Jack Higgins - Pay the Devil

Jackson wheeled away to give the order and Josh, who was talking to the cavalrymen, came over.

‘Don’t do that to me again, General. This war is over.’

‘You sure about that?’

‘General Lee’s been pushing toward Appomattox Station looking for supplies and relief, only our boys have found there’s nothing there: Lee’s got twenty thousand men left. Grant’s got sixty. It’s over, General.’

‘And where’s Lee now?’

‘Place called Turk’s Crossing. He’s overnighting there.’

Clay looked over the rail of the bridge, where three of his men had reached the boy. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Then let’s go and find him.’

When he and his men slipped through the Yankee lines, it was raining heavily. Turk’s Crossing was a poor sort of place. General Lee was billeted in a small farmhouse, but had preferred the barn. The doors stood open and someone had lit a fire inside. The staff, and what was left of his men, were camped around in field tents.

When Clay and his men moved in, Tyree had the day’s password when the pickets challenged them. It was always a difficult moment. After all, it was Confederate pickets who had killed General Stonewall Jackson after Chancellorsville.

Clay reined in beside the farm and turned to Sergeant Jackson. ‘You and the boys find some food. I’ll see you later.’

The riders moved away. Josh dismounted and held his bridle and Clay’s. ‘What now?’

A young aide moved out of the barn. ‘General Fitzgerald?’

‘That’s right.’

‘General Lee would be delighted to see you, sir. We thought we’d lost you.’

Josh said, ‘I’ll hang around, General. You might need me.’

Lee was surprisingly well dressed in an excellent Confederate uniform, and sat at a table his staff had set up by the fire, his hair very white.

Clay Fitzgerald walked in. ‘General.’

Lee said, ‘Sorry I can’t call you general any longer, Clay. Couldn’t get your brigade command ratified. We’re into the final end of things, so you’re back to colonel. Heard you’ve been in action again.’

‘One of those things.’

‘Always is, with you.’

At that moment, a young captain came out of the shadows. He wore a grey frock coat over his shoulders, his left arm in a sling, and carried a paper, which he handed to Lee.

‘Latest report, General. The army’s fading away. Lucky if we’ve got fifteen thousand left.’

He swayed and almost fell. Lee said, ‘Sit down, Brown. The arm, not good?’

‘Terrible, General.’

‘Well, you’re in luck. I have here the only general cavalry officer in the Confederate army, Colonel Clay Fitzgerald, who’s also a surgeon.’

Brown turned to Clay. ‘Colonel? I had a message for you,’ and then he slumped to one knee.

Clay got him to a chair, turned and called, ‘Josh – my surgical bag and fast.’

The wound was nasty, obviously a sabre slash. Brown was sweating and in great pain.

‘I’d say ten stitches,’ Clay said. ‘And whiskey, just to clean the wound.’

‘Some men might say that’s a waste of good liquor,’ Lee said.

‘Well, it seems to work, General.’ Clay turned as Josh came in with the surgical bag. ‘Should be some laudanum left in there.’

Lee said, ‘So you’re still around, Josh. It’s a miracle.’

‘You, me and Colonel Clay, sir. Lot of water under the bridge.’

He opened the bag and Brown said, ‘No laudanum, Colonel.’

‘It could put you out if I give you enough, Captain. Kill the pain.’

‘No, thanks. I must have my brain working. The general needs me. Whiskey will do fine, Colonel. Let’s get on with it.’

Clay glanced at Lee, who nodded. ‘A brave boy, and he’s entitled to his choice. Just do it, Colonel,’ and there was iron in his voice.

‘Then with your permission, sir.’

He nodded to Josh, who took the bottle of whiskey that stood on Lee’s table, uncorked it and held it to Brown’s lips.

‘Much as you can take, Captain.’

Brown nodded, swallowed, then swallowed again. He nodded. ‘Enough.’

Clay said, ‘Thread a needle, Josh.’ He bared Brown’s arm. ‘You’ll feel this. Just hang in there.’

He poured raw whiskey over the open wound, and the young captain cried out. Josh passed over the curved needle threaded with silk.

Clay said, ‘Stand behind the chair and hold him.’

Josh did as he was told, and as General Lee watched impassively, Clay poured whiskey over his hands, the needle and the thread, held the lips of the wound together and passed the needle through the flesh, and mercifully at that first stroke, Brown cried out again and fainted.

An hour later, after a meal of some sort of beef stew, Clay and Lee sat at the table and enjoyed a whiskey. Outside, the rain poured relentlessly.

‘Well, here we are at the last end of the night on the road to nowhere,’ Lee said.

Clay nodded. ‘General, it’s a known fact that President Lincoln offered you command of the Yankee army on the outbreak of hostilities. No one disputes your position as the greatest general of the war.’ He helped himself to another whiskey. ‘I wonder how different things might have been.’

‘Waste of time thinking that way, Clay,’ Lee told him. ‘My fellow Virginians were going to war. I couldn’t desert them. After all, what about you? You’re from good Irish American stock, your father and that brother of his. You went to Europe, medical schools in London and Paris. You’re a brilliant surgeon, yet you chose my path.’

Clay laughed. ‘Yes, but I’m Georgia-born, General, so, like you, I had no choice.’

‘You’re too much like your father. I was sorry to hear of his death. Three months ago, I believe.’

‘Well, everybody knew he’d been operating schooners out of the Bahamas, blockade-running. He took the pitcher to the well too often. He was on one of his own boats when they ran into a Yankee frigate. It went down with all hands.’

Lee nodded gravely ‘Your mother died early. I remember her well. Your father, as I recall, was somewhat of a duellist.’

‘That’s an understatement.’

‘And the elder brother, your uncle?’

‘On my grandfather’s death, he inherited an estate in the west of Ireland. He had a plantation only twenty miles from here. Left it in the hands of a manager.’

‘So what happens now?’ Lee asked.

‘God knows, General. What happens to all of us?’

‘It’s simple, Clay. I’ve had contact with Grant. We meet at Appomattox tomorrow to discuss surrender terms.’ He brooded. ‘Grant and I served in the Mexican Wars together. Ironic it’s ended this way.’ He shrugged. ‘He’s a good soldier and an honourable man. I’ve already made it clear in a communication that I want all of my men who own their own horses to keep them.’

‘And he’s agreed?’

‘Yes.’

There was a moan from Brown lying on the truckle bed in the corner. Josh, who had been sitting on watch, got an arm around him as the young captain sat up. Clay went to him at once.

‘How do you feel?’

‘Terrible.’

‘Come and sit by the fire.’

‘I’ll get him some coffee,’ Josh said, and went out.

Brown slumped into a chair, and Lee asked, ‘Are you all right, boy?’

‘Fine, sir. Hurts like hell, but there it is.’ He turned to Clay. ‘My thanks, Colonel.’

‘My pleasure.’

‘I was hoping to meet you. Your uncle had a house near here. Fairoaks?’

‘That’s right. He went to Ireland and left a manager in charge.’

‘Well, he used to have a house. Burned to the ground by Yankee cavalry. I passed it two days ago. One of the field hands had a letter. Some lawyer from Savannah called, looking for you. Said he’d be at Butler’s Tavern for a week. Name of Regan.’