by Michael Aye
“Well, Mr. Lee, I salute you for that, sir,” Jackson’s voice had lost its hostility. “I do not feel the same as you do, sir, and surely history will decide. As you say, if I’m wrong, I will have to stand before my maker and answer. However, with the influx of settlers, even with the war going on, I feel what I’m doing is in the best interest of our Indian friends. However, to show you I hold no grudge against a man who disagrees with me and is willing to speak his convictions, I will allow you to write your comments to our president and put them along with my dispatches.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You are a mind after my own heart, Mr. Lee. We might not always agree, but I believe your presence has been for the better.” With that, Jackson dismissed everyone.
-
Jonah had written his dispatches but had not heard from the president or secretary of war. Jonah had decided that if he’d not received a reply by the second week of July, he’d pack up and head home. He and Moses had talked about this on a few occasions. Other than spending time with Stephen Lieupo, Sam Houston, Crockett and, of course the scout, old Henry Parrish, they had little to do. Time was growing heavy on their hands.
-
The Alabama sun was bright. The sky was blue and free of clouds. Most of the men around Fort Jackson had hunted for a little shade. As the day dragged on, a few energetic souls put fishing line on cane poles, dug some worms, and found spots to go fishing. What they were looking for were areas that provided shade from nearby trees and cast a shadow over the river. The fish tended to migrate to these shaded areas. Bream and catfish seem to be plentiful. Henry pulled in a cat that weighed at least ten pounds.
“He’ll do for filleting,” he told Moses, who also had a pole and was sitting close by. “What I like,” Henry continued, “is about two, maybe three pounders. No bigger than three pounds anyway. They are the tastiest when cooked right. Now, it ain’t everybody can cook ’em right. Not like my Linda. She’ll collect bacon grease and then put it into a big old deep iron skillet. She’ll take them old cats and dip them in a bowl of corn meal and sprinkle a dab of salt on ’em and then drop the fish into the hot sizzling grease. She’ll let it set there a bit and then flip it over. When it’s golden brown, she’ll take them out. You can just pull the meat right off the bones. She leaves the tails on, and when they’re fried up right they’re right crunchy. Of course, them big old cats are too big for the pan. So after I gut and skin the big ones, we fillet them. No bones in the fillets when I do the cutting. Course, like I said, I like the smaller cats, even if you do have to be particular about the bones.” Henry took a deep breath and let go a sigh. It was almost like he smelled his wife’s cooking. “Sometimes, she’ll fix cornbread and other times, she will make corn dodgers. Of course, she always fixes grits. Hot buttery grits with salt and pepper. As good a eating as a body could ask for.”
“Mama Lee puts cheese in her grits,” Moses said. “That seems to make ’em better.”
“Don’t know how they could be any better, but I’ll mention that to Linda.”
“What do you like to sop your bread with, wild honey or molasses?” Moses asked.
“Oh, honey any day. Makes no difference what kind of bread, I’ll take honey.”
“Well, Mama Lee fixes some good blackberry jelly and she’ll make fig preserves. They always go good with morning biscuits.”
Bang! Bang! The sound of gunshots interrupted the conversation on foods.
“Best we skedaddle to the fort,” Henry said, laying down his pole and picking up his long rifle.
“I’m with you,” Moses declared.
PART V
Chapter Forty-Two
Three riders entered the fort. Two had been wounded by gunshots. One of the wounded was Captain Gregory Clark. He’d been shot in the thigh and shoulder. The stain on his britches and the dressing tied around the wound indicated a large loss of blood.
“I thought we’d shook them,” he whispered, his chest heaving as he spoke.
“Who?” Jackson asked. He’d recognized Captain Clark from previous encounters.
“British agents and their Indian friends,” Captain Clark said.
“Let’s get this man to the surgeon,” Jackson ordered.
“Wait,” Clark gasped. “We have to get word to Washington…” He had passed out without finishing his sentence.
“Take these gentlemen here to the surgeon at once. Now be a good man,” Jackson said, as Clark was rousing up. “Let the doctor fix you up and we’ll see about Washington.”
