The Titans (12 page)

set it." Pinkerton looked trapped. "That's unconscionable! If you have any loyalty to the Union, exercise a little control!" His voice took on a pleading note. "What my men and I are doing is in the national interest-was "That excuse could cover a multitude of sins. Or should I say crimes?" Pinkerton wiped his sweating forehead. Droplets of perspiration glistened in his beard. Jephtha savored the moment. During the day, he'd made some inquiries. Some of Allan Pinkerton's operatives had been oh 172The Riot served near the railroad yards. Their presence wasn't a secret. But their chiefs was. He didn't doubt the sincerity of Pinkerton's fear of potential violence. Yet the man's presence still alarmed and angered him. Years ago in Lexington he'd thought it his moral duty to conspire with Syme and operate secretly against those who had trusted him when he occupied a pulpit. Tonight he found the idea of covert police surveillance-American turning against American- despicable. It was another indication of how he'd changed. Pinkerton licked his lips. "Kent?" "What?" "Will you or won't you keep quiet?" "I told you-it depends on what happens tonight. If there is a demonstration for the South, we'll see whether you can control your men." "But I'm not planning to be inside the theater-was "Afraid someone might recognize you? They haven't so far." "None of my men will get out of hand." "I wish I shared your confidence." "They're under orders to watch, nothing more." "I'm not sure Mr. Dorn has the mental capacity to understand orders in English or any other language. I hope he remembers nobody's yet revoked the right of free speech. If he forgets, I promise you I'll write a story you won't like." "Goddamn it, hell obey orders! But I can't be responsible for what happens between the two of you." "That's fair warning," Jephtha said. "I've already given you mine." He turned and started to push his way into the theater, leaving Pinkerton in the glare of the calcium lights. The Titans173 ii While Jephtha stood in line to purchase his ticket, he studied the crowd. Canterbury Hall usually attracted a lower-class audience. Typical of its patrons was the man just in front of him. A mechanic or day laborer; poorly dressed and working a big wad of tobacco in his jaw. The man spat juice on the floor as the line moved forward slowly. Tonight, tobacco-chewers were in the minority. Young dandies, of the kind who'd threatened the drunk, clustered in small groups throughout the smoky lobby. Almost all of them carried canes and displayed the blue rosette of rebellion on their hats or lapels. Most of them seemed in a festive mood. Jephtha also recognized a couple of army officers- out of uniform-and several government clerks, including one frail, jittery fellow named Cheever, from War. Cheever stood at the entrance to the bar adjoining the lobby. Jephtha watched three men approach Cheever one at a time. The clerk whispered something to each of them. He didn't see Rose Greenhow. She'd evidently entered the auditorium. There were only a few other women present. Each was well dressed and escorted. He wondered whether Lamont had urged Fan to remain at the hotel because of potential danger. Beside the grille of the ticket booth a poster listed the actors in order of appearance. Edward Lamont was third on the bill. Seeing the actor's name in elaborate type momentarily enraged Jephtha. At last he was able to buy his twenty-five-cent ticket. He shoved his way to the door of the bar. Cheever was gone. Cigar fumes, loud talk and the smell of beer drifted 174The Riot out of the bar. The gas was turned low, but Jephtha soon spotted Samuel Dorn's blond head. Over a drink, Dorn was talking with the stout, gray-haired detective he'd seen outside. Dorn began making nervous little moves, unconsciously aware of being watched. Presently he turned his head; saw Jephtha. His face registered surprise. Then he smiled and raised his schooner in a mock salute. There was no humor in his eyes. Jephtha turned away, but slowly, as if Dorn's presence didn't bother him. His fear of the young detective wasn't cowardice so much as common sense. He'd learned that there were a few human beings who were wholly and inexplicably cruel. He was sure Dorn would like to corner him. Jephtha believed he was probably" as strong as the detective, though he lacked the advantage of youth. And he knew nothing about fist fighting. Dorn undoubtedly knew a great deal. Jephtha was quite thankful for the pepperbox in his pocket in The smoke and noise in the gas-lit auditorium were even worse than in the lobby. He crowded onto one of the center benches