The Titans (21 page)

forced whiskey down her throat. "Drink it all. You'll feel better." "Jephtha. Is Jephtha-?" "He's gone. Gideon took him out" "Edward-was "What is it, sweetheart?" "You didn't-in the note-mention Baltimore-was "My God-was Edward shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut. The lamp flung his huge shadow on the ceiling. "I may hate the Yankees, Fan. But I'm not a murderer. There wasn't a single reference to Baltimore in that note." He kissed her cheek. His lips were warm; reassuring. "I." Fan started to drift off. "comI had no idea he hated me so. No idea he could invent such a-was 294AccusNot She couldn't go on. "A sick mind," Edward said, his tone deep and sad. "They say it sometimes happens to preachers who give up the cloth." Another shadow writhed on the ceiling. Boots thumped across the floor. Fan saw Gideon in the lamplight, his tawny hair disarrayed. His face softened as he gazed down at her. She tried to rise on her elbows. "You didn't-hurt him any more, did you?" "No, Mama. I'd have liked to. But I didn't. I carried him down the back way, told the nigra porter to mind his own business and left him in the alley." "Was he-awake?" "I don't know and care less." Gideon's eyes shone like blue stones. "I dumped him two feet from a mongrel hunting garbage. That's where he belongs. With his own kind. Let him keep his damn money!" Edward twisted around to stare up at the boy, a frown on his face. His lips opened. But he didn't say whatever had come to mind. Grateful for the lulling effect of the whiskey, Fan closed her eyes. In her mind, she still saw Jephtha; dirty; foul-talking; poisoned with hatred. She should hate huii in turn. But she grieved for him. He was so lost. She was the one who had been deceived on Tuesday. Deceived by his remarkable control; his feigned tenderness- Face bright as an illuminated coin in the lamplight, Gideon repeated softly: "Let him keep his goddamn Yankee money, the crazy man." She didn't hear. CHAPTER XI Behold the Darkness AT FIVE MINUTES PAST MIDNIGHT, a key rattled in the front door. Molly jumped up from her chair in the sitting room. She heard the key drop on the porch. Then someone cursed. The key was inserted again. It took another half minute for the door to open. She smelled him first. The alcohol fumes were overpowering. When he appeared in the hallway, she exclaimed: "Oh, Lord, Jephtha-I've been worried out of my mind!" She hurried to him. "We heard about the rioting in Baltimore." Slowly, as if waking, he focused his attention on her. The hall gaslight revealed lash marks on his cheek. A rip in his black coat. His pale eyes were so stark and forlorn, she hesitated to ask what had happened. His speech was thick: "I got caught in some of it. Horrible business-was He brushed his fingers across the back of his neck, where she saw a livid red line. "Lost your gun, I'm sorry to say." "The boarders haven't talked of anything but the riot all evening. Half of them are scared as little babies. They say Washington's sure to be invaded over the weekend. Mr. Swampscott's already packed. In the morning he's taking the first northbound train." "Wise," he mumbled. "Very wise."

