Flashman - Flashman and the Angel of the Lord Part 8

Being married to Elspeth, I understand Glaswegian, so I could agree that 1 had the honour of Her Majesty's close acquaintance - but why should that upset him?

"Because 'Comber' was a poor crater of no account - but Flashman, V.C., is anither kettle o' fish a'thegither!" cries he, becoming Scotcher by the minute. "And my orders are tae hold 'Comber' for my chiefs, and no' let him near the British ministry!"

"Well, I ain't Comber, so your orders don't count -"

"Do they no'? That's where you're wrong!" He rounded on me. "Comber or Flashman, the United States want ye, and that's the end o' it!" He added quietly: "So ye'll please to consider yoursel' in my custody."

"What? You told me a moment since they don't give a dam about ten years ago, and by G.o.d, I've done nothing since ..." My astonishment gave way to fury at the insolence of it. "Custody be d.a.m.ned! Who the dooce d'ye think you are? Since I was railroaded into this b.l.o.o.d.y country I've been a.s.saulted, kidnapped, threatened, blackmailed, and dam' near killed - and you've known all about it, d.a.m.n your eyes, and never lifted a finger until now! Well, Mr Allan Pinkerton, I've had enough of it, and you'll take me to the British minister or consul or whoever-the-h.e.l.l it is here and now, or I'll -"

"Or ye'll what?" says he, and as I gargled to a stop before that ruthless stare, he pushed me unresisting back to my seat - I'm as persuadable as the next man, you know.

"There's no help for it," says he. "My chiefs may take a different view when they learn who ye are - but I doubt it. There's too much at stake; and it all turns on what has happened tae ye in these few days past." He regarded me sombrely. "The fact is, we need ye."

"Well, you d.a.m.ned well can't have me, d'ye hear? I never heard such moonshine - what the blazes can you need me for?"

"Perhaps tae preserve the union of these United States," says he steadily. "But that far ahead I cannae see. Now, I'll take ye to my chiefs - who are among the highest in the land, I may tell ye - and they'll inform ye further." He chewed his lip, considering. "This much I'll tell you now, since the scheme is mine: for reasons quite different from those of Crixus and Atropos, whose infernal plans must be . frustrated at all costs . . . my superiors would have ye enlist with John Brown."

They say that Yankees are the smartest salesmen in the world, and I'll not deny it. I'd not have believed, when Pinkerton spoke those appalling words, that any advocate on G.o.d's earth could have talked me into joining Brown of my own free will - Crixus had tried by moral 'suasion (which he'd certainly have augmented with black-mail, if necessary), the bloated fiend Atropos by naked threats, and now this steely-eyed b.a.s.t.a.r.d was announcing it as the policy of the U.S. authorities - he didn't say why, and I didn't ask, because the whole thing was outrageous. I mean to say, while Crixus probably, and Atropos certainly, had the means to compel me into the service of a mad farmer bent on starting a war, the United States hadn't - they couldn't hold an eminent British soldier against his will, deny him the protection of his emba.s.sy, and force him into criminal activity, could they? And yet . . . I finished up at Harper's Ferry. Why? Because a certain shrewd New Yorker understood the true art of persuasion, which lies in convincing the gull, against all reason, that he can't afford not to buy - salesmanship, that's the ticket.

I'll come to that presently; my immediate response, when Pinkerton sprang his mine, was to question his sanity and decline at the top of my voice, pointing out that if he didn't drum up Lyons instanter, Palmerston would have a fit, the Queen would be most displeased, we might well burn Washington again, and he, Pinkerton, would find himself selling matches on the street corner. To which he replied bleakly that I'd better come along quietly.

I said I'd swim in blood first, so two minutes later I was being escorted down the backstairs by two of his stalwarts, standing on my dignity and doing what I was bid, in the sure knowledge that I was on a sound wicket, and the longer they held and hindered me, the more crow they'd have to eat in the long run. They put me in a Black Maria in the alley behind Madam Celeste's bouncer repair shop (which I guessed was what the secret service call a "cave", and Madam herself in government pay) and so to a brown building overlooking the river, nothing like a police station or jail, but staffed by sober, silent civilians who conducted me to a comfortable enough chamber which was something between a parlour and a cell (carpet on the floor, bars on the window), gave me a disgusting luncheon consisting of a cake of fried chopped beef smothered in onions and train oil, and left me to my own devices for a couple of hours.29 Believe it or not, by this time I was quite enjoying myself. I was safe, you see, gloriously safe, after all my trials n.o.bly borne, and certain of eventual deliverance. Poor old Charity Spring's scheme for my undoing had gone agley altogether, now that it was known who I really was (thank G.o.d for Pinkerton and his memory!). There could be no question now of my answering old charges in the distant South (the diplomatic stink would have been tremendous), the Kuklos couldn't come near me, and poor old Crixus simply didn't count. By now, I reflected happily, Pinkerton would be dismaying his chiefs with the news that the lowly Comber, whom they'd hoped to bend to their nefarious will (though why they should want him to join Brown's ragged regiment was still beyond imagination) was none other than the admired Flashy, darling of the British Empire, and quite beyond their touch; I even had a jolly daydream in which I was summoned to the White House to receive President Buchanan's apology for the lunch.

