Captains and The Kings (36 page)

Chapter 24
Another military port authority was soon suborned and it was Joseph, alone now, who managed the gun-running into the South. There were runs not only to Virginia but to North and South Carolina, and danger had enormously increased because of the Union naval blockade which was slowly strangling and starving the South. It was no longer a matter of clearances in New York, and Boston, and heavy bribes, and the danger of first pretending to turn to Northern ports and then slipping out to sea to continue South. It was the infinitely more dangerous task-to be undertaken only in starlit darkness-of evading the naval blockade and sliding silently through it to some remote and half-rotten abandoned dock. Each time the destination changed. But the Isabel seemed to move confidently and gracefully under a benign star, and though many other contraband-carrying vessels from the North were regularly seized the Isabel was rarely challenged and never apprehended. She was unusually fast, and under the hand of Captain Oglethorpe she danced her way safely from port to port, bravely, at all times, carrying the Union flag on her masts. Still, there were occasions of intense danger and only the wit, courage, effrontery, and skill of the captain surmounted them. "I consider you, sir, my lucky piece," he said once to Joseph. "My ship has never once been in absolute danger; she has never been seized. Even I have marveled how close we have come to catastrophe, and I believe it was your presence on my ship that saved us. You were born under a lucky star, sir." "Oh, certainly," said Joseph, thinking of Ireland and the Famine. "I've had nothing but luck all my life. A charmed life. Captain, I am not an adventurer. I do my duty on this ship but I don't enjoy it." The captain nodded. "Oh, sir, I know that very well. You are not reckless. I am the only reckless man aboard. My crew is as cautious and as trembling as a woman, and perhaps that is the true reason why we have escaped danger so often."
Then one day Mr. Healey informed Joseph that he was no longer to supervise the contraband-running, which was now taking place at least five times a month and carrying heavier and heavier cargoes. Joseph was relieved, but also dismayed. "You doubt my ability, Mr. Healey, or you don't trust my judgment." "Boyo," said Mr. Healey, "that's not the reason." He smiled rosily. "Got to protect my investment, that's all. No, you stay at home now. I've got enough other men." Joseph was still studying law with Mr. Spaulding, whom he had detested more and more through the years. At first indifferent to law he was now interested, for it was a rich caravan to power. There was not a law that did not carry the thumbprint of a politician, and Joseph was finally convinced that money without power was not true security, but was open to rascals and thieves. The power of politics was the greatest power of all, for it was the power to reward and punish for one's own advantage, and to fortify one's self against the rest of humanity and to express detestation of it. Joseph had induced Mr. Healey to replace Bill Strickland with Harry Zeff. Mr. Healey had shown surprise. "You mean, you want him to drive me around everywhere and saddle and harness-up horses, like a stable boy, and be my servant at my beck and call, for fifteen dollars a week, like Bill? And eat in the kitchen with Miz Murray and sleep over the stables again?" "No," said Joseph. "I want him to be-what is the military term?-your man at arms, your bodyguard, your guide, your protection, in the fields and in town. You know how it is in Titusville now, overrun with criminals and thieves and adventurers. Harry isn't afraid of anything. Harry's very bright. He knows the oil business better than you, Mr. Healey. He knows it from well-blowing to refinery, to pipeline, to distribution. He has a nose for it. He knows how to save money. And you can trust him with your life, with absolute confidence." Joseph smiled. "For these invaluable services you will pay Harry seventy-five dollars a week, and board and room, and a bonus every five thousand barrels, say of one hundred dollars." "You're a robber yourself, Irish," said Mr. Healey. "You'll bankrupt me yet." "And you'll order Mrs. Murray to stop persecuting and brutalizing Liza, one of your maids, Mr. Healey. She is nearly eighteen, and a very nice girl, though you may not have noticed, and an orphan, and shy and timid, and getting to be quite pretty. I am violating no confidences when I tell you that Harry intends to marry her-when he has five thousand doUars." Mr. Healey shouted, "I'll have no finagling among the help in my house, boyo! It's not a brothel, a bawdy house!" "Liza, I have said, Mr. Healey, is a very nice girl, and a good and dutiful one, never slovenly nor remiss, always polite and obliging. Harry would no more think of violating her than his own sister, if he had one. But he I intends to marry her in time. I hope the time will come soon." "Maybe you'd like me to finance the wedding," said Mr. Healey, outraged. "My oil-field manager and a kitchen drab!" Joseph spoke quietly. "Liza is no drab. She is a very sweet and innocent girl and how she endures Mrs. Murray is something I don't know. She could work in other houses, at better pay, but she wants to be near Harry. Mrs. Murray should be warned, and Liza should receive ten dollars a month, instead of four. Mrs. Murray is getting old. The burden is falling heavier and heavier on Liza, now, who is practically in charge of the kitchen and the other hired girls. Mrs. Murrav doesn't hesitate to beat Liza occasionally." "I don't know