The Halifax Connection (67 page)

“Trust a theatre man to mention that,” Matt said cheerfully.

“Oh, I think it’s quite wonderful. I’ll wager it helped to make them friends—more than anything else could have, perhaps.”

Hawkins cocked an eyebrow at him, but he did not disagree.

“What will they do now?” Sylvie asked.

“Travel around, talk about it. Get the public behind them as much as they can. They’re meeting again in Quebec, in October.”

“Well,” Erryn said, “I think this calls for another toast.” He got to his feet. He was quite sure they were expecting him to toast the delegates, or the union of the provinces, or something else formal and grand. Instead, he said quietly:

“To all of us being … and staying … friends.”

It was very late. Party candles still danced in the cottage’s curtained windows, but the big house was dark. The yard lay so quiet that a small, half-hearted bark from one of the colonel’s watchdogs sounded as loud as a gunshot. Matt and Erryn strolled down to the pier and stood for a time together, saying nothing, just watching the moonlight bob in small slivers on the water.

“She seems an extraordinary young woman,” Matt said at last. “I’d say you’ve done very well for yourself.”

“You have no idea, my friend.”

“Oh, I have some idea. I know you pretty well, and you’re riding clouds tonight. Which is bloody good to see, by the way. Especially now.” He paused for a long moment. “Christ, we were so lucky.”

“Yes.” They had handled all those garments of death, and none of them had died; they had not even fallen sick. It still felt like a miracle. It always would. “It’s been a grand evening, Matt. It was the best gift you could possibly have given us. Either of you.”

“The Hawk’s a good man. I wasn’t expecting this, you know, when I said we should have a little celebration for you since we couldn’t go to your wedding. I thought … I wasn’t sure, really—maybe a private club room somewhere. Not his home. He’s a gentleman of the old school, after all, as I suppose you would put it. But he’s an officer of the old school too.”

“He is indeed.”

“How are the Grey Tories taking your new status, do you know?”

“You mean my fall from social grace?”

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

“They would. Some of them, anyway.” Erryn looked up at the stars. He was, he knew, rather drunk. It was a good feeling, one he had not allowed himself for a long time. “Jack Murray is taking it well. He actually came to the wedding and wished us happiness with all his heart. Orton feels sorry for me. He thinks I’ve
fallen prey to a scheming hussy. MacNab—so I’ve heard on the grapevine—MacNab thinks it’s all hilariously funny.” He turned to his friend, although he could barely see Matt’s face in the darkness. “I’m tired of them, Matt. I’m bloody God damn tired of them all.”

“I know. But Hawkins figures most of the Reb shenanigans will be moving west. What with those so-called commissioners based in Toronto now, and all the Southern ports closed except Wilmington, he says Halifax won’t be nearly as important to them anymore.”

“You mean I might become an unnecessary expense? The GG might pat me on the head and tell me to run along now and find myself a nice theatre to play with?”

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll get off quite so easy, mate. But things are likely to get quieter.”

This had been Erryn’s own assessment of the situation, but it was comforting to have the others confirm it. Maybe this time the war really was winding down. The news of late had been good. Just days ago the Union had won a substantial victory in the Shenandoah Valley. Closer to home, on Lake Erie, a second attempt to capture the U.S. gunboat
Michigan
and free the prisoners at Johnson’s Island had come to grief, the leader cheerfully sharing his plans with a prostitute on the Union payroll; and his men, at the critical moment, telling him they loved him dearly but they weren’t going any farther with him, thank you very much. Clearly, Thompson and Clay were not having any better success operating out of Canada than their predecessors had had.

Most important of all, the diplomatic situation had changed. By now it was surely clear to Washington that, however many enemies they might have in London, they had none in Spencer Hall. Likewise, it was clear to Lord Monck that Mr. Lincoln’s army of farm boys and factory workers was not going anywhere when this war was over except home. Barring the most extraordinary bad luck, the high tide for intervention was past.

“You know, mate,” Erryn said, “we might all have a future yet.”

“I think we do.”

“Well then.” Erryn wrapped his arm warmly around his friend’s shoulder. “Let’s go back inside and drink it a toast.”

