A Matter of Honor (Dusty Fog Civil War Book 6) Page 15

  ‘There is no need to put them to such trouble on my account, sir,’ Barnes declared, before Montreigen—to whom the question was directed—could reply. Looking around and making the honorific sound respectful rather than a subtly disguised term of reproach. ‘Nothing has been taken. May I thank you for accompanying me to investigate?’

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ the officer instructed and walked away with his companion.

  ‘You’re a limey, aren’t you?’ Montreigen asked, instead of leaving the tent.

  ‘A Limey, sir?’ the butler repeated, then nodded and went on, ‘Ah, yes, I understand. You are employing the colloquialism which refers to the long established practice on British vessels of issuing the crew with lime juice as a means of preventing scurvy. Yes, sir. As you infer, I am an Englishman.’

  ‘Then how come you are working in Washington?’

  ‘I accompanied my former employer, Sir Randolph Reeder, to this country in my capacity of gentleman’s personal gentleman, in ’Sixty-One. However—and I trust you to treat this disclosure with the utmost confidence, sir—I found his lifestyle was not amicable to that I expect from my gentleman and so was compelled to retire from his service.’

  ‘Huh huh!’ Montreigen grunted noncommittally, impressed as always by the, on the surface, respectful—albeit haughty—demeanor of the man he was addressing. It put him in mind of the treatment he had been accorded by senior servants in the homes of the best families at New Orleans, serving as a subtle reminder that he too was in their opinion no more than a superior form of employee. Telling himself that he would learn nothing to the detriment of Barnes, but really wishing to leave the company of a person who could inspire such a sense of social inferiority, he finished, ‘Well, if you’re satisfied nothing’s been taken, I may as well be on my way.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ the butler said, as the major took his first step away from the bed. ‘But may I ask if you had a reason for coming in this direction?’

  ‘Hell, yes!’ Montreigen admitted, having forgotten why he had arrived at the tent and, finding it unoccupied, deciding to see if he could confirm his doubts with regards to Barnes. ‘But seeing that feller sneaking out took it clear from my mind!’

  ‘That is most understandable, sir,’ the butler conceded, with such an aura of sincerity he might have been expressing genuine commiseration. ‘Conditions of stress, or surprise, frequently have such an effect, I am given to understand.’

  ‘Yeah!’ Montreigen growled. ‘Anyways, Buller says he’s got a coach across the river to take him to Mushogen in the morning and he wants you ready to go with him.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ Barnes replied. ‘Perhaps, if you are returning to his company, you would be so kind as to tell General Buller on my behalf that I will be awaiting his pleasure from sunrise, unless he requires my presence still earlier.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ the major promised, but with bad grace, only willing to leave the company of one who—his arrogance notwithstanding—filled him with a sense of insignificance. ‘But, knowing him, you can bet he won’t be ready to go any too early.’

  ‘I never make wagers, sir, nor do I consider it my place to express an opinion respecting the habits of my employer,’ the butler answered, the implication he contrived to impart on the word, “my”, indicating he actually meant, “your”. ‘May I wish you good evening, sir?’

  ‘Yeah!’ Montreigen assented and stalked from the tent in something clearly more akin to a retreat than the departure of a superior from the presence of a social inferior.

  ‘Tut tut tut!’ Barnes clicked, watching with a kind of well-bred sardonic amusement as the officer disappeared into the darkness. Then, lowering the flaps of the tent, he mused further as he crossed to replace the clothing removed from his trunk, ‘You may be a competent professional duelist and hired assassin, Major Montreigen, but you would not last two days if you tried to play the “Great Game” xxiv in Europe. However, I suppose one might derive some consolation from appreciating that your behavior indicates I am not under suspicion by General Buller.’

  ~*~

  Always a light sleeper, this trait was never more pronounced than when Captain Dustine Edward Marsden ‘Dusty’ Fog knew himself to be in a precarious situation!

  Despite the way in which he and his two companions had been treated generally since crossing the Ouachita River into Union territory, having survived two, what he felt sure were deliberate attempts to kill or severely injure him that day, the small Texan considered he was far from being safe and secure in his present location!

