


 ALTERNATE HISTORY TITLES BY ERIC FLINT

 1632

 1633(with David Webber)

 Ring of Fire

 1634: The Galileo Affair(with Andrew Dennis)

 Grantville Gazette

 1812: The Rivers of War

 1824: The Arkansas War

 

The Belisarius Series (with David Drake)

 An Oblique Approach

 In the Heart of Darkness

 Destinys Shield

 Fortunes Stroke

 The Tide of Victory

 The Dance of Time






 CHAPTER 1



 Washington, D.C.

 APRIL 25, 1824

 

Houston must have known. The president turned his head away from the window, presenting his profile to the other two men. The expression on his face was not condemnatory so much as simply pensive. Must have known for several years, in fact. Am I right, Winfield?

 The tall, handsome general in one of the chairs in Monroes office shifted his position. Only slightly, of course. The very fancy uniform he favored didnt lend itself well to extravagant movement while he was seated.

 Oh, certainly, General Scott replied. Driscols been building another Line of Torres Vedras in those mountains. The original took Wellington over a year to buildand he had the population of Lisbon to draw on. Even with all the negroes who have migrated to Arkansas the past few years, Driscol doesnt begin to have that large a labor force. And the Cherokees and Creeks are useless for that sort of work, of course. For the most part, at least.

 The secretary of state, the third man in the room, cleared his throat. Perhaps John Quincy Adams pursed his lips. The work stretched out over that long a period of time

 President Monroe shook his head. I thank you, John, but lets not be foolish. Sam Houston? 

 He chuckled. I remind you that my son-in-law is the same man who, at the age of sixteen, crossed sixty miles of Tennessee wilderness after running away from home. Then he lived among the Cherokee for several years, even being adopted into one of their clans. He could find his way through any woods or mountains in Creation.

 The presidents tone of voice grew somber. Even drunk, as he so often is these days.

 Monroe finally turned away from the window. No, lets not be foolish. He spends as much time in the Confederacy as he does here at home, since the treaty was signed. There is no chance that Sam Houston failed to see what his friend Patrick Driscol was doing. Nor, given his military experience, that he didnt understand what he was seeing.

 As he resumed his seat at his desk, Monroe nodded toward Scott. It didnt take Winfield here more than a few days to figure it out, when he visited the area. Andmeaning no offenseWinfields not half the woodsman Houston is.

 The generals notorious vanity seemed to be on vacation that day. His own chuckle was a hearty thing. Not a tenth, say better! Ive traveled with Houston a time or two. But it didnt matter on this occasion. Patrick provided me with a Cherokee escort, who served as my guides. He made no attempt to keep me from seeing what he had wrought in those mountains. Quite the contrary, I assure you. He wants us to know.

 A bit warily, Scott studied the president. John Quincy Adams didnt wonder as to the reason. James Monroe was normally the most affable and courteous of men, but they were treading on very delicate ground here. That most treacherous and shifting ground of all, where political and personal affairs intersected.

 Sam Houstons marriage to James Monroes younger daughter Maria Hester in 1819, following one of the young nations most famous whirlwind courtships, had added a great deal of flavor and spice to an administration that was otherwise principally noted for such unromantic traits as efficiency and political skill. The girl had only been seventeen at the time. The famous Hero of the Capitolstill young, too, being only twenty-six himself, and as handsome and well spoken as everreceiving the hand in marriage of the very attractive daughter of the countrys chief executive. What could better satisfy the smug assurance of a new republic that it basked in the favor of the Almighty?

 It hadnt been all show, either. Very little of it, in fact. Allowing for his constant absences as the administrations special commissioner for Indian affairs, Houston had proved to be something of a model husband. He treated Maria Hester exceedingly well; she, in turn, doted on the man. And, thankfully, Houstons notorious womanizing had vanished entirely after his marriage. Thered been not a trace of scandal, thereafter.

 His steadily worsening affection for whiskey, which had become a growing concern for the president, was something that Houston kept away from his wife. However much whiskey he guzzled in the nations tavernsthat, too, had become something of a legendhe did not do the same at home. He drank little, as a rule, in his wifes presence; was invariably a cheerful rather than a nasty drunk, on the few occasions when he did; and quit altogether after his son was born.

 Even Houstons stubborn insistence on naming the child Andrew Jackson Houston hadnt caused much in the way of family tension. Monroe had made no formal objection of any kind, whatever he might have said in private. In any event, the president was far too shrewd a politician not to use the occasion to defuse the tensions with Jackson that had begun to build. As political tensions always did around Jackson, the man being what he was.

 So, despite Houstons faultsand which man had no faults? Adams asked himself; certainly not hethe president liked his son-in-law. So did John Quincy Adams, for that matter, and he was not a man given to many personal likings.

 Adams glanced at the general sitting in the chair next to him. So, for that matter, did Winfield Scott. At least, once hed realized that Houstons resignation from the army and subsequent preoccupation with Indian affairs meant that he was no longer a rival in the military.

 Yes, everybody liked Sam Houston. You could not have found a man in the United States who would tell you otherwise. Until they finally discovered that, beneath the good-looking and boyishly cheerful exterior, there lurked the brain and the heart of a Machiavellian monster.

 A few months after his marriage, all of Houstons scheming and deal-making had come to fruition later that year with the Treaty of Oothcaloga.

 The Confederacy of the Arkansas had been born that day. At first, the great migration of the Cherokees and the Creeks that followed had been hailed across the nation as a stroke of political genius on the part of the Monroe administration. By none more loudly than Andrew Jackson, of course, who had by then solidified his position as the champion of the western settlers. But even Calhoun had grudgingly indicated his approval.

 For that one brief moment in time, the so-called Era of Good Feelings had seemed established for eternity. But, in hindsight, it had only been the crest of a wave. On January 13, 1820almost five years to the day after he and his Iron Battalion had broken the British at the Battle of the MississippiPatrick Driscol and those same black artillerymen routed the Louisiana militia in what had since come to be called the Battle of Algiers. The four years that followed had been a steadily darkening political nightmare.

 Houston was blamed for that, too, nowadays, by many people. His diplomacy had defused the crisis, long enough to allow Driscol and his followers to leave New Orleans and migrate to the new Confederacy. So, a full-scale war had been averted.

 But John Calhoun had never forgiven the Monroe administration for the settlement Houston engineered, and Monroes approval of it. Servile insurrections should be crushed and their survivors mercilessly scourged, he argued, not allowed to flee unscathedand never mind that the servile insurrection had actually been the work of freedmen defending their legal rights against local overlords.

 To John Calhoun and his followers, a nigger was a nigger. Rightless by nature, legalistic twaddles be damned. The black race was fit only to hew wood and draw water for those who were their superiors.

 A few months after the Algiers Incident, Calhoun resigned his post as secretary of war in order to run for senator from South Carolina. He won the election, very handily, and had been a thorn in the side of the administration since. It had been Calhoun who led the charge in Congress to pass the Freedmen Exclusion Act, which would have required all freedmen to leave the United States within a year of manumission. Monroe had vetoed the bill on the obvious ground that it was a gross violation of states rights, whereupon Calhoun had given his open support to freedmen exclusion legislation passed by various states and municipalities, and his tacit blessing to more savage and informal methods of exclusion.

 A duel had almost resulted, then, when Sam Houston publicly labeled himAdams could not but smile, whenever he thought of the brash youngsters handy way with wordsa tsarist, a terror-monger, and a toad. Nay, say bettera toadstool. A toad can at least hop about. Calhoun is a fungus on the nations flank.

 What are you so cheerful about, John? demanded Monroe.

 Delicate ground, indeed. Adams stifled the smile.

 Ah, nothing, Mr. President. Just a stray thought that happened to cross my mind.

 The look Monroe gave him was exceedingly skeptical. Stray thought and John Quincy Adams were not phrases that could often be found together. Anywhere within shouting distance, in fact. Disliked as he might be in many quarters, no one thought Adamss brain was given to loose functioningand he was generally considered the best-read man in America.

 But Monroe let it drop. Instead, he turned his gaze to Scott.

 Whats your military assessment, General?

 Scott shrugged. The fortifications that Driscols built in the Ozarks and the Ouachitas pose no threat to the United States, Mr. President. Theyre purely defensive works, and too farmuch too farfrom the Mississippi to pose any threat to our commerce.

 Monroe nodded. Yes, I understand that. Perhaps a bit acerbically: I have some military experience myself, you may recall. What I meant waslets be frank, shall we?what threat do they pose to our army in the event the United States goes to war with the Confederacy? Or, to put it more bluntly still, if we invade Arkansas?

 Scott looked out the window for a moment. Assuming Driscols in command? Which, of course, he would be, if hes still alive whenifthat time comes. He paused for another moment. Let me put it this way, Mr. President. Were you, or anyone, to ask me to command such an expedition, I would stronglyvery stronglyurge that an alternative route of attack be chosen.

  Whatalternative route, Winfield? Adams demanded. It was not so much a question as a statementand a caustically posed one, at that. If the president was known for his affable manners, the secretary of state was not.

 Adams heaved himself out of his chair and went to another window than the one Monroe had been looking out earlier. The same window, in fact, that had been the focus of Scotts examination. That window allowed a view to the west.

 Once there, Adams stabbed a finger at the land beyond. Attacking the Confederacy from the south means marching through Texas. That means a war with Mexico, and probably Spain. An unprovoked war with Mexicoand no one except southern slave-owners would accept the premises for such a war as a provocation suitable for a casus belliruns the risk of embroiling the European powers. The last thing we need. Not even Jackson would support that, as much as he hates the Dons.

 He shifted his finger slightly to the north and jabbed it again. The only other alternative is coming at the Confederacy from the north. That would be diplomatically feasible, but as a military proposition

 He shifted his gaze back into the room, to land on Scott. Youre the expert, Winfield. Whats your opinion?

 The general grimaced. The logistics would be a nightmare. Youd have to move the troops down the Ohio to the juncture with the Mississippi. Then

 Passing by free states as you went, each and every one of which will be opposed to the expedition, Monroe injected. They have no quarrel with the Confederacy. Rather the opposite, since many of them are happy to be getting rid of their own freedmenand without the Confederacy, they cant.

 Scotts grimace had never quite left his face, and now it returned with a vengeance. Yes, I understand that, Mr. President. Youd have to bivouac on the south bank of the Ohio and resupply in Kentucky ports.

 The president wasnt about to let up. I remind you that Richard Johnson keeps getting reelected by the citizens of Kentucky, General. Whats he likely to say about that?

 Hed pitch a fit, Adams agreed. Theres not only the matter of his personal attitudes to be considered, either. Senator from Kentucky or not, living openly with a black woman or not, dont forget hes also the darling of the northeast workingmenand theyre even happier with the freedmen exclusion laws than Calhoun is. Except, not being slave-owners, they dont care a fig about the problem of runaway slaves. Let the darkies escape to Arkansas, and good riddanceand for sure and certain, dont expect them to support a war to get them back. Much less volunteer to fight in it.

 I wasnt advocating such an expedition, Mr. President, Secretary of State. Personally, I think itd be sheer folly. But you asked my military opinion, and Im simply trying to give it to you.

 Of course, General. Monroes courtesy was back in full force. Neither I nor the secretary meant any of ourah, perhaps impatient view of the matterto be inflicted upon you.

 Yes, Adams grunted. My apologies, Winfield. I didnt mean to suggest you were a party to Calhouns madness. Please continue.

 Scott nodded. It would help a great deal, Mr. President, if I had a map to work from. Is there one at hand?

 I can have one brought, certainly. The president began to rise, but Adams waved him down. Please! The proprieties must be maintained. The best maps are in my office, anyway. Ill get one for us. Just the trans-Mississippi region, Winfield?

 Yes, that should do.

 Adams was at the door to the presidents office. This will take a moment. Theres no point sending a servant. Hell just waste time not finding it and then waste still more time trying to think up an excuse.

 It was said rather sarcastically. Adams said many things rather sarcastically. It was a habit his wife chided him about. As did a veritable legion of other people, including Adams himself. He tried to restrain the habit, but

 Alas. John Quincy Adams had many virtues. Even he would allow that to be true, as relentlessly self-critical as he was. But suffering fools gladly was not and never would be one of them.

 Still, he thought God would forgive him that sin when the time came. As sins went, it was rather a small one, after all. Even Jesus, if you studied the New Testament from the proper angle, suffered from it to a degree.





 By the time Adams returned to the presidents office, Monroe had cleared his desk of all the materials on it. Adams, with Scott assisting, spread the large map across the surface.

 Good. This will make it all much clearer, Scott said. Lets begin here, at the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi.

 A long, powerful-looking finger pinned the spot, then slid to the north. Then, up the Mississippi to St. Louis. At St. Louisupstream again, youll noticeyou move along the Missouri, skirting the Ozarks to the south. Then

 He looked up, giving the other two men a sardonic glance. Then what?

 Theres the Grand River, Adams suggested, but with no great force. Eventually.

 Ah, yes, the Grand. Also called the Neosho, I believe. Hard to tell from this map, but it doesnt really look all that grand, does it? And do please note that you have to traverse a considerable distance before you can reach any headwaters of the Arkansas. By now, youve gone hundreds of miles upstream, followed by a land march with no means of supplying your troops except with horses and wagons. Thats difficult even without enemy resistance being encounteredand were bound to encounter some. From the indigenes, firstthose are the Osage, you know, a fierce tribeeven before we come into Cherokee territory.

 He straightened. I wont say it cant be done. It could, certainly, with the expenditure of enough time, effort, andmost of allmoney. Theres simply no way around it, Mr. President, Mr. Secretary. West of the Mississippi, the main rivers all run west to east, or northwest to southeast. There is no real help there for an army large enough to do the job that tries to approach the Confederacy from the north.

 Monroe pushed aside a portion of the map and sat down heavily in his chair. I understand. The gist of it is that there is no practical alternative, unless one is prepared to wage a long and costly war, to launching a major expedition against the Indian Confederacy except up the Arkansas River valley.

 Yes, sir. The Red River cant serve, not with at least a hundred and fifty miles of it clogged up with fallen trees. The Great Raft, they call it.

 And Driscol, being a very experienced soldier, knows that perfectly well.

 Yes, sir.

 So he designed his fortifications and lines of defensehis version of Wellingtons Lines of Torres Vedras in the Peninsular Warin such a way as to channel any attacker up the river.

 Yes, sir. His lines are brilliantly designed, too. Far better than I would have thought, to be honest. I think he must be getting advice from somewhere. Driscol was a sergeant in Napoleons army, not an officer. And the only sight he would have ever gotten of Wellingtons defenses would have been from a distance. Even with his huge army, Massena never made any serious attempt on Torres Vedras.

 How do you mean, brilliantly designed? asked Adams.

 The general turned to face him. Consider the problem he faces. Even with the recent flood of immigrants coming from the freedmen communities, added to the constant influx of runaway slaves and the settlers sponsored by the American Colonization Society, there still cant be more than some tens of thousands of negroes in that Arkansas Chiefdom, as the Confederates call their respective states. Certainly not more than eighty thousand, I shouldnt think. Add to that perhaps ten thousand whites by now, all told.

  Thatmany? The presidents eyebrows were lifted. Whites, I mean. I wouldnt have thought

 He glanced at Adams. Again, a smile. Why?

 Adams had also resumed his seat. Now he leaned his short, heavy frame back into it. I cant say Im surprised, Mr. President. Not every white man in America shares Calhouns attitudes.

 Nor do most of them come from Virginia gentry, as you do.But he left that unsaid, of course. There are the missionaries, first of all. A very heavy presence of Quakers, naturally, and they tend to move in entire families. Then, a fair numbercall it a heavy sprinklingof young radicals. Abolitionists, theyre starting to call themselves.

 Monroe made a face. For all the presidents humane nature, which Adams would be the first to allow, the man was still the product of his upbringing. Though a slave-owner himself, Monroelike his close friends and predecessors Thomas Jefferson and James Madisonconsidered the institution of slavery problematic at best, and probably an outright evil. Still, any drastic and rapid abolition of slavery was considered impossible, and the attempt to do it, economically and socially disastrous.

 Adams, a New Englander, thought it was probably impossible also, for political reasons. But he would have accepted the economic and social disasters abolition might bring, for the sake of the greater political disaster they would avert. More and more, he was becoming convinced that if slavery festered for too long, it would produce, in the end, one of the most horrible episodes of bloodshed any nation had ever endured. And would steadily undermine the foundations of the republic before it got there.

 But there was no point reopening that debate here and now, so Adams continued to the next point.

 I imagine that most of the whites there, however, are simply settlers. No different, really, from any western settlers. Scots-Irish in the main, of course.

 Id think theyd bridle at being ruled by blacks, Monroe said.

 The president was a very perceptive man, so the moment those words were spoken, his gaze moved to Scott. And now youre smiling, General. Why?

 Scott coughed into his fist as a way of suppressing his amusement. You have to be there to understand the thing, Mr. President. Yes, its true that most of the chiefstheyve adopted Cherokee terminologyare negroes. Still, theyre electedand whites can vote also. They can run for office, as well, and a disproportionate number of them get elected. Even the negroes in Arkansas are more likely to vote for a white man, all other things being equal.

 Whats most important, however, is that the principal chiefthats their equivalent of what wed call the governor of the stateis Patrick Driscol. You cant even say he gets elected in a landslide, since nobody ever runs against him.

 He coughed again, into a large fist. They dont call him that, though, except the Cherokees and Creeks who live in the province. Of whom, by the way, there are perhaps another five thousand. Principal chief, I mean. I was quite entertained during the weeks I was there, I assure you, to discover that every white or black man I encountered refers to Patrick Driscol as the Laird of Arkansas.

 The fist couldnt possibly suppress the grin that came then. Not to his face, of course.

 Adams smiled. Monroe, who knew Driscol personally, laughed aloud. I can imagine not!

 After the moments humor was gone, Scott said: Perhaps you remember Driscols young soldier, who accompanied him everywhere he went during the war. McParland? The young deserter whose faked execution I had Driscol stage, shortly before the Battle of the Chippewa?

 Monroe frowned slightly, dredging his memory. Oh, yes. I remember him now. A country boy.

 Scott nodded. Yes. From a poor family in upstate New York. Except none of them live in New York, any longer. The entire familyuncles, aunts, cousins, and allpulled up stakes and moved to Arkansas several years ago. And theyre no longer poor, either. Theyre rather prosperous; in fact, since they own one of the furniture factories that Houston fostered in Fort of 98. Which, incidentally, has become surrounded by quite a large town. More in the way of a small city, by now. There are a number of advantages to moving to Arkansas, for a poor white settler, now that Driscol has established his rule there. For one thing, theres far less danger from Indian attacks, for obvious reasons.

 At Monroes gesture, the general resumed his own seat. A large townsoon, if not already, a small cityprotected by a powerful fortress, which holds the only gate to the rest of the Confederacy and the Cherokee and Creek lands beyond. Driscol has nothing like the population of Lisbon that Wellington had. But hes still got tens of thousands of men, and he designed those lines so troops could be moved rapidly from one point to another along the high ground. Any invading army will get battered back and forth as they march up the river valley, until they come to Fort of 98. He named it after the Irish rebellion, you understand? The one that brought death to his father and brother, and exile to him. Ive seen it at close handspent two days studying it, rather, inside and out. Please trust me when I say its as formidable a fortress as any in the continent.

 Scott leaned over. His finger landed forcibly on the Arkansas. Thats the only really suitable invasion route. And Driscol knows it. And he spent some time as a young sergeant in the French colors, staring up at Wellingtons Lines of Torres Vedras after having marched across all of Spain. And saw that his commander, Massena, never ordered a full assault. Massena had sixty-five thousand men in that army. How many soldiers will the United States send against the Confederacy of the Arkansas?

 Monroes reply came instantly. Not one, so long as I am president.

 There was an awkward silence. Pleasantly, Monroe said to Scott: Thank you for your advice, General. It was very helpful. And now would you give us a moment, please?

 Scott rose to his feet. Certainly, Mr. President. Ill be in my offices at the War Department, should you need me again today. He turned and nodded to Adams. A pleasure, as always, Mr. Secretary.

 He probably even meant it, Adams thought. Winfield Scott and he got along quite well, as a rule. If for no other reason, because Scott was even less prone to suffering fools gladly.





 After the general was gone, the silence returned for a time. Finally, sighing, Adams spoke up. There is some talk, I believe, that people might want me to succeed you, Mr. President.

 Yes, so Ive been led to believe.

 Monroe maintained a studied blandness in his expression and tone of voice. It was the firm protocol of the young republic that no gentleman suited to be chief executive in the first place would ever directly express any ambition for the post, as absurd as that apparent indifference might be. Even Henry Clay maintained the posture, though every suckling babe in the nation knew that the Speaker of the House lusted for the presidency as other men lusted for food or whiskey or money or women.

 Adams scratched under his chin. Should that unlikely eventuality come to pass, my answer would be the same as yours. Not one dollar spent to send one soldier against the Confederacy.

 Monroe nodded. Jacksons answer might be different. Hes as savage as anyone on the subject of the runaway slaves for whom Arkansas has become a magnet. But hes also far shrewder than most people realize. Even something of a genuine statesman, I think, in his own way. Finally, Jackson takes his honor seriously, and there is his vow to Houston. Which he mightor might notfeel has been satisfied by now.

 Houston.Always Houston, it seemed. On Mondays, Adams thought the young man was the republics greatest blessing. On Tuesdays, its greatest curse. On Wednesdays and Thursdays, he was indifferent to the question, for the secretary of state had many other things in midweek to occupy his mind. By Friday, he was back to blessing the youngster, and on Saturday to showering him with silent curses.

 Sunday, of course, was the Sabbath. On Sundays, Adams studied the Bible and tried not to think about the subject of Houston at all. Sometimes he even succeeded.

 Yes, Andrew Jackson, he said. Impossible to know how hed react, and what hed decide. With Henry Clay, of course

 He left the rest unsaid. Monroe, however, did not.

 Clay will do whatever serves opportunity, as he sees it. And since he cant get the presidency without the support of Calhoun and at least the acquiescence of Crawford, that will determine his course.

 Hell call it a great compromise, Adams predicted.

 The room burst into momentary laughter, again. The moment over, Adams began rolling up the map.

 Lets hope we never have to find out.






 CHAPTER 2



 A tavern not far from Lexington, Kentucky

 MAY 10, 1824

 

The innkeeper eyed the big man in front of him uncertainly.

 First, because he was big. At least two inches over six feet and very broad-shouldered. The heavy Cherokee blanket he was wearing over his uniform made him seem as massive as a bear. He filled practically every square inch of the doorway to the room hed rented for the night.

 Second, because hed obviously had some whiskey to drink, even though it was only two hours past dawn. The smell of it on his breath was not overwhelming but was still noticeable.

 And finally, of course, simply because of who he was.

 If there was one thing the whole country had come to know about Colonel Sam Houston, it was that

 You never knew. He might do anything.

 The innkeeper decided to try reason. Look, Colonel, you were planning to leave town this morning anyway.

 Not before breakfast, came the feared rejoinder. Stated every bit as reasonably.

 Well, sure, the innkeeper admitted. But theres a good tavern just six miles down the road. And your boys already getting your horses saddled.

 The big young colonel smiled. Chesters five years older than I am. Not as tall, I admit. Still, it seems a bit silly to be calling him a boy.

 Who else would even think that way? A black man was always a boyand the colonels was a slave, to boot.

 But the innkeeper wasnt about to argue the point. Not now, for a certainty, when he was trying to keep his tavern from being turned into a shambles.

 Where reason hadnt worked, perhaps outright pleading would.

 ColonelJack Baxters the meanest man in northern Kentucky. Just take my word for it. Been that way since he was a kid. Hell pick a fight over anything. And, uh

 Houstons smile widened. And, in my case, hes got real grievances.

 I guess. Depending on how you look at it.

 Well, then! Cheerfully, Houston came into the hallway, moving the innkeeper aside the way the tide shifts seaweed. As an of-fi-cial of the United States government, I figure its my bounden duty to listen to the complaints of a taxpayer.

 Over his shoulder, as he moved toward the stairs leading down to the taverns main room: He does pay taxes, doesnt he?

 As little as he can, the innkeeper muttered, hurrying after him. Please, Colonel

 Oh, relax, will you? Houstons soft Tennessee accent thickened noticeably. I beant a quarrelsome man. In fact, my mama told me she almost named me Tranquility instead of Sam.

 He started down the stairs, not clumping as much as a man his size normally would. Partly because he was wearing Cherokee-style boots to match the blanket he still had over his shoulders, but mostly because he was very well coordinated. The innkeeper had been surprised by that the night before. There were usually impromptu dances in the tavern of a Friday evening. Half drunkbetter than halfHouston had still been able to dance better than anyone else. Any man, at least.

 Almost, he added.

 The innkeeper was following close behind.  Almost is what Im worried about, Colonel.

 Houston chuckled. I told you, Ned, relax. Just have Mrs. Akins fry me up a steak.

 No porridge?

 The chuckle came again. Dont think porridge would do the trick. At all.





 By the time Ned Akins scurried into the kitchen, gave his wife the order, and got back into the main room, the worst had happened. He was just in time to see Houston pull out a chair at the table in the corner where Jack Baxter was having his breakfast. A moment later, the young colonel was sitting right across from him.

 Houston was smiling cheerfully. Baxter returned the smile with a glare.

 It wasnt a very big table, either.

 And I just put in a new window, Akins muttered to himself. Fortunately, the window was a good ten feet from where Houston and Baxter were sitting. Maybe it wouldnt get smashed up along with everything else.

 The room had fallen silent. Even packed as it was with men having their breakfast, you could have heard the proverbial pin drop. Most of the diners were travelers passing through on business, not locals. But it didnt matter. Every one of them had heard Baxters loudly stated threats, should the nefarious nigger-loving traitor Sam Houston dare to show his face. And the fact that Jack Baxter was the meanest man in town could have been surmised by a half-wit, upon fifteen seconds acquaintance.

 Houston turned his head part way around, ignoring Baxters glare. Oh, Mr. AkinsI forgot. Be so kind as to tell your wife that I prefer my steak cooked rare. No blasted leather for me, thank you. When I stick my knife into meat, I want to see it bleed. 

 He turned back to Baxter. Ive got quite the knife, too. Here, let me show you.

 From somewhere under the blanket, Houston drew out a knife that looked more like a short sword than what any reasonable mancertainly any reasonable innkeeperwould have called a knife. It was all Akins could do not to hiss.

 Two of the customers in the room did hiss.

 Had it made for me in Arkansas, Houston continued, his tone as cheerful as ever. At the knife shop James Black set up in Fort of 98. I think Rezin Bowie designed it, though. He or his brother Jim, anyway. Cant say either one is exactly a friend of mine, so Im not sure.

 All the while hed been prattling gaily, Houston held up the knife and twisted it back and forth, letting Baxterevery man in the room, for that matterget a good view of it. The thing looked as lethal as a rattlesnake.

 You know Jim Bowie? Houston asked Baxter, not looking at him.

 He didnt wait for an answer, which he wouldnt have gotten anyway because by now Baxters glare was enough to melt brimstone.

 Hot-tempered man. Houston shook his head, still looking at the knife.  Course, I admit, sometimes a mans got to have a temper.

 Finally, he lowered the knife and looked across the table at Baxter. Still, for all the world, seeming to be completely oblivious to Baxters fury.

 I shouldve asked your pardon for just sitting here. But Im afraid Ive got no choice. Nowadayssad to say, but there it isI pretty much have to take a corner table anywhere I go. It seems Ive got enemies. Got to watch my back.

 In point of fact, it was Baxters seat that gave a view of the entire room. Houstons back was turned to everybody except Baxter.

 Houston shook his head again. Hard to believe, isnt it? Why, theres people say I caused the trouble with all the runaway slaves, even thoughto any fair and judicious manits obvious as the nose in front of his face that the trouble was caused by that blasted Calhoun and his exclusion business.

 He raised the knife a couple of inches above the table and brought the heavy pommel down. Hard.

 No, sir! he bellowed. Baxter must have jumped the same two inches above his chairand the glare suddenly vanished. Perhaps hed finally remembered that that same voice had once bellowed orders across a battlefield, where British regulars had been beaten.

 No, sir, Houston repeated, forcibly if not as loudly. Calhouns to blamehim and every one of those Barbary killers of his. Going around the way they have, murdering black folk for no reason.

 Houston looked very, very big now, hunched like a buffalo at the table. That huge knife was held in a hand of a size to match. His left hand was clenched into a fist that looked pretty much like a small ham.

 Suddenly, the buffalo vanished, replaced by Houstons earlier cheerful smile.

 But, nowwhy am I carrying on like this? Im sure a reasonable-looking man like yourself has no quarrel with me.

 The steak had arrived. Akinss wife shoved the plate into Neds hands. Get it over there quick, she hissed. Maybe we can still get out of this without the place being torn down.

 The innkeeper hurried over to the table. By now, he wasnt actually worried about the tavern itself being wrecked. Meanest man in northern Kentucky or not, it was plain as day that Jack Baxter was thoroughly cowed. That still left the problem of cleaning the floor.

 Akins was proud of that floor, tarnation. Real wood. And he didnt want to think about the howls his wife would put up, having to scour blood from it. Several quarts of blood, from the looks of that knife. Not to mention maybe eight feet of intestine.

 He planted the plate in front of Houston. Ill get you a fork.

 Dont bother, Houston growled. Cant stand forks. Never use em except at my wifes table. Well, and my father-in-laws, of course.

 There was that, too. The buffalo whod broken British regulars in front of the Capitol, and then again at New Orleans, also happened to be married to the presidents daughter.

 Jack Baxter was just about as dumb as he was mean. But it seemed his intelligence was rising in proportion to the way he was slumping in his chair.

 Houston seized the whole steak with his left hand, shoved it into his mouth, and began sawing off a chunk with the knife.

 Goo teak he mumbled. After chewing more or less the way a lion chewstwice; swallowhe lowered the meat slightly and said: My compliments to the good wife, Mr. Akins. Why, this steak is cooked proper, for a change!

 Akins looked at it. Hed wondered how Houston had managed to hold it bare-handed without burning himself. Now that the lion-bite had exposed the inside of the steak, the answer was obvious. His wife had been in such a hurry shed barely cooked it at all. The meat was practically raw, once you got past the outside char.

 Houston shoved it into his mouth, and sawed off another chunk. Some whiskey, if you would, he said, after he swallowed. Again, after chewing it twice.

 Akins didnt argue the matter. There was no way to stop Houston anywayand, at least judging from his reputation and what the innkeeper had seen the night before, whiskey made him good-humored.

 The innkeeper blessed good humor four times, on his way to the whiskey cabinet and back, tossing in a short prayer for good measure.

 He didnt bother offering the use of a tumbler. As soon as the whiskey bottle was on the tableby then, half the steak had vanished, and what was left was back on the plateHouston grabbed it by the neck and took a hefty slug.

 He brought the bottle down with a thump. Love whiskey with a rare steak. Courseone more time, he bestowed that cheery grin on BaxterI dare not take more than the one good swallow, of a morning. Maybe two. As many enemies as I have.

 Akins almost burst into laughter, then. He was standing by a table where a lion was beaming down on a rat. A cornered rat, at that, since there was no way for Baxter to get away from Houston, sitting where he was.

 No, sir,  Houston stated, stabbing the steak again and bringing it back up. He reached halfway across the table and waved the piece of meat under Baxters nose. I got to be careful. Even though I can drink half a bottle and still shoot straight or cut slickern youd believe a man could do plain sober.

 The steak went back into his mouth, and the knife sawed off another chunk. By now, at least, Houston was chewing four or five times before he swallowed.

 Akins heard a noise behind him. Turning, he saw that Houstons slave had come into the room. He was holding a satchel in his left hand.

 Were ready to go whenever youve a mind, Mr. Sam, he announced. The horses are saddled, everythings packed, and

 The same two men hissed as the slave brought a pistol out of the satchel.

 I got your pistol here, if youve a mind for that, too.

 Houston swallowed, turned his head, and frowned. Now why in the world would I need a pistol, Chester? He held up the steakwhat little was left of itskewered on the knife. Cows already dead.

 The slave didnt seem in the least abashed by the apparent rebuke. Nor did anyone in the room miss the fact that he wasnt holding the pistol by the barrel, the way a man normally does when hes readying to pass it over to another. Instead, he had the handle cupped neatly in his palm. And if his forefinger wasnt precisely on the trigger, and his thumb wasnt precisely on the hammer, neither digit was more than half an inch away from turning the gun into a deadly thing.

 He was holding the weapon as if he knew exactly how to use it, too. Most slaves didnt.

 You got enemies, Mr. Sam. Remember? Turrible enemies, people say.

 Houston shook his head and waved the steak around the room. Not here, surely! Chester, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Even thinking such a thing!

 Yes, sir, Mr. Sam. Sorry bout that. He didnt seem any more abashed by that rebuke than hed been by the first one.

 As you should be! Why, I oughta have you apologize personally to every man in this room. Would, too, cepthe paused for a moment while he sawed off another piece of steak and swallowed.

 Except that wouldnt be proper, he continued. You being a black slave and them being free white men. Apology presumes equality, you know. All the philosophers say so.

 He turned and scowled at his slave. You got no excuse, neither, since you read the same philosophers. I know, cause I taught you how to read.

 Teaching slaves to read wasnt illegal except in Virginiayet, anyway. Calhoun and his followers were pressing for that, now, along with freedmen exclusion. Still, it certainly wasnt the custom in slave states like Kentucky.

 But that, too, was part of Houston legend. He might as well have had Custom Be Damned for a crest on a formal coat of arms.

 Yes, Mr. Sam. No, sir, I mean, it wouldnt be proper.

 Houston chewed the last piece of steak more slowly than he had any of the others. With a thoughtful expression on his face, now.

 When he was finished, he rose from the table. Then, suddenly and abruptly, shoved the table aside. Baxter, whod been frozen in place for the past few minutes, started to jump from his chair, but Houstons big left hand jammed him back in his seat.

 The young colonel held the knife in front of his face. Baxters eyes were round, and his complexion was ashen.

 Youll have to excuse me, sir, Houston said politely. I need to clean my knife, and theres nothing else handy. I darent soil my blanket, of course. Its a personal gift from none other than Major Ridge himself. Hed be most offended if I showed up in the Confederacy with stains on it.

 Quickly and efficiently, he wiped the blade clean on the shoulder of Baxters coat. Then, moved the blanket aside and slid the knife into a scabbard.

 My thanks, sir. He bestowed the beaming smile on him. And now, I must be off.

 He turned and strode toward the door, where Chester was waiting. The slave raised the pistol as if to offer it to his master, but Houston shook his head.

 No, no, you keep it. I do have enemies, its true enough. Some of the rascals might be lurking outside. Since you shoot better than I do, best you keep the pistol.

 Yes, sir, Mr. Sam. If you say so.

 Houston stopped abruptly. Of course I do! Makes sense, doesnt it? The slave shoots them, and the master guts em.

 He patted the knife under his blanket, turned around, and bestowed the grin on the whole room.

 You see, gentlemen? Easiest thing in the world to figure out, if youre not an imbecile like Calhoun. I never have trouble with runaway slaves. Youre not planning to flee from lawful bondage, are you, Chester?

 No, sir. Dont need to. Bout another two months, and Ill have saved up enough to buy my way free.

 Houstons eyes widened. Whyso you will. And since you learned how to blacksmith along the way, you wont have any trouble setting yourself up.

 Akins didnt know whether to laugh or cry. On the one hand, seeing Baxter get his comeuppance was worth its weight in gold. On the other

 Hiring out slaves as craftsmen was common, of course. Many of them were quite skilled, in fact. But Houstons practice of letting his slaves keep their wages was just plain

 Some people say Im a lunatic, Chester, Houston boomed. A veritable bedlamite!

 Yes, Mr. Sam. But maybe we ought to be going, now. Before your enemies learn where you are.

 Probably a good idea. Mr. Akins, the bill, if you please.

 Less than a minute later, Akins had the moneya tavern still intact, tooand Houston was on his way.

 He watched him and the slave Chester for a while. The slave rode a horse just as well as the colonel did.

 That man is pure crazy, he muttered.

 His wife had come out of the tavern and was standing next to him.

 I thought you saidbeant more than two months agothat if Colonel Houston ever ran for senator from Kentucky, youd vote for him.

 Well, yes. He got rid of the Indians for us, didnt he? And he backs Jackson against the stinking bank. The Senates way out there on the coast, anyway. But I sure wouldnt vote for him as governor. 

 Nobody would, his wife agreed, outside of a bedlam house.






 CHAPTER 3



 Probably shouldnt have done that, Sam admitted, a couple of hours later. Theyd stopped at a creek crossing to let their horses drink.

 Chester studied the creek intently, as if the small stream were vastly more fascinating than any other body of moving waters on the face of the globe.  Probably meaning how, Mr. Sam? Probably, as in I probably shouldnt have baited that bear? Or probably, as in I probably shouldnt have stuck a pitchfork in Sam Hill?

 Houston grinned. Oh, surely the latter. But since Im not a sinnerwell, not much of onewhat do I have to fear? Sam Hill wont have no hold on me, when the blessed day comes. Hand me the whiskey.

 Chester rummaged in the saddle pack and came out with the bottle. He didnt say anything, but the expression on his face made clear his disapproval.

 And stop nattering at me, Sam said.

 Didnt say a word.

 Didnt need to. He opened the bottle, took a hefty but not heroic slug from the contents, stoppered it up, and handed it back to Chester. See? Just needed something to take the taste out of my mouth. Blasted meat was practically raw.

 As always, the warm glow in his belly steadied his nerves. Which needed it, in truth. Thered been a lot of encounters like that over the past two or three years. Theyd been getting uglier, too.

 The United States had been hit by a series of crises, coming in quick succession. Sam thought people would have handled the Panic of 1819 and the economic dislocation that followed. Theyd also have handledwell enough, anywaythe Missouri Compromise that Henry Clay had engineered the following year, and the political tensions that came with it. Sam was no admirer of Clay, but hed admit the mans vaunted political skills had been fully evident in that crisis.

 But together, the Panic and the Compromise had brought the nation to a heated point just short of boilingand then John Calhoun had seized upon the Treaty of Oothcaloga and the Algiers Incident to advance his proslavery political program. His speeches and actions had met a receptive audience in much of the South and the West. Almost overnight, it seemed, Sam Houston had gone from being a man generally admired both for his heroism in the war with Britain and for his settlement of the most acute Indian land questions, to the architect of a fiendish scheme to undermine the supremacy of the European race in America in favor of its lesser races.

 Still not sure how that happened, he muttered, looking down at the back of his hand. My own skins still as white as ever.

 What was that, Mr. Sam?

 Houston glanced at Chester. Just talking to myself.

 He decided to change the subject. When are you planning to buy your freedom, by the way? Itd be handy if youd let me know a bit ahead of time, you rascal, sos I dont get caught in the lurch.

 Chester went back to his creek-scrutiny. Well. Wasnt actually planning on it, all that soon, Mr. Sam. Thought Id keep saving up my money. Once we get to Arkansas, I can put it in Mr. Patricks bank. Itll be safe there.

 Wonderful! Now youll make me a liar, too.

 Chester smiled apologetically but didnt look away from the water. You didnt say anything about it in the tavern, Mr. Sam. I was the one said I could buy my way free in bout a couple of months. Wasnt lying, neither. I could. But could and would is two different things. I just dont see the point in being a freedman when I wouldnt have enough money left to do anything more than work for someone else. Im gonna do that, might as well keep working for you. Theres really not all that much difference for a poor man, when you get right down to it, between a master and a bossand, either way, youre the best one I know.

 Sam rolled his eyes. In other words, youre agreeing with Calhoun. Slaverys just the thing to elevate the black man. While his poor downtrodden white master pays the bills.

 Chesters smile widened and lost its apologetic flavor. Begging your pardon, Mr. Sam, but I dont recall Mr. Calhoun ever saying anything about black men being free, at any time, for any amount of money.

 Sam scratched his chin. Well, no. Of course not. If Calhoun had his way, freedmen wouldnt exist at all. Howd he put it in his recent speech to the Senate?

 His accent took on a mimicry of a much thicker and more Southern one.  I hold that in the present state of civilization, where two races of different origin, and distinguished by color as well as intellectual differences, are brought together, the relation now existing in the slaveholding states between the two, is, instead of an evil, a gooda positive good. 

 Sam dropped the accent and shook his head. Not much room there for freedmen. Now that theyve gotten exclusion acts passed in most states, Calhoun and his people are pushing to make manumission illegal altogether. Not to mention getting laws passed that make teaching slaves how to read and write illegal.

 Chester stopped smiling, then.

 Hes a prize, Calhoun is. Sam leaned over and spit in the creek. Not so much as a gesture of disgustalthough that was there, tooas to get rid of the taste of raw meat he still had in his mouth. The whiskey had helped some, but not enough.

 For a moment, he contemplated taking another slug but decided against it. Hed already drunk almost a quarter of the bottle this morning. He wasnt worried about being able to ride a horse, of course. Sam could manage that with a full bottle under his belt. But he had an awkward interview coming up today, and he needed his wits about him.

 Come on, he said. The horses have had enough, and Id like to make it to the senators house by midafternoon.





 Hi, Sam!

 Hi, Sam!

 He grinned at the twin girls scampering around the front yard of Blue Spring Farm, as Richard M. Johnsons house and plantation were called. Settle down, will you? Youre making the horse nervous.

 The admonishment had as much effect as such admonishments usually have on twelve-year-old girls. Fortunately, Sams horse was a placid creature.

 He decided to try the tactic of parental authority. And you know your daddy doesnt like it when his girls dont act proper. Him being a United States senator and all.

 That had no effect, either, not to Sams surprise. Richard Johnson was a genial man toward just about everybody, especially his own daughters. Threatening them with his wrath was as useful as threatening them with a snowstorm in July.

 In fact, they started laughing. And they were still bouncing up and down.

 Fortunately, the girls mother emerged onto the front porch.

  Settle down!Right this minute, Imogene, or Ill smack you proper! You too, Adaline!

 That did it. In an instant, the girls were the very model of propriety and demure behavior. Their father might be easygoing, but their mother was not. Julia Chinn was so well organized and disciplined that she almost managed to keep the senator from losing his money.

 Almost, but not quite. But Sam didnt think anyone else could have kept him from going broke years earlier.

 Sam got off his horse and handed the reins to Chester, who began leading the horses to the barn around the side. Sam stepped up onto the porch and took off his hat. He gave a polite nod to the two disabled veterans sitting on chairs further down the porch, and then turned to the lady of the house.

 Afternoon, Julia.

 Her stern look vanished. Hello, Sam. Its so nice to see you visit again. Its beenwhat? Over a year, now. You shouldnt stay away so long.

 Before he could answer, she waved a hand. Yes, yes, I know. Youre a frightfully busy man.

 Richard Johnson came out onto the porch just in time to hear the last words.

 Frightfully busy troublemaker, more like, he said gruffly. But he didnt even try to disguise the smile with which he said it.

 As the two shook hands, Houston took a moment to size up the senators appearance. It was

 Even more sloppy and eccentric than usual. The clothing itself simply consisted of the plain and unassuming garments that Johnson had always worn, which were part of his appeal to Kentuckys poor farmers and the workingmen of the nations northeastern states. Nothing peculiar, in and of itselfexcept for the fact that the man who wore that humble apparel came from one of Kentuckys premier families and was himself one of the states largest landowners. One of its largest slave-owners, too.

 No, it was the rest of it. His hair was disheveled, his cravat was askewonly half tied, at thatand his boots had long since abandoned the status of humble and were pretty well past the stage of worn down. Give them another few months, and theyd be able to proudly claim holes in the soles and heels that were nothing but memories.

 The face, though, was the same. Johnson was a plain-looking man and always had been. Unassuming, in both his appearance and his manner. If you didnt know better, youd find it hard to reconcile the man himself with his flamboyant reputation.

 Flamboyant it was, too, even by the standards of the frontier. The Great Hero whod personally shot Tecumseh at the Battle of the Thames after suffering terrible wounds himself in the battleso the story went, anyway, and Johnson had never done anything to detract from itwas also the Great Almagamator. The disreputable fellow from Great Crossinga United States senator, to boot!who lived in an open state of quasi-marriage with a mulatto and who persisted in treating his quadroon daughters as if they belonged in proper society. Even took them in his own carriage to church on a Sunday!

 Andrew Jackson had shown Sam some of the letters hed gotten from outraged gentility in Kentucky and Tennessee, demanding that the general disavow his political ties to Johnson.

 They can take that to Sam Hill, Jackson had growled, tossing the letters back into a drawer of his desk. He even lapsed into blasphemy for a moment. Ill be damned if I will. Johnsons as stalwart as they make em, even if he is a blasted race-mixer.

 Fortunately for Johnson, most of his own constituents felt much the same way about the matter. Whatever they felt personally about his notorious relationship with Julia Chinn, they overlooked it in favor of the rest.

 Not the gentility, of course. During the six consecutive terms Johnson had served as one of Kentuckys members in the U.S. House of Representatives, most of the states wealthy slave-owners had been indifferent to his personal habits. He didnt represent them, after all, for the most part. The scandalmongering with regard to Julia and the girls hadnt really started until John J. Crittenden resigned from the Senate in 1819 and Johnson was appointed to fill out Crittendens term of office. A congressman was one thing; a senator, another.

 But most of Kentuckys citizens were neither wealthy nor slave-owners. So far as they were concerned, Johnsons family arrangements were his own business. What mattered was all the rest: the fact that he was a genuine war hero; the fact that he was politically allied with Andrew Jacksons wing of the Democratic-Republican Party; most of all, the fact that Johnson had led the fight to get debt imprisonment abolished in Kentucky and was striving to do the same thing on a national level.

 And, besides, every other personal habit of Johnsons led poor settlers on the frontier to favor him. Both as a Kentucky legislator and now as a national one, Johnson had made great efforts to gain compensation for the recent wars disabled veterans or their widows and orphans. If Blue Spring Farm was notorious as a place where a black woman presided over the dinner table and black children sat at it, it was also famous as a place of refuge for disabled veterans and their families. The two veterans on the porchone missing an arm, the other a legwould have half a dozen counterparts somewhere about the house or farm. Or their widows and orphans. No one in need was ever turned away from Richard M. Johnsons estatenever mind that the aid itself was often passed over by the dark-skinned hands of his common-law wife.

 Kentuckys gentility had been disgusted to see Johnson appointed to serve out Crittendens term in 1819. Theyd been positively outraged to see him handily win the election for another term in the Senate in 1822.

 Sam saw that Johnson was eyeing him a bit warily. You seen the general lately?

 Sam shook his head. Havent seen him in nigh-on seven months, Dick. Since there was no point in letting Johnson fret on that score, when there were so many others he did need to fret about, Sam added hurriedly, But I can assure you that the sentiments he expressed concerning you were just as warm as ever.

 That was true, after all. Even if some of those warm sentiments had run along the lines of I cant believe hed treat a nigger like she was an actual wife!

 It wasnt that Andy Jackson didnt share each and every one of the common prejudices of his day. He most certainly didand then some, often enough. It was just that in his own rough-hewn way, the general could often look past those things to see what really mattered to him.

 Poor white men mattered to Andy Jackson. Not too many other people did, but they did, for sure and certain. So, if one of their undoubted political champions chose to behave badly in some aspects of his personal life, Jackson would look the other way. And if the proper folk complained, they could take their complaints to Sam Hill and see what satisfaction theyd get in those very warm quarters.

 Just as warm as ever, Sam repeated forcibly. My word on it.

 Johnsons grunt combined relief with satisfaction. Well, they ought to be, the senator stated, as if to reassure himself. Henry Clay makes a fortune suing people on behalf of land speculators and the Second Bank of the United States, and I go broke from waiving the fees for defending them.

 That was also trueas far as it went. Johnson was indeed famous as one of the few well-connected lawyers in Kentucky that a poor man or his widow could go to for legal assistance without being charged. Unfortunately, it was only part of the truth.

 There were a lot of reasons Richard Mentor Johnson was always on the verge of being broke. His personal generosity ranked on that list, yesand pretty high up on it. But not as high as his casual attitude toward bookkeeping, his inability to say no to just about every speculative scheme that came his way, and his predilection toward seeing only a blur instead of a line between his personal finances and those of the public. Not to mention his indulgence toward his brothers, who were separated by only a knifes edge from being outright thieves.

 Sam liked Richard M. Johnson a very great deal. Hed never met a man who didnt, no matter what their attitudes on such subjects as race, whom he didnt think was a swine. But there was just no getting around the fact that, as often as not, both he and the generalnot to mention the president of the United Stateswould like to take Johnson by the scruff of the neck and give him a real down-home shaking. Or thrash him outright, for that matter.

 Some of his aggravation must have shown, for Julia hastily spoke up.

 Please come in, Sam. Something to drink? Ive fresh-brewed some tea.

 Sam was about to agree when Johnson broke in. Tea for Sam Houston? Dont be silly, Julia. Samll have some whiskey. Ill join him myself.

 The senator passed through the door into the house. Sam felt his resolve crumbling. A slug of whiskey did sound goodand it would relax him for what was coming.

 As Sam made to follow Johnson, Julia placed a hand on his arm.

 How much trouble is he in, Sam? she asked quietly.

 Houston shrugged uncomfortably. WellNobodys talking about arresting him or anything like that, Julia. But

 But nobodys going to advance him any more money, neither.

 No. Not a chance. That wasnt quite true, but close enough for the moment.

 She nodded and released his arm. Thank you. Ill join you in a while.

 The restraint their mothers admonition had placed on the girls finally broke.

 Can we come in, too? Adaline demanded.

 We want to talk with Sam! her twin added.

 Hush, girls! Sam and your father need some private time. Julia shooed them away. You can talk to him all you want over dinner.






 CHAPTER 4



 It took three slugs before Sam was finally ready. Johnson seemed to sense it, because he didnt prod Sam at all until the third slug had settled in his belly. Then, sighing, he set his own half-full tumbler on the small table next to the divan and planted his hands on his knees.

 So tell me, Sam. Its bad news, Im sure.

 The president refuses to authorize any more funds to cover the losses from the Yellowstone expedition, on the recommendation of the secretary of the treasury.

 William H. Crawford, Johnson stated, making the simple name sound like a curse.

 I dont like him, either, Sam said. But it doesnt matter. Even if the secretary and the president proposed it, thered be an uproar in Congress. Financially speaking, the Yellowstone expedition was a disaster. Sam raised his hand to forestall Johnsons protest. Dick, I know most of your constituents still think the expedition was a good idea, to keep the peace on the frontier. But most of the country considers the whole thing a boondoggle.

 And probably a crooked one, to boot. Half-crooked, for sure.But he left that unsaid.

 Johnson didnt pursue the matter any further, not to Sams surprise. The Yellowstone expedition and the debts it had saddled the senator with dated back several years now. Not quite ancient history, but ground that had now been trodden over several times. He hadnt really had any hopes of getting any relief there.

 Instead, he moved to the subject that was much more pressing. And the Choctaw Academy I want to set up?

 Julia Chinn came into the room at that moment, giving Sam a little breathing space. After shed taken a seat on the divan next to the senator, Sam tried to present it as positively as possible. Do you know Gerrit Smith?

 That young New York fellow? Rich as Croesus, they say. Something of a philanthropist, I also heard.

 Thats the one.

 Johnsons eyes widened. Hes offered to back me?

 Ah

 There was no way around it. Not exactly, Dick. Hes willing to pay the debts youve accumulated for it and take the Academy off your hands.

 What?

 May as well give it all to him, at one swallow.

 And he wont set it up here, and he wont call it the Choctaw Academy. He wants to establish it in New Antrim. And he wants to turn it into a schoolmaybe later a college, attached to itthats open to children from all races. Whites, any tribe of Indiansand negroes. He thinks thats an experiment thatll work. If its done in the Arkansas part of the Confederacy.

 Johnson was just gaping at him. Sam took a deep breath and finished. Hes even got a schoolmaster lined up. Fellow name of Beriah Green. Also a New Yorker.

 Also an abolitionist,he could have added, but didnt. Whatever Johnsons relationship to Julia Chinn, the man was also a major slave-owner, with all the attitudes toward abolition that that entailed. If that seemed contradictory

 Well, it was. But it was a contradictory matter that Sam knew backwards and forwards. Hed owned slaves himself for years, despite having had reservations about slavery even as a teenager. By now, at the age of thirty, those misgivings had turned into a genuine detestation for the institution.

 Sam had owned only a few slaves at any one time, truesometimes not more than one. And he didnt depend on their labor for his sustenance the way Johnson did. Mostly, he maintained his status as a slave-owner simply out of ambition. Sam still had hopes for a political career after Monroe left office and Sam lostas he almost certainly wouldhis position as special commissioner on Indian affairs. That career would have to be in the South somewhere, probably his native state of Tennessee. Sam was already notorious enough among many influential circles in that area. Owning slaves served to keep that notoriety within limits. A southern gentleman was expected to own slaves, and so he did.

 Sam didnt have the same pecuniary attachment to slaveholding that a great landowner like the Kentucky senator did. Still and all, he understood the contradiction. Better than he wished he did, even leaving aside the caustic comments that his friend Patrick Driscol made whenever he visited the Confederacy.

 Johnson finally found his voice. A blasphemous one, too. Ill be damned if I will!

 Youll be damned if you dont, Julia hissed. She leaned over and laced her fingers together. Exactly how much of our debts will this New York fellow assume, Sam? she asked.

 Good news, finally. Every penny, Julia. Dick, you hear that? And hell assume the financial burden of any further lawsuits arising from theah

 How to put it?

 Julia did it for him. None-too-detailed nature of the books. She gave her more-or-less-husband a sharp glance. Such as they are.

 Johnson flushed. Hey, look

 Dick, the school would have lost you money anyway, Sam said forcibly.  Didlose you money, even before you had a chance to open the doors. So be done with it. At least this way, you walk out free and clear. You have enough other debts to worry about.

 Johnson just stared at him. Julia took advantage of the silence to speak again.

 One condition, Sam. This New York rich man has to agree to it, or we wont.

 Whats that?

 She looked through the open window. Outside, the sound of girls playing in the yard carried easily. Imogene and Adaline get to attend the school. All expenses paid. If we decide to send them.

 Sam couldnt help but laugh. Well, that wont be a problem. Mr. Smith asked me to pass on to you that hed especially like your children to attend. And he offered to pay for it himself. Thats becauseah

 To Sams relief, that stirred up Johnsons combative instincts. Because theyre famous, he growled. Again, he blasphemed. God damn all rich men.

 The senators curse could have been leveled on himself and his New York benefactor, of course, as much as on the southern gentry who vilified him.

 We are sinners all,Sam thought to himself. It was a rueful thought, as it so often was for him these days.

 The senator looked to Julia, now. Are you sure about that, dearest? I dont like the idea of our kids being that far away.

 Her face got tight. You know any other school will take them, outside of New Englandwhere theyd be just as far away? And even if there was one

 She took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice started rising.

 What happens if you die, Dick Johnson? It dont matter what you think. By law, those two daughters you spoil so badly are your slaves.

 I freed you! he protested.

 Not till after the girls were born, came her immediate rejoinder. Richard Mentor Johnson, how in the world can a lawyer like you be that deaf, dumb, and blind?

 It was a good questionand the wide-open mouth of the senator made it perfectly clear that hed never even thought about it. By Kentucky law, as well as the law in any slave state, a child born to a slave inherited the legal status of the mother, not the father. That was in complete opposition to the standard way of figuring birth status as usually applied to white people. But the Souths gentry had made sure and certain that their frequent dalliances with slave women wouldnt produce any legally and financially awkward children.

 As foul a breed of men as ever lived,was Patrick Driscols assessment of southern slave-owners. Sam felt the categorization was far too harsh, as was so often true of Patricks attitudes. But he didnt deny there was more than a grain of truth to it. Slavery corrupted the master as much as it degraded the slave. If there was any true and certain law of nature, there it was.

 Long as youre alive, Julia continued, we dont got to worry none. But if you pass on, the girls are just part of your estate. And you got debts. Lots and lots of debts. You think your creditors will pass them over?

 Ill free them, too, then. Tomorrow!

 She shrugged. Good. But you trust judges way more than I do. With all those creditors circling like vultures, wont surprise me at all to find some judge will say the manumission was invalid.

 The next words were spoken very coldly. Theyll be pretty, real pretty, give em another three or four years. But they inherited my color, tooenough of it, anywayalong with my looks. Theyll fetch a nice price from some slave whorehouse somewhere. Your ghost can watch it happen.

 Its not unheard of, Dick, Sam said.

 The senator was back to gaping. Again, obviously, never even having considered the matter. The mans blindness could be truly astonishing at times. The same blindness that led him into one financial disaster after another. Not so much because Richard Mentor Johnson was dishonest or rapacious as because it never seemed to occur to him that friends and relatives and acquaintances of his might be.

 One of the house slave women came into the room. Dinners ready, Miz Julia.

 One black woman addressing another as if she were a white mistress. The world had a lot more crazy angles in it than most people wanted to admit. Much less allow.





 Imogene and Adaline were on their best behavior at dinner. That might have been because of Sams presence, but he didnt think so. It was more likely because their mother had drummed it into them over the years. Dinner at a great house like Blue Spring Farm was rarely a small and private family affair. And so the girls of the family would act proper, they would, or theyd suffer the consequences.

 The dinner table seemed as long as a small ship, with tall and stately candlesticks serving for masts and sails. Johnson at one end; Julia, presiding over the meal, facing him at the other. With, in two long rows down the side, well over a dozen other people in addition to Sam and the children. Disabled war veterans or their widows, for the most part. But there was also one of nearby Lexingtons prominent lawyers, and one of the local plantation owners.

 Sam wasnt surprised to see them there. Not all of the Souths well-to-do disliked Johnson. Many admired him. That was true, starting with the president of the United States himself, James Monroe, who came from Virginia gentry. As always, in Sams experiencecontrary to Patrick Driscols tendency to label people in sharp and definite categoriesattitudes and habits blurred at the edges. Blurred so far, often enough, that no boundary was to be seen at all.

 Fine for Patrickthe Laird of Arkansas, in truth, even if no one used the term to his faceto sit up there in the mountains and divide the world and its morals into black and white. Sam lived down here in a world of grays and browns, just about everywhere he looked. Andbeing honest, he was more comfortable in that world. He had plenty of gray in his own soul, as young as he might be, and hed always thought brown to be the warmest color of all.

 Clays going to make a run for it, the plantation owner predicted. In fact, hes already started.

 The lawyer sitting across from him laughed sarcastically. What else is new? Henry Clay was dreaming about the presidency while he was still in his mothers womb. More ambitious than Sam Hill, he is.

 Johnson smiled into his whiskey tumbler. So did Sam. It was the same smile, half derisive and half philosophical. The difference was simply that the senators tumbler was half full and Sams was

 Empty, now that he looked into it. How had that happened?

 Dont make light of it, Jack, cautioned the lawyer. Im thinking hes got a very good chance at getting what he wants. With Monroe gone after next year, who else does it leave? Beyond Quincy Adams and the general, of courseand theyve both got handicaps.

 Andy Jacksons the most popular man in America! the senator stoutly proclaimed.

 The lawyer, blessed with the name of Cicero Jones, gave him a look that might have graced the face of the ancient Roman statesman after whom hed been namedjust before he fell beneath the swords of the Second Triumvirate.

 Maybe so, Dick. But

 For an instant, Joness glance flicked toward Sam. Then he looked down at his plate. But not as much as he used to be, he concluded glumly.

 That was enough to tip Sams decision over the immediate issue at hand. He held up his tumbler toward one of the slaves waiting on the table. Some more whiskey, if you would.

 As the slave made to comply, Sam gave Johnson a level gaze. Thats my doing. The settlement I made of the Algiers business hurt the general worse than the Treaty of Oothcaloga helped him. No doubt about it, I think.

 Now that Sam had said it out loud, Cicero Jones was clearly relieved. No doubt about it at all, the lawyer echoed.

 Across from him, Jack Hartfield shrugged and spread his hands. As portly as the plantation owner was, the expansive gesture did unfortunate things to his tightly buttoned vest.

 Adaline managed to keep quiet, but Imogene burst into a giggle. Sam almost did, too, for that matter. The way the button flew from Hartfield and bounced off one of the candlesticks was genuinely comical.

 Hartfield himself grinned. But his good cheer didnt keep the girl from her chastisement.

 Imogene!exclaimed Julia. A hand the color of coffee-with-cream smacked her daughter, leaving a red mark on a cheek whose color wasnt much lighter. Do that again and youll finish dinner in your room!

 Oh, go easy on her, Julia, chuckled the plantation owner. It was pretty funny. I probably would have laughed myself, cept I dont want to think what my wifell have to say when I get home. Im afraid I bust a lot of those.

 Dont matter, insisted Julia. She wagged a finger in Imogenes face. You behave yourself, young lady. You know better than that.

 Imogene assumed a properly chastened look. Although Sam didnt miss the angry glare she gave her sister across the table, once Julia looked away. Adalines face had that insufferably smug look that a twin has whenever her sibling is rightfully punishedand she herself gets away with it.

 Again, it was all Sam could do not to laugh. Fortunately, the tumbler arrived and he was able to disguise his amusement with a hefty slug of its contents. A heftier slug than hed actually intended. It was hard to resist, though. The whiskey served at Blue Spring Farm was the best Sam had had in months. And that was a lot of whiskey back.

 Once the humor of his mishap had settled, Hartfield went on with what hed been about to say. I dont think its really fair to blame young Houston. If the general had just kept quiet about the matter, instead of

 He shrugged. Even more expansively than he had before, now that further damage was impossible. The button that had popped off his vest had been the last survivor.

 That unfortunate speech.

 That was something of a euphemism, in Sams opinion. As much as he admired Andy Jackson, there was no denying the man had a savage streak in his nature that was sometimes as wide as the Mississippi River. If the clash at Algiers had been between any other group of black menfree or slave, it mattered notand a properly constituted white militia, Andy Jackson would have been among the first to demand loudly that the niggers be put in their place. For that matter, hed probably have offered to lead the punitive expedition personally.

 But those hadnt been just any black men. Those had been the men of the Iron Battalion, led by the same Patrick Driscol, whod broken the British at the Battle of the Mississippithe battle that had turned Jackson from a regional into a national figure. If Andy Jackson could be savage about race, he could be even more savagea lot more savagewhen it came to matters of honor, and courage, and cowardice.

 Whatever the color of their skinand their commanders skin was as white as Jacksons ownOld Hickory had a genuine admiration for the Iron Battalion. And, on the reverse side, despised no group of wealthy men in the United States so much as he despised the plantation owners in and around New Orleans who had, in the main, refused to participate in the fight against the invading redcoats. And had done soto put the icing on the cakebecause they feared their own slaves more than they did a foreign enemy.

 Jackson had had choice words to say about that Louisiana gentry during the New Orleans campaign in the war against the British. His words spoken in publicand reprinted in most of the newspapers of the nationthe day after the Algiers Incident had been choicer still. Poltroons and criminals applied to rich white men, and the terms stalwart fellows and yeomen defending their rights applied to poor black ones, were all true, to be sure. But theyd caused the generals popularity in the South and the Westtheretofore almost unanimous except for Henry Clay and his coterieto plummet like a stone.

 Only so far, of course. Soon enough, the plunging stone had reached the secure ledge of support from the poorer class of the Southwests voters. For the most part, theyd been no happier with the result of the clash at Algiers than any other white men of the region. On the other hand, as the saying went, it was no skin off their nose. All the more so, since the battle had been precipitated by the lascivious conduct of some of the New Orleans Creoles, whose wealth and Frenchified habits the poor Scots-Irish settlers resentedand a good percentage considered not that much better than niggers anyway.

 Still, when all the dust settled, Andy Jacksons popularity in the South and West was no longer as overwhelming as it had been. Clay, of course, had immediately seized the opportunity to continue the Jackson-bashing hed begun two years earlier over the generals conduct of the Florida campaign. The Speaker of the House had had his own choice words to say on the floor of Congress. Hed even gone to the extreme of offering to lead a punitive expedition to Louisiana himself.

 The offer had been as histrionic as it was ridiculous. First, because Henry Clay had no military experience whatsoeverindeed, he routinely dismissed Jackson as a mere military chieftain, in no way suitable for higher positions in the Republic. Second, because he knew perfectly well that there was no chance at all that President Monroe would appoint him to the position, even in the unlikely event that he authorized such a mission in the first place. Always the Virginia gentleman, James Monroe kept his private feelings to himself. But Sam was his son-in-law, and he knew perfectly well that if Monroes dislike and distrust of Henry Clay was less savage than Jacksons, it was not an inch shallower.

 Ridiculous and histrionic as it might have been, however, Clays stance had enhanced his own popularity in the regionand the congressman from Kentucky had already been the second most popular figure there, after Jackson. Considerably more popular among the regions gentry.

 Well, its done now, said the lawyer. No slouch himself when it came to whiskey, Cicero Jones downed his tumbler. But dont fool yourselves, gentlemen. Henry Clay is now at the front of the pack wholl be running for president, once Monroes term is up. Quincy Adams is respected by just about everyonegentlemen, at leastbut hes not liked all that much, either. Too cold, too harsh, too caustictoo everything. And, like Calhoun, hes almost a purely regional figure. Adams will take New England just as certainly as Calhoun will take the hard-core South. But thats not enough votes to win, no matter how you slice it.

 Theres Crawford, pointed out Senator Johnson. Only a slight twist to his lips indicated his dislike for the secretary of the treasury. The tone of his comment had been neutral and matter-of-fact.

 Jones shrugged. Yes, theres William Crawford. Popular in the South also, of course, being a Georgian. And the nations well-to-do tend to be fond of him in all regions of the country.

 As they should! barked Sam. Most of the disgruntlement in his tone, however, came from the state of his tumbler. Once again, not even noticing, hed managed to drain it dry. And it would be ungracious to ask for another refill so soon. Always the generous host, Johnson still had a badly frayed pocketbookand that whiskey was expensive.

 But hes seen by too many people as too slick, the lawyer continued. I dont think the electorate trusts him all that much. Nor should they, for that matter.

 Hah! exclaimed Hartfield. Why should they look cross-eyed at Crawford? Hes not half the cut-any-corner and make-any-deal bastard that Clay is.

 The lawyer shook his head. Yes, I know. But Clay makes pretty speeches and knows how to pose in public. Crawfords not got half his talent for that. Not a quarter. He took a long pull on his tumbler, leaving it as dry as Sams. No, you watch. Itll be Clay to beat. Calhoun will throw him his support as the election nears, in exchange for Clays backinghalf-backing, at leaston the issues Calhoun holds dear. And Crawfordwell, I think hell settle for secretary of state, if Clay will promise it to him. Thatll position Crawford to replace Clay when the time comes. Hes only fifty-one years old, after all.

 Sam considered Joness assessment as he considered the lawyers empty tumbler. He thought the assessment was about right. More to the point, he could see where it led straight to a toast.

 He cleared his throat. What youre saying, Cicero, if Im following you, is that if Andy Jackson is to be our next president, hell have to reach an accommodation with John Quincy Adams. Right?

 Dead right. Jones winced a little, then. And thatll be some trick.

 The general thinks well of Adams, pointed out Johnson.

 Who doesnt? said Jones. A most admirable man, versed in the classics and everything. But does the general like him? And, perhaps more to the point, what does Adams think of Andy Jackson?

 He supported him during that ruckus over Florida, stated Johnson stubbornly.

 The lawyer waved his hand. Sure he did. John Quincy Adams is the best secretary of state the United States has ever had, if you ask me. Andy Jackson got us Florida, so Adams backed him. But that doesnt mean he much likes the general. Face it, gentlemen. Jones leaned forward in his seat and tapped the table with his forefinger. First, they disagree over most issues that concern the internal affairs of the nation. Adams is still half a Federalist, when you come down to it. Half an abolitionist, too, if Im not mistaken.

 He tapped the table again, more forcibly. Second, political affairs are determined more by matters of blood and attitude than they are by cold intellect. I dont think you could find two prominent men in the country more unlike than Andy Jackson and John Quincy Adams. Theyre as different as the Kentucky whiskey and French wine they each prefer to drink.

 That was true enough, of course. Best of all, it was salient.

 Sam rose to his feet. A toast, then, gentlemen! To unlikely alliances! The men at the table began to rise, all except the two veterans who were missing a leg. But their smiles were enough to indicate their full agreement with the toast.

 Sam reached down for his tumbler. Then, his mouth widened as if hed just noticed the glass was empty.

 Ah. How awkward.

 Grover! Johnson barked at one of the slaves standing by the sideboard. What are you daydreaming about? See to it that Sams whiskey is refilled!






 CHAPTER 5



 The next morning, at breakfast, Johnson waited until the girls were finished and had excused themselves from the table before returning to the subject of the new school.

 More precisely, to where the new school might lead them.

 Tarnation, SamIll make this as plain as I canI want them to marry white men. Even if they have to move to Vermont or Massachusetts in order to do it. And how many white men are they going to run into, over there in Black Arkansas?

 Theyre only twelve years old, Dick, Sam pointed out mildly. Hardly something youve got to worry about right now.

 The senator wasnt mollified. Theyll grow up fast enough. Faster than you expect. If theres any sure and certain law about kids, thats it. They always grow up faster than you expect.

 Sam glanced at Julia. Her expression was unreadable: just a blank face that might simply be contemplating clouds in the sky. He wondered how she felt about the matter.

 But since there was no point in asking, he decided bluntness was the only tactic suitable.

 Theyll marry whoever they marry, Dick. If you think you can stop themhere any more than in Arkansasyoure dreaming. You heard about the ruckus with Major Ridges son? Over in Connecticut?

 Johnson chuckled. Who didnt? I heard the girl even went on a hunger strike.

 Yep, she did. Stuck to it, too, until her parents got so worried they caved in and let her marry John Ridge after all. Cherokee or not. But heres really the point I was making. Did you hear what happened to her family afterward?

 The senator shook his head.

 Well, after the wedding they wound up moving to New Antrim also. I guess, after visiting the town to make sure their daughter wasnt winding up in some Indian lean-to He grinned widely. Which Patrick Driscols Wolfe Tone Hotel most certainly isnt, not with Tiana running the place. Anyway, it seems they found New Antrim most congenial. Especially since it was maybe the only town in the continent, outside of Fort of 98, where their daughter wouldnt be hounded every day. Neither would they, for that matter. It got pretty rough on them, too, you know. One newspaper article even called for drowning the girls mother along with whipping the girl herself. John Ridge himself, of course, was for hanging.

 I heard. Johnsons lip curled. So much for that snooty New England so-called upper crust. You can say what you like about the country folks hereabouts, but at leasthe nodded toward Juliashe doesnt have to worry none, just going down to the store to buy provisions.

 Folks are right nice to me, she agreed.

 Whats your point, Sam? asked Johnson.

 Id think it was obvious. The one thing you can at least be sure of, if one or both of your daughters winds up marrying somebody you think is unsuitable, over there in Arkansas, is that nobody else will.

 He gave Johnson a cocked-head look. Never been there, have you? You ought to go visit sometime. Soon.

 Yes, said Julia. Soon. But

 It can be dangerous these days, said Johnson. His hand reached out and squeezed Julias forearm. Traveling, I mean, for anyone with her color. Even the color of Imogene and Adaline. Those so-called slave-catchers have been running pretty wild.

 Sam grinned savagely. Less wild than they used to be, I bet. When I passed through Cincinnati, I heard about the killing.

 Johnson grimaced. Dont make light of it, Sam. Most people down here were pretty upset about that.

 Sure. So what? Most people arent running around trying to catch so-called runaway slaves. Who, most times, are just freedmen trying to make it safely to Arkansas. Which they have to, thanks to that bastard Calhoun and his Cossacks stirring up lynch mobs all over the country. So what difference does it make if theyre upset because some unknown abolitionist fiend gunned down a slave-catcher across the river? What matters is that the slave-catchers are a lot more than just upset.  His grin grew still more savage. Why, I do believe theyre downright nervous. Seeing as how they dont know who the fiend and his fifty brothers were. Or where they might pop up next.

 Sam waved a hand. But it doesnt matter, anyway. As long as you make the trip while Monroes in office, I can provide you with a military escort as far as the Confederacy. A small one, but thatll be enough. After that, the Cherokees will escort you the rest of the way.

 Julia pursed her lips. That gives us almost a year. How soon will this Mr. Smith have the school up and running?

 Sam shrugged. I dont know. Not that soon, I wouldnt think. But you can put the girls up at the Wolfe Tone in the meantime. Tiana will look after them.

 Johnson looked a bit dubious. As well he might. The young Cherokee princess whod married the notorious Patrick Driscol enjoyed her own reputation in the United States. Granted, a more favorable one than her husbands, since in her case most of it was in the form of overwrought and long-winded verses written by New England poets.

 Ridiculous verses, too, for anyone who knew the realities of Indian and frontier life. Sam had shown one of the more famous poems to Tiana onceEdward Coote Pinkneys The Cherokee Brideand her comment, after reading less than a third of it, had been a terse Well, hes never gutted a deer.

 But however uncertain the senator might be at the prospect, Julia was firm. Well do it, then. Look for us coming toward the end of the summer.

 Sam nodded. Good. I probably wont be there myself, then, but Ill let Patrick and Tiana know that youre coming.





 When they found out at lunch, the girls were ecstatic.

 We get to play Indians! squealed Imogene.

  WithIndians, her sister corrected her.

 Imogene bestowed the inimitable sneer of a twelve-year-old upon a hopelessly ignorant sibling. In Arkansas, silly, theres no difference. Everybody knows that!

 Johnson looked to be growing more dubious by the minute. But since Julia wasnt wavering, it didnt really matter.

 Johnson left shortly thereafter to attend to some business around the plantation. After he was gone, Julia asked Sam quietly: How much of that is really true? What Imogene said, I mean.

 By thennoon being a thing of the pastSam had a tumbler of whiskey in his hand and was leaning back comfortably in one of the porch chairs. Not much, Julia. Not the way Imogene put it, anyway.

 He took a sip from his whiskey, feeling the usual contentment the liquor gave him as it warmed its way down. Youre familiar enough with the Indians down here in the South. The way they figure descent and inheritance, through the mother rather than the father, makes a lot of difference when it comes to the way they figure which race starts here and which one ends there. Its not that they dont see the difference, mind you.

 He chuckled harshly. In a lot of ways, theyre worse than white men. At least, our clan feuds dont tend to spring up that sudden and last forever. But thats because what really matters to them is not which race a person belongs to, but which clan. And clans intermarry. They always have. So

 Another sip, longer this time, helped him focus his thoughts. So the country theyre putting together out there in Arkansas looks strange to us. A lot stranger than their tribes used to look, I think, because theyre taking so much of it from us in the first place that most of it looks pretty familiar. In Arkansas, everythings a hybrid. Race counts, sure, but it doesnt trump everything the way it does here in the U.S.

 He chuckled again, but the sound this time was much softer. Amusement rather than sarcasm. Theyve even got newspapers. Five of em, at my last count. Four in English, and one that just started up thats trying out Sequoyahs new Cherokee script. The most popular is the one thats owned by Major Ridges son and nephew. John Ridge and Buck Watie set it up in New Antrim, you knowor the Little Rock, as the Cherokees call the town.

 Why there? she asked. I thought most of the Cherokees lived further west.

 They do. But newspapers need big towns to prosper, and the only big towns in the Confederacy are New Antrim and Fort of 98. Even the Cherokee capital at Tahlequah doesnt have more than two thousand people.

 Sam considered tracing a map for her but gave up the idea almost immediately. With Julias stern housekeeping regimen, there wasnt enough dust on the floor of the porch to do the trickand he wasnt about to waste this good whiskey wetting his finger in it. So, he made do with words alone.

 Patricks chiefdom ends at Fort of 98, where the Poteau River meets the Arkansas. Most of the Cherokees and Creeks live in the lands west of there. By now, theyre spread out quite a ways, each clan staking out a big chunk. Mostly along the Arkansas, Canadian, and Cimarron riversbut Chief Bowles and his people settled south of the Red River.

 Julia frowned. I thought they werent supposed to do that.

 Theyre not. According to the Treaty of OothcalogaI ought to know, since I drafted itthe southern border of the Confederacy of the Arkansas is marked by the Red River. But Indians dont generally pay much attention to stuff like that. People like John Ross will, even Major Ridge these days, but not someone like The Bowl and the traditionalists who follow him.

 He took another sip. Right now, nobodys saying much. But once somebody figures out how to clear the Great Raft and make the Red navigablewhich is bound to happen, sooner or latertherell be Sam Hill looking to collect the bill.

 She cocked her head, gazing at him. Id think youd be more upset at the prospect.

 He shrugged. That wont happen any time soon, Julia. By then, its not likely Ill still be in charge of Indian affairs for the government. Ive spoken to Henry Shreve about it. Hes the steamboat genius Patrick Driscol went into partnership with, if you didnt know.

 The one who got into that big legal fight over Fultons monopoly?

 Sam nodded. The very man. He won that fight in court, but the Fulton-Livingston steamboat company was still able to make things miserable for him in New Orleans. Legal monopoly or not, theyve got the backing of the Louisiana authorities. When Patrick made him the offer to set up his own company on the Arkansas, he jumped at it. Anyway, the point is that Shreve told me its possible to clear the Great Raft out of the Red. In fact, in his spare timewhich isnt much, as busy as the new companies in Arkansas are keeping himhes starting to design a special steamboat to do the job. A snagboat, he calls it. But even Henry Shreve doesnt think he could have it ready in less than five yearsassuming he could find somebody to back him.

 And how likely is that?

 Sam shrugged again. Itd almost have to be the government. A project like that would be too expensive for a private company, with no obvious quick profit to be made. After another sip of whiskey, he added: The U.S. government, I mean. No way the Confederacy would do it. Even if they had the money, which they dont.

 Seeing her head still cocked quizzically, he explained. John Ross and Major Ridge think the Great Raft is just dandy, Julia. Patrick probably burns incense to keep it there. Well, he would if the scoundrel had a religious bone anywhere in his body.

 Her head was still cocked. Sam shook his own. Youve never met Patrick Driscol.

 He finished the whiskey and set the tumbler down on the floor of the porch. Hes probably my closest friend, Julia, but there are times I swear the man scares me. Scares Sam Hill, for that matter. I dont think theres a harder man alive, anywhere in the world. Hes gotten stinking rich over the past few years, but not because he paid much attention to it. That came from luckthe proverbial right place at the right timeand having Tiana for a wife. A quick grin came and went. Not to mention Tianas rapscallion father, who seems to be able to squeeze money out of anything. But Patrick himself never thinks like a rich man. He thinks like a poor Scots-Irish rebel, still seeing redcoats everywhere he looks. Even if the coats look to be blue, these days.

 You want more whiskey?

 I was hoping youd ask, he replied, smiling cheerfully. Yes, please. One more and Ill be steady enough for that blasted horse. I felt peckish, waking up this morning.

 Well, I dont wonder. As much as you drank last night.

 She said nothing more. Just got up and went into the house. One of the many things Sam liked about Julia Chinn was that she wasnt given to nattering. Not even at the senator, really.

 She was back a few seconds later with a half-full bottle and refilled his tumbler. And that was another thing Sam liked about the woman. No half-full tumblers when she poured.

 He took a hefty first sip and continued. My point is that Patrick never stops thinking like a soldier. Doesnt matter how rich he gets. Hes wound up making money hand over fist with each new company he sets upnot to mention his bankbut thats never why he does it. Each and every one of those companies, even the bank, has a military purpose.

 Julias eyes widened. Whatever for? Theres a treaty with our government, and the wild Indian tribes out there cant be that much of a threat.

 No, theyre not. Dangerous, yes, but not what youd call a real threat to the Confederacy. And, nowadays, even the Osages pretty much stay out of the Arkansas Chiefdom altogether. Patricks soldiers arerough, when they get riled. Not undisciplined, mind you. The chuckle, this time, was very harsh. Not hardly, with Patricks ways. But hes a firm believer that if someone picks a fight with him, he will surely give them what they asked for. And then some. Like I said, a scary man.

 It was getting time to go, and Sam still had one last piece of business to take care of. So he left off the sipping and drained most of the tumbler in one slug.

 Its the U.S. hes thinking about, Julia. Not now, of course, with James Monroe in office. If John Quincy Adams succeeds him, that would be, if anything, even better. Adams is a diplomat by instinct and background. Hell always try to settle something by negotiation if he can. And I dont think Patrick even worries much, if the general gets elected instead. As ornery as they both areand its hard to choose between the man from County Antrim and Old Hickoryhe and Andy Jackson could manage to get along. Well enough, anyway. No, its Clay hes thinking about. You never know what Henry Clay will decide to do if he thinks itll advance his prospects.

 Julia made a face. Her common-law husband detested Henry Clay. Clearly enough, she didnt disagree with him on the subject.

 Neither did Sam. He didnt share Andy Jacksons corrosive hatred for Clay, but that was simply because Sam didnt have it in him to hate anyone that much. If he did, though, Clay would be pretty much at the top of his list also. In the near vicinity, for sure. The mans personal morals stank, and his political morals were even worse.

 So, to get back to the point, theres no way Patrick would want the Red River cleared of the Great Raft. In fact, I think thats the main reason he went into business with Henry Shreve. Sure, and hes gotten rich from that partnership, tooeverything Patrick touches seems to turn to gold, these daysbut thats not why he did it. Now that Fultons dead, Shreves probably the only man in the United States today whod have the wherewithal to figure out how to clear the Great Raft. So Patrick made sure to tie him down good and solid. As long as the Great Raft stays where it is, he doesnt have to worry about anybody using the Red River to attack him. His southern flank is pretty well protected.

 Julia shook her head. Man sounds a little crazy, to me.

 Sam drained the last of the whiskey, grinning through the glass. So people say. Lots of them.

 He didnt bother to add but not me. The grin alone made it obvious enough.





 He found Richard Johnson in one of the barns, attending to farm business of one kind or another. Something to do with a cow, apparently. Sam wasnt quite sure, because hed decided at an early age that farming was even more boring than storekeeping. Tedium was bad enough on its own without piling study onto the affair.

 He didnt need to, anyway, since as soon as the senator spotted him, Johnson broke off his discussion with the two slaves handling the barn animals and came over.

 You leaving now?

  Fraid so, Dick. I want to make it to the Confederacy by the end of the month, andah

 Youve got to pay a visit to the general first.

 Sam half winced. Yes, I do. Cant say Im looking forward to it, this time.

 Johnson studied him. On account of how you figure you may have lost the general his chance to get elected president.

 You could have maybe sweetened that a little. Butyeah. On account of that.

 Johnson looked away for a moment, then shrugged. Well, maybe you did. Although I think Jack Hartfields right. If Andy had just kept his mouth shut after Algiers, I dont think the affair would have hurt him much. He was not in any way directly involved, after all.

 I think Jacks probably right, too. But you know the general. Andy Jackson has a lot of virtues. Being fair-mindedespecially when it involves something he didjust isnt one of them. Not usually, at least.

 True enough. Well, you have my sympathies. Give the general my best regards, will you?

 Certainly.

 Sam hesitated, then added: But theres something else I wanted to raise with you, Dick. Tell me the truth. How bad are you hurting?

 Johnson looked away again. In terms of money? Pretty bad, Sam. A half-whining note of resentment crept into his voice. I was hoping the school

 The one thing Sam didnt want to do was rehash that matter. Forget the school, he said forcibly. You would have lost money on it, anyway. Did lose money, and plenty of it, before you even got it set up.

 He summoned up the memory of his mad charge on the Creek barricade at the Horseshoe Bend. That seemed as good a model as any.

 Look, Dick, face it. Youre a man I think well of personally, and a public figure I admire even more. But when it comes to business, youre a walking disaster. Youve got no head for it, at all.

 The senator scowled but didnt argue the point. Given his track record, thatd be pretty much impossible, even for a man as generally insouciant as he was.

 So Sam kept the charge going. I think theres a way out of the bind youre in, but youd have to be willing to do two things. First, go into partnership with a man who does know how to make businesses run profitably.

 Johnson snorted. And why would that be a problem for me? Exceptgood luck, finding a smart businessman whod touch me with a ten-foot pole. Why should he? Ive got nothing to bring to a partnership, Sam. No skill at itthe scowl came back, for an instantas youve just been unkind enough to rub my nose in. And no capital to back someone who is. Im broke, Sam. Worse than broke. Im up to my waist in debts, and pretty soon the creditors are going to take me to court. The ones who havent already, that is. Wont be surprised at all to see Henry Clay arguing the case for em. My biggest creditor is the Second Bank, after all, and hes one of their top lawyers whenever he takes the time away from his political chiseling.

 Sam took a deep breath, remembering that final moment when hed scaled the barricade. Right after Major Montgomery got his brains blown out by a Creek bullet.

 Ive got a partner for you, Dick. Hell put up the skill, and hell put up all the money. In fact, hell advance you enough to fend off your creditors. Far enough off to give you some breathing room, anyway, while he gets the business up and running and turning a profit.

 Johnsons eyes widened, and then immediately narrowed.  Whatbusiness? And who is this paragon? Or bedlamite, I should say. Why in the world would a sane man do something like that?

 The business is complicated. More complicated than I can follow, to be honest. Mostly it involves setting up a big foundrybiggest west of Cincinnatibut that also requires expanding the steamboat traffic. Expanding a foundry, I should say, since its already in operation. But the expansion would be major. The man Im talking about is one of the silent partners in the steamboat business Henry Shreve and Patrick Driscol set up.

 Another deep breath. His name is Henry Crowell, and the reason hes silent is because hes black. Hes gotten rich enough over the past few years that hed like to expand his business into the United States, but he cant do that without a white partner as his public face.

 Sam was half expecting an outraged reaction. Despite his relationship to Julia, Richard Johnsons general attitudes on matters of race werent really all that different from those of most people in the country. Like Andy Jackson, Johnson was always willing to make personal exceptions to generalities. But the generalities themselves, he didnt really question much.

 To his surprise, though, Johnsons face simply seemed pensive. Crowell? That names familiar.

 Well, it ought to be! Sam exclaimed. He was the teamster who supplied us at the Capitol during the battle with the British. He fought well himself, later, as part of a gun crew at the battle of the Mississippi.

 Best to leave it at that, he thought. The same Henry Crowell had also been the cause of the Algiers Incidentas the victim who triggered it, if not the instigatorbut Sam saw no reason to bring that up.

 Yes, thats it. But I think there was something

 Look, Dick, Sam said, maintaining the stout tone to keep Johnson from dwelling on the name, Henrys as good a businessman as you can find; I dont care what color. He parlayed the supply contract I got for him for the New Orleans campaign into a small fortuneokay, real small fortune, but big enough

 His voice trailed off. Hed just stumbled into the pit hed been trying to avoid.

 Alas, that was sufficient to jog Johnsons memory.  ThatCrowell? The one they castrated in New Orleans? Set off the whole blasted ruckus there?

 Sam gritted his teeth. Tarnation, he was tired of being diplomatic.

 Yes, that one, he growled. The reason the Creoles had him castrated was because hed gotten rich enough and prominent enough that he drew the attention of one of the girls they were grooming for one of their stinking Quadroon Balls. He almost died from the injurycastrations usually fatal, though most people dont realize itand, yes, thats what set off the Battle of Algiers. Driscol called the Iron Battalion back into service. They marched into the French Quarter and blew the place half apart, and strung up every slave-catcher they got their hands on. Seeing as how theyd done the dirty work. Killed the Creole grandee whod ordered it done, too. Patrick saw to that himself.

 To his surprise, Johnson laughed. Quite a cheerful laugh. And then pounded into splinters the Louisiana militia, when they got sent in to suppress a servile insurrection. 

 He laughed again, seeing the expression on Sams face. You know, Sam, you might be surprised at how a lot of people looked at that. Publicly, sure, it was a scandal and an outrage. But people have their own private thoughtsand dont ever underestimate the general. He would have done better to keep his mouth shut, but his own reaction was heartfelt. And the one thing about Andy is that he has a sure and certain knack for catching the sentiments of the common folk. That was a nasty filthy business, and there are still plenty of people in the United States for whom Patrick Driscol and the Iron Battalion are, were, and always will be the heroes who won the Battle of the Mississippi.

 He gave Sam something of a sly look. Meaning no disrespect to your own glorious part in the affair.

 Sam just smiled. Hed gotten more public credit for winning that battle than Patrick had, but that was simply because he was a lot more acceptable figure than the grim and dour Irish rebeland, most of all, because Sams soldiers had been white. But Sam himself knew perfectly well that the valiant stand of the Iron Battalion had been the key to winning that battle. So did Andy Jackson, for that matter.

 Yes, that Crowell. After he recovered, wellHe just got more determined than ever to be a successful man. Married the girl involved, in fact. And if he cant produce any children of his own, he makes up for it with an orphanage and the schools he set up. His tone hardened a bit. And, yes, if youre wondering, hes Gerrit Smiths silent partner in that school of yours Smith is buying and moving to New Antrim.

 Johnson shook his head. But it wasnt a gesture of refusal, more one of bewilderment.

 What in the name of Sam Hill is the world coming to? he asked, wonderingly.

 By now, Sam thought hed come to know the answer to that question. And, for once, decided hed say it out loud to another white man. Im Cherokee by adoption, Dick. What the world is coming toif Ive got anything to say about itis that Id like to see what happens if we use Cherokee methods for a change. At least in one part of the continent.

 Meaning?

 Meaning Im sick and tired of stumbling over race, everywhere I go. So Id like to try clans, instead. I dont ask for a perfect world, just one where people deal with each other instead of categories. Imperfect as they may be.

 Johnson went back to staring at the nearby wall of the barn. No reason to, really, since nothing hung on that wall but some half-rusted old tools that nobody had used in years.

 All right, he said finally. Im willing to give it a try. Not that I really have much choice anyway.

 Sam nodded. Good. Ive already set it up at the other end. In fact, Henry told me hed have the money ready, if you agreed. Soon as I get there, Ill have it sent. Itll be fifteen thousand dollars, to start.

 That was enough to yank Johnsons eyes from the wall.  Fifteen thousand?What kind of darkie has

 The richest darkie in the world, Sam replied coldly. Anywhere in North America, anyway. Take it or leave it, Dick.

 The senator seemed more bemused than ever. Oh, Ill take it. I surely will. But still

 He shook his head again. Like I said, whats the world coming to?

 Sam had already given whatever good answer he had to that, so he just shrugged. Ill be on my way, then.

 Sam Hill, if you will! Johnson seized Sam by the arm and half dragged him out of the barn. This calls for a drink of whiskey!

 Sam put up something of a protest.





 As they rode away from Blue Spring Farm, in midafternoon, Chester asked him, You going to make it through the rest of the day, Mr. Sam?

 Dont be ridiculous.

 Just wondering. You might want to put your feet in the stirrups, then.

 Oh. Forgot.






 CHAPTER 6



 New Antrim, Arkansas

 MAY 24, 1824

 

This is the Little Rock, announced the middle-aged Cherokee whod escorted Sheffield Parker and his folks up the Arkansas River. There was a hint of a sly smile on his face. Be careful. Its full of Christians.

 Sheff s mother eyed the Indian skeptically but didnt say anything. His uncle just grinned, even though normally hed have taken umbrage, as devout as he was. For whatever reason, Sheff s uncle and the Cherokee had gotten along quite well on the trip upriver.

 I thought it was called New Antrim, Sheff s sister said, half complainingly.

 The Cherokees smile widened, just a bit. Depends who you ask. We Cherokee call it the Little Rock. He pointed to a rock formation not far from the pier the steamboat was approaching. Got the name from that. Goes back quite a ways. When Patrick Driscol bought the area from a St. Louis speculator by the name of Russell, he named it New Antrim. Most of the white folks here use that name, too.

 The smile widened still further. Sheff couldnt resist the tease. So then, what do black folks call it?

 Most all of them just call it Driscoltown. Though youll also hear Driscolburg and Driscolville. Seeing as how you black folks make up almost three out of four people living here, but cant seem to agree on the details, I imagine itll eventually just get known as Driscol.

 By now, the smile was on the edge of being an outright grin.  Course, youll have to wait until Driscol dies. Hell skin you alive, he hears you call it that.

 Sheff studied the town the steamboat was approaching. He was impressed by the size of it, even though it didnt approach the standards of his native Baltimore. But it was far grander than anything hed expected to see way out here on the frontier, beyond the limits of the United States. When theyd reached Cincinnati, Salmon Brown had told him it had fifteen thousand residents. From what he could see, Sheff was pretty sure New Antrim was even bigger.

 Quite a bit bigger, in fact, at least in terms of the number of people. The houses here were a lot more crowded together than theyd been in Cincinnati. That town had been populated mainly by prosperous white mechanics and merchants. This one, even if it didnt seem to be as beat up as the freedmens quarter in Baltimore, was obviously a lot poorer than Cincinnati. Although it was hard to tell, really. Most of the construction was new and raw, with nothing much in the way of frills. The people living inside those mostly log-and-wattle dwellings might be in better shape than the houses themselves.

 The Cherokee confirmed his guess a moment later. They took the first census just five months ago. The Little Rocks got just over twenty-eight thousand people in it. Bout twenty thousand of them are black, like you. Another five thousand or so are white people. The rest

 No question about it. That was a grin. Are crazy Indians like me.

 Sheff s sister had the tactlessness of most eight-year-olds. Why are you crazy? Dont really seem like it.

 Dinah! exclaimed their mother. She smacked her daughter on the back of her head. Mind your manners!

 The Cherokees grin never faded, though. Beant no worse than what most Cherokees call me, Missus Parker. Considerable better, in fact. To Dinah, he said:  Course Im crazy, girl. Why else would a Cherokee live in a place like this? When I could be doing exciting things like chasing deer in the rain?

 He looked away from her, bestowing the grin on the town. They were almost at the pier, by now.

 Dont bother me. Theres enough other Cherokees feel the same way I do, that I never lack for company. Quite a few Creeks, too. And I do declare I think were looking to outnumber the other Indians, you give it maybe ten or twenty years.

 A deafening blast from the steamboats whistle made Sheff jump a little.

 Well, here we are. The steamboat was being tied up to the wharf while a small crew of men moved a ramp toward the side of the boat. Two other men emerged from a door in the side of a large building next to the pier.

 They were both black, as were all the men moving the ramp. But the two newcomers were wearing green uniforms.

 Sheff had heard rumors about those uniforms. These were men in the Arkansas Army. It was real!

 Some of his excitement must have shown. The old Indian chuckled softly. Yep, thats them, all right. The Confederate Army. Arkansas Chiefdom, anyway.

 What are they doing here? asked Sheff s mother.

 The Cherokee sucked his teeth for a moment. I guess you could call it recruitment.

 Sheff s mother immediately frowned. I dont want my boy signing up for no army!

 The Cherokee smiled again. But said nothing.





 Less than an hour later, sitting behind his mother on a stool in a large office in New Antrims largest bank, Sheff was mightily confused about most everything. But he understood why the old man had smiled.

 Its not fair! his mother exclaimed. The words were half a protest, half a wail.

 The man sitting on the opposite side of the biggest desk Sheff had ever seen just shrugged his shoulders. No, I suppose not. But whats fair got to do with anything, Mrs. Parker? You wanted your freedom, and you got it. But what freedom means, right now, is the freedom to starve.

 Sheff was too fascinated with the man himself to pay much attention to his words. His name was Henry Crowell, nothing spectacular. But to Sheffield Parker he was a living, breathing dragon, testifying in person that this new fantasy world was real.

 First, because he was black.

 Second, because he was the biggest man Sheff had ever seen.

 Third, because he was wearing fancier-looking clothes than anything Sheff had ever seen anyone wear except a few of the richest white men in Baltimore.

 Finallymost glorious of allbecause he was the president of the bank.

 He owned it!

 Well, half of it, anyway. From what Sheff had been able to understand of the mans introductory remarks, the other half was apparently owned by the same Patrick Driscol whod become a mysterious legend to Sheff.

 Its not fair! Sheff s mother repeated, trying, this time, for more in the way of sternness rather than simple misery.

 Next to her, Sheff s uncle shrugged. I dont really mind, Lemon.

 Mrs. Parker swiveled her head to glare at her brother. So, fine. Youre a full-growed man, Jem. What about my little boy?

 The man behind the desk chuckled, causing his immense chest to ripple the fancy cloth. Dont look so little to me, maam. Hes not too tall, but hes powerful wide in the shoulders.

 Now she glared at the banker. It isnt fair!

 Crowell sighed and sat up straighter in his chair. Then, planting two huge hands on the desk, he leaned forward and spoke softly. Softly, but very firmly.

 Mrs. Parker, there is no magic here in Arkansas. Less you believe in the voudou business, but not even Marie Laveau claims she can conjure up food and shelter out of spiderwebs. You came here with nothing. No money, no tools beyond a few knives and such, no capital, no livestock, not much at all beyond the clothes on your backsand those, meaning no offense, you couldnt sell even if you wanted to. Theyre not far removed from rags.

 Sheff s mother set her jaws. We was poor to begin with. Then, what with havin to leave Baltimore so sudden

 I am not blaming you, Mrs. Parker. Just pointing out the facts of life. How do you propose to survive while you start making a living?

 She started to say something, but Crowell cut her off.

 Never mind that. Survive isnt the word I meant. I dont doubt you could survive, but youd be so dirt poor youd be nothing but an anchor dragging behind this community. We dont need that, Mrs. Parker. The last thing Arkansas needs is dead weight. Meaning no offense, but thats what dirt-poor people are. Dead weight.

