understand nor behave like Southerners. They appear more suited for ejecting hooligans from saloons and ten-pin alleys than for careful detective work. But, as I indicated, they are responsible for investigation of military as well as civil wrongdoing. Because of the general's, ah, character, they tend to exceed their authority. However, regardless of the nature of the case or the severity of the offense, I will not have them acting against the best interest of the army. I will not have them usurping the powers of this department. When they try, we curb them. Of course someone must be in charge of that effort.
The last man was not up to the responsibility. Hence my pleasure at your arrival.'
Again, that direct stare. Orry, not a little intimidated by what was in store for him, got a shock when Benjamin revealed something else.
'Also, I regret to say, Winder is assuming authority for local prisons. If he does not enforce humane standards of treatment for captives, it could hurt us in the diplomatic sphere, especially with European recognition still in doubt. In short, Colonel, there are any number of ways the general can harm the Confederacy, and we must prevent him from doing so.'
It struck Orry that the secretary was reaching into questionable areas; he was responsible for military, not foreign, policy, yet his treatment of Winder was designed to affect both. Benjamin must have seen the doubt on Orry's face. He leaned back and continued.
'You will discover that lines of authority in this government are not clear. The government, in fact, often resembles a maze at an English country house: difficult to picture in total and difficult to negotiate because there are so many passages that cross and look alike. You let me worry about interdepartmental problems; you deal with the general.'
'The secretary will permit me to observe that General Winder out-ranks me.'
'So he does — until such time as he presents a direct threat to the welfare of this department. Then we shall see who ranks whom.' Benjamin brought his chair forward and gave Orry a look that revealed the iron beneath the silk. 'I'm confident you will handle your duties with tact and skill, Colonel.'
Not a hope, that; an order.
Next morning Orry paid his courtesy call on the provost marshal, whose office was an ugly frame building on Broad Street near Capitol Square. The moment Orry entered, negative impressions began to accumulate. A couple of Winder's plug-uglies, civilians wearing muddy boots and slouch hats, lounged on benches and stared at him as he approached the clerks. Orry didn't miss the huge revolvers worn by the detectives.
He had trouble gaining the attention of the clerks. They were engaged in loud argument and swearing at each other. He rapped on the railing separating the benches from the work area. The clerks ceased their shouting. With odors of beer and overflowing spittoons swirling around him, Orry stated his business.
Brigadier General John Henry Winder kept him waiting one hour. When Orry was finally admitted, he saw a stout officer who looked much older than sixty. Pure white hair jutted from his head in tufts that appeared to have gone uncombed, untrimmed, and unwashed for some time. Winder's skin was flaking from dryness, and the permanent inverted U of his mouth showed he didn't make smiling a habit.
Orry strove to introduce himself pleasantly and stated his hope for a good working relationship. The provost wasn't interested.
'I know your boss is a friend of Davis, but so am I. We'll get along all right if you follow two rules: don't get in my way and don't question my authority.'
Less friendly, Orry said, 'I believe the secretary also has rules, General. In matters that affect the army in any way, I am instructed to make sure proper procedure is fol —'
'Hell with procedure. This is war. There are enemies all over Richmond.' Eyes like those of some ancient turtle fixed on Orry. 'In uniform and out. I shall uproot them and not care a damn about
'Your servant, General.' He saluted, but Winder had already bent over a file and didn't acknowledge it. Red- faced, Orry stalked out.
Work had emptied the department offices of everyone except a few clerks, Jones among them. Orry described his meeting, and Jones sneered. 'Typical behavior. There isn't a man in the government I detest more. You'll soon feel the same way.'
'Damned if I don't already.'
Jones sniggered and returned to writing in some kind of journal. Sometime later, Orry saw Jones return the book to a lower desk drawer with a surreptitious look around.
Still reacting to Winder, he felt in need of a drink when the day ended and he started home through the December dark. He stopped at a rowdy, cheerful place called Mrs. Muller's Lager Beer Saloon. With a schooner in front of him, he leafed through the
The complaint was not an unfamiliar one. Orry knew the South's rolling stock was old and many sections of rail worn out — and there was no manufactory in the South capable of replacing either. It was Cooper Main's decade-old warning about the inadequacy of Southern industry coming true. Davis's journalistic foes were now saying it might doom the war.
He finished his beer and with a touch of guilt called for another. He wanted to forget the work Benjamin had given him. Here he was, a trained soldier, assigned to spy on another soldier. He supposed he had accepted the possibility of rotten duty when he took the commission. There was nothing to be done except carry out orders.
The longer he stayed at the crowded bar, the more depressed he became. He overheard conversations full of gloom and invective. Davis was a 'damned dictator,' Judah Benjamin a 'pet of the tyrant,' the war 'fool's business.' No doubt many of these same men had cheered the news of the bombardment of Sumter, Orry thought as he left.
A more positive air pervaded the Saturday-night dinner party at the home of Navy Secretary Stephen Mallory. A Floridian born of Yankee parents, Mallory had the good luck — or the misfortune, depending on how you looked at it — to head a department that Jefferson Davis ignored almost completely. The secretary quickly made his strong views known to his guest.
'I never regarded secession as anything but a synonym for revolution. But now that we're fighting, I intend to extend myself and my department to beat the enemy, not win his approval or his recognition of our right to exist as a nation. On that and many other matters, the Chief Executive and I differ. Another julep, Colonel?'
Orry's head was already whirling from the first one and from the glitter of the gathering. The brightest jewel was Mallory's Spanish wife, Angela, a gracious and gorgeous woman. She praised Cooper — she kept track of navy matters — and introduced Orry to her little girls before bundling them away to bed.
During the superb meal there was much toasting of the Confederacy, and especially, its imprisoned representatives, Mason and Slidell, both favorites of the archsecessionist faction. So was Benjamin, Orry discovered after some table conversation. Orry admired the sleek little man's aplomb but wondered about the sincerity of his convictions; he struck Orry as more of a survivor than a zealot. Still, the secretary brought wit and jollity to the gathering. The table was so amply supplied with fine food and drink and china and crystal that Orry had trouble remembering it was wartime. For a very short while he even forgot how much he missed Madeline.
As the party broke up, Benjamin invited him to come along to one of his favorite haunts: 'Johnny Worsham's. I like to go against his faro bank. Johnny runs a fine place. A man can find the sporting crowd there and test himself against lady luck, but he can also be sure of discretion about his presence and an honest deal.'
Benjamin said he liked a vigorous stroll in the night air, and Orry didn't object. The secretary sent his driver ahead to Worsham's; Orry had come to Mallory's in a hack. They set out and were just passing the Spotswood when they encountered some noisy people leaving another party. Someone accidentally bumped Orry.
'Ashton!'
Because he was startled, his exclamation sounded friendlier than it might have otherwise. His sister clung to the arm of her porcine husband and gave him a smile with all the warmth of a January freeze. 'Dear Orry! I heard you were in town — married, too. Is Madeline here?'