The third man, the one who hadn’t been wounded, was dressed in homespun attire. He was Clark’s scout and had been with him when they had visited Fort Strother. Walking up to the man, Henry greeted the scout. “Lucky as usual, ain’t you, Ledbetter?”
A grin appeared on the man’s face. “Henry, I figured your scalp would be hanging from a Red Stick’s lance by now.” The two men shook and hugged each other.
“This is my sister’s oldest boy,” Henry volunteered. “He doesn’t like his given name, so we just call him Ledbetter. Of course, they’s a lot of men with the same first name. Some of ’em even famous like. Named after Francis Marion,” Henry whispered to Jonah. “He thinks Francis is a woman’s name, so he tells folks to call him Ledbetter. Big as he is, most folks don’t argue, ’cepting his maw and pa.”
Ledbetter took care of the horses and made his way over to where his uncle camped. He greeted everyone, took an offered cup and didn’t draw it back when a jug was handed forward to add a little something extra to the coffee. Somebody pushed an empty crate forward and Ledbetter took it and sat down. He lit his pipe and, with little coaxing, told of their ordeal.
“We have been after that blame British agent that got away at Fort Deposit. Captain Clark was close to hemming him up a few times but he always got away. Finally, at Mobile, we caught the rascal. Only his friends came right after us. A few times we thought we’d lost them and then there they’d be. We took fresh horses a couple of times, once at gunpoint. It ain’t right to pull on one’s own kind, but we had to have those horses. With the fresh horses, we put distance between us. We held up in an old hunter’s shack one night. It was raining and we figured it was safe. Thought the rain would wash out our tracks. It was here that Captain Clark got to go through the prisoner’s things. Some of it was in a code, but other parts of it were written plain. There was even a drawing of the barricade at Horseshoe Bend. Captain Clark knew in his heart the barricade had been designed by an engineer. It weren’t built by an ignorant savage, he’d said. Anyway, the captain found a leather pouch. It had an official looking seal on it like the Redcoats use. Captain Clark unrolled the pouch and after a few minutes sat back and swore. They plan to attack Washington, he said. The British Navy is getting together a force, and they aim to attack and burn Washington. He then rolled up the pouch and put it in his shirt. He was putting the rest of the stuff back in the saddlebag when a shot come through the window. It hit the captain in the shoulder. The British agent, seeing the opportunity, tried to run out the door. He snatched open the door and was blasted back in by his own men. They must have thought he was one of us. We hunkered down and realized the floorboards had huge cracks in them. Captain Clark kept up a return fire while me and Langford, that’s the other scout, ripped up the boards. After a while, the firing stopped. Somebody said that they’d give us ten minutes to think about it, and then they were coming in and no mercy would be given. We propped the dead agent up next to the window so it looked like somebody was there. We even propped a stick on the window hoping they’d take it as a rifle barrel, and then out we went. We found their horses and waited. When the shooting started we hit the saddle and lit out. Thought we’d got shed of them until we spotted them about a mile back. The captain was shot in the leg and Langford in the back. We lit a shuck then at a bend pulled up behind a rock. The captain’s leg was bleeding pretty badly. We waited until they galloped by and then I rolled up a spare shirt and tied up the captain’s le
g. Langford put a handkerchief inside his shirt. We eased out and made our way through the woods until we got to the fort’s clearing. We didn’t know a new fort was here but it sure was a welcomed sight. We figured them agents were hiding somewhere, but our only chance was to run for it. Had we called for help, they’d have found us before help arrived anyway. So we just kicked our horses and here we are.”
“That’s quite a story,” Jonah said.
“Yeah, it is. But the captain says we gotta get these plans to Washington,” Ledbetter said.
“Well, he ain’t in no shape to ride,” Henry volunteered.
“That’s true,” Jonah replied. “But we are.” Moses shook his head. He knew things had gone smoothly for too long. Turning to Captain Lieupo, Jonah asked, “You up to a long ride, Steve?”
