'I'll have a barrel for you tonight if you can at least get things moving.'
McDougal picked up the bottle and looked at it.
'Your boys cleaned out every bottle of whiskey in town this last month.'
'Like I said, I got barrels of 'em stashed in one of my boats.'
'A deal then it is,' McDougal announced loud enough that all could hear. 'A barrel to get started, a barrel when you get loaded up.'
Cruickshank nodded and stood up. Between one drinking man and another a deal could always be reached- when one had liquor and the other didn't.
The two shook hands. McDougal's grip was tight, rock-solid, and for a few seconds they played the game, the two looking straight at each other, neither relenting.
Finally, McDougal relaxed his grip and smiled.
'Guess you're not a gentleman after all,' he said. 'You're damn right,' Cruickshank replied without a smile.
He jumped down from the boxcar, McDougal by his side.
'I'll be back in an hour,' Cruickshank announced and walked off. His second in command, Captain Sigel, fell in by his side.
'So you made the deal,' Sigel asked. 'Two barrels. Supposedly the good stuff.' 'Sir?'
'You know what to do. Empty the good stuff out and refill it with some of the white lightning you boys brewed up. Get some strong tea into it to color it right. That old Irishman will never know the difference. I'll be damned if he'll guzzle down my ten-year-old whiskey.'
Cruickshank walked on, stepping around a pile of barrels leaking molasses, cursing as the sticky fluid clung to his boots.
'Damn job,' he sighed. It was better than getting shot at, but moving those damn boats, what a rotten way to fight the war.
Baltimore
1.30 P.M.
Mr. Secretary, you realize the difficult position you are placing the Baltimore and Ohio in with this request?'
Judah Benjamin, secretary of state for the Confederate government, smiled at James Garrett, superintendent of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, but the smile hid an evergrowing frustration. 'Sir, we are simply talking business,' Judah replied warmly, putting on his best negotiating smile, 'a business deal for which the B and O will be fully compensated.'
'I could take a strictly business approach to this, Mr. Secretary, and ask how my company will be compensated. Are you prepared to pay up front for our services? Contracts with the federal government are paid for in cash, and on time. I am in no position to accept payment in Confederate money, which both you and I know has no real value.'
'I understand your concern, sir. My salary is paid with that same money.'
Garrett did not smile at the joke.
'Sir, I'll personally sign a promissory note, payable in gold upon the ending of hostilities.'
'And suppose you lose?'
'Given our current position, the successes of the previous months, I think that unlikely,' Judah replied.
Garrett was silent and Judah could almost read his thoughts. If Garrett agreed to contract with the Confederate army for troop and supply movements and the North then wins, he could very well find himself out of a job at the very least, perhaps even in jail if Lincoln was feeling vindictive. If the South should win, cooperation now would bring advantages after the war, but even then payment might take years, and the North could very well turn around and seize Baltimore and Ohio property outside of the Confederacy.
'I know you are in a difficult position, Mr. Garrett,' Judah said smoothly. 'I don't envy you at this moment.'
'And if I don't cooperate?' Garrett asked coolly.
'Sir, I am afraid we will have to seize your line. There will be no payment, and after our victory the Confederate government might not be in a position to look favorably upon your property and the ownership by stockholders outside of the Confederacy.'
'That does sound like a threat,' Garrett replied sharply.
'It is not intended to be,' Judah lied. 'It is just a simple reality.'
'If you do seize the line, realize that many of my workers will not cooperate. You'll have to man the lines with your own personnel.'
'I know that, and we can do it.'
Judah did not add that at this very moment one of Longstreet's officers was already down in the railyard negotiating with the workers there. He had suggested to Lee that the two meetings take place at the same time. Garrett was a known Union man, and it was best to be ready to move quickly if he refused to cooperate.
It was now Garrett's turn to smile.
'You don't have the logistical know-how,' he replied, voice even and soft. 'You don't have an organization like the United States Military Railroad, nor a man like Haupt or Dodge to run it for you. Is there a single man with your army now who can organize and run scores of trains, perhaps a hundred or more, as you've requested? I don't think so.'
'That is why I am appealing to you,' Judah said, still forcing his diplomatic smile.
'I think I will have to convene a meeting of the board of directors for this,' Garrett announced.
Judah sighed. Garrett was taking the standard dodge. He will not make a decision either way and therefore will come out clean. If the South wins, he can claim his hands were tied by his board, fire a few of them, and come out of it position intact. If the North wins, he can claim to have made a heroic stand.
'And how long will convening this board meeting take?' Judah asked.
'To get a quorum? A week or two, and it will mean obtaining passes of transit through your lines for our members who are now in Northern territory.'
'We don't have weeks,' Judah said, an edge of anger to his voice now. 'We need the line starting today.'
'Then, sir, I am afraid I cannot help you at this moment,' Garrett said, folding his hands across his waist.
'Then, sir, I must inform you that by the authority I hold in the government of the Confederate States of America, I am seizing control of your line for the duration, and compensation will not be offered.'
'Be my guest,' Garrett said calmly. 'And I wish you luck with it.'
Ten Miles South of Carlisle, Pennsylvania, on the Cumberland Pike August 23, 1863 6:30 P.M.
It was impossible to conceal who he was. The word had raced down the column hours ahead of his approach, and cheer upon cheer greeted him as he rode along the side of the road. His escort, a troop of cavalry, guided him around side paths, through cuts in the fence, and across fields to try to disrupt, as little as possible, the flow of the march moving at flood tide down the Cumberland Pike.
Passing an Illinois regiment, he got a resounding cheer. All semblance of marching discipline broke down as the men swarmed off the road to the fence flanking the pike, calling out his name.
He did not want to slow their advance, but at the sight of the Illinois state flag the emotion he felt was too much to ignore, especially when he recognized a captain in the ranks. He had once been a boy hanging around the law offices, running errands for a few pennies, then grown, gone off to school, and now to war.
Lincoln trotted over, reined in, leaned over the fence, and extended his hand.
'Robert Boers, isn't it?' 'Yes, sir!'
'How are your folks?' 'Just fine, sir.' 'And you?'
'Delighted to see you, Mr. President,' the captain cried excitedly, the men of his company pressing in close, extending hands as well.
Lincoln couldn't resist. He dismounted and climbed onto the top rail of the fence and sat down, grateful when one of the men offered up his canteen. 'Hot day, isn't it, boys?'
'Sure is sir,' a sergeant cried, 'but we'll make it a dang sight hotter for Bobbie Lee before long.'
