Flash For Freedom!

uncertainly — 'at least, now that it's over, I think I did. Do you realise what I allowed myself to do? You, sir, are in a way to being as highly successful a slave stealer as ever I heard of — at least, Arnold Fitzroy Prescott or whatever his name is — he's one. He's also an accessory to two murders — that's what they'd call it, although I'd say it was moral self-defence, myself. But a Southern jury certainly wouldn't agree. In the eyes of the law you're a deep-dyed criminal, Mr Comber — and I, the junior Congressman from Illinois, a pillar of the community, a trusted legislator, a former holder of the United States commission, a God-fearing, respected citizen — it's all there in my election address, and the people believed it, so it must be true — I allowed myself, in a moment of derangement, moved by pity for that girl Cassy's distress — I allowed myself, sir, to aid and abet you. God knows what the penalty is in Ohio for harbouring runaway slaves, assisting slave-stealers, resisting a warranted slave-catcher, and offering to disturb the peace by assault and battery, but whatever it is, I'm not in a hurry to answer for it, I can tell you.'

He scratched his head ruefully and began to fidget about the room, twitching at the curtains and tapping the furniture with his foot, his head sunk on his chest.

'Not that I regret it, you understand. I'ld do it again, and again, and again, in spite of the law. Fine thing for a lawyer — humph! But there's a higher thing than the law, and it belongs in the conscience, and it says that evils such as slavery must be fought until the dragon is dead. And in that cause I hope I'll never stand back.' He stopped, frowning. 'Also, if there's one thing can get my dander good and high, it's a big mouthed Kentuckian hill rooster with his belly over his britches and a sass-me-and-see-what-happens look in his eye. Yes, sir, big-chested bravos like our friend Buck Robinson seem to bring out the worst in me. Still — I don't imagine we'll hear much more from his direction, and if we do, Judge Payne is fortunately a man of considerable influence — or Mrs Payne is, I'm never sure which — and by the time the good judge has come out from under the bedclothes and scrambled into his dignity again, I don't think I'll have much to fret over. Anyway, I can look after myself and lose no sleep. But you, Mr Comber, would be better a long way from here, and as quickly as may he.'

Now he was talking most excellent sense; I twisted round from my prone position to cry agreement, and gave my backside a nasty twinge.

'Indeed, sir,' says I. 'The sooner I can reach England —'

'I wasn't thinking of quite so far as that; not just yet awhile. I know you're all on fire to get home, which is why you say you slipped away in New Orleans in the first place. Pity you allowed yourself to be … uh … distracted along the way. However, since you did, and have broken federal laws in the process, it puts a different complexion on things. For me, you could go home now, but it's not that simple. The way I see it, my government — my country — needs you; they still want you down in New Orleans to give evidence against the crew of — the BaIlioI College, wasn't it? Your testimony, as I understand it, can put those gentlemen where they belong —'

'But, Mr Lincoln, there is evidence enough against them without me,' I cried, all a-sweat again.

'Well, perhaps there may be, but a little more won't hurt, if it makes certain of them. After all, that was why you sailed with them, why you risked your hide as an agent, wasn't it?' He was smiling down at me. 'To bring them to book, to strike another blow against the slave trade?'

'Oh, of course, to be sure, but … well … er …'

'You're perhaps reluctant to go back to New Orleans because you feel it may be unsafe for you, after … recent events?.'

'Exactly! You're absolutely right, sir …'

'Have no fear of that,' says he. 'No one is going to connect the eminently respectable Lieutenant Comber, R.N., with all those goings on far away up the river. That was the work of some scoundrel called Arnold FitzPrescott or Prescott FitzArnold or someone. And if anyone did connect them, I can assure you there would be no lack of influence working on your behalf to keep you out of trouble — there are enough sympathetic ears in high places in the federal government to see to that at need. Provided, of course, that you are doing your duty by that same government — and, incidentally, by your own.'

By George, this was desperate; I had to talk him out of it somehow, without raising more suspicions of me than he had already.

