Preston Diamond: Conception

Chapter 16

Preston went to her. “Is he?…”

“No, he isn't dead, or, wasn't when the dispatch was sent. I don't know how badly he is hurt…” Rebecca handed Preston the note and put her hands to her face. Preston knew she was fighting to keep her composure. As he read, she said, “This has happened before… Colonel Unzer will be okay… I… I have to get to him…”

Referring to the note, Preston said, “This says he is in a field hospital near Alexandria. I know where it is, Rebecca. I can take you there.”

She moved her hands, a tear escaped and slipped down her cheek. “God bless you, Preston.”

“I'll fetch the team. Where's your carriage?”

Preston dressed, tucked the Colt in his belt and raced down the alley to the stable. He fed a cupful of oats to the greys, set aside a small bag of grain to take along and harnessed the team while they ate. He pulled the Henry rifle out of its saddle scabbard and tossed it in the carriage, parked in a shed attached to the stable. For an instant, he wondered what Mrs. Unzer would say about the guns, but he knew the area and only a fool or a desperate man would travel unarmed. Rebecca came out of the house as Preston brought the vehicle round to the front; she had blankets and a food basket. Preston hopped down and took the load. Rebecca went back into the cottage and returned with more blankets; she had a double barrelled shotgun under her arm.

The lady gave directions as Diamond drove the team through the quiet, dawn-lit streets. The pair wanted to go, and when the avenue opened up, Preston let them trot. They were long stepping horses and the light carriage flew down the trail. In under an hour they had reached the Patowmack and a landing known as Citadel Crossing. It had been the site of many battles as Confederate troops fought to advance on Washington. Union soldiers were on duty and bluecoats operated the boat. It ran day and night. Dispatch riders were used extensively because, with the onset of the war, the telegraph lines were seldom operable. Preston assumed the messenger who had come to the Unzer house had crossed here only an hour or two earlier.

The ferryman had untied the mooring ropes and the boat was moving when Preston reined in the horses at the shore. Mrs. Unzer stood in the carriage and shouted to a private, “Halt that boat. I am the wife of Colonel Unzer and he has been wounded. I must get to him as quickly as possible.”

The ferry reversed, the beaver tail was lowered and two mounted soldiers gave up their positions to allow the carriage to board. The men on the ropes pulled the boat across the river in record time. Neither Rebecca nor Preston offered to pay the ferryman and no one suggested that they should. On the opposite shore they waited while forward passengers disembarked, then Preston slapped the lines across the backs of the greys and they were off again.

The sun was up and the chill of night was slinking off into the shadows. Preston slowed the pace. Rebecca reached behind the seat and fetched out the basket. They ate in silence and the driver kept a vigil on the road ahead. They encountered several civilians and one company of soldiers. Mrs. Unzer learned from a bluecoat captain that her husband was alive, but the fellow did not know the Colonel's condition.

Preston wasn't exactly certain of his whereabouts on this road but he knew he did not have to go all the way to Alexandria to reach the army hospital. He turned onto a less used trail and proceeded down it, hoping to find something familiar. The sound and smell of the hospital camp preceded the sighting.

Rebecca hurried off to find her husband; Preston minded the horses. A fellow, wearing one of the blood-stained hospital smocks, trotted up and relayed a message that Mrs. Unzer wanted Adam to come to her. Diamond followed the aide through the reeking tangle to a small tent. Colonel Unzer was on a cot inside.

The colour had drained form Rebecca's cheeks and the wounded man beside her was pasty faced and ashen. Preston saw that the patient was awake, however, except for the eyes, he looked dead. An army doctor standing beside the bed offered no comment when Mrs. Unzer, in a firm tone, said, “Colonel Unzer has been shot through the chest. The good doctor here has removed the bullet but says there has been a lot of blood lost. We must move James to a hospital in Washington straight away.”

