REVIEW OF THE PINKS

Today, I’m filling in for Celia Yeary, who is recuperating from back surgery.

Alan Pinkerton (left) with
President Lincoln

Those of us who love history are familiar with the story of Alan Pinkerton and the Pinkerton National Detective Agency—which led the way to the United States Secret Service. Pinkerton agents were respected by citizens and feared by criminals. In THE PINKS, Chris Enss adds to the knowledge of Pinkerton agents by writing about the women agents and spies.

Kate Warne

Kate Warne was the first woman detective in the United States. I had heard of her and that she also acted as a spy during the Civil War. Kate also dressed as a Union soldier and saved President Lincoln's life.

Angus Macfadyen as Allan Pinkerton,
Martha MacIsaac as Kate Warne, and
Jacob Blair as William Pinkerton

There was even a television series in which she and Alan Pinkerton’s son William were the main characters. Kate had sister agents, and I was not familiar with their names.

Chris Enss is the author of many books about women in the United States, especially in the West. I have several of her books. Her HEARTS WEST tells the story of true mail-order brides, successes and failures.

THE PINKS is a book both readers and authors will find useful and interesting. I recommend it highly.

Spies At Work

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

Emma was living in Flint, Michigan, when the first call for Union enlistments went out. She wanted to answer the call. So she cropped her hair, got a man's suit of clothing, took the name of Frank Thompson and tried to enlist. It took her four tries but finally she did in fact get sworn into the Union Army (at that time the physical consisted merely of asking the enlistee questions - no medical examination). On April 25, 1861, Emma Edmonds alias Frank Thompson became a male nurse in the Second Volunteers of the United States Army.

After training in Washington, D.C., Emma's unit was sent south to be part of McClellan's campaign in Virginia. Private Thompson (Emma) was assigned as a male nurse to the hospital unit of the 2nd Michigan Volunteers and had no trouble in maintaining her masculine masquerade. Even before the hostilities erupted on a full scale two events occurred that changed Private Thompson's life forever. The events were: (1) A Union agent working in Richmond for McClellan was caught and faced a firing squad. This left a void in the intelligence gathering for McClellan.

(2) A young officer, named James Vesey, who Emma had known back in Canada, was killed on a patrol. Emma, not knowing this, went to see him and arrived at his unit just as his funeral was about to begin.

As a result of these events, when the word went out that McClellan's staff was looking for a person to act as a spy prior to the campaign - Private Frank Thompson volunteered. She studied all she could find on weapons, tactics, local geography and military personalities and when interviewed for the position, Private Thompson so impressed the staff that the position was his (hers).

Prior to her first mission, Private Thompson had to devise a disguise that would not alert the Confederates to her real mission and she decided to enter the Confederacy as a black man. Assisted by the wife of the local chaplain, the only person knowing her true identity, she used silver nitrate to darken her skin to the point that the doctor she worked for in the hospital did not recognize her. She donned men's clothing along with a black minstrel wig - chose the assumed name of "Cuff" - and departed on her first mission.

Once on the Confederate front she was soon assigned to work on the ramparts being built by the local Negroes to counter McClellan. Her hands were so blistered after the first day that she convinced a fellow slave to swap jobs with her and the second day she worked in the kitchen and all the time she kept her eyes and ears open. She learned a great deal about the morale of the troops, the size of the army, weapons available, and even discovered the "Quaker guns" (Logs painted black to look like cannons from afar) that were to be used at Yorktown. After the second day, she was luckily assigned as a Confederate picket, which allowed her to escape and return to the Union side. The information she delivered was well received and she even had a personal interview with McClellan, after which she returned to duty as a male nurse in the hospital unit, but not for long.

