A HOUSE IN NEW ORLEANS

Updated Sunday 15 May, 2011 12:18 PM

A HOUSE IN NEW ORLEANS

by Thomas Wm. Hamilton

Fred Larsen was taking life easy. The ship he was on would take at least another week to reach New Orleans, and the Gulf was much warmer in October than weather back home on Long Island. It was not a trip he had been eager to make. However, President James Madison knew how to apply pressure when he wanted something. Right now, it seemed, he wanted North Shore Military Academy to provide a counterspy. Larsen had one of the precious few still functioning Twenty-first Century radios to keep in touch with NSMA. He also had a variety of lethal aids, a recorder, medical supplies, and other Twenty-first equipment. Soon enough he would be in Louisiana, hunting out rings of British, French, Spanish, and who knew what other nationalities of spies.

It was nearly eight years since the United States had purchased the Louisiana Territory from Napoleon. Now, with his European wars going badly, L'Empereur seemed to think he might get aid from North America. His British enemies were afraid of that happening, and were yearning to teach the upstart American republic a lesson. Spain looked to possibly expand out of Texas into Louisiana, which it had held from 1762 to 1800. The Dutch, or Batavian Republic if you were obedient to Napoleon, had island interests in the Caribbean. Larsen would not have been surprised (although hardly happy) to learn the Pope, Tsar, and Mameluks all had spy rings operating in Louisiana. On top of which, pro-slavery elements in the United States were very unhappy that a majority free black population had created a state in Arkansas almost immediately after the Purchase. They could be counted on, if for nothing else, to keep an eye on Louisiana to make sure it was pro-slavery. The pro-slavery element were still grumbling that Madison had followed the leads of his fellow Virginians in manumitting all his slaves upon being elected President. Larsen accepted the general anti-slavery sentiment of NSMA, but having been born in 1785, he was a bit less insistent about it than those who had been born in the Twentieth Century and carried back to 1770 by unknown means. Regardless, Madison feared either a foreign power trying to snatch Louisiana, or pro-slavery elements trying something desperate. Larsen's job was to expose plots and discourage plotters.

Sufficient, thought Larsen, unto next week is the evil and hard work thereof. For now, he relaxed with some wine, and gazed into the evening sky, admiring the Great Comet which had first appeared back in April. Now, on this 319th anniversary of Columbus' arrival in the New World, the comet was putting on a spectacular display. NSMA's staff had advised this would be the best comet for more than the next thirty years, and Larsen, although no astronomy buff, appreciated seeing it. He also had well concealed amusement at some of the outlandish speculation he heard about the comet. He drained his wine and walked back inside to the private cabin he had overpaid for. The door was shut, but the thread he had left stuck in the doorway was on the floor.

Larsen carefully drew a snub-nosed .38 from his shoulder holster, and pushed the door wide. The room was empty, but his trunk and other items were all slightly moved. That did not concern him, but he checked the trunk's lock, a quality Twenty-first Century product. It was intact. And I thought I had another week before it began! He sighed, and reached towards the cabinet hiding a small camera. The pictures showed a crewmember he had barely noticed. The man entered his cabin, looked around, and scrutinized some innocuous papers Larsen had deliberately left on the cabin's small desk. He seemed to waste several minutes reading about horse breeding. Next he tried for several minutes to open the trunk. Giving that up, he checked the bunk for anything hidden. A further search turned up nothing, although Larsen was amused when the man stared directly into the camera. At least he'll be easy to recognize if I run across him on land, what with an enormous nose, one ear missing, and eyes of different colors.

Nothing further happened in the days before the ship docked in New Orleans. Since Larsen was quite unacquainted with the city in any century, he permitted himself to be steered from the dock by one of the swarm of creole hustlers to a hotel that had a tavern attached to it, figuring its relatively central location in the French Quarter and attached tavern made it desireable.

At the hotel desk an effusive young man asked how long he wished to stay. Larsen said a couple months, which seemed to delight the desk clerk, who then asked delicately, "Do you wish to sign our register, or should I write your name in?"

