| |
We arrived in Manassas late in the afternoon, and were fortunate- we had almost half an hour before the train was due to pull out, allowing us ample time to load our mounts and buy seats. We made our way along the platform to the coach indicated on the tickets, and showed them to the conductor. A quick punch of our tickets, and we boarded the coach. There were a few other passengers, but it was otherwise empty, and we took a set of four seats facing each other for our own. We each took a window seat, Gordon facing the front of the train and me facing the rear. The seats were comfortably padded, and the trip promised to be a more enjoyable one than the trip from Richmond. Breaking out some cheese and bread, we made a quick meal before the train left the station; it would be several hours before we would have another chance to eat.
The ride was much bumpier than the previous trip, primarily due to the quality of the rails; on the major lines, the rails were rolled steel laid on top of wooden ties, but on the smaller sections of track, the rails were wooden, with a strip of steel laid on top. This wasn’t as durable as the solid rails, and required frequent maintenance. As a result, speeds were about half of those on the main lines. The train bumped and jolted and lurched its way along the track, making it difficult to keep our balance. Gordon turned his thoughts again to our hurried departure.
“General Lee must have heard or seen something- something involving us- to alter our plans so dramatically?”
“Yes, you’re absolutely right. I imagine General Lee suspects there’s an enemy agent somewhere in headquarters. I don’t know who it is, it’s doubtful the General even has any idea. He may have recognized someone, I don’t know. Something happened to make him think that there’s a flow of information to the enemy, and he wants to get us out before we’re caught up in it. I doubt it’s general caution on his part, he knows how critical time is and wouldn’t waste it on a roundabout approach to Washington just to be safe. He’s got something definite, more than a hunch but maybe not quite proof, and he’s acting on it. Sending us to Harpers Ferry will accomplish two things: we’ll be out of Richmond, so away from the eyes of whomever he suspects, and we’ll be in Harpers Ferry, where strangers will no doubt be noticed. Anyone recently arriving in the town will be under suspicion, until and unless we clear them.”
“So that’s it? We’re in the clear?”
“Not quite,” I replied. “There’s one big flaw in this plan. See if you can spot it.”
Gordon thought for a few minutes, then gave up. “I’ve no idea.”
“What happens when we get to Harpers Ferry?”
“You said we’re to present ourselves to the militia commander and he’ll assist us in getting into Maryland unnoticed.”
“Right. Now, how is he going to know to assist us? How will he know what aid we require, and more importantly, how can we be sure he’ll be willing to help us?” I looked at Gordon quizzically.
“Well, obviously he has orders. Courier, telegraph...courier probably, less chance of it being intercepted.” Gordon looked pleased with himself for realizing that telegrams could be intercepted, at several points, and without anyone being the wiser. Couriers, while slower, were also more secure.
“Excellent. So, a courier then. General Lee writes out his orders and gives them to a courier to take to our hotel, and to Harpers Ferry. Probably the same courier to cut down on the number of people involved. Do you see the problem now?” I asked.
Comprehension crossed Gordon’s face. “Of course! The courier could be the enemy agent! Wait, supposing he is this hypothetical agent, what could he do to stop us? Or how could he interfere with our mission? He’d have to return to headquarters straightaway, or else he’d be missed and possibly reveal himself as the spy...wouldn’t he?”
“I don’t know. It would depend on many factors- does he know our mission? Unlikely- General Lee isn’t given to sharing the details of missions like ours with anyone. Can he have guessed? Possibly- if he’s in the same line of work, he could guess that the general would dispatch agents to gather information for him. Our presence at headquarters did not go unremarked- remember our visitor, Colonel Davenport? So perhaps others knew about us as well. If so, this hypothetical enemy in our midst might have deduced we were being sent on Lee’s orders. In which case, a number of possibilities arise.”
