Rebel Liar

By Paul Gresham

The American Civil War has now been raging for four years and the Confederacy seems to be defeated, but a mysterious Confederate officer claims that the British have devised a scheme which could help the Confederacy win the war.
He tries to persuade a fanatical Confederate officer and his wife, an English aristocrat who is bitterly opposed to the war, and their Negro overseer, a freed slave, to take part in the scheme.
But they are suspicious of him – is he really who he claims to be?
They finally agree, and he leads them on a dangerous and treacherous journey from their home in the Confederate-held territory of Virginia towards the 'Yankee'-held territory of the North.
Will the scheme succeed?
Or will he betray them?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Gresham
• Release date: Dec 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9780956110015

Book preview

Rebel Liar

A novel of British spying

during the

American Civil War

by Paul Gresham

© Copyright of Paul Gresham 2018 All rights reserved

Description

The American Civil War has now been raging for four years and the Confederacy seems to be defeated, but a mysterious Confederate officer claims that the British have devised a scheme which could help the Confederacy win the war.

He tries to persuade a fanatical Confederate officer and his wife, an English aristocrat who is bitterly opposed to the war, and their Negro overseer, a freed slave, to take part in the scheme.

But they are suspicious of him – is he really who he claims to be?

They finally agree, and he leads them on a dangerous and treacherous journey from their home in the Confederate-held territory of Virginia towards the ‘Yankee’-held territory of the North.

Will the scheme succeed?

Table Of Contents

Chapter One: ‘the same Anglo Saxon people...A Negro overseer’

Chapter Two: ‘imitating a Confederate Colonel’

Chapter Three: ‘he had reverted to his true identity’

Chapter Four: ‘custom in the South...a yellow ribbon tied around a tree’

Chapter Five: ‘I am in Yankee land - Virginia is Yankee land!’

Chapter Six: ‘probably meant the Confederate Secret Service’

Chapter Seven: ‘sympathetic to the Confederate cause’

Chapter Eight: ‘the New York Times'...'a Yankee newspaper’

Chapter Nine: ‘other Confederate agents’

Chapter Ten: ‘the Libby prison in Richmond’...‘admit that he was a Union spy’

Chapter Eleven: ‘you like Yankees?’...’you fuc-ing Yankee traitor!’

Chapter Twelve: ‘the British aristocracy to stop supporting the Confederacy’

Chapter Thirteen: ‘some nonsense about a British plan to help the Confederacy’

Chapter Fourteen: ‘lost their loved ones at the battles of Antietam and Fredericksburg’

Chapter Fifteen: ‘if he really was a Confederate officer, and not a Confederate agent’

Chapter Sixteen: ‘attack...when they will most likely be sleeping’

Chapter Seventeen: ‘Confederate soldier why die for General Lee?’

Chapter Eighteen: ‘like a fuc-in’ outlaw he smiled to himself’

Chapter Nineteen: ‘slip past the Confederate brigantine’

Chapter Twenty: ‘she had not forgotten about him... she had tied a yellow ribbon’

Chapter Twenty One ‘the Negro...hoped that he was working for the Union Secret Service’

Chapter Twenty Two: ‘maybe he was a Confederate spy...a Union spy’

Chapter Twenty Three: ‘sail her to New York, or another Yankee port’

Chapter Twenty Four: ‘taken up arms against both governments...Confederate and Union’

Chapter Twenty Five: ‘Yankee sympathisers...drew certain things’

Chapter Twenty Six: ‘deeper into Confederate territory’

Chapter Twenty Seven: ‘my grand daddy burned the White House down’

Chapter Twenty Eight: ‘to avoid being seen by a Confederate warship’

Chapter  Twenty Nine: ‘the South will soon be back...in the United States’

Chapter Thirty: ‘if he was a Confederate Colonel’

Chapter Thirty One: ‘a Confederate...a patriot, but of a different kind’

Chapter Thirty Two: ‘flying the Stars and Stripes! It was a  Union ship!’