Larsen reached for the book. "I can write." He wrote in a name and a home town.

The clerk took the book back, and read. "Mr. J. Edgar Hoover of Wallingford, Connecticut. We will be pleased to have you with us, so long as you don't start political or religious arguments." He gestured to a waiting slave, who came running. "Take Mr. Hoover to room 308." The slave hefted Larsen's trunk and headed for the stairs.

Larsen paused long enough to tell the clerk, "I don't have enough religion to argue about, and I know nothing and care less about politics, both in Louisiana and Connecticut." He followed the slave upstairs.

After tipping the slave an overly generous four bits, and settling in, Larsen used his radio to notify NSMA: "Arrived NOLa safely. I took a room at a hotel called 'House of the Rising Sun' in French Quarter. I booked using the recommended cover name J. Edgar Hoover. Too bad no one can appreciate my whimsy." He got nothing beyond an acknowledgement, so he set to work purging the room of dirt and insect life.

His trunk clicked weakly. Anyone not from NSMA would have ignored the sound, if they heard it at all, but Larsen recognized a call on his radio. He opened the trunk, took out the radio, and switching it on, said, "Larsen here."

"Please hold, the Commandant wishes to speak with you." Larsen had not expected such attention.

"Lt. Larsen?"

"Yes, sir!" He recognized the voice of the Commandant himself, General Dan Howard.

"What the devil do you think you're in New Orleans for, an orgy?"

"Sir?"

"The first thing you do there is check into the most notorious cathouse in American history? Do you think that's why President Madison wanted us to send a quote responsible and discreet unquote investigator?"

"Sir, I don't understand. What's wrong with the Rising Sun hotel?"

Gen. Howard snarled, "Are you going to make me sing? Alright, you deserve to hear my total lack of musical talent." The General proceeded to prove his point by caterwauling "There is a house in New Orleans they call the Rising Sun. It's been the ruin of many poor lads, and I, oh Lord, am one. You claim you never heard that before?"

"Sir, I've truly never heard that. Remember, I never lived in the Twentieth or Twenty-first."

"Maybe you're as innocent as you claim. Just remember you aren't there for fun, and make sure you are not one of those poor lads."

"Do you want me to check out and move somewhere else?"

"No, you aren't supposed to be some gospel shouter, so it would look pretty peculiar to start there, and promptly move. Just behave yourself and stick to business. Glad you picked a cover name no one here will forget. Howard out." The radio clicked off.

Larsen shook his head. Gen. Howard had left NSMA to become the founding head of the U.S. Military Academy at West Point in 1791, in Washington's second term. He had returned to NSMA as Commandant there in 1805, being replaced at West Point by another NSMA produced

General and former Deputy Postmaster General. While two Presidents, Adams and Jefferson, had no idea they were dealing with people from the future, Washington certainly had, and so did Madison. Of course, NSMA had introduced so many changes, including shortening the Revolutionary War by close to six years, and getting Madison to incorporate what would have been thirteen later amendments into the Constitution, ending slavery in six states, getting women the vote in four (soon to be six, if state legislatures approved pending bills), and making Quebec a state, that events were beginning not to resemble the secret history books back at the Long Island school. Certainly Larsen had not heard anything in classes about Louisiana being a hotbed of international intrigue in NSMA's original history, nor in the special lectures he got before coming, from Gen. Howard and an aged history professor. Time to get to work.

Larsen locked his trunk, scattered some innocuous documents, and headed for the tavern attached to his hotel.

Larsen had seen a few bars in his day. This one was different in several ways. There were two armed, burly bouncers, each of whom eyed him as he entered. Wine seemed to be more popular here, but then, Louisiana had until recently been a French property. The barmaids were far better looking than Larsen had previously experienced, and many seemed to be quadroons and octoroons, words he had learned in training just before leaving NSMA.

"What would m'sieur desire today? Du vin? Beer? Un viskey? Une fille? Peut etre une blonde?"

Larsen relaxed. "Une fille? My French tells me you are offering a drink or a girl?"

