Dixie's Land 11.3

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[Concluding chapter eleven]

"Where's Thomas?" Stewart fought rising panic and the urge to look behind the seats and under the carriage; no point in looking foolish when it was clear the slave was gone. His first thought was that the Federal spies had taken Thomas as well as Patton.

Then he realized the more likely reason for Thomas's disappearance, and was ashamed at his stupidity. "Damn it, he's run. I should never have left him out here alone."

"Don't be so sure," Cleburne said. "If your boy really wanted to run, Stewart, he's had ample opportunity before now."

"You don't know the way they think," Stewart muttered. "Why did I have to be so stupid?"

"Why don't you ask Thomas himself?" Cleburne said, the sly grin apparent in the tone of his voice. "There he is, with those workmen up the street."

Stewart turned; sure enough, Thomas stood in front of a scaffold-clad house, engaged in animated conversation with a pair of roughly clothed Negroes. "Oh, no," he breathed, and began sprinting, as fast as his bad leg would allow him, toward the house. Never let him talk with free blacks, Uncle James had warned. Never let him learn to read, and never let him converse with freedmen, or you'll destroy whatever value he has. That was easy for Uncle James to say; he'd never been faced with a city like New Orleans, where free blacks were everywhere you turned.

"Thomas!" he shouted when he reached the three men. "I told you to stay with the carriage!"

The other two negroes looked at Stewart with undisguised insolence. Stewart resisted the urge to draw his revolver. He had to assert a moral superiority where a physical one was not possible.

Thomas inadvertently helped him by lowering his eyes and apologizing. "Didn't mean to defy you, sir. I just wanted to help, is all. Thought these men might know something."

"Let's go," Stewart said, wanting to be back at the carriage where Cleburne would at least square the odds. "We'll discuss this later." He turned, wanting to grab Thomas by the collar but knowing that, again, moral suasion would be more effective. The scuff of old shoes on cobbles told him that Thomas was following.

"They did see something, sir," Thomas said.

"I don't care. I do not want you ignoring my orders," Stewart said. He stopped abruptly. "What do you mean?"

"I think they may have seen Captain Patton, sir. Those men. They're day-workers, do odd jobs around here. Yesterday they saw a wagon being loaded behind the Federals' house. One of them said there was a man got put in the back. They saw him get all wrapped up in a carpet or such-like, and then they covered the wagon-bed with canvas. Maybe it was Captain Patton, sir."

Stewart couldn't help staring at Thomas. How in the world had it occurred to him to ask questions like that in aid of a man who wasn't even his master? He pulled himself back to the matter at hand. "Did they see what happened to the wagon? Where'd it go?"

"There were four white men put the man into the back. Two of them wore Federal blue. The other two got into the wagon and set off toward the river. You’ve been looking for Irishmen, Mister Charles. Well, those boys I was talking to said that they recognized the driver. Said he worked for a lawyer named Macartey, owns a couple of warehouses near the river. And the road that wagon took? That's the way down to a place called the Irish Channel."

Stewart began sprinting back to the carriage. "Come on!" he shouted over his shoulder. "We can't afford to waste even a minute!"

"Yesterday," he gasped once they were back in the carriage and Cleburne had them moving again. 

"What time yesterday? How much of a lead do they have?"

"Early evening," Thomas said. "The fellows had just finished work, they said."

"So a sixteen-hour head start at least," Stewart said, massaging his knee, which had begun to protest its rough treatment. “They could have left the city by now. If they’re smart, anyway.”

"Mind telling me what the shouting's about?" Cleburne asked, his voice mild. "More about our missing captain?"

"We were right," Stewart said. "The Federals do have him, and they're working with the Garda. Remember the name O’Driscoll gave us?"

“McConnell?”

“No, the other one. Macartey. The big wheel in the New Orleans Garda.” Stewart gave Cleburne the essence of Thomas’s story, urging Cleburne to set out at once for the St Thomas Street warehouse. “We have to find Patton before they put him on a boat going north.”