why it is, maybe I'm senile," said Mr. Healey. "But you got a tongue could wangle anybody. Maybe you kissed the Blarney Stone in Ireland?" He peered at Joseph. "Going in for good works, Irish, as you mellow? Seems I remember the time you wanted to rid yourself of Harry, and told me he wasn't no concern of yours." "I owe my life to Harry," said Joseph, his face stiff and cold, his sunken eyes almost disappearing as he looked at Mr. Healey, who was smiling at him mockingly. "He owes his life to me. That makes some sort of a-bond -if you want to call it that." "Thought it wasn't in your nature to accept bonds," said Mr. Healey. "It isn't," said Joseph. Mr. Healey hummed, smiling. Sister Elizabeth now wrote to Joseph at his address in Titusville. She invariably thanked him for the money he sent her for the support of the orphanage. She wrote once that because of his regular donations and the kindness of Mrs. Tom" Hennessey, and two or three others, St. Agnes's Church had been renovated, and additions to the orphanage built, "so now we can protect and care for twice as many orphans as before, and our Sisters number fifteen. Father is not well, I am sad to say. The sufferings endured in this war have marked him, for he is very tender of heart. We are dreaming of an infirmary-" she added delicately. It was obvious that she had no idea at all of Joseph's source of income, though she assumed he was in the "oil business," and always warned him of danger. The Battle of Gettysburg had particularly afflicted her. Then had come Generals Grant and Sherman, the Emancipation Proclamation, the Battle of Cold Harbor and the losses the Union had suffered, the burning of Atlanta, and the "bravery" of Farragut at the Battle of Mobile Bay. Then Mr. Lincoln had been re-elected President on November 8, 1864, "though," wrote Sister Elizabeth, "I cannot understand this. Mr. Lincoln always spoke of 'one country, only,' yet the South did not participate in this election, and so, dear Joseph, is that Constitutional and legal? I have heard much of the Constitution, recently, and I confess that it seems an instrument which can be interpreted at will by anyone at all, if one is to read the newspapers. It is very puzzling. It seems much more flexible than the Common Law, though I must admit that I know little of that, either. But there is much hope lately that the war will enp soon, for now General Sherman's Army is in Georgia and Tennessee has been invaded. How dreadful is war. Even in Winfield our two hospitals are filled and overflowing with wounded and the dying and the maimed and the blind, and our Sisters do what they can in mercy. One hears such dreadful tales of man's inhumanity to man, which I trust are exaggerated, though remembering the events of my own lifetime I am not truly very sanguine. "You have expressed displeasure, dear Joseph, over my missal informing you that Sean's Jesuit teachers have been teaching him music, and that he has an angelic voice. As I told you, he sings in the choir, and it is as if the Cherubim are present. When he sings the ballads of Ireland it would almost melt the heart of an Englishman. The Fathers predict a magnificent future for him, either in opera or at concerts, though he is gifted in other ways, also, writing a fine hand, composing poetry which is very soulful, indeed, and being an accomplished pianist and remarkably excellent in all the humanities he is being taught. He is, alas, not very proficient in mathematics or botany or biology, the Fathers report, nor overly interested in abstractions or philosophies. This reveals, the Fathers tell me, a very subtle heart, full of sensibility and gentleness. It was once thought he had a vocation, but, alas, this was not so. You expressed the opinion once that you considered him lazy and irresponsible. I am sorry if any of my letters gave you that sad opinion. Sean is of a delicate constitution, one that shrinks from hard realities but is very affectionate and kind and agreeable, and is this not needed in this harsh world? When he is interested he applies himself with zeal, but when he is bored he permits it to become evident. But he is not irresponsible. I am afraid, however, that we must relegate the exigencies of responsibility to more hardy characters-" Like mine, thought Joseph. "To characters," the letter continued, "who know no poetry nor the graciousness of living and the beauty-" Who must support the butterflies, commented Joseph to himself with growing cold rage. "We cannot all be the same," Sister Elizabeth wrote. "God made diverse natures among men. There are the natures who must toil to the day of their death; it is their nature. And there are natures which are adornments to life, who bring to us the flowers of imagination and love and the arts and music-" And let us supply their bread and their meat, and feel that they have honored us, Joseph said to himself. Sister, remember? "That doesn't buy any potatoes." Suddenly he stopped reading the letter and stared into space with a degree of consternation, for he had felt a raw thrust in him like naked hatred for his brother, and he was appalled. He had dedicated his life to the care and protection of Sean, and Regina, and now he felt a loathing repudiation of his brother, a bitter and contemptuous anger. He sat back to consider this, for if he now rejected Sean much of his life had been wasted. Then, as he thought, the face of his dead father floated before him, and he reflected: It is my fear that Sean is like our Dad, who let us starve because he had no fortitude and would not fight for us nor sacrifice one of his "principles" to save our lives. Now Sister