 He pushed himself back from the chair a little. Patrick established that as the very first rule, hereand all of us in the Iron Battalion agreed with him. Black people are welcome in Arkansas, but theyve got to pull their weight. Thats the main reason we set up this bank in the first place, back then. Well loan people money to get started, but theyve got to put up collateral. And if theyve got nothing but able-bodied men in the family, then those men have to agree to serve a term of enlistment in the army.

 What if we were just women? his mother asked, her eyes narrowing. Did you and this fancy Mr. Patrick set up a whorehouse, too? Loan us money if we put up our cunts for collateral?

 Uncle Jem winced. Lemon!

 But all Crowell did was chuckle again. No, Mrs. Parker. Patrick and I are running no brothels in this town. There are a couple, Im told, but theyre strictly private enterprise. To answer your question, if the borrowers are females only, well accept a job in one of the local workshops as collateral. But the terms arent as good.

 What are the terms, Mr. Crowell? Sheff s uncle spoke a bit hastily, probably to keep his sister from another outburst.

 The big banker looked at him. Good as you could ask for. Well loan any family three hundred dollars for every man who enlists, two hundred for every woman or boy or girl in a workshop. The interest is five percent, compounded annually. The loan has to be paid back monthlybut well waive the interest for the whole family as long as at least one man is serving in the colors. And for every man who completes a term of service satisfactorily, well knock a percentage point off the interest.

 He glanced at Sheff s mother and sister, and then at Sheff. In your case, that means well loan you a thousand dollars even. No interest accumulates as long as either you or young Sheffield is still in the colors. Once both of you have finished your terms of dutyassuming you were discharged honorablywell start charging you three percent on whatever the balance is. The truth is, you cant find a better loan anywhere. Either here or in the United States.

 Sheff had no idea if he was telling the truth or not, since what he knew about banking was thatwell, it was a white mans business. Hed never known a black man who even went to a bank, much less owned one.

 From the dubious expression on her face, it was obvious his mother was just as ignorant. But his uncle seemed satisfied. Not, probably, because he actually knew anything. But just because, as with Sheff himself, he was inclined to trust Mr. Crowell.

 Crowell was famous, too, after all. And if most of that fame was due to his horrible mutilation, there wasnt actually any sign of it on the man himself. Not visibly, anyway, covered with that fancy clothing. Maybe he was a little fatter than he would have been otherwise. But it was hard to know. Men that big usually ran to fat, some, once they got a little older.

 Sheff thought he was a nice man, though. Not that it really mattered. Even if Crowell had been poison mean, Sheff would have been inclined to take his word for something. The man was a banker. The only black banker Sheff had ever heard of.

 Well do it, said Sheff s uncle firmly. Be quiet, Lemon. Youve had your say, and you aint my mother, even if you are older than me.

 Im Sheffields mother.

 His uncle smiled, and nodded toward Sheff. And so what, girl? I mean, look at him. You tried to stop your son, hed just run away and enlist anyhow.

 Sheff tried to look innocent when his mother gave him a sharp glance. It wasnt easy. Hed spent a good part of the past half hour trying to decide between two different ways he could run away and join the army. Daytime or nighttime.

 There were advantages and disadvantages, either way. Daytime would be harder to make his getaway without his mother catching him, but he could probably enlist on the spot. Wherever the spot was. Nighttime, hed have to wander around some in the dark.

 Would you do that, Sheff? his mother demanded.

 No, maam. Course not.

 She just rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in defeat.





 By midafternoon, Sheff was in a state that bordered on sheer ecstasy. It was all he could do not to bounce up and down like a little boy.

 He had a uniform!

 True, it was too big, and his mother insisted the tailoring was poor, which it probably was. The cloth was pretty stiff and rough on his skin, too.

 Sheff couldnt have cared less. It was a uniform!

 His uncle Jem seemed almost as pleased as he did.

 Oh, stop nagging, Lemon, he said to Sheff s mom. They didnt cost us nothing. Sides, why dont you just do the fixing-up yourself when we get a chance? Youre handy with a needle.

 Needle! Lemon Parker gave the uniforms a look that was none too admiring. An outright glare, in fact. Need a knifeno, a spearto punch holes in that stuff.

 Uncle Jem grinned. Maybe theyre bulletproof, then.

 Before his sister could continue with her protests, Jem turned away from her and examined the room theyd gotten in the big boardinghouse. Now, his own expression took on a look of disapproval. Not deep disapprovalcertainly nothing akin to the glares Sheff s mother was still giving the uniformsjust the skeptical look that an experienced carpenter bestows on the work of lesser craftsmen.

 Pretty crude, he muttered.

 Even Sheff could see that that was true. The boardinghouse, from the outside, had looked more like a huge log cabin than any boardinghouse or hotel Sheff had ever seen in Baltimore. On the inside, it looked about the same.

 But, again, he couldnt have cared less. He had a uniform! The garment was a magic shield, shedding all the minor cares of life as if they were so many raindrops.

 Never you mind, Jem! Sheff s mother shook her head. Me and Dinah can patch up what needs it. Shrugging: Its solid built, whatever else. A lot more solid built than you and my little boy are, when men start shooting at you.

 There aint no war going on, Ma, Sheff protested. But, even in his high spirits, he didnt miss the fact that his uncle had grimaced slightly.

 No, there wasnt a war going on. Leaving aside clashes with wild Indians, anyway. But even at sixteen, Sheff knew enough about the world to know that a war was most likely coming.

 He couldnt have begun to explain the politics that would drive that war. He was only just beginning to even think in those terms.

 It didnt matter. All he had to do was look down at that wonderful green uniform he was wearing. Would the sort of men whod murdered his father just for being a black freedman allow the fathers son to wear a uniform?

 He didnt think so.

 But he also didnt care. What mattered was that he did wear the uniform of the army of Arkansas. And he made a solemn vow to himself, right then and there, that hed learn everything a soldier needed to learn. So that when the men came to murder the mother and the daughter, the son would murder them instead.

 And why are you lookin so fierce of a sudden, boy? asked his uncle.

 Best not to answer that directly, or his mother would start squawking again. Ahjust thinking of the Bible, is all.

 Uncle Jem smiled. The Old Testament, I hope.

 Book of Judges. Book of Samuel, too.






 CHAPTER 7



 By evening, Sheff s elation had become leavened by caution. According to the terms of their enlistment, Sheff and his uncle had been required to report for duty before nightfall. Which theyd doneand immediately found themselves assigned to a barracks on the outskirts of the city that made the construction of the boardinghouse look like the work of fine artisans.

 Just a very long empty log cabin was all it was, with a single door at either end. The building had a row of bunks down each side, in three tiers, except for a fireplace on the north wall. The bunks were crammed so close together there was barely room to squeeze between them. Theyd have covered up the windows completely, except there werent any windows to begin with. And the space between the bunk tiers was so short that it looked to Sheff as if his nose would be pressed against the mattress of the man sleeping above him. Unless he got assigned to one of the top bunks, in which case his nose would be pressed against the logs of the roof.

 The air would be horrible up there, too, with this many men crammed into so little space. To make things worse, there was still enough chill in the air at night that the fireplace in the middle of the barracks was kept burning. It had a chimney, of course, but Sheff had never seen a fireplace yet that vented all the smoke it produced.

 There didnt seem to be enough spittoons, either, for that many men, half of whom Sheff could see were chewing tobacco. On the other hand, he couldnt see any sign that the men crammed into the barracks had been spitting on the floor, either, so maybe they emptied them regularly.

 Chewing tobacco was a habit Sheff planned to avoid, himself. It just seemed on the filthy side, even leaving aside the fact that his pious mother and uncle disapproved on religious grounds. Sheff wasnt sure exactly why they did, since hed never found anything prohibiting tobacco in the Bible, not even in Deuteronomy and Leviticus. He ascribed it to the fact that, in his experience so far in life, hed found that people who were really devout tended to think a lot of things werent proper, even if they couldnt exactly put their finger on any one place in the Bible where it said so.

 About fifteen seconds after he and his uncle entered the barracks, standing there uncertainly after closing the door behind them, one of the men playing cards on an upended half barrel at the center of the room looked up.

 Just joined? he asked.

 Uncle Jem nodded. Sheff added, Yes, sir.

 The man exchanged thin smiles with his two fellows at the barrel. There was something vaguely derisive about the expressions.

 Sir, no less, one of them chuckled. Lord God, another babe in the woods.

 All three of the men at the barrel were black, but this one was so black his skin looked like coal. The eyes he now turned on Sheff were just as dark.

 We aint sirs, boy. We the sergeants of this outfit. Sirs are officers. You salute them and act proper when theyre around. Us, you dont salute. And whiles youll learn to act proper around us, too, its a different set of rules.

 Jem cleared his throat. And those arewhat?

 Youll find out. Soon enough.

 The third of the trio had never looked up from his cards. He now spoke, still without looking. Only bunks open are two in the back, he said, giving his head a very slight backward tilt. Both top bunks, but dont bother complaining.

 He flipped a card onto the barrel. Im Sergeant Hancock. This herea flip of the thumb toward the sergeant whod spoken firstis Sergeant Harris. The one as black as the devils sins is Sergeant Williams. Hes the friendly one.

 Williams grinned. And hes the one who tells lies all the time. When he turned the grin onto Sheff and his uncle, it seemed full of good cheer. Im actually mean as Sam Hill, you cross me. But Im sure and certain you boys wouldnt even think of that. Would you?

 That didnt really seem to be a question that required an answer, so Sheff kept his mouth shut. So did his uncle.

 Williams grunted. Didnt think so. Go ahead, now. Get yourselves settled in. So to speak. The captainll be along shortly. Maybeif youre real unluckythe colonel, too.

 Sheff and Jem did as they were told, edging themselves and their little sacks of belongings past the three sergeants at the barrel. None of them made the slightest effort to clear any space for them as they went by. From what Sheff could tell, theyd forgotten about the new arrivals altogether and were concentrating completely on their card game.

 As Sheff and his uncle made their way to the back of the barracks, Sheff was surprised to spot three white men among the soldiers. Hed had the impression that the army of Arkansas was all black, except for some of the officers.

 That officers would be white was a given. The only thing surprising there was that Sheff knew some of them were black, even including the colonel who commanded the regiment. But he hadnt expected to encounter white men in the enlisted ranks.

 Two of them were no older than he was, either. Including, he discovered as he came up to the bunk hed been assigned to, the soldier whod be sleeping below him.

 The situation wasstrange. Confusing, too.

 The white boy on the middle bunk looked away from the book he was reading and gave Sheff a smile. Got stuck on the top, did you? Poor bastard. But at least youre in a corner bunk. Theres enough cracks in the wattling that youll be able to breathe. Some, anyway. Course, youll hate it come winter. But who knows? By then you might be promoted, or dead. Thats for sure and certain my plan.

 Sheff wondered how hed been able to read at all. The space in the middle bunk was so tight that the boy had had to keep the book pressed practically against his nose.

 Now the boy lowered the book onto his chestwhich didnt require shifting it more than two inchesand gave Sheff s little sack a scrutiny. Wont be no room for that, up there. But theres still some space under the bottom bunk.

 Seeing Sheff s hesitation, his smile got more cheerful still. Relax. Beant no thieves in this company.

 The black man on the middle bunk across from him snorted sarcastically. You livin in a dream world, Cal. Plenty of these curries be thieves. Its just that they terrified thieves.

 He rolled over to face Sheff, his shoulder barely clearing the bunk above him. There was no smile on his face, but he seemed friendly enough.

 Hes right, though, boy. You dont got to worry about nobody stealing nothin here. Not from another soldier, anyway.

 This soldier was much older than Sheff or the white boy. At a guess, somewhere in his midthirtiesabout the same age as Sheff s uncle. On his way down the line of bunks, Sheff had noticed that the age spread among the soldiers was considerable. None of them had seemed any younger than him, but hed spotted one man who had to be at least fifty.

 That seemed a little odd to him, also. But, then, he really knew very little about armies and soldiering.

 Yet, anyway. He planned to learn, applying himself to the task.

 My, dont he look fierce of a sudden? chuckled the white boy. Must be thinking of the Bible. I just hope he dont talk in his sleep, like Garner does. Not sure how much Leviticus I can take, droning in my ear when Im trying to sleep.

 The older black soldier across from him echoed the chuckle. Say that again.

 That really did seem like a friendly smile on the boys face. Sheff felt tension he hadnt even realized was there start to fade away.

 He had other memories of white people beyond those of hateful and screaming faces beating his father to death, after all. One of his closest playmates, growing up, had been a white boy from a family living nearby. Until

 The world pulled them away from each other. Ed Rankin, his name had been. Sheff still found himself missing him from time to time.

 So, finally, he smiled himself. I do read the Bible, he allowed. But I dont talk in my sleepand I beant too fond of Leviticus anyway.

 By then, his uncle had muscled his way onto the top bunk above the older black soldier. Lord in Heaven, he muttered, edging into blasphemy. What kind of no-account carpenter built a bunk bed that dont give you no more than two foot of space from the ceiling?

 His names Jeremiah McParland, said the white boy immediately. Hes not a carpenter, though. Hes the member of the family in charge of the bunk bed department, and he designed them. The space is twenty inches, by the way. The boy shook his head. I had words with him about it. Pointless though it be. He always was the greediest member of the family.

 Seeing the confused look on Sheff s face, the boys smile widened. Im Callender McParland. Familys rich now that we set up in Arkansas, since we own the biggest furniture company here. And the captains a cousin of mine. Dont do me no good, though. The colonels that monster Jones. General Balls still worseand the Laird is worse yet. Even if cousin Anthony was inclined to play favoriteswhich he aint, the bastardhe wouldnt dare nohow.

 There was a commotion at the far end of the barracks. Peering around the corner of the bunk, Sheff saw that two men had come in through the same door he and Jem had used.

 One was white; one was black. The white one was average size; the black one was very tall and long-legged. Both of them were officers, from the fancy look of the uniforms.

 The three sergeants at the barrel had come to their feet. TEN-shut! hollered Sergeant Harris.

 Immediately, the white officer said loudly, At ease, men.

 From what little Sheff could tell at the distance, he seemed a friendly enough sort. Although it could just be that hed been smart enough to realize that it would take nigh on forever for men crammed into three-tiered bunk beds to come to attention on the floor.

 The black officer with him, though, didnt seem friendly at all.

 The white officer came forward a few steps. Weve had five more recruits since my last inspection. My names Anthony McParland, for those of you who dont know, and Im the company captain. He nodded back toward the black officer. And this here is Colonel Jones. Hes in command of the regiment.

 They were both young men, Sheff suddenly realized. The uniforms had confused him, at first, automatically imparting an aura of age along with authority. But now he could see that Captain McParland was somewhere in his midtwenties and Jones not more than a few years older.

 Our complement is now full, the captain continued. That means we start real training tomorrow. Early tomorrow.

 Suddenly his face broke into a big smile, and Sheff could easily see the family resemblance to the young soldier in the bunk next to him. Well start teaching you how to kill white men. With some exceptions. Me, for starters. Anybody else in a green uniform. Civilians, of course.

 The black colonel moved forward. Unlike the captain, his face was marked by a scowl.

 Dont get all eager, you dumb curries. You want to know how you kill white men? Lots of em, I mean, in great big heaps. Not just maybe one, here and there, while youre running like rats.

 He waited, still scowling, while silence filled the barracks.

 Didnt think so, he grunted. Well, boys, forget any fancy dreams you got about muskets and cannons and such. The way you kill lots of white menany color of menis by learning how to walk better than they do. Walk faster, walk farther, walk longerand do it while carrying more than they can. Simple as that. By midmorning tomorrowI guarantee ityoull have learned that lesson. And youll keep learning it, and keep learning it, and keep learning it, until even curries as ignorant as you understand it in the marrow of your bones.

 He grunted again. Youll find out. With no further ado, he turned and walked out of the barracks. The captain made to follow but paused in the open doorway and looked back. The smile seemed as wide and cheerful as ever.

 Dont eat much, he said. I mean it. You really dont want to eat much. Neither tonight norspeciallytomorrow morning. Of course, you probably wont have time anyway.

 Then he was gone.

 I do believe Im going to forgo the big repast I was planning, McParland said. Of salt pork and potatoes, that being all we ever get, pretty much, so it aint no big hardship.

 Sheff decided hed do the same. Despite the smile, he didnt think the captain had been really joking.





 They were spilled out of the bunks by the sergeants somewhere around four oclock of the morning. Felt like it, anyway. It was sure and certain still dark outside.

 This is morning? complained one of the soldiers. Softly, though, almost under his breath. The sergeants were definitely not in a joking mood.

 Sheff shared the sentiment, but

 He reminded himself of the Book of Judges andmost of allof a mob beating his father to death, and he kept his mouth shut.





 By ten oclock that morning, miles into the most godawful set of hills and hollows Sheff had ever seen, he was on his knees puking up what little food hed had in his stomach. Cal McParland was kneeling right next to him, doing the same.

 His feet ached, his legs felt as if they were burning from coals within, and the heavy pack on his back seemed like the Rock of Ages. Theyd been marching since dawn, with the captain and the sergeants setting a murderous pace. At the start of the march, Sheff had been disgruntled that they hadnt been provided with musketsor, indeed, any sort of weapon beyond the knives they all carried in scabbards at their belts, which were really more in the way of tools than fighting gear. Now he was deeply thankful for it.

 Funny thing is, McParland finally managed to half whisper, I dont actually got nothing gainst white men. Beings Im one myself.

 Sheff had wondered about that. Whyd you enlist, then? he asked, in the same strained half whisper. Your family beant poor, like mine.

 Somehow, McParland managed a shrug under that huge pack. Something of a family tradition, now. Andwell, we like Arkansas. Got nothing against the United States, really. But if they come here, not being polite about it, we decided well send them back.

 There was something about that answer that seemed awfully fuzzy to Sheff. But

 There was also something about it that would probably look real good, clarified up some. He thought he was finally coming to understandreally understandwhat Abrahams people felt when God led them into the Promised Land.

 On your feet!bellowed Sergeant Williams, trotting down the line of exhausted men. Breaks over!

 Williams didnt look any more tired than if hed just come back from an evening stroll. Sheff envied him that ease, but mostly it just filled him with determination. If Williams could learn to do it, so could he.

 He heaved himself to his feet, giving Callender McParland a helping hand as he did so. The white boy was a lot more slender than he was. That pack had to be just about killing him.

 Thanks, McParland murmured. He managed something of a chuckle, once he was erect. And will you look at these uniforms? Good thing they made em out of whatever this awful cloth is. Dirty as they are, least they beant torn.

 Sheff looked down at his own uniform, which was just about as dirty and scuffed up as his companions. There wasnt much left of the new look it had had when he got it the day before.

 I dont mind, he said softly. Its still green, and its still a uniform.

 Williams came trotting back, whacking a few slow-movers with one of the fancy-looking sticks the officers and sergeants carried. A baton, Sheff had heard them called.

 Move it, move it, move it!he bellowed. March is just starting, you lazy curries!

 He pointed with the stick to some mountains whose crest could just be seen from the hollow where the captain had ordered a brief rest for the company. Before this march is done, you gotta be up there in the Bostons! And you will be, by Godor well leave you dead on the road!

 Sheff took a deep breath, staring up at those mountains. Next to him, McParland did the same.

 Blasphemy in the army, Sheff had already discovered, was pretty contagious. Sweet Jesus, McParland muttered.

 Just think of it as Mount Sinai, Sheff murmured back.

 Youre crazy.

 Maybe. But what I am for sure and certain is a nigger. And that looks like Sinai to me.

 The march lurched into motion again. For a few minutes, neither of them said anything.

 Then McParland said: People call me Cal. Can I call you Sheff?

 As exhausted as he was, Sheff thought that might be the most triumphant moment hed ever had in his life so far. Not that hed had many, of course, and this one wasnt really that big. But he could already see a road of triumphs shaping ahead of him. If he just kept marching forward, no matter how tired he was.

 Yes, he replied.






 CHAPTER 8



 County Down, Ireland

 JUNE 3, 1824

 

You owe these people nothing, Robert, said Eliza Ross. That man, in particular.

 She lifted her teacup from the side table next to her divan and used it to point to his shoulder. Except for half crippling you.

 The words werent spoken angrily, or even in a condemnatory tone. They were stated matter-of-factly, as someone might present another piece of evidence to be weighed when a conclusion is being drawn.

 Her husband was standing at the window of the Ross family seat in Rostrevor that gave him the best view of the Irish countryside. The hand hed been using to hold back the curtains belonged to the same arm his wife had indicated with the cup. For a moment, half smiling, he studied that arm. Then, took away the hand, letting the curtains swing back into place.

 Hardly that, he murmured. A quarter crippling, at worst. I can still use the arm, after all, and the hands fine. I just cant lift much with it.

 He didnt add, as he could have, that the arm ached frequently, especially in bad weather. His wife knew that already, and besides, that wasnt really what was at issue anyway. Eliza was no more given to nursing old enmities than he was.

 Still at the window, he turned to face her squarely. And, from old habit, clasped his hands behind his back, ignoring the twinge of pain the gesture brought with it.

 What did you think of the letter itself? he asked.

 She finished draining the cup, set it on the side table, and looked down at the paper in her lap. Two sheets, it was, both covered with script written in some sort of particularly heavy ink.

 His handwritings getting better, she said, a corner of her mouth quirking a little. Mind you, thats not saying much.

 Her husbands mouth matched the quirk with one of its own. Amazing he does as well as he does, if you ask me. Theres only four misspelled words in the whole letterand three of them can be debated. Ive seen worse dispatches from English noblemen, much less an Irish emigrant with no more than a village education. Even in English, much less French.

 Eliza Ross picked up the sheets and held them closer to her eyes. She was a bit nearsighted. And theres that, too, Robert. Why does he write in French instead of English?

 It was a rhetorical question, of course. So she moved right on to provide the answer herself. Because Patrick Driscol, born in Ireland, learned most of his letters while serving in Napoleons army. Because hes a man who has been Englands enemy his entire adult life. For years, long beforethis time, she used the sheets to point to Robert Rosss left shoulderhe ruined your arm.

 Again, her tone was level, not accusatory. Just another fact, to be presented.

 True, he agreed. All true.

 She lowered the sheets back onto her lap. Robert, I feel I must remind you that your standing within English society has become somewhat frayed, of late. If you accept this invitation

 Firmly, her husband shook his head. Dont mince words, love. Somewhat frayed hardly captures the thing. Tattered as a beggars coat would do better.

 Eliza took a slow deep breath and then let it out in a sigh. Well, yes. Among Tory circles, at least.

 She did not bother to add, as she could have, that for Anglo-Irish of their class, after the rebellion of 1798, Tory circles amounted to the only circles in existence. In Ireland, at least, if not always in England.

 She didnt add it, partly because it was unnecessary. But mostly for the simple reason that she didnt care much. A bit, perhaps, where her husband no longer cared at all. But not much.

 Abruptly, Robert Ross released the handclasp and strodemarched, almostto the wall opposite the window. Hanging there, in a heavy and ornate frame next to the door, was an illustration.

 A very odd one, to be so prominently displayed in such a house. The Ross family was an old and much-respected one among the Anglo-Irish gentry. Roberts father, Major David Ross, had served with distinction in the Seven Years War. A still earlier ancestor, Colonel Charles Ross, had been killed at Fontenoy in 1745, during the War of the Austrian succession.

 Their portraits, along with those of other distinguished ancestors, hung on many of the walls in the family seat. Along with, on another wall in the very room they occupied, all the distinctions accumulated by the current and most renowned member of the line.

 Robert Ross himself, who had retired from the British army with the rank of major general. On that wallRoss could have pointed to it with his left hand, were he willing to ignore the pain raising the arm would have caused himwere the sort of trophies that precious few officers had ever accumulated in the long history of British arms.

 There was the gold medal hed received after the Battle of Maida in 1805, the British victory in the Peninsular War that most reports ascribed to the decisive leadership of Colonel Ross, as he then was. Hanging next to it was the sword his fellow officers had presented him four years later, in 1809. Officially, it was another honor for Maida. But really, everyone knew, in appreciation for Rosss actions and leadership during the terrible retreat to Corunna. His 20th Foot had more often than not been the rear guard in that retreat, holding off Soult and the French pursuers long enough to enable Sir John Moores army to reach the port and embarkation to England.

 Next to it hung the gold medal hed received for the Battle of Vittoria, and the Peninsular Gold Cross. And next to those, the Sword of Honor.

 Other mementos were there, too, some of them personally meaningful if not as officially prestigious. Had he been so inclined, Ross could have covered the wall with his mentions in Wellingtons dispatches from the war. Quite easily. From his return to Iberia in 1812 until Ross was placed in command of the British expedition to North America in 1814, hed led troops in every major battle in the Peninsular War except Toulouse. From 1813 on, following his promotion to major general, as a brigade commander. He was largely credited with having saved the British army from disaster at Roncesvalles and with having played a key role in the British victory at Sorauren.

 A brilliant career, until the expedition to America and the repulse of the British at the Capitol. But, even there, Rosss personal gallantry had excited British admiration. And since Pakenham had been in command, not Ross, when the British army was beaten again at the Battle of the Mississippi, no opprobrium attached to him for that defeat.

 It might have, had he been forced to defend Pakenham from public censure upon his return to England, as hed fully intended to do. But Pakenhams valiant death at Lille in the final campaign against Napoleon had put paid to that. Another defeat, true, but Pakenhams impetuous assault had delayed Napoleon long enough for Wellington and Blucher to trap the French army at Tournai and force the French emperor to surrender.

 There were other honors on other walls, won by his predecessors, and portraits aplenty of the predecessors themselves. All of which made the illustration hanging by the door seem out of place.

 Grossly so, in the opinion of many of the Anglo-Irish gentry who had, in the years since the wars, visited Ross at Rostrevor. Wellington himself had come once, some three years earlier. The moment he spotted the illustration hed exclaimed, Oh, dear God, Robert! Why do you have that hanging on the wall?

 Wellington had recognized it immediately, of course. Detested though it might be by most of Englands leading figures, the illustration was probably better known to the British populace by now than the portraits of any but kings and queens. First introduced to public attention in 1789 by Thomas Clarkson and Granville Sharp, the founders of the British antislavery movement, it was a diagram of the slave-trading ship Brookes.

 It was a horrid thing, really. Which was, of course, its whole purpose: neatly and meticulously displaying, in the form of a top-down diagram, exactly how slaves were carried across the Atlantic. Lying side by side, like so many spoons nestled in a silverware draweror so much meat in one of the new tin-lined cans.

 Of all the methods used by the antislavery movement to advance its cause, this single diagram had always been the most effective. Against it, the claims of slave traders that their business was a reasonably humane one were simply froth against a cliff. Its copy, though not often so finely drawn, hung in taverns and workingmens homes and lawyers offices all over Britain. Not to mention, by now, perhaps a third of its churches. Well over half of them, if one counted only the Dissenting churches.

 After staring at the diagram for perhaps a minute, Robert said softly: I owe Patrick Driscol nothing, Eliza. True enough. But I shall never forget what I saw in America. One memory, in particular, haunts me to this day. A manblack as he might bewith a collar around his neck. Like a watchdogs collar, except the spikes faced inward, pricking the skin. The contraption is a common form of punishment for slaves, at least in Louisiana. The man cannot sleep without injuring himselfpossibly even dying.

 Yes, I know, Robert. Youve described it to me.

 Ross smiled, a bit crookedly. An obsession, perhaps. But I find as I ageIm nearing sixty, you know, now much closer to my death than my birthI find myself obsessing over the afterlife. And I wonder, almost every day now, what God will have to say about my life when my judgment comes.

 He was back to that soldierly handclasping. His head swiveled, to bring the wall of honors and trophies under scrutiny. Will he really be impressed by all that? You can find the same sort of wall, I can assure you, in the houses and mansions of many generals in many nations. For many centuries now. Each of us claiming, as we meet gallantly on the field, that the Lord favors our cause.

 He looked away, back to the diagram. Or will He present this to me? And ask me what I did in battle against this monstrosity? How much will the defeat of Napoleon weigh, against this?

 He heard his wifes little laugh. That damned Irishman! Hes corrupted your thinking, Robert.

 The retired generals smile grew more crooked still. Perhaps. But what do you think, dearest?

 She said nothing for a time. Then, in the same level and matter-of-fact tone: I think that I am your wife. The same wife who rode a mule across more of Spain than I wish to remember, after you were wounded at Orthes.

 Yes, he said softly. I remember. The weather was frightful.

 Not as frightful as the sunny day you set sail for America. I was sure Id never see you again, Robert. And I almost didnt.

 He left off his examination of the diagram to look at Eliza. Her face was tight, perhaps, but quite composed.

 I am your wife, Robert. And you shall not leave me behind this time. If you are bound and determined to return to America, in response toshe clutched the sheets in her right hand and held them upthe damned Irishmans request, I shall not stand in your way. But you will not leave me behind. Not again.

 Surely you dont fear

 For the first time, some anger came into her face. Not fury, simply exasperation. Oh, stop it, Robert! You know perfectly well why Driscol is asking you to visit him. Afterwhat has it been, now? Nine years? Nine years of the most peculiar correspondence in the world, but none of it was accompanied by any suggestion that you might actually come to America yourself instead of simply giving him some advice from a distance.

 She brought her left hand to the sheets. Looking, for a moment, as if she might crumple them altogether. But, after a slight pause, she used the hand instead to flatten the sheets back out.

 Then, smiling very crookedly herself: And spare me the pious pose. I dont doubt you mean it well enough. But I know you better than anyone. Youre like an old racehorse, looking at what might be your last starting gate.

 Dont be ridiculous!

 Ridiculous? Patrick Driscol is expecting a war, Robert. Thats why hes asking you to come. No other reason. Andso are you.

 He unclasped his hands and waved the left. I say again, ridiculous. Its far too soon to predict any such thing, Eliza.

 Predict? Of course not. But generals are not in the business of predicting outcomes. Youve said that to me a hundred times if youve said it once. Generals are in the business of gauging outcomes. And you are gauging, Robert. Dont deny it. Not to me.

 He didnt. For the simple reason that he couldnt. Major General Robert Ross was indeed gauging what might be the last war of his life. And the one that mightjust mightbe the one that saved his soul.

 After so many decades, he was tired of duty to king and country. Hed paid that duty, paid it in fulland had the wounds as well as the honors to prove it. Wounds that ached everywhere he went, whereas the wall of honor was there only on the occasions he entered this room.

 Besides, theres Ireland, he murmured.

 What was that?

 Ahnever mind.

 Eliza was considerably more broad-minded than most people of her class, but she still retained most of its basic outlook. Whereas at the age of fifty-seven there was very little left at all, in Robert Ross, of the young man from Anglo-Irish gentry whod enlisted in the 25th Foot right after graduating from Trinity College in Dublin. Except courage and determination, he liked to think. The years and the wars had burned most of it away, especially that horrible war in America. And what had remained had been slowly scoured off by his years working with Clarkson and Sharp. He was no Quaker, like so many of the supporters of the antislavery movement, and never would be. But their piety was contagious, in its own way.

 The general whod been active in the British army had never wondered much about such things. No need to, really, when it was obvious that God was an Englishman. But his years since Napoleons defeat rubbing shoulders with the men in the antislavery movement had undermined that certainty.

 What was left was Ireland itself. Bleeding, tortured Ireland. Ross had never seen anything he could do, in his life, that would have benefited Ireland. But perhaps he and another Irishman, on another continent, could prevent another such endlessly suppurating wound.

 It seemed worth a try, at least. There was some evidence in the New Testament, if you looked at it properly, that Jesus would favor the Irish. Quite a bit, actually. Perhaps more to the point, Ross had read the Bible front to back three times over since his return from America. Noticing, each time, that nowhere was Gods color recorded.

 He might even be black. Worse yet, He might have no color at all. How, then, to explain ones inaction, knowing of the Brookes? For Eliza, as for most Englishmen and Englishwomenmost members of the antislavery movement, for that matterthe blacks depicted as so many spoons in a drawer were miserable and suffering souls. Faceless, for all that.

 But, at the age of fifty-seven, Robert Ross could now see his own wife and children on that ship. Something which, he could now understand, Patrick Driscol had been able to see since he was a boy.

 Dear God, I miss the man! he said, as surprised as hed ever been in his life.





 Over dinner, when he told the children their plans, his oldest son raised an objection.

 Id like to go, too.

 Mrs. Ross shook her head. David, your education

 Oh, Mother! Im sick of boarding schools. Fine enough for the younger ones, but I need a change. Trinity can wait a year or two. Pouting, a bit: Besides, itd be good for me. Broadening of the horizons, all that. Boys my age do it all the time on the continent. The Germans even have a name for it.

 Wanderjahr,his father supplied. Yes, I know.

 He and Eliza looked at each other. After a moment, she shrugged. As stubborn as he is, I suppose we may as well. Hed just waste a year at Trinity with sulking.

 Robert nodded. Very well, then.

 Naturally, that immediately stirred up the other four children. But there, Robert held the line. Leaving aside the fact that they were too young to be interrupting their educations and forgoing the salutary discipline of boarding schools, there was the factor of disease to be considered. At nineteen, David was old enough that hed be taking no more risk than an adult.

 No, he said. Then, swiveling his gaze as hed once had cannons swiveled: No. No. No.





 Three days later, he set off for London. The ship he and Eliza and David would be taking to America wouldnt leave for weeks yet, and he had some final business to attend to.





 Clarkson approved. No surprise there. Thomas Clarkson was the brawler of the movement. The man who, though no more a Quaker than Ross, had decided at the age of twenty-five, in June of 1785, that slavery was an abomination. And had devoted the rest of his life to ending itthrowing into that cause his fine education at Cambridge, his unflagging energy, and his extraordinary skills as a political organizer.

 When will you return, Robert?

 Ross shrugged. Hard to say. Not for a year, certainly. Probably two. Possibly three.

 Clarksons gaze was direct, as always. Intense blue eyes looked out from under a veritable shock of hair, much of which was still the bright red of his youth.

 Looked down, rather. They were standing together in Clarksons cluttered office, and Clarkson was a very tall man.

 And maybe never, he stated.

 Oh, thats nonsense, Thomas. I cant deny Im looking forward to seeing America again. But you may rest certain that I have no intention of living there.

 Thats not what I meant, and you know it. You may not live there, but you could easily die there.

 Ross made a little grimace, indicating skepticism. You cant ever rule that out, of course. But the risk of disease is not as bad as people think. Our army suffered terribly, true enough; those were the worst conditions imaginable.

 Thats not what I meant, Robert, Clarkson repeated. And you know it.

 Ross said nothing, for there was nothing to say. After a moment, Clarkson slouched into his chair. Well, so be it. Well miss you greatly, Robert. Having a military figure of your prominence allied with us has been a tremendous boon to our cause these past years.

 You think I shouldnt go, then?

 Clarkson shrugged. I didnt say that. Nor do I even think it. He was silent for a much longer moment, his elbow perched on the armrest and his chin propped on a fist. Now, however, he bestowed that startlingly direct gaze on a stack of shelves covered with books and papers.

 Finally, very quietly, he said: Whatever we do here in Englandeven in our Caribbean possessionsis really a sideshow. In the end, the issue will be decided in America. For the first time, over there in Arkansas, men are finally beginning to test all the premises upon which all sides in this dispute rest their case. If that test succeeds

 He smiled then, for the first time since Robert had given him the news. A soldiers business, that, in the end. Which I am certainly not. Whether you have Gods blessing, I couldnt begin to fathom. But go with my own, Robert Ross. Go with my own.





 Wilberforce disapproved. No surprise there, either. Leaving aside the issue of slavery, and despite his notoriety as the leader of the antislavery movement in Parliament, William Wilberforce was a profoundly conservative man. He was opposed to extending the suffrage to men who were not propertied, and he was opposed to tactics that relied upon mobilizing the masses instead of persuading the elite. He disapproved in particular of women who chafed against their proper place in society.

 He disapproved strongly of the theater, too.

 Why, Robert? What can you possibly do in Americanot even the United States, but that preposterous little nation called Arkansasthat you cant do here? Think, man! Please put our cause above your own whimsy. You are the only significant officer in the movement. I cant tell you how invaluable an asset thats been to us in Parliament.

 So it went, for two hours.





 Ross divided the rest of his time in London between lesser luminaries in the movement for which he had formed a personal attachment, and major luminaries in society as a whole for whom his attachments had grown very loose indeed.

 Still. Protocol, as it were.

 Wellington was gracious. No surprise there. He disapproved quite strongly of Roberts attachment to the antislavery movement. But, in the dukes case, that was simply due to his general conservatism. Wellington was no admirer of slavery.

 Beyond that, the large and powerful Wellesley clan and its political allies had a debt to Robert Ross. The defeat of Wellingtons brother-in-law Pakenham at the Mississippi might have produced a corrosive political issue in the years after the war, with Wellingtons many enemies using the defeat as a stick against Wellingtons own military accomplishments. True, Pakenhams valiant death in the final struggle against Napoleon had sapped most of that possibility. But the long and detailed analysis that Ross had published after the war concerning the campaign in the Gulfwhich had been full of praise and admiration for Pakenhamhad settled the question entirely.

 Finally, there was politics, which was now Wellingtons field of combat.

 Im afraid many of my fellow ToriesWhigs, too, never mind what they claimare too influenced by their immediate commercial ties to the slave trade and the Caribbean plantations. There is every reason in the world for England to welcome the creation of another nation in North America, south of Canada, regardless of the color or creed of its inhabitants. Especially located where the Confederacy is, in the heart of the continent. If it survives, it would serve as a useful check on American ambitions. A natural ally for England.

 The duke gave Robert a skeptical glance. Mind you, I question whether those niggers and wild Indians are up to the task.

 Robert smiled thinly. As to the first, we could visit Thorntons grave and ask his ghost. Hes buried not far from here.

 Wellington smiled back. Just as thinly, but it was a smile. Thornton had been one of Englands best regimental commanders. Hed died on the Mississippi, and his regiment had been shattered by the black soldiers of the Iron Battalion.

 A point, the duke admitted. Could the Americans field a force as good as Thorntons 85th? Not likely. Not even close. But numbers do count, Robert; never forget that. There are now some ten million Americans, and how many people in the Confederacy? Two hundred thousand, all told? Such a disparity in numbers cannot be overcome simply by valor and skill at arms.

 They were standing in Wellingtons garden. Now that summer was here, and with Wellingtons small army of gardeners, it was a glorious place. Robert took a few seconds to admire the scenery before answering.

 Very true. But only true if those numbers can be mobilized. And as to that

 He scrutinized a nearby hedge as if he were gauging the strength of an enemy line. You might be surprised if you met some of the leaders of those wild Indians. John Ross, in particular, is quite a diplomat. Was, even when I knew him as a very young man. And there are many Americans who would not support such a war, I think.

 The duke was too familiar with foreign affairs to be put off so easily. Not in New England, certainly. But what difference does that make? Andrew Jackson would, from everything I know of the man. And it was he and his forcesquite good ones, as you explained yourself at the timewho defeated us in the Gulf. If he went against Arkansas, could they withstand him?

 Robert didnt need to consider the question. Hed been considering it very carefully for some time now. A full-fledged Andrew Jackson campaign, such as the one he mounted against us in the war? No, I dont think they could. Theyd put up a ferocious battle, but theyd lose in the end. Jackson could organize and lead a very large army of his frontiersmen. Large, at least, by the standards of North America. And hes too capable, too determinedtoo relentless, most of allfor any nation with less than a quarter million inhabitants to withstand him. Not for more than a year or two, at any rate.

 He looked away from the hedge to the duke. But would he do so in the first place? Hes not a savage, I assure you, despite some of the reports of him in the newspapers here. A very shrewd man, in fact, and with political ambitions of his own. So I think it would depend on how the war started, and over what issues, and based on whichever constellation of political alliances. Things which are far too complex to ascertain in advance, certainly from a distance.

 But you are expecting a war?

 Robert shrugged. Say rather that Patrick Driscol is expecting a war. For myself, I wouldnt venture an opinion yet. As I said, its too soon and Im too far away.

 The duke sniffed. Hes a sergeant.

 Robert made no reply. Anything he said would simply stir up Wellingtons haughty nature, always close to the surface. In point of fact, Robert knew, Patricks assessment was not even the crude strategic sense of a sergeant. It was something deeper and cruder still. The gut instinct of an Irish rebel that the Sassenach would someday be coming. Sassenach always came, until and unless they were beaten bloody, simply because they were Sassenach.

 And, as hed once told Robert, the color of their coats didnt define Sassenach at all. That much of wisdom the refugee from the rebellion of 1798 had learned in the years that followed.





 The rest of the afternoon went very pleasantly as they reminisced over old times. Two veteran soldiers, now grown rather distant, but once very close comrades-in-arms in the most desperate war in centuries.





 The Duke of Clarence refused to see him at all. No surprise there, either, although it was quite rude. But the heir to the throne was one of slaverys most public advocates.

 Truth be told, Robert had requested the audience only to satisfy a mild urge to poke a stick in the crowns underbelly. Mad King George III had been succeeded by a dissolute King George IV, who was now likely to be succeeded by a younger brother who was possibly more dissolute still.

 Well, a day. Hed done his social duties. Now, there was a long voyage. And, at the end of it, a man waiting for him that Robert could not precisely call a friend, nor precisely call an enemy, nor precisely call much of anything.

 Except, not dissolute. Never that.






 CHAPTER 9



 New Antrim, Arkansas

 AUGUST 6, 1824

 

Sam loved coming to Arkansas. Whatever open hostility or veiled antagonism he ran into these days in the United States, he encountered none of it in New Antrim. His entrance into the towncity now, reallyhad turned into something of a triumphal procession, once news of his arrival started to spread.

 Another window filled with women, waving at him. Just the latest of many in the second and third stories of the buildings that flanked New Antrims main street.

 He waved back, grinning. True, all of them were black, and only one of them was young and pretty. But those days were behind him, anyway, and the broad smiles were enough to cheer the gloomiest curmudgeon in the world.

 Chester was riding next to him, leading their remounts. This too shall pass, he murmured. This too shall pass.

 Sam never stopped grinning, though. I deeply regret having urged you to read the Romans. Besides, youre supposed to be whispering it into my ear, riding behind me on a chariot.

 We dont got a chariot, Mr. Sam, Chester pointed out reasonably. Got four horses. And one of thems a nag.

 The one riding the horse next to me is the nag. Marys just a little worn out and tired, is all.

 Shoulda left her with that tanner, back on the river.

 The last jest finally caused Sams grin to fade a little.

 That tanner

 What in Gods name is Patrick up to? he muttered.

 Loudly enough for Chester to hear, unfortunately. His response caused Sams grin to fade a little more.

 Stirring up trouble, what else?





 Patrick was there, along with Tiana, to greet Sam when he arrived at the hotel. Standing right on the porch of the Wolfe Tone, just like a proper laird surveying his domain.

 And why not? His hotel was not only the biggest building in the city but the only one with a wraparound front porch. Almost the only one with any sort of porch at all, in fact. Sam loved the energy and vitality of New Antrim, but there was no getting around the fact that its architecture fell woefully short of the standards in any city in the United States.

 Any big collection of barbarians in ancient Gaul, for that matter. Hed allow that it was probably superior to Hun encampments.

 We expected you weeks ago, were the first words out of Patricks mouth, as soon as Sam dismounted.

 How Ive missed that rasp of yours. Sam handed the reins to Chester. Tiana, its good to see you. 

 Tiana just smiled. It was a more serene smile, these days, than the hoyden one Sam remembered from the girl shed been. It made her beauty more striking than ever. As he always did, encountering Tiana again after a prolonged absence, he felt a twinge somewhere in his heart.

 But that was just an old reflex, grown almost comfortable with the passage of time. And not much of one, in any event. Sams marriage to Maria Hester had eliminated most thoughts of other women.

 Not all, of course. But most.

 There came the rush of little feet from within the darkness of the hotel interior. A moment later, two boys emerged. One was six and a half years old; his brother, a year younger.

 Sams here! Sams here!they announced to the world in unison before leaping off the porch and into his arms.

 Laughing, Sam held them up. Youre getting big. Both of you.

 Sams here! Sams here!

 Hush, Tiana scolded. Youll wake your sister.

 To prove her point, an infants wail emerged from one of the windows on the second floor.

 Oh, blast, said Tiana. She gathered her skirts and vanished back into the hotel.

 Sam set the boys down. Luckily for themand the worldthey look like Tiana, not you. He gave Patrick a sly smile. Might make a suspicious man wonder

 Patricks returning smile was a thin sort of thing. But that was just the nature of the man. He was neither offended nor made anxious by the remark. Nor, from anything Sam knew, had he any reason to be.

 Stop playing the clown, would you?

 Oh, fine. I can rememberI thinkwhen you had a sense of humor, Patrick. The reason Im weeks late is because there was another Chickasaw killing. I heard about it right after leaving the Hermitage. I needed to settle things down before it all spun out of control.

 Who killed who?

 Who killed how many, is more the question. And in what order. It started as a clan killing. ThenI never did figure out the wheres and wherebyssomehow three settlers got involved. Two of them wound up dead, along with two Chickasaws. One from each clan, to make things perfect. There were only three survivors. One white man and one each from both of the contending clans.

 Patricks blocky head made a little quiver. From another man, that might have been called a headshake. So you had three completely different stories. How did our young Solomon settle it? And would you like some whiskey?

 Yes. The whiskey first. The settlement was far too complicated to explain sober. It displeased everybody, of course, but since I confused them even more, it all worked out well enough.

 As they entered the hotels big lobby, Sam asked, Why is Tiana wearing a fancy dress?

 Patrick was heading toward the saloon doors in the far wall. Over his shoulder, he said: What do you think happens when youre this late? John Ross and Major Ridge got tired of waiting for you in Fort of 98. So they came down to New Antrim. In fact, theyre already here in the hotel.

 Sam made a face. Whiskey for sure, then. What is it this time?

 By now they were in the saloon. Patrick went behind the bar, hauled up a bottle, and started filling two small glasses. One, he filled to the top. The other, barely half. He handed the full one to Sam.

 The usual, most of it. Problems with the Osage. Problems with Cherokees who start quarrels with the Osage, as if there werent quarrels enough. Problems with Comanches, too, now.

 Sam scowled, as he picked up the glass. Comanches? Id hoped theyd avoid that. The Comanches are With his free hand, he gestured vaguely to the west.

 Not far enough west, Patrick stated. He took a small sip from his glass. Not far enough, with Creek and Cherokee clans spreading up the rivers the way theyve been. Not with Comanches, for sure.

 He set the glass down with a little clink. But the big problem is the runaway slave business.

 Sam drained half the glass in one swallow. Just what we needed. What happened this time? The usual?

 No, worse. One of the chiefs decided I wasnt serious about the rules against unauthorized slave-catching. Not applied to Cherokees. So he sent three men here, looking for one of his runaway slaves.

 Sam stared at him, the glass frozen on its way back to the bar top. Patrick. You didnt. 

 Driscols square, harsh face looked like it was carved from stone. Of course I did. He jerked his blocky jaw slightly, indicating a nearby window. Hung two of them in the street, where I always hang the ones from the U.S. Hung all three, actually, but the third one was already dead. Stupid bastard tried to fight James, if you can believe a Cherokee being that dumb.

 Tianas half brother James was something of a legend among the Cherokee, true enough. But Sams only wonder was that the other two hadnt tried to fight him, rather than be captured. Driscol was a legend, too.

 Now more than ever.

 Are you trying to tear everything apart?

 Be damned to that, Driscol rasped. Nowhere in the Confederacys constitution does it say that Arkansas has fewer rights than any other chiefdom. The laws regarding slavery are set in the chiefdoms, each to its own. Says so in Article VI, Clause Three. Im the elected chief, and those are my rules. Everybody knows it. Theres no slavery in Arkansas, and the only legal slave-catching is done by the legal authorities of the chiefdom.

 He said the whole thing with a straight face, too.

 Youre a troll, Sam muttered. He drained the rest of the glass. And exactly how many escaped slaves have your legal authorities returned to the Cherokees over the past two years?

 One. Which, I will point out, is one more than Ive ever turned over to slave-catchers from the United States.

 Sam snorted. Why that one? Was he too feebleminded to make his way into those secret settlements you maintain in the Ouachitas? And dont bother claiming you dont, Patrick. I know it, you know it, and for sure and certain every Cherokee knows it. Every Creek, too. For that matter, every slave-owner in the States.

 The truth? He wanted to go back. Once he got here and discovered freedom meant harder work than what he had with the Cherokees. Either that or a stint in the army.

 Sam stared at him. Trying, for a moment, to think of any argument he hadnt already used with Patrick.

 He couldnt think of a single one. On this subject, Patrick Driscol was the personal embodiment of the term intransigent.

 So he fell back on the old staple. This cant go on forever, Patrick.

 True enough. Either they break or I break. Guess which is more likely to happen.

 Sams temper was rising, now. Patrick, without the Cherokees you dont have your legal fig leaf! If they declare you an outlaw chiefdom

 Dont be stupid. Without me, they dont have anything. Not when the war comes.

 That stopped Sam short. Like smashing into a wall a man didnt realize was there.

 Sweet Jesus, he whispered.  Thatswhy the tanners there.

 What are you talking about?

 Sam shoved the glass in front of him. Pour me another. And stop playing the innocent. That tannerJohn Browns his name, as if you didnt knowthat you and Henry set up down on the river. I wondered why youd financed him, that far down from New Antrim. You want a war, blast your dark Irish souland hes your trigger. Your bait, too.

 Driscol finished pouring the glassjust as full as the firstand then stoppered the bottle. I will say all your drinking hasnt scrambled your brains yet. Yes, thats why we financed him to set up there. Mind you, its good country for a tanner. A lot of livestock down there on the plain.

 Hes the man who did the killing on the Ohio, Patrick. By now, enough people figured out who it was, and the words spreading. You do know how much ruckus theres been over that incident?

 He waved his hand. Never mind. Stupid question. Of course you know. Although you might not be awareyetthat the anti-Relief party introduced a resolution in the Kentucky legislature condemning the act and demanding that the culprit be brought to justice. Clays behind that, of course.

 Chester came into the saloon, then. Seeing that he was carrying a saddlebag, Sam waved him over. Oh, and let me show you this, too.

 He rummaged in the bag for a moment and brought forth a folded-up newspaper. Then, half slammed it on the bar top and spread it open. Lookee here. His finger pointed to an article on the front page. Why, I do declare. That looks like a speech by our favorite U.S. senator, the Honorable John C. Calhoun. Invoking the fugitive slave laws and demanding that the administration catch the culprit. And hang him.

 Fat chance of that.

 No chance at all, with Monroe in office. But Calhounll take it to the Supreme Court if he can, just to prove a point.

 Sam refolded the newspaper and stuffed it back into the saddlebag. You cold-blooded bastard. You deliberately set Brown up on the riverright smack in the territory that those adventurers down in Louisiana are hollering and whooping about reclaiming for the rightful ownersjust to make sure theyd attack you.

 Actually, I tried to get him to enlist in the army. He and his two brothers. Offered him a commission, even. But

 The thin smile came and went, in a flicker. Browns a most pious man. He told me hed made a solemn vow as a youngster that hed never join any army, on account of soldiers being such a blasphemous bunch. I couldnt argue the point, of course. They are a blasphemous bunch. So I made him the second offerbut not without explaining to him the risk.

 And?

 And John Browns a man after my own heart. He has a right to practice his trade, doesnt he? Yes, he does. And hed be practicing it in territory legally ceded to the Confederacy in the Treaty, wouldnt he? Yes, he would. So what does he care if some slavers damned in the eyes of the Lord claim that since its good bottomland they ought by rights to have it, and try to take it from him? At that point, he recited some verses from the Old Testament. By heart, mind you, he didnt need to refer to the Book. Bloodcurdling stuff. Every other verb was smote. 

 He lifted the bottle. Another?

 Sam realized his glass was empty. Yeswell, no. John and Ridge ought to be here any moment. Thanks to you, Ill need a clear head. Which is the last thing I wanted, after this many days on the road.

 Patrick shrugged and set the bottle back down. A clear heads probably useless, Sam. Face it, lad. Not every dispute can be negotiated. Sometimes heads have to be broken. Yes, I set up John Brown on the Mississippi like so much bait, dangled in front of those brainless ruffians down there in Alexandria. Theyll be coming sooner or later, anyway, and Id prefer to make it sooner. For no other reason than just to remind

 He broke off, his eyes moving to the door. Those two, among others.

 Sam swiveled his head. John Ross and Major Ridge had entered the saloon. To his considerable surprise, though, they had a third Cherokee with them. Chief Bowles, of all people.

 Ross had entered in time to hear Patricks last sentence. Remind us of what? he asked, mildly.

 That the only thing that stands between you and another settler land grab are those negroes you keep wanting me to hand back over to you.

 Not me, said The Bowl immediately. He was smiling quite pleasantly. Youre talking about these Cherokees in white mens clothes. He jerked his thumb at his two companions. No runaway slaves from my clan. Thats because we dont have any slaves in the first place. Well, not hardly.

 His English was fluent. That was perhaps not surprising, given that The Bowls physical appearance showed plenty of evidence of his Scot father even if his manner of dress was completely Indian. But Sam had grown up on the frontier and understood its complexities, and hed known The Bowl for years. Bloodlines and attitudes were just as likely to veer apart as come together, among the Cherokees or any of the southern tribes. Where a mixed-blood like John Ross might incline strongly toward adopting American ways and customs, another one like Chief Bowlesor Duwali, to use his Cherokee namewas just as strongly inclined to maintain Indian traditions.

 Then, to make things more complicated still, slavery got poured into the mix. Traditionalists like Chief Bowless people would capture black slaves, in the course of fighting with white settlers, and put them to work in captivity. But thereafter the old customs would prevail, just as they had for generations with captives from other Indian tribes. Within a few years, as a rule, a black slave had gained his or her freedom. Almost certainly, their children would. Often enough, by being adopted into the clan or marrying a Cherokee, or both. Quite unlike the status that black slaves had on plantations run by mixed-bloods who considered themselves civilized and had adopted white customs wholesalewhich could be almost as bad as their status on white-owned plantations in Georgia or Alabama.

 Major Ridge was scowling. John Ross just gave The Bowl a glance that was half amused and half exasperated.

 Then he turned to Sam. Brace yourself. Its going to be a long afternoon.





 Indeed, it was. Sam didnt dare take another drink, as much as he desperately wanted to.





 That night, Tiana threw a ball. Shed started doing that eight months earlier, after one of the English ladies whod emigrated to Arkansas for reasons that defied comprehension had offered to teach everyone the latest dances. The affairs had become very popular with New Antrims black populationat least that part of it that might be considered upper crust.

 But Sam knew that wasnt the reason shed done it on this occasion. Like her husband, if in a more subtle manner, Tiana was also making a point.

 Looking out over the crowd packed into the hotels huge dining room, which doubled as a dance hall, Sam also realized that the point was only somewhat more subtle.

 First, there were only five white people in the crowd.

 Second, all five of them were wearing the uniforms of the Arkansas Chiefdoms army. Two officers and three enlisted men.

 That hardly made them stand out, however, becausethirdat least half of the men in the crowd were wearing uniforms.

 Out of Ireland, by way of Sparta, Sam grumbled.

  Fraid I dont catch that, Mr. Sam, said Chester.

 Never mind. Get me a whiskey. No, two. Please.

 After Chester left for the packed bar over to the side, Sam spotted John Ross and Chief Bowles and went over to them.

 John Ross understood it just as well, of course. The man was as smart as any on the continent.

 Fortunately, he was also even tempered. When Sam came up he just smiled. Patrick does love to rub salt into wounds, doesnt he?

 Theres no give in the man, thats for sure. Wheres the Ridge?

 Ross shrugged. He knew what this was about, too. And he thinks dancings silly. White mens dancing, anyway. So hes getting some sleep in his room.

 It is silly, chimed in The Bowl.

 The worst of it was that they were all friends. Close ones, by now. Patrick also.

 Eventually, John said: And what can I say or do? Major Ridge is quietly furious, but he knows it just as well as I do. Arkansas is our shield.

 Thats why you agreed to set it up, Sam pointed out.

 Yes, I know. The most obvious secret plan in the history of the world, probably. And like many such, its backfiring on us.

 The Bowl uttered a Cherokee curse word. Several, actually.

 Its your own fault. All you rich Cherokees, insisting on keeping your slaves. Set them free, why dont you? Thatll solve the problem right then and there.

 There was no answer to that, of course. Other than the most obvious one of all: because theyre what make us rich to begin with. The same reason Thomas Jefferson had beaten his breast over slaveryand never freed his slaves.

 Itll wreck you, The Bowl predicted.

 Finally, John Rosss mild temper frayed a little.  Us, dont you mean?

 The Bowl shook his head. No, John. I mean you. 

 And so another little mystery was solved. Sam had wondered why The Bowl had come all the way to New Antrim.

 Now he knew, and, knowing, he silently cursed Patrick Driscol again. The mans unyielding determination to fight it all out was driving everything forward. Sensible or notbut there was a terrible logic to it. Hed splinter his allies and his enemies both, the way a rock on a beach divides the waves. Forcing everyone to meet him on his own field because he would not move at all.

 His eyes met The Bowls. The Cherokee chief nodded. Way it is, Sam. No offense, but Im not relying on any more white men. He tipped his head toward the dancers. If theres a war, Im with them. So are a lot of the other traditionalist chiefs. John here and the Ridge and all those other fancy folk can do whatever they want.

 Chester returned, carrying two glasses. Sam took one of them and drained it immediately.

 Who do you want me to give the other glass to, Mr. Sam?

 Dont give me any sass. Youre a slave, remember?

 Almost grinning, Chester handed over the second glass. Best not to beat me, though, Massa. Here in Arkansas, I can always run away.

 Out of the corner of his eye, as he started on the second glass of whiskey, Sam could see John Rosss jaws tighten a little. But, for the first time in hours, Sam found himself amused.

 You! Up there in the Ouachitas!

 It aint likely, Chester agreed. I gotten soft, these years with you. Used to the finer things in life.

 So, Sam was able to end the evening relaxed as well as amused. There was always that, after all. Everything weaving in and out and around, like a ball of string too tangled to unravel any longer. Black menIndians, toolearning how to fight and maneuver skillfully against white men, sure enough. But they couldnt do it without coming to resemble their foes. Even The Bowl and his people knew it, attached as they were to the traditional ways of the Cherokee.

 It was a cheery thought. Sam didnt have any use for simplicity. The most treacherous ground in Creation, that was. Simple meant smooth, and smooth meant slick, and slick meant many a fall.

 He even danced himself, at the end.

 Not well, no, even though he was a very good dancer. Not after that much whiskey. But he didnt fall down, either.





 The next morning, over breakfast, Patrick finally asked Sam the question.

 So. How was the general?

 Carefully, Sam laid down his spoon. Not because the spoon was fragile, or even expensive, but simply because he was doing everything rather carefully this morning. His head hurt.

 Gracious. Very gracious.

 No rancor there?

 Sam managed a careful smile. No, not any at all. That I could detect, anyway. There is that one advantage to Andysah, what to call it? Vigorous way of looking at things, maybe.

 Meaning Andy Jackson is more self-righteous than an eagle, said Tiana. If women didnt exist, youd have to invent us. Just to keep you from needing to invent a new language every ten years, the way you maim and mutilate the ones you got.

 Well. Yeah. The point being that if he wanted to get really mad at me for messing up his presidential prospects, hed have to admit that speech he gave after Algiers was a bad mistake. Which hes no more likely to admitnot to himself, not to anybodythan the sun is to start rising in the west.

 But? asked Patrick. Theres a but somewhere in there, Sam. I can smell it.

 Sam nodded. Carefully. But, the last dayfriendly-like, but also stiff and properhe said that he felt that vow hed made to me after the Horseshoe had been kept. So that shield is gone, Patrick.

 Tiana took a deep breath. Patrick just shrugged. It lasted ten years. That was enough. And hes right, anyway. He did keep it, as long as you could ask any honorable man to keep so vague and open-ended a promise.

 Sam studied him for a moment. Then, a bit exasperated: Patrick, if he ever comes at you, hell crush you.

 Andy Jackson might be more self-righteous than an eagle, but Patrick Driscol made any mule look wishy-washy. So Sam was expecting a stubborn denial. The answer he got surprised him.

 Oh, yes, I imagine so, Patrick said evenly. But he wont.

 The exasperation swelled. Marie Laveaus been giving you lessons in fortune-telling, then? Patrick, you have no idea what Andy Jackson will do, if he takes a mind to it! Hes just as riled over the runaway slave question as any slave-owner in the United States. And hes one of the biggest. Just had another one run away from the Hermitage a month before I arrived. Reported to have been heading here, naturally.

 No, I cant predict what he will do. But I can predict how he would do it.

 Sam cocked his head, skeptically, then immediately regretted it. All the pain seemed to pour over to somewhere around his left ear, like water pouring off a ships deck in a storm.

 Andthatmeans? he said, through gritted teeth.

 It means hes very smart, Sam. He was a smart general, and hes a smart politician. Ive done everything I could to make it plain as day to Andy Jackson that if he leads an army here, Ill bleed it and gut it. Half gut it, anyway. Yes, hed probably win. But is it worth the cost? To his reputation, if nothing else?

 For the first time that morning, Patrick smiled. He wants to be the next president of the United States, Sam. Failing that, the next. And he doesnt want the office simply out of ambition, the way Clay does, either. He wants it because there are things Andy Jackson believes in with a passion. You follow me so far?

 An idiot can follow you so far. That came out more testily than it should have, being just the pain talking. Sam was actually getting intrigued. Hed half forgotten how shrewd a sergeant Driscol had been. Winfield Scott had once told him that Driscol was the best noncommissioned officer hed ever met in his lifeand when Sam passed the remark over to Robert Ross, the British major general had agreed.

 They were much alike, in so many ways, Patrick Driscol and Andy Jackson. Scots-Irish to the core. Both crude and rough on the outside, and neither with much in the way of a formal education. And both with such sharp and pronounced personal characteristics that an unobservant man could easily miss the keen brains that lay beneath those thick skulls.

 Keep going, he said.

 Think it through, Sam. Yes, I know the generals furious about the runaway slaves. But was it runaway slaves who stripped thousands of poor white men of their belongings, after the Panic? Or was it the Bank of the United States, and their favored lawyer at the time, Henry Clay? Is it runaway slaves, on their way to Arkansas, who demand the retention of debt imprisonment? Or is it the men who are backing Clay and Crawford? Did any runaway slave ever accuse the general and Mrs. Jackson of being adulterers and bigamists? Or was that Henry Clays creatures?

 Sam grimaced. Even Jacksons friends would admitif not to his facethat there was indeed some murkiness surrounding his marriage. But who could possibly care? Rachel Jacksons first husband, Lewis Robards, had been a notorious brute and a man who copulated openly with his slave women. No one, not even Jacksons enemies, blamed Rachel for abandoning him. She and Jackson hadnt married until theyd received word from Virginia that Robards had divorced her. The fact that the divorce hadnt been finalized didnt reach them until later. For any honest man with no ax to grind, the whole issue was a legal technicality, and terms like adultery and bigamy were preposterous.

 No one had ever been able to prove that Clay was behind those never-ending accusations and insinuations that kept surfacing in the press. But no one much doubted it, eitherand Jackson didnt doubt it at all. It was that, more than anything, that gave Jacksons hatred of Clay such a sharp and unyielding edge.

 And it was so typical of Clay. The Speaker of the House was almost the polar opposite of men like Jackson and Driscol. On the surface, as slick and smoothand smart, no doubt about itas any man in America. But underneath, a man whose brains were constantly corroded by naked ambition. Naked, because unlike Jacksons ambitionswhich were every bit as greatthere were few principles to serve ambition as a guide. So, the man couldnt distinguish clearly between small victories and big onesand would, quite often, lose the latter because he could not resist the former.

 Which, now that Sam thought about it, was also the opposite of Jackson. Even as pugnacious as he was, Andy wouldSam had seen him do it, time after timeforgo the pleasure of winning a small fight in order to win a bigger one.

 Ah, he said, finally understanding. Butthats a Sam Hill gamble, Patrick.

 Driscol had finished his own porridge and pushed it aside. Then, splayed out his square hand on the table. The movements werent awkward at all, but they were just that little bit complicated. For the first time since hed arrived in New Antrim, Sam was reminded that Patrick had lost his left arm at the Chippewa. One tended to forget, around such a man.

 Possibly. But I dont think Sam Hill would take it. Because hed figure Id likely win. The thing is, Sam, Im betting that Andy Jackson is smart enough to know that when the time comes, he can negotiate a settlement with me. Not one hed be very happy with, no, but one he could live with.

 Could he?

 Patrick shrugged. Oh, yes. Im not stupid. Sheltering runaways and maroons isnt any more critical to me than catching them is to Jackson. Its a dispute, thats all. A sharp one, granted. But we could work out a settlement. He smiled, the way a troll might. Not that either one of us would call it a great compromise. 

 Sam chuckled. But what if Clay wins the election? I have to tell you that hes most likely going to, Patrick. Even Andy will admit that nowadays, at least in private to his friends.

 All the better, so far as Im concerned. Jackson would then be able to let someone else play the general, and fumble itand then he can ride in and save the day. Four years later. Whats four years, Sam? In the great scheme of things.

 The boys came charging into the dining room. They got right to the verbs, as six-year-olds will. The nouns being self-evident to the world, since they were self-evident to them.

 You promised, Pa! You promised!

 Driscol pushed away from the table and rose. So I did.

 Promised what? Sam asked.

 That hed take them up to the new fort today, Tiana answered. They love forts. Do you know any little boys who dont?

 Sam was tempted to answer: Dont know too many full-grown men who dont love em either. Especially if theyre Scots-Irish.

 But he didnt, because as soon as the quip came to his mind he realized that Andy Jackson was one of them. The general built forts the way boys built tree housesand, now that Sam thought about it, he realized that Andy always did prefer to fight on the defensive whenever he could.

 Ill be damned, he said.

 He normally avoided blasphemy, just for the sake of appearances if nothing else. But Patrick was a freethinker, and the Lord Himself only knew what Tiana thought about such matters.

 So he did it again. I will be damned.

 Patricks rejoinder was inevitable, of course. Most likely. But Sam paid that little attention. His headache was coming back with a vengeance.

 I need a drink, he announced.

 Tiana didnt argue the point, since she never did. She just rose and went over to the cabinet.

 Hair of the dog, is it? Patrick said. Someday that dogll swallow you whole, Sam.

 But that was an old refrain, too, so Sam ignored it. The whiskey bottle was coming to the table, and he needed to think. Whiskey helped him think when he had a headache as bad as this one.

 There might be an angle hereAs reluctant as he was to use it, Sams father-in-law had his own connections to the press. Very good ones, as youd expect. Perhaps more importantly, so did John Quincy Adams. Who also hated Clay, because Clays creatures had slandered him over the Treaty of Ghent. And though the issue was not as personal as the issue over which Clay and his people hounded Jackson, Adams took his reputation as a diplomat seriously.

 For reasons he could never quite fathom, Sam was quite fond of Adams, and the two of them got along well. He hadnt seen him now intwo years? Time for a visit, perhaps.

 The first slug of whiskey cleared his brain marvelously. And the sight of Patrick and Tiana embracing before he departed with his children reminded Sam that he hadnt seen Maria Hester and his son in months, either.

 Ill be going soon, he announced as Patrick headed for the door.

 Figured you would. Dont forget to toss a few bones to John Ross and Ridge before you leave.

 The second slug was on its way down, now. Half of it, at least. Sam felt splendid. You didnt leave any, he grumbled.

 Sure I did. Theyre just hidden. Dont ask me where, because I have no idea. But youll find them.





 And he did, before he left three days later. Little bones, and not many of them. But enough to mollify the Indian leaders for the time being, especially when they had their own problems.

 Chief Bowles wasnt there for any of the discussions. He was spending all his time with Patrick and General Charles Ball and the colonels of the three regimentsand the boys, of courseinspecting the lines and discussing how The Bowls Cherokee irregulars could best be used in the coming war.

 None of them seemed to have any doubt at all that there would be a war. Especially The Bowl, who shared Patricks opinion on the subject of Sassenach and the inevitability of their coming.






 CHAPTER 10



 Lexington, Kentucky

 AUGUST 24, 1824

 

I think youve got the finest racehorses in the state, Henry, said Peter Porter. And probably the best racetrack. Leaning on the rail fence, the former New York congressman took a few moments longer to admire the sight. It was a sunny afternoon. A bit too hot for comfort, but not intolerably so.

 Henry Clay laughed. It may not be the best, but I can assure you its the most profitable. For me, at any rate. A bit smugly: Indeed, my horses are superior. They earn me quite the tidy sum in prize money. But come: Crittendens people should be arriving shortly. In fact, they may already be here by now.

 Porter was hard-of-hearing, so Clay spoke more loudly than he normally would. That was one of the many gracious courtesies the Speaker of the House practiced routinely with his friends and associates, and one that was much appreciated.

 The two men turned back toward the main house at Ashland. Clay had named his estate just south of Lexington for the ash trees that were native to the region. That seemed a bit odd to Porter, given that Clay was actually partial to spruces. Hed been replacing the ash trees with spruces since the day he bought the estate seventeen years earlier. Just one of the mans many personal quirks. Clay spilled over with them, but since he usually turned them to advantage or amusement, none of his friends minded.

 The walk back was leisurely, taken in a companionable silence, as they followed the winding carriageway that led to the house through a grove of cypress, locust, and cedar trees. The distance to be traveled was over two hundred yards, so it took a bit of time.

 There was a short interruption once they reached the path that led to a cluster of buildings not far from the house itself. That consisted of a smokehouse, a dairy, a carriage house, and the slave quarters.

 A moment, please, Clay said. Something I must attend to. He strode down the path toward the smokehouse, leaving Porter behind.

 Porter used the quarter-of-an-hour wait to admire Clays country home, which he could see quite well from where he stood. Brick, very well builtand very large. Two and a half stories in the center, with one-story wings to either side. Clay had told him the overall dimensions were one hundred and twenty six feet by fifty-seven. One of the grandest homes in the area, it was.

 When Clay returned, Porter cocked an inquiring eyebrow. A polite gesture, nothing intrusive.

 A minor matter, Clay explained, taking his friend by the elbow and leading him toward the house. Lucretia told me that she had suspicions concerning one of the overseers, from something she overheard one of the house girls saying to another. So I just had words with the man. If I discover hes taking advantage of the slaves, I shall discharge him immediately, and I told him so.

 Porter pursed his lips but said nothing. As a New Yorker born and raised in New England, the institution of slavery seemed peculiar to him. Exotic, really, more like something youd expect to find in Araby than America. With the same aura of sexual excess, to boot. That slave-owners and their overseers had what amounted to their own harems, if they chose to exercise their power, was something understood by practically everyone, North as well as South. Though few people beyond irresponsible abolitionists chose to speak of it publicly.

 Even this little incident reeked, if you insisted on sniffing at it for too long. Discharge a manas a penalty for an act which, if carried out against a white woman, would result in a prison sentence. Possibly even a hanging, depending on the circumstances.

 Still, it was none of Porters business, so he said nothing. Whenever the Speaker of the House was in Washington, since his wife rarely accompanied him to the capital, Clay was an insatiable womanizer. The same, when he went on one of his many political tours. That was always a potential political liability, of course, and one that Clays friends and associates had tried to caution him aboutto little avail, unfortunately. But at least it seemed he kept his sexual exploits under control on his own estate.

 The one thing they did not need would be for rumors of black bastards to join the other innuendos concerning Clays personal character. Jackson might or might not get involved in thatalways hard to know, with that manbut Crawford certainly would. Henry Clay had been using bare-knuckle tactics in his campaign for the presidency, just as he had in all his previous campaigns, and at least some of his opponents would gladly respond in kind.

 Well, not bare-knuckle. Never that. Clays fists were always gloved, and in very fine gloves at that. But he never hesitated to use them, either.

 As for the larger issue, slavery was simply a given. Half the nation depended on the institution economically. So there was no possibility of uprooting it now, whether or not it should ever have been created in the first place. Both Clay and Thomas Jefferson would state, quite bluntly, that if they could roll back time, theyd prefer it if slavery had never come into existence. But since they werent the Almighty, they couldntand their own livelihoods depended on the institution.

 There it sat, thus, and would continue to sit. For a practical politician and businessman like Porter, simply another factor to be considered in the ongoing political struggles in the Republic. An immovable one, however, like the seasons. Why waste time over it when nothing could be done anywayand there were so many other more pressing issues that could be settled? One might as well demand legislation abolishing winter.

 Any further news on the killing? he asked.

 Clay smiled. Indeed there is. The culprit has been identified, almost for sure. A certain tanner named John Brown, it seems, and several of his brothers.

 An Ohioan?

 Yes. Was, rather. Apparently he belongs to an extensive family of radical malcontents. A veritable tribe of abolitionists, descended from New England Puritan stock.

 Porter made a face. Yes, I know the type. Better than I wished I did, since we have our share in New York. But, you say, he was from Ohio?

 A town called Hudson. His fathers still there, according to the reports Ive received. But John Brown himself, along with his wife and children and brothers, have recently moved to

 The smile expanded, and became a grin. Since Henry Clay had a very wide mouth to begin with, the expression looked quite shark-like. To Arkansas, weve learned. Hes setting up a new tannery right along on the Mississippi, just north of the confluence with the Arkansas. A stretch of land, you may recallgood bottomland, quite well suited for cottonthat I argued at the time should not be included in the land ceded to the Cherokees in the Treaty of Oothcaloga.

 Yes, I remember. But Houston carried that, as well.

 They were almost to the house. Porter stopped and placed a restraining hand on Clays elbow.

 Henry, please be careful here. Dont forget that I was at the Chippewa, in command of the Third Brigade. Driscol was a sergeant then, in the Twenty-Second Regiment. One of the units that Scott sent directly up against the redcoats.

 Yes, yes, Clay said impatiently. I recall the accounts of his exploits, after the Capitol affair. Lost an arm for the nation, yack yack, immediately raced to the capital upon hearing news of the invasion, despite his grave injury, yack yack; the newspapers were full of it.

 I saw it unfold, Henry. With my own eyes. They never so much as flinched. Not even in the face of volleys from British regulars, on an open battlefield. Whereas Honesty was needed here. I couldnt keep my own men from panicking, even with woods for a cover.

 Those were white soldiers.

 They werent white at the Mississippi, Porter replied forcibly. Black as night, all of themexcept Driscol himself. And they did the same again. Henry, you must take this man seriously. He waved a hand at the house. No pack of border adventurers is going to succeed, where professional soldiers like Riall and Pakenham failed.

 Clay had been frowning, as he usually did when someone raised objections to his plans. But when he heard the last, the frown vanished. In fact, he laughed aloud.

 Oh, for the love of

 He shook his head. This is a misunderstanding between us. Did you think I believe Crittendens expedition would succeed? 

 Clay glanced at the house. Gauging the distance, Porter thought, to make sure that he wouldnt be heard by anyone there. Speaking of whom, they may have arrived already. Let me do all the talking. But, quickly: I have no intentionnever didof being attached to this except from a distance. Nor do I expectnever didthat Crittenden would win his prize. If he does, splendid. As one of the quiet backers, I shall get credit for it soon enough. Once a feat like that is accomplished, as you well know, all secrets get tossed to the wind.

 Porter stared at him. And if he fails? Which he almost certainly will.

 Clay shrugged, in that incredibly graceful way he did all gestures. Even better. Dont you see? Itll be a cause, Peter. Vengeance forwhatever the name of whatever wretched little town or bayou Crittenden gets hammered at. A drumbeat in the newspapers, which will provide a rhythm for my march into the presidents house.

 Porter took a long, slow, deep breath. Youre gambling again, Henry. Cant you ever just take straight odds?

 It was the wrong thing to say, and Porter knew it immediately. Clay prided himself on his skill at cards. As well he might, true enoughbut he kept thinking politics was a card game. And he could be more reckless in politics than he was at cards, because the odds were harder to gauge.

 Clay grew a little stiff. Ill want you to continue your efforts in New York, be assured. If you can make an arrangement with Van Buren, that would be splendid. Ill need either New York or Pennsylvania, and preferably both. But please do not presume to instruct me on how to win over the West. I know these people, Peter. Ive lived here all my life. Theyre besotted with martial heroics. How else to explain Jacksons popularity when the man has no conceivable qualifications for high office beyond those of a military chieftain?

 The door opened, and Lucretia Clay emerged. Your visitors are here, Henry. Been waiting for most of an hour.

 Yes, darling. Well be right there. Clay took Porter by the arm this time. Come, Peter. Just let me handle it.

 

SEPTEMBER 3, 1824

 

It failed only this, John Quincy Adams said softly, staring out the window of his office in the State Department. He was talking to himself, since his aide had left the room as soon as he delivered the latest report from England.

 Too quickly, as it turned out, although the man was simply being courteous. Adams turned from the window and went to the door. Opening it and leaning out, he called for the same aide.

 Yes, Mr. Secretary?

 I need to see the president. See to making an appointment, if you would.

 The man was back within ten minutes. He says he can see you now, sir. Since its that pressing.

 Adams started to snap a response to the effect that hed never said anything to the aide about the matter being pressing. In fact, it wasnt, precisely.

 But he held the reproof in check. Simply the fact that hed felt something was important enough to ask for a special meeting with the chief executive, he realized, was enough for Monroe to label it as urgent. There was something of a compliment there, actually.





 James Monroe was an imperturbable man, as a rule, so there was no expression on his face when he finished reading the relevant portion of the ambassadors report. That didnt take long, since Ambassador Rushs prose tended to run to the terse side.

 The president laid the report on his desk. I think we should ask Winfield to join us, if you dont mind.

 Of course, Mr. President. Adams rose from his chair. Ill summon a messenger.

 Since the War Department was no farther away than the State Department, General Scott arrived within ten minutes. It took him considerably less time than that to read the report.

 Having done so, he sighed. Ross, no less. And if Rushs report is accurate, hes said to have packed his uniform in the trunk. He glanced back down at the report. His ship should be arriving in New Orleans within a fortnight. Not time enough for us to get anyone down there with a warning.

 A warning of what, Winfield? demanded Adams. That a private citizen of Great Britaina nation with whom we are no longer at war, I remind you; indeed, are enjoying relatively good terms with these dayshas decided to pay a personal visit to our shores. Even if we could get a warning down there in time, what good would it do? We could hardly have the man arrested, after all.

 The generals lips quirked as he glanced around the presidents office. We are talking about the same private citizen whose troops once burned this very residence, as I recall.

 Monroes smile was broader but just as crooked. Indeed. But that was thenancient history, almostand this is now. The real question is

 Scott nodded. Yes, Mr. President, I understand. The real question is whether Robert Ross is in fact simply a private citizen, or whether hes acting on behalf of the British government. Informally, if not formally.

 We have been expecting such a move on their part, Monroe pointed out. Actually, Im surprised they havent done it sooner. Its perfectly logical for Britain to consider an alliance with the Confederacy.

 They probably would have, Adams said, except Canning is waiting to see what our response will be to his proposal to form a common bloc against the continental powers over the issues in South America. Keeping France from getting a toehold in the New World again is far more important to Britain than whatever gains they could make against us by forming an alliance with the Arkansas Confederacy. Besides

 He pondered for a moment while the president and the general waited patiently. Like most educated men in America, they considered John Quincy Adams the nations foremost analyst of international affairs.

 Heres what I think, Mr. President, he said at length. Nothing I havent told you before, of course. I believe the long era of sharp antagonism between the United States and Great Britain has come to an end. Henceforthoh, yes, therell be squabbles here and thereI dont foresee any major tensions. In fact, I expect well see the emergence of what amounts to a tacit alliance with Britain.

 Monroe glanced at Scott. Technically, the general had no business sitting in on a discussion of the nations foreign affairs. But, under the circumstances, Monroe apparently felt the same as Adams. Why not? Scott was astute himself, and he could be trusted to keep his mouth shut.

 Continue, John. Though I cant resist the temptation here to point out that your analysis seems a bit odd, given that youve been the member of the Cabinet whos argued most vehemently against accepting Britains latest proposal.

 Thats matching teapots against camels, Mr. President. My objection isnt to the substance of Cannings proposal; its simply to its form. The foreign secretary wants Britain and the United States to issue a joint statement, and I dont. Id far ratheras you knowsee us take an independent stance against continental ambitions in Latin America than come in as

  A cockboat in the wake of the British man-of-war,  the president concluded for him. Yes, I know, John. And Ill agree its a very nice turn of phrase. But, as I said, please continue.

 Adams shrugged. If Im rightand I amthen I think the conclusion follows directly, with regard to the matter at hand. Whatever purpose Robert Ross has in coming to America, he is not actingnot in any wayon behalf of the British government.

 Monroe gazed at him levelly. Would you be willing to state as much in a private letter to Senator Jackson? Id just as soon avoid an explosion there. Given his attitudes toward Britainadded to the tensions that already exist with Arkansasany hint that a British officer is meddling in American affairs will be like waving a red flag in front of a bull. But hes likely to listen to you, John.

 Adams caught the grimace that came briefly to Scotts face. The general, quite obviously, felt that catering to Jackson was questionable, given that the man had no real business being involved in the first place. He was a senator, now, no longer active in the military and not a part of the administration.

 But however good a general he might be, Scotts grasp of politics left much to be desired. As witness the very public brawl hed gotten into with Jackson himself, a few years back, that could have easily been avoided just by the use of some reasonable amount of tact. So Adams ignored the expression.

 Yes, certainly. He smiled crookedly himself. Mind, itll be a bit difficult to phrase it properly. A good part of the reason Im certain Ross isnt acting for Canning is because hes been so closely tied to the British antislavery movement these past years. Hardly the man a Tory government would choose as a go-betweenand hardly something I want to dwell on in a letter to one of Tennessees major slave-owners.

 Monroe actually laughed. Yes, Id say! One of Britains most notorious abolitionists come to pay a visit to the man who is quite possibly the most notorious abolitionist in the whole world. Certainly in North America. Theres as much in that to infuriate Old Hickory as in the thought of an actual British agent.

 To Adamss surprise, Scott shook his head. I wouldnt be so sure, Mr. President. Theyre all soldiers, dont forget, and soldiers tend to treasure two things above all: gallantry, and their own reputations.

 Monroe cocked an eyebrow at him. The gallantry I understand. I was once a soldier myself. But Im not following you on the rest. The part about reputations, I mean.

 Have youeither one of youread Rosss account of the Gulf campaign?

 Monroe and Adams looked at each other. Then, simultaneously, shook their heads.

 Well, I haveand you can be sure and certain that Andrew Jackson has read it also. It was published quite extensively. Very popular in Britain at the timeand any number of copies were purchased here in America.

 Adams frowned. Im still not following you, Winfield. Ive never read the thing, but I understood it was a defense of Pakenhams conduct in theah. I see. Yes, of course.

 Monroe was frowning now, looking back and forth between the other two men in his office. Will someone please explainAh. Yes, of course. No way to defend Pakenham, is there, except to speak well of Jackson?

 Exceedingly well, Mr. President, Scott said. I wouldnt go so far as to state that Ross used a ladle to pour praise over Jackson. But he certainly used a very large spoon. Thats something Jackson will appreciate, just as he appreciates the martial accomplishments of Patrick Driscol. Meaning that you might have three men coming to a clash of arms, but all of them respecteven admireeach other. That makes quite a difference, for men who think like soldiers. Which they all do.

 Monroe sat up a little straighter in his chair. Well, thats something of a relief. The last thing we need is another eruption from Andy Jackson. So lets get down to it then. Why is Robert Ross coming to America? He glanced down at the ambassadors report. Quite clearly, in response to an invitation from Driscol.

 By now, Adams thought he saw it clear. The simplest of all reasons. Driscol expects a warhalf expects it, at leastand he wants expert military counsel. More counsel, I should say. Im remembering now that Winfield suggested in this very room, just months ago, that the fortifications in Arkansas were too sophisticated for Driscol to have developed all on his own.

 Monroe looked at Scott. The general nodded. Id have to agree, Mr. President.

 The president was now completely erect in his chair, his fingers laced together in front of him on the desk. Very well, then. What does either of you suggest we might do?

 Nothing, Mr. President, came Adamss immediate response. Other than the letter Ill write Jackson, I propose we do nothing at all, since I cant see anything we could do that wouldnt make everything worse. Weve alreadyseveral years agoput a stop to any government funding for those adventurers in Louisiana. So we have no financial leverage to bring to bear. Whats left is direct military action. But against who? We have no legitimate quarrel with the Confederacy. Not one, at any rate, that would be accepted by any other nation as a casus belli. That means all we could do would be to use troops or the threat of troops in Louisiana, to prevent a freebooting expedition by the likes of Crittenden. Which would stir up a hornets nest. Besides, you cant stop such expeditions, anyway, if they have any serious local backing. Weve never been able to in the past; why should we succeed now?

 Scott hesitated for a few seconds. Id have to agree, Mr. President, although I feel the need to point out that if an attempt is made against Arkansas by private adventurers, its likely to result in a catastrophe for them.

 They wouldnt be entering the fortified mountainous areas, the president pointed out. What theyd want is simply the river plain and its broad bottomlands.

 The general spread his hands. Yes, sir, I know. But if they think Driscol wont come down to get them, theyd be badly mistaken. He willand hell smash them.

 Youre sure of that?

 Oh, yes. Both of the first, and of the last. And Driscol wont do it piecemeal, the way Perez drove Longs expedition out of Texas. Hell maneuver them into a battle and hammer them flat.

 Monroe nodded and looked at the window. Which political elements here would use for a rallying cry.

 Clay, to give them a name, stated Adams.

 Yes, most likely. After a moment, Monroe said: General, if youd be so

 Of course, sir, said Scott, rising from his chair and heading for the door. If you need me any further, Ill be in the War Department.

 After he was gone, Monroes eyes came away from the window and looked at Adams. Ill leave the decision to you, John. Ive not more than a few months left in office. Whatever does or doesnt happen in Arkansas between now and then wont be something whose consequences Ill have to deal with. You, on the other hand, might. Are you so sure of this?

 Yes, Mr. President, Im quite sure. It was Adamss turn to hesitate. Should it come to pass that the Republic calls on my servicesIve had to consider that possibility, of latethen its necessary for me to think in the long run. The situation with Arkansas will continue to fester, no matter what. Sooner or later, that boil will have to be lancedbut its a mistake to lance a boil too soon, or it simply returns.

 Clay wont lance it if hes elected president, Monroe said bluntly. Hell scrape it.

 Well. Hell try. But I am not Henry Clay. Stiffly: I refuse to adopt another mans methodsmethods I consider base, sir, to speak bluntlysimply in order to put myself in his place. Wheres any purpose in that?

 Monroe unlaced his hands and leaned back in the chair. I understand. Nothing it is, then. Well just let it keep unfolding.






 CHAPTER 11



 Alexandria, Louisiana

 SEPTEMBER 13, 1824

 

Robbed, I say again!Robert Crittendens voice filled the tavern, even managing to ride over the hubbub of far too many men packed into far too small a spaceand with far too much whiskey packed inside them, to boot.

 Robbed, I say again!

 Raymond Thompson looked at his companion across the small table in a corner of the tavern and rolled his eyes. How many times do you think hell say it again?

 Scott Powers swirled the whiskey in his glass. Ten, at least. Then, shrugging: Better him than you or me, Ray. Somebodys got to keep the boys stirred up.

 Cheated of our rightful new state by the scoundrel Adamsthat bastard Monroe, too!and their tools in Congress! Has ever mankind seen a more infamous act of treachery than the selling of Texas and Arkansasand for the sake of nothing more sublime than appeasing the corrupt Dons and their

 Powers chuckled. Sore, isnt he? Mostly hes just riled because he was sure hed be appointed the governor of Arkansas. If the state had ever come into existence.

 Thompson didnt reply. The statement was true enough, of course, but he didnt share Powerss cynical equanimity on the subject. For Powers, any expedition to seize Arkansas was just a stepping-stone to Texas. But Thompson had been counting on getting some of that fine bottomland in the Arkansas portion of the Delta. He could have sold it to speculators within a year and turned a profit on the deal. Instead, he was holed up in Alexandria, trying to evade his creditors.

 Cherokee savages and the Quapaws, more savage still

 But there was no point in dwelling on past misfortunes. If all went well, before long hed be rich enough to thumb his nose at any creditors. Any word from the Lallemand brothers? he asked.

 Not lately. Far as I know, they should still be arriving any day.

 Thompson frowned into his whiskey glass. I still dont like the idea. You know as well as I do that theyre just looking for an angle to set up French rule in Texas.

 So what? Powers drained his own glass. Let em dream. Napoleon died two years ago. Without him as the anchoreven assuming they could have freed him from St. Helenathey dont stand a chance. And in the meantime, theyre willing to put two hundred and fifty trained soldiers in the fieldand Charles Lallemand is a genuine general. Fought at Waterloo, even.

 niggers for the taking, too! Like catching fish in a pond! What say you, boys?

 Thompson and Powers both winced. An instant later, the roar of the crowd hammered their ears.

 When the noise ebbed enough to allow conversation again, Thompson returned stubbornly to the subject. French soldiers, Scott. Whos to say

 Not more than a third, any longer, after that comedy of errors they called Champ dAsile. Not even Longs people scrambled out of Texas faster. Powers looked away for a moment, a considering expression on his face. Most of the men around the Lallemands, since they settled in Alabama, are local boys. Theyll listen to Charles on the field, but thats it.

 He stood up, holding his empty glass. Another?

 Thompson shook his head. No, Ive got to be able to see straight tomorrow morning. At least

 problem will be catching those niggers, the way theyll run after a stout volley and the sight of level bayonets! Im telling you, boys

 God, Im sick of that mans voice, Thompson grumbled. But, as I was saying, at least he came up with the muskets he said he would. Two thousand stand.

 Powerss eyes widened. Where did

 Dont ask, Scott. But you can probably figure it out.

 After a moment, Powers smiled. Benefactors in high places, indeed. But I shall be the very model of discretion.

 After he left, Thompson drained his own glass.

 envy of every Georgian and Virginian! And then! On to Texas!

 Another roar from the crowd caused Thompson to hunch his shoulders. Enough, already, he muttered to himself.

 He eyed the far-distant door, gloomily certain it would take him five minutes to work his way through the mob. More like ten, if he wanted to avoid a duel. Half the men in the tavern would fight over any offense, and they could find an offense most anywhere.

 Blue Spring Farm, Kentucky

 SEPTEMBER 15, 1824

 

Id really feel a lot better about this if I were going along, Julia, said Richard Johnson. The Kentucky senators face looked more homely than ever. Downright woebegone, in fact.

 Oh, stop frettin, dear. You cant possibly leave now, with the political situation the way it is. Julia Chinn nodded toward the small cavalry escort waiting patiently near the wagon. Theyll handle any little problem that might come up.

 Johnson looked at the cavalrymen, trying to find some comfort in the sight.

 Tryingand even succeeding to a considerable degree. Not so much from the sight of a dozen cavalrymen as from their commanding officer. Houston had promised a real military escort if Julia decided to take the girls to Arkansas for their schooling, and he hadnt failed on that promise.

 Recognizing inevitabilityJulia had remained adamant on the subject for months, never budging at allJohnson stepped over to the side of the officers horse and looked up at it.

 Got to say Im downright astonished to see you here, Zack. Dont usually see a lieutenant colonel in charge of something like this.

 Zachary Taylor looked down at him, smiling. A bit to Johnsons relief, the lieutenant colonels heavy, rough-featured face seemed quite good humored.

 Hell, Dick, why not? Sam asked me to find somebody reliable when I ran into him in Wheeling. I was on my way back to my post in Baton Rouge, in any event. I figured I was more reliable than anybody I could find on short notice, and it really isnt that far out of my way. Besides, I owe you a favor.

 In point of fact, coming through western Virginia and northern Kentucky to provide an escort for Julia and the children, instead of just taking a barge down the Ohio, had been considerably out of Taylors way. But the man was an experienced Indian fighter, so terrain was no great challenge for him.

 True, he did owe Johnson a favor, but it hadnt been much, really. Just the sort of minor intervention that a senator often made on behalf of a well-respected and capable military officer. And

 They liked each other. Taylor and Johnson had never been what you could call good friends, but that was probably just because theyd never been able to spend much time together. On those occasions when they had, theyd gotten along quite well.

 They had a lot in common. Both were veterans, even though Johnsons soldiering days were over, and both came from wealthy Kentucky familiesof Virginian origin, in Taylors case, now with large plantations over near Louisville. What was more important was that while they didnt see eye to eye on some political issues, Taylor seemed to share Johnsons attitudes on slavery. An economic necessity for the nation, to be sure, but nothing to brag about and much to cause uneasiness. Certainly nothing to proclaim, as Calhoun would, as a positive good.

 Taylor was one of the few members of the slave-owning gentry in Kentucky whod never seemed to care about Johnsons relationship to Julia. At least, the one time hed visited Blue Spring Farm, he hadnt blinked an eye at the sight of a black woman presiding over the dinner table. Indeed, hed been quite gracious to her and the children throughout the visit.

 Take good care of them, Zack, Johnson said quietly, in a half-pleading tone.

 Now, dont you worry yourself none, Dick. Ill see them all the way to the Confederacy myself. To Johnsons relief, Taylor voiced aloud the senators underlying concern. If youre worrying some slave-catchers might try to claim they was runaways, Ill set em straight right quick.

 For a moment, Taylors thick hand shifted to the sword at his belt. Right quick, he repeated, almost growling the words. And God damn John Calhoun, anyway.

 There was that, too. Richard Johnson was also famous as the senator whod fightat the drop of a hatany attempt to foist anything that even vaguely resembled an established church on the great American republic. In his pantheon of political virtues, separation of church and state ranked right alongside states rights and putting an end to debt imprisonment.

 Public opinion and custom be damned. Richard Mentor Johnson trusted blasphemers a lot more than he did those pious folk who could always find an excuse in the Bible to do whatever they pleased.

 Thats fine, then, he said.

 Julias voice rose up from behind him. You settle down, Imogene! You too, Adaline! Or Ill smack you both! See if I dont!

 Taylor grinned. Besides, I wont have to worry none about keeping wayward girls in line. Way more fearsome foes than some sorry slave-catchers.

 New Orleans, Louisiana

 SEPTEMBER 22, 1824

 

Thats where the final battle was fought, Robert Ross told his wife and son, pointing off to the steamboats left. You can still see the remnants of the Iron Battalions fortifications. About all thats left, any longer, of what they called the Morgan Line at the time.

 David Ross gave his father an uncertain glance and said, It doesnt really look like much.

 Some of thats the climate, son. Between the heat and the rainsthe river floods, too, quite oftenno construction mostly made of dirt and logs is going to wear well. Even after less than a decades passage, much of it will be gone. And the citys poorer residents would have scavenged the iron used by the battalion to bolster the works, here and there.

 The retired British general studied the distant mound for a few seconds. But thats just part of it. Held by determined and valiant menwhich they most certainly wereeven a modest line of defenses can be incredibly difficult to surmount. The casualties were fearful on both sides.

 Is this where Thornton was killed?

 No. Ross pointed further upriver, in the direction of New Orleans. Rennie died here. Thornton fell some hundreds of yards to the west, in the first clash with Houstons forces. Right on that road you can see pieces of, here and there.

 There was silence for a time as the steamboat continued its steady progress up the immense river. David, who had been intrigued by the craft itself for most of the voyage upriver from Fort St. Philip, was now giving it no attention at all. His eyes were fixed on the terrain where, almost ten years earlier, a great contest of arms had been waged. As with most young men of his classcertainly one with his family historymartial affairs were of engrossing interest.

 He already knew the terrain well, too, at least in the abstract. Hed read his fathers account of the campaign as well as several other memoirs that had since been published in Britain.

 We should be approaching Chalmette field, he announced.

 Yes, Ross said, nodding. Well have to cross to the other side of the boat in order to see it.

 Shortly afterward, the boat was passing by the location where Pakenham and Jacksons armies had faced each otherbut never come to an actual battle.

 Field! David exclaimed, half disappointed and half amused.

 Ross shrugged. Its plantation area, David. You can hardly expect people to leave such a potentially profitable area unexploited, simply for the benefit of an occasional tourist. At the time, I can assure you, that expanse of lush crops was nothing but stubble. Jackson saw to that, to give his men a clear line of fire.

 David had no personal experience with battles, but as the son of a major general he had a good sense of some basic principles. He might have found it difficult to gauge the fortifications back on the Morgan Line. But, his eyes ranging back and forth across Chalmette field, he had no difficulty here.

 What a slaughter that would have been. Five hundred yards to cross.

 His father nodded. Five hundred yardsin the face of the worlds best artillery. Along with thousands of riflemen and musketeers protected by an excellent rampart. And with the attacking force having no cover and no possibility of threatening the enemys flanks. Jackson chose his position exceedingly well: his right wing anchored on the Mississippi, his left on the cypress swamps.

 Ross lifted his arm and pointed into the distance. You can see the start of the swamps quite easily. They continue on for miles. The Cherokees and Choctaws savaged our forces whenever we ventured into them.

 David shook his head. There was a subtle but great satisfaction in the gesture. His fathers analysis of the Gulf campaign might have been accepted by the British establishment, including its military, but there had been plenty of boys his own age whod shared the brash certainties of youth. One stout charge would have taken the day, I tell you! Hed now be able to return and sneer at them with the authority of someone whod seen the lay of the land himself.

 Ross was amused. He could remember those wonderful certainties himself from forty years ago.

 Eliza laid a hand on his arm where it rested on the boats railing. Wed best see to the packing. Well be arriving in the city soon.





