Land of the Free

by Jeffry Hepple

  “You’ve seen one of these letters?”

  “Several.”

  Yank was sorely disappointed and it showed on his face. “It seems I’ve come a long way for nothing.”

  “Now don’t say that. My wife is keen to meet you.”

  Yank smiled. “Well then, I retract what I said.”

  “Good. I might have to call you out otherwise.”

  “I’d choose swords.”

  Jackson laughed. “I heard you crossed swords with a young naval officer.”

  “It was nothing.”

  “They say you’re the best there ever was with any kind of long blade.”

  Yank chuckled. “My father was the famous Mad Swordsman. I grew up practicing so I could be like him. I was an adult before I discovered that he carried a claymore and used it like a battleaxe.”

  “Don’t sell him short. He was genuinely ferocious. They say that the mornin’ after Charles Town fell, the British found a circle of dead men six feet high where him and Dan Morgan’s son had stood back to back on the parapet.”

  “Believe me; I’ve heard all those stories.”

  “Well I, for one, believe them all to be true. I saw with my own eyes how scared Tarleton was of your father.” He unconsciously touched the deep scar on his head. “One man on a big, nasty, black warhorse had a whole regiment of killers shakin’ in their boots. The people loved him. If he’d of lived, he’d of been president now and we wouldn’t be in this mess. God only knows why he decided to lead that forlorn hope at Yorktown.”

  “God and my grandmother know,” Yank said. “He committed suicide.”

  Jackson looked like he’d been slapped. “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s true. He contracted scarlet fever and it developed into rheumatic fever that attacked his heart. She said he was so weak he couldn’t mount his horse without help.”

  “Well now, that I can understand. Dyin’ in battle would surely be my preference to livin’ like an invalid.” Jackson shook his head sadly. “They say that he never did get over your mother’s death anyway. I’d be lost without my Rachel.”

  “The selfish bastard had a son,” Yank said. “Ah. There’s my kitbag at last.”

  December 25, 1811

  Van Buskirk Point, New Jersey

  “Did you meet Mrs. Jackson, Yank?” Nannette asked.

  “Yes. I spent two nights at their place.”

  “What’s she like?”

  He shrugged.

  “They say she’s a real beauty,” Tom said.

  “She’s aged badly,” Yank replied, “but you can tell that she was probably quite attractive in her younger days.”

  “I take it you didn’t like her,” Nannette prompted.

  Yank shook his head. “On the contrary, I like them both enormously. But they’re very different from us and the people we know.”

  “How so?” Tom asked.

  “Well, they live in a blockhouse for one thing.” He chuckled. “And she smokes a corncob pipe.”

  Everyone at the table laughed.

  “I thought she was well born,” Nannette said.

  “Yes,” Yank gave her a nod. “But she’s Southern well born. She’s the daughter of Colonel John Donelson who was a member of the Virginia House of Burgesses and the founder of Nashville.”

  “Did you talk about the man that Mr. Jackson recently killed?” Marina asked.

  Yank gave her a stern look of disapproval.

  “It would seem to be a topic worthy of discussion,” she persisted. “In Mrs. Jackson’s position I’d want everyone to know the circumstances of my supposedly bigamous and adulterous marriage.”

  “She’s a decent woman, Marina,” Yank said hotly.

  “I heard that her first husband threw her out because she had an affair with the brother-in-law of your friend, Governor Harrison and that’s when she ran away with Mr. Jackson.”

  “You, of all people, should be willing to forgive others,” Yank hissed.

  “That’s the second time that you’ve used that phrase with me recently,” she shouted.

  Thomas got up. “Come along everyone and we’ll let the children fight it out in private.”

  “There will be no fight,” Yank replied. “Please sit down, Uncle.” He looked at Marina. “This is Christmas.”

  Tom looked at Nannette and when she shook her head at him, he sat back down.

  “Well,” Nannette said. “Christmas is as good as any other day for juicy gossip and I’d like to know more about Mrs. Jackson’s jaded past, Yank.”

  “It isn’t jaded,” Yank said defensively.

  “Just fill in the facts,” Tom suggested.

  Yank sighed then nodded assent. “When Rachel was eighteen she married Colonel Lewis Robards. He had a plantation in Mercer County, Kentucky but he found it was easier to take in boarders to make money than it was to work the plantation. He often left for extended periods leaving the running of the place to Rachel. One of the boarders was Peyton Short who later became my friend Bill Harrison’s brother-in-law. There was no affair.”

  “Go on,” Marina urged. “Explain that.”

  Yank looked at Tom who nodded. “It was nothing. After returning from one of his trips, Robards took it into his head that Rachel had been unfaithful with Short while he’d been away and so he sent her home to her family. To make a long story short, no pun intended, Robards eventually told her that he’d divorced her when, in fact, he’d only filed for divorce.”

  “His grounds were adultery,” Marina said, “and it was uncontested.”

  “Of course it was uncontested,” Yank said angrily. “The Jacksons had been living together as man and wife. How could they deny it?”

  She laughed. “Why are you defending these people, John?”

