No one in Jackson, Mississippi, knew that a new war had started some thousands of miles away across the Atlantic Ocean. Even if they had known, the chances were that it would have taken second place to the dramatic events now unfolding in Jackson. Since soon after dawn the crowds had begun to gather outside of the jail. Silent for the most part, though there was the occasional jeer at the troops of the Texas Brigade who were lined up before the jail. The soldiers looked uncomfortable — but snapped to attention when the captain and the first sergeant came out of the building. They ignored the questions and the taunts from the crowd as they made their way to their temporary quarters in the hotel next door. The crowd grew restless.
Major Compton stopped the cab well clear of the crowd and paid off the driver. He did not know Jackson at all, so had taken the cab from the station. Now he rubbed at his chin, he had cut himself some when he had shaven himself on the train. He straightened his tie and brushed some soot from his tan jacket: he was not used to being out of uniform. But it would have taken some special kind of insanity to wear his blue jacket down here. He picked up his carpetbag and pushed through the crowd towards the hotel.
The lobby was crowded and noisy. A small boy with a bundle of newspapers was doing a smart business, with people climbing over each other to buy one. An army captain in field gray came in from the street and worked his way through the crowd to a hallway on the far side of the lobby. Compton went after him: it was much quieter in the hall. Two soldiers in butternut brown guarded a doorway labeled “Ballroom” at the far end of the hallway. They looked at him suspiciously when he approached.
“I am Major Compton. I am here to see General Bragg.”
One of the soldiers opened the door and called inside. A moment later a corporal came out.
“What can I do for you, sir?”
“I am Major Compton of the United States Army. I am here to see General Bragg. He will have had a telegraph message about me.”
The corporal looked suspiciously at the jacket and tie. “There’s a chair over there, Major. If you’ll just sit a bit I’ll see what I can find out.”
Compton sat down and paced his bag on the floor. The guards stared into space. The crowd in the street outside were a distant roar, like waves breaking on a beach. After some minutes the corporal returned.
“You best come with me.”
General Bragg was not a happy man. He waved Compton to a chair as he shuffled through the papers on the desk before him, until he found the right one. Pulled it out and read from it.
“From the War Department… will make himself known to you… officer in the 29th Connecticut.” He dropped the sheet of paper and looked at Compton, cocking his head to one side.
“I thought that the 29th Connecticut was, well—”
“A Negro regiment?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“It is. The senior officers are all like me.”
“Well then, yes, I see. How can I be of help to you, Major?”
“Maybe I can be of help to you, General. You are not in an enviable position here…”
“You can damn well say that again, and twice on Sunday. We’re all good Texas boys in this brigade and we fought for the South. But folks here look at us like we’re lower than raccoon shit.”
“Understandable. They’re all upset.”
“Hell, we’re upset! After what happened to ol’ Jeff Davis. Went and got shot by a nigger…”
“While wearing a hood and participating in a lynching.”
“Yes, well, there is that. A man his age ought to have had more sense. But, anyway, you never say why you’re here.”
“I would like you to arrange it so I can see the prisoner in jail.”
“Nothing I can do about that. Have to see the judge, the sheriff about that. We just sent here to keep the peace, such as it is.”
“I will see the sheriff — but any decisions about the prisoner are really up to you. You are an army officer and this is a military matter. Sergeant Lewis is in the army—”
“The hell you say!”
“I do say — and you can telegraph the War Department if you don’t believe me. He was on detached service, working with the Freedmen’s Bureau. But he was in uniform when he was arrested and he is subject to military justice.”
The general’s jaw fell. “Am I right? Are you telling me that the army wants him?”
“They do. If there any charges to answer over this death he will be tried by a military court martial. Legally he cannot be tried by a Mississippi civilian court.”