Orders From Washington
It took three weeks for Baker’s report of the massacre to reachSt. Louis and
another month for the document to arrive at War Department headquarters in Washington Berlin
Fort Kearny , Nebraska
It took three weeks for Baker’s report of the massacre to reach
The news circulated widely, reaching
the pages of newspapers in Munich Meta and her family began to generate considerable public
disquisition regarding the overseas protection of German citizens, eventually penetrating
the Imperial government’s highest ministerial levels. Ultimately the fate of the Bauer family
impelled the journey to Fort Kearny of William Stipple, second assistant secretary
to Edwin M. Stanton, Secretary of War of the United States
Stipple arrived by stage at the fort
in the late afternoon of the eighteenth of April, having completed his fortnight
of travel from the capitol in discomfort, due to a disquieted colon, which was the
result of contaminated meat he had consumed before boarding a ferry at
Hannibal, Missouri. Following an
interval at the fort’s sinks he was escorted into the commandant’s office by
Lt. Baker.
The lapels and shoulders of Stipple’s
black swallowtail coat were frosted with dust, which he brushed with a white
handkerchief as he seated himself opposite the post commander, Major John S.
Wood. Small-bodied and peevish, Stipple squirmed
in his chair, nervously adjusting his pince-nez spectacles as he shifted his
weight repeatedly, seeking a position which he hoped would relieve the
excruciating burn of his latest, hurried evacuation, and forestall the advent
of the next.
Adding to his discomfort was the fact
that the frontier terrified Stipple. He
hated its trackless emptiness: The meld of ungridded earth and empty sky was anathema
to civilization and the rule of law. Nature
was anarchy, and the death of his trade.
Nor did his prejudice spare its inhabitants, for it was also his opinion
that any man, red-skinned or white, who could be satisfied - even for a moment –
living under such wild conditions was disqualified as a gentleman, and
deserving of no more consideration than a June bug under a heel.
Such was the Secretary’s temperament
on that April afternoon: Offers of
refreshment were curtly refused; obviously Stipple would spend not one minute
longer than necessary transacting the business to which he had been
assigned. Following formal introductions
to Major Wood and Lt. Baker he removed a pair of gray kid gloves and opened a
small leather folio, withdrew a sheaf of official documents and laid them on
the Major’s desk.
The major picked up the top document
and scanned it while Stipple spoke.
This is the record of our situation,
major. You are looking at formal
diplomatic correspondence between his majesty the Kaiser’s ministers and our
own department of state.
Yes, said the major. He tilted the vellum to catch the light from
one of the two windows cut into the rough cottonwood-log wall behind him. Above the windows sod bricks continued for another
three feet, meeting bare cottonwood timbers at the apex. Motes of dust floated in the bright shafts of
light. A stray insect buzzed lazily
above their heads. Behind the major an
American flag stretched out between framed engravings of George Washington and
Abraham Lincoln. Both engravings were
heavily stained.
We have a problem, as you can see,
Stipple continued.
The major put down the sheet he was
reading. He tilted his head slightly and
looked directly at Stipple.
What I see, Mister Stipple, he said, is
a voice of concern for the Bauer family, and for the welfare of all emigrants
who choose to embark on the overland trail.
Understandable, don’t you think?
He folded his hands together and set
them upon the desktop. He did not blink
nor did he take his eyes from Stipple, who leaned forward slightly, adjusting
his spectacles.
Let me assist you, major. Last year at this time the British government
was on the verge of official recognition for the Confederate government. If not for our victories at Gettysburg and
Vicksburg, that might well have happened.
His knuckles whitened as he tightened
his grip on the folio.
Unfortunately the war is far from
decided.
He paused and leaned forward even
more, looking around the room as if searching for spies.
And you might be interested to know
that General Grant is preparing a major campaign against Lee in Virginia and Sherman is
getting ready to move south from Chattanooga
Stipple leaned back a little but did
not take his eyes from Wood.
He is an unpredictable man, Stipple
continued. The Kaiser. We’re told he is considering a proposal to
establish some sort of diplomatic relationship with the rebels. This stir about the Bauer family has raised
questions in his government about the willingness – the capability – of our
union to protect itself and its citizens from murder and thuggery. Indians, of all things, major.
