Home of the Brave

by Jeffry Hepple

  “General,” Peggy replied.

  Yank crossed the room toward General Winfield Scott. “Hello Win. You look well for an old war horse.” They shook hands.

  “Good to see you, Yank. Your son, Jack, tells me that you’ve retired, but here you are in dress uniform, sword and all.”

  “Yes. I hit the thirty year ceiling but I’m in uniform at the request of the President. I looked it up. It’s permitted.”

  “You hit the thirty-year ceiling about a week before they removed it. No time or age limit for general grade officers anymore. If you want to come back where you belong, I can arrange it.”

  Yank shook his head. “Thirty years of taking orders from fools was enough for me. After tonight, this uniform goes into permanent mothballs. How’s Jack doing?”

  “He’s a fine officer and I have no doubt that he’ll be wearing stars on his collar before long. What’s this I hear about you having a seat in Jackson’s cabinet?”

  “False.”

  “I thought so when I first heard it, but then I saw you talking to John and Peggy Eaton.” He shrugged. “She’s something special, isn’t she?” He winked.

  “Mrs. Eaton? Yes, she’s attractive and seems very vivacious.”

  “You haven’t met Peggy before tonight?”

  “No.”

  “I’m surprised by that,” Scott said.

  “Why?”

  “Her father owns Franklin House, which is the favorite home-away-from-home for most politicians and prominent visitors to Washington.”

  “That explains it. I’m not a politician or prominent and when I’m here I’ve always stayed in a small hotel that Marina and I own.”

  “Well you missed something seeing Peggy when she was a girl.”

  “She’s well worth seeing as a woman.” Yank looked across the room at Mrs. Eaton. “Marina mentioned some scandal revolving around her?”

  “When she was a little girl she used to sit on the laps of her father’s guests and sing songs, dance and entertain.”

  Yank shrugged. “I hope that’s not what the scandal’s about or most of the little girls I ever knew are predestined to disgrace.”

  “Peggy never outgrew it. When she was fourteen, she besotted the Secretary of the Navy’s nephew so badly that when she turned her pretty back on him he hanged himself.”

  “Silly bugger.”

  “When she was sixteen she tried to elope with one of my aides but her father caught her climbing out the window.”

  Yank chuckled. “I don’t find any of that even remotely scandalous.”

  “I’m not finished. Her father finally got so tired of all the fights she caused in his boarding house that he married her off to a navy purser named John Timberlake. Timberlake desperately needed money. Peggy’s father paid Timberlake’s debts and gave the happy couple a house across the street from his own. Are you with me so far?”

  Yank shrugged. “There’s not that much to follow.”

  “Well it gets complicated.”

  “And I’m getting bored.”

  “Then I’ll give you the fast version. The rumor is that while Timberlake was at sea, Eaton was keeping his bed warm for him and got Peggy in the family way. Timberlake found out and cut his own throat. Then Eaton’s wife died and Eaton married Peggy a short time later.”

  “She seems to attract men with suicidal tendencies.”

  “One of the men that she’s attracted is Andrew Jackson.”

  Yank had been looking at Peggy O’Neale, but his head snapped back at Scott’s words. “That’s a lie, Win. Jackson was devoted to Rachel. I’d bet my life on his fidelity to her.”

  “Now hold on, Yank. Before you challenge me to a duel, let me explain what I mean.”

  “Okay.”

  “When Jackson was in the Congress and the Senate, he always stayed at Franklin House when he came to Washington. Peggy became something of an adored step-child. When Timberlake killed himself and Eaton’s wife died, Jackson encouraged them to get married. But, as you might guess, the sharp tongues of Washington began to wag and soon everything in Peggy’s private past was public.”

  Yank nodded. “I can guess what’s coming next. Jackson saw it as another attack on an innocent woman.”

  Scott nodded. “Shades of poor Rachel being slandered by the truth.”

  Yank decided to let that pass.