About two months later, she once again was ordered to infiltrate the Confederate lines. She did not want to return as "Cuff," so she went as a fat Irish peddler woman with the name of Bridget O'Shea. Once again she successfully gained admittance to the Confederate camps - sold some of her wares and garnered as much information as she could. She returned to the Union camp not only with the information but with a beautiful horse from the Confederate camp, that she named Rebel. In the process of returning on this trip, Private Frank Thompson was wounded in the arm, but managed to stay in the saddle and elude the Confederates in the chase.

With the battle in Virginia slowing down, the Second Michigan was transferred to the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia to support the efforts of General Philip Sheridan. Private Thompson's reputation as a nurse and also as a spy preceded the transfer and Private Thompson soon found new territory for spying. On several occasions Emma went behind the Confederate lines as "Cuff," a fellow of whom Emma herself said, "I truly admire the little fellow. He's a plucky one; got his share of grit."

In August of 1862, Private Thompson again went behind enemy lines and this time Emma went as a black mammy complete with the black face and the bandanna. On this trip she became a laundress in the camp and while cleaning an officer's coat a packet of official papers fell out of his pocket. Emma quickly picked them up and decided it was time to return to the Union side with the packet. She did and the officers were delighted with the information she had garnered.

At the end of 1862 her unit was transferred and this time they were sent to the Ninth Corps, commanded by General Ambrose Burnside near Louisville, Kentucky. As before, the reputation of Private Thompson preceded the transfer and his secret missions continued in the new area. Here he was asked to assume the role of a young man with Southern sympathies by the name of Charles Mayberry and go to Louisville to assist in identifying the Southern spy network in the town. Once again Private Thompson succeeded in his mission-this time just prior to the unit's transfer to the army of General Grant in preparation for the battle of Vicksburg.

Under General Grant, Private Thompson worked long hours in the military hospital until a real dilemma arose. She became ill with malaria and could not admit herself to the hospital where her true identity would be discovered. After much soul-searching Emma decided that she had to leave camp for a while and recover in a private hospital. Arriving in Cairo, Illinois, she once again became a woman and checked herself into a hospital for treatment of malaria. Once recovered Emma planned to don her uniform and rejoin her unit - that is until she read the army bulletins posted in the window of the Cairo newspaper office. There on the list of deserters from the Union army was the name of Private Frank Thompson. With the last of her funds, Emma Edmonds bought a train ticket to Washington where she worked as a nurse until the end of the war. There would be no more secret missions for Private Frank Thompson to add to the eleven successful missions in his career.

After the war Emma wrote her memoirs titled Nurse and Spy in the Union Army, which became a very popular book selling thousands of copies. Emma gave all of her profits from the book to the U.S. War Relief Fund. Once the book was completed Emma became homesick for her native Canada. When she returned there she found love. In 1867 Emma married Linus Seeyle and went back into the United States, initially to Cleveland, Ohio. The marriage was happy, and Emma raised three sons, one of whom enlisted in the army "just like Mama did."

While happy in her family life, Emma continued to brood over being branded a deserter in the Civil War. With the encouragement of her friends she petitioned the War Department for a full review of her case. The case was debated and on March 28, 1884, the House of Representatives passed House Bill Number 5335 validating Mrs. Seelye's case. The House Bill includes the following statements:

"Truth is oft times stranger than fiction, and now comes the sequel, Sarah E. Edmonds, now Sarah E. Seelye, alias Franklin Thompson, is now asking this Congress to grant her relief by way of a pension on account of fading health, which she avers had its incurrence and is the sequence of the days and nights she spent in the swamps of the Chickahominy in the days she spent soldiering.

That Franklin Thompson and Mrs. Sarah E.E. Seelye are one and the same person is established by abundance of proof and beyond a doubt. She submits a statement... and also the testimony of ten credible witnesses, men of intelligence, holding places of high honor and trust, who positively swear she is the identical Franklin Thompso..."