 A small delegation at the foot of the ramp was waiting for them. Ross had thought Driscol would have made some arrangements, but he was surprised at the form it took.

 He hadnt expected Patrick himself to be there, of course, nor Tiana. But whatever hed expected, it certainly hadnt been four scruffy-looking men in civilian attire. Two young white menone of whom was younger than Davidand two black men. One of whom was also younger than David, and the other of whom

 I didnt expect the army of Arkansas to follow precisely the methods used by us British, he said to that black man, after debarking onto the pier. But I still think its absurd for the only general in your army to be serving as the leader of a small detachment of escorts.

 Charles Ball grinned at him. Leader? Nonsense, General Ross! He jerked his thumb at the older of the two white men standing next to him. Here be the esteemed leader of this expedition. Captain Anthony McParland. You might be able to remember him still, just a bit. He was Patricks lad in the war. Just a new sergeant, then, though.

 Ross studied McParland. Now that he looked at him more closely, he could recognize him. But

 He was impressed, actually. The young man standing before him, now in his midtwenties, seemed vastly more self-assured than the very young and uncertain sergeant he could remember from nine and a half years earlier. That spoke well of the Arkansas Army, if such a quick study could be trusted. Of all the military skills praised in the literature, the one Robert had always found to be the least mentioned and most underrated was the ability of a given army to instill self-confidence in its men, especially its junior officers.

 Balls grin grew wider still. I be the young massas slave. Sos Corporal Parker here. Sheffield Parker, that is. And hesthe thumb now indicated the younger of the two white menCorporal McParland. Callender, to distinguish him from his cousin, our august commander.

 Ross examined the two younger men. Boys, almost, since neither of them could be more than seventeen or eighteen years old. Callender McParland bore a definite resemblance to the captain. Average height, a bit on the slender side if quite wiry-looking, a blue-eyed open face under a thatch of sandy hair. The sort of lad one would barely notice in a crowd and never think twice about.

 The black corporal, Sheffield Parker, was about the same, allowing for the racial differences. Dark-skinned, even for a negro, with very dark eyes and rather broad features. Hed never be noticed at all, except possibly for an unusual breadth of shoulders in a man who was a bit on the short side.

 They both looked very fitalmost absurdly so, given their clothing. Which couldnt be depicted as rags, certainly, but could most charitably be called nondescript. Parker was even barefoot.

 Done with his quick examination, Ross cocked an eyebrow at Ball. I assume theres an explanation for this, other thanI hopethe fact that Patrick has adopted sans-culottes principles for a military table of organization.

 Don know what sangullot means, General, Ball replied cheerfully. But, yes, theres a reason for it. Im afraid a bit of trouble has developed lately. Theres a small army of frontier adventurers been gathering themselves at Alexandria these past months. Mostly the usual Texas freebooters, but they gotten sidetracked with taking back eastern Arkansas, on account of a fellow named Robert Crittenden. He was likely to have been appointed the governor of the new state of Arkansas, except

 That really was a murderous grin. Even this many years later, Robert could remember his impressions of Ball during the Gulf campaign. As a veteran U.S. Navy master gunner, hed been Driscols second in command of the Iron Battalion at New Orleansjust as hed been in command of Houston and Driscols artillery battery at the Capitol. The same artillery that had battered Roberts own forces when they tried to storm the seat of the U.S. government.

 Color be damned. Men like Ball had been the core of every great army in history, going back at least as far as the Romans.

 there aint no such thing as Arkansas, cept as the chiefdom of the Confederacy. Crittenden be righteous mad about itand hes got plenty of backing from disgruntled local planters and land speculators whod figured on making a killing.

 Disgruntled, no less. Balls education seemed to have expanded a great deal. His vocabulary, at least.

 We didnt expect any real trouble from them this soon, Ball continued, becausethis be normally the case with freebooting schemesthey didnt have much in the way of arms. But just recent and sudden-like they turned up with plenty of muskets. Even got four three-pounders and a six-pounder.

 Still grinning, Ball nodded toward the nearby square. Jackson Square, as it was now apparently called, not the Place dArmes that Ross remembered. The three-pounders lookin amazingly like the ones that used to be sittin right there, till most recently. Dont know where they got the six-pounder. New shiny-lookin gun, by all accounts.

 Ross wasnt surprised. Even in Britain and the continent, the confusing and turbulent southwestern frontier of the United States was notorious. Between the collapse of the Spanish Empire, the shaky state of the new nation of Mexico, and what seemed like a never-ending cornucopia of Napoleonic adventurersmost of all, the territorial ambitions of Americans, official and civilian alikeevery other month seemed to have a new expedition setting off to seize Texas. Sometimes for the United States, although that was usually disguised as a revolution to set up a new republic. Sometimes for one or another faction in Mexican politics. Sometimes as a result of Spains continuing involvement in the region. Sometimes, evenalthough this had thankfully started to fade since Napoleons death on St. Helena a couple of years earlieras a place to magically restore a Napoleonic empire.

 Often enough, any combination thereof.

 Most of the adventurers flibustiers,the French called them, after the old Dutch term vrijbuiter that had become the English freebooterwere poorly funded, not to mention of questionable competence. Some of them, of questionable sanity.

 But, now and then, a group formed with real leadership and serious financial backing. The last such had been Dr. James Longs ill-fated Texas expedition in the summer of 1819, which might well have succeeded in carving out a big chunk of Mexican territory for an independent American-based republic. But the U.S. government, which had often tacitly supported earlier such attempts, refused to support this one. The U.S. secretary of state had finally gotten all of Florida from Spain in the Adams-Onis Treaty signed in February of that year, and he was in no mood to have the settlement upended by yet another adventure in Texas. Monroe had agreed with him, and Longs little republic had collapsed within months. Long himself had been taken prisoner by the Mexicans and then accidentally shot by a Mexican soldier while a captive in Mexico City.

 The large and brawling community of southwestern adventurers and their backers had never forgiven Adams, of course. And now, it seemed, had found another source of support. Probably political as well as financial.

 Eliza had been getting steadily more concerned. Does this mean well have to suspend our journey to Arkansas? It sounds quite dangerous.

 Oh, its not really dangerous, Mrs. Ross, Ball said. Not for us. We should manage to pass through quite easily. But thats the reason for this odd getup we decided on.

 A little wave of his hand indicated his companions. Were just another party of Southerners, passing through the area. Nothing unusual. Got to be Southerners, seein as how we got slaves, just like proper Southern gentlemen do.

 The grin had vanished momentarily while the Arkansas general gave Rosss wife that assurance. Now it came back in full force. Anthony been studyin his letters right vigorously, these past years. Cant hardly believe it myself, the way he can talk now, when hes of a mind. Course, his accents still Northern, but that wont stand out. Plenty of young Northerners come down here to make their fortune.

 Having a much better sense of the social realities of the American South than his wife, Ross could immediately understand the logic of the scheme. Except

 How about our accent? he asked. It should be a bit difficult for us to remain silent, throughout the journey.

 No problem there, either. There be plenty of Englishmennot to mention Irishmencomin here to set up a plantation. In fact, Crittendens got a whole company of Irishmen in that little army hes put together. Most of em just the usual adventurers left over from the wars, of course. But some of them got real money to invest.

 And that, too, wasnt surprising. The wars triggered by the French Revolution and the Napoleonic era had lasted for almost a quarter of a century and had involved enormous numbers of men. Every such war epoch in history had produced, in its aftermath, a plethora of veterans who turned their military skills to this or that adventure. Some of them criminal; still more, skirting the very edges of legality.

 I see. Ross couldnt help but smile. So my wife and Iwith our son along, presumably to stay behind and manage the businessare scouting the Delta to see a likely place for a plantation. Perhaps even in newly seizedor perhaps I should say, rightfully restoredArkansas. With our local guides and partnersthatll be you, I imagine, Captain McParland, along with your cousin Callender hereand the slaves to provide their bona fides. 

 Yup.

 Ross scrutinized Balls face for a moment. Which still doesnt explain the mystery of you being included among the slaves, Charles. Surely Arkansas didnt have to use its one and only general for the purpose.

 For the first time, Balls good cheer seemed to slip a bit. WellFirst off, Im not the only general. The Lairdah, thats Chief Patrick, I meanhas the same rank, too, even though he aint normally active. But hes perfectly capable of leading the army in the field, as you well know, should Crittenden and his pack take off before I get there. Dont need me for that. And the thing is

 Finally, it all came into focus. Yes, I see, said Ross. You wanted the chance to study the terrain carefully yourself. Even be able to observe firsthand a large military force moving through it. Not because you care much about this one, but another that might follow.

 Yup. Now, Ball seemed to be scowling slightly. Tarnation, General, you just cost me two dollars.

 Hows that?

 We had a bet. I didnt think youd figure it out until we got halfway to Alexandria. Patrick said youd do it before we even left the docks.

 And how odd it was to see that a fathers reputation with his oldest son should be cemented for all time by such a trivial thing. But, looking at Davids face, Ross didnt doubt it. Books, essays, mementos, medals, swords of honor, dispatchesall abstractions, in the end. Whereas there was nothing at all abstract about seeing the conclusion of a wager between two men, one of whom stood right before the boy and looked like some sort of Moor legend, and the other of whom was an Irish troll who had almost killed his father once.

 Oh, what a splendid adventure! David exclaimed.

 Washington, D.C.

 SEPTEMBER 30, 1824

 

Maria Hester opened the door herself. She must have seen him coming.

 Ive missed you so, she said, before he swept her into his arms. Then, laughing: Sam! Stop it! Right in public!

 He growled something incoherent, lifted her into the house, and closed the door with his boot heel, never relinquishing the embrace or leaving off with the kisses. Missed you, too.

 Father wants to see you, she mumbled. As soon as you arrived, he told me.

 Can wait till tomorrow.

 Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!

 Sighing, Sam set his wife down. Maria Hester was grinning up at him. The president of the nation might have to wait a day, but your son wont.

 Lurking just beneath the surface of her bright eyes was the same anticipation that was practically flooding him. The boy was only four years old, after all. Four-year-olds need a lot of naps.

 A moment later, Sam had little Andrew Jackson Houston hoisted up. His son was beaming at him, too.

 Would you care for some whiskey, sir? asked a servant, coming into the foyer.

 Of course not. Its only afternoon.






 CHAPTER 12



 The Mississippi River, near Natchez, Mississippi

 SEPTEMBER 30, 1824

 

Robert Ross and his son watched the Kentucky flatboat men carrying wood from the stacks on shore into the steamboat. They seemed to be carrying out the labor even more energetically than usual.

 Amazing, really, David commented. The rest of the time they barely move from their accommodations on deck. And that, only to flip another card or unstopper a jug of whiskey.

 Anthony McParland was standing next to them. Its part of their contract, he explained, smiling slightly. They bring their goods downriver on rafts, just using the current. In New Orleans, the rafts are broken up, and the wood is sold along with whatever they were carrying on them. They get this free passage back upriverbut they have to do the labor of hauling the wood into the boiler room.

 And who cuts and stacks the wood in the first place? Robert asked, eyeing the rapidly diminishing pile of logs at the other end of the little pier reaching out into the Mississippi.

 Here? Choctaws, mostly. Elsewhere, itd be poor white woodcutting families.

 David frowned. I thought the Choctaws had moved to the Confederacy also.

 Only maybe a third of the tribe. The rest are being stubborn, claimingwhich is true enoughthat they never signed the Treaty of Oothcaloga.

 David was still frowning. Is there going to be trouble over that?

 McParlands smile lost some of its amusement. Be better to say there is trouble over it. Has been for years, now. And its been getting worse. More settlers keep moving into Mississippi, and with Crittenden and his mob stirring up everybody

 Chief Pushmataha is a damn fool, if you ask me, Anthony continued. Well, not that, I guess. Hes canny, by all accounts, but hes getting old. He and his Choctaws have even less chance of holding back the tide than the Cherokees and Creeks did in Georgia, Alabama, and Tennessee. And theres a big chunk of land still set aside for them in the Confederacy, between the Canadian and the Red rivers. Thats where those of em whove moved already have settled. But if the rest of the Choctaws dont get there pretty soon, theyll start seeing the land gobbled up.

 I thought white people werent

 McParland shook his head. Not by white people. Other Indians. Caddos and Quapaws, mostly. Theyre already moving into the area, since theyre being pushed out of Louisiana.

 Davids frown now seemed permanently fixed in place. Like most nineteen-year-olds, he preferred the world to be a neatly organized and categorized place. Caddos and Quapaws arent signatories to the treaty, either, he pointed out.

 The young Confederate captain shrugged. No, theyre not. Ask them if they care. Louisianas making it more difficult for them to stay every yearand theres all that open territory over there on the other side of the Red River. Most Indian tribes are organized along clan lines. If their clan didnt make an agreement, they figure theyre not bound by itmuch less to anybody who is.

 There will be trouble there as well, then, David predicted sagely.

 McParland chuckled. No, there is trouble there, already. Just had another clash between some Choctaws and Caddos two months ago, I heard. Not to mention that neither the Osage nor the Comanches figure any of these tribes from across the Mississippi got any business at all in the area. Those fights are pretty much constant, now.

 Robert had been listening to the exchange with only half his mind. Hed been paying more attention to the actions of the flatboat men.

 Somethings amiss, I believe, he said suddenly. He pointed to the men coming backeven more hurriedly than usual, it seemedacross the pier onto the boat.

 McParland studied their movements for a moment before pushing himself away from the rail. Do believe youre right. Ill find out.

 He was back less than five minutes later, with no trace of amusement left on his face.

 They found four bodies in one of the woodpiles. Choctaws. Been scalped and skinned. Two men, a child, and a woman. The woman had also He glanced at David. Well, never mind.

 Skinned?Davids eyes were wide.

 Yeah, skinned. Might have been done by settlers, but McParlands expression was grim. Whoever did it took their time about it. Thats not likely to have been settlers. Clashes between them and Indians dont generally last too long, since as a rule both sides never have all that many men, and they dont want to risk a counterattack. A quick scalping, and they leave. Besides, there were a lot of prints in the area. He pointed to the lush growth of palmettos and pawpaws that shielded the woods beyond from easy view. That pile was back there a ways, which is why we didnt see it. Some of the flatboat men are pretty fair trackers. They think a lot of men were involved.

 All three of them stared into the woods.

 I think its Crittendens men, McParland stated. They must have left Alexandria sooner than we thought they would. I guess getting those guns and some cannons made them bold-like.

 The steamboat was pulling away from the pier. Davids eyes followed its course to the north. But Arkansas is

 Still a long ways away, Anthony concluded for him. Yeah, I know. But itd be just like that crowd to figure on hounding the Choctaws along the way. They want land in northern Mississippi just as much as in Arkansas. Anywhere in the Delta, where cotton plantations can be set up. Theres a lot of money in cotton, now, since Whitney made that machine of his.

 Robert nodded. Its an old pattern. The Crusaders savaged a lot of Jewish communities on their way to the Holy Land. Did more killing in the ghettos, some of them, than they did in the Levant. If they ever got there at all, which some of them didnt. The whole Fourth Crusade stopped at Constantinople after sacking it.

 His own expression was grim. Wars never easy on neutrals, as a rule.

 Its an outrage, David proclaimed.

 Roberts jaws were set. Yes, it is. What concerns me more, however, is what the impact of itll be. Up there. He used his chin to point to the north.

 His son looked at him. What do you mean, Father?

 Youve never met Patrick Driscol, David. Hes a harsh man at any time. If this is indeed Crittendens men, theyll be conducting outrages all the way upriver. Hand something like that to Patrick Driscolthe man who, as a boy, hid from the massacres in Ireland in 98and hell not react well. Not well at all.

 I see. Youre afraid hell be hotheaded.

 Robert took a deep breath. No, not that. Patrick is a man given to rage, but its a very cold sort of thing. Hell not lose control, whatever else.

 A subtle shift in McParlands expression made it clear that the young captain understood him. Ah, he said. Then, a moment later: Well, yes. Not that hell have to stir anybody up to do it. Pretty much nobody in Arkansas is going to feel the least bit kindly to Louisiana freebooters. Even if they was behaving well, which they arent.

 It would be a bad error, Ross stated.

 McParland shrugged. Maybe. Then again, maybe not. Sometimes the best way to set a pack of curs running is to show em the wolf s teeth.

 The political ramifications

 Abruptly, Robert broke off. There was something a bit absurd, after all, about lecturing Americans on the dynamics of American politics. Even if he was almost sure he was right.

 Eliza came up onto the deck. Theres been trouble, it seems. Do we continue, or go back to New Orleans?

 She wasnt pushing for a particular answer, just inquiring.

 Robert glanced at McParland. I dont believe we have much choice, dearest. Unless we want to return on a raft. This steamboat, Im quite sure, will be continuing north.

 McParlands shoulders had become a bit stiff. Well. Yes, Im afraid so. The Comet is owned by the Arkansas Riverboat Company, of which the Lairdah, Mr. Driscoland Mr. Crowell own half the stock. Mr. Shreve wont like it much, but that was part of the arrangement.

 Eliza and David frowned at him, clearly puzzled.

 What he means, dearest, is that in the event of hostilities, the boat will be pressed into Confederate service. And, it seems, hostilities have begun.

 They looked at McParland.

 The young captain cleared his throat. Well. Be better to say Arkansas service. Not sure John Ross or the Ridge know anything about it.

 That wasnt surprising. It had already been clear to Ross, just from his long correspondence with Patrick, that the chiefdom of Arkansas wore its theoretical subordination to the Confederacy rather lightly.

 As was inevitable. Of all political quandaries faced by the human race over the millennia, this was perhaps the most intractable. The Romans had an expression for it: Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

 Without realizing it, he murmured the phrase aloud.

  Who will guard the guardians?  his son translated. Thats about the Praetorian Guard, isnt it?

 His mother smiled. Actually, no. I believe it was a remark made by the satirist Juvenal, concerning the wisdom of having eunuchs guarding women.

 Ross couldnt remember, but he suspected Eliza was correct. She was very fond of the classics.

 What do eunuchs?

 To Roberts surprise, McParland understood the point immediately. He realized again that there was really not much left of the shy, ill-educated, and uncertain teenaged soldier he remembered from years earlier.

 Pretty good assessment, sir. Yeah, the Cherokees and Creeksthe Choctaws soon, too, if I dont miss my guessneed Arkansas to buffer them against the United States. But you pays a price for that, always do. Just the way it is.

 He seemed quite unconcerned about the matter. It was also now clear to Robert that McParlands allegiance had shifted completely to Arkansas. There seemed to be no animosity in the young officer toward his native United States, but also no doubt where he stood in the event of a conflict. And if that was true for a white citizen of Arkansas, how much more true would it be for its black ones?

 So. A war was starting, and it would unfold as wars did. Very messily.

 Memphis, Tennessee

 OCTOBER 1, 1824

 

Perhaps you should remain here, Julia, Colonel Taylor suggested. He looked around the inn. It seems comfortable enough, and the senator left you with plenty of money.

 Julia Chinn was having none of it, as Taylor had feared. Colonel, meaning no offense, but thats crazy. You going to leave a black woman and two black children alonewith money, which just makes it worsein this town? Leavin aside that Memphis got a reputation thats of practically biblical proportions, I remind you that Tennessees a slave state. Give it two days, and wed be vanished somewhere.

 I could But the sentence trailed off.

 Dont be silly. You got only twelve men to begin with. If you insist on going south into what looks like a war starting, youll need all of them.

 He couldnt argue the point. Well. Im sure the boat captain would agree

 Hes going back up to St. Louis, Julia interrupted. St. Louis is a frontier town, which means the only reason it aint looking at Bible rank is just cause it aint well enough knowed yet. And Missouris another slave state.

 Surely theres some boat thatll be heading for Ohio.

 She shrugged. Probbly. And the captain might even be a Northerner. But most of the crew will be Southern. And as excited as they all are, since the news came

 She shrugged again. The fact that the shoulders which made the gesture were still those of a fairly young and very attractive woman simply drove home her point. Being a mulatto, Julia was light-skinned compared with the average negro, but there was no chance at all she could pass for a white woman. Not even Imogene and Adaline could, for that matter. In truth, the girls skin color wasnt really any darker than that of many white people. Italians or Spaniards or Louisiana Creoles, at any rate. But their features had a distinctly African cast.

 A subtle one, perhapsbut Zachary Taylor was a Southerner himself. He knew full well that any Southerner could distinguish racial origins at a glance unless theyd been almost completely submerged. Why else the fine and precise distinctions between such terms as mulatto, quadroon, octoroon?

 Silently, he leveled a curse on his native land. He understood his fellow Southerners and even liked them most of the time. But there was something ultimately savage and obsessive about his folk when it came to race.

 Not all Southerners shared that obsession, of course. He didnt. Senator Johnson didnt. Sam Houston didnt. Even Andrew Jackson didnt, really, once you cut beneath the surface. At least, Old Hickory would make some personal distinctions, even if he agreed with the general attitude.

 For a moment, the colonel found himself wishing desperately that Jackson were on the scene. Of course, that would mean a relentless, all-out sort of war, if it came to that. But Jackson would also keep his men in line. Whereas Crittendens army, from all accounts theyd been getting, had been moving north like so many Huns.

 True, the atrocities had been practiced on Choctaws, which meant that from the standpoint of most white Southerners in the area it was all to the good. Leaving aside their own land hunger, there had been plenty of instances in the past of Choctaw outrages against white settlers.

 And vice versa, of course. It was a land that sometimes seemed to Taylor to be drenched in blood. He was an experienced and capable Indian fighter himself. But hed never really shared the common attitude toward the natives. Hed encountered many hed respected, even admired; and, if nothing else, he liked to think he was too fair-minded. It was their land, after all. And if his loyalties were to the American republic, and he didnt have any qualms about driving Indians off the land to allow that republic to swell in greatness, he wasnt going to besmirch himself by adding hypocrisy to the mix either.

 Damnation, he muttered.

 You shouldnt blaspheme, Colonel, you know that. But Julia was almost grinning as she said it. Over the weeks of their journey, she and Taylor had gotten along quite well.

 He sighed and leaned back in his chair at the table in the taverns dining room. Remembering, as he did so, how hed had to browbeat the innkeepers wife into serving Julia and the girls at all.

 Damnation.

 A bit desperately: Julia, I have got to keep going. Leaving aside the fact that Im supposed to be reporting back for duty at my post in Baton Rouge, the War Department will want a full report on whats happening in Arkansas.

 She shrugged. So, fine. I can ride, and so can the girls. Just take us with you.

 Were going into a war. 

 The gaze she gave him was level, and rather cold. Colonel Taylor, I been in a war zone my whole life. Sos every colored person in this country. We goin with you, and thats that.

 All right, he said, giving in to the inevitable. He could hardly refuse, after all, unless he intended to avoid Senator Johnson the rest of his life. He consoled himself with the thought that Dick Johnson served the best and most expensive whiskey in Kentucky at Blue Spring Farmand made a silent vow, right then and there, to drink the amalgamating bastard dry the next time he visited.

 Just give me the time to write some dispatches, he added, wincing a little. Of all the duties of an officer, writing dispatches was the one he detested the most. He wasnt really that well educated.

 Julia smiled. Tell you what, Zack. I do all the paperwork at home. You tell me what you want, and Ill write em for you. My written English is a lot more proper than the way I talk, too.

 The temptation was well-nigh irresistible. Itll look peculiar, he half argued. You not having what anyone would likely call a masculine hand.

 Tell em you sprained your wrist.

 Resistance was futile. Deal.

 Natchez, Mississippi

 OCTOBER 1, 1824

 

Another five dollars, the man offered. He even had the cash on hand. A half-eagle, at that, which was literally as good as gold. Even better than the usual Spanish reales.

 The young mans New England accent irritated the steamboat captain, who had been born and raised in Georgia and now made his home in New Orleans. But the extra money offered was too much to pass up.

 All right, then. Well find you a berth somewheres aboard. Though Im blasted if I understand why a poet wants to go upriver in these times. Ive half a mind not to myself. Wouldnt, if I didnt have a contract I got to meet.

 The New Englander shrugged. I thought Id try my hand at some frontier extravaganzas and the like. Perhaps an epic, if I can find a suitable topic. New York publishers love the stuff, and a poet needs an epic to cement his reputation. I might even be able to sell it in Europe, too.

 He didnt seem inclined to explain further. He was practically talking ancient Greek anyway, as far as the captain was concerned. Poetry. New York publishers. Europe. Epics, no less!

 Come aboard, then.





 The poet found a convenient chair toward the rear of the deck and set himself up. There was an overhang to shelter him in case of rain, which would likely be handy. Hed have to sleep in that chair also, the craft being such a small one. But the blanket in his trunk should suffice to keep him warm, this far south and still being in early fall.

 Since it would be a day, at least, before the steamboat neared the scene of the activities he was interested in, he decided he might as well work on Thanatopsis further. It had been his most famous and popular poem since hed first gotten it published in 1817 in the North American Review. But hed actually written it in 1811, still one month short of his seventeenth birthday, and hed never been satisfied with the end result.

 Sadly, hed soon be forced to put aside poetry, for the most part. There was just no money in it, and now that he was almost thirty years old he needed to find an occupation that would support a family. He had one daughter already and would no doubt soon have other children to care for.

 Find another occupation, rather. Hed done well enough as a lawyer but had discovered that he detested the work. Lawyers spent most of their time dealing with people they rarely liked and often loathed. Even the few whose company they might otherwise have enjoyed, they encountered under bad circumstances. So, with the support of his wife, Fanny, hed decided on journalism, being interested in public affairs. And, now, found himself blessing the impulse that had taken him to the west to write some essays on the new Confederacy. There was quite a bit of fascination with the subject in New England, New York, and Pennsylvania.

 Talk about perfect coincidence!





 That evening, the captain came by for a brief visit.

 Whatd you say your name was?

 Bryant, Captain. William Cullen Bryant.





 At four oclock the next afternoon, the first corpse drifted past the steamboat. By noon, two more had done the same.

 Horrid-looking things. But not as horridnot nearlyas the corpse they passed on the riverbank. The manapparently an Indian, although it was difficult to tellhad been spread-eagled on the wheel of an old wagon, flayed, and disemboweled. His intestineswhat was left of them, after the birds and animalstrailed on the ground.

 Bryant didnt vomit over the side, however, until they passed the corpses of the woman and child whod been impaled. Both bodies were naked. The womans breasts had been cut off andsomething had been done to her groin. Thankfully, the details were impossible to discern in the twilight. From the blood caked in the area, the boy had had his genitals severed. He was perhaps eight years old, as near as Bryant could tell from the distance.

 Boys are bein right rambunctious, the captain said, shaking his head. Dont really hold with it myself, though I understand how they feel.

 Tight-lipped, trying to control his stomach, Bryant said nothing.

 Thanatopsis. A teenage boys poem on death. It all seemed very distant, now.

 Journalism, however, did not. That night, on a steamboat deck by lamplight, he began writing in earnest the first article of An Account of the Current Situation in Arkansas.






 CHAPTER 13



 The Mississippi River, south of Hopefield, Arkansas

 OCTOBER 3, 1824

 

Taylor never saw any bodies in the river, coming down from Memphis, since the current would have taken them away. But he didnt much doubt there had been some. The news of Crittendens expedition had spread throughout the area. While the main body of freebooters might be coming into Arkansas from the south, there were plenty of adventurersborder ruffians, to call them by their right namefrom Missouri and Tennessee and Kentucky who were eager to throw themselves into the fray. Give it a week, and theyd be coming from Mississippi; two weeks, Alabama; a month, if it kept up, from Georgia and the Carolinas; two months, from all over the country, especially the South.

 From what he could see from the deck of the steamboat hed hiredwell, commandeered in all but namesome hundreds of freebooters had already passed through the area. And they were being just as rough on anybody they ran into as youd expect from such men.

 When Taylors steamboat reached Hopefield just after dawn, he discovered the settlement had been deserted, with most of its cabins burnt. And Hopefield had been a white settlement. Taylor had seen two burned-out woodcutters cabins in the miles they had gone since, and their owners would have also been white people. Some of them, at any rate. They might have been mixed families, whites and Indians, which was a lot more common on the frontier than many people liked to admit.

 It didnt matter. By now, over four years after the treaty, it was the firm opinion of white Southerners of the type whod be attracted to this adventure that any white man who voluntarily settled in Arkansasanywhere in the Confederacywas a damned nigger-lover. No better than an abolitionist or one of those detestable New England missionaries who were always prattling nonsense about the rights of Indians.

 And there was some truth to the charge, at least if you removed the loaded terms. White opinion on the subject of race, especially when it came to Indians, had never been uniform. In some ways, because contact was so much closer, even less so in the South than the North. True, there were very few white Southerners whod admit to having any African ancestry, and none of them willingly, since the legal repercussions were so harsh. However absurd it might be, theyd try their best to use a subterfuge term like Portuguese. But there were plenty whod admit to having some Cherokees or Creeks or Choctaws perched in the family tree. Brag about it, in facteven though everybody in the South knew perfectly well that the southern tribes didnt maintain the same sharp and everlasting barriers to the absorption of negroes that whites officially did. A full-blood Cherokee might very well be someone whom Southerners would have labeled a quadroon or mulatto if hed been white instead of Indian.

 Such white folks would be willing to move to Arkansas readily enough. There were advantages, after all. Just for starters, the treaty had among other things finally removed the legal headaches left over from settling disputed Spanish land grants and insurance claims from the great earthquakes of 1811 and 1812. The Confederacyor the chiefdom of Arkansascould issue legal land titles, now. For another thing, within a short time the danger of Indian attacks had receded sharply. The Cherokees were pretty well disciplined, Driscols people even more soand they proved soon enough that they could handle any Osage raiding parties.

 The land in the Arkansas Delta was rich, once you got past the swamps along the rivers. Good land for livestock and good land for cotton. Slavery was a handy way to organize cotton agriculture, but it was by no means essential. And if Driscols regime forbade slavery, the Bank of Arkansas was a lot easier to deal with than the Second Bank of the United States, at least if you were a poor white man. Especially since everybody knew that in a pinch, a man could always satisfy a bank debt by serving a term in the Arkansas Armysomething that positively infuriated the likes of Crittenden.

 Julia came out on deck, interrupting Taylors musings. Her two daughters were following right behind her.

 How does it look, Zack?

 The questioneven more so, the sight of Imogene and Adalinemade up the colonels mind. The twins were twelve years old, nearing thirteen. Still girls, yes, but already very pretty and entering womanhood. Theyd be particularly attractive to slave hunters.

 Its too chancy, he announced. By now, from all reports Ive gotten, the freebooters will have dozens of craft moving up into the Arkansas. Steamboats, keelboats, rowboats, sailboats, canoes, even flatboatshell, you name it. He gave their own steamboat a quick survey. No way to fend them off from this thing, not if we get trapped in the river. Not with as few men as Ive got. Well need to disembark at the nearest suitable spot and ride cross-country to Arkansas Post. That should still be safe enough.

 Whatever you say.

 The confluence of the Mississippi and Arkansas rivers

 OCTOBER 3, 1824

 

Oh, dear, said Eliza Ross. Her husband thought the comment was outstandingly low-keyed under the circumstances. Very much stiff upper lip, to use the expression that had started coming into vogue during the Napoleonic Wars.

 He would have been amused, except there was nothing amusing about the sight of the two riverboats heading for their steamer. Longboats, the British navy would have called them, although Robert had no idea what the correct term was for them here.

 True, the boats were oar driven, but with multiple oars and the advantage of the current, they would arrive long before the steamboat could turn itself around and head back to the south. Theyd emerged suddenly from the mouth of the Arkansas, just as the steamboat came up. Much as if theyd been lying in ambush.

 Which was probably true. Not because the freebooters were targeting their steamboat in particular, but simply because theyd been left behind to seize any steamboat that came along. The freebooters supply trainif such a term could be used at allwas not likely to have been well planned and organized. By now, especially as scattered as his forces must have gotten from their frenzy of plundering and mayhem as they went upriver, Crittenden must be getting worried about his logistics. Having an extra steamboat would be invaluable, especially one as big as the Comet.

 Oh, dear, his wife repeated, as she watched the approaching craft. What shall we

 Her question was interrupted as well as answered by Charles Balls emergence onto the deck.

 GeneralBall, now. The slave disguise was gone, with a vengeance. Ball was wearing his full uniform. The hussar-style uniform had the green pants of an officer, unlike the white ones of enlisted men, with a much fancier green coatee trimmed with black, and the distinctive fur cap. It was something of an odd-looking uniform to Ross, accustomed as he was to the continental styles. But he knew Driscol had had it patterned after the uniforms worn by Canadian voltigeurs, and it was probably more practical in this terrain.

 Anthony McParland had emerged alongside him, wearing a uniform that was very similar except for the officers insignia. Right after them came the two corporals, both in enlisted mens uniforms and both carrying muskets. Young as they might be, Callender and Sheffield seemed to be very familiar with the firearms. Knowing Driscol, Ross was quite sure theyd been thoroughly drilled by now.

 Still, while the four of them made a resplendent showing on the upper deck of the Comet, there were only four of themand there were at least a dozen men in each of the approaching boats.

 David came out on deck, holding a weapon in each hand. Ive brought our pistols, Father.

 Six men, thenbut two of them armed merely with pistols.

 But Robert discovered that hed underestimated Ball. Most of the Kentucky flatboat men had left the Comet the day before, not wishing any further involvement. The men who had remained behind had been the eight black ones and the three poorest-looking of the whites. The most indigent of the lot, Robert had assumed, unable to forgo the free passage no matter what the risk.

 All right, boys! Ball shouted. Time to show the bastards whats what, dont you think?

 The eleven flatboat men on the lower forward deck grinned up at him. In an instant, any trace of lackadaisical, undisciplined civilians vanished. Before Robert quite understood what they were doing, six of the men were hauling two guns from somewhere below. Four-pounders, in naval carriages.

 Rummaging in his memory, Robert recalled seeing a pair of large hatches down there on one of his tours of the boat. Storage, hed assumed.

 Indeed, storage it had been. The other five men were bringing forth powder and balls.

 Starting to, rather. Seeing what they were carrying, Ball hollered at them.

 Canister, damn you! Think were fighting a siege? Canisterand be damn quick about it!

 Hastily, the two guilty parties scurried back out of sight. They emerged just a few seconds later carrying a tin of canister each.

 Good, boys! Good! Balls tone had gone from fury to praise in a heartbeat. I want to see the bastards bleed!

 By the time the ammunition carriers got the canister tins to the front, the rest of the men already had the guns laid and were training them on the approaching boats. Theyd also done something to the steamboat front railthe guard, as it was calledthat had lowered a section of it on hinges. That allowed a clear line of fire while leaving the thick stanchions necessary to attach the recoil slings. And there were eyebolts already in place for that purpose. Robert had noticed them earlier but had not thought much about their function. Tying up the boat, hed assumed, even though that was not normally done at the bow.

 Robert understood at once that the Comet had been prepared for such a battleand that Ball must have brought with him the cream of the Iron Battalions gun crews.

 He didnt know whether he should be gratified or furious. It was clear enough, now, that Ball had been expecting such an encounter even before they left New Orleans. Half expecting it, at the very least.

 Patrick, too, for that matter.

 After a moments hesitation, he decided on gratification. Why not? It wasnt as if, deep down, he hadnt always known his wife was right.

 See? she demanded, as if to prove the point. But there didnt seem to be any condemnation in her tone, either. Eliza had been a soldiers wife for decades, a fair bit of which time shed spent with her husband in the field in Iberia. She was probably remembering Spanish and Portuguese officers shed cursed in the past. For not being able to do a tenth as much in ten hours as Ball and his men had just shown themselves capable of doing in a few minutes.

 And while she didnt have Roberts experience with battlesnever having actually been at any of them, thankfully, if not so many miles distantthe sight of those two cannons would have cheered even the most nave of civilians.

 Robert himself was cheered immensely. True, they were both four-pounders. It would have been foolish to bring any larger ordnance. As big as it was, by steamboat standards, the Comet lacked the sheer bulk and bracing that warships had to have to withstand the recoil of heavier guns.

 But, in the here and now, four-pounders should do very nicely, he thought. Those two approaching longboats were even further removed from ships of the line. Cockleshells, practically, and jammed full of men.

 Worried men, now. The freebooters were close enough to have spotted the cannonswhich they quite obviously hadnt been expecting.

 Hey! one of them shouted, half rising to his feet in the lead boat. You there in the

 Fire!Ball bellowed.

 Belatedly remembering some of the realities of cannon firethe wind was blowing the wrong way, tooRobert hissed: Eliza! David! Close your eyes!

 He did the same himself. The sharp double clap of the four-pounders was followed, very quickly, by the familiar feel of unburned powder and smoke on his face. Along with, of course, that very familiar smell.

 As it always did, the odor roused something deep and primitive in Robert Ross. As soon as he felt the gust passing, he opened his eyes. Only with great effort was he able to restrain himself from shouting the sort of praise and encouragement he would have shouted, in years past, to his own soldiers.

 The man whod been half standing in the bow of the lead ship was nowhere to be seen. Not surprising, that. The bow itself had been badly splintered by canister balls. Not shattered, since Balls guns hadnt been using round shot, or even the heavy shot that naval men called grapeshot. But it hardly mattered. Canister rounds weighed three ounces each: twice the weight of a musket ball. At that range, a three-ounce ball wouldnt destroy a wooden boat, but it would do a very nice job of shredding it some. And even a four-pounder fired a lot of them at once. Like a huge shotgun, for all intents and purposes.

 The men in the bow of that lead boat had all been killed or mutilated. Or both, mostly. The ones toward the rear whod survived had done so simply because their comrades had absorbed most of the fireand not all of them had come off it uninjured.

 Three of them were just sitting in the boat, screaming, covered with blood. How much of it was theirs was impossible to determine. The rest were already throwing themselves overboard and starting to swim toward the west bank of the river, over a hundred yards distant.

 The second boat was desperately trying to turn around. Clearly enough, that crew had no intention of risking all in a fierce boarding attempt.

 Wisely, Robert thought. Even if they could have reached the steamboat before another volley was fired from the cannons, they no longer outnumbered Balls men by any significant margin. And he didnt doubt for a moment that every one of those so obviously experienced gunners was just about as skilled with pistols and hand weapons.

 I want that boat down! Ball hollered. Dont you give me one and not the other, you blasted curries!

 One of the white gunners flashed a grin. However much he might have taken offense as being labeled a curry under other circumstances, under this one he apparently simply found it amusing.

 Ball didnt see the grin. He was already turning his glare onto Callender McParland and young Parker.

 All right, boys. Jones been braggin you the best shots in his regiment. Thats why you here, wet behind the ears and all. He pointed at the boat some forty yards away, which was now halfway through its turn. A man was crouched in the stern, yelling orders.

 Take him down, Ball hissed. I want that bastard down. 

 Both young corporals already had their muskets leveled. Rifled muskets, Robert now understood, from the way they were actually aiming the weapons, not simply pointing them in the general direction of the enemy.

 For a brief moment, they seemed to hesitate. Robert recognized the moment. Just so had he seen other young soldiers, in times past, hesitate before firing their first shot intended for real murder. Just so could he remember himself hesitating, that first time so long ago.

 Ball knew the moment also.  Down,I said. But he growled the words; he didnt shout them. This was not the time for shouting.

 Sheffield Parker fired first, just a split second before Callender. Robert saw his shot take the steersman in the shoulder, lifting and turning him just in time to take Callenders shot in the chest. A second later, his corpsefor corpse it surely wassplashed into the river.

 Good, Ball said. Reload.

 He paid no more attention to the teenage corporals, leaning instead over the guard of the upper deck and going back to hollering at his gun crews.

 Hollering, now. No need for tendernessof sortsdealing with such veterans.

 Kill em, God damn you! Kill em all!

 Two seconds later, both cannons fired almost simultaneously. And

 Robert looked up at the target.

 And it was done. For the most part, at least. There were survivors, of course. There almost always were, even with a murderous volley at such close range. Time after time, Robert had been astonished at the way the whimsy of battle would rip one man to pieces and completely spare the man next to him. That same whimsy had saved his life more than once.

 Still, over half were dead or wounded. Only four of them went over the side into the river, to start swimming after their companions toward the shore.

 Robert wondered if Ball would show any mercy. He didnt expect he would.

 No, no chance of it.

 Reload, blast you! That boats bloody but its still not down! I want it down! 

 The gun crews went through their practiced cycle. Ball turned back to the youngsters. Dont waste shots on them while theyre still in the water. But the minute they start climbing up on shore, I want to see at least two of them dead before the rest get away. You hear me? Two, at a rock-hard damn bottom!

 Callender was a bit pale-faced, perhaps. Impossible to tell about Sheffield, as dark-skinned as he was. But from the tightness of the young negros very full lips, he seemed determined to keep whatever emotions he was feeling under control.

 Splendid young soldiers. Whoever this Jones was, Robert had no difficulty understanding why hed recommended them to Ball. Their marksmanship had only been part of it, as alwaysand not the most important part. This was probably their first real clash at arms, and they were conducting themselves with as much composure as most veterans.

 The cannons went off again. That volley slew whoever might still have been alive on the second boat, and punched enough holes in the hull that it began to settle. Robert swiveled his head and saw that the first boat was still afloat. But it was drifting with the current, obviously out of control, leaking streams of blood into the water. The three men slumped in the boat might still be alivesome of them might even survive the whole experiencebut they were no longer a threat to anyone.

 By now, even with the difficulty of reloading rifled muskets, Callender and Sheffield had them ready. Not quite to shoulder, but close. Waiting for their targets to come out of the water. To his surprise, Robert saw that the shore was now much closer. Apparentlyhed never noticedthe steamboat pilot had been driving the craft after the men swimming toward safety.

 That seemed rather dangerous, Robert thought. He was no expert on the subject, but he could remember people talking about the perils of navigating the Mississippi, much of which was still uncharted. The river was so muddy that it was impossible to see more than an inch or two beneath the surface. If they grounded on a hidden sandbar or hit a submerged snag

 The first of the freebooters reached the riverbank and started to clamber ashore, with two of his companions right behind. From the corner of his eye, Robert could see the two corporals aiming.

 But they never fired. Instead, a volley was fired from somewhere in the thick growth next to the river. All three of the freebooters were blown right back into the river. The two remaining, whod been with that first five, were paralyzed by the shock, crouched half in and half out of the water.

 A man stalked out of the foliage, a pistol in his hand. From a distance of five feet, he leveled the pistol and shot one freebooter in the head. Then, he leaped on the other and began clubbing him senseless with the pistol butt. His opponent tried to resist, but to no avail. His attacker seemed on the slender side, but there was something utterly relentless about the way he kept slamming down the pistol butt. As if, half immersed in water like his companion, he was engaging in some sort of horrible, upside-down baptism.

 Within half a minute, the freebooter slipped into the water. His body, rather. That skull had been shattered into a pulp.

 The four remaining freebooters were now treading water in the middle of the river, trapped between the oncoming steamboat and whoever had fired the volley from the riverbank. Their faces looked pale. One of them was gaping like a fish.

 Did I say anything about quarter? Robert heard Ball snarl at the two corporals.

 No, sir, replied Sheffield. But you did say

 Dont sass me, boy! I said dont waste shots while they were in the water. At this rangenowthat dont count. Or if it does, you not the men Jones said you were.

 Parkers jaws tightened, just for an instant. Then:

 Yes, sir.  He stepped up to the rail, aimed, fired. Quick as that. The freebooter with the gaping mouth went under, leaving a little patch of blood and brains on the surface.

 Callender was a bit slower. Not much. Another shot, and another freebooter went down. Rolled, rather, the way a slain fish might, before slowly starting to sink.

 The two survivorsthe second boats sole survivors, nowbegan frantically swimming downstream.

 Follow em! Ball yelled to someone Robert couldnt see. The pilot, he assumed.

 A voice came back. Be damned if I will! Be damned, I say! This aint your boat, Balland I aint in the fucking army!

 A sudden moment of mercy, Robert might have assumed, except for the next exercise in profanity and blasphemy.

 God damn you, Ball, this boat is valuable! Henry Shrevell have my fucking hide, I run it aground and we gotta scuttle it! Which we will, God damn your black soul, cause there aint no way were gonna

 Oh, never mind. And shut up! Ball hollered back. Its all gonna be over soon, anyway, so take your blasted boat wherever you want toas long as its upstream and into the Arkansas!

 Soon, indeed. Robert could now see over a dozen men emerging from the foliage by the river. All of them were armed with muskets, and all of them were half running down the riverbank, keeping even with the swimmers. Like a pack of wolves trailing wounded prey.

 It was over quickly. The two surviving freebooters were exhausted by now, as much from sheer fright as from physical exertion. The moment one of them slowed, a dozen muskets went off. At least one of the rounds hit. Another patch of red stain was all that was left on the surface of the river.

 It took almost a minute for the repetition. Mainly because the men, whoever they were, were clearly not experienced infantrymen. They took much too long to reload. Still, another volley went off soon enough, and the last head faded from sight.

 By now, a different river might have been streaked with blood. The carnage had been as horrendous as any Robert had ever seen in a small unit action. But the muddy Mississippi swept it all away within seconds.





 Half an hour later, the pilot finally agreed he had a safe place to bring the steamboat alongshore. There was a pier there. Not much of one, since it had clearly been designed for a much smaller boat than the Comet. Still, it was enough to tie up to.

 Seventeen men came out of the woods, five of them boys. Along with them came six girls and four young women, two of whom were carrying infants. All were white except for two of the adult males, one of the boys, and one of the infant-toting women. They were black.

 The man who led the way across into the steamboat was the same one whod clubbed the man in the river. Robert hadnt been able to discern his features, at the distance, but there was something distinct about his way of moving.

 He was quite a young man, Robert realized, once he came aboard. He hadnt seemed so, at first, from the severity of his features.

 Names Brown, he said to Ball. John Brown. He turned and helped one of the young women with an infant into the boat. My wife, Dianthe. My whole familythose as are living in Arkansasand the people working for me.

 The pistol was stuck back in his belt. Shifting his musket to his left hand, he stuck out his right to Ball. Pleased to meet you.

 Charles Ball. General in the Arkansas Army. You the one got that new tannery set up near the river?

  Hada new tannery, Brown corrected. Tight-jawed but not seeming especially angry. More like a man depicting an unfortunate turn in the weatherbut such is Gods will.

 They burned me out, he explained. Not without a fight, mind you. But there was too many to make a stand, so we ran off after shooting a few.

 Ball nodded. Were heading up the Arkansas, if you want to join us. To be honest, I could use your help. Dont know whats waiting for me up there. Butits likely to be another fight, and you got children and womenfolk.

 Would they be any safer anywhere else? Brown asked, mildly. With the land overrun by heathens? I think not. Yes, well join you. Well fight, too. But!

 He held up a stiff, admonishing finger. I want it clearly understood that I am not enlisting in any army! Ill fight, but I wont be a soldier. Meaning no personal offense, General Ball, but youre a blaspheming lot.






 CHAPTER 14



 The Arkansas River, south of Arkansas Fort

 OCTOBER 4, 1824

 

Im starting to get a little worried, Scott, Ray Thompson confided to his friend. The two of them were resting in a field, leaning against a tree stump, watching what remained of a small farm cabin burn to the ground. By now, it was mostly embers.

 Youre just starting to get worried? Powers jibed. Gol dern, I wonder why. Could it be that it just dawned on you that Crittenden set off without having any resupply figured out? Oh, but I forget. We were gonna live off the richness of the land, werent we?

 He half leveled his musket at the smoldering cabin. Insofar as a niggers aint-got-a-pot-to-piss-in shack qualifies as the richness of the land. Insofar as it would have, I mean, if these crackers and yahoos werent burning everything down the moment they come to it.

 Thompson couldnt help but smile a little. He wasnt any fonder of most of their compatriots than Powers was. Both of themquietly and privately, of coursehad shared a laugh after four of Crittendens men had been blown to shreds at Browns tannery and another half dozen had been injured. It turned out that the damned abolitionist had left kegs of gunpowder behind, strategically situated. When the mob started burning down the tannery without investigating the premises first, the charges had exploded.

 But the smile faded very quickly, and Thompson returned stubbornly to the subject. Quit making jokes, Scott. Or have you got some magic sack full of food I dont know about?

 Powers sucked his teeth, idly watching a group of men raping one of the two black women theyd found in the shack. That was the young one. The older of the twopresumably her motherwas huddled over the corpse of a middle-aged black man lying in the dust some ten yards away. She was weeping softly, seemingly oblivious to everything else around her.

 No, I dont, he admitted. But well find what we need at Arkansas Post. He nodded toward the corpse. I figure he wasnt lying none. Not after his ears were cut off.

 Gloomily, Thompson studied the body. Other than the skin color, it was impossible any longer to tell much about the man. His nose had been cut off also, along with his genitals and both of his hands. After the group that had been torturing him at Crittendens command to get information were done, there hadnt been any point in keeping him alive. Youd have had to offer money to get anyone in the slave market at New Orleans to take him. So, the crackers had amused themselves for a time before he finally bled to death.

 Crittenden might have told them to stop wasting time, but hed left right after the negro had told them of the storehouses in Arkansas Post. Of course, whether theyd have listened to him or not was another question. Except for the men under the command of the Lallemand brothers, Crittendens army was to discipline what a tornado was to decorum.

 Wellit wasnt quite that bad. Most of the men belonged to groups of one sort or another. Even if the lines of authority were loose and informal, they existed at least on that level.

 As was demonstrated, in fact, just that moment. Another man came up, wearing an outfit that bore a passing resemblance to a uniform if you squinted and were willing to make some allowances. He had a real sword, too, not one of the big knives that usually did for one on the frontier.

 Cut it out! he shouted, grabbing the current rapist by the scruff of his neck and hauling him off the woman. There was something downright comical about the look on the rapists face: a combination of outrage, frustration, and surprise.

 Just relax, boys. Well be fuckin her all the way down the Mississippi, the officer said, in a friendlier tone, lifting the man to his feet. You betchum. We want that nigger pregnant by the time we put her up on the block. But we got to get going, before somebody else grabs the boat I got us.

 That was standard procedure for slavers. Thompson had served for two years on the crew of a slave ship. Thats where hed first met Scott Powers, whod been an officer of the ship. Even though the international slave trade had been illegal in the United States since 1808, it still went on despite the risk. Mostly, of course, for the profits involved; but there were also the perquisites and the side benefits. Young black women would be segregated from the rest of the cargo and raped all the way across the Atlantic. Entertainment for the crew during the voyageand a pregnant female was worth more on the slave block when they arrived. Two-for-one for the buyerand, more important, proof that the female was good breeding stock.

 Grudgingly, the little crowd around the young black woman obeyed their commander. Two of them hauled her to her feet, one of them taking the time to yank her torn and dirty dress back down to her knees. The womans eyes seemed vacant until, wandering, they fell on the corpse lying in the dirt. Then she let out a wail before one of the men holding her slapped her face.

 What do we do with this one? another man asked, pointing with his pistol at the older woman still clutching the corpse.

 The commander studied her for a moment, then shrugged. May as well leave her. Shes too old to bring much, and we aint got enough food to begin with.

 The man whod asked the question looked back down at the woman. Then, cocked his pistol and shot her in the back of the head.

 The younger woman wailed again, and got another slapping.

 Runnin low on powder, too, the commander said sourly. But he didnt carry the chastisement any further.

 Thompson didnt blame him. Killing the woman had been pointless, but control over a crew like this was always a chancy thing. As excited and fired up as they were, Crittendens army had been killing, burning, raping, and torturing anyone they ran across almost since they left Alexandria. Crittenden had barely been able to keep them in check until they passed beyond the borders of Louisianaand then, only when they came across white people.

 Some of those activities had had a conscious purposeespecially the ones aimed at the Choctawbut most of them had been as mindless as a sharks feeding frenzy. Just the way it was, with expeditions like this, as a rule. The Lallemands men were under better discipline, but Crittenden wasnt so much leading this army as he was trying to half steer a raft through turbulent rapids.

 Thompson and Powers watched the group as they dragged the woman into a keelboat and shoved her onto a bench alongside two other negroes theyd caught. Both young boys, in this case. Then, at a command from their leader, they pushed off from the bank and starting rowing down the Arkansas toward its junction with the Mississippi.

 Damn fools, Powers said. For the price of three slaves! You wont catch me heading off without enough men around to handle Choctaws. I dont care if I find me a pot of gold. Theyll be riled right good, by now.

 Thompson grunted his agreement. What concerned him, however, was that he was pretty sure a lot of the men in Crittendens force werent going to have the same horse sense. This was likely to be just the first of many small groups peeling away from the expedition once theyd gotten their hands on a few slaves. Not all of the men whod come with Crittenden were looking to set up plantations in the northern part of the Delta. That took some money, no matter what elseaccess to loans, at any rateand plenty of these boys didnt have any more of a pot to piss in than a negro did. A fair number of them were, quite literally, former pirates.

 But there was nothing they could do about it, so he levered himself onto his feet, using the musket as a brace. Come on, we may as well catch up with Crittenden.

 Our own veritable Napoleon, Powers sneered. But he was getting to his feet also. There wasnt really any alternative, no matter what qualms and reservations they were both starting to have. Even leaving aside the risk of encountering Choctaws, the land behind them had been so thoroughly ravaged that they wouldnt find enough food to get them back to Louisiana.

 The confluence of the Arkansas and the Mississippi

 OCTOBER 4, 1824

 

By midafternoon, Ball had made his decision.

 All right, General Ross. Much as it rubs me the wrong way, I admit youre probably right. We oughta keep this boat here, not be running up the Arkansas with it.

 Since it had taken Robert most of a day to persuade the black general of something so obvious, he was careful to do nothing more than nod agreeably. Ball was far from stupid, and a very experienced combat veteran to boot. But the problem was that, as was uniformly true of the officer corps of the army of Arkansas from Patrick Driscol on down, his experience was deep but narrow. It was an army led by sergeants, essentially. Granted, some of the finest noncommissioned officers Robert Ross had ever encountered, but without enough experience at higher command levels to really grasp that war was much broader than battles.

 The idea of taking such a critical piece of military equipment as a large steamboat armed with cannonswhich could completely cut off any chance of Crittenden being resuppliedin order to use it for what amounted to nothing more than a big water-going cavalry horse

 From Roberts viewpoint, the idea had been sheer insanity. But it had taken a whole night and most of a day to finally convince Ball on the matter. Again, not because the man was stupid, but simply because he wasnt accustomed to thinking in strategic terms.

 Worse than that, really. Ball had been trained not to think in such terms. In the modern era of line warfare, massed muskets, and cannons against equal massesand naval warfare was no different at allthe last thing an officer wanted was sergeants who tried to think for themselves. There was no room in such utterly brutal and up-close combat for independent initiative. What was wanted, from the men and the noncommissioned officers who led them, was simply obedience, discipline, and courage. Dont think. Just face the enemy, fire, accept the casualties, reload, step forward, fire again. And do it and do it and do itthe very same thing, invariant and inflexibleuntil the enemy broke.

 Patrick Driscol might be an exception, to a degree. To begin with, hed had the experience of serving as what amounted to Winfield Scotts sergeant major in the Niagara campaign. And with his years of service in the French army during the Napoleonic Wars, he had a much wider range of experience than someone like Charles Ball. Still, even Patrick was likely to be rigid and angular in his thinking. Hed be oriented toward war as a series of battles, rather than seeing war as a complete campaign.

 So be it. Robert was not frustrated, really, even if thered been moments over the past twenty-four hours when hed felt like hitting Ball on the head with a pistol butt. The truth was, he was in his element.

 It had been a long time. But he was finding that, near the age of sixty, his body might be creaking a bitleaving aside the lingering effects of his wounds in the American warbut there was nothing wrong with his brain. Hed been, all false modesty aside, one of the half dozen best generals in the British armyand that, during a time when the quality of generalship had reached a peak because of the demands of the great war.





 His wife had commented on it, the night before. In a manner of speaking, the memory of which left Robert feeling half embarrassed and half smug.

 And what brought that on? shed asked, smiling from under a sweat-soaked brow. Her hair, splayed across the little pillow in their cabin, had been almost as wet. It was a hot and humid climate, and neither of them were what youd call spry any longer. Hed been covered with just as much sweat.

 How to explain?

 Never mind, she said, adding a little laugh. Thank God Im too old to get pregnant, or Id be bearing quintuplets in nine months.

 She reached over and stroked his cheek. Robert, she said softly, I know youre feelinguseful again. But please be careful. This is not actually our war, and you are not actually a general in it.

 Yes, dearest, hed agreed. Knowing, finally, that he was lying. Or would be, at any rate, before much longer. He would make it his war. Share in it, for a certainty.





 All through the next day, as he argued with Ball, one part of Roberts mind had been attentive to his son. David, he understood, was making the same decision himselfand doing it with the verve and recklessness of a nineteen-year-old. By midmorning, his mothers protestations notwithstanding, hed had a spare uniform refitted by the captains wife and was training with one of the gun crews.

 He looked to be quite good at it, too.





 It couldnt be said that Ball actually sulked after agreeing to Roberts proposal. But he was noticeably gruff toward his men for a time thereafter. If Ball had been harsh and even caustic during the moments of combat the previous day, Robert had found him to be very good humored any other time.

 Fortunately, the time was brief. Before the sun had reached the western horizon, Robert was vindicated.

 Twice, in facteven if, ironically, neither of the instances had anything to do with cutting lines of supply. But Ball was beginning to learn what any capable general knew in his bones: that a good strategic move always brought serendipitous results in its wake.





 Hey, were noncombatants! the captain of the captured steamboat protested.

 Not any more, Ball countered cheerfully.

 The captain stared at the Arkansas soldiers who were hacking away the front guard of his steamboat with axes. Then, stared at the soldiers manhandling a cannon from one steamboat to the other. It was a tricky operation, even with the two boats tied together in the middle of the river.

 This is piracy! he squawked.

 Robert cleared his throat, drawing the mans eyes. Actually, its not, by the laws of war. The Confederacy of the Arkansas has been invaded by an army coming out of the territory of the United States. Until and unless the United States makes clear through diplomatic channels that there was no official involvementand takes rigorous and public measures to put a stop to such offensesGeneral Ball has no choice but to conclude that a state of war exists. That being the case, he has every rightindeed, the obligation as an officerto seize enemy property that might be turned to military advantage.

 He added a smile for good measure. Provided, of course, he follows proper military procedure and sees to it that his men remain disciplined and no outrages are committed against the persons owning the property. Which, I dare say, he has done meticulously in this case.

 He turned the smile onto the American whod been scribbling furiously in his notebook since the moment the steamboat had come into sight and been captured. Wouldnt you agree, Mr. Bryant?

 Oh, yes, the scribbler replied, not even looking up from his scribbling. Been right the proper gentleman.

 Damn New Englander!

 Bryant finally looked up from his notebook. New Englander or not, Captain, I remain a citizen of the United States. Registered to vote, I assure you. And Im just as curious to know as General Ball is, how it came to pass that an army large enough to commit savageries that would have shamed the Huns managed to assemble, train, and launch an attack on a neighboring country from the state of Louisianawithout, so far as I can determine at the moment, any official of that state issuing so much as a peep of protest. Perhaps I shall ask you for an interview. Being as you are, I understand, a citizen of Louisiana.

 The captains jaws tightened. Bryant went on, relentlessly: Im curious to discover if the state of Louisiana entertains a different translation of the Constitution than my native state of Massachusettsor any other state of the Union, so far as Im aware. I refer you to Article I, Section 8. The right to select officers for the militia is reserved to the states, true enough, but only Congress can declare war.

 That aint no Gol-derned militia! Thats just Crittenden and his boys!

 Ah. Pirates, in other words. Or bandits, if you prefer. May I quote you to that effect?

 You sure as Sam Hill can not. Those boys find out I said any such thing, my life aint worth a plucked chicken.

 Oh, splendid. Thatll do even better. Bryant began scribbling in his notebook. A knowledgeable local source who insisted on remaining anonymous for his own safety depicted Crittenden and his men as criminal extortionists, who would cold-bloodedly murder any man who exposed their nefarious activities to the light of day.

 I said no such thing!

 Actually, you did, said Robert mildly. If not in so many words.

 Ball was less diplomatic. Sure did. And fuck you. This boat now belongs to the Arkansas Army. And if you dont pilot it for me, you best stop worrying about what Crittendens menll do to you.

 His black face could have served as the model for a bust entitled Menace.

 You wouldnt! the captain protested.

 Ball sneered. No, I wouldnt. Dont need to. You dont do what I tell you, you be useless. Aint no room for useless men on this boat, so Ill have to set you ashore. A ways down, though. In Choctaw territory.

 The captains face paled. Ball swiveled his head to the south. I do believe the Choctaws be pissed, right around now. Pissed like you wouldnt believe. Course, they might listen to you, when you explain you just an innocent bystander. But if I was you, I surely wouldnt want to bet on it.

 All right, then, the captain muttered.





 Less than half an hour later, the newly expanded flotilla made its next capture: a keelboat, filled with white men and three negroes. One young black woman and two black boys.

 They didnt put up a fight. Not with two steamboats alongside and cannons trained on them. And close to thirty well-armed men with muskets leveled.

 Bryant interviewed the blacks, who turned out to be captives. The boys, at least. The young womannot much more than a girl, reallywas too distraught to be coherent. Clearly enough, shed been badly abused.

 Balls interview of the white men was extremely brief. There wasnt any mystery about their identity, after all, even without the testimony of the two boys.

 Hang em, he ordered, I want to save our powder.

 You cant do that! shrieked the man who seemed to be the leader of the group.

 Balls expression had long since gone beyond menace.

 Watch me, you pile of shit, he said. Youll have the best view around.





 After it was done, and the corpses had been pitched into the river, Ball took a few minutes to settle his anger. That was the mark of a good officer, too. Roberts hopes for the man kept rising.

 Still higher, when Ball turned to him for advice.

 What do you recommend now, General? Id dearly love to have some knowledge of whats happening upriver. He nodded to the west. The Arkansas, I mean.

 The two steamboats were now positioned right at the confluence. Controlling both rivers completely, at least until such time as an opposing force of warships could arrive. Which wasnt likely to happen any time soon, in Roberts estimation. Unless he was badly mistaken, both the state of Louisiana and the American federal authorities had been caught by surprise by Crittendens expedition. Not the fact of it, so much as the timing. From what theyd been able to glean, Crittenden had come into a sudden and unexpected windfall in terms of arms. The expectation had been that he couldnt launch any serious attack on Arkansas until the following year, if ever.

 By now, after two decades of constant freebooting activity into Mexico andin times pastFlorida and Amelia Island, the mere fact that a band of adventurers had gathered somewhere in the Gulf and was making noise didnt really mean that much. Even as large a group as Crittenden had assembled needed more in the way of arms and ammunition than personal weaponry. Following the Adams-Onis Treaty, the United States had clamped down on the former custom of providing unofficial assistance through government channels.

 As he pondered the answer to Balls question, Roberts eyes fell on Bryant. The young New England poet and journalist had left off his interview of the rescued negroes and was back to scribbling. He had the look of an energetic and curious man, as well as an intelligent and well-educated one. It would be interesting to see what his investigations turned up, once he returned to the United States. Somebody had provided those arms to Crittendenor the money for them, at any rate. And as quickly as it had happened, it had to have been one man or a small handful. No collection taken up from a large group contributing small amounts could possibly have done it so quickly and so secretively.

 A cabal, in short. The American public doted on tales of cabals and conspiracies in high places. Robert had hopes for the poet, too.

 But it was time to give Ball an answer, and the answer was obviouseven if Robert didnt much like it. Still

 Parker and the two McParlands werent the first young men hed sent into harms way in his life. Not by several decades worth. He doubted they would be the last.

 A reconnaissance is in order, I think. Now thathe nodded toward the captured keelboatyouve acquired the means for it, without jeopardizing your main force. Id recommend Captain McParland for the commanding officer. Beyond that

 But Ball was already turning away, and Robert closed his mouth. There was really no need to give Ball advice on the rest.

 Anthony! Ball hollered. You and Corporals McParland and Parker. Take enough men to man the oars on the keelboat and head upriver. He pointed to the west, his finger indicating the Arkansas. I want information, mind. Dont be gettin in no pointless scrapes.

 Robert hesitated. But before it was necessary to intervene, Ball corrected his own error.

 Ah, never mind that. I dont need the information so much as Patrick does. You do whatever you gotta to do to find him. Let him know where things stand down here.

 Captain McParland nodded and began giving orders. Robert relaxed and went back to watching Bryant at his work.

 It was quite a bright day, he realized. Even now, so close to sundown.





 Just after sunset, many miles downriver, another keelboat finally drifted ashore. The sole survivor of the three men in the boat clambered painfully onto the east bank of the Mississippi.

 As exhausted as he wasthe wound in his leg had kept him from sleepinghe was still shaking from the whole experience. Seeing most of his friends ripped to shreds by that incredible steamboat since when did steamboats have cannons?he was still wonderingand then watching two of them slowly bleed to death, was never anything hed expected when he joined up with Crittenden. He was only twenty-two years old.

 Hed barely gotten ashore when he half sensed a threat. Turning his head, he got a glimpse of a war club coming at him before he lost consciousness altogether.





 When he woke up, his head ached and there was dried blood caked on the side of his face. He tried to wipe it off but discovered his hands were tied.

 What?

 Everything was flickering. It took him a while to realize that night had fallen and that he was seeing everything by the light of a fire in a small clearing. A while longer, to realize that hed been tied spread-eagled between two trees in the clearing. And a bit longer still, to discover that he was naked.

 Not long at all, then, to realize the rest. The dozen or so men also in the clearing were all Choctaws, from their outfits. He was pretty sure they were, anyway. Indians all looked alike to him, but since hed moved to Mississippi from South Carolina hed gotten to know a little of the differences in the way the various southern tribes dressed.

 Knives, howeverIndian, white, or Creole, it really didnt matterall looked very much the same. And he was looking at an awful lot of them.

 Oh, shit, was all he could think to say.






 CHAPTER 15



 Arkansas Post

 OCTOBER 5, 1824

 

It took a day longer to reach Arkansas Post than Zachary Taylor had expected. Hed assumed that, this being the autumn, the White River would be fairly low, and fording it would be easy enough.

 And so, in fact, it had provedonce they got to the river. What he hadnt realized was how difficult the terrain between the Mississippi and the White rivers would be in the first place. No settlers had moved into this part of the Delta yet, and the natural landscape was essentially unmodified. Swamps, bayous, oxbow lakes, a profusion of creekseverything that cavalrymen detested.

 Crossing the White itself hadnt been a big problem, although theyd had to travel upriver a ways to find a ford. But, finally, a day late, theyd arrived at Arkansas Post.

 More precisely, would have arrivedexcept by now, the fort was under siege.

 A day late and a dollar short, Taylor muttered to himself. For want of a nail. Hell and damnation.

 He didnt even have the advantage of high terrain, from which he might have been able to spot the gaps in the siege lines. There wasnt any high terrain worth talking about, in the area. The only reason he was able to observe the Post at all, from a reasonably close range, was simply because most of the area north of the river hadnt been cleared yet, and the terrain was still heavily wooded.

 That there were gaps in the siege lines was certain, for the good and simple reason that the terms siege and lines, applied to Crittendens army, were laughable to begin with. That wasnt really an army out there; it was just a very big lynch mob. Or bandit raidtake your pick. Given the nature of Crittendens forces, the distinction was pretty much meaningless.

 Unfortunately for Crittendenthis much was also obvious, even from Taylors limited vantage pointthe lynchees who were the target of the mobs attention were hardly the sort theyd have found in a local county jail. First, because they were armed. Second, because the authorities in Arkansas had apparently taken the time since the founding of the Confederacy four years earlier to turn a ramshackle French trading post into a fort.

 A frontier fort, granted, with wooden palisades instead of stone walls. But Taylor could see that theyd even dug a moat around the fortified town, on all three sides that werent already sheltered by the Arkansas, and kept it filled with water diverted from the river. No dinky little ditch, either. This was full-scale military construction, with a twenty-foot moat, glacis, scarp, counterscarp, the whole works. There were even berms protecting the four-pounders positioned just outside the walls of the fortwith gates right behind them through which the guns could be hauled if it appeared an enemy was making a successful assault on the outer fortifications.

 Not that there was much chance of that, with an enemy like Crittendens mob. The Arkansans had kept the glacis meticulously clear of any growth and had cleared the area well beyond it. Any assaulting force would have to cross at least five hundred yards in the open, the last thirty yards while climbing up a glacis; then, have to cross the moat, whose waters were undoubtedly at least eight feet deep; and then have to clamber up a scarp before they could finally reach the forts guns. Which, by then, would have been withdrawn into the palisade anyway. All the while, being swept by canister fired from four-pounders mannedTaylor was sure of this, tooby some of the same veterans of the Iron Battalion who had broken British elite regiments at the Mississippi in 1815 and routed the Louisiana militia at Algiers five years later.

 Even the U.S. Army would suffer major casualties in any such assault against defenders like these. Taylor himself wouldnt be willing to try it without a minimum of three regiments in the attacking forceand only if those were regular units, not state militias. In his estimate, the likelihood that Crittendens yahoos would be able to storm the fort was about that of the proverbial snowballs chance in Hell.





 Not far away, looking at Arkansas Post from the opposite side of the river, two other men reached the same conclusion.

 Well, shit, said Ray Thompson.

 We are well and truly fucked, agreed Scott Powers. Sighing, he squatted on the ground, propping himself with his musket. God damn Robert Crittenden. God damn all Crittendens. God damn every Kentuckian who ever lived. Louisianans, too.

 Thompson squatted next to him. So what do we do now?

 Powers gave him a sideways glance. Meaning no offense, Ray, but whats we got to do with it? You got hard-nosed creditors. I dont. He inclined the musket forward, pointing toward Arkansas Post. You want to get your head blown off trying to take that place, you go right ahead. Me, this was just supposed to be a stepping-stone to Texas. Ill take Mexican regulars over these crazy Arkansas niggers any day of the week, and twice on Sunday.

 Thompson scowled but didnt make any response. He and Scott were pretty good friends, all things considered. But friendship in their circles had some clear and definite limits. That Powers would abandon him in an instant if he thought it necessary was a given.

 The opposite was also true, of course. And now, somewhere in the back of his mind, Thompson was starting to gauge that possibility.





 Non,Charles Lallemand said forcefully to Robert Crittenden. Absolument pas! He pointed stiffly at the fort across the river and shifted to heavily accented English. We have no more chance of storming it than we do of swimming back to Alexandria.

 Less, his brother Henri-Dominique added with a sneer. His eyes ranged over the mass of men clustered on the south bank of the Arkansas. Most of them were shouting curses and jeers at their opponents across the river, brandishing their muskets in what they apparently thought were warlike gestures. A fair number of them were even firing at Arkansas Post. At a range of perhaps four hundred yards, and getting low on powder.

 It might be possible to plumb the depths of American stupidity, but Henri-Dominique suspected the line necessary would be so long that only a team of oxen could hold it up. Why had he and his brother ever agreed to this madness in the first place?

 The answer, alas, was obvious. Money. Their enterprises in Alabama had turned out poorly, and theyd not been able to resist Crittendens blandishments concerning the wealth of new plantations in the Delta. So perhaps their own stupidity was not much shallower.

 Glumly, while his brother Charles and Robert Crittenden continued their argument, Henri-Dominique studied the Arkansas fortifications across the river. About the only consolation he could find was that at least theyd been designed by a man whod also once served in the emperors colors.

 Poor consolation, though. The empire was gone, vanished, and there was today to be dealt with. Henri-Dominique and his brother had both known, of course, that Driscol was a veteran of the French army. But theyd never expected anything like this. And, unfortunatelyhe took a moment to curse himself and Charles along with Crittenden and his menthey hadnt taken seriously the few reports theyd gotten about the nature of the fortifications at Arkansas Post. In their experience, an American moat was a poor excuse for a ditch, a walled fort was a glorified log cabin, and such terms as glacis and counterscarp were quite literally foreign.

 He was still surprised, though, at the quality of the design. He wouldnt have thought a sergeant, on his own, would have been able to come up with it. Especially a sergeant whose service, by all accounts, had been entirely in units of the line.

 Absolument pas!his brother repeated.

 Merde, alors,Henri-Dominique added for good measure.





 A few hundred yards to the west, and on the Post side of the river, Captain Anthony McParland had come to the same conclusions arrived at by Taylor and Lallemand.

 No chance theyre going to take the Post, he told the two corporals. Not without a siege, anywayand the Lairdll be here long before that.

 His grin was on the wicked side. Ill add that the stupid bastards got themselves penned up, on top of everything else. He pointed backward toward the river, which was now hidden by the woods. The Arkansas makes a loop, right there, just opposite the Post. General Ball told me thats why the Laird shifted the fort from the original French location. Any enemy who camps opposite the Post can be trapped against the river real easy, since theyre in a sort of little peninsula. And Ill bet you a months paymine against yoursthats exactly what the Lairds planning to do.

 Whats a peninsula? his cousin asked.

 The captain glared at him. Youre supposed to know that already!

 Sheffield Parker gave his fellow corporal a quick glance. Cal was sick that day when they covered it in the sergeants school. To Cal, he explained: Its what they call a piece of land stickin out into the middle of the water. Like Florida. The whole states basically a big peninsula.

 Oh. Yeah. I was sick that day.

 You was malingering that day, you mean, his older cousin growled. But there wasnt much heat in it. In truth, he was more surprised that Parker remembered than that Callender didnt know. The sergeants school that the Laird had instituted in the army of Arkansas was a compressed sort of affair. Worse, even, than the officers training Anthony himself had gone throughand he well remembered how many once-mentioned items hed forgotten. Mostly thanks to being promptly dressed down by his superiors soon afterward.

 What do you want to do, sir? Parker asked.

 The young black corporal was meticulous about military protocol in the field, unlike most of the white noncoms. So were most of the other black ones, now that Anthony thought about it. On some level, very deep, quiet, and still, hed come to realize that the black soldiers in the armythe noncoms and officers, even more sotook the whole business more seriously than white ones usually did. All the white people of Arkansas, leaving aside the foreign missionaries, were still Americans in every sense of the term except formal citizenship. So they shared the generally casual attitude toward military matters that characterized most Americans.

 The blacks didnt. For them, the army was all that stood between freedom and a return to slavery. A line so sharp, so clear, and so dark that they cleaved to military values the way a devout Christian cleaved to the cross. It was sometimes a little frightening. Anthonys education had expanded a lot over the years since the British war. Hed even studied the classics, nowsome of them at least. There were ways in which the new little nation taking shape between the Ozarks and the Ouachitas reminded him of ancient accounts of Sparta, more than of anything he remembered growing up in New York. Or the Swiss of a few centuries ago, that the Laird had told him about, whose pikemen were feared by every power in Europe.

 Sheff s own mother had absorbed it in the few months since the family had arrived in Arkansas. As much as shed opposed her son joining the army in the first place, he also knew from his cousin that her last words to Sheff when he left for New Orleans were There be a war, boy, I want you back alive. But I rather see you dead than come back and caint tell me we won. You hear me?

 Before Anthony could make a decision, one of the soldiers from the squad hed sent out to make a reconnaissance of the area returned.

 Sir, theres some people not far away. U.S. Army soldiers. Maybe a dozen of them. And they got three black women with them. Well, a woman and two girls. The soldier turned and pointed to the northwest. About four hundred yards that way.

 Anthony looked in the direction the man was pointing. But, of course, couldnt see more than maybe fifty yards, and that only in spots. Still mostly uncleared, the area around Arkansas Post was heavily wooded. Mostly gum and oak trees, with some cypress here and there. For all practical purposes, most of the region was still a forest.

 The only cleared land, except for a few farms scattered about, was the area south of the river and right around the Post. And that had been cleared for purely military purposes. Anthony was pretty sure Crittendens army was so mindless that they still hadnt figured out that the only reason they could all assemble easily in the peninsula opposite the Post was that it had been cleared for precisely that reason. It was a prepared killing groundand they were the prey whod stumbled into it.

 Are the women captives?

 Dont think so, sir, the soldier replied, shaking his head. The older womans riding a horse, and the girls are sharing one. They real light-skinned, too. The girls, I mean. The womanmight be their mothershes high yeller.

 Anthonys lips quirked slightly. The soldier was black, and like most black people the captain knew, hed parse skin shades and tones even more meticulously than a white man. It was amusing, in a wayalthough it could be rough at times on someone like Corporal Parker, who was very dark-skinned and had no white features at all in his face.

 On the other hand, the same was true of General Charles Ball, and nobody in their right mind in Arkansaswhite, black, or redtreated him lightly. Not more than once, for sure.

 All right. Theres no way we can get into the Post, anyhow, except after nightfall. We may as well go see what theyre up to. Whats the officers rank?

 Dont know, sir. We didnt get close enough to be able to see the insignia. Buthe dont look to be nothing like a lieutenant, I can tell you that. Nor even a captain, we dont think.

 A small unit of U.S. cavalrymen, led by a field-grade officer. What would they be doing here?

 Now, he was genuinely curious, not simply professionally interested.

 Lets go find out.





 One of Taylors men spotted the Arkansas unit, but not until they were forty yards away. Stiffly, the colonel realized that if this had been an ambush, theyd be in sore straits.

 Friend or foe? he called out.

 Thought we might ask you the same thing! came the response. Seeing as how youre trespassing.

 The tone didnt seem belligerent so much as amused, though. And Taylor couldnt detect any trace of real hostility on the face of the Arkansas officer who emerged from the woods. He wasnt carrying a weapon, either, although he had a pistol at his belt.

 Captain McParland, of the army of Arkansas. And you are, sir?

 Zachary Taylor, lieutenant colonel in the United States Army. Since the next question was a foregone conclusion, he pointed a thumb at Julia Chinn, whose horse was standing next to his. Were an escort for Miz Julia Chinn here, and her two children. Shesah

 Not even Taylor was prepared to publicly refer to Julia as Senator Johnsons wife. For a white man to marry a black woman was illegal in the state of Kentucky. Illegal in any state of the Union, so far as he knew, outside of some of the New England states. The colonel wasnt sure if that legal proscription extended so far as to banning any third-party reference to such a marriage that implied it was legitimate, but

 Like any career professional officer, Taylor was chary of crossing such lines. Fortunately, an alternative explanation was at hand. That a man was a husband was something a legislature could decree. That he was a father was decreed by Nature and the God who had created itand, in this case, the father acknowledged the fact publicly and openly, and always had.

 The girls are Senator Johnsons daughters, he said. Senator Johnson of Kentucky, that is.

 Then, pointing to them: Adalines the one sitting in front. Imogenes behind her. The senator and Miz Julia wanted them to attend the school in New Antrim. The one thats being set up, I mean.

 He could sense the relaxation in the Arkansas officer. More to the point, he could see several of the muskets in the woods that hadnt quite been pointing at him, lifting away entirely.

 Still, there was never any harm in slathering the cake with some icing. Sam Houston asked me to provide them with an escort.

 Houstons name might be cursed as often as praised in the United States, but it was a magic talisman in Arkansas. Now, the captain was smiling cheerfully and waving his men forward.

 Come on out, boys. Everybodys friendly.





 While Captain McParland and the U.S. colonel conferred, Sheff Parker found himself having to fight off the urge to ogle the three women.

 Especially the girls. Lord, they were pretty. Even if they were still too young to be entertaining any such thoughts.

 Stop staring, Cal murmured. You bein rude.

 Corporal McParland himself, Sheff noticed, wasnt looking any other place either.

 You the one to talk.

 Prettiest girls I seen in an age. Too bad theyre so young still.

 Girls grow up.

 But the moment Sheff said it, he realized how absurd he was being. First, because Senator Johnsons family situation was famous all over the South. Notorious, maybe, for white people. But black folks didnt feel the same way about it. Freedmen werent allowed to vote in Kentucky, no more than they were in any state of the United States that Sheff knew of, except maybe some of the New England states. But if they had been, every black mans vote would have gone to Richard M. Johnson, any election he ever stood for. That would have been true even if he wasnt also the man demanding the abolition of debt imprisonment.

 These were rich girls. Important girls. Beyond that, they were so light-skinned that even high yeller didnt apply. Sheff might as well be entertaining fantasies about jumping over the moon.

 So, he looked away. And, an instant later, saw Cal do the same. He realized then, not really ever having thought about it before, that there could even be things that a white boy couldnt entertain fantasies about, either.

 That thought went through his mind like a crystal, bringing many things into clear and certain place that hadnt been so before. There was no barrier to his friendship with Cal, he suddenly realized, except things that were not decreed in any page of the Bible he knew. And he knew them all.

 McParland was ordering a camp made.

 Its your turn to cook, Sheff said. Dont argue about it. I been keepin track and you aint.

 Life in the army did, indeed, lead to blasphemy. Even Sheff was sometimes guilty of it. Hell of a state of affairs, Cal complained, when a curree adds and subtracts better than a white man.

 Not my fault you miss so many days in school. And dont you be pissin me off, or you wont have nobody to help you catch up.

 Well. Thats true. I cook bettern you do anywayeven if thats upside down, too.






 CHAPTER 16



 Arkansas Post

 OCTOBER 5, 1824

 

That night, Taylor and his party, along with the unit from the Arkansas Army, snuck into the fort.

 Snuck, insofar as a relaxed and almost open promenadethe U.S. party on horseback, evencould be given the term. The young black corporal with Captain McParland had led the way, advancing alone to within sight of Arkansas Post and calling out to the sentries.

 Taylor had been rather impressed by his courage. Granted, there was no danger from any of Crittendens outfit. Taylors cavalrymen had scouted the area to make sure there were none such present. But the real risk in such a situation would come from the sentries themselves. As keyed up and tense as they were certain to be, theyd be quite likely to fire as soon as they spotted anyone moving in the area beyond the walls.

 The corporals black face had helped, of course. Thered be no one in Crittendens army with skin anywhere near as dark. But the night was dark, too, with only a quarter moon in the sky, so sentries couldnt be certain of anyones race at a distance. And while the green uniform of an Arkansas soldier was easily discernible in daylight, at night it simply looked like any dark garment.

 Fortunately, the youngster was shrewd. As soon as he emerged from the woods he began singing Blue Tail Fly, with its well-known refrain:


 Jimmy crack corn, and I dont care

 Jimmy crack corn, and I dont care

 Jimmy crack corn, and I dont care

 My masters gone away


 Taylor found himself chuckling as he watched. Nobody in Crittendens army was likely to be singing a song about a slaves glee at his masters death from an accident!

 The boy had a very nice tenor voice, too.

 Oh, he sure sings pretty, he heard Imogene say.





 He discovered that Arkansas Post was under the command of a Major Joseph Totten. A bit to his surprise, a white officer. Taylor had known, of courseCaptain McParland being living proof hed already encounteredthat a number of the officers and even enlisted men in the Arkansas forces were white. But it was still a bit startling. Not so much the skin color itself as the apparent lack of concern that anyone seemed to have about it, one way or the other. Tottens second-in-command was a Captain Davies, whose dark face seemed to have a subtly Indian cast to it. Quite possibly, the son or grandson of one of the early slaves taken by the Cherokees or Creeks in the past century. Manumission was far more common in the Indian tribes than it was among white Americans, and it often took the form of a former slave or at least their children marrying into one of the clans.

 That, too, was a break with American custom. Andrew Jackson had created something of a scandal by giving Driscols sergeant Charles Ball a field promotion to lieutenant during the New Orleans campaign. That had been in clear violation of U.S. Army regulations, which did not permit black freedmen to rise to any commissioned rank.

 Jackson being Jacksonwith the great victory at the Mississippi to add luster to his reputation for furyno one had dared to object officially at the time. But after Ball had resigned from the army, the authorities had quietly seen to it that there would be no repetition of the problem and that the promotion would not establish any sort of precedent.

 Arkansas, clearly, had different rules. Taylor wasnt sure if he approved. On the other hand, he was no more sure that he didnt. He did not consider himself an intellectual officer, in the way that Winfield Scott was, but he thought a man had to be a plain damn fool not to understand that there was ultimately something dark and dangerous about having slavery at the foundation of a republic. Even though his own familys considerable wealtheven his own position, to a degreerested on that same institution.

 That said, he had no more use for abolitionists than he did for men like John Calhoun. Fine and dandy to denounce slavery in the abstractbut how was one to get rid of it? Two great obstacles stood in the way, the second more immovable than the first.

 The first, of course, was simple economics. Slavery was profitable, and the solid basis for most of the wealth of Southern gentlemen. Easy enough for a New England merchantwhose own familys wealth might very well have derived a century earlier from the slave tradeto demand that a Virginia farmer bankrupt himself by freeing his slaves. Not so easy for the farmer.

 But, even if that were done, what would happen next? How was a society to absorb two million freed negroes? That was the second rock below the surface, and the one that all schemes for abolition foundered upon.

 Until now, perhaps. If the United States could not do it, what if its new neighbor could?

 Zachary Taylor didnt know the answer to that question. What he did decide, that night, studying Major Totten and his staff of officers, was that he was glad the question was finally being asked by somebody, and in dead earnest.





 Many miles away, on a steamboat at the confluence of the Mississippi and Arkansas rivers, an English lady was pondering the same issue. In her case, a rumination brought on by the experience of the past two evenings, watching John Brown leading his large family through a reading of the Bible.

 A large family which had just gotten larger, and darker, since Brown had calmly assumed that the three rescued negroeshaving no other family any longerwould find a home with his.

 He simply doesnt care, does he? she murmured to her husband.

 Sitting next to her in the sheltered rear of the Comet s main deck, Robert watched Brown and his people for a moment before answering.

 No. He doesnt.

 I find him a somewhat frightening man.

 Her husband smiled wryly. I find him considerably more than somewhat frightening, my dear. Still

 He trailed off. Eliza suspected he had no more of a ready answer than she did.

 Still

 The day before, in conversation with the two young corporals before theyd left with Captain McParland, the black one had told her what Brown had said the first time he met him. To a band of slave-catchers.

 I believe in the Golden Rule, sir, and the Declaration of Independence. I think that both mean the same thing. And, that being so, it is better that a whole generation should pass off the face of the earthmen, women, and childrenby a violent death than that one jot of either should fail in this country. I mean exactly so, sir.

 Said it calmly and matter-of-factly, just as hed calmly and matter-off-actly slain the one slave-catcher whod doubted him.

 A frightening man, yes. A fanatic, some would say.

 But Eliza had also heard the tale of the young black womanbits of it, rather, since the poor girl was still half out of her wits. Faced with such incredible barbarity, the term fanatic seemed almost meaningless. She understood now, really for the first time, why her husband had found himself drawn into Clarksons movement. Understood, finally, why he insisted on keeping that horrid illustration of the Brookes on the wall of their home in Ireland.

 Quietly, she rose from the bench and went over to stand by the guardrail. The quarter moon glinted off the waters of the Mississippi, a shining crescent half obscured by mud and slime.

 If one allowed oneselfeven for a momentto consider that those spoons shaped like people nestled in a drawer were actually people

 She could hear Browns voice murmuring in the background. The words were indistinguishable, but she knew he was reading from Judges. A Calvinist through and through, Brown was partial to the Old Testament. His God was a wrathful deity.

 Eliza being an Anglican, her God was a considerably gentler Creator. But she could no longer avoid the simple and obvious truth that if those spoons were actually peopleeach and every one of them a real human beingfull and complete in every particular.

 Not even the sweetest cherub in Heaven would show any mercy at all. Lessmuch lessthan any man who ever lived, be he never so fanatic.

 A shudder ran through her whole body. At that moment, the Mississippi seemed like a dark torrent rushing toward a pit of eternal damnation, carrying her with it. Scream as loudly as she might, no angel would hear. Nor care, if they did.

 Robert was at her side an instant later, running his hand up her arm.

 Are you ill, dearest? His voice was full of concern. These waters are not healthy.

 A half laugh, half sob burst from her lips. Not healthy!

 But, blessedly, the horrible vision was gone. She took a deep breath and sighed it out.

 No, Im quite well, Robert. Justa bad moment.

 She leaned her head into his shoulder. You intend to see this through to the end, dont you?

 She didnt wait for an answer. And our blessed rambunctious son, too!

 She laughed again, very softly, but there was no half sob to go with it. Very well, husband. Ill help. As best I can.





 Near midnight, Captain McParland and the two corporals left the fort again. On horseback, having been assured by Major Totten that the few enemy units who had crossed to the north bank during the day had retreated to their own camp before nightfall. Theyd have no difficulty moving upriver to find Driscol and his armywho were surely coming, the major had no doubt at allbeyond the obstacles posed by the terrain itself.

 The rest of McParlands soldiers remained behind to strengthen the garrison at Arkansas Post.

 After carefully asking permission, Taylor took the opportunity to inspect the fort. He was a bit surprised that Totten gave that permission. It was quite possible that a time would come, and not so far in the future, when Taylor might be investing Arkansas Post. If not he himself, some other officer in the army of the United States.

 But there might lie the answer, as well. A potential foe, forewarned, might never become a foe at all. These things were always difficult to predict. For a professional soldier even more than most people, life was seen in the words of the apostle: through a glass, darkly.





 The fort itself was quite impressive: well designed and sturdily constructed, especially by the standards of the frontier. Taylor didnt envy Crittenden at all, trying to take it.

 In fact, he very much doubted that he could. Even though, by now, Crittendens army must have swelled to something like fifteen hundred men. Hed lost some through the inevitable desertion that always plagued such jury-rigged military forces as little bands of men peeled away after finding some loot. But hed gained more than hed lost, since his initial force of roughly a thousand men coming up from Alexandria had been augmented by adventurers coming down the Mississippi from Missouri and the other border states.

 True enough, Crittendens army greatly outnumbered the garrison at Arkansas Post, which didnt have more than a hundred and fifty men. All other things being equal, a ten-to-one numerical superiority would normally be quite sufficient to overrun even a well-designed fort.

 But all other things were very far from equal. Crittendens force was more in the way of a mob or a gang of outright criminals than what any sane mancertainly a professional officerwould call an army. And while Taylor was sure that most of the forts garrison were green troops, a sufficient number of them were veterans of the Iron Battalion to serve as a spine and a stiffener.

 Not that much stiffening would be needed, anyway. All but perhaps a dozen of the soldiers in Arkansas Post were black. Surrender, for them, meant a life of slavery. And, if anything, the fate of the white soldiers would most likely be worse. Under these circumstances, the term nigger-lover, for such men as filled the inchoate ranks of Crittendens army, amounted to a death sentence. Especially after the blood theyd spill, getting into the fort.

 They had women to defend, too, at least fifty of them. And children. The women would suffer worse than their menfolk if Crittendens men made it over the wall. The youngest of the children, also, since Crittendens men wouldnt want the burden of carrying toddlers all the way back to New Orleans. Just bash in their little skulls with a musket butt while waiting a turn to rape their mothers and sisters.

 But he didnt think it would come to that. In fact, the more he wandered through the Post and studied the soldiers in their green uniforms, the more certain he became that it wouldnt. Those might be green troops, mostly, but theyd clearly had considerable training. They were tense, yes, but it was more the tension of a racehorse before the gun went off than the tension of men expecting calamity.

 In fact, he was pretty sure that most of them were downright eager to see the sun come up.

 He laughed, then, standing in the middle of an alien army.

 So was he, when you got right down to it. Lieutenant Colonel Zachary Taylor wasnt certain of many things in life. But he surely and purely loathed the sort of men who were gathered across the river. Come morning, let the bastards bleed. And bleed and bleed and bleed, until the river ran red and the dirt was crimson mud and the stink of their emptied bowels drew every crow and beetle in Creation.

 The Arkansas River, five miles west of Arkansas Post

 OCTOBER 6, 1824

 

Captain McParland and the two corporals found the Lairds army at half past two oclock in the morning.

 It wasnt hard. The whole river seemed covered with boats. From what Anthony could tell, by the light of the quarter moon, Driscol had commandeered every single rivercraft in or around New Antrim, from the steamboat Hercules the newest of Shreves boats, and the pride of his companys fleetall the way down to rowboats and fishing skiffs.

 By the time they arrived, it looked as if a good half of the Arkansas Army had already debarked onto the southern shore of the river. Which was, unfortunately, the opposite bank from the one they were on.

 That proved to be a minor problem, however. Driscol had sent several keelboats to patrol the north bank of the Arkansas, and McParland had Corporal Parker go down to summon them.

 The device having worked once, Sheff saw no reason not to do it again. He had just finished the fourth verse


 Well the pony jumped, he start, he pitch

 He threw my master in the ditch

 He died and the jury wondered why

 The verdict was the blue-tail fly


 when the picket in the nearest boat called out: Whos there? Name yourself!

 Parker stepped out into plain view from behind a gum tree at the edge of the river. Its Corporal Parker. With the Third Regiment.

 That you, Sheff? You just in time!

 Easy as that.





 After Captain McParland finished his report, standing on the main deck of the Hercules, Patrick Driscol spent perhaps half a minute examining the steamboat. Then, cocked his head at the two men standing nearby in civilian clothing.

 One was white, one was blackbut their garments were both expensive, and equally so.

 Its mostly your money, gentlemen, Driscol said. So I suppose I should ask permission. Mind you, I make no guarantees Ill accept the answer.

 The white man started to glare at him but wound up just rolling his eyes. The day I agreed to be your partner Henry Shreve sighed. Fine, Patrick, fine. Lets go ahead and wreck another of my boats. Why not?

 The black man with him, who looked to be about twice his size, shrugged massive shoulders. The captain didnt say they was wrecked, Henry. Just maybe banged up a little bit.

 Crittendens got guns, Shreve pointed out sourly. The three-pounders, Im not much worried about. But a six-pounders a different story altogether. His eyes gave the boat the same inspection Driscols had done, except in far less time. This boat was never designed to handle any such thing. A six-pounderll hammer it into splinters.

 Thats assumin they fire it in time, and fire it straight, said Crowell. Again, he shrugged those shoulders. The gesture bore a fair resemblance to a small landslide encased in fine linen. From what the captains told us, I doubt me either one of those is gonna be true.

 His white partner gave him a none-too-friendly look. And youre willing to bet money on it. Just as much of its yours as mine, Henry.

 Crowell smiled. Ill do more than bet money. Ill bet my life. He pointed toward the bow. We got four cannons of our own, and I still remember how to serve on a gun crew. I did it before, on the Mississippi. I plan on doin it again.

 He turned the smile onto Driscol. Assuming, of course, our fine general will allow me to resume the colors. He stuck out a huge finger and wagged it under Driscols nose. Just for a day, yunderstand? We aint got no conscription in Arkansas, Patrick, even though I know your black Napoleonic souls lusting for it, so dont be gettin any crazy ideas!

 Driscol gave him a thin smile in return. Leave it to a bankerblack one worse than a white oneto parse the difference between conscripting a man with an honest press gang and doing it by squeezing his empty wallet. But Ill not argue the point again, tonight. Sure, Henry. Consider yourself reenlistedvery temporarilyin the Iron Battalion.

 Shreve threw up his hands. Oh, fine, then! Ill pilot the blasted thing. What I get for going into business with a curree and an Irishman. Especially the crazy Irishman.

 When he brought his hands down, though, Anthony thought he might be detecting a little gleam in the shipbuilders eyes. There had to be something of a professional interest there, he figured. Shreve really prided himself on his boats. If one of them could

 But were not doing it in daylight! Shreve continued. No blasted way! He emulated his black partners finger-wagging in the face of the general. We do this, were going past Crittenden before dawnor we dont do it at all.

 Werent you the one pissing and moaning all the way down here about the frightful risks of navigating an uncharted river by the light of a pitiful quarter moon? Driscol asked mildly. Lets compromise, Henry. I want the gun crews to be able to see what theyre doing, even if the pilots working by guess and memory. Well steam past Crittenden just at sunup.

 Shreve rolled his eyes again. Dont remind me. I like to have lost five years of my life this night. I say were still lucky the whole blasted flotilla didnt wind up stranded and snagged, instead of just two of the boats.

 Which we got off the sandbars right easily, Crowell pointed out, his tone as mild as Driscols. In less than five minutes each. Come on, Henry. By now you know this river about as well as you do the back of your hand.

 Since that also struck to Shreves pride, he didnt say anything. From what Anthony could tell, in the poor lighting provided by the lamps on deck, the disgruntled expression still on his face was more a matter of stubbornness than anything really heartfelt.

 And whats this we business? Shreve asked sourly. If youre planning to come along, Patrick, Im backing out right now. No way Im letting a mad Irishman

 Oh, leave off. Of course Im not coming. Ive got an army to command. He turned toward Anthony. Captain McParland here will lead the expedition. He knows exactly where Ball can be found.

 To Anthony, directly: Tell Charles I want him to stay there. And be ready for Crittendens mena lot of themto be coming down that river sometime around late afternoon. Rowing like their lives depended on it, which they will be.

 Yes, sir. And what

 Dont ask silly questions. Charles knows what to do. You already saw him do it. Crittenden and his men are nothing but pirates and brigands. The penalty for piracy is death by hanging. Im not fussy, though, so if it works better to just shoot them down like mad dogs, have at it. I dont care. So long as not one man from that crowd ever makes it back alive to Alexandria.

 He gave his shoulders a little shake, like a dog shedding water. Wellall right. Ill be reasonable. Some of them are bound to escape. Might even be to the best, letting them spread terror through their circles. But if I find out its more than a handful, I shall not be a happy man.

 He smiled then, more thinly than ever. Not that you need to give Charles any such explanation. Id not insult him.

 Yes, sir.

 Be at it, then. Get the guns ready to rake Crittenden as you steam past. Dont linger, thoughand dont aim for his army. Wreck as many of his boats as you can. Remember that, Anthony. Shoot up the boats. You can leave the killing to me. Just make sure theyve got as little to make an escape with as possible.

