Love and War

Isabel when they got to bed that night.

'The Confiscation Act's to be signed this week. The slaves will be freed in captured territory, and use of colored troops approved. But there's more coming. Stanton told me so during the second intermission, while you were in the toilet.'

'Don't utter that word in my presence. Tell me what you learned from Stanton.'

'The President's drafting an executive order.' Stanley paused to achieve an effect. 'He wants to free all the slaves.'

'My God. Are you sure?'

'Well, all of them in the Confederacy at least. I don't believe he'll touch slavery in Kentucky or the other border states.'

'Ah. I didn't think he was that much of an idealist. It won't be a humanitarian measure, then, but a punitive one.' She continued, grudgingly, 'Lincoln has all the charm of a pig, but I'll give him this: he's a shrewd politician.'

'How can you say that, Isabel? Do you want mobs of freed niggers swarming into the North? Think of the unrest. Think of the jobs decent white men will lose. The whole idea's scandalous.'

'You'd better keep that opinion private if you want to keep the friendship of Stanton and Ben Wade.'

'But —'

'Stop, Stanley. When you dine at the devil's house, you can't choose the menu. Play your part. The loyal Republican.'

He did, although it galled him to hear all the talk of emancipation suddenly flying through the offices and corridors, the parlors and saloon bars of official and unofficial Washington. Lincoln's radical proposal offended many whites who got wind of it, and it was sure to cause social upheaval if it were implemented. Stanley obeyed his wife, however, and kept his views to himself.

Except on one subject. He invited his brother to dine at Willard's, so he could gloat.

'I wouldn't devote much time to that Board of Visitors, George. If Ben Wade and some others have their way, this time next year West Point will be nothing but abandoned buildings and memories.'

'What the hell are you talking about?'

'There will be no more appropriations to operate that place. It's provided a free education to traitors, but what has it given our side? One general reportedly drunk as a lord at Shiloh, another so egotistical and inept he couldn't win against an army half the size of his. I could also mention — a host of — lesser —'

The sentence became mumbling; George had laid his fork next to the slab of venison and was glaring.

'You said this was a social occasion. No politics. I should have known better than to believe you.''

He walked out, leaving Stanley with the bill.

Stanley didn't mind. He felt expansive that day; affluent — even handsome. He had just achieved a nice little triumph. His strutting brother's precious institution was doomed, and there was not one damn thing he could do about it.

She was black and beautiful. Coppered oak, over two hundred feet long from bowsprit to stern. A single low stack amidships enhanced her rakish appearance. The red of her shield figurehead and the gilt of her stern carvings were her only vivid colors.

Cooper knew her intimately and loved her without reservation. She was a steam barkentine, a thousand and fifty tons, with two oscillating engines of three hundred and fifty horsepower driving a single propeller that could be raised from the water to reduce drag. Her three masts could be donkey-rigged with plenty of canvas. She lay in the Mersey this twenty-ninth day of July with everything from bedding to galley stores in place and her full crew aboard.

A stream of carriages discharged passengers on the cobble­stones of the pier. Bulloch greeted each local businessman or officeholder by name; all had been invited — hastily — for an afternoon's excursion on Number 209.

Captain Butcher, lately second officer on the Royal Mail vessel Arabia, had steam up and was waiting for the last few guests. They might or might not arrive before the order that Bulloch's spies had reported to be on the way from Whitehall: the ship was to be prevented from sailing because her ultimate mission violated British law.

Bulloch maintained a fine front, smiling and chatting as he saw guests to the gangway and directed them to refreshments on trestle tables beneath a striped awning. Cooper paced the pier, snapping his watch open every couple of minutes. If they didn't get away — if Charles Francis Adams succeeded — this beautiful, invaluable commerce raider would be lost to the Confederacy.

A clerk hovering close to Bulloch showed him a list. 'All but these two gentlemen are present, sir.'

'We shall go without them.'

Up the gangway he went, past the seamen recruited from Cunard and other lines to sail Number 209 on the first leg of her voyage. Suddenly, beyond some dockworkers, Cooper saw a hack careen through Canning Street, heading for the ship. From the foot of the gangway, he called, 'Our last guests may be here, James.'

Quickly, Bulloch stepped to the helm and spoke to young Captain Butcher, whose light whiskers danced in the Mersey breeze. The hack rattled along the pier, slowing. Before it came to a stop, a man jumped out. Cooper's stomach wrenched as he recognized Maguire. Preceded by the smell of leeks, Marcellus Dorking also appeared.

The sight of the man enraged Cooper. Since that afternoon in the Pig and Whistle, he had been followed intermittently by several different spies, all of whom undoubtedly worked for Tom Dudley. Of Dorking, however, he had seen no sign. The threat against Cooper's family had been nothing but air; a coward's way of inspiring fear. That lowered Dorking even further in Cooper's estimation.

Maguire and Dorking bolted toward Cooper, who barred the gangway. Dorking's right hand dipped into the pocket of his garish plaid coat. 'Little pleasure cruise, sir?' he asked with his familiar smarmy smile.

'That's right. As you can see, we have local dignitaries on board.'

'Be that as it may, we must request that you delay your departure. A train should be arriving at Lime Street right about now bearing a gentleman who wishes to speak with the captain about certain improprieties that —'

'You'll have to excuse me,' Cooper interrupted. He started up the gangway.

'Just a minute.' Dorking grabbed Cooper's shoulder and roughly turned him around. A couple of seamen called warnings to Butcher. The invited guests murmured and frowned.

Bulloch started down to help Cooper, too late. Marcellus Dorking produced a small silver pistol and shoved it into Cooper's stomach, indenting his waistcoat half an inch.

'Stand aside while we speak to the master of this vessel.'

Cooper had never been so scared or so directly confronted with the threat of violent death. Yet that was somehow less important than the need to get Number 209 to her destination. Dorking realized his pistol was in view and tried to hide it from those on deck. As the muzzle dipped down, Cooper stamped on Dorking's shoe.

'Bleeding Christ,' Dorking cried, staggering. Maguire tried to strike Cooper, who pushed him, then gave Dorking a knee in the crotch. Consul Dudley's agents spilled onto the cobbles like ill-trained acrobats.

Energized by his success in the face of danger, Cooper loped up the gangway, shouting at Dorking and Maguire, 'Invited guests only on this cruise, gentlemen.' He passed seamen at the rail. 'Take up the gangway.'

Captain Butcher bellowed orders. The dockworkers who had watched the fray with puzzled amusement cast off the lines on the double. There was consternation among the guests.

Brown water began to show between the hull and the pier. Maguire regained his feet, then Dorking, who went for the pistol again. 'My word,' said a guest behind Cooper. There were other, less polite oaths.

Dorking raised the pistol, a flicker of silver in the summer sunshine. Maguire dragged his arm down. Dorking glared at Cooper, who gripped the rail and yelled, 'It never pays to brag, Mr. Dorking. It never pays to say you'll do something when you can't. I hope you didn't tell Dudley you'd stop us.'

'Keep quiet,' Bulloch said behind him. Red, Cooper turned, ready to apologize. Only he could see Bulloch's smile or hear him whisper, 'Sharp work.' Swiftly, he returned to the guests, who swarmed around him asking questions.