1862

Again of necessity, they had adopted the stark policy of leaving no survivors from the raids and of hiding the dead in the woods. Maybe they were found and maybe they weren't. Ha

A woman's scream and a groan of agony interrupted his thoughts. Ha

One of the newly freed slaves was fucking a woman. Two others held her arms down and her legs apart while the new man-Reginald, a house slave from Alabama-lay on top of her with his sweaty buttocks pounding furiously.

Ha

“You fool,” snarled Ha

“Shit, Ha

Ha

They had attacked a small homestead. He thought everyone was in the house when it had been stormed, but now he wondered. “Where'd the woman come from?”

Reginald pointed towards the barn. “Over there.”

Ha

She managed a harsh laugh through split and bloodied lips. “Go to hell, nigger.”

Ha

A quick check of the barn showed two sets of blankets and two places where people had been sleeping. There were bo

Ha

In an instant, Reginald's two brothers were on him, howling their rage. Ha

“Took you long enough,” snapped Ha

Ha

“She run away whiles you was fighting,” said another ex-slave.

“Goddamn,” Ha

“We should chase her down,” said Buck.

Think. Ha

Think. To be recaptured was to die slowly and horribly. He already had one woman with a good head start and another one hiding somewhere nearby. He would never catch the first one and it would take both time and effort to find the second. If he took too much time looking for the second woman, the first would be on her way back with white men soldiers.

“No,” Ha

He watched as his band gathered their gear and their loot. After all was said and done, it was pitifully small. They would have to raid again to find some food. Now, though, he knew that they would be chased. Not only had they killed white people, but that asshole Reginald had raped one. And that woman with the hatred in her eyes was the one he feared more than anything. She had seen him and heard his name.

Now he knew the real fear that he would never again see his sweet Abigail and their son.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE STATE DEPARTMENT of the United States was located on Fifteenth and Pe

To Henri D'Estaing, the difference between the two buildings, Treasury and State, was symbolic of the problems inherent with the United States. The United States of America, now the truncated Union, was far more interested in money than in matters between nations. In short, the United States was a nation of shopkeepers and had no soul, and she would never have one until she realized that it was necessary to exist with other nations. Indeed, existence with other nations was far more important than the making of money. It was, in his opinion, what had made France great and would once again. France understood nations and, under Napoleon III, was well on her way to a degree of primacy that she hadn't had in generations.

As he entered the smallish State Department Building, he smiled as he recalled Valerie's comment that it more resembled a college classroom building than a place where a great nation's foreign policy was developed. How perceptive she was, he thought proudly.

He found Secretary of State Seward's office and presented himself to Seward’s assistant. While he waited, he seated himself and wondered just why he had been summoned. Again, it was so untypical of a great power. There was no earthly reason for the secretary of state of any nation to ask to see a mere commercial attaché, even one from the great nation that was France. Although he was curious. Henri had no great urge to have his curiosity quickly satisfied. Seward was an angry, bristly sort of man who, in Henri's opinion, was totally miscast as a diplomat. Subtlety was a diplomat's stock in trade, and Seward could be as subtle as a bludgeon.

Henri was escorted into Seward's office. “Be seated,” said Seward. He neither rose nor offered his hand. What is the matter now? Henri D'Estaing wondered as he tried to ignore the slight. “I've asked you here for two reasons,” Seward said. “The first is that I wish you to take a message back to France telling your emperor that his troops must leave Mexico immediately.” “Shouldn't you be telling this to the ambassador, sir?” Henri asked in astonishment. “I am only the commercial attaché.”