At Harper's Ferry

Chapter 8

  Narrative continued’

  Later

  It seems that I have been busy pursuing people all over town today. After a brief message from Miss Hanson, I had a luncheon with James Forsythe of the War Department. Without tipping my hand, I hinted that some of my valuable investments could be diverted to the Union cause. I also suggested that he interest himself a little more in Lawrence Hanson’s disappearance. My method was ingenious; I wish there had been others there to hear it.

  “So I hear young Hanson has bolted to sell some confidential documents from your office? How I sympathize with you, Forsythe. You must be in a devilish tricky situation!” I exclaimed after our first course had been served.

  “Not at all, not at all,” he murmured hastily. “We expect to see him soon rather than hear from him.”

  I grinned at his confidence. “Splendid. I am pleased to hear it. Did that detective Blackwood help you in locating Mister Hanson?”

  Forsythe busied himself with his bread, turning the knife over in his hand as he buttered it. He looked up at me through his eyebrows and spoke “You do know everything that goes on in this city, don’t you?”

  He dabbed his mouth with the napkin before continuing again. He still spoke slowly but the quaver in his voice told me he was nervous and a little angry perhaps. “I am certain that Lawrence’s loyalties will lead him back to Washington before long. In addition to the City Watch, the government has interested itself in this matter, and a few of my worthy gentlemen are out looking for him. Also the whereabouts of these documents is of interest. Although their being, shall we say, misplaced, looks suspicious. It is possible the papers left through the efforts of another War Office employee. If that is the case, then you, sir, are guilty of slandering the name of Hanson.” He had relaxed while taking and smiled easily at me as he said this last part.

  I was sure he was in jest. “If challenged I will withdraw and apologize.” I grinned back at him. After all I had nothing to lose and was really only in search of a little amusement at this luncheon. I didn’t really need to know anything about Mister Hanson; I was only satisfying my mild curiosity.

  We parted on terms of mutual good will. My savings were still mine to invest and War Office information was still confidential to the best of my knowledge. I wandered around the city for a while, reflecting on the fact that it is nearly impossible in these times to have a conversation with an old acquaintance which does not focus, at some point, on the war. As much as one might wish to take refuge in discussing trivial subjects, the conversation will touch at least lightly on some political and therefore war-related topic.

  As a result a lot of friendships have been severed, or irrevocably changed, since a person’s emotions naturally run high discussing topics of such weighty importance. More than neighbors not talking to one another, now families and in some cases whole counties have moved to show where their loyalties lie. I recall reading, in the newspaper again, an account of the town in Southern Illinois that volunteered to move North!

  Although the idea of secession has been around for a while, I believe that the threat of it was not taken seriously until the election of this Mister Lincoln. Then of course, late last year and earlier this year the states that first voted to secede, South Carolina and Mississippi, gave the rest of them something to join and be a part of. And of course in the South, the quality of indecisiveness in only a short step away from cowardice. It is another preoccupation of mine to wonder what will become of this country, or these two countries now that we have, and what was in the hearts and minds of the men who decided to go down this path.

  As much as I wandered about the city, I could not shake that feeling and my moroseness stayed with me. I tried to distract myself by checking on the progress of a new suit at my tailor’s but to no avail. I was preoccupied the rest of the afternoon. I had a quiet meal at home, and I was finishing an after-dinner whiskey when a business associate dropped in to see me. We talked awhile and then he let me know that a bartender had been murdered. This was the man who worked at the saloon where Lawrence Hanson had last been seen, according to Mister Forsythe. This was an interesting development. Perhaps the bartender knew too much, or too little. This matter seems deeper than at first I had imagined.