Land of the Free (45 page)

“That’s
ridiculous.”

“This is the South, sir. You
bein’ a northerner and all, you might not understand us down
here.”

“Perhaps not.” Yank walked
out to the sidewalk, wondering what he should do.

“Colonel Van Buskirk. Well,
well, well.”

Yank turned to see Andrew
Jackson with the giant Colonel John Coffee striding across the
square.

“General.” Yank walked to
meet them. “I’ve come on urgent business. Is there any way that I
can dissuade you from this duel? Step in for you
perhaps?”

“There will be no duel,
Colonel,” Jackson replied. “I only intend to teach the rascal a
lesson.” He swatted his leg with his quirt.

Yank didn’t look relieved by
the announcement.

“What’s the trouble,
Colonel?” Coffee asked.

“Red Sticks under the
command of Peter McQueen and William Weatherford massacred hundreds
of settlers, mixed-blood Creeks, and militia at Fort Mims a few
days ago. General Claiborne asked me to come. I stopped first to
see Governor Blount and he says that he’ll issue the needed
orders.”

Jackson looked at Coffee.
“I’d rather settle with these Red Sticks in the Alabama Territory
than here in Tennessee. How about you, Colonel?”

Coffee nodded but he was
looking across the square. “Right there’s the Benton brothers.” He
pointed. “Right there, on the walk in front of the City Hotel, big
as life. They’re both carryin’ two pistols.”

Before Yank could try to
discourage him, Jackson was off at a run with Coffee only a step
behind. Unsure what he should do, Yank hesitated, then followed at
a slower pace.

As Jackson drew close, Jesse
Benton stepped back into the hotel barroom and Thomas Benton moved
into the hall leading to the rear porch.

“Defend yourself you damned
rascal,” Jackson roared, rushing, Benton.

Benton reached for a pistol
but Jackson caught his wrist and drew his own pistol. Benton began
to back onto the porch with Jackson following when Jesse appeared
behind Jackson and fired his pistol.

Jackson fell and his pistol
discharged as he was going down. The ball from Jackson’s pistol
barely missed Thomas Benton who fired both his pistols at Jackson
and miraculously missed hitting anyone. At the same time, Jesse
Benton ran forward with his second pistol, but Yank tripped him and
kicked the pistol into the corner, then ducked as Coffee blazed
away at Thomas Benton with both his pistols. Thomas Benton turned
to run from Coffee who was after him with the smoking pistols held
like clubs, but fell down the stairs.

As Jesse Benton scrambled
across the floor after his pistol, a young officer in Jackson’s
command named Stockley Hays rushed past Yank and stabbed Jesse
Benton with a sword cane but the blade broke on a button. Jesse,
who had one loaded pistol, took aim at Hays but when the hammer
fell, the weapon misfired.

Yank had had enough. He drew
his pistol with one hand and his sword with the other. “I will kill
the next man that makes an aggressive move,” he said in a voice so
chilling that all the movement stopped. “Colonel, Coffee, get some
men to take General Jackson to his hotel. The rest of you clear out
or die.” He waited until the hallway emptied, then put away his
weapons and went to livery his horse and to find a bed for
himself.

~

It was dark when Yank awoke.
He walked to the window and looked out. Across the square, in front
of the Nashville Inn, the Benton brothers and their supporters were
shouting insults.

Yank washed in the basin,
shaved and put on his spare uniform, then went downstairs to eat.
An hour later, he crossed the square to the Nashville Inn. As he
approached, the Benton crowd fell silent.

Coffee, who looked awful,
met him in the lobby. “General Jackson’s asking for
you.”

“How bad is it?” Yank
asked.

Coffee shook his head. “His
left shoulder’s plumb shattered and the slugs embedded in the bone.
Every doctor in Nashville’s tried to stop the bleeding but it’s no
good. They say that unless they amputate he’ll die but he won’t let
‘em. Maybe you can talk sense into him.”

Without further comment,
Yank climbed the stairs, announced himself to the sergeant major in
the hall outside Jackson’s door and was admitted to the room
through a cordon of soldiers.

Jackson, surrounded by
doctors, was lying on a bloodstained mattress. Two other completely
blood-soaked mattresses had been discarded and were stacked against
the wall beyond the bed. Jackson beckoned to Yank with his good
arm.

Yank had to shoulder two
doctors aside to get close.

“I need a favor, Colonel,”
Jackson said.

“What can I do for you,
General?”

“I keep telling these
sawbones that I’ll keep my arm but they’re hoverin’ over me like
vultures just waitin’ for me to pass out.”

“You’ll keep your arm,
General, or they’ll be burying me beside you.” Yank turned away
from Jackson and drew his sword. “Is there any one of you that
thinks he can save General Jackson without amputating?”

“I’ve said all along that
there’s hope,” one man said. “But we have to stop the
bleeding.”

“The rest of you get out,”
Yank said. He brandished his sword to hurry them along. “Sergeant
Major,” he bellowed.

“Sir.” The man pushed
through the grumbling doctors who were exiting the room.

“One man is to remain as
guard and everyone else is to scour this hotel for
cobwebs.”

“Cobwebs, sir?”

“Spider webs.”

“Spider webs,
sir?”

“Damn it man, stop repeating
what I say. The Shawnee use spider webs to stop bleeding by wadding
them into the wound. I’ve seen them stop worse wounds than
this.”

“Yes, sir.” The sergeant
major headed toward the door.

Yank waited until the door
closed then walked to Jackson. “Would you like me to do anything
about Benton and his people outside?”

“No. That isn’t your
fight.”

Yank sheathed his sword and
turned to the doctor. “I hope you’re not going to give me a big
argument about cobwebs.”

