The four companies of Missouri volunteer Riflemen marched grim-faced across the muddy drill field of the U.S. Barracks. The captains and their lieutenants marched at the head of the columns. The soldiers looked straight ahead. The right guards lifted the company guidons and shook the pennants and tried to make them flare, but the damp cloths hung limp and lifeless against the wooden staffs.
Lew and Tim halted at the entrance of the military compound to allow the departing soldiers to pass.
“The Missourians don’t seem very happy about leaving for Mexico,” Lew said to Tim.
“They’ve probably seen the funerals and read the articles in the papers about the yellow-fever epidemic here in New Orleans, and in Vera Cruz, where they’ll be landing in Mexico. The disease scares them much more than the Mexican army does. Ten men are being knocked out of action by disease to every one wounded or killed in battle.”
Lew did not reply. His thoughts had shifted from the departing soldiers to the request of Colonel Hays of the Army Quartermasters Corps. The colonel had asked Lew to come to the U.S. Barracks and discuss military contracts with him.
The last company of departing soldiers passed through the gate. Lew and Tim moved into the compound.
The U.S. Barracks encompassed an area three hundred feet along the river and nine hundred feet deep to the north. It was designed for a garrison of four companies but held twice that number. The commandant’s building, flanked by the offices of his staff officers, was located in midfront. A large parade ground, handsome in dry weather, but now a field of mud and water, occupied the center. The soldiers’ quarters and base hospital were behind the parade ground. Farther to the rear were the storehouses and powder magazine, and a wagon park filled with ammunition carriers, ambulances, field kitchens, and ferrier carts.
“I was told Colonel Hays’ office is in the building on the right of the headquarters,” Lew said to Tim. He led, striking out over the sodden ground, trying to pick the more-solid-appearing earth.
They were halted by an armed guard at the entrance of the quartermasters’ office, then allowed to pass after identification was made and the purpose of their visit stated. They crossed a large room where several men in civilian clothing lounged about talking, or sitting silently waiting. Lew and Tim went directly to the door marked Colonel J. T. Hays.
“My name is Wollfolk,” Lew told the corporal at the door. “Colonel Hays has asked me to come and talk with him.”
“Yes, sir. He told me to send you straight in,” said the corporal.
Colonel Hays stood up behind his desk as Lew and Tim came into the room. “Welcome, gentlemen,” he said. “Thank you for coming so promptly. Which one of you is Timothy Wollfolk?”
“I’m Wollfolk,” said Lew, stepping forward and shaking the officer’s hand. “This is my chief accountant, Sam Datson.”
The colonel shook Tim’s hand and reseated himself at the desk. “Time is short. Shall we get directly to the reason I sent for you?”
“How can we help you, Colonel?” Lew asked.
“It has to do with your bids on the military contracts. You were the low bidder on many of them.”
Lew glanced at Tim. Then he looked back at the officer. “That is good, Colonel.”
“Maybe so, and then maybe not so good from my point of view. I have some concerns. New Orleans is the chief military depot and staging area for the war against Mexico. During the next few months, hundreds of chartered merchantmen loaded with soldiers and war supplies will be arriving from the East Coast. An even greater number of river steamboats will be coming downriver from Cincinnati and Saint Louis and half a hundred other cities carrying men and supplies.
“The soldiers will go to Fort Jesup or come here to the Barracks for a few days to be completely outfitted. The army will take care of that. However, all of those army supplies that will be arriving will be handled by private contractors like yourself. The very outcome of the war depends upon the temporary storing and swift repacking and shipping of the vehicles, clothing, medicine supplies, and other goods according to the quartermasters plans.”
“We understand all of that, Colonel,” Lew said.
The colonel leaned over his desk. “Mr. Wollfolk, your company has eight hundred feet of dock space. Now, tell me frankly, can you handle all of these contracts you are low bidder on?” The colonel handed Lew a sheet of paper containing a list of contracts.
“The Wollfolk Company is low bidder on all of these?”
“Yes.”
Lew hitched his chair closer to Tim’s and held the papers so that both of them could read it. They quietly studied the listing, recalling and discussing the contents of the contracts.
Finally Lew said, “What do you think, Sam?”
“Two large ships or three smaller ones can berth at our dock at one time. By tying other ships to the first ones, we can handle four, maybe six at a time.”
Lew nodded in agreement. “We have one crew of stevedores and drivers working twelve hours a day. We can put on another crew for a twelve-hour night shift.”
“We may need another bookkeeper,” Tim said.
The two men looked at each other. There was agreement in their eyes. Lew turned to the colonel. “We can handle the contracts.”