  “Why are you attacking them, Marina?”

  “Because Mr. Jackson has murdered at least two men and horsewhipped several others for telling the truth,” she replied. “He’s not worthy of all the respect that you pay him.”

  “More plum pudding, anyone?” Nannette asked.

  January 1, 1812

  Van Buskirk Point, New Jersey

  “You’re such a liar,” Marina accused. “You have no orders to report to Washington, you just want to escape from me.”

  Yank looked in his coat pocket, took out a message form and threw it on the bed.

  She picked it up and read it. “Well, you can’t deny that you’re grateful to have an excuse to leave.”

  “No. I don’t deny it.”

  She looked surprised by his answer. “What’s happened to us?”

  “One or both of us has changed.”

  “You have, I haven’t.”

  “Could be.”

  “Do you want a divorce?”

  “Our family does not divorce.”

  “Well, I’m not part of your family.”

  “I noticed.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  January 21, 1812

  Washington, District of Columbia

  “If you were the president, what would you do?” Madison asked.

  “Please forgive me, sir, but I’m not even remotely qualified to answer that,” Yank said. “I’m only a soldier. I don’t understand politics at any level.”

  “Very well. Let me ask you a more soldierly question. Do you believe that an American invasion of British Canada would be easy?”

  “Easy, sir?”

  “That is the very word that I keep hearing.”

  Yank took a breath. “Well, sir, it isn’t a word that I would use.”

  “Can it even be done? Can we successfully invade Canada?”

  “When, sir?”

  “Now.”

  “No, sir,” Yank shook his head emphatically. “Our army isn’t even close to ready.”

  “What about the navy?”

  “Navy officers are professionals, trained from boyhood. They have a superior officer corps to that of the army.”

&nb
sp; “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Yank thought a moment. “If you’re asking me if the navy can defeat the British in Canada without the army…”

  “I was asking if you think the navy is ready to go to war.”

  “Beyond my statement that they have better leadership than the army, I can’t say, sir. But I’ve been told by some, who certainly should know, that we’re badly outgunned.”

  “Meaning we don’t have enough ships?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We have a huge merchant navy and I’m told that many of those ships could quickly and easily be converted to warships.”

  “Forgive me for not being clear, sir. Since we were discussing invading Canada, I was speaking of ships on the Great Lakes where we have very few.”

  “Oh. Yes, yes. I see.” He made a note. “I wonder if the Lachine Rapids on the St. Lawrence estuary could be made navigable as has the upper Hudson? What a boon it would be to have that access to the Lakes from the Atlantic.”

  “It would be a huge task, sir,” Yank replied in surprise. “And with the British in Quebec…”

  Madison stopped him with a calming gesture. “I was woolgathering, Colonel. Thinking of the future. I’m well aware that a project of that magnitude is impossible now and may not be possible for many generations.”

  “Sorry, sir. I should have known.”

  Madison dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand. “What, in your opinion, is the biggest problem with our army?”

  “It’s too small and untrained, sir. And, as I alluded to earlier, we have very few good, professional officers to train recruits.”

  “Let us discuss those officers then. I think you served with James Wilkinson.”

  “Yes, sir, I did.”

  “What’s your opinion of him?”

  “He’s the senior officer of the army, sir. If I criticized him in any way I would be court-martialed for insubordination at the very least.”

  “I think that answering a direct question from your commander-in-chief should exempt you from such punishment.”

  Yank thought a moment. “A fine officer of my acquaintance had his commission suspended for a year for insubordination when he answered that same question that was asked by his superior.”

  “What was his insubordinate answer?”

  “He described General Wilkinson as pusillanimous and corrupt.”

  “His name?”

  “Winfield Scott, sir.”

  “Is Winfield Scott a man that you trust?”

  “I hold him in very high regard and think that his military judgment is superior to most officers.”

  Madison nodded. “That answers my question, I think.”

  Yank hesitated. “If you need more information, sir, I suggest that you send someone to interview George Rogers Clark.”

  “I was told that he had a terrible stroke.”

  “He did, sir. But he’s mentally sound and can speak. Someone should ask him how the Spanish knew of his plans to attack New Orleans in ‘93.”

  Madison made a note, then looked up at Yank. “William Harrison isn’t a regular army officer, is he?”

  “I think he may be, sir, but if you were to ask me my opinion of Governor Harrison, I would have no reluctance to tell you that he’s a competent officer and a superlative politician.”

  Madison looked at the clock. “Please forgive me, Colonel. I have a cabinet meeting in five minutes. Perhaps we could finish this conversation tonight at Dolley’s usual Wednesday soiree. Please bring Mrs. Van Buskirk, of course. She is one of Dolley’s favorites.”

  The color rose in Yank’s face. “My wife didn’t accompany me on this trip, Mr. President.”

  Madison saw the reaction. “Nothing wrong, I pray?”

  “We have five children now and they’re a bit of a handful for my aunt and uncle,” Yank said evasively.

  Madison took several seconds to answer, intent upon reading Yank’s face. “Is it five now?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I should have known that. Perhaps I did.”

