The Incredible Journey of Thomas Johnson

 

Copyright© 2017 – Nicholas Hall

 

Chapter Nineteen

 

"Our wisdom and deliberation for the most part follow the lead of chance."

(Michel Eyquem de Montaigne)

 

The Gamble, A Chance, and a Win

A rider came from Rossville, the nearest telegraph station, on May 6 and delivered a message from Chapman; "Will arrive May 8 ten am (stop)" and a letter addressed to Chapman from the accounting firm of Brinby, Welsch, and Taylor. Upon opening it, I was taken aback by its contents.

In essence, it requested Mr. Chapman to come to the firm's office in Keokuk to discuss the ramifications concerning the death of one of the partners, Mr. Brinby to be exact, in the Sultana disaster. Since he'd been the partner generally handling all of Mr. Chapman's business affairs and accounting work, the other partners, although quite familiar with Chapman's accounts, wanted to know how Mr. Chapman would consider which of the two remaining partners would be his principal accountant handling his business affairs. If permissible, they would prefer each of them act on his behalf rather than just one, giving him more flexibility in his affairs.

I had some serious misgivings concerning their recommendations. For some reason, it just didn't set well with me! I had no reason to mistrust the firm, but something was bothering me, specifically the railroad right-of-way issue. Was Brinby or either of the other two or possibly all three involved in those negotiations and if so, why could I not find any record of it in Chapman's papers at the Farm?

In order for us to be in Keokuk to meet the train at ten on May 8, Jefferson and I'd have to leave on the seventh and spend the night. Before leaving home, I pocketed the letter from the accountants, packed a valise with clean clothes, slipped into the leather shoulder holster a leather maker made for me to hold my Smith and Wesson .32 caliber revolver, and put on a jacket which concealed the weapon quite well. The shoulder holster secured the revolver well up from my hip, snugged just under my arm pit, and was readily available if I needed it.

Wearing the holstered weapon was becoming a familiar item of dress for me around the Farm, inside and outside. We were living in unsettled times and I was taking no chances. As always, my ever-present switchblade knife was in my pants pocket. Anticipating Chapman just might want to stop at the bank and withdraw some more money, I also packed a short-double-barreled shotgun (generally considered a "stagecoach gun," for Jefferson. It would ride quite well encased in a leather scabbard under the seat and could do a great deal of damage at close range, especially if someone decided to attempt any misappropriation of Chapman's money! Jefferson could use the weapon and use it well, so I had no misgivings about taking it along. Of course, he was equally if not more so talented with the use of his own "weapon" but in a crisis situation such as a holdup, I don't think "fucking" the bandits to death was an option!

Our journey to Keokuk was uneventful and, after stabling the team and storing the carriage, gathered up our bags, the scabbarded shotgun, and made our way to the hotel Mr. Chapman normally stayed at while visiting and doing business. The sight of a light brown negro and a white man entering the hotel and securing one room caused some strange looks from the two desk clerks. I could've cared less! Jefferson and I spent an undisturbed and uneventful night; well, not exactly uneventful, but quite enjoyable for both of us!

The train was on time; Benjie and Henri were overjoyed in seeing me, hugging and kissing me, caring not how other passengers or bystanders viewed the display of their love for me and mine for them. The two boys were ever so excited and had a great deal to tell me, both at once I soon discovered and begged them to slow down. To say they were impressed is an understatement! Jubal, on the other hand, was relatively quiet, more introspective than normal.

In between the boys chattering, I managed to let Mr. Chapman know of the letter from Brinby, Welsch, and Taylor and their desire to meet with him. Acknowledging their request with a nod, he wondered aloud what the devil they wanted, but added,

"That's all well and good, but I want to stop at the bank first and withdraw some funds. I'd like to keep some more at home and from what I witnessed and heard in Springfield, Thomas, you may be more correct in what you thought you'd be when you advised me to set some aside and in gold, if possible."

