The black swan (40 page)

wise enough to avoid the next." Rod had left the remark unexplained.

Adam was shown into Rod's thoroughly masculine, booklined study by a pretty, plump-bottomed Irish servant girl who looked him over with minute attention. He returned her admiring stare.

"That will be all, Hannah,** Rod said wryly as he entered the room. He turned a warm smile on Adam as he extended his hand in greeting. He glanced toward the slowly retreating girl. "That one," he laughed. "She's just come over, and damn, with her bold eyes, if some yokel isn*t gomg to knock her up before I get her properly trained. It's good to see you again, Captain Tremain. Our meetings are far too few. How long will you be here this time?'*

"I'm sailing for England as soon as we*ve completed our business."

"One of these times I'm going to convince you to see New York."

"I'd like that, sir, thank you."

*Then I'll extract a promise from you right now. The next time you come into the city, I have your company for at least three days."

"Agreed.**

"Good. Now, then, what urgent business carries you here and on to England with such haste?"

Among the characteristics that Adam liked best in Rod Courtland was his unwillingness to waste valuable time on meaningless talk. Neither man pretended there was anything between them but a ship and a business and a wary respect for one another. Adam settled into his chair and told Rod concisely and without embellishment the details of his proposition. Uninterrupting, Rod listened, then sat back deep in concentration.

Fmally he shifted his weight, studying Adam. *1 suppose you already realize that I have no sympathy with this insurrection.**

"I'm a Southerner, Mr. Courtland. Had I been asked, I would have advised against war, but I was not asked. We are at war."

"So we are. Undeclared perhaps, but war nonetheless. It is a quirk of fate, Captain Trendain, but that same hapless toss of historical dice that placed you on the side of the Confederacy has placed me on that of the Union. We've become enemies,"

Adam bristled slightly but showed no outward sign except a tightening of his mouth. "I've become no one's enemy. If I must defend my homeland, I'll certainly aid her in whatever way I can, but the South hasn't made any offensive move against the North. She will not unless forced to do so."

A look of baffled amusement passed over Rod's face. "You don't consider firing on Fort Sumter an aggressive act?"

"No, sir. Fort Sumter is on Confederate soil. Major Anderson was asked to vacate the fort several times before action was taken. It was Mr. Lincoln's decision to maintain Federal troops in the fort. I would call our action a defensive one. But we're straying from our purpose. What I propose is a business venture likely to make a fortune for both of us."

Rod laughed. "Do you realize, young man, the South-em commercial debt to the North is approximately two hundred million dollars, and most of that is ovs^ed to New York City merchants, of whom I am one? Now, you propose a shipping venture in the midst of a civil uprising in which I must purchase the ship, supply at least part of the cargo, and become a traitor to my own country!'*

Adam was on his feet, as angry as Rod. The two men stood glaring at each other. "There is no point in discussing this further. Good day, Mr. Courtland. Doing business with you has been memorable if not pleasant*'

"Sit down!" Courtland snapped. "You and I have a few things to clear up, not the least of which is the Ullah. Or has it conveniently slipped your mind that I have a quarter interest in that ship?"

"I'll make arrangements through Garrett for you to be bought out."

"Sit down, damn it! You're the most hotheaded man I've ever dealt with. Where's all the slow Southern charm. Captain? Or is there a cold-blooded Yankee hiding beneath all that Rebel skin?" Rod looked up into Adam's angry face. He began to enjoy himself. "Let me hear your proposition again. A man should always be thoroughly informed of golden opportunities he is about to refuse, don't you think?"

"I see no point in wasting my time or yours on explanations if your mind is already made up.'*

"I see. You have no faith in your powers of persuasion

or the irresistibility of your business venture. In that case—"

"Just a minute, Mr. Courtland, what kind of antagonistic game are you playing?" Adam demanded.