296Behold the Darkness She slipped her arms around his waist; pressed her cheek to his shoulder. "Come upstairs and let me dress those cuts." "Not neces-necessary." He had trouble enunciating. "I stopped at Willard's for a dose of internal medicine." "I know the special train carrying the Sixth Massachusetts arrivebled late this afternoon. I couldn't imagine why you'd take so long to come home-was Sudden anger: "I had to file my dispatch! For Christ's sake, Molly, I work for a living, remember?" Her stomach spasmed. It was unbelievable to see him this drunk. Unbelievable to hear him take the name of Jesus in vain. He drank-but seldom to excess. He cursed-but he never invoked God or the Saviour in anger. He licked his lips. Muttered: "Cuts aren't bad. I'll wash up by myself, I'm pretty tired-was "Won't you let me help?" He flung off her hand. "Leave me alone, Molly. Just leave me alone tonight." Staggering, he turned to the stairs. He stumbled and swore. Stumbled again halfway up. With her knuckles pressed to her lips, she listened until the door of his room slammed. Something dreadful had happened to him. Was it seeing the Baltimore riot? Had that caused his vacant, hopeless look? She could think of no other explanation. She paced the sitting room for ten minutes. Finally she put out the gas and went upstairs, her mouth set in a determined line. She had to find out what was wrong. Three times, she knocked on the door of his bedroom, called his name softly and waited. No answer. The Titans297 Anxious and miserable, she walked slowly back to her own room, a She slept poorly the rest of the night. Just as a gray, sunless dawn was breaking, she rose wearily and dressed. Once more she knocked at Jephtha's door. Once more there was no reply. She tried the knob. Unlocked. She looked in. The room was empty. The bed hadn't been slept in. On top of a pile of books, she noticed the red- covered Testament she'd returned after she'd found it by her bedside Tuesday morning. That's the cause! she thought suddenly. I gave him the book. Encouraged him to read it- Guilt overwhelmed her as she remembered the underscored passage from the Beatitudes. "Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be catted the children of God." The violence in Baltimore had made a mockery of those words. It must have been too much for him to bear. I tried to help prepare him to meet his wife, and this is the result. I did it to him. I'M TO BLAME- She rushed downstairs to search for him, but he was gone. 298Behold the Darkness All that Saturday, Jephtha moved through the turmoil of Washington like a sleepwalker. He forced himself to unlock the Evening Star's front door with the key Mr. Wallach allowed him. He forced himself to sit down at his desk as the gray dawn brightened. He'd lied to Molly last night. He'd sent no dispatch to New York. This morning, he was obligated to write one. He tore up a dozen foolscap sheets before he got a satisfactory first sentence. His mind kept replacing the paper with an image of Gideon's wrathful face. He felt the blows of the cane- Was he mad? Had he imagined the plot against his life? No! Lamont had urged him to go to Baltimore. If he hadn't misplaced the note, he could prove- Prove it to whom? To Fan? She knew about it! She'd paved the way for his unthinking acceptance of the note. All the forgiving words Tuesday night had been rehearsed, to lull him into accepting Lamont's bait- The eyes of the boys haunted him. Jeremiah's-full of fear. Gideon's-full of venom. Gideon will believe them, not me. Perhaps if I hadn't lost my temper-or had the note- Why think about it? Nothing could be changed now. He just hadn't realized how much they despised him. Or how desperately they wanted the money. He thought of Monday night. Poring over the Testament until dawn. Trying to find the strength to forgive them- What a waste. What a pathetic waste. Silently, he damned Fan and her husband again. The Titans299 Then damned himself for his foolish faith in them-and in the Testament. He ripped the sheet on which he'd finally penciled a decent opening. He threw both halves on the floor. For about five minutes, he sat motionless. Then, by sheer force of will, he bent and retrieved the pieces of paper. He edged them together with unsteady hands. He didn't care about Fan any longer. He didn't care about that bastard Lamont. But he cared about his sons. And he'd lost them. Forever. A key clicked in the front door. He rubbed his eyes, hastily located a fresh sheet and began to recopy the lead sentence. Van Dyne hurried in, looking fatigued: "Hello, Jephtha. Didn't know anyone was here yet. They've burned the bridges." Jephtha's head jerked up. "To Virginia?" "The railroad bridges in Baltimore. The city Police Board met around midnight. They don't want any more troops passing through the city. They're afraid of an even worse riot next time-was The reporter sat down at his desk; scratched his unshaven chin. "Governor Hicks is sending