[continuing chapter 19]
“I was only doing my duty, sir.” However little some people back home might regard it as my duty, he added silently. He sat, grateful for the opportunity to ease the pain in his leg, and took the glass offered to him. “If I might ask, sir, what are your plans for Captain Patton? He really is not much more than a schoolboy, sir. I am at least in part at fault for letting himself get in over his head.”
“Think nothing of it. Captain Patton is small fish to me. To us. I believe his brother is prepared to take him in hand, and the republic will be happy with that.” Travis sipped his drink, and the lines of his face seemed to harden. “How much more are you prepared to say? About your duty.”
He had been expecting something like this, but Stewart, try as he might, had not been able to decide how to respond. Buying time he said, “I am unsure of my position, sir. On the one hand, I am still an officer in my country’s army and sworn to uphold her constitution. On the other, I was cruelly deceived by those in authority over me. I try to think of the loyalty I owe them, and I can’t, quite.” He prayed for inspiration, felt none and threw caution to the winds. “I would love to tell you all about it, Mister Secretary. I would love to be able in some way to punish the men who did this to me. But I can’t right now. You’ve treated me kindly, sir, and I respect you for that. But I’m still a serving officer, and I can’t help but think that it would be treason for me to simply give up what I know. And even now I don’t know much, I can assure you.”
He thought about Preston Brooks, and General Mercer, and wondered what, if anything, President Crockett had known. And he felt a renewed anger growing in him as he thought about how they must have laughed—and Uncle James with them—planning this thing and giving it an air of respectability by sending ignorant junior officers to do its bidding. He thought of the secrecy they had sworn him to, and the letter he had written to General Lee before confronting his uncle, and an idea came to him.
“I think,” he said, looking up at Travis, “that I can offer a suggestion that might give you what you want and still let me leave here with some of my honor intact, if not my dignity.”
Travis said nothing but cocked his head slightly to one side. Stewart took the gesture as encouragement and continued. “You’ve seen proof, sir, that those behind this plot are members of the government. I would like you to believe, though, that they do not in fact represent the government. Or the nation. Would you be prepared to take my word on this, and let me—and my commanders—deal with the men responsible in our own way?”
“One of those men is your flesh and blood,” Travis said. “Suppose that your way is to just forget about this whole thing once you’ve taken ship and left us?”
That was the rub, of course. He hadn’t really done all that much to punish Uncle James, had he? “I can’t honestly answer you on that score, sir,” Stewart said. “Suffice it to say I have already taken some steps in this regard. And my chief—General Lee—is aware of the full nature of the conspiracy. At this point I probably couldn’t just forget about this had I wanted to. All I ask is that you keep what you know of this to yourself until the proper authorities in the Confederate States have the chance to deal with it. If I know the general he’s as angry about this as I am.”
“I’m impressed with your anger, son,” Travis said. “But how can I be sure that you’ll maintain that anger once you’re safely on a ship back to Hampton Roads?”
“I give you my word of honor as an officer and a gentleman,” Stewart said, “that I will see to it that those men pay a price for what they have attempted to do to your country.”
“Word of honor,” Travis said, smiling thinly. “I’ve heard and seen some pretty disreputable things done in the aftermath of that phrase.”
Stewart was about to protest when suddenly he realized that he could see Travis’s side of this argument. For a moment he sat, relishing the peculiar feeling—“balance” was how Father would no doubt refer to it—then he thought about what sort of argument would persuade himself in this situation. A practical argument, he decided. No appeals to honor, no gassy pronouncements, and no generalities. Something specific, to show that he meant business.
Next Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six
Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen
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