Death and glory, p.3
Death and Glory, page 3
We passed along the west side of the street, Barker with his hands clasped behind him. At one point we reached the Home Office building and glanced at Number 10 Downing Street. It appeared to be a normal day there. That might change in a day or so.
When we breasted the entrance to Craig’s Court, I happened to glance at the man in question. He was gone, but in his place was the fourth member of the delegation, Captain Manuel Cortes of Colombia. The man was a well-built Latin with shiny pomaded hair and a vulpine look about him. As Pierce said, he was too young to have been alive during the American Civil War, and like the Home Office man, I wondered who had promoted him and how. Did Woodson have the ability to raise military ranks like this? He must, else the fellow would have been a private, if that. A country that doesn’t exist did not have the right to assign ranks of any sort.
As we crossed the street where he was watching our chambers, we kept our backs turned away from him as if we hadn’t noticed his presence. It is the sort of moment Cyrus Barker savors. I didn’t see Cortes’s expression, but I was certain he would relay our reappearance quickly to General Woodson.
An hour later, we received a telephone call. Lord Rosebery sent his compliments and invited us to visit him that afternoon at three thirty for a quarter hour only. He did not have time to waste on the matter, it was clear. Barker agreed to the meeting, assuming Woodson was free.
“Satisfactory,” he said into the receiver. “I shall let the general know at once.”
I summoned a boy outside to deliver a message. The Guv tapped his teeth with the ferrule of his pen while the lad twitched and watched him compose a note. Finished, Barker folded the stationery, placed it in an envelope, and gave it to the boy along with a shilling. The fellow shot out the door like a Roman candle.
“Things are happening apace,” my partner said. “Rosebery is intrigued or concerned or both. I suspect he has reason to be.”
“Do you have any notion yet of what these fellows want?” I asked.
“Offhand, I would say they want legitimacy,” Barker replied. “They have not crossed the Atlantic to see Nelson’s Column or Buckingham Palace. Woodson looks very serious. Did you happen to notice his throat?”
“No, I didn’t,” I said. “What’s wrong with it?”
“There is scarring just above his collar. The man has been hanged at some point in the past.”
“How can one be hanged and still draw breath?” I asked.
“Perhaps he was tortured to get information or for some other deviltry. Whoever he is, General Woodson appears to be in earnest.”
“I don’t see any incentive Rosebery might have for legitimizing the so-called delegation,” I argued. “Surely the late Messrs. Pike and Davis must have been aware that the Confederacy no longer officially existed. I don’t see what these men can hope to accomplish.”
“At the moment, neither can I,” Barker replied, leaning back into the depths of his winged chair. “Presumably whatever he has to show the prime minister will itself prove the group’s legitimacy or they would not have come.”
Two hours later, the Confederate delegation appeared in our anteroom again. This time, Cortes carried the flat black bag he had brought from the photography shop under his arm. The men looked serious and though they had that bravado I’d seen in many Americans, I suspected they were nervous. All save St. Ives, who looked as bland as ever, but that might be due to his drinking habits.
“It is a short distance, gentlemen,” the Guv said, taking up his stick. “I suggest we walk if you have no objection.”
We stepped out into Craig’s Court, heading toward Whitehall Street.
“Is your package heavy, sir?” Barker asked Cortes. “Perhaps you would care to take a hansom?”
Cortes did not appear to speak English, and no one bothered to translate, but the party split in two, St. Ives and Cortes hailing a cab. It felt strange walking with a group of men in Whitehall who weren’t Scotland Yard constables marching us to a cell. There was no conversation during the walk, just measured steps two abreast. Beaufort still glowered and Woodson had a serious expression on his face. We looked like a procession of undertakers.
We reached Number 10 and stood before two burly constables. A lantern hung from ornate tracery overhead. Our names were newly scribbled on the guard’s list, and we were ushered inside, along with St. Ives and Cortes, who had arrived first.
Barker and I had been here before. One would think the building held insurance offices were it not for a proliferation of flags, portraits, and items of historical significance. The treasures were suspended from the ceiling or on walls, while national business was transacted in front of people who probably didn’t bother to look overhead. There was too much occurring below.
We were led to a door I recognized and ushered through it. In front of us stood the Earl of Rosebery, the new prime minister. He looked far too young for the position but then I couldn’t help comparing him to his predecessor. The earl was barely forty, if that, a sleek fellow with a melancholy eye and chubby cheeks. As we entered, I saw Hesketh Pierce sitting in a chair at the back of the office, which looked more like a library.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” the prime minister said, neither cordial nor hostile, more like someone in hospital expecting a bad diagnosis.
Chairs had been set out for everyone present.
“Which of you is Cyrus Barker?” Lord Rosebery asked.
“I am, sir,” the Guv stated.
“I recognize you, I think,” the prime minister replied. “These gentlemen with you are members of another Masonic organization, as I understand it. May I have your names?”
“General Woodson of Cuba,” the leader said.
The rest answered in kind and the prime minister shook each of their hands. Then he went behind his desk and sat. It was politic to act politely at first. The hammer would come later.
