Ghost Knights Of New Orleans Read online

  “If my father took this oath of which you speak, then so will I. Let’s be on with this business, especially if my father’s life is on the line.”

  Pike then handed me a sheet of paper.

  “This is it. Read this to yourself. When you are ready to make your most solemn promise, you will read it aloud.”

  I read the oath and then, looking to Pike, nodded in the affirmative my intention to make the vow. Pike then went outside and called in the sentinels.

  “Drouet, all of these men are members of the Circle who took the same pledge as your father, the same vow you are about to take yourself. Proceed.”

  “I, Drouet Broussard, do swear to solemnly keep all secrets of the Golden Circle; that I shall faithfully perform whatever I may be commanded, and that I shall always hold myself in readiness to obey the mandates of said Circle whether at bed, or board, at the festive Circle, or at the grave, and if I shall hesitate or divulge the secret, may I incur the severest penalties to which flesh is heir.

  “May I be cursed in all the relation of my life, in mind, body, and state, and may the pangs of hell be my eternal portion.

  “I feel honored, fellow knights and companions of the Golden Circle, that you have deigned to admit me. No efforts shall be wanting on my part to advance the interests of the organization.

  “A distinguished Latin author has justly remarked that it is sweet and profitable to die for one’s country. I have but one life and am ready to give it, should it be necessary.”

  Then Pike and the sentinels uttered in unison, “Whoever dares our cause reveal shall test the strength of knightly steel; and when the torture proves too dull, we’ll scrape the brains from out his skull and place a lamp within the shell to light his soul from here to hell.”

  General Pike then advanced toward me, stopped, and stood facing me at a distance of perhaps two feet. The words he recited from memory ran thus:

  “Sir Knight, you have just taken a most solemn adjuration and believe me that you are known to all members in every part of the country. The Knights of the Golden Circle is extensive, and though the government in Washington City is zealous and would freely spend thousands to unveil our designs, all efforts have hitherto been fruitless. No traitor has yet appeared among us, and inevitable ruin awaits the individual who would play the part of Benedict Arnold. No public steps would be taken. He would disappear, and I leave it to you to judge his fate. Dead men tell no tales. Ponder well on these things, and remember, you cannot escape us.”

  2

  Killing the King

  Before leaving the secluded cabin the following day, Pike allowed for my return to Indian Territory after completing the mission in New Orleans, a move allowing me to see the war through with my Indian comrades, a condition on which I insisted. He also gave me additional names and addresses of key contacts in New Orleans necessary to my mission.

  At the time, I wondered why Pike, so soon after the scalping affair at Pea Ridge, still owned enough influence to secure my military leave with the Confederate brass overseeing the war effort in Indian Territory. And obviously, I pondered what connections he might have within the Yankee government in Washington City that he had knowledge of an upcoming Federal invasion of New Orleans.

  Eventually, those answers came to me.

  I faced a daunting mission in New Orleans. Pike allowed that Yankee warships had been ordered there forthwith and that I take the necessary steps to prevent the treasure hidden within the mint building from falling into Yankee hands when the boats arrived. Interestingly, he seemed to fear the seizure of coin and bars from the mint on Esplanade Avenue far more than he feared the capture of New Orleans itself.

  Pike directed me to visit Loreta Janeta Velazquez, one of the top K.G.C. contacts in New Orleans, as soon as I arrived.

  In choosing instead to go pay a visit immediately to my father, I disobeyed my first order as an agent of the Knights of the Golden Circle. I longed to see my last remaining parent.

  Once home, Marguerite, Father’s quadroon mistress, one of the most beautiful ladies in New Orleans, met me at the door. The plaçage system in New Orleans allowed white men and free women of color to form liaisons whereby the man provided for the woman, or placée, and her children for life, even if he had an established white family. Father had loved and idolized Marguerite for as long as I could remember, and, in my eyes, she seemed ever the queen, and that is precisely the rank with which Father treated her. As always, I stood in awe of her appearance and presence, and this meeting was no different. I beheld her raven-black hair, her yellow-tinted, yet somehow cream-colored, skin, and her black-as-night eyes now emanating worry.

  Marguerite and I exchanged a few words, and I paid my respects before she motioned me into the next room to Father.

  I had been away from home for nearly two years, but Father’s face appeared to have aged at least ten. Indeed, his very spirit seemed older. He also appeared afraid, and my father owned a countenance on which I had never before detected a shred of fear.

  In the course of our conversation, I informed Father of my newfound membership in the K.G.C. That Father found this news disappointing showed clearly upon his face.

  “Are you not happy with this, Father?”

  “Did Pike enlist you?”

  “Yes. But what is the matter? Is Pike not your friend? He has been many times in this home. He recruited me into the war from the beginning. Right or wrong, I’ve looked up to him.”

  “I joined the Circle at the very beginning, over five years ago, and I wish I hadn’t.”

  “Are you not on the best of terms with the most influential of its leaders?”

  “I thought I was.”

  “Something is wrong, Father. What is it?”

  “The Circle is not what I thought it was.”

  “Does it not stand for Southern independence, for the rights of we Southrons to determine our own affairs?”

