The Price of Betrayal: A Harvey & McCrary Adventure

By Phillip Otts

The War is over!

In this finale to the Harvey & McCrary Adventures, we learn the brothers never saw each again after their adventure at Fort Sumter. Now, years later, McCrary’s daughter finally finds her uncle where he is living in hiding in the Caribbean. Together they share the stories of their families’ triumphs and tragedies through the rest of the war and during Reconstruction.

About the author

Phillip Otts retired from the CIA in 2006 to pursue a life-long interest in writing. A native of Alabama, he developed a deep appreciation for the remarkable handful of Southerners who recognized the evils of slavery and took tangible steps to end it. In addition to the Harvey & McCrary Adventures, he also the author of a contemporary espionage novel, The Sword of the Prophet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DX Varos Publishing
• Release date: Sep 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781955065078

Book preview

The Price of

Betrayal

A Harvey & McCrary Adventure

Phillip Otts

Copyright © 2021, Phillip Otts

Published by:

D. X. Varos, Ltd

7665 E. Eastman Ave. #B101

Denver, CO 80231

This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

Book cover design and layout by Ellie Bockert

Augsburger of Creative Digital Studios.

www.CreativeDigitalStudios.com

Cover design features:

Stones River National Cemetery in Murfreesboro

Tennessee by Jim Vallee / Adobe Stock; Stones River National Cemetery Cannon in Murfreesboro Tennessee by Jim Vallee / Adobe Stock; Close up profile of handsome young black man against isolated white background by mimagephotos/ Adobe Stock; Closeup profile photo of macho model guy perfect neat hairstyle looking empty space focused salon spa refreshment procedures naked torso isolated grey background by deagreez/ Adobe Stock

ISBN: 978-1-955065-06-1 (paperback)

ISBN: 978-1-955065-07-8 (ebook)

Produced in the United States of America

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

"This is a country for white men, and by God, as long as I am president it shall be a government for white men."

Andrew Johnson, U.S. President (1865-69)

"The white man’s happiness cannot be purchased by the black man’s misery."

Frederick Douglass

"The slave went free; stood a brief moment in the sun; then moved back again toward slavery."

W.E.B. Du Bois

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1: Refuge

Chapter 2: Port Royal

Chapter 3: The Experiment

Chapter 4: Heroes and Traitors

Chapter 5: The Great Game

Chapter 6: Wounded Warriors

Chapter 7: Demons and Monsters

Chapter 8: Years of Freedom

Chapter 9: Guerrilla War

Chapter 10: A Great Man’s Story

Chapter 11: The Hidden Hand

Chapter 12: The Gamble

Chapter 13: Promises Kept

Chapter 14: The Pursuit

Chapter 15: Transitions

Chapter 16: Promises

Chapter 17: One Last Fight

Chapter 18: Peace at Last

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Chapter 1

Refuge

Port-au-Prince was a prosperous city in the late 1800’s, with a flourishing trade in fine rum and precious sugar. During an era of relative peace and stability, Haiti’s elite families had built elegant gingerbread mansions on the slopes of the green hills overlooking the city and enjoyed a quality of life that was admired throughout the region. The city was the only place in the world where merchants and traders from European colonial empires were required to conform with the expectations of a majority black society. Some took a Haitian wife so their children could inherit land and property, which whites were otherwise forbidden to do.

Frederick Douglass had accepted an appointment as U.S. Minister to the Republic of Haiti in 1889. He had his regrets, as the tropical climate was intolerable for a man who had spent most of his life in the American Northeast. Although his children were grown, Douglass missed their company, the comforts of his house in Anacostia, and his friends in the District of Columbia. The life of a Minister had its compensations, however, and he was pleased to enjoy the shade on his spacious veranda at Tivoli House on a clear morning in May 1891. Now 73 years old, with a thick grey mane and long silver beard, the distinguished statesman and noted orator relaxed and sipped a cup of rich black coffee as he waited for his guests.

Douglass had accepted the appointment with reservations. The prominent abolitionist was pained by America’s abandonment of Reconstruction, which felt like a betrayal of the promises made during and after the war. He had dedicated his life to advancing the cause of freedom, but President Harrison’s efforts to protect the voting rights of blacks in the former Confederate states had failed. Douglass struggled to find hope for the future, and ultimately sought comfort and consolation in faith and family.

After his arrival in Port-au-Prince, Douglass was surprised to encounter a number of people who had immigrated to Haiti from the United States. Some were the descendants of families that arrived well before the war, as part of an initial movement to encourage freedmen to leave the United States. Other American immigrants were more recent arrivals, refugees from waves of repression sweeping across the post-war South. One of the latter men was the intended subject of Douglass’ upcoming meeting.

A tall, thin young woman with a pale complexion, dark brown hair, and a confident bearing was the first guest to be ushered in. Anne McEachin had been born in Richmond, Virginia but now resided in England. Her father, Martin McCrary, had died some years before. The only legitimate son of a wealthy South Carolina planter, McCrary, a Confederate officer, had spied for the North during the War. Anne’s mother Jane McCrary was an Englishwoman, the daughter of a poetess and the great-granddaughter of a British abolitionist. Despite her lineage, Anne spoke with a northern accent, as she had spent her formative years in New York City.

