The sun began to slowly dip behind a long row of trees, lining the road leading to Williamstown, sending long shadows down the dirt trail.
A gray-feathered Mississippi kite gripped her sharp talons on a long branch of a birch tree and looked out over the open field for an easy meal. With two chicks to feed back in her nest, the kite was keen to catch a mouse. She watched two young children as they dashed across the ground, hoping they would stir up something for her. Her patience was rewarded when a brown mouse scurried away from the kids. With a flutter of her wings, the kite left her perch and dove straight for the unsuspecting rodent.
For the first time in hours, Cooper noticed the farms and plantations they were riding past were not abandoned. Many of the plantations outside of New Orleans had been ransacked or burnt to the ground during the war. Some of the former occupants had been forced to move away from their homes when their former slaves left them at the end of the war.
"Looks like we've got company, Captain," said Hawkins to Cooper as they rode down the winding road.
Cooper looked over and saw two black children, no more than seven or eight years old, rush up to a wooden fence marking the extent of a farmer's land. Their clothes were dirty and ill-fitting. From the dirt on the boys, he guessed they had been working all day in the field. Cooper and Hawkins were in their blue uniforms. They had left their kepis back in New Orleans and now wore black cavalry-style hats to keep the sun from shining in their eyes.
"Afternoon, soldiers," said the taller of the two young boys as he gave the riders his best attempt at a salute.
"Afternoon, lads," replied Cooper, returning the child's salute.
The boys stared up at Cooper.
Hawkins chuckled. It was obvious that Cooper's accent was something the children had never heard before. "He said afternoon boys."
The boys laughed, jumped down from the fence, and started jog along, following the two strangers.
"You two be big bugs?" asked the tall boy.
Cooper looked over at Hawkins and mouthed, "Big bugs?"
Hawkins had worked hard in the army to erase the slang he had grown up with from his vocabulary. "The boys want to know if we're important people."
With a smile on his face, Cooper looked over at the youths and shook his head.
"You be a sergeant?" asked the other child, a skinny boy without any shoes on his feet.
"Yes," replied Hawkins.
"Sergeant, you done fight in the war?" asked the thin boy.
"Yes, I did."
"You done shoot some rebs?"
Hawkins shook his head. Children always seemed to ask the same question. He said, "The war's over, boys."
The boys pretended their hands were pistols and shot at each other until a loud call from their father sent them rushing back home.
"They seemed happy to see you," observed Cooper.
"Yeah, I guess so," said Hawkins. "I doubt they've ever seen a free man in a uniform before."
"In this part of the state, probably not."
"Sir, I've been thinking about our assignment and the more I think about it, the less I understand it. Surely, Williamstown will have a sheriff who should be able to deal with whatever problems they may have."
"One would hope so. But he may be unable or unwilling to do anything about these murders and disappearances. Hopefully, it'll all become clear when we arrive."
"Amen to that."
Cooper dug out his canteen and took a long swig of water. "For November, it sure is hot and humid."
Hawkins pointed over at a growing mass of dark clouds on the horizon. "It looks like it's going to storm."
"Let's hope we get to Williamstown before the heavens open up on us." Cooper placed his water bottle away.
A few minutes later, Williamstown came into view. It was a small community which had sprung up in the 1820s alongside the Mississippi River. The town's wooden buildings were spread out on both sides of the road. As it was nearing supper time, there was only a handful of people moving about on the street. Cooper counted a total of twelve buildings on the main road with at least as many more on a side road which looped around like a horseshoe and came out at the far end of the town. They stopped outside the only inn in town: a two-story structure with a sign out front announcing rooms were available to respectable men for four dollars a month.
Cooper got down from his horse and looked around. He saw a one-legged man on the other side of the street eyeing him with suspicion. He knew goodwill toward the North in this part of the state was in short supply and the unannounced arrival of two soldiers, one of whom was black, was not going to endear them to the town's residents.
Sergeant Hawkins joined Cooper. "Captain, shall I see if the stable across the street will take our horses?"
