Land of the Free

by Jeffry Hepple

She was watching Marina again. “I’ll make you a new deal.”

  “What?”

  “Marry that girl and I’ll let her play poker here every night, won’t take a penny from ya and I won’t tell the Spanish army that you ain’t what you seem.”

  “I married her in New Orleans before we left.”

  The woman grinned and offered her hand. “I’m Theresa Anderson. Folks call me Tess.”

  He shook her hand. “Folks call me Yank. You’re safer if that’s the only name you know.”

  January 20, 1805

  Albuquerque, New Mexico Territory

  “My luck’s run out.” Marina was pacing the hotel room.

  “You’ve had three bad nights,” Yank replied calmly. “Tonight you’ll turn it around.” He was lounging back on the bed with his feet on the floor.

  “What if I don’t turn it around? What if I lose everything?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”

  She stopped pacing and walked closer to him. “I’ve been thinking. I may still have family and friends at the village near Sandia Pueblo. If we used the money we have for supplies…”

  “We tried that and it turned out badly.”

  “Those were strangers. I’m talking about people who know and care for me.”

  He sat up. “I have a better idea.”

  “What?”

  “Finish getting dressed.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Tess’s saloon.”

  “I’m not playing poker tonight, John. My luck’s run out. I can feel it.”

  “If my idea works, you’ll be sitting at the bar tonight sipping tea and watching me work.”

  “What’s your idea?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “You’re a terrible poker player.”

  “I’m not planning to play poker. Get dressed.”

  ~

  Tess put Yank’s usual cup of tea on the bar, then looked curiously from Marina to Yank. “Somethin’ wrong?”

  “Nothing to be alarmed about,” Yank replied, “but I could use a job.”

  “Here?” Tess looked surprised. “Doing what?”

  He motioned toward the big man with the badge. “He works for you, doesn’t he?”

  “Yeah. Buck’s what we call a private peace officer. But if I was to fire him and hire you, he’d kill you dead, sure as God made little green apples.”

  Yank shrugged. “Then you’d hire him back and be no worse off for it.”

  Marina laughed. “That may be the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”

  “What’s this all about?” Tess asked.

  Yank shrugged. “Marina says her luck has run out.”

  “Oh shit,” Tess muttered looking toward the front door of the saloon where a Spanish Army major and four enlisted men armed with muskets had just come in. “Reckon she might be right. I think all of our luck might of just ran out.”

  The major had seen Yank and pointed him out to his men who promptly raised their muskets. “Colonel Van Buskirk, you are under arrest,” the major said in English.

  “On what charge?” Yank asked calmly, as the bar patrons nearby scattered.

  “For now, the charge is spying and leading an armed insurrection against King Charles of Spain. But we may add murder when we have completed the interrogation of your men.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Yank scoffed.

  “Denying the charges is a waste of time. Our detachment that was stranded in the Canyon by the early snow has returned with prisoners and many have already confessed.” He jerked his head and the four men closed on Yank.

  “A moment, if you please,” Marina said in Spanish. “I am Doña Marina Elena Cortés Van Buskirk. This man is my husband.”

  “I know exactly who and what you are, Señora.” The major snapped his fingers at the soldiers who had been stopped by Marina’s speech. “Take him.”

  “No,” Marina said, trying to get between the soldiers and Yank.

  Yank gently pushed her aside and looked at the major. “I’ll go along, but you are making a mistake.”

  “A very big mistake indeed,” Marina said haughtily. “I am a direct descendent of Don Hernán Cortés, the first Marqués del Valle de Oaxaca.”

  “I am Major Juan de Alvarado,” the major said with a mocking bow to Marina. “I am a direct descendent of Don Pedro de Alvarado y Contreras and you are a Mestizo whore. However, if you leave New Mexico immediately, no charges will be brought against you.”

  “I have no money and cannot leave until the bank honors our draft,” she answered, watching Yank, who was now surrounded by the four soldiers.

  “Very well,” Major Alvarado replied. “I will grant you that much time.”

