Kary, Elizabeth Read Online Free Page A

were
provoked. I realize that's small comfort to the friends and families of the
dead and wounded, but it's the truth. The real tragedy is that women and
children were cut down along with the perpetrators, but violence is seldom just
in its choice of victims."
    In
the several hours since the incident, rumors about the rioting at Camp Jackson
had flown through the city, and though the stories varied, most agreed that the
first shot had been fired by someone in the crowd, seriously injuring one of
the Union captains. The later firing had come from raw recruits pressed beyond
restraint by the crowd's venom. It had spread down the line of march, feeding
on its own panic and resulting in more casualties than if only seasoned troops
had been used for the mission.
    Horace
Pennington sat back in his chair and eyed the younger man. "Do you think
we've seen the last of this uproar. Mr. Banister?"
    "No,
sir, I'm afraid not," Hayes replied. "When I left the Planters'
House, a crowd was already beginning to gather, and what with the Confederate
sympathizers meeting at the Berthold mansion only a few blocks away, I imagine
that the police will be hard-pressed to prevent a confrontation. I don't doubt
that things could get pretty hot down at the arsenal, either. What's worse is
that I believe this trouble is only a foretaste of things to come."
    "You
think we will have to fight to preserve the Union, then?"
    "I
believe, with states seceding right and left and Lincoln's call for volunteers,
it's inevitable," Banister prophesied grimly.
    Pennington
sighed. "Well, don't you worry about things down at the arsenal, at least.
General Lyon is sure to have things well in hand."
    "I've
heard a great deal about this General Lyon in the past few days. I believe I'd
like to meet the man."
    "Oh,
he's dreadful!" Althea exclaimed, her brown eyes wide with horror.
"He looks like a scarecrow with that scraggly red beard of his. And his
manners, my dear Mr. Banister, are simply unspeakable. But then, I understand
he's from New England somewhere, and what can you expect?"
    "Your
friend Major Crawford is from New England, too," Leigh pointed out.
    "Aaron's
from Boston; it's hardly the same thing at all," Althea corrected.
"And for all his Abolitionist views, he's undeniably a gentleman."
    "Father,
what do you think will happen to the men who were captured at Camp Jackson
today?" Leigh asked as the servants began to clear the table.
    "You're
worried about Lucas and Bran, I suppose," Horace observed, frowning.
"To tell you the truth, Leigh, I really don't know. Lyon can't keep those
men under arrest at the arsenal, not all seven hundred of them. He could ship
them up north, but I doubt the people of St. Louis would stand for that. If he
tried, there would certainly be more rioting—"
    "And
even more bloodshed," his daughter finished for him.
    "Most
likely that's right," Pennington agreed. "But don't you shortchange
Nathaniel Lyon. He'll find an equitable way out of this somehow. He's a capable
officer and will serve the Union well in these next months, mark my words. The
Hale brothers will be safe, Leigh. Don't you worry."
    As
the dessert was served, a fruit compote in fine, stemmed glasses, Hayes
Banister studied his dinner companions. Horace Pennington was the
quintessential Western businessman: tall, broad, and ruddy with alert, green
eyes. In his late fifties, he was still a strong, vigorous man, but with
thinning hair and a heavily lined face that gave evidence of his years. Cut
from the same cloth as Hayes's father, Pennington was a deeply moral man with
the courage of his convictions behind him. His support of Lincoln and the Union
in the forthcoming confrontation would be complete and unconditional, as would
his loyalty to any undertaking worthy of his effort. In contrast, his wife,
Althea, who must be nearly twenty years his junior, was a delicate camellia of
a woman. Absolutely lovely with a deep, stirring beauty that would never grow
mellow or serene,