"It's called testing the mettle of a man, and you, Captain Tremain, have more temper than sense.**

Adam stood poised to leave in a flurry of righteous anger. Rod Courtland's face was as hard-set and unyielding as his own, but Rod's eyes shone with the bright blue light of victory. More than losing Rod Courtland's investment in the ships, Adam was nettled by this man's infuriating ability to challenge him as no one else could and make him look like an inexperienced, hotheaded cub. Always in Courtland's presence he had the need to prove himself, to be somehow the man's equal. Even more than to Tom, he was instinctively drawn to this man.

He took a step back toward the center of the room, then walked swiftly to the chair he had vacated. He said coolly, "If you're able to keep a reasonably open mind, Mr. Court-land, I'll convince you you'd be a fool to turn my venture down."

A small smile played on Courtland's mouth, a smile that could no longer deceive Adam that Rod Courtland would easily be convinced of anything. He would not be tempted by greed. Nor could he be appealed to on solely idealistic grounds. He would agree only if the facts appealed to him. It was Adam's task to discover what combination of information would please Rod.

"If we can, let's keep our opposing patriotisms out of this," Adam began. "Both of us are aware that neither the North nor the South will give up this war until one or the other is the decisive victor. In spite of Mr. Lincoln's early optimism in calling for three-month volunteers, it is likely to be a long war. I propose we provide each side what they need. No matter what my sympathies, Mr. Courtland, I do not wish to see Northern mills idle or Yankee men without work. I cannot believe you would want to win a war over people unable to supply themselves with food or call yourself a victor because the South cannot clothe or arm itself. If it is true that the South battles for its avowed cause of independence and the North carries the banner of unity and moral right, then the war should be one of equal adversaries, or nearly so. Should it not?"

Courtland's expression did not change.

"And should you still be concerned, I intend to continue hauling out of the South those blacks who want their freedom." Adam pulled from his inner pocket a sheaf of papers Garrett had prepared, delineating the terms of the agreement and the responsibilities of each man.

Rod read through the papers. "You have Garrett Pinck-ney's approval?" He put the papers down. "Fm surprised."

"Why? Garrett got me started slave hauling, and he, along with yourself and Tom, purchased the Ullah. Why would he change his mind?"

"Several reasons. For one, Garrett was a Northerner most of his life. He was a staunch Unionist until now. Most important, this proposition would make me a traitor. I wouldn't expect a lawyer of Garrett's caliber to propose such a thing."

"We were going to keep politics out of this. Your feelings about being labeled a traitor have no place. If it comes to that, sir, you have had no compunction in making me a traitor for the past two years as I hauled slaves out of the South. Nor did you complain when I said I would continue to do so. As to technical disloyalty, Mr. Court-land, each of us is making a traitor of tiie other," Adam said, angry again.

"What you do, you do by your own choice, Captain, and so do I," Rod said with infuriating calm. "President Lincoln has issued an order stating that no loyal state shall engage in trade with those in the condition of unlawful insurrection. Legally, I cannot trade with the South at all."

*That kind of unreasonable control of states' and citizens' rights is precisely why this war originated. True enough, it has come to rest on the shoulders of slavery, but slavery is an issue only in the context of property rights, Mr. Courtland. No one is fooled that the North wants the problems of the blacks. More than once I've questioned to what freedom I bring the runaways. They live here in squalor and misery. They are beset by disease and racial hatred. They are stacked in tenements so decrepit and decayed that no planter would tolerate them on his plantation. They are despised by those whose jobs they take, and their education is as severely neglected here as in the South. The Northern war is one of interference with the way of the South, Mr. Courtland, not one of ideals or humanitarianism. No one here wants the freed slaves. No

one here wants their problems. Those you wish to dump on the South."

"But I suppose you do consider the Southern cause one of ideals?" Rod asked sarcastically.

"To a degree, yes. Butchery of Southern land and resources to feed Northern manufactory has not resulted in economic good for the South. We have been judged and condemned, interfered with, threatened with Abolitionist-incited insurrection, driven to the wall.

"You claim to loathe slavery, Mr. Courtland, yet you see nothing wrong in making the South no more than a raw-material bank for the Northern mill. Is there a difference in the loathsomeness of an individual man being made a slave and a whole section of the country held in bondage to another?"

