple of reporters who trailed him. There was a ferocious anger building within him; stronger and more savage than anything he'd ever experienced. He kept it inkier control as best he could, proceeding on foot to the Evening Star. He shared the essential details of the Baltimore killings with Wallach, then wrote out his own copy for the Union. His dispatch was short-about two hundred words-but by the time he handed it in at the telegraph office, darkness had fallen. He hurried to President's Park, up the steps of the War Department and into the office of one of his usual sources, a pudgy undersecretary named Gray. Gray was frantically stuffing papers into a valise. He goggled at Jephtha's sooty face and ripped clothing: "Where the devil did you get so dirty, Jephtha?" "Baltimore." Gray sat down. "Oh, Christ The Sixth Massachusetts-was 272Bloody Baltimore "Yes. There are at least four dead. Thirty or more injured." "I heard there was fighting. I had no idea it was so bad." "Gray, I need inf ormation." Helplessly, the other man pointed to the bulging bag. Tin overdue for an emergency meeting with State." "What's happened?" "The Virginians have surrounded Harper's Ferry." "Has it fallen?" "There's no definite word. Yet. But you figure the odds. Jones has hardly any troops. I hope to God he's torched the place and retreated-was He resumed filling the valise. "There's hell popping down at Norfolk, too. That old fossil Commodore McCauley's in a state of absolute panic. Half his staffs Southern. They've talked him out of taking any action. Our biggest and best steam frigate, Merrimack, is still there because McCau- ley didn't obey orders and move her out. He was afraid of offending the Virginia convention! We'll probably lose our ships and the whole damn yard!" He shut the valise. "Sorry I can't stay to answer your-was Jephtha seized Gray's arm. "If McCauley's losing the yard this minute, all your conferences won't do any good. I told you-I need information" Gray swallowed, alarmed by Jephtha's ferocity. I've said too much already." Jephtha released him. "Nothing that won't be public in the morning." "But I'm late!" "I just want a few facts about one of your clerks." "Who?" "Cheever." "Ah, Josiah-was The pale man waved. "Good riddance." "What do you mean?" The Titans273 "He's part of the secesh crowd. He resigned late yesterday." "Left town?" "So I assume." "Gray, this is very important. You've just admitted Cheever had a good many Southern acquaintances." He pointed at an inkstand.
"Write down the name of every one of them you can remember. You get around a good deal-Willard's-the National. Surely you've seen Cheever talking to men you recognized." "Jephtha, what the hell's going on? You look grimmer than death." "These are grim days. Write the names." "No, I won't put anything on paper. "I'll tell you as many as I can recall. I have seen Cheever at the National. Often-was Ten minutes later Jephtha left the War Department and crossed to the north side of Pennsylvania Avenue. He was glad he was still carrying the loaded Sharps. Two rough-looking black men started to accost him, but stepped aside when they saw the expression on his face. CHAPTERX Accusation "The years creep slowly by, Lorena. The snow is on the grass again-was Gideon Kent's baritone boomed from behind the closed door of the bedroom where he'd gone to shave aad wash. Fan tried to concentrate on the discussion between her husband and the young guest who had sent up his carte de visited a short time ago. But Gideon's exuberant vocalizing made it difficult The sun's low down the sky, Lorena, The frost gleams where the flowers have been-was And why on earth was he bellowing the Reverend Webster's sentimental love lyric, five years old but still as popular as ever, instead of the raucous minstrel novelties he generally favored? There were a great many more questions she wanted to ask her son. She'd had no opportunity. He'd arrived, sweaty and smiling, only moments- before the porter presented the visitor's card. She thought she heard Jeremiah complain about his brother's noise. She'd sent the younger boy into the bedroom with Gideon, who ignored the complaint: "But the heart-throbs on as warmly now As when the summer days were nigh.