 Yes, sir. Do you want me to take the corporals with me?

 Driscol frowned for a moment. No, I dont think so. Youve no real need for them, not with gun crews from the battalion on the Hercules. Theyre not really trained artillerymen anyway, being in Colonel Joness regiment. From your report, theyve done very well for themselves. But with a battle coming on the morrow, itd be best for them to be back in their ranks. Ive got hopes for both of those youngsters, but they need real blooding on a battlefield. Theres never a substitute for that, in war.

 Yes, sir.





 When he told the two corporals, they both seemed more relieved than anything else.

 As Anthony watched them march off the gangplank to join their 3rd Regiment, now mustering somewhere in the darkness, he found himself envying the boys. Not for the moment, but for the past memory. On the eve of Anthonys first battle, hed been frightened out of his wits. Of course, it hadnt helped any that hed been executed by Driscol not so many days earlier.

 He grinned, then. It was an odd world. Now that he was looking toward his fourth decade of life, in just a few years, he found that he had a more insouciant view of the world than hed had as a teenager. Death had been a mysterious terror, then. Today it was just a familiar enemyand he still had the worlds meanest troll on his side.






 CHAPTER 17



 Arkansas Post

 OCTOBER 6, 1824

 

Imogene! Adaline! You come down from there right this minute! You hear me?

 The twins standing on the gun platform above her tried for a moment to pretend they hadnt heard their mother.

 This second! I aint foolin!

 Imogene stamped her foot. Watching, it was all Zack Taylor could do not to laugh.

 Mama! Its exciting. 

 Wont be excitin you get a bullet in your head! Or be too excitin altogether. Get down here. I aint sayin it one more time.

 Reluctantly, the two girls obeyed Julia, clambering down the ladder that led up to the platform with the peculiar combination of grace and awkwardness that seemed to be the uniform property of twelve-year-old girls. Most of all, that blithe indifference to propriety. Taylors oldest daughters Ann and Sarah were about the same age as Julias twins. Imogene and Adaline were just at the point in their lives when they were starting the transition from girlhood to womanhood. It simply hadnt registered on them yet that proper young ladies didnt give the world such an exposure of leg and ankle as they came down a ladder wearing dresses.

 Anywheremuch like a fort full of soldiers. Especially girls as pretty as these two seemed likely to be.

 Julia knew it, of course. As soon as the girls arrived on solid ground, she was looming over them, shaking a finger in their faces.

 You bein a disgrace! If your father had seen this!

 As stern a disciplinarian as their mother was, the girlsespecially Imogene, whom Taylor had already recognized as the more rambunctious of the twowerent ready to give in yet.

 Its gonna be a battle, Mama! Imogene protested. We oughta be able to watch it!

 The shaking finger now concentrated on her alone. And watch your language, young lady! Your daddy aint sending you to no expensive school sos you can talk about gonnas and oughtas!

 Blithely indifferent, of course, to the fact that Julias own lingo was every bit as colloquial as that of most frontier women. But the thought was simply one of amusement, not condemnation. Being the father of four girls himself, Taylor had more than once fallen back upon that most ancient and reliable staple of parenting: Do as I say, blast it, not as I do.

 Imogene was nothing if not stubborn.  Sides, Im worried about that young corporal. The one who sings so pretty.

 Adaline even pitched in, though she was normally the more obedient of the two. And Im worried about thother one. She and her twin exchanged glances. Me and Imogene already decided.

 Decided what?  Julias expression could by now only be described as a glower. The finger shaking increased its tempo. Dont you two be thinkin about no boys! You too young for that! Way too young! Only thing you best be thinkin aboutIll smack you, so help me I will!is your lessons in school.

 School aint started yet, Imogene said sulkily.

 Smack.Dont you sass me, girl! And dont you be usin no aints, neither!

 Chuckling, Taylor turned away from the scene. The sun hadnt even come up yet, but daylight was starting to fill the sky. He foresaw a frenzied day for Julia, trying to keep her spirited daughters from finding ways to watch the battle that was about to unfold.

 Zack Taylor, on the other hand, was long past the age where he had a mother to answer to. Which was fortunate, because he had every intention of watching the battle himself. Not from simple curiosity, in his case, but from professional necessity. It wouldnt surprise him at all if he found himself someday having to face the army of Arkansas. He wanted to get as good an estimate as he could of its capabilities.

 Since there was no point in skulking about, however, hed simply join Major Totten in the blockhouse, which had the best view of the cleared ground on the riverbank opposite the fort. It was possible that Totten would order him to leave, but Taylor didnt think so. As polyglot as it might be, hed already gotten enough sense of the spirit that infused the Confederate armyits Arkansas portion, anywayto think that Totten and his officers would consider it ungallant to refuse a fellow officer such a straightforward courtesy. Enemies they might be on the morrow, but today was today, and protocol was important for its own sake.

 He hoped he was right. The battle that was about to unfold was going to be fought by such rules as any Hun or Mongol would accept. But it was Taylors growing beliefcertainly his personal desirethat if a war did erupt between the United States and the Confederacy, such savagery could be avoided in the future. And, if so, his own behavior and conduct today might make a difference.

 No skulking, then, and no spying. Just a straightforward request by an officer of one army to observe a battle being conducted by another. Who was to say, after all? The time might also come when the United States and the Confederacy were allies.





 When Taylor arrived in the blockhouse, Major Totten looked away from the firing slit he was peering through and gave him a courteous nod. Youre just in time, Colonel. It appears that the Lairdah, General Driscolplans to start the battle by ravaging the enemys fleet.

 He turned to one of his aides. Lieutenant Morton, be so good as to lend Colonel Taylor your eyeglass. And please make room for him while youre at it, so he can get a good view.

 So.





 Slow down, Henry! shouted Captain McParland.

 He was wasting his breath, of course. Hed yelled out of simple frustration. Even if Shreve could have heard him over the sound of the engines, in the pilothouse, Anthony knew perfectly well he wouldnt obey. Shreve wasnt under military discipline, and he was a lot more concerned about keeping his beloved Hercules intact than he was over such petty minutiae as making sure they inflicted as much damage as possible on the enemy flotilla.

 Dont worry, Anthony, said Crowell, leaning on his sponge staff. Well manage, well enoughand there aint no way Henryll pay attention nohow. He do surely love this boat.

 The steamboat was almost in range. If nothing else, the speed Shreve was making had the advantage of increasing the element of surprise. And Anthony would allow that the steamboat designer was at least not trying to keep to the very middle of the river. In fact, he was skirting the southern shoreline more closely than Anthony would have himself. Of course, he was a lot more familiar with the river.

 And will you look at em! came a gleeful shout from another member of the gun crew. Scurryin like chickens!

 It was true enough. Any commander with any brainsor one who wasnt being constantly distracted by the sort of squabbles that were bound to plague a force like Crittendenswould have seen to it that the river was patrolled by picket boats for hundreds of yards upstream and downstream. And would have had sentries along the shore extended just as far.

 But theyd seen none of that. No picket boats at all, and the one and only sentry theyd spotted had been fast asleep. Now that the Hercules was almost on the enemy flotilla tied up to the shore, of course, the sound of its engines was waking everybody up. But the men sleeping on those boats quite clearly had no thought at all except to either run or gape.

 McParlands eyes swept the riverbank ahead, looking for the battery. It had to be there, somewhere. Not even an amateur like Crittenden would have been dumb enough not to move his few cannons into position during the night.

 Anthony spotted it, then, and had to suppress a gleeful shout of his own. A genuine battery, sure enough. Sheltered behind an earthen berm, just like it should be. A great big one, toobigger than Anthony would have thought Crittendens mob could have erected in the dark.

 Unfortunately, whether from inexperience or simple enthusiasm, theyd made it too big. Crittendens guns could fire on Arkansas Post across the river, but they couldnt lower the elevation enough to hit anything on the river itself.

 You know what to do, Anthony said to the gun crew as he headed toward the pilothouse. Im going to go try and talk some sense into Henry.

 Hed just reached the pilothouse when the four-pounder toward the starboard bow cut loose. He didnt turn to see what effect the shot had, though. The whooping and hollering coming from the gun crew made that plain enough.

 He opened the door and stuck his head in. Tarnation, Henry, their batterys too high to shoot at us, anyway. Slow down. 

 Shreve was squinting through the eyeslit, peering ahead toward Crittendens battery. Normally, of course, thered have been a full window there. But hed had most of the pilothouse fortified by timbers in the course of the voyage down from New Antrim. The planks wouldnt stop a cannon shot, but theyd handle musket fire pretty well.

 Sam Hill, if you arent right. A sudden and very wicked grin came to the steamboat designers face. Tell you what, Anthony. Ill go you one better. Get on back there, now! Youre going to be a busy man for a bit.

 As he turned back toward the gun crews, Anthony heard a sudden change in the noise coming from the engine. An instant later, he felt the Hercules starting to shudder a bit. Shreve, he realized, was reversing the thrust on the stern paddlewheel. He was going to bring the boat to a complete stop right smack in front of the whole flotilla.

 Hot damn! shouted the gunner on the rear four-pounder. That crew had just fired its own first shot. Boys, I want to see this gun firing till it melts! Move it!

 The bow gun fired again, jerking back against the recoil lines. The round struck the stern of one of Crittendens keelboats and caved it in. It also slaughtered, in the process, the one man whod been either too slow or too dumb to get off the boat in time. A big splinter flew into his back as he was trying to clamber ashore and ripped open most of his rib cage. Blood and bone bits went flying everywhere. The corpse hit the muddy bank like a sack of meal.

 Crowell was at that lead gun and already had it swabbed out by the time Anthony looked back. The crew hauled the gun back into position, took cursory aim, and fired again.

 The aim hadnt been as cursory as it looked, though. Or maybe theyd just been lucky. That shot hit one of Crittendens few steamboats. A little too high, unfortunately, so it simply smashed in part of the main deck instead of holing the hull. But it was enough to send the men gawking there racing to get off the boat, even if none of them looked to have been injured any.

 Good enough. There was no chance, other than by a fluke, that four-pounders would be able to destroy any of the steamboats in Crittendens flotilla. Not badly enough to prevent them from being repaired, at least. But repairs would take time, and time was one thing Crittendens army now had in short supply.

 Very short supply. In the lulls between cannon fire, Anthony could hear the faint sounds of the Lairds regiments coming. The tone of voices raised in command, if not the words themselves; most of all, that unmistakable jingle-jangle of their gear that masses of soldiers made, approaching at a fast march.

 The four-pounder in the rear went off again, followed closely by Crowells gun. The same steamboat took another hit, this one in the hull. A keelboat rocked wildly, breaking loose its tether and starting to drift with the current. With that hole torn in its side, though, it likely wouldnt drift more than a few miles.

 Didnt matter. A few miles would be enough, even if the boat didnt sink at all. The sounds of the Laird coming were starting to fill the dawn. There was no time at all, now, for Crittenden and his men. No time at all.

 All right, Henry! Anthony shouted. You can get us under way again!





 In the blockhouse, Zachary Taylor had come to the same conclusion. And he made it a point to jot down in his unwritten mental notebook that the two oncoming regiments of the army of Arkansas were able to march faster and for longer than any regiment of the U.S. Army hed ever known. It remained to be seen how well theyd been trained in battlefield tactics. But one thing was now sure and certain. Driscol must have had them practicing marchesrelentlesslyfor months.

 Taylor was not guessing. He was one of the few field-grade officers in the U.S. Army who was adamant himself about keeping troops well trained and in good condition. Part of the reason his whole career had been spent on the frontier, with none of the usual assignments to Washington that might have advanced him more rapidly, was that he had a reputation for being a commander who could be sent to a poorly trained and dispirited garrison stuck in a fort out in the middle of nowhere and rapidly bring order and discipline to what had been not much more than a half-trained and three-quarters-drunk mob of gamblers, whoremongers, and idlers.

 From what Taylor could determine thus far, on the other hand, Driscols tactics didnt seem particularly sophisticated. Not that Taylor was fond himself of fancy tactics on a battlefield. But still, this was about as crude and blunt as it got.

 Driscol had shifted his regiments from column march into lines, not more than three hundred yards from the outlying units in Crittendens army. Risky, that. Taylor himself wouldnt have chanced getting that close to an enemy while still in column formation. Not regular troops, at any rate. It took even a well-trained army two minutes or more to shift from column to line formation, during which time it was vulnerable to a vigorous counterattack.

 Against a force like Crittendens, admittedly, there wasnt much risk. They were just as sluggish as they were brutal and undisciplined. But trained soldiers under good officers would have been able to take advantage of that recklessness on Driscols part.

 And now that he had his two regiments formed up, Driscol was just advancing them forward, side by side. No cavalry screen on the flanksin fact, he didnt seem to have any cavalry at alland not even any use of light infantry as a substitute. He did have a small battery of four-pounders, but those were still a considerable distance to the rear. The artillerymen were trying to bring them up on the flank, but the horses were having a rough time of it. The terrain was awfully soggy this close to the river.

 Clearly enough, though, Driscol had no intention of waiting until he could bring his artillery to bear. Hed go at Crittenden with his infantry alone, relying on discipline and impact to keep his enemy off balance and prevent them from using their own artillery to good effect.

 It was going to be a pure and simple slugging match. A sergeants sort of fight. About twelve hundred men under Driscols command, against a slightly larger force of Crittendens.

 Under the circumstances, Taylor was pretty sure this was going to be as one-sided a slugging match as hed ever seen. Whether between armies, pugilists, or rams in a field, for that matter. Unsophisticated Driscols tactics might be, but those two regiments were advancing in perfect order and in perfect cadence. Trained and trained and trained. Not blooded yet, most of them, but even green recruits, with good enough training and enough of it, could acquit themselves very well on a battlefield.

 He shifted the glass to observe Crittendens forces.

 Forces.Could ever a term be so misused?

 One large group of men, near the center of Crittendens army, looked to be in something you could call a formation. Taylor had been told by Major Totten that the Lallemand brothers had joined Crittendens expedition, along with what was left of their French troops and some Alabamans theyd recruited. That was probably them. But fewer than three hundred men were in those ranks taking shape. What was worse was that none of the other loosely knit groups of men in Crittendens army were following their example. Not even the groups clustered around his handful of field guns. In fact, they looked more disorganized than anybody.

 One man in a fancy-looking uniform, some fifty yards from the Lallemand unit, was racing back and forth and waving a sword. Taylor couldnt make out his features at the distance, but he seemed like a young man, which Crittenden was.

 Probably Robert Crittenden himself, then. Taylor had met him once on one of the several visits hed paid to John J. Crittenden when hed still been a U.S. senator from Kentucky. Taylor liked John quite a bit but hadnt been much impressed with the younger brother. By all accounts, Robert Crittenden was something in the way of the black sheep of that very prominent family.

 For all the good Crittenden was doing, he might as well have been ordering the tide to recede. Even from the distance, it was as clear as the day itselfnow that the sun was well over the horizonthat none of Crittendens men were paying him any attention at all.

 That was hardly surprising. From his years serving on the frontier, Taylor was quite familiar with the sort of men who filled the ranks of Crittendens army. Basically, they were gangs. Sometimes outright loners, with maybe a partner or two. But usually they were part of a group of perhaps half a dozen to several dozen men, loosely organized and led by one or a few dominant characters. Many of them were outright criminals, and a goodly percentage of those who werent simply hadnt been convicted yet.

 Their motives were about as rudimentary as their organization. Adventure, of course. Loot, whether in the form of money ormostly, in this situationslaves; evading debts; evading the authorities of one state or another. Often enough, evading other men like themselves. If the officer corps of the U.S. Army stationed in frontier garrisons was notorious for its dueling habits, men like these made them seem veritable pacifistsexcept that their duels were rarely formal affairs.

 There was another sort of a man in that army, to be sure. A different layer, it might be better to say. Thered also be men like Crittenden himself, with money to invest. Looking for the cheapest land there was, at least in financial terms. Conquered land, paid for only in blood.

 Someone elses blood, theyd thought. They were about to learn otherwise.





 Julia finally gave up trying to keep the girls from watching at all. At least the slit they were now peering through was just a half-inch gap between two logs on the lower level of the fort. Only the most extreme bad luck would bring a musket ball to either one of them.

 If any got fired at the fort at all. Julia was now peering through the same slit, and from what she could tell that was getting less likely by the minute. She couldnt see much, since almost none of Crittendens army was visible from this angle through such a narrow aperture. But she had a decent enough view of the army of Arkansas as it marched up to the riverbank. They were spread out wide now, in clearly delineated ranks, and were starting to bring their muskets level.

 Julia had no military experience of any kind. But a person facing such a completely menacing sight would have to be a lunatic to waste any shots at a fort all the way on the other side of a river. She figured the girls were safe enough.

 From musket balls, anyway. Of course, there were other perils in life.

 Im so scared, Imogene whispered.

 Me too, her sister chimed in.

 Julia made the mistake of being the reassuring mother. Were safe enough here, girls. I dont think those men are even going to be attacking us at all.

 Her daughters gave her a dismissive sideways glance.

 Not worried about us, Mama, Adaline said.

 Our beaus might get hurt, Imogene explained. Might even get killed.

 You dont even know those boys! And you too young to be thinking such thoughts, nohow!

 Her daughters ignored her and went back to their intent peering. Softlythough not softly enoughJulia banged her head against one of the logs. Once, twice, thrice.

 Imogene, your father finds out you eyeing that one boy! That currie be black as coal!

 He sings pretty.

 Adaline, as usual, couldnt resist the sibling rivalry.  Mybeaus white.

 So what? came Imogenes cool response. Bet he cant sing at all. And even if he can, whod want to listen? That funny accent he got.

 Hes from New York originally. Adalines tone was defensive. I axed him. Not his fault he dont talk right yet.

  Doesnttalk right,  her mother hissed. And its asked, not axed. I swear, if you two

 The rest was buried under an explosion of gunfire coming from across the river.

 Oh! Imogene shrieked. Theyre being hurt!






 CHAPTER 18



 Arkansas Post

 OCTOBER 6, 1824

 

Sheff dealt with the first fusillade fired by Crittendens men by just gritting his teeth and marching forward. Hed been trained; and, now, clutched to that training the way hed clutched at the Bible in other frightening moments of his life.

 Theyd been toldtold and told and toldto expect this. It was a lesson the Laird himself insisted on imparting to the units in their training.

 Let the bastards shoot first. Some of you will die. Some of you will be crippled and maimed. We all die soon enough anyway, and old age will cripple you and maim you as sure as any musket ball. Just take it. Take it and keep coming. You do that, boysdont fire till you get the wordyoull hammer em. And then youll hammer em again, and again, and again, and again. Until theres nothing left but victory. Those of you who survive standing tall, and the bastards lying bloody in front of you, wailing like whipped curs.

 You dont matter. The regiment matters. Victory matters. Thats all that matters.

 Level arms! Colonel Jones had a good battlefield voice. Real high-pitched. Much more so than when he talked normal-like.

 Sheff had to fight off an instants urge to aim, reminding himself that he was holding a regular musket now, not a rifle. There was no point in aiming, in line formation on a battlefield. Just level the weapon at the mass of the enemy.

 Fire!

 He even remembered to yank the trigger instead of squeezing it. So he didnt embarrass himself by having his shot go off after all the others.

 For a moment, the world seemed to dissolve in a thunderclap. Everything he could see was white. Well, some gray. Gunsmoke always had impurities.

 There wasnt much wind, so the clouds lingered. All he could see ahead of him was maybe twenty feetand that, only here and there. But he was too busy reloading to be looking around much anyway, especially since he had to be sure to be the first one in his squad ready.

 Ten paces forward!

 That was Sheff s cue, since he was the corporal. A half step ahead of the others, he led them through the paces.

 Level arms!

 The next man over to his left stumbled back, falling on his rear end and dropping his musket. Hed been shot in the head by one of the many shots being fired by Crittendens men, but Sheff paid him no more mind. He didnt matter. Only the regiment mattered. Only victory mattered. At the moment, Sheff couldnt even remember the dead mans name.

 Fire!

 Another thunderclap, another dissolution of the world.

 Victory mattered. And Sheff could start to feel it coming. The first angel hed ever seen approaching in his life.





 Taylor was genuinely shocked by that first volley fired by the Arkansans. Hed never in his life seen such a clear, crisp, perfect volleyfrom even a company, much less two regiments working together.

 True, his whole experience had been on the frontier, almost entirely fighting Indians. Traditional battlefield tactics werent very applicable under such conditions. Still, hed trained his men no differently than Driscol had. But hed never gotten results like this. Not really even close, being honest.

 Winfield Scott had, probably. Jacob Brown, too. But theyd served in the Canadian theater in the war, fighting British regulars.

 It took a few seconds for the huge cloud of gunsmoke produced by that first volley to roll sluggishly over Crittendens men. So Taylor was able to see, very clearly, what effect it had.

 The first thing it did was eliminate Crittenden himself. Still racing back and forth when his men began firing singly and indiscriminately, he was picked up by the volley and hurled a good five to ten yards. The sword went flying, along with the hand holding it. When his body hit the ground, his right leg came loose at the knee, held to the rest only by the cloth of his trousers and maybe some ligaments. It flopped over onto his hip like the limb of a broken rag doll.

 Which was a pretty good depiction of him, Taylor knew. Those two wounds alone would probably have killed Crittenden, just from blood loss. But he had to be dead already. At least two or three other rounds must have struck him to have thrown him that far.

 Except for the Lallemands unit, Crittendens whole army reeled back. Gunfighters and roughnecks they might be, most of them, but this was something completely outside their experience. Driscols tactics might leave a lot to be desired, but not even Napoleons Old Guard or one of Wellingtons elite regiments could have fired a better volley.

 Truth be told, it was outside of Zachary Taylors experience also. But at least he understood the matter intellectually. He might not be the same sort of voracious reader of military manuals and accounts that Winfield Scott was, but he had studied his profession. And hed talked to plenty of officers and men whod fought against British regulars in the war.

 On the battlefield, outside of artillery, the volley reigned supreme. That went far beyond any crude and simple arithmetic. By now, Crittendens men might quite possibly have fired just as many shots as had come to them in that opening Arkansas volley. But first, a much higher percentage would have gone wild. And secondmore important stillshots fired singly hit an enemy like a hail of rocks. A volley hit like a landslide, or an earthquake. There was simply no comparison in terms of the key factor of shock.

 Taylor had always known that, abstractly. Now he could see the truth of it with his own eyes. Crittendens men werent simply torn and bleeding in the body; their minds were stunned.

 They werent going to get any respite, either. The Lallemands unit managed to get off a ragged volley. Some other individual shots were fired.

 Then again.The second volley shattered the Lallemands unit, and they stumbled back in the general inchoate retreat to the river.

 Taylor cursed himself and started counting. He needed to get a sense of the timing.

 Driscols regiments were still advancing. That same, steady, disciplined cadence. Again, the guns came level. Again, a volley.

 He stopped the count and hissed in a breath. He knew for a fact that not more than one or two regiments in the U.S. Army could fire two disciplined volleys in that short a timeand the Arkansans were going to do it yet again.





 Half dazed, Charles Lallemand stared down at the corpse of his brother.

 Henri-Dominique

 There was no time for that. He turned to steady his men and bring them ready.

 But there was no time for that, either. All of them were running away. To a river that was nothing but a trap.

 He leveled a silent curse on Robert Crittenden and his own folly. Then he turned back, thrust his sword into its scabbard, squared his shoulders, and faced the enemy.

 He had no illusions. But he was still a general in Napoleons army, even if the emperor himself was gone. A condemned officer would die by firing squad. Not a hangmans noose.

 The fourth volley came and granted him his last wish.





 There was nothing left of Crittendens army but a shrieking mob, fighting with itself for space in one of the surviving boats along the riverbank. You could hardly call this a battle any longer. That first volley had broken the freebooters like a rotten stick. Now it was going to be nothing but a massacre.

 For the first time, Taylor was able to get a good look at the banners being carried by the Arkansas color-bearers. That wasnt the regular Confederate flag, with its simple salmon field and a blue triangle with the six stars of the chiefdoms. The triangle was still there, with the white stars, but the field was now five stripes. The outer two, salmon; the next in, whiteand the fifth and center stripe, pure black.

 Thatd probably cause a political ruckus amongst the Confederacys politicians. But Taylor was pretty sure Driscol was making a point to them, here, just as much if not as brutally as he was to the men whod invaded Arkansas.

 That black stripe was only one of five, true enough. But even from this distance, Taylor could sense the spirit of those oncoming Arkansas regiments and the man who commanded them. They might as well have been flying the solid black flag of no quarter.





 There aint no more room! Thompson shouted. But the man trying to clamber into the already overloaded flatboat wasnt paying him any attention at all.

 Cursing, Scott Powers managed to pry his musket loose from the mass of men pressed against him in the boat. No way to aim, so he just jammed the butt against the ribs of the man next to him, half leveled the musketgood enough, at this rangeand pulled the trigger.

 The man trying to clamber into the flatboat went into the river, with the top of his skull missing. The man next to Powers, against whom hed jammed the musket butt, screamed and grabbed his ribs. A couple of them were probably broken.

 There were still too many men on the boat. Even as frontier flatboats went, this one was on the small side.

 The man whose ribs hed broken was at the flatboats port rail. Powers brought the butt up against his jawthen again, and againand shoved him over the side. Hed probably drown, now stunned as well as having some broken ribs. But Powers didnt care in the least. He didnt care about anything except getting out of this nightmare.

 No one had really noticed what hed done anyway. Well, except Thompsonbut the smile on Rays face made it clear he approved heartily.

 Things got better a moment later. Another one of those hideous Arkansas volleys went off. The flatboat was still close enough to the bank that some of the stray shots hit two of the men in the bow. One went over the side on his own; the other was helped on his way by the man next to him. Clearly a fellow thinker.

 Lets get out of here! Ray shouted.

 The one drawback to being on the side now meant that Powers had to man one of the poles. He didnt mind the work itself. Hed have willingly labored like Hercules to get them out of there. But there was no way to pole a flatboat except by standing up and making a better target.

 Damn, he hissed. Still, it was better than staying there. Anything was better than staying there. Powers was pretty damn surewould have bet every penny hed made during his years in the slave tradethat the Arkansans werent going to be taking any prisoners.

 So, he heaved himself up and began poling. Ray, the bastard, had managed to squirm still lower into the boat.





 There they come, Totten said.  Bout time.

 Looking up, Taylor followed the direction of the majors gaze. Then, brought up the eyeglass.

 So Driscol did have cavalry, after all. Cherokee irregulars. Maybe Creeks. Theyd not have been of much use in the battle. Not in tight ground like this.

 But theyd be of use, now. No use Taylor would have put them to, though.

 Wellhe liked to think so, anyway. But he was fair-minded enough to realize that his way of looking at the world probably wasnt much the same as the way a freedman did. Especially one whod been driven out of his home by exclusion mobs and maybe seen some of his family die. If not at the hands of the mob, from the rigors of the forced journey overland to Arkansas.

 He brought the glass back to his eye and swept the terrain. Sure enough. Around three hundred Cherokees or Creeks. Maybe four hundred. It was hard to be certain, between the distance and the fact they were scattering out.

 Inevitably, some of Crittendens men were escaping the ever-closing trap on the little peninsula on the south bank of the Arkansas. Some, leaving by boat; others, by swimming downstream; still others, simply by scrambling and running. Driscol was still keeping the regiments in formation and probably would until almost the very end. So, like a piston driving into a very loose and sloppy cylinder, a lot of steam was escaping from the sides.

 Most of them wouldnt get far. Not across that terrain, with hundreds of Indian light cavalry hunting them down.

 Anothervolley came. By now, that was like hammering porridge. But if nothing else was clear to Zachary Taylor about the man they called the Laird of Arkansas, one thing was. All of war, for that man, would be a hammer or an anvil. Beat or be beaten against, hed not yield at all. Taylor had always wondered a bit how such a peculiar unit as the Iron Battalion had managed to break British regiments on the Mississippi. He didnt wonder any longer.

 He brought the glass down to examine the situation at the river. What was left of Crittendens armystill a good half of it, in sheer numberswas now crammed along the bank, many of the men spilling into the water. The Arkansas regiments were still coming, ten paces at a time.

 The volleys were finally ending, though. Now, lifting the glass again, Taylor could see that Driscol had given the order Charge bayonets. The two regiments had their muskets in the proper position, the right hand holding the stock at hip level, the left keeping the barrel and the bayonet about chest high. The bayonet assault would begin momentarily.

 The charge itself was well executed, overall. A bit ragged, finally, but bayonet charges usually were. The emotion involved was intense, and much more difficult to control than ranked volley fire.

 The resistance put up by Crittendens men with whatever musket butts, pistols, knives, and sabers they hadand could bring to bear, so tightly were they crowded against the riverkilled or injured some of the Arkansans.

 Not many, though, and almost none at all once the butchery began.

 Taylor stepped away from the firing slit and handed the eyeglass back to the aide.

 Thank you, Lieutenant Morton.

 Youre done with it? Totten asked. Youre welcome to keep it through to the end.

 No need, thank you. He could have added and certainly no desire, but didnt. The officers and men in the blockhouse might have taken that as a veiled insult, which it actually wasnt. Taylor had no difficulty at all understanding why those men, most of whom were black, were watching the scene across the river with an intensity that bordered on fervor. Had they lost this battle, they would have been butchered or enslaved, their babes murdered, their womenfolk ravaged.

 No, he didnt blame them. But he wanted no part of watching it, either.

 He decided to go below and find Julia Chinn and her daughters. The sight of those two fresh-faced girls would be good for him. He liked daughters, fortunately, since he had several of his own.





 Sheff would never be able to explain to anyone, afterward, the sensation that swept over him when he plunged his bayonet into the chest of his first victim. As strong as he was, despite his relatively short stature, the narrow triangular blade slid all the way through with no difficulty at all. Prying it out had actually been much harder.

 Hed had the time, doing so, to watch his opponent die. The face, its mouth contorted, eyes wide, had resembled nothing so much as the faces he remembered beating his father to death. Except the froth coming out of this whites man mouth was bright red, and the eyes were filled with terror instead of glee.

 Welcome to your afterlife, white boy. The direction youre headed is down.

 The sheer savage exultation of that moment was like nothing hed ever experienced in his life. So grand, so glorious

 And he never wanted to again. Some saner part of him recognized the abyss and dragged him away from it lest he follow his enemy.

 He slew two more, and probably a third with a strike of the musket butt to the skull. But that was done much as hed fired the volleys. Effectively and well, according to his training. But what mattered was no longer him, simply the regiment and the victory.

 At the very end, he found himself using the bayonetthe threat of it, at leastto drive off some of the men in his squad. The killing was done, but they kept on.

 Stop it, boys! He shifted the musket to his left hand and dragged off one of his privates. Hes dead, Adams. You just mutilatin yourself now. Obey me, damn you!

 Fortunately, the Laird arrived then, and the pointless business ended immediately.

 Sheff took a few deep breaths and looked around. Now that it was over, he was feeling exhausted. Only the superb conditioning of the Arkansas Armys training regimen was keeping him on his feet.

 Some killing was still going on, but that was being done by squads under the direction of officers or sergeants. No bayonet workthere was nobody left alive on the banksimply shooting at enemies in the water trying to swim downriver.

 There was no room on the bank for Sheff s squad, anyway. He was more relieved than anything else.

 To his surprise, he saw the Laird was watching. Then, summoned him over with a wave of the hand.

 Yes, sir?

 Youre Parker, arent you?

 Yes, sir. Sheffield Parker.

 One of Crowells so-called volunteers?

 There seemed to be a twist in that craggy mouth, which might be humor. Hard to tell, though, as it always was with the Laird. He really was something of a troll.

 Yes, sir.

 The Laird nodded. If youre willing to go career, Ill give you a field commission. Right now.

 Sheff s eyes widened. Sergeant, sir?

 The Laird chuckled. I said commission, lad. Second lieutenant.

 Sheff couldnt think of anything to say. Except

 Im just turned seventeen, sir.

 I figured. Thats why Im making the offer. Any lad your age who canNever mind. Lets just say I couldnt have done it at the age of seventeen. Find it hard enough at the age of forty-two. Which is why Ill always be a sergeant and youve got the makings of an officer. So what do you say, Corporal Parker?

 Now Sheff couldnt think of anything to say at all. His mind seemed to be a complete blank.

 The Laird waved his hand. All right, think it over. The offer will stand for a week.

 He left then. Attending to whatever business a general attended to after a victorious battle.

 Once Sheff was sure his squad was settled down, he decided he had a bit of time for personal matters. He went looking for Callender.

 But Callender was gone. Struck down almost at the very beginning. Still alive, apparently, when two of his squadmates carried him off to be loaded into a boat and taken across to the Post. But nobody knew what had become of him since.

 Oh, blast it, Sheff muttered. He stared at the carnage all around him. The cleared south bank of the Arkansas River, across from Arkansas Post, was a slaughterhouse. Corpses or pieces of them everywhere he looked, mashed in with enough blood to make them seem like bits of meat in a stew cooked by the Devil.

 There were a few black corpses, here and there, that hadnt been carried away yet. One white one, also in a green uniform. But nine out of tenmore like nineteen out of twentywere white men. The same sort of white men who had terrified Sheff all his life until a short time ago.

 Theyd never terrify him again, he knew. And realized also, with genuine surprise, that the main reason wasnt really that hed been able to kill them. It was because, now that hed proved he could, he found himself a lot more concerned over the fate of a white boy who might be dead than he was over all the ones who most certainly were.





 His uncle Jem was still alive. Alive and uninjured, except for a small powder burn.

 Sheff found him on his knees, praying.

 Probably for deliverance, although he couldnt make out the murmured words. And probably words from one of the Gospels, this time. The day had started as an Old Testament day, sure enough, but Uncle Jem was plenty smart enough to know that it was much wiser for a man to end it in the New. Probably for a black man, even more than for a white one.





 And, thankfully, Cal had survived, too, although Sheff didnt find out until late in the afternoon, when his squad was rotated for a rest period in the Post.

 He found Callender in the mess hall, which had been transformed into an infirmary. He was lying on a blanket on the floor, there being no more cots available andthankfully againhim not being one of the really bad cases.

 Hed suffered a flesh wound, which had torn through the muscles of his right arm but hadnt broken the bone. That was something of a minor miracle right there. Sheff knew full well from the accounts of veterans that the .69-and.75-caliber bullets used by most of the muskets on either side of the battle usually pulverized the bone so badly that the only treatment was immediate amputation. Cal wouldnt even lose the use of the arm, hed been told by the surgeon whod given him a quick examination.

 On the other hand, hed need to spend weeks in recuperationand the Laird had a rigid policy that soldiers recovering from wounds would be billeted in private residences. He had some sort of peculiar detestation of army hospitals. Called them guaranteed death houses, from what the veterans had told Sheff.

 That posed a bit of a problem, though, since the whole McParland clan lived way up in Fort of 98. Too far for Cal to travel, for at least a week or two.

 The problem was solved almost immediately, once the surgeon came back through and pronounced Callender fit to be removed to a billet. For, as it happened, Senator Johnsons folks had been gathered around him when Sheff arrived.

 He didnt understand why. Couldnt even really think about it, since he was too nervous about the one girlthat was Imogene, he thoughtwho kept her eyes on him the whole time. Real pretty eyes, hazel colored.

 When the surgeon left, the other twin immediately piped up. A peculiar sort of imperious wail.

 Mama!

 Julia Chinn took a deep breath through tight jaws. Then, glared at Callender for no reason Sheff could figure out. Then, glared at him.

 Oh, Hell and damnation! she muttered. Fine. It aint worth listening to it for the next God knows how long. She looked back at Callender and gave him what someone as dumb as a carrot might call a smile. It was really just a baring of naked teeth.

 Mr. McParland. I believe the lodgings Senator Johnson has reserved for us at the Wolfe Tone Hotel are reasonably spacious. She was talking a lot more formal-like than she had been earlier, too. That was even scarier than the smile.

 I therefore extend the offer to provide you with billeting in our rooms. The smile vanished like dew under Sam Hills breath. So did the formal speech. Only till you be strong enough to go to yown folks, yhear? Mind me, now!

 She was even shaking her finger under Cals nose as if hed done something wrong. Sheff was starting to wonder if the woman wasnt a little off in her head, or something.

 Sheff can come sing for him, too! Imogene said brightly. Pick up his spirits. Thats important, Mama, for someones been hurt so bad.

 Julia glared at her. Then, swiveled her head and glared at Sheff again. That was about the most unfriendly look Sheff had ever gotten from anyone, except a white man in a killing mood. And he hadnt done nothing!

 Is there anything you can do besides sing, boy? she demanded.

 Sheff thought about it. Well, tried to. Those hazel eyes made it hard to think. Blast it, the girl was only twelve!

 But it made a decision easy. Real easy.

 Pretty soon I will, maam. Ive been offered a commission in the army. So Ill be an officer come next week.

 For some reasonthe woman really had to be a little crazythat just made her glare even more.

 Imogene, on the other hand, was smiling so wide it looked like her face might split in two. Sheff had to remind himselfagainthat she was way too young for him to be having any such thoughts like the ones his brain was skittering around like spit on a hot griddle.

 Well, its all settled then, Adaline pronounced. She was giving Cal a smile just about as wide. And, weak though he might be from blood loss, Sheff could tell that his friends brain was skittering around on the same griddle.

 Oh, Hell and damnation, Julia repeated.






 CHAPTER 19



 The confluence of the Arkansas and the Mississippi

 OCTOBER 6, 1824

 

By the time their flatboat reached the confluence with the Mississippi, Scott Powers and Ray Thompson knew they were facing the most desperate situation either of them had ever encountered, in lives that had both been full of perils aplenty.

 To make things worse, the flatboat was under the control of a gang of seven men under the leadership of a fellow named Robert Lowrey. His lieutenantusing the term looselywent by the charming monicker of Alfred Two Bear Decker. The nickname came from Deckers immense size, but it could just as easily have been a reference to his intelligence.

 Or his disposition, which rivaled that of a grizzly with a sore paw. Before theyd gotten more than three miles downriver from Arkansas Post, Decker had killed one man in the boat by clubbing him to death. Why? Who knew? Apparently the man had made an offensive remark of some sort. Offensive, at least, once filtered through Deckers mudflat of a brain.

 The second man he killeda stabbing, this timewas at the command of Lowrey.

 Why? Who knew? Apparently the man had made an offensive remark of some sort. Offensive, at least, to Lowreywho, if he was smarter than his sidekick, also seemed to have an even more tenuous grasp of reality.

 As he proved again, the moment the flatboat came into sight of the flotilla of Arkansas steamboats that commanded the confluence.

 Theyd known of the flotilla already. Half an hour earlier, a small steamboat had come chugging back upriver, calling out a warning to the stream of crafts that were trying to make their escape into the Mississippi.

 You caint get past em, boys! shouted one of the men on the steamboat. They gots cannons and everything! Fuckin niggers are killing anybody they get their hands on!

 Lowrey had ignored the warning and kept going. Being honest, neither Powers nor Thompson had blamed him at the time. What was the point of going back upriver? They were butchering everybody up there also. Besides, the Mississippi was a big damn river. Surelyat least with some lucktheyd be able to get past a couple of steamboats being run by illiterate negroes who thought a wrench was a funny-looking hoe.

 But now that they could actually see the Arkansans flotilla, Thompson and Powers immediately recognized the mistake.

 Just for starters, there were five steamboats, not the two or three theyd expected. The Arkansans must have captured prizes and turned them into jury-rigged warships. Five steamboats were more than enough to cover a river even the breadth of the Mississippi. For a second thing, sure enough, they had cannons.

 Quite a few of them, too. Peering past the monstrous figure of Two Bear in the prow, Thompson and Powers watched as two of the enemy vessels converged on a keelboat and pounded it into a wreck in less than two minutes.

 And, sure enough, men at the guardrails of the steamboats were shooting anybody who went into the water. A goodly number of the men doing the shooting were white themselves. Where in Creation had they come from?

 Finally, if those boatsnot to mention the cannonswere being crewed by illiterates who had no idea what they were doing, there sure wasnt any sign of it.

 Were fucked, hissed Powers, slumping back into the bench theyd taken at the very stern of the boat, to get as far away from Lowrey and Decker as possible.

 What do you want to do? asked Ray. He kept his voice as low as Scotts, not wanting the maniacs running the boat to get it into their heads they had mutineers to deal with.

 Thompsons eyes scanned the riverbank. At least Lowrey had had enough sense to stay closer to the northern than the southern shore. By now, the south shore of the Arkansas was practically crawling with Cherokees and Creeks, coming down from the massacre at the Post and looking to add to it as best they could.

 We could slip over the side and make it to shore, he whispered. Cant be more than fifty yards.

 And then what? Scott demanded. Whats the point of being stuck in Arkansas, with no food and no horses, the clothes on our backs, and He checked his pouch. Hardly any shot or powder left. Unless you got some I dont know about.

 In point of fact, Thompsons pistolhed dropped his musket in the panicky flight to the boatshad the one shot loaded, and that was it. He was out of ball and powder altogether.

 And then what? Scott repeated.

 Ray had no answer. True, the Arkansans might not extend the pursuit to the north bank of the river. Given the maniacal way theyd conducted themselves thus far, though, he rated the chances of that somewhere a long ways south of winning a horse race with a cow. But even if they didnt, that still left the prospect of trying to get through rough country to St. Louis, or at least the nearest settlements in Missouri. With no food, no mounts, and hardly any ammunition.

 The smartest thing left to do, of course, would be to wait until nightfall to try to run past the blockade at the confluence. But sundown was still a good two hours off, and Thompson was glumly certain that a man like Lowrey didnt have the patience.

 Sure enough. Lets go, boys! Throw it into those poles! Them niggers caint shoot straight nohow!

 Thompson wondered, given the day just pastnot to mention the sight of another keelboat being ripped to pieces by the cannons up aheadif hed ever heard a more idiotic statement in his entire life.

 They were dead meat. Especially once they got into the Mississippi where the steamboats were cruising. Poling down the Arkansas was possible, most places. Poling down the Mississippi was chancy. Theyd have to unship the oars.

 All one of them. Two Bear had shattered the second one during the first killing. Nobody knew what had happened to the other four that should have been on board.

 Dead fucking meat.

 Pole, boys, pole!

 Any second, Lowrey was going to look around and see that neither Thompson nor Powers had joined in the poling.

 There was only one chance, slim as it was. Thompson had half considered it earlier, on the assumption it was each man for himself, and too bad for Scott. But now, seeing the relentless way the Arkansans were continuing the slaughter, he realized the only chance at all would depend on including Powers.

 You lie pretty damn good, Scott, he whispered. And you met Henry Clay once, didnt you?

 Yeahand so what? Met him in his office in Washington that time

 Never mind the details. Ever been to his place in Kentucky?

 No.

 Damnation.Thompson would just have to hope the description of the Clay estate hed gotten from Crittenden would do the trick.

 Okay. You just stick to the personal details about Clay. Ill do the rest of the talking.

 What are youI

 Shut up.He jabbed a finger toward the bow. Shoot Two Bear. Now. I dont dare try it with this pistol, not as big and crazy as he is. Ill handle Lowrey.

 What in the

 One of the steamboats was coming. Coming fast. It looked as big as a mountain.

 Just shut up and do it! he half shrieked.

 Lowrey heard, and started to turn around. Two Bear was still leaning into his pole, as were some of the other men on the boat.

 Well, shit, Powers muttered. He rose to a crouch, leveled the musket, and shot Two Bear in the back.

 Nice clean shot. Even a man as big as Two Bear Decker couldnt survive a.69-caliber round fired at close range that cut his spine and probably jellied half his guts in the process. He threw his hands wide, the pole went sailing, and over he went with a big splash.

 You fucking! Lowrey was drawing his pistol, but Ray already had his leveled. He damn near missed altogether, with the unsteady footing, but he managed to hit Lowrey in the arm. Not much of a wound, but enough to make his own shot go wild.

 Scott was frantically reloading. Not seeing anything else to do, Ray drew back the pistol and prepared to throw it at Lowrey.

 And then a hail of canister from the steamboats forward gun made it all a moot point. Lowrey took maybe half the rounds himself. By the time he hit the river he was in pieces.

 The same blast killed three other men toward the bow and wounded a couple more. The steamboat started to swerve, bringing the rear gun in line.

 Ray stood up as straight as he could, balancing precariously on the bench, threw his pistol in the river, and spread his hands wide.

 We give up! We give up! I know something you want to know! I know something! 

 Scott was no dummy. Hed already pitched his musket in the river and was emulating Thompsons stance.

 Yeah! Yeah! We know everything! You dont want to kill us! Youll never find out how it happened!

 The surviving men in the middle of the flatboat were gaping at them. The steamboats rear gun went off and took care of that.

 The steamboat was almost alongside, now. Five mentwo of them whitewere leaning over the guardrail with their muskets leveled.

 We know something! Thompson shrieked. Desperate, now. Those men didnt look the least bit interested in expanding their education.

 It was Henry Clay! Scott screeched. Henry Clay hisself! I talked to him! Right there as near as you and me!

 There seemed to be a slight hesitation in the way the guns were coming to bear. Well, not that. They were already to bear. Still

 Belatedly, Thompson remembered. It was risky, but

 He lowered his handleft handand pointed to his haversack under the bench. Its all in there! All of it! I got the records! I was Crittendens moneyman!

 No use. Ray could tell, just from the way the guns werent wavering.

 But then

 Hold up! A young man in a fancy Eastern-style frock coat came to the rail. Hold up!

 He leaned over the rail. Did you say Henry Clay?

 Yes!

 Yeah! Henry Clay hisself!

 The meanest-looking negro Thompson had ever seen was at the guardrail. Wearing a fancy uniform that Ray would have laughed at seeing on any black man anywhere else, even a doorman in Philadelphia or New York. But there wasnt anything funny about this one.

 You lyin through your teeth, he proclaimed.

 Scott started to protest their innocence, but Ray could tell that was no use at all with this black bastard.

 Try us, then! he shouted. What you got to lose?

 The negro hesitated, then glanced at the Easterner. The young man in the frock coat came to his side and whispered something.

 The uniformed negro looked back down at them.

 Fine. Swim on over. You tellin the truth, Ill let you live. A grin colder than Canadian winter came to his face. Best dive in quick, though. You bout to have no boat under you.

 Thompson and Powers just barely made it off the side when another cannon blast shredded the flatboats stern.





 So, the worst day in Rays Thompsons checkered life ended in a miracle.

 Two, actually. They didnt even get beaten after they were hauled aboard the steamboat.

 Well. Nothing unreasonable, anyway.






 CHAPTER 20



 Arkansas Post

 OCTOBER 7, 1824

 

The closer the Comet got to Arkansas Post, the worse it got. Even Robert Ross, with his years of experience in the bloody and often savage Peninsular War, had never seen anything quite like it. The pursuit Driscol had launched after the battle had been utterly pitiless. Of course, a few of the boats fleeing from the disaster had managed to get through Balls blockade at the confluence. Days from nowassuming they werent ambushed by the Choctaws theyd ravaged on the way uprivera relative handful of the freebooters would make their escape to Alexandria or New Orleans.

 But not many. Not many at all. Perhaps one or two hundred, all told, of the roughly fifteen hundred men Robert Crittenden had led to disaster in front of Arkansas Post.

 Bodies were scattered all along the banks of the Arkansas, most of them on the south bank, for miles downstream. A few were perched on snags in the river itself. There would have been still more the day before, Robert knew. Some of the predators in the river were large enough to pull entire corpses into the water, and almost all predators would scavenge if given the chance.

 Alligators hed expected to see, but hed also seen at least two types of fish large enough to do the work. One of them resembled the catfish hed seen in New Orleans, except grown to enormous dimensions; the other had been similar in appearancefrom a distance, anywayto a sturgeon of some sort.

 Yup, giant catfish, one of the gunners confirmed. Theyll eat anything if it aint movin. Tother fish was what they call an alligator gar in these parts, General. Big damn things. Can get to ten foot, maybe even more. They not too dangerous, though, longs a mans still kicking. Its the gators you gotta watch out for.

 Naturally, birds were everywhere. By now, a day after the slaughter, theyd already stripped much of the flesh from the corpses. What was left would be finished by small scavengers, insects. Worms, eventually. By next year, thered be nothing but skeletons left, and most of those bones would be scattered.

 From the middle of the Arkansas where the Comet was steaming upriver, it was usually impossible to determine the cause of death. Those might have been simply victims of some sort of fast-spreading plague rather than violence. But two corpses had quite obviously been slain by human hands. One of them had been hung upside down from the fork in a dead tree leaning over the river. His facial features had been removed, along with his scalp, and his arms severed at the elbows. He might have blessed that last indignity, under the circumstances, since at least hed have bled to death quickly.

 The other such corpseEliza had retreated from the open deck then, back into the blessed gloom of the boats interior. Shed been quite pale. Roberts son had given the men on his gun crew a look that was half reproach and half sheer horror.

 Hey, look, David, wasnt us, the black soldier said, uncomfortably. That was Cherokee work, or maybe Creek. They be settlin a lot of old grudges. Caint say I blame em much.

 I was told the Cherokee were civilized,  David hissed.

 Charles Ball happened to be standing nearby, close enough to hear the remark. He chuckled, very harshly.  WhichCherokees, boy? You talkin about John Ross, his sort? Oh, he be very civilized. I visited him at his house in Tahlequah. Twice, now. Could almost call it a mansion. Books everywhere, and nice linen on the table.

 The black generals smile had little humor in it, and his black dialect seemed to deepen with every sentence. Oh, very civilized. Thats cause he got upwards of fifteen slaves to keep him in proper comfort, sos he can study them books. But them out there

 Ball jerked his head toward the bank. Those be what they call the traditionalists out there, doin the killing. Cherokees who stick to chiefs like DuwaliThe Bowl, hes also calledand Tahchee. They be right savage, sometimes.

 His smile thinned and lost any humor whatsoever.  Course, on tother hand, they dont got no slaves. Hardly none, anyways. And they right friendly to us niggers, cause they aint tryin to bleed us dry and they smart nough to know we their best chance at keepin their old ways. He jerked his head again, this time upward, indicating the banner flying from a mast above. They got no problem with that red-white-and-black-striped flag of Arkansas. It be the civilized Cherokees who gonna squawk and scream about it, and make threats. Not that we goin pay no attention to them. Sure as Creation not after yesterday.

 Be quiet, David, his father said softly. I can assure you that was not the first man Ive ever seen impaled. It was a common enough sight in Spain. White men everywhere you lookedperpetrators and victims bothand the only sign of civilization was that theyd generally use a prepared stake of some sort rather than the sharpened end of a severed sapling.

 His son fell silent then, a bit abashed. Only a bit, of course, which was fine with Robert.

 No, I dont approve, he continued, more softly still. But if you plan to be a soldier, be prepared to see such sights. The rules and laws of war are just a veneer that we insist on so strongly because the veneer can crack so very, very easily. Never think otherwise.





 Arkansas Post was worse. Much worse.

 Only a day after the battle, the corpses of the men whod been trapped and butchered on the peninsula were piled up in heaps. Fairly tidy heaps, now, since theyd been moved there to clear ground for the shallow mass graves that were starting to be dug by Arkansas soldiers. But the tidiness simply served to underscore the sheer scale of the slaughter. Hundreds of corpses scattered on a level are bad enough; the same hundreds stacked like so much firewood are considerably worse.

 But the worst of all was the fort itself.

 Seeing the decorations hanging from the walls, like so many ornaments, Robert sighed.

 As I feared. Oh, Patrick, will you never put that damned road to rest?

 At least sixty corpses were hanging from the walls. The only reason there werent more was simply that there was no more room. Another three dozen or so were hanging from three long A-frame gallows that had been erected on the flat ground by the river.

 No sign of torture, thankfully, though Robert wasnt surprised at that. Torture wasnt Driscols way.

 It hardly mattered. Close to a hundred men, hands tied behind their backs and hung from the neck, was plenty bad enough. Even the absence of torture was a relative thing. The men pitched off the walls might have had their necks mercifully brokenmost of them, at leastbut all the men hanging from those low A-frames had simply strangled to death. Garroted, for all intents and purposes.

 It remained to be seen, but Robert was now fairly certain that the only prisoners the army of Arkansas had taken after the battle were the two men whod been seized by the Comet. And he wouldnt be at all surprised to see them hung on the morrow, once they were turned over to the man called the Laird of Arkansas.

 Not a bad cognomen, actually. For all of Patricks devotion to the most radical modern political philosophies, there had always been that streak in him that was purely medieval. Savage Scot clan medieval, at that. No Camelot, here.





 Patrick was waiting for him at the pier.

 Alone. No aides or soldiers anywhere within thirty yards.

 Robert understood. Please wait here, Eliza. David. General Ball, Id appreciate a private moment with General Driscol.

 Ball inclined his head. Two soldiers extended a gangplank, and Robert marched onto the shore.

 Ill have no part of this, Patrick, were his first words. Either you agreeIll want your word on thisthat we abide by the rules of war, henceforth, or I shall simply return to Ireland immediately.

 In a gesture familiar from so many years ago, Driscol lowered his head slightly. Like a bull, preparing a charge.

 But instead of the harsh proclamations Robert expected, concerning the hypocrisies and perfidies of gentlemen, Patrick simply smiled.

 It was not much of a smile, granted. But Robert remembered that also. A face so square and craggy that it led many to compare the man to a troll did not, after all, lend itself well to cheery and insouciant expressions.

 Oh, leave off, Robert. Patrick twitched his arm slightly, as if he had started to point back at the fort with its grisly decorations. You think Im still exorcising the ghosts of 98?

 Before Robert could answerand the answer would have been yesPatrick shook his head.

 Leave off, I say. This time he twitched the other arm, the left arm that ended above the elbow. I buried that bloody road in County Antrim at the Chippewa, along with my arm.

 Patrick took a slow breath. Well, most of it, anyway. But what was left He shrugged. I figure that went with your own arm, that I ruined at the Capitol.

 Then why

 The familiar glower was back.  Gentlemen.Robert, I have no doubt at all you have much to teach me concerning the science of war. But what you know about the training of soldiersthe real training Im talking about, not that petty business with drill and the manual of armsis what any gentleman knows. Which is absolutely nothing, because you do not know the men.

 This time, when he moved his remaining arm, the gesture was as full and complete as the arm itself. A stiff finger pointed to the corpses hanging from the walls and moved slowly across.

 I didnt do thisor that killing across the riverfor my own sake. Robert, did you everonceask yourself how you teach a man to be a soldier who has no memory of any victories at all? Not in his life, not in his fathers, not in his grandfathersnot in any generation so far back as he can trace them. Which, in the case of my soldiers, is usually not more than two, and those on the distaff side.

 Ross straightened. Well. Ah

 He cleared his throat. Well. No, actually. I havent.

 The glower faded, replaced by that crack of a smile. Didnt think so. You take it for granted, no reason not to, that even the lowliest recruit to British colorsbe he never so drunken, never so indigent, never so stupid, and never so shiftlesshas endless memories to hold him up. He goes into his first battle knowing that his forefathers, perhaps as lowly as he, still managed to triumph. Over and over again. If he didnt know the names before he enlisted, he learns them soon enough. Start with Crecy, almost five hundred years ago, and now you can end with Waterloo. In between, there are how many dozens?

 Robert thought about it. Id have to sit down and write them up, actually. Couldnt really do it proper justice, off the top of my head.

 Yes, you would. So would a French general. So would a German. And their soldiers.

 Driscol paused for a moment. Yesterdayhe accepted this morningI issued my first field commission. To a black boy named Sheffield Parker. Splendid lad, Im thinking. I have considerable hopes for him. How many victories does he have, dye think? A lad who watched a mob of white men beat his father to deathwith impunityon a street in Baltimore, in broad daylight. I happen to know in his case, because I investigated his history. Such as it is. I couldnt do the same for most of the black men in my armyand they constitute over nine out of tenbut youd find the story was much the same. Add into the bargain as many generations as they can remember, which are precious few, of men who had to watch their women debauchedagain, with complete impunityby slave-masters.

 Ross was silent.

 How many victories, Robert?

 One. Yesterdays. Finebut there was still no reason

 Yes, there was. I cant train men to control their violence until they learnlearn down to their toenails and fingernailsthat they can unleash it as furiously as any men alive. Never letting them run wild, mind you. This was no barbarian frenzy. But they know nowthat they can do it. And if they can do it once, they can do it again. As many times as it takes.

 He took a deep slow breath and let it out just as slowly. That said, once is enough. Im glad youre here, Robert. So very glad, to be honest. And I accept your condition. Was planning on it, anyway.

 Whatever else, Patrick Driscol had never been a liar. And if he was far more likely to sneer at the phrase word of honor than use it, Robert Ross had met precious few men in his life who took the heart of the thing more seriously and earnestly.

 Well. Fine.

 And then it was time for the smiles and the handshakeeven the embrace.

 Eliza! David! Come down! Id like to introduce an old and very dear friend!

 Arkansas Post

 OCTOBER 9, 1824

 

Ill thank you again, General Driscol, for the use of the Comet. 

 The Arkansas commander nodded. My pleasure, Colonel Taylor. Id not wish it on any man, unless he were my bitterest enemy, to make that journey downriver overland. At any time, much less now, with the Choctaws on the warpath. That countrys malarial, as often as not.

 Taylor hesitated. That raised a perhaps delicate issue, and not one that was really under Taylors authority. Not at all, in fact. At least, at the moment.

 Understanding, Driscol continued. As soon as the Comet leaves you off at Baton Rouge, shes got orders to return and help with ferrying the Choctaws across the Mississippi. Chickasaws, too, if they make the request.

 Ah. Have you by chance

 Driscol shook his head. I havent been able to establish contact with Chief Pushmataha yet, no. But I got a letter from John Ross yesterday. He and Major Ridge should arrive on the morrow, and the Hercules will be taking them down to parlay with the Choctaws. I dont imagine Pushmataha will continue being stubborn. His people will have wreaked whatever vengeance they could, by now, and theyre simply in no shape to deal with the state militias that are surely being mustered. Neither are the Chickasaws, certainly, as few in number as they are. You know how it works as well as I do. It doesnt matter who started the killing; itll be the Indians who get blamed for it.

 He stiffened a body that was already a bit stiff. Everywhere except in the Confederacy, that is. And no militiaperhaps no armycan get to the Confederacy without coming through Arkansas. Which is not so easily done as all that.

 He didnt bother to point out the window of the blockhouse. There was no need. The prisoners hed hung had been taken down after a day, their bodies lowered into the same shallow graves that had been the burial site for Crittenden and the rest of his men.

 Very shallow graves, which meant that Taylor could see the mounds easily, even from across the river.

 Had he bothered to look, which he didnt. He had the memories of the actual battle, which did better for the purpose.

 As Driscol well knew, of course.

 That left the final matter. Again, though, Taylor hesitated. This, too, was really beyond his authority.

 Fortunately, however brutal-looking the mans face was, Driscol had quite the shrewd brain beneath that blocky skull. Please be assured, Colonel Taylor, that in the unfortunate event a state of war should exist between the United States and the ConfederacyArkansas, at any rateI shall conduct my own operations giving respect to the established rules and customs of war. Provided, that isthere was just the slightest emphasis on provided my opponent does the same.

 Taylor nodded. For my part, I can assure you that in that same unfortunate event, should it come to pass, I will see to it that my own officers and men conduct themselves accordingly. Honesty required him to add, Thats assuming Im in a position of command, of course, which will not be my decision.

 Yes, I understand. There came a smile, then. Not much of one, perhaps, but a smile nonetheless. At the same time, the army of the United States is not so large as all that. So I imagine youll have various conversations with your fellow officers. Here and there.

 Taylor couldnt help but laugh. Oh, yesyou can be sure of that! Bunch of old women gossiping, I sometimes think.

 There was nothing more to say, really. And hed already made his farewells to Julia and the girls, since theyd left for New Antrim the day before.

 Ill be going, then. Again, my thanks for your courtesies.





 There was a last courtesy still to come. Driscol even had an honor guard waiting by the steamboat to see Colonel Taylor and his men off.

 For his part, Taylor mustered his small unit on the deck to exchange the honors as the Comet pulled away from the pier.

 Very punctilious, it was. That seemed wise to Taylor.

 Apparently it seemed wise to his men, too. Toward sundown, as they neared the confluence with the Mississippi, Taylor happened to pass by two of his cavalrymen on the deck. They were leaning on the guardrail, looking at the riverbank with its grim mementos.

 Hope we dont find ourselves comin back up this river, any time soon, one of them commented.

 Not wearin a uniform, for sure, his mate agreed.





 After Colonel Taylor and his cavalrymen left, Driscol went to the blockhouse in the fort that had been turned into an impromptu jail.

 Well?

 Smiling a little ruefully and scratching his head, William Cullen Bryant looked down at his notepad. Cant say for sure, Patrick. Im almost certain that at least some of what theyve told me is a lie. But

 A lie, how?

 Well, thats the thing. Mostly, I think theyre just exaggerating how much they were personally involved. A good part of thishe tapped the notepadcould well be hearsay. On the other hand, Thompson certainly has the financial figures. Hes got the records to verify it, too, unless we want to suppose that he somehow managed to fake such a thing on the off chance he might get captured and be able to use it to parlay leniency for himself.

 Patrick shook his head. No, thats preposterous.

 Exactly. And the financial figures are the heart of it. Whats left is simply proving that Clay was personally involved, to the extent they claim he was. Which would amount, in effect, to the Speaker of the House having been the linchpin in a conspiracy to divert funds from the Second Banksome of its directors and officers, at any rateinto Crittendens coffers. Which is all that allowed him to provide his army with that sudden influx of weapons and ammunition they needed.

 Wheres the weakness in their testimony, then?

 Bryant shrugged. Basically, itll be their word against Clays. Powerss depiction of Clays estate in Kentucky, I couldnt vouch for one way or the other. Ive never been there myselfalthough you can be sure Ill make it a point to visit on my way back to New York. But I can tell you that his description of Henry Clay himself is dead on the money, all the way down to that peculiar habit he has of using a snuffbox to emphasize points while hes speaking. Ive observed the Speaker giving speeches.

 Driscol scratched his jaw. In short, they claim to have met with Clay in private at his estate, but they cant prove that part of it. I dont care about that. This is not something that will ever be put to a test in a court of law, anyway. Its the publics opinion thatll matter.

 Ah, Patrick. Bryant seemed uncomfortable. You do understand

 Im not a babe, William. I know perfectly well that such a report wouldfor a timeboost Clays popularity in a lot of the states. Send it soaring in the South, and elevate it in the border states and probably some of the middle Atlantic states.

 Bryant nodded. New England will be outraged, in the main. New York also, leaving aside the wealthiest circles. No way to know, yet, how Van Buren and his crowd will swing. Pennsylvania, probably; Philadelphia, certainlyagain, leaving aside the bank circles. But Im glad to see youre not fooling yourself.

 He hefted the notebook. If I publish thiswell, when I publish itthe impact will be mostly to Clays advantage, not disadvantage.

 In the short run. Yes. But what about the long run, William?

 The poet-turned-reporter mused on that for a bit, then shrugged again. Theres no way to know, Patrick. There simply isnt. Yes, it will also establish that hes an unscrupulous and unprincipled maneuverer. Even a Machiavellian one. But at least half the country knows that already. Thats why so many people think John Randolph was referring to Clay, when he described a man

 Patrick chuckled. Yes, I read it. I will say Randolph has a fine way with words, insane as he might often seem. He shines and stinks like a rotten mackerel in moonlight, wasnt it?

 Bryant nodded. Yes. He was actually talking about Livingston, but if you recite that phrase to most Americans and ask them to guess, two out of three are likely to name Clay.

 He lifted the notebook a few more inches. But so what, Patrick? History is littered with cases of successful schemers and demagogues. It may well be the case that Henry Clay is Americas Alcibiadesbut I remind you that Alcibiades had a long and successful career.

 Driscol stared at him. After a moment, Bryant smiled ruefully. Well, yes, also a career that ended quite badly.

 Patrick grinned.  Quite badly. A bit of a euphemism, wouldnt you say? A career that ended with him just as dead as Randolphs mackerel. And why, William? He moved right on to the answer. Because its one thing to maneuver a country into a war for the sake of personal aggrandizement. Another thing entirely to maneuver that same country through the bloodshedwhen the heady first moments pass, and the butchers bill comes due, and the same men who hailed you once are now wondering what it was really all for and about in the first place.

 He looked toward the east. I think Ill bet on the American republic. Publish it with my blessing, William. Publish all of it. If Jackson came against us, I doubt we could stand. Not for more than three years, at least. But I dont think Jackson will come. I think itll be Clay. Whatever else, Jackson has principles. Clay has none at all. That fish is foul. No more capable of forcing through a great victory than any rotted meat. Hell come to pieces if he tries. Watch and see.





 Bryant left the next morning on a keelboat. Arrangements had been made for him to wait at Browns camp, where the tanner was rebuilding his works, until either the Comet or the Hercules came by to take him to Memphis.

 To his surprise, Thompson and Powers were frog-marched on board to join him.

 Do as you will with them, Driscol told him.

 I imagine Ill just set them free, once we reach Memphis. Bryant spread his hands. Im hardly equipped to be a jail-keeper.

 Fine with me. Theyll have no choice but to flee the country altogetheror keep telling whatever lies might be in that report of yours.

 He swiveled his head to bring the two prisoners under his cold gaze. They were obviously trying their best not to look like the most relieved men in North America, but not succeeding too well.

 Excellent liars, Im thinking, Driscol mused. Well know soon enough, of course. Before they get to Memphis, theyll have to survive a few days in John Browns company.

 The looks of relief on the faces of the two adventurers vanished instantly. Driscol and Bryant shared a laugh.

 I recommend an immediate immersion in Judges, the poet advised them. The reporter added a caveat: But dont try to claim any particular expertise. Arguing biblical text with John Brownthe mood hes in, and given your historywould be about as insane as any act I can imagine. Short of invading Arkansas again.






 CHAPTER 21



 Washington, D.C.

 NOVEMBER 3, 1824

 

When Peter Porter entered the dining room of the lodging house on Ninth Street near Pennsylvania Avenue where Henry Clay was residing in the capital, he found that the Speaker of the House and his close political associates had taken it over, for all intents and purposes, and turned the chamber into what amounted to a staff headquarters. Fortunately, the landlady was an amenable woman. Easily intimidated, at least.

 Peter! called out Josiah Johnston, cheerfully. He waved a hand at an empty chair at the large table in the center of the room. Take a look at the latest reports. The situation gets brighter day by day.

 Porter came up to the table and gave the newspapers spread across it no more than a glance. Hed already seen them, and they were much of a piece. The headline on one newspaper that had been vigorously backing the Crawford campaign was typical:

 

HORRIDDETAILSCONCERNING THEMASSACRE INARKANSAS

 A river awash in blood

 The banks covered with corpses

 Driscol the Robespierre of the West

 

He pulled out the newspapers he had tucked under his arm and handed one of them to Henry Clay, who was sitting at the head of the table. The other three he tossed onto the table.

 Youd better look at this before you start celebrating. Its the latest issue of the National Intelligencer. I commend to you in particular the article by William Cullen Bryant. You cant miss it. The Intelligencer gave it half the front page.

 He pulled out a chair and sat in it heavily.

 Clay had already put on his eyeglasses and was scanning rapidly through the article. After a minute he exclaimed: This is a tissue of lies! Ive never met these two men in my life. Never even heard of one of them. This Powers fellow, whoever he is.

 Johnston, whod been scowling as he read the same article, looked up. Its simple, then. You issue a straightforward denial and point out that the Intelligencer, being well known for its Federalist sympathies, has a long history

 Wont work, Josiah, Porter said bluntly. He gave Clay a look that was not entirely friendly. As much as Porter generally admired the Speaker and thought he would make by far the best new president of the United States, the man was not without his faults. Im afraid that Henry was using hyperbole when he referred to a tissue of lies. That there are some lies in the story, scattered here and there, I dont doubt. In fact, I know one of them to be a lie, because Thompson and Powers were most certainly not at the meeting reported in this article.

 He gave Clay another look. The Speaker avoided his eyes, choosing to look out the window.

 Yes. I know that for a fact, because I was at the meetingand so was Henry. And while Thompson was not at the meeting, it is indeed true that he was the man we were instructed to have the money sent to. Thats why, you might notice, Henry can say he never heard of Powers. 

 The landlady was entering with another pot of tea and an extra cup. Porter shoved the pile of newspapers aside to make room for the service, gave her a polite nod, and waited until shed left the room.

 I never heard of Powers, either, he continued. But I dont doubt that most of this report is accurate enough.

 Across from him, the Kentucky legislator Adam Beatty had been reading the same article. Now he laid down the newspaper and shrugged his shoulders.

 What difference does it make? This report is coming in too late to have any effect on the election. But even if it had come in sooner, I doubt it would have made a difference. He chuckled. I can assure you all, gentlemen, that my constituents are outraged by the events in Arkansas and demanding action. So are people all over the South. In fact, I was told just yesterday by one of Crawfords people that new recruits are flocking to the Georgia militia, lest their wives and children

 be subjected to depravities at the hands of rampaging African savages, Porter concluded for him. Leave off, Adam. Youre not giving a campaign speech here. And you know just as well as I do that there is no chance whatsoever that the virtuous damsels of Georgiaor Tennessee, or Mississippi, or Missouri, or Louisiana, for that matter, which are considerably closer to Arkansasare at any risk at all. From Arkansas negroes, at any rate. Choctaws might be a different matter. But all reportsincluding Bryantsare agreed that the Choctaws are migrating to the Confederacy in the aftermath of the Crittenden incident. So are the Chickasaws.

 He peered down at the offending article. If this is accurateand Im quite sure it is, in these particularsthe total forces that met in front of Arkansas Post amounted to no more than two or three regiments on each side. Hardly enough, even without subtracting the half, to launch an invasion of the United States.

 Beatty was quite unabashed. Sure, he said, grinning. So what? There wasnt any real chance the Creeks could overrun Kentucky, Tennessee, and Georgia, either. That didnt stop the massacre at Fort Mims from being a rallying cry eleven years agoand I will point out to you that the slaughter at Arkansas Post was far worse.

 Porter restrained his temper. Truth be told, he didnt much care for the Westerners and Southerners who had come to represent an ever-growing percentage of Henry Clays coterie. They had a blithe disregard for simple logic that offended his New England upbringing, and an instant readiness to resort to naked emotionalism in the conduct of public affairs. Almost as bad as Jackson and his people, in that regard.

 Almostbut not quite. Firmly, Porter reminded himself that his support of Clay derived from far more cogent and profound sources. Without Clays American System, the manufacture and commerce of the nation would be stunted. The United States would remain a bucolic, agrarian backwater in the world, always at the financial mercy of England and other European powers.

 I say again, leave off, he growled. The comparison is absurd. At Fort Mims, white people were massacred by Indians breaking into a fort. At Arkansas Post, they were massacred by negroes trying to keep them out.

 Beatty shrugged again. All trueand again, so what? If you think the average Westerner or Southerner is going to careespecially SouthernersI can assure you that you are quite mistaken. All that matters here is that white menlots of themwere butchered by niggers. A wave of patriotism is sweeping the country in response. He pointed a finger at Henry Clay. And it will sweep our man into the presidents house.

 Patriotism, no less. Porter found Beatty to be perhaps the most offensive of the lot.

 All very well and good, he replied, forcing himself to keep his tone civil.  IfHenry wins a straightforward majority in the electoral college. But none of us have ever thought he could. Our campaign strategy was always to get him enough electoral votes to force the election into the House of Representatives. Where

 He left off the rest. Henry Clays control of the House of Representatives was doubted by no one in the United States, least of all his closest advisers. The Constitution provided that, in the event there was no clear winner of a presidential election in the electoral college, the House would choose between the three candidates who won the most votes. For the past year, therefore, their strategy had been predicated on that simple arithmetic.

 There had been five major candidates for president at the start of the election campaign: Clay, Jackson, Adams, Crawford, and Calhoun.

 At one point, fearing that his popularity in the Deep South was being too badly eroded by Jackson, Calhoun had almost retired from the race to run for vice president instead. But hed eventually concluded that the continuing repercussions from the Algiers Incident and Jacksons response to it had steadied his own supporters.

 In truth, Calhoun had no chance of winning the presidency nor even of being one of the three top contenders in the event no one won a majority. His support was completely regional, restricted entirely to the Deep South. Essentially, he was running now as a power broker. If someone won an outright majority of the electoral college, of course, that would be that. But in the far more likely event that the decision was thrown into the House, Calhoun would have considerable political leverage in the negotiations that followed.

 Still, since at least the beginning of the summer, it had been clear that the election was narrowing down to the other four candidates. Three out of four, now, whod wind up in the House in the event no one won a majority in the electoral college. All they had to do was just make sure that Henry Clay ended up among the top three. The rest, the Speaker would take care of himself.

 Whats your point, Peter? asked Josiah Johnston. He, too, had been reading the Intelligencer. Now he lifted it up. And although youre right with regard to the past, Im not at all sure this latest development wont give him a clear majority.

 Clay finally stopped looking out the window. Not much chance of that, Josiah, Im afraid. He gave all the men at the table his winning smile. I wish it were truemind, it should be truebut we need to keep our feet on solid ground.

 He squared his chair around, propped his elbows on the table, and began counting off on long, slender fingers.

 The forefinger went up. First, New England wont budge from Adamss camp, no matter what.

 Then, the middle finger. Neither, Im afraidnot even after Arkansas Postwill Tennessee desert Jackson.

 The ring finger came to join them. I had hopes for Pennsylvania, as you know, but those seem to have been dashed. Pennsylvaniafor reasons that still defy comprehension, given that its the foremost manufacturing state in the nationis going for Jackson. Dont ask me why.

 Porter knew the answer and was a bit amazed that Clay didnt. For all his many marvelous qualities, not least of which was sheer intelligence, the Speaker could sometimes blind himself to unpleasant realities.

 It was hardly complicated. Pennsylvania had the most populistic constitution of any of the states, where South Carolina had perhaps the least. As far back as 1776, at the outset of the revolution, Pennsylvania had granted suffrage to all adult white males, with no property qualification whatsoever.

 Yes, Pennsylvania was now the largest manufacturing state in the nation, and thusby right and reasonshould incline toward Clays American System. And indeed it did. Pennsylvanias delegation in Congress had led the fight for the tariff that had finally been enacted this year over strong Southern objectionsthe first truly protectionist tariff in American history.

 But there were a lot more men working in those factories and workshops in Pennsylvania than men who owned them, and everything else about Jackson appealed to them. Nor, despite being a Southerner, was the Tennessee senator seen by Americas northeastern and mid-Atlantic workingmen as being alien or hostile. Jackson had spoken in favor of the tariff and voted for it himself. In something like thirty separate votes in the Senate, hed sided every time with Pennsylvania. In fact, Jackson was so favorable toward tariffs that John Calhoun routinely accused him of being a traitor to Southern interests.

 Which was true, leaving aside Calhouns histrionic way of putting it. Whatever else Andrew Jackson wasthis was the mans one quality that Porter respectedhe was a nationalist. Jackson had made clear many times, both as a general and as a senator, that hed always place the interests of the United States above the narrow interests of any of its geographical sections. In that respect, you couldnt honestly say that Clay was any better.

 The real problem, of course, came thereafter. Jacksons policies, should he become president, would favor the nation as a whole, true enough. But the nation he would favor was not the nation Porter wanted favored. Although he did not share the extreme views of the old Federalists, and never had, Porter didnt doubt for a moment that a republic needed to be led and dominated by its propertied classes. To do otherwise would surely begin the descent into chaos and civil strife that had brought down the ancient Roman and Greek republics.

 Clay had been droning on about the detailscomplex to the point of madnessof the negotiations with Adamss and Van Burens people in New York. Now that he was coming to the point, Porter concentrated on his words.

 that seems to be the best we can do, after this latest arrangement. Well get no more than seven electoral votes from New York.

 Beatty had been jotting down figures. So. We can still count on Kentucky, Indiana, Ohio, Illinois, Missouri, and Louisiana, as we have from the beginning. He jabbed his pen toward the newspapers piled on the table. Theres certainly nothing in there thatll change that equation. The reports are that militia recruitment is up in all the northwestern states, too.

 It would be better to call those rumors than reports, Porter thought, although he tended to believe them accurate himself. Still, it didnt necessarily mean much. The militias were a political powerhouse in most of the states, especially the western ones. They usually had a surge in recruitment during election campaigns.

 figure we can win in New Jersey also, Beatty continued, although we cant be sure of it. Jacksons got quite a following in the mob of that state, almost as much as Pennsylvania. And weve got a good chance in Delaware and Maryland. Still, even if none of the three come over to us, weve got enough to push Crawford aside for one of the three slots in the electoral college. All the more so since the knowledge of the stroke he suffered last year is now widespread, despite all the efforts of his advisers to conceal his medical condition.

 He laid down the pen carefully. New England, of course, wont desert Adams. What that leaves, therefore, is the South. If we can reach a suitable accommodation with Crawfords people and Calhoun, we might even be able to win a straight majority. Although I agree with Henry that thats most unlikely. Still, we can certainly get enough votes to be included in the Houses selection. In fact

 His bright eyes swept the men gathered at the table. I think weve got a very good chance of coming in with a plurality. Which wed never thought we had before.

 Thatd be a blessing, Johnston grunted. He had his chair tipped back, with his hands folded across his stomach. Without a plurality, Henry can win the presidency if the election gets tossed into the House. But hell never hear the end of it for the next four years. Therell be endless accusations about rotten deals and corrupt bargains. Watch and see.

 The next eight years, Clay said stiffly. I have every intention of serving two terms in office. That said, I agree with Josiah. Lets remember, gentlemen, that the whole purpose of this exercise is not to assuage my own ambition but to advance the interests of the nation. To do that, I need eight years in the presidents house

 He rose and pointed dramatically out the window.  Andthe support of Congress. Enough of it, at least, to get my American System so firmly rooted in the country that no one can tear it back out.

 The window he was pointing to faced west, as it happened, which was the opposite direction from the Capitol. But Henry Clay was never given to fussing over minutiae, Porter thought wryly.

 He also had some wry thoughts about the Speakers insistence that his own aggrandizement was not involved. Many of the insinuations against Henry Clay were false, in Porters opinion. His reputation for sexual debauchery, for instance, was grossly exaggerated. But the accusation that he was as ambitious as Lucifer was

 Close to the mark, at least.

 Still, Porter knew that Clay meant what he said. It wasnt mere flippery for the sake of cloaking personal goals. The frequent charge that the Speaker had no political principles at all was just wrong. He was quite committed to his project of strengthening the United States through his American System. If for no other reason, out of pride in having forged it in the first place. And that, in the end, was what mattered to Porter and men like him.

 Clay sat down. So, yes, lets hope for a plurality. It wont matter either way in terms of the election. But it will matter for the next eight years.

 The elections in three days, Henry, Josiah pointed out. It takes weeks for news to spread across a country as big as ours. How

 Impatiently, Clay waved his hand. Thats news to the mob. Fortunately, in their wisdom, the founders of this nation saw fit to create a true republic. That means that what matters in the long run is not the opinion of the populace as suchwhich is often uninformed and always prone to emotionalismbut the opinion of its elected political leaders. Theynot the mobwill be the ones who make the decisions. And while senators and congressmen are naturally influenced by popular opinion in their states, they are not bound by it. Not legally, not morallycertainly not politically.

 His famous broad smile appeared. And many of the congressmen have now arrived in the city. Theyll get the news, in plenty of time.

  Whatnews? Porter asked, half dreading the answer.

 Dramatically, as he did most things, Clay held up the Intelligencer.

 This! he replied, shaking the offending newspapers. Not only shall I not attempt to deny any of these chargesso-called chargesI shall take them for my own. Brandish them like a spear before battle, if you will.

 Porter had to fight not to roll his eyes. Henry, youre gambling again. I strongly urge you to say nothing at all. Simply ignore the reports. Its only one newspaper, as influential as it might be in some circles.

 Clays sneer was every bit as broad as his smileand just as famous. Play it safe, you mean? I think not!

 He rose again and pointed out the window. No, gentlemen! To lead this great nation, boldness is always required!

 At least he was pointing in the right direction, this time. The presidents house was that way, indeed.

 Washington, D.C.

 NOVEMBER 6, 1824

 

 has it come to this? Are we so humbled, so low, so despicable, that we dare not express our sympathy for suffering Louisiana, lest, peradventure, we might offend some one or more of their imperial and royal majesties? 

 Standing at the window to his office listening to the attorney general quoting from Clays speech of the day before, James Monroe barked a laugh. Isnt that the same language he used a few months ago to excoriate us for refusing to intervene in the Greek rebellion?

 Its almost identical, said John Quincy Adams, sitting in a chair nearby. Oh, but it gets better. Please continue, Bill.

 William Wirt scanned farther down the newspaper in his lap. Ill skip a bit, Mr. President. Theres some pure verbiage here, mixed in with the merely histrionic.

 The attorney general cleared his throat and continued quoting from the speech. Heres where he getsfinallyto the point. I would rather adjure the nation to remember that it contains a million freemen capable of bearing arms, and ready to exhaust their last drop of blood and their last cent, in defending their country, its institutions, and its liberty. 

 Wirt fell silent and lowered the newspaper.

 President Monroe continued to look out the window, gazing at the countrys capital city. After a few seconds, he said softly: This is the same Henry Clay who praised us for our stance of forbidding any further European intervention in the New World. Albeit, to be sure, criticizing us for taking so long to do so. Am I not correct?

 Adams laughed sarcastically. And adding into the bargain that he was prepared to wage a war against the whole world for it, even England. Somehow, a man of his undoubted intelligence failed to grasp what was clear to anyone with an ounce of sense with regard to foreign affairs: that our policy had the full if tacit support of that very same England he proposed to war against. Bah! He knew perfectly well, then, that his bombast with regard to England was as safe as a man threatening to wage war against the tidewhen it is receding.

 Adams pointed to the newspaper on Wirts lap. Just as he knows perfectly well, now, that threatening to wage war against the European powers should they dare to interfere in the Arkansas situation is every bit as safe. If an attack on the Confederacy is launched by the United States, it will be condemned the world over. But no one will send any ships or troops to support Arkansas. How could they get there, anyway?

 Monroe still hadnt turned around. You have to admit its a fascinating chain of logic, he mused, even for Henry Clay. Im still not quite sure how he managed to segue from the need to defend the bleeding Greek heroes against the Turk oppressor who rules Greece, to the need to defend the states of our nation from which a band of criminals sallied forth to conquer a neighboring country of ours, which hasnt threatened them at all. If you didnt know better, youd think Louisiana and Mississippi were groaning under Arkansas occupation.

 Finally the president turned around. Has Jackson said anything?

 Wirt shook his head. Not a word, sir. Not in public, anyway, and even his private thoughts seem a mystery to everyone. Possibly even his closest confidants.

 Any guesses?

 With Jackson, Mr. President, its always hard to know. Most people are assuming hell side with Clay, if for no other reason than to keep Clay from undercutting his support in the West and the South. But

 Monroe cocked an eyebrow. But youre not so sure.

 No, sir, Im not.

 Adams had been listening intently. Why, Bill? Its the obvious move to make, for a presidential candidate in his position.

 Wirt shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Yes, it would be. But Ill remind you that it would have been politically shrewd for Jackson to have opposed the tariff bill, too. But he didnt. In fact, he was one of the administrations strongest supporters in the Senate. That cost him in the Southern states, probably as much as he gained in the manufacturing ones.

 Monroe shook his head. Not the same thing. No ones ever doubtednot anyone whos politically educated, anywaythat Jackson is a firm supporter of the principle that the United States is a nation, not simply an aggregate of states. In that respect, hes quite unlike John Randolph or Crawfords Radicals. It still doesnt follow that in this instance he wouldnt take the same stance as Clay.

 You could even say that the very same nationalist principles called for it, Adams added. If I might play devils advocate for a moment, one could argue that the massacre at Arkansas Post was a humiliation of the United States that needed to be set right. As a matter of national pride, if nothing else.

 Wirt gave him a level stare. Adams looked aside. Well, you could. 

 Finish the sentence, John, the attorney general said. It sounded a bit like a command, oddly enough.

 Adams smiled crookedly. If you werent me. Or Andrew Jackson.

 Wirt nodded. Yes. He turned to Monroe. And thats really my only point, Mr. President. Theres simply no way to know what Jackson will do. His origins, his history, his backgroundcertainly his temperament, which can be quite savagewill all be pulling him in one direction. But hes also the same man who outraged Louisianas plantation owners by arming black freedmen in the war against Britain, dont forget.

 Monroes smile was almost as crooked as the one that had been on Quincy Adamss face a moment before. Not to mention outraging the War Department when he gave that black gunner a field commission. Yes. I remember.

 The president now looked at the secretary of state. John Quincy Adams had risen and was standing at the same window the president had been gazing through earlier.

 Theres always that about Jackson, Monroe said softly. One never quite knows, until the moment, exactly where his principles might fall. But he is a man of principle.

 Adams made no response. He seemed completely preoccupied by the sight of the city beyond. Which was actually not that prepossessing, outside of the Capitol in the distance.






 CHAPTER 22



 Washington, D.C.

 NOVEMBER 7, 1824

 

We can take a carriage, if you prefer, Houston said. Its chilly out.

 Maria Hester shook her head. Oh, stop being so pestiferously male, Sam. I swear! Im not even sure Im pregnant in the first place. If I am, its not more than a few weeks.

 She looked up, giving him a sly smile. Then, leaned into him a bit, squeezing his arm more tightly. I will say you didnt waste any time, once you got back.

 Sam didnt know whether to look smug or embarrassed. He tried for dignity instead.

 And failed completely, judging from his wifes giggle.

 Come on, she said. If you want to talk to Andy before he says anything public, youd best do it now. Its already noon. She nodded toward the distant Capitol. Besides, we only have to walk a mile. This time of year, Pennsylvania Avenue wont even be that muddy.

 After a hundred feet, she qualified the statement. Well. Compared to summer, anyway.

 Ive seen pigsties that were cleaner than this city, Sam muttered.

 Stop it! Maria Hester scolded. You promised. No politics until we get to the senators chambers.





 When John Coffee entered Andrew Jacksons office, the senator was looking out of a window. In his case, positioned as it was on the second floor of the Capitol, one that gave him a very nice view of the presidents house he hoped to occupy soon. The White House, some people were starting to call it, now that the house had been repaired and repainted after the British vandalism of the past war.

 All of the key men in Jacksons entourage were already present in the chamber, seated here and there about the room. Judge John Overton; Tennessee state senator Hugh Lawson White; John Henry Eaton, Tennessees other U.S. senator; and Eatons brother-in-law, William H. Lewis.

 Lewis seemed gloomy, but Coffee discounted that. The mans heavy face always gave him a solemn demeanor except when he was talking. But both Overton and Eaton seemed out of sorts as well.

 Jackson, on the other hand, seemed in something of an impish mood. Hearing Coffee enter, he gave him a peculiar smile and waved him toward one of the empty chairs. Have a seat, John.

 Yes, do, said Overton. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.

 Sitting down, Coffee cocked his head. Sense about what?

 This, said Eaton. He picked up some sheets of paper and handed them over.

 Coffee immediately recognized Jacksons handwriting, which was quite unmistakable. Even if it hadnt been, the senators sometimes eccentric spelling and syntax would have identified the author.

 It was a speech, evidently the one Jackson proposed to give to the Senate later that afternoon. Coffee took the time to read it slowly and carefully. Being one of Andys closest friends, he wasnt surprised at all by the quality of the speech. Its intellectual content, at least, if not the specific thrust. Even after all these years, many people still kept thinking of Jackson as if he were some sort of semiliterate frontier roughneck. In point of fact, although the senators rudimentary formal education still left traces in his prose, Jackson was as astute and well-read a politician as most any in the United States. John Quincy Adams excepted, of course.

 When he was finished, Coffee laid the speech down on the low table in front of him.

 If you just keep your mouth shut, Andy, Im pretty sure this will all blow over.

 Thats just what I told him, Eaton complained. The votes were in all over the country before the news from Arkansas had time to spread. Much, anyway. And those people out West and in the Southmost of the Southern states wouldnt have gotten the news at all, before the electionwho did hear about it would just assume

 That Andy Jackson was another God-damned Henry Clay, the senator interrupted. But the words werent snarled. Actually, theyd been said quite good-humoredly.

 Eaton flushed. Andy, thats not the point and you know it.

 Actually, it is the point, Overton said mildly. And you know it as well as anyone here does.

 The judge raised his hand, forestalling Eatons further protest. Not the part about another Henry Clayand, Andy, dont let Rachel hear you blaspheming like that. Nobody thinks Andy and Henry Clay are any more alike than bulls and roosters. What they do think is that the general who won the Horseshoe Bend and the Mississippi aint likely to stand by twiddling his thumbs while a bunch of niggers butcher white folks.

 Hes right, Andy, said Coffee. Just keep your mouth shut, and everybody will assume that Old Hickory will be Old Hickory. Plenty of time after you settle in the White House to set them straight.

 Jackson had been pulling out the chair to his desk, preparatory to sitting down. But now he stopped and stood up straight. Steal the election, you mean.

 Ramrod-straight. Coffee heaved a sigh. You and your damn prideand dont give me lectures on blaspheming, Judge Overton. You, of all people.

 Ill be blasted if I will, said Jackson. All that happened here is that Henry Clayas foul a man as ever besmirched the halls of Congress; I hate that bastard with a passion, and you all know itfinanced a pack of bandits, using his connections with the stinking Bank to raise the money, in order to weasel his way into the presidency. Give me one good reason I should support that.

 The earlier good humor was gone, now. He gave his advisers the same blue-eyed glare that was famous across much of the country. No, sirs, I shall not.

 But none of those men had remained Andy Jacksons friends and advisers by being easily intimidated. That aint the point, Andy, said Overton. It all comes down to the race issue. You know it just as well as we do. Yes, sure, Crittendens men were bandits. But they were white banditsand the men who massacred them were all niggers.

 The commander who gave the order wasnt, Jackson fired back. Theres no dispute over that, not in any of the reports. His name is Patrick Driscol. As Scots-Irish as I am, and with a skin paler than mine. Formerly of the United States Army. A major, when he resigned. I know. He served under me in New Orleans and was one of the best officers Ive ever had.

 Silence filled the room for a time. Jackson shoved the chair back under the table and went to stand at the window again.





 By the time they were halfway down Pennsylvania Avenue, Sam wished hed been firm about calling for a carriage. Maria Hester might have a fortitude to shame most frontier women, butdammithis boots were filthy. His favorite boots, too.

 Of course, his wifes shoes were a hopeless wreck. But those were the old ones she didnt care about anyway, that she only kept for just such promenades. Like any experienced lady of Washington, she had a nice set in her purse, ready to change into when they reached their destination.

 Are you sure

 Sam Houston, Injun fighter and war hero, his wife jibed. Defeated by a little mud. Just soldier on, soldier.

 I retired from the army, remember?

 Then why does everyone keep calling you Colonel?





 Jackson let out a sigh, his stiff shoulders easing a little. Theres something wrong with John Calhoun, he said, so softly the men in the room had to strain to hear him. Him, and all the men like him.

 Overton frowned. We were talking about Henry Clay.

 Jackson turned around. No, we werent. Clay doesnt give a damn about Crittendens men, even less than I do. This isnt about Henry Clay. Not really. This is about John Calhoun. Might be better to say, the South that Calhoun is doing his level best to bring into existence. Like some sort of Araby heathen, trying to summon a demon out of a sealed lamp.

 Jackson now had his hands clasped behind his back. His jaws seemed more gaunt than ever. I got no use for Sam Houstons fancies about black folk. Indians, maybe a little, but not niggers. Never did, never will. Its just a fact that the black race is inferior to the white race. Taken as a whole, at any rate. Ill allow for the exceptional individual, here and there.

 He paused, scanning the room. Anybody here disagree with me?

 After a moment, they all shook their heads.

 Didnt think so. Thats why slavery doesnt bother me any. Never did. If that fraud Thomas Jefferson wants to beat his breast over itthough I notice he has yet to free a single one of his slaveslet him do it. I wont. His jaws grew tighter still. But that doesnt mean I agree with Calhoun, either. That man

 He took a deep breath. That man is just plain mean. Hes like all that type of slave-owner. The same ones who played the traitor at New Orleans. The fact that I dont think black men are the equal of white men doesnt mean I think they arent still men. Theyre not dumb animals, tarnation, with no rights at all. And thats exactly what John Calhoun thinksand thats exactly where he wants to lead the nation. With Henry Clay playing his tune, because hes the fanciest piper in town.

 He went over to his desk and picked up one of the newspapers lying there. Never thought Id see the day when I thought the Intelligencer was the best paper around, he said wryly. But today, at least, on this issue, the fact is they are.

 He held up the paper. Got another article in here by that Bryant fellow. Gives you all the details you want to knowor dont want to knowabout how Crittendens men conducted themselves. Youve read it, I assume?

 Again, they all nodded.

 So, fine, Jackson continued. Let me ask you this, then. Suppose a gang of white criminals broke into a black freedmans house right here in Washingtonand dont bother yapping to me about the exclusion laws, because you know as well as I do they arent enforced half the time. Theres too many black servants their masters want to keep around, free or not, including me. Why? Because some of them are good servants, thats why. Not to mention they dont want to listen to the kids hollering when their nanny gets sent away. Or the cook who gives them treats when their parents arent looking.

 Still holding the paper in his left hand, he ran the fingers of the other through his stiff gray hair. Truth is, Im sorry now I ever voted for those blasted laws. Theyre just a violation of human nature, is all. Inferior or not, black people are still people, and most peopleany color, leaving aside the Calhouns of the worldform attachments to each other. Free or slave, it dont matter. It just dont.

 He stopped the hair-ruffling and slapped the paper back on the desk. So let me ask you. A gang of white criminals breaks into a black mans home, starts stealing everything he ownswhich aint muchand sets to raping his womenfolk in the bargain. So he shoots them dead, like any man would do who was worth his salt. Am I supposed to demand that he gets arrested and punished? Just because hes black?

 He was back to glaring. Well? Answer me. Am I?

 After a moment, everyone looked away.

 What I figured. Be damned if I will. They want Old Hickory, I aim to give em Old Hickory. Right between the eyes.





 Thankfully, the Capitol was only a hundred yards away. For all her determination and teasing, Sam could tell that his wife was tiring. Plowing through mud was hard enough for a big man like Sam. He could just imagine how a mile of it would exhaust a small woman like Maria Hester.





 Coffee had been watching Jackson closely through his little peroration. When it was done, he chuckled.

 Whats so funny? the senator demanded.

 You are, if you want to know the truth. Sam Houstons still sticking in your throat, isnt he?

 Jackson glared at him. I kept that promise, and its done. Told him so myself.

 Yes, I know. So what? Coffee didnt flinch at all from that blue-eyed fury. Worst thing you could do around Andy Jackson.

 After a few seconds, the glare started to fade. After a few more, Jackson even started chuckling himself.

 Blast that youngster, he muttered. Still worse, once he named his firstborn after me. Now that the kids old enough to talk, he calls me Grandpa. Damn little conniving clever politician like his daddy.

 He yanked out the chair and folded himself into his seat. Yes, fine. I suppose so. He stuck out his bony finger, like a gun. Not that I didnt mean it when I said I had no use for Houstons fancies. Still.

 Coffee understood. You said hed turn down the rose of fortune when you offered it to him. And you were right. He did. Proud as a peacock you were, afterward.

 I sure was. Proud of both of us. Him for turning it down, and me for knowing he would and knowing why.

 He swiveled his gaze toward the other men in the room. Do you understand, now? Weve talked it over, like we always do. But the decisions mine, and Ive made it.

 Hed never lowered the finger. Now, the bony weapon pointed to the newspaper. Theres my rose of fortune, gentlemen, that youre waving under my nose. The answers no. Well go into the presidents house through the front door, or we wont go in at all. Let Henry Clay sneak himself in through the servants entrance if he wants it that bad.





 The steps of the Capitol were a blessed relief from the mud. As soon as they reached the top of the steps, Maria Hester crouched and began opening her bag.

 No way Im going in there in these filthy things.

 Sam smiled.

 Colonel Houston!

 He turned, still smiling, but the smile faded almost immediately. The man coming up the steps toward him had no friendly look on his face. As much of it as Sam could see, at any rate. The fellow had a broad-brimmed hat to go with a long cloak. He looked positively conspiratorial, like something out of a cheap stage performance.

 May I help you, sir?

 You were born in Virginia, am I not correct?





 Coffee nodded. Whether because he agreed with Jackson or not, he didnt even know himself. But that wasnt the point, in the end. You could always trust Andy Jackson. Not to be right, necessarily, but to be Andy Jackson. For Coffee, that was good enough.

 Judging from the nods that went around the room, the other men had come to the same conclusion.

 All right, then, said Eaton. Well almost surely lose this election. But theres 1828 to look to.

 Clays sure to go for two terms, cautioned White.

 Overton started to say something, but Jackson cut him off. Hell try. Whether he can do it or not

 A loud clap coming from outside interrupted him. Jacksons head twisted around to the window. That was a gunshot.





 Sam never went armed in the streets of Washington. Now he was half regretting it. He was fully regretting not having accepted Chesters offer to come along. This man

 I asked you a question, sir!

 And did so most uncivilly, Sam snapped back. But the answer is no secret. Yes, I was

 You are a traitor, then!

 Sam! Maria Hester shrieked.