Jefferson detoured our route to the bank and waited while Chapman and I entered the bank. While there, I made certain I was on the accounts and able to withdraw, deposit, and do all transactions in Chapman's name while he conversed with the bank president. His conversation finished, Chapman then withdrew several thousand dollars in gold and greenbacks since the bank had more of the specie than gold, telling the banker,

"We're expanding our operations and I may be seeking more property soon, so keep your ears and eyes open, please!"

Outside, well out of their hearing, he muttered to me angrily, "None of their damned business why I need or want money; it's mine and I'll do with it as I damned please!"

On the way to the accountant's office, he expressed his delight on my insistence he take the boys to Springfield.

"I had the time of my life," he chortled. "They were so well behaved, excited, amazed, and enthralled; it was like a childhood adventure all over again for me and at this stage of my life. Although they were saddened, as was I, by the funeral service of such a great man, there were still those times it seemed as if their eyes, ears, and minds could not see, hear, or absorb enough. They had a million questions every day."

"Thomas," he confided, "after being with Benjie and Henri on this trip, I'm confident both of my boys will do well in this world; they are so intelligent and want to learn so much."

Chapman hesitated, then added in even a lower voice, "Thomas, I want you to look after them and be with them when I'm gone. I know they'll do as you say and advise; they love you as much as you love them, of that I am certain. I've left instructions with my attorney to make out the necessary guardianship papers and corrections in my will to take care of just that."

I was about to protest his confidence in me when he quickly changed the subject.

"Now, our Jubal," he continued in a louder voice, "bless his bright mind, came away convinced even more of his desire to be an attorney," and turning to the boys in the back of the carriage, asked, "Didn't you Jubal?"

Jubal, finally breaking his silence, replied, "Yes, Sir, Mr. Chapman. If Mr. Lincoln, a poor white boy, can be a lawyer and President of the United States, there's no reason why a free-born man of color or former slave can't be a lawyer and President of the United States as well. What I really want is to help my people; black, white, or any color. They're all my people aren't they Mr. Jeansonne?"

"Yes," I replied emphatically, "just because we have different color to our outside, doesn't mean we're different on the inside."

Jubal was right! There was a spark in him now to spur him on to further his education. I could only hope he'd be able to return to Chapman's Corner and help us there, if and when we needed it.

Arriving at the accountant's office, I asked Jefferson to stay with the carriage and watch it carefully and the boys and Mr. Chapman and I entered the offices. Our reception inside was cordial; I should say Mr. Chapman's reception was, first by the pinch-faced secretary in an outer office and second by Messrs. Welsch and Taylor, the two remaining partners in the firm. As concerning my reception, they were all relatively indifferent to me, barely acknowledging my presence, almost as if I were lint on a jacket needing brushing away!

Before Mr. Chapman could introduce me, the two partners were ushering him into a private office, sans me, indicating in no uncertain terms this was a private conversation and certainly didn't involve me! It was at this point Chapman cleared his throat rather vociferously, stopped dead in the doorway, and said calmly, but coldly,

"Perhaps it is an oversight on my part gentlemen, but I'd like to introduce Mr. Thomas Jeansonne, late of our Federal Government and now my new second-in-command, my assistant, who not only has my power of attorney to act on my behalf, but is my private secretary and accountant. Anything you can say to me, will be said to him as well."

Securing me by my arm, walked past the perplexed and somewhat disheartened, and perhaps troubled, Mr. Welsch and Mr. Taylor, entered the office, sat in one chair in front of a desk and bid me to sit in another one in close proximity. After their momentary lapse of silence, the two of them scurried around, apologetically trying to make amends and secure their own positions of prominence in the room. After all, they were the ones requesting the meeting and they were the sole repository of all things financial concerning Mr. Chapman!

Once the dust settled, so to speak, Chapman cut immediately to the chase; "Now, what happened to Brinby?"

Welsch quickly, supplemented by Taylor, thoroughly the story of the U.S.S. Sultana disaster and how Mr. Brinby perished in it, adding his body was recovered, "but alas," Taylor said sadly, "none of his papers or personal effects were. Those must have either burned in the conflagration or sunk to the bottom of the river along with the hull of the steamboat."