Pinkerton's reappearance brought me back to earth. He had a couple of civilians in tow, and as soon as I clapped eyes on them I smelt "government". One was a swell minis-try ruffian, a genteel lantern-jaw with a flowered weskit and bra.s.s knuckles in his fob, no doubt; the other was your complete politico, with the pudding face of a bad-tempered baby and no nonsense. Pinkerton called him "Senator", and he plumped down in a chair with his fists on his knees, scowled, cut my protest off short, and pitched right in.

"Pinkerton tells us you claim to be an English army colonel named Flashman." He had the harsh, nasal rasp of New England. "Says he recognises you, from twenty years back. It won't do, sir! Not good enough. He may be mistaken. He also says you refuse to give any account of yourself until you've seen your minister. Well, sir," he stuck out his fat chin, "that won't do, either! After you've explained yourself, and your connection with the Englishman who masqueraded in this country ten years ago under various names - and satisfied me that you are who you claim to be . . . then we'll see about the minister." He sat back, folding his hands over his guts. "Now, sir . . . you have the floor."

I'd been all set to sail into him with demands that I be released forthwith, but the steady look of the shrewd eyes in that stubborn, podgy face, and the flat a.s.surance of the man, told me it wouldn't answer: they'd keep me here until h.e.l.l froze or I talked - as I was certainly going to have to, sooner or later, to Lord Lyons, who'd be bound to pa.s.s it on to them, so why not save him the trouble? And I love telling a tale about myself, and startling the whiffers . . . so I decided to shelve my protests, asked for something to wet my whistle, warned them it would be a long story, and fired away.

Well, you know it by now, from my being pressed aboard Spring's vessel, my masquerade as Comber, adventures on the Mississippi, slave-running, slave-stealing, Underground Railroad, Lincoln, and so on, to the point where I'd fled westward after Spring killed Omohundro. My peregrinations beyond the wide Missouri I dealt with only briefly, dismissed the Crimea and Mutiny in a modest sentence or two, and so came at last to my present misfortunes, all the way from the Cape to Madam Celeste's, omitting only the tender pa.s.s-ages . . . and I'm bound to admit, it is one h.e.l.l of a tale, which I'd not believe myself if I hadn't been there, every ghastly foot of the way.

They heard me out in silence, and I was croaking hoa.r.s.e when I finished. The Senator had barely moved, but his petulant glower had grown deeper as I talked; Pinkerton had listened intently, nodding and sniffing now and then and occasionally prowling about to view me from different vantages. The lantern-jawed sportsman had been out of my line of sight, but when I'd done he was the first to break the silence.

"It fits," was all he said, and the Senator grimaced and eased himself in his chair, shaking his jowls in perplexity.

"You may say so!" growls he. "By Gadfrey, it's the wildest thing I ever heard, I'll say that!"

"Too wild to make up."

"Oh, well, now! You mean you believe it?"

"I guess I know the papers on Comber by heart," says lantern-jaw, "and he hasn't contradicted 'em. Not once. What he's added to what we knew already ... well, sir, as I said - it fits. Every time."

The Senator scowled harder than ever. "Where's Lincoln just now?"

"Not in New York. But, you know, he couldn't speak to this ... this gentleman's being Colonel Flashman."

"No, dammit!" The Senator swung round in his chair. "See here, Pinkerton - are you sure of him?"

"Beyond any doubt whatever, sir. This is Colonel Flashman."

"You'd take an oath on that?"

"It's no' a matter of oath!" Pinkerton was impatient. "I know!"

The Senator drummed his fingers, brooding, and then threw up his hands. "What the Hades, whichever he is, he's all we have, in any event!" He rose and faced me. "Very well ... Colonel Flashman! I make no apology for doubting you, sir, for if ever a man brought suspicion on himself ..." He paused, breathing hard, and suddenly burst out: "Con-found it, sir - do they know of this in England? About Comber, and impersonation, and slave-running, and . .

and heaven knows what?"

"No, sir," says L "I was on leave, you see."

"My G.o.d!" He stared helplessly at the others, and then, squaring his shoulders, he sat down before me again, full of stern resolve.