I paused to gather my thoughts. There were so many imponderables, so many questions...so many possibilities depending upon the answers to the questions. It was impossible to address them all, let alone to plan for them. “I don’t think our unknown enemy knows our mission. General Lee is too careful to have let any information pass out of his control; you, me, and the General are the only ones who know what we’ve been tasked with. It’s possible that our enemy knows we are being dispatched on a special mission by General Lee, and he may be able to deduce that the mission involves gathering information- after all, hypothetically, that’s what he’s doing. So for the sake of argument, we’ll presume that we are identified to our enemy as Confederate agents sent by General Lee to gather information necessary for the Confederate cause. Since we’re being directed by a general, no matter how senior, the information must be military-related and time-sensitive. Meaning the information will have no value after a certain period of time has elapsed. What information can you think of that’s militarily significant and of limited temporal value?”
Gordon thought for a while. “Plans. In this case, attack plans. The South doesn’t plan to invade the North, and Lincoln’s army is poised to invade the South- so the only information a Confederate army would be interested in would be when and where the Yankees plan to invade.”
I was pleased- Gordon caught on quickly. “Correct. Now then, our imaginary enemy deduces that two Confederate soldiers are attempting to infiltrate United States territory in search of battle plans. He knows we’ll be crossing at Harpers Ferry, and he knows he has a limited time to act before he’s missed at headquarters and confirms Lee’s suspicions. Or at least he has to operate from the presumption he’s under suspicion, he’d be foolish not to. Anyway, he’s got to figure out some way to get word to the Yankees that two Confederate officers are crossing into western Maryland, soon. Maybe he’s got our physical descriptions, maybe even our names- but what good will that do him, really? So he’s got few options. First, he can make contact with any Unionists he knows, or knows of, in the area, and tip them off- they might be able to cause trouble for us. Second, he can get word to the Federals to be on the lookout for us, to increase their scrutiny; this might make it difficult for us to cross, and delay us- maybe they only need a few days’ delay. There are other possibilities- hiring someone to ambush us, delivering fake orders, even bribing someone to deliver fake orders arresting us. He’d be in the clear, we’d be in jail while things got sorted out, and the mission would be cancelled. That’s what I would do- if I were certain. Because if anything did delay us, you can bet the first place General Lee would look for explanation would be that courier. So the question is- how valuable is this hypothetical agent? If there is more than one, the Yankees might be willing to sacrifice this agent. If he’s highly-placed, or they don’t have many, they probably wouldn’t risk losing him.”
“Sacrifice him? You mean he’d be killed?”
“Well, no, I mean he’d be unmasked as a Yankee spy and have to flee for his life. If that’s the case, and something does happen to us at our destination, you can bet we’ll know exactly who he was because he’ll have inexplicably disappeared- he may even take the information to the Federals himself, in that case.”
Gordon looked confused. I didn’t blame him. “So what do you think will happen when we get there,” he asked.
“Nothing. I think General Lee would find someone completely reliable, or someone completely unknown, to deliver the orders. In which case, the spy would have no knowledge of our mission. Personally, if I suspected a spy at headquarters, I’d let it slip that I was sending agents directly to Washington, try to misdirect him and flush him out that way. Always a chance he’d see that as a ruse, but in the game of bluff and double-bluff, we don’t always have the luxury of not acting on information.”
Gordon shook his head. “This is indeed a twisted world in which you live. I’m surprised you can even keep your head straight.”
I smiled knowingly. “Sometimes I can’t.”
The rest of the ride passed uneventfully, and as we left Manassas and headed northwest, the small towns gradually gave way to lush farmland, thick woods, and the rolling hills of the Piedmont. The weather was beautiful, with a bright sun in a clear blue sky and a gentle breeze. Spring was always my favorite season, as the Earth shrugged off winter’s icy grasp. The new growth everywhere provided a promise of future prosperity, and gave a hopeful feel to the landscape. Summer was nice, but with the warm temperatures came the humidity; together, they combined to create an oppressive climate which plagued man and beast. The only option was to keep in the cool shade of the trees and hope for a breeze. But summer had its pleasures, too. Once the sun started to fade and it cooled off a bit, it was downright pleasant. Sitting on the porch, watching the lightning bugs dancing in the dark, listening to the cicadas and the crickets buzzing and chirping, time seemed to stand still in one, perfect moment of peace. The trees, thick with fruit, and the lush gardens with ripening melons provided a bounty to enjoy on nights like these, before the chores of picking and chopping and boiling and jarring for the coming winter intruded on the solitude.
Everywhere I looked, I saw evidence of Virginia’s abundance. Her temperate climate and fertile soil were a boon to settlers, and the abundance of timber and minerals and game allowed settlements to flourish. Her many rivers made transporting goods ridiculously simple- and cheap- as they flowed from the mountains in the west to the flatlands and down to the sea. Here, too, we were blessed, as the waters of the Chesapeake and the Atlantic poured forth their bounty into our nets and the holds of our fisheries. The large rivers were navigable well inland, allowing the goods of Europe and even Asia to reach even the poorest farmer in the interior. This land was well and truly blessed; but this blessing was now being threatened with invasion, and with that would come the destruction of the farms and the small towns, the docks and ports and warehouses full of goods. The fruit orchards cut down by cannon or soldiers for fuel, the gardens raided by foragers. All this pastoral beauty would be mechanized, industrialized, turned into gears in the machinery of war. I was powerless to prevent it- but maybe I could help stop it in its tracks. Maybe we would be fortunate and forestall the Yankee invasion, blunt it or turn it or break it up. With luck, we could do so while minimizing the destruction to our own fair land, and we would be free to govern our own affairs, and enjoy the blessings once again.
I thought once more of our home, in the Shenandoah Valley, nestled at the base of the mountains. It was a beautiful land of rolling hills covered in luxurious forests, giving way to a broad, flat plain crossed by rivers and creeks. I hoped the valley would escape the destruction war would bring, that my home might be spared, but I also knew the strategic value of the valley. The barns bursting with foodstuffs, the roads along which an enemy might walk, screened from the interior of the state, to flank Richmond or invade our neighboring states. No, the valley would not be immune.
We reached Harpers Ferry just after dark, pulling into a deserted station. Our horses were hungry, as were we, so the first order of business was finding a place to stay for the evening. I had never been through Harpers Ferry, but knew of it from the great arsenal there and the notoriety surrounding it from John Brown’s raid. Brown, a Kansas abolitionist, had attempted to spark a slave uprising and create an army which would then destroy slavery once and for all. He started by attacking the arsenal at Harpers Ferry, to acquire the guns and ammunition he would need to arm the slaves he and his band intended to free. His plans, however, went awry- the first man killed was a free black- and he and his men were captured after a bloody standoff ended in a raid by Marines under the command of Colonel Robert Lee. Brown was hanged for his crimes, and was viewed by many as a martyr. This further inflamed tensions between North and South, as each viewed him in an opposing light; Northern sympathy for Brown’s goals was seen as support for his methods, while Southern anger at his actions was used to further demonize the region. Each side edged further apart, leaving moderates with increasingly tenuous middle ground.
Several rail lines passed through or near the town, so we were able to quickly locate a hotel with attached stables. We obtained two rooms and hired a groom to tend to our mounts, and got directions to the militia commander’s office. We paid one of the servants to take a quick note to him, with our compliments and inviting him to call upon us in the morning, hoping to postpone that business until we were rested. Thinking we had settled all of our necessities for the evening, we adjourned to the dining room for a quick meal before turning in for the night.
Although it was now past 9 p.m., the dining room was still occupied by a small number of patrons. The maitre d’ escorted us to a quiet table in the back, summoning a waiter as he did so. As we eased our aching muscles into the heavy wooden chairs, the waiter appeared at our table and informed us that the kitchen was closed, but there were a limited number of entrees available. As hungry for hot food as we were, we eagerly accepted the offer of roast chicken and vegetables, oxtail soup, and hot bread with butter. If we were interested, he continued, there was apple pie available as well. We were interested. The apples of western Virginia were a treat not to be missed, and the country farmers had long ago mastered the art of making them into pies. A baker was noted- or faulted- for the consistency of their crust, and restaurants vied with one another to retain the title of ‘best pie in town!’ Along with the chicken, we ordered a bottle of wine; the waiter recommended a Burgundy, on the basis of that being the only wine they had available. He left with our order, but returned minutes later with the wine and the warm bread. Once he had left, we attacked both with vigor.
Gordon managed to stuff a large chunk of bread in his mouth, pour two glasses of wine, and offer a toast, all in one smooth movement. “To the successful completion of our mission!”
I raised my glass in response. “Hear, hear!”
He finished chewing, then fixed me with a level gaze. “So what comes next?”
“That will depend upon the commander. We’ll need to know what information he has, what he’s been briefed on, and what his instructions are before we can make our next move. If he’s been told to give us any assistance we require, great. If he has specific instructions which I don’t like, or if he has his own ideas of what should happen, we’ll make new plans.”
Gordon looked stunned. “If you don’t like the orders he’s been given? You’d overrule General Lee’s instructions?”
“Of course.” Gordon’s naiveté was amusing. “Look, we’re going into hostile territory, and we may or may not have an enemy agent on our trail. I’m not going to blindly follow a plan devised by someone who isn’t here, on the ground, with the most current assessment of the situation. General Lee’s orders are at best a day old. Tomorrow, they’ll be two days old. Things have changed, and it’s my neck- and now yours- if the plans don’t work. So, I’ll make my own arrangements. General Lee knows all this, it’s part of doing business. There’s another thing to factor in- how do we know we’re actually getting General Lee’s instructions? If there is a spy, and he delivered the orders, maybe he altered them- substituted his own? In that case, we’d be foolish to follow any orders coming from headquarters.”
He let out a low whistle. “I hadn’t thought of that. But, how will we know if the orders are real or not?”
I reached inside my coat for the letter from Lee; I had thought it too risky to leave it laying about the hotel room, now it would serve as a useful illustration for Gordon. “Here,” I said, handing it to him. “Read this, especially the part about crossing over.”
Gordon’s lips moved soundlessly as he read. He read aloud as he reached the part I indicated. “Assume a suitable pretext. What does that mean, exactly?”
“It means he expects us to come up with a story explaining our presence in western Maryland, one which will allow us access to Washington and the places we’re interested in, and to the people we’ll want to talk to. We’ll need some reason for being where we are, doing what we’re doing, which won’t attract attention.”
“All right, that makes sense, but how does that help you determine the validity of any orders here?” Gordon leaned forward, his face intent as he pointed his index finger at the loaf of bread in the center of the table.”
It was becoming clear that whatever his strengths, Gordon lacked the ability to analyze information and draw useful conclusions from it. Be patient, I thought, it’s still early. He may yet gain an understanding of how to use information in context. “Think about the different instructions we’ve had from General Lee so far. Now think of one word, or one short phrase, to describe all his orders, what did they all have in common?”
Gordon’s brow furrowed as he shut his eyes, deep in thought. Several moments passed before he looked up at me with a shrug. “Vague,” he said at last.
I nodded slightly, “Vague, yes, that’s one way to put it I suppose. All right, let’s use vague. So now tell me, if all of General Lee’s correspondence so far has been ‘vague’, how might we determine that we’re getting false orders from the local commander?”
His face lit up as the answer presented itself. “The orders will be precise!”
“Exactly!” I smiled. “Now, suppose the spy is familiar with General Lee’s command style- I’ll give you this answer, you tell me the reason behind it- why can’t the spy write vague orders in the same style as General Lee?”
Gordon’s smile faltered slightly, but he quickly answered. “If he wants to stop us, he has to be direct. If he gives us ‘vague’ orders,” I smiled as he said this, “he runs the risk of us slipping away and not being able to track us or stop us or even warn anyone about us. Right? He can’t afford to let us use our own initiative. So if the orders are rigid or inflexible, we’ll presume they’re intercepted and make our own plans. And General Lee is comfortable with you doing this...” he paused, “because he understands that there’s always a chance orders can be forged or fall into enemy hands, so he relies on you to carry out the mission he’s briefed you with previously. So he may send additional orders, but ultimately he’s got to act on you carrying out only the original orders you received face-to-face.”
I raised my glass in salute. “Congratulations, you’re starting to think like an agent.”