"Not going to happen in this city," Cleburne replied.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the Canadians, now that they're negotiating with your government, search every U.S. ship that comes and goes from here. Everyone assumes that when the treaty's signed it's going to close the lower Mississippi to Federal shipping. Why else would the U.S. be so desperate to stop this treaty that they'd kidnap an officer and risk a diplomatic disaster?" Cleburne slowed the carriage. “If the Federals do want to take Patton north, they’ll have to sneak him out of the city. Most likely they’ll try to meet a Federal boat up-river from here.”

“Which means that if we don’t find Patton in one of these warehouses,” Stewart said, “we should start looking on the north-bound roads.”

“I don’t like those odds,” Cleburne said, resting his chin on a clenched fist. “If they left the city at any time today, you may not be able to catch them.”

"I can catch them," Stewart said. "I’ll be on horseback, and they’re pulling a heavy wagon. Even if they left town right from here”—and only that would have given them a sixteen-hour lead, he calculated—“I can still catch them.” He thought a moment. “We should probably go back to the hotel. I'm going to have to report this to General Magruder." And I probably should do that, he said to himself, even though I have no intention of telling Prince John anything right now. He should also be investigating north-bound steamboats, he realized. Knowing which boats were about to leave for Cairo and points north would give him a better idea of how desperately he was going to have to ride north after Patton.

"Tell me, Thomas," Cleburne said as the carriage wended its way through the crowded river-front streets, "what possessed you to ask those laborers about Patton?"

Stewart felt Thomas's gaze on the back of his head, and nodded, giving the man permission to speak. "I didn't actually ask them about Captain Patton, sir," Thomas said. "I just asked if they'd seen anything strange going on to the U.S. house. Nobody really notices niggers, sir, so they see a lot of things nobody suspects they do."

"This is a clever fellow you've got here," Cleburne said to Stewart. "You must be proud of him. He accomplished in a few minutes what we've spent almost two days trying to do."

Stewart looked at Cleburne. Was the Irishman taking a dig at him for his possession of Thomas? Or did he really expect Stewart to be proud of what could still have been just a carefully disguised reconnaissance into the prospects of a run for freedom?

"Yes, I'm very pleased," he said.

* * * *

Walker was waiting in Stewart's hotel room again. "I wish you'd leave a card when you want to see me," Stewart said, "so I'd know when to expect you." It wasn't right to be so flippant to a superior, but he was tired and angry and just possibly a little bit frightened.

If Walker noticed this, he showed no sign of it. "I have good news for you, Captain Stewart," he said. "Our work here is done, and we are ready to leave to join the expeditionary force. Within a few days we shall be on our way to Texas. And in recognition of your hard work I've decided to allow you and Captain Patton to accompany us."

He doesn't know about Patton yet, Stewart realized. Perhaps he hasn't been watching us as closely as I'd thought. It was only as he was saying, "We have a problem there, Colonel Walker," that Stewart realized that Walker’s announcement about Texas had hardly registered with him at all.

"What might that be?" Walker asked. "Surely you haven't changed your minds."

"No, sir.” Maybe. “But Captain Patton is missing, sir. He's been kidnapped by Federal spies, who are either holding him somewhere in the city or trying to remove him to Federal territory. I'm about to set off after him."

Walker started, as though he'd been interrupted while following a prepared script. For a moment he said nothing, his eyes seeming to become more and more pale until they began to resemble ice chips. 

"What have you two gone and done?" he demanded.

"We didn't do anything," Stewart snapped in reply. "Sir."

"You'd better explain yourself, boy," Walker said. "If you've put my operation in any kind of jeopardy you'll find that I won't be the most charitable of men."

"You'll be in good company then," Stewart said. A part of him knew that he was in dangerous territory here, but the part of him that had gone virtually without sleep for two days, and had watched two men die at close range, decided that it didn't care about William Walker's anger. He peeled off his coat, which was now damp with sweat. His shirt was sodden and stuck to his back, chafing when caught up in the equally heavy woollen vest.