'Even so, Mr Lincoln, I'm sure it would be best if I could proceed home directly. The case against the Balliol College can surely be proved without my help.'

'Well, I daresay, but that's not the point any longer. This is quite a delicate situation, you know. See here: I've stood up for you tonight — and for that girl — helped you both to break my country's laws, and broken 'em myself, in a just, fine cause which I believe to be in my country's true interest. And if it ever got out — which I pray to the Lord it won't — there is enough antislavery sentiment in our federal government to ensure that it would all be winked at, and no more said. But they're not going to wink if I, a Congressman, help a witness in an important case to avoid his duty. That's why I'm bound to send you back to Orleans. Believe me, you have nothing to fear there — you can say your piece in the witness box, and then go home as fast as my distant influence and that of grateful friends will send you.'

Aye, and wait till the Balliol College scoundrels denounce me as Flashman, their fellow-slaver, posing as a dead man, thinks I; we'll see how much influence is exerted on my behalf then. I made a last effort.

'Mr Lincoln,' says I, 'believe me that nothing would give me more satisfaction than to accede to your request —'

'Capital,' says he, 'because that's what you're going to do.' He regarded me quizzically. 'Why you should be reluctant beats me-I begin to wonder if there's an outraged husband waiting for you in Orleans, or something of that order. If so, tell him to go to blazes — I daresay you've done that before.'

There was one I could cheerfully have consigned to blazes, as I lay there going hot and cold, chewing my nether lip. I have damnable luck, truly — how many poor devils have had to try and wriggle clear in arguments with folk like Lincoln and Bismarck? He had me with my short hairs fast in the mangle, and I daren't protest any longer. What the devil was I to say, with those dark caverns of eyes smiling down at me?

'I doubt if it's anything as simple as an outraged husband, though,' says he. 'However, you don't choose to tell me, and I don't choose to press you. I owe you that much, on behalf of Randolph and the girl Cassy — in return you owe it to me to go to Orleans.' He stood beside the bed, that odd quirk to his mouth, watching me. 'Come, Mr Comber, it isn't very much, after all — and it's in the cause dear to your heart, remember.'

There was nothing else for it, and I tried to keep the despair out of my voice as I agreed.

'So that's settled,' says he cheerily. 'You can go south again, but by a safe eastern route. I'll speak to Judge Payne, and see that a hint reaches Governor Bebb. We'll arrange for a U.S. marshal to accompany you. You'll be safe that way, and you won't run the risk of straying again.' He was positively benign, the long villain; I could have sworn he was enjoying himself. 'The trouble with you jolly tars is you don't seem to find your way on land any too well.'

He talked a little more, and then picked up his hat, shook hands, and went over to the door.

'Good luck in New Orleans, Mr Comber — or whatever your name is. In the unlikely event that we ever meet again, try and find out for me what club-hauling is, won't you?' He pulled on his gloves. 'And God bless you for what you did for that girl.'

It was some consolation to think that I'd fooled Mr Lincoln some of the time, at least; he believed I had a spark of decency, apparently. So I thought it best to respond with a few modest and manly phrases about saving an innocent soul from bondage, but he interrupted me with his hand on the door.

'Keep it for the recording angel,' says he. 'I've a feeling you're going to need it.'

And then he was gone, and I was not to see him again until that fateful night fifteen years later when, as President of the United States, he bribed and coerced me into ruining my military reputation (which mattered something) and risking my neck (which mattered a great deal) in order to save his Union from disaster (which didn't matter at all — not to me, anyway). But that's another tale, for another day.

That night in Portsmouth he left me in a fine frustrated fury. After all my struggling and running and ingenuity, I was going to be shipped back to New Orleans — and inevitably a prison cell, or worse. I couldn't even run any more, what with my behind laid open, and there would be a marshal to see that I got safe into the clutches of the American Navy, too. By George, I was angry; I could have broken Lincoln's long neck for him. You'd have thought, after all I'd done for his precious abolitionist cause — albeit against my will and better judgment — that he'd have had the decency to let me go my ways, and given me a pound or two out of the poor box to boot. But politicians are