Land of the Free (3 page)

She looked confused.
“Nashborough is a long way around to reach the
Mississippi.”

“I have to stop off there to
deliver some legal documents.” He thought a moment. “Do you know a
judge named Jackson? I believe he was both a United States
Congressman and Senator before being appointed to the Tennessee
Supreme Court.”

“Andrew Jackson?”

“Yes. Do you know
him?”

She nodded and looked into
the distance. “From the war. He was a courier. Just thirteen years
old when the British captured him and his brother.”

“You knew him
well?”

“No. But we both carry scars
from Tarleton’s Rangers. Andy’s are on his left hand and on his
head. He refused to clean the boots of one of Tarleton’s officers.
A major, who later…” She shook her head. “But, that is the past and
I do not wish to remember it. How long will you be
gone?”

He shook his head. “Two or
three years, I would guess. As I said, my orders are to link up
with the Lewis and Clark expedition and return with them. I cannot
guess how long it will take them in the north.”

Tom had rejoined them and
picked up the thread of the conversation. “Finding them would
require extraordinary luck in such a vast area with no reliable
maps.” He looked out toward the bay, remembering his own wanderings
in the American frontier.

Yank nodded, choosing not to
disagree. “May I board my horse with you while I’m
gone?”

“Of course,” Tom
replied.

“Will you not need a saddle
horse on your trek?” Annette asked.

“I’m told that our party
will be in readiness in New Orleans, awaiting my arrival,” Yank
said.

“Ha,” Tom replied
scornfully. “If you believe that I fear you will be sorely
disappointed.”

“I’ve found that Secretary
Madison is very thorough,” Yank offered.

“He may be,” Tom agreed.
“However, I would advise you to be prepared to buy everything from
your own purse. Our Government is big on talk and small on
payment.”

“I’ve been assured that
money is already on hand in the Banque de la Louisiane in New
Orleans.”

“Ha,” Tom
repeated.

“Enough of this,” Annette
said, taking Yank’s hand. “You must be hungry.”

July 16, 1804

Washington, District of
Columbia

Secretary of State James
Madison was a small, bookish man who many underestimated. He was
seated at a knee desk, writing and reading as he spoke. “I would
suggest that you forgo your military uniform during the expedition,
Colonel Van Buskirk. The Spanish are maintaining that Texas is part
of the New Mexico territory and therefore not part of the Louisiana
Purchase. They have made it clear that any military incursions
therein will be treated as an act of war.”

“Yes, sir,” Yank
replied.

Madison looked up from his
desk. “It is quite possible that diplomatic ties between the United
States and Spain will soon be broken. If so, and if you were to run
afoul of the Spanish government, it would leave us no method of
negotiation for your release.”

Yank nodded. “May I ask sir,
which river should I consider as the western boundary of Louisiana?
The Sabine or Rio Grande?”

“Spanish officials maintain
that the Texas border is the Arroyo Hondo.”

Yank referred to the map
that was spread across his knees. “I don’t see that river,
sir.”

“It is a dry gulch west of
Natchitoches,” Madison replied, peering over the edge of his desk
at the map. “It may be called the Calcasieu.”

Yank nodded. “Ah, yes.” Yank
tapped the spot. “So should I consider that to be
accurate?”

Madison shook his head. “No.
The French documentation describes the Rio Grande or the Neches.
The Rio Grande is, of course, well mapped but we know almost
nothing about the Neches.” He looked at Yank pointedly. “However,
for the sake of diplomacy, and your mission, we shall officially
use the Sabine. You’ll note that I said officially.”

“I quite understand, Mr.
Secretary.”

“I hope so.”

Yank referred to the map.
“Let me see. I am to officially follow the officially declared
river north to the Red River so that we gain more knowledge of it
without officially offending the Spanish.”

“Exactly.”

“And west to where,
sir?”

“That, you must
establish.”

Yank looked at the Secretary
for a moment then back at the map. “I can estimate distance and
look for land features to support some geographical references, but
that could require moving the designated line.”

“Those lines mean nothing
now, so whatever you decide will probably be satisfactory to the
United States. Eventually we will probably have to fight someone to
establish a lasting and legal boundary.”

“I quite agree,
sir.”

“What we need, more than
anything, is to learn what’s out there.”

“Are the Rocky Mountains to
be my western boundary as I proceed north?”

“Yes. Unless you encounter
Lewis and Clark before they reach the Pacific. In that case you are
to proceed west with them.” He looked back at the papers on his
desk. “I think that will be unlikely, however. You should probably
cross their path as they are returning east.”

Yank nodded.

“You have the packet for
Judge Jackson in Nashville?”

“Yes sir.” Yank rolled up
the map carefully and put it in a tubular leather map case. “Is
there any verbal message for the Judge?”

Madison looked up again.
“No. But President Jefferson and I would consider it a personal
favor if you would take some measure of the man.” He began paging
through a book, looking for something.

Yank wanted to ask why, and
what specific information about the judge was required, but
Madison’s demeanor demonstrated clearly that the interview was at
an end. “Thank you, Mr. Secretary. I am honored to be given this
mission.”

“What’s that?” Madison
looked surprised for a moment. “Oh yes. Of course. Good luck to
you, Colonel Van Buskirk.”

“Thank you, sir.” Yank stood
up and left the room with only a quick glance back at the little
man behind the desk.

July 20, 1804

Nashville,
Tennessee

Judge Andrew Jackson was not
at all what Yank had expected. Tall, with wild white hair, a narrow
face like a hawk and eyes to match, he was a formidable
presence.

“So who’s organized this
expedition?” Jackson asked.