"Ah, oui. Ees thees m'sieur's first veesit to ze 'Ouse of ze Rising Sun?"

"Well, I've taken a room in the hotel, and just thought the tavern provided drinks. Although I guess a bit of company to help me drink might be welcome. Tell you what, I'll start with a beer, and maybe later look for une fille." She smiled and left, returning a few moments later with a beer. Larsen tossed her two two bit pieces, which made her look delighted.

"If m'sieur wants anozzer dreenk, or une companion, ask for Mimi." She leaned over him. Her loose blouse revealed she wore nothing else on top, and a lot more. She ran her tongue lightly over his ear and murmured into it, "For you, ennyzing you want, jus' two dollair. I be waiteeng."

He smiled. "I certainly shall remember that." He took a deep drink, coming up with a face full of foam.

A sly looking specimen sat down at his table. "Don't bother with Mimi if you're looking for a girl. This place has much better to offer."

Larsen looked him over calculatingly. "So? And who are you?"

"Just a local man of business. Call me Pierre."

"So, Pierre, what do you suggest? Or should I say who?"

"Do you really want a girl? Some here believe you have another purpose."

"My purpose in coming in here was to have a drink or two. Are you daring," Larsen narrowed his eyes and gave Pierre a nasty look, "to suggest I prefer boys?"

Pierre was not the least abashed. "I've heard it said you may want to contact some foreign interests."

"I'm in Louisiana to investigate some horse breeding opportunities. I can't imagine who you could have been talking to about me. I just arrived in town today."

"Ah, but you weren't the only one aboard your ship." Pierre broke off as Mimi came back to their table.

"Would m'sieur like ennyzing?" She gave Pierre a hostile look.

Larsen smiled and shook his head. She walked away as Pierre continued, "it would seem to be widely discussed aboard your ship that you had other interests besides horses."

"Someone aboard that ship must have been hitting the rum ration too hard. Mimi offered me the only thing I was interested in, and I'm drinking it right now." He suited his action to his words, and took another deep draught. "When I'm not engaged in serious business with beer, I am interested in horse breeding. Would you know anything about local stables or quality breeds? If not, I must tell you in all honesty, this place offers better opportunities for companionship than your presence."

Pierre shook his head sadly, and got up. "If you change your interests, Mr. Hoover, I may have something to tell you." He walked to the bar.

Now how did he know my cover name? Someone on board ship, or the desk clerk? Larsen remained at the bar for an hour, fencing with Mimi, and amusing himself by noting how Pierre hung around always keeping an eye on him. Finally, tired from a long day, he returned to his room.

As Larsen was preparing for bed, he heard a timid knock. Upon opening the door, he found the slave who had carried his case to the room. Surprised, he said, "Yes, what do you want?"

"Sar, yew was raht kindly by me, so Ah jes wanted to warn yew, thet Mimi, she ain't no French gal."

"Oh, and how do you know?"

"She came to de hotel jes' aftuh Ah was bought here. Then she spoke lahk an English gal."

"You mean a Yankee Northerner?"

"No, sah, Ah means lahk she wuz from England. We gets folk from all ober de worl' hyah, an Ah knows how dey sounds."

"What's your name," Larsen asked, reaching into his pocket.

"Scipio, sah."

"Well, Scipio, what you just told me is very interesting, and I hope if you know or hear anything else interesting, you'll tell me." He handed Scipio a dollar bill. The slave's eyes bugged out, and he left assuring "Mistuh Hoovah" of his intention to keep him fully informed. Larsen went to bed chuckling. In town less than a day, and I'm already building a network of informants. That night he dreamt of engaging Mimi is such passionate love-making that she forgot her fake French accent.

