Gone to Texas (11 page)

Jackson had chosen Van Buren to be his Secretary of State, largely out of gratitude for the "Little Magician's" invaluable support during the election of 1828. At the time, Jackson had known precious little about Van Buren, and what little he did know he did not particularly like, being by nature as well as experience critical of professional politicians, especially those of the eastern variety. But now Van Buren was Old Hickory's most trusted confidant and loyal associate. And while the volatile John C. Calhoun of South Carolina was the vice president, and the most obvious choice as Jackson's heir-apparent, it was said that the General preferred Van Buren for his successor. This was due in no small measure to the fact that Calhoun was on the wrong side of the Peggy Eaton controversy, at least from the
President's perspective, while the crafty Fox of Kinderhook had wisely become Peggy's champion.

"Sir, what do you think will happen with Texas?" asked Christopher.

"Oh, I do not doubt for a moment that the General will have his way. He usually does. So, you were at West Point, I understand."

Christopher nodded glumly. "I am ashamed to admit that I have been dismissed from the Military Academy."

"Well, it's not the end of the world, young man, I assure you."

"It certainly seemed so at the time."

"But already you perceive new vistas of opportunity before you. You must roll with the punches, Mr. Groves. Yes, I heard all about the events surrounding your departure from the Point."

Christopher sighed. "I guess it must be common knowledge by now."

"Ah, but I had a special source for the details. A very dear friend of mine happens to be Piet Inskilling."

"He must be gloating right about now. He said I wouldn't amount to anything."

"You shall prove him wrong. I have no doubt of that. Do not judge him too harshly. Rare indeed is the father who does not find something to criticize about his daughter's beau. To be precise, it was Greta Inskilling who wrote me a letter which provided all the details of your duel with Adam Vickers and your subsequent dismissal. She pleaded with me to intercede on your behalf, if I could. Alas, I am unable to influence Superintendent Thayer, beyond the point of presenting your case, and darling Greta's request for leniency, to the secretary of war. Which I have done, and gladly. But I have a hunch you are not the type of fellow who expects or even desires special treatment."

"Absolutely not, Mr. Secretary."

"I thought not. You were well aware of the
consequences of your actions, and were willing to accept them. Frankly, I can see why Greta is so fond of you. She is a dear, sweet, beautiful child, and she has a good head on her shoulders. Surely you weren't thinking of going to Texas without at the very least saying goodbye to her."

"I'm not sure I'm going to Texas."

"Ah. Well, you and she will have an opportunity to discuss it."

"We will?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you? Greta is on her way to Washington even as we speak. I would expect her no later than tomorrow afternoon."

"Greta? Coming here? But why?"

"To see the President on your behalf. She will be staying with me. And I'm certain she'll be delighted to see you."

Chapter 9

Christopher was invited to a Jackson "family" dinner that evening. Present around the table in the White House dining room were the President, Jack Donelson, Secretary of War John Eaton and his wife Peggy, Major Andrew Lewis and his daughter Mary Ann, Martin Van Buren and Christopher. Emily Donelson, the unofficial hostess of the White House, and the wife of Jack, the President's private secretary, was ill, as she so often was these days. This did not dismay the crusty Major Lewis, a longtime associate of Jackson's, who was promoting his daughter as Emily's replacement. Mary Ann's chief rival in this instance was none other than the infamous Peggy Eaton, the pretty, brown-haired, rosy-cheeked young woman who was causing a stir in the capital's social circles these days. Jack Donelson was noticeably cool toward Peggy, because Peggy and Emily just didn't get along, but he couldn't be too cool, because Old Hickory wouldn't abide any disrespect shown the persecuted wife of his old friend, the secretary of war.

All this Christopher learned from Martin Van Buren. "It is quite an entertaining little circus," said the Fox of Kinderhook with a sly wink. The secretary of state looked altogether different in appearance from that afternoon in the flower garden. He wore an impeccable snuff-colored broadcloth coat complete with velvet collar, an apricot cravat with lace tips, a pearl-colored vest, white duck trousers, and shoes of Moroccan leather. He
had arrived wearing yellow kid gloves and a broad-brimmed beaver hat. "Jedediah Smith's welcome contribution to my wardrobe," he joked, invoking the name of the famous fur trapper and mountain man.