"I'll not waste words. We've had a deal too many already - but we had to be sure who you were. Now that we know," says he, without much confidence, I thought, "I am still bound to ask the question I'd have put to you if you were Comber." He took a deep breath. "Are you prepared to place yourself at the disposal of the United States for an extraordinary service?"

"You mean to help this mad b.u.g.g.e.r Brown to start a war?" I had my answer ready, you may be sure. "No! Dammit, if I told Pinkerton once, I -"

"No, sir!" cries he. "Quite the contrary! To make sure that Brown does not start any such thing!"

I could only gape - by G.o.d, he was serious. "What on earth d'you mean? Make sure he doesn't ... how could I do that? In heaven's name, if you want him stopped - why, arrest him, or shoot him, or banish him to Timbuktu -"

"That can't be!" It was the lantern-jaw. "Crixus and Atropos both told you. For political reasons, we daren't touch him."

"But we can restrain him, given the means tae hand," says Pinkerton. "Yoursel', colonel."

"Me? Restrain him? Why, my good a.s.s, I don't even know him ... thank G.o.d!" Something Pinkerton himself had said flashed into my mind. "You said Brown was your friend! Well, you restrain him, then! I can't, even if I wanted to, which I dam' well don't -"

"Hear me, sir!" cries the Senator, raising a statesmanlike hand. "You misunderstand entirely. No one can reason with John Brown. He is a man possessed, sir, not to be moved by persuasion. But he could be prevented -" he leaned forward dramatically "- by a lieutenant in whom he reposed absolute trust! A deputy, a counsellor on whom he relied completely for the military skill and knowledge which he himself lacks, could so hinder and delay his terrible design that it would die stillborn. He is a simple man, when all is said. And the events of this past week have conspired to make you -" he stabbed a finger at me "- and only you, that lieutenant, that deputy, who can frustrate him. Why, already Brown is looking to you, the man chosen for him by his trusted friend Crixus. And Crixus and the Kuklos, from far different motives, have set you on the path to the same dreadful end that they both seek. We are asking you to follow that path, so that their infernal machinations may be confounded!" So help me, it's what he said; Senatorial oratory, you see. He took his finger out of my weskit and flourished it aloft. "There must be no abolitionist raid on Southern soil! The consequences would be too hideous to envision - war, sir, civil war, might well follow! That is what hangs in the balance, do not you see? But it can be prevented, sir, without loss of life, without so much as a tremor to disturb the tranquillity of -"

"Not by me! Man alive, d'ye know what you're saying? I'm a British officer, sworn to my country's service - or have you forgotten that? I can't meddle in -"

"You have not heard me out - but you must!" He stood firm, jowls and all. "The peace of a nation is at stake! Very well, you may say that you are not an American, that this is no concern of yours or England's - but you would be wrong as can be! As a man of honour -"

"Honour? Honour, d'ye say?" A splendid horizon of humbug suddenly unfolded before me, and I sprang to my feet, John Bull incarnate. "What's honourable about bamboozling this barmy peasant, I'd like to know? Hood-winking, by George, playing Judas! Of all the caddish tricks - pshaw! And you talk about honour - dammit, you Yankees can't even spell it!" I'm not sure I didn't stamp my foot. "Oh, the blazes with this! I've heard enough! I demand to see the British minister - and that's my last word to you!"

He was swelling for another burst of eloquence, and Pinkerton was flushed with anger, but the lantern-jaw motioned them aside, and they conferred in urgent whispers while I stared n.o.bly out of the window - mind you, I kept an ear c.o.c.ked, and caught a few murmurs: "... no, no, 'twould be fatal - Lyons would be bound to refuse ...", "... must prevail on him somehow - why, he's heaven-sent! ...", "... oh, he'll see him, right enough - he's set on the thing, heart and soul ...", "... aboard the ship, then, out of sight, couldn't be better ...", which was all very mysterious. Not that I cared, now; for once, I was savouring the novelty of being able to face a group of selfish zealots who were intent on flinging me into the soup, and present a dead bat to all their urgings. I was quite c.o.c.k-a-hoop, I can tell you. As they emerged from their confabulation I turned to look them blandly in the eye, and the Senator addressed me, magisterial but sour.

"Very well, sir ... since you are not to be moved, we have no choice but to place you in the charge of your consular officials, who will doubtless arrange for you to see Lord Lyons in Washington." I could have cheered, but confined myself to a grave inclination. "In the meantime, there is an eminent personage in this city who desires to speak with you. I shall take the liberty of presenting you to him forthwith."

It gave me pause for a second; after all, my true ident.i.ty had been known only for a few hours, and to a limited circle, I'd have thought; what "eminent personage" had got wind of me? Still, I've never minded being lion-hunted, so I waved a courteous a.s.sent, asking only who it might be.