halfway back. Pulled out his watch. The performance began at eight Five minutes to go. He saw Cheever bustle down to a seat being saved for him by two friends in the fourth row. Mrs. Green- how sat directly behind, alone and unmolested by the men on either side of her. All at once Jephtha recognized the fellow immediately to his left It was the tobacco-chewer from the ticket line. The Titans175 The man reached into his right pocket as the piano player entered the shallow pit. There was scattered applause; some shouts about the musician's parentage and the state of his genitals. Jephtha saw what the tobacco- chewer had taken from his coat. A rock. "Think you'll need that tonight?" Jephtha asked. "Could be. Some secesh actor's gonna make a speech." He grinned. "Gonna try, anyway." He tossed the rock up and caught it The piano player adjusted his stool, fussed with his inked sheets of music, then launched into a clangorous fanfare. Boys carrying long poles moved down the side aisles to adjust the gaslight cocks. In less than a minute the auditorium was dark. The footlight candles shimmered on a painted curtain bearing the hall's name and a badly painted pastoral scene. Boots thumped in the aisle to Jephtha's left Samuel Dorn and his gray-haired associate hurried down to the second row. While the fanfare worked to a climax, Dorn tried to sit down on the bench he'd chosen. Two men objected. Dorn bent and said something to one of the complainers. A moment later, he and his companion had seats. Jephtha's eyes adjusted to the dim light. He didn't see Allan Pinkerton anywhere. He'd apparently stuck to his plan to remain safely outside. At the conclusion of the long fanfare, the house curtain rolled up to reveal a backdrop from which the paint was flaking. It represented a European palace surrounded by formal gardens. There were whistles and clapping as a busty, pock-marked woman in tights minced from the wings at stage left. She placed a sign on an easel: 176The Riot THE CANTERBURY GIRLS The piano player started hammering a gallopade. A half-dozen women in tights, high boots and brief costumes of garish orange velveteen danced on. Anns resting across each other's shoulders, they stared into the darkness with fixed smiles. If one of them was under thirty, Jephtha was St. Paul. The Canterbury Girls went through a routine of kicks, steps and turns, bending over occasionally to display their covered bottoms. The audience response was predictable: "Come down here, sweetie!" "Show us if 'em tits are real, huh-was "How much fer a lay afterward, red?" Mercifully, the Canterbury Girls only performed one number, but they pranced off to loud applause. The management was too frugal to provide a different scenic background for each turn. Only a new placard went on the easel: The Agile Astonishing ZOLKOS! A trio of thick-armed, sweating acrobats bounded on stage to exhibit their ability to tumble and walk while contorted into human U's, their palms and feet on the floor and their bellies pointed toward the fly loft The turn lasted more than ten minutes. It was frequently interrupted by hissing and boos. The act ended with two of the acrobats balancing the third on then: shoulders. More boos and obscene shouts-until the piano player started a crescendo and the man at the top of the human pyramid reached under his sweaty singlet to produce a little American flag. The Titans177 About half the audience leaped np, cheering. Jephtha heard more than one person shout, "Hurrah for the Union!" A few opposing catcalls rang out. But no more. Jephtha guessed the Southern sympathizers were saving their enthusiasm for- The Distinguished Tragedian MR. EDWARD LAMONT At the sight of the new easel card, Jephtha's throat went dry. He rubbed his palms back and forth over the knees of his trousers as a decrepit stagehand brought on a small tripod table, then a pitcher of water and a glass. After the man shambled off stage right, Lamont appeared on the opposite side. Someone behind Jephtha yelled: "Stay off the stage, you goddamn traitor!" Expressionless, Lamont gazed into the dark, then smiled as friendly applause drowned out a second protest. Jephtha saw Mrs. Greenhow clapping. Lamont continued to smile as he walked to the table at center stage. Unconsciously, Jephtha clenched his right hand. That was the man Fan had chosen in preference to him. The man who now slept in her bed- As his initial flash of anger cooled, he was able to concede Lamont was a commanding figure. In his raid- to late forties, he was tall and solid. By sixty he might be corpulent. But his tight-fitting tails and waistcoat revealed no paunch. He had curly brown