On 5 July 1884, a special act of Congress granted Emma Edmonds alias Frank Thompson an honorable discharge from the army, plus a bonus and a veteran's pension of twelve dollars a month. The resulting Special Act of Congress read:

Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America in Congress assembled, That the Secretary of Interior is hereby authorized and directed to place on the pension roll, the name of Sarah E. E. Seelye, alias Frank Thompson, who was late a private in Company E, Second Regiment of Michigan Infantry Volunteers, at the rate of twelve dollars per month Approved, July 5, 1884.

Now satisfied, Emma lived out the rest of her life in La Porte, Texas, where she died on September 5, 1898. She is buried in the military section of Washington Cemetery in Houston, Texas. In honor of her duty and devotion to her country she is the only female member of the organization formed after the Civil War by Union veterans - The Grand Army of the Republic (GAR). In her own words Emma Edmonds said of her adventures:

"I am naturally fond of adventure, a little ambitious, and a good deal romantic - but patriotism was the true secret of my success."

Source: "Spies and Spymasters of the Civil War" by Donald E. Markle

Coming Soon... THIS MOMENT IN TIME by Nicole McCaffery

I hope no one will mind if I change course from our usual topic of the Old West to share another of my favorite era’s with you today.  The following is an excerpt from my upcoming release, a Civil War era time travel coming in early 2012 from The Wild Rose Press.

Not even captivity can sway Southern widow  Josette Beaumont from spying for the Confederacy.

Under the nose of the Union army, she willingly risks her life to pass information to her sources.

Until a stranger appears in her bedroom one day with a cryptic message: stop spying or you’ll die. She

has no reason to believe his warnings about the future, but his company is the only solace in her long

days of imprisonment, and his friendship quickly comes to mean so much more. If only she could make

the sacrifice he asks of her…

To hell with history, real estate mogul Jamie D’Alessandro has no intention of saving the historic

mansion he’s purchased, even if it is the home of a famous Confederate spy. But when he steps into an

upstairs bedroom of the old house, time suddenly shifts, bringing him face to face with a very beautiful

and irate Southern lady. Against his will he’s drawn into her cause—to save the Confederacy. But Jamie

has a cause of his own. According to his research the lady spy has only days to live.

Should he change history to save the woman he loves—or sacrifice life in his own century to be with her for This Moment in Time?

 “TV producer and star of The House Flipper, Jamie D’Alessandro was indicted this week in Los Angeles on charges of fraud and grand larceny.

“An appraiser there claims D’Alessandro owes her more than forty-thousand dollars for work she did on some of the homes he flipped. If convicted, D’Alessandro could face up to two years in jail.  This comes just weeks after controversy began swirling around D’Alessandro’s plans to demolish an historic home in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia.  The two-hundred year old house, used as a headquarters by Union General Stillwell during the Civil War, was the home of famous confederate spy Josette Beaumont, once known as the Virginia Rose. 

“D’Alessandro, son of the late real estate mogul James D’Alessandro, maintains the home is too badly damaged from decades of neglect to safely renovate. He plans to replace it with an upscale hotel.

In other news…”

“This doesn’t look good.”

Jamie muted the television and quirked a brow at his chief financial officer.  “I’ve been in worse messes.”

“Ashley—sorry, the plaintiff.  She’s making your life hell.” Len Goldman kicked off her low-heeled shoes and settled into a leather wing back chair. “Why don’t you just pay her off?”

“Because it’s bullshit. We were engaged at the time.  She wasn’t interested in collecting payment as long as there was a half million-dollar rock on her hand.  Now that I’ve called things off she wants compensation.”

“Jame, you could go to jail.”

He pulled a face.  Rising from the leather sofa in his office, he strolled across the room to gaze out at the night sky.  Even at eighty stories up, there were no stars to be seen, just the New York skyline and the artificial lights of the other Manhattan high rises. 

“That doesn’t concern you?”

“Nope.” He swirled the contents of his glass, then tossed it back with one gulp.  “What good is my father’s money and his team of New York attorneys if they can’t keep me out of jail for something I didn’t do?  Hell, they kept me out enough when I was younger for things I did do.”

