Land of the Free

Land of the Free

A novel by Jeffry Stephen
Hepple

Volume One of the Gone for
Soldiers series.

Prequel to Home of the
Brave.

Sequel to Gone For a
Soldier.

Smashwords
Edition

Copyright 2009, Jeffry S.
Hepple

All rights
reserved.

This ebook is licensed for
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should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank
you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is dedicated to Jo
Ann for every imaginable reason.

Acknowledgements

The author wishes to thank
the following people for their encouragement and help in the
laborious process of editing and proof-reading: Dona Dean, Beth
Horsch, Margaret Lake, Teresa Shaw, Geoff Thomas and special thanks
to Susan Trotter.

Held captive by the
British aboard the warship
HMS
Surprise
, American lawyer, Francis Scott
Key, witnessed the British bombardment of American Fort McHenry
through the long, rainy night of September 13th and 14th,
1814.

As the sun rose the
following morning, illuminating the American flag, still flying, he
wrote these words on the back of an envelope:

O! say can you see by the
dawn’s early light

What so proudly we hailed
at the twilight’s last gleaming?

Whose broad stripes and
bright stars through the perilous fight,

O’er the ramparts we
watched were so gallantly streaming?

And the rockets’ red
glare, the bombs bursting in air,

Gave proof through the
night that our flag was still there.

O! say does that
star-spangled banner yet wave

O’er the land of the free
and the home of the brave?

Book One

July 4, 1804

New Orleans, Louisiana
Territory

Jasper Folsom pushed open
the doors of the Gray Lady Tavern and made his way through the
crowded tables to the bar. The interior was dimly lighted, dirty,
smelly, populated by disreputable looking men and women of ill
repute.

“What’ll it be, Jasper?” The
man behind the bar asked in English.

“Beer.” Jasper was a small
but powerfully built man with terrible burn scars on his face. He
turned away to search the tables. “Where’s Marina tonight,
Joe?”

“Upstairs with a real big
spender.” He began pumping beer into a mug.

“Do I know him?”

“Who?”

“The big spender that took
Marina upstairs.”

“I don’t think you do. He’s
a Frenchman.”

“I know plenty o’
Frenchmen.”

“This one’s a smuggler and
some say a cutthroat pirate named Jean Lafitte.”

“Jean Lafitte.” Jasper
raised what remained of his eyebrows. “Guess I won’t be callin’ him
out then.”

“Not if you don’t have a
death wish.” He put the beer mug on the bar.

Jasper exchanged a coin for
the mug, took a long swallow of beer then wiped foam from his mouth
with the sleeve of his dirty shirt. “How much would you take for
her?”

“For Marina? Hell, Jasper, I
couldn’t sell her to you.”

“Why not?”

“Well, ‘cause I like her and
I know she wouldn’t be happy with you.”

“How do you know
that?”

“‘
Cause she complains that
you stink like horse sweat. Besides, you’re ugly as sin with all
them damn scars.”

“Marina says she don’t mind
the scars.”

“What’s she say about the
horse sweat?”

“She says that she do mind
that.” He chuckled. “Reckon she’ll be up there all
night?”

“Naw. She’ll be back soon.
But I bet you got time to take a bath before she is.”

“How come you’re so damned
worried about how I smell?”

“I told you. I like
Marina.”

“Then how come you whore her
out like you do?”

“Well now that’s different,
Jasper.”

“Different how?”

“Seein’ as how I got money
invested in her, it’s business. But I don’t never make her go
upstairs with nobody she don’t want to go with.”

~

Marina Cortés, wearing only
a short chemise and black fishnet stockings, was standing in front
of her bedroom mirror applying a mixture of talcum powder and rouge
to cover a blue-green bruise on her cheek.

“The blackheart who did that
to your lovely face should be keelhauled,” the man on the bed
behind her said in French.

“It looks worse than it is,
Captain.” She was indeed a beautiful young woman, with long,
shining, black hair and enormous eyes that matched.

He got up and took his
trousers from the back of the chair. “I have something for
you.”

She looked at him in the
mirror. “Thank you, but I cannot accept money. Please give it to
Joseph at the bar. He is the tavern owner.”

“It is not money.” He held
up a tiny pistol so she could see it.

“What would I do with
that?”

“Put it in your garter to
shoot any man who would intend to do you harm.”

“I know nothing of firearms
and I could never shoot anyone.”

“It is a simple matter of
pulling the hammers back with your thumb and then pulling the
triggers.” He walked closer to her and demonstrated. “This is one
of a kind and I believe it to be the smallest pistol ever
made.”

She nodded, but was
obviously disinterested.

“It was made for me by a
Swiss watchmaker”, he continued. “Notice the craftsmanship, the
engraving.”

She glanced at the tiny gun.
“Yes. It is quite beautiful.”