Douglass rose to meet her.

Mrs. McEachin. He acknowledged with a polite nod and a faint bow. I hope you had a pleasant voyage?

Comfortable and uneventful, Minister Douglass. It’s an honor to see you again. She replied with a mysterious smile.

Again? Douglass wondered aloud. I’m getting old, but my memory rarely fails me. Please remind me of our previous acquaintance.

We’ve never met before, Your Honor, but I heard you speak in London during one of your European tours. It was inspiring, for both my husband and me. My great-grandfather was William Roscoe.

In his day, William Roscoe had been one of the most outspoken advocates for the abolitionist movement in England, which had won a ban on the slave trade throughout the British Empire. His life had left a lasting legacy, forever linking Unitarians with the abolitionist cause.

Of course! Douglass replied. I remember your mother, Jane McCrary. How is she? Douglass rummaged through his memories and immediately saw the resemblance between Jane and her daughter now sitting before him. The details were foggy, but he remembered Jane had recently lost her husband when they first met in London.

She’s as well as can be expected, Your Honor, but not well enough to travel. She holds you in the highest regard. The young woman felt a sharp tug in her chest as she considered her mother’s yet undiagnosed illness and uncertain hopes for recovery.

Please call me Frederick, the famous American insisted empathetically, and may I call you by your first name?

Given the personal nature of the interview, Douglass hoped to make his guests as comfortable as possible. It was a family gathering, after all.

My name is Mary Anne, after my grandmother, but everyone calls me Anne. She responded warmly. My husband says it suits me.

Welcome to Tivoli House, Miss Anne. But tell me, where is your husband? I thought he might join us? Ever the gracious host, Douglass hoped Mr. McEachin wasn’t waiting alone downstairs.

Thomas is exploring the city and will return before noon. Perhaps I could make a brief introduction at that time? We both agreed it would be best for me to handle these family matters alone, at least until my uncle has a chance to decide for himself.

Of course. Douglass replied gently. He was intimately familiar with the intricacies of family relations between the races, based on his personal experiences and those of his friends. This particular family was dealing with some difficult complications.

Minister, your other guest has arrived.

Douglass’ aide was a slight, bespectacled clerk from Boston whose focused gaze was drawn to the woman sitting next to the Minister. Anne was used to the attention and ignored it, as her heart skipped a beat in anticipation of the long-awaited meeting.

Thank you, Mr. Finch, please show him in. Douglass replied formally, reminding himself to address his aide’s poor manners. Better yet, he would ask his secretary, Ebenezer Bassett, to find a replacement.

Anne was unable to restrain herself when a tall black man with a short grey beard walked into the room. He was dressed in the fine style of the Haitian upper class, with one hand resting on the ivory handle of a polished hickory walking stick. Anne rushed over and embraced him. After a moment of hesitation, the older man responded with genuine affection.

Uncle Harvey! She cried with delight, as she stepped back to admire him, gathering her wits as she brushed a tear off one cheek. I’ve so longed to meet you!

John Harvey smiled warmly as he struggled to fend off a wave of emotion, pleased to find love in his heart after so many years of loneliness. He lacked for nothing, materially, and had achieved a remarkable level of material success, but had abandoned his native land when it abandoned him, leaving dead loved ones behind. It still hurt, painfully so, even after living abroad for so long.

No one has ever called me Uncle before, dear girl. Harvey responded with genuine warmth, before deflecting attention from himself by adding How did you find me?

That’s a long story. Douglass replied, as he was the architect of the reunion. Shall we sit?

Of course, my friend. Harvey replied as he reached over to shake the hand of a man who had offered good council and consolation over the past year. Filled with gratitude and admiration, Harvey had tried to be of good service in return.

Douglass summoned his servant and instructed him to bring more coffee and biscuits, only taking a seat when his guests were comfortably settled.

So, where do we begin? Douglass wondered aloud, having been asked to participate when the reunion was first planned. The distinguished African American had some experience in reuniting families divided by the chasm of race and the chaos of war.

Anne gathered her wits and spoke calmly.

Uncle Harvey, Mother first told me about you after Father died and we had moved back to England. She concealed your existence from everyone before that because she knew you were a wanted man and might be hunted and murdered by the Klan if they thought you were still alive.

True enough. Harvey responded thoughtfully. I killed many of their comrades and confederates during and after the war, moving and changing my name frequently. I was lucky to survive.

In his heart, Harvey didn’t feel lucky. He had helped win the war that preserved the Union but lost everything when Reconstruction was abandoned. The betrayal still hurt deeply, beyond words. Harvey had considered taking his own life after years of fighting and running from the Klan but decided to get rich instead; the ultimate revenge for the son of a slave woman and her white master. In recent years he had found many ways to put his wealth to good use, including the resettlement of African Americans fleeing persecution back home.

I want to hear your story. Anne responded. If you agree, I’d like to write it down and share it with my mother. Together we hope to write a worthy book that would share your story with freedmen around the world. We would conceal your current location, of course.