"Notwithstanding your deep interest in American affairs," says the Senator with a sarcastic sniff, "I doubt if his name is known to you. Let us simply call him the next President of the United States."

For a moment I wondered if he meant Lincoln (and that was a prophetic flash, if you like) since he was the only American of any note I'd ever met, bar Kit Carson, and it wasn't likely to be him. Then I remembered they'd already said Lincoln wasn't on hand; besides, the Abraham of my acquaintance, while a handy man to have at your side when you've a bullet in the b.u.t.tock and the slave-catchers are closing in, hadn't struck me as a likely candidate for high office; too good-natured a rascal altogether, and dressed like a scarecrow.

It didn't signify, anyway, whoever it was; in a few hours I'd be among my own folk, preparing to shake the dust of America from my feet forever, and glad of it. So now it was back to the Black Maria again, with a sullen Pinkerton for company, and the other two in a carriage behind; we were borne swiftly along the waterfront to a quiet quay where a trim little sailing-cutter was waiting, manned by Navy tarpaulins, Pinkerton ushered us aboard, and in no time we were scudding out on to the crowded river, with my curiosity rising by the minute.

There was any amount of water-traffic about Manhattan Island in those days - steam-launches, sailing craft, paddle-steamers, three-deckers even, and rowing boats, and what with the salt air and sunshine and cheery bustle, it was quite capital; I sat on a thwart drinking it all in, not minding the spray or the heaving, content to admire the view and wonder which river we were on, for I didn't know East from Hudson and still don't. We seemed to be making for the far sh.o.r.e, cutting through the water at a great rate, with the steam-boats shrilling their hooters and pa.s.sengers crowding the rail to look down on us; as we neared the sh.o.r.e-line of wharves ahead, there seemed to be some jamboree in progress, and the sound of bra.s.s bands was mingling with the steam whistles and the cry of the sea-birds. A little flotilla, gay with bunting, was making for a big sea-going paddle-boat, there were banners flying, and people waving and hurrahing, and a tug was squirting its hoses high into the air, making watery rainbows in the sunlight, very pretty to see.

Some great swell taking his leave, thinks I, for the folk on the smaller boats were singing "Auld Lang Syne" and giving three cheers, again and again, and as we stood off I could see a knot of people on the big paddle-boat, waving their hats. We seemed to be waiting, and then there was a great volley of orders, and our sail cracked like a gunshot, and we went swooping in under the paddle-boat's stern, and round to her lee, where we hooked on.

"Put this on," says Pinkerton, handing me a big wide-awake hat. "And turn up your collar. Right, come on!

He led the way up the side-ladder, with two of his fellows fore and aft of me, and others ahead shouting to the people to stand clear; we bustled through them, and I was shown into a small cabin, and bidden to wait.

Which I did, for a good half-hour, wondering but not alarmed, until Pinkerton reappeared and conducted me without a word to a door where the Senator was waiting; he rapped on the panels, a voice cried to come in, and we were in a large stateroom in the presence of a wiry little gentleman in his shirt-sleeves, smoking a cigar as big as himself, and sighing with relief as he eased off his boots with his feet, and kicked them aside.

"Ah, Henry!" cries he. "So this is the gentleman! Colonel Flashman, I am happy to make your acquaintance; my name is William Seward.30 Sit down, sir, sit down." He exchanged a nod with the Senator, who went, and Seward grinned apologetically. "Forgive the informality of my feet, won't you'? They protest at this time of day."

I felt quite let down; hang it, I'd been expecting someone ten feet tall, and here this "eminent personage" was a slight, dapper bantam in his stocking-soles; brisk enough, with a head of greying reddish hair, bright blue eyes under bushy brows, and a curiously husky voice, but his only striking feature was a nose like a battleship - he looked not unlike a clever parrot, or an amiable Duke of Wellington, if you can imagine any such thing. Next President of the United States, though? I couldn't see that - and, as we know, he never was, and who's heard of him these days? Still, I can say I've been bullied by Bismarck, diddled by D'Israeli, cajoled by Lincoln, charmed (believe it or not) by Palmerston, and bored to submission by Gladstone - and not one of 'em was harder to resist than William Henry Seward. He was civil, pleasant, easy - and the most vicious arm-twister I ever struck - he didn't even hint, let alone threaten, just showed you the inevitable, ever so amiable. Which, of course, was why he'd asked to see poor unsuspecting Flashy, when all other persuaders had failed.