  “The real problem now is that Vice President Calhoun’s wife is snubbing Peggy openly and telling anyone who’ll listen that the charming Mrs. Eaton is a loose woman and a seductress. Apparently President Jackson and Vice President Calhoun are ready to thrown down a gauntlet over it.”

  “How did I miss all this?”

  “You’re a lamb among wolves. And here comes your lovely wife who looks like she may be ready to devour you for something.”

  Yank turned to see an angry Marina stalking toward them. “Well, it couldn’t be anything I’m doing. She likes you. Do you suppose she saw me admiring Peggy O’Neale?”

  “That son of a bitch, Andrew Jackson,” Marina snarled when she drew closer.

  “Hush,” Yank warned, looking around nervously. “What happened?”

  “You don’t know enough about what’s going on with Peggy Eaton to even understand.” She seemed to notice Winfield Scott for the first time. “Oh, sorry, Win. It’s nice to see you.”

  “You too, Marina,” Scott replied. “I’ve just fed Yank all the dirt on Peggy, by-the-by.”

  Marina looked surprised. “And he listened?”

  “More or less.”

  “Why are you calling the president names?” Yank asked Marina, after giving Scott an unfriendly look.

  “Well,” Marina looked around. “I don’t see her right now, but Rachel’s niece, Emily Donelson, is the official hostess and she refused to greet the Eatons. In fact, she refused to greet us after we talked to Peggy.”

  “What does that have to do with you insulting Jackson?” Yank asked in confusion.

  “Jackson saw me and then you walk away from the Eatons after our very brief conversation and he assumed we were snubbing them too.”

  Yank made a face. “Well I did snub Eaton, in a way.”

  “You couldn’t have snubbed him for the reason Jackson thought you did,” Marina said angrily. “You didn’t even know Peggy before tonight. And that’s what I told the old son-of-a-bitch.”

  Yank smiled behind his hand and Scott turned away to cough.

  “It’s not funny,” Marina insisted. “The man’s been president for eight hours and he’s already got his unconfirmed cabinet at each other’s throats.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Yank suggested.

  “We just got here,” she protested.

  “I know. But if Jackson decides to come over here and attack you again, I’ll have to call him out. Getting away with killing a sitting president for the sake of honor might prove to be difficult.”

  “He won’t come over unless it’s to beg for forgiveness. When I blew up in his face and told him that you’d never even heard of Peggy O’Neale before tonight, he fell all over himself apologizing.”

  “In that case, shall we dance?”

  “I’d love to.”

  “If you’ll excuse us please, Win?”

  Scott bowed to them.

  April 1, 1829

  Brooklyn Harbor, New York

  Tom, Nannette, Yank, Marina, Anna and Paul Van Winkler were standing on the dock as Thomas and Jane Van Buskirk waved to them from the ship’s rail.

  Jane hugged Thomas’s arm. “Do you think we’ll ever see them again?”

  Thomas shrugged. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

  “I’m really going to miss Mr. Van Winkler.”

  “You mean your father?”

  She giggled. “That’s very difficult to get used to.”

  “Do you think he’ll come to Texas?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think Anna will.”

  “Even if she doesn’t, Mr. Van- my fat
her will. The very idea of all those horses, cattle and buffalo running free on open range has captivated him completely.”

  “Me as well,” Thomas admitted. “It must be a sight to see.”

  The ship lurched as the whaleboats took up the slack on the towlines and the mooring lines on the quay were released.

  The ship’s movement restarted waving from both ship and shore.

  Marina waved, then looked up at Yank. “Do you think we’ll ever see them again?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you mean by ‘of course’ that you think they’ll fail and will have to come home?”

  “No, I mean I think they’ll succeed and we’ll go visit them.”

  “You perhaps, not me.” She shook her head.

  “Why not you?”

  “There’s a little matter of a wanted poster that you may have forgotten.”

  “That was issued by the now defunct Spanish government.”

  “How do you know the Mexican government hasn’t picked it up?”

  “The Mexican government changes every week. They have bigger fish to fry.”

