Black Hoof looked thoughtful
and spoke to Marina.
“Your brother Catecahassa
says that he had not considered what you have mentioned and must
think about it.”
Yank nodded. “I would also
like to know what Tecumseh’s plan is. We have reports of
Tenskwatawa traveling all the way to Florida, recruiting Creeks,
Seminoles and others to his confederacy.”
Marina engaged in a long
conversation with Black Hoof then turned to Yank. “If I have
understood correctly, the purpose of this confederacy is to create
a barrier to American westward expansion.”
Yank looked at Black Hoof
for confirmation and the man nodded. “Please ask my brother who has
joined Tecumseh so far?”
Marina asked Black Hoof and
translated simultaneously when he answered. “Some Iroquois,
Chickamauga, Fox, Miami, Mingo, Ojibwa, Ottawa, Kickapoo, Lenape,
Mascoutah, Potawatomi, Sauk, and Wyandot in the north and many of
the Creeks and Seminoles in the south.”
The color drained from
Yank’s face. “That would extend his influence all across Canada and
south as far as Florida. Are the Creeks and Seminoles armed with
British weapons?”
“No,” Black Hoof replied.
“Spanish. The British agents give the people letters that they take
to Pensacola where the Spaniards give them weapons and
powder.”
March 2, 1806
Indiana Territory
“I’ve found no evidence of
the British arming or influencing any Indians,” Yank said. “That’s
what my report says.”
Governor Harrison shrugged
his shoulders. “Madison is an old maid. It was a waste of time
sending you up here to gather proof of something that we already
know to be a fact.”
“I think Secretary Madison
simply wanted to give President Jefferson all the facts before he
decides what to do.”
“Jefferson already has all
the facts he needs. Oh, that reminds me.” He looked around his desk
a moment. “A dispatch came for you from Washington.” He found an
envelope. “Ah here it is.”
Yank took the envelope. “May
I?”
“Of course, of course. Read
it.”
Yank opened the letter, read
it and shook his head. “I’m to proceed directly to the United
States Military Academy at West Point, New York.”
“In what
capacity?”
“Assistant
Superintendent.”
“Does a promotion go with
it?”
“It doesn’t say, but I doubt
it. I think I’m being banished.” He looked at the letter again.
“When did this arrive?”
“This morning.”
“I must have said something
I shouldn’t have in my report.”
“You’re better off away from
all those politicians. You’re a soldier.”
“Exactly. I’m a soldier, not
a teacher.”
“You’re a soldier who can
teach more soldiers. And we’re gonna need them when war with
England finally breaks out.” Harrison stood up and offered his
hand. “Have a safe trip, Yank. I’ll stop off at West Point and
visit next time I go downriver.”
“Please do, Governor.” Yank
shook his hand then hurried out to where Marina was waiting in the
entry hall.
“What happened?” She
asked.
“I should have listened to
Black Hoof.” He took her arm and guided her toward the front
door.
“Why? What did Governor
Harrison say?”
“He dismissed my report as
superfluous, saying that everyone already knows that the British
are supplying the Indians.”
“And?”
“And he also gave me this.”
He handed her the letter.
She read it as they walked
down the steps then gave it back after they’d crossed the lawn. “Is
this so bad?”
“For us, no. For the
country, yes.”
“Why?”
“It means that some very
powerful men want to see us at war with Britain and they want no
one influencing the government otherwise.”
“You still have the
opportunity to report what you’ve learned to Secretary
Madison.”
“These orders say proceed
directly to West Point.”
“And we shall,” she said.
“Right after we visit your current duty station in Washington to
collect our belongings.”
“We left nothing of value in
Washington.”
“The War Department doesn’t
know that.”
“Oh come now, Marina. I
cannot simply walk into the office of the Secretary of State
without an appointment.”
“But I can pay a social call
on Mrs. Madison and I’m certain that she will invite us to her
weekly soirée.”
“Suppose Madison won’t talk
to me?”
“Then you have done your
duty and we shall gather our children and proceed to West Point.
But I think he will be glad to see you, as will President
Jefferson.”
April 3, 1806
Washington, District of
Columbia
Yank shook hands with
Jefferson and Madison then made his way through the crowd toward
Marina.
She saw him coming, excused
herself from the group she had been chatting with and walked toward
the door until he reached her. “Well?”
Yank moved her to an empty
corner. “The President is aware of the forces that want a war with
Britain and he is determined not to give in to them.”
“And Madison?”
Yank shrugged. “I think if
he were president we would soon have a declaration of war. For a
little man he is very fierce and the British practice of impressing
our sailors has riled him. It could be Madison that wants me to
shut up.”
“So Jefferson will do
nothing?”
“He speaks of embargos,
official protests, appeals to Parliament and legal matters. I do
not see him as a man of action.”
“I always thought that
Madison was the scholar.”
“What do I know?” Yank
chuckled. “I’m a lowly lieutenant colonel who will soon become a
teacher.”
July 4, 1806
West Point, New
York
They were seated at the
breakfast table. Marina was reading a newspaper and Yank was
feeding Jack.
“Your friend, Andrew
Jackson, killed a man in duel,” Marina said.
“When?” Yank
asked.
“I’m not sure. Around the
first of June.”
“Oh. I already knew about
that. I thought he’d killed someone else.”
“Does he do that
often?”
“He is not a man who suffers
insults.”
She giggled.