Chapter Forty-Three
The trip from Fort Jackson to the Lee home in Thunderbolt was a much more relaxed trip even though it was a hurried one. The Indian danger was gone, the weather was much nicer, and they didn’t have a bunch of young militia replacements to slow them down. Jonah had spent a couple of hours talking with Captain Clark before they started their trip. Clark, propped up in bed, had dictated a report to be given to the Secretary of War, John Armstrong. Jonah had written the report and Greg had signed it. After the report had been completed, a fair copy had been made of the correspondence the British agent had been carrying. Captain Reid had undertaken that chore. The copy was given to Clark, who swore it was a true and certified copy. He signed the copy, Gregory Clark, Captain, USA.
Jackson had said, “Well, I guess that’s better than Gregory Clark, Spymaster.” This brought forth the chuckle he knew his comment would receive.
The discussion then turned to the best route to Washington. Much discussion was given to an overland trip, but then Clark had felt there were too many unknowns to guarantee a safe, expedient passage overland the whole way. Therefore, it was decided to travel back to Thunderbolt and obtain transportation to Washington aboard one of the many ships that could usually be found in Savannah or nearby ports. The trip would be faster and they could keep an eye out for British ships.
The arrival at the Lee home was met with joy and excitement. The family had just sat down for the noon meal when one of the colonel’s hounds started barking, which caused every other dog on the place to take up the howl. The colonel stepped out of the kitchen door just in time to see three weary riders on worn out horses ride into the backyard.
“Mattie,” Colonel Lee called, “tell mama her boys are home and you go ahead and fix three more plates.”
Exhausted, Jonah, Moses, and Stephen Lieupo put smiles on their faces as hands were shook, backs were slapped, and hugs given. Collard greens with ham hocks, green beans, hominy and fresh cornbread and ice tea were served.
“That was worth coming home for,” Moses declared.
“That’s the truth,” Stephen Lieupo added.
“Is that chocolate cake?” Jonah asked.
“It sure is,” the colonel answered. “Your mama’s own thirteen layer cake.”
That was Jonah’s absolute favorite cake. Mama Lee didn’t do much of the cooking at this point in her life, but she still enjoyed making desserts.
“Tomorrow I’ll fix Moses an apple pie,” Mama Lee said. This brought a sudden silence from Jonah, Moses, and Lieupo. Sensing the silence, Mama Lee looked up. Tears came to her eyes, “You ain’t even going to be here a whole day,” she managed.
At that moment, Jonah didn’t care if the British set the world on fire. He and Moses looked at each other, reading the other’s thoughts.
“We ain’t going nowhere, Mama, not if you are going to fix apple pie,” Moses said smiling, trying to relax the mood.
“That’s right,” Lieupo chimed in. “I had some of your pie at Christmas and you poured a sweet cream over it. I can tell you one thing, this old soldier ain’t going anywhere when there’s the promise of apple pie.”
-
The sloop, Sparrow, tugged at her cable. The tide was on the turn and the captain waited impatiently as bags were tossed unceremoniously from his gig up and onto the sloop’s deck. Next came three men: one wearing the uniform of a captain in the army, the second a fearsome looking mixed breed, and the third was a white man who could only be Colonel Lee’s son. The army officer appeared to have been wounded, as he moved with a limp. He was agile enough to climb the battens and into the entry port, however. The black, mixed breed was dressed very well, as well as Colonel Lee’s son. He didn’t carry himself as a servant, so he must be of some importance. Jonah, that was the colonel’s son’s name; he looked very much like his father. He was the spitting image of a much younger Colonel Lee.
“Welcome aboard, gentlemen. I’m Harvey Jordan, captain of the good sloop, Sparrow. My first mate is Mr. Bryant Hays. This is our steward, Sam. He will help you get your things stowed and show you your cabin. As you can see, the tide waits for no one, so I must be about my duties.”
No sooner had the anchor been lifted than the Sparrow drifted with the tide. The hands knew their jobs. The triangular mainsail was hoisted and the jib was hauled taut. Mr. Hays took the wooden tiller in his rough, weathered, bear-like hands. The light wind filled the sails and the ship was underway. Hays moved the tiller and the ship answered. God willing, they would be in Washington in a few days.
