On Secret Service by John Jakes

Author:John Jakes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2006-09-02T04:00:00+00:00

37

August 1862

After the failed Peninsula campaign, boatloads of wounded arrived at the Potomac piers. Many of the wounded died in hospitals, and secondhand shops soon filled up with discarded uniforms. Hanna sorted through the melancholy merchandise, bargained, and made purchases. A stiff-sided backpack of the kind carried in European Armies. A pair of sky-blue kersey trousers, a dark blue four-button sack coat. A chasseur cap with only a tiny spot of blood on the crown. A pair of mudscows, the cheap square-toed Army shoes supplied by contractors. Somehow the shoes were more grisly than the clothes. Who was the poor boy who died wearing them?

If a shopkeeper wondered aloud about a woman buying such things, Hanna said she collected war souvenirs. Why not? Washington was a crazy place that summer. Work crews added to the bedlam on Pennsylvania Avenue by tearing it up for a new street railway. Secesh ladies came across the Potomac bridges with no trouble, to shop or to visit like-minded friends. Odd new paper money circulated: greenbacks from Mr. Chase’s Treasury, and shinplasters, notes of all sizes and designs issued by Northern cities.

Lincoln called for more men and inspired a new anthem: “We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand strong.” Trainloads of recruits arrived. Major Siegel worked until ten or eleven each night, complaining constantly of the long hours and low pay. Yet he seemed to revel in his insider’s position, carrying home tales of the new and unpopular general-in-chief, Halleck, or the widespread uncertainty about the boastful commander of the new Army of Virginia, Pope, whose drunken troops roistered in the Manassas camps. The Union now had two armies in northern Virginia, Pope’s and McClellan’s. The latter was slowly being hammered back into shape at Alexandria by its chastened, almost disgraced general.

Hanna hid her purchases in an old armoire in the little house near the Navy Yard. When Pope moved into the field in August, she decided she’d better not delay.

Unfortunately, Derek Fowley had cast her as Juliet in an autumn production just starting rehearsals. When she told Derek she’d be away for a bit, he said he was sick of dealing with “inconsiderate artists.” Hanna laughed, a fatal response. Derek stuck his face two inches from hers and shouted that Zephira Comfort would replace her. Hanna giggled uncontrollably; there was enough of tubby Zephira for two Juliets. She realized the curtain had fallen on her career with Derek.

At one o’clock next morning, the major came home smelling of schnapps. Hanna repeated what she’d told Derek. Siegel flung himself into a chair and yelled, “Where you going? I got a right to know.”

“I’m going to see the camps.”

“You already did it once.”

“I want to go again.”

“What for? You got no business with the soldiers”—the major’s pink lips curled into a smirk—“unless you’re making money off them like some women do.”

“Papa, that’s a nasty joke.”

“I don’t care, I don’t know what you are anymore, Hanna. You’re not a man, but you’re a queer sort of woman.

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