The man shook his head. “I
never heard of it before, but it makes sense. The ball is going to
have to stay where it is. There’s nothing to be done about
it.”

“Just do your best and leave
the General with his arm dead or alive.”

“I understand.”

September 7,
1813

The Hermitage,
Tennessee

Yank checked the saddle
cinch and raised his knee against the horse’s belly.

Rachel Jackson hurried into
the stable and stopped abruptly. “Must you go, Colonel?”

“Is he worse?”

“No. But I know he’s going
to miss you horribly.”

“I’ll be back,” Yank said.
“But my place right now is in the Alabama Territory.”

“He has told me what you
did. I’ve not had the opportunity to thank you.”

Yank looked surprised. “Most
people who care for General Jackson were furious with me for
risking his life and preventing the doctors from
amputating.”

“If Andy had lost his arm it
would have killed his pride. Andy Jackson would not exist without
his pride. Thank you for understanding that, Colonel.”

Yank nodded. “Well I had
better kick for Alabama, Ma’am.” He touched his hat brim and swung
onto the saddle.

“You be sure to come back
this way,” Rachel said.

“Yes, ma’am.” Yank waved to
her and rode out.

September 10,
1813

Fort Madison, Alabama
Territory

Yank rode in through the
gates and picked his way through crowds of men, women and children
to the command house where he dismounted and gave the reins to a
groom.

Brigadier General Ferdinand
Claiborne hurried toward him. “What news, Yank?”

Yank saluted and dropped the
salute before Claiborne returned it. “Governor Holmes was
noncommittal. Governor Blount almost guaranteed that he could
convince the legislature to allow him to raise five thousand men.
That would be twenty-five hundred from West Tennessee under General
Jackson and twenty-five hundred from East Tennessee under Major
General William Cocke.”

“How soon can they get
here?”

“Cocke says that if gets
Blount’s approval soon enough he can be on the move by early next
month.”

“And Jackson?”

“Well, the truth is that we
may get Jackson’s army without Jackson. Maybe Coffee would be
Blount’s choice. I’m not sure.”

“Why not
Jackson?”

“He got into an altercation
with Thomas Benton and Benton’s brother Jesse. Jesse put a slug in
Jackson that damn near killed him.”

“Shit.” Claiborne kicked the
dirt.

“What’s happened here? Who
are all these people?”

“They’re from Fort
Sinquefield, a few miles north of here. Last week, Red Sticks led
by Josiah Francis attacked the cabins of two families. They killed
two men, twelve women and children. The next day, after the bodies
were buried outside of the fort, the Creeks attacked some women
that were washing clothes at a spring and killed one of the women
and a militiaman that tried to defend them. It took the rest of the
militia two hours to drive them off. The next day the settlers and
militia abandoned Fort Sinquefield and showed up here.”

“We need to hit the Red
Sticks where they live instead of waiting around for the bastards
to attack us,” Yank grumbled.

“What can I do?” Claiborne
asked defensively. “General Flournoy’s given me specific order that
I’m not to take any preemptive action.”

“I know, I know,” Yank said.
“I’m just frustrated.”

“So am I.” He waved his hand
at the crowded fort. “These people have never heard of Major
General Thomas Flournoy or the Seventh Military District but they
do know me and they expect me to protect them.”

“Well, when my father was in
a similar situation he took off his uniform and became a spy. I
think I’ll try that. At least we’ll know where they are and that
might give us some time to prepare for future attacks.”

Claiborne thought about it
for a few seconds. “I think that’s a bad idea, Yank.”

“Why?”

“For one thing you’re not
woodsy enough to go slipping around and sneaking up on
Indians.”

“I’ll have to learn
then.”

“You might want to take some
of our Indian allies.”

Yank shook his
head.

“Then keep your uniform on
so our own people don’t shoot you.”

September 23,
1813

Fort Madison, Alabama
Territory

“They seem to be having some
kind of religious holiday,” Yank said.

“Good,” Claiborne was
reading dispatches. “Hey, Yank. What was the name of that young
navy officer that you gave the scar?”

“Percy.”

“Alexander
Percy?”

“Yes. Why?”

“He’s mentioned in
dispatches for outstanding bravery in the face of the enemy. He’s a
commodore now. The boy seems to have acted with real
courage.”

“He proved himself very
brave when we met. I have seen him since and hold him in high
regard.”

Claiborne chuckled. “It
seems that he also has quite a flair for drama.”

“How so?”

“He went all the way to
Vincennes to present his battle flag to Harrison. Do you remember
Bill Harrison?”

“Of course. I’ve been up
there to see him a few times recently. He’s built himself a mansion
that he calls Grouseland.”

“He’s come a long way since
we all soldiered together.”

“And he’ll go farther too. I
wouldn’t be surprised to see President William Henry Harrison some
time in the future.”

“Ha. That’ll be the day.
Right after President Andrew Jackson.”

October 7, 1813

Camp Blount, Fayetteville,
Tennessee

Yank was sitting with
Colonel John Coffee in a grove of four huge oak trees watching the
men arriving at the camp when a cheer came up from the men on the
right. “That’ll be Jackson.”

Coffee stood up. “Yup.
That’s him. He’s got his arm in a sling.”

“I’d be surprised if that
arm’s ever any good again, but I’m glad he kept it.”

“Thanks to you. I’d of let
‘em saw it off to save his life.”

“With some men, if you take
their pride, their life becomes meaningless. Andrew Jackson’s one
of those men.”

“That’s the same thing
Rachel said.”

Yank stood and saluted as
Jackson rode in.

“I bid you good day,
Gentlemen,” Jackson said returning their salutes. “Colonel
Coffee?”