  On having been admitted when his request for an urgent interview was delivered, despite General Jackson Baines ‘Ole Devil’ Hardin being engaged in an important conference with another senior officer of the Confederate States’ Army, xxv Dusty had found himself justified in his assumption that aid would be forthcoming. Agreeing that First Lieutenant Kirby Cogshill must be cleared of the false charges, Ole Devil had set about arranging for the evidence to be supplied with the thoroughness which characterized his commanding of the Army of Arkansas and North Texas. Ordering First Lieutenant Frank Dailey to be released on parole, pending the exchange of a Confederate prisoner of equal rank, he had written a letter outlining the true state of affairs and making his proposal for delivery to Colonel Iain McDonald of the Third United States’ Cavalry.

  Finding the information regarding the destruction of the bridge over the Mushogen River to be much as he had suspected, the Scottish officer had applied all the experience acquired in thirty years of service to ensuring that justice was done. Sending a trusted officer to notify friends far senior to Brigadier General Buller of his intentions, he had authorized the attendance at the court martial of Dusty, Sergeant Major Billy Jack and Sergeant Kiowa Cotton. All he had asked in return for his guarantee of safe conduct was they would give their word not to take any action detrimental to the Federal cause while in Union held territory. He had taken other precautions to shield himself against the repercussions he anticipated might be intended when his superior learned what he had done.

  Arriving at the appointed rendezvous, although he had not doubted this would be the case, the small Texan had concluded McDonald intended to act in good faith. The escort for his party was commanded by a major who had been a good friend of his father for many years. Furthermore, Colonels Sir Arnold Houghton-Rand, 2nd Dragoon Guards and Andre, Comte de Brissac, 8th Chasseurs a Cheval, respectively British and French military observers, were present. Taken to the town of Mushogen, where the court martial was to take place in three days—the delay having been caused by Buller having sent word for the proceedings to be postponed until he was able to study the circumstances at first hand—the Texans were accommodated in two adjoining rooms on the first floor of the mansion used as living quarters by the officers of the Third Cavalry.

  While stabling the horses, Dusty had been attacked by a supposedly drunk Corporal John Silkin. Despite the considerable difference in their respective sizes, he had not only escaped unharmed but seriously injured his assailant. The following morning, his skill with a sword and completely ambidextrous prowess had saved him from a carefully devised ‘accident’ when he was asked by Major Montreigen—who had arrived the previous evening in Buller’s retinue—to engage in a ‘friendly’ fencing match.

  Having turned in early, the small Texan was disturbed by the sound of the main entrance to his room being opened. As was often the case with men whose lives were frequently spent in hazardous conditions, he came from sleep to complete awareness without any period of dull witted somnolence. However, apart from his left hand going to close around the butt of the Colt 1860 Army revolver he had placed beneath the pillow before retiring for the night, he lay without movement and awaited developments. Easing back the hammer with his thumb, hoping the sound would be sufficiently muffled to escape being heard, he tensed ready to take whatever action might prove necessary and wished he was dressed in something more conducive to rapid movement than a nigh
tshirt. Knowing he had locked the door before going to bed, he believed the need might arise. Whoever was opening it could not be entering by mistake.

  ‘Captain Fog, sir!’ a masculine voice said quietly, as a figure carrying something more bulky than a revolver, sword or knife, stepped across the threshold from the dimly illuminated passage and closed the door. ‘There is no cause for alarm, sir. I mean you no harm.’ There was a pause, with nothing to suggest the speaker was moving further into the room, then he continued just as quietly. ‘Captain Fog, are you awake, sir, please?’

  ‘Yes,’ Dusty replied, keeping down the pitch of the single word to reduce the chance of betraying his exact position and, identifying the accent, wondering what had brought an Englishman to visit him in what he guessed was at least the middle of the night.

  ‘I regret having to disturb you at such an hour, sir,’ the speaker went on, with a particular kind of politeness which suggested the nature of his employment. ‘But I must speak with you on a matter of the greatest importance to the South.’