Cooper nodded and handed off his horse's reins. He walked up the steps onto the front porch of the inn; the old wooden boards creaked under his weight. He opened the front door and stepped inside. There wasn't a soul in sight. The pleasant smell of roast beef filled the air. After a long day in the saddle, Cooper's stomach grumbled. He removed his hat, closed the door behind him, and walked over to the front desk. He tapped his hand on a silver bell and waited. A woman in a long brown skirt with a matching shirt walked into the room smiling. She looked to be in her late thirties and had light brown hair which was pulled back and tied off in a bun on the back of her head. The instant she laid her eyes on Cooper in his blue uniform her welcoming smile evaporated.
"Good day, ma'am. My name is Captain Robert Cooper. I saw your sign out front and was wondering if my Sergeant and I might rent a couple of rooms from you."
"Good day to you, sir," replied the woman. The tone of her voice was bitter and unhospitable. "How long do you plan on staying with us?"
"A week, possibly two."
"How will you be paying?"
Cooper reached into a pocket and placed a gold coin worth twenty dollars down in front of her. "I think this should cover our rooms and meals for the next two weeks." Cooper knew banknotes were despised as worthless by most businesses in Louisiana, so he had brought along gold.
The woman's green eyes lit up at the sight of the coin. "Yes, sir, that should do nicely." She cracked a smiled, placed her hand on the gold, and slid it toward her. "I only have two rules. No women in your room and no drinking either."
"I shan't be a bother, ma'am."
"See that you aren't, Captain."
Cooper looked meaningfully at his proprietor. "My sergeant is a colored soldier. I hope this isn't going to be an issue."
The woman stood ramrod straight and shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir, but this is a hotel for white folks only. Your boy is welcome to take a room out back. I have a couple that would do him nicely."
"Sergeant Hawkins is not a boy. He is a United States soldier." Cooper regretted the tone of his words the second they came out of his mouth. He had been warned not to antagonize the people of Williamstown and had already failed.
"Be that as it may, he cannot stay at my establishment. You're welcome to go elsewhere, but as we're the only inn in town, you're out of luck,"
The front door opened and Hawkins stepped inside. He was carrying their weapons in his hands and their saddlebags over his left shoulder. "The horses are being fed and looked after, Captain."
"Thank you, Sergeant."
Hawkins removed his hat. "Evening, ma'am. Mighty fine-looking place you've got here."
The woman nodded ever so slightly in greeting.
Cooper turned to face Hawkins. "I have secured us a couple of rooms, yours is out back."
Hawkins grinned. He hadn't expected to be housed among the other guests at the inn. "A roof over my head, any roof, will do just fine, sir."
"John . . . John, please come here and take these soldiers' luggage to their rooms," called the woman over her shoulder.
A black youth about fifteen years old in clean, pressed clothes appeared. "Will do, Mrs. James," said the boy.
"The captain will be in room numbe
r four and the sergeant will be in the spare room out back," said Mrs. James as she handed the youth a couple of room keys. She looked over at Cooper. "Supper will be served at precisely seven o'clock in the dining room. Please try not to be late. Your sergeant can eat in the kitchen with the help."
Cooper fought the urge to tell her to stuff it when Hawkins said, "Your food smells mighty delicious, ma'am. I can't wait to try some of your establishment's fine cooking."
Mrs. James didn't respond; she turned and left the room.
Cooper had to hand it to Hawkins, the man knew how to act around the people of Williamstown far better than he did. He took his carbine and saddlebag from Hawkins and looked down at John. "Lead on, young man."
"Yes, sir," replied John, reaching over to take Cooper's possessions.
"I'll carry these if you don't mind. They're kind of heavy."
"If you say so, sir." He led Cooper upstairs and unlocked the door to his room.
Cooper handed the boy a five-cent coin as a tip before he stepped into his room. There wasn't much to the lodging. A narrow bed along with a table and one chair was all there was in the room. Cooper didn't care. He wasn't planning on getting comfortable. The sooner he was done and away from Williamstown, the better as far as Cooper was concerned. He dug out his pocket watch and looked at the time. It was nearing six-thirty. Cooper decided it was already too late to meet with the mayor and sheriff. That would have to wait until the morning.
Downstairs Hawkins waited for John to return. He had grown up on a plantation on the outskirts of Morganza, a small community north of Williamstown. Hawkins had learned at an early age how to act around the Mistress of the house and her children. He'd heard the same scorn and condescension in Mrs. James' voice and knew it would do Captain Cooper no good if he were to object to being treated the way he was.