The next day Larsen began serious efforts to investigate whether there were plots afoot to take Louisiana away from the USA. His special training had warned him to check out Governor Claiborne, especially in view of a thwarted plot by Aaron Burr to turn the area into a personal kingdom. Investigation, however, suggested that while Claiborne was collecting some mild graft from establishments similar to the one where Larsen was staying, he seemed loyal to the United States. Larsen knew that in the original history, Claiborne had served as Governor for four years after Louisiana became a state, so he probably was innocent of anything nefarious. On his third day in New Orleans, Larsen was still in his room when he heard a gentle knock on his door.

Opening it, he found Scipio there.

"Suh, you has been good to me. Mays Ah ask you a question?"

"Certainly, Scipio, what do you want?"

"Theah's a rumor among us darkies thet some places ain't got slavery. Does thet be true?"

Larsen stared for a moment at Scipio. Living on Long Island in an enclave of time travellers, he had grown up with little personal awareness of slavery. This question, asked in a naive dialect,

suddenly brought it home for him. In a slightly tightened voice he said, "Yes, Scipio, that's very true. Several states, like Vermont, have banned slavery from the start. In fact, the state just north of Louisiana, Arkansas, was founded by escaped slaves." He didn't add that the political leadership there was entirely drawn from the time travellers and their families.

"Does you think slavery might be ended heah?"

"I really don't know enough about Louisiana or its politics to answer that, but I doubt it would be any time soon."

Scipio looked downcast. "You is a good man. Ah's afeared from hearin' what the Spanish and English is aplannin'. It ain't gonna be good for us darkies Ah'm thinkin'."

"Oh, what would that be?"

"Ah cain't really stand heah in the hall atalkin' about this."

"Come in, come in." Scipio entered, and Larsen shut the door. He turned his back on Scipio for a moment to conceal that he was turning on a recorder. Turning back, he said, "Now what's this all about with the Spanish and English?"

"Wal, suh, Ah was aworkin' in one o' dem private party rooms, an' dey was dese gennumen fum Texas an' fum England atalkin' about how de English wuz agonna attack N'Orlenz iffn de Yewnited States gets into de war. Dey was tellin' de Spanish gennumen dat deys got to send sojers to attack furder no'th. An dis one Englishman, he says dat de Spanish gets to keep Louisiana aftuh de war, an' maybe Florida too. A Spanish gennuman, he says wha'for de English wants to fight iffn dey gets nuttin out of it. An' de Englishman, he laughs an' say dey's mo' parts to bite offn dat turkey than jest Louisiana."

"Good God! Scipio, I'm very grateful you told me this. Do you think you could point out these people, if they're still hanging around the Rising Sun?"

"Yessuh, Ah's surely can. One ub de Englishmen, he ain't too hard, 'cause he gots but one ear, and his eyes be differen' coluhs."

"Now isn't that curious." He handed Scipio another dollar, and gestured that he should leave. Once Scipio was gone, Larsen played the tape of their conversation, and then opened his trunk. He got NSMA radio control, and told them, "Stand by to record." On their signal, he transmitted the tape. As expected, within five minutes Gen. Howard was back to him.

Dispensing with any civilities, Howard began, "How reliable is this informant?"

"He accurately described a man from my ship who searched my cabin while I was out."

"I'm forwarding this immediately to President Madison."

"Good idea, sir." But he was talking to a dead radio.

Larsen found that he could not, as he had dreamt, easily make Mimi forget her fake accent.

Later, on the street, Pierre approached him. "You are being very foolish. Mimi is not what she appears."

"Are you another one warning me she isn't really French?"

"You knew?"

"Rumors do get around."

"And yet you spent some time with her. Very foolish. She works for the British as a spy, did you know that?"

"I have little to hide."

"That's not what I hear."

"Stop being cute. Who are you and what game are you playing?"

"L'Empereur hopes to retain America's friendship, and not to see Louisiana revert to the hands of any of his enemies."

"I'm sure President Madison does not want to see Louisiana in anyone else's hands, either.

What're your interests in this?"

"My interests are the same as those of my Empereur."

"You're French? Where's your accent?"

"I have lived in English speaking areas for many years. As for my interest in you, we anticipated President Madison sending an agent, and you seem to be the one."

"And if I am, what of it?"