Colonel Hays did not speak for a full minute, evaluating the two young men before him. Finally he said, “The Wollfolk Company has always carried out every contract in an excellent manner. But that was under the management of Albert Wollfolk. I have reservations about you because of your lack of experience. Should you fail, I then have to immediately find another company to complete the contracts. That would surely cost the army a premium over the existing price. Would you put a cash performance bond to ensure your compliance with the provisions of the contracts?”
“How much bond?” Lew questioned.
“One hundred thousand dollars.”
Lew was staggered by the amount of the bond. The company funds would not be enough to cover the bond and also the purchase of the clipper ship. A portion of Albert Wollfolk’s private bank account would have to be used. Still, the total profit from all the contacts would be nearly four hundred thousand dollars.
Lew spoke to Tim. “How do you feel about it, Sam?”
“That is a very large sum of money, but we can do it.”
Lew faced the officer. “My answer is yes, we will post the bond.”
“Then write the U.S. Army a bank draft for that amount,” said the colonel. He slid pen and ink and a sheet of paper across the desk to Lew.
Lew shoved the writing material back. “Have your clerk properly draw the draft up and I’ll sign it.”
“Very good. What bank?”
“The Mechanics and Traders Bank.”
“I know of it.” The colonel stepped to a rear door and left the room.
Shortly the officer returned with a sergeant. The enlisted man handed Lew the bank draft. Lew signed it.
The colonel gave him a receipt for his check. He stared sternly at Lew and Tim. “I warn you that only an act of God or war in the city will exempt you from completing these contracts on the schedules that have been set.”
The colonel gestured at the sergeant. “Post the full list of successful bidders outside. Then come back here, for I want you to go and make arrangements to cash this draft and have it deposited in the army funds.”
“Yes, sir,” said the sergeant. Carrying the paper, he went from the room.
“I wish you good luck, gentlemen,” the officer said. “The official notification and the signing of the contracts and bond will be within three days. Work on the contracts will begin immediately after that. Prepare yourselves to carry them out.”
Lew and Tim went out into the big outer room. The men who had been waiting crowded around the sergeant as he fastened the announcement to the bulletin board.
Lew spotted Farr Rawlins pushing to the front of the group of men. Rawlins glanced at Lew and then looked away.
“Let’s watch a minute,” Lew said in a quiet voice to Tim. “These men are our competitors. One or more of them are very likely responsible for Albert Wollfolk’s death.”
Tim was startled at the statement. In a surprised voice, he said, “Do you mean he was murdered?”
“I’m certain of it. Also I’ve been attacked. And Gunnard’s action to slow operations at the warehouse must have been paid for by somebody. We have enemies. They have killed, and they will kill again.”
Tim looked at the impostor, trying to read his thoughts as the man closely scrutinized the bidders clustered at the bulletin board. During the past days working with him, Tim had come to respect the man’s quickness of thought and his generosity. Now this last pronouncement added further doubt to the impostor’s true role in the events surrounding the attempted murder of Tim. But what justification did he have in making the false claim to the Wollfolk inheritance? Tim shook his head in puzzlement.
The unsuccessful bidders left. They looked at Lew as they passed. There was not one friendly face among them.
Lew heard Rawlins speak, his voice crackling with anger as he pointed at the list. “Stanton, we got very few contracts.”
“Damn it, I can see,” growled Stanton.
Lew heard Rawlins speak to the man named Stanton.
That would be Stanton Shattuck. Now Lew had identified the two men Annette Grivot had named.
Lew spoke in a voice that only Tim could hear. “There is a group of four men that call themselves the Ring. Farr Rawlins, that man with the cane, is one of them. The tall man next to him is another. His name is Stanton Shattuck. I don’t yet know who the remaining two are.”
Tim only nodded. He would ask Lezin to help him find out more about the group.
Eight men were left at the bulletin board. Lew checked them, hoping to notice some word or gesture that would tie them to Rawlins and Shattuck. But nothing indicated connection, so he concentrated on their faces, wanting to remember every one.
* * *
Shattuck controlled his anger and looked steadily at Rawlins. “You wanted to wait and see what Wollfolk would do about bidding for the military contracts. Now you know. He has won most of them. Are you satisfied?”
Rawlins remained quiet. He sat in his usual chair in the private office where the Ring often met. He fondled the head of this cane. Shattuck was not in a state to be argued with.
Shattuck raked his eyes over Loussat and Tarboll. “Nearly three hundred steamboats are coming down the river each month. About that same number of oceangoing ships arrive. Right now most of them are carrying war supplies. The military contracts to handle that cargo are the most lucrative in the city because the soldier boys have a war to fight and no time to argue about cost.”
