North and South: The North and South Trilogy (87 page)

Abruptly Charles broke stride, stopping to stand motionless in the center of the dusty parade. Though the morning was scorching, he was all at once cold.

Let me attempt to explain—although, as you have doubtless grasped from direct encounters with the gentleman in question, neither a complete nor a logical explanation of his behavior is possible. That was also the case when George Hazard and I were unfortunate enough to meet him for the first time—

Hastily, Charles folded the letter and, with a sharp look around, strode on to his room. There he sat down to read the closely written pages that unfolded the bizarre tale of two West Point cadets who had incurred the undying enmity of a third. At the end he laid the pages in his lap and stared into the sunlit space created by the rectangle of the open window. Orry was right; it was impossible to comprehend a hatred so consuming or long-lasting that it would seek as victims other members of the Main and Hazard families. But the hatred was real; the past weeks had presented him with harrowing proof.

As the minutes stretched on, he read the letter twice more, paying special attention to Orry’s account of some of the events in Mexico. Those rereadings did nothing to lessen his shock. If anything, they heightened it.

He was thankful his cousin had warned him. And yet, knowledge was, in some ways, worse than ignorance. Bent had nurtured his hatred for more than fifteen years, and that made Charles see the true enormity of the man’s madness. The result was a feeling of mortal dread that was new to him, and shameful, and completely beyond his control.

In subsequent days, whenever he was forced to speak to Bent or appear with him in formations, he did so with extreme difficulty. Always he was conscious of the truth he knew to be hidden behind the captain’s sly eyes.

For his part, Bent seemed considerably less antagonistic. Indeed, he seldom said a word to his second lieutenant except as duty required. That was a relief. Maybe the danger had lessened as a result of the threats of testimony from Mrs. Lantzman. In any case, as the weeks went by, Charles’s apprehension began to diminish. He looked forward to the day when new orders for himself or Bent would separate them.

Until then, he had no choice but to be vigilant.

While the rescue expedition had been away at the Lantzmans’, a known renegade had taken refuge on the Comanche reservation. Leeper, the agent, had subsequently allowed the Indian to leave. Believing Leeper was remiss in not locking up the renegade when he had the chance, farmers in the district were now petitioning Governor Houston to close the agency.

That was one of the subjects the men at Camp Cooper discussed and argued over during the autumn. There was also a good deal of joking about the experiment at Camp Verde, where Egyptian camels imported by Secretary Davis were being tested as beasts of burden. And the Second spoke proudly of Captain Van Dorn’s successful foray against the Indians at Wichita Village.

The Ohioans in Company K talked a lot about events back East, too. Vying for reelection to the Senate, Stephen Douglas had debated the Black Republican, Lincoln, at various towns in Illinois. Experts seemed to feel that Douglas would be returned to Washington when the state legislature made its choice in January, but the victory might prove costly. During the meeting at Freeport, Lincoln had maneuvered his opponent into a damaging admission.

The admission had come during a complex debate about the Missouri Compromise of 1820 and the more recent Dred Scott case. In the Scott decision, the Supreme Court had upheld the inviolability of the property rights of slaveholders, had ruled that the Missouri Compromise banning slavery north of a demarcation line was unconstitutional, and had thus effectively negated the theory of popular sovereignty. Never mind, said Douglas in response to Lincoln’s shrewd questioning; Supreme Court or no, there was still one simple, legal, and eminently practical way for any territory to bar slavery, and that was for the legislature to refuse to enact laws specifically protecting the slave owner’s rights. No prudent man would risk valuable Negroes in territory where he might stand to lose them. “Slavery can’t exist a day or an hour anywhere,” the Little Giant said, “unless it is supported by local police regulations.”

Douglas’s view was christened the Freeport Doctrine. Commenting on it, a Southern officer from the First Infantry at Camp Cooper said to Charles:

“That man’s done himself in. The Democrats down in our part of the country will never again support his candidacy for anything.”

In October, Senator Seward gave an address in upstate New York that was widely reported. Seward said North and South were locked in what he termed an “irrepressible conflict” over slavery. The statement inflamed the South all over again, and even ardent Republicans on the post agreed that Seward’s angry rhetoric had pushed the region closer to secession.