Chapter Thirty Three: ‘people...South...use the drug opium of morphine’

Chapter Thirty Four: ‘conceal the ship from any passing Yankee warships’

Chapter Thirty Five: ‘my God, I feel uncommonly poorly she whispered’

Chapter Thirty Six: ‘like a Confederate soldier ...returning home’

Chapter Thirty Seven: ‘Yankee warship hard astern!’

Notes, contact information and copyright notice

Chapter One: ‘the same Anglo Saxon people...A Negro overseer’

He finished his breakfast and glanced out of the window at the front of the plantation house, then looked closer at the end of the long sweeping drive.

A horseman had passed through the sturdy wooden entrance gate with the ‘Buckley House’ sign on it, and was riding at a leisurely pace towards him, probably grateful for the intermittent shade which the live oak and magnolia trees cast over him.

As he drew nearer he saw that he was wearing a grey Confederate uniform, including a grey slouch hat with the yellow tassels around the brim that signified he was a cavalry officer.

He was also armed with a pistol that was holstered in a gun belt around his waist.

While he was waiting for him to arrive he limped towards the side table and glanced at the ‘Richmond Examiner’ newspaper which was lying there.

It was dated the 10th. of July 1863, and a long article in the centre column described the battle of Gettysburg which had been fought just over a week earlier.

Apparently it was a Confederate victory, but an indecisive one for the Confederacy had suffered considerable losses, although so had the Yankees.

He felt a moment of regret.

If he had not been wounded at the battle of Chancellorsville a few months earlier he could have led his men into battle at Gettysburg and maybe helped transform it into a decisive victory.

But much could have happened since then - General Lee could have advanced and defeated General Meade’s Yankee army, he consoled himself.

However, he had no means of knowing this for the newspaper was three weeks old, he had bought it on a visit to Hampton Landing, a sea port on the Virginia coast that was about twenty miles away.

He waited for his Negro servant to open the door and announce his visitor, and wondered what business the army had with him.

He overheard a few words being exchanged and a few seconds later the Negro appeared in the doorway of the dining room.

Somebody to see you, Mister Blunden the Negro said.

Show him in please, Afra.

Yes, Mister Blunden.

He stood up and waited in the centre of the dining room to receive his visitor, wincing from the pain in his thigh where the Yankee musket ball had struck him at Chancellorsville.

Suddenly the visitor was standing in the doorway. holding his hat in his hand.

He was a big square jawed man who was around forty to forty five Blunden guessed - ten years older than himself, and he had a short cropped beard and the ruddy complexion of a sailor.

He reminded him of the British ships’ captains that he had sometimes seen on his trips to Hampton Landing, when their ships were tied up at the waterfront there. 

There were three gold stars on his collar, so he was a Colonel.

Captain Blunden? his visitor asked in a soft Virginia accent.

Yes. And you are?

Honoured to meet you captain. I’m Colonel Robert Burrows of the Confederate Army Of Northern Virginia.

He looked at Blunden appraisingly and saw that he was aged about twenty five, and was about six feet tall, with a boyish face and fair hair which was rather long.

How’s your wound? You’re recovering well, I hope he said.

I have few problems riding, but walking is rather different, sir Blunden answered.

May I enquire about the purpose of your visit, sir? he added.

That will become evident in a few moments, when we can discuss it in private.

He glanced at the open door and raised his eyebrows quizzically, so Blunden went to the door and closed it.

Not here - outside Burrows ordered.

Very well.

He ushered the other man through the entrance door and led him towards the stables, a couple of hundred yards away at the rear of the house.

This will be fine Burrows said, when they were standing a few feet from the stable doors.

He inclined his head towards the building.

Unless?

No, nobody’s in there Blunden assured him.

Afra was still in the house, he presumed.

Very well Burrows concurred.

This matter is so private that you are not to discuss it with anyone else. Do you give me your word on this, as an officer and a gentleman? he said.

Yes, sir Blunden agreed.

Before I continue, I’m required to show you this Letter Of Authority Burrows said.

Blunden looked at the letter curiously and saw that it was made from heavily embossed paper with a seal, a kind of mark or stamp which was often used on  official documents, at the top of it.

