Land of the Free Page 30

  “Forgive my ignorance, Colonel, but would the same rules of conduct apply were I to ask your opinion of naval officers?”

  “Naval officers? No, sir. Not under our current structure of independent departments of the army and navy. But I should add that I don’t know enough about naval tactics to be a competent judge.”

  “Good and bad leaders are the same in both branches,” Madison said dismissively. “You know the difference.”

  Yank had a notion of what was coming and he tried to think of a way to head off the president. “A number of my family members are ship’s captains, sir.”

  “Two of them, Van Buskirk and Decatur, are above question. If you run across any others while you’re in the north, I’m confident that you will be impartial.” He found what he was looking for, read for a moment and then looked up at Yank. “I think you have a passing acquaintance with Captain Alexander Percy.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He’s currently supervising the building of a small fleet at Dobbin’s Landing. I’d like you to go up there for a visit.”

  “May I ask why, sir?”

  “Percy is a close friend of Isaac Chauncey, who, as you well know, is the commander of naval operations on the lakes.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “I have no reason to doubt Commodore Chauncey’s appointment of Captain Percy, but control of Lake Erie hinges on building and commanding those ships. I would like your independent opinion of Captain Percy’s competence to confirm Chauncey’s decision in my own mind.”

  “Where is Dobbin’s Landing, sir?”

  “Presque Isle Bay of Lake Erie. Off the coast of Ohio.” He hesitated. “Or Pennsylvania. I am uncertain of which. Do you need a map?”

  “No, sir. The difference between the two is but a few miles. I’ll find it.”

  “Fine, fine.” Madison shuffled some papers then looked up at Yank absentmindedly. “Is there anything else?”

  “Something in writing with a copy to the Secretaries of the Army and Navy might keep me out of trouble, sir,” Yank said, getting to his feet.

  “Yes, of course. I can do that and have your copy ready by tomorrow. If I’m not available just ask my aide for it.” Madison stood up and offered his hand. “In case I miss you tomorrow, good luck, Colonel and stay safe. I’ve come to depend upon you.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  March 12, 1813

  Presque Isle Bay, Pennsylvania

  Presque Isle on the southwest shore of Lake Erie was connected to Pennsylvania by a narrow reef that the locals called a causeway.

  Yank arrived at the factory docks after the first shift was at work and waited for Percy to see him.

  “Colonel.” Percy hurried toward him and offered his hand.

  “Commandant.” Yank shook the younger man’s hand.

  “You nearly beat the courier in getting here,” Percy said. “I just got the message about your impending visit yesterday evening. It was quite a shock.”

  “A shock? Why?”

  “Well, sir, perhaps you were unaware – that is… You were reported killed in action at Fort Detroit.”

  “Yes, someone else told me that.” Yank gestured toward the ships under construction. “This is very impressive.”

  “We’re in a race with the British.” He looked around, then lowered his voice. “I didn’t really apologize properly to you – that morning - in New Jersey. I’m truly and deeply sorry for the wrong I did. Now, looking back on it, it seems as if I must have been possessed by a demon.”

  Yank decided it would be best not to comment.

  Percy was at a loss for words for a moment. “I’m married, you know?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, indeed.” He nodded vigorously. “It will be two years in May. May 5th, in fact. Two years.”

  “Well. Congratulations.”

  “My wife is the former Elizabeth Chapman of Newport, Rhode Island. I believe you know the family.”

  “No.” Yank shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve had that honor.”

  “Ah. Perhaps it was your father of whom they spoke.”

  “Perhaps. Is your wife here with you?”

  “No, no. I feared that the winter here would be too harsh but she will be joining me in May. In fact, we are planning an anniversary celebration in May. Do you think you will still be here, Colonel? It would be our very great pleasure if you could attend.”

  “I should be gone and out of your hair in a few days, Commandant,” Yank replied.

  “I was wondering,” Percy began. “That is…”

  “You have nothing to fear from me, sir. The President wanted a firsthand account of this facility.”

  “Oh. I thought perhaps it might be to evaluate me.”

  “I have no doubt of your competence, Commandant, and I am certain that I will discover nothing to change my opinion while I am here.”

  “I know there’s some suspicion about my appointment here, given my personal friendship with Commodore Chauncey.”

  “Is there?” Yank said, shaking his head. “That is truly a shame.” He gestured toward the shipyard. “Could you perhaps assign someone the task to show me around?”

  “I am only too happy to show you myself.”

  “That’s very kind.”

  ~

  Alexander Percy used his key to unlock the door of the house he was renting. “Marina?” He peered into the dark entry hall. “Marina?”

  “Stop shouting and close the door,” she whispered.

  He pushed the door shut. “What is wrong with you? Do you think he’d follow me home in order to see if I was living with his wife?”

  She lit a candle. “Did you lock the door?”

  “Marina…”

  “Lock the door, Alexander.”