John came bounding down the stairs. He smiled when he looked at Hawkins' chevrons on his uniform. "Please follow me, Sergeant," said the young boy, stressing Hawkins' rank. They walked to the back of the hotel and then outside. It was already beginning to get dark. John placed his key into one of two small rooms built adjoining the hotel and opened the door. He rushed inside and lit a candle.
Hawkins followed John inside and threw his saddlebags down onto the bed. The room was simple, a bed and not much more. Hawkins rummaged in a jacket pocket and pulled out a nickel for the boy.
"Glory be, this is my lucky day," said John, accepting the coin. "Most folks don't tip more than a penny, not that a lot of people been staying here since the end of the war."
"Why's that?" asked Hawkins.
"On account of the troubles, that's why."
Hawkins saw an opening and took it. "What troubles might that be?"
The youth looked over his shoulder before stepping closer to Hawkins as if afraid. "Sir, some people, both white and colored, they be killed or gone missing."
"John, how many people are we talking about?"
"No one rightly knows as most of them who go missing are never found. Some say it done started when them two young lovers from the Mercy Plantation done run off together. Others say it done been going on longer than that. All I know is no one done talk about it anymore. Us colored folk in town be quiet for fear we be next."
Hawkins placed a hand on the youth's shoulder. "John, you seem like a smart young man. What do you believe is going on?"
John looked over his shoulder once more to make sure no one was listening. "It be the Maclean Gang. They be wicked men. I hear they done killed all them folk."
"What makes you so sure?"
"They be a bunch of reb cutthroats who live out in the swamp. They done fought against the Union during the war and when it ended, they all done vowed to keep on fighting. I've heard it said that they oppose freedom for us colored folk and will kill any white person who tries to help us."
Hawkins nodded. What the young boy had said made a lot of sense. "Thanks, now you had best head inside. You don't want Mrs. James getting mad at you, now do you?"
"No, sir," replied John.
Hawkins watched the youth scamper off. He intended to question the household staff over dinner. If John's story held true, then they had something to go on. If it turned out to be nothing more than a story, then they had eliminated one possible lead. Perhaps come the morning the truth would be known.
After dinner, Cooper and Hawkins stood out back smoking cigars, talking about what the sergeant had learned. The cook and her husband had confirmed John's story. The one thing they added was that no one in town would lift a finger to stop the Maclean Gang. In fact, most quietly agreed with them. The general feeling was that unless the coloreds were kept in their place, the people of Williamstown feared an armed black insurrection would occur.
"Well, all of this talk about the Maclean Gang terrorizing and killing people gives us something to go on," said Cooper.
"Captain, if it is a bunch of Confederate renegades we're dealing with, I doubt the two of us will be able to put an end to their murderous ways."
Cooper nodded. "If the sheriff is incapable of dealing with them, I'll send a message back to New Orleans asking for additional support. The army, like it or not, will have no alternative but to send soldiers up here to run these rebs down."
Overhead, a loud clap of thunder heralded the beginning of the storm. A couple of raindrops hit the ground outside the inn.
"I think that's my cue to head to my room," Hawkins said, looking up at the dark sky.
"Looks that way. I'll see you first thing in the morning, Sergeant," said Cooper. He watched Hawkins dash for his room just as the rain began to pour. Cooper butted out his cigar, turned about, and walked inside. He wasn't tired enough to lay down, so he walked into the parlor at the front of the establishment and took a seat. He looked around the room and saw he wasn't alone. A married couple sat at a table playing cards. He judged them to be in their mid-thirties. By the way they were dressed in expensive clothes he knew they came from money.
"Good evening," said Cooper to the couple who glanced over and gave him a dismissive look. He muttered under his breath, "I see the only thing welcome here in Williamstown is my money."
The door to the parlor opened and John stepped inside. In his hands was a silver tray with a decanter and a couple of glasses on it. He smiled at Cooper and said, "A glass of brandy, sir?"
Cooper could taste the amber liquid in his mouth. His hand reached for the tray. It took all of his willpower to stop. He lowered his hand to his side and shook his head. "Not tonight, John, another night, perhaps."
John nodded and walked over to the couple who accepted a drink.