The President prefaced dinner with a blessing. At the "Amen" the servants, clad in spotless white livery, went to work. There was one servant assigned to each diner. They carried the plates back and forth between the dining and the serving tables. The meal was a feast fit for a king, in Christopher's opinion, though the others seemed to expect nothing less. There was soup and beef bouillé, boned wild turkey, fish, roast beef, salad, canvasback duck, a variety of sweet breads and Virginia ham. The butler was continually pouring champagne, Madeira, or white sherry. Following after-dinner toasts, a servant appeared with the coffee. Mary Ann Lewis and Peggy Eaton retired to the ladies' sitting room, while the men remained at the dining room table, some smoking, to engage in a free-for-all conversation.

The discussion turned to the issue of whether the United States ought to expand its standing army—not surprisingly, since the President, Lewis, Eaton, and Do-nelson had all seen military service, albeit in a volunteer capacity. Jackson and Lewis shared the opinion that the army ought to be enlarged, but the others begged to differ. Jackson turned to Christopher for assistance, hoping to garner support for his position from one who until recently had been in training to become a professional soldier. But Christopher respectfully declined to get embroiled in the debate. For one thing, he did not feel qualified to address the issue, since he had been dishonorably discharged from the Corps of Cadets. For another, his thoughts were monopolized by Greta Inskilling. They had been ever since Van Buren had told him she was on her way to Washington.

"I don't think we need a large professional army,"
insisted Jack Donelson. "Tyrants and monarchs may need them, but they are unnecessary in a democracy."

"Of all the Greek nation-states, only the Spartans maintained a standing army," said Eaton. "Which doesn't mean the people of Athens couldn't fight when they were called upon to do so. The same applies to us. We are a nation of farmers who love and desire peace, but we aren't averse to taking up arms in our own defense. We've had to do so in the past, and managed quite well, thank you."

"But who did all the Greek city-states turn to when the Persians invaded their soil?" asked Van Buren, who until now had remained an amused spectator. "The Spartan Army and the Athenian Navy. Yes, John, don't forget the Athenian navy. Professionals all."

"I still say a standing army and a democracy are incompatible. A tyrant could use the army to subjugate his own people. It has happened before."

"But how could it possibly happen here?" asked Major Lewis. "Our system of government is not conducive to tyranny."

"You think not?" asked Donelson with a thin smile. "Some folks say 'King Andrew' here is a tyrant."

Jackson laughed. "They'll be saying worse than that if I have to use the army to knock some sense into damned nullifiers down in South Carolina."

"But are we really living in a democracy?" asked Eaton.

Jackson raised his bushy white brows and looked down the table at Van Buren. "I shall refer that question to our resident scholar. What about that, Martin? I must confess, I don't even know where the word came from."

"Democracy became part of the English language in the early sixteenth century, I believe," replied Van Buren. "It is borrowed from the union of two Greek roots, and refers to direct government by enfranchised citizens. In the seventeenth century it acquired a rather
bad flavor in England. Those were the days of Cromwell and the Glorious Revolution, if you will recall, and the conservative element defined democracy then as government by the rabble, the worst conceivable form of government, in their opinion, bringing with it disorder and destruction of peace and property. For our ancestors, then, democracy was a fearful idea. You'll not find the word in the Declaration of Independence. Or the Constitution of the United States, for that matter. Thomas Jefferson made a point of never resorting to the word in any of his public papers.

"Common folk began after a time to call themselves democrats. They longed for a situation as was found in the Greek states, where all the citizens could vote. At the time, they could not, what with property qualifications and all of that. Only later did certain politicians adopt it. Even so, all of us here in this room are self-styled Democrat-Republicans. Of course, perhaps, I shouldn't speak for Mr. Groves."

"My God!" laughed Jackson. "You mean we might be dining with a damned republican?"

