Land of the Free Page 9

  McGregor nodded. “We’ll learn ‘em, sir.”

  “One more thing, Mr. McGregor.”

  “Sir?”

  “Since they don’t load and fire at the same rate, do you think the musketeers and riflemen should be mixed or grouped together?”

  “Grouped, sir. Rifle squads and musket squads.”

  “Very good, Mr. McGregor. Carry on.”

  “I would like to learn too,” Marina said. “Everyone in our party should know how to fire and load the weapons – cooks, wranglers – everyone.”

  Yank looked thoughtful. “Well now there is another good idea. Do you agree, Mr. McGregor?”

  “I do, sir.”

  ~

  “Why do I think that you hoodwinked us again,” Marina whispered from the semi-darkness of their tent.

  “Hoodwinked whom in what manner?” Yank asked.

  “Don’t lie to me. You knew we were on the Neches from the start.”

  “Yes.”

  “You chose the Neches.”

  “Yes, and I as much as admitted that earlier.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  He shrugged. “I was disobeying my orders.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  He chuckled. “Secretary Madison made it clear that the official United States policy was to consider the Sabine as the boundary while the unofficial policy was the Neches.”

  “And what of the training?”

  “What of it?”

  “You let us think it was our idea but it was your plan all along.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why the deception? Why not just trust us?”

  He shrugged again.

  She punched him on the arm. “Answer me.”

  “All right,” he complained, rubbing his arm in mock pain. “Mr. McGregor is a deserter from the British army. Probably a senior sergeant. He must be handled very cautiously or he will run away as Nelson did.”

  “Nelson?” she gasped. “What are you saying?”

  “Shh. Not so loud.”

  “Are you telling me that Nelson ran away because I called him a deserter?”

  “No. He ran away because he was a deserter and you exposed him.”

  “But I don’t understand. Why did my calling him a deserter prompt him to run away?”

  “He ran away so that I wouldn’t hang him.”

  “Hang him? Why would you hang Mr. Nelson?”

  “It would be my duty as a commission officer in the United States Army.”

  She put her hand to her lips. “Oh Lord, what have I done?”

  “Nelson is no great loss to us but McGregor would be. He’s a natural leader and smart. The men trust him.”

  “What will happen to Mr. Nelson?”

  “He’ll try to float back to the Gulf.”

  “And?”

  “He’ll make it or he won’t. He’s no longer our concern.”

  “Are you sure that Mr. McGregor’s a deserter?”

  “Yes. He and about half of our company have deserted from the English, Spanish, French or American armies or navies.”

  “Spanish and French? Who?”

  “I’m sure that Mr. Gonzales was in the Spanish army and Mr. Duvall was almost certainly a French seaman. Your head wrangler was once an artilleryman but he is a man of New Orleans and whether French, British or American, I cannot say.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “Powder burns, scars and demeanor.”

  “Can they be trusted?”

  “Did you trust them before you knew they were deserters?”

  “Some.”

  “There’s your answer.”

  “But you trust McGregor?”

  “I trust him so long as he is with us, but I don’t trust him to stay with us. Not until he trusts us, that is.”

  “I think he trusts you.”

  “Not yet. But we have a good beginning. When the time is right, he and I will discuss his military past.”

  She hesitated a moment. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was a serious question.”

  “And I gave you a serious answer.”

  “Hmm. Then can I ask you another?”

  “What if I were to say no?”

  “I’d ignore you and ask anyway.”

  “So ask.”

  “Do you love me?”

  “I think so.”

  “Not the answer I was hoping for.”

  “It’s the best I can offer.”

  “Oh well.”

  They were silent for almost a minute.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me if I love you?” Marina hissed.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I know that you do.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Go to sleep.”

  “No.” She rolled on top of him and kissed him hotly. “What makes you so sure that I love you?”

  “Stop,” he gasped.

  “Why? We’re married, you know.”

  “Yes, I know. But you are too loud and our tent is right in the center of the camp.”

  “I promise to be quiet.”

  “You said that the last time.”

  “Give me another chance.”

  “Am I forgiven for pushing you in the water?”

  “Yes. Mr. McGregor convinced me that you couldn’t have maintained discipline any other way.”

  “There probably was another, better way, but I couldn’t think of one at the moment.”

  “I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”

  “We agree.”

  “But you shouldn’t have shot that poor alligator.” She covered his mouth with hers to keep him from answering.