“My,” he remarked. “Cuba, Brazil, Mexico, and Colombia, but most of you are former members of the Confederate States of America.”
“You are well-informed, sir,” Woodson said. “Yes, we represent a Masonic organization known as the Knights of the Golden Circle. The order was well-known in the South, and many are members there still, but most of us are part of the Confederate diaspora.”
“Are you a large band?” the prime minister asked.
“Thousands, sir,” the general replied. “Perhaps tens of thousands. We have dozens of chapters around the Americas. We were chartered by General Albert Pike and the president of the Confederacy, Jefferson Davis.”
“These gentlemen have shown me letters from both men,” the Guv agreed. “Both are now dead, but the letters claim that these gentlemen represent the last vestiges of the Confederacy. I have taken the liberty of having the letters authenticated.”
“You gentlemen claim to represent the Confederacy?” Rosebery asked.
“We do, sir,” St. Ives said politely, but there was mirth in his voice, perhaps even sarcasm.
Rosebery stood. “Forgive me, gentlemen, but beyond a few letters, what proof do you have that the Confederacy still exists? I’m ready to believe that you are veterans of the American Civil War, but that’s a far cry from saying you represent the Confederate states themselves. That would make you—”
“The president, sir,” Woodson broke in. “I am the current president of the Confederate States of America. Of the Americas, actually. We represent many citizens from North and South America and the Caribbean islands, those that are not owned by Britain. We have great respect for our treaty countries, since so many of our citizens have their origins here.”
“Treaty countries?” Rosebery asked with a chuckle. “We have no treaty between us.”
Woodson turned. “Manuel?”
The youngest member of the delegation reached into his leather portfolio and lifted a heavy glass plate. Some sort of document was sandwiched between two sheets of glass. The young captain laid it down carefully across the desk, which necessitated pushing an inkwell and a few other objects to the side. The prime minister bent over and began to read the document to himself.
From where I sat, it appeared to be official. It was perhaps eighteen inches wide and two feet long. The paper was browned with age and there was a gold seal affixed to it.
“Impossible!” Rosebery laughed. “This is a joke, a forgery!”
“You may bring your experts,” the general said. “But I must be here to watch them. Oh, and I have already shown this treaty to the French ambassador for our safety and have taken several photographs of it just in case.”
“In case of what?” the prime minister asked, flushing.
“In case it should be accidentally damaged or lost. It is a cruel world, and the treaty is one of a kind.”
Rosebery sat down in his chair again, the color receding quickly from his face.
“Where did this document come from?” he asked.
“It was the property of Albert Pike, sir,” the general answered. “He put it in my hand shortly before he died and charged us to come here to give it to you.”
“You cannot prove this is real or that your country exists!” the prime minister burst out.
“Don’t think we won’t try,” St. Ives said. He was comfortably ensconced in the seat farthest from the desk.
“What’s your place in this business, Barker?” Rosebery snapped. “How are you involved?”
“These gentlemen came to our chambers asking for an introduction to you concerning this treaty. He brought a letter that appears to be from Albert Pike himself.”
“You must remind me who that is,” our host replied.
“He was the leader of American Masonry,” Woodson said. “As well as author of the rules and regulations of the orders by which all Masonic orders live. There are hundreds of thousands of us. Millions around the world.”
“He was also a general of the Confederacy,” St. Ives added.
I was watching him. The rest of the party wore somber black ties, but his was a flamboyant cravat of purple silk. Woodson was intent and focused, but the brigadier now looked slightly bored. He must be coolheaded to appear so lackadaisical in front of a prime minister, unless of course he was drunk again.
“May I see this letter?” Rosebery asked.
“Letters,” Woodson corrected. “There are two.”
He removed the envelopes from his pocket and set them on top of the glass containing the treaty. The prime minister snatched them up and read them.
“General,” he said at last. “What is it that you want? I assume you want something.”
“I only want what we have already bought and paid for,” the general said, waving for St. Ives to come forward. The latter pulled an envelope from his pocket.
“Not another blasted letter!” the prime minister growled. Barker and I leaned forward. The envelope was yellowed with age.
“This is a bill of sale for a ship!” Rosebery cried, perusing it. “A warship!”
“Yes, a blockade runner,” Woodson replied. “You built it, but General Lee signed the surrender papers before it was delivered.”
“This is damnable blackmail!” Rosebery sputtered.
“No, it isn’t, sir,” Woodson answered, self-contained and confident. “We bought the ship. You promised to deliver it. It is anchored in the Royal Navy Dockyards in Portsmouth as we speak. I understand it is currently being used as a training vessel. We want our property. Just that. Our ship, legally purchased as you can see, but never delivered. There are no hard feelings. We understand that you didn’t know where to deliver it. We’ve simply come to collect it.”
“That’s easier said than done,” Rosebery argued. “The navy is using it.”
“We could take a newer battleship in its place,” Woodson suggested, a smile on his lips.
“That you most certainly will not do,” the prime minister said. “This is ridiculous! Absurd! The answer is no. You no longer have a navy to receive it.”
