“Yes, sir.”
Jackson struggled to hold
the reins with the hand of his injured arm while he tried to take
something from his pocket. “Just a moment.” He smiled and held out
two small, silver, five pointed stars toward Coffee.
“Congratulations, General Coffee.”
“I don’t know what to say,
General.” Coffee took the stars and looked at them.
“Perhaps you could help
General Coffee pin those on, Colonel Van Buskirk. I would like very
much to do it myself but I don’t think I could manage it with this
bad wing.”
“I’d be honored.” Yank took
the stars from Coffee then pulled the eagles off his
collar.
“If it was in my power,
Colonel Van Buskirk,” Jackson said, “there would be stars for you
as well.”
“That’s kind of you to say,
sir.”
“Anything we should know
about the goings on south of us?”
“No. Sir.”
“Any tactical
recommendations?”
“I don’t think this campaign
will require any tactics, sir. The enemy knows we’re here and he’ll
meet us on the march hoping to keep us out of his territory. All we
have to do is keep going southeast and kill any Indian that opposes
us.” He finished pinning on Coffee’s stars, stepped back and
saluted.
“Oh quit that,” Coffee said,
blushing.
“Are your men all here,
General?” Jackson asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I suggest you get them
in the saddle. You will be our van.”
“Yes, sir.” Coffee walked to
his horse.
“I’m sure that I don’t have
to tell you to send scouts out well in advance of your main
body.”
“No, sir. You don’t have to
tell me that.” Coffee mounted and rode out.
Jackson looked around. “Can
you help me down without making it obvious?”
Yank pointed. “If you ride
over to that stump I think you could step off and then I could lead
your horse away and tie him up. How we get you off the stump is
another matter.”
“I think I can manage that.”
He moved his horse closer to the stump, put his left foot on it,
swung his right leg over the saddle horn and stood up as Yank took
the horse and tied him beside his own. Jackson lowered himself to
the stump and dangled his legs. “Not bad. I’ll just have to hope I
can find a stump when I need it.”
“Some generals I’ve known
stand in a wagon bed to be heard when addressing their troops. You
might try to think up something stirring to say every time you need
to dismount and I’ll tell your aides to make sure there’s a wagon
near by.”
“I always have more than
enough to say but I don’t have any aides. I suppose I should pick
at least one.” He looked around. “But where are my
officers?”
“Colonel, I mean, General
Coffee told them to keep their distance until they heard officers
call. The bugler is right over there.” He pointed.
“Coffee was afraid I’d
embarrass myself.”
“Yes,” Yank
agreed.
Jackson chuckled. “That’s
what I like about you. You never try to sugarcoat
anything.”
“That’s only because I’m not
clever enough.” Yank was watching Coffee’s brigade. “General,
unless you have an objection I’d like to be with the
van.”
“I have no objection,
Colonel. And to be sure that we’re perfectly clear, I have
absolutely no authority over you.”
“I doubt that technicality
will ever present itself, General. Do you want me to stay until you
can choose your aides?”
“No, thank you, Colonel. I
have a pretty good idea of who I want.”
Yank untied his horse and
swung up into the saddle. “I bid you good day, General.”
“And to you,
Colonel.”
Yank kicked his horse and
galloped after Coffee.
October 13, 1813
Huntsville,
Tennessee
After a report of many
Indians approaching proved to be false, Coffee had taken a position
on a bluff overlooking the river to wait for Jackson and the main
body.
Yank, a regular U.S. army
officer among the Tennessee Militia, had no official duties so he
had fallen into the habit of scouting on his own. Coffee, in spite
of his size and bravery, was a cautious man at his core and he
assigned a private from the Second Regiment Volunteer Mounted
Riflemen to ride with Yank. At first Yank ignored the boy,
resenting the intrusion, but the young man’s constant good humor,
courage and willingness to do anything that Yank might attempt soon
won his favor.
“Colonel.”
“What is it, Private?” Yank
was on the riverbank, a mile below Coffee’s camp, standing in the
stirrups and peering through his telescope at a plume of distant
smoke.
“General Jackson and the
main body’s a’ comin’.”
Yank lowered the telescope
and turned to look. “Where?”
“Yonder.”
Yank shaded his eyes and
looked where the rifleman was pointing. “I don’t see
anything.”
“Look where the sky touches
the land. See how it’s sorta brown? That’s their dust. I make ‘em
eleven miles out. Should be here before dark.”
“Eleven miles?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Not ten miles or twelve
miles?”
“No, sir.
Eleven.”
Yank took out his watch and
checked it. “Well, Private Crockett, we’ll time them and see if
you’re right.”
“Okay, sir.”
“How long did you enlist
for, Private Crockett?”
“Sixty days, sir. But I
reckon I’ll stay ‘till we whup these here Red Sticks.”
“That’s very magnanimous of
you, Private.”
“Magna- what,
sir?”
“Magnanimous. It means
generous. You do know what generous means, don’t you,
Private?”
“Yes, sir. I know that
one.”
“What kind of education do
you have, Private?”
“What kind?”
“How long did you go to
school.”
“Oh. Nigh on to a week, as I
recollect.”
Yank stifled a chuckle.
“That long?”
“I would of gone longer but
there was this fella that was always pickin’ on folks. What’s that
you call a fella what does folks that a-way?”
“A bully?”
“Yes, sir. That’s the
word.”
“So the bully kept you from
staying in school?”
