Land of the Free

by Jeffry Hepple

  “You had nothing to fear, my dear. A beautiful woman can be forgiven for nearly anything, especially if she marries well.”

  “Has John’s aunt discussed my past with you?”

  “No. I asked her and she refused. I therefore presumed that there was some dark secret to hide.”

  “I was captured by Indians and sold into slavery,” Marina said, lifting her teacup with an unsteady hand. “I was raped more times than I can count. So many times that I simply stopped fighting.” She tried to read the expression on Rachael’s face but other than one slightly raised eyebrow, it was blank. “The man in New Orleans who bought me used me as a prostitute. John bought me from him and then bought my freedom.”

  “Do try one of these little cakes.” Rachael offered the plate. “They are quite delicious. We have nothing like them in New York.”

  “Thank you.” Marina chose one and put it on the dish beside her saucer.

  “What did you say when Mrs. Madison urged you to stay in Washington while Yank was in the Northwest?”

  “How did you know that she asked?”

  Rachael smiled.

  “I think I told her that I would discuss it with you,” Marina said. “John had not told me that he had orders and I was rattled.” She put her cup in the saucer. “How did you know that she asked?”

  “Logic.” Rachael sipped her tea. “I think it would be best if you returned to New York with me. This is no place for a young, attractive, married woman, nor is the Van Buskirk Home Place. We will stop there on the way to pick up your clothes and the child.”

  Marina offered no argument.

  “Nannette says that he looks like my son John,” Rachael added.

  “Who does?”

  “Your child. Jack, I believe you call him; although Nannette pronounces it as Jacques.”

  “Yes,” Marina said. “Jack looks very much like the painting of John’s father at the Van Buskirk Home Place. Although I don’t think Jack is as fair as was his grandfather.”

  “Grandfather.” Rachael smiled. “John and Anna would have doted on him. As will I. With your permission.”

  “Of course.”

  “What’s troubling you, Marina?”

  “John has still not mentioned that he is going to be leaving. I cannot grasp the meaning of that.”

  “He thinks that he is being kind by sparing you the worry. Do you know when he is to leave?”

  “Mrs. Madison thought it was to be tomorrow.”

  “Then Yank will tell you tonight and we will depart tomorrow, after you see him off.”

  October 2, 1805

  Vincennes, Indiana Territory

  As the boat was being secured to the dock, Yank joined the line of passengers who intended to debark and squinted into the sun at a two-story, red-brick house with tall, whitewashed Roman columns.

  “That’s the new Governor’s Mansion,” the fat man in front of him offered. “They finished it last year.”

  “Handsome place,” Yank acknowledged.

  “Built with all local materials too.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yup. Governor Harrison calls it Grouseland ‘cause there’s so many grouse hereabouts.” He bumped Yank with his elbow. “Get it? Grouse land?”

  “Yes, I get it.”

  “Bridge is new too,” the man said, pointing. “Onliest bridge over the Wabash.”

  “Except perhaps the bridge that connects Lafayette with the village of Chauncey.”

  “Well that don’t hardly count.” The gangplank, now being secured, the fat man moved forward, sparing Yank any more of his observations.

  Once on shore, Yank shouldered his kit bag and made the short climb from the riverbank to the house where he was met at the door by a black servant who asked him to wait. A minute later a very small man in the uniform of a sergeant of the Indiana Militia appeared. “Yes, sir?”

  “Colonel John Van Buskirk to see the governor. He should be expecting me.”

  “I’m real sorry, sir, but we’ve had a bit of confusion today. Let me go check.”

  Yank nodded. “Very well.”

  The sergeant hurried across the foyer and vanished into a pair of double doors then reappeared seconds later. “The governor’s expecting you, sir,” he said breathlessly as he rejoined Yank.

  “That’s a relief.”

  “I’m to show you to your room first. Can I take your bag?”

  “No thank you.”

  “It won’t look right you carryin’ your own bag, sir.”

  Yank shrugged. “It’s heavy.”

  “I’m stronger than I look,” the sergeant replied, struggling to pick up the kit bag. “You go on ahead upstairs and I’ll catch you up directly.”

  “Those stairs look wide enough for two to walk abreast,” Yank said, taking a grip on the bag. “Let us carry it together.”

  With a grateful glance, the man proceeded toward the stairs. “This ain’t my regular duty, sir. The sergeant assigned here got jumped by some Shawnees this mornin’.”

  “How badly was he hurt?”

  “Killed dead. And they took his hair.”

  “I wasn’t aware of any recent hostilities,” Yank said as they mounted the staircase, side by side.

  “Always somethin’, sir. If it ain’t the nations it’s some tribe or a pack o’ renegades.”

  “How large is your garrison?”

  “Two hundred fifty here and that many upriver to the fort.”

  “Isn’t there a regiment of regulars here too?”

  “They’re up to the fort too. But I think it’s only a battalion.” Panting, he stopped at the top of the stairs and let go of his half of the burden. “Your room’s the third on the right, sir.” He caught his breath. “They should of started you a nice warm fire already. I’ll go fetch a servant to help you unpack.”