Diamond guessed there had been a heated discussion between Rebecca and the medic. He also assumed Mrs. Unzer won the argument. The doctor now told the aide who had brought Preston to the tent, to fetch a stretcher. With the Colonel's wife overseeing every movement, the patient was transferred from the tent to the carriage. A bed had been prepared in the bottom and Unzer was strapped in, as comfortably as Rebecca could make possible, with his feet protruding from under the seat and his head propped up at the back end of the conveyance. While she fussed over her husband, Preston found a slab board and placed it across the box so he and Mrs. Unzer would have a place to rest their feet without stepping on those of the patient. The doctor offered advice but Rebecca cut him off. “I appreciate all you have done, doctor, but I know what is best for him now.” To Preston, she said, “Alright, Adam, let's take your father home.”

Colonel Unzer had passed out during the transfer. He did not move or groan as the grey pair pulled the makeshift ambulance away from the pitiful hospital camp. Once on the trail, Rebecca said, “We'll have to go slow, Adam. It will be a long trip, but we must not start the wound bleeding again.” Constantly looking over her shoulder, she kept an eye on her patient. After they had travelled a mile or so, she turned to Preston, “James thinks he was shot from behind. He fears it may have been one of his own unit. He was desperate to leave the army hospital lest some traitor should murder him in his bed.”

The sun had passed the mid afternoon point, and a gathering cloud bank portended a dim evening. At the plodding pace he had set for the team, Preston doubted they would reach the ferry before dark. He said nothing to Rebecca, but well he knew what could happen on these backwood trails in the daytime; nighttime would be worse. Mrs. Unzer may have been thinking the same, for she said, “If we encounter another Union company, I shall coerce them to provide an escort.”

The carriage reached the main road to Alexandria without incident. Preston heaved a silent sigh and Rebecca called a halt to check on her husband. Preston heard Unzer groan something and Rebecca came to the front for a canteen. “It's cold tea,” she said, “but it's all we have and he needs liquids.”

Preston checked the harness and horses then fed them from the small bag of oats he had brought along. The team was holding up well, but Preston knew they would not be up to a run if something went wrong. He gave Mrs. Unzer a hand up into the carriage and scrambled to the seat next to her. He pulled the Colt from his belt and laid it between them. Rebecca reached under the seat beside her husband's leg and withdrew the shotgun. The greys, refreshed with the short break and a feed of grain, were eager to move on.

It was now dusk. Rebecca agreed with Preston that the carriage lamps should not be lit for they did not wish to attract attention. The sound of a running horse reached their ears; the rider was coming up from behind. As the hoof beats grew louder, Diamond shifted the lines to his left hand and gripped the Colt in his right. A figure, leaning forward and low in the saddle, swept by shouting, “Good evening!” as he went. He was a young lad, a bluecoat. “Dispatch rider,” said Preston.

There was no moon.

Darkness fell like a black blanket.

Diamond had to strain his eyes to pick out the ears on the team; their heads were blobs. Numbed nothingness closed in like a womb around a fetus. Night creatures ceased to move; time stopped and the mute horses plodded on, seemingly without moving forward.

Colonel Unzer moaned a couple of times but Rebecca advised Preston to keep going.

A short time later the greys began to fret and snort. They balked several times then refused to budge. Eyes straining, Preston eventually made out a dark shape, pitch black against the dull black of the wagon road. Something lay stretched across the trail. Revolver in hand, Diamond stepped to the ground. The dark shape became more definite; it looked like a body. Small wonder the team would not step over it.

The Colt cocked and ready, Preston made his way to the victim and knelt down. “Someone is hurt or… or dead,” he called to Rebecca.

The flare of a match burst upon the darkness and pale yellow light spread in a small circle as Rebecca lit one of the carriage lanterns. Preston noted several things immediately: The prostrate figure was the young dispatch rider who had galloped past Preston and Rebecca an hour or so earlier; he had a lot of blood on his shirt; he was dead. “He's dead. Shot.”

Mrs. Unzer climbed down from the carriage. She did not come forward to view the unfortunate soldier, but went to check on her husband. “Move the poor boy to the side of the road. The army will find him and make a proper burial.”

The messenger's pockets had been turned out, the holster was empty and there was no sign of his mount. Shot for his horse and saddle. As Diamond began to drag the body, an envelope came into view. He stooped to pick it up, and found two more messages. Blood, mixed with the dust of the trail, had stained all three. He stuffed them in his pocket, then deposited the young soldier out of the way of traffic. Preston arranged the body in a respectful manner, went back to find the lad's hat and covered the dead face.