  ‘Have you any matches?’ the small Texan asked, slipping swiftly yet quietly from the bed so as to keep it between himself and his visitor.

  ‘I have, sir.’

  ‘Then put down whatever you’re carrying, take them out and light one so I can see your face and both hands!’

  ‘Very well, sir. But may I request the proviso that I cross and draw the curtains first?’

  ‘Go ahead,’ Dusty authorized, glancing at the window and its open drapes. ‘You can start by telling me who you are.’

  ‘My name is Barnes, sir,’ the newcomer obliged, crossing the room to close the drapes. ‘Although I am here in the capacity of gentleman’s personal gentleman to General Buller, I am in fact a member of the Confederate States’ Secret Service. May I light the bedside lamp, sir, so you can see I am unarmed?’

  ‘Go ahead and light her,’ the small Texan assented, the drawing of the drapes having been carried out during the explanation. ‘Seeing I am, I’m not ’specially worried if you are armed and I’d rather have you let me see some proof that you’re what you claim to be.’

  ‘You all right, Cap’n Dusty?’ Billy Jack inquired, coming through the connecting door with Kiowa on his heels, both dressed only in shirts and breeches, but each was carrying a revolver.

  ‘I’m right enough,’ the small blond replied. ‘Couldn’t you pair sleep?’

  ‘Kiowa snores so all fired loud it keeps him awake,’ the sergeant major claimed. ‘Which I couldn’t sleep none ’cause of it neither.’

  ‘I figured it would be something like that,’ Dusty declared dryly, assuming correctly that his companions had been taking turns to remain awake and listening by the connecting door in case there should be another attempt on his life. Turning his gaze to the tall, somberly dressed and distinguished looking Englishman as the bedside lamp was lit, he straightened up and went on, ‘Now let’s hear what you’ve got to say, Mr. Barnes, and see some proof of it!’

  ‘With pleasure, sir,’ the butler replied, although his present status had returned him to his more usual employment as valet, taking from his inside jacket pocket and unfolding a sheet of paper. ‘My commission, sir. Perhaps Mr. Logan Huntspill of Pine Bluff, or Jabez Wexler of Little Rock, may have shown you the same.’

  ‘It looks real enough,’ Dusty admitted, after having examined the document identifying, “the bearer, Thaddeus Barnes” and instructing all officers in the Confederate States’ Army and Navy to render him any assistance requested. Although he had met the first man named and knew of the second as another spy for the South, xxvi he gave no indication of this. Instead, feeling foolish at conducting such a conversation clad as he was, he tossed the Colt on to the bed and continued while donning his breeches, ‘But the Yankees could have come across one of these. Which being, they’d do just as good at making a copy for using to flim-flam us Johnny Rebs with.’

  ‘I can’t deny that, sir, and I applaud your caution,’ the Englishman answered. ‘Nor, beyond hoping you will accept my bona fides, can I offer further proof. However, I trust you will hear me out and allow me to tell you what has brought me here to disturb you at this hour of the night.’

  ‘Sit down and tell ahead,’ the small Texan authorized.

  ‘I would prefer to stand, sir,’ Barnes refused, with the quiet dignity which came so naturally to him. ‘In the first place, though, the man Silkin was not drunk and trying to avenge his comrades killed by yourself and your men during the attack on the Mushogen Bridge. He had been instructed to do so and given the excuse by Sergeant Major Packard.’

  ‘I didn’t think he was smart enough to come up with a play like that on his lonesome,’ Dusty drawled, sitting on the bed and waving the other Texans to take chairs.

  ‘General Buller did not know it was to happen, although he expressed his satisfaction on learning the instructions were given,’ the Englishman went on, studying the young captain and drawing favorable conclusions which, nevertheless, made him regret what he was intending to do. ‘But he did know that, in the event of Silkin failing, Major Montreigen meant to kill you by what would appear an accident.’

  ‘I sort of figured the button didn’t come off the point of his epee by chance,’ Dusty asserted.

