Land of the Free

by Jeffry Hepple

  Yank laughed. “So the myth of British support to the Indians now becomes reality.”

  Harrison’s face showed his disapproval. “I don’t see this as a laughing matter.”

  “Well I do,” Yank replied flatly. “You’ve been trying to pick a fight with Britain on behalf of the United States for years.”

  “That’s untrue.”

  “Bah. You’ve even gone so far as filing false reports to do it.”

  Harrison made an obvious effort to control his temper. “Everybody knows that war with England’s inevitable, except you, Yank.”

  “President Jefferson didn’t think so.”

  “Jefferson.” Harrison shook his head. “He had a perfect opportunity to declare war in ‘07 when the Leopard fired on the Chesapeake in Norfolk. If he’d just made the declaration, the Congress and popular opinion would have supported him fully. But what does he do? He closes our territorial waters to British warships, demands payment for damages, and formally requests that British ships stop searching America vessels for deserters. Requests. Like a lackey.”

  “I didn’t agree with that either,” Yank said. “But I don’t think President Madison is going to declare war on Great Britain based upon your reports of Tecumseh being supported by the British.”

  “He would if you confirmed them.”

  “Me? What do I know other than what you’re telling me?”

  “I need you, Yank. Help me now and I’ll make you a general and get you out of here.”

  Yank looked at the river for several seconds. “I think I’ll have to decline your offer, Governor.”

  Harrison took out a cigar and made a production of lighting it to give himself time to think. “All right, Yank,” he said at last. “Why don’t you come down to Washington with me?”

  “For what purpose?”

  “To see the President.”

  Yank chuckled. “I may be just a soldier, Bill, but I understand politics enough to know that you got me sent here because I wouldn’t support your claim that the British were using Indians to attack our interests.”

  Harrison took a long time to respond. “I made a mistake in that. Not that it harmed you. In fact, I did you a favor. But I went over Madison’s head to do it when he was Secretary of State. Now he’s the president and I desperately need to mend that fence. I’m asking you as a friend and a patriot.” When Yank failed to respond, he continued. “I swear to you on all that’s holy: the British are supplying Tecumseh’s legions with arms, ammunition and supplies for an all-out war. If our government doesn’t wake up soon it could be the end of us.”

  Yank raised an eyebrow. “You have an annoying habit of overstating things, Bill.”

  “Well, it certainly will be the end of westward expansion.” Harrison waited another moment. “Please, Yank. Just come with me to talk to Madison. What harm can that do?”

  Yank took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Very well, Bill. But if I go back to the territory it will be as a representative of the United States, not as a representative of the Territorial Governor.”

  “Agreed.”

  July 7, 1811

  Washington, District of Columbia

  President James Madison fixed Governor Harrison in his steady gaze. “You, sir, are like the boy who cried wolf. Here you are again saying that the Indians in the Northwest are being supplied by the British.”

  “I am, sir,” Harrison replied.

  “But this time it’s the truth?” He shook his head,

  “It has always been the truth, sir,” Harrison countered. “But never to the extent that we’re seeing now.”

  “I would need more than your word to take to the British government, sir. Much more.”

  “I have a possible solution to that problem, Mr. President. Do you remember Colonel John Van Buskirk?”

  “Yes, of course. Fine young man. Fine family. Fine soldier. Fine American. Where is he now? West Point? Yes, I think that was where you had him sent.”

  “I won’t apologize for that, Mr. President, but I freely admit that it was a mistake.”

  “Do you indeed.” Madison sniffed.

  Harrison pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “He’s outside right now.”

  “Who is? Colonel Van Buskirk?”

  “Yes, sir. I stopped at West Point and asked him to accompany me here.”

  Madison got up, walked around his desk and opened the office door. “Colonel Van Buskirk?”

  “Here, sir.” Yank walked toward him.

  “Come in a moment please.”

  Yank followed him in and closed the door.

  Madison gave Yank his hand. “I am delighted to see you again.”

  “As am I to see you, Mr. President.”

  “Take a chair, please,” Madison said, as he sat back down behind his desk. “I presume that you know what Governor Harrison and I have been discussing?”

  “Yes, sir.” Yank sat down next to Harrison.

  “Would you advise me to accept the Governor’s assessment that the British are supplying weapons and encouragement to the Shawnee and their allies?”

  “Of course I would, Mr. President,” Yank said. “Just as soon as I could verify the facts for you.”

  A hint of a smile crossed Madison’s face. “How long will it take you to move your family here and find a suitable replacement to fill your position at West Point?”

  “Would a month be too long?”

  Madison shook his head but Harrison looked pained.

  “I will make all possible speed,” Yank said, “but you can count on me being in Vincennes no later than the seventh of August.”

  August 7, 1811

  Vincennes, Indiana Territory

  Governor Harrison looked up from a letter and said, “Right on time.” He immediately went back to reading.