  He shot the bolt. “You really must calm down.” He took the candle from her and used it to light an oil lamp, then he walked into the parlor.

  Marina followed him in and made sure that the window curtains were tightly closed. “What did he say?”

  “He said he would be here for one or two more days.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “He said that the President wanted a report about the shipyard, but I am most certainly the target. My friendship with Isaac Chauncey has made me suspect.”

  “Will you stop,” she complained. “This has nothing to do with your military career. He has come to kill us for our adulterous behavior.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Do you not find it an extraordinary coincidence that my husband would turn up here at this exact moment in time?”

  “We have been here together for nearly three months, Marina. Why would he wait?”

  “He’s been held as a prisoner of war by the British until very recently. That is why everyone thought he was dead.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “In town today.”

  “You asked about your husband in town?”

  “Don’t call him that.”

  “What should I call him then?”

  “Something else.”

  Percy thought for a moment. “What if I just told him?”

  “Told him what?”

  “That you thought he was dead when you came here.”

  “Do you plan to tell him that you’re married?”

  “I have done,” he said. “I did so when first we met.”

  “Then my believing him dead does little to excuse me of adultery.”

  “It does a great deal to curb what may his murderous reaction to learning that we are together.”

  “What makes you think that he would not tell your wife?”

  “It isn’t done.”

  “What isn’t done?”

  “No man would do such a thing to another man.”

  “Some code of silence between adulterers?”

  “Really, Marina.”

  She paced away then came back. “The thing to do is nothing. Just go to the shipyard as
you always would and we’ll pray that this is all just a huge coincidence.”

  March 16, 1813

  Michigan Territory

  Annabelle Priest opened the door, gasped, burst into tears and threw her arms around Yank’s neck.

  “Is your brother here?” Yank asked.

  Annabelle released her grip, wiped her eyes and stepped back. “You came to kill him.”

  “No,” Yank chuckled. “I want to avoid him. I checked the barn and saw that his horse was gone, but for all I know he’s gotten a new horse.”

  “He has the same old horse and he’s gone to Toledo.” She took his hand and led him into the house, then closed the door. “Have you come for me then?”

  “I’m just as married as I was before, Annabelle.”

  “Oh. I thought perhaps…”

  “If she’s dead I have no way of knowing.”

  “She’s not dead.” Annabelle shook her head emphatically.

  It took him a moment to respond. “How could you possibly know that?”

  “I saw her recently.”

  “Saw who?”

  “Your wife.”

  “Where?”

  “Presque Isle.”

  “You’re wrong. It couldn’t have been Marina.”

  “You left your journal here and I looked at her picture again when I got home. It was her. I’m absolutely positive.”

  “What were you doing all the way over there?” he asked, trying to hide his raging emotions.

  “At Presque Isle? I go there several times a year. It’s the closest big town now. Toledo’s almost abandoned.”

  “It’s not much of a town from what I’ve seen.”

  “That’s because you haven’t been there in a long time. That little shipyard has breathed new life into it.”

  “I was there this morning.”

  She wrinkled her brow. “What is this?”

  “What is what?”

  “You came here from the town where your wife lives?”

  “Well yes. But I didn’t know she lived there. In fact I still don’t. I think you’re mistaken.”

  She tilted her head. “Why did you come here, John?”

  “The President mentioned some papers and I thought I might have left them here. But I would have come on my own to see you as soon as time permitted.”

  “Did the President ask you to stop off in Presque Isle on the way?”

  “Well, actually he sent me to Presque Isle first to inspect the shipyards. That is, he didn’t send me here he… What are you thinking?”

  “Just that the president might have wanted you to discover that your wife is at Presque Isle.”

  “No. That’s not possible.”

  “You once told me that he was the only man you knew that was more manipulative then Governor William Henry Harrison.”

  Yank nodded. “Yes. But he would have no way of knowing that Marina was there.” He shook his head. “What an extraordinary coincidence.”

  “If President Madison was interested enough in the shipyard at Presque Isle to send you, he may have sent others before you.”

  “I don’t think so. Commandant Percy has not been at Presque Isle for long.”

  “Is Commandant Percy married?”

  “Yes.”

  “If a married officer was living with the wife of another officer and discovered by anyone in authority, would not that activity be reported up the chain of command?”

  Yank didn’t answer.

  “I was a navy wife, John. I know the code.”

  “Marina is living with Percy?” His tone was heavy with incredulity.

  “Yes. She must be. Nothing else fits.”

  He looked at her for several seconds. “Annabelle, before we continue this discussion, may I look through the papers that I left here?”

  “Yes, of course.” She led him into her bedroom. “I am going to shock you, John, but life is too short.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “That I wish to take full advantage of your being here and my brother being absent.” She began unbuttoning her dress. “Your papers are in the top drawer there.” She pointed. “You may take them now or take them later. The choice is entirely yours.”

  “Do you need some help with those buttons?”