hair and a full mustache. Neither showed any gray. One hand resting on the edge of the tripod table, he waited for the tumult to die-It did; abruptly. People sat forward on the benches. When the piano player rearranged his music, the rustle of the sheets was loud in the silence. To Jephtha's left, 178The Riot the man with the rock tossed it up and down; up and down- He was grinning again. iv "Ladies and gentlemen, good evening. I am Edward Lamont." The actor's rich voice projected to the icar of the hall without a hint of effort "We know who you are! A no-good secesh son of a bitch!" Once more Lamont waited. Jephtha tried to judge him objectively. He might not be genuinely handsome. His eyes were too close together. And he seemed to lack that indefinable but unmistakable quality that marked the truly great actor. But neither was he inadequate. When the clapping and some equally loud jeers faded, he resumed with flawless diction-and no accent: "I do not intend to offer the program previously planned for this appearance. The hour is too late." His eyes flicked across the audience; reflected the footlight candles; burned. "The crimes of the Republican government are already too numerous and heinous for citizens of good conscience to ignore them and take refuge in light entertainment. The blessed principles of freedom on which this nation was founded have been attacked. Attacked in a manner both vile and unprecedented-was An older man leaped up. "Who the shit fired on Sumter? Answer me that!" "Be still or get out, you Yankee clown," a young man called from the second row at stage left. Angry murmurs spread through the auditorium. Ifs coming, Jephtha thought. Lamont paused a third time. Finally the insults-to The Titans179 him and to other members of the audience-died away. Certainly the actor was brave-or would it be more correct to say insane?--to expose himself to the kind of ugliness that was loose in the dark hall. "In view of that attack," he went on, "it behooves free men to take action. To reaffirm their belief in the principle of the sovereignty of individual states. To resist the tyranny which reaches out from this very city in an outrageous attempt to crush liberty in its cruel, simian grip." Laughter; hissing. The word simian was perfectly understood as an insulting reference to Lincoln's appearance. Voice rising, Lamont continued: "On the twentieth of December last, the great commonwealth of South Carolina dared to be the first to defy that tyranny. She was soon followed by six other sovereign states, which, together, dedicated themselves to the formation of a government designed to represent the interests of those who always have been, are today and always shall be the only true citizens of this nation. I mean white Americans." More applause; more shouts-the ferocity of both greater than before. "Less than one hundred years ago, such men joined in compact to throw off a foreign oppressor, create a new nation and promote the common good. Today the descendants of those men have chosen to disavow that compact-because they have been betrayed by the very government their forebears fought and bled to establish!" Stillness. Even Lamont's foes were listening; or perhaps waiting for some signal for an all-out attack. If the actor was fearful he didn't show it His eyes seemed brighter. His brow glistened. He took two quick steps toward the footlights. His left hand fisted. Then he lifted it dramatically- "Yes, my fellow citizens, today there are two govern 180The Riot ments in this tortured land. But only one-the Provisional Government of the Confederate States of America comstands for the right of every person to live his life as he chooses. For decades the patriotic and Godfearing men of the South have been branded villains- brutes-whoremongers!-by the madmen who now manipulate the lewd and illiterate Illinois lawyer like some pathetic puppet-was -A jerky gesture was startling in the way it suggested a puppeteer's hand. Jephtha could almost see a marionette dancing. "But that evil congeries of conspirators which piously professes to be America's Constitutional government is not! It is instead an abomination in the sight of all liberty-loving people. An abomination to be resisted! Overturned! "It surely will be. The flame of freedom within Southern breasts cannot be quenched. Not by threats- not by blockade-not by military force. Each attempted suppression-each feeble and frightened attempt to diminish the brilliance of that flame will only make it shine the brighter-until its cleansing fire consumes the wicked men of Washington City-which will become a Southern city within hours of