It’s the Great Seal Of The Confederate States Of America Burrows explained.

Blunden looked at it curiously and saw that it was a circular shape which depicted General George Washington, the hero of the American Revolutionary War, and the first president of the United States, in military uniform prancing on a horse.

He was surrounded by a wreath which depicted the most important crops that were grown in the Confederacy, such as cotton, tobacco, wheat, corn, sugar cane and rice.

It also bore the motto ‘Deo Vindice,’ which meant ‘God is our Protector,’ at the bottom of it.

He read the Letter Of Authority and saw that it stated: ‘I the undersigned do hereby grant Colonel Robert Burrows, of the Confederate Army Of Northern Virginia, the right to command any person whatsoever in any matter whatsoever and without hindrance from any person whomsoever.’

‘Signed By My Hand On This Day The Fifth Of June 1863’

‘Robert E. Lee’

‘Commander’

‘Confederate Army Of Northern Virginia’.

He looked closely at the signature and saw that it was written in an italics style, with the letters slanted forwards and with loops in some of them.

But...

Is this the general’s signature? he suddenly asked.

Of course. Why do you ask?

It just seems...

What? Burrows said sharply.

Well...the letter and the signature, it all seems rather... grand he finally said.

That’s because you aren’t accustomed to seeing Letters Of Authority which have been signed by General Lee Burrows snapped.

Maybe.

Burrows raised his eyebrows.

My apologies, Colonel, you’re quite correct Blunden said hastily.

Burrows nodded.

We’ve wasted enough time, we must now discuss the matter at hand he said.

He looked around and lowered his voice.

The General believes that Great Britain can be persuaded to help us fight our valiant Confederate cause.

Blunden looked at him incredulously.

Why? I mean why would the British want to do that?

Kinship, for one reason.

Kinship?

We are the same Anglo-Saxon people, are we not?

I guess so, but –

Captain Blunden do not, I repeat do not, constantly question your orders Burrows said irritably.

He looked around suspiciously, then continued.

Your wife is English, and has connections with the British parliament he said knowledgeably.

A very slight connection Blunden said evasively, for he sensed that he was being manipulated.

Burrows nodded agreeably.

Her half-brother is Lord  Calverton, an influential Member of parliament he said.

Blunden reluctantly concurred.

Sarah had mentioned his new role as a politician in the British government  some time ago, after she had received a letter from him.

He’s heavily in debt. Gambling debts mostly, but he's also made some unwise investments on the London Stock Exchange Burrows continued.

Blunden looked at him incredulously.

How do you know all this? he said.

Because we have friends over there Burrows said quietly.

Spies?

Let’s just call them sympathisers.

Blunden looked thoughtful.

Your wife hasn’t told you about the debts, has she? Burrows added.

That’s irrelevant Blunden said angrily.

He tried to remember what else she had said when she had received the letter from her half-brother.

Then it came to him.

He has only limited powers, he can do nothing without the consent of parliament she had commented.

He cannot authorise military action alone, only parliament can do that he said.

"He can influence parliament though" Burrows said flatly.

Blunden shrugged disinterestedly.

She is a wealthy woman, she can easily afford to pay his debts Burrows said.

I think she will do anything for him, because the family honour will be at stake, that kind of thing, unless he pays them he added.

What if I refuse to allow her to do it? Blunden said.

And hinder me? Have you forgotten the General’s order already? ‘Without hindrance from any person whomsoever?’

This is what will happen next. You will persuade your wife to travel to England he  ordered.

England? Why?

How else can she make contact with the British parliament? Burrows said.

Alone?

No, you will accompany her.

My overseer. I would prefer him to travel with us.

Overseer?

Afra, the Negro who opened the door for you, he also acts as my servant.

Why do you want him to go with you?

Blunden did not feel inclined to discuss the nature of the relationship between himself, his wife, and Afra, with a complete stranger.

Because he is...loyal to us he finally said.

A Negro overseer - that’s unusual Burrows said thoughtfully.

My previous overseer, a white man, was killed at Sharpsburg last year.

Burrows nodded soberly.