 A pistol was coming out from under the cloak. Sam started to lunge for him.

 Maria Hester came up from her crouch, wildly swinging her bag. The fancy shoes shed gotten half out went flying, one of them into the mans face.

 He flinched. The pistol went off but missed. Sam smashed his face with a fist. It was a big fist, and Sam was in a fury. His assailants lips were shredded against his teeth, and some teeth went skittering down the steps. So did the man himself, his hat coming loose and his cloak swirling like a blanket.

 Sam started to follow. He was going to beat this bastard into

 Sam





 Overton was the first one at the window. Oh, dear God, he said.





 By the time Coffee and Jackson and the others came out of the Capitol onto the steps, Maria Hester had bled to death. The shot that Sam thought to have missed had struck her instead, severing the big artery under her arm. Coffee couldnt remember the name of it. But hed seen men die on a battlefield from just such a wound.





 Of the assailant there was no trace, beyond spots of blood and broken teeth. Houston had, understandably, paid the man no further attention once he realized his wife had been shot.

 Put a five-thousand-dollar reward out, in my name, Jackson ordered. His face was pale as a sheet, and he was trembling with rage. Dead or alive.

 Coffee nodded. Medical orderlies had arrived by now and were tending to Maria Hester. To her corpse, rather. Or trying to. Houston was still holding her body, his face blank. His own clothes were soaked with her blood, but he didnt seem to notice.

 Anything else, immediately?

 Yes. Jackson swallowed. Just a reflex, to control his fury. This was no feigned Andy Jackson tantrum, either. Coffee knew the signs. This was the real thing, the rage of a man famous all over the frontier for his capacity for violence.

 Yes, he repeated. Just remember that Id already made my decision.

 Coffee hissed. Andy, you cant give that speech this afternoon. In your state

 Watch me.





 The speech was as bad as Coffee feared. Not the words themselves, so much. It was the tone and, worst of all, the coda that Jackson added that had never been part of his written text.

 the basest, meanest scoundrel, that ever disgraced the image of his Godnothing too mean or low for Henry Clay to condescend to, secretly to carry his cowardly and base purpose

 he is personally void of good morals, and politically a reckless demagogue, ambitious and regardless of truth when it comes in the way of his ambition

 That the words he spoke were all true, in Coffees opinion, made no difference. All the assiduous work that Andy had done in Washington since hed been elected senator two years earlierand done exceedingly wellwere washed away. The suave and sophisticated political leader that the capitals elite had come to know and even admire was gone; the frontier half savage that they feared, risen to the surface.

 It didnt help that hed ended his speech by referring the Speaker of the House to all the laws which govern and regulate the conduct of men of honor. Which amounted, under the circumstances, to a challenge to a duel, should Clay choose to take exception to his remarks.

 To be sure, Clay himself had been known to make similar noises in the course of public controversies. But noises were all they were: just typical Clay theatrics that nobody took in earnest.

 Coming from Jackson, the words were taken dead seriously. The senator from Tennessee was one of the most notorious duelists in America.





 Clay made no public response, of course. Since he hadnt been present in the Senate when Jackson gave the speech, he could ignore it. To do otherwise would be politically foolish, and personally

 Quite possibly fatal.

 Besides, he was too relieved by the latest news to give much thought to Jackson.






 CHAPTER 23



 Washington, D.C.

 NOVEMBER 8, 1824

 

Well, breathe easy, gentlemen, said Adam Beatty, as soon as he entered the dining room of the boardinghouse. They found him.

 Henry Clay, who had been slumped in a chair gazing out the window, came erect immediately. They caught the bastard?

 Beatty shook his head. Well, no, they didnt catch him. It looks like he made his escape from the city. But they know for sure who did it. No question, apparently.

 He smiled so widely it was almost a grin. Whats important isHe wasnt one of ours. A Radical, it seems. One of Crawfords people. Well, not directly. From what I was told, theres no evidence he was active in Crawfords campaign. But those were definitely his sympathies.

 Most of the other men in the room were starting to smile, too. Porter wasnt, thoughand he was glad to see that Clay wasnt, either. In fact, Clays expression was darkening fast.

 No, Mr. Beatty! the Speaker snapped. Whats important here is that an innocent young woman was foully murdered on the very steps of our nations Capitol. What in Sam Hill is wrong with you?

 That wiped the smiles off. Clay glared around the table. For the sake of all thats holy, gentlemen. Yes, I want to be in the White House, and you want me there. But if I ever see you gloating again because a young womans murder cant hurt us politically, I shall ask you to leave my company at once. And dont return. Is that understood?

 The nods came as fast as the smiles had vanished. Clay could be as gracious and charming as anyone in the world when he wanted to bewhich he usually did. But there was a very sharp edge to him, also, as any number of rambunctious young congressmen had learned when they thought heedlessly to cross lances with the Speaker of the House. Clay had not dominated that very unsubmissive chamber of legislators for years by being unable or unwilling to crack the whip, when need be.

 Beatty had taken a seat, now, doing everything in his power to look as inconspicuous as possible.

 There was perhaps half a minute of strained silence. Then, sighing, Clay slumped back in his chair again.

 Henry, Im sorry Beatty began.

 Clay waved off the apology. Never mind, Adam. Didnt mean to bite your head off. Its justDear God, what a horrible thing to have happen. I think Maria Hester was the presidents favorite child, too, even if hed never admit it. I dont want to think what hes going through, right now.

 Josiah Johnston made a face. She was certainly my favorite of his daughters. The other, Eliza

 He left off the rest. Eliza Hay, Monroes oldest daughter, was rather notorious in Washington. A very attractive and intelligent woman, to be sure. Also very vain, and given to being haughty and sarcastic. Maria Hester had been much the more charming of the two.

 Silence, again, for a minute or so. Then Clay sat up straighter in his chair.

 Very well. The needs of the nation continue, after all. So whats the news, Adam?

 This time, very wisely, Beatty gave his report with neither smiles nor commentary. Its been clearly established that the culprit was a certain Andrew Clark. From a familyrather prominent, it seemsin Savannah, Georgia. His father owns a large plantation in the area.

 Clearly establishedhow? Porter asked.

 Beatty shook his head. I dont know the details, Peter. I got the news from a reliable source in the War Department. But there are definitely eyewitnesses to the mans making threats about Houston. Had been since he arrived in the city a fortnight ago, it seems. Nobody took much notice of it, because

 He shrugged. There were plenty of taverns in some quarters of the capital, patronized by Southern gentlemen, where damning the traitor Sam Houston and wishing all manner of ill upon him went with practically every round of whiskey. Nobody took much notice of it, not even the ones doing the damning and cursing. That type of Southern gentleman issued bloodcurdling threats routinely on every controversial subject imaginable, as casually as other men commented on the weather.

 The description fits, too, Beatty continued, all the way down to that bizarre hat and cloak. And when the hat was shown to the mans landlady, she identified it as being his.

 Whats the connection to Crawford? asked Johnston.

 Nothing direct, as I said. He doesnt seem to have been active in the campaign. Its more a matter of being an extreme Radical.

 Porter grunted. Why call him a Crawford man, then? More likely to be an admirer of John Randolph.

 Obviously still smarting from Clays rebuke, Beatty opened his mouth and closed it. His expression was a bit like that of a stubborn child, wisely silent after a parents chastisement but not having changed his mind any.

 Clays broad mouth quirked into something that bordered on a smile. Oh, fine, Adam. Say it.

 Beattys words came out in something of a rush. Look, Henry, I apologize if my earlier remark was unseemly. But, blast it, its true. It would have been a disaster if this bastard had been associated with us. As it is

 Johnston picked up the cue. Just being a known extreme Radical is enough. Who cares what he thought of Crawford himself, Peter? Much less Randolph. Randolphs not the Radical candidate for president. Crawford is. Thats what counts. Everybodys furious about this, regardless of what they thought about Sam Houston. But it wont come down on our heads.

 In fact, Beatty added, it makes Jacksons grotesque performance yesterday look worse than ever.

 Clay gave him a sharp look. Not a hostile one, though, more in the way of cold calculation. You think so?

 Beattys detestable hearty bluffness was returning, alas. For sure and certain, Henry! Why, the man practically threatened to kill you, and you had nothing to do with it at all. So whyd he attack you instead of Crawford?

 Porter tightened his jaws. That had to be one of the stupidest comments hed ever heard. The reason Jackson had gone after Clay instead of Crawfordcould even a dimwit not grasp this?was that Clay had helped fund the Crittenden expedition, and Crawford had had nothing to do with it. That had been the subject of Jacksons speech. Hed said nothing about Mrs. Houstons murder.

 On the other hand

 Grudgingly, Porter allowed that Beatty might be right, if not for the reasons he advanced. Whatever else, the murder had horrified everyone in Washington. The reasons behind it meant less than the sheer brutality of the deed itself. Which meant that the emotional reaction was likely to spill against

 Ironically enough, Andrew Jackson, the man the dead woman and her husband had named their firstborn son after. Not because anyone thought Jackson had any connection to the murderer but simply because he, more than any other candidate, exemplified that capacity for violence in the first place. Did a nation that had just witnessed the daughter of its president shot down on the steps of the Capitol want that presidents successor to be a man whod killed another in a duel? A man whod once held a gunfight in a hotel with the Benton brothers?

 Its over, Beatty predicted. Its all over but the shouting.

 Clays expression was darkening again. Hastily, Johnston interjected: Well, no, Adam. Theres a funeral first, remember? Tomorrow.

 Oh. Yes, of course.





 Later that afternoon, Clay spoke in private to Porter.

 Jackson put up five thousand dollars for that reward; am I right?

 Porter nodded.

 Fine. Then Ill put up ten.

 Porter started to shake his head, but Henry had already seen the problem.

 No, no, that wont do. It would make it seem as if I were engaged in a petty contest with Jackson. But I can put up an equal amount, I think. See to it, would you, Peter?





 John Quincy Adams worked later than usual that day, well into the evening. Not because there was anything particularly pressing to be done, but simply because he couldnt think of anything better to do.

 By eight oclock, he decided it was time to go home. On his way out, however, a sudden impulse led him to the presidents office. Monroe was not in, having spent the entire day in the private quarters of the house with his wife and surviving daughter and his grandchildren. And Houston.

 The same impulsehalf sensed, not understoodled Adams into the office itself, and to the window behind the presidents desk that Monroe liked to look through.

 Perhaps a minute later, Adams discovered himself sitting in the presidents chair. Hed been so lost in his thoughts that he hadnt even realized hed done so.

 He began to rise immediately, but froze halfway through. That half-felt, not-understood impulse had come into sudden focus. So, sighing softly, he sat back down again.

 There was still a duty to be performed this day. Not one that John Quincy Adams wanted to perform, nor one that suited him well at all. But, whatever else, he was not a man who had ever shirked duty.





 He spent perhaps an hour lost in his thoughts again. Only a small sound at the doorway brought him out of them.

 Turning his head, he saw that James Monroe was standing there. Instantly flushing, Adams rose from the chair.

 Mr. President. Ahmy apologies. I dont know what I was thinking. Please excuse my impertinence

 Its fine, John, Monroe said softly. He came into the room, waving his hand a bit. Sit back down again. Why not? You may very well be sitting in that chair for four years, come March. Possibly eight. No reason not to see if it suits you.

 Monroes face seemed more drawn than usual, but it was hard to tell. The president was a man with such self-control that he would have been the envy of any Roman stoic.

 Adams didnt know quite what to say. Hed already visited the family earlier that day to extend his condolences. Repeating them again would seem

 Not like John Quincy Adams. For the same reason, the impulse to ask Monroe how he was managing died stillborn. For all the mutual respect between them, there had never been much in the way of personal intimacy between Adams and the president. Monroe was rarely given to such; and Adams, still less.

 Monroe was at the window now, looking out over the darkened city. Not that he could actually see it. With the lamp in the corner shining against the windowpane, he could see only his own reflection.

 Fortunately, it was always possible to ask about women. How is Mrs. Monroe doing, sir?

 Not well, as you might imagine, the president replied softly. Her health has not been good for some time, as you know. This

 He drew in a long deep breath. This was as bad as anything that could have happened. Fortunately, Eliza is with her, and bearing up well.

 Adams nodded. As was true of most people, he didnt much care for the presidents oldest daughteronly daughter, nowbut she was certainly a woman of strong character.

 And Mr. Houston?

 Monroe took another long deep breath. Im more concerned about Sam, immediately.

 Is he

 Monroe shook his head. No, John. He isnt drunk. I dont believe hes done so much as glance at a bottle of whiskey. Hes spent most of the past day with his son, trying to explain to a four-year-old that hell never see his mother again.

 There might have been a slight catch to Monroes voice, right there at the end. A very subtle thing, though, if it had been there at all.

 Adams frowned. ThenWhats the nature of your concern, if I might ask?

 Monroes head turned, half facing Adams. Never forget that Sam Houston is Scots-Irish, John. Perhaps the most warmhearted and good-natured Scots-Irishman who ever lived, true. But hes still of that stock. Which is one that is given to rage, and dark furies, and forgives very littleand that slowly if at all.

 Ah. You think hell take out after the murderer? A worse possibility occurred to Adams. Andrew Jackson wouldnt be the only man whod think to lash out at a political opponent as detested as Henry Clay.

 Monroe might have smiled slightly, then. If so, the smile came and went almost instantly.

 No, John. Dont underestimate my son-in-law. Ive come to know him quite well, these past years. Hes a man who thinksvery large thoughts. No, hell not seek his revenge on the man who murdered his wife. Should he happen to encounter him, of course, hed certainly kill him. But hell let the law handle it, otherwise.

 He was silent for a moment: But Im much afraid, in the mood hes in, he will seek revenge on the nation he holds responsible for Maria Hesters death in the first place.

 Adamss eyes widened. But howAh.

 That, too, suddenly brought many things into focus. Hes right, actually, Mr. President. In a way, at least.

 Monroe took yet another one of those long slow breaths. Yes, I know he is. For the first time, a genuine sadness entered his voice. He most certainly is. Only a nationa republic, to make it worsethat was mad enough to place slavery at its foundation could produce such a monster as Andrew Clark. And the madness is growing, John, year by year. Fueled by greed: the greed glowing hotter as more and more cant and hypocrisy is piled upon it, the flames then fanned by men like John Calhoun. With, now, even men like Henry Clay aiding and abetting the madness, for no purpose more sublime than personal ambition.

 Another long slow breath. Then, quietly, sadly: I have often wondered if my mentor and friend Thomas Jefferson was right when he foresaw a terrible vengeance by a just God. Now I know he was. I saw the proof of it yesterday, in my daughters bloody corpse.

 There might have been a slight tremor in the last few words. Perhaps not. Monroes stoicism was truly exceptional.

 And yet The president shrugged. And yet it continues, since very few menand I am not included among themhave the courage to stand squarely against it. And, again, for no better reason than greed. His lips twisted a bit. Well, perhaps thats too harsh. Economic and financial strain, more oftenbut is that really any better than naked greed?

 Hed had his hands clasped behind his back. Now he brought them to the fore and looked down upon them. I can see my daughters blood on my own hands if I look closely enough. I am in debt, as Im sure you know. Most Southern gentlemen are, especially if theyve spent as many years in public service as I have.

 Adams had known that of Monroes personal situation, although he didnt know any of the details. Public office was not very remunerative in the American republic, even in high posts, and many of the expenses had to be borne by the officeholder out of his own purse. Unless a man was an outright thiefwhich Monroe himself was certainly not, though some of the men whod risen to prominence with him might be so accusedhed soon enough find his personal finances badly strained.

 Adams himself suffered from the problem, despite the frugality of his Puritan New England upbringing. Almost no Southern slave-owning gentleman ever managed to get out from under a small mountain of debt, even if he devoted himself entirely to his plantation. The manner of the Southerners lives, their habits, their customsnot to mention the vagaries of any agriculture, and their dependence on English financiers and brokersmade it effectively impossible.

 A few managed. George Washington had gotten completely out of debt and had turned away from plantation agriculture as the source of his sustenance, to make sure that hed remain debtless. So, he was one of the very few slave-owners whod freed all his slaves in his will. A few others had done so, here and there. At least one of them had freed all his slaves and then moved to Ohio so he could get away from slavery altogether.

 But such were a rarity. Most Southern gentlemen were in debt from the time they reached their maturity to the day they were lowered into their gravesand the debts were then inherited by their offspring. Which meant that the same profligate, wasteful, slave-based plantation economy that had placed them in lifelong debt to begin with would continue, generation after generation. So long as a man retained his plantation and his slaves, he could, at the very least, find a creditor willing to lend him more money.

 So, Monroe continued, I shall no more be able to free my own slaves upon retiring from this office than Thomas was before me. Once you set Mammon upon your shoulders, ridding yourself of the demon becomes impossible. Unless youre prepared to become a pauper, at least, which few men are. Certainly I am not one of them.

 There was more of fatalism in Monroes tone than Adams had ever detected before. Not surprisingly, perhaps, given that the man was coming to the end of many decades of a life given over to the service of the republic. In four months, James Monroe would become a private citizen and, now at the age of sixty-five, would almost certainly remain one for the rest of his life. Whatever he could do, he had done. Whatever he had failed to do, he could not do now. Whatever he had harmed, he could no longer repair.

 None of which was true of John Quincy Adams himself.

 And so, now, it was time. As difficult as the task might be for a man like Adams. But he would not shirk his duty.

 Do you think I would make a good president? he asked abruptly. Then, raising his hand sharply: Please, James. I know its an uncivil question. But I really need your opinion. I cant think of any man whod know better. Certainly not one who no longer has any personal stake in the issue.

 Monroe turned from the window to face Adams squarely. His hands, as if by automatic reflex, clasped behind his back again.

 Yes, I understand. He thought for a moment. Not, obviously, to ponder the question, but simply pondering the right words for an answer.

 Youd not be a bad one, John. In some respectsforeign affairs, for a certaintyan excellent one. But, overallLet me put it this way. I do not think youd make the president that the republic needs in this time, this place in our history. Youre too much the intellectual, too much the executive, too much the manager.

 Adams grimaced ruefully. Im certainly not much of a politician.

 No, youre not. Although Monroe smiled for the first time since entering the room. I do recommend you spare yourself your usual Puritanical self-condemnation, John. Consider, rather, that your many other fine qualitiessuperb ones, to speak franklyhave allowed you to reach a position of influence in our nation that precious few politicians have ever achieved, regardless of their skill. That is hardly something to sneer at.

 Adams issued a soft grunt. As it happened, hed been thinking much the same thoughts this past hour. The sole consolation for what was coming.

 But thats not even the point, Monroe continued. What the republic needs now is not another politician, either. Henry Clay is the most accomplished and talented politician in the nation. Butbeing as frank and open as I canId far rather see you sitting in that chair for the next four or eight years than see Clay sitting there.

 Monroe looked aside for a moment, now studying the whale-oil lamp sitting on a small table in the corner of the office. There was nothing remarkable about the lamp itself except for being finer than most, with a decorative glass base and an attractive pear-shaped font. It seemed more as if he were simply trying to extract the light from it.

 You would make a fine president, John, if we lived in a time when the nation simply needed to be steered a course through the inevitable fog of public affairs. So would Henry Clay, being fair to the man. Hes not a brute, after all. A very fine man, in a number of ways, and many of his views are ones I share myself. The problem is simply that he cantnever couldcontrol his naked ambition. But if we lived in different times, his talents would probably make up for it, once that ambition was satisfied. But we dont live in such a time. I had hopesdelusions, perhapsthat we did, when I came into this office. But I know now, eight years later, that we are entering turbulent waters, not simply foggy ones. And the turbulence will get worse before it is all over. Much worse, I fear.

 Adams nodded. Being a rather accomplished poet, hed have used less pedestrian metaphors himself. But perhaps that lay at the heart of the matter. Monroe was an excellent politician, and Adams was not. If the presidents imagery was mundane, so was the nature of politics, in the end. Prosaic as it might be, the language was apt.

 Jackson, then, he stated.

 Monroe turned back to look at him. Youve read Jacksons speech of yesterday by now, Im sure.

 It was not a question. The chance that John Quincy Adams wouldnt have, within a day, readno, studieda major speech by a major political figure was so small as to be laughable.

 In fact, Adams did laugh. Once, softly. Oh, yes. Of course.

 And your opinion? The president jerked his head. Leaving aside that perhaps grotesque coda.

 Adams scowled. Grotesque, indeed.

 But he forced himself away from that comfort. It was time for the heart of the truth, and that alone.

 It was a magnificent speech, Mr. President. In the main. But what else really matters now?

 Nothing, Monroe stated flatly.

 Yes. Truly magnificent. In fact It was Adamss turn to take a slow, deep breath. I shall not be surprisednot that Ill live long enough to knowif posterity records it as the most important speech given in the United States in this entire decade.

 Monroe looked away again, pursing his lips. I hadnt thought of it, in those terms. But you could well be right.

 He turned his head back, his expression suddenly very stern. Enough, John. Its time for you to give me your opinion. Simply to say it out loud, if nothing else.

 Adams nodded and levered himself out of the chair. There was no reason to stay in it any longer.

 What I believe, Mr. President, is that we are entering Jacksons time. For good or illor both, most likely. Truth be told, Ive had that sense for some years now. Resenting it deeply, to be honest, but still sensing that it was probably true. Now I see it cannot be avoided at all. The difference the speech makes is very simple. On the eve of that time, the man who is best suited to lead the nation through has revealed himself to be, in every important particular, a man of deep and abiding principle. Even when those principles bring him to a distasteful conclusion, and one that requires him to stand against manyperhaps mostof his own followers.

 He took one of those slow deep breaths that seemed, that night, to be a requirement for occupying the office. That being the case, for me to continue to oppose his entry into this very chamber, would bein the end, when all is said and doneno more sublime a deed than whatever Henry Clay is plotting tonight. Harshly: Ambition, nothing more.

 Monroe cocked his head a little. Thats very well said, John. And let me take this moment to tell you that you are a man I much respect and admire.

 Adams jerked a little nod of the head. Thank you, sir.

 Will you allow me to put it in my own terms? Monroe issued his second smile of the evening. Like the first, it was a thin and fleeting thing, with more than a trace of sadness in it.

 Yes, of course.

 Ive had yearsdecadesto ponder the matter. The last eight of them, as the nations chief executive. In the end, just as our Roman forebears knew, republics stand or fall on virtue. Simply that, nothing else. Policies might be wrong, but policies can be corrected. Let virtue fail, the republic fails. Yes, its Jackson time, for good or illso let Jackson take his rightful place. Help him or oppose him on any particular issue or question, as you will. But I can foresee no worse disaster than if, by clashing, the two principal men of virtue in todays American republic allow another man to slide by them and take this office. I disagree with many of Jacksons opinions and views, as you know. But I can live with Jackson. The republic can live with Jackson. Right, wrong, indifferent, or just plain mad, Jackson always has virtue. Henry Clay has none at all.

 Adams jerked another little nod. Then, smiled. You understand, Mr. President, that after Senator Jacksons speech yesterday, it is very likely that Henry Clay will slide by us anyway.

 Monroe shook his head firmly. No, John. He wont slide by you. Hell win enough votes, and thus, by the rules established by our Constitution, come to occupy this office. But the Constitution does not embody the nations virtue, simply its political principles. So long as you and Jackson stand against himclearly, sharplythen the nation will not be confused, except momentarily.

 The president shrugged. Its impossible, for any republic that lasts for more than a few decades, to avoid the occasional Alcibiades winning the favor of the populace for a time. That matters little, so long as the republic does not come to see Alcibiades as a man of principle.

 He waved his hand at the window, through which nothing could be seen except the reflection of the chambers own light. Let Clay enjoyif thats the termhis four years of triumph. I think hell find it turns sour on him, soon enough. Even fasterif men of principle stand their groundwill he find the nations favor turning sour also. Its one thing to gain office by pandering to prejudice, unreason, and blind fury. Quite another, to guide a nation based on them. The first can be done, yes. The second, not at all.






 CHAPTER 24



 Washington, D.C.

 NOVEMBER 8, 1824

 

Fortunately, Jackson was still awake. Adams had hesitated disturbing the senator so late at night. But hed feared the consequences of waiting till the morrow. Far too easy, even for a Puritan, to find that mornings glow sapped resolve. Some things were best done in the middle of the night, not for the sake of its secrecy but simply because darkness had no false auras. Mornings were always treacherous times, with their ever-returning promise.

 My apologies for the hour, Senator, he began, as soon as a black servant ushered him into the salon where Jackson was waiting for him. Its just

 Not at all, Mr. Secretary. Jackson was standing in the middle of the room, his posture that familiar ramrod one. But it was simply erect, not stiff at all. He was smiling broadly and seemed inclined to be as gracious as he could often manage, sometimes to everyones surprise.

 Some cordials, perhaps?

 No, thank you, I Adams peered at the row of bottled spirits on a cabinet against the wall. He waged a regular battle with himself to maintain temperate habits, and when he did drink he preferred wine, not whiskey.

 Then again, new times.

 Well, perhaps a small whiskey.

 Of course. The servant headed for the cabinet, but Jackson waved him off. Ill manage it, Pompey, thank you. You may retire for the evening.

 After the servant was gone and the whiskey poured, Jackson waved Adams to the divan. Please, have a seat. As Adams did so, Jackson perched himself on a nearby chair.

 There was no point delaying it. If a man was to fall on his sword, it was best to do it quickly and firmly.

 Senator Jackson, I have come to inform you that I shall be urging those who are supporting me for the presidency to vote for you instead.

 There. It was done. No way to retract anything now. Not even the meanest scoundrel in America could do that. And Adams had always allowed, whatever else, that he was very far from that. A sinner, yes; a scoundrel, no. Certainly not a mean one.

 Jacksons eyes widened. Slowly, he set his untouched whiskey down on a low table next to the chair.

 Well. I will be damah. Well. Tarnation, sir!

 At least he hadnt completed the blasphemy. Adamss gloom lightened a bit.

 Tarnation, Jackson repeated. That comes as quite a surprise. I wouldnt have thought

 He paused, his bright blue eyes peering at Adams intently. It was the speech, wasnt it?

 To a degree, yes. The murder that came before it, perhaps as much.

 The famous blue glare entered Jacksons eyes. Yes, that too. Ill see that man hanged if I do nothing else in my life. Be sure of it, sir. If the laws allowed, Id have him drawn and quartered first.

 Adams wouldnt flinch from that, either. I must, however, tell you that while I admired the speech itselfgreatly, in factI took considerable exception to the ending. I felt that was most unfortunate. Uncalled for.

 For an instant, the fury fell on Adams. But only for an instant. The blue eyes simply became blue, a color like any other. Jackson even smiled a bit. Even ruefully.

 Well. Im not sure Id agree that it was uncalled for. But, ah, perhaps unfortunate.

 The smile returned, now with more humor in it. For sure and certain, all my friends have been berating me for it since, I can tell you that! Still

 He shrugged and took a first sip of the whiskey. Whats done is done, and Im not a man given to fretting over the past.

 No, that he wasnt, for good or ill. And Adams would also allow that, in these times, that was probably to the good. For the most part, at least.

 Suddenly Jackson chuckled. You do understand, I trust, that you just made a promise you might not be able to keep.

 Adams frowned. Excuse me, sir. Stiffly: I can assure you

 It doesnt matter what you assure me, Mr. Secretary. The people of the republic decide wholl be the president, not you or me. What if you win an outright majority in the electoral college? How could you possibly, then, hand the office to me as if it belonged to you? When, in fact, it belongs to no man in the country, not even the one who currently occupies the office. It is the sole and exclusive property of the nation itself. Its electorate, at any rate.

 Adams stared at him. Hed

 Simply not considered the possibility.

 Thats quite unlikely, he protested, knowing full well that wasnt Jacksons point.

 Jackson just stared at him. Adams cleared his throat.

 Well. I suppose I couldnt. Given that eventuality.

 No, of course you couldnt. Nor could I accept.

 Now, Jackson was smiling very broadly. Im not needling you, Mr. Secretary. And I agree its unlikely that any of us will win an outright majority, given the political divisions in the party. I simply wanted to make sure that we understood each other.

 Adams finally took a sip of his own drink. It was very good whiskey. The liquor was not to Adamss particular liking, true. But

 Very good whiskey, indeed.

 Agreed, he said abruptly. But I will do so if the election is thrown into the House. That I can assure you, Senator Jackson.

 Call me Andy, if you would. All my friends do.

 Trying not to be stiffwell, stiffer than necessaryAdams shook his head. Were not actually friends, Senator Jackson. And being honest, I rather doubt we ever will be.

 Jacksons cordial smile didnt fade in the least. Probably not, though much stranger things have happened. But Id still prefer it if youd call me Andy. Consider it a matter of personal preference, if it pleases you.

 Adams thought about it. Reciprocation would be necessary, of course.

 It really was very good whiskey. He took another sip.

 Very well. Andy. And please call me John.

 Right! Jackson set his whiskey glass down. Then, actually slapped his hands together. Oh, Lorah, whatever. Am I going to enjoy gutting that bastard Clay!

 I have to tell you, Senah, Andythat I actually doubt we can now stop the Speaker from being elected to the presidency.

 Now Jackson was rubbing his hands together.

 Oh, sure. My estimate is weve got almost no chance if it gets thrown into the House. Not after that speech I gave yesterday. Coffee and Eaton tell me Ill do well if I can hang on to the Tennessee delegation. Pennsylvania, they think remains certain. I probably had a chance to win over some of Crawfords and Calhouns support, but not now. On the other handheres an interesting thingI might still be able to take Kentucky from the bastard.

 That was interesting. Assuming the assessment of Jacksons advisers was accurate. But Adams knew they were a very shrewd lot, Westerners or not.

 Yeah, it seems Kentuckys not all that pleased with Henry Clay, be it his home state or not. Kentuckys a border state, still more Western than Southern. Like Tennessee, really. Nobodys at all happy at the idea of black men killing a lot of white men, sure, no matter who the white men were or what they were up to. But they havent forgotten that it was Henry Claynot Patrick Driscol, not Sam Houston, and sure as Sam Hill not some negro in Arkansaswho spent his two-year retirement from the House getting rich by serving as the Banks main lawyer, suing people going bankrupt, and stripping every last thing from them.

 Jackson picked up his glass and took a big swallow from it. No, that was done by good old man-of-the-people Henry Clay. Who now proposes to start a war using poor white men to kill poor black men so he can spend four years swindling the nation on behalf of the rich and mighty.

 Adams couldnt help but wince. That was exactly the sort of plebeianistic, class-against-class rhetoric that made Jackson and his followers so disliked in his own New England.

 Well. Not disliked by New England laborers, to be sure. Actually, Jackson was quite popular among such folk.

 Seeing the wince, Jackson grinned. Relax, John. I promise you I wont be calling for storming the Bastille. Which we dont have in America, anyway, being a republic. He pointed a stiff finger at him. But Im not whitewashing anything, either. Thats exactly what the bastard is planning on.

 Adams cocked his head a little, considering the matter. Yesand no. I agree that his rhetoric all implies that Clay, if elected president, will launch a war against Arkansas. But the truth is, Andy, I dont think he will. Dont forget that the core of his supportcertainly his financial supportcomes at least as much from Northernah

 He couldnt help but laugh, softly. What I believe you would call the moneyed interests.

 Jackson laughed with him. Oh, tarnation, no. Thats way too namby-pamby. Bloodsucking leeches comes closer. But to keep peace in the room, Ill settle for Northern upper crust. Hows that?

 Adams nodded. Thats why hes got a fair amount of backing even in New England. None of those peoplecertainly not the ones close to the Bankare going to be interested in a war with Arkansas. If anything, theyll be inclined to oppose it.

 Jackson finished the rest of his whiskey in a quick gulp. After setting down the glass, he shook his head. Youre right, John, as far it goes. But that doesnt go far enough. This is still a republic, despite all the efforts of Nicholas Biddle and the rest of that pack of Bank scoundrels to undermine it. Money counts, sure, but its not the trump card. Not yet, anywayand not ever, if I get into the White House.

 Adams tightened his lips. He himself wasnt fond of Nicholas Biddle, the head of the Second Bank, but he agreed with President Madisonand Henry Claythat a national bank of some sort was important for the nations economic well-being. However, that was a battle with Jackson that could be postponed for the moment. The Banks charter ran until 1836, after all. Even if Jackson got elected to the presidency, he couldnt do much about it.

 The point being, Jackson continued, that if Clays to win the presidency now, he doesnt have any choice but to throw in his lot with Crawford and Calhoun. Not with you throwing your support to me, in the House.

 Thatwas true. Adams realized that hed been so preoccupied with the personal aspect of his decision to withdraw from the race that he hadnt considered what tactical results would follow in the political arena. If the election was thrown into the House, with his supporters giving their votes to Jackson

 He drew in a breath so sharply it was almost a hiss. Oh, good heavens.

 Jackson nodded.  Good heavens, is right, Johnexcept I wouldnt put the word heaven in there at all. Theres only one way Clay could win. Hed have to get Calhouns full support and almost all of Crawfords.

 I dont think he can get all, Adams mused. Van Buren and his people are supporting Crawford because of his extreme states rights views. Theyre New Yorkers, not Southerners. Theyll have no liking for a war with Arkansas.

 No, they wont. But the problem is that Van Burenthey dont call him the Little Magician for nothingis sometimes too smart for his own good. Might be better to say, hes so good at political tactics that he tends to lose sight of their purpose. Hes likely to figure that Clays war talk is just hot air. Campaign blather, thatll vanish like the dew after the inaugural address.

 The senator rose, went over to the cabinet, and unstoppered the whiskey bottle. Would you care for another? he asked as he began refilling his own glass.

 Adams looked down at his whiskey. There wasnt much left.

 It really was very good whiskey. On the other hand, he reminded himself, he was prone to intemperance if he didnt maintain good self-control.

 What decided him was an oddity. He was starting to enjoy this conversation.

 Yes, please.

 The glasses refilled and Jackson back in his chair, the senator resumed. What it all comes down to is that Clay is going to have to throw his lot in with Calhoun and Crawford. Lock, stock, and barrel. And you can be damn sure that Calhoun is going to insist on a war. In factwatch and see if Im not righthell insist on the post of secretary of war for himself, so he can make sure it gets done.

 Adams sipped his whiskey thoughtfully. Yes, I can see that. Clay will offer the position of secretary of state to Crawford, of course. That would position Crawford to succeed him in the White House, four or eight years from now.

 In Crawfords medical condition, Jackson said mildly, he couldnt handle the work. No one knows that better than you.

 Adams sniffed. No, he couldnt. Frankly, I dont think he could even on his best days. But it doesnt matter, Andy. All the better from Clays point of view, since the Speaker

 Oh, blast it.Hed thrown in his lot with frontier roughnecks, after all, so why not at least enjoy the benefits?

 Since the rotten bastard fancies himself a great diplomat, hell just figure on managing the State Department personally.

 Jackson grinned. Still sore over the Russell letter, huh?

 Adams couldnt resist returning the grin. It was quite infectious, really.

 Certainly. The man committed a forgery to try to smear my reputation during the negotiations with Britainand I know perfectly well Clay was the one put him up to it. If only I could prove it.

 He took another drink. No sip, this time. I genuinely detest Henry Clay.

 Well, so do I, partner. So, like I said, lets gut the bastard. Forget this election. Well have four years to do itand well know exactly where to find him. He waved the glass in the direction of the White House. Just down the street a ways.





 Monroe came upon Houston just as his son-in-law was gently closing the door to his grandsons room.

 Is he asleep, finally? he asked.

 Houston glanced over his shoulder. Yes. Hell have nightmares again, though. So, with your permission

 Of course. Ive already told the servant to vacate the room next door so you can occupy it for the night.

 Houston looked genuinely haggard. Hed gotten no sleep himself since the murder. Thank you. I wouldnt want to sleep in ourthatbedroom anyway. I dont think I could bear it.

 Yes, I understand. If youd like, I can manage other arrangements. More permanent ones, I mean.

 Houston shook his head. No, thank you, sir. Any arrangements you made would be invalid come March, anyway. But, as it happens, Ive already decided to seek residence elsewhere.

 Youre going to Arkansas. It was a statement, not a question.

 Yes, sir, I am. As soon as I think the boy is up to the trip.

 Sam

 No, sir. The dark fury Monroe had sensed was rising to the surface now, filling Houstons face. No, sir. You forgetmost people forgetthat I belong to two nations, not one. My name is also Colonneh. The Raven, in English.

 Sam

 No, sir. I didnt get much of a look at the man who murdered my wife. But I saw enough to know one thing, for sure. That man was not a Cherokee. That man was one of those stinking, filthy Georgians who drove the Cherokee off their land. To call relocationyes, I know I engineered the treaty, and I used it, tooby its right name.

 A little shudder passed through his big body. Then, softly: So Im going home, and taking my boy with me. Meaning no offense to you, sir, but I want him to meet his Cherokee grandfather. While John Jollys still alive.

 Monroe sighed. Please dont forget that you shared five years of Maria Hesters life, Sam. And I shared all of them.

 Houstons eyes teared. I know that, James, he said softly. I dont mean to belittle your grief, or her mothers, or her sisters. But you do what you feel necessary, and I will do the same. Im not bringing up my boy in a country that murdered his mother, because it was a country full of spite and meanness. No way in Hell. Were for Arkansas.

 Monroe recognized the impossibility of altering his son-in-laws course. Still

 Forty years of political life produced unshakable habits. Dont burn any bridges you dont need to, Sam. Lafayettes visiting the country, as you know.

 Sam frowned, thrown off by the remark. Well, sure. His tours taking the whole country by storm. In fact, I met himwell, shook his hand and exchanged pleasantriesat a festival in his honor just two weeks ago. But whats that got to do

 His voice trailed off, and the color of his eyes seemed to lighten a bit. Oh.

 Monroe was careful not to show any visible relief. If Sam Houston didnt have much of the Scots-Irish capacity for rage, except in his worst moments, he had all of that breeds aptitude for political maneuver. Considerably more than his rightful share, in fact.

 Oh, he repeated. Then, shook his head slightly. I doubt hed receive me, James. Hes deluged with well-wishers, and he doesnt know me at all.

 Dont be foolish. He knows who you are. Just because the Marquis is now sixty-six years old, dont think for a moment hes become less acute when it comes to political affairs. The hero of the Capitol, and then New Orleans?

 Monroe cleared his throat. Not that it matters. He certainly knows who I am, since Im not only the president of the nation but the one who extended the invitation for him to visit. Hell see me, Sam. In fact

 Monroe had to swallow for a moment. Hes coming here tomorrow, as it happens. He asked if he could accompany us in person to the funeral.

 Sam nodded. In that case, Ill be able to see him. At least briefly.

 Briefly, yes. Tomorrow. But

 Monroe paused, for a moment, thinking. Can you postpone your departure for a week or two?

 WellYes, I suppose. Andy wont be up for traveling immediately, anyway.

 Good. In that case, I think I can manage something quite a bit better than briefly. 

 Houston was looking at him very intently now, his fury almost completely gone. What are you thinking, James?

 What I am thinking, my dear son-in-lawwhich you are and will remain, whatever elseis that the last sight of you I want the United States to have, before you depart for Arkansas, is receiving the blessing of the Marquis de Lafayette. Who fought with George Washington and shed his blood on American soil at Brandywine, that republicanism might triumph in the world.

 Washington, D.C.

 NOVEMBER 19, 1824

 

Eleven days later, at the state dinner hosted by President Monroe at Williamsons Hotel and attended by practically every member of Congress, the Marquis sat beside Sam Houston.

 That caused pained looks among some of the congressmen present, but not many. Word was already spreading that John Quincy Adams would throw his support to Jackson in the event the election was thrown into the House. Which, with the first election results beginning to come in, now seemed certain to happen. State dinners of this sort were such enormous affairs that there was plenty of time and space for quiet dickering. Most of the congressmen were too busy with their whispered consultations to pay much attention to the formalities of the affair.

 Peter Porter was one of the exceptions. Hed gotten an invitation through the offices of the Speaker, so he was there also. But since he was not a congressman, he paid little attention to the small maneuvers taking place at the multitudes of tables in the huge dining room. Instead, he spent the time carefully studying the men at the central table.

 James Monroe. Sam Houston. The Marquis de Lafayette.

 Porter had had enough military experience to understandhe was pretty sure, anywaywhat he was seeing. Strategists at work, not tacticians. He tried, at one point in the evening, to get Clays attention. But the Speaker was preoccupied with his negotiations with several of the congressmen from North Carolina.

 Tomorrow, Peter. I couldnt possibly find the time to speak to you tonight.





 Toward the end of the evening, the Marquis rose and offered three toasts.

 The first, in solemn remembrance of the presidents daughter.

 The second, in honor of his heroic son-in-law, who had so valiantly defended the Capitol of the United States from enemy attackand then repeated the deed, a few months later, at New Orleans.

 The third

 Smiling broadly, the Marquis prefaced his toast by announcing that Sam Houston was moving to Arkansas and taking his young son with him. They would depart two days hence.

 So, another toast: To the New World, so clearly blessed by the Almighty! To the New World! Which has produced yet another great republic on its soil!

 Andrew Jackson was the first to rise to the toast. Had he not been a bit too portly, John Quincy Adams might have beaten him to it.





 Outside the hotel, later, Clay brushed Porter off again. Not now, Peter, sorry. Yes, I know its a bit awkward. A minor setback. But I think were on the verge of taking all of North Carolina from Jackson. South Carolina, Calhoun can promise us for sure.

 Off he went. Porter was left alone in the night, watching the crowd spilling out of Williamsons Hotel.

 Setback.

 Jesus Christ, Porter muttered to no one at all. Who cares about that? This thing is careening out of control.






 CHAPTER 25



 Natchez, Mississippi

 DECEMBER 15, 1824

 

The bullet missed, but it did manage to shatter a bottle of whiskey sitting on the bar top that was close enough to shower Ray Thompson with its contents. Crouching behind the bar next to Powers, he cursed bitterly. It was rotgut, naturally. Hed be stinking for hours. Assuming he survived the next few minutes.

 Cant you ever just keep your mouth shut? he hissed.

 Powers finished reloading his pistol. Damnation, this tavern was my old watering hole. He peered up at the bar top above them. How many were there?

 Four, till you shot one and I shot another.

 The tavern keeper?

 He ran off. I dont think he was one of them. But theyll have friends coming, you watch. And meantime theyve got us pinned here, andRay rapped a knuckle against one of the planks that formed the base of the barsooner or later its going to occur to those stupid yahoos to try to shoot through these planks to see how thick they are. Im not looking forward to the results.

 Powers winced. Neither am I. He gave Thompson a calculating look. We got no choice, Im thinking. Right at em is the only way.

 Ray shook his head. Yeah, we got no choice. But Im only joining you if you swear youll stop using your own name.

 Yeah. Fine. I swear. Mothers grave, whatever you want.

 Thompson didnt bother to answer. He was too busy gauging the distance to the only unshattered bottle still on the bar top.

 Ill go first, right over the top. You come around the side.

 Powers nodded. Since there was no point in dallying, Ray rose up enough to tap the bottle over with the barrel of the pistol.

 Almost instantly, a shot was fired, smashing into the wood behind the bar.

 Thank God for yahoos. But he was erect before he finished the statement, where he could see the room, his pistol tracking the man whod fired.

 Dumbern sheep.The idiot was standing up, reloading. Ray shot him in the chest. Then, lunged to his left, just in time to evade the shot fired by the mans partner. He kept lunging leftward, half running and half scrambling, but never dropping out of sight. That would keep the mans eyes on him while Scott

 Powerss shot came from the other side of the bar. Ray stopped and looked over. Good enough. He didnt think Scott had killed him outright, but it was good enough.

 Fucking yahoos, Powers snarled on their way out of the tavern. Why the hell do they care if we hurt Clays chances? The bastards never bother to vote, anyway. Too stupid to read the ballot.





 Ten minutes later they were ready to head for the Natchez Trace.

 Now were horse thieves, too, Ray complained as he led his mount out of the barn theyd broken into.

 Powers was in a cheerier mood. Lookit this. Found it tacked on the wall in there.

 He handed over a printed notice.

 Thompson didnt look at it, though, until they were out of the towns limits. Killing three or four men might be forgiven in Natchez, depending on who their friends and relatives were, but stealing a horse was a hanging offense.

 When he did look at it, reading slowly because of the horses gait, he whistled.

 Ten thousand dollars. Whoo-eee. 

 Then he shrugged and handed it back to Powers. Lot of good it does us.

 But Powers was still smiling. O ye of little faith. I know him, Ray. Andrew Clarks the first cousin of an old friend of mine.

 Thompson looked over at him skeptically. And what of it? He did the killing in Washington, Scott. If your geographys gotten hazy since our seafaring days, thats about a thousand miles from here as the crow fliesand we aint crows. By now he could be anywhere.

  Could be, sure. But he wont be. Wheres he going to go? Thats a snooty family he comes from, real Georgia gentlemen. If hed killed Houston, hed have been all right. Theyd hide him as long as it took. But killing Houstons wife, wont nobody in those circles touch him. In fact, theyd turn him in fastern anybody. Even the yahoos in Louisiana would. Well, half of em, anyway.

 Ray thought about it. That was true enough, actually. Killing a woman, unless she was a whore or a cheating wife, was one of the few ways a man could cross the line with Southern and Western roughnecks. Almost as bad as horse stealing.

 The last thought reminded him of their own predicament. Whatre we going to do with these horses, Scott?

 Let em go; what else? As soon as we reach Port Gibson. Thats stretching it a little, but I figure we can probably get away with it. Being as there was four of them, and us not knowing how many friends they might have.

 Again, Ray thought about it. That was

 Also true enough. There was a certain protocol involved. Actually stealing a mans horse was a hanging offense, sure enough. But if a man let the horse go while it was still close enough to find its way homeor be returned by someone else who knew the brandmost people were inclined to let it go as more-or-less borrowing the horse just to get out of a bad spot. Which theirs had certainly been. Often enough, it became a laughing matter.

 It wasnt surefire, of course. But at least it gave you an arguing point if you got caught.

 Okay, then what?

 Port Gibsons where we want, anyway. Powers flashed Thompson a grin. Being as how you and me is for a Mississippi steamboat and St. Louis. I figure we can get hired on, easy enough. This soon after the massacre, a lot of the regular menll still be nervous about steaming past the Arkansas.

 Thompson grimaced. Scott, Im nervous about steaming past it. Unless theyre even dumber than yahoos, theyll still have that flotilla there. One or two boats anywayand theyre likely to be none too fussy about diplomatic protocol. What if they stop our boat and search it? They find us, were for the rope.

 Yeah, sure. But its been two and a half months since Arkansas Post. I figure by now the U.S. State Department has made plenty of protests to the Confederacy on the subject of interfering with American commerce on the Mississippi. Say whatever else you will about the bastard, Quincy Adams aint no slouch. As long as we stay out of sight when our boat gets to the Arkansas, we should be safe enough. His cheery expression was disfigured for a moment by a scowl. Which wont be hard, since well probably be working in the boiler room.

 Ray matched the grimace. Boiler room work was just as hard as it was dangerous.

 Not, however, as dangerous as staying in yahoo country, with their names black as mud because of that damned Bryant. And even if they always used aliases, there were just too many men in the area who knew them personally.

 Nor could they return to more civilized parts of the United States. Leaving aside what difficulties they might encounter because of Bryants articleswhich could be serious, given that Clay might well be the next presidentthey had several other awkward issues to deal with. Scott had arrest warrants out for him, and Ray had creditors. Not the sort of creditors who demanded imprisonment for debt, either, as a last resort. The sort who started with broken knees.

 All right, then.

 Oh, stop being gloomy, Scott said. We need to get to St. Louis anyway, on account of this. He patted the pocket into which hed stuffed the reward notice.

 Why?

 Dont you pay any attention? I told you. Well, maybe not all of it. Andrew Clarks cousin is the black sheep of the family. Hes the one person Clark could find shelter with, and hes in Missouri.

 In St. Louis?

 Well. No. Powers seemed to be avoiding his gaze. Further west. Missouri Territory.

 Ray rolled his eyes. Wonderful. Hes a bandit, isnt he?

 Some might call him that, I suppose.

  Some,  Ray mimicked sarcastically. Let me guess. Ninety-nine out of a hundred citizens of Missouri.

 Scott grinned. Nah, not that many. Maybe ninety-five out of a hundred.

 He gave Ray a sideways look. What? You worried about our good names?

 Thompson said nothing. What was there to say?

 What I thought. Face it, Ray. We aint exactly upstanding citizens, our own selves. Not even around bandits. Southern ones, for sure.

 New Antrim, Arkansas

 DECEMBER 16, 1824

 

I dont care if we go bankrupt, Henry. Patrick Driscols rasp seemed more pronounced than ever. What difference does it make if Arkansas goes under? Ill be dead on a battlefield, youll be a slave picking cotton in the Delta, and even the engineer fellow herea thumb indicated Henry Shreve, who was scowling at him from the doorwayis likely to be standing trial for treason. Never gave up his U.S. citizenship, you know.

 Thats not funny, Patrick! Shreves scowl grew darker still.

 No, I suppose not. Its still true. Driscol smiled thinly. Of course, you could always have a sudden conversion on the road to Damascus. Reconversion, I guess I should say. Hurry on down to Memphis, confess the error of your wicked ways, and offer your services to the Fulton-Livingston Company. Word has it theyve already got the contract for supplying the U.S. Army, in the event war comes. Im sure theyd hire you on.

 Now Shreves scowl could have terrified an ogre. Stop playing the fool! Hurry on down to Memphis. In what? A rowboat?seeing as how youve already seized everything I own, you damn tyrant. Worse than any Federalist who ever lived, you are.

 Henry Crowells grunt combined amusement and exasperation. Dont forget the years he spent with Napoleon, Henry. Conscriptionseizure of personal propertyall out for the war effort. Nothings too low for the Laird. By next Tuesday, I figure hell start debasing the currency.

 Dont call me that, damnation. I hate that term.

 Why? Its true, Patrick. And before you start prattling about your republican principlesabout which Henrys right; youve shredded every one these past two monthsyou might keep in mind that the term is probbly worth another regiment, as far as the armys morale goes.

 Shreves scowl lightened a bit. Hes right about that. Black heathen savages. Bad as Frenchmen. Vive lempereur! Allons enfants de la patrie! 

 His French accent was quite good. Better than Driscols, in fact, although Driscol was more fluent in the language. So Crowell had been told, anyway. His own knowledge of French was limited to the Creole hed picked up in New Orleans.

 Theyre hardly heathens, grumbled Patrick. Most of em are downright Calvinists, by now, since Brown started his preaching.

 Shreve gave him a skeptical look. Driscol shrugged. Well, fine. Some of Marie Laveaus voudou in there, too, I suppose.

 John Brown doesnt actually preach, Crowell said mildly. Its more just that black folks admire the man so much. And why shouldnt they? The Catholics are doing pretty well, too, actually. Especially since all that money started coming in from Pierre Toussaint to fund them.

 Shreve rolled his eyes. You had to bring that up, didnt you? Sourly, he crossed his arms and slouched in the doorway. I can remember a timeO blessed days of innocent youthwhen my world was a lot simpler. Sure as hell didnt include rich black bankers in Arkansas and still richer darkies in New York. And a crazy Scots-Irishman to fan the flames of their insane ambitions.

 Crowells grunt this time was simply amused. For all of Shreves more-or-less constant carping and complaining, the fact was that the Pennsylvania steamboat wizard had thrown in his lot with Arkansas as unreservedly as the poorest freedman. Henry wasnt sure why, exactly, since it certainly wasnt due to any commitment on Shreves part to abolition or even any deep faith in human equality. Shreve didnt really care that much about such things, one way or the other. He had the mind and soul of an engineer, first, last, and always.

 In the end, Henry thought, that was the key. As much and as often as Shreve protested Driscols wayswhich did, indeed, sometimes border on Napoleonic high-handedness if not outright tyrannythe fact remained that the Laird of Arkansas had supported and funded Shreves plans and schemes far more extensively than any person or institution in the United States had ever done. Or ever would, so long as the Fulton-Livingston Company could throw its money and influence around.

 But it was time to settle the current dispute. Fine, Patrick. Seeing as how youre being stubborn

 When is he not?  demanded Shreve.

 well sink every dime we can into buying iron plate from the foundries in Cincinnati and Pittsburgh. The ones wholl still do business with us, anyway.

 Seeing Driscols sarcastic expression, he chucked. Which, I admit, is all of them. Amazing, in a way, since Ohios supposed to be solid for Henry Clay.

 Shreve snorted.  Solid refers to politics. Money has no country.

 He glared at Driscol. Besides which, the United States is a republic. A nation of free men, where the idea that the government could tell a man what he could and couldnt do with his own property is anathema.

 Especially when the property talks and has a black skin, Driscol fired back. So dont preach to me about freedom, Mister Shreve. I find myself quite willing to abrogate the lesser freedoms to maintain the great ones. Were still going to buy all the iron plate we can, since we cant make it in our own little foundries, so that when the bastards come up the river itll be our boatsyours, when I give them back after the warwho steam out of the encounter. And theirs which go under. Or would you rather we did it the other way around?

 Put that way

 Shreve threw up his hands. Fine! Im going back to work. Otherwise your lunatic scheme will sink the boats right there at the piers, all the iron youll try to bolt onto them.

 I wouldna dream of telling an engineer his business, said Driscol, his Belfast accent thicker than usual. Mind, Id appreciate the occasional reciprocation.

 But Shreve had already left.

 Washington, D.C.

 DECEMBER 18, 1824

 

Well, thats it, said Adam Beatty. Well have a merry Christmas, gentlemen. With Louisianas vote having come in, everythings been reported.

 At the head of the table in the boardinghouse, Henry Clay rubbed his face wearily. Summarize it, please.

 Nationwide, Jackson has the plurality of votes, though not by as large a margin as it appeared he would in midsummer. Thats the Arkansas effect, most likely, coming in at the last minute. Still, hes got eighty-five electoral votes, just a little under one-third of the total. Adams comes a pretty close second, with seventy-six.

 In short, Peter Porter said bluntly, our two principal enemieswhove now formed an alliance, with Adams willing to throw his support to Jacksonhave a total of one hundred and sixty-one votes. Which is a clear majority in the electoral college. And the same percentage, roughly speaking, in the popular vote.

 A little over sixty percent, Beatty agreed. But it really doesnt matter, because the electoral college is not where the issue gets settled, according to the Constitution. Since no single candidate won a majority, the three top candidates are the ones chosen from by the House. And there

 He smiled widely. Henrys the third man. Clear-cut, no question about it. He got forty-two votes to Crawfords thirty-four and Calhouns twenty-five. All weve got to do, gentlemen, is turn that forty percent in the electoral college into fifty-one percent in the House.

 Put that way, Porter mused, it didnt sound so bad. But the sense hed had of a situation steadily unraveling was getting stronger all the while. Because the other way to look at it was that the man who could only muster

 Porter was good at arithmetic. Silently, in his head, he did the calculations.

 And was appalled. Henry Clay had gotten barely sixteen percent of the popular and electoral votes. Which Beatty was cheerily projecting he could triplemore than triplein order to get elected, purely and solely based on political maneuvering in the House of Representatives.

 That it could be done, Porter didnt much doubt. Clays ability to manipulate the House was practically legendary by now. But could a president elected in such a manner actually carry out the tasks and duties of the nations chief executive in the years to follow? That was another matter entirely.

 His musings were interrupted by Clays voice. Peter, are the rumors weve been hearing about Van Buren true, in your estimate?

 A bit startled, Porter looked up. WellIts hard to know. Van Buren plays the game very close to the chest. But I think its likely, yes. Jackson, unlike Adams, has always had a clear stance on states rights, which is what matters to the New York Radicals. They simply dont have the same concerns regarding Arkansas and the issues surrounding it that Calhouns people do, and some of Crawfords. He cleared his throat. Some others of Crawfords, I should say, since they were in that camp themselves.

 Clay nodded, his expression weary but still alert. In other words, Crawfords camp is breaking up.

 Pretty much, yes. His Northern supporters shifting toward Jackson, his Southern ones in our direction. More toward Calhoun than us, though, and keeping in mind that its certainly not a split down the middle. Most of his support was in the South, to begin with. New York was really his only major Northern stronghold.

 The keys the South, then, stated Josiah Johnston. Its that simple. We havent got enough, even getting all of Calhouns and Crawfords votes. And we cant possibly hope to crack anything away in New England, that matters. Or Pennsylvania and New Jersey. Or Tennessee.

 He stopped there, a bit awkwardly. Porter didnt blame him. He could have added or Kentucky, probably. The two most populous border states had gone for Jackson, even Clays home state.

 Clay sat up straight. All right. I agree with Josiah. Its simple enough. Weve got to keep Calhoun solidthat, whatever elseand win over Crawfords Southern supporters. Then

 He took a deep breath. Ignore New England altogether. Ignore Pennsylvania and New Jersey. Go straight at the Southern congressional delegations, and a few of the softer Western ones, like Indiana and Illinois. We can assume that Ohio and Missouri will remain solid for us. Persuade them that the allegiance many of their states showed for Jackson was an error, produced by the fact that news of Arkansasand Jacksons disturbing reaction to ithadnt had time to reach the populace before they voted. Surely they would have voted otherwise, had they known.

 Remember Arkansas Post! Beatty exclaimed. Thats the drum we beat.

 Clay looked around the room. Everyone nodded. Even Porter, in the end. What else was there to do?






 CHAPTER 26



 Washington, D.C.

 DECEMBER 19, 1824

 

Please, Colonel Taylor, have a seat. General Brown half rose from the seat behind his desk when Zachary entered his office, motioning toward a chair next to the one occupied by General Winfield Scott. A bit to the side sat Thomas Jesup, the armys quartermaster general.

 Taylor would have felt awkward under any circumstances in such august company. Since the reorganization and drastic reduction in the size of the army ordered by Congress in 1821, Jacob Brown was the only remaining major general, and thus the commanding general of the entire U.S. Army. Winfield Scott was one of its two remaining brigadier generals of the line and commanded the eastern department of the military. For the moment, at least. Rumors were that he and Brigadier General Edmund Gaines, who commanded the western department, would soon be exchanging posts.

 In short, he was sitting in an office with three of the armys four generals. Nor were they political generals, although Brown had begun his career as a political appointee. All three of them were considered by the entire U.S. militaryexcept for a few rivals in the officer corps like Gainesto be the armys best fighting generals. Brown had been in overall command of the Army of the Niagara, which had won the first major American land victory in the war with Britain; Scott, the general in command of the forces that triumphed at the Chippewa; Jesup, then a colonel, had commanded the 25th Infantry regiment that Scott had used in the battle to drive back the British right flank.

 The presence of Jesup was a bit reassuring, since Jesup had been Taylors principal supporter in the armys high command since the days theyd worked together in the northwest frontier. Still, the situation was nerve-wracking. Zachary had been half expecting to receive a summons for a court-martial since he arrived in the capital.

 He decided to deal with that immediately. General, Im quite aware that I had no specific orders to report to Washington. Still, as soon as I was assured that my post in Baton Rouge was in good order, I felt it incumbent

 Jesup chuckled. Brown waved his hand. Oh, relax, Zack. Youre not in any trouble.

 Not from us, anyway, Scott murmured.

 Taylor glanced at him. Then, looked back at Brown.

 The reason I asked you here, the major general said, is because of these. He leaned over and picked some papers from his desk. The movement was stiff and ungainly, as his earlier rise from the chair had been. Brown had suffered a bad stroke three years earlier and was still recovering from the effects.

 Even from the distance, Taylor recognized the handwriting on the sheets. Which was hardly surprising, since it was his. Well

 Browns stiff face broke into a smile. First, by the way, let me congratulate you on the sudden and marked improvement in your penmanship.

 Taylor felt himself flushing a bit. Not mine, actually. Id suffered, ah, something of a sprain in my wrist. Miss Julia Chinn wrote the dispatches for me, at my dictation.

 Jesup frowned slightly. Chinn. Isnt she Senator Johnsons woman?

 Wife, I believe, in reality if not in law, corrected Scott. He gave both Jesup and Brown a quick, hard glance. Shall we get to the point, gentlemen? We wouldnt have invited Colonel Taylor here if we didnt think he was trustworthy.

 Trustworthy of what?Zack wondered. But from the look Scott was now giving him, he realized he was about to find out.

 Heres how it is, Colonel, Scott continued. Im from Virginia, as you are. Sos Thomas Jesup. Our august commandera thumb indicated Brownon the other hand, is a Pennsylvania Quaker.

 More of a New Yorker, really, Brown said mildly, although I was born in Pennsylvania. And I abandoned pacifism quite some time ago.

 Scott ignored him, his eyes still intent on Taylor. Not a single New England abolitionist in the lot, youll notice. That said, all three of us think John Quincy Adams would make the best next president of the United States. Failing him, Andrew Jacksonyes, even me, despite my well-known feud with the man. But whats most important is that all three of us think the election of Henry Clay, which now seems almost certain, is going to be a disaster. Not simply for the nation, but for the army in particular.

 Brown winced. Jesup was scowling openly.

 For his part, Taylor was simply trying to keep from gaping openmouthed. Even by the standards of the U.S. Army, whose top officers politicked aggressively, this sort of blunt and open statement concerning current politics was almost unheard of. From any officer, at least, who didnt expect to be relieved from duty.

 Which

 Scott smiled crookedly. Oh, I shant give the bastard the satisfaction of discharging me. The day its officially announced that Henry Clay will be the sixth president of the United States, I shall tender my resignation from the army.

 So will I, said Brown. My health is poor, as it happens, so that gives me a graceful way to do it. He gave Scott something of a sly glance. Unlike what I suspect will be Winfields more flamboyant language.

 The tactics Henry Clay is using to win the presidency are a stench in the nations nostrils, stated Scott, and I will not hesitate to say so publicly when the time comes. Leaving aside everything else, hes recklessly using the army as if we were simply a card in his game. He knows perfectly well that the army is far too grossly understrength to be talking as if a victory over Arkansas is simply a matter of will and purpose.

 Jesup cleared his throat. Ill stay. Theyd find me hard to replace, and they wont care that much anyway.

 That was probably true, Taylor thought. Jesup had brought professional order and system into what had in earlier times been a disgracefully slapdash manner of keeping the military supplied. And since the quartermaster corps was outside the normal chain of command for line units, an ambitious officer like Gaines wouldnt consider him a rival.

 Not knowing what to say, Taylor kept his mouth shut. He looked back at Brown.

 Youll be staying in service, yes? asked the major general.

 Zack nodded. Yes, sir.

 Good, said Brown. He lifted the sheets. These reports were excellent. Whats your assessment of our chances in a war with the Confederacy?

 It depends, sir. If it were done right, theres no question we would win. Despite the Confederacys considerable geographic advantage in a defensive warwhich is what theyd be fighting, of coursethe overall disparity in numbers is simply overwhelming. The United States has a population of about ten million people; the Confederacy, less than two hundred thousand. But it wont be easy, it wont be quick, and

 He relaxed a bit. The rest of what he had to say would certainly bring no censure from the men in this room. And, finally, its just absurd to think it can be done with an army the size ours has been since the demobilization after the war with England. Weve gotwhat? Not much more than six thousand regular soldiers in the whole country?

 About that, agreed Brown. Officiallythe real numbers vary a bitthe bill passed by Congress in 1821 allows us five hundred and forty commissioned officers and slightly over five thousand, five hundred enlisted men. Divided into seven infantry and four artillery regiments.

 Clay will call for an immediate expansion of the armed forces, Jesup predicted.

 Scotts answering grimace was just short of a sneer. Oh, splendid. Even in the war with Britain, it took a year and a half to build up to fifteen thousand men. By the end of the war, we had not more than thirty-five thousand regulars. Half of whom, throughout, did purely garrison duty. And that war was generally popular outside New England. This new war, if it begins, will be anathema in New England and popular nowhere except in somenot allof the Southern states.

 Now the expression on his face was an outright sneer. The same states of the Deep South, I remind you, whose contributions to the war against England were pitiful.

 Jesup grunted. They didnt even do much against the Creeks except plunder helpless villages. The real fighting, outside of regulars, was done by border state militias.

 It was a harsh indictment, but Taylor couldnt find any real fault with it. Throughout the recent war, Jacksons Tennessee militia had borne the brunt of the fighting in the southern theater; first against the Creeks and later the British. The Kentuckians had contributed a large number of soldiers also, although theyd generally produced mediocre officers. The rest of the South, outside of the many officers produced by Virginia, hadnt done much. The Georgia militia, in particular, had been as notorious for its incapacity in the field against a real enemy as for its penchant for committing atrocities against noncombatants. Jackson had despised them and made no bones about it.

 And Clay wont have the Tennessee militia as a southern anchor, this time around, Jesup continued. Not a chance. Not with the stance Jacksons taken. Hes already starting to call it Henry Clays War. Usually with a string of adjectives attached, the mildest of which is benighted. 

 Winfield Scott raised an eyebrow. William Carrolls the governor of Tennessee, though, Tom. Not Andrew Jacksonand theyre political enemies.

 Jesup waggled his hand. Yes and no. Theres no personal animosity between them, and not really all that much in the way of real political issues in dispute. Their enmity is mostly just a matter of old factional quarrels in Tennessee politics. Go back a few years, and they were close friends and allies. Whos to say they cant be again?

 Yes, I agree, said Brown. Despite his reputation, Jacksons perfectly capable of ending a feud if theres no personal injury involved.

 Even then! snorted Scott. Hes burying the hatchet with Thomas Hart Benton right now.

 Moving stiffly, Brown sat up straight in his chair and placed his left hand on the desk. His other hand remained in his lap, since hed lost most of the use of his right arm after his stroke.

 Theres no chance at all that Governor Carroll will agree to let the Tennessee militia be used in any war against the Confederacy, he said firmly. Not this war, at any rate. And theres no better chance, in my judgment, that the Kentucky militia will be available to Clay, either. The current governor, John Adair, served under Jackson at New Orleans. And both he and his successor, Joseph Desha, are members of the Relief Party. Theyre Clays political enemies, not his friends.

 Taylor didnt have the familiarity of the three generals in the room with the politics of the nation as a whole, but he did know Kentucky politics. So, finally, he ventured an opinion.

 I agree. And for sure and certain, Senator Johnsons going to be against any such war. Leaving aside his political allegiance to Jackson, his two daughters are going to school in Arkansas, and hisahJulia Chinn is still residing there also. At least for the moment.

 Brown cocked his head. She didnt return to Kentucky?

 No. That was her original plan, butwellThe girls are only twelve.

 He had to fight a little to keep a straight face. Itd have been more accurate to add going on thirteen, with their eyes already on two boys not all that much older.

 So, there it is, stated Jesup. A war fought with a regular army stripped to the bone, and without the Tennessee and Kentucky militias to provide the additional men we relied on in the southern theater against the Creeks and the British.

 Brown picked it up immediately. Yes, there it is. So whats your assessment, Colonel Taylor? And please add, if you would, your own recommendations.

 Assume for the moment that you were in overall command, chimed in Scott.

 Taylor didnt hesitate. Hed now spent months considering the problem. Whatever else, avoid the obvious route. The Arkansas River valley is a trap that could easily turn into a death trap.

 He saw Scott and Brown exchange glances. Triumphant, in the case of Scotts; acknowledging, in the case of Browns. Apparently he wasnt the only one whod been pondering the matter.

 Well fortified? That came from Jesup.

 Arkansas Post is as well built a fort as any in North America, outside the coastal regions, Taylor stated. I wasnt able to personally inspect the fortifications farther up the river, but from what I was able to determine, theyre possibly even more formidable.

 I did inspect them, not long ago, said Scott. Your assessment is quite accurate, Colonel.

 Taylor nodded. Id simply establish a stronghold at the confluence to block the Confederacys access to the Mississippi. Then, launch a diversionary attack up the Red River

 How would you deal with the Great Raft? Brown interrupted.

 Taylor smiled. With great difficulty, sir.

 A little laugh filled the room. Still, with some patience and good logistics, Taylor continued, its not impossible. But I stress that this would be merely a diversion. Its main purpose would be to force the Confederates to maintain a considerable military force on their southern border. The Confederacys great advantage is geography; its great disadvantage, a small population from which to draw soldiers. Wed need to use the former, as best we couldhowever hard it might beto place as great a strain as possible on the latter.

 The three generals looked at one another. Makes sense to me, said Jesup. Scott nodded.

 Brown looked back at Taylor. Please continue.

 But the main attack would come from the north. A big armyvery big, with lots of cavalry and a well-organized supply trainmarching up the Missouri from St. Louis and then down onto the Indian lands of the Confederacy, following the Arkansas. The emphasis would be on using our potentially much superior cavalry in relatively open terrain, and placing pressure on the Cherokees and Creeks to sever their relations with the blacks in Arkansas. If we can succeed in doing so, well then have Arkansas in a vise. Over time, by methods of siege and economic strangulation if nothing else, theyd have to surrender.

 Youd not go directly against Driscols chiefdom?

 Taylor shook his head. No, sir. The Indian nations in the trans-Arkansas region of the Confederacy are still not that well organized, not even the Cherokee, and there are already strains among them over the issue of slavery. Moreover, while theyre certainly brave enough, none of them can field a disciplined and well-trained professional army that could face U.S. regulars in the field. I cannot stress enough the need to stay away from major direct clashes with the Arkansans on their own terrain. Thatll be a bloodbath, sir. Even if we winand I am not frankly sure we could at all, on their terrain, without a minimum of fifteen thousand men in the fieldthe casualties would produce an uproar in the country.

 Explain, Brown commanded.

 Taylor shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Sir, if youll allow me to say so, the great danger is that the army will underestimate the Arkansas forces because of their color.

 Jackson wouldnt, Scott said immediately. The core of that army is the Iron Battalion. If hes ever had anything to say about them other than praise, Ive never heard it.

 No, he probably wouldnt, Taylor agreed. He smiled then, for the first time since hed entered the office. But I think if there is one single thing we can be sure and certain of, its that Old Hickory is the very last man Henry Clay would ask to command an expedition against the Confederacy.

 Another laugh filled the room. Not a little one, this time.

 Brown nodded. Harrisons likely to be put in command. By all accounts Ive heard, hes champing at the bit.

 Taylor thought about it for a moment. William Henry Harrison had resigned from the army in a huff in 1814, after a dispute with Secretary of War Armstrong, and had since then been engaged in a middling-successful career as a politician. Hed lost as many elections as hed won, but he had just managed to get elected as one of the U.S. senators from Ohio. He was known to be a Clay supporter. What was more important was that, second only to Andrew Jackson, he was widely considered the nations greatest Injun fighter because of his victories over Tecumsehs alliance at Tippecanoe and the Thames. If Clay offered to return him to the army as a major general and placed him in command of a war against the Confederacy, Harrison would most likely accept. He was an ambitious man, and he must by now have realized that his principal strength as a politician was his military reputation. Resigning from a Senate seat hed not even warmed yet in order to answer a patriotic call to duty in a war against the Confederacy would position him nicely to succeed Clay in the White House.

 Assuming he won the war, of course.

 What about General Gaines? he asked. Zack raised the question diffidently, since hed been very careful to keep a distance from the feud between Winfield Scott and Edmund Gaines that had, for years now, divided a good portion of the officer corps into two hostile camps. Still, it needed to be asked.

 Brown shrugged. With me and Winfield both resigning, Edmund will automatically become the next commander in chief. Unless Clay decides to supersede seniority altogether, which I think unlikely.

 Not a chance, stated Scott confidently. Harrison wants the glory of a successful campaign, so hell not be interested. And with you and me both resigningand Ill make my reasons blunt and explicit, Jacob, even if you wontClay will have enough problems with the remaining officers. If he alienates Gaines, hell have nothing.

 Again, Scott sneered. Of course, Clay can rely on Gaines to wag his tail obligingly, no matter what nonsensical military results he demands.

 There was always that to be said for Winfield Scott. As vain and arrogant as the man could be, there was a genuine streak of integrity in him. More than a streak, actually. Jacob Brown had come into the army as a politician, and although hed gained the respect of the military for his demonstrated courage and prowess as a soldier, he remained a politician. Scott wasnt, and never had been. He was quite capable of resigning from the army on grounds of political principle, and stating them publicly.

 Gaines, on the other hand

 Mentally, Zachary shook his head. Hed never taken sides in the long-running ScottGaines feud, since thered been no practical reason to do so personally, and the causes of the feud were petty in any event. But if he had to choose between the two men, either as generals or simply as menespecially the latterhe had no doubt which way hed go.

 Yes, Gaines would wag his tail and do what his master bade him if the food bowl was filled.

 So lets sum it, Colonel Taylor, Scott said. Were looking at a war with John Calhoun as the secretary of war, Edmund Gaines sitting where I am now, Winfield out of the army entirely, and William Henry Harrison placed in command of the campaign against the Confederacy. Into this, you propose to recommend a campaign that ignores seizing Arkansas and humbling the negroeswhich is the main purpose of the war from Calhouns viewpointin order to fight a long and protracted campaign against Indian tribes with which, were it not for their ties to Arkansas, the United States no longer has any real quarrel.

 Taylor took a deep breath. Yes, sir. Thats what I recommend.

 The three generals in the room grinned.

 Jesup spoke first. Jacob, I told you so. By all means, promote this splendid officer.

 Brown chuckled. Indeed I will. Zack, its within my power to promote you to full colonel. Beyond that, of course, I cant go without authorization from Congress. If I could make you a brigadier, I would. What I can do also, howeverwhich is more important than anything, if youll acceptis place you in command of all U.S. Army forces in Missouri. Thatll require you and your family to relocate to St. Louis, of course.

 While his mind worked on the matter as a whole, Taylor dealt with the latter issue. Thats not a problem, sir. To be honest, Id prefer moving the girls out of Louisiana. Thats not been good for their health. For the rest

 He hesitated. Normally, of course, any officer would be delighted by such a promotion. But, although he was no expert on the workings of political infighting in Washington, Zachary Taylor was not stupid. For all intents and purposeseven if nothing was said directlyby accepting the promotion and the assignment he would be joining what amounted to a conspiracy against the man now almost certain to become the next president of the United States.

 A most far-ranging and vast conspiracy, at that. One which, soon if not already, would have Andrew Jackson and John Quincy Adams involved in the cabal.

 He looked at Scott. If youll permit me the liberty, General, what do you plan to do upon your retirement?

 Scott smiled. First, of course, I shall pay a visit to Senator Jackson. Its time, I think, for he and I to end that old feud between us stemming from the Florida campaign. Second, I shall pay a visit upon John Quincy Adams to tender my respects. Hes a man I both like and admire. Thereafter

 The smiled widened considerably. I believe I shall try my hand at journalism. That William Cullen Bryant fellow has expressed an interest in continuing his reportage on the situation in the Confederacy. But he told meI happened to run into him just the other daythat he could benefit from the advice of a military expert. And apparently several editors at several of the nations major journals have indicated a willingness to pay for it. Quite well, in fact.

 Taylor looked at Brown. The armys commanding general shrugged. Most of the motion was in the left shoulder. The right barely moved at all. My health really is very poor, Colonel. My doctors have been urging me for some time to relinquish the strains of military command. So Ill simply return to private life in Brownville and resume my business affairs. Which I need to do, in any event, since I have some major debts I need to retire.

 He cleared his throat. Of course, I retain certain connections in New York politics.

 Now Taylor looked at Jesup.

 I shall give you whatever support I can, Zack, the quartermaster general stated firmly. Rest assured of it.

 Much as it went against his cautious temperament, Zachary felt he had to say the heart of the thing out loud. If I understand you correctly, General Brown, you fear that the coming war is likely to damage the U.S. Army.

 Half wreck it, say better, hissed Winfield Scott. God damn Henry Clay.

 And you want me to do what I can to salvage something from the disaster.

 It really is too bad you cant promote him to brigadier, Jacob, mused Jesup.

 In essence, yes, said Brown. I realize it wont be easy, Zachary. But if you can give us a good campaign in the north, I thinkhe glanced around the roomand we all think, that the damage can be repaired when the time comes.

 Ah, GeneralGenerals. Zack shook his head. There is no waynot if I were Napoleon or Alexander the Greatthat I could defeat the Confederacy with a northern campaign unless it were properly mounted, equipped, and supplied, with enough men. None of which is going to be true. He gave Jesup a quick apologetic glance. Well, perhaps the supplies and equipment will be adequate.

 They wont even be that, Jesup growled. But Ill give you whatever I can.

 Brown started to say something, but Scott waved him down. Its time for you to keep quiet, Jacob. Private citizen and behind-the-scenes politician, remember? Let me state what needs to be stated openly.

 Brown nodded and slumped back in his seat, rubbing his right arm. The general seemed very fatigued now.

 Heres the truth, Colonel Zachary Taylor, said Winfield Scott, looking at him directly. Who cares if you beat the Confederacy? We have no legitimate quarrel with them in the first place. Jacksons right. This war, if it comeswhich now seems well-nigh certainwill be nothing but Henry Clays War. A war launched by an unprincipled schemer and demagogue to satisfy his own personal ambitions; a war which, in terms of its goal and purpose, is nothing more sublime than John Calhouns rabid determination to prove to the country that a nigger is a nigger and fit only to be a slave.

 For a moment he looked as if he might spit on the floor. Just fight us a good, clean, hard, and honest fight, Zack. Thats all. Best you can. So at least the real army will have something else to point to when Clays expedition comes to its catastrophe at Syracuse.

 Taylor frowned. There was no Syracuse in Arkansas.

 Brown snorted. Winfield, will you please stop showing off your classical education? To Taylor, he said, Its a reference to the disaster the Athenians suffered in the Peloponnesian War when they followed the advice of Alcibiades and invaded Sicily.

 Oh.





 Later that day, after he returned from the War Department, a message was delivered to Zack at his lodgings. From Thomas Hart Benton, inviting him to dinner at the Washington home of the senator from Missouri.

 Taylor had never had more than the most casual encounters with Benton, but the senator greeted him as if they were old friends. Which was perhaps not that surprising, since, just before dinner began

 Andrew Jackson arrived. Ushered in through the rear entranceto avoid being spotted, Zack assumedbut otherwise treated by Benton as if he were a long-lost brother.

 The only term Zack could think of was bizarre. To the best of his knowledge, the last time Andrew Jackson and Thomas Hart Benton had met in person was on the front porchlater spilling into the lobbyof the City Hotel in Nashville. Being as it was one of the more legendary affrays of the frontier, Zack even knew the details. That encounter had begun with Jackson threatening Benton with a pistol, then being shot in the shoulder by Bentons brother Jesse, then exchanging shotsall of which missedwith Benton himself, who, for his part, was then assailed by Jacksons friend John Coffee, whose first shot missed and whose subsequent attempt at pistol whipping Benton was thwarted by the now-senators fall down a flight of stairs in the hotel.

 Meanwhile, Jacksons nephew Stockley Hays had wrestled Jesse Benton to the floor of the hotel, stabbing him repeatedly in the arm with a knife. Fortunately for Hays, when Jesse shot him at point-blank range with his second pistol, the gun misfired.

 Half raw violence, half comic opera. And here they were, twelve years later, the two principals in the brawlacting as if nothing untoward had ever happened between them!

 Zack would have ascribed the weird situation to the old saw about politics making strange bedfellows, but

 Politically speaking, they werent strange bedfellows at all. The feud between Andrew Jackson and Thomas Hart Benton had always been purely personal, stemming from Bentons anger at Jacksons behavior when the generalas he then washad served as William Carrolls second in Carrolls previous duel with Jesse Benton. There had never actually been any serious political quarrels among any of the men involved. Twelve years later, Jackson was a Tennessee senator, Carroll was the governor of the state, Benton was a Missouri senatorand all three of them detested Henry Clay.

 So, Zack wasnt surprised when, after dinner, the whiskey bottle was opened and talk immediately turned to his forthcoming assignment.

 Which Jackson and Benton both knew aboutin considerable detailnot more than eight hours after Taylor himself had first been informed.

 Wide-ranging conspiracy, indeed. He almost felt sorry for Henry Clay.

 Ill see to it you get the Missouri militia put under your command, Zack, said Benton.

 Taylor tried to stifle a wince but, obviously, was not entirely successful.

 Jackson laughed. The colonels got no use for any blasted volunteers, Tom! Cant say I blame him much. Until theyd been tested and horsewhipped, no militia I ever seennot even Tennesseeswas worth the contents of a spittoon.

 Ive not had any great success with militia units in the field, Taylor admitted cautiously.

 But Benton just grinned. Who does? Yeah, sure, its proper Republican doctrine, and we all swear by it. He waved his half-empty whiskey glass at Jackson. Him, too, you betchum. But nobody with any sense wants to fight a real war with anything except regulars. Still and all

 He slurped some more whiskey. The main thing is that I figure if youre in charge of the militia, you can at least keep them out of mischief. Use em to garrison your supply depots, whatever. Otherwisesure as sunrise if Harrisons in chargetheyll be sent down to Arkansas.

 When he set down the whiskey glass, his good cheer seemed to have vanished. Heres the thing, Zack, the Missouri senator said quietly. When all the dust settles, I figure Missouri will still have Arkansas to deal with on our southern border. And Id just as soon the war didnt leave the kind of memories behind that winds up with ten or twenty years of border raids, ambushes, and massacres of isolated settlements afterward. You understand what I mean?

 Taylor eyed him a bit warily. Missouris a slave state, Senator.

 I told you. Call me Tom.

 Tom. No matter what I do, therell still be the problem of runaway slaves.

 Benton sneered. Jackson was more pungent.

 Fuck that, he said forcibly. Thats just a problemand it aint that big a problem anyway. Problems can be negotiated. Put me and Patrick Driscol across from each other at a table, and within a day well have a solution for it that wont please anybody much but everybody can live with.

 Zack shifted his skeptical gaze to Jackson. I feel obliged to remind you, Senaah, Andythat John Calhoun wouldnt agree with you. Neither would most big plantation owners in the South.

 Thats because John Calhoun is a stinking liar and a man with a cesspool for a soul, and most slave-owners have the brains of rabbits. The Tennessee senator half slammed his glass back onto the table next to him. Fortunately, it was empty by now.

 Im one of the biggest slave-owners in Tennessee, Zack. So is Dick Johnson. You want to know why neither one of us is hollering and yelling about it? Because the plain and simple truthany slave-owner knows this, if hes willing to be honest about itis that the only slaves that run away from a master who treats his slaves properly are the ones who are troublemakers anyway. Good riddance, frankly. If I catch one of my slaves running awaysure, it happens, from time to timethe first thing I do is have him whipped. On general principles. But the second thing I doalwaysis sell him, because I dont want him around. And if he makes his escape to Arkansas, I just shrug it off. Let Driscol deal with the shiftless bastard if he can.

 Taylors family were major slave-owners in Kentucky. And

 Well, Jackson was right. If a plantation was managed properly, with the slaves decently housed and fed and the overseers kept on a short leash, most slaves didnt run away. And the ones who did, sure enough, were usually a problem in any case.

 Still

 Calhouns not likely to agree with that, Andy, no matter what the evidence.

 Jacksons glare was a genuine marvel to behold. Given that it wasnt aimed at Zack, at least. Hed hate to be on the receiving end of the thing.

 I told you, Jackson snarled. Calhouns a heathen; I dont care how many times he goes to church and invokes the name of the Almighty. Calhoun doesnt care about runaway slaves any more than I do. What he does care about is his pagan notion that slavery is a positive good. Which it aint, as any man with any sense can plainly see. Its an economic necessity for the republic, thats all it is. So we keep it.

 He held out his glass to Benton for a refill. Who knows? Jackson continued, after taking a sip. Maybe Sam Houstons right, and maybe someday well give it up finally. But in the meantime weve got itand Calhoun is bound and determined to lock slavery in forever. And thats why hes demanding a war. If a bunch of niggers out there in Arkansas can build a country of their ownwhipping white men in the bargain, in a fair fightthen what happens to his heathen idolatry?

 Taylor hesitated. Jackson was being very friendly, but

 Mentally, he shrugged. This was another thing that just had to be said out loud. I feel a need to point out to you, Andy, that if negroes can build a reasonable country of their ownand defend itthen.

 But Jackson simply grinned. Yeah, sure. Then what happens to my point of view? He waved the glass about. Or Toms. Or yours, for that matter.

 Cheerful as could be, the Tennessee senator took another sip from his whiskey. Im not worried about it, though, because I think you got a better chancelot better chanceof filling an inside straight than seeing negroes build a country thats worth anything. Doesnt mean they cant defend it, mind you. Give em good leadership, and they make plenty good soldiers. They proved that in New Orleans, and theyre proving it again now. But all the rest? A stable republic, prosperity, learning, and education? No, I dont think so.

 He gave Zack a disconcertingly direct stare. From the way youre fidgeting a little, I take it you dont agree?

 Zachary had been nursing his own whiskey, too nervous in such company to be relaxed enough to match Jacksons and Bentons pace. Now he shrugged, and downed his glass in one gulp.

 To be honest, Andy, I dont know. A few months ago, Id have agreed with you without even thinking about it. But Ive been to Arkansas myself recently. AndI just dont know any more. Some of those black people are right impressive. And thats just the way it is.

 Jackson didnt argue the matter. Instead, he maintained that calm, level, blue-eyed stare while he finished his whiskey. Not by downing it, just with a steady even sip.

 When he was done, he set down the glass and grinned again.

 Well, maybe thats true. If it is, though, were in trouble. First, because well have to listen to Sam Houston crowing I told you so till were ready to strangle him. Whats worse is that all three of usme for sureare likely to have some fast talking to do in the afterlife.

 So, what had been perhaps the most peculiar day in Zachary Taylors life ended with a laugh. And he was able to tell himself, as he half staggered his way back to his lodgings, that at least hed joined a cabal that drank whiskey instead of wine. Even John Quincy Adams, apparently, these days. And wasnt that another marvel?






 CHAPTER 27



 Uniontown, Pennsylvania

 DECEMBER 22, 1824

 

It took Sam and his little party a month to reach Pennsylvania. That was at least a week later than hed planned on when theyd left the nations capital. The delay had been partly due to a stretch of rough weather in early December that caused him to stay over in Hagerstown for a few days. Little Andy had been handling the rigors of the journey quite well, but they were now into winter, and Sam didnt want to expose him to severe conditions.

 Much of the delay, however, had been due to something quite unexpected.

 Crowds. Small ones, true, in the smaller towns, and smaller still in the hamlets. But in every city or town or hamlet that Sam and his party passed through, crowds came out to greet them.

 Crowds, not mobs. There might have been someone in those masses of people who disliked Sam Houston, but if so they were quite wisely keeping their mouths shut. The mood and temper of the crowds was adulatory toward Houstonand Andrew Jacksonand just about as hostile toward Henry Clay as people could get short of loading firearms.

 Sam had begun his journey by taking the National Road, which started in Baltimore and had now been completed through most of Ohio. So, hed traveled through most of Maryland on his way. At the last moment, Lafayette had decided to accompany him for the Maryland stretch. The presence of the Marquis meant that the crowds were especially large, and it had been difficult to gauge their sentiment. Obviously, Lafayette himself was the focus of much of the interest, more than Houston, although the two were now so closely tied in the popular mind that it was hard to separate one from the other.

 Very closely tied, indeed. Henry Clays political camp had a lot of influence and connections with moneyed interests, but it was weak when it came to controlling or influencing the newspapers. Most of the nations press had been either pro-Jackson or pro-Adams. Now that the two men had made a political alliance, a veritable torrent of anti-Clay material was pouring out of the printing presses everywhere in the country except the Deep South. And most of them had made sure to quote Lafayettes toast to Sam and the New World.

 But if the presence of the Marquis accounted for most of the crowds in Maryland, once Sam entered Pennsylvania at Uniontown, that factor vanished. Everything now became very clear.

 The former governor of Pennsylvania, Joseph Hiester, was there to greet him, as was his successor, John Shulze, whod just been elected. They were quite a pair. Both of them spoke English with a heavy German accent, being members of the states large German communitywhich was often called Pennsylvania Dutch but mostly consisted of immigrants from the Palatinate in southwest Germany.

 The former governor, Hiester, was a generation older than his successor and had retired after one term of office. Like Andy Jackson and Lafayette, hed fought in the Revolution. The new governor, Shulze, was part of the extended Muhlenberg clan that was a long-standing powerhouse in Pennsylvania politics, partly because of their close ties to the Hiester family. Governor Shulzes grandfather, the Reverend Muhlenberg, had been the founder of the Lutheran Church in America.

 In short, official Pennsylvaniaand, in particular, the central political figures of the states large German immigrant populationhad turned out to greet Sam Houston. Who was himself emigrating to Arkansas on the eve of a likely war with the United States.

 Pennsylvania was now solid Jackson country, and the states heretofore muted hostility to slavery had risen to the surface. In one of those ironies of history that Sam had become acutely aware of in his years as the countrys Indian commissioner, Henry Clays cynical and opportunist pandering to John Calhouns political attitudes had given the South Carolina senators extremist slavery program far more weight in the nations political life than it would have had otherwise. It had also, willy-nilly, transformed Andrew Jacksona man who was himself a major slave-ownerinto the nations principal spokesman against any deepening extension of the institution.

 Less than a year ago, only a small number of hard-core New England abolitionists had referred to the slave power as a menace to American freedom and liberty. Today, the phrase spilled trippingly off the tongues of Pennsylvanias current and former governorsand if the phrase was spoken with an accent, so what? German immigrants were rarely slave-owners, and they had their own long and bitter memories of the oppressions of the high and mighty. There was nothing these two governors were saying, in their fulsome speeches to the crowd at Uniontown, that Pennsylvanians werent saying in the privacy of their own homes.

 The massacre at Arkansas Post wasnt the issue any longer. Not to anybody, really, not even in the Deep South. In the way these things can happen in a nations political life, Arkansas Post had become the catalyst for crystallizing antagonisms within the United States that had been lying under the surface for a long time. Dormant, for the most partuntil Henry Clay forced the issue. Ironically, the man who liked to be thought of as a great compromiser.

 Which, indeed, he was. The problem was that this time, Clay was greatly compromising the nations political stability in order to further his own personal ambition. He made Sam think of a captain at sea who, not knowing how to navigate, simply ran before the wind. Hoping, presumably, that the sheer swell of the waves would carry him over any unseen reefs ahead.

 The icing on the cake came the following morning as Sam was leaving Uniontown. A small group of young men came up to him and very solemnly presented him with a handmade banner.

 A pledge, said the youngster who seemed to be the leader of the group. He had not a trace of a German accent, which wasnt surprising. The German immigrant communities were concentrated in the eastern and central parts of Pennsylvania. This far west, the population was more likely to be of Anglo-Saxon or Scots-Irish stock.

 Sam spread out the banner as best he could while sitting on a horse. It was the familiar Pennsylvania state flag, more square than rectangular, with the state coat of arms flanked by two rearing horses on a blue field. But the usual slogan under the coat of arms Virtue, Liberty, and Independencehad been removed. In its place, someone had laboriously stitched a writhing serpent beneath the horses hooves, which bore the label the slave power.

 At least, Sam was pretty sure the effect being aimed for was writhing. An uncharitable soul might have used other terms, such as lumpy or misshapen or even looks more like a worm than any snake I ever seen.

 Splendid, he pronounced. He started to hand it back, but the youngster shook his head.

 No, sir. That ones for you. Were having more made up, in case.

 Sam hesitated. He wasnt entirely sure he wanted to know

 In case of what? he asked.

 The youngsterhe couldnt have been more than eighteen, like all of them in the groupgave Sam a puzzled expression. Well, in case the traitor Henry Clay gets to start his war. What else?

 Eagerly, he pointed to the space just below the serpent. Theres still room there, we made sure. So we can add Pennsylvania Lafayette Battalion. 

  Battalion Number One,  another of the little group proclaimed. No way were gonna let those upstarts in Harrisburg claim it. They can be Number Two.

 Sam had a weird sense of dizziness for a moment. Not a physical one, simply

 More like a man might feel who contemplates what a barrel might feel if the men handling it lost their grip and it began to careen out of control.

 Which was altogether a crazy notion, in the first place.

 Ah, fellowsThe only way Henry Clay can start a war is if hes president of the United States. In which case

 He cleared his throat. You might want to reconsider taking up arms against it.

 Now all of them were giving him that puzzled expression.

 Thats what youre doing, isnt it? asked the same youngster whod laid such proud claim to the number one.

 Wellyeah. But.

 But what?he had to ask himself. He realized now, for the first time, that the rage and grief hed been consumed with for the past nine weeks had half blinded him. His own motivationsconscious ones, anywayhad been so emotionally rooted that he simply hadnt considered how other people might react to the same events.

 The traitor Henry Clay.

 This wasnt the first time hed heard people use that expression. Often mixed in with the slave powerand almost always with woman killers.

 Nobody, including Sam himself, thought that Clay had any direct connection to Maria Hesters death. For that matter, nobody thought shed even been the assassins intended victim in the first place. Hed murdered her quite by accident while trying to kill her husband.

 But that simply didnt make any difference to a lot of people. Henry Clay had stirred up the lurking reptile, hadnt he? The fact that the murdered woman had been the daughter of the nations president was, in many ways, more important than the fact that shed also been Sams wife. These were peopletraitorswho would stop at nothing, who would commit any crime to force their slavery onto the nation.

 None of this might have been entirely rational. But there was an inexorable logic to it once you went deeper into the nations soul. There were, and always had been, two different conceptions of the United States abroad in the land. Often enough, residing within the same personAndrew Jackson himself being a case in point, as was James Monroe. As had been, before them, George Washington and Thomas Jefferson.

 Now, perhaps long before it might have been otherwise, Henry Clay was driving that underlying contradiction right to the surface. Arkansas Post had been the catalyst. Not because it had to have been, but because Clay and Calhoun had made it so.

 The facts themselves were obvious to everyone, and not in dispute. Arkansas had been attacked and had defended itself. Perhaps with much greater harshness than was warrantedalthough not many people in the North and the border states would even agree with that any longer, since William Cullen Bryants gruesome depictions of the atrocities committed by Crittendens army had become widely spread.

 Still, there was no real dispute over the legalities involved. All the more, since Arkansas was an independent sovereign nation to begin with, established by treaty with the United States.

 So, what was the problem? The only answer Clay could givepandering to Calhoun to get the votes he needed in the House of Representativeswas that the law be damned. The real issue was slavery itself. More precisely, Calhouns dissatisfaction with the institutions current state of semi-disrepute and his determination to foist his extremist version of it upon the whole United States. From John Calhouns point of view, and that of the people who followed him, what was really at stake was the intolerable notion that black people could have any rights at all, even if they were not slaves.

 Most of the nation was simply choking on that. Black people might be inferior to white peoplemost definitely were, in the opinion of all but a handfulbut that didnt make them animals. Women were inferior to men, also, when you got right down to it. Certainly children were. Like freedmen, they werent allowed to vote. Like freedmen, their ability to exercise control over their finances was tightly circumscribed, as was their control over property in general. Like freedmen, their status in life was and would always remainin the case of women, at least, if not male childrenlesser than that of men.

 Did that mean they had no rights at all? Could a man choose to murder his wife with impunity? If he couldntwhich he certainly couldnt, not even in South Carolina or Georgiathen why could the same be done to black people?

 The nations single most popular political figure, Andrew Jackson, had done more than choke on the notion. Hed spat it right out and ground it under his heel, calling it a vile abomination to the principles of the republic. Whereupon the political figure who was the nations most respectedif not much liked outside of New Englandhad done the same.

 Andrew Jackson owned more slaves than all but a tiny number of Southerners, and John Quincy Adams had probably read more books than anyone in the whole country. Could both of them be wrong on the subject?

 Outside of the seven slave states of the Deep South, and with Virginia and the border states teetering back and forth, a national consensus was beginning to emerge.

 No.

 And if Henry Clay thought he could shove it down the nations throat simply by maneuvering in the House of Representatives to get himself made president

 Made,not elected. By now the results of the national election were known to everyone in the country. Clay hadnt gotten but one vote in six.

 Then to Sam Hill with Henry Clay. Was a whole nationthe majority of its population and its constituent statesto be labeled traitor by an American Alcibiades? Or was the term properly laid at his own feet?

 Thats what Sam thought, anyway, sitting on a horse in Uniontown at the onset of winter and looking down at a blue banner. And it occurred to him that this was the first thing he could probably call thought at all since hed seen the life fading out of his wifes eyes.

 Sam, shed kept whispering until the end, looking up at him more in confusion than in pain. What made the agony completestill didwas the trust that had also never left her eyes. Maria Hester had been just as certain that her husband would make it right as hed been certain, from several battlefields, that there was no way in Gods earth he could possibly keep her from bleeding to death from that wound.

 Thered been nothing in him but guilt, rage, and grief since that moment. Until now.

 Ill keep it then, he said abruptly, folding up the banner. Rolling it, more like. Folding, properly speaking, was an awkward business while one was sitting in a saddle.

 But soon enough it was done, and the banner stuffed into his saddlebag. He leaned over, extended his hand, and shook those of all eight of the youngsters.

 Ill look for you in the summer, he said firmly. If the traitor starts his war.

 We wont fail you, sir! exclaimed one of them.

 Sam shook his head. Got nothing to do with me. Just make sure you dont fail your state and your country.

 He rode out of Uniontown to the same chant hed ridden out of every town before it since Baltimore. To the New World!

 Louisville, Kentucky

 JANUARY 14, 1825

 

Hed spent the time he could, after Uniontown, chewing on his thoughts. He couldnt do more than that, between the rigors of the winter journey and the need to care for his young son. Chester was a help, of course; even more, Andys nursemaid Dinah and her teenaged daughter Sukey. But there was still plenty to keep Sam occupied.