"It seems to me," he said when he was as comfortable as he could be in the closeness of the room, "that this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't intruded yourself into our personal affairs. The Federals were able to find Patton and take him because he went off to the brothel you told us to frequent."

Walker's head moved backward and his eyes widened. "You're absolutely sure of that?"

Stewart nodded. "I've spent the last two days tracking him. He was taken at Beacon's place by at least one Federal army officer, working with one of the local Ribbonmen groups—Irish secret societies. Mrs. Beacon denies it, but I've found the woman who was used to lure Patton into the trap. Or, rather, I've found her body. And I've a witness who saw the dead woman meet Patton at Mrs. Beacon's place."

"Ah," Walker said, his eyes narrowing to slits. Then he relaxed—so much so that Stewart felt uneasy. I could never be that sanguine about a subordinate’s life, he thought "I will deal with Mrs. Beacon myself,” Walker said. “Later. The important question now is, where is Captain Patton and has he compromised the security of our operation?"

"I believe I can find him," Stewart said. "If he’s still in New Orleans he’s at a warehouse owned by a lawyer named Macartey. I also believe that he's kept quiet about Texas. Patton's a soldier. He knows his duty."

"Let's hope so," Walker said. "There's a lot at stake, now that we're finally ready to begin."

"Surely the Federals won't have time to react, even if these spies are able to learn anything."

"It's not the Federals who worry me," Walker said. "I am concerned with what the Canadians may learn as they search for Captain Patton. Remember, Stewart, that Great Britain has extensive financial interests in Texas. Your hosts aren't going to be happy when they learn what I'm up to." He paced the narrow room for a moment, then stopped abruptly. "Try to find Patton here, if you can. But you have just tonight and tomorrow morning. I expect to meet you tomorrow evening, Captain, at the crossroads in the centre of the village of Cartier. It's on my way west and your way north, if you have to chase the Federals." Walker opened the door.

"Thank you, sir," Stewart said. "Do you have any advice as to what I should say to General Magruder?"

"Why say anything?" Walker adjusted his wide-brimmed hat so that it shadowed his eyes.

"I think some sort of excuse or explanation is going to be necessary. General Magruder already believes that something unusual is happening because of Patton's disappearance. If I have to leave New Orleans to search for Patton, Magruder's sure to go to the Canadians and English almost immediately I turn up missing. If I can say something to him that will delay his going to the authorities for even a day or two, that will give me a greater chance to rescue Patton on my own—and give you a chance to slip into Texas without having to worry about unwanted observers." He hadn’t said a word about going to Texas with Walker; he hoped the man hadn’t noticed.

"My suggestion, then, is to tell the general as much of the truth as you can. You're more believable if what you're telling is mostly truth, Captain Stewart." Walker stepped out into the hall. "Just keep the expedition and your part in it out of your story. Until tomorrow morning, then."

"Good day, sir." Stewart closed the door, then leaned himself against it. I'd like to be able to just keep the rest of the world away by staying against this door, he thought. He took a deep breath; there was suddenly so much to do that he felt quite overwhelmed by it all. He couldn't even bring Thomas in to help, because he couldn't afford to draw any attention to his upcoming departure.

That's not what really bothers you, he chided himself. Admit it. Chasing Federal spies around New Orleans or across southern Canada didn't worry him nearly so much as did the prospect of having to say good-bye to Pauline. That they had both accepted his imminent departure didn't make it any easier once the words actually had to be said. He didn't know which he feared most: that Pauline would make a scene, and cry, and make him hate himself for leaving—or that she wouldn't.

Next    Chapter One     Chapter Two     Chapter Three    Chapter Four    Chapter Five    Chapter Six
Chapter Seven    Chapter Eight    Chapter Nine    Chapter Ten    Chapter Eleven