Still, few could imagine Americans ever taking up arms against other Americans. The conflict remained a war of words.

Occasionally Elkanah Bent injected a comment into the discussions. He had returned from his long leave having lost ten pounds but none of his peculiar opinions. He said a shooting war was entirely conceivable and left no doubt that he’d be happy to see it.

“War would permit us to put theory into practice. After all, why were we trained? What’s the whole purpose of our profession? Not to keep the peace but to win it once the blood starts to flow. We have no other calling. It’s a holy calling, gentlemen.”

Several officers, including Charles, took note of Bent’s exalted expression. Some shook their heads, but Charles did not. Nothing the man said surprised him any longer.

Over the winter he never spoke to Bent except in the course of duty. So he was astonished one evening the following April when he answered a knock at the door of his quarters and found the captain standing outside in the balmy darkness.

Bent smiled. “Good evening, Lieutenant. Are you prepared to receive visitors?”

“Certainly, sir. Come in.”

He stepped back, the presence of the captain heightening his tension to a peak. Bent strutted into the room, and Charles closed the door. He smelled whiskey.

Bent’s appearance was startling. For the call the captain had donned his dress uniform, complete with sash, saber, and plumed hat, which he now removed. His hair was parted in the center and glistened with fragrant oil. He glanced at some large, brown-tinted daguerreotypes lying on a chair.

“Pictures from home?”

“Yes, sir. They were taken at a barbecue in honor of my cousin Ashton’s wedding anniversary. Most of these people are from nearby plantations.”

To test the visitor, he handed over one of the photographs. He pointed to a stern, bearded face and said carefully, “That’s my cousin Orry Main. He encouraged me to go to the Academy. He went there himself. About the time you did, I think.”

Bent pressed his lips together. He studied the bearded face, but Charles saw no flicker of response. The man was good at dissembling—something else that made him dangerous.

“I have a hazy recollection of a cadet named Orry,” Bent remarked. “I hardly knew him. Even in those days, Yankees and Southern boys didn’t mingle a great deal.”

The captain started to return the picture, then gave it a second scrutiny. He tapped the image of a dark-haired woman standing at the edge of the group. She had a rigid look, a certain glazed quality in her wide eyes. Yet he found her breathtaking.

“What a beautiful creature. There’s something exotic about her.”

Why the devil was the captain interested in Madeline LaMotte? Charles asked himself. Why was he here at all?

“She’s a Creole, from New Orleans.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

Bent wondered about the woman’s connection with the Mains. Was she a relative by marriage or merely a neighbor? But he put a rein on his curiosity; if he questioned Charles further, he might somehow slip and reveal his true feelings about Orry. He stared at the lovely face a few seconds longer, then released the photograph.

Charles cleared the other daguerreotypes from the chair, and Bent sat down. His eyes fixed on the younger man. “I’ve wanted to call on you for some time, Lieutenant. To express my thanks for your discretion these past months.”

Charles shrugged, as if to say the captain should have expected nothing else.

“But silence is essentially negative,” Bent continued. “I’ve been anxious to put our relationship on a positive footing. In the future I would like to count on your friendship.”

My silence, Charles thought. He’s worried. He wants a promise that I’ll continue to protect him. But Charles wondered if that was the whole explanation.

Bent peered at him in a curiously intense way. He licked his upper lip, then added: “Naturally, you can count on mine.”

Charles didn’t like the implications of the remark, the tone of which was far too friendly for comfort. Where beneath Bent’s smarmy cordiality did the trap lie? He couldn’t tell, and the uncertainty lent a slight nervousness to his reply:

“The past is gone, Captain. I have no intention of bringing it up again.”

“Good. Good! Then we can truly be friends. I have influential contacts in the War Department. Throughout Washington, in fact. They’ve helped my career, and they could help yours.”

Orry had explained fully how Bent succeeded in spite of a poor record. Influence. Charles resented the captain’s thinking that he’d be willing to take the same route.

“Thank you, sir, but I really prefer to get ahead on my own.”