  May 3, 1805

  Van Buskirk Point, New Jersey

  “I am Marina Elena Cortés Van Buskirk and I have come on behalf of my husband who is John William Thomas Robert Van Buskirk.”

  Nannette was standing in the open door, gaping.

  “What’s this?” Tom came up behind Nannette and peered at the very pregnant young woman who was standing unsteadily on their front porch.

  “I am Marina Elena Cortés Van Buskirk and I have come on behalf of my husband who is John William Thomas Robert Van Buskirk.” Marina staggered and reached toward the door jam to steady herself.

  Tom pushed past Nannette and helped Marina toward one of the rocking chairs on the front porch. “How did you get here? Did you walk?”

  “Only from the ferry.”

  Nannette had recovered from the surprise and rushed out to help him. “Dear God, what has happened to our boy?” she muttered in French.

  “He has been captured by the Spanish,” Marina replied in French, as she sank down gratefully into the cushions of the rocking chair. “The American government says that they can do nothing because we have severed diplomatic ties with Spain.”

  “Where are they holding him?” Tom asked.

  His French was Canadian with a heavy English accent so it took a moment for Marina to understand. “I cannot be certain. He was in El Paso del Norte when I left.” She gulped, fighting tears. “It has taken me so long to get here that I cannot be sure if he is still there or even if he is still alive.”

  “Are you strong enough to come inside?” Nannette asked.

  Marina tried to stand but then sat back. “If I could have a moment please.”

  Nanette patted her hand. “When is your baby due?”

  “Soon, I think.”

  “I can get some of the servants to help me carry her in,” Tom suggested in English.

  “If you could pull me up onto my feet I can manage.” Marina held out her hands. “I cannot bend forward any more.”

  Nannette and Tom helped her out of the chair and then into the house.

  “Lizzy?” Tom bellowed. “Where the hell is that woman?”

  “I sent her to the market with Naomi,” Nannette said. “Let’s take Marina to Yank’s room. You can fetch her some soup while I help her undress and into bed.”

  “I don’t know where anything is in the kitchen,” he complained.

  “All you have to do is look,” Nannette snapped angrily. “There’s a pot of good beef vegetable soup on the stove, the soup bowls are in the cabinet and the spoons are in the silverware drawer.”

  “There is no need to get nasty.” He helped Nannette to seat Marina on the bed and then hurried out.

  “I am so sorry to have become such trouble, Madam,” Marina said.

  Nannette knelt to unbutton Marina’s shoes. “Do not be silly, child. You are our daughter.” She smiled up at Marina. “And you are about to make us grandparents.”

  “Do you prefer English?” Marina asked.

  “I prefer French but Thomas speaks Canuck and I saw that you had trouble with that, so English might be best.”

  “It took me a moment,” Marina admitted.

  “Your accent is Parisian. Is Paris your home?”

  “I learned from th
e nuns in New Orleans. I have never been to France. I am Mexican.”

  “You could have fooled me. Can you stand up so I can help you with your dress?”

  Marina slid off the bed and turned her back to Nannette. “Can you help me rescue John?”

  “John?” Nanette looked blank for a moment then giggled. “Oh you mean Yank, of course. Yes, yes. Thomas and I will invade Mexico, if need be.”

  “I have never been fond of the name Yank. I hope you will forgive me.”

  “Of course. It isn’t really important, except when you said John I immediately thought of Yank’s father. Raise your hands and let me see if I can get this dress off over your head without knocking you down.”

  When Thomas arrived with a tray, Marina was in bed with her hair spread on the pillow. “Ah, you look better already,” he said with a smile.

  Nannette took the tray from him, placed it across Marina’s knees and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Let me feed you dear.”

  “You are too kind,” Marina said, but she accepted the offered spoonful of soup.

  Nannette smiled at her then glanced at her husband. “Where can we get a fast ship, Thomas?”

  He pointed out the window. “Patrick McGrew has a fast butter-box anchored right across the kill from our dock.”