the day noble Virginia joins her brave sisters in secession!" In the front row at stage right, a man threw something. Lamont sidestepped. The brown, rancid cabbage struck the painted drop, rippled it and fell, splattering apart "That, sir, is the kind of act I would expect of a member of Mr. Lincoln's rabble." He faced front. "Make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen. Virginia will join the Confederacy. And other states as well. So let us stand-was He spread his arms, palms upward. "Stand up together-was People began rising, including Mrs. Greenhow. The Titans181 "comand declare our solidarity. Let us send a message to Richmond that her special convention cannot fail to hear. A message that the free men and women of Washington City await the victorious armies of General Beau- regard! The armies that will liberate us from the yoke of the crude and perverted Westerner who now sits enthroned only a few blocks from this theater. A message, ladies and gentlemen! To Richmond! To all the
South-was He flung up his arms. "To the world!". The man beside Jephtha jumped up, screamed a: curse and threw the rock. Lamont dodged. The rock struck the pitcher and broke it, splashing water on the actor's evening suit. A piece of flying glass nicked his cheek. A little line of blood showed bright against his skin. He didn't move, even though people all over Canterbury Hall were surging to their feet, friends as well as enemies. Quite against his will, Jephtha found himself admiring Lamont's courage. "A message of faith and loyalty!" he cried. "Calling them to come-to conquer-for the Confederacy-to " Another rock whizzed near Lamont's head. He ducked, his eyes flashing a cue to the nervous piano player. The first chords produced the loudest clapping yet. All around, Jephtha saw frenzied faces, some afire with enthusiasm, others twisted with rage. Mouths screamed words he couldn't understand. Madness, he thought. Madness- Somehow, one voice rang out over the din. Lamont was flushed-and singingccI "I wish I was in the land of cotton, Old times there are not forgotten-was 182The Riot "No! No backslash was men howled, leaping over benches, pushing forward, clogging the fronts of the aisles. Yet over their protests and their cursing, the lyric Lamont had begun was picked up by a dozen voices- Then two dozen- Then a hundred, until the song began to swell, proud and defiant: "Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land. In Dixie Land, where I was born in, Early on a frosty mornin"com" Men tried to reach the steps to the stage. Others pushed them back. Lamont held his ground, his right hand moving in rhythm, his head thrown back defiantly. The thunder of the song shook the hall: "Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land!" Jephtha had to stand on the bench to see what was happening down by the footlights. Fists and canes were being raised. Men began to hit each other. One against one; a group against one or two; group against group. Stones, rotten fruit-even a Bowie knife-were hurled at Lamont. Each time, he moved just enough to avoid being hit. But he didn't show any sign of alarm, or shift toward the safety of the wings. At the back of the hall a voice wailed: "Stop this! You're destroying my theater-was The unseen owner was drowned out: "Then I wish f was in Dixie, hooray! Hooray! In Dixie Land, I'll take my stand, To live and die in Dixie-was In the aisle nearest Jephtha, a singing man was set on by two others. Thrown down. He shrieked as they stamped on his groin. The Titans183 Was there no end to the irony? Jephtha thought. The song rousing such hatred was innocent; innocuous-and the work of a Northerner, Dan Decatur Emmett, who had written it for one of Bryant's minstrel shows. The song had fired the South's imagination after its first performance in 1859. By the time Jefferson Davis had gone to Montgomery to organize the new Confederacy, "Dixie's Land" had been transmuted from a commonplace tune to a holy anthem. The Union had carried a story reporting that poor Emmett was a pariah in his native state- "Away, Away, Away down South in Dixie! AWAY, AWAY, AWAY DOWN SOUTH IN DIX-WAS "Watch out, Lamont!" someone screamed. A pistol went off. Bedlam. Men who had been pommeling one another began to fight toward the exits. Benches sailed through the air. Jephtha saw other men fall, faces streaming blood. Edward Lamont clutched the proscenium at stage left He'd lunged there to escape the shot that had pierced one of the painted fountains on the drop. The shrieking-the fighting-the sudden panic touched off by the gunshot-they were the signs of mass insanity. Jephtha almost