  Yank waited a moment to see if Harrison would say more or offer his hand but the governor continued to read. “Nice to see you again, Governor.” He turned and started for the door.

  “Hold on,” Harrison said. “I’m not done with you.”

  “I’m done with you.” Yank walked out and closed the door. He was in the street when Harrison caught him.

  “You can’t walk out on me like that,” Harrison said, loudly enough to turn heads.

  “The hell I can’t,” Yank answered as he continued to walk. “As you and I agreed at West Point, I’m here representing the President of the United States of America, Bill.”

  “That doesn’t alter the fact that I am the territorial governor.”

  “I don’t report to you except as a matter of courtesy and I don’t feel very courteous at the moment.”

  “Now you wait just a minute,” Harrison caught Yank’s sleeve.

  Yank stopped and looked at the offending hand until Harrison let go. “The next time you put a hand on me, sir, consider it a dropped gauntlet.”

  “Who the hell do you think you are, Andrew Jackson?” Harrison spluttered.

  “No. I’m a much better shot and immeasurably better with a sword.” Yank continued down the street.

  Harrison looked around then hurried to catch up. “You’re drawing a lot of attention.”

  “I think it must be you. No one here knows me.”

  “What do you want? An apology?”

  “That would be a good start.”

  “It was you that called me a liar.”

  “It was you that lied.”

  “I might have exaggerated a little, but I never lied.”

  “What about the Erie raiding party that you claimed shot two trappers with British muskets?”

  “I don’t remember any incident like that.”

  “That’s the trouble with lies, they require a good memory.”

  Harrison glared at him.

  “Let me help you with the true story then, Governor,” Yank said. “After Black Hoof mentioned it to me, I checked. It was four very young Erie boys who thought it would be funny to steal the horses of some drunken trappers. On
e of the trappers woke up, saw them and fired his musket. His shot woke the others and they all fired off their muskets. Two of them shot each other.”

  “Like I said, an exaggeration.”

  Yank looked at him and shook his head sadly.

  “Listen to me, Yank.” Harrison started to grab Yank’s sleeve but caught himself. “I’ve spent my whole adult life trying to turn this territory into a state.”

  “Don’t give me that political horse-flop. I was with General Wayne when you first reported as an ensign and I’ve been close by, watching every step you’ve taken ever since.”

  “I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “I wasn’t implying that you did. You’re a fine politician, but I don’t happen to like politicians.” He looked Harrison in the eye. “I used to like you, however, Bill, before you let your ambition overshadow your patriotism.”

  Harrison walked along beside him for some time, struggling with his temper. Finally he stopped and looked around. “Where the hell are we going, Yank?”

  Yank stopped too, looked around too and then laughed. “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe we should turn back before somebody takes a shot at us.”

  “I agree.” Yank turned and started back the way they came. “I know you’re angry because I didn’t take the brevet brigadier position but it wasn’t personal.”

  “What bothered me more was you making me look like a fool in front of President Madison.”

  “If I did that it was unintentional and I apologize.”

  “You said that he shouldn’t trust what I said unless you verified it. That doesn’t seem unintentional to me.”

  Yank looked at him. “Madison wouldn’t have trusted me if I’d said anything else.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he doesn’t trust you, Bill.”

  “If he doesn’t it’s because of something you told him.”

  Yank shook his head. “I never once said anything to him about you. The reports I gave him were of my investigations of events, such as that incident with the two white trappers and the Erie boys. He had my version and your version of the story. If he decided not to trust you it was from comparing our reports, not from anything I said about you.”

  “So what are you gonna do now?”

  “Find Tecumseh to try and confirm your report that he’s being armed by the British.”

  “He’ll be here in three days for a meeting with me and his warriors will be armed with British muskets.”

  Yank looked dubious.

  “He flaunts them to show me that if I defy him, he’ll bring all the nations and the British down on me.” The expression on Yank’s face convinced Harrison that he was making progress so he hurried on. “The last time Tecumseh was here he had four hundred braves with him and we came within an inch of open combat. If I hadn’t accidently had a regular infantry regiment here that day, we would be pushing up daisies.”

  Yank took a moment to absorb what the governor had said. “Well, if he does anything like that again there’ll certainly be no difficulty in getting President Madison’s attention.”

  “How well do you know Madison?”

  Yank shrugged. “I’ve talked to him at some length on a number of occasions but he’s a hard man to know.”

  “Will he fight?”

  “Oh yes. If necessary.”

  “There’s the rub. Jefferson could never be convinced that it was necessary.”

  “Madison won’t be as hard to convince as Jefferson.”

  “Really?”

  “He’s tougher than he looks and very committed to westward expansion.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “To start, we give him facts, not fables. If he thinks the British are a real threat to western settlement, you’ll have your way and he’ll go to war.”

  “How long can you stay here?”

  Yank shrugged. “If Tecumseh turns up for your meeting, armed with British weapons as you think he will, there’s no need for me to stay.”