Harvey nodded in agreement before responding. He would like to see his story told, before the end, and sometimes he didn’t much care if his enemies found him. He would endeavor to take a few of them with him, and that would be that.

I’m living under an assumed name, in any event. He replied. I hope you understand why I couldn’t invite you to my home here in the city.

Of course, Uncle. You’ve suffered enough and should be allowed to live in peace.

Anne knew the fate of Harvey’s wife and children, having gleaned a few details during her correspondence with Douglass. She turned her head and faced the famous American, pausing to give him an opportunity to speak.

I also want to hear your story, Harvey, all of it. Douglass added. We’re engaged in the same struggle. It didn’t end with the betrayal of Reconstruction. Both of us need to believe that.

Douglass left much unsaid, as he had done his best to help his friend with his emotional struggles during their earlier conversations.

I’ll start at the beginning. Harvey replied tentatively, as he opened the vault of his memories and allowed the angels and demons to emerge.

Chapter 2:

Port Royal

In late October 1861, a Union warship lowered a small boat into the water off the coast of South Carolina near Fripp’s inlet. The Sea Islands were under Union blockade, and a massive invasion was coming soon. The boat was weatherworn but seaworthy, the kind used by local slave fishermen to gather seafood for their masters. The waning moon offered just enough light for Harvey and his men to navigate safely in the still hours before daybreak. A gentle sea breeze carried the taste of salt in the air and the sound of waves lapping against the shore hushed across the water.

Harvey was joined by two friends from Charleston. Cufee was an experienced boatman, with numerous cousins living in the Islands. Little Joe was Cufee’s oldest son, a powerful man who could seemingly work all day and row all night. Their boat was loaded with a dozen Enfield rifles and several boxes of pistols and ammunition, enough for a band of spies to protect themselves. Harvey and his friends had already made war on their enemies in Charleston. Now they were bringing war to the Sea Islands, in response to a request from their allies in the Union Navy.

At that point in the war, many Union officers would have objected to arming freedmen and slaves, if they had known enough to object, but Harvey’s patrons in the Union Navy didn’t bother to ask permission. They understood that espionage was a dirty business, and any man willing to risk his life should be provided with the means to protect himself.

The three black men were heading up to the salt creeks and marshes on the west side of the barrier island, where they could make contact with allies on St. Helena. Thanks to Cufee, they had help from local fishermen and a small band of runaways. It was a calm night with gently rolling waves, their hushing sound helping to conceal the rush of the men’s oars. By the time they reached the salt marshes, a dim light was just beginning to glow on the eastern horizon. A lantern flashed briefly down a narrow inlet, the signal for Harvey and his men to seek refuge. A few strokes later, the bow scraped against the shore.

Hands reached for their lines and disappeared in the darkness. A skinny man with a large, bony face raised his lantern and slid the cover a fraction of an inch, providing enough illumination for Harvey to see half a dozen men lined up along the shore. Some of the men greeted him with broad smiles, others with steely eyes and grim resolve. Every man at that gathering faced torture and a grisly death if captured by the enemy. All of them were prepared to die, if necessary, to free themselves, their wives and children, their brothers and sisters, their mothers and fathers.

Harvey’s mission was to gather information on the deployment of Confederate forces, to confirm and supplement the reports provided by his half-brother in Richmond. Martin McCrary was working as an aide on President Davis’ staff, so his access was unrivaled, but communications were slow and it took far too long for his reports to reach Washington. Union commanders feared the situation on the ground could change quickly if the Rebels reinforced their positions just before the invasion began. The Union needed a victory, badly, and this was their best chance.

It was too dangerous to light a fire, by day or night, so the men gathered in a circle in the woods, sitting on stumps and logs. They wouldn’t be able to move again until nightfall, so they had plenty of time to share their latest observations with Harvey before catching a few hours of sleep in makeshift shelters hidden in the underbrush.

Is this place safe? Harvey asked.

We move every few days. The leader of the local band replied, his eyes glowing brightly in the last darkness before dawn. There’s plenty of small spits of dry land just like this one, surrounded by deep mud and tall marshes. No way to find us unless you already know where to look.

Boxer was exactly that, a runaway slave whose former master made a living by arranging matches at the dog and cock fights popular with local white men. His nose was crooked, having been broken more than once, and his back was scarred from the whippings he received whenever he lost a fight—which wasn’t often—or tried to run, which happened more frequently. Harvey took an instant liking to Boxer, as they shared much in common. Harvey had been a slave fighter, himself, when he was a younger man.

We leave no trace when we move, and we only move at night. Been doing that for six months now, no problem.

Boxer was a hard-headed fighter who had lost none of his wits. He spoke with a Northern accent, having been kidnapped by Southern slave traders when he was only 14 years old. The white men found the boy sleeping on a dock in New York, where he scraped a living doing odd jobs for longshoremen. The slave traders shackled the boy and put a hood over his head before loading him on their ship. The stolen goods were sold to the highest bidder when they reached Charleston.

Good. Harvey replied with a smile. What about rebel patrols?

We seen few white men for some weeks now. Boxer responded. "They got their eyes on Port Royal Sound. The hunters and fishermen are all in uniform by now, except for a few they need to keep an eye on the plantations.