Colonel Unzer was awake. Preston could hear the couple talking in low tones and though he would have liked to extinguish the lantern, he said nothing. He pulled the soiled letters from his pocket: One had a seal and was addressed to a Brigadier General Engels, Washington; a second had a seal but the envelope had been torn and was addressed to a Mr. Chester Bateman; the third had no seal nor envelope; it was a single sheet of paper addressed to Corporal Peters at Citadel Ferry Crossing. Curious as a cat, Preston unfolded the Peters letter and read the hastily scrawled message:

The severely wounded Colonel Unzer has been removed from Alexandria field Hosp. He will be travelling with his wife and son in a carriage, drawn by two grey horses. They will be at Citadel sometime this evening.

The note was signed with a single letter: K.

Preston extracted the second letter from the envelope that had been torn open. It was addressed to a Chester Bateman at an address in Washington, no rank or army designation were included. This seemed odd as the army did not make a habit of transporting civilian correspondence. The writing was neater than that of the first missive:

Proceed at earliest possible opportunity. Advise JWB

Mrs. Unzer returned to the side of the carriage and, with Preston's help, climbed aboard. He joined her on the seat and she blew out the lantern. Palpable opaqueness momentarily blinded them. Happy to escape the smell of blood and death, the horses moved ahead and their pace quickened.

Preston had committed the messages to memory and he recited both to Rebecca. The second made sense to neither of them, but the note to Corporal Peters had serious implications. If the dispatcher had gotten through, would Peters or someone else be waiting for the Colonel? Knowing what he did and suspecting even more, Preston could not doubt the message had an evil origin. He said, “Rebecca, I think they have planned to stop us at the landing. Someone intends to make sure Colonel Unzer is… does not get to Washington.”

“Adam, we have to get him across that river tonight. He must have proper care, and very soon.”

Preston considered for a few moments. “They don't know we are coming. The message never reached them.”

“But if any of the soldiers are on board that were there this morning, they will know I am Mrs. Unzer. I made that all too clear.”

“They don't know that we have the Colonel with us, though,” Preston argued.

“There will be lights, someone will find him.”

“There are the lights now!” Preston pointed, but his gesture was lost in the darkness.

They gazed at the distant glow; reaching the river should have been a relief, now it could be suicide.

Preston snapped his fingers. “Rebecca, your husband is dead!”

“No, he…”

“Until we get across the Patowmack, he is. I'll run ahead on foot and see where the ferry is now. If it is parked on this side, we can go straight on board. Otherwise we'll wait back here in the dark and then move up. When the time is right, we'll light the lanterns, cover Colonel Unzer from head to foot and drive up to the crossing.”

Rebecca smiled in the darkness and touched Preston's hand. “Alright, I'll be a new widow, so you'll have to cover your ears.”

The greys were near to stumbling when, at last, the carriage was unhitched and the pair were led to the barn. Though exhausted himself, Preston gave both horses a thorough rub down and fed them well. Mrs. Unzer's wailing still rang in his ears. She had set up such a ululation that the beleaguered ferrymen beat their previous record on the crossing. If Colonel Unzer had made any sound to suggest he was not dead, it could not have been heard above Rebecca's carry-on.

The Colonel had awoken again on the road from Citadel Crossing to Washington. His wife had Preston stop the team while she visited her patient. Back on the seat she had said, “Take James to our house, Adam. He insists, and, if I cannot keep him alive, he is not destined to live.”

Next morning, Diamond got out of bed and padded softly around the house. He looked through the open door of his hosts' bedroom: Colonel Unzer dozed fitfully and Rebecca snored in a chair beside the bed. Preston smiled. James Unzer was a tough old soldier, with the care and attention coming to him now, he would pull through.

By the time Diamond came back from checking on Rascal and the grey team, Rebecca was up and bustling about in the kitchen. She looked exhausted but her smile was back in place. “God bless you, Adam. You have saved my husband's life.”

“It was you who got us across the river, Rebecca. That was the difficult part.”

“Adam, Colonel Unzer wants to talk to you… and don't pretend to be anything other than Cutler Diamond's son. He'll know the instant he sees you.”

