Home Front Read online

  Home Front

  John Bray

  © John Bray, 2012, all rights reserved

  John Bray has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published 2012 by BeWrite Books.

  This edition published in 2018 by Endeavour Media Ltd.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Historical Note

  TO LUCASTA, GOING TO THE WARS

  Tell me not Sweet I am unkind

  That from the nunnery

  Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind

  To war and arms I fly.

  True, a new mistress now I choose,

  The first foe in the field.

  And with a stronger faith embrace

  A sword, a horse, a shield.

  Yet this inconstancy is such

  As you too shall adore

  I could not love thee dear so much

  Loved I not honor more.

  Richard Lovelace, British poet

  (1618-1657)

  Chapter One

  Secretary of War Edwin Stanton summoned to his inner office the man who functioned as his head investigator and clandestine counter-spy. A violent pro-secessionist movement in the North threatened to siphon off troops from the battlefields of the war against the Confederate States. The Union government needed to take drastic measures to combat its sponsors, a faction of the Democratic Party known as Copperheads.

  Lafayette C. Baker, chief of the National Detective Service, wore a heavy reddish beard and with his dark piercing eyes, conferred an appearance both ruthless and intimidating to those who came under his scrutiny. Secretary Stanton employed Baker for precisely the reason that the man had a reputation as a cunning and remorseless pursuer of criminals, saboteurs and spies. The present suspension of the Constitutional guarantees of habeas corpus and the right of the accused to a speedy trial well-suited Baker’s investigative methods.

  “I have asked you here to bring myself up to date with your activities,” the Secretary began. “I am getting more and more concerned about this so-called Copperhead movement. It has become a decided menace to our war effort. They place every obstacle in the path of victory for the Union. Even though they call themselves ‘Peace Democrats’, they have become a cover organization for many treacherous and subversive elements in our country.”

  “I’m quite well aware of the menace they pose, Mr Secretary,” Baker said.

  Stanton continued: “Not only are they political gadflies, but they sponsor outright criminal endeavors and treasonous acts in the Northern States. In addition, I also have a firm belief that their movement has been infiltrated by the Confederate spy service. They cause disruption at every turn, obstructing the conscription law, and all our efforts at recruitment for the army now hard-pressed for manpower. Do you have any current proposals to deal with these people?”

  Baker strove to conceal his exasperation with the Secretary who took up valuable time lecturing and questioning him, when as chief of Federal law enforcement he had critical investigations to conduct. More aware of present-day developments even than he would admit to his boss, Baker had begun gathering files on not only criminal enterprises and Confederate spy rings, but also on highly placed government officials and ranking military personnel suspected of conspiring with the enemy. His recent experiences had convinced him that well-placed informants sympathetic to the Southern cause had betrayed the Union and leaked secrets to Richmond.

  He sought to deflect Stanton’s probing questions and tedious commentary by focusing attention on more mundane matters. “Let me assure you, Mr Secretary, that even now I have information concerning a gang of counterfeiters who operate in New York City and who, I am sure, are in contact with the rebel government in Richmond.”

  “I am well pleased, General, with the strides your organization has made, having begun with so little resources. It is admirable how you have pursued those engaged in printing bogus issues of our new paper currency. This crime could eventually impact the whole economy, just another reason to pursue these criminals relentlessly. However …”

  Baker interrupted his boss: “I just wanted to say, Mr Secretary, my staff and I are drawing up plans to infiltrate this ring. That and other secret missions are still in the early stages of development. In addition, my detectives have recently smashed a ring of conspirators plotting assassinations and other dastardly acts.”

  “Yes, I did read that report,” the Secretary said nodding in agreement. “Secretary Chase was the target of that cowardly deed. Wasn’t some young soldier instrumental …?”

  Baker interjected his answer: “Indeed, Mr Secretary, and the same youngster not only disrupted the attempted murder of Secretary Chase, but uncovered the whole ring for us while operating undercover. We count it as a major success, and we’ll try to use him against the counterfeiters if all goes according to plan.”

  “Just a boy, isn’t he? Wounded and assigned to provost duty while convalescing.”

  “That’s the one, unusually precocious and clever for one so youthful. How long he will be of value to us under the pressure of undercover work has yet to be determined. I have at least one more assignment for him.”

  “Would that be in New York?” Stanton asked.

  “Yes, we believe he would be more likely to gain the confidence of the criminal gang than someone more mature.”

  Stanton scratched his beard, and narrowed his eyes. He stared off into the space above Baker’s head. “That sounds like a perilous assignment for a young, inexperienced soldier.”

