At that moment, Lieutenant Wilson entered—glanced around to make sure that everyone was accounted for—and crossed to the bar where he summarily dismissed the bartender.
As the man exited, Hindman raised his hands, balancing on his crutches. “What do you think? Lamplight, velvet wallpaper, an ample supply of sherry, wine, and good spirits, and complete privacy. What better place to figure our way out of one hell of a nasty mess?”
“And a mess it is,” Newton said, squinting at his map and comparing it with the balls on the pool table.
Lieutenant Wilson brought a silver tray bearing glasses of sherry as Hindman gestured at the tabletop. “What do you see, gentlemen?”
“Arkansas,” Butler noted. “With a lot of billiard balls in the northeast. And … Oh, I see. The striped ones are Federal positions, aren’t they?”
“Very good, Lieutenant,” Newton agreed. He pointed with a pool cue. “These few balls here at Helena, and here at Arkansas Point on the lower river, these at Little Rock, and this one at Fort Smith comprise the roughly fifteen hundred troops under our command.”
He shifted his pointer to the huge collection of balls in the north-central region around what Butler recognized as the Batesville area. “That’s General Curtis and his estimated fifteen thousand men. Here, at Jacksonport, are General Fred Steel’s five thousand Yankees. These balls here on the northeast along the Mississippi are the Federal gunboats advancing on Memphis.” He looked from eye to eye. “Unless God grants us a miracle, Memphis can’t last the month.”
“What’s the number eight ball down in the southwest?” Shoup asked, pointing.
“That,” said Hindman dryly, “is my old bosom friend Governor Rector who abandoned Little Rock and fled to Hot Springs, taking the state government with him.”
Shoup took a glass of sherry and sipped. “Is there any good news here?”
Hindman shifted on his crutches. “Our predecessor, Brigadier General Roane, declared martial law in Pulaski County on May seventeenth. I have inherited that order.” He paused. “I am declaring martial law for the entire state.”
Newton and Palmer, lawyers both, simultaneously said, “But that’s…” They looked at each other, surprised.
“Illegal,” Newton finished. “According to the Confederate constitution, only the president, in this case, Jefferson Davis, can declare martial law.”
Hindman raised an eyebrow. “Nevertheless, Roane did it with General Beauregard’s blessing and approval—in writing no less—and based on that precedent, I will extend it.” He raised a finger. “Now, I’m not in a position to question my commanding general. Nor would I dare to. Do you get my point, gentlemen?”
Newton and Palmer were nodding. Butler looked at Lieutenant Wilson, who simply shrugged.
“What about Rector?” Palmer asked. “He’s a bit of a prig. He won’t take well to this.”
“He abdicated when he fled Little Rock.” Hindman shifted on his crutches, gesturing at the table. “As far as I am concerned, I am the Arkansas government. And you, gentlemen, are my cabinet. We may have to take some distasteful actions if we are going to save this state from Federal occupation.”
“And how do we do that?” Shoup asked, his thoughtful eyes on the collection of balls marking Federal superiority. “They could run right across to Helena and flank the Mississippi defenses. Or their advance units could be in Little Rock tomorrow night. We might as well spit at them as try and stop them with scarcely fifteen hundred men. We’re not even sure that all of our troops have weapons, let alone training.”
“And there’s no supply. You saw what was left in Memphis,” Palmer reminded. “Even when we were in Corinth, on the other side of the river, with the benefit of railroads, you know the pitiful state of supply for the Army of Mississippi. Only a lunatic would think the Confederacy is going to supply us on this side of the river.” He looked mystified. “Tom, we’re on our own.”
Hindman’s secretive smile widened. “Precisely. And I mean to rely on exactly that.”
“How?” Newton asked, thoughtful gaze on the table.
“You have to become Caesar,” Butler whispered, understanding. “Supporting and maintaining your own legions. Running your own economy. Building your own bridges across the Rhine, and taking them down again.”
Hindman’s eyes flashed with that old excitement, his smile thinning in satisfaction. “Veni. Vidi. Vici. I came. I saw. I conquered.”
“Dear God,” Newton whispered. “Do you know what you’re saying?”
“Here’s the reality.” Hindman resettled on his crutches. “You’re right. There will be no supplies from the Confederacy. No arms, caps, powder, or cannon. We have to make our own. I know for a fact that there’s a rifling machine for making gun barrels in Little Rock.”
“And only fifteen hundred ill-trained troops to fight with.” Palmer looked unconvinced.
Hindman propped himself on his crutches and lifted a glass of sherry, studying it in the lamplight. Butler gaped. The man’s commitment to temperance was well-known. “We’ve got the conscription act, and on my honor, I’m going to use it if I have to lasso, drag, and herd every last male of military age into the ranks.”
“This isn’t Virginia. Push too hard and our Arkansas frontiersmen will rebel. Try and force them and they’ll take to the swamps and forests. Hell, Tom, Rector already told Jefferson Davis he was going to secede from the Confederacy if he didn’t get his way.”
“And become what?” Wilson cried. “The United State of Arkansas?”
Butler, half afraid, said, “We could have all the men we need.”
“How?” Palmer demanded.
“Slave owners are filling our part of Arkansas with their slaves in hopes of keeping them out of Federal hands. If we conscripted them, offered them their freedom for fighting, we could—”
“Have you lost your mind?” Palmer gaped, expression incredulous. “Arm Negroes?”
Butler smiled his discomfort. “It would do two things. First we could fill our ranks, and second, it would send a powerful message to the—”
A cacophony of shouts overwhelmed him as all but Hindman crowded around.
“Gentlemen!” Hindman bellowed, restoring order. He glanced from face to face. “Lieutenant Hancock makes a valid—if impossible—point. He’s a