The Colonel was less ashen and his eyes held an alertness that had been absent at the army hospital. Mrs. Unzer knew her husband well, for, after studying Preston a moment he said, “You'll be Cutler Diamond's son.” His voice was a weak, rasping croak.

They talked longer than Mrs. Unzer appreciated; she tut-tutted several times while fussing over her husband, fluffing pillows and straightening blankets. After he listened to Preston's abbreviated story, Colonel Unzer agreed that Adam Forsythe was a good enough name, for the time being. At Unzer's request, Preston fetched the letters he had removed from the dead dispatcher. The wounded officer couldn't hold the paper, so Preston read the opened missives aloud and showed the colonel the sealed envelope. Unzer said, “Deliver this one to General Engels as soon as you can. I don't recognize the seal but I'm glad you didn't rip it open. I don't know this Corporal Peters, but in light of what happened to me, I think you were right in avoiding him. Chester Bateman is not a name I know either, nor do those initials ?if that is what they are? mean anything. I've never seen a dispatch letter that wasn't signed properly.”

Rebecca became insistent her husband have rest and shooed Preston out of the room. She gave him directions and Diamond set off on foot to deliver the messages. Brigadier General Engels was in conference and the messenger was redirected to Capitol Hill. Overwhelmed by the grandeur and enormity of the Capitol, Preston failed to act incurious as he was ushered to a seat beside a pair of closed doors and told to wait until the meeting was over. Several other people arrived and took up chairs along the wall, too. When the door opened, Preston glimpsed a tall thin man with sharp features and a dark trimmed beard. Cutler Diamond had pointed this fellow out when the family had visited Ford's Theatre two years ago: President Abraham Lincoln.

The foyer began to buzz as messages and verbal exchanges took place. Preston did not know General Engels, but he knew the single star insignia. He stepped up to the only brigadier general he saw and offered the envelope. He tried to avoid the general's gaze for fear that he would again be recognized as Cutler Diamond's son, but Engels showed no sign. He opened and read the letter immediately. With a preoccupied wave of dismissal he turned from Preston and strode back into the meeting hall.

Preston breathed a sigh of relief when he emerged into the sunshine of the east side. He turned to gape at the Capitol again; an image of Rufus and the little cottage on Diamond/Tweed farm crossed his mind. How hard to believe he was only a few miles, by the raven, from home.

The other letter, the one addressed to Mr. Chester Bateman, would not have been difficult to deliver, but it never happened. Preston found the house just a few streets away from General Grant's home. An open buggy, drawn by a single horse, was parked on the street in front of the residence and Preston decided to study the place. Colonel Unzer had expressed misgivings about the strange message and now Diamond considered it may have a connection to his father's suspicions, too.

In the woods at Diamond farm, Preston had learned the value of staying still and concealing one's profile. “Avoid being obvious, don't skyline yourself,” his father had advised when he and Preston had hunted together. The application worked well on wild animals with their keen senses; it ought to work on humans, too. With his back against a tree trunk, still as a cat at a mouse hole, a few houses beyond the Bateman home, Preston waited. He tried to sort through the previous thirty hours of his life: Unzer had told his wife he was in danger at the hospital. This morning, the colonel had told Preston the shooting may not have been enemy fire. (Did Colonel Unzer know that Davy Brannigan, a Confederate soldier, had saved him from a turncoat's bullet less than three weeks ago?) The notes found on the dead dispatch rider were a mystery. Whoever K was, he had to have seen Preston and Rebecca at the army hospital for he described the carriage and pair. K knew where the buggy was bound and that the colonel was on board. Was it the doctor? The aide? (Certainly not the doctor, for he had saved Unzer's life. Why would he do that and then set Unzer up for an assassination?) Preston decided there would be plenty of other people in the camp who knew Colonel Unzer was wounded; senior officers were big news in army quarters. Someone else then. The second note was no less confusing. Proceed at earliest opportunity. Advise JWB Signed, simply, 'F'. Proceed with what? Who was JWB? Who was F? Preston rubbed his face. Few answers, just more questions and now…

…Another question: Why was Captain Everett Wiley coming out of Bateman's house?

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