Elizabeth's letter gently hinted that it was her belief that Mary Regina had a vocation. This was so outrageous, so incredible to Joseph, that he skimmed over the silly words. "You have seen them but once since you left Winfield when you were but a lad of eighteen," Sister Elizabeth wrote, "and that two years ago when you had rooms at the new hotel, the Hospice. Yet daily they grow. Regina grows in grace before the Eyes of Our Lord, a precious Lily, a perfume of Sanctity. She is, I must confess, far more of a scholar than Sean, and appears older, and when they meet at the orphanage it is as if our angel, Mary Regina, is the mother and Sean the beloved child. When Sean expresses impatience that you have not yet provided him 'that fine mansion,' Regina chides him and calls to his memory your solicitude and your love, and your endless labors for your family." My darling, thought Joseph. He dismissed his brother from his mind, but Regina lingered like a bright and living presence beside him. He thought, Next year, this coming spring, I will remove Sean from those sentimental, dreaming priests, with their arts and their airs and their foolish learning, and teach him how to live. I will take my sister, and she will be mine and not the nuns' with their stupid twaddle of angels and piety and grace. He had the feeling that his brother and his sister were in great danger. Sister Elizabeth added a postscript: "It is with sadness that I must write you that our dear Katherine Hennessey, who returned to Green Hills when the Confederate troops almost took the capital, is in poor health and seems very distrait and sad, and is inclined to weep. She summons up courage and fortitude to care for her dear child, Bernadette, who is a very vigorous girl and much attached to our dear Mary Regina, who loves all. I often recall that you refused her offer to adopt Mary Regina, and perhaps it is for the best, though our senator would have made an exemplary father. His love for his daughter is very beautiful to see, and he is not ashamed to demonstrate it when he returns to Green Hills, and he has often confessed to me that the condition of his beloved wife is breaking his heart. I visit her as often as I can, which is not too often, as traps are very expensive." I once thought you a wise woman, Joseph commented to himself. But, my saintly Sister, you are a fool. He was alarmed when he found that he was thinking of Katherine Hen- nessey more often than he was thinking of his family, and that there was a sick sinking in him at the thought of her invalidism, and her debauched husband, and her lonely abandonment to the company of a child, and the silent misery of her life. He now suspected that Katherine had not been so obtuse and so feeble-minded that she had not known all about her husband's character, her own humiliation and betrayal, and the contempt in which he held her. When he thought of this Joseph would feel a murderous hatred for the magnificent senator, who had, according to the newspapers, "reconciled Northern Democrats and brought them to the President's side in this dolorous conflict between brothers." I wonder who had given him advance information, thought Joseph, and what that information was. He questioned Mr. Montrose, who shrugged. "Indications of loot, as I told you before, my dear Mr. Francis. Mr. Lincoln has asserted that there will be no looting or degradation of the South when this war is concluded. But others have other plans. Mr. Lincoln is in a very precarious situation." He added thoughtfully, "There are many who agree with me-and Mr. Lincoln, I have heard, also agrees-that there is much more to this war than ostensibly appears. The South was always proud and independent and believed, with the Founding Fathers, that centralized and powerful government inevitably slides into tyranny. But the North, less proud, less conscious of national tradition, less independent, less manly in many ways, craves the dictator's hand, the tyrant's force, for many of its people have come from nations who were subjected, and dependent on government. It may be, in the future, that it will be the South who will prevent, for many long decades, the collapse of American freedom into Caesarism." He saw Joseph faintly smiling, and he shrugged. "I have no allegiances to any nation or any part of it. I have but one allegiance, and that is to my own freedom, my own stature as a man, and for that I would fight to the death." "So would I," said Joseph. One day Mr. Spaulding said to Joseph, whom he was beginning to treat with sly and wary deference, "You do not know the extent of Mr. Healey's -influence. Are you aware, sir, that he owns the controlling interest in four large newspapers, the mortgages, one in Chicago, one in Boston, one in New York, and one in Philadelphia?" "No," said Joseph, "I did not know." Mr. Spaulding smiled with superb superiority and tossed his mane of dyed hair. "You are not entirely in his confidence, Mr. Francis. Do you know why he owns these newspapers? The people believe what they read. Print is sacred to them. The man who controls such a medium is the most powerful of men, for he controls politicians also. Without Mr. Healey's Philadelphia Messenger, Senator Hennessey could never have been appointed as senator by the State Legislature, which, unlike senators, is elected by the people. The State Legislature is quite-respectful-of Mr. Healey. They, many of them, owe their votes to him, as does the governor. Only ten men have been voted into office whom Mr. Healey opposed, and even they are afraid of him now, and court his favor." "So much, then, for the old aphorism, The voice of the