  “I have to go to Kentucky on business the day after that meeting. John Gibson will be acting governor while I’m gone. I’d feel a lot better if you were here to help him if he needs it.”

  “What will he say to that?”

  “I talked to him about you before I stopped off at West Point. He’s a veteran of the French and Indian War, Lord Dunmore’s War, the Revolutionary War and he knew your father very well. He’d be more than glad to have you.”

  “Then I don’t see any problem with staying. The orders that President Madison gave me are carte blanche.”

  “Be sure to send your report to Madison as soon as you see Tecumseh’s weapons.”

  “Of course. Why did you mention it?”

  “Because I want to make sure that Madison gets the information in case you catch an arrow. There’s a lot riding on his decision.”

  August 17, 1811

  Vincennes, Indiana Territory

  Acting Governor John Gibson looked across the desk at Yank. “Tecumseh’s on the march toward us with an estimated eight hundred armed warriors, some of them mounted.”

  Yank raised an eyebrow. “Mounted?”

  “He was resupplied with weapons, ammunition and mounts by a British supply barge on the Tippecanoe River.” Gibson sighed. “At least that cat’s finally out of the bag. Harrison should like that.”

  “That cat was out of the bag a few minutes after Tecumseh’s army left here. I sent my report to President Madison on the eleventh. He may even have it by now.”

  “Based on that, can you authorize the regulars?”

  “No, I don’t have any authority here.”

  Gibson looked glum.

  “But,” Yank said. “Fortunately, no one knows that but you. So I will. I suppose you know that there are only about two hundred fifty regulars here right now.”

  “Yes, I do know.” Gibson nodded. “But they’ll be a big help. I called out the territorial militia and sent fast riders to recall Harrison from Kentucky but...”

  “Speaking of Kentucky. Bill left about a hundred Kentucky volunteers here. They’re just north of the bridge as we speak.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I forgot about them.”

  “What about the Indiana Rangers? Their rifles could be very useful.”

  Gibson nodded and made a note. “That gives us about six hundred to Tecumseh’s eight hundred.”

  “Those are not bad odds if the militia’s even half trained.”

  “They’re not trained as a military unit but they’ll follow orders and they won’t run.”

  “How long until Tecumseh reaches us?”

  “Three or four days but I’m hoping he won’t.”

  “Won’t come? I’m not following you, sir.”

  Gibson sat back in his chair. “If we can muster a big enough show of force he might go home to Prophetstown and wait for his brother, Tenskwatawa’s forces, to join him. That could double his force.”

  “Where’s Prophetstown?”

  “That’s what they’re calling the village up there at the confluence of the Wabash and Tippecanoe.”

  Yank chuckled. “Where’s Tenskwatawa?”

  “Somewhere in the south recruiting the Creeks. Tennessee or the Alabama Territory, I think.”

  “What do you want me to do, sir?”

  “Stick close to me and make sure I don’t do something stupid. With any luck, we can back Tecumseh down and Harrison will get here before Tenskwatawa does.”

  September 30, 1811

  Van Buskirk Point, New Jersey

  Nannette hurried out to the porch. “Marina.” she called over her shoulder. “The post rider has brought a letter and Thomas is waving it over his head.”

  Marina dashed out to join her and excitedly waved back at Tom who was walking from the dock. “Perhaps I should run down there and meet him so he doesn’t rush and hurt his wounded leg.”

  “You go on and I’ll watch your children.”

  Marina jumped f
rom the porch and raced down the hill to meet Tom.

  “Postmarked Vincennes on September first,” Tom said with a grin, handing her the envelope.

  She took it from him and read the address and return-address.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” Tom asked.

  “I’ll read it to you and Nan when we get settled on the porch.”

  “I walk too slow. Read it to yourself while we walk and then read it out loud when we get there.”

  “No. I’d rather share it with you.”

  “Sorry to hold you up. I sure hate getting old.”

  “Take your time and I’ll savor just having the letter.”

  “Don’t know why it still takes so long to get a letter from there.”

  “It may have something to do with the British ships on the Great Lakes.”

  “Bloody British. We’re gonna have to show ‘em again.”

  “Yes. It does look that way.”

  When they reached the house and were comfortably seated on the porch with Nanette, Marina opened the envelope and began to read aloud.

  Vincennes, Indiana Territory

  September 1, 1811

  My dearest wife,

  On the 12th of last month, Governor Harrison was called away on business to Kentucky. Before departing, he asked me to stay here while Secretary John Gibson acted as governor and I agreed. A few days later, the Shawnee Chief, Tecumseh, and eight hundred warriors, began moving down the Wabash toward Vincennes.

  On the 20th, intent upon intercepting Tecumseh, I took command of two hundred fifty regular infantrymen and joined Governor Gibson, who had about three hundred fifty militia with him. We had proceeded no more than twenty miles when we received word that Tecumseh had turned back to his village, which he now calls Prophetstown.