A
LTHOUGH THE TIMING
of events in
The Halifax Connection
does not, in every case, match that of the historical record, many of these events are based on fact. A number of prominent Canadians aided the Confederacy in activities ranging from the commercial and political to the clandestine and illegal. Others, though less directly involved, were outspoken supporters of the Confederate cause. Since it was my intention to re-create the public roles of these men, and not their personalities or private lives, I chose to create fictional characters in their place. Alexander MacNab, Edmund Morrison, the Ortons, and their circle are not historically real, but most of their activities on behalf of the South are based directly on similar activities by well-known citizens of the day.

Unlike those who served the Confederacy, the Canadians who worked in counter-intelligence operations remain obscure; indeed, there is no official reference to such operations prior to 1864. However, given the high risk to Canadian security posed by the American Civil War, and given Lord Monck’s dedication and obvious preference for quiet, non-provocative solutions, I think he might well have put a few agents in place as quickly as he could—in other words, long before the second attempted raid on Johnson’s Island (the
Philo Parsons
affair), when, in order to reassure the
Americans, the placing of special “detectives” along the border was acknowledged openly.

In accounts of the day, references to such “detectives” and “informers” are common; names are hard to come by. They undoubtedly included everyone from professional police officers to the occasional amateur snoop. Here, Erryn Shaw, Sylvie Bowen, Matt Calverley, and Colonel Hawkins are all fictional persons, but I have involved them in real events. Captain Wilkinson’s intended raid on the Federal prison camp at Johnson’s Island was planned, and came to grief, very much as I have described it; I have merely added one link to the Canadian chain. Like my
Moravia
, the historic blockade-runner
Princess Royal
fell into the hands of the Union navy after details of its vital military cargo, departure date, and destination were published in a Halifax newspaper. Its capture was subsequently considered the most important blockade-runner seizure of the war. The
Chesapeake
affair is perhaps the best-known event of the Civil War in Canada.

The yellow fever plot is also documented, although the manner of its discovery is my own invention. In Hamilton, on April 12, 1865, Godfrey J. Hyams (the historic counterpart of Maury Janes) testified to Union authorities that trunks of clothing and bedding from yellow fever victims had been assembled in Nassau by Dr. Luke P. Blackburn for shipment to Halifax, where Hyams collected them. The materials were forwarded by Hyams to three American cities and sold by public auction.

After an epidemic in Bermuda, Blackburn assembled a second batch of contaminated materials there. This collection came to the attention of the authorities in St. George, perhaps as a result of Hyams’s disclosures. They raided the house in question and found three trunks of blankets, sheets, underwear, etc., stained with “black vomit,” as well as poultices from diseased victims. The trunks were labelled for shipment to Canada. Blackburn himself had already fled. He was later arrested and tried in Canada, but was acquitted on the grounds of insufficient evidence. Given that
all of the relevant events took place in other countries, that persons who could have given eyewitness testimony were scattered around the world, and that no forensic science existed to prove that the materials in the trunks were systematically contaminated, no other verdict was likely in a court of law. Nonetheless, the body of circumstantial evidence for the plot is, in my opinion, convincing. Besides Hyams’s testimony and the discoveries in St. George, there is the account of blockade-runner Thomas Taylor, who records in his memoirs that

Also, according to historian Terry Tucker, after Blackburn’s death his own widow admitted his involvement.

Decades later, researchers would prove that yellow fever was transmitted by mosquitoes, not by personal contact. Blackburn’s plans failed, and would have gone on failing, from a lack of medical knowledge. This in no way lessens the ugliness of his intentions.

There is no documentary proof that these intentions were known to the Confederate authorities. However, Hyams had a close working relationship with Confederate agents in Montreal, who financed his trip to Halifax; with prominent “Grey Tories” in Toronto and Halifax; and subsequently with the Confederate commissioners to Canada. This suggests to me that he and Blackburn were not acting alone, but rather that they were engaged in an operation with significant official backing.

I
WOULD LIKE TO THANK
the many people in Halifax who helped me to carry out my research, especially Daniel Conlin for a much-appreciated tip, and the staff at the Nova Scotia Archives and at the library of Dalhousie University. I would also like to thank the wonderful students looking after O’Brien Hall, who took such good care of me there. Special thank yous for valuable information are due to Sarah Murphy, Alison Sinclair, Doug Hemmings, and a most helpful gentleman from Calgary STARS, whose name I carefully recorded and stored away, only to have it eaten by a filing cabinet gremlin. To him and to all mentioned above, a huge and heartfelt thank you.

The Halifax Connection
was completed with financial assistance from the Alberta Foundation for the Arts, for which I am deeply grateful.