  “Mr Secretary, he would be in greater danger on the front lines in an infantry regiment. He’s a soldier – if called upon to give his life while with us it is no more than he can expect otherwise.”

  “M-mm,” the Secretary mused. “You believe he would be in peril of losing his life, and you would send him in anyway?”

  “There is always that risk, but if some gangsters kill him, all the more opportunity for us to counter with a fierce response, and give us a reason to destroy them utterly in retribution. He is, after all just a private soldier. Aren’t we sacrificing them by the trainload in some of these horrific assaults our men are called upon to undertake?”

  “I’m not sure I always approve of your methods, but you do get the job done,” Stanton said.

  Near the end of his patience, Baker said: “We are engaged in a deadly struggle with people who desire nothing more than our heads on stakes. These are desperate times …”

  “I know, I know, General, no need to sermonize.” Stanton cleared his throat in obvious annoyance at the interruption. “However, as I started to say – however,” he added for emphasis
, “there is one more potentially explosive situation of which you should be aware. The principal reason I called you here today is to stress that the government’s concern about this Copperhead business, or ‘Peace Democrats’ as they like to call themselves, comes straight from the White House. Not long ago, while at a meeting with the President, we came to learn that an entire shipment of brand new Spencer Rifles was stolen from a train in upstate New York. The rifles, cases of them, together with enough munitions to start another war, are missing and no one knows where they went.”

  “I must admit, Mr Secretary, this is something of which I was not aware.”

  “Precisely, but we are fairly certain, through information from Army Command, that they have not made their way south. Which leads us to believe they are to be used somewhere in the north. So, among your other pressing duties, we would like you and your staff to find this shipment before another catastrophe such as an armed uprising ensues.

  “The president said at that recent cabinet meeting, and I can quote him here: ‘More than the fire at the front, I fear the fires at my back even more.’ You know to what he refers. The efforts by these traitors to split off the western states from the Union would be disastrous if it succeeded.”

  “We will do our best to assure that doesn’t occur, Mr Secretary.”

  “Very well, General, I’ll leave it in your capable hands. Good day to you, sir, and keep me abreast of developments.” Stanton rose from behind his desk to signal the meeting had ended. The two men shook hands.

  Baker fixed his stovepipe hat firmly on his head. “You will be the first to know of any developments, Mr Secretary, and I bid you good day.”

  He collected his detective bodyguard from outside the Secretary’s office and strode from the building. His carriage and driver waited for him on the street in front of the War Office.

  “Straight back to the office, Oliver,” he told the driver, who snapped the reins to start the horses into a rapid trot.

  Back at his headquarters, the General pushed through doors and trod down the corridor at a brisk pace. He found Detective Sidney Wilson at his desk, preparing reports.

  “Wilson,” he snapped.

  The experienced investigator stood to attention at the appearance of his boss. “Yes sir?”

  “Has that Private Madigan returned from his leave?” the General asked

  “We expect him momentarily, sir. The train he should have taken is due in Washington this afternoon.”

  “Well find him. We’ve got work to do. The Secretary of War himself is starting to light a presidential fire under us, as if we didn’t have sufficient motivation as it is.”

  “Yes, sir,” Wilson agreed, and reached for his coat.

  “Use the one-horse buggy from the stable and get down to the station. Find him and bring him to our secure house. I want his briefing to commence immediately.”

  “Yes, sir,” Wilson repeated.

  “He’d better return on time,” the General muttered half to himself, “or we’ll add his name to the already long list of deserters.”

  “Yes, sir,” Wilson said, hastening to the stable and hoping he found Madigan soon.

  Baker summoned another aide.

  “Schultz,” he barked.

  “Sir?”

  “Has the Army made any noise about us returning that Madigan kid we co-opted?”

  “Not that I’ve heard, sir. More likely they’ve forgotten about him, given the Army’s penchant for fouled-up bureaucracy.”

  “You’re probably right, let’s not do anything to remind them, at least until we complete this operation in New York.”

  “Yes, sir,” the detective replied and went back to his desk.

  Baker called out to no one in particular: “Do we have anyone keeping an eye on that rebel spy ring up in Canada?”

  A voice from further back in the office shouted: “That would be the Army, sir. They aren’t prone to tell us anything.”

  “No surprise there,” Baker murmured in a cynical aside to the men around him, who judiciously kept their heads bent to their respective tasks.

  Chapter Two

  Johnny Madigan started up the steps of the Treasury Building when the two sentries barred his way with crossed rifles, bayonets affixed.

  “State your business,” one sentry demanded.