  March 17, 1813

  Michigan Territory

  They were in the kitchen, sitting across from each other at the breakfast table.

  “What are you going to do, John?” Annabelle asked.

  “About what?”

  “Your wife?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you going to confront her?”

  “No. If I do I’ll have to kill a fine young naval officer.”

  “That’s a bit reactionary.”

  “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “How long can you stay here?”

  “How long do you want me to stay?”

  “Forever.”

  “I think I might have to kill your brother to do that.”

  “He won’t be back for at least three more days.”

  “Then I’ll stay for two.”

  “And then go where?”

  “Back to Washington to report to the President.”

  She got up and walked to the stove to get the coffee pot and refill their cups. “There is no shame upon a man who divorces his adulterous wife.”

  “What if the man is equally guilty of adultery?”

  “The fact that Marina is living with Commandant Percy forgives you from that.”

  “I was reported as killed in action at Fort Detroit, Annabelle. Marina may have thought I was dead when she came here.”

  She put the pot back on the stove. “So, am I to have no hope?”

  “When the war is over…”

  She raised her hand to stop him. “Forgive me, John. That sounded exactly like the kind of woman I despise. I asked you for no promises and I shall expect nothing of you.”

  “As I started to say, Annabelle, when the war is over and I can once again think of the future, I will come back so that we can discuss it. Until then my future is very much in question.”

  She sat down and sipped her coffee. “And as I said, John. I asked you for no promises.”

  He hesitated. “What happened last night…”

  “Won’t happen again until we’re married,” she finished for him. “I know. Neither of us would be able to handle the guilt.”

  April 15, 1813

  Washington, District of Columbia

  “Commandant Percy is competent, dedicated and, in my opinion, a fine choice for the Lake Erie command, Mr. President,” Yank said.

  “What progress has he made?” Madison asked.

  “It’s quite remarkable, sir. I spoke with several local citizens and it seems that none of the reports you had been given about the shipyard before you assigned Percy were even remotely true. There were indeed several unfinished vessels in the stocks but there were no cannons, no craftsman and almost no men to help Percy defend the bay.”

  “Just a moment, please.” Madison opened a drawer and searched through files, selected one and opened it on his desk. “Let me see. There was company of sixty militiamen to defend the island and fifty carpenters, caulkers, ship-joiners, sawyers and assorted skilled craftsmen awaiting him at Presque Isle.”

  “According to the locals the militia had no weapons or powder and most of the townspeople had fled fearing that the shipyard would attract British attacks.”

  Madison closed the file. “My information all came from Commodore Isaac Chauncey’s report. Is there some unknown enmity between Percy and Chauncey?”

  “I have no information about that, sir, but I can say that there would be no new ships on Lake Erie without Commandant Percy.”

  “Thank you, Colonel. I’m very relieved to hear that.”

  “I have more cause for relief, sir.” With a grin, Yank drew a folded sheaf of paper from his inside coat pocket. “Your orders relieving General Hull.”
He handed them to Madison.

  “Well, well,” Madison said, glancing over the documents. “You have done an excellent job as usual, Colonel. Excellent.” He refolded the pages and put them in his top desk drawer where he seemed to discover a thick, bound report. He took it from the drawer and dropped it on his desk with a thud. “This is a report that I just received concerning the Red Sticks. What do you think of it, Colonel?”

  Yank was not sure what the President was asking. “It’s very handsome, sir.”

  “Fluff with no substance.” Madison opened the book. “Do you know anything of the Red Sticks, Colonel?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Then can you help me understand them? What I have here is a cultural dissertation more suited for a classroom than as a basis for decision making. There are a hundred pages beginning with two full pages speculating about the derivation of the term ‘red sticks’.”

  “I don’t know much beyond the fact that they’re Creeks primarily from the Upper Towns and that they are supporters of Tecumseh.”

  “This report says that they have declared war on their own people.”

  “Well, in a way that’s true, sir. The Red Sticks, like Tecumseh, are aggressive supporters of tradition and they attack other Creeks who herd domesticated animals, farm, wear clothing of spun cloth or use metal tools and cooking utensils such as pots and pans.”

  Madison nodded. “In one of your earlier reports to me you made mention of the British in Pensacola supplying weapons to the Creeks and Seminoles.”

  “Yes, sir. Andrew Jackson told me it was common.”

  “Recent information indicates that the practice has increased to the point where trains of packhorses are being employed by a trader named Peter McQueen to supply the Red Sticks. I’d be grateful if you would investigate that a little deeper.”

  “Yes, sir. But Peter McQueen is half Scottish, half Creek, and more warrior than trader.”

  Madison made a note. “Do you know General F. L. Claiborne?”

  “Yes, sir. I served with him under General Wayne. We were close friends.”

  “I have a report here from General Flournoy stating that he has ordered General Claiborne to march from Baton Rouge to Fort Stoddard, on the Mobile River. Perhaps you can join him there.”