  “From here to El Paso in a little brigantine?” Nannette asked dubiously.

  “No, of course not.” He made a face. “We’ll take her from Pittsburgh, down the Allegheny and then down the Ohio to Cairo, Illinois. From Cairo, we can reach New Orleans by speedboat in less than a week. Once we’re in New Orleans we’ll hire a pirate vessel and crew to take us up the Rio Grande.”

  Nannette looked up at him for a moment.

  “What?” he growled. “Is it hiring the speedboat or the pirates that you object to?”

  Nannette shook her head. “I object to neither. I was impressed that you already had a plan. I sometimes forget what a fine man you are.”

  He looked surprised for a moment but then smiled at Marina. “Ha. That’s the first compliment she’s paid me in over twenty years.”

  “If that’s true,” Nannette replied, “I’m ashamed.” She looked up at him. “Perhaps you could begin organizing the trip, Thomas. And if you could send someone for Sally.” She went back to the task of feeding Marina.

  “Sally?” He shook his head. “Our daughter-in-law needs a real doctor, not an old black witch.”

  “I trust Sally over any doctor.”

  “She must be near two hundred years old, Nan.”

  “She may be over a hundred but two hundred is a gross exaggeration.”

  “The point is that she’s too old to trust.”

  “Sally has been caring for this family for five generations. If you’re willing to trust our lives to some unknown pirate, surely you can allow me to trust Sally.”

  He hesitated then nodded. “I still think she’s too old but I trust you.”

  “I know a privateer in New Orleans that we can trust,” Marina said.

  They both looked at her.

  “His name is Jean Lafitte. If you send him a message in care of the Gray Lady Tavern, he will be waiting for us with a fast ship and a fighting crew when we arrive. Please be sure to use my maiden name. Marina Cortés.”

  “Jean Lafitte, Marina Cortés,” Thomas repeated. Then he hurried from the room.

  “You will not be going with us,” Nannette said firmly to Marina. “The trip is too dangerous for a woman in your condition.”

  “But I must go. How will you know where to find John without me to guide you?”

  “Even I know that El Paso is on the Rio Grande and surely your friend Monsieur Lafitte can find the Rio Grande.”

  “But…”

  “Think of your baby.”

  Marina closed her eyes. “I know that you’re right but the thought of waiting here and not knowing is dreadful.”

  “You married a soldier, my dear. Waiting is the lot of a soldier’s wife. Where, exactly, is Yank being held?”

  “In the presidio of San Elizario.”

  “Have you any idea how many soldiers are garrisoned there?”

  “The permanent party is four officers and forty-three soldiers, but other garrisons move detachments up and down the Royal Highway a great deal, so the total number inside the fort can often be more.”

  “The Royal Highway?”

  Marina smiled wanly. “El Camino Real is the fanciful name used on Spanish maps to designate a rough trail that begins in Mexico City and ends in Santa Fe.”

  “Have you had enough soup, dear?”

  “Yes. Thank you. It was very good.”

  “Could you sleep a bit?”

  “I think I could sleep for a week. This is the first time that I have been warm and felt safe in a very long time.”

  ~

  Tom lit a small stick from the fireplace, applied it to his pipe and when the tobacco was drawing well, he tossed the stick into the fire. “I checked with Callahan. Marina was exactly right about the Spanish garrison at El Paso. Four officers and forty-three soldiers.”

  Tom and Nannette had moved into the living room after supper, leaving a maid to sit with Marina, who had returned to bed.

  “She strikes me as very competent,” Nannette said. “She told me that she stayed alone in Albuquerque until Yank’s bank draft was paid, then went to Pensacola and on to Havana and finally to Washington before she came here.”

  “Remarkable.”

  “Anna would be proud of her.”

  “What did Sally say?” He puffed his pipe to keep it burning.

  “She says that Marina is very strong and that she’ll carry the baby full term.”

  “When’s it coming?”

  “Another month. Perhaps a bit longer. Marina knows almost nothing about childbirth and couldn’t tell Sally when she conceived.”