  “I once believed that. There’s more to it, Drouet.”

  I stood silent and confused in front of Father, trying as best I could to make sense of his words—and of his fear.

  “You know, neither you nor I possess the qualifications for membership in the Circle, Drouet.”

  “You entertained its top men in this home on many occasions. Surely what you say is incorrect.”

  “Have I ever owned slaves?”

  “No, Father, you have not. But what does that have to do with anything? You are a businessman, not a man of the plantation. You’ve never had need of slaves.”

  “But ownership of slaves is a prerequisite for membership, Drouet.”

  “Then how were you allowed to join?”

  “They allowed me to join under the highest suspicions, and they have never trusted me completely since I took the oath.”

  “I do not understand. Enlighten me. What does owning slaves have to do with it?”

  “It has everything to do with the K.G.C. The original purpose of the Circle was to work toward a ‘Golden Circle’ of slave-holding territories throughout the Caribbean, Central America, Mexico, and the present-day states of the Confederate States of America, including the Indian Territory, where you have been lately engaged, with all of this led by Maximilian of Mexico.”

  “This is unbelievable! The K.G.C. purports to defend the Confederacy at all costs, but you say the grand design is that we bow to Maximilian?”

  “Pike, Slidell, Benjamin, and the rest, all under the leadership of Bickley, are the grandest of conspirators, and I was too slow in realizing their true objectives.”

  “Do they also resent you having Marguerite?”

  “Of that, I am not sure. Maybe.”

  Father’s words explained why Pike had been so willing to organize the Five Civilized Tribes of eastern Indian Territory on behalf of the Confederacy. Many within those tribes owned slaves and how better to bring the region into the great Circle than to first engage its people into the fight for Southern secession, a move that, if successful, would co
unt as an important first step in establishing the Circle’s ultimate goal—the ‘Golden Circle’ of slave-holding territories as Father explained.

  “Father, Pike somehow knows that New Orleans will be attacked any day now. How does he know this?”

  “He knows because he receives secret coded dispatches from K.G.C. members in the Yankee Government.”

  “From whom?”

  “Does the name Andrew Johnson mean anything to you, son?”

  “Lincoln’s vice president?”

  “Yes, but if you value your life, then pretend you are unaware of these facts. Let me lay the facts before you, Drouet. If Pike knows New Orleans will be attacked soon, it is because his Yankee K.G.C. puppets have told him so. And Pike also knows that if New Orleans is successfully taken—which it most surely will be at the hands of a vastly superior Yankee navy—then the life of our beloved Confederacy comes to an end soon.”

  “Then the life of the K.G.C. also comes to an end, right? Lincoln and the Abolitionists will free the South’s slaves, and how does that further the Golden Circle of slave-holding territories?”

  “To Pike, Slidell, and Benjamin, the fall of the Confederacy is a mere roadblock. They have plans in place for when our Confederacy crumbles. They have plans in place that were formulated in this very house with my knowledge.”

  “What plans?”

  “They will work to cause as much disruption in the Yankee government as possible toward the end. They will attempt to take the war to Texas and to your Indian Nations with whatever is left of our Confederate forces.”

  Father’s face seemed to have taken on age in the telling of all this. We heard the distant sound of a steamboat horn from the river and Father gazed introspectively through a window.

  “Son, I want you to forget about all the K.G.C. men you saw in this house so many years ago. From those men came the ‘Kill the King’ directive to be carried out at the end, and you should be as far away from civilization as possible when that happens. I wish I could flee too, but alas, I am an old man and shall likely face the consequences.”

  “Kill the King?”

  Father’s answer explained the sound of fear in his words and the look of it upon his face.

  “Yes, the assassination of Abraham Lincoln.”

  3

  Planning My First Assignment for the K.G.C

  Before leaving Father, I asked him if I should leave the ranks of the K.G.C.

  He responded that no one leaves the K.G.C.

  “Just slither within its ranks as unnoticed as possible, play the game, play it smart, wait it out until the end, and, when the end comes, as it most certainly will come, have yourself situated on the other side of the world if possible.”

  This I determined to do.

  I then bathed, shaved and fitted myself out in attire more appropriate for the streets of home. From my old closet, I retrieved numerous items of clothing, including my long cape, an article that allowed for easy concealment of weapons beneath.

  From there, I made haste to 57 St. Charles Avenue, home of the Pickwick Club, a members-only affair into which I entered after a long absence. There, I ordered a Sazerac, a drink I had not enjoyed for well over a year, but had tasted in my mind a million times during that period. Father always said a man has to sometimes indulge a bad habit and to never trust a man who doesn’t. That night, I indulged my fixation several times before leaving 57 St. Charles. As I reflected on my reason for returning to the Crescent City, though, it suddenly dawned on me that all good things must come to an end. I knew I must get on to business.

  Without difficulty, I found the Velazquez residence on Prytania Street, not too many blocks distant from my father’s residence.

  I knocked on the door to the Velazquez home, and a Confederate officer answered and welcomed me inside even before I had a chance to announce myself. The officer donned a handsome, well-kept uniform with lieutenant insignia on the coat sleeves, a thick mustache swirled on both ends, and a goatee.