He placed a hand on the documents.
Don’t we have enough to worry
about? Must we be also concerned with what
the Kaiser thinks?
The major straightened in his
chair. The expression in his eyes
hardened as he spoke:
My dispatch regarding the Bauer
incident was clear on this point. I told
Mister Bauer not to leave. I made it
clear to him the army could not guarantee his safety beyond the immediate
vicinity of the fort. He chose to
go. His family left in the night. Quite without my knowledge or approval.
Stipple bore in. What’s done is done, major. We cannot be concerned with excuses.
Lt. Baker stood abruptly.
Sir, he said loudly, perhaps you’d
care to saddle up and accompany us. You
would see…
Sit down lieutenant, said the major. The lieutenant did not sit, but moved to the
back of his chair and leaned against it, his fingers pressing hard into the
back.
The major laid his hands flat on the
desk.
Mister Stipple. I am responsible for the military administration
of over four thousand square miles of this wilderness. I have only 75 troops under my command. More than three thousand wagons have passed
through this section of the overland trail in the last twelve months. What, exactly, would the Secretary have me
do?
Without hesitation Stipple reached
into the folio and produced another folded document bearing the wax seal of the
War Department. He placed it on the
desk, far enough from the major to require him to leave his seat to pick it up.
These are your orders, major.
With great deliberation Wood raised
himself and leaned across the desk for the paper.
A slight smile crossed Stipple’s
pursed lips, and he brought his hands together at the fingertips as he looked
at Baker and then back at the major. His
posture was not that of a man who felt threatened.
March 28, 1864
To:
Major John S. Wood, commanding
First Nebraska
You are hereby ordered to organize
and execute a thorough search for Meta Bauer, the daughter of Lorenz and Lisbeth
Bauer, both deceased, killed by Indians on or about June 11th of the
previous year in proximity of your site.
If the girl is found alive, you will
use whatever means are at your disposal to retrieve her from the possession of
the Indians.
You will assign such resources to the
accomplishment of the mission as you feel are prudent and necessary to its
completion and immediate result. You
will report that result to Department Headquarters and will forward periodic
reports as to your progress, beginning immediately.
Respectfully,
U.
S. Grant,
Lieutenant
Genrl,
commanding
Edwin
M. Stanton,
Secretary
of War,
United
States
of America
Wood looked at the signatures, handed
the document to Lt. Baker.
Stipple pretended to brush the dust
from his lapels.
You have the world’s attention major,
he said, and it appears the world wants to know what happened to that little
girl.
He rose, closed his folio, and began
putting on his gloves.
By the way, major, he said, there is
a reward offered. The family will pay
one thousand dollars for her return.
That should be a sum sufficient to inspire someone to locate and return
her, don’t you think?
He looked at Woods.
I think so. And so does General Grant. And the Secretary.
We don’t know whether she’s still
alive, said Baker.
In the event the child is not alive,
lieutenant, the reward will not be paid.
It’s that simple.
Stipple pulled a watch from his vest
pocket.
Gentlemen, how you accomplish this
task is up to you. But you must find out
what happened to the girl.
He opened the watch and checked the
time.
I’m leaving in the morning for Washington
He picked up the folio and moved to
the door, turning back to address the major as he opened it.
I expect to be hearing from you soon,
major.
The lieutenant and major stood at the
open door and watched Stipple cross the parade ground, his coattails flapping
like bird wings as he quick-stepped to the sinks. In the distance a meadowlark perched on a
corner of the post infirmary’s sod roof and threw its song into the gathering dusk.
Baker turned to the major.
I will assemble another patrol in the
morning, sir. We’ll prepare for a week’s
march.
And where will you go, lieutenant?
Southwest, sir. We’ll move in the direction they took. Perhaps we can strike a fresh trail…
A waste of horseflesh,
lieutenant. No, I believe the only
course now is negotiation. If she’s
still alive, which I doubt, perhaps we can contact the Cheyenne
Yes sir. How do we make contact, major?
Wood moved away from the door to sit
behind his desk.
Yes, well, that’s the question, isn’t
it?
No comments:
Post a Comment