  Anna waved then leaned against Nannette to steady herself.

  “What’s wrong Cherie?” Nannette put her arm around the girl.

  “I’m getting seasick from watching that ship go up and down,” Anna replied.

  Tom chuckled to Paul Van Winkler. “She’s gonna be a delightful traveling companion.”

  Van Winkler was watching the ship as her sails began to fill. “Do you think we’ll ever see them again?”

  “I’m sure of it,” Tom said. “Next year this time we’ll be waving goodbye to you.”

  “I’m going to vomit,” Anna announced.

  April 30, 1829

  Washington, District of Columbia

  “This person who signs his letters as the Reverend Ezra Stiles Ely has written to me stating that Peggy’s two daughters were fathered by John Eaton and not by her husband,” Jackson said angrily.

  Yank leaned back in his chair to let Jackson rant.

  “He goes even further to say that she miscarried after Timberlake had been at sea for over a year. I demanded that he tell me where he’d heard the damnedable story and he said it was from another Presbyterian minister named John Campbell. I summoned Campbell who says that he’d heard it from a now dead man called Elijah Craven. I called him a liar and Campbell has hired Francis Scott Key to depose Craven’s widow.” He looked at Yank expectantly.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. President?”

  “You can help me squelch these rumors.”

  “Short of killing everyone who repeats one of the rumors, I wouldn’t know how, sir.”

  Jackson looked as if he might be considering that idea for a moment then shook his head sadly. “No, no, I suppose you wouldn’t know how to stop them any more than I do.” He gave Yank a pained look. “I fear it was just wishful thinking that you’d be as helpful to me here as you were on the battlefield.”

  Yank didn’t offer a reply.

  “I have so many enemies and so few friends. There’s almost no one here that I can trust,” Jackson said, mournfully.

  “Well, sir, don’t hesitate to ask if you think I can be useful to you. I can get here in a day and a half on these new steamboats.”

  “Yes. An average of eight miles per hour, I’m told,” Jackson said, brightening a bit. “If I need you urgently I’ll contact you by semaphore telegraph. That’s another modern miracle of American science and engineering.”

  Yank decided not to tell Jackson that semaphores had been used in Europe for over a decade and got up instead. “Well, congratulations again, Mr. President. It’s always a pleasure seeing you.”

  Jackson stood and walked around the desk to shake Yank’s hand. “I noticed that your son, Jack, was promoted to major. That’s quite an accomplishment for such a young man in the modern, peacetime army.”

  “We’re very proud of Jack, Mr. President. He’s in Winfield Scott’s command at Buffalo.”

  “As I recall, all four of your boys graduated from West Point at the top of their classes.”

  “The eldest three did, sir. Robert is an upperclassman this year and may do well. But I think Jack will be the only career soldier.”

  “What about the others?”

  “Thomas has recently resigned his commission, married a pretty little half-breed from East Long Island and is on his way to Texas to become a cattle rancher and land surveyor. In fact, he may be there by now.”

  “And what of William and Robert?”

  “William is a Lieutenant. He was assigned to West Point teaching engineering after he graduated. He’s not happy there and I believe he’ll resign as soon as he’s completed his contractual obligation. Perhaps to follow Thomas to Texas. Robert is something of a question mark. He has always been a fine student but truly dislikes the Academy and has only stuck it out because he feels obligated by family tradition.”

  “Perhaps I could get William reassigned to something more suited to his temperament and Robert assigned to something he’d enjoy after he graduates.”

  “Thank you, sir, but I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “Very well,” Jackson said, showing his famous temper.

  Yank wrinkled his brow. “You know something, Mr. President? You’re going to explode like a cracked cannon barrel unless you get yourself under control.”

  Jackson stared at him and spluttered.

  “I know how hard the campaign was on you, sir, and how deeply Rachel’s death has affected you, but you’re behaving like a madman.”

  “How dare you, sir?” Jackson took a half step toward Yank.