Yes,  tell him to go with you he said.

I can’t, he’s a free man, I’ll have to ask him.

He’s free? Burrows said surprisedly.

He was aware that Negro slaves could purchase their freedom, or be granted it, but it was unusual.

Do whatever the hell you want with him he finally said irritably.

He paused thoughtfully.

No, do your best to persuade him, he might be useful, it’ll show the British that we don’t treat Negroes as badly as the Yankees say we do. 

He could no longer contain his curiosity.

I will not enquire why you did not employ another white overseer he added coyly.

You may enquire as much as you wish sir, for I will freely appraise you of the reason.

Please continue.

Very well. The plantation is hardly profitable and I cannot afford to employ a white overseer; in fact I cannot afford to employ anyone apart from Afra, which is why you did not see anyone working in the fields when you arrived.

Burrows nodded attentively, but wondered why he had hired an overseer when there were no field hands to oversee.

He also wondered why he claimed to be suffering from financial problems, when his wife was a wealthy woman.

Surely she was willing to spend her money on the plantation. Maybe she was, but he was too proud to accept it.

As you’re aware, the Yankee blockade has ensured that there is a relatively limited market for our cotton and tobacco crops Blunden went on.

However, it is not entirely effective for the British send ships to pass through the blockade and trade with us Burrows interposed.

True Blunden agreed.

The blockade runners, as they were called, were fast sailing ships - although sometimes they were steam powered, that supplied luxury items, which were much in demand, to the Confederacy, in

exchange for a handsome profit.

But why are we discussing this? he added, puzzled.

The fact that the British send blockade runners proves my point. They are already supporting our Confederate cause in an economic sense, so there is every reason to suppose that they will be willing to support us in a military sense, as well.

He was not exactly being truthful, he admitted to himself.

The British government did not finance the blockade runners, they were financed by British private investors who were only interested in making a profit from the Confederacy’s financial woes, they did not necessarily support the Confederate cause.

However, he doubted if Blunden knew this.

May I discuss this with my wife? Blunden finally said reluctantly.

Of course, I understand that it cannot proceed without her consent.

He shook hands with Blunden.

That will be all for now, captain.

Today is the... he had to think for a moment, for he had little use for dates, then it came to him.

Today is the first of August he finally said.

Let us agree to meet here at the forenoon in seven days time, on the seventh of August.

He hesitated.

There is just one further matter; do not make enquiries about me and do not enquire about my position in the Confederacy, or you will jeopardise the...‘undertaking,’ let us call it.

Furthermore,  do not speak about this matter to anyone else, except your wife, of course.

You may simply tell the Negro that you have to travel to England.

And he may accompany you if he wishes he added distastefully.

That will suffice for him he finished.

*

Blunden watched thoughtfully as Colonel Burrows rode along the drive towards the gate and disappeared from view.

Burrows was apparently unaware of the fact that his wife was not an ardent supporter of the Confederate cause.

In fact she was opposed to the South’s secession from the North, and was not afraid to make her views known.

He turned away from the window and sat down in a soft cushioned chair, for his leg was becoming painful again.

There was something unusual about Burrow’s accent; it was a Virginia accent but sometimes it almost sounded like a British accent.

However that wasn’t important.

The Letter Of Authority from General Lee was more important.

Was it genuine?

*

Afra left the back of the house and walked across to the stable, a couple of hundred yards away.

It was a small low building with sun bleached clap board walls, a shingle roof and a strong double door at one end that was secured by a sturdy bolt.

The drawing room where Mister Blunden and the officer were talking was at  the front of the house so they couldn’t see him.

It was better if he kept out of their way, so that nobody could say that he was listening to whatever they were talking about. 

He unbolted the stable doors and opened them, they swung shut when he was in the stable because the hinges were loose.

He went towards the stalls where the two mares were kept, each in their own stall, then forked fresh hay into their hay racks and picked up a couple of buckets so that he could take them to the well and fill them up with fresh drinking water.

They should be outside in this weather, maybe Mister Blunden would tell him to exercise them later.

While he was forking the hay he thought about the officer who had called on the Blundens.