Bent jumped up. Spots of color appeared in his cheeks. “A chap can always use help, Charles—” Quickly he checked himself. That had been too angry by half. But he couldn’t help it. The tall, superbly built young officer repelled Bent because he was a Main and a Southerner. Yet at the same time Charles attracted him. So much so that, after weeks of indecision, he had finally drunk enough whiskey to generate the Dutch courage he needed to make this overture.

Had Charles caught a whiff of the spirits? Bent hoped not. He tried to smile.

“I will say you require less help than most. For one thing, you’re the very picture of a soldier.” Suddenly dizzy with excitement, he let his emotions carry him on; he touched Charles’s forearm. “You are an exceptionally handsome young man.”

Gently, but with firmness, Charles withdrew his arm.

“Sir, you’d better leave.”

“Please don’t take that tone. Brother officers should give one another aid and comfort, especially in a lonely, godforsaken place like thi—“

“Captain, get out before I pitch you through that window.”

Livid, Bent jammed his hat on his head. He slammed the door behind him. His cheeks were burning.

A coyote barked as he hurried away through the spring dark, wanting to do murder. One day, by God, he would.

Charles had thought himself beyond shock where Bent was concerned. How wrong he had been.

What had just happened did more than confirm rumors about the captain’s sexual predilections. It demonstrated that Bent’s strange appetites lived side by side with his hatreds, and depending upon the mood of the moment—and how much he had imbibed—sometimes one aspect or the other dominated. The realization put a last daub of nastiness on the picture of madness that Charles carried in his imagination.

His lamp-lit room had suddenly grown confining. He flung on his best hickory shirt, stuffed it into his pants, and tramped to the stable to see to his horse. The camp’s night sounds—sentries calling the hour and the “all’s well,” an owl hooting above the murmur of the spring wind—soothed his nerves and settled him down.

Outside the stable he halted and gazed at the stars. He inhaled the yeasty odors of hay, dung, and horseflesh, and immediately felt better, cleansed. He would forever associate those smells with the Army and with Texas—both of which he had come to love.

Thinking of Bent again, he was unexpectedly touched with pity. What must it be like to inhabit that lumbering body, with little worms forever gnawing at sanity from the corners of the mind? The pity intensified—but then his own stern and silent warning cut through:

Better not feel too sorry for a man who’d like to kill you when he’s sober.

That threw it back into proper perspective. Charles knew he must continue to be wary until the day when the inevitable Army transfer separated him from the captain. That
would
happen—and it was something to look forward to, wasn’t it? He drew another deep breath, savoring the sweet smells of the Texas night. He was whistling as he strode into the stable.

O
RRY WATCHED SECESSION FEVER
spread like an epidemic that summer and fall. Huntoon traveled all over South Carolina and into neighboring states, addressing crowds at churches, barbecues, meeting halls. He solicited memberships for the African Labor Supply Association, dedicated to reestablishment of the slave trade. He continued to advocate a separate Southern government, citing all sorts of reasons, from Seward’s “irrepressible conflict” to the arguments culled from Hinton Helper’s little book, which of course he never mentioned by name.

Orry admired his brother-in-law’s energy, if not his views. He admired Ashton’s energy, too; she went everywhere with her husband.

During the autumn, Orry took note of an interesting and perhaps significant contrast. Up in Columbia, State Senator Wade Hampton addressed the legislature and pleaded for preservation of the Union. He also argued against the resumption of the slave trade. His remarks were widely reported and almost universally scorned by the state’s plantation aristocracy. Whatever personal popularity he possessed among his peers vanished overnight, while Huntoon’s continued to increase.

Cooper was dividing his time between the affairs of the Democratic party and the shipyard on James Island. He said construction of the huge
Star of Carolina
would begin by the first of the year. Orry decided to carry that news to George in person. He missed his best friend and was eager to see him again.

When Brett learned of the proposed trip, she begged Orry to take her along. She wanted to go on from Pennsylvania to St. Louis, where her brother could chaperone her visit with Billy. Orry didn’t relish such a long journey, but he recognized that Brett was lonesome for her young man. He gave in with only a little argument.