“As are you. And this will
help to keep you that way.” He raised the hem of her chemise, put
the pistol in her right garter, and ran his hand up her silky
thigh.

She pushed his hand away.
“If you wish an encore, Captain Lafitte, it must be arranged with
Joseph first.”

He removed his hand from her
leg and gathered his clothes to begin dressing. “Why do you work
here, Marina?”

“I do not work here. I am a
slave. Joseph, the man who owns the tavern, owns me.”

“Perhaps I should buy you
from him.”

“Perhaps you
should.”

“Would you like
that?”

“Naturally. Anything would
be preferable to being a whore.”

“Not very
complimentary.”

“I do not know you well
enough to pay you compliments so you must settle for the
truth.”

“Do you know who I
am?”

“Yes. You are Jean Lafitte
the smuggler and pirate.”

“I am Jean Lafitte, fleet
owner and importer-exporter of fine merchandise.”

“If you wish.” She retrieved
her dress from the hook and carefully slipped it over her head. “So
tell me, Captain. Are you to be my new owner?”

“Alas, I shall be leaving on
an extended voyage in the morning and, in my absence, I have no
place to keep you in the style to which you have been
accustomed.”

“You could buy me and set me
free.”

“I think that would require
me to accept financial responsibility for you or require that I
provide proof that you would be capable of supporting
yourself.”

“I gather that you are
unwilling to accept financial responsibility for me.”

“Do you make this proposal
to all your clients?” he chuckled.

“Only to the wealthy
gentlemen. And we only see one or two of them in a year, here at
the Gray Lady.” She turned her back to him. “Would you be so kind
as to hook my dress?”

“You have mistaken me for a
gentleman,” he said, accepting the task of fastening her dress.
“And I have no fancy mansion; I live on the sea.”

“Nothing ventured, nothing
gained,” she said in English.

“Who said that?”

“Benjamin Franklin, I
think.”

Lafitte slipped the last
hook into its loop, then patted her on the buttocks.
“There.”

“Thank you.” She checked her
reflection in the mirror then walked to the door. “Have a pleasant
voyage, Captain.”

“I have had,
Mademoiselle.”

~

“How much would you want for
her, Joe?”

“You got horseshit in your
ears, Jasper? I just told you that she ain’t for sale to
you.”

“After that you said it was
just business.”

“‘
Guess you wasn’t
listenin’ to all of what I said.”

“Bet you’d sell her to me if
I had enough gold.”

“Not unless she said that
she wanted to go with ya, and that ain’t very likely.” He nodded
toward the stairs. “Speakin’ of herself.”

Jasper turned to watch
Marina gliding theatrically down the stairs, trailing her fingers
on the banister and examining the room as she descended.

“Ain’t she somethin’?” Joe
chuckled. “If I had the money I’d build me one o’ them theater
stages and charge folks a nickel to watch her walk around on
it.”

“If you got her to take off
her clothes you could charge a dollar.”

“Hmm. Now there’s an idea
worth thinkin’ on.”

Jasper hurried across the
room to meet her at the bottom of the stairs. “Evenin’,
Marina.”

“Hey there, Jasper.” She
held her nose. “Whew. How many horses did you break
today?”

“I was just fixin’ to go
across the street and take me a bath.”

“Good idea.” She looked
around. “Any big stakes poker games?”

“Didn’t notice.” He looked
up toward the upper landing as a door slammed and a hard looking
man wearing a wide brimmed hat trimmed with a turkey feather came
down the stairs to stop in front of Marina and stare at
Jasper.

“Good evening,” the man said
to Jasper in French.

Jasper nodded and stepped
back.

“And to you my dear.” The
man kissed Marina’s hand.

“Fair thee well, my
captain,” she replied.

Jasper watched as the man
walked imperiously through the tables and out the front door. “Do
you know who that was?”

“Yes. Go take a bath, Jasper
or I won’t be going upstairs with you tonight.”

July 12, 1804

Van Buskirk Point, New
Jersey

Kill Van Kull is a narrow
estuary that connects Newark Bay with New York Bay. The traditional
Van Buskirk family Home Place is located on a large parcel of land
on the New Jersey side of the Kill. Access from Van Buskirk Point
to Manhattan Island is by boat and to nearby Staten Island is by
ferry.

“Nan,” Tom Van Buskirk
shouted.

“Yes?” His wife, Nannette
Van Buskirk, was picking flowers at the side of the main
house.

“Yank’s coming across on the
ferry.”

“Yank?” Carrying a basket of
flowers, Nanette came around to the front porch and climbed the
steps to stand next to Tom in order to get a better view of the
ferry’s passenger. “Something terrible must have
happened.”

At forty-six, Nannette was
still a handsome woman, but the years had been less kind to Tom,
who looked ten years older than his age of fifty-two.

“He’s not in uniform,” Tom
replied, “so whatever it is can’t have anything to do with the
war.”