 In Louisville, though, theyd have at least a weeks layover. It would be best to forgo overland travel and take a steamboat the rest of the way to Arkansas, since it would be much safer for Andy. The Ohio and the Mississippi were navigable in winter by a captain who knew his business, but the same captain would wait for the best possible weather, also.

 Louisville was hospitable, fortunately. Sam hadnt been entirely sure it would be. Kentucky was a border stateand the same state that had produced Richard Mentor Johnson as a senator and Henry Clay as the Speaker of the House.

 But, in the end, the state seemed to be swinging the same way as its newly elected governor, Joseph Desha, and the Relief Party for which he was a champion. Whatever private thoughts they might have about the issue of slavery, or the ins and outs of Arkansas Post, their overriding concern was the still deep distress of the states poorer citizens since the Panic of 1819. Much of the nation might be coming to the conclusion that Henry Clay was a minion of Sam Hill, but Kentuckys Relief Party had come to the conclusion several years earlier that the principal lawyer for the Second Bank of the United States was no minion at all. At the very least, he was one of Sam Hills chief demons. If not the creature himself, which some of the Relief Partys more vocal partisans thought quite likely.

 Desha hadnt been sworn into office yet. But it hardly mattered, since the man he was replacing in the governors office, John Adair, was also a leader of the Relief Party. Like Pennsylvanias former governor Hiester, hed fought in the Revolution and, years later, had been in command of the Kentuckian forces under Andy Jackson in the New Orleans campaign.

 The state capital of Frankfort being nearby, both men came up to visit Sam after learning of his arrival. Theirs was more in the way of a private visit to pay their respects than the sort of public spectacle staged by Hiester and Shulze in Uniontown. Kentucky was a slave state, after all. But they made no attempt to disguise their arrival, either, and the visit itself was most cordial.

 Sam remembered Adair, of course, since both of them had fought the British at New Orleans.

 Well, Sam had fought them, at any rate. Adair had never had to, beyond the clashes of the first days. The reason hed never had to was that Samalong with Patrick Driscols Iron Battalion, made up almost entirely of black freedmenhad met the British regiments who launched the opening assault on the west bank of the Mississippi. Opening and only assault, because their defeat had been so crushing and complete that General Pakenham had wisely chosen to withdraw from the field at Chalmette rather than launch the assault Adair and his men had been braced for.

 So, there was that, too. Now that his brain was starting to work naturally again, Sam was gauging the factquite significant, he thoughtthat most of the men in the United States with real command experience in combat did not share the blithe assumption of Clay and Calhoun that any war with Arkansas would be a trifle. The only outstanding exception that Sam knew about, in fact, was William Henry Harrisonand for that, there was the usual culprit to blame.

 Ambition. It didnt matter what Harrison really thought. Like Clay himself, that would be subordinated to his personal goals. Which might make sense, looked at from a narrow and immediate perspective, but which, in the longer run, struck Sam as nothing less than a form of insanity.

 Nice to see you again, General, he said, exchanging a handshake with Adair. Some whiskey?

 And you as well, Colonel. Yes, please.

 Chester had the drinks poured within seconds. Once the glasses were in everyones hands, the serious dickering began. That was mostly with Desha, naturally. Adair was essentially there as a wise old man giving advice to his successor.

 not like to see Kentuckians on the wrong side of the Iron Battalions bayonets, Joseph; even more, their six-pounders

 Being the gist of it. Wise old man, indeed.

 By the time they left, Sam had the private agreement he wanted. Thered be no Kentucky militia forces sent against Arkansas in the event that man they might as well have said traitor and be done with itchose to start a war.

 He was pleased. Granted, the Kentucky militia wasnt as good as Tennessees. But it was probably the second best state militia in the country.

 You want the rest of your drink, Mr. Sam? Chester asked after the two governors had gone. He held up the glass, which was still mostly full.

 No. Just pour it out. No, thatd be a silly waste. Finish it yourself, Chester.

 I dont drink, Mr. Sam. You know that.

 A bit surprisedhed been half lost in thoughtSam stared at him for a moment.

 Oh, thats right. Sorry, I forgot. Give it to Dinah, then.

 She dont

 Sam threw up his hands. Im surrounded by temperance fanatics! Fine. Give it to the dog. Any dog you can find. Tarnation, its good whiskey.

 Chester looked dubious. Sam snorted.

 Theyre Kentucky dogs hereabouts, Chester. Of course theyll drink whiskey.

 Well. Thats true.





 After he was gone, Sam checked the time. Itd still be hours before Dinah and Sukey would want his help with little Andy.

 Time enough to start. He went over to the writing desk in the hotel roomhed made sure it had one, when he arrivedand took a seat. Then, settling down with paper and pen, he began working on his first letters to Andrew Jackson and John Quincy Adams.

 Hed get his revenge for Maria Hester, sure enough. But it had also finally dawned on him that his father-in-laws advice, unheeded at the time, was undoubtedly correct. It was just as much a form of insanity for a man like himself to seek a different mans form of vengeance as it was for Henry Clay to think he could lead a nation into a war by posturing like Achilles.

 Sam knew how to use a guncannons, too, and quite welland would again if he needed to. But there were other weapons hed learned how to use in the years since New Orleans. If the pen was not mightier than the sword on a battlefield, it was much the mightier weapon on other fronts.

 A different man might be satisfied by inflicting as much harm as he possibly could on the likes of Henry Clay and John Calhoun. For which purpose, guns would do nicely.

 What a trifling ambition.

 Sam scrawled the date at the top of the sheet: January 14, 1825.

 Ten years, almost to the day, since he and Patrick Driscol had won the Battle of the Mississippi. Hed been twenty-one years old, then. Now he was thirty-one, and already a widower.

 Still, he was a young man. With most of a lifetime left to devote to the conscious and deadly purpose of utterly destroying Henry Clay, John C. Calhoun, all other men like them, and everything they stood for.

 He wasnt at all sure that he could, of course. But he was positive and certain he could give it a mighty run. Mighty enough that when the time came, in the afterlife, that he saw two trusting eyes again, he wouldnt have to look away with a husbands shame.






 CHAPTER 28



 Washington, D.C.

 FEBRUARY 7, 1825

 

Henry Clay was elected president of the United States on the first ballot in the House of Representatives. By the rules established in the Constitution, each state got one vote, determined by the majority of its delegation. Thirteen votes were thus needed for Clay to be elected president, since the nation had twenty-four states.

 Thats exactly what he got. Thirteen votes.

 The solid core came from the seven states of the Deep South, delivered by Calhouns people and those of Crawfords who were not breaking away with Van Buren and the New Yorkers:

 

Alabama

 Florida

 Georgia

 Louisiana

 Mississippi

 North Carolina

 South Carolina

 

He also picked up Virginia, although it was a much closer call than he and his associates had expected.

 On the one hand, the state was politically dominated by the same class of slave-owners who ruled the roost in the Deep South. In fact, Virginia had historically led the South in the direction of ever harsher laws regarding slavery as an institution and black people as a race. In 1785, it had been the first state to officially declare any person with black blood to be a mulatto and to legally define mulattos as negroes. In 1799, it had banished white mothers of mulattos with their children. In 1806, it had required slaves to leave the state within a year of manumission. And, finally, in 1819, Virginia had been the firstand was still the onlystate in the union that outlawed blacks and mulattos, whether free or slave, from meeting for the purposes of education. It also forbade anyone, including whites, from teaching black people to read and write.

 On the other hand

 The Old Dominions elite took great pride in its political history and saw Virginia as the nations preeminent state. And why should they not? Four of five presidents of the United States had been Virginiansand all of them had served two terms, unlike the one-term tenure of the sole outsider, John Adams. The Old Dominion had produced a similarly disproportionate number of the countrys political leaders in Congress and the judicial branch.

 So, even with their class interests inclining them toward following Clay, their well-honed political instincts were shrieking alarm bells. The manner in which Clay was taking the officeand no other term than taking could really be usedwas far outside the parameters of what many of Virginias congressmen could easily swallow.

 But eventually, enough of them did. The quirky and unpredictable John Randolph perhaps swung the matter when he abruptly decidedfollowing a train of logic that was semi-incomprehensible but, as usual, brilliantly expounded on the floor of Congressthat electing Henry Clay was essential to the preservation of slavery, an institution that he personally viewed with dubiety but whose stalwart defense was necessary to prevent the ever-growing encroachment of federal dictatorship upon the liberties of the states.

 In a phrase, John Quincy Adams caustically remarked afterward, John Randolph felt it necessary to install a tyrant in order to forestall tyranny.

 What made Randolphs actions particularly bizarre was that he detested Clay personally. When they met in a corridor of the Capitol shortly after the vote, Randolph stood his ground and hissed at the newly elected president, I never sidestep skunks.

 Clay smiled. I always do, he replied, and deftly skirted him.





 The border states split. Tennessee and Kentucky voted for Jackson; Missouri and Maryland, for Clay. No surprise there.

 Granted, a different sort of politician might have been embarrassed by the fact that his own home state had voted for another candidate. But Clay was above such picayune concerns. As well he might be, having managed the notable feat of getting elected as the nations chief executive with five out of six voters opposed to him.





 He did lose New York, which caused a momentary panic among his advisers. At the last minute, Martin Van Buren broke publicly with Crawford and Clay and threw his support to Jackson. Van Buren himself was a senator, not a congressman, so his own vote was irrelevant. But they didnt call him the Little Magician for nothing. Van Buren had created the nations first really well-oiled political machine in New York, and the machine delivered.





 The decision came from the West. Ohio, Illinois, and Indiana all voted for Clay.

 Ohios vote was expected by everyone and really had little to do with the ruckus over Arkansas Post. Ohio had long been Clay country because it was the state that felt it had the most to gain from the newly elected presidents American System.

 So, in the end, Illinois and Indiana were the keyand their votes were purely the product of panic over Arkansas Post. Both states were newIndiana had been admitted to the union in 1816; Illinois in 1818and both bordered on wild Injun country.

 Most of all, both were sparsely settled, which made them feel vulnerable to the nebulous danger of being suddenly overrun by hordes of murdering negroes surging out of Arkansas. The fact that Arkansas was hundreds of miles away and no sane man could think of any conceivable way the Confederacy would or could attack Illinois or Indiana without stumbling over Tennessee and Kentuckywith their large populations and the nations two most powerful and best-organized militiaswas neither here nor there. By that point, Clays partisans had pulled out all the stops and were fanning every spark of fear they could find into a blaze of terror.

 So, there it was. In the nation as a whole, in the presidential election of 1824, about 360,000 popular votes were cast. Of that total, the decision was made by the delegations representing 16,000 voters in Indiana and fewer than 5,000 in Illinoisand, in both states, by narrow margins.





 In the history of the world, Andrew Jackson would thunder the next day, was ever a greater mockery made of the phrase decision of the people?

 Needless to say, the question was not rhetorical. Old Hickory proceeded to answer it at length many times thereafter. To the end of their days, the mildest term anyone could remember him using to refer to Clay and his minions was the rascals.





 John Quincy Adams was more restrained. But the capitals political observers noted that he immediately announced his intention to run for Congress from Massachusetts.

 The House, not the Senate, interestingly enough. Given that a Senate seat would also be available in 1826, and that the Senate was generally considered a more prestigious body, Adamss choice seemed odd.

 But perhaps not so odd, in the opinion of the more astute of those observers. True enough, a senator was a more august personage than a mere congressman. But those terms were abstractions. The concrete reality remained that no senatorindeed, no person in the country save the president himselfpotentially wielded more power and influence than the Speaker of the House of Representatives.

 True, the thought of John Quincy Adams serving in the same post that Henry Clay had transformed into such a political powerhouse was extraordinarily peculiar. Clay was the nations most adroit and adept politician, as everyone including his bitterest enemies would agree; Adams, its most awkward and inept.

 But perhaps that was what Adams was basing his calculations upon. After two years of Henry Clay in the White House, perhaps by 1826 the nation would welcome a Speakerfreshman though he might bewho was everything Henry Clay was not. Stubborn on matters of principle where Clay was lizard-quick, thoughtful and deeply read where Clay was clever and facile, and if not as gracious in his manners, more than his equal in intelligence.





 A week after the election, the announcement was made that William Crawford would be Clays nominee for the nations next secretary of state; John Calhoun, for its next secretary of war.

 That drew another round of thunder from Jackson. So you see, the Judas of the South has closed the contract and will receive the thirty pieces of silver. His end will be the same. Was there ever witnessed such a bare-faced corruption in any country before?





 To no ones surprise, Crawford said nothing. The Georgia politicians physical ailment was now so widely known that everyone understood the appointment was a mere fig leaf. Crawfords partisans would be allowed to use the State Department to pass around perks, privileges, posts, and the like, but Clay himself would direct the nations foreign affairs.

 Calhoun, still only forty-two years old, was in his prime. But he also made no public response to Jacksons denunciations. Instead, he limited his riposte to an indirect one.

 He immediately announced that he would be urging Congress to approve a rapid and major expansion of the nations armed forces to deal with the barbaric threat arisen on our western border. Then, with an implied sneer, wondered how such an expansion could possibly be opposed by prominent figureshe did not mention Jackson by namewho had long advocated the same measure.

 That was a pointless tactic, given Old Hickory. Jacksons response came the next day:

 In times past, I advocated strengthening the nations armed forces to fend off foreign murderers, arsonists, and robbers. Calhoun calls for its expansion for the sole purpose of murdering, burning, and robbing neighbors who have never attacked us at all. Judas, did I name him? If so, I insulted Judas.





 The most astute of the capitals observers, however, ignored this predictable byplay. They were quite fascinated by something else.

 John Quincy Adams was starting to professin publica liking for whiskey. So long as it was the corn-based whiskey distilled out West, not the Eastern rye-based stuff. What some people were starting to call bourbon.

 Arkansas Post

 FEBRUARY 9, 1825

 

Patrick Driscol and Robert Ross were at Arkansas Post when Sams steamboat arrived. Not because theyd been awaiting him there, but because theyd been engaged in negotiations with Pushmataha and other major chiefs of the Choctaws.

 The Choctaws, Sam discovered, had almost all crossed the Mississippi by now and had taken up residence in the Confederacy. Theyd not had much choice in the matter. Whether they were signatories to the Treaty of Oothcaloga or not, in the aftermath of Arkansas Postnot to mention the retaliations the Choctaws had taken on local settlers for Crittendens outragesthe states of Louisiana and Mississippi had mobilized their militias to drive them out. Alabama had eagerly sent its own militia in support. Not so much because they cared about the Choctaws but because it gave them an excuse to drive the last remaining Chickasaws out of northwestern Alabama.

 The Chickasaws, in the end, had crossed the Mississippi also. Whether or not they were the most warlike tribe in the Southeast, as both they and several other tribes contended, they were simply too small to stand against that sort of concerted attack. There werent more than five thousand Chickasaws in the whole world.

 So, by the time Sam arrived, Arkansas Post appeared to be under siege againonly, this time, not by fifteen hundred freebooters but by more than ten times that number of Indians. Fortunately, it was a relatively peaceful sort of siege, being waged by wheedles, threats, demands, proposals, and offers of compromise rather than by guns and bayonets.

 Glad youre here, Patrick gruffed to him as he escorted Sam and his party off the boat. Maybe you can talk sense into them.

 Whats the problem? There should still be plenty of land left for them in the trans-Poteau area. Blast it, thats awkward. Have they settled on a name for it yet?

 Driscol grinned humorlessly. Indians, remember? Contentious bastards are worse than the Irish when it comes to finding a point of dispute over any subject under the sun. The Cherokeesthe ones following Ross and Ridge, anywayhad pretty well settled on New Kituhwa and seemed to have bullied and sweet-talked most of the Creeks into it. But no sooner did Pushmataha and most of the Choctaws arrive than they denounced the name as an instrument of Cherokee oppression. Theyre arguing for Oklahoma, on the grounds that since it means red people its fair to all the tribes, which Kituhwa isnt. Ross seems inclined to concede the point to them, but Ridge is holding stubborn. His argument is that it may mean red people in Choctaw, but it means no such thing in Cherokee.

 His grin widened and even gained a bit of real humor. The most delicious part of itwell, to a Scots-Irishman, anywayis that I think theyre all going to finally agree to adopt English as the official language of the whole Confederacy. Seeing as how theres no way any one of them will accept the language of any other instead. Ha! Damned Sassenach. Same dirty rotten trick they pulled on us.

 A bit apprehensively, Sam looked up at the fort they were nearing. Theyre all in there?

 Every last chief of any note at all, from all four of the tribes. Theres even somebody claiming to speak for the Seminoles, although nobodys paying much attention to him. Seeing as how most of the Seminolestalk about stubbornare still holed out somewhere in the Florida Everglades.

 He gave Sam a sly glance. Now that youre here, though, I figure you can exercise that famous silver tongue of yours and persuade all of them to move the whole ruckus upriver to New Antrim. At least wed be able to reside in the Wolfe Tone Hotel instead of this place, whichhis blocky, ugly face got blockier and uglier than everis supposed to be a fort, damnation.

 Sam shook his head. Patrick, big as it is, the Wolfe Tones smaller than Arkansas Post.

 An odd expression came to Driscols face. Half embarrassment; half

 Pride?

 Not any longer. Been a lot of new construction since you were here. Tiana persuaded me to add another extension. A wing Id call it, except, well, its actually bigger than the rest of the hotel. We had to tear down two whole city blocks to make room for it.

 Hurriedly: The people living there got compensated, of course. Including the right to rooms in the new wing of the hotel, whichcomes down to itis in a lot better shape than the log cabins theyd been living in.

 Sam peered down at him. Laird of Arkansas, indeed. Whats next, mighty one? Do you figure on claiming all land in the Delta as your personal domain? Yes, I know, youll graciously allow the serfs to run their sheep on the land. The one or two youll leave them with.

 Thats not!

 Oh, I think its quite funny. No sense of humor, Patrick; thats always been your problem. But that aside, why did you expand the hotel? Ill admit youre not actually greedy.

 Driscol grunted. Didnt have much choice. The new wing isnt really what youd properly call a hotel. Its more like a giant dormitory. Defensively: And Im not charging anybody more than maintenance costs to stay there. Tiana agreed to that. Even browbeat her father when the plundering algerine tried to talk us into raising the rates.

 Sam listed an eyebrow. Something I dont know?

 Guess so. Though you must have been blind as a bat not to have noticed, coming as you did all the way from Washington. Started in the summer, once everybody figured Clay would most likely win the election. The biggest wave of freedman migrations since the very first days of Arkansas. I think weve gotten another fifteen thousand of them in the last three months. Another five thousand or so in the way of runaway slaves and maroons.

 Now that he thought about it, Sam had noticed an unusual number of black people working their way down the Ohio and the Mississippi on flatboats. But hed been so engrossed in his own ruminationsgrief, too, stillthat he hadnt paid it much attention.

 Which he should have, he chided himself. Black people tended to shy away from traveling on flatboats down the rivers. Yes, it was an easier form of travel, but a much harder one from the standpoint of evading slave-catchers. There was also the danger of lynch mobs, passing by some towns.

 Something must have showed on his face. Driscols grin returnedbut this was the trolls grin. The savage, pitiless one that fit Patricks face to perfection when the mood took him. Sams best friend or not, he really was a frightening sort of man.

 Oh, theres been no trouble. John Browns doing, that is. Odd fellow, the tanner, no doubt about it. A man after my own heart, though. As a matter of religious principle, he refuses to join any army. But it seems his reading of the Bible allows him to raise what amounts to his own army. So, he did.

 Sams eyes widened.

 Oh, aye, lad! And not such a small one, neither. By now I figure hes got something like four hundred menat least half of them white, mind youserving under hiswell, cant call them colors, really, since they dont have a banner. But theyre his army, never doubt it. He doesnt call them anything but stalwart lads, but theyve taken to calling themselves Browns Raiders. For the past three months, theyve been patrolling the riversin U.S. territory also. Everybody knows theyre thereespecially would-be slave-catchersbut since they dont wear uniforms

 Who in the name of Sam shook his head. Who are they? I mean, I know the Brown clan breeds like rabbits, but there arent that many of them.

 His own familys the core of it, still. But most of them are just boys from Ohio and, mostly, Pennsylvania. Some other Northern states. Abolitionists, Id call them, except this new breed has little of the Quaker in them. Nothing at all, actually. Bloody-minded fellows.

 I didnt think there were that many abolitionistsoutright ones, anywayin the whole United States.

 Driscol snorted. Probably werent, a year ago. But

 He stopped abruptly. They were now not more than twenty feet from the bridge leading across the moat that surrounded the Post.

 It started changing rapidly after the battle here, Sam. Which has been my whole lifes experienceand the reason I was utterly merciless in this place, be damned to what you or any other politician tells me. The old-style abolitionists were a handful, feeling sorry for the miserable negroes. Middle-aged, most of them, fat and prosperous. There are a lot more of the new-style onesyoung men, overwhelmingly, and most of them from modest circumstances like John Brown himselfand they dont feel sorry for negroes at all. Why should they? The negroes showedin battle, where it countsthat they could take care of themselves, thank you. So now its just a matter of principle. People will petition to redress an injustice, Sam, but theyll fight for a principle. Thats because injustice is a property of the weak and powerless, but principles belong to the strong.

 Sam stared at him. He had a tendency to forgetand chided himself for it, once againthat beneath Driscols craggy forehead lay a brain that, whatever it lacked in the way of formal education and wide reading, was as acute as any Sam had ever known.

 Granted, it was a sergeants brain, with a sergeants harshly practical and ruthless way of gauging the world. But was that really such a handicap under these circumstances?

 Driscol cleared his throat. And thenAh, lad, I am sorry for it. I truly am, and sos Tiana. But for whatever it might be worth, your wifes death may have saved a nations life. Well never know, but thats what Im thinking.

 He looked away, down the Arkansas. Not avoiding Sams gaze so much as simply giving him some personal space. It all changed again, he said quietly, after Maria Hesters killing. Therell be no going back now, Sam. Not for the boys John Brown is gathering around him. No going back, no give, no surrenderand damn little in the way of mercy, unless Brown himself calls for it. I swear to you, I think theyd even frighten the old Hebrews. They cant possibly be any more Old Testament. He grinned again, very crookedly. Even the Tennessee and Kentucky state militiamen are giving them a wide berth on the rivers, as long as they leave the settlements alone and only go after slave-catchers.

 Sam didnt know what to say. As alwaysit hadnt lessened a bit, not even after almost three monthsthe thought of his wife dying just took his breath away. A man with a silver tongue, struck speechless.

 When he was able to talk, he grasped at it. You think so? About Maria Hester, I mean.

 Oh, aye. Driscol seemed to swallow. Hard to tell, of course, with a neck like his. Iahshould perhaps give fair warning. You knowahthat rich black fellow in New York? The one from Haiti whos been sending so much money here.

 Pierre Toussaint.

 Yes, him. Hes a devout Catholic, so most of the money he sends goes to support the Church here. For just a moment, the Scots-Irish Presbyterian surfaced. Patrick had been raised in that creed, even if he himself had long since become a freethinking deist. Heathen lot, even ifwell, Ill grant they do a lot of good work. Charitable stuff. But the point is, theyre given to saints and icons and graven images and such.

 Sam coughed. Oh, come on, Patrick! Not even the Catholics

 Not on their own, probably. But Marie Laveau decided she was a Catholic two years ago, and shes been busy ever since importing as much of her voudou as she can into the Church. Again, the Presbyterian surfaced: Which isnt hard, of course, being as the papists half-think like voudou anyway.

 Sam couldnt help but chuckle. Which, thankfully, leached away some of the grief-surge.

 Driscol chuckled with him. Maries got quite the following, too. Except for Tiana, shes probably the most influential woman in Arkansas. SoWell, look, heres the point. Dont get all worked up if you come to find out Maria Hesterswell, actually, theyve already declared her a martyr of the Church.

 She wasnt Catholic!

 Dont argue with me about it. Marie Laveau can explain it to you, if you can manage to follow the logic. Which I couldnt, after she got to the part about consultingah, never mind. The point is, theyll probably be making her a saint by next spring. They already have an image of hera veritable iconup on the wall of the big church in New Antrim. The priest squawked, but they made it stick.

 I thought only the pope

 Marie Laveau can explain that to you, also. It seemsthis is her version, mind you, I doubt me the pope in Rome would agree with herthat since its obvious the Virgin Mary is equal to the Christ, it follows as night from day that saints can also be declared by the Womens Council.

  WhatWomens Council?

 Patrick cleared his throat again. Well, the one that she and Tiana set up. Tiana being a Cherokee, of course, the notion came naturally to her. Especially since Nancy Ward urged it on her, just before the ancient ghighua finally died last year. Marie Laveau thought it made perfect sense, too. Which isnt really that surprising, when you think about it. Slavery being what it is, black people mostly have a matrilineal society, too, in practice if not in theory.

 That was true enough. But

 The chiefdom of Arkansas now has a Womens Council? Run by Tiana and Marie Laveau? Good God in Heaven!

 Yes, thats exactly what Major General Robert Ross said. When his wife Eliza got invited to join. Then he repeated the exclamationtwice; I heard him; I was therewhen she accepted.

 Good God in Heaven!

 Driscol shrugged. Its the nature of the soil in Arkansas. Very contagious terrain.






 CHAPTER 29



 Arkansas Post

 FEBRUARY 9, 1825

 

Thank God youre here! John Ross said when he spotted Sam entering the forts big mess hall, which had been set aside as an impromptu conference room.

 The Cherokee leader pointed an accusing finger at Pushmataha. The principal chief of the Choctaws was ensconced on a chair in a corner, for all the world as if he were seated on a throne. Explain to this madman that if he doesnt get his people moved across the Poteau into New Kituah, blast it, Oklahomathat theyll starve. As it is, its going to be touch and go.

 Sam studied Pushmataha. The old chief was famous all over the frontier for his canny ways, but all it took was one glance to know that he wasnt going to budge.

 They murdered and raped and robbedCrittenden and his devilsall up and down the great river, the chief growled. His English was fluent, if heavily accented. Then their militias did it again when they came at us afterward. We will not move from this place until we have our revenge. We will certainly not go to hide across the Poteau, leaving

 Pushmataha choked off a term that was the Choctaw equivalent of nigger. He took a slow, shaky, old mans breath. Leaving the blacks to do all the fighting.

 Sam decided to shift the matter into Choctawin which he was by now just as fluent, and had considerably less of an accent. Well, of course not. But your women and children cant fight, Pushmataha. Not many of the old men, either. So it only makes sense





 By evening, hed managed to work out a compromise. Most of the Choctaws would winter over in New Antrim. That would require hastily erecting enough shelter for an additional fifteen thousand people, in a city that was already bursting with more than thirty thousand. But Driscol announced hed exercise his full powers as principal chief of Arkansas and institute the measure hed been considering for some time now.

 Conscription.Pure and simpleno blasted inefficient, haphazard Sassenach press gangs, either. Arkansas would do it the proper way. The Napoleonic way.

 However, exemptions would be given to able-bodied men engaged in necessary labor.

 Building housing on short notice for the newly arrived Choctaws was decreed necessary labor.

 The principal chief of Arkansas foresaw no great problem.





 Can Patrick actually manage it? Sam whispered to John Ridge, with whom hed been quietly consulting on the side while Driscol and John Ross and Major Ridge and Pushmataha continued their wrangling over the details. Conscription, I mean.

 Major Ridges son was extremely astute, had been residing in New Antrim for some time now, and, along with his cousin, Buck Watie, who was standing alongside him, owned New Antrims biggest and most influential newspaper. Sam figured his assessment would be as good as any. And whatever he missed, Buck wouldnt.

 Therell be a ruckus, of course. Butyes, he can.

 Of course he can, Buck chimed in, speaking as softly as his cousin even if the words came out like a snort. Dont let all the similarities fool you, Sam. There are some waysand not just obvious ones involving racethat Arkansas is about as different from the United States as both of them are from, I dont know, someplace in Mongolia. One of them is the attitude people have toward the army here. Even a lot of the whites and Indians. The truth is, the way things are now, if Chief Driscol called for a massive number of volunteers, hed get them. Therell be a ruckus over conscription, like John says, but itll be mostly for show.

 Sam looked back and forth from one to the other. Neither of the young Cherokees looked at all happy.

 And the problem is?

 John, as usual, took some time to think about his answer. Buck, as usual, gave it right away.

 Isnt it obvious, Sam? What happens if we win the war? And come out of it at the end

 John finished the thought: with what amounts to an all-black army, in a confederacy thats supposed to be mostly for Indians? Thats a recipe for another war. A civil war, this time. In fact, were already getting closer to it than I like. If you go out and talk to some of the Cherokees in New Kitah, Oklahomayoull hear some nasty predictions and even calls for action. Especially from some of the richer mixed-bloods who own a lot of slaves. Some Creeks are talking the same way, too.

 Sam studied the leaders in the corner of the mess hall. In deference to Pushmatahas age and infirmities, all of them had gathered around the Choctaw chief s chair.

 All the races of the continent were represented there. Mostly Indians, with two white men in the form of Patrick Driscol and Robert Ross. Only one black man. That was Charles Ball, the general in the chiefdom of Arkansas little army.

 But it didnt matter. All Sam had to do was step outside and walk about the fort for a few minutes. Everywhere he wentmanning the twelve-pounders, not just holding musketshed see almost nothing but black men. With a sprinkling of whites, constituting less than ten percent of the whole. One or two Indians, at mostif there were any at all.

 The solutions obvious, he said harshly, not caring now if his voice carried. Pick up the load yourselves, damnation.

 Both young Cherokees flushed. Well fight, Sam, and you know

 Thats not what I meant, and you know it. Sure, youll fight. Nobody ever accused Cherokeesor Creeks, or Choctaws, and sure as Sam Hill not Chickasaws and Seminolesof being cowards. And so fucking what? 

 He jerked his head in the direction of Major Ridge. Youll fight the way your fatherand your uncle, Buckfights. A great warrior; nobody denies it. Not me, thats for sure, having fought next to him at the Horseshoe Bend and the Mississippi. And it doesnt matter, because the only role he and his men could play at the Horseshoe and the Mississippi was that of auxiliary troops. Theres no waynot on their ownthey can stand against whats coming.

 Now he jerked his head in the direction of Driscol and Ball. They can, on the other hand. Because whether you like it or notwhether it rubs your Cherokee customs and traditions the wrong way or nottheyll fight the white mans sort of war. And thats what kind of war this is going to be. And you know it. So cut out the tomfoolery. I ask you again. You know the solution. Are you willing to accept it?

 John and Buck looked at each other. Yeah, all right, said Buck almost immediately.

 My wife can handle the newspaper, John chimed in. Truth is, she manages it pretty much already, on the business end.

 Well, good.





 The Chickasaws wouldnt budge at all. So, finally, Patrick cut the Gordian knot.

 Fine, then. Ill be pulling out of Arkansas Post come spring. Because theres no way to hold it, against the size army the United States will send. So you can winter over in this area, and you can have the Post thereafter, if you think you can hold it. I give it to you. Youd still be smarter to send your women and childrenthem, at leastover into Oklahoma.

 Sam translated. The Chickasaw chiefs swelled.

 Well hold it! Watch and see if Chickasaws cant!





 Ten minutes later, most of the mess hall was cleared of people. The only ones who remained behind were Driscol, Robert Ross, Sam himself, and the four Cherokee leaders: John Ross and Major Ridge, and Ridges son and nephew.

 Idiots, Robert Ross stated. The American army will overrun the Post, and theyll all die. Most of them, anyway. A few might escape at the end.

 Driscol shrugged. Every ounce of him the ice-blooded troll, now. So let em die. Theyre Chickasaws; they wont die easily. Theyll bleed the bastards, be sure of that. And once its overthe trolls grin, as pure as you could ask foritll be us instead of Henry Clay hollering vengeance for Arkansas Post! 

 Driscol turned to Sam, glowering at him. Ive half a mind to forbid you from enlisting in the army altogether. Ive got the legal authority to do it, too, at least here in Arkansas.

 Damn you, Patrick, I didnt come all the way

 Damn you, Sam Houston! Look, sooner or later wars have to be ended, too. And For a moment, the troll almost looked embarrassed. Impossible, of course. Well, the truth is, Im a poor one to try to make a settlement. You, on the other hand, are a natural diplomat and could probably manage the trick providedyou werent actually involved in the fighting and killing.

 Before Sam could continue the argument, Robert Ross intervened.

 Patrick, youre being foolish. First, you have to win the war in the first place. Which, as it stands now, you mostly likely wont.

 Driscol glared at him. The British major general didnt seem to care in the least.

 Be as stubborn as you want. Heres the truth, Patrick. Youve got probably the best army anywhere in the world that could have been created by sergeants. The worlds best sergeants, Ill add that into the bargain. But sergeants cant win wars. They can rarely even win battles. What you need is what you dont have. A real officer corps. You dont have real cavalry, either, but you can probably survive that lack. You wont survive without officers. Real ones, and enough of them.

 Ross nodded toward Ball. There are some exceptions, I grant you. Charles here is one of them. Im not really sure yet about Jones. A very fine soldier, and Id trust him on any battlefield. But He shrugged. Hes still more of a sergeant wearing a colonels uniform, really, than an actual colonel.

 Weve got some youngsters coming up, Driscol grumbled.

 Yes, you do. Some very fine ones, Im thinking. Young Parker is especially promising. So is McParlandthe younger cousin, I mean, not Anthony, who already thinks like an officer. But his injury may keep him out of line command.

 He shook his head. Its not enough, Patrick. Not with only a few months to prepare.

 Ross jabbed a finger at Sam. So, now, here arrivesat your serviceone of the most capable and experienced commanding officers on the North American continent, and you propose to refuse him the colors. Are you mad?

 Patrick sighed and looked away. Its not really that, Robert. Sam is also my best friend.

 Deaths always a risk in war, Sam stated. It doesnt bother me.

 He hesitated then. But the rest was a givenhed known it since the moment he decided to come to Arkansasso it might as well be said aloud. My son wouldnt even be an orphan. Not with you and Tiana for his parents. Or even just Tiana, should you fall also in the war.

 Patrick shook his head. Thats not what Im talking about, Sam. What happens when the war is overand you survive? 

 Sam stared at him, groping at the question.

 Sam, face it. Youre an American at heart. Im not, since I was an immigrant here to begin with. But youll never really be comfortable as an Arkansan. Even as a Confederate. If your wife hadnt been murdered, youd never once have considered changing your citizenship. Youd have stayed in the United States and done what the man you named your son after will be doing. Opposing the war, surelybut never once crossing the line marked allegiance. 

 Sam continued to stare at him. Groping at the answer.

 Tell me Im wrong.

 Samcouldnt.

 What I thought. Thats why, at bottom, Id much prefer to keep you out of uniform. Whatever else, when the wars over, no one will be able to claim there is any American blood on your own hands. You were just a diplomat.

 Robert Ross sighed, now. Patrick, you cant. Neither can Sam, being honest, unless he simply wants to return. The army of Arkansas desperately needs experienced officers. And Houstonmy opinion, at leastis possibly the best field-grade officer in North America.

 That was enough to break Sams paralysis. Be damned to the future, Patrick. Yes, I suppose in a perfect world, someday Id return to the United States. Harshly: But in a perfect world my wife wouldnt have been murdered. And I made a vow and I intend to keep it. And thats all there is to the matter.

 Driscol said nothing. But Sam could tell from his stance alone that he was conceding the argument.

 Time for diplomacy, therefore, and a silver tongue.

 As for the rest, Sam said cheerily, I am pleased to announce that both John Ridge and Buck Watie are volunteering for the colors. The Arkansas colors, mind you.

 The two young Cherokees stepped forward. Without hesitation, eitheralthough both of them avoided the gaze of the two Cherokee chiefs.

 Especially that of Major Ridge, who was now glaring at his son and nephew.

 Of course, youll offer them commissions, Sam continued smoothly. Ive no doubt of it at all.

 Of course he will! exclaimed Major General Robert Ross. Splendid young men! From a fine family, and well educated. Perfect officer material.

 Well, sure, said Patrick.

 The glare faded from Major Ridges eyes. Five minutes later, he was even embracing his young kin.

 New Antrim, Arkansas

 FEBRUARY 14, 1825

 

The thing was there, all right. Just as grotesque as Sam feared it would be.

 Shivering a biteven with his Cherokee blanket, the great stone church was bitterly cold, in mid-Februaryhe stared up at the icon. The newly proclaimed martyr of the Church.

 She didnt look in the least bit like thatthat

 Dont be rude, Sam, said Tiana. She gave Marie Laveau a look that Sam couldnt really interpret. Something so profoundly female that it was just beyond his comprehension.

 So we make up another one, Marie said, shrugging. The tall, gorgeous quadroon gave the icon a dismissive glance and an equally dismissive wave of the hand. Its just some painted wood, you know. Has no holy power in itself. Might have, if theyd let me sprinklewell, never mind. Father James is a good priest, even if he is just as superstitious as men always are.

 She half turned and imperiously summoned forward a short, very dark-skinned black woman whod been hanging back in the shadows of the cavernous church. Antoinette here is a magnificent carver. Almost as good with the paints, too. With your guidanceshe waved again at the icon perched on the wallshe can soon have that replaced with an image that captures the martyred wife to perfection.

 Sam opened his mouth, about to proclaim that under no circumstances would he be a party to any such half-papist, half-voudou heathenist nonsense. He was something of a freethinker himself, to be sure, not a dyed-in-the-wool Protestant. Still and all!

 But the words never came. They were choked off by the worst of the grief. That he had lost his beloved wife, Sam could eventually accept. What he couldnt accept was the knowledge that his sononly four years old when Maria Hester diedwould never really remember his mother.

 It was worse than that. Sam knewhad known from the day he made the decisionthat he was looking at another of the worlds terrible ironies. No matter what happened, little Andy would have a mother, here in Arkansas. It would be Tiana RogersTiana Driscol, nowthe woman whom Sam had once thought, from time to time, might be the mother of his own children. And so, in a way, she would be. But only at the price of obliterating any real memory of his sons natural mother, Maria Hester, ne Monroe and died Houston.

 Now

 If the boy could come, any day, any time, to a revered place, and look up and see

 All right, he said.

 Good! proclaimed Marie. And once Antoinette has made the proper icon, and you pronounce yourself satisfied, I will do the rest. Properly, this time. Pfah! that was a very rude gestureto what the priest says.

 Just stay out of it, Sam, Tiana quietly counseled.

 He decided the counsel was good.






 CHAPTER 30



 New Antrim, Arkansas

 JULY 18, 1825

 

The first thing Winfield Scott said to Patrick and Sam, after theyd taken seats in a quiet corner of the Wolfe Tone Hotels huge foyer, was this:

 You understand, gentlemen, I cannot pass on to you any information that might be detrimental to the United States or its armed forces. At the same time, you have my pledge that I will not pass on to General Harrisonor any of his subordinatesany information that is not contained already in the reports Mr. Bryant and I will be sending to the newspapers back home.

 It was said a bit stiffly, but pleasantly enough. Understanding and accepting the protocol, Patrick and Sam simply nodded. Then both of them turned their eyes to William Cullen Bryant.

 The poet-turned-reporter looked a bit uncomfortable. AhI must insist upon the same conditions. My personal sympathieswell, never mind that. If nothing else, the reports General Scott and I will be filing must be viewed by everyone as uncompromised.

 Sam kept a placid expression. Patricks face twisted into something close to a sneer. Winfield Scott sneered outright.

 Oh, thats ridiculous, Cullen! he exclaimed. No matter what we do, Clay and his supporters will accuse us of spouting a pack of lies. So will every newspaper in the administrations camp. Theyre already saying so, before weve even filed a single report. Whats involved here isnt practical; its simply a matter of our personal honor.

 Bryant looked stubborn. Yes, I know theyll accuse us of lying. But it doesnt matter, Winfield, nor do I agree with you that its simply a matter of honor. At least halfmore like two-thirds, I suspectof the population of the United States is reserving their judgment. What we report will have an influenceprovided its not tainted with charges of bias, that arent coming from people who have an obvious bias of their own.

 Gentlemen, please, Sam said smoothly. Its really not a problem. We have full confidence in your integrity, and you can rest assured we will respect it, on our part.

 Winfield Scotts eyes ranged up and down Sams figure. The gaze was curious and perhaps a bit cold.

 Its an attractive uniform, he said abruptly. Though I think that fur hat will get very uncomfortable now that were in midsummer.

 Patrick smiled. Oh, weve got summer headgear, General Scott. But well wear the fur hats except when its unbearable. Its a small thing, but it helps remind the troops that were expecting a winter campaign.

 Scott turned the same curious perhaps-a-bit-cold gaze onto Driscol.

 You dont think itll all be over within a few months, then.

 Not hardly, Sam stated. By the first snowfall itll just be starting.

 Scott looked back at him. Are you uncomfortablein that uniform, Colonel? He glanced at the insignia. Excuse me. Brigadier, I should say.

 Sam didnt hesitate. Hed now had almost half a year to think about it, since hed taken Arkansas citizenship as soon as hed arrived back in February.

 No, not in the least. Thats because I dont really think of it as a change in uniform to begin with. As far as Im concerned, the uniform I used to wear has been stolen by a swindler and his accomplices. The political principles for which Im fighting today are no different than they were on the day I stoodhe gestured at Patrickwhen then-Lieutenant Driscol and I stood side by side facing the redcoats in front of the Capitol.

 May I quote you to that effect, General Houston? Bryant asked. His pad and pen were already in hand.

 Oh, yes, Sam said brightly. Please do.





 An hour later, Patrick offered to give Scott and Bryant a tour of New Antrims military installations. They accepted, of course, leaving Sam alone in the foyers corner.

 Not more than fifteen seconds after Driscol and the two reporters left the hotel, Salmon Brown took the seat formerly occupied by Winfield Scott.

 He began without preliminaries. We figure theyve landed close to six thousand troops at the confluence, almost half of them regulars. The only artillery theyve gotso far, anywayis the First Regiment. Colonel Abram Eustis is in command. They were stationed

 In Charleston, South Carolina. Yes, I know. Sam scratched his chin. Interesting. It would have been a lot easier to bring in the Fourth Artillery under Armistead. Whats the infantry?

 Theyve got four infantry regiments. The First, the Fifthwhich used to be the Fourth, it seems

 Thats Harrisons old unit, Sam interrupted, from the Thames campaign. They renamed it after the war, when they consolidated the regiments during the reduction. The Fourth did pretty well in the war with Britain, except for when Hull surrendered his whole army at Detroit. But nobodys ever blamed the regiment for that. Harrisonll be leaning on them heavily, Im pretty sure. If it was me, Id be more inclined to rely on the First Regiment. The Battle of the Thames was a long time ago, and who knows what shape the Fourths in today? The First, on the other hand, has been in Baton Rouge under Colonel Taylor, whos an excellent troop trainer.

 Salmon Brown shook his head. Taylors no longer in command of the First. Colonel John McNeil is.

 Sams eyebrows rose. Then wheres Taylor?

 Dont know for sure, Sam. Like John Brown himself, his brother was not given to military formalities. Word is, though, that he was sent up north. To St. Louis.

 Sams eyes moved to the northern wall of the foyer as if he were trying to look through it.  St. Louis?WhatAh, never mind. Lets deal with whats at hand, for the moment. Which are the other two infantry regiments Harrisons got down there on the confluence? The Seventh is probably one of them. They were stationed not far away.

 Thats right. Colonel Matthew Arbuckles in command. The other one is the Third, with Lieutenant Colonel Enos Cutler in command.

 Sam chewed on it for a moment. So. One regular regiment of artillery; four of infantry. The United States sent four out of their seven regular infantry regiments and a fourth of their artillery. Against which, weve got at the momentall toldthree infantry regiments and an artillery regiment.

 He laughed, once, very sarcastically. Theyre overconfident. They should have sent six infantry and two artillery regiments. Six infantry, anyway. Its always hard to pry artillery units out of their garrisons, because the local politicians put up such a fuss. Need em there to defend the town againstwhoever. Barbary pirates, maybe, come all the way across the Atlantic.

 John and me figure they got you outnumbered three to two, Salmon pointed out dispassionately. Thats just in regular troops. Unless you decide to use the three new regiments.

 No, thatd be a mistake. Those recruits arent ready for a pitched battle on the open field in the Delta, yet. Send them into one, theyd just shatterand it would take a year to rebuild their self-confidence. He went back to scratching his chin. And your arithmetics just about right, although it wouldnt be if we could send all of our regiments down there. But we cant. We need to keep the First in reserve as well as using it to train the new regiments. And we cant risk the whole artillery regiment on the open Delta. Well need it intact when the war moves up the river valley, which it will. We always knew we couldnt stop the United States from taking the Delta.

 Sam shrugged. On the other hand, our regiments will be stronger than theirs. We can muster at least six hundred men to a regiment, maybe seven. Theyll be lucky if theyre even half strength. Im willing to bet not one of those infantry regiments down there has more than five hundred men actually present. At least one of them wont have more than maybe four hundred. Desertion and absence without leave is rampant in the U.S. Army; always has been. Not much of a problem for us. Give it a few months, down there in the Deltadisease will make it worse.

 He took a moment, doing the math. Figuretheyll have two thousand infantry, actually on the field, when we meet. Well have about one thousand, three hundred. Theyll have an advantage in artillery, but that terrain isnt very good even for field artillery. Not anywhere near the river, anyway. If we maneuver properly, they wont be able to move their ordnance up quickly enough. And the one thing Im sure and certain about is that Arkansas infantry can out-march any infantry the U.S. Armys got. Like I said, theyre overconfident.

 They got lots of militia troops, Sam. At least three thousand. About half of them are the Georgia militia. The rest are mostly Louisianans. A few units from Alabama. Nothing yet but a handful from Mississippi.

 Sams sneer was magnificent. At least, he hoped so.

 The Georgia militia. He uttered the phrase the same way he might refer to offal or animal refuse. Ah, yes. The same heroes who retreated precipitously from the Red Sticks during the Horseshoe campaignI can remember Old Hickorys choice words at the timeand then ravaged defenseless towns of friendly Creeks and our Cherokee allies. Jackson had choice words about that, too.

 The situation seemed worth the effort of a gesture. So, although he didnt chew tobacco, Sam rose, stalked over to a nearby spittoon, and used the device loudly. He didnt miss, either.

 After returning to his seat, he pulled the cap off his head and plopped it into his lap. Winfield Scott was right. The blasted thing might look splendid, but it was going to be a pure nuisance in the months ahead.

 One thing well do, he continued, Ive already discussed it with Patrick and Charles, and General Ross agreesis break those Georgia bastards. If we get any kind of a chance, anyway. Have they started their usual atrocities?

 Salmon Brown disapproved of tobacco entirely. But for a moment he looked as if he wanted to use the spittoon himself. They fell upon two families of Indians whod somehow remained near the river. Quapaws, probably, or Caddos, not paying attention to anything except their immediate business. They wouldnt have been Choctaws or Chickasaws.

 He didnt volunteer any details, nor was Sam about to ask. Georgia militiamen were notorious for their brutality and had been for decades. Disemboweling pregnant Indian women, after theyd been gang-raped, was pretty typical behavior. Sometimes the fetus would be mutilated also.

 They could do so with impunity, because the state of Georgia adamantly refused to discipline them. During the war with Britain, Andrew Jackson had become so furious with the depredations of the Georgia militia that hed had an entire unit placed under arrest by regular troops. Unfortunately, hed had no legal choice but to turn them over to the Georgia authoritieswhereupon a Georgia jury had promptly declared them innocent of all charges.

 Break them, he muttered. Then, shaking off the moments anger: Harrisonll try to use the militias numbers, but they wont be much use to him. Not against our regulars, at least. Against the Cherokees, Creeks, and ChoctawsIts always hard to tell. Militias are prone to panic. Leaderships always the key. With strong enough leaders, they can usually beat an equal number of Indians. Although

 Again he shrugged. Well just have to see. Part of the reason they can is simply because the Indians dont ever have much in the way of gunsand especially ammunition.

 Salmon smiled. In that moment, he looked very much like John Browns brother. That wont be no problem here.

 Sam smiled back. In addition to terrorizing slave-catchers and serving as a genuinely excellent spy network, over the past months Browns Raiders had also proved to be superb gunrunners.

 It had taken Henry Clay weeks after his inauguration to cajole and bully Congress into declaring war on the Confederacy of the Arkansas. But the very day after his inauguration, hed made several sweeping decrees prohibiting the sale of weapons or other warmaking goods to the Confederacy.

 And what a laugh that had been! All the Northern and border states had immediately raised an outcry over federal tyranny, the trampling of states rightsJackson leading the charge in the Senateand even some of the Southern states had choked on the measures. Virginias John Randolph, contrarian as always, had immediately turned from being Clays loudest supporter in the House to his loudest critic.

 The only immediate effect had been to double the transfer of arms that Browns Raiders carried down the rivers. It wasnt until the federal government was finally able to get enough armed steamboats patrolling the Ohio and the Mississippi that the flood was stymied at all. Even then, it was never stopped altogether.

 By which time, the proverbial barn door had been locked after the horse escaped. Arkansas was still a bit short of heavy iron plate for armoring the steamboats. But it already had enough cannons and muskets and powder and shot to fight for years.

 It hadnt even had to pay for most of it. Clays campaign and election had stirred the sparks of Northern abolitionism into glowing coals, and Clays War was fanning them now into roaring flames. A political sentiment that might have taken decades to develop was now growing explosively. There were still not more than a few hundred abolitionists in the United States willing to take up arms themselves, on behalf of bleeding Arkansas, either as part of Browns Raiders or the small Lafayette Battalions that were springing up here and there. But thousands of people were willing to donate arms of some sortand tens of thousands willing to donate money, most of them asking no questions about what the money was spent on.





 Salmon was long gone by the time Scott and Bryant returned with Patrick, late in the afternoon. Sam made sure of it. Browns Raiders were a double-edged sword, and they had to be handled carefully. Mostly unseen, a mysterious presence lurking in the heavily forested rivers and the mountains and the woods, they were something of a terror to the enemys soldiers. But if Arkansas let them get too visible, the political repercussions were likely to outweigh the military gains. As it was, Clays partisansnot to mention the entire press of the Deep Southwere doing their level best to portray the Mississippi valley as being overrun by murderous fanatic abolitionists.

 Overrun was absurd, of course. Fanatics could be argued. But murderous was the plain and simple truth. Patrick had put it quite well. Brown and his men were reminiscentperhaps frighteningly soof the Hebrews of the Old Testament. Doing Gods will to defend the Promised Land, and not at all concerned as to how many Philistines got chopped to pieces in the process. Those of them who werent John Browns brand of Calvinist when they joined the Raiders soon became so.

 It was a peculiar variety of that harsh strain of Protestantism, admittedly. John Brown was actually quite tolerant of religious differences and didnt care about theology at all. Hed even accept Catholics in the Raiders, if they were black, and make no attempt to persuade them to abandon popery. But theyd still join every night in the Bible readings. And if Browns interpretation of the Old Testament was perhaps a little eccentric, it had the great advantage for irregular soldiers of being very clear and straightforward. As Patrick Driscol liked to put it, every other verb was smite.





 Winfield Scott washad beenundoubtedly the best trainer of troops in the United States Army. Hed proved that during the war with Britain, and after it hed been placed in charge of developing the armys new manual of drill and field regulations.

 So it wasnt surprising that the first thing he said after resuming his seat in the hotels foyer was I commend your decision not to send those three new regiments into combat quickly. But

 He glanced at Patrick and then shook his head. Dear God, are you really that confident? PatrickSamyou have to meet Harrison in the Delta. At least once, even if its a draw. Even if its a defeat, when it comes down to it, as long as your forces can be extracted afterward and you bloody him badly. Whereas if you allow him unchallenged possession

 Abruptly, he closed his mouth. Then swallowed.

 Excuse me, gentlemen. It occurs to me that if I insist you respect my personal integrity, I must place the same condition upon myself. Not my business, after all, to be counseling officers of what is, in fact and leaving sentiment aside, a nation that is at war with my own.

 Patrick nodded solemnly. Every bit as solemnly, Sam said, Yes, of course.

 But he was finding it hard not to laugh, and he was quite sure Patrick was waging the same struggle. Theyd come to the same conclusion themselves, four months ago. Robert Ross had been particularly adamant about it. Sam remembered the conversation as if itd happened yesterday.

 Weve got to fight them as soon as they cross the river. Not a month later, not a week laterwell, perhaps a week, but no longer than it takes to march our forces down there. Speaking of which

 Relax, Robert, grunted Driscol. Weve been using a good half of the forced laborsorry, the shiftless bastards whore shirking the colorsto finish the road to Arkansas Post.

 Itll be ready by the end of May, Charles Ball added, and theres no way theyre coming any sooner than that.

 No chance at all, agreed Houston. Of the four generals and four colonels sitting around the table in the Arkansas Army headquarters, Sam had by far the best sense of American politics. Ross was British, Driscol was a Scots-Irish immigrant, and the other six officers were all black men whose color had made it effectively impossible for them to engage in politics until they settled in Arkansas. Its now mid-March, so Clay will have just gotten inaugurated. Figure itll take him till the end of April before he can get Congress to declare war.

 Can he do it in the first place, Sam? Ross asked. The British general seemed simultaneously curious and bewildered. I confess I find the inner workings of your American political system well-nigh unfathomable, at times. Youve just explainedit was only yesterdaythat Clays election does not reflect any real sentiment for war on the part of most of the United States. So why would Clay be able to get Congress to agree to a declaration of war?

 Because Congress thatCongressdoesnt have any choice. Most of them are going to be in hot water when the sessions over and they return to their home districts, Robert, and they know it. The truth is, if Clay didnt have to get the Senate to go along also, he could probably get a declaration of war in a week. Every one of those congressmen who voted him into the presidents house has to stand for reelection in two years. Less than two years, now. What theyll all be hoping is that a short, glorious, and victorious war will wash away the memory of their sins.

 Ah. Robert leaned back in his chair. Then, as his gaze moved across the officers at the table, a smile came to his face. Well, then. As your more-or-less official military adviserand one who has often been critical these past monthslet me be the first to state that the prospects that the United States will enjoy a short and glorious war in Arkansas are slim to none. They might still achieve victory, of course. But they wont win quickly, and they certainly wont win easily.

 Most of the officers returned the cool smile. Charles Balls was openly sarcastic. Glorious, is it? Theyll find out all bout glory, come winter in the Ozarks and Ouachitas.

 But I interrupted you, Sam, said Ross. Continue, please.

 Figure hell get his declaration of war by the end of April. Then, itll take himthe army, I should sayanother six weeks to get their units ready to be moved to the confluence.

 Clay could order the preparations to be made prior to a declaration of war, couldnt he?

 Sam waggled his hand back and forth. Yesbut it wont be as easy as all that. Especially if he leaves Jesup as the quartermaster general. Which he almost has to do, now that Brown and Scott have resigned from the army. Hes too short of experienced officers to let Jesup go also.

 You told usagain, just yesterdaythat Jesup was a superb quartermaster.

 It was Sams turn to smile coolly. Indeed he is. But Ill remind you that great skill at doing a job efficiently can just as easily be turned to doing it incredibly in -efficientlybut in such a way that Jesups bosses cant figure out what hes doing. Somehow, in all the smoke and dust and confusion, everything just seems to take forever.

 Why would

 Ross broke off and leaned back. Ah. I see. The war is no more popular in the army than it is in the country at large.

 Wellits not that simple. Harrisonyou can bet on itwill practically jump for joy when he receives Clays summons to return to the army as a major general. So will Gaines, when he finally realizes his ambition to replace Brown as the head of the army and gets rid of his arch-enemy Winfield Scott. Therell be some other officers, too, especially the ones around Gaines, wholl see the war as a route for quick promotion. But most of the officersWell, a lot of them are Southern, true enough, but those are mostly from Virginia and the border states. Theyll certainly do their duty, but they wont be making any great exertions until Congress declares war and its a settled issue.

 Sam half rose, reached into the middle of the table, and placed his finger on a spot in the big map that covered much of it. Then, shifted it to two others. I figure theyll muster at Louisville, St. Louis, and Baton Rouge. Theres another few weeks. Itll take time to assemble enough riverboats, if nothing else. Theres no way Harrisons going to try to move that many troops without using the rivers and water transport. Then Harrison will want to move all his units at onceas best as he can coordinate itso he doesnt get caught on the Arkansas side of the river with only part of his forces available. That can be done, but itll also take time.

 He leaned back from the table into his chair. Mid-June, at the very earliest. Personally, I think itll take him a month longer than that.

 Ross nodded. So. Mid-July. Enough time for one big battle in the Deltaperhaps two, if the engagement is closebefore both armies will have to take time to regroup and recuperate. And by the time thats done, were well into fall. Mostly likely, Harrison will wait until next spring to start his march on New Antrim.

 He started to say something but broke off. Sam wasnt sure, but he suspected Ross wanted to reopen the issue of howor whetherto defend New Antrim. But since that was a contentious issue, and one that didnt need to be settled immediately, the British general returned to the Delta.

 Where in the Delta? I remind you, gentlemen, that I dont much care for the terrain around Arkansas Post. Its not terrible, but the terrain farther upriver would be more in our favor. Their artillery is considerably superiorin weight, at least. The soggier the terrain, the better for us.

 We dont have any choice, Robert, Driscol said. Yes, we all agree, the Chickasaw chiefs are bedlamites to think they can hold Arkansas Post. Buttheyre Chickasaws. Just as fierceand just as dumbas any Scot highlanders. Theyll insist on standing their ground, and

 He shrugged. As much as it might please my more cold-blooded instincts, we cant very well just stand by while they get massacred.

 Patrick started to say something further, but Sam cut him off. In the few weeks since hed arrived in Arkansas, hed inevitably become the principal liaison between the Arkansas Army and the Indian chiefdoms in Oklahoma. And the Choctaws in New Antrim, for that matter.

 Its more complicated than that. The mixed-bloods politically dominate the Chickasaws nowadays, just like they do the Cherokees and the Creeks. With the Chickasaws, thats centered on the Colbert clan. But its a touchy business, and they cant afford to aggravate the full-bloods too much. Those are still, by a large margin, the majority of the tribe, and their blood is up. If it was just up to the Colberts, Im sure theyd already be halfway to Oklahoma.

 With their slaves, Patrick growled. Of which they have a good thousand, for four thousand Chickasaws. A higher percentage than your average white Southern state has, South Carolina aside.

 He leaned forward in his own chair and pointed a finger at Sam. So dont you even think of arguing the matter when the time comes. If we have to save those Chickasaw bastards from their own pigheadedness, theyll pay the price, Sam. Pay it in full. We will strip them of every single one of their slaves. Everysingleone.

 A grunt of agreement went up from the six black officers at the table. Well, five of them. Charles Ball just grinned.

 But Sam wasnt fooled by the grin. The top-ranked black officer of the army of Arkansas wasnt much given to denouncing the injustices of the world. Or even worrying about them in private, for that matter. But he was, if anything, the most ruthless of the lot.

 Sam hesitated for a moment. He didnt care at all about the Chickasaws losing their slaves. The smallest of the Southern tribes, theyd been the one that had adopted slavery more extensively than any of the others. Between that and their own current stupidity, he figured they had it coming. The problem was that any such peremptory action would certainly stir up a lot of antagonism with the other tribes, especially the Cherokees. And relations between Arkansas and the Oklahoma chiefdoms were already tense.

 But





 The ancient Romans knew it, and so did Sam. Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? If the Indian tribes in the Oklahoma portion of the Confederacy depended on the black soldiers of Arkansas to protect them from the United States

 They might as well just sign slaverys death warrant and be done with it. Sooner or later, it was bound to happen, and Sam found himself not caring much any longer how it came to pass. He hoped it could be done peacefully. But if it couldnt, he was no more forgiving of slavery in his new country than hed become of it in his old one. The day hed crossed the Mississippi and set foot on Arkansas soil was the day hed left slavery behind forever.

 The first thing hed done had been to free Chester, Dinah, and Sukey. When Chester had then offered to pay back the cost of his purchaseDinahs and Sukeys, tooSam had refused the money.

 Its blood money, he said curtly. My wifes blood. You keep it, Chester, and make a life for yourself.

 Dinah and Sukey had started wailing immediatelyand it hadnt taken little Andy more than ten seconds to start wailing also, when the boy figured out he might be losing his nursemaids.

 Tarnation, I didnt say you had to leave! Sam exclaimed, throwing up his hands with exasperation. Ill hire you. ButIm warning you!I havent got much money left. So the pays as bad as you could ask for.

 Bettern it was, which was nothing, Mr. Sam, Chester pointed out placidly. In that case, I believe Ill hire on, too. May as well keep saving up my money.






 CHAPTER 31



 New Antrim, Arkansas

 JULY 18, 1825

 

That night, the Womens Council threw a ball for the soldiers of Arkansas. It was specifically intended for the 2nd and 3rd Infantry Regiments and the 3rd Artillery Battalion, who would be marching out of New Antrim on the morrow to meet the invading U.S. Army coming up the Arkansas. But the women werent being particularly finicky about the matter. As long as a man was wearing a uniform of the Arkansas Armyor that of one of the other chiefdoms, of which there were a handful presenthed be allowed into the festivities.

 Winfield Scott and William Cullen Bryant were granted an exception, being distinguished visitors vouched for by the Laird himself. But the three old black women guarding the entrance to the Wolfe Tone Hotel gave them no friendly looks as they were passed through. Nothing personal, just a matter of principle.

 Once they got past the fearsome trio, Scott chuckled. Amazing to see such devotion to the classics, wouldnt you say, William? Given thatId wager a years incomenot one of them can read.

 Bryant gave him a quizzical look.

 Scott waved his hand expansively. They were now halfway into the great foyer, heading for the still larger central dining area that doubled as the ballroom. The foyer was packed with people, and from the sounds coming through the double doors, the ballroom was more crowded still.

 The three-headed Cerberus at the doorand Lysistrata here, right before your eyes. Upsidedown, of course, the way most things are in Arkansas. I predict a wave of births nine months from now.

 Bryant examined a group nearby. Five young soldiersfour of them black, one whitewere exchanging repartee with six young black women. The uniforms of the young men were matched by what came very close to uniforms on the part of the girls. Ballroom gowns, technically, but in addition to being very simply and plainly made, they were all the same color. White, with a bit of blue trim here and there. Bryant was pretty sure theyd been mass-produced for the occasion by one of the same clothing companies that made the uniforms.

 Those were private enterprises, technically. But Bryant had already come to realize that for Arkansansespecially black Arkansansthe distinction between private enterprise and government was much fuzzier than it was in the United States. Chief Driscol and his political subordinates did not meddle with the ownership of enterprises, to be sure. But they did expect the businesses to be cooperative with the chiefdoms policiesand they had the Bank of Arkansas to enforce their desires, if nothing else.

 True, Driscol and Crowells bank was also supposed to be private. But in practice it served Arkansas in the capacity of a state bankeven more so, really, than the Second Bank of the United States.

 There was a certain irony there. Patrick Driscol, in terms of his political ideology, was as ferocious a democrat as any in the Republican Party in the United States. But the American Party was and had been from its inception heavily influenced by the aristocratic attitudes of men like its founder, Thomas Jeffersonnot to mention its current most extreme partisan, John Randolph. For such men, government was always the great threat to their personal liberties, so they emphasized its iniquities. For a man like Driscol, and for those who followed him, the governmentso long as it was their ownserved as both a shield and a support.

 The merits of either view could be argued in the abstract. But in the end, Bryant had concluded it was simply the different perspectives of wealthy slave-owners versus poor freedmen. The methods used by Driscol and his people worked in Arkansasworked quite well, in factbecause the mostly black businessmen of the chiefdom saw nothing peculiar or unreasonable about them.

 Nor, for that matter, did the Cherokees or Creeks. Nor would the newly arrived Choctaws. The southern Indian nations had their own customs and traditions, which harmonized far more closely with Arkansan practice than they ever had with that of Americans. The whole of the Confederacy, as it had emerged since its foundation in 1819, was a hybrid societyand nowhere more so than in Arkansas.

 While ruminating, Bryant had continued to observe the group of young people standing by the entrance to the ballroom, waiting for enough space to be cleared to allow them to enter.

 Two of the girls were obviously mulattos, or perhaps a quadroon in the case of one. The lighter-skinned of the two was very pretty, as was one of the negresses. All six of the girls, however, shared the general attractiveness of lively young women, regardless of appearance. And all of them had very bright eyes.

 So did the young men. Boys, almost. Not one of themor one of the girlslooked to be older than twenty.

 Bryant found it all somewhat unsettling. His upbringing led him to disapprove of Arkansan customs when it came to sex. He wouldnt go so far as to use the term licentious, himself, but he wouldnt strenuously object to it, either, if used by someone else. When it came to relations between the sexes, Arkansan youth behaved in a manner that was quite scandalous by American standards, especially those of New England. Still worse were the lax and tolerant attitudes of their elders.

 But

 Another hybrid, he supposed. The black people who had poured into Arkansas over the past few years had come from shattered communities that had never, even in the best of times, enjoyed much in the way of social cohesion. So, already predisposed toward it anyway, theyd come to adopt and modify many of the cultural traditions of their Cherokee neighbors, if not some of the extreme customs of the Creeks. Just the year before, for instance, the chiefdom had passed a law allowing for matrilineal descent if a family chose to exercise that alternative. Whether they did or not, women were under no restrictions concerning property, and in the event of divorce they were entitled to keep whatever theyd brought into the marriage as well as half of whatever had been acquired since.

 Bryant did not really approve, especially since he knew of several New England women who were already expressing an unhealthy interest in Arkansan custom. Giving such unnatural latitude to women, he thought, led to a casual attitude toward fornication. Bastardy, which was a major scandal and disgrace in the United States, was treated in Arkansas as a purely civil matter. The man involvedor boy, often enoughwas expected to recognize his paternity and, if nothing else, provide support for the child. If he didnt, in fact, the penalties visited upon him by the womans male relatives could be extremely harsh.

 But that was as far as it went. He could marry her or not as he chose. For the girl, the matter was purely one of personal preference. She had no worries of being cast out by her family or of being unable to care for the child. As with the Cherokees, the bastard would simply be brought up by the clanextended and interconnected families, in the case of the negroeswhich were developing some of the features of outright clans, as if it were perfectly legitimate.

 And will you look at that white fellow! Scott chuckled softly. Every bit as lustful as any plantation owners scion, except he wont bother hiding the matter.

 It was true enough. The young white soldiers eyes were just as bright as those of any of his comrades in uniform, and he was paying very close attention to the prettiest of the negresses. She, for her part, seemed to reciprocate his interest. The New England poet and reporter wouldnt be at all surprised to discover that, some nine months hence, the worlds population had been increased by another mulatto.

 Again, Bryants lips tightened disapprovingly. But Scotts quip also brought out that other side of his upbringing. The white Arkansas soldiers lust might be as reprehensible as that of any young plantation owners son in Virginia or South Carolina, but there remained one critical difference.

 Im afraid I cant see the analogy, General. Where I come from, rape is not considered to be a form of seduction.

 Scotts back stiffened. Bryant realized hed offended him. His general disapproval of the situation had made his comment emerge more harshly than hed intended. Winfield Scott was a Virginian himself, after all.

 Fortunately, after a moment, Scott seemed to relax. Indeed, he smiled sardonically.

 True enough, William. True enough. Scott gave the young white soldier another glance, then shrugged slightly. And Im also a soldier, he murmured, and a few days from now that boy might very well be torn in half by a cannonball. So I cant say Ill fret over the possibility he might leave something of himself behind.

 He took Bryant by the elbow. The crush at the door was easing. The group theyd been observing was already passing through the double doors. Finally. Our chance! Come on, William. I confess to being rather fascinated by the chance to see how Arkansans will manage a formal ball. Mind you, I expect the worst.





 So it proved. By the end of the evening, Bryant felt like a lemon on two legs, so sour had he become.

 In truth, it was worse than hed expected. Hed thought to see a primitive, awkward version of what he might have observed in New York, Boston, or Philadelphia. Hed completely forgottenor hadnt taken into accountthat a high percentage of the population of Arkansas had come here from New Orleans.

 That sinful city, with its Creole waysall the worse, for its black Creoles. La Place des Ngres, the semirecognized open market for negroes in northern New Orleans, was notorious for its nightly revels. Its wild dancing to the sound of bamboulas and banzas was now being replicated in New Antrim.

 Finally the band started playing more familiar music, and the young revelers assumed the more dignified stances that Bryant associated with American-style dancing. He heaved a small sigh of relief.

 Alas.

 Not five minutes into the new music, Bryant realized his error. For all the heedless abandon of the previous dances, theyd actually had not much in the way of unsuitable intimate contact. Theyd been group dances, basically: congeries and lines of people weaving in and out. Now, however, the theoretically more sedate music allowed young couples to interact quite personally. Which, indeed, they were doingto a degree that would never have been tolerated in good society in the United States. Not even in Philadelphia or New York, much less Boston.

 It was all rather confusing. Part of him was certain he was observing a modern equivalent of Sodom and Gomorrah. In the making, at least, if not quite yet to the biblical standard. Another part, however, was just as certain that the anger of a wrathful deity was centered on other menthe ones even now advancing upon the sinful city from the southeast.

 Theyd know soon enough, he supposed.





 No.

 Mama!The wails were simultaneous. Imogenes might have lasted a split second longer.

 No way I letting you two out there. No. Not a chance. End of discussion. And Adaline, too much of your shoulder is showing.

 Its not fair!






 CHAPTER 32



 Callender was inclined to give up. Theres no chance shes going to let them out on the floor, Sheff. May as well look for some other partners.

 Sheff was made of sterner stuff. Or maybe it was simply that his interest wasnt exactly the same. For Cal McParland, the twin sisters were very attractive even if much too young. Hed enjoy spending an hour or two with Adaline, sure enough. He didnt even have to guess at that. The weeks hed spent in the care of Senator Johnsons women before he finally recuperated from his wound had been quite pleasant, in that regard.

 But hed enjoy the company of other girls at the ball, alsowith the added incentive that, just possibly, an older girl might have a more concentrated purpose in coming here this evening. Theyd be in a battle very soon. Callender was feeling all of his mortality and the ancient urges that went with it.

 Yes, Adaline was a very pretty girl, and quite vivacious. She was also only thirteen. Even leaving aside that dragon mother, Cals interest in her could only go so far. Three or four years from now

 Was three or four years from now. Cal might very well be dead in three or four days.

 Sheff understood all that. He felt some of it, himself. But, for him, Imogene Johnson also represented something else.

 He didnt care about her age. Well, not much. A pity she wasnt older, of course, but time would pass. That assumed he survived the war, but Sheff didnt see any point in brooding on that. He would or he wouldnt. If he didnt, it was all a moot point.

 But what if he did?

 In the months since hed accepted the Lairds offer of a commission, Lieutenant Sheffield Parker had come to be consumed by an emotion so exotic that it had taken him some time even to recognize it for what it was.

 Ambition.

 Not the cramped, stunted, freedmans version of it, either. This was the great, vaulting, white mans variety. The one that saw no limits between a man and what he might achieve, except the capabilities and determination of the man himself.

 Sheff had spent weeks thinking about it, in the methodical way he did such things. He was not impulsive, the way his friend Callender often was. Perhaps that was the result of their different upbringing, perhaps simply a difference in personality, most likely both.

 So far, hed come to three conclusions. Two of them firm, the thirdfirming up quickly.

 First, and most obviously, he needed to get an education. A real one, not the haphazard affair that a freedmans son got in an American city like Baltimore.

 Fortunately, the means for that were at hand. There were, by now, half a dozen missionary schools in New Antrim and at least three in Fort of 98. Sheff had already begun investigating them whento his reliefthe Laird made the choice unnecessary. Arkansas chief decreed that the army needed a school of its own, and he set it up within a week.

 The teachers were all Christian missionaries, of course. But since the school was secular, most of the education concentrated on the practical business of reading, writing, arithmetic, and the like. That suited Sheffield just fine. He didnt need Bible instruction. That was the one book in the world he already knew. Pretty much by heart, thanks to his uncle.

 The school was military as well as secular, because the Laird also decreed that officers who attended it needed to undergo additional instruction as well. He called it an officers college and asked Major General Ross to oversee it.

 Ross did more than that, actually. He was the colleges principal instructor himself.

 Sheff liked Robert Ross, once he got the measure of the man. And Sheff had an admiration for the Laird that came very close to outright hero worship, and one for Charles Ball that wasnt much the slighter.

 So, inexorably, hed come to the second of his conclusions. Ambition needed education as a means, but it also needed a channel to focus itself upon. In Sheff s case, that would be the army. The only other alternatives were politics and business, and Sheff didnt think he had any particular aptitude for either. Or any real interest, for that matter.

 But he thought he had the makings of a good soldier. And, for what it was worthwhich was quite a bithe had the encouragement of both Driscol and Ross to spur him on. General Ball had had complimentary things to say, also, which was something of a minor miracle.

 So. Education, and a career. That left

 Sheff had no firm opinion of the customs that he saw emerging around him in Arkansas. He didnt share his uncle Jems stern disapproval or his mothers ambivalence. That was mostly because he saw the issue as being personally irrelevant.

 Others could do what they chose. Sheffield Parker wanted to rise as far as he possibly could in this life. And, looking around him at the men he took for his role models, he saw one characteristic in common.

 They were all married. Even Charles Ball, although his uncle would insist that the ceremony that had united him and the notorious Laveau woman was more heathen than Christian.

 Patrick Driscol was married. Robert Ross was married. Sam Houston was a widower, now, but hed been married. Nor was it a race matter. The two outstanding leaders of the Cherokees, John Ross and Major Ridge, were both married. So was Ridges son Johnin his case, to a white girl hed met while hed been in the United States pursuing his education.

 That was the way ambitious men conducted themselves in the United States also, he knew. Sheff couldnt think of a single man of any prominence in America who wasnt married, unless his wife had died.

 So, hed started turning his mind to that problem. No sooner had he done so than the figure of Imogene Johnson had come into very clear and sharp focus. Almost instantly, shed gone from being a very attractive but too young girl to being something completely different.

 The girl was important. A girl to aim for. Her father was a United States senator. Shed been raised in wealth and privilege, even if the privileges had been somewhat constrained by her skin color.

 But the latter, from Sheff s viewpoint, was what made the whole thing thinkable at all. John Ridge had married a white girl, and from what Sheff could determine the marriage seemed to be working out quite well. But Sheff couldnt even contemplate the idea, leaving aside whatever social barriers he might encounter. The idea of a white wife just made him nervous.

 Imogene, on the other hand

 Come on, Sheff. Cal jogged his elbow. Lets mingle a bit.

 Sheff made his decision. You couldnt be an officer unless you were bold, after all.

 No, he said, shaking his head. But you go ahead if you want to.

 With no further ado, he headed for Julia Chinn and her daughters, seated against one of the walls of the great hall. Behind him, he heard Cal mutter something. He wasnt sure, but he thought it had been Damn hero! Youll get us both killed in action.

 Sheff had to consciously restrain himself from adopting a quick march pace. It wasnt easy. By now, that had become his ingrained habit whenever there was something urgent and pressing to be done. He knew that Robert Ross was still critical of many features of the Arkansas Army, especially its small officer corps, but the one thing he would allow was that it was probably the best disciplined and best trained army in existence, when it came to a sergeants basics. Certainly on this side of the Atlantic.

 Imogene spotted him almost immediately. With a new feelingplain warmth, instead of nervous excitementSheff realized that was because shed been keeping an eye on him since the ball started. He didnt begin to understand why the girl was interested in him. But that she was, he was now quite certain.

 In the uncanny way the two had, her twins sudden interest registered on Adaline within a couple of seconds. Now she, too, was watching him come closer. Or, more likelyhe thought he could hear Cals footsteps behind himhis fellow officer.

 After a moment, Adalines gaze began sliding off and then back again, in the awkward way a thirteen-year-old girl tries to act demure in public.

 Imogene didnt bother. Her eyes remained fixed on Sheff the whole time. So did the big smile on her face.

 By the time Sheff was within twenty feet, their mother had spotted him also. The expression on her face made it clear that he was about as welcome as a tornado.

 Fortitude, fortitude. He kept advancing fearlessly.

 The girls will not be dancing, Lieutenant Parker, Julia Chinn announced as soon as he came up. She stated the sentence with the same firmness a granite boulder might announce it was a real, no-fooling rock.

 Oh, certainly, Miz Julia. Theyre still a bit young for such carryings-on. He was quite proud of the smooth way he said that. Not a single stammer or waver anywhere in it, even with his hands properly clasped behind his back. But it occurred to me you might need some refreshments by now, and

 He nodded toward their chairs. If you relinquish these seats, youll never get them back, with this mob.

 He said and did all that smoothly, too. With just the right smile: slight, sophisticated, relaxed, at ease. Fortunately, hed had a better role model for such business over the past few months than hed ever had in his life. Major General Robert Ross did everything with style, and he made it a point to correct his students manners if they lapsedwhich they often didinto the sergeants ways of the older officers of the army.

 Hed heard the Laird grumble once that Ross seemed determined to produce a pack of young officers who acted for all the world as if they were English gentry. Which he thought absurd, given that all but seven of them were black. But on this subject at least, Sheff was firmly in the British generals camp.

 Julia Chinn was staring at him. The hostility was still there in full forceit didnt even lessen when Cal showed up alongside Sheffbut she now seemed a bit startled, also.

 I am thirsty, Mama, Imogene said.

 So am I. And you were just complaining about it yourself, her twin added.

 Chinn glanced at the girls. Then, at the long table at the far end of the ballroom where the drinks were being served.

 Well

 She rallied for an instant. Im not having these girls touching any liquor! Certainly not the blackstrap and applejack theyre serving over there. No wine, neither.

 Of course not, maam. Cal unclasped his hands and motioned toward the table with his right. But I believe theres some apple cider available, as well as tea. And I can probably rummage up some tea cakes, as well.

 I am a little hungry, Mama, Imogene immediately piped up.

 The refrain from Adaline followed as smoothly as if theyd rehearsed it: So am I. And you were just commenting yourself

 Enough! Chinn nodded abruptly. Very well, then. Some tea and cakes would be nice. And, ah, thank you, Lieutenant Parker. You as well, Lieutenant McParland.





 Once the refreshments were brought to Julia Chinn and her daughters, Sheff didnt try to dawdle in their company for more than a reasonably gracious minute or two. Just an officer and a gentleman, doing his duty. If hed learned nothing else from Robert Ross over the past few months, hed learned the difference between a battle and a campaign, and a campaign and a war.

 This was a campaign at the very least. He hoped he could avoid an outright war.

 Youre still plotting, arent you? Cal grumbled after they left.

 Yes.

 Sheff kept an eye on them throughout the next hour, maintaining proper position. Once he saw that Julia was finally taking the girls out of the ballroom, he moved to intercept them just outside the hotel. By now, Callender was no longer with him. Hed gotten distracted by the dancing, followed by a friendly argument with another artillery officer. The sort of argument that two young men get into, neither of them knowing much concerning the subject they were debating and both of them absolutely certain they were correct. A complete waste of time, so far as Sheff was concerned.

 He emerged out of the shadows just as the Johnson women came off the veranda onto the street.

 Miz Julia. What a surprise. I was just leaving for the barracks myself. I need to be up early tomorrow to see to the arrangements for the march. He gave the twins a courteous nod. Imogene. Adaline.

 Chinn was looking at him suspiciously. So it seemed, at any rate. The light shed by the two lamps on the veranda was poor, and the streets beyond were completely dark except for an occasional lamp in front of a tavern.

 Sheff had come prepared for that, of course. He didnt think he was the smartest young fellow around, not by a long shot. But he was possibly the most methodical and systematic.

 He held up the oil lamp in his hand, which he hadnt lit yet. Ive a lamp handy. If youll give me a moment to strike a light, perhaps I could escort you home.

 Julia had given up her rooms at the hotel six weeks earlier, foreseeing the prospect of an immense influx of Choctaw refugees. Shed rented rooms in one of New Antrims few good boardinghouses, just four blocks up the street. The lodgings werent as spacious as theyd enjoyed at the Wolfe Tone, but the boardinghouse was considerably quieter than the hotel, and the food was better. The black family who owned and operated the boardinghouse and its adjacent tavern were freedmen from New York, who had experience in the trade.

 She hesitated for a moment. Quite obviously, torn between the impulse to refuse and the practical reality that walking in the dark down New Antrims streetsthe main street perhaps worst of allwas a chancy business without a lamp. Even in boots, much less good shoes.

 WellI was thinking of hiring a carriage.

 Sheff waited patiently, the very soul of politeness, while Julia worked out the arithmetic herself. True, New Antrim did have public carriages. Quite a few of them, in fact, since that was a trade that was open to black people in the United States. Mostly simple buckboards in the summer and booby huts in the winterthe ungainly sleighs that were sometimes called Boston boobies. An occasional shay or even a Dearborn here and there.

 The problem was that the city also had, by now, a population as large as that of any in the United States outside of New York, Philadelphia, Boston, and Baltimore. And if the population was proportionately much poorer, that was mostly due to the absence of much in the way of a wealthy upper crust. The average resident of New Antrim wasnt probably any worse off than the average resident of New York or Philadelphia, certainly not the average immigrant. Most of them could afford a carriage, now and then, for special occasions.

 Which tonight most definitely was. In a few days, Arkansas would be fighting for its very existence. The whole city was turning out to cheer on its army, whether they could get into the Wolfe Tone or not.

 Well

 Oh, Mama.  That was Adaline, not Imogene, expressing simple impatience. Imogene wasprobably wiselykeeping her mouth shut.

 A strange little smile came to Julia Chinns face. It seemed so, at least, to Sheff. More sad than anything else. He wasnt sure, though. The lighting on the veranda really wasnt very good.

 Very well, Lieutenant. And thank you for the offer.

 On the way to the boardinghouse, Julia began questioning Sheff. Pointed questions concerning his own prospects, to his surprise, rather than the general inquiries hed expected regarding the upcoming campaign.

 But why the infantry, Lieutenant Parker? ItsWell, I can only go by what mythe senator saysbut Dick tells me the infantry is the lowest-regarded of the service branches. At least in the United States Army.

 Thats true, maam. Engineers are held in the highest esteem in the American army, followed by artillerymen, cavalrymenand, sure nough, infantrymen at the very bottom.

 He gave her a smile that he hoped looked confident. Assuming she could see it at all, in the light thrown off by a single lamp. But the thing is, Miz Julia, the U.S. Army is mostly designed for peacetime. The main thing they do is build dams and the like. And since that sort of civil engineering requires advanced mathematicsthe artillery also, to some extentit draws the best educated men.

 He shrugged. Which Im not. But the Laird doesnt look at it the same way, in any event. Neither does General Ball. Arkansas is mountain country, from a military point of view.

 Most of the people dont live up there, Adaline objected.

 Yes, I know, Miss Johnson. Most people in Arkansas live in New Antrim, the Fort of 98, or somewhere in the river valley. But thats not where any big war will be decided. Our enemies can probably take the Delta and the lower river valley, if they try hard enough. Maybe even New Antrim. They cant take the Ozarks and the Ouachitas. Thats where Arkansas lives and diesand thats infantry country.

 Theyd reached the boardinghouse. Arkansas has the best infantry in the world. Thats our opinion, anywayand we aim to prove it, sometime in the next week or so.

 Sheff held the lamp a little higher to allow the women a good view of the short staircase. Its been a pleasure, ladies.

 Be careful, Sheff! Imogene blurted out. Please be careful!

 In the dim lighting, right then, she looked much older than she was. A young woman instead of a girl. Sheff thought his heart might have skipped a beat or two.

 Or three. Lord, she was pretty.

 Please be careful, she repeated.

 Imogene, stop carrying on, her mother scolded her. But there wasnt much heat in it.

 Thank you for the courtesy, Lieutenant. Well be going in now. Please take our best wishes with you. AndWell. Be careful.

 A moment later, she was shooing the girls into the boardinghouse. Sheff waited until the door closed, and then went on his way.





 As soon as they got into the house, Imogene raced over to the small window that gave a view of the street outside. Within a second she had her nose pressed to the pane.

 Imogene, stop carrying on!

 Hes gonna get hurt, Mama, the girl whispered. I just know he is. Maybe even kilt.

 Its going to get hurt, not gonna. And if I hear you say kilt again, youll be the one kilt. And take your face out of the window!

 Imogenes nose didnt budge.

 Oh, Mama, please. I really like Sheff.

 Julia sighed. She wasnt really up for this battle. The problem was

 She liked Sheffield Parker herself. Quite a bit, in fact. He seemed like a very levelheaded and reliable young man. Quite well suited to Imogene, actually, who was a bit too high-strung.

 But it just wouldnt do. Richard would have conniptions at the idea. And while Julia didnt have the same emotional reaction, she didnt really disagree with him. A person had to be cold-blooded about these things. The best chance Imogene and Adaline would have in this world, with everything else they had against them, would be to marry white men. Not a negro boy whose skin was almost literally as black as coal. It didnt matter what else might be true about him. Not until the afterlife, at any rate.

 Hes going to get hurt, Imogene said. Oh, Mama, I just know it!

 Under the circumstances, Julia decided to settle for the grammatical victory.






 CHAPTER 33



 The Arkansas River
Three miles downstream from Arkansas Post

 JULY 22, 1825

 

Gloomily, Major General William Henry Harrison watched men from one of the batteries of the 1st Artillery struggling with a six-pounder whose carriage had gotten stuck in the mud by the riverbank. They were having to manhandle the thing up onto dry landdrier land, ratherbecause the footing was so bad that trying to use horses for the purpose would have been more trouble than it was worth.

 Wish we had some oxen. That came from Stephen Fleming, one of the young lieutenants who served as an aide to the general.

 And what good would that do? Harrison almost snarled the words. He pointed a finger at the battery, whose three other guns and two howitzers had finally been dragged clear of the muck on the riverbank. Thats supposed to be field artillery, you

 He bit off the rest. Then, after a moment to steady his temper, continued in a more even tone. The whole point of light artillery, Lieutenant Fleming, is to be able to maneuver with it on a battlefield. Maneuverwith oxen! Do you know how fast a team of oxen can pull a cannon? Any cannon, whether its a four-pounder or a siege gun?

 Abashed, the young lieutenant avoided his commanding generals gaze. Uh. No, sir. I dont.

 One. Mile. An. Hour. Harrison shifted his glare from the hapless officer to the battery crew still struggling with the six-pounder. Which is just about what were managing as it is.

 He looked up at the sun to gauge the time, rather than taking the trouble to pull out his watch. It was already at least an hour past noon. No way to begin the assault on Arkansas Post until the morrow, at the earliest. Theyd lost another day.

 The whole campaign, thus far, seemed to be nothing more than one lost day after another. Silently, Harrison spent the next few seconds cursing Thomas Jesup and the Arkansas Delta in about equal proportions.

 That done, he spent considerably more time cursing militiamen in general and the Georgia militia in particular. Their slack habits, near-constant drunkenness, and indiscipline had cost him at least as much in the way of lost days as fouled-up logistics and soggy terrain.

 Hed been warned about them by Andrew Jackson himself, when hed paid the Tennessee senator a visit at the Hermitage in mid-April. Harrison had decided he could afford to take the time to do so, since his supplies were so badly snarled it would be at least two weeks before anything got moving again.

 Jackson had been cordial, and the visit had gone smoothly. There was no love lost between the two men, to be surenever had beenbut Jackson was being careful. The running stream of caustic and excoriating comments he was having published in the nations newspapers concerning Clays War were always aimed entirely at Henry Clay and John Calhoun and the politicians around them. Toward the U.S. Army itself, Jacksons stance was friendly and supportive. In public, at leastand in private as well, if the tenor of Harrisons visit with him was any gauge.

 No militias worth much, of course, unless youve got time to train them thoroughlywhich you usually dont, because their terms of enlistment are so short. But the Georgians are the worst of all.

 Theyd been standing in the front yard of the Hermitage when Jackson made the comment. He pointed to an aged hound lying in the shade by the wall of the house. Old Hussar, over there, is no lazier. The difference is, he dont drink, he dont gamble, he dont stealwell, not much; nothing compared to what a Georgian willhe dont rape all the womenfolk he can get his paws on, he dont sass you, he dont argue every blasted thing under the sunJackson took time for a breathand he dont run off in a panic if a rooster crows or a cat hisses at him.

 That bad?

 Jackson nodded. That bad. The worst of it is theyre also the biggest braggarts in the country. If you didnt know better, just listening to em, youd swear that their forefathers whupped Alexander the Great and Julius Caesar, and their own martial accomplishments put those to shame.

 Jackson barked a sarcastic laugh. Southron valor, they call it. Bah. I wouldnt trade a whole company of Georgia militia for one Tennessean or two Kentuckians. Well. Three Kentuckians. You always got to subtract one Kentuckian on account of the whiskey consumption.

 At the time, Harrison had thought Jackson was exaggerating. The man was notorious for his vindictive temper and his unrelenting feuds, after all. The stories of his clashes with Georgia militiamen during the war with the Creeks were well known.

 Now, three months later, Harrison was more inclined to think Jackson had been light-handed in his condemnation. Evenhanded, for sure. The bastards were that bad.

 Hed had the unit that committed the outrages on the Quapaws put under arrest as soon as he heard about the incident. But he was sure thered still be Sam Hill to pay when the newspapers got hold of the story. Which they surely would, as many pestiferous reporters as the army had hanging around it, like flies on a horse.

 Harrison took a few more seconds to silently curse newspapers and newspapermen. And the abolitionist maniacs and bedlamites who were egging them on. What had the world come to, when a military campaign against Indians and rebellious negroes had to worry about maintaining a so-called good press?

 To be sure, any competent commander would punish soldiers who committed flagrant atrocities, even against savages. But that was simply for the purpose of maintaining discipline. Nobody actually cared that much about the incidents themselves. It wasnt as if any treatment was being visited on the savages that they didnt commit themselves, after all.

 ButHarrison did have to concern himself over the business. Hed been given explicit instructions by the president. By the secretary of war, also, but for Calhoun that was obviously just a formality. Henry Clay, on the other hand, had been quite serious about itand, for once, Harrison didnt think that had been purely a matter of maintaining his political reputation. The newly elected chief executive had seemed genuinely concerned that the conflict with Arkansas be waged according to civilized rules of war.

 The idiot. Only a man whod never gotten any closer to a battlefield than

 Harrison broke off his sour train of thought. The battery had finally gotten the last of the six-pounders clear of the mud. Thank the heavens. Now, maybe they could

 A different young officer was at his elbow, looking fidgety. John Riehl, his name was, if Harrison remembered correctly.

 What is it, Lieutenant?

 Ah, sir, the commander of the Louisiana militia is complaining that his men arent being fed properly. Well. The foods all right, I guess, but hes real peeved that the regulars and the Georgia

 Tell that fucking! No. Never mind. Ill tell him myself. Where is he?

 Riehl looked more fidgety than ever. Ah. Well, thats the other thing. He and the rest of the Louisiana officers went off afterwardafter he chewed on me, I meanto have lunch on the Chesapeake to get some relief from the heat, andwell.

 Dont tell me, Harrison said through gritted teeth.

 Yes, sir. She ran aground on a sandbar.

 Lieutenant Riehl cleared his throat. Again.

 The Arkansas River
Missouri Territory

 JULY 22, 1825

 

Some four hundred miles to the northwest, Colonel Zachary Taylor wasnt in any better mood. In his case, though, the source of dissatisfaction was far more concentrated. The Missouri militiamen hed been saddled with werent really that much of a problem, and he had no complaints at all concerning the terrain. The plains in that part of Missouri Territory that some people were starting to call Kansas were perfectly dry this time of year, even next to the river.

 It helped, naturally, that the Arkansas River this far upstream from the Confederacy didnt bear much resemblance to the big river that passed through Fort of 98, New Antrim, and Arkansas Post before it emptied into the Mississippi. The Arkansas was the fourth longest river in North America, with its headwaters in the Rocky Mountains far to the west. But for most of its lengthespecially in midsummer, after the end of the snowmeltit was a modest affair.

 No, Taylors foul mood was solely and entirely due to one single man.

 Robert Mitchell. Plucked from obscurity as a junior state representative from South Carolina by the secretary of war personally, and foisted on Colonel Taylors Army of the Missouri as a special commissioner to handle relations with the Indian tribes of the Great Plains.

 It sometimes seemed to Taylor that John C. Calhouns madness had no limits. Had the former senator from South Carolina suffered from simple dementia, the dementia itself would have conscribed his sphere of action. But Calhouns disease was a mania, more than maniacalism as such.

 SoHeaven grant mercyit possessed theories. Notions. Schemes. Delusions of certainty, and convictions that were unshakable in direct proportion to their lack of bearing on reality.

 All of which traits were concentrated in the person of Robert Mitchell to a degree that was genuinely breathtaking. As if the man were the distilled essence of lunacy, given two legs to walk aboutand, alas, armed with the powers given him by the secretary of war and the president of the United States.

 The division of authority was clear and simple. Colonel Zachary Taylor was in command of all U.S. military forces assembled under the somewhat preposterous name of the Army of the Missouri. To put the matter in less grandiose perspective, he commanded the 2nd and 6th Infantry Regiments and two full batteries from the 3rd Artilleryabout fourteen hundred men, all told.

 Special commissioner Mitchell, however, had been given full authority to treat with any and all Indian tribes west of the Mississippi, saving only those who were part of the Confederacy. He had the power to make whatever treaties and arrangements with said tribes he felt would be to the advantage of the mission of the Army of the Missouri, with no regard whatsoever for what the actual commander of that army might think.

 It was sheer madness. The only thing Taylor could figure out was that Calhoun, havingvery disapprovinglyseen the way in which, in years past, Sam Houston had transformed a similar special commission into something that bore a definite resemblance to a magic wand, had decided that the magic resided in the title, not the man.

 Sam Houston had been adopted by the Cherokees as a teenager, was intimately familiar with their ways and customs, and was fluent in most of the languages of the southern tribes: Cherokee, Choctaw, and the major dialects of the Creeks. He also had a passing knowledge of some of the Plains Indians tongues.

 So, naturally, Calhoun had appointed a man to the post who spoke no Indian languages at all, had never in his life had any real contact with Indians, and was still confused by the fact that the chiefs of the southern tribes wore turbans instead of feather headdresses.

 Sam Houston had also had a detailed and in-depth knowledge of the political factions and political issues in dispute among the Indian tribes he dealt with. Whereas it had never occurred to Robert Mitchellstill didnt, so far as Taylor could tellthat Indians had any politics to begin with. He seemed to think they behaved according to some mystical inner tribal essence, or something.

 But that wasnt surprising, really. Mitchell was one of Calhouns most ferventsay better, feveredpartisans. So far as he was concerned, the only people in the world who really deserved the term people at all were white men. All the other breeds werent simply lesser ones. They were, in some fundamental sense, not really human to begin with. Semi-intelligent two-legged animals, basically, who managed with great effort and usually ridiculous results to mimic some of the simpler aspects of human society.

 To make things worse, the only trait Mitchell shared as special commissioner with his predecessor Sam Houston was that he was scrupulously honest. So there wasnt even the hopeusually a near certainty, with Indian agentsthat hed soon be distracted from his Great Mission by the usual vices of peculation and swindling.

 Not that his personal honesty did any good for Indians. Since Mitchell couldnt speak any of the indigenous tongues, he was forced to rely on the existing network of Indian agents to translate for him and to carry out the ensuing decisions and agreements. Which, of course, they did in their usual corrupt manner.

 Houston had had to deal with them also, of course. The difference had been that Houston spoke the languages as well as they did, was approximately five times smarter, and had a network of his own in most of the major tribes that was better than that of his subordinates. Hed overseen them the way a great gray wolf oversees foxes. The foxes had been on their very, very best behavior.

 But worst of allworse than anythingwas the mans temperament. Mitchell was so infuriatingly chipper.





 Splendid news, Colonel! The Kiowas have agreed to join our cause!

 With an air of great self-satisfaction, Mitchell plopped himself down onto one of the stools in Taylors command tent. Taylor was still using the tent for his headquarters until the forts construction was finished, even though hed started sleeping in the commanders quarters of it. This was a big fort being erected on the Arkansas, since it would have to serve as the base of operations for the whole campaign. The noise from the construction work during the day was too much to allow for the conduct of business.

 Mitchell bestowed a beaming smile on the colonel and his two medical officers, whod been in the tent discussing the health issues facing the army. They were Surgeon John H. Bendel and Assistant Surgeon Charles Stewart.

 Taylor had insisted on having a full medical unit attached to the expedition, all the way down to two ambulances staffed by each of the artillery batteries. Hed known Bendel for years and had specifically requested him. Stewart was a Rhode Islander, new to the service. But in the short time since hed been with the expedition, Zack had been pleased with his performance.

 As he was again, that moment. Hed come to realize that Stewart had a very sly, very dry sense of humor. Quite different from Zacks own, but still one he could appreciate.

 The assistant surgeons eyes widened. The Kiowas have expressed a deep concern over the prospect that an independent Arkansas might stir unrest among black slaves in the Carolinas? Who would have imagined?

 Taylor managedbarelyto choke down a laugh. Bendel didnt do quite as well.

 Mitchell gave Bendel a quick glare, followed by a longer one aimed at his assistant.

 I fail to see the humor, Mr. Stewart. Of course the savages dont care about the maintenance of proper racial order in the United States. What difference does that make? The Kiowas have agreed to join our campaign against the Confederacy, which is all that matters.

 There were so many errors in that last sentence that Taylor didnt know where to begin.