  “Drouet Broussard, I presume? We have been expecting you. Please take a seat here in the foyer. I will wait with you as Miss Velazquez makes herself ready.”

  The officer took hold of a small brass hand bell, rang it briskly to notify the lady of the house of her guest, and then he seated himself in a chair on the wall opposite me in the grand foyer. He did not seem like one for small talk, and I offered no opportunities for such engagement. We sat silently for what seemed like an eternity with the tick-tock of a nearby wall clock offering the only reminder that life proceeded apace. Five minutes elapsed. Then ten. Then fifteen. Hearing no other sound from anywhere else throughout the domicile, I soon began to wonder if the lieutenant and myself were actually alone in the place.

  Just as I noticed my mind growing more agitated while attempting to resolve the truth of the circumstance, the lieutenant arose, walked to a position maybe three feet from my person, removed the mustache and goatee, and threw off the Confederate cap which allowed long, flowing, raven-black hair to fall down the back and over the shoulders. The truth of the matter now revealed itself in stunning feminine beauty, and I stood mesmerized while trying to refrain from showing anything other than a stoic poker face. The lithe and lovely lady, a stoic male Confederate lieutenant only seconds before, then removed everything else down to the minimum essentials, and the result certainly deserved my compliments.

  “My lady, what I see standing before me could stop a charge of the Mamelukes of the Imperial Guard and easily sink a fleet of Yankee warships out on the river.”

  “I see that you and I will get along famously. And, yes, if I have to use what you see standing before you to complete this mission, I will gladly do so.”

  “Do you often play dress up?”

  “I’ve perfected the art of the disguise, and it serves me well in my current occupation.”

  “I see this is going to be fun.”

  “Promise?”

  “I’m already finding our collaboration rather enjoyable. And you?”

  “We have work to do.”

  “Oh, yes, that. There’s gold hidden inside the mint, and we have to get it out. How could I forget?”

  “I hope you have constructive ideas.”

  “I do. Several glasses of Sazerac at the Pickwick helped ignite my imagination, and my mind formulates ideas as we speak.”

  “And?”

  “I know how and when—when to the day.”

  “My interest is piqued. Please go on.”

  “Do we know where inside the mint building the gold is located?”

  “We do. It is stashed behind a false wall of a closet at the rear of the building on the first floor, nearest the streets of Decatur and Barracks.”

  “And how did the gold end up there?”

  “Our operative worked in the mint and, over time, as opportunities arose, managed to build quite a nice collection of bars, dust, and shavings behind the false wall.”

  “What do you mean by shavings?”

  “Before a coin is struck, someone is responsible for making sure it meets the uniform weight and size requirement. If a blank coin weighs too much or is too large, someone is responsible for shaving it down to the uniform weight and size.”

  “Are not these shavings collected to make additional coins?”

  “You are right. Nothing is wasted when it comes to gold.”

  “So, how did the shavings make it from the floor to the closet?”

  “During the heat of summer, workers oftentimes convinced their employer to open the windows to allow in fresh air. Sometimes the mint staff allowed the windows open, sometimes not. It depended on their mood. Anyway, on windy days the shavings on the floor could be blown this way and that inside the building and become lost in the accounting efforts. Our operative used this weakness in the system to amass a sizeable amount of shavings.”

  “Pray, how did our operative manage to secure gold bars and ingots and whisk said material into this closet?”

  “Th
e bars were kept in a vault. The door of the vault was constructed of metal bars through which one could see the contents within. At the bottom of the door, on the door handle side, the door could be pried apart wide enough to allow our operative, using a long metal prod thinner in size than a cigarette, hooked at the end, to dislodge the bars from the stacks and drop them to the floor. The metal prod was then used to nudge the bars to the door where he pulled them through. He then hurried the bars quickly to the closet where he hid them behind the false wall. When our operative walked out the door to go home at the end of the day, there wasn’t a spec of gold to be found on his body.”

  “Our operative is a good thief. He wasn’t really stealing in the strictest sense. He was relocating.”

  “Correct. We shall be the ones stealing it—if we can.”

  “We can. Although, I must say it feels strange thinking about stealing from the Confederacy, a government for which I have fought with all my heart for over a year.”

  “This is a K.G.C. job. Pike, Benjamin, and Slidell believe The Circle was fighting for the Confederacy before there was a Confederacy. So, what ideas have you?”

  “We make our move as soon as we hear the booms from the Yankee warships when they attack. That could happen any day now, and it could happen at any time during the day or night. We must be ready when that time comes. One other thing…the mint building was not built to be a military fortification. As soon as the guns of the Yankee warships blast from the river every soldier in the mint building will depart the premises. From a military standpoint, the mint building is a place to flee—not defend—when the attack commences. The troops will exit the building post-haste and immediately take up positions along the river to fire on the enemy boats. There should be nary a man in the mint building even ten minutes after the shooting starts. Anyone left behind on Esplanade Avenue will likely be sick or injured soldiers or civilians.”