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Authors: Thomas Fleming

BOOK: When This Cruel War Is Over
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“What is it?” Janet asked.
“I have no idea,” Paul said. “I've never seen anything like it on a battlefield.”
“It looks like it was created by Satan himself,” John Wilkes Booth said.
“That's Petersburg under that mushroom cloud,” John Surratt said. “Richmond's a few miles further north. Grant's been tryin' to grab Petersburg for months. It would cut General Lee's last railroad line.”
As he spoke dozens of cannons crashed in unison, making a noise almost as loud as the original explosion. It was followed by the distant sound of cheering and the staccato stutter of rifle fire. “That sounds like an attack,” Paul said.
They climbed back in the carriage and Surratt took them down back roads in a wide arc around the battle raging in front of Petersburg. It was another hour before
he called out, “Richmond ahead!” They peered from the coach windows at the capital of the Confederate States of America.
Houses and an occasional church spread up and down a wide hilly amphitheater with the majestic pillared capitol, designed by Thomas Jefferson, on the highest hill, dominating the view. White porticoes gleamed through the trees on neighboring hilltops. But the sylvan effect was marred by smoke pouring from the stacks and blast furnaces of the Tredgar Iron Works, visible beyond the capitol.
“There's a good sign,” Janet said. “Tredgar is still making cannons.”
“Not very good ones, unfortunately,” Paul said.
“Good enough to kill sixty thousand of Grant's Yankees,” Janet said.
In an hour they were in the center of the city. Everywhere were signs of panic bordering on frenzy; it undoubtedly had something to do with the explosion. Surratt was forced to wait at several cross streets while straining six-mule teams hauled wagon trains of ammunition to the men in the lines. Guns and caissons clanked over the cobblestones behind sweat-caked horses that were mere racks of bones. Regiments of gray-clad soldiers trotted on the double down side streets toward Petersburg.
They said good-bye to John Wilkes Booth at the corner of Twelfth Street. He was staying at Richmond's best hotel, The Exchange. Janet and Paul trudged up the sloping street to the three-story brick house that was the headquarters of the Kentucky delegation to the Confederate legislature. Although Kentucky had not seceded, after northern troops occupied it southern sympathizers had set up a shadow government and sent delegates to Richmond.
A black servant led them to the house's sunny rear portico, where John and Elizabeth Hayes were finishing
dinner. He was a former Lexington lawyer in his forties, with curly red hair and a friendly freckled face; she was one of Janet's Breckinridge cousins, purportedly a look alike of Letitia Todd in her youth, down to the deep wave in her dark hair. There were exclamations of pleasure and the warmest possible welcome.
Janet introduced Paul as Robert Nash, adding that it was not his real name. “Can you tell us what that explosion means? Was it an accident? Did someone touch off an ammunition dump?” Paul asked.
Hayes shook his head angrily. “It was a federal mine,” he said. “It was set off without warning and blew a huge hole in our siege lines. It killed over a thousand men. But we seem to be containing the follow-up attack.”
“They don't have the courage to fight us in the open.” Elizabeth Hayes said. “They burrow under our soldiers like vicious moles. Has there ever been a more loathsome enemy?”
John Hayes asked Janet why she had come to Richmond. “I can't tell you much,” she said. “We must see President Davis as soon as possible. Can you get a message to him?”
She handed Hayes a letter she had written on the train to Baltimore. He said he would take it to the Confederate White House, on the corner of Twelfth and Clay Street, immediately. They might catch the president home for dinner. He left them with Elizabeth Hayes, who insisted they eat something while they waited.
Mrs. Hayes apologized for the quality of the food she served them. “It's impossible to buy a decent piece of meat,” she said. “The most one can hope for is something that won't poison you.” With the stringy tired meat were side dishes of equally tasteless vegetables and potatoes. While they ate, Mrs. Hayes treated them to a lamentation on life in Richmond.
The price of food was astronomical—ten times what it had cost in 1862, when they arrived. She had sent their four children back to Kentucky to live with their grandparents. The Confederate dollar was rapidly approaching worthlessness. People were selling their furniture and clothes for food. The shops along Main Street were mostly auction houses, where war profiteers—blockade runners mostly—were buying up goods and jewelry at bargain prices.
“But the spirit of the people is what counts. Surely they can tolerate hardship when they consider what's at stake,” Janet said.
“They've tolerated a great deal,” Mrs. Hayes replied. “But lately everyone has begun to lose hope. General Lee killed seventy-five thousand federals in May and June, but Grant's army is bigger than ever. When we lose a man, he isn't replaced.”
This was not what Janet wanted Paul to hear. She hastily changed the subject to John Wilkes Booth. Mrs. Hayes's pretty oval face came aglow. “He's the most gorgeous male creature I've ever seen. I'm so glad to hear he's in town again. I'll make John buy tickets, no matter how much they cost.”
Hayes's footsteps sounded inside the house. “Good news. President Davis says he'll see you before supper, if the attack on Petersburg fails—as it seems to be doing, catastrophically. General Lee has taken personal command of the situation.”
“Can't you let us in on your secret?” Elizabeth Hayes asked.
“The Sons of Liberty are about to rise,” Janet said.
The Hayeses exchanged excited smiles. They knew about the conspiracy. John Hayes went off to an afternoon session of the Confederate Congress. Janet was grateful when Elizabeth Hayes suggested they catch a few hours of sleep. The sun was low in the west when her husband returned. Elizabeth Hayes awoke them and
they went downstairs, eager to hear what he had learned about the great explosion.