  “I don’t need any help, thank you. When was I to see the governor?”

  “He just told me to get you settled, sir. I reckon he’ll send me or somebody else when he’s ready.”

  “Very well. Thank you, Sergeant.”

  The bedroom was well appointed, with a large four-poster bed, a small sitting area in front of the fireplace and writing desk by the window. Yank was unsure if he would actually be staying here, so he put his kitbag in the corner and then sat down by the fire to wait.

  An hour later the sergeant reappeared at the door and led Yank downstairs to the vast council chamber where Governor William Henry Harrison was seated at the head of a long, empty table. He was a stern looking man with a long nose and a mouth that looked like it wanted to smile but simply could not manage one. “Thought I’d seen the last of you,” he said as he stood up and offered his hand.

  “You know what they say about bad pennies, Bill,” Yank answered, shaking the governor’s hand.

  “Take a seat, Yank. Hope you don’t mind meeting in here. I’ve got another meeting going on in my office.”

  Yank sat down without comment.

  “Do you understand what’s happened since you were last here?”

  “I read the State Department’s file, Governor, but the truth is I was more confused than informed by it.”

  “Well let me see if I can explain.”

  “Please.”

  “In May, Chief Buckongahelas died of either smallpox or influenza. Do you remember him?”

  “I know he was chief of the Lenape and a friend, but I never met him.”

  “Oh. I thought you had. Well, it doesn’t matter much. What does matter is that a rumor got started that Buckongahelas was killed by witchcraft and Tecumseh’s brother Tenskwatawa started a witch hunt.”

  “Tenskwatawa,” Yank repeated. “Open Door?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that the same brother that was called, Lowawluwaysica, or Open Mouth?” he chuckled.

  If Harrison was amused, he didn’t show it. “The people of the Nations now call him the Shawnee Prophet because he’s believed to possess magic powers including the ab
ility to foresee the future.”

  “I know the man, Bill. He’s a braggart and a drunk. His visions of the future, if he indeed has any, are alcohol induced.”

  “That may well be true but the people believe he’s big medicine and he’s using that influence to encourage them to reject the ways of whites.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “No Christianity, European clothing, tools, like that.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound British-inspired.”

  “Maybe not. But he’s also saying that the land belongs to all Indians and that no tribe has a right to sell any land to us.”

  “He won’t get far with that argument. These Indians have been claiming each other’s land by right of conquest since the beginning of time.”

  “Anyone who disagrees with him gets accused of witchcraft and some have been executed.”

  “What about Black Hoof?”

  “Black Hoof was accused but hasn’t been harmed so far.”

  “Then I take it that he’s not one of Open Mouth’s followers.”

  “No. Not yet, anyway.”

  “I suppose I should go see him right away, then. Is he still at Wapakoneta?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Little Turtle?”

  “He’s still abiding by the terms of the treaty.”

  “Still on the Eel River?”

  “Yes, still there.”

  “Where can I get a horse?”

  “Can’t you stay the night?”

  “Better not.”

  “Are you still cross with me, Yank?”

  “Cross?”

  “Over the slavery issue in the territory.”

  “I don’t agree with you at all on that issue, Governor, but I’m not at all cross and never have been.”

  “Slavery’s essential to economic development.”

  Yank stood up. “Debating that is a waste of time. Neither of us is going to change his mind.”

  “The Congress agrees with me.”

  Yank wrinkled his brow. “Why is it important to you that I agree?”

  Harrison shrugged. “I learned everything I know about soldiering from you when we were with General Wayne. You’re one of my oldest friends.”

  “If our continued friendship requires my agreeing with your every political view it’s destined to crumble.”

  “Have I done something else that you disagree with?”

  Yank shook his head. “When you left the army, you took a different path from mine.”

  “I’m still in the army.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No I don’t.”

  Yank considered his words for a moment. “You’ve moved beyond me. Other than the President, you govern more territory than anyone in America. Whether or not I agree with you is no longer relevant.”

  “I need people who’ll tell me their unvarnished opinions, now more than ever, Yank.” He waved his hand. “I’m surrounded by ‘yes-men’ who tell me what they think I want to hear and agree with every fool thing I say.”

  Yank sighed. “Making slavery legal in this territory is a giant step backward.”

  “I want your opinion on everything but that issue.”

  Yank laughed and started for the door. “Nice seeing you again, Bill.”

  “I need Madison to believe that the British are supplying the Indians, Yank,” Harrison said.

  Yank stopped and walked back. “If that’s what I discover, why wouldn’t he believe it?”

  “You may have trouble finding proof, but I know they’re doin’ it.”

  “I’ll have to have proof before I report it.”

  “This is very important.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t think you do.”

  “You’re not asking me to falsify a report, are you, Bill?”

  “No, certainly not. But I’m asking you to look real closely. The British and their Indian allies are gonna try their damndest to make you believe nothing’s amiss.”

  “You have my word that I’ll look closely, Governor. Is there anything else?”

  “No.” Harrison shook his head but his face showed that he was still troubled.

  “If the British are supplying or influencing any tribes, I’ll find out,” Yank said to reassure him.