a delegation to report the action to the President." "How did you find out?" "I met the early freight at the depot." "I thought you said the bridges were burned." "North of Baltimore-north" "Oh." "The line from Harper's Ferry to Relay House is useless, too. The rebels captured the town and the arsenal." "So we're really cut off." "That's right." Van Dyne yawned. Finally he noticed Jephtha's face. "Jesus, who marked you up?" "I was in Baltimore yesterday." Enviously: "In the middle of things?" Jephtha nodded. "I-was Aimlessly, he touched the 300Behold the Darkness halves of the torn sheet "comI've been trying to put a piece together-was "How were you lucky enough to be there when it happened?" "A hunch," Jephtha lied. "Everyone's been saying there'd be trouble." "That'll be a nice coup for the Union" "Yes, won't it? That's certainly very important now." The bitter answer made Van Dyne frown. But he refrained from comment. Instead, he offered advice: "I'd get the piece on the wire as quickly as you can." "Why?" "The crew on the freight train said the rebels have gone wild in Baltimore. They're calling yesterday a great victory for the South. There's a lot of talk about seizing the telegraph offices." "I see. I guess I'd better get to work." He picked up a pencil and tried to think of a second sentence. Again he was distracted-this time by Van Dyne's news. Bridges burned. Harper's Ferry gone. The telegraph lines threatened. The darkness falling on Washington was nearly as deep as the darkness in his own soul. Hunched at the desk, he fought his way through a second sentence. A third. Gradually, the words began to flow a little faster. But his pain and heartbreak didn't lessen. A quiet madness spread through Washington City that April weekend. To keep busy, Jephtha trudged from department to department; from the Capitol to the Navy Yard; from the B and O station to the hotels-all except the National. After each foray, he stopped at the Star long enough The Titans301 to scrawl a few paragraphs and rush them to the telegraph office. On Saturday and Sunday, the hotels emptied of all but a few die-hards. All the trains for Baltimore were packed. Seventeenth Street was hub to hub with wagon traffic during the daylight hours. Families with their goods swarmed to the presumed safety of what was still, despite the Baltimore blood-letting, the North. An exodus was underway in the other direction, too. Hacks and carriages, farm wagons and drayman's trucks heaped with furniture rattled over the Long Bridge, the Navy Yard Bridge, Benning's Bridge, the Georgetown Aqueduct. About the only people Jephtha saw on the streets were riffraff and drilling soldiers. Despite his deteriorated health, General Scott visited the presidential mansion both days. Jephtha could learn nothing about the purpose of the visits. All reporters were denied admittance to the mansion. Saturday night, he returned quite late to the G Street boarding house. He went straight to his room without looking for Molly. He locked his door and pulled the wrapping paper off a full bottle of bourbon. Several times during the night, Molly knocked. He didn't answer. He drank and stared at the Testament. Sunday, he again rose before dawn. He encountered Molly downstairs; she was waiting for him. He was forced to talk to her, but he restricted the conversation to information he'd picked up on his rounds. He said nothing about the scene at the National. He couldn't bring himself to admit he'd been beaten by his own son. Besides, she'd tried so hard to help him. To tell her the effort had been wasted would have hurt her. He cared for her too much to do that. He suspected she didn't believe his explanation about why he'd looked so terrible when he came home after midnight Friday. Mercifully, she didn't press the issue. Hour by hour, the situation in Washington grew 302Behold the Darknandness grimmer. He watched wagons unloading beans, pork, sugar and flour at the Post Office and the Treasury- provisions for the Rhode Island and New York troops, if they ever arrived. After a brief rain shower, he watched traffic clog the muddy streets again. Women hugged children while their husbands whipped straining animals. Fights broke out when long lines of vehicles stalled because of a breakdown several blocks ahead. He watched militiamen building sandbag breastworks in President's Park, and he watched a bizarre muster on the Mall. Several dozen old men-a number of whom said they'd served in the War of 1812-had emerged from their boarding house rooms with antique pistols and rusty swords. They were organizing once more-an utterly useless defense unit called, rather sadly and appropriately, the Silver Grays. When he stopped at the Kirkwood, he found the hotel's dining room empty save for one guest The man picking at a solitary meal was Mr. Hannibal Hamlin, former Democrat, former Senator from Maine, and now Vice President of the United States. As Hamlin glanced up, Jephtha darted back