 So he simply started with the subject.  WhichKiowas, Robert?

 Ah. Well, two of their chiefs. Mitchell pronounced two names, neither of which meant anything to Zack. That was assuming that the special commissioner was pronouncing them correctly in the first place, which was about as likely as snow in July.

 Im not actually sure which clans they represent, he admitted.

 Well, that parts easy enough, said Taylor. They didnt represent any. The Kiowas arent divided into clans.

 Butthey have to be.

 Clearly, Zack had contradicted one of Mitchells certain pieces of Indian lore. He might as well have said the sun rose in the west. There were two things the special commissioner Knew To Be True. Indian chiefs all wore feather headdresses, and Indians all belonged to clans.

 Why? grunted the surgeon. Were not divided into clans.

 Leaving aside Scotsmen, Baltimore plug-uglies, and opera enthusiasts, his assistant quipped. The Rhode Islanders derision for Mitchell, however, was momentarily overridden by simple interest.

 Is that indeed the case, Colonel? he asked. I confess I labored under the same misapprehension as the special commissioner.

 Bendel answered before Taylor could. Like Zachary, hed spent years serving on the frontier. Theyre all called Indians. But the truth is, Charles, thats just a white mans notion. Theres as much difference between the southern tribes like the Cherokees and the nomads on the plains as there is between a Frenchman and a Mongol. Their languages arent remotely similar, their customs are different, their religion is differentnative religion, I mean, insofar as the Cherokees still retain itand the whole way they look at the world is different. Theres no love lost between them, either, believe you me.

 Taylor chimed in. The Kiowas dont reckon descent through the mother, the way the southern tribes do. And, no, they dont have clans of any kind. Theyve got loosely defined ranks, instead. Its a nobility of sorts, except a man can move up or down depending on his accomplishments and behavior. The most important divisions, for men at least, are the six military societies. The Dog Soldiers, theyre called.

 Unable to resist the temptation, he turned back to Mitchell. So, special commissioner. Which Dog Soldiers may we rely upon to augment our forces? And were these two chiefs ranked Onde or Odegupa? Itll make a difference.

 Mitchell just stared at him.

 After a few seconds, Taylor gave up the momentary pleasure. Never mind.

 The special commissioner rose and headed for the entrance to the tent. Once he had the flap pulled aside, he gave Taylor a cheery look over his shoulder. I dont see what difference it could make, Colonel. Once they receive the guns I promised them, theyll surely rally to our side.

 Then he was gone.

 Marvelous, Bendel muttered. Just what the world needs. Well-armed Kiowas. Do you know, Zackjust yesterdaythe lunatic told me he was planning to pass out arms to the Comanches also. In the event they rallied to our cause, of course.

 Oh, God help us.

 Yup. Comanches. Between whom and the Huns the only difference I can see is that the Huns were less barbaric. Everybody hates Comanches. Even more than they do Kiowas.

 The assistant surgeon had been looking back and forth between them. This is a problem, I take it? Forgive my ignorance. Im from Rhode Island, as you know.

 Bendel grunted. Yeah, Charles, you could call it that. A problem. Our blessed special commissioner has been making promises to provide guns and ammunition for every tribe of nomads anywhere in the area. The worst of it is, hell likely manage to do it, too, with the backing hes got from Calhoun.

 For which, Taylor growled, well get practically no help in our campaign against the Confederacy. No direct military help, for sure. The Osage and the Kiowascertainly the Comancheswill raid outlying Cherokee and Creek settlements. Commit their usual depredations and outrages. That will have the effect of infuriating the southern Indians and making them cleave more tightly to the Arkansanswhich is exactly the opposite of what we should be doing.

 He ran angry fingers through hair caked with dust and sweat. Best of all, when the wars overwhich it will be, sooner or laterthe idiot will have scattered guns all over the southern plains, putting them in the hands of the worst tribes I can think of. God damn the fucking bastard. The armyll be putting the pieces back together for years.

 Years and years, the surgeon agreed. Trust us on this, Charles. A war between the United States and the ConfederacyCherokees or Arkansas negroes, it really doesnt matterwill be a pretty civilized business. He nodded toward the tent entrance. Which the wars well have with those nomad savages out there for twenty or thirty years afterward will be anything but.

 Taylor was tempted to add a verbal damnation onto the heads of Henry Clay and John Calhoun, too. But he was a career officer, so he stifled the impulse. That would, after all, technically be insubordination. Even if the chances that either of the medical officers in the tent would report him were about as likely as snow in August.

 Some miles east of the Arkansas River
Missouri Territory

 JULY 22, 1825

 

Its him, all right. Scott Powers lowered his eyeglass. Now all we gotta do is figure out how to pry him out of there.

 Lying next to him in the tall grass, Ray Thompson squinted at the distant bandit camp. Why cant we just ride in there? You said his cousin was a friend of yours.

 Wellhe is, in a manner of speaking. But by now hell have heard about the reward offer. And, ah

 Right. He might suspect your motives.

 Powers grinned mirthlessly. About as likely as a rooster guarding hens, who spots a coyote coming. Well, hello there, my old friend the rooster. I just dropped by to pay a social call. 

 Ray went back to studying the bandit camp some hundred yards away. Why hasnt he turned him in for the reward, do you think?

 Scott shrugged, insofar as a man could manage that gesture while lying prone. Who knows? Eddies another Georgian. You know the type. Walk around calling themselves Southrons and challenging their images in a mirror to a duel because of some slight nobody else noticed. Crazy bastards can find a point of honor in anything. Theres no way hes going to let us have Andrew Clark without a fight.

 Ray sucked his teeth. You know, Scott, you could have maybe mentioned this little problem a few weeks back. Before we added horse stealing and card cheating to our track record.

 We let the horses go, and we didnt get caught cheating, Powers pointed out, reasonably enough. And we would have needed the money no matter what. Besides, I got a plan.

 A plan. Thatll somehow make it possible for two menyeah, sure, were the most dangerous desperadoes on the frontierto win a gunfight with eleven bandits. And an assassin, even if we know he cant shoot straight. You got a plan.

 The same grin came back to Powerss face. Well, of course thats not the plan. Do I look like an idiot? But why bother? When

 He rolled a little sideways to clear his left arm and pointed to the southwest. When just over yonder we got two regiments of the U.S. Army to do the work for us. Even got artillery.

 Rays eyes widened. You think

 Hey, look. Zack Taylors in command. Hell remember us from when he commanded Cantonment Robertson at Baton Rouge.

 Sure he will, Ray said sourly. Hell remember we tried to swindle his commissary.

  Swindlings an awful harsh way to put what I prefer to think of as frugal business practices. Its hard to keep meat from getting wormy in the Delta. Even if you try.

 Its the way hell put it. Taylors always been unreasonable.

 Scott shook his head. Fine. But its beside the point. All we have to do is convince him we know where Mrs. Houstons killer is. For that, our perhaps unsavory reputation will work in our favor. Thieves falling out, as they say.

 Thompson thought about it for a moment. You think?

 Scott did that awkward prone shrug again. Worth a try, the way I see it. It sure beats eleven-to-two odds in a gunfight. Even ten-to-three, figuring that any dang fool who cant hit a man as big as Houston at point-blank range is likely to shoot one of his own.

 Well, thats true.






 CHAPTER 34



 Arkansas Post

 JULY 23, 1825

 

By the time Sheff s 3rd Infantry got close enough to get a good view of Arkansas Post, the fort was already under siege by the United States Army. Had been, in fact, for at least two hours. Theyd been able to hear the cannons from miles away.

 Now that Sheff could actually see the Post, he realized that the U.S. forces had begun a mass assault. Hed been puzzled by the fact that the Laird had been moving them so slowly this morning until the quick march of the last two miles. The regiments had needed less than four days to complete the march from New Antrim to their camp upriver the night before. Theyd been up and ready by five oclock this morning and could certainly have reached the Post before the siege had barely gotten under way. Instead, the Laird had taken four hours to cover less than ten miles. For Arkansas regiments, except for the last stretch, that amounted to a leisurely promenade.

 Now, fitting the sight with what he already knew of their battle plan, he understood. Sheff wondered if hed ever learn to be that cold-blooded and calculating.

 He wasnt sure. But hed work on it.

 It all made sense, of course. Half of the U.S. forces would be tangled up in the assault on the Chickasaws forted up in the Post when the Arkansas regiments got within fighting distance. Harrison would have to match an equal number of regiments against his Confederate opponents until he could call off the assaultwhich was a lot easier said than done. By delaying the march, Driscol had partially nullified the Americans numerical advantage.

 It was tough on the Chickasaws, of course. But Sheff didnt see where the army of Arkansas was under any obligation whatsoever to sustain worse casualties in order to rescue them from their own pigheadedness. And he suspected the Lairds cold-bloodedness ran still deeper than that. The Chickasaws were notorious all over the frontier for their pugnacity and independence. Sheff was pretty sure the Laird had no problem at all with the idea of bleeding them half dry before letting them into the Confederacy.

 Neither did Sheff, come down to it. The Chickasaws were also notoriousamong black people, anywayfor being the one southern Indian tribe that had taken to slavery wholeheartedly. More precisely, theyd traditionally used lots of slaves. The only change in the past few decades was that most of their slaves were now black people purchased on the market instead of other Indians captured in battle.

 With their ingrained warrior culture, much more akin to that of Plains Indians than tribes like the Cherokees or the Choctaws, Chickasaw men didnt do much work. Except for fighting and hunting, they thought the proper role for a man was to loll about while the women did all the real labor. So it was hardly surprising that Chickasaw women wanted as many slaves as they could get their hands on.

 In short, as far as Sheff was concerned, the Chickasaws were the southern Indian equivalent of South Carolina gentry. Sheff was just about as likely to shed tears over their plight as he was to shed them over the difficulties of men like John Calhoun.

 Let em bleed. Better them than the regiments. The Arkansan soldiers would bleed plenty enough before this day was over.





 Oh, God damn it, muttered General Harrison. I didnt think theyd get here this soon.

 From his vantage point on one of the artillery berms east of Arkansas Post, hed just gotten a glimpse of the oncoming Arkansas forces. They were using the well-built military road that followed the north bank of the Arkansas, which placed them on the same side of the river as most of his own army.

 He indulged himself in one of those moments of silent cursing that seemed thus far inseparable from the Arkansas campaign. Curses aimed, this time, at the American legislatures of times past.

 Congress, in its infinite wisdom, had drastically reduced the size of the U.S. Army in 1815 and again in 1820. The reductions had cut infantry and artillery to the bone and had eliminated the cavalry altogether as an independent branch of service. Not even dragoon units had been kept.

 The measure had seemed sensible at the time. Cavalry was expensive to maintain, and neither the War of Independence nor the War of 1812 had seen much in the way of cavalry action. The American military tradition was an infantry and artillery tradition, with cavalry as an afterthought.

 That might be fine and dandy, fighting in the relatively cramped terrain of the eastern seaboard amidst a largely friendly populace. Here, fighting in the Delta across the Mississippi, in a countryside whose population was implacably hostile, Harrison was feeling a desperate need for strong cavalry forces.

 He was blind, damnation! He had no way to determine what might be happening in the surrounding terrain, much farther than his own or his officers eyes could see with an eyeglass. Hed learned quickly that sending out the small dragoon units he had in his command was pointless. Theyd either get killed within five miles or be sent in hasty retreat.

 The Delta here in Arkansas was still mostly natural wilderness. The thick woods and underbrush seemed to be crawling with Choctaws. They were quite at home in the terrain and were burning for revenge on the Americans who had just driven them out of Mississippi.

 Browns Raiders were out there, too, somewhere. Harrisons soldiers, especially the militiamen who were usually their target, had developed a real dread of the fanatical abolitionist irregulars.

 Should we call off the assault, sir? asked Lieutenant Fleming.

 Harrisons eyes went back to the fort. Hed spent the first two hours after daybreak bombarding the east wall of Arkansas Post with most of his artillery. Field guns, unfortunately, not one of them bigger than twelve-pounders, and only three of those. Still, theyd done an adequate job of clearing a way in for the infantry, once they got past the outer fortifications. The walls were wooden logs, after all, not stonework. Harrison had been able to move his guns up to what amounted to point-blank range for artillery, since there was no counterbattery fire coming from the Post. Either the Chickasaws didnt know how to use cannons, ormore likelythe Arkansans had taken them out when theyd abandoned the fort. No point leaving the valuable guns in the hands of savages whod ignore them anyway.

 The infantry assault was now in full steam, with both the 3rd and the 5th Infantries engaged. Theyd suffered some casualties, but theyd gotten the fascines in place and were on the verge of storming into the fort through the breaches made by the artillery bombardment.

 That would be bloody fighting, in there, against Chickasaws. But Harrison was quite confident the two regiments could manage the task. Hed had all of his howitzers raining shells into the Post during the artillery bombardment. Between that and the inevitable tendency of Indian forces to disintegrate into small units under pressure, the Chickasaws would not be able to put up a well-organized and centrally directed defense.

 As individual warriors theyd be ferocious enough, as Indians normally were. But it didnt matter. It never had and it never would. Harrison couldnt think of a single battle between coherent and well-led white military forces and Indians in two hundred years that hadnt ended with a victory for the whites and enormous casualties for the Indians. Leaving aside cases of ambush or surprise, or poor leadership, or completely disproportionate numbersnone of which applied here.

 No, Lieutenant. Well have Arkansas Post within two or three hours. I want that fort. We need a solid base from which to continue the campaign upriver, and its far better to seize one of the enemysespecially something this well builtthan have to construct one of our own.

 He turned to summon the commanders of the 1st and 7th but saw that Colonels McNeil and Arbuckle were already trotting up.

 Youve seen them, I assume? McNeil and Arbuckle had enjoyed a perch on the next berm over.

 McNeil simply nodded. Arbuckle, as usual, was verbose.

 Two regiments, I figure, General. Theyll be up to strength better than ours, they being so close to home and us so far away. Call it twelve hundred men to our thousand. But John and I can stand them off, long enoughhere came a sneer and a backward wave of the handfor that horde of militiamen to finally work up the nerve to join the fight. After that

 Harrison disliked talkative officers in general, and Arbuckle in particular. Spare me the obvious, please, he said impatiently. The militias wont be much good, but there are three thousand of them. If you and Colonel McNeil can fix the enemy in place, Colonel Arbuckle, I can get the militias up soon enough to simply overwhelm the foe. Ill give you artillery support, also, once the 3rd and the 5th are into the fort. As much as I can, at any rate, keeping in mind that I need to hold most of the guns by the river in case the Arkansans bring down their steamboats.

 Arbuckle opened his mouth, but Harrison cut him off. Be about it, gentlemen. Now.





 Sheff Parker was attached as a second lieutenant to the leading company of the 3rd Infantry, commanded by Captain Charles Dupont. And the 3rd was leading the march down the road to Arkansas Post, with the 2nd following behind. So he had as good a view as anyone of the evolutions of the American forces as they drew near Arkansas Post. He also had a better angle from which to examine the enemy now, since the military road curved to the north, here, just half a mile from the Post. Most of the American units were no longer out of sight behind the bulk of the fort.

 They were

 Reacting pretty much the way the Laird had predicted. Driscol, either because of his own temperament or because of Robert Rosss coachingboth, most likelywas not in the habit of keeping his officers in the dark regarding his plans. Hed thought that Harrison would take the risk of dividing his forces rather than ignoring the Chickasaws altogether and concentrating everything against the Arkansans.

 That was foolish. Concepts that had seemed abstract and half unreal in Rosss seminars now took on real life and concrete weight. It wasnt just simply that division of forces lowered the numerical strength of a military force. Now that Sheff could see an enemy actually doing it, on a real battlefield, he could fully understand something else Ross had told them.

 Battlefields were incipient chaos, just waiting to happen. The noise alonethey were still hundreds of yards from the fightingwas numbing to the mind as well as deafening to the ears. Add to that the clouds of gunsmoke that would soon be obscuring everything, the shrieks and screams of injured and frightened men, the confused and half-heard orders of officers trying to maintain control in a tornado

 Dividing your forces meant doubling the demands on your brain and nerves at the same time as you lessened your ability to act. It wasnt impossible, as a tactic. In fact, the Laird was planning to do it himself if the opportunity arose. But it did require, as a supposition, that your army was not only well trained but also had an officer corps that was accustomed to working together and operating independently when needed.

 The first might be true of the American regulars, here. Theyd find out soon enough. But the second wouldnt be.

 Couldnt be. Until a few months ago, these American regiments had been scattered in posts all over the country, and it was a country that filled a good part of a continent. Many of those officers had never worked together, and even the ones who had, hadnt done so since the end of the war with Britain ten years ago.





 Never forget something, gentlemen, Robert Ross had told them in one of the seminars. When you read accounts of a battle written afterward, it all seems very primitive. The actions of men with, it would seem, not much more in the way of sagacity than a six-year-old child.

 He stood, then, and began gesturing. His right hand straight out, forefinger pointing down. You, remain here.

 His left hand, forefinger pointing out. You, move around to the leftthat wayand go over there.

 He brought both fingers together. Then, attack the enemy together.

 He dropped his hands and gave them a smile. Doesnt seem like much, does it? Walk a straight line while rubbing your stomach. Any child can do as much.

 Thered been a little titter of a laugh. Ross had shared in the humor for a moment. But the smile faded soon enough.

 Yes, very simple indeed. But youll be trying to do it under the worst imaginable conditions. Conditions that are literally impossible to describe adequately in mere words. Conditions that will hammer your senses, hammer your body, and certainly destroy bodies around you, if not your own; conditions that will leave your mind grasping for sanity. And all the while, as officers, youll be expected and required to think and act coherently. Not only for yourself, but as leaders of men. Imagine, if you will, trying to walk a straight line while rubbing your stomach, in the middle of a house on fire and collapsing around youand making sure all the men following you are doing the same.

 The British general resumed his seat at the table. And nowO ye military geniusesyou propose to divide your forces as well. So you have twice as much to keep track of, and worry about, in the middle of all that.

 The laugh that time had been more than a titter.

 Ross shrugged. It can be done, mind you. Even done brilliantly. But its the sort of thing that requires a good, experienced army and very good officersand all of them with the mutual confidence that comes from joint experience. To put it another way, its no trick for amateurs, or even professionals who are no longer or never were in peak condition.





 They were five hundred yards off, now. Sheff could see the lead companies of the nearest American regiment trying to form a line across the road, barring the Arkansans from coming to the forts relief.

 They werent going to manage it in time, he didnt think. Colonel Jones would follow standard Arkansas practice of coming to within three hundred yards of the foe before ordering the regiment into line formation. That was something General Ross had his doubts about, Sheff knew. But it was a tactical issue that the British general wasnt going to argue with a soldier of Driscols experience if the Laird thought his army could move quickly enough to manage the risky maneuver. The Americans didnt have that much more in the way of cavalry than the Arkansans, after all.

 The terrain wasnt bad, once you got off the road. Not soggy at all, this far into summer. There werent any trees, either, and not much in the way of brush, since the garrison of the Post had kept the terrain clear within half a mile of the forts walls. But it was still rough enough that not even the American infantry would be in good position when the clash came, much less their artillery.

 Sheff could see American artillerymen in the distance, struggling to move some of the cannons from the berms where Harrison had positioned them to bombard the Post. The enemy commander must have separated his artillery units from the infantry regiments theyd normally be attached to, in order to mass all of his guns for the assault on the fort. It had probably seemed like a good idea at the time. But hed pay the price for it now.

 Quick march! came Colonel Joness piercing voice from behind. Artillery, up! 

 Sheff doubled the pace while he and Captain Dupont led the men off the road itselfDupont to the left, away from the river, Sheff to the rightso the field artillery could pass through the ranks and take up position at the front. Even with their rougher footing, the 3rd was still advancing very rapidly. The Laird always thought like a sergeant. Whatever else his army could or couldnt do, the one thing it could do superbly was move.





 Harrison was dismayed to see how quickly the two Arkansas regiments were coming into position. Hed been warned about that by Colonel Zachary Taylorboth in person, shortly before the colonel had left for Missouri, and in his written reports of the clash with Crittenden.

 Harrison had discounted most of it. Taylor had a reputation among some circles in the U.S. officer corpsthe ones who were concentrated in Harrisons own army, as it happenedfor becoming obsessed with minutiae at the expense of the bigger sweep of things. That made him a superb trainer of garrison troops, granted, as even his longtime antagonists Colonels McNeil and Arbuckle would admit. But theyd also pointed out to Harrison, when hed discussed Taylors reports with them, that Zachary Taylor had not much of a reputation as a fighting commander. Certainly nothing compared with Harrisons own demonstrated skills.

 Most of that latter, Harrison had also discounted as the inevitable flattery of subordinate officers to their commander. Still, it was all true enough. Taylors combat record in the war with Britain had been respectable but hardly distinguished. Whereas Harrison had been the victor in two of the major battles of the war, Tippecanoe and the Thames.

 Today, watching the celerity and precision with which the Arkansans were maneuvering their infantry and their artillery, Harrison was developing an uneasy feeling. Hed thought of this war as being, in its essence, not much different from the campaigns hed fought against the British and their Indian allies in the northwestern theater during the War of 1812. A mass of Indiansfundamentally undisciplined and disorganized, even if fired with zeal by Tecumsehwith a small core of British regulars whod been as much exasperated as helped by the actions of their allies.

 But he hadnt yet seen a single Indian since hed arrived in Arkansas, except for the Chickasaws whod so foolishly gotten themselves trapped in Arkansas Post. That was, of course, another predictable trait of the savages. No matter how many times the United States proved to them otherwiseyoud think Jackson at the Horseshoe Bend would have settled the matter for all timeIndians still had a near-mystical faith in the value of fortifications.

 Which, admittedly, did well enough against militiasjust as the forts of settlers were usually good enough to withstand Indian raids. But against trained and disciplined regulars, supported by artillery, not even something as well built as Arkansas Post could be held against a superior force.

 That there were Indian warriors out there in the Arkansas countryside around him, Harrison didnt doubt in the least. If nothing else, he had the ambushes encountered by his small mounted reconnaissance parties to prove it to him. But that was how they were fightingas irregulars, not as an integral part of the Arkansas Army. If the Americans broke and ran, their Choctaw and Cherokee allies would savage the fleeing troops. But so long as Harrisons men stood their ground, it would be a straight-up fight between regular armies.

 Very much, in short, the sort of war that Jacob Brown and Winfield Scott had fought farther east on the Niagara front. And Harrison was now pretty sure, watching the oncoming enemy, that beneath Browns claim of illness when he retired, and Scotts histrionic claims of political principle when he did the same, something much more darkly practical had been lurking.

 Theydidnt think the Arkansas War was going to be anything but a bloodbath. The sort of bloodbath theyd faced willingly at the Chippewa and Lundys Lane when theyd seen the survival of the nation at stake. But not something they felt the need or desire to go through again, for purposes that were considerably less sublime. As even Harrisoneven President Clay, for that matterwould readily admit. Only John C. Calhoun, on the American side, thought this war was being fought over fundamental principles.

 Move it! Harrison bellowed at the two artillery batteries hed ordered out of the berms in support of McNeils and Arbuckles regiments. God damn you, move it!






 CHAPTER 35



 Being one of the few men in the Arkansas forces who was riding a horse, Sam had a fairly good view of what was developing, even though he was positioned behind the 3rd Infantry. So did Winfield Scott and William Cullen Bryant, who were riding next to him.

 The reporters occupied a somewhat peculiar position. As noncombatantsand technically enemy civiliansthey wouldnt be privy to any of the Arkansas Armys battle plans, of course. On the other hand, given the importance to Arkansas of getting American newspaper coverage that was as favorable as possible, Driscol was bending over backward to accommodate them.

 Naturally, hed handed Houston the job of keeping the two reporters happy but ignorant.

 Sam couldnt honestly complain, though. He wouldnt have much to do in this battle until and unless what theyd taken to calling the Georgia Run became possible. Colonel H. Spencer Street, the commander of the 2nd Arkansas Infantry, didnt need Sam to tell him how to handle the regiment in a battle.

 If the Georgia Run took shape, things would be different. Meaning no disrespect to Colonel Street, but Driscol wanted a more experienced commander in charge in the event that a complex maneuver became possible. At that point, of course, keeping Winfield Scott and Cullen Bryant happy but ignorant would be a moot point. What was about to transpire would be blindingly obvious to anyone.

 Street had been perfectly happy with the arrangement. Spence, as everyone called him except in the field, was an unassuming officer. One of Charles Balls naval gunners from the Capitol, later the Iron Battalion at New Orleans, hed steadily worked his way up the ranks in the Arkansas Army because he was immensely reliable and cool under fire. But he wasnt the man to pull off something that required flair and initiative, and he knew it himself.

 The formalities were being respected, anyway. Street would remain in command of the 2nd. Houston would officially assume overall command of a maneuver that involved one of the batteries from the 3rd Battalion as well as Spencers regiment. An impromptu miniature brigade, as it were.

 He glanced over to make sure the battery was maintaining position. When he did so, his eyes met those of John Ridge. The newly commissioned Cherokee lieutenant had been assigned to the artillery, as had his cousin. Major Ridge had insisted on that. The way the Cherokee chief looked at it, if his oldest son and his nephew were bound and determined to put on the green uniform of Arkansas, then theyd damn well learn to use the big guns while they were at it.

 Sam didnt blame him. Who could know what the future might hold? One of the biggest military weaknesses of any Indian tribe was that they had no artillery at all and wouldnt really know how to use it if they did. Soon enough, whatever else, that would no longer be true of the Cherokees.

 John Ridge gave Houston a nod. Then he went back to paying attention to what Callender McParland was explaining to him. For this battle, as new as he was, Johns rank was a formality. In practice, hed be watching McParland to see how it was done. His cousin Buck Watie had an identical position with Lieutenant Thomas Talley, who commanded the other battery that had come with the expedition.

 John would be the one who got all the excitement if the Georgia Run happened. His cousin Buck would be stuck with the unglamorousand deadly brutalbusiness of slugging it out alongside the 3rd Arkansas against the American regulars.

 Sam didnt envy them. That was likely to get purely murderous before it was over.

 Movement in the distance caught his eye. Looking up, he saw what appeared to be three people scuttling through one of the little groves that dotted the plain. He thought they were black but couldnt really be certain. Perhaps sixty or seventy yards behind them, he could see two more people. Definitely Chickasaws, from the costumes. One of them appeared to be a woman; the other, an old man brandishing some sort of weapon. Sam couldnt tell what it was, exactly, this far away. Perhaps a spear, perhaps an antique long-barreled musket.

 Whats that all about? asked Winfield Scott. The former American general was squinting at the same distant little drama.

 At a guess, some of the Chickasaw slaves just ran off, figuring they could make it to New Antrim before the Chickasaw warriors in the Post could get on their trail. Sam nodded toward the woods. Most of the Chickasaws are out there in hiding. The noncombatants, that is. Theyve got, at most, seven hundred warriors. Thats enough in itself to pack the Post fuller of men than it should be. No room for women and children, so the Chickasaws sent them off into the woods. That means women and old men, watching over maybe a thousand slaves.

 Sam gave his head a slight backward jerk. With freedom and sanctuary not much more than a hundred miles upstream. You can figure out what the odds are that theyll be able to keep things under control.

 Ah. The general gave Houston a quizzical look. You dont seem much disturbed by the prospect that your Chickasaw allies will soon be very disgruntled allies.

 Frankly, who cares? Sams face felt tight. Everybody in Arkansas, including me, is sick and tired of Chickasaws. For over a hundred years, the bastards have picked fights with everybody and made slaves out of anybody they could. So fuck em if theyre finally between the hammer and the anvil.

 Yes, I understand. But Id think it would cause you a great deal of trouble. With the rest of the Confederacy, I mean.

 Sam shrugged. Yes and no. The Cherokees and Creeks are none too fond of Chickasaws, either. The Choctaws purely hate them, even if they do speak the same language. Besides, the Choctaws have never engaged much in slavery, not even their mixed-bloods. The Cherokees and Creeks have, but most of the ones who own slavesagain, that little backward jerk of his headare way back there in Oklahoma. The Cherokees and Creeks who live in Arkansaswe figure theres now about six thousand and two thousand, respectivelydont own slaves to begin with. Besides, by now I think its an open question which way theyd swing in the event of a real clash.

 He looked over at Scott and Bryant. Finally, there are all the pure-blood traditionalists. They dont own hardly any slaves, not even the Chickasaw ones. So what do they care if some rich mixed-bloods have to start working for a living?

 He started to add a comment about people like The Bowl and Chief Aktoka but broke off when he heard Colonel Joness shout from ahead.

 Quick march! Artillery UP!

 And here we go, he said.





 Fifty yards behind Houston and the other battery, Lieutenant Buck Watie was feeling nervous. More nervous than hed ever felt in his life.

 He wasnt scared, exactly. But that was simply because fear seemed completely inadequate to the situation. Buck knew the battle planhed been one of the officers at the back of the mess hall when Driscol and Ball explained itand he knew what the role of his battery would be.

 It wasnt complicated, to put it mildly. Theyd stand with the 3rd Infantry and go toe-to-toe with the American regulars, while Houston and the 2nd Infantryand his cousins battery, talk about having all the luck!kept an eye out for the Georgia Run.

 A man got scared when he contemplated taking a risk. This wasnt a risk. This was that crazy white mans way of fighting a battle. Plant yourselfstanding straight up, right out in the open!in plain sight of your enemy, and then swap gunfire until one or the other of you quit. And the reason you quit was because youd been bled dry.

 Madness was what it was. There was no skill involved, no way a man could use his reflexes and cunning. The risk was no risk at all, but a certainty. Such-and-such percentage would die; such-and-such percentage would be mortally wounded; such-and-such percentage would survive but would be permanently maimed or disfigured; such-and-such percentage would suffer temporary wounds; and such-and-such percentage would somehow, miraculously, emerge entirely unscathed.

 The only question was which one of those percentages you wound up falling into. Which was determined by nothing but pure, blind, stupid luck.

 You white people are insane, he muttered to his fellow lieutenant and instructor, Thomas Talley.

 Belatedly, he remembered. Talleys answering grin was all the brighter because the white teeth stood out so sharply against skin the color of old coffee.

 You right, Talley said. We is definitely crazy. On the other hand, we aint color-blind.





 Harrison was up on his horse by now. Everyoneexcept the Arkansanswas moving too slowly.

 Much too slowly. He had the sick sensation a man gets while watching a carriage sliding off a bridge. Every moment of the disaster as clear as crystal, and seeming to take forever. But with no way to move fast enough to stop it from happening.

 God damn it! Get that artillery over there!

 The familiar clap of six-pounders jerked his eyes to the front. He saw two companies of the 1st Infantry staggering back from the enemy. McNeil still hadnt gotten them into a proper line, and already the Arkansan artillery had hammered his lead companies with a volley. Canister, from the looks of it.

 Thankfully, Arbuckles regiment was almost in position. Within a few minutes, that leading Arkansas regiment would be matched up against two American ones, and good ones at that. Coming around the fort the way they were, the Arkansans were hemmed in, too. Even with understrength regiments, McNeil and Arbuckle would have that leading enemy regiment outnumbered, without enough room for the Arkansans to bring their other regiment into play very quickly or easily.

 Itd be brutal, though, if the Arkansans stood their ground. Brutal as all hell.





 Fire! Sheff yelled, echoing Captain Duponts command. He did his best to emulate that high-pitched, piercing tone that both Driscol and Ball had mastered on battlefields. With his natural tenor voice, he thought he did pretty well, too.

 Not that anyoneincluding himcould possibly tell. The whole regiment fired the volley on cue, as if six hundred and fifty men had one single brain and one single trigger finger. Anyones voice, in that incredible white-clouded thunderclap, vanished without a trace.

 His ears were ringing, worse than he remembered them doing at the earlier battle at Arkansas Post with Crittendens army. That was probably because he, now an officer, was standing slightly in front of the line of muskets instead of being part of them. A bit off to the side, of course, but that didnt compensate.

 His brain felt muzzy, too. He shook his head to clear it, squinting at the gunsmoke that obscured everything. They should be

 The answering clap came. Not as loud, perhaps oddly.

 Sheff sensed a bullet whizzing by his head. Felt somethinganother bullet, maybethat seemed to tug briefly at the uniform which was slightly bunched at his waist.

 Other than that, he was quite uninjured. Glancing behind, he could see that at least three of his men had been hit. But looking farther down the line, he was relieved to still see his uncle Jem, now a sergeant in the company, urging the men forward as if he were Samuel himself.

 These were no border adventurers they were fighting today. These were U.S. regulars. Wretched men, as a rule, taken one at a time. Recent immigrants, at least half of them, mostly from Ireland or Germany. Drunkards, gamblers, blasphemers; lifes failures; flotsam and jetsam.

 It didnt matter. They were professional soldiers, trained to do a job and able and willing to do it. Crittendens men had crumpled under a single mighty blow. These wouldnt. The regulars would stand and fight.

 The regiment had reloaded.

 Ten paces forward! Sheff led them into the gunsmoke.





 Houston was standing in the stirrups, straining to get as good a view as possible.

 No use. The damn fort was in the way! Somehow, in all the planning, nobody had thought of that. He could see the two regiments of U.S. regulars that Harrison had brought out to meet the 3rd Arkansas on the road. And it was obvious just from the gunfire and the shouting and shrieking that the other two enemy regiments had broken into the Post and were fighting its Chickasaw defenders.

 But he had no idea at all where the Georgia and Louisiana militias might be found. They were hidden from his view, somewhere behind that hulking fort.

 Driscol and Ball trotted up.

 Patrick had a wry smile on his face. Never fails, does it, lad? Scheme all you want; the god of battles will roll his dice.

 Ball was scowling. Very funny. Patrick, we cant risk it without knowing. If theyre too close to the regulars, well get torn to pieces. Especially after Harrison pulls the rest of the regulars out of the Post. WhichBall pointed at the fighting on the road aheadhe will. Hell have to.

 Sam was already studying that fight and had come to the same conclusion. The U.S. regulars were accounting adequately for themselves, true. No signs of panic, at least not yet. But theyd been caught off guard by the speed of the Arkansas attack, and they still hadnt recovered. Even as Sam watched, another perfectly timed Arkansas musket volley went off, followed by an almost equally perfect volley of canister from the six-pounders McParland had positioned slightly to the north.

 Whichever that American regiment was, up in the front, it was being hammered very badly indeed. Its companion regiment had been partly shielded from the Arkansas muskets, but McParland was concentrating his guns on them.

 The solution was obvious. It wasnt as if Sam really had any other duties, anyway, unless the Georgia Run was on.

 Ill reconnoiter, he said. He spurred his horse into a trot, not bothering to wait for permission from the two generals. He and Patrick and Charles went a long way back together, now. Ten years and counting. After a point, formalities were just silly.





 Harrisons horse was shot out from under him by a volley from the six-pounders. Caught by surprisehed been looking at the Post, trying to gauge from the outside how well that fight was goinghe couldnt free one of his feet from the stirrups in time.

 Fortunatelygreat good fortunethe horses knee crumpled under the carcass. Just enough to leave him room to kick his boot free.

 Hed lost his sword. Where

 Lieutenant Fleming came up with it. Here, sir. The youngster even had the presence of mind to proffer it hilt first. Are you all right?

 He was helping Harrison to his feet as he asked the question.

 Never mind that! Harrison pointed at the Post. Get in there and find out God damn you, sir!

 Fleming was staring at him empty-eyed. Empty-headed, too. A heavy three-ounce canister ball had caught him right in the forehead. Most of his brains were lying on the ground behind him.

 Slowly, he toppled over onto his back. Falling as stiffly as a pine tree.

 Oh, damn you, sir, Harrison repeated. He looked for another aide.

 He found Lieutenant Riehl a minute or so later. But John Riehl was equally useless. Another one of those deadly Arkansas canister balls had taken his left hand off at the wrist. Riehl was holding it in his right hand, just staring down at it. Completely oblivious, it seemed, to the blood pouring out of his left stump.

 Bind yourself up, you idiot, Harrison snarled. Or youll bleed to death.

 Riehl turned puzzled blue eyes up to him. My hand seems to be no longer attached, sir. What should I do?

 Bind yourselfAh! Here!

 Quicklyhe was the commanding general, he had no business being distracted like this!Harrison tore a strip of cloth from Riehls uniform. That was easy because the uniform was torn. There was another wound somewhere on the lieutenants ribs. Probably nothing serious, though, judging from the small flow of blood.

 He tied the tourniquet roughly, crudely, and most of all quickly.

 Report to the rear, Lieutenant.

 Sir, my hand seems to be no longer attached. What should

 Shut up! Harrison looked for another aide. Hed started the battle with three of them.





 Sheff was a little amazed that he still hadnt been hurt at all. Not very amazed, but that was because only a tiny part of his brain was paying attention to the problem.

 Which was just as well, since that part of his brain was gibbering like a monkey.

 But he simply ignored it. Victory was all that mattered. The regiment was all that mattered.

 He looked over and saw that Captain Dupont was lying on the ground. He was groaning and moving a little, so he was still alive. But from the looks of the woundwhat Sheff could see of it, which was a coatee blood-soaked above the waisthe might very well not be in a few days. Hed probably been gut-shot.

 That put Sheff in command of the company. He raised his sword and went at the enemy.

 Ten paces forward!





 By the time Harrison found a soldier who could substitute for the missing aide and sent him into the Post and got back to the front lines, he knew that the situation was rapidly becoming critical. Outnumbered or nottheir other regiment still unused or notthat initial hammering blow from the leading Arkansas regiment had caught his own men off guard and off balance.

 Theyd been kept off balance ever since. The Arkansans were relentless, despite the heavy casualties they were suffering themselves. They kept coming forward, steadilyten paces, fire; ten paces, fireno matter how hard the 1st and 7th fought. By now, the battle was centered just north of the Post, with the Arkansas right and the American left anchored on the forts wall.

 McNeil was dead. Hed been killed just before Harrison returned, a musket ball right in the heart. Arbuckle was still in the fray. Hed even finally managedGod damn him, as wellto get his regiment into line.

 McNeil had been succeeded in command of the 3rd by Captain Jeremy Baisden. The major who should have succeeded him had been killed in the same volley that slew the regiments commander.

 Just as well. Harrison had thought the major was an incompetent. Baisden seemed to know what he was about.

 Youll have to hold them, Captain! Harrison shouted. Until I can get the 3rd and the 4th out of the Post!

 Baisden waved his hand. Then, calmly, went back to his business.

 Good man. Best of all, he didnt talk much. If Harrison had to lose one of his experienced regimental commanders, it was really a pity the Arkansans hadnt killed Arbuckle instead of McNeil.

 He needed another horse. Unfortunately, he seemed to have lost all of his young aides. One dead, one maimedand God only knew where that useless Lieutenant Whatever-His-Name-Was had gotten off to.





 The terrain in the Delta was generally flat, but there were small rises here and there. Sam found one of them within a couple of hundred yards thatfinallygave him a decent view of the entire battlefield.

 He spotted the militia units right away. They were hugging the river, at least a third of a mile from the regulars, who were now completely tangled up with the 1st Arkansas or the Chickasaws in the Post itself.

 Oh, what a beautiful sight.

 There was no need to stand on ceremony. Rising again in the stirrups, he could easily see Patrick and Charles. That meant they could see him also, if they were watching.

 He laughed. As if they wouldnt be!

 He swept off his hata proper one, not that blasted fur capand waved it around.

 Come and get it, boys! Dinners on the table!






 CHAPTER 36



 The first companies of the 3rd and 4th Regiments had just come out of Arkansas Post and were moving into position in support of the 1st and 7th when Harrison spotted the second Arkansas regiment coming forward.

 Hed been expecting that, of course, and already had a battery of six-pounders in position to guard his right flank. Hed take casualties from the coming assault, but for once the Arkansans had been sluggish.

 Get up there! he shouted at the two captains leading the companies emerging from the Post. He stood up in the stirrups and pointed to the battery. Take position! Theyll be coming at our flank!

 It didnt occur to him until after they passed by that he hadnt inquired as to conditions within the Post itself.

 Stupid. He might have a sally from the Chickasaws to deal with soon.

 But, thankfully, it seemed there wasnt much chance of that. The battle was finally turning his way.

 No, sir. Captain James Franks took off his hat and wiped his brow with a uniform sleeve. That only replaced the sweat there with a smear of blood, because that whole side of his uniform seemed blood-soaked.

 None of it his, apparently, judging from his demeanor.

 No, sir, he repeated. There isnt much left, except a lot of bodies. I will say there wasnt no quit in them. Theres probably two or three hundred live Chickasaws hiding out somewhere in therethe place is a mazebut they wont be doing no sorties.

 There was a grim satisfaction in the words. The regulars had known of the Chickasaw reputation, and nothing that had happened in the two hours since the beginning of the assault on Arkansas Post had done anything to modify it. No, sir. There wont be no Chickasaws coming out of there until we let them out.

 Captain Franks was probably right. But Harrison had had to leave much of the artillery behind at the river, anyway, to guard against the steamboats that had finally appeared upstream. The same batteries could have two or three guns moved around to bear on the main entrance to the Post, as well as the breaches. If the Chickasaws did come out, theyd be met with a storm of canister.

 Yes, indeed. The battle was finally

 General Harrison! He looked up, squinting to see who had called him. One of Arbuckles officers. CaptainWhatever.

 General Harrison! The captain was pointing to the north.

 Harrison looked.

 What in the name of

 The Arkansas maneuver made no sense at all. That second regiment was staying much too far to the north, as if it were simply evading Harrisons army. What was the point of that?

 And they werent even developing into a line. Instead, they were

 What were they doing?





 Oh, how splendid! Winfield Scott exclaimed. He was standing up in his stirrups. As tall as he was, that gave him quite a good view of whatever the 2nd Arkansas was up to.

 Bryant was considerably shorter, to begin with. Perhaps more to the point, the incredible din of the nearby battlefield had left his mind feeling numb.

 What are you talking about, Winfield?

 Scott pointed. He was genuinely excited, Cullen could tell. Not even making the slightest attempt to hide it under a patina of calm professionalism.

 Ive never seen one! Read about them, of course.

 The infernal cacophony had also left Cullen more than a bit irritable.

 What are you talking about?

 Its a French column, Cullen! Right out of the Revolution and the early days of Napoleon. Dont think ones been used in a battle in years.

 He might as well have been gibbering in Greek.

 Well, no. Turkish. William Cullen Bryants grasp of the Greek language was actually rather good.

 Hed never heard it spoken. But he could read it, of course.





 Oh, dear God, Harrison whispered.

 The bizarre formation finally made sense. That second Arkansas regiment was ignoring the American regulars altogether. They were sweeping around Harrisons regiments, keeping just out of musket range, and going for the militiamen.

 Who were

 God damn those bastards!

 Who were almost half a mile downriver. Figuring theyd be completely useless in a close assault, Harrison had left them to their own devices while he handled the attack on Arkansas Post. Then, in the press of affairs and the chaos after the Arkansans launched their attack, hed simply forgotten about them altogether, even though hed originally intended to use them to reinforce the 1st and 7th. Hed simply been overwhelmed by too much happening, too soon.

 Naturally, the wretches hadnt come to his aid on their own. If he knew militia officers, theyd have been dancing back and forth trying to decide what to do and spending most of their time quarreling with each other.

 Well, they werent going to have to decide anything, any longer. The Arkansans were going to make the decision for them.

 For one tiny moment, before he suppressed it, Harrison found himself hoping the Arkansas maneuver would succeed.

 At least it meant he could concentrate on fighting that one Arkansas regiment that had been gutting his army from the first moment of the battle. If nothing else, they would go under.





 Sheff was still unhurt, but by now he was in command of the regiments entire right wing. Anchored against the side of the Post the way they were, those companies had been unable to maneuver at all. Nor did they have any artillery support, as the left wing did. It had just been simple, straightforward, volley against volley. Moving closer and closer, until the distance separating them from the nearest American regiment was less than thirty yards.

 Reload!

 He wasnt ordering any further advance. Not unless the left wing came forward and Colonel Jones ordered a bayonet charge. Which Sheff didnt think was likely at all. The Arkansan and American lines had met at an angle. By the Post, not more than thirty yards separated them, but the distance between the Arkansan left and the American right was still almost a hundred yards. That enabled the Arkansan artillery battery positioned on the far left to bring what almost amounted to enfilade fire on their opponents.

 Sheff didnt know whether it had happened by pure accident or by conscious design on the colonels part. Either way, in effect, hed used the companies on his rightSheff s among themto pin the Americans while the companies of his left and the artillery pounded them into pieces. Much the way a barroom brawler might use one hand to hold his opponent while he flailed away with the other fist.

 It wouldnt have worked if the Americans had had guns of their own to bring counterbattery fire. But they didnt. Sheff was guessing, but he was pretty sure the American guns were still stuck in front of the Post or by the river, guarding against a sally by the riverboats upstream.

 As battle tactics went, this one was dandy. But it was rough on Sheff s people.

 Fire!

 The musket volleys were starting to get a bit ragged, as many casualties as theyd suffered. But not as ragged as the ones coming in return. Sheff was impressed that the one American regiment was still fighting at all. Tough bastards, for sure.





 Sam joined up with Colonel Street after the 2nd Regiment had bypassed the U.S. forces tangled up at the Post and were heading straight for the militias. Hed bided his time, since he wanted to gauge how well the militia commanders would handle the sudden crisis theyd found themselves in.

 Just about as hed expected. Officers running back and forth, shouting orders most of which countermanded one another. The men, for their part, doing whatever struck their fancy.

 Some of them had formed a line. Not much of a line, but a line. Theyd even gotten two of their four-pounders into something that approximated a decent position.

 Approximated, no better. The guns werent far enough forward. That was typical of militia artillery. It took experience and confidence for artillery crews to be willing to position themselves far enough in advance of their infantry to do much good. Militias could almost never manage the thing properly.

 Sam couldnt really blame them. Not only did the gun crews need to be confident that they had the skill to pull their guns back into the shelter of the infantry in time; also they needed to be confident that the infantry would be there to shelter them in the first place. More often than not, militia infantry would break, leaving the artillerymen they were supposed to protect high and dry. Ten years earlier, some of the men who were now serving in the Arkansas artillery had been cursing militiamen whod left them exposed to the mercy of British regulars at the Battle of Bladenburg.

 Another chunk of militiamenseveral chunks, rather, and big oneswere obviously making preparations for a hasty retreat. Rout, to call things by their right name.

 Those were the complete idiots. They had to be idiots. There were two thousand Choctaw warriors out there, and at least two hundred men from Browns Raiders. Theyd been lying low, as instructed. But if the militiamen broke and ran, theyd be like rabbits at the mercy of predators.

 Most of the militiamen, about half, were doing neither. They were just milling around in confusion, not sure what to do.

 It aint complicated, boys, Sam murmured, kicking his horse into motion to rejoin the 2nd. You can stand and die, or you can run and die. But either way, lots of you are gonna die today.





 Sheff finally received his first wound. A small one, just a bullet that grazed his ribs. Barely even a flesh wound, and he was too busy anyway to take the time to bind it up. The uniform would be a ruin by the end of the day, but he didnt care anymore. He could barely remember the thrill of that first day hed put it on.

 Truth be told, he was a little relieved. His luck had been too good. Maybe this would even things out a bit.

 Then, not fifteen seconds later, he saw a musket ball catch his uncle Jem in the throat and rip his neck open. Jem had been standing just in front of the line and slightly off to the side. He collapsed to the ground like a pile of rags, dropping his musket.

 Sheff stared at him blankly for a moment. But there was nothing he could do.

 Nothing at all. With that wound, his uncle would bleed out long before any aid could get to himand no possible medical treatment could prevent his death, anyway.

 Ruthlessly, Sheff stifled the spike of anguish that started to come. Only victory mattered. Only the regiment mattered.

 Reload! he shouted, channeling the grief into his voice, bringing it to just the right high pitch for a battlefield. More like a shriek than a shout. It was the first time hed ever really done it rightand he knew hed never forget how to do it again, no matter how many battles he fought.





 Harrison was just plain astonished. That first Arkansas regiment was still fighting. Staggering some, to be sure, especially the companies on their right. The volleys no longer came with their earlier crispness. But they were still recognizable volleysand at the range the fight was now taking place by the wall of the Post, aiming was completely meaningless. That was sheer murder.

 Hed never seen anything like it. The closest comparison had been that last charge on Tecumseh at the Thames. But that had been quick, however desperately fought. This was like fighting some sort of mindless machine. Black ants, wearing uniforms and armed with muskets.

 God damn you! he shrieked at the Arkansans.

 There came no response except another volley.





 Sam found the final moments of the 2nd Arkansas charge on the militias rather fascinating. The regiments had been trained in the tactic, and Driscol had predicted its successso had Robert Rossbut Sam had wondered.

 The term column was a misnomer, he now realized, applied to the fighting formation of the French armies of the Revolution. This bore no resemblance at all to a long, slender line of men marching down a road.

 It was more like a sledgehammer. Or perhaps a very blunt spear. Fifty men across, at the front, firing as they came, with the rest of the regiment in close support. The formation relied on speed and impact, more like a cavalry charge than anything else Sam could think of.

 Watching it in action, he could now understand why the formation had eventually been abandoned. Very well trained and disciplined professional armies, formed into lines, could bring too much fire to bear on the front of the column. Hundreds of men against fifty.

 But that presupposed the sort of professional armies trained and led by generals like the Duke of Wellington, or Napoleon and his marshals. Against levies raised by French noblemenor Georgia and Louisiana gentrythe French column did very splendidly indeed.

 It struck the Georgians like a hammer. An axe, rather, since the bayonets came down at the final moment.

 The Georgians, not the Louisianans. The militia units had very distinctive and different colors, naturally, and the Arkansans knew what to look for. Any Louisianan or Alabaman who got in their way would get dealt with, to be sure. But on this day, July the 23rd of the Year of Our Lord 1825, Sam Houston and the 2nd Arkansas were looking to kill Georgians.

 Another hybrid. Black people didnt actually have any reason to detest Georgians more than any other Southern militia. But the Cherokees and Creeks hated them with a passion. And, whatever strains might exist in the Confederacy between its different races and peoples, there was also much that united them. Some of those black men in uniform now had Cherokee or Creek wives or paramourseither way, usually with children in the bargainand all of them had Cherokee and Creek neighbors.

 The Georgians had made the mistake of coming to Arkansas to commit their depredations. The nearest friendly jury was four hundred miles away as the crow fliesand not one of them had a pair of wings.

 The Louisianans peeled away before the blow came and were already racing in a panic downriver. The Alabamans put up a bit of a fight beforevery wiselysidling out of the way and scrambling upriver for the shelter of the regulars.

 The 2nd Arkansas let the Louisianans go. The Choctaws and Browns men would deal with them. They wanted the Georgians.





 David Ross was half fascinated and half appalled. Officially attached as an observer to the battery that was part of Houstons column, he had an excellent view of the fighting that erupted on the north bank of the Arkansas when the 2nd Regiment struck the Georgians. He didnt even have any specific duties to keep his attention elsewhere. His status in the Arkansas Army was still unsettled, since no one was ready to accept him as a straightforward soldier except David himself. His father and the Lairdand Sam Houston, apparentlyall felt the possible diplomatic complications were still too uncertain, should word get out that the son of a British major general was actively serving against the United States.

 In practice, everyone understood that being an observer also meant that he would be getting informal training as an artillery officer. But since no one really wanted him getting underfoot in the furious fire that the battery was leveling on the Georgians, he spent most of his time just watching.

 That was another massacre taking place down there on the riverbank. But the most fascinatingand appallingthing about it was the lack of any apparent murderous frenzy. David thought he finally understood, deep in his bones, why the Laird had ordered that massacre of Crittendens army the previous year. Many of the soldiers in the 2nd were veterans of that affair, and theyd imparted the lessons and the attitudes to the newer recruits. What resulted was an implacable determination to kill as many men as the regiment possibly could, today, coupled with the confidence that they could.

 So, it was like watching craftsmen at their trade, even if the trade itself was murder. Almost all the fury and frenzy was being displayed by the Georgians. Many of them had fled, or were trying to, but many of them were fighting back. But it did them precious little good. They fought as individuals, for the most part, and poorly trained ones at that. Whereas the Arkansans they faced were maintaining order and discipline even now that the bayonets had been brought into play.

 So was the artillery. The captain in command had positioned them on the left flank of the 2nd Regiment. To the fore, when the engagement began; now, perhaps two hundred yards to the rear. But they were firing balls, not canister, and two hundred yards for that shot amounted to point-blank range. The artillerymen were being careful to keep their fire well away from the regiment, but with the huge numbers of Georgianssome Louisianans, toowho were spilling down the Arkansas, that left them with plenty of targets.

 The ground was even dry enough, this far into summer, to allow for the grazing shots that good artillery always tried for when facing infantry. The guns were trained low, so that the balls would strike the ground some yards before the enemy and then carom into their ranks somewhere around waist-high. A six-pound ball fired in such a manner could easily kill or maim half a dozen men or more if it caught them in a clump.

 There were a lot of clumps down there: first of men, then of offal.

 After a while, David looked away. For the first time in his now twenty years of life, he wondered if he really wanted to become a soldier.

 He thought so, still. But he understood, better, something about his father that had never been very clear to him before. Robert Ross had always seemed strangely reticent about his exploits, given that there were enough of them to cover an entire wall at their home back in Rostrevor with the mementos.

 David thought he understood now. The reticence was because many of those memories were not ones his father wished to dwell upon. The mementos were there to remind himperhaps reassure himthat there had been a reason for them in the first place. A full-grown and very mature mans way of doing something that little boys often did. Make sure there was a light of some sort shining into a room at night, so that when a sudden nightmare-inspired waking came, the monsters in the room could be seen for what they were.





 Sam didnt participate in the slaughter. Not directly, at least. But that was only because he felt duty bound to make sure the situation as a whole didnt get out of control. There was always the possibility that Harrison might send some of the regulars down to the aid of the Georgian militia.

 Not much of a possibility, granted. Sam couldnt see enough of the fighting that was still raging around Arkansas Post to get a clear sense of the battles progress. But for his purposes, all that mattered was the sound of it. There was no way, in the face of such ferocious and continuing gunfire, that Harrison was going to make the mistake of dividing his forces again.

 Too bad for the Georgians. They were on their own. Sam had never met William Henry Harrison, but if the professional soldier from Ohio had a different attitude toward militias than almost any other professional officer Sam had ever met, he was certainly hiding it well that day.

 So, Sam Houston didnt kill a single Georgian himself. But he watched with pitiless eyes. So far as he was concerned, each and every one of those men shot or bayoneted or clubbed to death on the banks of the Arkansas River was no different from the Georgian whod murdered his wife. The whole state could burn in hell for all he cared.

 And hundreds of them were killed before it was all over. The slaughter at the river wasnt as bad as the slaughter of Crittendens army the year before, but that was only because the Georgians werent trapped in a peninsula. A much higher percentage of them managed to make their escape into the countryside.

 Where two thousand Choctaw warriors waited, with a very recent and burning grudge to settle. And if the Choctaw grudge was more with Mississippians or Louisianans, theyd settle for Georgians.

 Browns men were out there, too, and they didnt care at all about the fine distinctions between states. John Brown had agreed to abide by Chief Driscols rules when it came to fighting U.S. regulars. But the militias werent included in those prohibitions. So far as Brown and his people were concerned, those militiamenbe they from Georgia or Louisiana or Mississippi or Alabama, it made no differencehad come to Arkansas for the express purpose of reenslaving its citizens.

 That made them damned in the eyes of the Lord, pure and simple, and as plain to see as the nose in front of your face. It was right there in the Bible. There was no good reason not to assist the Lord in his righteous work of sending them on their way to eternal hellfire. Indeed, it was a duty, and Brown was not the man to shirk his duty.





 All right, Charles, pull them out, Patrick Driscol commanded.

 General Ball nodded and sent the order. Hed been waiting for the order for some time. Only a man as troll-blooded as the Laird could have held off that long. By now, the 3rd Arkansas was a bleeding ruin.

 But not broken. Not even close. Theyd gone head-to-head for as long as it took against twoand then units from three, and then fourregiments of U.S. regulars. Moving forward or standing their ground, never retreating an inch.

 For years, the Iron Battalion had served the black people of Arkansas as a magic talisman. There hadnt actually been much reality to it for some time, since the Iron Battalion as such no longer existed. Theyd had to break it up in order to use its men as the core around which to build other and larger units.

 After today, it wouldnt matter at all. After today, Arkansas had the 3rd Infantry, which stood its ground, and the 2nd, which broke the state of Georgia.

 And hadnt used the 1st Infantry at allwhich might actually be the best.

 This war might go on for years. Probably would, in fact. But it was already won where it mattered. Arkansans would have the stomach to fight forever, after Second Arkansas Post. The Americans had been dragged into this war by politicians and had no stomach for it at all outside of some of the Southern states.

 From here on, it was just a matter of how long it would take the enemy to figure it out.





 For all Sheff knew, he was now the commanding officer of the regiment. The companies on its right wing, for sure. Colonel Jones was gone. Wounded, not dead, although it might have been a mortal wound. Hed looked awful bad. Sheff didnt know what had happened to the major or any of the captains of the left wing. The captains of the three companies by the Post had all been killed or wounded by now. The gunsmoke was so thick you couldnt see much in any direction, except once in a while when a gust of wind cleared the air for a bit.

 Sheff hadnt spent any time wondering about the colonels fate. Hed stopped wondering about anyones fate, including his own. Hed reached some sort of pure state of mind, he decided. Slogans that hed once recited to himself as if they were prayers had become simple realities.

 Only victory mattered. Only the regiment mattered. Theyd fight until the last man shot the last bullet, and then theyd lower the bayonets.

 Pull out! Pull out!

 Sheff recognized General Balls voice, but the words didnt quite register. He ordered another volley. Couldnt hardly call it a volley any longerbut the same could be said for what was coming the other way.

 Listen to me, Lieutenant Parker! Pull the men out! Move!

 That registered. Groggilyhis brain really wasnt working too well anymoreSheff tried to remember the orders for calling a retreat.

 No. Fighting withdrawal. Big difference.

 He got the first two orders out. Properly, he was pretty sure. But while he was still groping for the next evolution, a musket ball took him square in the shoulder and spun him around. Around, and down, taking all consciousness with it.

 The last thing he remembered was a great sense of relief. Hed done his duty and could finally rest.






 CHAPTER 37



 For a moment, Harrison was tempted to order a pursuit. The Arkansas regiment his men had been fighting while the other one went after the militias was pulling back now. It was a fighting withdrawal, not a retreatcertainly not a rout. But that evolution was extremely difficult to manage properly, especially by a regiment that had lost so many of its officers. If he brought enough pressure to bear, they might finally crack.

 Easier said than done, though, in the real world where battles are actually fought.

 His own 1st and 7th Regimentsthe 1st, especially, which had taken the brunt of the fighting right by the Postwere too badly battered for the purpose. Theyd stood their ground like good regulars, but they were in no shape to launch a pursuit. Hed have to use the 3rd and 5th.

 Mostly the 3rd. Lieutenant Colonel Cutler had come out of the Post and, by now, had his regiment pretty well organized. But Harrison still hadnt seen the commanding officer of the 5th. He might be dead; he might be injured; he might just be too confused to understand what he was supposed to do. Whatever the reason, the 5th as such was still incoherent. What Harrison had available, right now, were maybe half of its companies for a pursuit. By the time the others finished their withdrawal from the Post and got into position, it would be too late.

 Much too late. The gunsmoke had finally cleared away, most of it, and Harrison could see that the top commanders of the Arkansans had taken direct charge of the withdrawal, substituting themselves for the regiments fallen officers. That regiment was pulling back in good order, even managing to take most of their wounded with them.

 The moment passed. There was no chance, he realized. Especially since

 Belatedly, he remembered. Hurriedly, he trotted his horse to the rear, to one of the artillery berms where he could get a better view of what was happening downriver. What was that other Arkansas regiment up to? For all he knew, he might soon be fending them off.

 On the way, he took the time to level silent curses on himself. Hed lost control of this battle from the very beginning, and he knew it. His plans had been too complex. Hed taken the risk of dividing his forces without enough of a staff and regimental officers whod worked together and shaken themselves down. He hadnt even been able to remember the names of some of his aides, for the love of God.

 So, now, here he wasforced to serve as his own scout because his staff had disintegrated around him and his regimental commanders were completely preoccupied with their own affairs.

 He also cursed Henry Clay and John Calhoun. Theyd lied to him, damn them. Reassured him that hed simply be facing savagesbetter still, negroes who didnt even have the martial customs of the savages. And William Henry Harrisonhe went back to cursing himselfhad been too ambitious, too eager, to question their assurances.

 He reached the berm. To his immense relief, he saw that the second Arkansas regiment had broken off their own pursuit of the militias and were returning. But they were back in that peculiar thick column formation and were angling away from the battlefield. Clearly enough, theyd be coming back the same way they went, avoiding his own forces until they could reunite with their fellow regiment.

 In short, the battle was overunless Harrison insisted on trying to continue it. Which he was no more inclined to do than he was to order a charge on the moon. He slumped in the saddle. He was exhausted. Mentally, even more than physically.

 Hed suffered a wound somewhere along the way, too, he suddenly realized. The whole left side of his torso ached. Looking, he couldnt see any blood. But when he pulled up his tunic, he saw a huge bruise beginning to form over his rib cage. The ribs themselves werent broken, obviously. With a rib flail, hed have been completely incapacitated. But some of them might well be cracked. Hed find out by the morrow.

 God only knew what had happened. He had no memory at all of having any injury inflicted on him. But it could easily happen in such a ferociously fought and confused battleconfusing for him, at any rate. The most likely cause was a glancing blow from a cannonball, although to the best of Harrisons recollection the enemy had used canister throughout the engagement.

 His mind in something of a daze, he watched the second Arkansas regiment moving across the Delta to the northwest. That part of his brain that was still working professionallywhich was no small part, given his experiencerecognized that Taylors report had been quite accurate in this respect also. The Arkansans could march like nobodys business. Hed remember that in the future.

 Somebody was talking to him. Looking down, he saw that the commander of the 5th Regiment was there, standing atop the berm and looking up at him. Harrison groped for the mans name and couldnt find it.

 do about the Chickasaws, General?

 Harrison had to grope for the meaning of the question, too. Fortunately, the colonels pointing finger gave him the clue. Aided, a moment later, by the sound of six-pounders going off.

 Looking in the direction the 5ths commander was pointing, Harrison could see dozens of Chickasaw warriorshundreds, within a minutepouring out of the Post. Some through the main entrance, some through the two breaches in the east wall, some by simply taking the risk of climbing over the walls and jumping.

 The batteries by the river were firing on them, as Harrison had instructed them to do. Quite a few of the fleeing Chickasaws were being killed before they could get out of range. They were racing upriver as fast as they could run.

 No danger there, in shortwhich, at the moment, was all Harrison cared about.

 Just let them go, Colonel.

 Peters.That was his name. Lieutenant Colonel Curtis Peters.

 Just let them go, Colonel Peters, he repeated. He forced up the energy for a compliment. You battered them badly, I take it. Very well done.

 Peters nodded. I estimate we killed four hundred hostiles in there, General. Well. Three hundred, for sure. At no great cost to ourselves. We were able to trap most of them in the mess hall and had four guns to bring to bear. By the time we sent in the infantry, they were too rattled to put up much of a resistance. But we couldnt catch all of them, of course.

 Even as he spoke, Harrison could see soldiers from the 1st Artillery hauling a six-pounder out of the Post. No easy task, that, without horses. But they couldnt possibly have used horses to bring guns into a fort under assault. No matter how well trained, the beasts would panic.

 Just let the Chickasaws go, he said again. For the moment, we need to concentrate on preparing a defense against the possibility of counterattack by the Arkansans. Weve taken Arkansas Posthe said that with more energy, it being the sole consolation of the dayso lets make sure we keep it.

 He pointed up the river. Id appreciate it if youd bring your regiment into position just west of the fort, Colonel Peters. And tell Colonel Eustis to move his batteries up with you. Those Arkansas steamboats are still up there, and itll be daysweeks, possiblybefore we can finally get armored steamboats of our own.

 The Arkansans hadnt ever used their steamboats. Harrison was pretty sure theyd never intended to. Simply having them there had immobilized a good portion of his artillery, the arm in which he had the clearest advantage over his enemy.

 Grudginglyhe was not a man for which doing so came easilyHarrison admitted that his opponent had fought a considerably smarter battle than he had.

 He didnt say it out loud, of course. Be about it, please, Colonel.

 Peters left. Harrison took a few more seconds to rally his spirits and energy.

 Hed need them. The battle was over, but there was still the butchers bill to be examined. There were dead and wounded all over the area. Small piles of them near the Postand from what he could tell at the distance, considerably bigger piles of militiamen by the riverbank downstream.

 Leaving aside the Chickasaws in the Postthatd be a charnel house in there; his mind shied away from it for the time beingmost of the dead and wounded outside the fort were Americans. But there were a fair number of Arkansans, too. The enemy had done their best to carry off their wounded, but there was only so much that could ever be done in that respect on a still-contested field of battle.

 Hed better see to that immediately, he realized. The regulars would be furious at the casualties theyd suffered. Furious enough that they might not only ignore their training but ignore practical reality as well.

 Of all the things Clay and Calhoun had lied to him about, the biggest lie had been the first.

 A short war. Blithering nonsense. The fact that both the president and the secretary of war had probably believed it themselves didnt make it any less of a lie. It just made them stupid liars.

 Short wars can wash themselves away, along with their sins. Long wars require rules. Best to establish them immediately.





 Fortunately, if nothing else, the regulars had been too exhausted to do anything but rest. Whatever other energy theyd had available had been devoted entirely to assisting their own injured. Their officers hadnt even started picking through the enemy soldiers lying about, separating the wounded from the dead.

 So, Harrison found himself one of the first three American officers to start moving through the enemy bodies. He was accompanied by a captain and a lieutenant from the heavily battered 1st. The captains name he remembered, thankfully. Trevin Matlock. The lieutenants was unknown to him.

 The Arkansans were lying in piles, too, especially near the Post. The first body Harrison came across was that of a young officer, lying slightly before his men. A second lieutenant. Arkansans used the same insignia as the American army, even if the uniforms were green instead of blue.

 A very young lieutenant, he could now see, once he looked more closely. As alwaysbeing from Ohio, he was not very familiar with negroesthe racial differences had momentarily obscured lesser matters like age. Not even twenty, he thought. It was hard for him to be certain, however, since the lieutenants skin was very dark and his features completely African. Very young, though, he was sure of that.

 The Arkansas officer wasnt moving, but his chest was rising and falling. A very bad injury to the shoulder, that was. The sort of bone-shattering wound that usually rendered a man unconscious, even if it wasnt directly fatal. Especially if he was already exhausted, which Harrison had no doubt he had been. The battle had been ferocious as a whole, but nowhere more so than here right by the walls of the Post, where the two armies had met at point-blank range.

 Him, the lieutenant from the 1st Regiment said tonelessly. Hadnt been for him, I think we could have beaten them here, at the end. I cant believe hes still alive, the bastard. Ive half a mind

 Shut up, Captain Matlock said, just as tonelessly. He did his job and did it well. And theres an end to it.

 Indeed, Harrison said firmly. A most gallant foe.

 He gave the lieutenantvery young himselfa look that was more harsh than he felt but as harsh as it needed to be.

 We shall be following the rules of war here, Lieutenant. I trust thats understood? And if I discover there have been any violations, I shall have the manor officerimmediately court-martialed. Do I make myself clear?

 The lieutenant seemed suitably abashed. Yes, sir. Ah. Sorry.

 I understand, Lieutenant, Harrison said in a milder tone. Emotions always run high after a battle. But indulging yourself in them is a bad mistake, leaving aside any moral concerns. Do keep in mind that the day might come when youor me, or Captain Matlockmight find ourselves in the very same position. Youll be thankful then that you werent an idiot now.

 That assumed, of course, that the enemy followed the rules of war also. Harrison was by no means sure of that, yet. Who knew what negroes would do? Theyd been pure savages, by all accounts, in the small uprisings in North America and the huge one in Hispaniola.

 But rebellions and uprisings were almost invariably savage, no matter the color of the men involved. The negroes he was fighting here were part of a regular army, established by a government that the United States had diplomatically recognized. Still did, for that matter, even if war had been declared. Harrison could only hope that theyd conduct themselves like white men.

 Whether they did or not, however, he would. Civilized behavior and custom was determined by its own imperatives, not petty bargaining with breeds outside the law.

 See to it, Captain Matlock, if you would. I want any wounded Arkansans gathered where they can be given medical attention, whenever our surgeons can be freed from tending our own. Theres probably a suitable area somewhere in the Post.

 He started to move off but paused. And place a guard over them, Captain. Reliable men, with a steady sergeant in command.

 Yes, sir.





 An hour later, after he was sure the regular units were steady and Harrison was satisfied that they could repel any Arkansas counterattack, he went downriver to see how the militias were doing. He took Captain Matlock with him, since he no longer had any of the three lieutenants hed had for aides at the beginning of the battle. Fleming was dead; Riehl would be retired from the service with that wound, assuming he survived; and hed finally found the missing third lieutenant.

 The lieutenant had been brought before him, rather. The youngsters wits were quite gone. Hed been found by soldiers from the 7th huddled in a ball some fifty yards from the lines, weeping uncontrollably. Harrison had a vague recollection of sending the boy with orders to Colonel Arbuckle. Hed never gotten there, apparently, his nerve having completely broken along the way.

 Harrison still couldnt remember his name, and the young lieutenant had been too incoherent to provide it himself. No matter. Hed learn it when the time came to put together a court-martial. Which there had to be, given the circumstances.

 Harrison would be demanding the death penalty, which was called for in cases of pusillanimity in the face of the enemy. He didnt care for the idea, but he simply had no choice. The nameless lieutenant whod die in a few weeks at the end of a rope would be just one more casualty that could be properly laid at the feet of Clay and Calhoun, from Harrisons viewpoint. In a short war, sins could be forgiven as well as washed away. In a long war, they couldnt. Simple as that.





 The commanders of the militiasthose few of them Harrison could find, most having run away with their menwere livid.

 But Harrisons energy was coming back, and he was no mild-mannered man himself.

 Shut. Up.He glared at the loudest of the Georgian officers. Insofar as the term officer wasnt a bad joke to begin with. The man was actually a Georgia state representative whose military experience was entirely limited, so far as Harrison knew, to having gotten himself appointed a colonel in the expedition for the sake of garnering some more votes. Georgians seemed to grow militia colonels with the same profligacy that they grew cotton. And they were just about as fluffy.

 You had three thousand men, he rasped, to face not more than seven hundred. And you tell me the fault was mine? You ran like rabbits from a force a quarter the size of your own because I didnt give you proper support? Be damned to you, sir!

 Angrily, he pointed back at the Post. My regulars defeated the forces we faced while taking the fort as well as preventing the enemy steamboats from coming into play.

 That was taking some liberties, perhaps, but it was technically correct. By ancient custom, the army that held the field at the end of a battle was considered the victor, even if the term was more a formality than anything else. The fact that the Arkansans hadnt been defeated, so much as simply choosing to withdraw from the field, could be ignored.

 The American forces at Lundys Lane had done the same, after all, whereupon the British had claimed to be the winners of the battle. In the world where professional soldiers dealt with each other, it simply didnt matter. Protocol would be respected, even if both sides knew perfectly well that, in all important respects, the battle had been something quite different.

 The Georgian and his three fellows were glaring back. So were the two Louisiana officers present. One of them was also a state representativealso with the rank of colonel. It seemed to be an iron law with militias that they had as many colonels as they did privates, with precious few majors or captainsand not a single paltry lieutenantanywhere to be found.

 They could glare all they wanted. What could they say? Even politicians playing at being soldiers had enough sense to realize that their forces had suffered a complete humiliation today.

 Not that it would make a difference in the long run, Harrison was gloomily certain. Theyd shut up today, sure enough. But in the months to comehalf of them would be finding excuses to leave the campaign as soon as possibletheyd be back in their state legislatures and doing their level best to ruin Harrisons reputation. So would their fellows in the Congress of the United States. Unfortunately, while militias were rarely worth much on a battlefield, they were quite potent in the American political arena.

 So just shut up, he repeated. And Id recommend you get busy rounding up your men.

 He waved a hand at the surrounding countryside. Leave them out there for very long, and theyll be coming back in pieces.

 The glares started to fade then, replaced by worry.

 Ill provide units from the Fifth and Third to help you, Harrison said, in a milder tone. With some artillery.

 That eased the worry from their faces some, but not much. These so-called officers werent really concerned about the military aspects of the situation so much as the political ones. They would have to answer to their constituents directly, where Harrison would at least have the shield of the professional army. And all they had to do was look around to see that a lot of their constituents were now dead, an equal if not greater number were badly injured, and all the survivors would be blaming them for the disaster, no matter how much of it they tried to shift onto Harrisons shoulders.

 So would their relatives back home. Especially those whose husbands and sons werent coming back.

 And youd better detail some burial parties right away, Harrison added. Big ones. This is the Delta in July. That many corpses will stink like you wouldnt believe, give them any time aboveground.





 The sergeant in charge of the guard over the wounded prisoners being held in a room of the Post was simply amused.

 Do ye now? he asked, in a pronounced Irish accent. He glanced at his four men. Dye hear that, lads? These gentlemen from Alabama wish to wreak havoc upon yon niggers. Having failed the task miserably, mind, when the niggers were on their feet and had guns in their hands.

 It aint funny, you fucking Irish

 Click.

 The Alabaman who was more or less the leader of the little group froze. The musket barrel held by one of the sergeants men was now pushing under his chin. It was cocked, too.

 Hey, fella

 Oh, theres no point pleading with Private Aupperle, the sergeant said, still grinning. Dieter doesnt speak but three words of English. The first two are fuck you. The third is asshole. He got off the boat not six months ago and joined the army straight off, that being the only trade he knows. Hows your German?

 The six Alabamans stared at him.

 My Germans quite good. Even if the dumb Krauts complain about the accent.

 Can barely understand him, the corporal growled. His accent was German, whereas the sergeants was Irish, and even thicker.

 His expression was a lot thicker than the sergeants, too. Fucking militia scheisskopf. You go home, two months. Maybe three. Half of you already running there now. We will be here long time. Get out.

 He brought up his own musket and cocked it. Get out now. 

 Best do as he says, lads, said the sergeant, as cheerily as ever. Dieters even-tempered, being from the Palatinate. Corporal Affenzeller, it grieves me to relate, is not. Juergens a Swabian, alas. A surly breed; theyre known for it.

 After they were gone, a few seconds later, the sergeant chuckled. Even in Alabama, now.

 Private Dieter Aupperle uncocked his musket. He uttered several phrases in German that were most uncomplimentary on the subject of militias in general. So did Corporal Affenzeller, after he uncocked his own weapon. But, having considerably more knowledge of their adopted country as well as its language, he added details and specifics.

 fuck pigs, being Creoles, no better than filthy Frenchmen. But at least the French have a few brains. Georgians cant figure out which end of a pig to fuck in the first place. Alabamans





 Late in the afternoon, a delegation from the Arkansas Army showed up under a flag of truce. Harrison ordered them escorted into the Post.

 Sam Houston, in the flesh. Harrison had never met him, but the man was one of those few in the world whose reputation genuinely preceded him. In the United States, at any rate.

 To Harrisons much greater surprisehed known Houston was serving in the enemy colorsWinfield Scott came with him. Along with a poet whose name Harrison couldnt remember, even though he could remember reading two of his poems. One had been a gloomy thing, full of histrionics on death. Overwrought, the way poets will be about the subject and professional soldiers wont. But the other had been a poem about a mans thoughts watching a waterfowl flying in the distance. Harrison had been quite taken by it.

 While he listened to Houston, Harrisons mind was at least half on Scott and the poet. They represented a real danger to him, which Houston didnt at the moment. He knew why they were there, of course.

 the eighteen prisoners who are uninjured or walking wounded, we propose to exchange immediately against a similar number of our own. Its your choice, but we recommend that you permit us to continue providing medical attention to the other thirteen prisoners.

 Houston glanced around the room in the Post that Harrison had chosen for his headquarters. Hed chosen it for the purpose partly for its size, but mostly because it had little in the way of the carnage that was being cleaned up elsewhere. Still, there were several pockmarks in the wall from bullets, and one bloodstain that hadnt quite been removed.

 I think we can do better for them at the moment than you could do here, General, he concluded.

 Harrison didnt doubt it. His medical staff was exhausted already.

 All regulars?

 Yes, sir. We have no militia prisoners.

 Houston didnt bother adding: We didnt take any. The complete lack of expression on his face would have made that obvious, even if it hadnt been already. Just as it made clear there would be no apologies forthcoming for the fact, either.

 Harrison had no intention of asking for them, anyway. His concerns for the moment, outside of his own professional prospects, were entirely for his regulars.

 The terms of exchange seemed fair enough. But

 Lets make it an equal exchangewithin the usual parametersbut Id prefer not to distinguish between walking and immobile wounded. He gave Houston a nod that was respectful, perhaps a bit on the embarrassed side. Weahdont have but three walking wounded of your own. You didnt leave more than that.

 Fine. Select fifteen of our men that you think could manage the transfer without further injury, and well begin with that. We can do the rest later, as they heal.

 Terms of parole?

 We propose an agreement not to fight on the same frontfor a year, lets say?but no overall prohibition against bearing arms in the current conflict.

 Harrison thought about it. A complete prohibitionespecially with no time limitwould better serve the interests of the United States Army. With their much smaller pool of manpower to draw from, the Arkansans could ill afford to have capable soldiers removed from service altogether.

 But he was sure the Arkansans would never agree to that, for the same reason, so there was no point raising it. He could live with their proposal, and it was similar enough to various prisoner exchanges that had taken place in the war with Britain that no politician could yap about it.

 Not that some of them wouldnt try, of course.

 Done. He extended his hand. Please convey to your officers and men my salutations. You fought a most gallant battle.

 Houston returned the handshake, an expression coming back into his face. Quite a friendly one, even an animated one. And please accept our own compliments. Generals Driscol and Ball asked me to forward their admiration to your First Regiment and its commander, in particular. That was a bloody business by the wall.

 Harrison nodded. Ill certainly pass that on to the regiment. The commanding officerthat was Colonel John McNeilfell in the battle, Im afraid.

 And then it was a round of handshakes between all the officers present. The fact that two of the three Arkansans were black caused not even a moments hesitation, so far as Harrison could detect.

 Not even on his part. He tried to remember if hed ever shaken a negros hand. He couldnt recall doing so, unless one were to count pressing a coin into a doormans hand at a fancy hotel in Philadelphia and Washington.

 Which would be an absurd comparison.





 Scott and Bryant stayed behind, after Houston and the other Arkansan officers left to begin the prisoner exchange.

 The first words out of Winfield Scotts mouth were the critical ones.

 The victory was yours, General Harrison, and Cullen and I shall so report it in our account.

 Harrison nodded, stiffly, trying to let no sign of his relief show.

 For a moment, he and Winfield stared at each other. They were not friends and never had been. Harrison resented the man, actually. Despite his victories at Tippecanoe and the Thames, Harrisons resignation from the army in 1814 as a result of his clash with Secretary of War Armstrong had inevitably removed some of the luster from his reputation. Scott, on the other hand, had suffered a dramatic wound at Lundys Lane that had enabled himin effect if not in nameto withdraw from the rest of the war with his great victory at the Chippewa untarnished.

 Still, there were rules. And since Scott had made clear he would follow them, Harrison had no legitimate grounds for complaint.

 He knew full well, of course, what sort of account Scott would be filing with the newspapers. Any discerning reader with any military experience who got past the headline U.S. VICTORIOUS AT SECOND ARKANSAS POSTwould understand that beneath the formality lay something completely different. An Arkansas Army less than half the size of its American opponent had completely outmaneuvered the U.S. commander; allowed a good portion of its Chickasaw allies to escape a trap; fought a superior force of U.S. regulars to a standstill in a battle whose butchers bill, proportionate to the size of the forces involved, was worse than Lundys Lane; and practically destroyed the Georgia militia to boot.

 A complete disaster, beneath the headline. A tactical defeat that was actually a strategic victory. A battlenever mind the formalitiesthat guaranteed that Henry Clays short war was going to be a long and protracted one. With God-only-knew-what consequences would come out of it, at the end.

 Still, Harrison had the headline. He clutched it for all it was worth.

 Quite a bit, actually. Luckily for himon this occasionalmost all the politicians in America with real military experience were on the other side anyway. Clay and Calhoun would clutch that headline even more tightly than he would. Theyd have no choice.

 Please be seated, gentlemen. He indicated some nearby chairs. This will be a long interview, I imagine. Some refreshments, perhaps? I believe

 He cocked an eye at Captain Matlock, who gave him a quick little nod in return.

 We have some whiskey.

 Hed start with Matlock to assemble a new staff. His regimental commander would protest, of course, but too bad for him. For the war that was coming, Harrison needed a staff. A real one, this time.






 CHAPTER 38



 New Antrim, Arkansas

 JULY 26, 1825

 

Sheff would retain flashes of memory of what happened to him after hed received his wound. But flashes were all they were. The last one, thankfully, was a hazy recollection of himself screaming while two men held him down and a surgeon dug a bullet out of his shoulder.

 The one thing from that episode he did remember clearly was the surgeon grunting, Well, hes a lucky one.

 If hed had any strength at all, hed have hit him. As it was, he lapsed into unconsciousness again.





 So, when his eyes opened and he saw the hand, he spent some time just looking at it, getting reacquainted with having a clear head. It was a delicious sensation, as enjoyable as one of the glasses of iced milk his mother made on occasion when she could afford ice.

 Sheff had never drunk much whiskey, anyway. But he made a promise to himself then and there that hed avoid liquor altogether henceforth, except when doing so would be socially ungraceful. Hed never appreciated before what a blessing it was to have an unfettered consciousness. Why would any sane man go out of his way to imitate an experience that a battle wound provided?

 It was a small hand, quite nicely shaped. Female, clearly. The hand wasnt moving, just lying loosely on an open book. He couldnt see the thumb, just the fingers. They were spread out on the pages, curled up a bit. The book was the Bible, he realized after a while. From what he could tell, open to some passage midway through the Old Testament.

 Eventually, it occurred to him that the hand belonged to an arm, and the arm belonged to a person. So his eyes began moving up along the forearm, then past the elbow. He couldnt see the arm itself, though, above the wrist. It was covered in the sleeve of a calico blouse, which seemed better made than usual. That didnt necessarily mean it was store bought, since there were women who could cut and sew that well. Sheff s mother was one of them. But he had the sense that this blouse was tailor made. The common everyday calico seemed more finely dyed than usual.

 His eyes got as far as the shoulder, which was puffed out in one of the new-style gigot sleeves. What his mother called leg-of-mutton sleeves. Then, his eyes couldnt roll any further in their sockets. He had to decide whether he had the strength and interest to shift his position.

 He was in a bed, he suddenly realized, covered by a thin blanket. He wondered how that had happened. There were no beds in the tents of army surgeons. You were lucky if you got a cot.

 It dawned on him that he wasnt in a tent to begin with. This was a room. In a house of some kind.

 For that matter

 His eyes rolled back, coming to bear again on the hand.

 Yes, that was a womans hand, sure enough. No chance of error. A young womans, too, he was certain. But there wouldnt be any women in an army medical tent, either, certainly not young ones. Nursing wounded soldiers was a filthy business.

 He was interested enough, and he thought he had the strength and energy. So, painfullychamping down a shout when he placed weight on the left shoulder and felt a spike of agonyhe managed to shift position enough to be able to look up at the womans head.

 Which turned out to be pointless. The woman was asleep, her head slumped forward with her chin resting on her chest.

 At least, Sheff assumed the chin was on the chest. He couldnt actually see any part of the womans face. Her head was covered by a large bonnet with a flaring brim. Sheff thought the technical term for it was cabriolet, but his mother just called them coal-scuttle bonnets. She had one herself, since they were handy out in the sunshine.

 A thought finally occurred to him, then, and he experienced what might just possibly have been the single most frustrating moment in his life. Was this

 Tarnation, he couldnt move. No more than he had, anyway, and hed almost fainted doing that much. And what good would it do, anyway? He couldnt very well shake the woman awake, even if he could have reached her.

 Fortunately, his quandary was resolved.

 Stop fidgeting, young man! Youll reopen the wound, and Ill have to get the surgeon around again.

 Well, he knew that voice. Courage, he told himself. Hed faced U.S. regulars, hadnt he? Hadnt even flinched, so far as he could remember.

 Turning his head a little, he saw the dragon in the doorway. She was glaring at him as usual.

 Wellnot quite. The look on her face seemed more one of exasperation than outright hostility. So did the look she bestowed upon the mysterious woman sitting by his bed.

 The two of you! he heard her mutter. The dragon came into the room and laid a hand on the leg-of-mutton shoulder. Then, gave it a little shake.

 Wake up, Imogene. Your precious captains come around.

 The head popped up. Yes, that was Imogene under the brim.

 Oh, she said.

 Julia Chinn was now looking at the open Bible on Imogenes lap.

 I told you! Firmly, she moved Imogenes hand aside and, more firmly still, closed the Bible. You too young to be reading that.

 Puzzled, Sheff tried to remember what part of the Old Testament

 Oh.

 Fortunately, he didnt say it out loud. He even managed not to smile. He could remember the time his own mother had caught him engrossed in the Song of Solomon the way no proper thirteen-year-old boy ought to be.

 To cover the moments awkwardness, he cleared his throat. Im not a captain, Miz Julia. Just a second lieutenant.

 Julia gave him that same exasperated look. I wish! Boy, I will say you are probbly the most tenacious critter I ever met.

 But the tone in her voice didnt seem as chilly by the time she got to the end of the sentence as it had when she started it. She reached down and tugged his blanket back into position and said quietly to Imogene: Five minutes, girl. Then I want you out of here.

 After shed left the room, Imogene burst into a smile so wide it looked to split her face in half. That expression, with her full lips, brought out the African part of her ancestry, which was normally overshadowed by her light skin and hazel eyes. More green than hazel, really.

 For the first time, Sheff felt a surge of passion. No poetic abstraction, neither.

 Fortunately, he was still too weak to embarrass himself. The hand that would have impulsively reached for her lay limp on the blanket. So didwell. Everything else.

 They promoted you, Sheff! All the way to captain.

 Thats He tried to decide how he felt. Pleased, of course. But

 Im not even eighteen years old. Wont be, till next month.

 The smile wasnt fading at all. Dont matter! The whole towns talking about it. Oh, Sheff, Im so proud of you!

  Doesnt matter, he corrected.

 You and Mama! She waved a dismissive hand. Which, on the way back, somehow found its way into Sheff s. Both nagging me.

 He had enough strength to squeeze the hand. You listen to your mama. Listen to me, too. She wants you talking proper. Properly. Im trying myself.

 The smile was replaced by a serious look. Dodoes it really matter, Sheff?

 Yes, Imogene. It does.





 In the corridor of the boardinghouse just outside the open door, where shed been eavesdropping, Julia Chinn pressed the back of her head against the wall. It was either that or bang it against the wall.

 The next three minutes werent any better. She could have handled a rascal, easy as pie. This one

 Imogene, thats been five minutes, for sure! she shouted.

 Mama!

 You listen to me, young lady!

 Sheff s firm voice could be heard clearly, even through the wall. Best do as your mama says, Imogene.

 Julia had heard the talk herself. It couldnt be avoided, anywhere you went in New Antrim. Parker by the wall. For just that moment, she had a deep sympathy for the U.S. regulars whod faced him. If only theyd

 But that thought led to a place Julia Chinn never wanted to go. There were limits. Whatever else, there had to be limits, or there was no point to any of it. She might as well sell Imogene to a slave brothel right now. Or herself, for that matter.





 Sheff s mother arrived shortly thereafter. She was all solicitous concern, fussing over him, but Sheff thought that was mostly her way of handling the grief caused by her brothers death. Sheff was still trying to come to grips with it himself.

 It was hard. He still had that iron shell around him. The battle shield, hed come to think of it. As useful as it wasindispensable, perhapsit was now getting in the way of normal emotions. He was pretty sure hed have to be careful about that. Taken too far, or too long, it could rub a mans soul so hard it became just a callus.

 But he wasnt ready to deal with it yet. So, the two hours his mother spent in the room before she had to go home were mostly taken up with practical concerns.

 There, fortunatelyin a horrible sort of wayhis uncles death had eased the strain.

 The bank says its canceling the loan outright, his mother said quietly. On account of Jem. Well, your uncles part, anyway. We still got to pay yours off. But Mr. Crowell told me theyd take your service as being complete. So there wont never be no interest.

 Sheff knew the bank had adopted a policy of canceling any loans secured by a soldiers pay in the event the soldier died in the line of duty. The chiefdoms legislature was also talking about providing some subsidies for widows and orphans, but Sheff didnt think anything would come of it. Arkansas was actually thriving, economically, on account of all the new construction and manufacture. The war hadnt even put a dent in itprobably stimulated it, in fact. But wages were very low, with the constant influx of freedmen, and there just wasnt that much money to throw around.

 Still, between the increased pay that would come with his promotion to captain and the work his mother got as a tailor, they should manage. She was paid a real tailors wage, too, not the much lower rate most girls got in the garment manufactories. He was pretty sure theyd even be able to let Dinah keep going to school instead of her having to go to work in the shops.

 His mother was holding up pretty well, too. She had her own version of a battle shield.

 The truth is, Sheff, were doing better than we were back in Baltimore, with your father and uncle bringing in whatever they could. Which werent never much. So you just make sure when you can get about again, that you keep fighting for Arkansas. You hear?





 Cal McParland came to visit him later that day. He brought John Ridge and Buck Watie with him.

 Congratulations, Ridge said immediately after walking into the room. You heard about your promotion, I take it?

 Youll give him a swelled head, Cal chided. But he was smiling as he said it. Jumped him a rank, even.

 Buck Watie slid into a chair. Gave you the Legion of Honor, too. Only one who got it except Captain Dupont.

 Cal laughed. My cousin says the Laird got the idea from Napoleon, but hes obviously going to be a lot stingier than the emperor ever was.

 Sheff had been wondering what a Legion of Honor was. For the most part, the Arkansas Army was patterned after the American, since that was the experience of most of its veterans. The American army didnt have the custom of awarding decorations for valor or merit, as did most of the European armies.

 But that thought was swept away for the moment. Hows the captain doing?

 The good cheer left the room. Buck Watie shook his head. Captain Dupont didnt make it, Sheff. The Americans returned his body the day after the battle.

 At least he didnt die slowly from being gut-shot, Cal added. The Americans think he must have bled to death before the fighting was even over. From what I heard, our surgeon who looked at his body agreed with them.

 Well, that was something. Sheff had liked Charles Dupont, even if hed found his heavy accent hard to understand sometimes. Hed been a lot less prone to judging people simply by skin color than most of the Creole freedmen from New Orleans were.

 As a group, Sheff didnt care for them much. Some of them had even been slave-owners themselves, and they still retained a lot of the attitudes. If they hadnt been forced out of the city after the Algiers Incident, most of them would still be in New Orleans. As it was, they tended to cluster together in one part of New Antrim that people were starting to call the Creole Quarter.

 But Sheff hadnt really been close to Dupont, so there wasnt any personal grief involved. Besides, he was still short of eighteen, and

 He tried to figure out how to ask without seeming full of himself.

 Fortunately, Cal saved him the effort. Yup. The Legion of Honor. The Laird established it right after the battle. Announced he would, before the day was over, even.

 Established was a word that seemed a little absurd if they only gave out two of them. But that mystery got cleared up by Buck.

 He also established what hes calling the Arkansas Post Medal, and theyre handing those out like candy. Everybody who was there gets one, except the steamboat crews, and theyre complaining like nobodys business.

 Them! Cal snorted. They didnt get within half a milenot even thatof a shot being fired.

 He gave Sheff a big grin. Dont get your hopes up too soon, though. What I heard, itll be weeks before they can get around to actually making the things. Theres a big squabble over who gets the contract.

 That brought a little laugh to the room. The Arkansas House of Representatives was even more notorious than its American counterpart for the fervent dedication of its members to advancing the interests of their constituents. If anything, the House of Chiefs was worse.





 The next half hour was spent bringing Sheff up to date on what had happened in the battle after hed been taken out of combat. It was a cheerful discussion until Sheff asked about the Chickasaws.

 His three fellow officers exchanged glances, their smiles either fading or seeming frozen in place.

 Well, said Cal.

 That got a little sticky, John Ridge added.

 His cousin Buck gave him a glance that was at least half angry. The rest of it seemed derisive.

 You talk! We were the ones had to do the dirty work.

 John made a face. So did Cal.

 Give, said Sheff. What happened?

 Cal provided the answer. The first part, anyway. They got really hammered in there, Sheff. Near as we can tell, half the warriors in the tribe died in the Postthey never had but a little over six hundred, to begin withand a fair number got killed or badly wounded during the escape. Sowell, by the time they could pull themselves together, the Laird already had their slaves in custody. By then, Houston was back with the Second Infantry. Andahhed already moved over my battery and the others from the Third.

 The women and old men raised Sam Hill, of course, but John Ridge shrugged. Wasnt really much they could do to stop him. Houston was in no friendlier mood than the Laird. Neither was General Ball, of course.

 They fell silent again. So? Sheff demanded.

 Buck provided the rest. So, the Chickasaw warriors finally got there and starting hollering and making threats. Real nasty threats, not just name-calling. And He took a deep breath. We followed orders. Cut loose with both batteries. Canisterand we were targeting the Colbert clan.

 The Laird told us to spare as many full-bloods as we could, Cal added. And we did. But they were pretty well mixed together, and canisters what it is. There aint much left of the Colberts, I can tell you that.

 OhJesuSam Hill, Sheff murmured, barely avoiding the blasphemy.

 John Ridges face was stiff. Sam Hill is right. My fathers furious. Sos Chief Ross, although hes hiding it better. Even the Choctaw chiefs are hollering about it. The Creeks will be, too, soon as they hear.

 Sure, and nobody likes Chickasaws, Buck chimed in, but He shook his head. I did what I was toldwell, watched, anywaybut I cant help think the Lairdll come to regret it. This could even start a civil war.

 Callender McParland started to say something but broke off before he got a word out. From the quick look he gave his two Cherokee companions, Sheff had no trouble figuring out what hed been about to say.

 So he went ahead and said it for him. He was too weak to summon up the energy to be diplomatic.

 Fuck the Chickasaws. And fuck the Choctaws and the Creeks. Andsorry, fellowsbut if push comes to shove, fuck you Cherokees, too. You got Sam Hills nerve, as far as Im concerned, expecting us niggershe rolled his eyes at Caland some white boys to do your fighting for you while thinking youll keep us in slavery.

 Anger that had been quietly festering for a long time finally came to the surface. Fuck you, he stated flatly. Learn to work. Ive been working since I was ten years old.

 Me too, said Cal. My familys poor Scots-Irishwell, not poor any longerfrom New York. We never owned any slaves. And sure as hell arent gonna start now.

 He gave Buck a look that had none of its earlier friendliness. And Id be real careful, was I you, Lieutenant Watie, making too many noises about civil wars. You think we cant do the same thing at Tahlequah we just done at Arkansas Post, best you think twice.

 So there it was: the threat naked and right out in the open. Strangely, perhaps, that was enough to start draining away Sheff s anger.

 Come on, now, Calthere was no call for that. Buck was just expressing a concern. He wasnt making no threats.

 Hastily, he corrected himself. Any threats.

 Their voices had gotten raised a bit. You never knew. Imogene might be somewhere close enough to overhear. Worse, so might her mother.

 Cal took a long deep breath. Simultaneouslyit almost made Sheff laugh, watching itthe two Cherokees did the same.

 They let it out at the same time, too. Then Cal said: Sorry. Didnt really mean it that way.

 John chuckled. Sam Hill, you didnt! Still

 He sighed, and wiped a hand over his face. The truth is, Buck and I dont really disagree with you. And I already told my father so. Our newspaper will have some criticisms of the way the Laird handled it, I imagine, but were not going to make any bones about the rest of it. Theres no slavery in Arkansasthats established, right there in the Constitutionand since the Chickasaws sought refuge in Arkansas, they had to abide by Arkansas law. And the threats they were making went way beyond anything you could rightly call a petition in redress of grievances.

 Sheff s anger was almost gone, now. Enough, even, for him to play devils advocate. Members of other Confederate chiefdoms do have the right to travel in Arkansas, with their slaves, without having them seized.

 For no more than two weeks, without a permit, Cal countered. No way were all the Chickasawsalmost any of them, the shape they were ingonna make it to Oklahoma in two weeks. And the chance that the Arkansas Chiefdom would have issued permits for a thousand slaves is exactly nothing.

 John shook his head. It doesnt matter, anyway. Nobodyhe managed a real smile, herenot even us disputatious natural-lawyer Cherokees, thinks this is something you can settle in a courtroom. The Lairds been pushing for this ever since he brought out that separate Arkansas flag. Pushing it harder than ever, after Houston arrived and made clear hed back him. Sooner or later, something like this was going to happen, anyway. May as well be nowwhen everybody knows theres another U.S. army sitting there on our northern border, and the second battle of Arkansas Post is fresh in everybodys mind.

 He caught the look on Sheff s face.

 Oh, Ridge said. Guess you didnt know about that, either, did you? The word just got to New Antrim yesterday.

 Theres at least two regiments of U.S. regulars sitting on the Arkansas just north of the border, Buck added. Theyre building a great big fort. Colonel Zachary Taylors in command.