Where had he come from?

He couldn’t have stayed with a bunch of other soldiers in the area because there were no other soldiers around - he was sure of it.

As far as he knew the nearest soldiers were further up north, where the fighting was.

Maybe he had come from Richmond, because that was where the Confederate headquarters were, everybody knew that.

No, he couldn’t have come from there because it was a hundred miles away; it would take four or five days to ride that kind of distance.

Unless he had come from Richmond and had stayed at some places on the way, maybe at a few plantations.

His horse, a gelding, hadn’t been ridden very far, he could tell that by looking at it - it was too fresh.

So where had he come from?

He thought about it.

If somebody asked him - not that they would, he would say that the gelding had been ridden for about fifteen miles, maybe less.

What was there that was around fifteen miles away?

There were no more plantations, the nearest plantation was fifty miles away.

The only places that he could think of were a couple of farms, both in the direction of Hampton Landing. One was about five miles away and the other was about ten miles away, but that was abandoned so he couldn’t have come from there.

Suddenly he heard voices outside; one was Mister Blunden’s and the other was the officer’s, he guessed, although he had only heard him speak a couple of times when he had showed him into the house.

He tried to decide whether to make a noise to let them know that he was in the stables or whether to just keep quiet.

But it was too late because they had already started talking.

He started to move towards the stable doors so that he could hear them more clearly, there were plenty of gaps between the doors and the wall.

But he suddenly changed his mind - if they saw something moving in the gap they would know that he was in there.

He moved towards the wall instead where there were no gaps and pressed an ear against the wood.

This will be fine he overheard the Confederate officer say.

Unless? he added.

No, nobody’s in there he overheard Mister Blunden say.

He kept very quiet and listened to their conversation.

*

She put the paint brush down in the brush tray of the easel and looked critically at the water colour picture of  the house that she was painting.

She had not quite captured the afternoon sun on one of the columns, she decided, the light was softer than she had interpreted it.

She had rather optimistically given the picture a title, which was ‘Sun On A Plantation Home.’

‘Optimistically’ because it implied that she was finally satisfied with it and was ready to show it to her friends in Richmond, or perhaps even display it in one of the art galleries there.

Although it would be a long and arduous journey to achieve that, for Richmond was over a hundred miles distant, and several days ride away.

At the foot of it she had signed it with her name, ‘Sarah Blunden,’ in small copperplate handwriting.

Below this she had written ‘Buckley House Plantation, Hampton Landing, Virginia, 1st. of July, 1863.’

Edmund would like it of course, but he knew nothing of art, he would like it because he thought that this would please her.

He had once suggested that she should paint a self portrait but she had said that it would probably be too self flattering.

It would not be so if it captured your beauty he had said gallantly.

You are a true Southern gentleman, Edmund, however perhaps your compliment should be paid to someone who is younger than I she had replied.

At the age of thirty two she was beginning to be sensitive about her age, especially as she was seven years older than he was.

A few mornings ago when she was sitting at her dressing table she thought that she had seen a strand of grey hair among her normally fair hair.

But she could not find it in the brush when she had brushed her hair so perhaps she was mistaken.

In any case, she was not beautiful.

Her features were pleasing, certainly, she had no doubt about that, she had no false sense of modesty about it, but she was not a beauty.

She glanced around the garden and suddenly through a gap in the trees  saw someone riding towards the house.

It was a man, a middle aged man with a cropped beard who  was wearing a grey Confederate uniform.

He was an officer – a Colonel, judging by the three stars on his collar.

She was tempted to abandon her picture and go to the house to discover who it was, but decided to make one more attempt to capture the light on the column before the sun moved around the building.

No doubt Edmund would enlighten her when she returned indoors. 

She mixed some more paint in the palate and tried to capture the light again.

As she lightly brushed the picture she thought about the officer’s visit.

Perhaps it was something to do with Edmund’s wound, although she could not imagine why a senior officer such as a Colonel would visit him about that.

In fact they hardly received any visitors, for their home was fifty miles away from the nearest other plantation.

When they lived in Petersburg,