Upon his arrival in Little Rock, Butler had introduced himself to Mrs. Sorrenson. When he mentioned that he was James Hancock’s son the woman’s amber-eyed gaze had altered, a secret and knowing smile filling her full lips. Butler hadn’t inquired further, but almost blushed when her oddly speculative appraisal dropped below his belt.
Now he waited in the Anthony House Hotel’s lobby. The hotel, located as it was on the southwest corner of Markham and Scott Streets, was Little Rock’s premier hostelry. Anyone of importance visiting the state capital stayed in the sprawling structure. More of the state’s governance and commerce, it was said, took place in the hotel’s lobby and bar than in the capitol itself.
As Butler glanced around at the fine furnishings, he wondered if he should just leave. The surroundings were a touch too opulent for his impecunious status as a budding scholar. And more to the point, according to the wall clock on the velvet-papered walls, the congressman was twenty-six minutes overdue.
Six long minutes ago, Butler had convinced himself to give Hindman but another five to appear. He paced back and forth before a leather-upholstered settee, glanced uncomfortably at the desk clerk, and took a deep breath. Things happened to important people. Last-minute interruptions. Important business.
He turned to leave, just reaching for the door as a voice called, “Mr. Hancock? Butler Hancock?”
Butler turned as a short man barely over five feet tall, spare of frame, and dapper in a fine broadcloth suit hurried into the lobby. He walked with a noticeable limp, and the built-up sole on one shoe indicated that an accident of some sort had left one leg shorter than the other. In his early thirties, Hindman had a neatly trimmed beard, a high forehead hinting at premature baldness, and wide-set blue-gray eyes. His shoes were polished to a fine shine, and his trousers pressed. Butler’s familiar letter was in his hand.
“Congressman?”
Hindman offered his hand, a harried smile on his lips. “Colonel Thomas Hindman, at your service, Mr. Hancock. Forgive me, sir. My deepest apologies. It’s the correspondence. I’m only in Little Rock for a couple of apparently frustrating days. I’ve been tasked by General Hardee to raise volunteers for the defense of Arkansas. And now, to my absolute irritation, Governor Rector—a man owing his election partly to my good graces—refuses me arms and rations as well as additional clothing for my troops.”
“Why would he do that?”
“These regiments we’ve raised are to be Confederate units, not part of the State Army. It matters not to the good governor that one fights for all, and all for one. The reality that if we lose Virginia or Tennessee we lose our Confederacy seems totally beyond the poor man’s comprehension.” He smiled, a deadly twinkle in his eye. “Our good Governor Rector, keen-eyed myopic that he is, can only see as far as the wave-lapped western shores of the Mississippi River.”
“I wish you the best of luck, sir. No doubt Vercingetorix was looking no farther than the Alps when he accepted command of the Gauls at Bibracte.”
The smile was back, fiery this time, and Butler began to understand Hindman’s political charisma. “Aptly put, Mr. Hancock. Let us pray that those in Richmond see farther. Now, how may I be of service? While your father and I have often been at odds politically, he did me a wonderful service one night. Despite our differences we have always maintained the most convivial of relationships. We share a certain compatibility as gentlemen. Is he well?”
“He is, and offers you his finest compliments. Last I heard he’s somewhere in Mississippi serving as a major in a newly formed Mississippi regiment.”
A slight frown lined Hindman’s brow. “I find that odd for a Union man. Let alone an abolitionist. Surely I didn’t misread James Hancock’s sentiments. And why Mississippi when Arkansas regiments are desperate for solid men?”
Butler gave him a thin smile. “If you know my father, you are aware that a great many stories follow him around like mongrel dogs. And while colorful, they might bias the opinions of both his commanders and subordinates.”
Hindman glanced at the wall clock, seemed to fidget, and asked, “And you, Mr. Hancock?”
“I wished to pay my father’s respects, and on his advice ask if I could be of service.”
“Can you make magic, snap your fingers, and cause a pile of correspondence to disappear?”
“Unfortunately, I cannot, but if you would be agreeable, I do have a most legible hand, and would be delighted to assist you with your correspondence if doing so would lighten your burden.”
Hindman glanced thoughtfully down at Butler’s letter of introduction. Hesitated, then reluctantly said, “I couldn’t impose, sir.”
“It would be no imposition. I’ve nothing else to occupy myself while in Little Rock. I had thought to offer my services to one of the regiments…” He made a face. “I have to admit, however, that the recruiting agents I’ve encountered so far haven’t exactly been…”
“Enticing?”
“Precisely. I was looking for a more salubrious company of men.”
Hindman remained thoughtful, his capable gray-blue eyes taking Butler’s measure. “Tell me, Mr. Hancock. Surely you didn’t master such secretarial talents or nurture the taste for refinement in Benton County.”
“I’ve just returned from university studies in Pennsylvania. I thought it prudent to change my situation given the Confederate revolution.”
Hindman arched his back, almost adopting a photographic stance. “Given your experiences there, what do you see unfolding in the coming months? A quick and decisive war followed by a realization of our independence? Given the disasters suffered by the Black Republicans at Manassas and Wilson’s Creek, that seems to be the passionate hope of most Southerners.”
Butler shook his head, taking Hindman’s measure in kind. This little man, with his sandy-colored hair and almost round and too youthful