out of sight. He comwasn't embarrassed about being seen. He was embarrassed for the Vice President, who was dining alone, his company unwanted and his counsel unsought by anyone in the government He stopped at Willard's saloon bar. In view of the crisis, the hotel had relaxed its restrictions on Sunday liquor sales. There were more men present than he'd expected; men whose circumstances or loyalties wouldn't permit them to join the flight of those who feared for then" lives-or those who were going home to take arms against the government they'd served. On the faces of the hard-drinking men, Jephtha saw fear. He heard it in the half-truths and speculations they voiced: The Titans303 "Abe and the Navy Secretary are fiery mad about Davis down in Montgomery." "What'd he do now?" "Announced that letters of marque wfll be issued to ships joining the Confederacy." Another man snorted. "Trying to float a pirate fleet, is he?" A fourth was equally scornful: "Welles and Lincoln are damn fools. That proclamation yesterday about a blockade of Southern ports is nonsense. There aren't fifty steam warships in the whole Navy, and most of the best ones were caught on foreign station when Old Bory took Sumter. What'n hell's Abe going to use to enforce a blockade? Dinghys?" Laughter. Jephtha ordered a second double whiskey as a new speaker said: "Even with plenty of ships, a blockade's impossible. You've got thirty-five hundred miles of coast from here to the Rio Grande-a hell of a lot more if you count the inland sounds all the way to the Floridas. Throw in rivers and bays and coves-all the navies in the world couldn't make it work!" Jephtha drifted down the bar, sipping and listening. "Got it straight from my cousin! A secesh group's gonna start fires all over town tonight. To signal the Virginia army to come on in!" "Ben Butler's at Annapolis. He landed this afternoon with the Eighth Massachusetts." "Bullshit! How do you know?" "I work at the War Department, I ought to know!" "Well, I don't believe you." "Dammit, Butler's there! The Seventh New York's coming, too. And the Rhode Island boys." "I still say bullshit Annapolis is only forty miles away!" "But that's forty miles of enemy country now," some 304Behold the Darkness one reminded the doubter. "Has General Scott established contact with Butler?" "I don't think so," the man from War answered. "He can't spare even one company of cavalry from the city." "It's all bullshitl We're done forl No one's coming. No one except the secesh army!" Back at the Star about four in the afternoon, Jephtha tried to compress what he'd heard into a few brief paragraphs. He rushed the copy to the telegraph office, only to find the clerks extinguishing the gas and tacking up a sign that said Closed. Pale, one of the clerks told him, "We're getting nothing in or out of Baltimore. The last message we received said a mob was hammering on the doors of the office. That was two hours ago. The line's been dead ever since." Jephtha went outside into the low-slanting sunlight. He wadded his copy and flung it in the gutter. He had no further responsibilities until communication with the North was restored. If it ever was. He returned to Willard's for three more double whiskeys. When he weaved back to the Avenue, twilight had settled. He gaped at a family-father, mother and two small children-slopping through the mud behind a large wheelbarrow piled with clothing. The whiskey lent him false courage. He started walking toward the National. At the hotel he laid sweating hands on the marble counter. "Lloyd?" The clerk looked up from a ledger. "Yes, Mr. Kent?" "Is the Lamont family still here?" "They checked out this morning." The Titans305 "All four of them?" "Yes. They took a hack. I spent an hour locating one for them. Mr. Lamont paid me twenty dollars just to make the arrangements. They seemed very anxious to leave." "For Richmond?" "They didn't say." Feeling curiously sober, Jephtha started away. "Thank you, Lloyd." "Mr. Kent?" He turned back. In the young clerk's eyes, he saw the fear that had become epidemic. "Have you picked up any word about those relief regiments?" Jephtha shook his head. "The telegraph's closed down in Baltimore. All the trains from there are late. And empty." Suddenly the clerk leaned forward: "For God's sake, when are the troops coming on?" "I don't know, Lloyd. I'm not sure there are any troops. That evening, in the kitchen of the boarding house, he told Molly the Lamont entourage had departed. She reached out to grip his hand: "Oh, Jephtha-I'm sorry. She never sent her note-was "No." He was seated at the plank table, his shoulders slumped. He separated his fingers from hers and sipped from a mug of whiskey-laced coffee. Molly resumed wrapping short pieces of twine around a larger ball. At the hearth, Bertha was stirring a kettle of soup. She kept up a continuous monologue of complaint: "comthieves, that's what every blamed one of "em's 306Behold the Darkness turned into! Who