Pierre paused, and said slowly, "Our interests in this matter coincide. Your investigation of Governor Claiborne was noted. We could have saved you the trouble. British and Spanish interests are being aligned to act here."

"Why Spain? I thought Napoleon had brought Spain into his sphere of influence."

"An interesting phrasing, and most delicate. The peninsula campaign has not been going that well for L'Empereur, as this Wellesley fellow is a lot better than most British generals. Anyhow, there are many Spanish who are not in favour of the present arrangements, and I personally suspect that the Spanish here are more interested in imitating you Americans by declaring independence and creating a new country than in what happens back in Spain."

Larsen smiled, remembering his lessons in what history would have been. "President Madison would be very much in favor of the rest of the Americas gaining their independence, but not at the cost of their grabbing part of the United States."

"So we are in agreement that such plots are to be stopped?"

"How do you propose to do that?"

"It's your country. How do you propose to stop it?"

"I'm but a single person. I would hope my government is prepared to act in its own defense. Would France see it in the interest of France to help or to stand aside?"

"Ah, L'Empereur would surely wish to stop action by British agents, or Spanish interests not aligned with France."

On that note the two parted, Larsen mulling just what message he would pass along to NSMA about this conversation. Engrossed in thought, he barely noticed the dank alley he was passing until a familiar figure came out of it, pointing a pistol at Larsen. Without hesitation, Larsen ducked, while reaching into his vest for his ever present .38. The man with one ear fired.

Larsen's judo-inspired roll spoiled his aim. Larsen heard the man mutter "bugger", and suddenly each of his hands held a knife. Larsen was now prone. He aimed the .38 and fired as the man with one ear flipped the knife in his right hand at Larsen. He was quick enough to be able to move the .38 a few inches to deflect the knife. Simultaneously a deep groove appeared in the knife thrower's cheek. Blood splattered outward.

The knife shifted to his empty right hand, and he said, "Unless you've another gun, I'll finish you now, Hoover."

Larsen didn't waste any breath, he simply fired a second and third shot. His target staggered, and vanished back into the alley. Larsen was not about to risk following him. Four gun shots

were sure to attract a crowd. Larsen also quickly vanished.

The report to NSMA that night again got Gen. Howard on the line. "Should I order you out of there?"

"Why, sir? Clearly I'm having some sort of success, and they must see me as a threat."

"Yes, but how is it that they know who you are? Did you slip up?"

"No sir, absolutely not. Notice that both the French and English agents are calling me Hoover. There's a leak, but only from somewhere else." Once again Howard cut off abruptly.

Half an hour later Howard was back on the radio to Larsen. "I've spoken with the President. He suspects a leak from his staff, and he's checking out everyone who knew about our sending an agent. I had given the President your cover name so he could instruct any agents he has in New Orleans to watch for you. Someone must be passing info."

"This could be dangerous. What do you want me to do?"

"Well, obviously, if you can, find out where the leak is. Otherwise, just watch your back. Presidential agents will identify themselves with the phrase 'Dolly rates two dolls', but remember they may not be trustworthy."

"I'll wager you, not the President, came up with that phrase."

"No comment. Get back to work."

Larsen heard the Commandant hang up, and shut down his radio. Life was getting much too interesting, and he had no desire to again run into the one-eared man, or any of his friends. At some point the wrong party would lose. Larsen respected Madison, and was proud to work for him, up to a point. Assassination attempts were past the point. He locked up the trunk, wondering how to cover his back.

Returning that evening to the tavern, Larsen noticed the two bouncers took less interest in him. Mimi, on the other hand, waited until he sat, and then climbed into his lap, holding two beers. This required some remarkable dexterity, but she managed not to spill a drop. However, Larsen had noticed previously that she possessed some remarkable dexterity, even if he could not make her forget the fake accent. The evening passed tolerably.

Larsen had scarcely arrived back in his room when his radio clicked. He opened the trunk, and spoke into the radio. "Larsen here."

"I thought I was reaching Mr. Hoover in New Orleans" said an unfamiliar voice with a distinct Southern flavor.