  Yank scowled at him. “Unless you want to follow Rachel into the hereafter, don’t take that tone or posture with me, sir,” Yank warned. “I can shoot you through the eye at thirty paces and with a sword you’ll be dead before your first thrust.”

  Jackson opened and closed his mouth then turned and walked to the window.

  Yank started for the door. “Good day, Mr. President.”

  “Don’t go, Yank.” Jackson said, still looking out the window.

  “There’s nothing left to say, sir.”

  “There is a great deal to say,” Jackson said with a sigh while turning to face Yank. “You’re right.” He shook his head. “I’ve permitted this thing with Peggy to over-shadow my new presidency and my entire cabinet has turned against me. I don’t know what to do but I’ve gone much too far to back down now.”

  “Fire the whole pack of them and start over,” Yank suggested.

  “Appointing a new cabinet won’t stop these spurious rumors about Peggy.”

  “I’m not convinced that they’re spurious.” Yank raised his hand before Jackson could explode. “I could be wrong, but you could be too. Why not use your power as President to investigate fully before you make a fool of yourself by defending a woman who doesn’t deserve it?”

  Jackson walked to his desk. “Sit back down a moment please, General.”

  Yank hesitated and then took the chair he’d just vacated.

  “Have you heard of a war chief named Black Hawk?”

  Yank was confused by the abrupt change of the topic and merely shrugged in reply.

  “He’s the leader of a large band of Sauk, Fox, and Kickapoo called the British Band and he’s said to have support from, not only the British, but the Ho-Chunk and Potawatomi tribes and perhaps even the Sioux. He keeps returning to Saukenuk in violation of several treaties that you and General Harrison negotiated when Harrison was governor of Indiana.”

  “The last I heard was that Ed Gains moved up from St. Louis and, together with Henry Atkinson’s militia, pushed Black Hawk back across the Mississippi.”

  “That was last year. I just today received a message from Governor Reynolds of Illinois, dated three weeks ago, that says Black Hawk is back in Illinois with a thousand warriors of the Sauk, Fox and Kickapoo Nations and some Ho-Chunk prophet called White Cloud.” He looked at Yank expec
ting a reaction but got none. “Ho-Chunk is what we’re now calling the Winnebago nation. This White Cloud is saying that they are prepared to join Black Hawk in a war against the United States.”

  “So what does Reynolds want from you? Federal troops?”

  “Yes.”

  “Henry Atkinson is as competent as any regular army general and the Illinois militia is about as good as the best.”

  “General Atkinson signed the request too.” Jackson hesitated. “I was wondering if you would go up there and check the situation for me.”

  Yank shook his head. “I’ve had more than enough of the Northwest Territory.”

  “The trip is nowhere near as hard now. There are steamboats in most of the waterways including the Great Lakes.”

  “General – I mean – Mr. President…”

  “I need you, Yank. I really need you. I’m a fish out of water here. I don’t have anyone I can trust. Please. Your country needs you.”

  Yank closed his eyes for a moment then sighed and finally nodded. “But I can’t leave until after the twentieth of next month.”

  “Fine. In the meantime, you can move Marina down here. She must be bored in New Jersey.”

  May 10, 1829

  San Felipe, Coahuila, Mexican Province of Tejas

  In addition to his duties as empresario, Stephen Fuller Austin was the alcalde, or mayor, of San Felipe and as such, he had offices in a building called the cabildo where the local government, known as the ayuntamiento, met. “This is incorrect, Mr. Van Buskirk.” A small man with dark eyes and a head that seemed disproportionately large, Austin spoke rapidly and exuded energy that belied his stature. “The newer tracts are one square mile or six hundred and forty acres.”

  “But, Mr. Austin,” Thomas said in a reasoning tone. “I have a receipt here for five hundred and fifty-three dollars and fifty cents. That would compute to four thousand, four-hundred and twenty-eight acres at twelve and a half cents per acre.”

  “I understand that, sir,” Austin said, walking to a large map, “but the fact remains that according to the official survey these six hundred and forty acres right here are yours.” He tapped the map.