Cooper heard the front door open and someone walk in. With the rain coming down as hard as it was, Cooper was curious to see who had ventured out into the dark night. He stood up as the door to the parlor opened and in walked Mrs. James with a man in a blue suit wearing a soaked bowler hat. In his hands was a drenched raincoat, which he gave to another one of Mrs. James' servants. The man was short and looked to be somewhere north of forty. He had curly black hair which was thinning on the top of his round head.
"Captain Cooper, I'd like to introduce you to Elias Payne, our mayor and owner of the hardware shop at the end of town," said Mrs. James.
"Your obedient servant, sir," said Cooper, holding out his hand in greeting.
Payne thrust out his hand and shook the captain's. "We haven't had any Union soldiers in Williamstown in years. What brings you here unannounced?"
Cooper could tell the man liked to be in charge. He motioned to a couple of chairs. "Shall we take a seat, sir."
"Yes, of course." Before he sat, Payne said. "Mrs. James, some coffee would be wonderful. If isn't too late?"
"It's never too late at my inn," she responded, looking over at John who hurried off to the kitchen to fetch the coffee.
Cooper reached inside his tunic and pulled out his letter of introduction which he handed over to the mayor. Payne opened the letter and read the note, twice,
before slipping it away in a jacket pocket.
"Captain, would it surprise you to learn that I know Colonel Marshall?"
"Really, sir?"
"Yes, we were both in the army during the Mexican War. We fought together at Veracruz and Chapultepec."
"That would make sense. Many an officer on both sides during the last war had once served together in Mexico."
"We were both second lieutenants in a regiment of Louisiana volunteers back then. He's a good man. I had to sit this last one out. My left knee was hit by a spent bullet at the storming of Chapultepec Castle and has bothered me ever since. I don't agree with my friend siding with the North instead of his home during the war, but I still respect him."
"Yes, sir."
"I read in Frederick's letter that Roy Stone petitioned him into sending someone to investigate what has happened to the people who have allegedly gone missing in these parts."
"That is correct."
John walked into the parlor holding two steaming cups of coffee. He set them down on a table between the two gentlemen and left the room.
Payne picked up a cup and took a sip. He smiled. "Mrs. James makes the best coffee in all of Williamstown."
"Yes, sir. I had a cup with my dinner," said Cooper.
The mayor put his cup down and looked Cooper right in the eyes. "I think Mister Stone was wrong to ask the army to send you all the way up here. I believe he is trying to cover his family's shame on account of his nephew who died attempting to run off with a colored girl."
"Sir, have there not been other disappearances from the farms and plantations around Williamstown?"
Payne slapped the arm of his chair with his hand. "Runaways! Mark my words, those people were all runaways."
Cooper was skeptical. "They all can't be runaways. White, as well as colored folk, have gone missing, have they not?"
"At the end of the war, fully a third of the Negroes living in these parts got up and left their former owners. Can you believe it, after all we had done for them, they deserted us in our hour of need? Over the past few months, the exodus has slowed to a trickle but barely half the Negroes that once worked the fields are here anymore. As for the white people reported missing, well, they are deadbeats running away from their families and their debts. Or perhaps hopeless alcoholics who have turned their back on society and wandered off into the woods to live out the rest of their miserable lives by themselves. It's all as simple as that."
Cooper didn't accept Payne's explanation. Some of it may have been true, but not all of it. Something in the back of his mind told him to keep prying. "What of the talk that former Confederate soldiers known as the Maclean Gang, who are active in these parts, killing freed slaves and any white people who may have helped them?"
"Poppycock," snorted Payne. "The Maclean Gang is nothing more than a story concocted to frighten colored children into going to bed quietly. They don't exist. Take my word for it. You'd be wasting your time chasing down these imaginary ghosts. Runways and ne'er-do-wells, there's your answer, Captain."
Cooper sat back in his chair. "Thank you for your advice. It will help me conduct my affairs here in a more discreet manner now that I know the truth."
Payne took a long swing of his coffee before standing up and offering his hand.
Cooper stood and shook the mayor's hand. "I bid you goodnight, sir."
"And to you, Captain. I hope that your stay here in Williamstown will be productive and short."
After listening to Payne trying to steer him away from Maclean and his people, Cooper doubted it was going to be either.
4