He soon had me settled with whisky and cigar, crying how pleased he was to meet such a distinguished soldier of whom he'd heard so much - that disarmed me to start with, I admit. Then he was full of India, of which he knew a surprising deal, questioning me about the Mutiny, wondering how the natives would take to Crown rule instead of John Company's, asking how Christianity was doing in the country - not my style at all: if he'd asked how the Bombay bints compared to the Punjabi bibis, I could have set him right. Had I visited the Holy Land, as he hoped to do when he got to Europe? Waterloo, too, he must see Waterloo, and Stirling Castle, and look up his relatives in Wales - oh, he'd visited England before, as a lad, and sneaked in to have a look at old King William at Windsor, ha-ha!

All this as he pottered about, setting his books in order, placing the flower-vase just so, tapping the gla.s.s, smoking like a chimney, and at last settling himself in an armchair, remarking how grand it would be to see "the homeland" once more.

"For that's what it is, you know, to an American - why, I feel as excited as a child again, going on a visit to granpapa's house." Puff-puff on his cigar. "Or ought I to say grand-mama's house? No, 'twould be ungallant to your gracious queen to saddle her with that venerable t.i.tle yet awhile." He chuckled, and grew thoughtful. "Ah, yes ... old England... new America. Has it ever occurred to you, colonel, that our two nations are the only ones on earth who have a natural claim to each other's sympathy and affection? The truth is, you see, we're not two different nations at all, but merely two separate states ... the European and American branches of the British race." Puff-puff. "I say that with all respect to the Dutch, German, and French citizens of this country, of course. We Americans are still part of the British family - as you are." He smiled at me through the smoke. "Don't you agree?"

I made some idle remark about the War of Independence, and he burst out laughing. "My dear sir, my grandmother's family fought for the King on that occasion! Grandpapa Seward, chose the right side, though; yes, sir, he was a colonel in Washington's army, a true-blue American patriot ... and a Welshman to the end of his days, I'm told." Puff-puff. "No, colonel, political differences don't run in the veins."

He lit himself a new cigar, and waved it philosophical-like. "What does polity matter, after all? Republic ... monarchy ... England was a republic once, long before there were United States." Puff-puff. "As for those differences of which so much is made - accent, social custom, and the like - why, they are no greater, surely, between Devon and Delaware than, shall we say, between Cornwall and Caithness." He regarded me with smiling blue eyes. "Now, you have travelled widely in this country, and while I dare say it has not felt quite like home ... still, I would venture to wager that you have felt more at home here, than in France or Italy or Spain. Isn't that so?" It was the first sidelong mention of my American activities that he'd made, and I wondered what was coming next, but he went cheerfully on: "Why, dare say if you were to stop a man on Fifth Avenue - or better still, on the Oregon Trail! - ten to one his name would prove to be Smith or Jones, if it were not MacPherson or Clancy ... ah, you smile - you've found it so?" In fact I'd been thinking of my Far Western acquaintances, and he was right: Wooton, Carson, Maxwell, Bridger, Goodwin ...

"Or take your own profession," he went on. "If someone were to exchange your British Army List for our own, who could tell which was which, eh?" Puff-puff. "No, colonel, we may have our rivalries and jealousies, all those tiresome jests and jibes about the top-lofty Briton and the brash Yankee, but let me tell you, sir, the smart travellers who publish their 'impressions' and disparage the 'differences' between us, see only the surface of our countries. Beneath, we are one people still. One language, one law, one thing, as our Norse ancestors would say." He gave a little grunting laugh. "As a politician and statesman, I confess I have frequently opposed British policy, even sought to frustrate British interest, but do you know ..." he was leaning back, that beak of a nose pointing at the ceiling "... if ever the day came - which G.o.d forbid! - when the being - aye, the very existence! - of that dear old land were in danger, then I, as an American, would give my life to keep it whole." He paused. "Nor do I doubt that an Englishman would do as much for my country ... ah, your pardon, colonel, I see your gla.s.s is almost out."

If you have illusions, Seward, prepare to shed them now, thinks I, as he plied me with more liquor. For it was plain as a pikestaff whither he was bound, and if he thought he could come round me with his blood-brotherhood fustian, he was well out of court. I thought of keeping mum, to see how he would come to cases at last, but my natural mischief decided me to play him up, so I observed innocently that the occasion wasn't likely to arise, surely?

"In the United States?" He pushed out a lip as he set down the decanter. "A young country, at the crossroads, facing the awful question whether it shall be a free nation or a slave nation ... whether slavery shall wither gradually, peacefully, and with compromise, or be slain suddenly in the terrible arbitrament of war ... that is a country in grave peril, colonel. Oh, it may be that given time and moderation, the withering process will take place ... unless some evil chance, some terrible folly, should bring the irrepressible conflict suddenly to a head."