“Oh, but we do, sir,” Woodson parried. “If you prepare the ship, we’ll take it with us in the morning.”
The earl sat back in his chair. “What will you do if we refuse your request?”
“We are not savages, sir,” St. Ives said. “We are gentlemen. We hope you will be gentlemen, as well. We’ll take you to court. Then the press will get hold of the news, and the American ambassador will read about it in the newspapers the following morning. Then the president of the United States will get wind of it and heaven help you then.”
“This is absurd,” Rosebery repeated, but not as confidently as the first time.
Woodson shrugged. “Either you make an arrangement now and give us our ship, or the United States will learn that you made a treaty with us before the war ended. It’s legal, sir. You are technically in the wrong and you know it. However, we are forbearing. We bear you no rancor. Let us leave the country in our little boat and you can light this document on fire if you wish. We are patient men. We’ve waited nearly thirty years, have we not, Colonel?”
Beauford had been silent and glowering through the entire meeting. He grunted and nodded.
“I don’t believe the United States will be as forgiving,” Woodson continued. “We bear you no animosity, but I shouldn’t be surprised if President Cleveland breaks off relations with your government. If so, you may wish to continue the treaty between us.”
The last sentence was pure bravado.
“A ship,” Rosebery said. “What are you going to do with a ship?”
“That’s our affair, Your Lordship,” the general responded.
“I’m not going to give a group of private citizens from four separate countries a warship. The thought is insane.”
“Very well,” James Woodson replied. “The choice is yours. We’re staying at the Holborn Hotel. You’ll let us know if you make a decision by tomorrow. You may even borrow the treaty if you don’t already have a copy of your own stored somewhere.”
The delegation stood and began to leave.
“Mr. Barker,” the prime minister ordered, “please stay for a few moments. I have some questions for you.”
“Yes, sir,” Barker answered. He turned to the members of the delegation. “Gentlemen, the Clarence public house is near my office. We’ll meet you there when we are done.”
Woodson nodded and they left the room, looking jubilant.
Rosebery sat and looked at us seriously. Then his eyebrows sank. “Barker, what the deuce are you about? Who are these men and why have you brought them to my door?”
When I awoke that morning it did not occur to me that arguably the most powerful man in the world would be cross with us. Generally speaking, one would have to be the kaiser or head of the Tory Party to receive such animosity.
“I was requested civilly by a fellow Mason, and I was convinced that you should hear their claims and see whatever they had in evidence so as to stop them,” the Guv replied.
“Whatever?” the prime minister sputtered. “You didn’t know what it was?”
“I did not. However, the two letters they showed me were genuine enough and they looked so satisfied with themselves I thought it important enough to inform Hesketh Pierce.”
“This is very troubling,” the prime minister admitted. “General Woodson was correct when he said the American embassy would be beside themselves if they saw this bloody treaty. The ambassador is Robert Todd Lincoln, for heaven’s sake! The man has more than a casual interest in the matter. We’ve got to discover if this treaty is legitimate.”
“I can vouch for the letters,” Barker rumbled. “I had them verified by an expert on forgery.”
“I won’t ask where you found one,” Rosebery remarked. He looked at me as I was writing in my notebook. “I want a copy of those notes, Mr. Llewelyn.”
Barker sat back and crossed his limbs as if talking with a prime minister was something he did every day. “Woodson’s had a long time to plan this operation, possibly even decades.”
Rosebery snorted. “They’re mad if they think the English government will give a group of rogue Americans an ironclad battleship without a by-your-leave.”
“I was looking through a book about the American Civil War in my library,” the Guv said. “Many Confederates left for Central and South America, threatening to return. These men represent displaced Southern colonies, many of whom must be of the same opinion.”
“Are you working with them?” Rosebery asked. “Against your own country’s interest?”
“Of course not, sir,” Barker rumbled. “I requested an invitation to bring their claim to you, and now I have fulfilled any obligation to them. I suggest you hire my services immediately. I’m in a position to befriend them and learn what deviltry they are planning.”
“You believe I’d hire you after this?”
“If not, I’ll have a new case by five o’clock,” Barker stated with certainty. “Will you have anyone as well-placed as we are by then? I assume not. My associate and I are going to see them now. The longer I tarry, the more suspicious they will become.”
“What is your fee?”
“Nothing the chancellor of the exchequer will frown over,” my partner replied. “This is an international matter.”
Rosebery rubbed his chin. “Very well. You are hired.”
Barker stood immediately. “I shall get back to you as soon as possible. Come, Thomas.”
Once outside Downing Street, the Guv adjusted his bowler.
“That was easy,” he murmured. “Let us see what trouble we can get ourselves into next.”
CHAPTER 4
“Did that go well?” I asked Barker.
He was striding along the pavement on the closer side of Whitehall Street, bound for the Clarence public house. He is a head taller than me, and I was struggling to keep up.
“Well enough,” he rumbled. “We are employed again.”
“We are going to see that the treaty is not carried out, aren’t we?” I asked.
“We are,” he answered. “The best way to do that is to convince them we are on their side. We might be able to persuade General Woodson, but Beaufort will always be suspicious of our motives.”