“The State Department, sir,”
Yank replied.

Jackson shook his head. “No.
I mean who’s there in New Orleans, buyin’ supplies, hirin’ men and
preparin’ for your journey?”

“A man by the name of Harvey
Pique.”

“What do you know about
him?”

“Beyond his name, I know
nothing of him, sir.”

Jackson grinned. “You’ll
surely find that the territories abound with scoundrels, Colonel.
You may well arrive to find that this man has absconded with
everythin’ and prepared nothin’.”

Yank nodded agreement. “My
uncle is convinced that I will have to outfit the entire expedition
with no help from our government.”

Jackson raised his eyebrows.
“You don’t seem too troubled by that idea.”

“It isn’t a new idea, sir.
It occurred to me when first I was told of the venture by Secretary
Madison.”

“What’ll you do if that
comes to pass?” Jackson chuckled.

“As my Uncle suggests, I
will outfit the entire expedition with no help from our
government,” Yank said with a grin.

“Do you have experience
outfittin’ an expedition of this size?”

Yank gave him a puzzled
look. “Organizing a small exploring party the size of an infantry
company is much less difficult than preparing a brigade for
maneuvers, Judge.”

“I suppose that is true,”
Jackson agreed. “But what of this Harvey feller? If he’s absconded
with taxpayer’s treasure, will you take action against
him?”

“Indeed I will, sir. I will
hunt the rogue down and turn him over to the
authorities.”

“Just like that?”

“Well, I may have to kill
him, but I shall give him every opportunity to
surrender.”

Jackson laughed out loud. “I
like your spirit, Colonel Van Buskirk.” He suddenly sat upright and
snapped his fingers. “Van Buskirk. I knew that name sounded
familiar. Whose son are you? Thomas or John?”

“My father was John Van
Buskirk. I was reared by my Uncle Thomas and my Aunt Nannette. I
think you may have known her too during the war. Her maiden name
was Balletti.”

“Nannette Balletti,” Jackson
said softly, his eyes going out of focus. “Yes. I remember her
well. She and I share a common hatred for the English.” He
absentmindedly touched the scar on the side of his head. “One
Englishman in particular.”

“She keeps track of him, you
know, even in England,” Yank said. “He’s a member of parliament and
has gotten quite wealthy in slave trading.”

“Ban the Butcher, Tarleton,”
Jackson said with an edge in his voice that chilled Yank. “I would
dearly love to face him with swords, knives or pistols.”

Yank chuckled. “My aunt is
less sporting. Her wish is to look into his eyes as he succumbs to
a very long, slow and painful death.”

“She was fierce,” Jackson
said with a smile. “She and your father kept Tarleton’s folks in
terror. I was disappointed when they were called back
north.”

“I heard you had some recent
Indian trouble,” Yank said to change the subject.

“Nothing serious,” Jackson
replied. “A few Creeks stirred up some trouble a bit south of here.
Y’all just had a fight up north, didn’t you?”

“Nothing much. I was
involved in a little scrap with a Shawnee by the name of Tecumseh.
He seems to have emerged as the new leader of the
Confederacy.”

“Who was yer commanding
general during that engagement?”

“General Wayne.”

Jackson smiled. “Mad Anthony
Wayne. Didn’t your father serve with him?”

Yank shook his head. “Not
that I know of.”

“You know you might have
some real serious Indian trouble out west of the Mississippi,”
Jackson said, after a moment.

“It is possible,
sir.”

“If I was you, I’d buy me a
couple o’ dozen Kentucky rifles before I headed out. They’re
accurate to three hundred yards or more.”

“I’m quite familiar with the
Baker rifle, sir.”

“Kentucky rifles are better.
They have lugs for a standard bayonet, their pan’s better protected
from harsh weather and their barrels don’t foul as
easily.”

“Can you recommend a
merchant?”

“I can, but it’d be best if
I go with you to make sure you don’t get swindled.”

“Thank you, sir. I’d be very
grateful.”

“Will you be travelin’ by
land to New Orleans?”

“No, sir, by
boat.”

“Good. Oh. While I’m
thinkin’ on it. There’s somethin’ I’ve been curious about for a
long time.”

“What’s that,
sir?”

“Are you Van Buskirks kin to
Daniel Boone?”

“No, sir. He’s a cousin of
Daniel Morgan who is a very close friend of my family. But we’re
not related. That is, I don’t think we are.”

“He died, not too long
ago.”

“Daniel Boone?”

“No. Daniel
Morgan.”

Yank nodded. “Two years ago.
Almost to the day, in fact. I accompanied my mother to the
funeral.”

“A great man.”

“Indeed he was,
sir.”

“Well, we should go see
about your rifles. You have a long trip ahead of you.”

August 18, 1804

New Orleans, Louisiana
Territory

Yank walked the plank from
the flatboat to the dock with his kitbag on his shoulder, then set
the bag on the pier at his feet to look over the busy
port.

“Excuse me sir, are you by
chance Colonel Van Buskirk?” asked a boy in the uniform of a navy
ensign.

“Yes.” Yank looked back to
see if his cargo was being unloaded.

The ensign saluted. “I’m
very relieved. I had not expected you to be in civilian
clothes.”

“It was very astute of you
to pick me out of this vast crowd.” Yank waved toward the empty
dock. “But I’m traveling in civilian clothes for a reason and your
salute rather defeats that effort.”

“Oh. Sorry, sir.” The young
man dropped his salute and looked utterly confused.

“What can I do for you,
Ensign,” Yank asked after a moment.

“Commander Thompson sends
his regards, sir.”

“Does he?” Yank
chuckled.