  ‘There may be other attempts, sir,’ Barnes warned. ‘The General is bound and determined to have that young lieutenant found guilty and believes only the evidence you gentlemen can give stands between himself achieving this.’

  ‘Like sending a feller to get me to do something that would compromise me in the eyes of the Yankees before the court martial?’ Dusty hinted.

  ‘I could wish my mission was no more than that, sir,’ the Englishman said somberly, losing none of his high opinion as a result of the further evidence of the big young Texan’s acumen. ‘But, and I can give you no assurance other than my word that I am speaking the truth, it is something of far greater import.’

  ‘Sounds bad!’ Dusty breathed, after having been told of the discovery made by David Aaranovitch and the use to which it was to be put under Buller’s orders. ‘Only I can’t see either General Grant or General Sherman, much less President Lincoln happen Uncle Devil’s called it right about the kind of man he is, allowing a thing like that to be turned loose on us. Apart from anything else, they’d figure like that Duke of Wellington of yours said when he was offered something similar to use against the French, “Two can play that game”. Which, I’ve always been told, the winning side in a war usually figures it stands to lose more than it gains by changing the rules.’

  ‘True, sir, very true,’ the Englishman conceded, impressed by the surprising breadth of the youthful captain’s knowledge. ‘However, as he has maintained most effective secrecy where his own people are concerned, General Buller will already have used the liquid and presented them with a fait accompli.’

  ‘Do this here “fait—whatever” mean what I conclude it do, Cap’n Dusty?’ Billy Jack inquired. ‘Sort of like saying, “I’ve done the son-of-a-bitch and it’s too late to stop me”.’

  ‘That is what it means,’ Barnes supplied, before the small Texan could speak. ‘However, the ramifications go much farther than what might easily strike a crippling blow against you and your comrades-in-arms here in Arkansas. After he has demonstrated its potency in the field, he is going to inform the British and foreign military observers who are present that he will sell the formula to whichever nation is willing to pay the highest price. I don’t believe I need tell you what that could mean, sir?’

  ‘Every country would be after it,’ Dusty replied, the question having been directed to him. ‘And those who missed out when it’s sold will set their scientists and chemists to working all out at finding something along the same lines as well as ways to counter it.’ He paused, studying the impassive features of his visitor for a few seconds, then went on, ‘And I’m starting to get a notion of why you’ve come to see me!’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Barnes said quietly, his voice never
changing its politely unemotional timbre despite his feelings over what he must do. His instincts suggested the small Texan had been raised to a code of honor equal to that of the best type of English gentleman he had served. Possessing a high standard of ethics himself, he was not enamored of what he was about to say. ‘As I have been unable to make an opportunity while coming here, I want you to destroy the liquid before it can be taken to a place where it will be beyond our reach.’

  ‘God damn it, man!’ Dusty snapped, coming to his feet and, such was the sheer strength of his personality he no longer appeared small. Instead, he gave the impression of being the largest man in the room. ‘I’m here on parole. Do you know what you’re asking of me?’

  ‘Only too well, sir,’ Barnes replied, meeting the cold stare of the gray eyes without flinching. ‘I’m asking you to break your word and take action which, in one respect, might be construed as detrimental to the interests of the Union cause. And, I assure you, sir, I am fully cognizant with what doing so would mean to a gentleman like yourself. Please accept that I would never make such a request if there was any other way I could achieve the destruction. I have the means, but was not granted an opportunity to use them while travelling and I lack the requisite abilities to do so in the prevailing conditions.’

  Glancing at the small leather case indicated by the Englishman and which had been left near the door while the drapes were being closed, Dusty sucked in a deep breath. He found himself faced with the most demanding and difficult decision of his young life. While he appreciated the extreme gravity of the situation, including how a successful demonstration of the liquid’s potential as a weapon might lead to its adoption and use by other nations, he had been raised in the exacting code of honor of the South. One thing in particular had always been stressed throughout his upbringing, that a man’s word was his bond. Against that, despite his youth, he had a sense of humanity which revolted against the idea of anybody—not just himself and his comrades-in-arms—being subjected to such a barbaric and horrific form of weapon.