 They got us surrounded, in other words, Cal said. The stupid bastards.






 CHAPTER 39



 Missouri Territory

 JULY 29, 1825

 

Skeptically, Zack Taylor eyed the two men standing in front of him. Explain to me why I should care in the least whether this Clark fellow stays alive or not.

 He waved a hand at the rise in the prairie, beyond which lay the bandit camp. Ive got three companies here. Ill call for them to surrender, but

 His shoulders shifted, too slightly to be called a real shrug. The movement was an accurate reflection of his attitude, which was that bandits were unlikely to just lay down their armsand he was indifferent to the matter. With three companies of dragoons, he could afford to be.

 What do you care, for that matter? The rewardboth of themspecify dead or alive. Id think dead would make things easier for you.

 The man on his leftthat was Ray Thompsonshook his head.

 It doesnt work like that, Colonel. Sure, and the reward poster says dead or alive. You believe that, you believe in paradise on earth. Whatll really happen

 His partner chimed in. You bring in a dead body, the man offering the reward will look at it, shake his head, and tell you its the wrong man. Dancing with joy the whole time. And how are you going to prove otherwise? Seeing as how your principal witness to the contrary is dead, on account of you killed him.

 Scott Powers, that was. Taylor remembered them both quite well. The two scoundrels had had the effrontery to claim that the meat theyd try to fob off onto Cantonment Robertsons commissary hadnt really been wormy. Just prespiced, in the Louisiana custom. To this day, Zack didnt think hed ever encountered more bold-faced liars in his life.

 He hadnt run into them since, but hed almost had the two arrested, just on general principles, when they arrived in his camp a few days ago. But eventually hed agreed to come look for himself. There was no good reason not to, after all. It was less than a three days ride, even for a sizeable force of dragoons, and until he heard what had happened to General Harrisons first thrust up the Arkansas River Valley hed had to bide his time in Missouri Territory anyway. If Mrs. Houstons murderer was within his grasp, he had the duty to seize him. Besides, he just couldnt figure out any wayany reason, ratherThompson and Powers would be lying about this matter.

 Taylor still didnt know if Mrs. Houstons killer was in that camp. But that it was a bandit camp, he didnt doubt at all. There was no reason in the world for white men who werent bandits to be camped out here like this. Not to mention still be sleeping this late in the morning if they were doing honest work. The sun had come up over an hour earlier.

 The two of you are experienced bounty hunters, I take it?

 Thompson looked more shifty-eyed than ever. Powers just grinned. Not exactly, Colonel. Be more accurate to say experienced bounty. But we know what were talking about.

 He pointed a thumb toward the hidden camp. Anyway, thats why we need Clark alive.

 Taylors patience had run out. Fine. But youll have to figure out how to do it, because Im not about to risk any of my men for the purpose. Ill give you ten minutes to get into whatever position you think might do the trick for you. After that, Im calling on them to surrenderand if any of them so much as wave too hard, Ill have em all shot down.





 Aint this a mess? Ray grumbled, nine minutes and maybe fifty seconds later. Theyd found a place to wait in ambush in some switchgrass on the opposite side of the bandit camp. It was a good hiding place, sure, but switchgrass was no fun at all. It was almost like hiding in a thicket of razor blades.

 Shut up, Scott hissed. Its worth ten thousand dollars.

 I think theres a snake somewhere in here.

 So bite him if he gives you any trouble.

 I hate snakes, you know that. What if

 He was interrupted by the sound of distant shouting. He and Scott were too far away to make out the exact words.

 It didnt matter, though. Hed heard words spoken in that official tone of voice often enough to know the gist of it. Were the law and you aint, so give up or well shoot you dead and not even have to skip lunch on account of it.

 Not five seconds later, the camp burst into activity, men spilling out of their bedrolls and running every which-a-way. Most of them were pulling out guns, and two or three of them were shooting at nothing.

 The idiots. Ray and Scott could only hope that their quarry was at least a little smarter.

 The company Taylor had had hidden behind that rise came over it, just as crisp as you could ask for. Up came the muskets, and a volley went off. That took down at least three bandits. The rest started veering north, but another company was in front of them, and another volley went off.

 This was about as uneven a contest as you could ask for. If their quarry was in that pack of dumb yahoos, he was a dead man, and theyd just have to hope Andrew Jackson and Henry Clay were more honest than most reward-posters. Given that one of them was a U.S. senator and the other was president of the whole country, Ray thought that was about as likely as getting a royal flush in an honest game of poker.

 Somebodys coming, Powers murmured. Over there.

 Ray followed the direction of Scotts little nod. Sure enough. Somebody was moving through the bluestem grass that covered most of the area. The stuff was tall enough for a crawling man to stay out of direct sight, but not so tall that his progress couldnt be followed by watching the grass move, if you were looking for it.

 Two of em, I think, Powers added.

 Ray thought he was right. He gauged the course of whoever it was crawling through the grass, maybe forty yards off, and the pace they were making. Another volley went off while he did so. He could hear men shouting and screaming in the distance, but he ignored all that. The bandits whod been caught in the camp were as good as dead. Taylor wouldnt be taking any prisoners, given that theyd put up a resistance. Such as it was.

 So he and Scott might as well assume that Andrew Clark was one of the two men making their escape. There was no point in doing anything else.

 Fancy or not? Scott asked.

 Damnation, there was a snake in here. Ray could hear it slither.

 Fuck fancy. I can run if you cant.

 He was out of the switchgrass and running toward the quarry not two seconds later. It didnt occur to him until then that maybe the soldiers off in the distance would take him for a bandit.

 But he ignored the risk. The range was long for muskets, and he really hated snakes.

 He could hear Scott pounding behind him. As ambushes went, this one was about as crude as you could ask for.

 The men in the grass heard them once they were halfway there. They rose up, each holding a pistol.

 Sure enough, one of them was Clark. The other was Scotts erstwhile friend.

 Erstwhile being the operative term, Ray stopped and shot him when he was ten yards off. The man returned firetried tobut his gun didnt go off.

 Rays shot hit him somewhere in the ribs, turning him. Scotts following shot hit him in the upper arm, knocking him down.

 They each had two pistols, the second of which they brought to bear on Clark.

 Youre under arrest! That came from Rays partner.

 Clark fired his pistol. Scott yelped, clutching the top of his shoulder. Too angry to think straight, he fired back. His returning shot must have come within a hair of Clarks head, judging from the way the assassin flinched.

 We need him alive! Ray shouted.

 The bastard hit me! He couldnt hit Houston right in front of himbut he hit me. 

 So what? Ray might have had some sympathy, except it was obvious Clarks bullet hadnt done more than graze Scotts shoulder.

 The assassin was now trying to reload, not paying any attention to Ray at all.

 Ray shook his head. Andrew Clark, you are one dang fool. He stepped forward a few quick paces, leaned over far enough to move the grass aside, aimed, and fired.

 The shot was perfect, right through the top of Clarks Blucher half-boots. Probably blew off a couple of toes. He wouldnt be making any escape, for sureand he wouldnt bleed to death, either.

 Clark screeched and threw up his hands. The pistol hed been reloading sailed off somewhere. He stumbled backward and fell on his butt.

 Up close, with Clark howling the way he was, Ray could see the scar where Houston had split his lip pretty badly. At least three teeth were missing, too.

 No reason not to subtract a few more. Ray kicked him in the face, twice, and then clubbed him with the pistol butt. That ought to do it.

 You stinking bastard!

 Looking over, he saw that Clarks companion was still alive. In fact, hed levered himself up on the elbow of his uninjured arm.

 Which was his left armand he was left-handed. In that position, he couldnt fight a kitten. The world was full of dang fools.

 By then, Scott had retrieved the mans pistol and was working at it. Sorry bout that, Eddie, he said, but ten thousand dollars is ten thousand dollars.

 You stinking bastard!

 Scott flipped up the frizzen and shook his head. You got some dew in the primer. You shouldve watched for that, this early in the morning, crawling through grass like you were doing. He scraped out the powder and reprimed the pistol.

 Ill kill you, you stinking bastard!

 Oh, Eddie, that aint likely at all. Scott cocked the pistol and shot the man in the head. At that range he could hardly miss, and he didnt.

 He looked up at Ray and shrugged. Sorta hated to do that, him being a friend of mine and all. But Eddie always was the unforgiving sort. I dont feel like having to look over my shoulder all the time, the next twenty or thirty years.

 That was the main reason Ray and Scott had been partners for so long. They were both reasonable men, neither one of them given to silly fancies that might strain the relationship.





 By the time they got back to the fort, three days later, word had arrived about Arkansas Post. The news was on the scanty side but enough for Taylor to know that he wouldnt be marching into the Confederacy any time soon. Victory or notand Zack was sure that was a formality, in this instanceany army that had been battered that badly would need months to recuperate. Harrison wouldnt be moving out of the Post until winter came, and then he might very well decide to wait for spring. Hed need reinforcementslots of thembefore he could even think of marching upriver on New Antrim.

 That meant Zack was effectively stymied also. The Confederates had the advantage of interior lines. If he and Harrison didnt move together, the enemy could simply switch forces back and forth between their southeastern and northwestern fronts.

 He took it philosophically enough. Zack had never thought this war would be over quickly, to begin with, and hed had years of experience on the frontier. Just another six to twelve months ahead, building another fort and keeping his men in fighting condition. Nothing he hadnt done many times before.

 Besides, there was at least one small benefit. Hed be able to make sure those two rascals were telling the truth.

 Send a squad down to Arkansas, he told his aide. Then, thinking about it, amended the order. No, better make it a whole company. The way that lunathe special commissionerhas been throwing arms around to Indians in the area, a squad might get ambushed. Under a flag of truce, of course.

 Yes, sir. And theyre

 What do you think? Sam Houston was really the only eyewitness. See if hes willing to come here and verify that weve got the right man.

 

AUGUST 22, 1825

 

Yes, thats him. Im quite sure of it, Colonel Taylor.

 Sam had wondered how hed react if indeed it proved to be the man whod killed Maria Hester. Six months earlier, hed probably have had to be physically restrained from attacking him.

 Now

 The man glaring at him from a much-battered face just reminded him of a filthy rat. Not even a cornered one, but one caught in a trap, and knowing it.

 He turned away, not ever wanting to see the man again in his life. Taylors rough, honest features were a relief.

 And thank you, Colonel.

 My pleasure. Taylor looked to the guards holding Clark. Get him out of here, and back into chains.

 When he looked back at Sam, his face was a bit stiff. Ah

 Sam waved his hand. Yes, I understand, Colonel. The crime was committed against an American citizen, on American soil. The prisoner will have to be returned there for trial.

 Taylor nodded. Personally, Id be quite happy to hand him over to you. Or Arkansas, for that matter. But

 He rubbed his heavy jaw for a moment. I think itd be best, all around, if we did everything by the book.

 There was a slight stress on everything.

 Yes, I agree. Everything by the book.





 Later that day, Sam met privately with the two men Colonel Taylor credited with the capture.

 I can guarantee you that Andy Jackson will pay his half of the reward, once he gets my letter. Clays half

 He shrugged. Who knows? And even if Clay is good for it, Im not sure where youd need to go to collect. You can wait for Andys money in New Antrim.

 The two men looked particularly shifty-eyed in response to that.

 Well. Ah. That came from the one called Ray Thompson. It might even be his real name.

 His partner, Scott Powers, echoed him. Well. Ah.

 Sam grinned. Dont tell me you boys are in bad odor in the chiefdom of Arkansas?

 Well. Ah.

 Well. Ah.

 That was worth a chuckle. What was it? Slave trading? Or were you part of Crittendens crowd?

 That was worth an outright laugh. Both, huh? Anybody ever suggest to you that youre not walking in the ways of the Lord?

 Well. Ah. That was Thompson. Powers managed to return the grin. Yeah. Started with my mother. I was maybe five.

 A thought came to Sam. It wasintriguing, anyway.

 Tell you what, he said. You come back to New Antrim with me. Ill guarantee your safety.

 Those had to be the two most skeptical looks hed ever gotten in his life.

 Safety out, too? asked Thompson.

 Oh, relax, will you? Nobodyll lay a hand on you, all the way in and out of Arkansas. Fact is, I think the Lairds more likely to be amused than anything else. Charles Ball, for sure.

 At the mention of Charles Ball, Sam thought they almost jumped.

 Well probably have to keep you out of John Browns sight, however.

 At that, they did jump. Not more than half an inch, though. Tough fellows, obviously. Rogues, rascals, and renegades, too, just as obviously. But Sam was pretty sure he could find a good use for such. Several good uses, in fact.





 It took two weeks longer than anyone expected to get Andrew Clark back to Washington, D.C. Not because of his bad foot, which none of his captors cared about in the least. But simply because the army soon realized it had to detail sizeable units to escort the prisoner every step of the way.

 As it was, they almost lost him at Uniontown. The crowd that surrounded the company was more in the way of a small army than the lynch mobs theyd encountered in St. Louis and the Ohio river towns.

 Fortunately, the governor of the state was there also, and Shulze finally managed to talk the crowd out of the hanging theyd been looking forward to.

 Hed been there by pure coincidence, as it happened. News of Clarks capture and return for trial had spread all over the country by then, but Shulze hadnt paid much attention to the details. Hed had no idea the prisoner was coming through Uniontown when he planned to be passing through.

 Word had spread all over the country about the Second Battle of Arkansas Post, too. Word, in the form of extensive and detailed reports printed in every newspaper in the nation.

 Not always the same reports in all the newspapers, of course. Most newspapers gave pride of place to the reports filed by Bryant and Scott, those being authoritative in terms of their authors as well as being the only really eyewitness accounts from all sides of the fray. But not all did. A considerable number of papers, especially in the Deep South, refused to run the Bryant-Scott accounts at all. Several of them went so far as to point to those reports as prime examples of the sort of pernicious abolitionist propaganda that the Georgian delegation to Congress had already announced it was going to demand be banned from being carried by the U.S. Postal Service.

 Some newspapers emphasized one thing; others something else. U.S. DEFEATS ARKANSAS in one paper might be MONSTER CASUALTIES IN ARKANSAS in another. But there was enough commonality for one thing to be clear to everyone.

 The Arkansas War was just starting, and it wouldnt be over any time soon.

 In Washington, D.C., the president and the war secretary announced that theyd be presenting to the next Congress, convening over the winter, a plan for the drastic expansion of the American military in response to the threat posed by the Confederacy. Or Black Arkansas, as Calhoun referred to it, not being a man given to euphemisms.

 In response, Senator Andrew Jackson called for the formation of a new political party, since there was clearly no longer room in the existing Republican Party for both him andthe rascals was the mildest term he usedClay and Calhoun. And he invited several key political figures in the nation to meet with him in advance of the convening of Congress, so that a common platform for the new party could be forged.

 And thats where Governor Shulze of Pennsylvania had been headed when he passed through Uniontown and, by pure accident, happened to be there at the right time to save Andrew Clark from a lynching.

 At the Hermitage, in Nashville, another declaration of war was being prepared. A war, in this case, that nobody in the United States with any political sense at all thought would be over any sooner than the other oneand a goodly number thought would continue long after peace came to Arkansas.





 Clark did eventually make it to Washington. The trial that followed was brief, as was the sentencing. Several congressmen from Georgia, at the last minute, made a somewhat bizarre attempt to persuade the president to commute Clarks sentence to life imprisonment. Bizarre, at least, in its contorted logic.

 But other than a few Georgians, only John Randolph rose in the House to defend the proposal, and his logic couldnt be followed by anyone.

 President Henry Clay turned them down flatly, evenvery unusual for himin a curt and almost uncivil manner. First, he said, because he had no proper jurisdiction over the matter. Granted that the District of Columbia was under federal authority, not being part of any state, murder was a local crime. So why didnt Congress act directly instead of trying to shuffle the matter off on the president? And what exactly had happened to John Randolphs principles concerning states rights and the ever-present danger of an overweening executive branch, by the way?

 That last, with a sneer, which Clay did very well also.

 Beyond that, he told them, even if the courts ruled that he could intervene, he would under no circumstances do so anyway.

 The bastard murdered an innocent young woman! Who might very well have been pregnant with child. Right therenot a mile awayon the steps of the Capitol! What in the name of God is wrong with

 He broke off abruptly and resumed the seat behind his desk. No, gentlemen, he said. The answer is no. Let the murderer hang by the neck until dead, and good riddance. And now, Im sure you have other business to attend to. If not, I do.





 The murderer did hang, on January 23, 1826. But by the time the noose finally took his life, Congress had convened, and no one was paying much attention any longer.

 No politician, at any rate. One observer at the hanging was a visiting plantation owner from South Carolina. When it was all over, he was heard by some of the guards to curse Andrew Clark with vehement bitterness, ending with You dang fool! Why did you have to miss? 






 CHAPTER 40



 The Hermitage Nashville, Tennessee

 OCTOBER 12, 1825

 

not budging an inch on the subject of the Bank! No, sir, Mr. John Quincy Adams. Notoneinch. Andrew Jackson broke off his angry stalking back and forth in the living room of the Hermitage. Planting his bony hands on his hips, he leaned over and, from a distance of not more than two feet, bestowed his patented Andy Jackson glare on the short, chunky man sitting in the chair in front of him.

 Who, for his part, was glaring right back. Watching the two of them from the far side of the room, Jacksons old friend and confidant John Coffee didnt even try to hide his grin.

 You had to tip your hat to Quincy Adams. The whole Jackson style just plain aggravated him, but hed soon learned how to deal with it. The man might have the mind of a scholar, but he could be just as pugnacious as anyone in Jacksons camp, including Andy himself.

 dont care about all that fancy economics prattle, Jackson was continuing. The issues not finances in the first place. Its politics! A national bank with the authority of the federal government behind it is a mortal threat to the republic. You might as well put a viper in a babys crib.

 Standing by a window not far away, Thomas Hart Benton cleared his throat noisily. Noisily enough, in fact, to break off Andy in mid-tirade and intercept the harsh riposte that Quincy Adams was obviously about to launch.

 Got to say I agree with Andy here, John, the senator from Missouri said, in a mild tone of voice. He then gave the Tennessee senator a look of deep reproach. Though I cant see where theres any call for him to get so rambunctious about it.

 Thomas Hart Benton! Complaining that someone else was being too rambunctious. Coffee still had vivid memories of the gunfight in the City Hotel, not more than a few miles away though a considerable number of years back in time. Itd been a fistfight and knife fight, too, no holds or weapons barred.

 But he does cut to the heart of it, I think. Benton took a few steps forward, placing himself in front of most of the men gathered in the room. The senator was a natural orator of the rip-roaring school, and he began lapsing into the sort of speech he might give on the Senate floor.

 I plain cant see why, in a confederacy of such vast extent, so many independent states, so many rival commercial cities, there should be but one moneyed tribunal, before which all the rival and contending elements must appear.

 Sure enough, his left hand was slipping into his waist, and the right was beginning to wave about. What a condition for a confederacy of states! But one single dispenser of money, to which every citizen, every trader, every merchant, every manufacturer, every planter, every corporation, every city, every state, and the federal government itself must apply, in every emergency, for the most indispensable loan!

 He was in full roar, now, the right hand no longer waving about but pointingno, thrustingthe forefinger of denunciation from a mighty thick fist of righteousness. Fortunately, at a blank spot on a wall, beyond which lay defenseless farmland, rather than at John Quincy Adams.

 Though, to be sure, Adams was not far from the line of fire. Benton had only to lower the hand perhaps a foot and shift it three inches to the left to bring the man from Massachusetts directly into the accusatory fingers aim.

 And this!in the face of the fact that in every contest for human rights, the great moneyed institutions of the world have uniformly been found on the side of kings and nobles, against the lives and liberties of the people!

 Adams clapped his hands together. Once, twice, thrice.

 Splendidly said, Thomas! And I can assure you that should I ever choose to forgo the barren soil of New England for the fertile vistas of Missouri, I shall certainly cast my vote for you upon every possible occasion.

 That brought a laugh to the room. A booming one from Benton.

 Coffee laughed, too, but his laugh faded quickly. Choked off at the source, so to speak. Adams had turned his head slightly, and Coffee finally spotted the little gleam somewhere in there.

 Uh-oh.Belatedly, he remembered. Adams had so few of the overt political skills of most of the men in that room that it was easy to start underestimating the rest of the man. Even Andy Jackson, by now, would allownot often, and then only grudgingly, true, but hed still admit itthat John Quincy Adams had probably the finest political brain in the nation.

 That didnt mean he was necessarily right on any given issue or dispute. He had his own biases, his own sectional and class views and interests, as much as any man. Not to mention that stiff Puritan way of looking at the world, so different from that of the Jackson camp, all of whom were certainly Christians but few of whom belonged to any church or regularly attended services.

 But you underestimated that rapier intelligence at your peril.

 Fine, gentlemen, he said firmly. Weve argued this matter long enough. Clearly, Im in a small minority on this issue, in present company. A minority of one, to be precise.

 Sitting on a divan nearby, Governor Shulze waggled his hand. Say one and a half, John. With his German accent, it came out more like vun-unda-haff.

 Shulze gave the room at large a mildly apologetic glance. I understandeven agree, for the most partwith the points made by the senators from Tennessee and Missouri. Still, mine is a state with much industry and manufacture. I should not care to return to the financial chaos of previous times when it comes to the nations banking system. I have also seen poor meneven thrifty German onesstripped of all they own because a wildcat bank collapsed, and through no fault of their own. That is a form of tyranny, also.

 Adams gave him a nod. On the opposite side of the room, so did Jackson. Shulze was raising the practical and financial side of the problem, which not even Andy would deny existed so long as the basic principle was retained.

 But John Coffee barely noticed all that. His attention was riveted on Adams. There was a great big giant trapdoor opening here somewhere. He was sure of it.

 Adams cleared his throat, almost as noisily as Benton had done a few moments ago.

 So I shall concede the point, while not restricting myself from saying what I believe on the issue as a representative from my state. In the event I should be elected, of course.

 Normally, that would have brought a laugh, too. That Adams would be sitting in the Housein less than two months, not even having to wait for 1826was now a foregone conclusion. As soon as John Quincy had announced his intentions, the sitting congressman from the Massachusetts 11th District had offered to resign his seaton the condition that the governor of the state would appoint Quincy Adams to serve out his term.

 The governor was no great friend and admirer of Adams, but no one expected him to do otherwisefor the simple reason that, whatever his personal inclinations, refusing to appoint Adams would pretty well guarantee his own removal from office at the next gubernatorial election. The Arkansas War had all of New England hopping mad, no state more so than Massachusetts. In the fray that was coming, the Bay State wanted its best lance in the tournament.

 Coffee saw that Jackson wasnt smiling any longer, either. Andy had spotted the same gleam.

 But having done so, I must advance a demand of my own. It strikes me as grotesque for the senator from Missourias well as the senators here from Kentucky and Tennesseeto be making orations on the subject of the dire threat posed by a national bank to the foundations of our democracy.

 Adams cocked an eye at Jackson. A viper in the crib of the republic, as I recall you putting it. A very nice turn of phrase. But having conceded the viper, I must now insist that my colleagues here explain to me how they can toleratedecade after decadethe presence of a dragon in that very same crib. That great ancient reptile that is called slavery.

 Coffee blew out his cheeks. So. There it was.

 The elephant in the middle of the room, that they had all been doing their level best to pretend wasnt there.

 Jackson sighed and looked away, staring out of one of the windows. Through whose panes he could easily see some of his own slaveshis many slavesworking in the fields beyond.

 His lips quirked slightly. Tarnation, John Quincy, the Republican Party managed to get all this way without ever much talking about that.

 Yes. I know we did. Quite successfully. But that was because the dragon was asleep.

 For the first time since that days session began, Adams rose from his chair. Unlike most of the politicians there, he was not given to perorations. But, clearly enough, his time had come. John Coffee didnt doubt for a moment that Adams had planned it this way from the opening of the informal session.

 Not todays session, either. From the beginning. From the day he arrived at the Hermitageor, more likely, weeks earlier when hed accepted Jacksons invitation.

 It is time to face reality, gentlemen. We did not ask for the Arkansas War. Indeed, we opposed it. But the war is here, and none of us expects it to be over any time soon. Not before 1826, at the very earliest, and most likely not until 1828.

 He pointed a finger of his own toward the west. Not a finger of accusation, simply that of a scholar, in college, instructing students.

 The Arkansas War changes everything, gentlemen. Whether you like it or I like it. Whether you ever intended to deal with the matter, or I did.

 Adams paused long enough to finish composing his stance and expression. That Puritan rectitude business, whose self-critical honesty was perhaps even more annoying than the critical nattering at others. And I will state here, for the record, that I never had any intention of doing so, either. Like you, I decided long ago to let the dragon sleep. As did George Washington, our first president. As did my father, who succeeded him. As did his successor, Thomas Jeffersonfor all his public histrionics on the subject.

 The last was said with a sneer. The whole Adams family, even those like John Quincy who had abandoned Federalism, had a corrosive detestation of Jefferson stemming from the campaign of 1800.

 But his sneer was no greater than Jacksons. For all that the Republican Partymovement, say betterwas sometimes called Jeffersonian, Andy Jackson despised Thomas Jefferson. So did the majority of the men in that room.

 As did James Madison and James Monroe, who succeeded them, Adams went on. And you can be quite certain that our sixth president, the estimable Henry Clay, will be moving heaven and earth to do the same. Not that Calhoun will allow him the luxury.

 He paused again, to sweep the room with a hard gaze. Oh, no. In John C. Calhoun, you can see the dragon, gentlemen. Erect and breathing fire. Henry Clay will sacrifice the virgin to the beast, or the beast will devour him whole. It has come wide awake. A dragon that might well have continued sleeping for decades, had things been otherwise. Slept long enough, indeed, for all of us here to pass on to the afterlife, never having dealt with the monster. Although I suspect our descendants would not have thanked us for it, two or three generations hence. And I have come to do much more than suspect that the God we will all someday answer to will most certainly not thank us at all. In that, if nothing else, I think the scoundrel Jefferson was stating the simple truth.

 He sat down abruptly. So. There it is. I have some proposals of my own. I am most willing to listen to proposals from anyone else. But this much I will not budge on. I will give you the bank, Senator Jackson. We have already compromised on the tariff and internal improvements, in which I conceded more than I gained. I will probably concede much else. But I will not ever againparticipate in a political party that does not at the very least have the simple honestythe simple virtue, if you willto be able to call a reptile a reptile. If it cant even manage that much, it cant manage anything worthwhile.

 Silence followed. Coffee looked around the room.

 Andy was still staring out the window. Benton was giving Adams a look that was half a glare. Only half, though. Shulze was obviously trying not to look smug. Martin Van Buren, over in the corner, had an unreadable expression. But that was a given with the senator from New York. If there was any politician in the country slicker and smoother than Henry Clay, it was the Little Magician. The former Radical Republicans first and immediate reaction to anything was to start calculating the votes, once he was assured that states rights would be respected. And no one thought Adams was challenging that principle.

 Coffee then looked at Richard Johnson. The senator from Kentucky was giving Adams a look that Coffee couldnt interpret at all. Well

 He could, actually, he thought. If you remembered that Johnson was a man as well as a politician.

 Finally, he looked at the two men who, in the end, were perhaps the most important ones of all. They were sitting side by side in a divan angled to the one holding Shulze.

 William Carroll, governor of Tennessee. Joseph Desha, governor of Kentucky. There was no one here representing the state government of Missouri, because the elected governor had just died a couple of months earlier and his successor wasnt known yet.

 Both men looked more like rabbits paralyzed by the sight of a viperor a dragonthan anything else he could think of. Coffee couldnt really blame them. In the United States of America, in the year 1825, the states were more often than not the battlefields upon which the political wars were fought. A proposalnot even that yet, just a questionthat frightened presidents and senators and congressmen could be downright petrifying for a governor.

 Jackson spoke first, still looking out the window. His tone was quite mild. Lets start with this, John. Under no conditions will I support outright abolition. Not even on a state level, much less a national one. First, because I detest abolitionists. Second, because I dont think it would work anyway. Third, becausehe had a crooked smile, nowfine, Ill be honest. I cant afford it myself.

 Agreed, said Adams immediately. To make something clear, Senator Jacksonor anyone hereI have no fondness for abolitionism myself. Never have had, despite what some people insinuate. He shrugged heavily. The truth is, being blunt, I dont care much what happens to negroes. They are not my race of men, and Ive never seen much evidence that leads me to question the general assessment of their capabilities. But thats not the point. The problem with slavery, so far as I am concerned, is not its effect upon negroes. The problem is its effect upon us. It is corroding the republic, gentlemen. Like venom from a viper. Sooner or later, it will sweep the republic under, in all but name, or it will tear it apart.

 Carroll started to protest. I think thats more than a bit

 No, hes right, said Jackson quietly. He still hadnt taken his gaze from the countryside beyond. I didnt use to think so, either, Bill. But Johns right. Arkansas changed everything. Or maybe its better to say that Arkansas stripped away the blinders. Where do you want to start? States rights? Calhoun and his people are already demanding that the federal post has to be closed to abolitionist literature.

 But you saidwasnt but

 Jackson waved his hand impatiently. I know what I said. Didnt seem like such a bad idea to me, once. Stinking abolitionists. But havent you been paying attention? Now theyre claiming that even the reports being filed by Cullen Bryanteven Scott!are abolitionist. 

 Finally, he turned away from the window. Some fury was coming into his eyes. And dont that cap the climax? Winfield Scott, who whipped the British at the Chippewa and almost lost his life at Lundys Lane, has to shut his mouth and not tell the country the truth about its military affairsso that John Calhoun, who never once in his life put himself in harms way for the sake of the republic, isnt discomfited on his plantation. No different, I tell youno different at all!from those damn traitors in New Orleans!

 He gave the room a sweeping gaze much like the one Adams had just given it. Allowing for a fifty-degree increase in temperature. No, sir! Be damned if Ill support that!

 His eyes met those of John Quincy Adams, then, and the two men exchanged a quick, hard nod.

 So, it was all over but the shouting.





 Well, all over but the dickering. Thered be days of that, still.

 John Coffee thought about his own reaction and was a bit surprised at what he found.

 Simply relief. A man could live with a reptile, even place his own well-being in the creatures care. That wasnt easy, but it could be done. What was truly hardexhausting, after a whilewas the need to keep insisting the scaly damn thing was warm and furry. As if it were a pet instead of a vicious wild beast that could turn on you at any moment.





 By midafternoon, two days later, they finally agreed on a modification of New Yorks method of gradual emancipation. Quincy Adams dragged the negotiations out for at least half a day, all but calling them a pack of cowards. New York had taken longer to free its slaves than any of the Northern states except New Jersey. In fact, they still werent all free. There were hardly any negroes remaining who were affected by those particular curlicues in a set of laws that was riddled with curlicues, true enough. But, technically, the last slave in New York wouldnt be free until 1827.

 But Coffee kneweverybody knewthat was just Quincy Adamss way of applying the goad. Fine for him to advocate the Vermont or Massachusetts approach, when slaves had never featured significantly in those colonies and states to begin with. The legislative program they were trying to develop had the border states as their principal target, and slavery was prominent in those states.

 So, they felt the New York model would be more palatable, given that New York had had a large number of slaves through most of its history. In fact, until very recently, there had been more slaves in New York City than in any city in the nation, including Charleston, South Carolina. Nor was that simply a reflection of the fact that New York was by far the largest city. It was estimated that, as late as the end of the century, one out of four households in the city had owned slaves.

 There was the further advantage, using the New York model, of having Martin Van Burens expertiseno small thing, when it came to what would surely be bitter infighting in Congress.

 Not that the issue would really be decided in Congress. Jackson, a firm advocate of states rights, was adamant that no emancipation program of any kind could be applied to the nation as a whole. The new party could legitimately use Congress only as a podium from which to expound its views. The battles themselves would have to be won in the separate states, one at a time.

 In practice, that meant Tennessee and Kentucky within a year or two, with Missouri to come later. The issue of slavery was still a sore point in Missouri because of the Missouri Compromise. Benton warned them that it would take, in his estimate, at least four years before any Missouri legislature would be willing to seriously contemplate the notion.

 You never knew, though, he added. More and more German immigrants were coming into the state, and wherever Germans went, support for slavery was sure to drop. Drastically, at times. What was perhaps more important, however, was the uncertain variable of the Arkansas War.

 Arkansas had forced the issueand Arkansas might very well continue to set the pace and determine the parameters. If for no other reason than the simplest and crudest. The longer and more successfully a mostly black nation could defend its independence, the more difficult it became for any white man in Americaeven John Calhounto persist in the claim that black people were incapable of managing their own affairs.

 That was the ancient formula, even older than the dangers of a Praetorian Guard. A nation might produce no poets, no philosophers, no inventors, no scientists, no statesmen, no theologians, no sculptorsno barbers and butchers and bakers, for that matter. But if it could beat down anyone who tried to conquer it, no one could claim that it didnt produce men.

 Poets and philosophers might weep over that crude arithmetic. But Andrew Jackson was neither, whatever John Quincy Adamss pretensions might be. He had no trouble with it at all. He had subscribed to the formula in full since the age of thirteen, when he told a British officer who commanded him to shine his boots that hed not do it. He still had the scar on his forehead from the officers ensuing saber cutbut hed never shined the boots.






 CHAPTER 41



 On the following day, having settled the core question, the founders of the new National Democratic-Republican Partysuch was the title they decided uponwere seized by a bolder spirit. Or perhaps it was simply that they could calculate a different arithmetic. That was certainly true of Van Buren.

 With the political authority gathered at that founding convention of the new party, its leaders were quite confident that they could win in Tennessee, Kentucky, and Missouri. Not easily, no, but win they would. And theyd win Delaware, too, perhaps even sooner than Missouri. The Quakers and Methodists were influential in that state. The Quakers had long been antislavery, and the Methodists had been moving steadily in that direction. Arkansas Postthe whole Arkansas situationwas turning the Methodist drift into a powerful current.

 That aside, the new partys program of gradual emancipation was sure to lose them all of the South itself, with the possible exceptionover time, not quicklyof Maryland and the Old Dominion. That was sure to be true, even though the rest of their program would generally appeal to the poorer classes of white Southerners.

 That meant, whatever else, that they needed to seize and keep the allegiance of New Englandand New England would chafe at too many compromises. Outright abolitionism was growing by leaps and bounds in the region after Second Arkansas Post. A current in Delaware, it was a tide in New England.

 The same was true in Pennsylvania, perhaps even more so. If Pennsylvanians were not given to Puritan posturing, they were considerably more iron-headed than New Englanders. Abolitionists might pour into meetings at Faneuil Hall in their thousands. Pennsylvania had already sent a Lafayette Battalion to Arkansas. A small one, granted, according to the news reports. More in the way of a company than anything a military man would call a battalion. But there would be more coming, if the same accounts were accurate.

 Needless to say, countermoves were being planned, beginning in South Carolina and Georgia. Calls had already been issued for the formation of Cavalier Brigades to show Browns Raiders and the so-called Lafayette Battalions what was what on the field of valor. Even allowing for the usual Southron bombast, no one had much doubt that private military forces from Southern states would be entering the fray by next year. Bleeding Arkansas would soon be more than an abolitionists histrionic slogan.

 So, for the restwith the obvious exceptionthey swung over to the Vermont road. The high road, as Quincy Adams persisted in calling it, much to the irritation of his colleagues.


 No disenfranchisement due to race or color.

 No restrictions of property due to race or color.

 No restrictions of movement or residence due to race or color.


 In short, in one fell swoopwith the obvious exceptionthey proposed to eliminate the middle ground between slavery and freedom. Strike down any and all forms of exclusion laws. A black man might be a slave, or he might be free. But if he was free, he would havelegally, at leastthe rights of any white citizen.

 The work done, they basked in self-esteem.

 For perhaps three minutes, until Richard Mentor Johnson finally spoke after days of almost unbroken silence.

 John Coffee had been afraid he would.





 Gentlemen, I cant go along with this any longer. The Kentucky senators face seemed more homely than ever. But it was also set as stubbornly as any mules. Not without the rest. It just sticks in my craw.

 Jackson was back at the window. The others were in their usual seats.

 No one said anything. Their faces were stiff, wooden. With the exception of the two border states governors, anyway. Their expressions were back to that rabbit-staring-at-a-viper look.

 To Sam Hill with all of you, Johnson said tonelessly. I dont care what you think. Ive been in love with my wife since I was eighteen years old. Shes the mother of my two children. And I find, when all is said and done, that I just dont see where all the rest means a good God-damned thing if a man cant marry his own wife and claim his children for his own. Which I would surely like to do some time before I die. Let that hypocrite Tom Jefferson explain Sally Hemings and his bastards to the Lord when his time comes. I dont want to have to do the same.

 Well said, stated Quincy Adams. My salutations, sir.

 Coffee looked to the window. After a moment, Jackson turned around. Yes. I agree. Add it to the list.

 Carroll threw up his hands. Andy, for the sake oftarnation! We throw in amalgamation, we may as well just fold up our tents right now.

 Oh, bullshit. Jackson nodded at Johnson. Hes been married in all but name to a nignegressfor a quarter of a century. And if theres anybodyany voterin the state of Kentucky who dont know it, Id like you to show me where theyre hiding. And how many times has he gotten elected, Bill? And reelected?

 The governor of Tennessee tightened his jaws. But they werent any tighter than those of the states senator. The next words from Jackson almost came through gritted teeth.

 Besides, it doesnt matter. The thing that separates our party fromwhatever you want to call that pack of scoundrels who dont agree on much of anything except they want poweris this, before its anything else. You figure out what you think the republic needs. First. Then you figure out how to get enough people to vote for you. What you dont doeveris go at it the other way around. Leave that to the Henry Clays of the world.

 Well said, also, stated Quincy Adams. In fact, Id like to propose a drink to that statement. Manifesto, I should rather call it.

 He bestowed the first real smile on his colleagues hed given them since hed arrived at the Hermitage. Whiskey, of course.

 Even Carroll chuckled at that. But he made one last stab at it.

 How about

  Add it,tarnation, Jackson growled.  No restrictions on marriage due to race or color. To Sam Hill with the whole business! Ive just gotten sick of it. And the longer we argue about it, the sicker I get. In the end, youve got to ask yourself a simple question. What kind of democracy have you got when a man cant make such a basic decision on his own as to which woman he marries? And if the decision he makes is one that you or me think only a lunatic would make, so be it. Every man in this roomhe gave Adams a semiskeptical glanceexcept maybe the blasted Puritan over there, believes staunchly in the separation of church and state. And marriage is a matter between a man and a woman and their God. So what business has the state got sticking its nose into it?

 He waved his hand, more or less in the direction of the nations capital. You know and I know what the real issue is here. Its the same issue thats underneath every single blasted one of these points. Its not about marriage, just likehere he gave Adams a frosty eagles lookthe Bank quarrels not about banking. Its about power. You give black people that last openinggive it three generations, whos to say whats black in the first place?and you throw overboard John Calhouns precious so-called positive good. Slaverys just a thing, then. A machine to make money. Nothing more, nothing less. And no machine lasts forever. Never has, never will.

 Carroll took a very deep breath, and let it out slowly. Wellall right. Well take a beating, though, Andy. Dont think we wont.

 Yes, I know, Jackson replied. Ive taken beatings before.

 He grinned then. But the worst one I ever took in my life came at the hands of that bear-sized bastard Benton sitting right over there. So why am I supposed to worry about what a skinny pipsqueak like Henry Clay might do?

 That brought uproarious laughter, and the whiskey came out. And stayed out, for the rest of the day and well into the night. The work was done. No one could say it wasnt, any longer.





 Toward evening, Governor Carroll approached Senator Johnson, who had joined Jackson and Coffee at the window.

 Look, Dick, I dont want you to think there was anything personal about that. Its just

 Johnson smiled and shook his head. Oh, I know that, Bill. I couldnt hardly get too self-righteous about it anyway. Seeing as how I didnt make up my mind until yesterday. And the truth is, it didnt so much involve Julia in the first place. Not really.

 He seemed to be a bit embarrassed then. What I mean is, she and I have managed well enough for a long time now. We could have gone on the same way. But the thing is

 His voice trailed off, and his eyes went back to the window. Beyond, there really wasnt much to be seen except sunset over the Tennessee countryside. And black people walking slowly back to the slave quarters. Their days work was done, too.

 I got another letter from Julia two days ago, he said. Longer one than usual.

 Hows she holding up? asked Coffee.

 Pretty well, actually. He chuckled, very softly.  Course, she spent the first page of the letter goin on and on about how much she misses me. Which I dont doubt. But its pretty obvious New Antrim agrees with her quite well.

 He paused, watching the slaves. Their pace was picking up as they neared the quarters. Faster, the closer they got. That was because the word was spreading, not because they were all that eager to return. Their quarters were decent enough, as slave quarters went. Andy wasnt the sort of plantation owner to force his slaves to live in shacks. But they were still considerably more modestcertainly more crampedthan even a frontier familys log cabin.

 How much whiskey are you passing out? he asked.

 As much as they want, Jackson replied, so long as they dont get rowdy. Not the good stuff, of course. And I told the overseers to give them the day off tomorrow.

 A thin sort of grin came to his face. And Im prepared to be charitable about how I define rowdy. So dont be expecting too much in the way of quiet rest tonight, gentlemen. But to go back to the subject, I cant say Im surprised that she finds New Antrim agreeing with her. She is a black woman, Dick, even if shes got twice as many white ancestors as black ones and her skins no darker than most Indians. And New Antrim is a black city. Bigger than any in the United States, now, according to the newspaper accounts, except a handful.

 He shook his head slightly. I got to admit, Im surprised. I wouldnt have thought you could pack that many black folks in one place without them burning it down. Just by accident.

 Its pretty orderly, actually, what Julia says. But the main thing about the letter was that she turned to Imogene. It seems my daughter has formed a certain attachment to a young fellow there. Pretty serious, Julia says, even if Imogenes still too young for any such thing.

 Jackson frowned. Your twins arewhat, Dick? Not more than fourteen, if I remember right.

 Not even that. Thirteen. And the boy involved just turned eighteen. Julia dont approve, of course. But

 Johnson sighed. Imogenes always been the more rambunctious of the two, and shes stubborn like you wouldnt believe. The main thing, Julia tells me, is that hes a nice boy. Quite a decent sort, and not one to take advantage of a girl so young. In fact, it seems hes leaning on her to pay more attention to her studies, and shes even obeying him. And aint that a laugh? I couldnt ever do it with a stick!

 So

 Whats the problem? The problem is that Julia went on for another two pages about what a splendid young fellow this here boy was. Courteous, levelheaded, responsible. Hes even an officer already, in their army. Just got promoted to captain, in fact.

 At eighteen?  Jacksons brow was close to thunderous. What kind of army promotes an eighteen-year-old? Oh.

 Johnson squinted at him. Oh what, Andy?

 Jacksons frown was fading quickly. Didnt you read Scotts account of the battle?

 Well, sure, but

 Dig it up and read it again. Youll find your Imogenes swain. I can even tell you his last name, though I dont remember the first. Parker.

 He shook his head. It was one of those odd sorts of head-shakes, though. Admiring more than disapproving, mixed with something of just plain wonder. Thats quite some boy, I can tell you that. But I see your problem.

 Carroll and Coffee were both lost, now. Theyd also read the accounts of the battle, of course. But they hadnt subjected them to the sort of fine-tooth-comb scrutiny that Andy had. Not that Jackson actually expected hed ever be leading an army against Arkansas. Butyou never knew, and an old generals habits die hard.

 Seeing their looks of confusion, Johnson got to the point. Oh, come on, fellows. You both know Julia, as many times as youve visited Blue Spring Farm. When was the last timeor the first timeyou ever heard her showering praise on anybody? Much less two pages worth in a letter?

 Coffee smiled. Shes astringent that way, no doubt about it.

 Johnson was staring out the window again, his expression gloomy. Theres only one possible explanation. This Parker boy might be a veritable paladin. But I can tell you for sure what else is true about him, that Julia just somehow never got around to mentioning in her letter. Hes black as the ace of spades, too. Only reason shed be carrying on like that.

 Oh. That came from Carroll.

 Yeah. Oh.

 Yes, Scott mentions that in his account, Jackson added. As negro as they come.

 He twisted his head to bring his eyes to bear on Johnson. That same frosty eagles look hed bestowed on Adams earlier. Also as valiant as they come, in whatever color. Read Scotts report. So what do you propose to do about it, Dick?

 Johnson chuckled humorlessly. Well, first Ill try to talk the girl out of the foolishness. Whenever I can manage to see her next, which is Sam Hill knows when. Knowing Imogene, though

 The sun had almost set by now. But thats actually why I got stubborn in the end. To go back to where we started. What it all comes down to is that I just cant really see where anybody except the Creator who made us all has the right to pass the sins of the fathers onto their children. I hope Imogene gets more sensible about it all when she gets older. But whatever she does, I dont ever want her having to live the lie I did. Not ever again. I wouldnt wish that on anybody.

 There was silence for a bit, until the sun finished setting. Then Jackson called for another round of drinks.





 Later that evening, when Coffee had a moment alone with Jackson, he leaned over and said quietly: Im not all that surprised, now that Ive had time to think about it, that you swung over to John Quincy on the matter. But Im still surprised you did it so fast and easy.

 Jacksons responding smile was a bit rueful. Coffee might have even called it a bit of a guilty smile. Except that guilt fit Andy Jackson about as well as feathers fit a bull. Whatever else Old Hickory might be, he was surely the most self-righteous man in America.

 WellThat was Houstons doing. Ive gotten letters from him about every week for months now. He nodded toward Adams. Sos John Quincy, he tells me. When Sam puts his mind to something, that blasted youngster can be awful persuasive.

 Coffee thought about it. That was true, up to a point. Sam Houstons silver tongue was famous all over the country, and although Coffee had never read any of his correspondence, he didnt doubt that the mans pen was just as silvery. Still

 Andy, you could teach stubbornness to a mule. Nobody who ever lived can be that persuasive.

 Jacksons smile broadened and lost any trace of ruefulness. Sure he can. When hes got Arkansas Post on his sideand hes writing letters to a general. Think about it, John. The question Sam kept posing was as simple as it gets. As long as Arkansas stands, the issue of slavery just cant be ignored any longer. And did I thinkreally thinkthat Arkansas could be driven under? And if so, how? Blast that conniving youngster!

 Coffee wasnt quite following him. And your answer was?

 Of course I could whip Arkansas! The first time he asked, I sent back a short summary of how Id do it. Pretty much the same plan Zack Taylor tried to talk those idiots in Washington around. It aint complicated. Stay out of that death trap in the river valley after seizing as much of the Delta as we can. Threaten them on the south, doing whatever it takes to secure a route up the Red. Then make the big thrust from the north, down the Arkansas, splitting off the Indians from the negroes. Itd all end with a siege of Fort of 98. Bloody damn business, for sure, but Id win.

 He took a self-satisfied sip from his whiskey. Itd work, sure as the sunrise. There just arent enough negroes and Indians in ArkansasI dont care how tough they areto stand off eight million white Americans.

 He fell silent. Coffee frowned. And?

 And what do you think? Sam right off sent back a letter congratulating me on my perspicacity and posed a few more questions. And did the same in all the letters that followed, until I gave up.

 Now, Coffee was completely lost.  Yougave up? Why?

 Figure it out, John. Youve fought wars, too, right alongside me. Sit down when you get home, and start writing down everything youd have to do to make that plan work. Figure the size army youd need. Figure the logistics youd need. That parts not too hard. ThenSam never let me off the hook, not oncestart figuring out all the political changes youd need to back all that up. By the fifth letter, Id had martial law declared all across New England and Pennsylvania. And how do you finance the business? Nothing in the worlds as expensive as a war, especially a big one that goes on for years. By the time I got to the seventh lettermaybe the eighthI was starting to contemplate the virtues of a national bank. So help me God, I was.

 Jackson drained the rest of his whiskey. And theres your answer, which Sam Houston wouldnt let me slide away from. Yeah, sure, I could conquer Arkansas. But was I willing to pay the price? And for what?

 He waved the empty glass at the window, beyond which the slaves could be heard at their festivities. So I could keep my slaves? Tarnation, I came into the world without a slave to my name, and the day Ill destroy my republic in order to keep them is the day my name stops being Andrew Jackson. I can figure out ways to emancipate slaves without going broke in the process. Not easily, but I can. What I cant do is figure out how to keep themnot for all that longin a world that has Arkansas in it. Without gutting and skinning the republic. It just aint worth it, John. Simple as that.

 Now he waved the empty glass at Adams, who was in a corner talking with Van Buren. I imagine Sam did exactly the same to that poor bastard. Exceptbeing a pigheaded Massachusetts scholarit probably took John Quincy twice as long to admit he was cornered as it took me. How about another drink?





 The slaves did push the limits of rowdy, although nothing important actually got broken. But on both occasions when the overseers came to Jackson for instructions, he sent them away.

 The masters were pretty rowdy themselves by then. His pious wife Rachel, much disapproving, went early to bed. They were even beginning to blaspheme quite openly, laughing all the while.

 Especially after John Quincy Adams, no longer even remotely sober, proposed an alternative title for their new party: the National Illegitimate Party. With its clear and simple fighting slogan: Better a Plain Black Bastard in Office than a Fancy White-Striped Skunk.






 CHAPTER 42



 Washington, D.C.

 NOVEMBER 1, 1825

 

Its definite, said Adam Beatty. He laid a copy of the National Intelligencer onto the presidents desk. Todays edition. It has the full text of the program of the new party. The Declaration of Principles, the silly bastards are calling it.

 At Clays courteous nod, Beatty took a seat in one of the chairs surrounding the desk where Clays other political advisers were already seated. Fortunately, not adjoining Porters. By now, Peters dislike for the Kentucky legislator had grown into pure loathing.

 Everythings there, Henry, Beatty continued, grinning. Andbelieve meits every bit as insane as any of the rumors. Ha! The bedlamites might as well have cut their own throats and been done with it!

 Clay already had the newspaper spread in front of him and was starting to read the first-page headline story. Most of the advisersall of them, actually, except Porter himselfwere craning their necks. Josiah Johnston, sitting the closest, had half risen out of his chair.

 Beatty rummaged in his satchel. No need to strain yourselves, gentlemen. I obtained plenty of copies. Enough for everyone.

 A moment later, Porter had a copy of the Intelligencer on his own lap. He didnt give it more than a cursory glance, though, for the same reason he hadnt craned his neck with the others. Hed already read it before coming to the meeting this morning.

 Twice. All the way through and back again.

 Theyre madmen, I tell you! exclaimed Beatty, still with that grin. Theyre even advocating amalgamation!

 Porter cleared his throat. There were limits, and he had finally reached all of them.

 No, actuallyand Id advise you to be careful how you phrase that. They are not advocating amalgamation. Theyre simply calling for the removal of all laws that regulate marriage by criteria of color.

 Beatty was giving him that look that Porter had come to detest. Half frowning, because he was stupid. Half jeering, because his stupidity had no bottom.

 If you cant understand the difference, Representative Beatty, its the difference between advocating divorce and allowing for it in the law. I do not advocate that you divorce your wife.

 Not that the poor woman probably wouldnt thank me.

 I do, however, propose to make it legally possible for you to do so, should that be your choice.

 He didnt bother disguising the underlying sneer.

 Clay spoke a bit hastily to keep the matter from escalating. Yes, yes, Peter, of course youre right. He gave Beatty a veiled look from under lowered brows. Do be careful about that, Adam. We dont want to be accused of outright fabrication.

 Porter had become all too familiar with that veiled expression, also. More and more, Clay was separating his lines of action and using different advisers for different purposes. He might just as well have said: By all means throw the charge around, Adamwith wild abandonjust make sure it cant be traced back to me.

 Granted, Clay had always been a rough political fighter, even if he wore gloves. Porter had admired the trait in times past, and he wouldnt have objected if the gloves came off. The problem was that Henry was doing the opposite as time went on. He was adding more gloves at the same time his blows were getting lower.

 It was becomingfilthy. There was no other word for it.

 Johnston spoke next. We shouldnt have any trouble, now, getting Congress to pass the military appropriations bill. None at all, Id think.

 Porter levered himself upright. That issue was his principal concern. Henry, I want to advise you again that I think it would be a mistake to present that bill to Congress.

 The other advisers were looking either pained, in the case of Johnston, or derisive, in the case of Beatty, or something in between. Clays face had no expression at all.

 Porter knew this was his last chance, so he decided to use whatever leverage he had. What little leverage he had any longer.

 He pointed to the Intelligencer. Let the ramifications of that settle in for a bit. In a month or two, I think youd be able to get the appropriations bill passed that we need. 

 Oh, for the love of Beatty broke off the incipient blasphemy. Clay didnt approve of such, and at least part of his disapproval was actually genuine.

 Beatty slid forward, perched on the edge of his chair. Weve been over this more often than I want to remember. Mr. Porter, no one except you thinks it will take an army the size of the Russian tsars to squelch a pack of rioting negroes. A simple doubling of the regiments

 Weeksmonthsof simmering doubts and frustration boiled to the surface. Without realizing hed done so, Porter was on his feet.

 Mr. Beatty, have you ever gotten any closer to a battlefield than you have to the moon? Because I have.  He pointed a slightly shaking finger at the newspaper. Did you read the account of the battle, every detail of which was published in that same newspaper? And many others. They were outnumbered, and they still held off half the existing U.S. Army while inflicting worse casualties than almost any battle in the war with Britain and routing several thousand militiamen. And youyouyoupropose to call them rioting negroes, as if we faced nothing more than a minor civil disturbance?

 Clay was saying something, but Porter was simply too angry to pay attention. Blast you! Gentlemen, we are dealing with a war, here. A very real, no-joking, war. That means we have got to mobilize the same way

 Peter!

 Porter broke off at that half shout. He saw that Clay was on his feet. The presidents expression was just short of a glare.

 Peter, he said sternly, Im afraid I shall have to ask you to leave. And please do not return until and unless you have regained your composure.

 Porter stared at him.

 Now, please.

 There was

 Nothing to say, that he could think of. Any longer. Explosively, he let out a breath that he hadnt even realized he was holding in.

 Yes, of course, Mr. President. My apologies. He gathered up his own satchel and made for the door.

 On the way out, he heard Clay saying: For that matter, gentlemen, I think we should leave this whole issue out of our discussion altogether. It is now properly a matter for the Cabinet.

 The Cabinet.That meant John Calhoun, first and foremost. Who had also never in his life come closer to a battlefield than he had to the moon. And who, while he favored as big an expansion of the army as possible, had a contempt for black people so deep that it blinded him.

 But as he passed through the door, Peter realized it was no longer any of his concern. There were limits. There had to be limits, and he was now past them.

 Outside, on Pennsylvania Avenue, he looked down at the Capitol. Trying, for a moment, to remember how many years he had spent in the republics service, doing his best to help guide it.

 Enough. He had his own affairs to tend to, which he had long neglected. What would happen would happen, unfolding according to its own grim logic. A war begun by happenstancesome scheming, too, to be honestwould now be fought by men who thought they could do everything by half measures, supplanting the other half with schemes. The half measures would fail, succeeded by fuller onesbut those, too, would be stunted by that same cleverness, which was too clever by half. Until, in the end, they found themselves in a roaring rapids, in a rudderless raft theyd thought to be a steamboat, with the falls ahead.

 Be damned to them all. Peter Porter owned no slaves and never had.

 He was finally able to laugh, a bit. And never would own any, of course. Not now.

 New Antrim

 NOVEMBER 7, 1825

 

Sheff Parker was surprised when Julia Chinn ushered Winfield Scott into his room. He knew who the man was, of course, and had even seen him a time or two on the streets before his injury. But theyd never exchanged so much as a single word.

 He lowered the newspaper hed been working his way through, with some relief. Hed have preferred reading an account of the new National Democratic-Republican Partys program in an article written by Cullen Bryant and Scott. But Bryant had left a few weeks ago. Hed decided to remain in Arkansas for the duration of the war. But, that being the case, he had no desire to remain separated from his wife and daughter, so hed gone to get them and bring them back with him.

 From what Sheff had been told by Julia, Scott had considered the same course of action. But either because his family was largerfive children in allor because his wife came from Virginian upper crust, or because he was apparently planning to cover the war from both sides of the line, hed decided otherwise.

 Unfortunately, from Sheff s point of view, that meant the analysis of the new partys program was being written by John Ridge and Buck Watie. And they tended toward a far more flowery style of prose. Sheff s ability to read was improving rather quickly, now that he had so much time on his hands. But this was a strain.

 Scott came to the bed and leaned over to see what Sheff was reading.

 Oh, dear Lord. I dont envy you that. I leave aside the fact that their assessment misses the mark wildly, and on at least three counts.

 Why doah, please have a seat, General.

 Thank you. Why do I think that? The tall former officer drew up a chair. Lets start with the most basic. If you took that seriously, youd think the entire program of the new partywell, lets say nine points out of tenwas essentially a fraud. Then lets consider the fact that the estimable Ridge and Watie cant decide whether thats good or bad. Which is understandable enough, given their predicament. The Ridge family estates in Oklahoma have more slaves working them than all but the wealthiest plantations in the South. After that, we can move on

 Is it true that most of the slaves will never see freedom?

 Oh, yes, Captain Parker, thats quite true. The same thing will happen in Tennessee and Kentuckyand Missouri, though perhaps not Delawarethat happened in New York and most of the Northern states that adopted gradual emancipation. Before the time limit expires, most slave-owners will have sold their slaves to masters somewhere in the South. Id be surprised if more than one out of five people who were scheduled for manumission ever receive it. The black populations of most of those states dropped precipitously in the years prior to emancipationand I can assure you they didnt move to Canada, the most of them.

 He nodded toward the southeast. Theyor their childrenare laboring on a plantation somewhere in the Carolinas or Georgia, or perhaps working as stevedores on the docks of Savannah or Charleston. As I say, Delaware may be an exception. The Quakers and Methodists will be vigilant, and they may be able to keep that to a minimum. In any event, Delaware already has the largest freedmen population of any state in the nation, at least in percentage terms. The people of the state are fairly accustomed to it by now.

 Sheff studied the mans face. For all the cynicism that rested on the surface of Scotts expression, something else lay underneath.

 Please explain, Sheff said. He lifted the paper a bit. Why that goes against what theyre saying.

 Because theyre like men on a battlefield who see only the casualties and dont consider the fight. In the long run, Captain Parkeryes, I know this will sound very callous to youit doesnt matter what happens to those people. Give it two generations, three at the outside, and slavery is dead. Jackson knows that, Adams knows that, and you can be quite sure that John Calhoun knows it, too.

 Scott waved a dismissive hand at the newspaper. Those ladstheyre very young, so Ill grant them the excuseare approaching this as if it were simply a moral issue. Which it is, of course. But battles are not won with moral splendor. Theyre won by the brute force of the clash of arms.

 Sheff just waited, patiently. Sooner or later, he figured the man would get around to it.

 After a moment, Scott smiled at him. You are smart. Patrick told me you were.

 He lifted one long leg and crossed it over the other. Then, folded his hands in his lap.

 Heres how it is, Captain Parker. Slavery expands, or it dies. For two reasons. First, because the agriculture involved is frightfully wasteful of the soil. Within a much shorter time than you might think, so-called King Cotton will look like a bedraggled down-at-the-heels little robber baron. As it already does in the northern tier of slave states. The truth ismy father-in-law dislikes to admit it, as do most of my native states gentryVirginias main crop nowadays is slaves themselves. Whom they breed like so much livestock in order to sell to cotton growers in the Deep South.

 A sneer came to his face. Remember that, the next time you read one of John Randolphs perorations on liberty. But you can see where Im going. How are slave-owners in Georgia and Alabama to make the same transitionfrom King Cotton to King Negrowhen there are no new slave territories into which cotton production is expanding?

 Sheff thought about it. Well, theres Texas.

 Scott chuckled. Yes, indeed. Andremember I told you thisI expect within ten years well be seeing a war down there, too. But Texas alone, even if the South can seize it, wont be enough. Once Kentucky and Tennessee and Missouri are closed to slavery, it begins to die in its own waste. But it wont come to that, anyway. Because the other reason slavery needs to expand is political. The population of the North and the West in the United States grows much faster than that of the South. Because of immigration, if for no other reason. No immigrants except wealthy onesand theyre but a handfulwant to live in a slave state. Slavery depresses wages, and it stifles opportunity for small enterprise. So they move to the North and West. And now

 He pointed to the newspaper.  thisis the essence of that program, which the estimable Ridge and Watie managed to miss completely. The border states have finally decided they are part of the West, not the South.

 They havent actually decided yet, Sheff said mildly. He wasnt trying to be disputatious, though. He was just deeply interested in the former generals assessment and wanted to draw it out as far as he could.

 Winfield Scott really did have quite a magnificent sneer. Sheff was impressed.

 Ha! With that band of brigands leading the charge? My dear captain! Should the legislature of Tennessee be so bold as to defy Andrew Jackson, hes quite capable of ordering the militia to train their guns on the state capitol. I believe he still holds the rank of major general in the militia, which remains fiercely attached to the man. By guns, I include twelve-pounders. There are precious few slave-owners in the Tennessee militia, and those not major ones. One or two slaves, more like family servants than the chattel labor on big plantations. Hired hands, once theyre freed, which is an easy enough transition for all parties involved.

 Once again, he waved his hand dismissively. No, no. With Jackson and Benton and Johnson and Carroll and Desha calling for it, the border states are lost to slavery. Not immediately, but theyre lost. And once theyre gone, the South will slide further and further into political impotence. The slave states have already lost the House, and the imbalance will grow deeper every year. Now, soon enough, theyll have lost the Senate. And I doubt if youll see more thanat mostone Southerner ever sitting in the presidents house again, so long as slavery lasts, where the first four of five came from the region. Five out of six, if we count Clay. Which I suppose we must, given that hes thrown himself into Calhouns clutches. The blithering idiot.

 Sheff studied him for a moment. And that doesnt concern you?

 Oh, of course it does. But it concerns me as a soldier of the United States, not as a Virginian. My loyalty is to the nation, Captain Parker. It always has been. I have no use for men with divided loyalties. On that if nothing else, Ive always agreed with Andrew Jackson. SoI imagine Ill be returning to the colors one of these fine days.

 The handsome patrician head looked very much like one of the Roman busts Sheff had seen in the Wolfe Tone Hotel. Hed wondered, a bit, why the Laird had gone to the trouble and expense of having them shipped there all the way from Philadelphia. He was normally quite frugal.

 He figured he finally knew, now.

 You think there might be a war over it.

 Thatsputting it too strongly, Scott mused. But its a possibility, yes. Although I think its more likely to take the form of a series of armed clashes than what you could properly call a war. Either way, I expect Ill have work to do. My real line of work, so to speak.

 He said that last with a smile. Which, actually, brings me to the purpose of my visit. Patrick insisted I come. I didnt dare refuse him, of course. Him being my old master sergeant and a troll of most frightening proportions.

 They shared a laugh at that. Sheff decided he liked Winfield Scott. Not that he could imagine ever being what you could call a real friend of the man, given the chasm of their origins. Althoughwho could say what the future might bring? As each yeareach monthpassed, Sheff was finding the future less and less predictable.

 It was an enjoyable sensation, even a thrilling one, for an eighteen-year-old who could well remember how the future had looked not more than two years earlier. Extremely predictable, indeed. A lifeprobably a short onefilled with hard labor and poverty, ending in a grave. A paupers grave at that.

 There was a little commotion at the door. Ah, thatll be the workmen, said Scott. He gave the small bedroom a quick inspection. Well have to move that dresser to another room. Ill let Julia figure that out.

 He rose and went to the door, leaving Sheff to frown at the dresser.

 Why would they need to move

 The answer came within five seconds. Two men entered, carrying between them a very large oak bookcase. It was bigger than any bookcase Sheff had ever seen, except the one in the parlor of the Wolfe Tone. Behind them came two more men, each bearing boxes. From the strain in their shoulders, heavy ones.

 The next few minutes were simply confusing. Scott didnt seem to feel that explanations were needed. But when it was all done, the dresser in the corner was gone, and the bookcase was in its place. Filled with books, now.

 Sheff could hear Julia talking with the workmen in the corridor beyond. Trying to decide where to put the dresser, he imagined, but he didnt spend any time worrying about that. None of his own clothes had been in it. All of his clothes, even the two uniforms, fit into the locker that was shoved under his bed.

 There you are, Captain, Scott said, presenting the bookcase with an outstretched hand. Mind you, its only on loan, and Ill want it back when my peregrinations are finished. Since my partner chose to leave for a few months to fetch his family, Ill let him handle the American side of the reporting. Im offtomorrow, in factfor the first of several tours of the Oklahoma front. Colonel Taylor has agreed to give me an interview. I expect Ill be visiting the Red River region as well. But by the time thats all done, you should be fit for active duty again.

 He wagged a finger at Sheff. Mind you, Ill expect them all to be in the same good condition. Some of these books took me years to track down.

 Sheff s expression must have finally registered on Scott.

 What? he exclaimed. Patrick didnt tell you? What a troll!

 But he was smiling, quite widely. Its my famous military library, Captain Sheff. Patrick felt that it was time you applied yourself to your work seriously instead of lolling about in comfort and ease. General Ross agrees, with the caveat that he expects to be able to borrow from them himself. And now, I must be off. Good day.

 He paused briefly at the door and looked back. I spoke with the surgeon, by the way. Your wound seems to be quite similar to my own. The one I acquired at Lundys Lane. If so, Captain, expect it to hurt off and on for the rest of your life. But there shouldnt be any other problem of any consequence. And if pain is a major concern to you, then youd best start looking for a different line of work.

 He was gone.

 Ten seconds later, his head reappeared in the door. One last thing. If youre still struggling with your reading, Id recommend you start with the biographies. The technical manuals can be quite dismal.

 Gone again. Sheff stared at the bookcase.

 After a while, defying the surgeons orders, Sheff levered himself out of bed and began to examine the titles.

 Eventually, he decided on Julius Caesars The Gallic War. He had no idea who the Gallics had been, but at least hed heard of Caesar. Now that he thought about it, in fact, that might be one of the busts in the hotel.

 But maybe not. It was always hard to know with the Laird. Being as he was a man who hated tyranny, but never seemed to have any trouble being a tyrant himself when he thought he needed to be.

 Not that Sheff cared. Like almost everyone in New Antrim, hed seen tyranny at its most naked. No nebulous abstraction that someone like John Randolph might declaim against, but the real faces that had murdered his father.

 So if it took a tyrant to deal with that tyranny, hed surely be the tyrants legionnaire. Not hesitate for an instant, not though he waded through an ocean of blood.





 Hed only gotten through the first few pages, though, when there was another commotion at the door. Julia Chinn came in with a white man Sheff had never seen before.

 Will this do? she asked.

 The man shook his head vigorously. Impossible, Mrs. Johnson. Not for what you want. We really need a much larger room, where we can place at least three chairs.

 Julia nodded and gave Sheff a quick inspection. Can you sit upright, Captain? For She cocked an inquiring head at the stranger.

 Two hours at a stretch, Mrs. Johnson. Though Id prefer three.

 Julia turned back to Sheff. Can you manage that?

 Oh, sure, Miz Julia. Truth is, Id find it a relief. I get real tired of lying in bed, no matter what the surgeon says.

 Splendid. Lets begin at once then, since Mr. Wiedeman has the day free, and thats hardly ever true.

 Wiedeman gave Sheff a curt nod and left. Julia moved over to help Sheff out of the bed. Thats Lyle Wiedeman, Captain Parker. He just arrived in town less than two weeks ago. Everyones thrilled, of course. First real artist weve ever had in New Antrim. Well, painter, at least. But for this purpose, a wood-carver like Antoinette simply wouldnt do at all.

 It was odd hearing Miz Julia talking so properly. Not that she couldnt when she wanted to. She always did, in fact, on the frequent occasions when General Rosss wife, Eliza, came to visit. But Sheff wasnt accustomed to hearing her talk like that when just he and the girls were around.

 After she helped him to his feet, she shook her head, smiling widely, and indicated his bedclothes with a finger. And that wont do at all, either. Can you manage to put on your uniform, Captain? The dress uniform, I mean.

 I might need some help with the coatee, Miz Julia, but I can do the rest. If you give me just a few minutes.

 Certainly. But theres one other thing, Captain, Id much appreciate.

 Yes, Miz Julia?

  That.It wont do all, either. Not any longer. So I must insist.

 The words were said sternlywhatever they meantbut she was smiling more widely than ever.

 I dont understand, Miz Julia.

 Mrs. Johnson, Captain. Thats my name. Please use it, henceforth.






 CHAPTER 43



 By the time Sheff got into his uniform, Mrs. Johnson helping him with the coatee, and made it out into the boardinghouses salon, he discovered that the whole room had been rearranged. Lyle Wiedeman had an easel set up to one side, with a large blank canvas, and paints of various kind on a small table next to it. The divan that normally occupied pride of place in the room had been moved against one of the walls. The boardinghouses owner, Susan Wilson, was perched on its edge watching the activities, with her grandchildrenall six of themfilling the rest of the divan.

 Fortunately, it was one of the crudely made but sturdy pieces of furniture produced by the McParland Furniture Company in Fort of 98. The young children were rambunctious, climbing all over the thing, and Mrs. Wilson was not being her usual stern taskmistress self. The widows dark eyes were bright with interest at the unusual goings-on in the rest of the room. Clearly enough, she was giving only a small part of her mind to the matter of the youngsters.

 Sheff thought that might get sticky before too long. Literally sticky, what with all the paint bottles on Wiedemans little tablewhich was not sturdily built at all. He hoped that nothing disastrous would happen before the childrens two mothers and their uncle got back from work.

 That would be a while yet, though. Susan Wilsons daughters worked for one of the larger of New Antrims garment manufacturers, which, like all such, had long hours. The uncle, a partly disabled veteran since Second Arkansas Post, enjoyed one of the secured jobs set aside for such by the armys commissariat. His hours of work were not particularly long, but he was sure to dawdle after work in one of the military saloons before finally wending his way home.

 The husband of the younger of the Wilson daughters wouldnt be returning for two weeks at the earliest, since his unit was on patrol somewhere in the Ouachitas. The husband of the older daughter would never be returning at all. Hed died at Second Arkansas in the fighting at the wall, not more than fifty feet from the spot where Sheff had been struck down.

 But Sheff didnt give the matter of the children much of his mind, either. First, because he was too fascinated and puzzled by everything else. And second, because Imogene was in the room and wearing a fancy dress hed never seen on her before. It looked brand-new and store-bought.

 She was grinning at him and seemed to be on the verge of jumping up and down with excitement like a girl half her age. Sheff wouldnt have thought much of it a year ago, when hed first met her. Shed seemed so young, then, that the difference between a twelve-year-old and a six-year-old would have been minor.

 But he couldnt help notice it today. It was odd, really, the way the girl seemed to age, since hed been moved into the room upstairs and got to see her all the time. As if she were a month older for every day that passed. Sheff would swear that was true, except he was pretty sure it was just his mind playing tricks on him.

 Hed asked Cal about it, just the week before.

 You wish! had been the unkind response.

 Mrs. Johnson clapped her hands. All right, everyone take their positions! Mr. Wiedemans time is valuable, and we cant waste any of it.

 She pointed imperiously to one of the three chairs lined up in a row. Captain Parker, you take the seat on the left.

 No sooner had he done so than Mrs. Johnson took the seat next to him, in the middle. The other seemed destined to remain vacant.

 Mama! Adaline exclaimed. Cals not here yet!

 For the first time, Sheff noticed the twin. It might be better to say that her presence registered on him. He realized now that shed been in the room all along, wearing a dress very similar to her sisters except in small details of color and trim. But, as often happened when Imogene was there also, he simply hadnt paid any attention to her.

 And there was another oddity. Sheff kept hearing people comment on the identical appearance of the two girls, leaving aside whatever clothing they might have on. Sheff would have thought they were insane, except he had a vague recollection of having once thought the same thing himself.

 That was hard to imagine now. He could tell them apart instantly at any distance, rain or shine. Hed never had to test the matter, but he was just as sure he could tell them apart in pitch darkness, just from the sound of their voices. For that matter, just from listening to them breathe.

 But he forced that last thought aside. Best not to dwell on the thought of listening to Imogene breathe, in the here and now. He had time to do thatand did, and wouldevery night that passed. In a bed covered by a blanket, where he didnt have to worry about the possible indelicacy posed by the tight-fitting trousers of his dress uniform.

 Hush, Adaline! her mother scolded. Lieutenant McParland will be along soon enough. Something must have detained him. In the meantime, we can get started. Mr. Wiedeman tells me hell be concentrating on one part of the portrait at a time. So he can start with Sheff and Imogene. Be still, I say!

 Imogene came to stand behind him, and just to one side. A moment later, he felt her hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

 He stiffened slightly, casting a nervous glance at Mrs. Johnson. Hed been carefulvery, very carefulnot to engage in any sort of physical contact with Imogene. That would get him pitched out of the house in an instant, he was quite sure. And as much as he sometimes found the temptation difficult to resist, he managed. Whatever else he was, Sheffield Parker was patient and methodical. If it took him longer to get somewhere than it might take someone else, hed get there all the more surely.

 But, to his reliefand surprisehe saw that Mrs. Johnson was simply giving the hand on his shoulder a calm assessment.

 Not so close to the neck, Imogene. And keep your fingers still.

 That was it. Sheff had to tighten his jaw to keep it from dropping altogether.

 Begin when youre ready, Mr. Wiedeman. Susan, I would recommend that you not allow that rascal to stand on the arm of the divan.

 Oh! Mrs. Wilson tore her eyes away from the tableau in the center of the room. Andrew, you sit down! Right now, or Ill smack you!

 Everybody please be still, Wiedeman commanded.

 Wheres Cal? Adaline wailed.





 Some part of Callender McParland felt like wailing, himself. The mission that the Laird had recruited him for as hed been on his way to the boardinghouserecruited as in press-gangwas now successfully completed.

 Theyd found Sam Houston, missing since the night before. He was sprawled on a pew in the citys big Catholic church, just underneath the wall where the new painted carving of his wife was suspended.

 Drunk as a skunk, as the saying wentexcept no skunk who ever lived would get this drunk. He was almost comatose.

 The Laird took a deep breath. What I figured, Cal heard him mutter.

 Standing next to Driscol, Charles Ball shook his head. Like old times, isnt it? Tarnation, he hasnt had hardly a drop of whiskey inhow many months has it been, Patrick?

 Twelve, he replied stonily. Exactly. God damn me for a fool, I plain forgot. His wife was murdered a year ago yesterday.

 On the Lairds other side, Charles Crowell sighed. Oh, Lord. I forgot, too.

 He heaved his massive shoulders and moved toward Houston. Old times, Charles, as you say. I carried him before; Ill do it again.

 Wait, said Driscol, putting a hand on the huge bankers arm. His eyes were on the carving.

 For what? asked Ball.

 The Laird didnt answer for a moment. Then he shook his head.

 No. The boy will have to deal with this soon enough. Not often, Im hoping. Sam made it through a widowing, and moving his son to a new home, and fought and won a battle. But itll happen again. You know it and I know it. So go to the Wolfe Tone and bring little Andy here. Its the best place to begin.

 Ball nodded. Crowell hesitated. Are you sure

 No, hes right, said Ball. You stay here with Patrick and watch over him. Ill get the boy.

 Tianall have your hide, Patrick, when she finds out, said Crowell.

 No, she wont. Shell not say a word. Times like this, shes pure Cherokee.

 Driscol turned to Callender. Thank you for your assistance, Lieutenant McParland, but it wont be needed any longer. My apologies for detaining you.

 Cal left with Ball. At a dignified enough pace, until they got out of the church and went their separate ways. Then he starting walking as fast as he could.

 Adaline would have his hide, for sure. And the worst of it was, he still couldnt figure out exactly how hed found himself in this fix. As close friends as theyd become, he understood what drove Sheff to his fixation on Imogene. But what was his excuse?

 The girl was only thirteen! Cal wasnt any sort of Puritan, sure, but some things a man just didnt contemplate. And he wasnt looking for a wife of any age. Not yet, anyway. Most men didnt get married until they were ten years older than he was. Hed figured to do the same.





 He still hadnt come to any conclusions by the time he reached the boardinghouse. Except the dim, growing, horrible sense that things just happened because they did. Whether a man planned them or not, or wanted them or not, they just went right ahead and happened all on their own.

 Then he was ushered into the salon by Mrs. Wilson, and Adaline squealed the moment he came in, and the next thing he knew shed raced over and was hugging him andsure enoughher mother was fit to be tied.

  Adaline!You come back here right this instant! And stop behaving disgracefully!

 After about three seconds, Adaline obeyed. Cal was pretty sure that had been the most thrilling three seconds of his life.

 The dragons glare now got leveled on him. Tarnation, he hadnt done anything!

 Lieutenant McParland.

 But hed look on the bright side. Might as well, since it was obvious the world would toss him however it would.

 How nice of you to come.

 An ice cream parlor had finally opened for business in New Antrim. Wildly popular, of course, with Cal as much as anyone. Whenever it was open, the line went around the block. But it wasnt open very often, because ice was so hard to come by.

 Sit. Here. Please.

 Not any longer. Just bottle that voice.





 When Adaline put her hand on his shoulder, he liked to fly out of the chair. But, to his astonishment, the dragon didnt say a word.

 Of course, if you could bottle the look in its eyes, you could probably freeze the whole chiefdom of Arkansas. And whenever Adaline so much as twitched a finger, the monsters hiss was enough to freeze your blood.

 Still. It was an awfully thrilling two hours, with that hand there the whole time. By the end of it, Cal was halfway reconciled to the inescapable chaos of existence.

 Mrs. Johnson, said Sheff, sounding a bit timid.

 Yes, Captain Parker?

 AhIf I might ask, whats theI mean. What are we doing here?

 She bestowed on him a look that was a lot warmer than anything shed given Cal in at least two months. Just another example of lifes essential unfairness.

 Oh, thats simple. I told my husband Id have a portrait of us made up. Since it may be quite a while before we see him again. Mr. Wiedeman assures me he can have it shipped safely to Kentucky.

 Oh, certainly, said the artist. Might be a problem a few months from now, of course.

 Cal almost choked. He leaned over a bit to get a good look at Sheff.

 Sure enough. Amazing that a face that black could manage to look that purple at the same time.

 Aham I going to be in the portrait?

 What a ridiculous question. Of course you are, Captain Parker. Why else would you be sitting here?

 Butah

  Imogene!I told you! Not so close to the neck! For that matter, the session is over. Remove the hand, please. At once.

 All the ice cream youd need for everyone in New Antrim, dawn to dusk.





 Is Daddy all right? He looks real sick.

 Driscol shifted the boy a bit farther into his lap. Hes fine, Andy. A little sick, yes. But hell be fine by tomorrow. It might happen again, mind. You neednt worry about it though, lad, because well take care of it. Your father has many friends.

 The boy looked up at him uncertainly. Then, just as uncertainly, swiveled his head to look up at the carving.

 Thats Mommy, isnt it?

 Yes, it is.

 There was silence for a time as the boy settled his head on Driscols shoulder and stared up at the carving. Houstons gentle snores were the only sound in the church.

 Antoinette really had done a splendid job. It was Maria Hester, almost to the flesh.

 Will she go away again?

 No, lad. She will not. All the weight of the Ozarks and the Ouachitas was in that voice. Ireland, too, and the mountains of Spain.

 Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.






 1824: The Arkansas Waris a work of fiction. Though some characters, incidents, and dialogues are based on the historical record, the work as a whole is a product of the authors imagination.


 Copyright  2006 by Eric Flint


 All rights reserved.


 Published in the United States by Del Rey Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.


 DELREYis a registered trademark, and the Del Rey colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.


 eISBN-13: 978-0-345-49547-1

 eISBN-10: 0-345-49547-0


 www.delreybooks.com


 Map illustrations by Jeffrey L. Ward


 v1.0






 To the memory of my father, Knute Waldemar Flint





















 DRAMATIS PERSONAE



 American Characters

 

JOHNQUINCYADAMS: U.S. secretary of state; candidate for president in the 1824 election.

 ADAMBEATTY: Adviser to Henry Clay.

 JACOBBROWN:Major general, commander of the U.S. Army.

 WILLIAMCULLENBRYANT: American poet and newspaper reporter.

 JOHNC. CALHOUN: U.S. senator from South Carolina; candidate for president in the 1824 election.

 JULIACHINN: Mulatto wife of Kentucky senator Richard M. Johnson; the marriage is invalid by Kentucky law.

 HENRYCLAY: Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives; candidate for president in the 1824 election.

 JOHNCOFFEE: A close friend and associate of Andrew Jackson.

 WILLIAMH. CRAWFORD: U.S. secretary of the treasury; candidate for president in the 1824 election.

 ROBERTCRITTENDEN: Leader of the expedition to seize the Delta from Arkansas; scion of a prominent political family in Kentucky.

 EDMUNDGAINES: Brigadier general, U.S. Army; one of Jacob Browns two top subordinate officers.

 WILLIAMHENRYHARRISON: Retired U.S. Army officer.

 ANDREWJACKSONHOUSTON: Son of Sam and Maria Hester Houston.

 MARIAHESTERHOUSTON: Wife of Sam Houston; daughter of James Monroe.

 SAMHOUSTON: Special commissioner for Indian Affairs in the Monroe administration; adopted son of Cherokee chief John Jolly; his Cherokee name is Colonneh, which means The Raven.

 ANDREWJACKSON: Senator from Tennessee; candidate for president in the 1824 election.

 THOMASJESUP: Brigadier general, U.S. Army; quartermaster general for U.S. Army.

 ADALINEJOHNSON: Daughter of Richard Johnson and Julia Chinn; twin to Imogene.

 IMOGENEJOHNSON: Daughter of Richard Johnson and Julia Chinn; twin to Adaline.

 RICHARDM. JOHNSON: Senator from Kentucky; married to Julia Chinn, although the marriage is invalid by Kentucky law.

 JOSIAHJOHNSTON: Adviser to Henry Clay.

 JAMESMONROE: President of the United States, 18161825.

 PETERPORTER: Adviser to Henry Clay.

 SCOTTPOWERS: Adventurer; partner of Ray Thompson.

 WINFIELDSCOTT: Brigadier general, U.S. Army; Browns other top subordinate officer.

 ZACHARYTAYLOR: Lieutenant colonel, U.S. Army.

 RAYTHOMPSON: Adventurer; partner of Scott Powers.

 MARTINVANBUREN: U.S. senator from New York; known as the Little Magician.

 Arkansas Characters

 

CHARLESBALL:General, Arkansas Army.

 JOHNBROWN: Abolitionist; a tanner from Ohio who moves to Arkansas.

 SALMONBROWN: Abolitionist; brother of John Brown.

 HENRYCROWELL:Banker and entrepreneur.

 PATRICKDRISCOL:Principal chief, Arkansas Chiefdom. Also known as the Laird of Arkansas.

 TIANADRISCOL:Formerly Tiana Rogers; niece of Cherokee chief John Jolly; leader of the Arkansas Womens Council.

 MARIELAVEAU:Former New Orleans voudou queen; now married to Charles Ball.

 ANTHONYMCPARLAND:Captain, Arkansas Army.

 CALLENDERMCPARLAND:Soldier, Arkansas Army; cousin of Anthony McParland.

 SHEFFIELDPARKER: Freedman from Baltimore; later soldier and then officer in the Arkansas Army.

 HENRYSHREVE: Steamboat designer and entrepreneur; business partner with Patrick Driscol and Henry Crowell.

 UNCLEJEM: Freedman from Baltimore; later soldier in the Arkansas Army; uncle of Sheffield Parker.

 Confederate Characters

 

DUWALI: Cherokee chief; also known as Chief Bowles or The Bowl.

 PUSHMATAHA:Principal chief of the Choctaws.

 JOHNRIDGE: Co-owner, with Buck Watie, of a major newspaper in the Confederacy; later an officer in the Arkansas Army; son of Major Ridge.

 MAJORRIDGE: A major Cherokee chief; father of John Ridge; uncle of Buck Watie.

 JOHNROSS:A major Cherokee chief.

 BUCKWATIE: Co-owner, with John Ridge, of a major newspaper in the Confederacy; later an officer in the Arkansas Army; nephew of Major Ridge.

 British Characters

 

THOMASCLARKSON: A leader of the British antislavery movement.

 DAVIDROSS: Son of Robert Ross.

 ELIZAROSS: Wife of Robert Ross.

 ROBERTROSS: Former major general, British army; active in the antislavery movement.

 WILLIAMWILBERFORCE: Member of Parliament; a leader of the British antislavery movement.







 PROLOGUE



 The north bank of the Ohio River, near Cincinnati

 APRIL 22, 1824

 

By the time they had finished making camp for the night, Sheffield Parker was exhausted. Theyd been pushing hard for over a week, ever since theyd reached the boat landing at Brownsville in Cabell County and started traveling across country instead of continuing down the Ohio River on a flatboat. A friendly white riverboat man had cautioned them about it. He said theyd been safe enough, passing down Virginias western counties, since there were hardly any slaves in the area. But from there on downriver theyd have Kentucky on the south bank of the Ohio, and several slave catching parties were active on or near the river.

 We freedmen, Sheffs uncle Jem had protested.

 The boatman glanced at their party, which consisted of Sheff and his mother, his sister Dinah and his uncle Jem, and twelve other people from three different families. Several of them were children of one age or another.

 Well, thats pretty obvious. You dont never see runaway slaves in parties this big. But look, folks, it just dont matterand you got to know that much yourselves. Those slave-catchers are rounding up any black people they can lay their hands on, these days. Its been a field day for the bastards ever since the exclusion laws started getting enforced. Theyll even roam into Ohio to do it. Theyll grab you and haul you before a tame judge in Kentucky, and hell bang his gavel and declare you obvious runaways, and youll be up on the selling block before the days over.

 We got papers Sheff s mother started digging in the sack where she kept their few valuable belongings.

 Maam, it dont matter.  He flipped his hand, dismissing the idea. Forget about anything you can call law, down there. If you got papers, the slave-catchers will just burn them. Then its your word against theirsand any judge theyll be hauling you up before would rule against Jesus Christ in a heartbeat, if he was your color.

 He shrugged. Its a shame and a disgrace, but there it is. Was I you, Id sell the flatboat and start moving overland. Stay away from the river, as much as you can. Course, that aint so easy, lots of places. Just be careful, is all.

 Theyd taken his advice, eventually, after finding someone who was willing to pay them a reasonable price for the flatboat. But it had been hard going thereafter. The road along the north bank of the Ohio was a primitive thing compared with the National Road theyd been able to take as far as Wheeling after theyd fled Baltimore. Sheff had had to carry his little sister for the past two days, shed been so worn out.





 And then it all seemed to come to nothing. Less than an hour after they made camp, just at sundown, Sheff heard a noise in the woods that circled the clearing on every side except the river. A moment later, two white men emerged, with five more coming right after them. All of them had guns, to make it still worse. Two of them held muskets, and all the others had pistols. Nobody in Sheff s party had any weapons at all, except the big knives that Jem and two of the other men carried.

 Well, lookee here, boys. Aint this a haul?

 Sheff stared at them, petrified, from where he was squatting by the fire. He was sixteen years old. The first eleven years of his life had been the cramped years of a poor freedmans son in Baltimore, but not really so bad as all that. Then the white people started getting crazy after some sort of battle near New Orleans that Sheff didnt understand much about, except it seemed some black men had beaten the state militia over there and moved to the new Confederacy of the Arkansas. Which was way out west; Sheff wasnt really sure exactly where.

 White people had gotten mean, thereafter, a lot meaner than usual. New laws had been passed in Maryland, ordering all freedmen to leave the state within a year. Like most freedmen, theyd just ignored the law, seeing as how they were poor and didnt know where to go anyway. Most states were passing the same laws. Freedman exclusion laws, they were called. Then the rioting had started, and they hadnt had any choice but to try to make it to the Confederacy.

 And now, even that was going to be denied them.

 One of the white men with a musket hefted it up a few inches. Not cocking it, just making the threat obvious. Dont be giving us no trouble, now. I dont want to kill no nigger, on account of its a waste of money. But I will. Dont think I wont.

 One of the other men chuckled and started to say something. But he broke off after the first couple of words, startled by movement to his left.

 Sheff was startled, too. He looked over to the far side of the clearing and saw that another white man had come out of the woods.

 He hissed in a breath. That was the scariest-looking white man Sheffield Parker had ever seen. And, even at the age of sixteen, hed seen a lot of scary white men. Especially over the past few months, since the killing had started.

 And whore you? one of the white men demanded of the new arrival.

 The man whod come out of the woods ignored the question. His eyes simply moved slowly across the clearing, taking in everything. He was holding a musket in his right hand, almost casually.

 The sun had set by now, and in the flickering light of the campfire, those eyes looked very dark. But Sheff was pretty sure they were actually light colored. That scary bluish gray color that hed come to fear and hate more than any color in the world. The color of the eyes of most of the men who had beaten his father to death just a few weeks earlier. Sheff hadnt had any trouble, then, determining the color. The men had done the deed in broad daylight, on a street in Baltimore.

 Hed thought they were going to kill him, too, but theyd satisfied themselves with just beating him and his mother. Following which, theyd given them two days to get out of Baltimore, or suffer his fathers fate.

 Theyd left that very night, instead, along with a dozen other survivors from the race riot the white men had launched.

 Whore you? the white man demanded again. He began to raise his musket.

 Bring that gun an inch higher and youre a dead man, the newcomer said. Turning his head, slightly: See to it, Salmon. Levi, if any of the others makes a threatening move, kill him.

 The seven original white men froze. Partly, Sheff thought, that was because of the sight of two musket barrels emerging from the woods, gleaming in the campfire light. But mostly it was just the way the man had said the words.

 Scary, that had been, like everything about him. The words had issued from those gaunt jaws like decrees from a judgeor maybe one of those Old Testament prophets that Sheff s uncle Jem was so partial to. For all the threat in the words, theyd been spoken neither casually nor in heat. Simply

 Stated. The way a man might state that the sky was blue, or that the moon rose. A certainty, a given, decreed and ordained by nature.

 One of the other seven white men finally broke the paralysis. He hunched his shoulders and spit. Well, tarnation, sir, who are you?

 In a more aggrieved tone, one of the others added: It aint fair! We spotted and tracked em first. Rightfully, the reward should be ours.

 The gaunt-jawed man brought his gaze to bear on that one. What reward?

 WellThe other seemed a bit abashed, for a moment. The reward for capturing runaway slaves, of course.

 That finally brought Sheff s mother out of her own paralysis that shed fallen into the moment the first seven white men had come into their camp. Thass not true! We freedmen! We was driven out of Baltimore, and we on our way to the Confederates in Arkansas.

 One of the white men glared at her and started to snarl something, but the gaunt-jawed man cut him off.

 It matters not, anyway. This is Ohio. We do not tolerate the heathen institution of slavery here. He nodded toward the negroes squatting by the fire. They are men, and thus they are by nature free. So God decrees. I care not in the least what some sinner claims in Virginia or the Carolinas. Soon enough, his flesh will roast in eternal hellfire.

 He took a step forward, his musket held higher. Begone, all of you.

 The seven original white men just stared at him.

 Begone, he repeated.

 One of them had had enough. He snatched his hat from his head and slammed it to the ground, then planted his hand on the pistol at his belt.

 The hell we will! I dont know what crazy notions youve got in your head, but we

 The gaunt-jawed man took another step forward. He was now standing not fifteen feet away from the man with the pistol.

 I believe in the Golden Rule, sir, and the Declaration of Independence. I think that both mean the same thing. And, that being so, it is better that a whole generation should pass off the face of the earthmen, women, and childrenby a violent death than that one jot of either should fail in this country. I mean exactly so, sir.

 The man with the pistol hesitated. Then he sneered. You wont shoot.

 The musket came up like dawn rising. Not quickly, no. Sheff wasnt sure, but he didnt think the gaunt-jawed man was really what people meant by a gun man. He wasnt handling the musket awkwardly, but he didnt seem especially favored with it, either.

 It mattered not at all. The dawn rises. It just does, whether any man wills it or not.

 At the end, the pistol-man seemed to realize it also. Hey!  he started to shout, before the bullet took him in the chest and hammered him to the ground.

 Hey! two of the others echoed in protest.

 The gaunt-jawed man ignored them as he began reloading his musket. If any of them move, Salmon and Levi, slay them.

 They didnt move. Even though they all had guns, too, and had the gaunt-jawed man and his fellows outnumbered.

 Wellmaybe. From the corner of his eye, Sheff could see his uncle Jem and two of the other men in their party reaching for their knives. His mother was doing the same.

 Sheff wished he had a knife himself.

 Halfway through reloading his musket, the gaunt-jawed man looked up. He was close enough now that Sheff could finally see the true color of his eyes.

 Grayish blue, sure enough. That same frightening, cold color. But since it wasnt aimed at him for once, Sheff wasnt so scared.

 All of you, the man said quietly to the six white men still alive and facing him, were condemned before you were born. God is Almighty and so He decreed, for purposes of His own. I will shoot each and every one of youshoot you as dead as that one, sirsand I will simply be the instrument of Gods will. So do not thinkeverto say to me thou wilt not do it. Oh, no, sirs. I assure you. I most certainly will.

 They were strange words, in a way, coming from a man whom Sheff suddenly realized was quite young. Somewhere in his early twenties, at a guess, although the harsh features of his face made him seem older. Yet, hed spoken the words like one of the ancient prophets, and Sheff knew that some of them had lived to be hundreds of years old.

 I most certainly will, the man repeated. He was close to being done, now, with the reloading. Indeed, I shall, the moment this musket is ready to fire again.

 He broke off the work for an instant to point with the ramrod at one of the six white men.

 I will kill you first. After that, the others. Those whom my brothersblack as well as whitehave left alive. If there are any.

 Sheff s uncle rose to his feet. So did the other two black men. Their knives were all visible, out in the open and with campfire light on them.

 Wont be a one, sir, Uncle Jem predicted. Not if your brothers shoot as straight as you do.

 The eyes of the six original white men were very wide, by now.

 Hey! one of them cried.

 Begone, I said. The gaunt-jawed man didnt look up from the reloading. And do notevercome near me again.

 Sheff almost laughed, watching how they ran away. His mother did, after one of them tripped over a root.





 Before they slept for the night, the gaunt-jawed man insisted on leading them in prayer. Then he read from his Bible for a few minutes, until he passed it over to Jem.

 Sheff didnt mind. His uncle Jems heavy voice was a reassuring counter-tone to the white mans. And it wasnt as if they were quarreling over the biblical text, after all.





 The next morning, when he awoke, Sheff saw that the white man and his two brothers were already awake. Awake, clothedand armed.

 For the first time in his sixteen years of life, the sight of an armed white man didnt scare Sheff. Even if the man in question was still the scariest-looking white man hed ever seen.

 Once the party were all awake and ready to resume their travel, the man spoke.

 My brothers and I will go with you as far as the Confederacy. To make sure nothing happens like last night.

 Its a far stretch, sir, pointed out Jem.

 The man shrugged. Weve been thinking of settling in the Confederacy, anyway. I would much like to make the acquaintance of Patrick Driscol. In a world full of sinners, his like is not often encountered.

 Uncle Jem nodded. Wed much appreciate it, sir. Ever since Calhoun and his bunch got those freedmen exclusion laws passed, its been nigh horrible for black folks.

 Yes, I know. Calhoun will burn. Not for us to know why God chose to inflict him upon us. No doubt He had His reasons.





 By the time they reached the Mississippi, almost two weeks later, Sheff had worked up the courage to ask the mans name. He was the first one to do so.

 It helped that a party of Cherokees was there, ready to escort them the rest of the way to the Arkansas Confederacy. Cherokees were frightening, to be sure, but they werent as frightening as white men.

 Not even all white men were frightening to Sheff any longer. Not even him. He was learning to make distinctions that hadnt seemed very clear, back in the freedmens quarters of Baltimore.

 Please, sir, he said. Id really appreciate to know your name.

 The man nodded gravely. Then he smiled. He had quite a nice smile, even if it wasnt often evident.

 I wondered when one of you might ask. He pointed to his two brothers. Thats Salmon. The other is my adopted brother, Levi Blakeslee. My name is Brown. John Brown.









































 CONTENTS

 TITLE PAGE

 DEDICATION

 MAPS

 DRAMATIS PERSONAE

 PROLOGUE

 PART 1

 CHAPTER 1

 CHAPTER 2

 CHAPTER 3

 CHAPTER 4

 CHAPTER 5

 CHAPTER 6

 CHAPTER 7

 CHAPTER 8

 CHAPTER 9

 CHAPTER 10

 CHAPTER 11

 PART II

 CHAPTER 12

 CHAPTER 13

 CHAPTER 14

 CHAPTER 15

 CHAPTER 16

 CHAPTER 17

 CHAPTER 18

 CHAPTER 19

 CHAPTER 20

 PART III

 CHAPTER 21

 CHAPTER 22

 CHAPTER 23

 CHAPTER 24

 CHAPTER 25

 CHAPTER 26

 CHAPTER 27

 CHAPTER 28

 CHAPTER 29

 PART IV

 CHAPTER 30

 CHAPTER 31

 CHAPTER 32

 CHAPTER 33

 CHAPTER 34

 CHAPTER 35

 CHAPTER 36

 CHAPTER 37

 CHAPTER 38

 CHAPTER 39

 PART V

 CHAPTER 40

 CHAPTER 41

 CHAPTER 42

 CHAPTER 43


 ALTERNATE HISTORY TITLES BY ERIC FLINT

 COPYRIGHT