Like some loony invading Virginia, for example - why the devil couldn't he say it, instead of tiptoeing coyly about? We both knew what he wanted, that this was the last vain attempt to coax me into joining Brown - was he too scared to come straight out with it, or did he suppose that if he ga.s.sed long enough, about it and about, I'd be mesmerised into changing my mind? It was quite amusing, really, and I was content to smoke his excellent cigars and sip his indifferent liquor while he skirted delicately around the point. Hollo, was he getting there?

"... if such a catastrophe should threaten," he was saying, pacing slowly to and fro and contemplating his cigar ash, "and it lay with an Englishman to avert it - if he alone had been given, by chance, the power to avert it, at no peril to himself ... would he feel himself bound, I wonder, to answer the call of blood, to put aside the petty, man-made trammels of mere citizenship, and do the little service that would mean so much ... to his kinsfolk?" He'd be quoting Magna Carta in a minute. "What would you think, colonel?"

I'll tickle you, you insinuating little b.a.s.t.a.r.d, thinks I. "He'd not hesitate a moment," I said. "In like a shot - I mean to say, he couldn't refuse, could he? Unless, that is, he was prevented by his duty - if he was a soldier, say. That would rule him out altogether."

He didn't blink, or start, or do anything but nod solemnly. "True ... it depends, though, does it not, on one's interpretation of that elusive word, 'duty'?" He c.o.c.ked his head. "To his Queen ... his country? To his ... race? To humanity, even?"

"Nothing about humanity in Queen's Regulations, I'm afraid." I gave him my regretful grin, and he sighed and shook his head.

"I've no doubt you're right. And yet ..." he resumed his seat and went into another of his philosophic trances at the ceiling "... I wonder how the Queen - whose Regulations they are, after all - would view the question? What advice, do you suppose, would she give to one of her officers if he had the opportunity to render such a signal service to the young cousin-country for which she and her people feel such a warm affinity?" Puff-puff. "If he could save it from the horror of civil strife ... perhaps even from destruction? Where would she - and Prince Albert - conceive that his duty lay? I wonder ..."

He heaved another reflective sigh and sat up, stubbing out his cigar. "Well, we can't say, can we? You know her, of course, which I do not ... but I look forward with the keenest antic.i.p.ation to the honour of being presented to her, at Court, in a few weeks' time." The blue eyes regarding me steadily were as innocent as a babe's; he even smiled. "Oh, even a staunch republican feels his pulses quicken at the prospect of ... conversing ... with your gracious Queen, and her Consort. I shall also be meeting your Prime Minister, Lord Duhrby - oh, I must remember, Lord Darby, I should say! And Lord Palmerston, who takes a close interest in American affairs ... you know him, I believe? I must tell him that you and I have spoken ..."

I've received quite a few vicious thrusts in the low lines in life's fencing-match, but this was the real navel-slasher going to get his lieutenant. That was that, and no help for it ... and my nature being what it is, I did a lightning reckoning of the possible advantages that might follow. If I did what they wanted, and could keep this idiot Brown from flying off the handle (and heaven knew I had enough experience of disaster to be able to scupper the half-baked military ambitions of a pack of backwoods yokels, surely?), if, in a word, I rendered this "signal service" to the Great Republic ... by gum, but Mr President-in-waiting Seward would have a different tale to tell to little Vicky and her awful husband, wouldn't he just?

.. volunteered like a shot, ma'am ... knew it was irregular, but felt sure Your Majesty would wish it ... sacred task ... blood thicker than water ... who would true valour see ..." "We are most gratified, Mr Stew-hard ... so obliging of the dear colonel, was it not, Albert? . . . " "Hoch-hoch, yess! Colonel Flash-mann to Rugby School wa.s.s going, ja!"

Gad, I might get a t.i.tle out of it ... but no, it would all have to be kept mighty quiet and unofficial ... still, there would be whispers, and knowing royal smiles when I got home ... and no doubt a confidence from Her Majesty to Elspeth over the tea-cups ... and stern questions, followed by a rebuke for form's sake and a wink and clap on the shoulder, from old Pam.

It ran through my mind in seconds, while Seward busied himself clipping another cigar, and when I stood up those bright eyes searched my face for several seconds before he glanced at the clock and said, why, how time had run past, and he expected they would be casting off soon.

"I thank you for coming to see me," says he. "We have had a most valuable talk, I'm sure." He paused. "I expect to be in England for two months at Ieast; perhaps I may have the pleasure of your company again - or have you decided to prolong your stay in America?"