  “Do me one favor?” Harrison asked.

  Yank waited for him to continue.

  “If you don’t find the proof you’re looking for, just say that. Don’t draw any conclusions.”

  “My mission here was to investigate and report the facts to Secretary Madison. I wouldn’t draw conclusions either way, Governor.”

  Harrison nodded. “Be careful, Yank. It looks more civilized than it was but it’s still plenty dangerous out there.”

  October 2, 1805

  Manhattan Island, New York

  Rachael and Marina Van Buskirk were sitting at a tiny French table in the corner of John Jacob Astor’s palatial ballroom.

  “Who is that?” Marina asked, peeking over her Chinese fan.

  “Who, dear?” Rachael asked.

  “The navy lieutenant.”

  “Which one?”

  “He is now dancing with Mrs. Astor.”

  Rachael squinted. “Ah. That is Lieutenant Percy.”

  “He keeps looking at us. Watching.”

  “I assure you that he is not looking at me.”

  “Is he famous?”

  “He’s served on several famous ships in the Quasi-War with France and the War in Tripoli against the Barbary pirates, but I’ve not seen his name mentioned in any of the notable engagements. I must have missed something however, if he is on the Astor’s guest list.”

  “He’s quite handsome.”

  “Yes. But Apollo couldn’t get invited here if he wasn’t a god.”

  “How do you keep track of so many people and events?”

  “I was an army wife for most of my life.”

  Marina looked surprised.

  “What? Were you not told that my Thomas was a major in the Seven Years War and a general during the Revolution?”

  “Yes, of course I was. But somehow I had the impression that your social position elevated you above the status of army wife.”

  Rachael smiled. “Perhaps my mother thought that military careers were bourgeois, but I did not. I was always proud of Thomas, my sons and your husband. I always was and always will be.” She bent closer to Marina. “Your admirer is coming toward us.”

  Marina looked in time to see Lieutenant Percy smile. “What should I do?” Her color had risen significantly.

  “You should dance with him.”

  “Oh dear, no.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m six months pregnant,” Marina whispered.

  “You don’t look it. Enjoy yourself while you can.”

  The young man had at last crossed the room and stopped in front of Rachael. “A very good evening to you, Mrs. Van Buskirk.”

  “And to you, Lieutenant Percy.” She gave him her hand and waited until he had bent over it, stood up and released it. “May I present my grandson’s wife? Marina Elena Cortés Van Buskirk.”

  “Charmed, Madam.” Percy took Marina’s hand and looked into the cleavage between her breasts.

  “This young gentleman is Lieutenant Alexander Percy,” Rachael said to Marina, who was now bright pink all the way to her hairline.

  “I wonder if I might ask for the next dance?” Percy asked, still holding fast to Marina’s hand and still enjoying her breasts.

  Rachael started to give her permission but was interrupted by Marina. “No thank you, Lieutenant,” Marina extracted her hand.

  Percy seemed a bit put off. “Then perhaps you will permit me to sit with you.”

  “Certainly,” Rachael said.

  “I would rather you didn’t,” Marina quickly interjected.

  “Very well.” Percy clicked his heels like a Prussian, bowed and hurried away.

  “That was a bit rude, Dear,”
Rachael said after a moment.

  Marina didn’t answer.

  “Perhaps you might share your thoughts,” Rachael said with an edge in her voice. “I am, after all, your sponsor here in New York.”

  Marina leaned closer to Rachael and whispered. “He was leering down the front of my dress the entire time and...”

  “And what?”

  “That’s all.”

  Rachael smiled. “You must forgive a young man for that flaw.”

  Marina fanned herself.

  Rachael watched her for a moment. “You found him attractive.”

  “No.” Marina took a deep breath. “Yes.”

  “You must forgive yourself for that flaw.”

  “I was taught that such feelings were sinful.”

  “Sinful? Oh dear. You must have found him very, very attractive, indeed.”

  “If we could speak of something else I would be heartily grateful, Grandmother.”

  “Certainly my dear. Certainly.”

  October 3, 1805

  Manhattan Island, New York

  Rachael knocked on the bedroom door.

  “Come in,” Marina called.

  Rachael opened the door, stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. “Lieutenant Percy has gone.”

  Marina marked her place in the book she was reading and closed it.

  Rachael walked to the window and looked out. “This was Anna’s room when she stayed with us during the War.”

  “Yes. You mentioned that.”

  “When Manhattan was occupied by the British, John, my son John that is, used to slip past the sentries and climb this trellis to see her.”

  Marina smiled. “How very romantic.”

  “And dangerous. But he was absolutely fearless.”

  Marina nodded.

  “I think young Captain Percy is cut from the same cloth.”

  “Captain? Has he been promoted since last night?”

  Rachael turned away from the window. “No. His rank is lieutenant but he is the captain of a ship.”

  “Oh. I wasn’t aware that he had a command.”

  “If you had come down when he called, you would.”

  “Had I realized that it was so important to you,” Marina said crossly. “I would have come down.”

  Rachael started to answer then changed her mind.