Off to one side, watching the soldiers who were burdened by packs and rifles as they labored up the gangways into the ship, were General Meagher and his staff. He fought hard to keep his face as stern as the occasion demanded; this was a most important occasion with the brigade sailing off to war. If he let himself go he knew that he would be smiling like a loony. Because only he, of all those present, knew their final destination. Working with generals Sherman and Lee in planning the invasion had been trying and difficult — but satisfying in every way. Now the planning was all done, the secret orders written. But, oh how he wanted to see the looks on his men’s faces when he told them that Ireland was their destination. It took a definite effort not to break into a wide grin. That pleasure would have to wait until they were well out to sea.

All along the Atlantic seaboard the ships were getting up steam and setting sail. The slower ships were already on their way to their rendezvous off the Florida coast, having left the day before. From the Gulf ports, transports laden with Southern troops were also on their way. The largest single invasion force the world had ever seen was at sea, prepared to take the war to the enemy.

Further to the south, the fleet of ironclads had coaled for the last time in South America and had put to sea. Their course was southerly and out of sight of land. They stayed on this heading until midnight when their secret orders had been opened. The scene aboard the USS Avenger was being repeated on every ship. The captain, with his first mate at his elbow, carefully slit the envelope and took out the thin sheaf of papers and unfolded them. He read halfway down the first page and his jaw dropped.

“Well I’ll be damned. We’re not going round the Horn after all.”

“What then, Captain?”

“Why we are crossing the Atlantic to rendezvous with the rest of the invasion fleet.”

“Invasion where, sir?” the officer pleaded.

“We are going to invade Ireland — that’s where! We are going to get in there and land before the British even have a clue. God, but I would love to see their faces when they find out what we have done!”

“May I tell the crew?”

“By all means. No way that they can tell anyone else now.”

After a stunned silence there were shouts of joy and many a rebel yell.

The watch below was woken by the cries, reacted with fear.

“What’s happened?”

“Have we been hit?”

The door opened and a sailor poked his head in and shouted.

“It’s Ireland we’re invading, boys — Mexico was just a ruse! We’re going to hit the Brits right in their back yard!”

The ships heeled as their wheels were swung over, their wakes cutting curved arcs in the water as they turned towards the east.

But in Jackson, Mississippi, there was little thought of the distant war between other nations. Here were the victims of the generations-old race war that still divided this nation. The three men on the church porch were still dazed by the suddenness of events. They had carried the dead man off the road and stretched him out on the bare splintered boards of the porch.

“I don’t understand. How did this happen?” Reverend Lomax asked.

“They dragged me from ma’ bed,” Bradford said. “Gonna lynch me ’cause I wouldn’t chop cotton. Got a noose, den the shooting…”

“I heard them arrive,” L.D. Lewis said. “They weren’t keeping it quiet. Guess they wanted the whole countryside to know what they were doing. Putting the Negroes back where they belonged. Right at the bottom of the heap. If they were just shouting, maybe burning a cross, I wouldn’t have done anything. But they were going to hang this man right in front of the church. Then burn the church and the Freedmen’s Bureau down. When I shouted a warning they just started shooting. All I could do was fire back. Emptied my magazine. They must have thought from all those bullets flying by that there was a whole platoon in here. They hightailed out of here. It’s one thing to attack the helpless hiding behind a hood — another thing altogether to stand up to rifle fire. Now we’ve got to do something about this mess. You’re sure about who this nightrider is what got killed?”

“That’s him all right. That is Mr. Jefferson Davis. The one who was president of the Confederacy. Maybe we ought to take him into the church, not leave him lying out here.”

L.D. was not impressed as he picked the dead man up under the arms and dragged him inside. Then he went back to the street and found the white hood; lifted the corpse’s head and pulled it on. “That was the way we found him, that’s the way that it’s going to be. Now he is just one more of the dead, rightly enough. And so will we be if we don’t move fast. Is there a swamp, maybe a river close by?”

“Creek about a half-mile that way, runs into the Pearl River.”

“Do you know the way there, Bradford? Can you find it in the dark?”

“Shore enough can,” the man mumbled, still stunned by the night’s events.

“Good. Then you and I are going to go there, dump this gun and all the ammunition in the deepest spot. You got much family here, Bradford?”

“There’s just me and my daddy since…”

“I’m sorry, but he’ll just have to get on without you for a good while. That’s better than your being hung. The reverend will make your good-byes for you. Later, maybe, you can send for him.”

“Ah don’t catch yuh meanin’…”

“You and I are leaving here now — and you are not going to come back. You are a dead man in this town the second that you are spotted. We are going to get rid of this gun and the ammunition, and then we are going to keep on going. When I came in on the train I saw a marshaling yard just outside of the city — place where there are lots of tracks and trains. Can you find it in the dark?”

“Shore can.”

“Then let’s go. Now it’s up to you, reverend, to report this to the police. Here is what you want to know happened. You heard firing near your church, woke up, got your gun and came to see what was happening. Everyone was gone. But you found the dead man lying in the road. That’s close enough to the truth to jibe with your conscience. You won’t be lying — just leaving out some things in order to save Bradford’s life. Then, after seeing the dead man, you went inside where you wrote a note saying there had been a killing. Went to the nearest house, woke them up, sent a boy running with it into town. Isn’t that what you would do?”

“Yes, that is what I would do. But…”

“No buts. That’s all you know and that is all you are going to say. But give us at least a half an hour’s lead before you send the note. I want us on a freight train — and as far away from here as we can get — by the time the sun comes up. I’m sorry about what has happened. I didn’t mean it to end this way. I came here to protect you folk and I’m afraid that I got you into worse trouble than you ever was before. For that I am truly sorry. But I would rather this nightrider was dead, whoever he is, rather than Bradford here. Now — let’s go.”

Their running footsteps faded in the darkness. Lomax gave a deep, shuddering sigh. There was big, big trouble coming. He prayed that this would be the end of the killing. He dropped to his knees and prayed out loud as though the sound of his voice might make that wish come true.

His watch was back in the house, so he couldn’t be sure of the time. When at least a half an hour had gone by he walked down the dirt road to the Broderick house, and knocked on the door until someone called out.

“Who there?”

“It’s me, Reverend Lomax. Open the door will you, Franklin?”

He wrote a note for the sheriff while he told Broderick what had happened. He did not tell him who the nightrider had been. This was bad enough. Their teenage son went running with the note.