  “Did she discuss her family with you?”

  “No. She evaded my questions. I think she may be ashamed of her past.”

  He looked into the fire. “Don’t press her, Nan. If Yank chose her for a wife she’s good enough for us.”

  “Lord knows her past couldn’t possibly be more jaded than mine.”

  “She’s a pretty thing. Darker than any Spaniards I’ve ever known.”

  “She told me that she’s Mexican and descended from the Conquistador, Cortés.”

  “Mexican? What’s a Mexican?”

  “People of mixed Spanish and Indian blood.”

  “Indian? What tribe?”

  “Aztec.”

  “No, you’re wrong. The Aztecs are as dead as the Pequot, the Narragansett or the Mohican. Cortés himself wiped ‘em out.”

  Nannette shook her head. “No, you’re wrong. I looked it up. Cortés fathered a child with an Aztec princess. Marina is a descendent.”

  “Huh.” He raised his eyebrows. “Our daughter-in-law’s a princess. Now that’s very interesting. Too bad it makes her uncomfortable to talk about it.”

  “She might be willing to talk more, once she gets to know us.”

  “Hope we live to see the day.”

  “When do we leave?”

  “McGrew says he can have a crew ready and the ship provisioned by sunup, day after tomorrow.”

  “Do we have enough money for all this?”

  “You and I don’t, but the family does. I’ll go to New York tomorrow and see Mother.”

  “Did you send a letter to Monsieur Lafitte?”

  “By express rider. He’ll have it a week before we arrive.”

  “Did you inquire about him?”

  Tom nodded. “He operates from Barataria Bay, has four well armed schooners and letters of marque from Saint-Domingue and Cartagena.”

  “So he is indeed a legitimate privateer, not a pirate.”

  “The line between the two is always blurry. Our Navy lists him as a smuggler and although they haven’t yet gone so far as to label him as a pirate, that could soon change.” He hesitated. “I know that
you want to go, Nan, but…”

  She raised her hand. “Don’t even say it, Thomas. I’m going and there will be no discussion.”

  May 22, 1805

  El Paso Del Norte, Province of Tejas

  The San Elizario Presidio resembled a miniature castle, with four thick, high walls and two tall lookout towers flanking the main gate. A set of parallel inner walls were connected to the outer walls by a flat tar and gravel roof that provided a wide firing platform, while the space between the walls housed the men and materiel of the garrison. Gun platforms on all four walls housed cast-iron cannons.

  Tom was examining the fort through a small, brass telescope. “It’ll take all your cannons to breach those walls, Monsieur Lafitte.”

  Jean Lafitte, wearing a wide-brimmed hat with a turkey feather, looked every bit like the pirate that he claimed not to be. “We cannot take that place by force, Colonel, only by finesse.”

  Tom lowered the telescope to look at him. “We agreed that you would maintain full command of your ship and men, but that the ground portion of the planning would be mine.”

  “Let Captain Lafitte explain his plan, Thomas,” Nannette complained. “He might have an idea that hasn’t occurred to you.”

  Tom sighed. “Very well, Monsieur Lafitte. Tell us your plan.”

  Lafitte pointed at the fort. “You will notice that the gates are open.”

  “Yes, and very well guarded,” Tom replied.

  Lafitte ignored him. “They are open to provide access for the citizens in case of an Indian attack. We shall pay a few Indians to stage an attack and become citizens who can run in through the gates, unmolested.”

  “To be trapped like rats inside,” Tom said.

  “The outer walls are stone six feet thick,” Lafitte replied. “The inner walls are made from timber and mud, no thicker than those of a house.”

  “Even so, breaching them with muskets and cutlasses will be impossible.”

  “Stop it, Thomas,” Nannette said hotly. “Let Captain Lafitte finish.”

  Lafitte offered her a small bow. “We have aboard our ship, four breech loading swivel guns and four men strong enough to carry them. The rest of us will carry loaded breeches.”