“I agree,” said Loussat. “I don’t want to handle only the low-profit private contracts. I’m also worried about the next round of military contracts. Wollfolk may well win those too.”
“There’s more than the military contracts to think about,” Shattuck said. “There’s the long-term future to plan for. New Orleans will double in size in ten years. The shipping will increase even faster, to many millions of dollars each year. There will be a need for three to four miles of new docks along the river. We must be the men who build those docks. Whoever controls the shipping controls New Orleans. Wollfolk must not be allowed to jeopardize that. Boom times are here now and will stay.”
Tarboll rapped on the table. “I agree. Let’s not gamble any more on what Wollfolk might do. It’s time he died.”
“Do you agree with Tarboll that Wollfolk should die?” Shattuck asked Rawlins in a sarcastic voice. He remembered the bruise Rawlins carried for days after Wollfolk had knocked him down in the Saint Charles Hotel.
Rawlins glared stonily at Shattuck. He had about enough of the big man. “It’s past time somebody should die,” he said in a grating voice.
Shattuck’s and Rawlins’ eyes did battle. “Who did you mean?” asked Shattuck, his tone suddenly oily.
Rawlins smiled his thin-lipped smile. “Wollfolk.”
Shattuck stared hard into Rawlins face for a handful of seconds, then skimmed his attention to Loussat. “What do you say?”
“Let’s go to Paulaga at once and hire him to dispose of Wollfolk permanently,” Loussat said matter-of-factly. “It should be an easy task for someone as skilled as he is with sword and pistol to kill him.”
“It’ll be costly,” said Tarboll. “But whatever the price, it’ll be worth it.”
“Loussat, you know Paulaga best,” Shattuck said. “You make the arrangements.”
“I’ll do it today.”
* * *
“We need fifty to sixty men for the night shift,” Tim said. “They must be men used to hard work and not in the pay of our enemies.”
“There are probably ten thousand free blacks in the city, but nearly everyone that wants to work is already working,” Julius said.
“There are slaves in the city jails we can get,” said Spandling. “They’ve been put there by their owners while they are traveling and away from their businesses or plantations. We can hire them on a temporary basis until we can find permanent laborers.”
Lew sat in the end of the warehouse with the three men. As he listened to them discuss methods to handle the new contracts, he stared at the ships on the river riding higher than the city itself. The sailors on the decks of the ships could look over the levee and down into the town beyond at the women on the streets.
On the dock, a group of sick and destitute soldiers discharged from the army squatted in a group between two large piles of cargo. They had created a roof to keep off the frequent rain by stretching ropes and hanging a tarpaulin over them. When Julius had started to forcibly remove the soldiers, Lew had stopped him, telling him to let the men alone as long as they did not cause trouble. Cadwaller, the night watchman, complained loudly that the presence of the men made his job more difficult, for they were often coming and going from the dock and he could not tell if a thief had stolen in. Lew had told Cadwaller the ex-soldiers could stay for they had earned a little charity.
“We could buy enough slaves in a couple of hours to fill a second crew of workers,” Spandling said.
“I don’t want slaves working for us,” Lew said.
“But we could give them credit for their work, and when they had earned enough wages, we could then set them free,” Spandling replied.
“That might work,” Lew said. “When is the next auction?”
“There’s one this afternoon at the Saint Charles,” said Spandling.
“I’ll take a look,” Lew said. “Sam, come with me to the hotel.”
* * *
Lew caught Tim by the arm and stopped him on the sidewalk. “Wait a minute,” he said.
An old blind man sat on a rickety chair and played a fiddle. His fingers jumped nimbly from cord to cord and the bow stroked the strings with a bouncy flair.
Lew leaned against the wall of the nearby building and listened to the delightful tune. The old man bobbed and weaved in harmony with his music. He finished with an energetic flourish of his bow.
“Well done, fiddler man,” Lew said. He stepped close and dropped a silver dollar into the metal cup at the feet of the man.
The fiddler cocked his head, blinked his blind eyes, and nodded. He recognized the dollar ring. “Thank you, sir, for your generosity,” he said.
“I merely paid for a job expertly done.”
A strange look flooded over the fiddler’s face. Then he smiled. “No one has ever said that to me before. I thank you most heartily.”
Tim moved off in step with the impostor. He wondered if the man was that free and easy with his own money. Somehow Tim thought he would be. That confused his feelings about the impostor even more.
They passed a funeral procession led by three open hearses carrying eight coffins. Four of the coffins were for small children. All the caskets were smeared with lampblack. Another funeral cortege was coming into sight ahead.