Well, two could play at that game. "By George, Mr Seward, I'd been intending to take the first ship, but you've roused my curiosity, don't ye know? I rather think I'll stay on a while - see something of the country, what?" And just for devilment I added: "Any special sights of interest you think I ought to see? Some people have urged me to visit Virginia, but I've a notion it might be rather warm at this time of year, eh?"

It took him aback, but only for a second. "That is my understanding, too," says he. "Good-bye, colonel, and G.o.d speed."

They tell me he was a man quite devoid of principles, whatever they are, but I'd put it another way and say he was a consummate politician. Clever, no question; he knew exactly how to turn me round in short order, which argues some kind of capacity, I suppose, and there's no denying he saved the United States a few years later when he wriggled out of the Trent Affair. He was no friend of ours, by the way, for all the humbug he'd given me, and I can think of only one good reason for wishing he'd become President: Lincoln wouldn't have got shot.31 The fellow with the lantern-jaw was called Messervy, and as soon as I stepped out of Seward's state-room and announced my change of heart, he took charge, cutting off the Senator's cries of satisfaction and reminding Pinkerton, who surprised me by clasping my hand, that there was a day's work to do in two hours, so good-bye, Senator, and let's go. Then it was ash.o.r.e in haste to the Black Maria, which was beginning to feel like home, with Pinkerton firing instructions at me as we rattled along, while Messervy sat aloof, stroking his moustache.

"Mandeville an' yoursel' will return to the Astor House tonight as though nothin' had happened, and wait for Black Joe Simmons. He sent a telegraph tae Crixus this mornin', sayin' ye'd been found and were willin' tae enlist wi' Brown; Crixus's reply has been at the New York telegraph office this three hours past, but Joe hasnae seen it yet - and won't, until you're safe back at the hotel. We've seen it, though - sure enough, Crixus is over the moon, haverin' on about the returned prodigal, an' biddin' Joe take ye tae Concord wi'out delay, where ye'll be presented tae Brown at the house of Frank Sanborn. So ye'll be off tomorrow, likely - an' neither Crixus nor Atropos will have an inkling o' what's happened today." He permitted himself a sour grin. "The three Kuklos men who followed you this mornin' are safe under lock an' key, and will not see the light o' day until this whole Brown business is by and done wi' -- "And when'll that be?" In the rush of events I'd given no thought to it. Messervy spoke without looking round. "Weeks. All summer, maybe."

"What? But, my G.o.d -- "Wheesht, and listen!" snaps Pinkerton. "Once you an' Joe have left for Concord, Mandeville will return tae Washington tae inform Atropos that all's well. It'll be days afore he begins to wonder what has happened tae his three bravos - an' we'll have one or two ploys tae keep him guessin', never fear. The main thing is, he'll be satisfied that you're safe wi' Brown, workin' your mischief - he thinks. Crixus will be under the same misconception." He glanced at Messervy. "That's my part done, I think."

Messervy nodded, and we sat in silence until our paddy-wagon drew up behind the big brown building. It was growing dusk, and as we alighted Pinkerton turned to me: "I'll bid ye good-bye, colonel - but I'll be keepin' an eye on ye until ye leave for Concord." He hesitated, and held out his hand. "Glad ye're wi' us. Take what care ye can of auld John Brown. He's worth it." He wrung my hand hard. "An' my respects tae your good lady when ye see her. She'll no' mind me, but I carried her portmantle once, tae the Glasgow coach."

Then he was gone, and Messervy swung his cane idly as he looked after him. "There goes a worshipper of John Brown ... h'm. Follow me, colonel."

In my time I've been sent into the deep field by some sharp politicals - Broadfoot, Parkes, Burnes, and Gordon, to say nothing of old Pam himself - but Messervy, the long-chinned Yankee Corinthian with his laconic style, was as keen as any and straight to the point, coaching me briskly even before we'd sat down, turning up his desk-lamps as he spoke in that lordly half-English accent that they learn in the best Eastern colleges.

"Whatever you've heard, Brown's not mad. He's a simple man with a burning purpose. His admirers like to think of him as a latter-day Oliver Cromwell. He is no such thing. He's not a fool, but he lacks all capacity to organise and direct. His strength -" here he sat down, shooting his cuffs as he clasped his fingers before him on the desk "- which you would do well to remember, is a remarkable gift of inspiring absolute devotion, even in men far above him in education and ability - Pinkerton, for example, and the Eastern liberals who furnish him with money and arms. But it is among his personal followers - his gang - that this loyalty is most marked."

He drew a sheet from a stack of papers at his elbow, and pushed it across.

