“Easily,” Lee said. “And many of our speakers, though it did not originate with us, distribute it broadside, as a warning against what may come should the Republicans gain the upper hand again. It may perhaps be effective, but I find it repugnant.”
“The Yankees have hardly been kind in what they say about us,” Marshall said. “Can we afford to indulge such scruples?”
Lee merely looked at him until he hung his head. “I am disappointed in you, Major. Can we afford not to indulge them? Regardless of whether we ultimately find ourselves in possession of Kentucky and Missouri, we shall have to live with ourselves—and with the United States—afterwards. Poisoning the air with lies will not make matters easier.”
“You view these matters from a higher plane than I have reached,” Marshall said, still sounding ashamed. “You truly would not mind if the disputed states chose the Union over us, would you, sir?”
“I hope they see the Confederacy’s merits, as I have,” Lee replied after some thought. “But I would sooner see them go willingly with those people than unwillingly with us. That, after all, is the principle upon which we formed our nation, and for which we fought so long and hard. That—not this.” He took the pamphlet from Charles Marshall, let it fall, and ground it beneath his boot heel.
Major Marshall thrust a telegram into Lee’s hands. “You must see this directly, sir.”
“Thank you, Major.” Lee unfolded the flimsy paper. The words on it leaped out at him:
14 MARCH 1865. u.s. LIEUTENANT ADAM SLEMMER CAPTURED TWO MEN WITH A HORSE TRAIN OF AK-47s AND CARTRIDGES THIS DATE TOMPKINSVILLE KENTUCKY. PLEASE ADVISE. RICHARD INGOM, CAPTAIN, C,S.A. ELECTION OBSERVERS.
Lee wadded up the telegram and flung it against the wall. “Those goddamned fools,” he ground out—who else would be running repeaters but the men from Rivington? His head tossed like an angry stallion’s. “Do they think they are lords of the earth, to arrogate to themselves the authority for such an action? Where the devil is Tompkinsville, Major?”
“Just north of the Tennessee border, sir, southeast of Bowling Green. It’s not on any railroad line.” Marshall must have expected and prepared for the question, for he answered as quickly and certainly as if Lee had enquired about the location of Richmond.
“We can get to Bowling Green quickly, then. We’ll hire horses there and ride for Tompkinsville. Telegraph ahead to Captain Ingom that we are on our way, and on no account to allow rifles or prisoners to proceed until we arrive.”
“I’ll head directly for the telegraph office, sir.” Marshall hurried away.
Two days later, the two gray-clad men reined in their blowing horses in front of Tompkinsville’s only hotel. Lee felt his years as he dismounted; he hadn’t ridden so hard for so long since his Indian-fighting days in the west. He was not surprised to see General Grant leaning against one of the columns of the hotel’s false front. Touching the brim of his hat to Grant, he said, “The stableman at Bowling Green told me you’d got there before us, sir.”
“I wish I could have done as well at Bealeton, sir,” Grant replied; by the sound of his voice, he would be mentally refighting his battles against Lee the rest of his life. He went on, “I’ve not been here long myself—no more than a couple of hours.”
“Then you will already have spoken to your Lieutenant Slemmer.”
“So I have. Seems he and his companion, Lieutenant James Porter, were riding a bit south of here when they came upon two men leading several heavily loaded horses. Becoming suspicious, they got the drop on the men and forced them to reveal what the loads were: your pestiferous repeaters and ammunition for same. They brought the men and horses here to Tompkinsville, where your Captain Ingom, who happened to be in town, was fully acquainted with the situation.”
“Generous of you,” Lee said; had Ingom not seen the Northern men bringing in their prisoners, he suspected he would never have heard of the incident. But that was what the observers were for: to make sure both sides played by the rules to which they’d agreed—rules that frowned on gun running. Lee asked, “Have you yet questioned these men?”
“No, sir. When Captain Ingom told me he had notified you and you were on your way, I decided to wait until you got here. The men and horses are under guard at the livery stable down the street. Will you join me?”
Lee inclined his head. “By all means. And let me express my thanks for your scrupulous observance of the proprieties obtaining in this matter.”
“Anything else would only cause more trouble, I thought,” Grant said.
In the stable, a Federal lieutenant held an army Colt revolver on two men sitting glumly in the hay. Sure enough, they both wore the mottled caps, coats, and trousers of the Rivington men. “On your feet, you,” the lieutenant barked. His captives made no move to obey until they saw Lee and Grant. Then they stood, slowly, as if to show they would have done the same thing without being ordered.
One of them swept off his plain, ugly cap in a gesture that made it seem a cavalier’s plumed chapeau. “General Lee,” he said, bowing. “Allow me to present my comrade, Willem van Pelt.”
“Mr. de Buys.” That smooth bow, so like Jeb Stuart’s, brought the Rivington man’s name back to Lee.
“You know this fellow?” Grant’s voice was suddenly hard and suspicious.
“To my mortification, I do.” Ignoring the proffered introduction, Lee growled, “What the devil are you doing here, Mr. de Buys?”
Konrad de Buys’s eyes were wide and innocent. A catamount’s eyes were innocent, too, just before it sprang. Lee wondered how the Northern soldiers had got the drop on a warrior of his quality. The Rivington man said, “We were just coming up to sell a few guns, General, sporting guns, you might say. Is anything wrong with that?”
“Is anything wrong with pouring oil on a fire?” Lee retorted. De Buys still looked innocent. His comrade, Willem van Pelt, was big and stolid and seemed stupid; Lee would have bet that was as much a façade as de Buys’s innocence.
“To whom were you going to sell these rifles?” Grant asked.
“Oh, there are always buyers,” de Buys said airily.
“No doubt,” Lee said. He could picture the sort of men de Buys had in mind-raiders to sweep down on little towns before the election, or on the day, and to make sure the folk there voted the right way. He turned to Grant. “Will you step outside with me for a moment, sir?” They stayed outside longer than a moment. When they returned, Lee said, “Mr. de Buys, General Grant here has graciously agreed to buy every one of your repeaters, and their accompanying cartridges.”
That got through the fronts both Rivington men held up as shields against the world. Willem van Pelt spoke for the first time: “No way we’ll sell to his bloody sort.”
“Oh, but gentlemen, he will give you a finer price than you could hope to receive from anyone else,” Lee said.
Grant nodded. “That’s right.” He reached into a trouser pocket, took out a silver dollar, and tossed it at Konrad de Buys’s feet. “There you go, for the lot of ‘em.”
An angry flush mounted de Buys’s cheeks. “Be damned to your dollar, and to you, too.”
“You’d best take it,” Grant told him. “With it, you and your friend there can ride back to Tennessee. Without it, you go North under guard for more questions—a lot more.”
Willem van Pelt worked his jaw and tensed, as if to make some sort of move. The Federal lieutenant, an alert young man, swung his revolver toward the Rivington man. “Easy, Willem,” Konrad de Buys said, setting a hand on van Pelt’s arm. He swung his hunting cat’s gaze toward Lee. “So you’d sooner work with the Yankees than with us, eh, General? We’ll remember that, I promise you.”