this place any longer. I must get out somehow, some —'
His head lolled back against the chair doily, then fell toward his shoulder. Constance stepped behind him, loving him for an honorable but imperfect man. She reached down to stroke his forehead. His mouth sagged open and he snored.
In contrast, Stanley seemed to thrive in the Byzantine atmosphere of the city. He no longer felt himself a newcomer — quite the opposite — and he relished his growing responsibilities as a trusted aide of Mr. Stanton. Further, he was making vast sums of money on his own for the first time.
Of course, passage of the West Point appropriation bill was a setback, and it left him peevish for several days. The peevishness was enhanced by that of the secretary, which had prevailed ever since General Burnside had begun a movement against Lee on January 20, only to be balked two days later by pouring rains that changed the Virginia roads to bogs.
Burnside's apologists blamed an act of God for the failure of what was sneeringly termed 'the Mud March.' Those in charge blamed the general and replaced him with Joe Hooker. Fighting Joe announced his determination to reorganize the army, improve every aspect from sanitation to morale — he immediately started granting furloughs — and, above all, annihilate the rebels in the spring.
A further heightening of Stanley's peevishness occurred when Isabel discovered Laban with his drawers down and his sex organ up inside a too-willing maid they employed. Stanley was forced to apply a birch rod to his son's backside — increasingly difficult as the twins grew bigger — then dismiss the sluttish maid, which didn't pain him, and pay her an extra hundred dollars, which did.
On a gloomy day at the end of the month, Stanton called him in. Though he had stayed at his desk all night — he did so frequently — the secretary looked fresh and vigorous. A gray pinstripe drape covered him from the neck down; the War Department messenger who doubled as barber was brushing lather over the secretary's upper lip in preparation for razoring it clean, a twice-weekly ritual.
'Look at this, and I'll be with you momentarily,' Stanton said, tossing something metallic onto the desk. The razor rasped.
Stanley picked up the object, which proved to be a dull brown head of Liberty crudely cut or filed from the center of one of the big copper pennies last minted in '57. The messenger finished the job, toweled Stanton's lip, and whipped the sheet off. Stanley turned the penny over and discovered a small safety pin soldered to it.
'The foes of this government are wearing those,' the secretary said once the barber was gone. 'Openly!' He shouted the word, but Stanley had grown accustomed to Stanton's outbursts. The man was passionate about his beliefs, if about nothing else.
'I heard the Peace Democrats referred to as copperheads, sir. I didn't know a badge like this was the reason. Might I ask where this came from?'
'Colonel Baker supplied it. He says they're numerous. Stanley, the twin abominations of this war are treason and corruption. We can do little about the latter but a great deal about the former. I want you to meet with Baker more frequently. Urge him to step up his activities and monitor his efficiency in carrying out that charge. Baker is an ignorant and headstrong man, but he can be useful. I am personally charging you with the job of increasing that usefulness.'
'Yes, sir,' Stanley said, enthusiastic. 'Is there anyone in particular you want him to move against?'
'Not at this time. But I'm preparing lists. In the case of the worst offenders, dossiers.' Stanton stroked his beard. 'See Baker as soon as you can. Authorize him to hire more men. We are going to move massively against those attempting to subvert this government — especially those calling for a craven peace. One thing more. The President shall know nothing of this effort. As I've said to you before, Baker's bureau must never appear on our tables of organization. His efforts are vital, however, and we shall support him with all the money he needs.' He smiled. 'In cash. Untraceable.'
'I understand. I'll see Colonel Baker this afternoon.'
Stanley left, mildly exhilarated by news of increased covert activity against the new peace societies flourishing in the Northeast and Northwest, as well as those individuals who criticized the administration in speeches or articles. On the other hand, he didn't look forward to more dealings with the crude, enigmatic, and occasionally frightening Lafayette Baker, who had somehow ingratiated himself with Stanton before Antietam. Ever since, the secretary had referred to Baker as the department's provost marshal. He ran his peculiar organization, which Stanton privately referred to as the War Department Detective Bureau, from a small brick building across from Willard's, on the wrong side of Pennsylvania.
Stanley fingered the copper badge. Closer liaison with Baker might have advantages. Perhaps he could surreptitiously lead the bureau to look into the attitudes and actions of his brother George.
In February, George met a man who despised the methods and mazes of the government as much as he did. It happened by accident.
Hazard's had finished casting an order of fifteen-inch Rodman smoothbores for the Rappahannock line. Christopher Wotherspoon saw them aboard a freight train, which eventually shuttled them to the Washington Arsenal for inspection and acceptance. Wotherspoon traveled with them by passenger car.
During two long evenings, he and George conferred about matters at the ironworks. Then Wotherspoon supervised the loading of the immense bottle-shaped guns onto barges that would float them down the Potomac to Aquia Creek Landing. George arranged some time off and traveled downriver on a military gunboat, arriving at the landing in a wet snowstorm typical of the miserable winter. The trip was both a matter of personal interest and a needed escape from a job he could no longer tolerate.
As the temperature rose and rain replaced the snow, George watched Wotherspoon bullying the military crew responsible for moving the fifty-thousand-pound Rodmans from the barges up specially constructed inclines, using block and tackle. Reinforced flatcars waited to roll the guns away down the Richmond, Fredericksburg, & Potomac rail line to the front.
Moving the guns took most of a day. George stamped about in the rain until the work was finished. With unconcealed pride, he stood beside one of the flatcars while men chained down the last gun. A shiny new Mason locomotive had steam up. Gilt lettering on the cab showed its name: GEN. HAUPT. The inscription on the tender read: U.S. MILITARY R. RDS.
Clouds of steam billowed around George while rain dripped from the brim of his hat. Hence he didn't immediately see the dour, mustached man wearing muddy boots, twill trousers, and an old talma who came up to stand beside him. George thought he should know the fellow but couldn't place him.
The man was more than a head taller; occasionally the mere existence of such specimens irked George. That, plus his pride, was the reason he spoke without looking around.
'My guns.'
'On my train.'
George turned, bristling. He knew him now. 'On my rails,' he said.
'For a fact? You're Hazard?'
'I am.'
'Fancy that. I thought that if there was a real person behind the name, he'd be some paunchy bookkeeper, a man who'd never come near a place like this. The rails you make are good ones. I've laid more than a few.'
The whistle hooted, steam hissed. Above the racket, George asked, 'Are you General Haupt?'
'No, sir. I am not general anything. When I took the commission last May, it was on the condition that I didn't have to wear a uniform. Last autumn Stanton tried to hoist me to brigadier general of volunteers, but I've never officially accepted. Get to be a general and you spend all your time bowing and scraping and filling out papers. I'm Haupt, that's all.'
He peered at George like a prosecutor studying a witness. 'You a drinking man? I have a bottle in that building yonder — the cheap one that passes for a yard office.'
'I'm a drinking man, yes.'
'Well, do you or don't you want a whiskey?'
'If I could bring another person — my works superintendent over there —'
'All right, just quit talking and do it.'
And in that way, in the rain, George's friendship with Herman Haupt began.