-
The Sparrow was a small ship, a sloop his father had said, “She’s only sixty feet long, and it takes only a handful of men to sail her. I think her captain will be willing to provide passage to Washington.”
“How can you be so sure?” Jonah asked his father.
“Because I’m the major stockholder,” the colonel replied.
This was a new revelation. Jonah knew his father had other interests than the plantation, but he’d never have guessed he’d been interested in maritime trade. This had all come to light the evening they’d gotten home. Under the pretense of seeing about the horses, the men had walked out to the stables. Jonah had already summarized his time with Jackson, ending with the Battle of Horseshoe Bend and the eventual surrender of Weatherford.
Once at the stables, Jonah filled his father in on Captain Clark’s capture of the British agent and finding the documents he carried. Jonah let his father read the copy of the document. After handing the document back to his son, the colonel cleared his throat and spat. One of the cur hounds dodged at just the right time to keep from getting splattered.
“Time is certainly a concern,” the colonel said, talking to himself. He was silent a moment as though in deep thought and then spoke to his son. “I may have a solution for you. You boys go get cleaned up and spend time with your mother.”
“Yes, sir,” Jonah responded, almost in military fashion. As he left the stable, he heard his father call, “Otis, come here. I got an errand for you to run.”
-
Sail ho.”
“Where away?” Captain Jordan asked.
“Two points off the starboard bow,” the lookout called.
Having spent time aboard Commodore Perry’s ship, Jonah knew another ship had been sighted.
“Keep a fine lookout,” Jordan bellowed. For the next few minutes, the captain paced the deck. He then walked over to where the first mate stood talking to a man holding the tiller. Jonah couldn’t hear what was being said but could tell the captain was nervous.
“Deck there! She’s a British ship, Captain, a frigate and she’s changed her course, and she’s bearing down on us.”
“Damnation,” Jordan cursed.
Hays hawked and spat over the side. He was a short man whose full head of black hair blew with the wind. “They ain’t got us yet, Cap’n. Be dark in another thirty minutes.”
A sound not unlike thunder seemed to roll across the waves. “She’s fired a gun,” the lookout called down.
“Damn waste of powder and shot,” Hays offered.
-
Sparrow slipped into Chesapeake Bay just as the sun sank over
the horizon. The frigate had fired once more but she was nowhere close to being within range.
“Do we anchor tonight?” Jonah braved the question. He’d heard Captain Jordan talking about ships running aground. This close to his goal, Jonah didn’t want to wind up on a sandbar or worse…a prisoner on some British warship.
When the British warship had been sighted, the captain had recommended putting a shot in a bag, and if it looked like they were to be taken, put the incriminating documents in the bag and toss it over the side. The cover story would be Captain Lieupo, having been wounded, was going to be invalid out of the service. Jonah, with Moses as his servant, was looking for his lost love that was said to have family in Washington. Jonah felt his chest heave at the mention of his lost love.
The Sparrow made good time and luck was with the ship. Off the mouth of the Potomac River, Captain Jordan decided to drop anchor for the night.
“You never know what we’ll run into,” he said. “I’d not want to risk the ship or our lives. I think we’re safe from the British but we’ll keep a night watch. Tomorrow we’ll go up river.”
After a cold meal, the men sat back and smoked cigars or pipes. “I wonder how Henry is doing,” Moses said. “I wonder if he’s home yet or if Russell talked him into hanging around.”
“Not much to hang around for,” Lieupo responded.
“Nothing but the British and New Orleans,” Jonah said, joining in the conversation.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to go home,” Moses said.
“What surprised me,” Lieupo said, “was Crockett coming back.”
“Me too,” Jonah and Moses replied in unison.
“I hope Captain Clark mends,” Jonah said as he threw the nub of his cigar over the side. Though they’d only spent a limited time together, he truly liked the man. “I’m turning in. Hopefully, we’ll get to Washington before the Redcoats do.”