  Johnny stopped when he realized he no longer had any military identification and could not explain his status. Not wishing to find himself taken into custody until the Provost Marshal verified his explanation; he acknowledged the sentries’ challenge with a wave of his hand and turned to depart. He remembered the admonition he had received from General Baker not to disclose his past assignment to anyone. Wearied by the long train ride from New York and the walk to Treasury, Johnny paused on the roadway in front of the columned edifice which doubled as both the national center of the United States Treasury Department and the wartime Provost Marshal’s headquarters of the Washington, DC military district. Unsure where to report, he turned and trudged along Pennsylvania Avenue in the direction of the White House now heavily guarded by blue-uniformed soldiers.

  A one-horse carriage clattered up beside him and stopped. Johnny glanced at the driver and recognized him.

  The man called out: “Madigan, hop aboard.”

  Johnny levered himself onto the carriage seat, the driver snapped the reins and the horse took up a slow canter.

  “Detective Wilson,” Johnny said, with a nod of recognition.

  The man replied: “Yes, Private Madigan.”

  “How did you know where to find me?” Johnny asked.

  “We knew when you would return, counting on your being prompt as usual. We watched the schedule of the trains from Hoboken and when you got off today, I followed you to the Treasury Building.”

  Johnny didn’t answer, realizing that once again the Service had subjected him to a test of his ability to follow orders and his willingness to keep to the schedule set for him. The detectives with whom he had recently been assigned waited to see if he returned on time from his brief furlough and whether he would report to the unit from which they had co-opted him those many weeks before.

  A long silence ensued. Wilson spoke again: “Enjoy your trip to New York?”

  Johnny nodded. “It was okay. Got to see a girl I’m sweet on.”

  “Anything out of the ordinary happen?” Wilson asked exhibiting the same imperturbability Johnny remembered.

  Johnny glanced over at the impassive face beside him, partially obscured by a bristling mustache and shadowed by the brim of a black bowler hat. The detective kept his eyes focused ahead as he urged the horse on with light taps of the reins.

  “Actually …” Johnny began.

  Wilson regarded him with a side long look. “Yes?”

  Johnny understood from the question that the police in New York had telegraphed the National Detective Service to report an incident they had investigated involving a soldier in civilian clothes who had shot a street tough to deter a robbery.

  “I suppose you know by now, I shot a man who tried to hold me up and tried to assault the girl I was with. I explained to them how I came to own a pistol, but nothing about what I had been doing.”

  “The General will require a full report in writing when we get to our office.”

  “Of course,” Johnny said. Then he added, “It would have ended badly for me if I wasn’t armed.”

  “No doubt,” the detective said. “You can explain it all to General Baker.”

  Johnny decided to forebear from asking questions about his future until they arrived at their destination and he had written his report to the General.

  Wilson asked him: “New York pretty bad after the riot?”

  “Parts of it were badly damaged by fire. A lot of people killed when the troops arrived. The city police were sometimes overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of rioters.”

  They lapsed into silence once again until the
carriage stopped in front of the non-descript building that housed the secure house of the plainclothes detective unit which had plucked him from his uniform assignment and plunged him into the shadowy world of undercover police work.

  Wilson dismounted the carriage and tethered the horse. “Take your things upstairs to the small bedroom. You’ll spend the night and we’ll get to work on your report in the morning. We’ll have dinner and you can get some sleep.”

  Johnny nodded, took the cloth bag that carried his meager belongings and entered the house where he had first met his boss, General Lafayette Baker. He found the room he had occupied when taken there some months before by Detective Wilson. The familiar stale, musty odor hung in the air.

  Early the next morning Detective Wilson awakened Johnny. They had a quick breakfast of hard rolls and coffee and Johnny sat at the table to compose a report of the events which had taken place during his leave in New York.

  Wilson read it over.

  “I’ll forward this to the General. He may want some further clarification.”

  Johnny nodded, uncertain whether the incident in which he had become embroiled would cause the General to question his judgment. The front door opened and closed almost noiselessly. A voice he recognized called out to him: “Morning Madigan, enjoy your little vacation?”

  “It was fine, sir,” Johnny replied.

  Detective Schultz strode into the kitchen where Johnny sat with Detective Wilson.

  “The General’s busy this morning, he sent me over to get you prepared for your next assignment. Think you’re ready?”

  “I’m sure I am,” Johnny said. Quiet relief coursed through him at the prospect of once again working with the men he had come to trust and admire.

  Wilson stood up. “I’m going to telegraph this report to the General.”

  “Had a little dust-up in New York there?” Schultz asked.