"We know he was conducting business on your behalf, Mr. Chapman," Welsch said, "but unfortunately, we were not given full details of what he was going to do or what his instructions were."

"We have a general idea," added Taylor quickly, "and that's why we wanted to talk with you and make certain we'd carry out your wishes concerning his mission and how we can continue serving you in the future."

Chapman frowned, "That's odd; I thought you were aware of each other's activities, after all you are partners!"

"Generally we are," Welsch explained, "but this particular trip, Mr. Brinby was quite circumspect concerning his duties."

"Well," Chapman explained, "I asked him to sell some property and other material I had in Louisiana and also make a purchase of some real estate I learned of for sale just north of the City of New Orleans. I sent sufficient cash with him to make the purchase and asked him to send a bank draft for the proceeds of the sale and the deed to the property I purchased by post. Did he send it here since I have no record of it at home, according to Mr. Jeansonne?"

We'd never talked of it; in fact it wasn't until just now I found out Brinby was sent on a mission, but I wasn't about to let on.

Taylor and Welsch paused, just ever so slightly, and cast a quick glance at each other; some sort of signal I gathered. Just the way they did it, caused me some concern and raised my suspicions that all was not well! I'd watched the two of them for almost a half hour, stumbling in giving what I thought sounded like rehearsed answers. To a boy raised in the Twentieth Century, where con-men are just as prevalent as any other time; a boy raised in an orphanage and several foster homes, the old adage, "You can't con an old con" rolled through my mind because these two were trying one right now!

"I'd like to see Mr. Chapman's account books!" I announced authoritatively.

After some clearing of throats, Taylor said, "That may take some time."

I stood, removed my jacket, revealing my holstered pistol, and draped it over the chair. I adjusted the pistol, as if it were uncomfortable, looked at the two of them in what I hoped was a stern and intimidating manner, and asked, "Just how long do you think it will take? We have a carriage and more people waiting outside and they might be concerned about our extended absence!"

I really didn't' think if Henri, Benjie, Jubal, Antoine, and Jefferson came barging in it would be frightening to the two jackals; well, if Jefferson had the shotgun in his hand, they might be a little intimidated!

Taylor gulped audibly and stammered, "I'll take a look and see if I can find them."

"I'll help," volunteered Welsch.

Those boys knew damned well where every piece of paper ever generated concerning Mr. Chapman was located. Every good accountant knows exactly where every item belonging to an important and wealthy client is as well as every transaction made by them for him or by him. Sure enough, not three minutes later, the two of them emerged from a store room carrying three large bound ledger books and placed them on a small table. A chair was quickly provided for me to sit on while I examined the books.

While I did a quick, and I mean very quick, perusal of the account books, Chapman sat quietly and watched the two of them fidget. The books were almost the same as the ones I had at home, up until the time I arrived there around the first part of April. However, I noted two items of interest; the proprietary cash account was lower than what I thought it should be and there were no notations or entries concerning any railroad right-of-way negotiations.

I closed the books, stood again, broke the silence saying simply, "I want to see the other set of books you have in the safe, I assume, concerning Mr. Chapman's finances and, while you're at it, the letter containing the bank draft, deed, and bill of sale Mr. Brinby sent for Mr. Chapman," and before they could protest or deny the existence of any records, I delved into my pants pocket, retrieved my switch blade, flicked it open, picked up a piece of paper from their desk, held it with two fingers, and with a quick swipe, sliced it neatly in half. "Just in case you need to make notes; no sense wasting paper--- or time, is there?"

"What letter?" Welsch stammered to me, trying to act innocent, but guilty as sin as far as I was concerned.

"I'd almost bet those two neckties you're wearing, Mr. Welsch and Mr. Taylor," I added softly, but in a threatening manner, "if you were to go through Mr. Brinby's desk or mail, or even your own, you might find the misplaced letter with the bank draft and deed to the property that was purchased."