  October 3, 1804

  Neches River, Louisiana Purchase

  Yank had the map rolled out on the ground with the company in a circle so that they could see it. “We are approximately here,” he said, touching the crooked line he had drawn to represent the Neches River. “This is the Sabine.” He touched the map a few inches to the right. “If this is at all accurate, the Sabine turns west toward the Neches about here. So I propose that we go north and a bit east from here rather than due east on the road as we had originally discussed.”

  “Makes sense to me,” Jasper Folsom replied. “Will we want to be ridin’ the horses or herdin’ ‘em?”

  “We ain’t got enough horses for everybody,” one of his wranglers observed.

  Yank nodded. “You and your men will be mounted, Mr. Folsom, as will the two rifle squads. If Mr. McGregor, Mrs. Van Buskirk and I also use a horse, there will be three extras. I’ll leave it to you to decide who is to ride them.”

  “I’d rather keep the extra horses for remounts,” Folsom replied. “If we leave one o’ the wagons here we’ll have us a excess of mules and we’ll have more as we use up supplies. Some can ride the extra mules that we have right now and them that has to walk now can ride later when we don’t need ‘em as pack animals.”

  “I’d rather walk than ride a damn mule,” Nathan Sparks said.

  “That is very thoughtful of you, Mr. Sparks,” Yank replied. “Our musketeers will appreciate the companionship, since they will be on foot at all times.”

  “What’s our order of march to be?” McGregor asked.

  Yank looked thoughtful for a moment. “Half of one rifle squad will act as flankers. They will also act as our scouts. Indians seem to prefer attacking the rear of a column, so half of the other rifle squad will ride drag. The balance will merge with the musketeers to form a protective screen around the livestock. Mr. McGregor and Mrs. Van Buskirk will lead the column and I will move about as needed.”

  “Where will the rest of us be?” Sparks asked.

  “Behind Mr. McGregor, ahead of the livestock,” Yank said. “The wranglers will, of course, be with the animals at the rear. If we encounter a severe tailwind, we may decide to put the herds at the front to avoid their dust.” He looked around.
“Any other questions or comments?”

  “Can we take some o’ these oak posts off of the barges so as to make us temporary corrals on the trail?” Folsom asked.

  “How will you carry them if we leave a wagon behind?” Yank asked.

  “If the riflemen and wranglers carry some of the ammunition we can manage,” McGregor said.

  “No.” Yank shook his head. “I don’t want wranglers carrying anything except their pistols, ammunition pouches, lariats and whips.”

  “What about the riflemen?”

  “I’ll agree so long as their horses will not be unduly taxed,” Yank replied, “If we encounter a mounted enemy, our riflemen will be our main defense.”

  “We don’t need that many posts,” Folsom said. “We can use rope instead o’ rails to make corrals and we can keep the remuda on a runnin’ line.”

  “Work it out with Mr. McGregor.”

  October 6, 1804

  The Red River, Louisiana Purchase

  “Now what?” McGregor asked, as he looked across the wide expanse of fast moving water.

  “We proceed due west from here until we find a place to cross or until we reach the Rockies,” Yank replied.

  “We have to go west then north to follow the boundary lines,” Marina said.

  “Swimming across here, even if we left the remaining wagons on this side, is clearly not an option.” Yank gestured toward the racing river. “If we happen to come to a ford while following the river to the west, we’ll cross and turn north appropriately.”

  “I do no’ much care for this country,” McGregor pronounced. “It don’t look promising for game and ‘tis right late in the year to be findin’ any edibles in land this sparse.”

  “We have sufficient livestock and grain if the hunting fails,” Yank replied. “And who knows what lies ahead? It may be bountiful.”

  “I ain’t never been west o’ here but not far to the east, it sure ain’t bountiful.”

  Yank was looking upstream.

  “What?” McGregor asked.

  “Indians.” Yank turned his horse and shouted, “Form a defensive circle. Musketeers on the outside, riflemen mounted at the rear in flanking positions, livestock in the center.” He used his hands to demonstrate the perimeter. “If there’s any shooting, you wranglers must look smartly to the livestock to prevent a stampede.”

  “They’re a Caddo hunting party,” Marina shouted over the sound of hooves and the whoops of wranglers. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “How do you know?” Yank asked.

  “I can tell by their headdresses.”

  “You can tell by their headdresses that we have nothing to worry about?”

  “No,” she replied, “I can tell that they’re Caddo hunting party and as such unlikely to be a danger to us.”

  “That isn’t what you said,” Yank replied. “We’re all going to be depending upon what you say. You must be accurate.”

  “I was. They’re a Caddo hunting party.”

  “Big hunting party,” McGregor observed. “I count twenty.”

  “No firearms,” