Unbeknown to President Abraham Lincoln, or those officials responsible for his continued safety and well-being, a group of his worst enemies amongst those who supported the cause of the Union were gathered at that moment not too far from where he stood brooding over the terrible state of affairs brought about by the civil conflict.
An uneasy mixture of a dozen wealthy political opportunists and ‘liberals’ of the most viciously radical variety were assembled in the dining room of the mansion owned by George Wigg, which was situated on the opposite side of the Potomac River some distance downstream from the White House. Ostensibly, they had come together for a dinner party honoring a brigadier general visiting Washington, District of Columbia, to discuss with his superiors in the War Department the conducting of the less than successful campaign over which he had command. However, to anybody who knew Wigg—whose ‘liberal’ tendencies did not include generosity where his personal worldly goods were concerned—it would have been patently obvious he was not going to such an expense for just that reason.
There was, in fact, a much more serious—some might even say treasonable—motive for the gathering!
Using the presence of Brigadier General Moses J. Buller as an excuse, Wigg had called together the group to discuss a matter which he knew they all had in mind. Like himself, every one present had no love for the present incumbent of the White House. However, such was the current popularity of the President with the masses, it would be practically impossible to have him removed from office by any constitutional or other legal means. Therefore, their host wished to sound out their thoughts about arranging an assassination which would pave the way for the election of somebody who was closer to their own political ideals. Although he was too shrewd to make known his personal ambitions in that direction until he was better aware of their sentiments, Wigg considered himself to be the ideal candidate for the high office. With that in mind, he had grudgingly expended a considerable amount of his own money upon wining, dining and arranging entertainment for his guests after the serious business of the evening was concluded.
However, now the meal was over, the guests, with one exception, were showing a marked reluctance to openly admit the true purpose of their visit. Possessing the mean spirited and untrusting mentalities which characterized their kind, the ‘liberals’ in particular were disinclined to do anything as definite as discuss in the presence of so many witnesses the ways and means to bring about that which they desired. Nor were the blatant opportunists, including the nominal guest of honor, any more willing to make declarations of intent in the company of those who at other times they would have regarded as mortal enemies and who, furthermore, still would not hesitate to use any ill-considered or incriminating admissions against them.
‘Oh ass-hole to all this “mother-something” pussy-footing around it!’ vii the exception ejaculated, in the accent of a well educated New Englander, rising with such vehemence she sent her chair flying. ‘We all know what we’re here for and the sooner we get to it the better, I say. That skinny-gutted, mealy-mouthed Sucker State jury-fixer viii is too god-damned soft-hearted and soft-headed to be left in office. If he has his way, he’ll make peace with those peckerwood sons-of-bitches we’re fighting at the first opportunity instead of wiping out every last mother’s son of the bastards. He’s got to be put away and there’s an end to it!’
As usual, considering her words demonstrated—despite having come from a privileged background and receiving an education at a recently opened and exclusive college for women on the outskirts of New York City—her willingness to descend to the level of the ‘little people’, Mary Wilkinson had continued to intersperse her tirade with frequent profanities more suitable to a stable yard in moments of stress than a formal dinner in a mansion. An aspiring, albeit untalented actress—this being in an age before the profession of ‘liberal’ ideals was a guarantee of employment, critical acclaim and even ‘stardom’—she was embittered by her repeated failures on the stage and sought to relieve her disappointment by adopting the kind of unconventional behavior she considered to be the norm among thespians in Europe.
The frustrated actress did not confine her defiance of convention to lacing her speech, regardless of whose company she might be in, with foul language. Nor was it restricted to smoking cigars in public and having her yellowish brunette hair cut in a short, masculine fashion which did nothing to relieve the harsh lines of her otherwise beautiful features. Particularly when attending formal functions where it would be considered more of an offense to the other guests than an amiably harmless eccentricity, she invariably garbed herself in male attire. However, this was not done with the intention of concealing her gender. A feminist of the most volubly overbearing and overreacting kind, she nevertheless selected garments which left no doubts regarding her sex.
That night, as was generally the case, the thin blue shirt Mary was wearing beneath an open black cutaway jacket and white riding breeches, ending in brown boots with Hessian pattern legs, was snugly fitting. Clinging to and emphasizing her full bosom, its contours further defined by a scarlet silk cravat, the nipples stood out in a way which indicated that only one layer of material covered them. Almost tight enough to be a second skin, the nether garments were just as successful in displaying her slender waist, curvaceous hips and shapely thighs. Moreover, constant practice had taught her how to exhibit the lines of her richly feminine body, whether standing or sitting, so that they distracted attention from the lines of arrogant superiority mingled with disdain her face invariably bore.
‘He must,’ agreed the tall, slim, sullenly handsome, black haired man whose Union blue full dress uniform bore the “chicken” spread eagle insignia of a Colonel and had the letters, “P.D.”, inscribed within the embroidered gold laurel wreath on his epaulettes. ‘By constitutional means, of course!’
‘By any god-damned means that are needed!’ the yellowish brunette insisted, just as loudly as she had made her previous declaration. Watching Colonel Horace Trumpeter of the Pay Department throwing a nervous glance at the closed main doors of the dining room, she still made no attempt to hold her voice down to the level he had employed as she continued, ‘None of us here—and we all know there are plenty more like us who feel the same way—want that miserable-looking, rebel-loving old son-of-a-bitch even alive, much less still in office, when the war ends. Well, I have two men who can see he isn’t for us and in a way which—!’
‘Hey there, Wigg!’ growled the guest of honor, before any more could be said. His voice was also that of a New Englander, albeit one of lower social origins than the feminist and the colonel in spite of his present military rank. Showing he was clearly sharing the misgivings of their host and the other guests, including the three young civilians she had brought with her, over the loud and incautious speech she was making, he continued as all eyes turned his way, ‘How well can you trust your servants?’
Around six foot in height, with longish black hair going bald on top and a bulky body running to fat, Brigadier General Moses J. Buller was in his late forties. Despite having attained so high a rank, he was not a professional soldier. He was, as he frequently mentioned, a self-made businessman whose wealth and influence had enabled him to rise swiftly in the force of volunteers formed by his home State to help maintain the Union intact. His true nature was reflected in the reddened, blue-jawed and almost porcine features which gave a clear indication of his brutal and licentious spirit. While excellently tailored, his double-breasted dark blue uniform frock coat was filled until a strain was placed upon the two rows—of eight buttons each—running down its front. Heavy with bullion, his epaulettes were embellished with a single gold star as notification of his exalted status, and were tarnished. As was the case with the coat, there were food and wine stains spattering his off white trousers. Heavy and blunt toed, his black boots were more suited to walking than riding a horse. Although he had a red silk sash about his bulging middle, he was not wearing a weapon belt.
‘Absolutely!’ the tallish, skinny and rat-faced host of the dinner party stiffly replied, being resentful of anything which might serve to cast doubts upon him in the present company. His somber attire was eminently suitable for the successful undertaker he could claim to be, but was less suitable for the present circumstances. The garments emitted a noticeable smell of the formaldehyde-based solutions he employed in his work and was hardly conducive to a good appetite. Ignoring the fact that—like many of his kind—he kept his employees no better paid or accommodated than the “downtrodden masses” to whom he paid the same lip service as did all his guests in the interests of obtaining political support, he elaborated, ‘They are completely loyal to me!’
‘Be that as it may,’ Trumpeter grumbled, showing no sign of being convinced by the declaration and scowling his disapproval at the young woman. ‘I still feel it is in our own best interests that some discretion is shown in what is said!’
‘Discretion!’ Mary snorted, without offering to lower her voice, the word popping from her mouth as if it was causing a bad taste. Injecting the usual amount of unnecessary profanities, she went on belligerently, ‘If what we’ve come here for is too rich for your blood, you may always get up and walk out!’
‘By god!’ the colonel snarled, shoving back his chair. However, he refrained from rising or pointing out the ostensible reason for the dinner party. ‘You wouldn’t be saying that if you were a man!’
‘Like hell I wouldn’t!’ the brunette replied just as heatedly. ‘ And don’t jet my being a woman stop you trying to keep me quiet. I’ll meet you with swords or pistols, standing or mounted, any time you want to call me out!’
‘That’s easy enough for you to say!’ Trumpeter asserted. ‘Even if dueling wasn’t illegal, you know I couldn’t fight a woman!’
‘You’ve never got around to fighting anybody, if your career so far in the Army is anything to go by,’ Mary countered disdainfully and with some justification. ‘But, any time you’re so minded, illegal or not, just say the god-damned word and I’ll prove I can stand against you any way you’ve a mind to call it!’
Anger darkened Trumpeter’s face at the words. Despite having attained rapid promotion, mainly due to possessing sufficient influential friends who were able to secure the removal to other posts of those senior to him, since enrolling as an officer he had taken great care to ensure he was never sent anywhere near the fighting lines. ix However, while he always appeared in public with a revolver in his holster, and a sword on the slings of his weapon belt, which (prompting a thirty-year veteran sergeant major with a very sound assessment of human character to spread the rumour he even wore them in bed), he had never taken the trouble to acquire skill in the use of either.
On the other hand, in addition to the conventional education supplied by the college for women she had attended, Mary had formed a sorority among students with similar outlooks on political and social issues. They had taken clandestine, yet thorough instruction in subjects less usual than those offered by the official curriculum. Not only had they learned to ride astride, as well as on the socially acceptable side-saddle, but they had taken lessons in fencing, shooting, boxing and wrestling. Nor, having attained a standard of proficiency in such martial arts which was not equalled by her formal studies, had she forgotten what she was taught after graduation. Regarding it as a symbol of her equality with men, she had continued to keep herself in excellent physical condition and contrived to remain in practice at the acquired skills. x
Looking from the arrogantly scowling young woman to the glowering colonel and back, Wigg had grown increasingly alarmed as the acrimonious exchange continued. Each had adherents present, attracted to Trumpeter for the patronage he could offer, and to Mary by virtue of her the sexual benefits she was willing to bestow upon those who gave her support. Already the two factions were glaring across the table at one another with thinly veiled hostility. If there should be a clash which in bloodshed, it would be almost impossible to keep the affair secret. Although breaches of the law against dueling were sometimes overlooked, the undertaker knew there were those in Washington who would be only too willing to use such an incident to discredit everybody even indirectly connected with it. What was more, being aware of the nature of his guests, he did not doubt the surviving losers would do all they could to encompass the downfall of the winners. While he cared nothing for whatever might happen to any of them, provided he was left in the clear, he was equally certain that he would suffer in the event of trouble with the authorities.
However, his misgivings notwithstanding, Wigg was uncertain how he might intervene and restore order without the risk of offending one or the other group. No matter how much he might try to delude himself that he was a man of power and commanding presence, he knew he lacked the kind of forceful personality required to cope with such a potentially dangerous situation. Nor was he in such a position of authority that he could use it as a threat of personal retribution, if only by implication, to prevent the situation worsening.
The undertaker was saved from the necessity of trying to intervene!
‘Hey now, easy on there!’ Buller boomed out with an authoritative joviality, coming to his feet. ‘There’s no call for any of us going off half cocked!’
Although he would not have been averse to watching how an acceptance of the challenge to physical combat turned out, the General shared his host’s appreciation of the advisability of preventing it from happening. Furthermore, he was quick to see how the situation might be turned to his own advantage. Despite his belief that the assassination of President Lincoln was worthy of being given serious attention and put into effect, providing a suitably safe scheme could be thought out, he had been disinclined to make a declaration upon such a dangerous issue with so many other people being party to it. Concluding the altercation was offering him an opportunity to avoid being compelled to take a definite stand on the matter, without his reticence and lack of trust becoming obvious to the others, he was wise enough to make it apparent as he intervened that he was not favoring either party.
‘Come on now, everybody, let’s drink to the downfall of our enemies!’ Buller suggested, picking up his glass, after a few seconds had elapsed without the woman and the colonel offering to continue their angry exchange. With the toast drunk and the hostile pair seated once more, he continued, ‘I’ve got to attend a meeting with some of the General Staff later this evening and will have to be leaving for it soon. So what’s this entertainment you’ve got arranged for us, Wigg, old man?’
‘Something I’m sure you will find most diverting, General,’ replied the undertaker, struggling to conceal the irritation he was experiencing over being addressed in such an excessively familiar fashion by his uncouth guest of honor. ‘I’ve heard you take an interest in such things.’
‘Then how’s about letting us see it now?’ Buller demanded rather than requested, wondering which of his interests was to be catered for and doubting whether it would be one of the less salubrious kind. ‘Like I said, I’ve got this important meeting !’
‘Very well, we’ll have it now,’ Wigg interrupted, accepting that he was unlikely to bring about any further discussion upon the real reason for the gathering unless he offered a diversion which would give tempers a chance to cool. Picking up the bell from the table, he rang it and told the butler who came in answer to his summons, ‘Fetch in that woman and her girls, Barnes!’
‘Very good, sir,’ replied the tall, graying haired and distinguished looking man, and withdrew.