“You could say that, sir. I
whupped the tar outta him, then the teacher, he wanted to whup me,
so I hid out from school ‘till my Pa found out. Then Pa was gonna
whup me for skippin’ school, so I just give it all up and lit
out.”
“You ran away from home to
avoid punishment from your father?”
“Yes, sir. You got no idea
how bad of a whuppin’ I would of got if’n I hadn’t of
skedaddled.”
“No, I dare say that I
don’t.” Yank scanned the horizon. “What did you do after you ran
away from home?”
“Just traveled.”
“For how long?”
“About three
years.”
“How did you make a
living?”
“Do what, sir?”
“How did you buy food and
clothes?”
“Oh I didn’t buy nothin’,
sir. Sometimes I traded pelts and meat for lead and powder and such
as that. But mostly I just took what I needed from the
woods.”
“They say you’re the best
shot in your regiment. Did you learn to shoot when you were living
off nature’s bounty?”
The young man cackled.
“There you go again with them fancy words, sir.”
“How did you learn to shoot
so well, Private?”
“My Pa give me a rifle when
I was about eight years old and he’d whup me if I wasted any
ammunition.”
“Do you have siblings,
Private? Brothers and sisters, that is?”
“Eight, sir. I’m number
five. Can I ask you a question, sir?”
“I suppose.”
“Well, I know that since
you’re a officer and I’m a private that I gotta call you sir or
colonel.”
“Yes. That’s called military
courtesy.”
“Do officers have to do the
same?”
“Yes. I have to call my
superiors sir or address them by their rank.”
“What about other folks. The
ones that ain’t superior?”
“What do you mean,
Private?”
“I mean do you have to call
me private?”
“Would you prefer something
else? General perhaps?”
“No, sir. I was thinkin’
that if it was okay, I’d rather be called by my name.”
“Private
Crockett?”
“Davy, sir. That’s what
folks have always called me. Davy Crockett. Not Private
Crockett.”
“I’ll try.”
“If it wouldn’t be too much
trouble, sir, I’d surely be obliged.”
Yank stood in his stirrups.
“Do you see that flock of turkeys, Davy?”
“Yes, sir.”
Yank pulled his rifle from
the scabbard. “How far are they?”
“Umm, three hundred yards
and a bit.”
“Can you hit the one on the
left?”
“Yes, sir.” He pulled his
rifle.
“We’ll have to fire together
or they’ll fly away.”
“Yes, sir. Count to three.”
He looked at the trees to check the wind.
“You have to try to hit your
bird in the head so it doesn’t spoil the meat.”
“I know, sir.”
“One, two,
three.”
Both rifles fired and what
seemed a long time later, two birds fell as the flock took
wing.
Yank waved at the sentry on
the bluff to let him know all was well then began to reload his
rifle. “Good shooting, Private. I mean, Davy.”
“You ain’t so bad yer own
self, sir.”
“Do you know how to quick
load a rifle?”
“Yes, sir. But not quick
enough to shoot no second turkey.”
“Pity. Two turkeys will
hardly provide a taste for twenty-five hundred men.”
“We could shoot us a couple
o’ them wild hogs we seen and them that likes pork would leave the
turkey for them that likes turkey.”
“If life were only that
simple.”
“Sir?”
“Twenty-five hundred men
consume ten wagon loads of food every day. That’s a thousand
bushels of grain and twenty tons of meat per week.”
“Laws.”
“Not to mention a thousand
gallons of whisky and several hundred pounds of miscellaneous
provisions.” Yank put his rifle away. “Are you ready,
Davy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then we’d better go get our
birds before the scavengers do.”
They rode out toward the
field.
“Are we runnin’ short of
food, sir?”
“Yes. But you’re not to
mention that to anyone, Davy, or panic will spread and we’ll start
having desertions.”
“Why don’t the government
send us more?”
“Well, it seems that the
main problem is that Tennessee River is too shallow for the
supplier’s barges.”
“How much meat per day is
twenty tons per week, sir?”
“About two and three
quarters.”
“Tons?”
“Yes. Two and three quarters
tons per day.”
“That’d be a passel o’
squirrels.”
“It would be indeed. Even if
we recovered all the lead we don’t have enough powder to kill that
many squirrels.”
“Reckon there ain’t that
many squirrels in all of Tennessee no how.”
“Probably not,” Yank
agreed.
“Out west, where the
buffaloes roam, two and three quarters tons o’ meat wouldn’t be no
kind o’ problem.”
“No.”
“Guess we won’t have no
trouble fightin’ them injuns when we go way out west then will we,
sir?”
“No. From what I’ve seen,
they’re nowhere near as difficult to fight either. Not until some
fool gives them guns.”
“You been way out west,
sir?”
“Only as far as the
Rockies.”
“Have you been to Texas,
sir?”
“Yes. And a more Godforsaken
place I’ve never seen.”
“I’m gonna go to Texas some
day.”
“It’d take a damn good
reason to ever get me back there.”
October 23, 1813
Thompson’s Creek,
Tennessee
Yank handed his reins to
Private Crockett and made his way through the confusion of
fortification construction to where Coffee was waiting to talk to
Jackson. “Welcome back, General.” He offered Coffee a
salute.
“Thank-ye.” Coffee gave him
a nod. “What’s all this?” He waved at the new
fortification.
“Fort Deposit,” Yank
answered.
“What?”