A shadow of a smile crossed Len’s face. “I suppose they did.  Now what about this place in Virginia? The other board members and I are concerned about the image of D’Alessandro Development.”

He turned and faced his mentor, the woman who had held the company together after his parents’ unexpected deaths and been a surrogate parent to him over the years.  “Lenora. You’re not serious.”

“It doesn’t look good, Jamie.  When you acquired the property, you assured the Daughters of the Confederacy and the local historical society you wouldn’t tear it down.”

“It was a mistake. I should have listened to the appraiser, but I thought it would be great for the show.  It would take millions to restore that thing.” He strode across the room to refill his glass.  “And I never said I wouldn’t demolish the house. I said I didn’t intend to demolish it. Intentions change.” He lifted the brandy decanter toward her in silent question. 

Len shook her head, indicating her half-full glass.  “You know damn well people don’t see it that way.  They just see some hot-shot kid from New York with more arrogance than brains—”

“I’m thirty-three, hardly a kid.”

“Have you even seen the house?”

Jamie settled back onto the leather sofa, resting an ankle on one knee.  “I’ve seen pictures.”

“It’s just… I know you hate to hear this hon, but your father—”

“I’m not—”

“I know.  You’re not your father and no one expects you to be.  But Jimmy was a self-made man.  He didn’t earn his millions overnight like you did; he had to work for it.  And he believed to his dying day that a personal touch made all the difference.  He was never too big, too busy or too important to do things for himself.”

Jamie absorbed her words and the sting of her underlying message.  Unspoken words like spoiled brat and too big for your britches hung in the air between them. He studied the contents of his glass, swirling the amber liquid, listening to the ice clink against the sides.  “I have nothing to gain by going to Virginia.”

“First hand knowledge.  You know this business as well as any appraiser. Hell you’re probably the only heir in New York who has actually done manual labor.  I know what you can do with an old house, Jame.  If you haven’t seen it for yourself, how do you know it’s not worth renovating?”

“Because I don’t care.  I don’t know what it is, Len, but lately… nothing interests me.  I know you think I’m a spoiled brat, but I feel like there’s nothing left.  Like it’s all done.  My father spent his life building his fortune—building all of this,” he gestured to the ceiling.  “When he died, I became a billionaire. At twenty-three.”

“No one could blame you for feeling that way.  You never had the chance to find out what you wanted to be when you grew up. It was thrust on you as Jimmy and Regina’s only child. You’ve spent the last ten years learning the business from the ground up, you’ve proven to the world that you are your father’s son, you are a chip off the old block.  Maybe it’s time to take a breather.”

“I don’t need another vacation; there’s no place I haven’t already been.”

“Then don’t take one.  When the pressures of it all got to your father, he used to say the best medicine was to get your hands dirty.”

He reached to set the glass on a side table. “Are you suggesting I take up gardening?”

She chuckled.  “No. Do what you’re really good at.  Go fix up a house somewhere. Disconnect completely. Forget about New York, forget about real estate. Forget about Ashley and the lawsuit.”

Jamie considered her words for a few moments.  Disconnect? No cell phone, no computers. Nothing? As unreasonable as the idea sounded, it held a certain appeal.  He released a sigh of defeat “Fine. Call off the bulldozers.  I’ll go to Virginia.”

****

Spring, 1862

Shenandoah Valley, Virginia

“I want to know how Stonewall Jackson knew where my men were going to be.”

Josette Beaumont resisted the urge to flinch. She’d not show a hint of weakness, even as General Stillwater’s foul breath bathed her face.

He grabbed her chin between his thumb and finger, squeezing.  “You’ve been locked in this house for a month, yet somehow you still managed to get information to the rebs.  I want to know how.”

She jerked away from his touch, but he didn’t release her.  “Has it not occurred to you, General, that perhaps the Union army isn’t as clever as you think?  You were the ones who intended to win this war in a matter of days, as I recall.  Yet the North hasn’t won a single battle.”