“The whole thing is almost unbelievable,” Hayes said, his eyes wild with angry excitement. “They say the federals tunneled under two of our forts and exploded at least four tons of gunpowder. It stunned their troops as much as ours. When they recovered, they rushed forward to discover the explosion had made a huge crater, as much as twenty feet deep, in the earth. Our men let them crowd into the thing, then poured in volleys of rifle and cannon fire. It was the most perfect slaughter in the history of warfare. They must have lost five thousand men!”
“Incredible,” Paul said.
A black servant came to the Hayes front door with a message from President Davis. He was ready to see Janet and Paul. The black man led them down Twelfth Street to Clay, where the Confederate White House commanded both streets. It was a wide-fronted mansion of brick that had been plastered over. White marble steps led to a small entrance porch. A sentry box stood on the sidewalk beneath poplar and sycamore trees. Inside, a black servant led them through stately rooms with Carrara marble fireplaces to a wide colonnaded balcony overlooking a garden.
There sat two gray-haired, gray-bearded men, one in a rumpled civilian suit, the other in an immaculate gray uniform, with the stars of a general on his epaulets. “President Davis,” Janet said. “This is so good of you to see us on such short notice. I'm honored to meet you, General Lee.”
Davis's smile was somewhat bleak; a nerve twitched in his furrowed cheek; he looked weary. He introduced her to Robert E. Lee as the daughter of Colonel Gabriel Todd. The general rose and took her hand and said he remembered her father from the war in Mexico. But even as he spoke he was looking with far greater interest at Paul.
“Is this who I think it is?” Lee asked. “Cadet Private Paul Stapleton of Company A?”
“You have a remarkable memory, General,” Paul said, shaking hands.
“That was his rank in his plebe year at West Point—my last year as superintendent,” Lee explained to Janet with a bemused smile.
“The son of Senator George Stapleton?” Jefferson Davis asked.
“Yes, Mr. President,” Paul said.
“This is a delightful surprise. What brings you into our ranks?”
Paul hesitated. He looked vaguely embarrassed. For a panicky moment Janet thought he was going to apologize. “Perhaps I can speak for Major Stapleton better than he can,” she said. “I've been watching him slowly realize he could no longer tolerate the brutality of the Lincoln regime in Indiana and Kentucky.”
Lee frowned, clearly wishing Paul had spoken for himself. “You feel this change of heart supersedes the oath you took to the federal government when you graduated from the military academy?”
“Yes, General,” Paul said.
Lee nodded but Janet sensed he was not entirely satisfied. “He's taken another oath, to the Sons of Liberty,” she said.
The general glanced at Janet for moment, without turning his head. She sensed this information was unwelcome. He continued to speak to Paul. “You were wounded at Gettysburg, I believe?”
“Yes, General. And at Antietam before that.”
“You were on John Reynolds's staff?”
“Yes.”
“I was saddened by his death.”
“We all were, General.”
“A great loss,” Jefferson Davis agreed.
Janet was bewildered. They were talking as if they were all members of the same army! She was learning the power of the invisible fraternity of West Point.
“I gather you've had a busy day, General,” Paul said.
“An understatement. I've just finished reporting the event—if we may call it that—to President Davis. It was a clever idea that might have ended the war. Fortunately for us, General Grant put General Burnside in charge of the enterprise. He managed with his usual skill to turn it into a fiasco.”
Paul nodded. “I saw General Burnside in action at Antietam and Fredericksburg. A more stupid man never wore general's stars.”
“I consider it the epitome of good fortune to have had him as an opponent,” Lee said. “But I fear his reputation won't survive the crater.”
“So you're here to tell us that we can expect good news from the West,” President Davis said.
“We hope so, sir,” Paul said.
“I'm not sure I should even hear about such secret service matters,” Lee said.
“Of course you should. I want your opinion,” Davis said. “Can you give us a succinct summary, Major?”
Paul told them the Sons of Liberty's plan as he had heard it at Hopemont. He emphasized the importance of Adam Jameson's cavalry division and the hope of freeing the Confederate prisoners outside Indianapolis and Chicago. He estimated the Sons of Liberty's numbers at thirty thousand. “They claim to have fifty thousand men on their rolls, but like most militia, they'll be lucky to turn out two-thirds.”
Janet was appalled. Paul had never mentioned this pessimistic estimate to her. Worse, both Davis and Lee nodded in agreement! They were talking as professional soldiers, acting as if she did not exist.
“Who'll command the Sons of Liberty?” Lee asked.
“Local colonels. They don't have an overall commander.”
“I dislike that,” Lee said. “They could easily degenerate into a mob. That's the last thing we want in defense of our cause.”
“I've urged them to appoint a commanding general. So has Colonel Adam Jameson, I might add,” Paul said, giving Janet a brief smile that she thought was almost sly.
“What we need more than a general are decent rifles,” Janet said. “That's why I'm here. Will you give us the money to buy them immediately? We've learned that informers have been reporting on our plans. The sooner we act the better.”
She was speaking to Jefferson Davis. He was no longer a professional soldier; he was a politician who had encouraged the Sons of Liberty with words and money. Davis glanced uneasily at Lee; Janet wondered if he was wishing he had not asked the general to stay and give his opinion on this adventure.
“We'll have no public link with the insurrection,” Davis said. “Colonel Jameson, if he's captured, will have orders to say he asked his men to go as volunteers. It's important not only from the viewpoint of the honor of our cause but also from the politics of the thing. We'll want people to believe this western confederacy is a spontaneous creation.”
“It will be spontaneous!” Janet said. “People are truly aggrieved and angry! They're in a revolutionary frame of mind!”
“What about Major Stapleton?” Lee asked. “Can we offer him any protection if he's captured? He may be considered a traitor and face execution.”
“I don't intend to be captured, General,” Paul said. “The motto of the Sons of Liberty is victory or death.”

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