"Those are their names - you can study them later. They are almost all young men, staunch abolitionists for the most part, and dangerous beyond their years. They include several of Brown's sons; the others are adventurers, jacks-of-all-trades, a crank or two, some free blacks and escaped slaves; a number of them have been soldiers, one was a militia colonel, and most of 'em have fought in the Kansas troubles. Only one or two are what you would call educated." He considered. "They're tough, eager, and love nothing better than shooting up slave-owners, as they did a couple of months ago when they rescued a few n.i.g.g.e.rs from Missouri and chased the militia. But for the most part they camp in the woods, do a little drill or target practice, a few gymnastics, and sweetheart the local girls. Brown will be looking to you to lick 'em into shape and plan his great stroke in Virginia."

"How," says I, "d'you suggest I stop him?"

He indicated the paper in my hand. "There aren't above a dozen names on that paper - that's his weakness, lack of numbers. Many have come and gone; those names you may regard as permanent. He's never been good at recruiting - when he was camped out in Iowa, rallying support, he managed to muster the grand total of nine. It may well be that his want of men, his inability to plan anything sensible, and his habitual indecision, will be his ruin - with a little judicious hindrance from you, skilfully contrived. One thing you must not do, and that is try to undermine his men's loyalty: it would be fatal. They love him; no other word for it."

"What weapons has he got?"

"That we know of, two hundred revolvers and two wagon-loads of Sharps rifles. And you heard about the thousand pikes."

"Yes, to arm the n.i.g.g.e.rs when he invades Virginia. It all sounds d.a.m.ned unlikely," says I, "but you take him seriously."

"Like nothing since the Revolution," says he quietly. "He's a man on fire, you see. And if the fit suddenly takes him, he may go storming into Virginia at half-c.o.c.k, with his handful of gunfighters ... and it just might start a war."

"And you say he isn't mad! Has he got any money?"

"He's spent much of the past two years, when he hasn't been raiding or writing half-baked const.i.tutions, trying to drum up funds here in the East. Said he needed $30,000, and may have got close to a third of it, but in arms and equipment rather than hard cash." He shrugged. "In other ways, though, I suspect he's found it rewarding work. Unless I'm in error, his vaunted simplicity masks a substantial vanity: he seems to like nothing better than being received in abolitionist Society, playing the Old Testament prophet, preaching the wrath of G.o.d - he's a poor speaker, by the way - being adored by maiden ladies from Boston who know Uncle Tom by heart, and admired by social superiors who treat him as another Moses. That's one of them .. .

He took a card from his stack of papers and pushed it across to me: a daguerre print of an earnest weed with flowing locks and a wispy goatee, like a poetic usher.

.. Frank Sanborn, one of the so-called 'Secret Six', the committee of influential abolitionists who are Brown's leading supporters,32 You may meet some of 'em when you're presented to him at Sanborn,s place in Concord. They hang on Brown's lips, applaud his speeches, pa.s.s the hat, shudder deliciously when they think of him sabring Border Ruffians, go into prayerful ecstasies whenever he runs a n.i.g.g.e.r across the British border - and are in mortal terror that he'll do something truly desperate." He stroked his silky moustache. "Like attacking Harper's Ferry."

"They know he means to?"

"He told 'em so, a year ago - and they almost had apoplexy. You see, they thought the cash and arms they'd been giving him were to be used in the Free Soil campaign in Kansas; when he sprang it on 'em that he was planning to invade Virginia, arm the blacks, set up a free state in the hills, hold slave-owners hostage, and dare the U.S. Government to come on ... you may guess what effect that had on our pious idealists. They besought him to give up the idea, he thundered Scripture and told them slavery is war and must be fought, they pleaded, he stood fast ... and they gave in, like the old women they are. However, he decided to postpone his invasion when your compatriot, Hugh Forbes, his right-hand man, fell out with him over money, and betrayed the whole plot to various Republican senators ... among them Mr Seward, whose eloquence so charmed you, I'm sure, this afternoon." He raised an eyebrow at me, studied his nails in the lamplight, and went on: "Seward's a true-blue abolitionist, but he's not a fool or a firebrand - and he has Presidential ambitions. He warned the 'Six' they were playing with fire, and must leave off. That set them shivering ... but instead of cutting off Brown without a penny, they renewed their tearful pleas to him not to do anything rash, but if he did, please they'd rather not hear about it beforehand."

Messervy sat back in his chair, and arched his fingers together. "And there, colonel, you have the liberal abolitionists of the North, in a nutsh.e.l.l: half hoping Brown will go wild, while they pull the blankets over their heads. Seward has more sense. He wants Brown stopped, which is why he spoke to you today, once we'd convinced him that you were the likeliest means of doing it. At the same time," he added drily, "Senator Seward finds this a convenient moment to make the Grand Tour of Europe, which is a capital place for the Republicans' favoured candidate to be while Brown is rampaging around breathing fire."