were gathered, some arriving, some departing, some backed up to the ends of their respective tracks. The sounds of trains in motion, the heavy rolling of steel on steel, and of engines at rest, from the puff of relief valves to the hiss of boiling water, permeated the shed, combining with the shouts and conversations of passengers and railroad workers to create a cacophony that was only slightly below a roar. Steam that was released from the engines drifted through the shed, forming clouds that gathered under just under the roof. As the railroad industry was in transition between fuels, there was a strong, though not unpleasant, smell of burning wood and coal. Finding track number seven, the two men boarded the cars, located a seat, then waited for the train to depart.
“The hardest thing about fighting Indians is in getting them to stand and fight,” Custer said. It was noon, and Falcon and Custer were eating their lunch in the dining car. Custer had been very talkative throughout the trip, his conversation extremely self-centered.
“Now, you take the Washita campaign,” Custer said. “There have been some in the press who have criticized me for attacking the village in the predawn darkness, but I knew that if I didn’t hit them when they were least expecting it, they would all get away. Those who truly understand the art of warfare, and who understand the nature of the Indians, realize that the campaign was a brilliant one.”
Custer was not at all inhibited when it came to talking about himself. He told Falcon stories of his exploits during and since the Civil War; he spoke of his writing, and he mentioned that he had been approached to give a series of lectures during the summer for the princely fee of two hundred dollars per lecture.
“I can’t accept the offer, though,” he said. “As I mentioned earlier, the Seventh Cavalry will be making an expedition this summer, and I shall be riding at its head. I expect it’s going to make news.”
Throughout the afternoon, as the train proceeded through Pennsylvania and Maryland, the conversation turned to politics and the upcoming conventions.
“There are some who think I should run for president,” Custer said. “And I confess to having given it some thought, but, I have to tell you, Falcon, over this last few weeks, watching how our government operates in Washington, I don’t know if I would really want any part of it. No, sir, a horse under me and a regiment behind me is all that I have ever wanted.”
After leaving the train in Washington, the two men ate dinner together. Custer had been invited to be a house guest of Ben Holladay. “I’m sure you know of him,” Custer said. “He has built stagecoach and railway lines. He is a fascinating man.”
“I have heard of him, yes.”
“I would be glad to ask him to extend the invitation for you to stay with him as well. I’m sure he would welcome you.”
“Thank you, but I have already wired ahead to the Willard,” Falcon said. “I’ll be staying there.”
“I have stayed at the Willard,” Custer said. “It is a fine hotel and you will be very comfortable there.”
The two men hailed cabs, one going one way, and the other, the opposite. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again while we are here,” Custer called back to Falcon as his cab drew away.
Falcon smiled. He hoped it wouldn’t be too soon. He believed that Custer had more to talk about than anyone he had met.
According to author Nathaniel Hawthorne, the Capitol, White House, and State Department ranked behind the Willard Hotel as the center of Washington. It had its beginning in 1847 when Henry and Edwin Willard first set up as innkeepers on the corner of 14th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue. In 1853, the brothers purchased the entire row of adjoining houses, uniting them architecturally in a major remodeling. Presidents Taylor, Fillmore, Pierce, Buchanan, Lincoln, and Grant had stayed at the Willard, and it was Grant who coined the term “lobbyist” because so many representatives of special interest groups would camp out in the lobby of the hotel in order to approach Grant with their petition.
In addition to presidents and statesmen, other famous people had stayed at the hotel, including Charles Dickens, Buffalo Bill Cody, and Falcon’s father, James Ian MacCallister.
Falcon read about the history of the hotel on a small brochure that lay on the bedside table. He smiled, as he read the part about his father.
Jamie Ian MacCallister, pioneer, trailblazer, scout, and hero of the Alamo made our hotel home while he was in Washington. Songs, articles, books, and plays have been written about this legendary figure.
Chapter Six
April 28, 1876
Washington, D.C., Office of the Secretary of War
“I’m sorry, Mr. MacCallister, Secretary Taft isn’t here at the present time. He is attending the Clymer hearings,” Taft’s clerk said when Falcon presented himself at Taft’s office. “He sends his regards, sir, and says that he will meet with you tomorrow.”
“Are the hearings closed?” Falcon asked.
“They are actually, but would you like to attend?”
“I think I would, yes,” Falcon replied.
The clerk wrote something on a piece of paper, then handed it to Falcon. “Present this at the door,” he said.
Office of the Secretary of War
Please admit Falcon MacCallister to the hearings.
For the Secretary,
Jason Mulgrave
Falcon was admitted to the hearing room without question, and when he took his seat, Custer was already testifying.
“General, I know that after your first appearance, we dismissed you so you could return to your regiment. I appreciate your willingness to appear before this committee a second time,” Congressman Hiester Clymer said. “And I’m certain that your testimony will be full and truthful.”
“It will be, sir,” Custer replied.
“Mr. Chairman, let the record show that Colonel Custer did not return voluntarily, but was summoned to reappear,” Republican Congressman William Baker of New York said.
“Is that a significant point?” Clymer asked.
“It is, sir,” Baker replied. “You spoke of Custer’s willingness to appear as if his appearance was voluntary. Nothing could be further from the truth. As I stated, he had left Washington and had to be brought back by summons.”
“Congressman, I left Washington because General Sherman had authorized my release,” Custer said. “I would point out to you, sir, that I returned immediately upon being summoned. It isn’t as if I had been brought here under arrest.”
“Though it would have been within the committee’s right to force you to return had it been necessary,” Baker insisted. “And I’m quite sure you were aware of that.”
“Had it been necessary,” Custer repeated. “But it wasn’t, was it?”
Clymer banged the hammer on the table. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, please. Let us proceed,” he said.