He shoved her against the wall with a thud that rattled her teeth.  “Time spent in a Federal prison would do you good.”

She held her tongue.  Until he could prove she was a spy, he couldn’t truly send her to prison.  At least she hoped not.  Right now he had no proof of anything.

“Fortunately for you, my dear, I’m a man who appreciates beauty.”

A cold knot of fear coiled in her midsection.  She stepped away from the wall, all too aware of the bed in the center of the room and the lusty gleam in his eyes.

He closed the distance between them in one long stride.  “We could work out an arrangement that benefits us both.”

“I’d die before becoming mistress to the likes of you.”

“The time may come when you change your mind.  Until then, if I were you, I’d be very cautious about what you choose to share with your sources.  You never know when the information you have access to is false.  You could unintentionally send those filthy rebels you care so much about directly into harm’s path.”

A lump rose in her throat.  “If I were a spy, as you claim, then that might concern me.  But since I am nothing but a poor widow—”

“A poor widow?”

“You know perfectly well my husband’s passing left me with nothing. What little I had was taken by you and your men.”

“There is one thing I haven’t taken from you, Mrs. Beaumont.”  His cold gaze raked her from head to toe, leaving her as chilled as if he’d stripped her naked.  “I prefer to wait until you offer it freely—“

“Then you’ve a long wait ahead.”

“My patience is wearing thin,” he said, storming toward the door. “One of these nights I may decide I’ve been patient enough.” 

The door slammed. She waited a half breath until she heard the key turn in the lock and the General’s boots retreating down the hallway.

She quickly pulled the pins from her hair, allowing the waist length strands to fall free, combing her fingers through the tangles until the silk-wrapped sachet fell to the floor.  She scooped  it up and hurriedly pulled the contents from inside to review the notes she would slip to her contact later tonight. 

****

By the dim glow of propane lanterns, Jamie unrolled the sleeping bag and spread it on the floor.  His flight had arrived late, and he’d gotten lost on the way to the house.  It was dusk by the time he arrived.  He’d have to wait until morning to fully explore Beaumont House and the grounds around it. 

He rubbed his arms against the chill of the spring night.  Fortunately, he’d never minded roughing it.  In fact, sitting here in this abandoned house, with only the sound of his own breathing for company, he was more content than he’d ever been in his multi-level New York penthouse.  No servants tiptoeing about, no cell phone buzzing, no financial advisors dropping by for hours-long discussions.

Maybe he’d have a look around before night fully took over the house.  He hadn’t actually stepped foot inside before, had merely relied on the findings of his reconstruction team.  But now, flashlight in hand, the narrow beam of light lit upon yellowed paint, peeling wallpaper and architectural detail the likes of which were rarely seen these days.  He stepped closer, studying the intricate molding on the fireplace and ran his fingers along the smooth, cold surface.  It would need more than stripping and refinishing to restore it, but the wood felt solid beneath his fingertips. 

Stepping back, he drew the light up to reveal the crown molding along the ceiling.  He’d need a ladder and full daylight to get a good look at it, but the idea of working with his hands again—getting them dirty, as Len said—filled him with an excitement that renewed his spirit in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. 

The light glinted off the top of a framed painting.  He lowered the beam, illuminating the portrait.  A woman with dark hair and smoldering dark eyes.  A modest hint—downright puritan by today’s standards—of pale bosom peeked over the ruffled bodice of a white dress.  Somehow that hint of creamy flesh seemed more forbidden—sexier-- than any modern woman he’d ever seen.  There was something prim and ladylike about her that made it feel wrong to stare at her like that.  Was this the famous spy?  Her name escaped him, but he made a mental note to learn more about her.