  “You have more on your mind than my children, sir.”

  “But nothing more important.” Madison stood and gave Yank his hand. “I was going to ask you to take another trip to New Orleans for me, but five children. Well.” He smiled and released his grip on Yank’s right hand. “The task I had in mind might require someone to be in New Orleans for as long as a year. Although we’re hoping to have Louisiana admitted to the union by May.” He shook his head. “A year is too long for a father of five.”

  “Exploring, sir?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Would the mission in New Orleans be new exploration?”

  “Oh, no. We’re finished with all that exploration now that the territory’s open for settlement. It would be regular duty in New Orleans. Why? What are you thinking?”

  “Could I take my family with me, sir?”

  “Well, there’s an idea. Yes, I suppose you could.” He looked at the clock again. “I really must go. But we’ll talk again tonight.”

  “Yes. Sir.” Yank started for the door.

  “Colonel?”

  “Sir?”

  “What’s your youngest’s name?” He raised his hand. “Wait, don’t tell me. Let me see. The first was John, then Thomas, Anna, and William so it must be Robert. Is it Robert?”

  “Yes, sir. The baby is named Robert after my uncle who was killed during the Revolutionary War.”

  Madison smiled. “Five fine American children named after fine American soldiers.”

  Yank bobbed his head, unsure of a proper reply.

  “I shall see you tonight then?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  February 7, 1812

  Van Buskirk Point, New Jersey

  They were near the marsh where a stork was stalking fish among last year’s cattails. Marina stopped walking to look at him. “New Orleans?”

  “I would like you and the children to come with me,” Yank replied. “It could be a chance for a new beginning.”

  “Why do we need one?”

  “I cannot answer that.”

  “You cannot or will not?”

  “I don’t have the answer,” he said sharply.

  “See?” She stepped back onto the path. “That’s what always happens.”

  “Has it always happened?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It was a serious question, Marina.”

  “Based upon what? What were you thinking when you asked it?”

  He sighed. “Very well, if you insist. My thinking is that you’ve changed since being here. Particularly after spending those months under the influence of Dolley Madison and my grandmother.”

  “If you think I was unfaithful to you with Captain Percy, why don’t you just ask? It’s been hanging over us like the Sword of Damocles.”

  “I have never asked because I know you’ll lie.”

  “What you really mean is that you think I had an affair and that I’d deny it if you asked me.”

  “Yes. That is precisely what I mean.”

  “So I suppose that means you’ve not forgiven me for my imagined sin?”

  “No, I’ve forgiven you for that but I dislike the woman that you’ve become.”

  “I never had an affair with Alexander Percy.”

  He threw up his hands in disgust.

  “Why don’t you believe me,” she shouted, walking away from him.

  Yank caught up. “Did my grandmother tell you that my father climbed the trellis to visit my mother during the war, Marina?”

  Marina turned quickly to look at him but just as quickly recovered her composure. “I think she might have mentioned it.”

  “Do you suppose she also mentioned it to Captain Percy?”

  She stopped again. “What?”

  “How did Captain Percy know that there was a trellis on the back of my great-grandmother’s house, Marina? And in fact more importantly, how
did he know that it could be climbed to reach your bedroom window?”

  She gaped at him.

  “He even mentioned that your window was on the left of the trellis and my grandmother’s was on the right which caused him some concern that he might be heard when he climbed through your window.”

  “He’s told people about that?” she gasped.

  “He’s very young, brash and a bit of a braggart, Marina. You were a conquest and he needed to crow about it. I needed to shut his mouth.”

  “What if I told you that nothing happened? That he climbed the trellis and we only talked.”

  “I wouldn’t believe you. If all you wanted was to talk you could have met him in the parlor on any day.”

  “John…”

  He held up his hand. “I don’t want to hear how you were infatuated or overcome by emotion or whatever it is that you’re thinking.”

  She blinked back tears and shook her head.

  “That’s all behind us,” Yank said quickly. “Now we might have an opportunity to begin again in New Orleans.” He waited for her to reply and when she didn’t he said, “Yes or no, Marina. Just say yes or no.”

  She wiped at her eyes. “Yes.”

  April 30, 1812

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  They were on the second floor balcony of their old French style house, watching the parade that was passing outside their courtyard’s gate.

  “This is like having Mardi Gras twice,” Yank said, smiling broadly.

  “Well, as much as I hate New Orleans I have to admit that there is no city in the world that can match it for its party parades,” Marina replied.

  Yank nodded.

  She leaned on the rail, watching the revelers outside their gate. “Did I ever tell you that I once rode a horse bare-breasted in the Mardi Gras parade?”

  Yank shook his head. “Why would you tell me that? Do you say things like that just to bait me, Marina?”

  She looked at him pointedly for a moment then turned back to the parade. “Perhaps I will again. Next year.” She waited for a reaction from him then continued when he provided none. “My breasts would still please the crowds, even after five children.”

  “What does ‘admitted to the Union’ mean, Father?” Jack asked from the doorway.