Rod listened with interest as Adam defended the South and its unique problems, citing incidents that had occurred in the three decades preceding the war that Rod had never considered. One political blunder after another had led to war. If there was ever a war reflecting the wishes of the people, this war reflected those of the Southern people. Rod admitted he couldn't say that of the North. There were those who were deeply concerned for the Union and those who deeply hated slavery, but there were many more who looked upon Lincoln and his war as a damned nuisance. And there were those who wanted peace at any cost.

Where Rod himself fit into the broad spectrum he didn't know. But it was obvious that Adam knew exactly where he belonged. Rod admired more than anything else the young man's passionate love for his land. Adam wanted peace and he wanted union, but only with the South holding its head high.

Rod knew Adam believed-slavery to be entering its final phase in the South but was not willing to support immediate abolition. Three and a half million idle blacks in a rural population of nine million was sufficiently devastating in thought alone. Rod could imagine the complete chaos it would bring in reality. "Damned kid's going to turn me into a Rebel yet."

It was nearly frightening for Rod to sit there and see Adam's naked faith in honesty and justice, sensing that his own had become so tarnished through the years that he could remember them only by seeing their purity shine

forth in the eyes of a young, untested, and unbeaten man. Rod wondered when he'd lost his idealism. Perhaps when he'd lost Zoe McCloud.

"I'll admit I like your proposition from a business viewpoint. Captain Tremain, but I cannot place my name on an agreement that would show me disloyal to my country. I'm sure, feeling as you do about the South, you'll understand that."

"I don't consider the South my country. I'm an American, Mr. Courtland. I simply don't want to see my section of this nation disrespected. If it takes a war to gain respect for the South, then I must support it. In the end I hope both sections will see the need each has for the other."

"I have underestimated you, young man. You have made me out to be the sectionalist. However, I still can't see my way clear to becoming disloyal."

"On principle or in appearance?" Adam asked suddenly.

Rod's instinct was to assert that his principles were being violated, but in truth he knew his beliefs were closer to Adam's than he'd ever admitted.

"Appearance," he said honestly, then began to chuckle at having been bested.

Adam relaxed a little. "Then, I suggest our agreement be private. Your name will never appear on the ownership or registry papers of the ships. All monetary transactions will be done privately between you and me."

"So, for a bank draft you would give me an interest in your ships, a profit for my cowardice, and you reap all the risks of capture and confinement. Isn't that a bit like selling your soul for three ships. Captain Tremain?"

"I hope not, sir, but if you'll agree, I'll make the bargain."

Courtland thrust out his hand. But Adam had gained only part of what he sought. He could purchase two ships, but would still need the Ullah.

After some deliberation both Adam and Ben concluded that the only practical thing they could do to protect the Ullah was to register her as a privateer. "As soon as I return from England, I'll procure the letter of marque for her," Adam said. "Then you'll have to take the two new ships from Glasgow to Nassau. Beau and I will meet you there with the Ullah."

"We'll have our three ships, Adam. But who gets the new ones and who gets the Ullah?"

Adam shrugged. "We haven't got the ships yet. If we can, we'll purchase ones already in the works. We don't want that old war to pass us by sitting in dry dock. Besides, I doubt Mr. Lincoln will leave his blockade so poorly manned for long."

Three days after the meeting with Rod, Adam and Ben left for England, Adam's mind buzzing with the details of what he would have to do in the next few months. Ben would remain in Glasgow while Adam contacted Alexander Collie and Company, a British shipping firm willing to serve as agents for the Confederate States. Then he would sail back to the United States from London, leaving the supervision of the Clyde-built steamers in Ben's hands.

Glasgow was a bustling city, the largest in Scotland, smoky with shipbuilding and industry, fearsomely crowded by its energetic population. Adam's thick wool uniforms felt cozy in the wet chill of a Scottish summer. In the misty mornings he and Ben set out for the Clydeside shipworks. The riverside docks were kept frantically busy building these specially designed ships, constructed purposely to be able to slip past the Federal cruisers or to outrun them on the open sea. The smoky skyline was thick with tall belching smokestacks and the bare masts of ships nearly ocean-ready.