A loud thump from the second floor caught his attention.  His heart leaped to his throat, and for a moment, he felt like a scared kid in a haunted house.  He shook his head, chuckling at himself.  The house had been locked up tight since the renovation team had come through to inspect it, there was no one around.  Probably a rodent or critter had gotten inside.  Still, he had no intention of spending the night listening to the scratching and thumping of a wild animal.

He shone the flashlight ahead of him until he found the winding, elegant staircase that led to the second floor.  Common sense warned him not to trust the stairs; the old house was full of wood rot.  But curiosity got the better of him and he tested the first step before putting his full weight on it, and the next, and the next.  Fully expecting to go through the boards and land on his ass, he continued the same tenuous journey until he reached the second floor. 

Amazed he’d actually made it, he gave a quick glance behind him, then began to move around the second story.  Shining the light upward, he saw the staircase continued to a third floor, but wasn’t about to push his luck any further. 

He paused, waiting until he heard the scratching again.  With the beam of light at his feet to illuminate the floor, he took slow, cautious steps, following the sound.  As he drew closer to the sound he paused, wondering if he should have brought something for protection. What if the creature was rabid? 

Stepping fully into the room where he’d heard the noises, he paused to appreciate the huge windows that overlooked the valley.  They didn’t make houses like this anymore, and while he had nothing but the utmost appreciation for the trappings of modern society, he had to admit, there was something about the way they built things a couple of centuries ago. They didn’t need high tech gadgets and expensive fabrics to scream wealth and elegance.  It was right here in the architecture. 

Forgetting himself for a moment, he stepped across the room. The loud groan of a floorboard caused him to freeze, wondering if the floor could support him.  The banging now came from behind him.  Heart suddenly pounding, he whirled.  A door—to a closet, perhaps?— rattled insistently.  He swallowed.  He’d never believed in ghosts, had laughed off any notion that they existed.  So what the hell was this? 

As he stood there, a cold draft of air swirled about his feet.  Wasn’t it supposed to get really cold when a ghost appeared?  No, no, he wouldn’t allow his imagination to take him there.  Dammit, he was James D’Alessandro III; he’d never allowed anyone or anything to intimidate him. It would take more than an abandoned old house to spook him.

On silent feet, he crossed the room to the door, mentally counting—one, two… three. He yanked it open.  His breath left him in a relieved exhale.  Nothing stood behind it.  The cold breeze continued, whistling through a broken window.  The branch of a tree had long since grown inside and as the wind blew, it scratched against the wall.  A gust must have blown the door shut; that was probably the bang he’d heard from downstairs. 

He took another deep breath to help slow his heart rate. While he was out gathering tools tomorrow, he’d have to get something to put over the window.  He’d never get any rest with that door thumping all night long, and the air blowing inside would only make the house colder. 

Chuckling at his own ridiculous fear, he started to turn. A voice—not the howling of the wind this time— and the sudden sensation of warmth at his back stilled him.

“Honestly, Sebastian, he can’t keep me locked up here much longer.  I’ll go mad.”

A woman?  She sounded calm, perhaps a little angry.

“Drat it, now I’ve lost count.”  A heavy sigh followed.  “The last I remember was twenty strokes, I’ll have to start over from there.”

Heart back in his throat, he turned just enough to glance over his shoulder.  The first thing to greet him were the windows—the very same windows he’d admired moments ago.  Only they were now adorned with white lace.  To the left, a warm fire crackled in the fireplace, casting a golden glow across the gleaming hardwood floor.  And directly in front of him, a dark gray cat lay sprawled across an ornate four poster bed, calmly grooming itself. It paused, tongue in mid stroke and stared up at him with curious green eyes.

“Twenty one. Twenty two. Twenty…”

Swallowing, he forced his gaze from the cat to the source of the voice.  A woman sat at a vanity, tugging a brush through long, dark hair.  In the mirror, he watched as her gaze moved from her reflection.  To him.  She let out a gasp.  The brush fell from her hand. She whirled on her seat to face him.

“Wh—who are you?”

She could see him!