The others laughed with him. Christopher said, "I'm afraid I must admit I am not much interested in political matters."

"Smart young man," growled Jackson, and laughter again filled the room.

"We are not a democracy in the strictest sense of the word," said Major Lewis, "but rather a republic. There is a difference of no small significance."

"But you will not find that word in our Constitution, either," said Van Buren. "It, too, developed a bad odor over the centuries. Though it
has
become customary to refer to the United States as a republic. I think it's safe to say that the framers of the Constitution were all republicans in principle. But it's really a moot point. There is actually little difference between the two concepts, as we have adapted them for our own use."

"You mean our English cousins are right when they accuse us of treating the language cavalierly." Donelson smiled.

"Undoubtedly. We are certainly not a direct democracy. We are too many for that to ever work. But we are, it is safe to say, a democratic republic, which embraces certain clear elements. One, that the people are the source of all political power. Two, that through representatives chosen by the people, laws are made. Three, that all representatives must submit themselves and their actions to a review by the people. What we call elections."

"As I recall, Bonaporte was elected Emperor by the French people," said Donelson. "Who's to say such a thing couldn't happen in this country? What guarantee is there in our system of government against tyranny, against the election of a demagogue, or a gang of them, who believe they know what is best for the people, and who, in the process, end every right enjoyed by our citizens? And they could end it, believe me, gentlemen, with a large standing army."

"You are quite right," conceded the ever amiable Van Buren. "Democracy, or republicanism, does not guarantee the supremacy of constitutional government—that is to say, limited government by the people providing for the maintenance of basic rights."

"But what of the Bill of Rights?" asked Eaton.

"A crowd can be as tyrannical as a dictator," said Donelson.

"True," agreed Van Buren. "The majority can amend the Constitution, and by so doing deny the rest their rights."

"We have seen some of that at work in the Republic of Mexico," said Jackson. "They have their Constitution of 1824. But what good does it do them? Bustamente is as close to being a dictator as you're likely to find in
this hemisphere—despite what the Republicans say about me."

"And in Mexico you have a perfect example of the dangers of a large professional army," said Van Buren. "There is a Mexican general down there whom my sources tell me bears watching. His name is Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna. I would not be surprised if he unseats Bustamente before too very long, and he'll have the help of the army when he does it. Then he will toss the Mexican Constitution out the window of the presidential palace, mark my words. He is a man with delusions of imperial grandeur, who thinks of himself as a kind of Latin Napoleon. He is convinced that Mexico can only be saved by a strong leader, which is what Bonaparte believed about France, was it not?"

Jackson was grim. "And he hates Americans. Then what chance will the Texas colonists have against the Mexican Army? It is far better trained and better equipped than our own."

"What chance did the world give our forefathers when they rebelled against King George?" asked Donelson.

"The outcome will hinge on leadership," said Jackson, looking straight at Christopher. "What chance would the Minutemen have had without leaders like George Washington and Daniel Morgan and Nathaniel Greene? How many battles did we lose in our most recent quarrel with the British because of poor leadership. Remember what happened in Detriot because of that incompetent General Hull?"

"Thank the Lord we had Old Hickory at Chalmette!" exclaimed Major Lewis.

"A toast to the General," said Eaton.

They all rose and lifted their cups and glasses.

Jackson pushed himself stiffly to his feet and raised his own glass. "To Texas, and the intrepid souls who will free her from the iron grasp of a tyrant."

Looking back, Christopher would remember that
moment as the one during which he made his decision about Texas.

Greta Inskilling was a beauty. To Christopher's mind no woman could compare with her. She made Peggy Eaton look ordinary. Full of grace, bubbling over with the joy of life, Greta was always the focus of attention. She was small, with an exquisite figure. Her dark curls were piled high on top of her head. Sparkling eyes in a heart-shaped face were as clear blue as the sky on a sunlit spring day. Her complexion was flawless, magnolia white, and her lips were full and red, sensuously sculptured, resembling the most perfect rose in bloom against a field of pristine snow.