"That's my cover name. Who is this?"

"James Madison."

" The President?"

"Yes. Are you the operative NSMA sent to New Orleans for me?"

"Yes, sir! What may I do for you, sir?"

"You could explain to me just what's going on down there. I get reports from your General Howard, but they concern me a great deal, and I would like to find out from the man on the scene what's going on."

"Sir, the city is full of spies and agents from all sorts of powers. The British anticipate the United States will be dragged into their on-going wars with Napoleon, and are co-operating with some Spanish interests in Texas. If we do get into the war, there will be an invasion of Louisiana from Texas and an attack from the sea by the British."

"I understand from NSMA's history books that the British will also attack and burn Washington. Or is this being dropped due to NSMA's messing with history?"

Larsen was thankful President Madison could not see him. He knew that Madison was one of only three downtimers to know about NSMA, but the other two were dead, and this kind of conversation was well into what he had drilled into him as forbidden territory.

"I don't know about British plans for an attack on Washington, but it sounds like the sort of thing they would try, sir."

"Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"You have a leak in your office."

"A leak? What on Earth are you talking about? It isn't even raining here."

"Sorry, that's future slang for information getting out unofficially. The people tracking me and trying to kill me call me Hoover. This proves the leak did not come from NSMA. You knew only my cover name. Someone you told must have passed that along to these spies and would be assassins."

Madison muttered something Larsen could not make out. Before he could ask for a repeat Madison said, "Other than me, only two people here about you. I'll take care of that problem. Orders will go to two army commanders instructing them to intercept British and Spanish invaders. I think you should get out of there before one of the assassins really gets to you."

"Yes, sir, as soon as General Howard concurs I'll be on my way home. Are you aware of the future destruction of New Orleans?"

"Now what are you talking about?"

"Well, sir, remember I was not born in the future, my father was, so I'm just talking about things I learned in school, but in 2005 a hurricane will almost completely destroy New Orleans, and kill over a thousand people."

"2005, eh. I understand you've got some sort of saying about how even the beating of a butterfly's wings can change the future. I'm not planning for 194 years from now. I have an invasion from Texas, a war with the British, and a spy in my office to worry about first. I should think there will be a few Presidents between now and 2005. Let some of them take care of that."

Madison terminated the conversation. Larsen had one major errand before he could leave for home. He went to the hotel manager, and asked to speak to the owner. He was startled to learn the owner was a woman. She let him purchase Scipio for a fairly reasonable price. He ordered Scipio to watch his back until they could ship out, but once word was out that "Mr. Hoover" was leaving, the attacks ceased.

The Commandant was more than happy to get Larsen out before he was seriously injured or killed. Six months later, upon being secretly assured of advanced defensive preparations for any invasion from Texas or by sea, Madison forwarded a message to Congress asking for a declaration of war.

The Spanish incursion from Texas turned out to be little more than a joke. Just over a thousand soldiers marched into the north-western corner of Louisiana, and were smashed by Arkansas militia partially armed with recently developed repeating rifles, with two companies of regular army. The combined American forces then entered Texas and destroyed several Spanish forts. As they withdrew, the Mexican Revolution began.

The planned British attack on New Orleans was defeated by troops under the command of Andrew Jackson. The only significant change from the original history was Jackson's death from a musket ball passing through his neck.

The planned British attack on Washington failed to take place, as the British fleet was met by the American Navy's first three ironclads. Although the engines powering two of them failed during the battle, nearly the entire British fleet was sunk. One stalled ironclad was towed to port, while the other limped in on its own a day later.

On March 3, 1813, Madison's last full day as President, he presented Larsen with the newly invented Presidential Medal of Merit. Scipio, a free man, was invited to attend, scandalizing some Southern Congressmen in attendance.

With all of Latin America devoured in revolutionary flames, the new President, James Monroe, sent an ambassador to Europe to attend the Congress of Vienna. It was there that Monroe presented his shocking doctrine that the era of colonization had ended in the New World.

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