wanted to weep. He struggled toward the aisle, his senses collecting fragmentary impressions: The scarlet face of a frock-coated dandy bellowing "Dixie's Land" while he drove an older man to his knees and beat the man's temples with his cane. The man pitched over- A group formed around Mrs. Greenhow. She kept singing as her protectors tried to lead her up the aisle to safety. The rock-thrower who had sat beside Jephtha had 184The Riot now reached the third row, found a victim and was using his thumbs to gouge the man's eyes. One socket oozing blood, the victim was on his knees wailing like an infant. Lamont still hadn't left the stage. Eight Southerners formed a human chain in front of the shallow pit from which the piano player had disappeared. Suddenly two men charged the line- Dorn and the other Pinkerton. With revolvers. The detectives punched, butted, and broke through. Dorn scrambled up on the stage, his companion right behind. Lamont started to back into the wings at stage left. Dorn grabbed his shoulder, held him till the other detective caught up. Five of the men in the pit started to go to Lamont's assistance. Dorn brandished his gun: "Stay away! We're friends. We'll protect him!" The men in the pit hesitated. Another heavy-set fellow tried to bull past them: "The hell you will-to " Two of the men in the pit wrestled him back. Then, unbelievably, Dorn aimed at the attacker. Pulled the trigger- A spurt of fire. The heavy man sprawled across an overturned bench, shot in the stomach. That convinced Lamont's defenders of Dorn's sincerity. The men let Dorn and his cohort thrust the relieved-looking actor offstage. Jephtha gaped like a bumpkin. Where the hell was Pinkerton? Why was he letting his operatives worry about the safety of a Southerner-his Then it struck. He was ashamed of his own stupidity. Dorn knew Pinkerton had planned to remain outside. He had no intention of protecting Lamont. And he'd shot an innocent man just so he could get his hands on the actor- Despicable as Edward Lamont might be, Dorn was The Titans185 infinitely more so. Jephtha leaped across broken benches, heading for the stage. The riot was losing its ferocity, though there were still crashes and screams; the tinkle of glass from shattered glass fixtures; oaths and the thud of boots as panicked men struggled to squeeze through the doors to the lobby. A solitary tenor still sang "Dixie"- All at once Jephtha realized his motive for going to Lamont's aid wasn't solely humanitarian. Even before he was aware of it, his mind had reduced the answer to the problem that had frustrated him all day. Helping Lamont would make reaching Fan a certainty. She couldn't turn him away- What a cynical bastard you've become, he thought, weaving down the aisle between the eight men who had left the pit once Lamont was hustled offstage. In a faint voice, the man Dorn had shot pleaded for help. No one paid attention. Jephtha knew his plan offered both risk and ample opportunity for failure. To make the plan work, he had to locate Lamont and prevent the Pinkertons from harming him. Another glass bowl on a gaslight broke, hit by a stone. Jephtha ran up the steps at the end of the stage right aisle, then started across toward the opposite side. He walked rapidly, almost unnoticed now that the theater was emptying. He was more than a little afraid of what might be waiting in the dark of the wings. He shoved his hand into his pocket and closed his fingers around the ivory grips of the Sharps. CHAPTER VI The Detectives CONSCIOUS OF THE NEED for haste-Dorn and his crony might already be spiriting Lamont-out through the alley-Jephtha plunged into the blackness backstage. Here and there a gas jet cast a pool of light on a prop table or a rolled backdrop. In the surrounding dark, shadow-figures moved; panicked men and women hurrying to escape the theater. A whistle shrilled in the auditorium. Evidently some of Washington's night police had been summoned for the emergency. He passed two of the Canterbury Girls wearing cloaks. They smelled of sweat and heavy perfume. The alley door slammed a moment later. Footsteps scurried behind him. The door slammed again. In one of the gas-lit areas, a small perspiring man was hastily putting on his jacket. Jephtha hurried toward him. The man started as Jephtha appeared in the light: "Are you the stage manager?" The little man fingered his mustache. "That's right. Who the hell are you?" "Never mind. Two men brought Lamont offstage. Where did they go?" "I don't know. I didn't see." The man's brow glistened under the gas. His eyes showed his fright-and his lie. Jephtha jerked the pepperbox from his pocket.