Amazing how fast the lost was found- mistakenly misfiled, put in the wrong stack of papers, unopened mail, was the excuses they gave! I never looked at the items as they were produced, instead flipped my head indicating they should give them to Chapman, while I trimmed my fingernails with my knife.

Once he had possession of the letters, I said softly, yet quite sternly, "I want a bank draft written now for the full amount you hold in a proprietary account for Mr. Chapman – the entire amount, please! Am I clear, or do I have to seek some sort of unpleasant redress?"

I'm certain they thought I meant to gut them like a carp or castrate them, but I had no such thoughts. I was thinking in legal terms, but perhaps it was in the manner in which I was waggling the knife back and forth which caused the confusion. I handed the bank draft to Mr. Chapman, gathered up all of the ledgers and said, almost as an afterthought, really taking a chance they knew what I was referring to and demanded, "Before we leave, I want the file containing all of the negotiations you've been undertaking concerning the railroad right-of-way through Mr. Chapman's property and the financial consideration arrangements you've made on property that doesn't belong to you!"

It was a chance, a huge chance they knew what I was talking about, but I still had that hunch these two cons' knew exactly what I was talking about, so I added, "You don't think you can hide anything from either the Government or the Army, do you?"

Shit, that was all it took and before long the file was in my hands. Chapman looked at me questioningly and I merely told him to trust me and we'd discuss it at another time. Putting my knife away, slipping on my jacket, I gave Chapman the letters, I picked up the ledgers and files, smiled, and said "Our association and business with your firm is over, permanently," and left the office!

**

Jefferson watered and grained the team while he and the boys waited patiently for Mr. Chapman and Mr. Jeansonne to return from the accountant's office. As he finished, he thought he heard, over the boy's chatter reliving all they'd seen and heard on the train trip and while in Springfield, sounds of fighting and shouts for help emanating from an alley a couple of doors down. He hushed the boys, grabbed the shotgun, and, followed by Benjie, Henri, and Jubal, leaving Antoine in charge of the wagon and team, and ran toward the alley.

Cautiously peeking around the building down the alley, he saw two rather rough looking characters, one with his pants down to his ankles, his cock at the ready, and struggling to stick it up the ass of a smaller boy or young man. The other man had the boy's arms twisted over his back and his head held tight between his knees, leaving the boy's bare ass pointing up and ready to be fucked! The boy or young man was smaller and lighter of frame than his two assailants and didn't have a chance in hell of saving his ass unless someone intervened!

Jefferson ran up, shoved the shotgun into the naked ass of the man intending on fucking the boy and shouted, "Best stop, white boy or your guts, nuts, and cock will splatter the wall of the building in front of you as well as your buddy's face."

The man holding the boy released him, Jefferson stepped back from his position, moving the shotgun, but covered both men, and the boy ducked behind Jefferson, seeking his protection.

"He ain't nothin' but a dumb nigger," the first man shouted, pulling his pants up over his now very deflated organ.

"Yeah, a nigger with a shotgun, you dumb fucker!" shouted the boy.

"So," Jefferson said softly, "why don't you boys just walk away and stay away before this `dumb nigger' tries to figure out how to not shoot this shotgun and put you into a million pieces!"

"Maybe he'd just as soon I fetch Mr. Jeansonne; he's the government man we came with and see what he wants to do about this little matter," suggested Jubal.

"No need," Jefferson said, "these two white boys were just leaving, weren't you?"

It didn't take a minute and the men were hightailing it down the alley!

Jefferson then turned to the young lad he'd saved from the assault. He was a bedraggled specimen, dirty, redheaded, light complexioned, blue eyed, maybe three or four inches shorter than Jefferson, about Jubal's height, and weighing no more than one hundred ten pounds. Jefferson extended his hand, saying, "I'm Jefferson Doucet."

"Colin Hanrahan," the lad answered.

"Just what was going on?" Jefferson asked.

Colin scratched his head, as if in deep thought, and answered, "If I remember correctly, the one guy was trying to fuck me and the other was waiting his turn."

To be continued.

***

Thank you for reading "The Incredible Journey of Thomas Johnson" – Chapter Nineteen.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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