“Really?”
“Really. He’s been in… I’m
not sure how many duels. One with the governor of
Tennessee.”
“Did he kill
him?”
“No.”
“But he’s killed others?
Before now?”
“Yes.”
“Who else has he
killed?”
Yank wrinkled his brow.
“There was a man named Charles Dickinson.”
“What was it
about?”
“I don’t remember exactly.
It began with a fistfight over a horse or horserace, I
think.”
“Is he a bully?”
“Jackson? Oh no. Not at all.
Dickinson, who was known to be a crack shot with a pistol,
escalated the argument by publishing a very insulting piece in a
newspaper. Jackson called him out, gave him the first shot, took a
bullet in the chest and then calmly shot Dickenson in the groin.”
Yank chuckled.
Marina scowled at him.
“That’s not even remotely funny.”
Yank pulled a face. “No. I
suppose it isn’t. Not even to Jackson. The bullet was too close to
his heart to be removed and he still carries it to this day.” He
chuckled again.
“You admire the man,” Marina
accused.
“Yes, I do.”
“Dueling seems silly to
me.”
“Sometimes it’s the only
answer. You of all people should understand that.”
“That was different.” She
looked back at the paper. “The man that Mr. Jackson just killed
accused Mrs. Jackson of bigamy.”
Yank nodded but offered no
response.
“That seems to be an easy
charge to refute,” Marina said. “Why fight over it?”
“Well, technically Mrs.
Jackson was a bigamist. Colonel Jackson and she were under the
impression that her first husband had divorced her when they were
married.” He decided to change the subject. “Is there anything in
there about Pike’s expedition?”
“Who?”
“Lieutenant Zebulon Pike’s
going to lead another cross country expedition to accomplish what
we failed to.”
“Oh, that friend of yours.
Now I remember.”
“He’s more a neighbor than a
friend. My father and his father were friends. I think.”
“What kind of name is
Zebulon?”
Yank shrugged. “His father’s
name was Zebulon too.”
“We didn’t fail.”
“What?”
“You said that Zebulon Pike
was going to do what we failed to do and I’m saying that we reached
the Rockies, so we didn’t fail.”
“We were supposed to find
Yellow Stone and we never got further north than Albuquerque. I’d
call that a failure.”
She went back to the
newspaper then a minute later rattled it noisily. “Here it
is.”
“Here is what?”
“Pike. They leave from Fort
Belle Fountaine on the fifteenth.”
“They should have left
earlier. It will be snowing in the Rockies when they
arrive.”
She looked at Yank. “Where’s
that?”
“Where is what?”
“Fort Belle Fountaine. I’ve
never heard of it.”
“Of course you
have.”
“No I haven’t.”
“It’s near St. Louis,
Missouri.”
“Oh. Maybe I have heard of
it at that.”
“Does it mention
us?”
“Does what mention
us?”
“The story in the
newspaper.”
“No. Should it?”
“No. I just thought it
might.”
“So you want to be famous
like your father?”
“No, but I should have liked
to have led that expedition in Pike’s stead.”
She put down the paper. “Is
it really so bad for you here?”
“No. Being here with you and
the children is wonderful.”
“But you miss the
excitement.” She walked to him and took the spoon out of his hand.
“Go for your walk along the river, then come back and get us before
the parade. I’ll get the boys ready.”
Book Two
July 4, 1811
West Point, New
York
The United States Military
Academy stands on a bluff overlooking the Hudson River at West
Point, New York, about fifty miles north of Manhattan. Each year,
on July 4
th
, the parade of the cadet corps, the speeches of the famous
and the fireworks on the Hudson attract hundreds of visitors who
come on ships, barges or in carriages.
As the bass drum boomed a
cadence for the marching men, seven year old Jack Van Buskirk stood
ramrod-stiff next to his father and saluted the passing flag. As
the Stars and Stripes went by, his father dropped his salute and
patted Jack on the back. “Well done, Son, well done,” he shouted
over the passing brass band.
Jack beamed at the praise
and turned to see if his mother had more to offer.
Marina was struggling with
two year old Robert who was squirming to escape from her arms,
while four year William tugged at her skirts wanting to be picked
up, and five year old Anna wrestled in the dirt with her six year
old brother, Thomas. “John, I could use some help
please.”
Yank took Robert from her in
one arm and scooped up William with the other. “Did you see how
well Jack saluted the colors, Mother?”
“Yes. Very well done, Jack.”
She bent down and pulled Anna off Thomas. “You two stop that. Look
at you, Anna. Your dress is filthy.”
“He started it,” Anna
whined.
“Did not.” Thomas got up and
brushed himself off, then dodged as Anna took a swing at
him.
“Colonel Van Buskirk?” An
upperclassman, wearing a duty armband on his left sleeve,
saluted.
Yank nodded. “What is it,
Major?”
The young man held his
salute and looked perplexed.
“I have my arms full of
children and cannot return your salute, Major,” Yank said. “My
nodding to you is sufficient acknowledgement under the
circumstances. You may drop your hand salute.”
The boy snapped his hand
down to the seam of his trousers and remained at ramrod stiff
attention. “Governor Harrison sends his regards and asks if you
might join him, sir.”
“Governor Harrison?” Yank
looked surprised. “When did he arrive?”
“Last night sometime, sir.
He’s below in the reviewing stands by the River, sir.” The cadet
pointed, then came back to stiff attention.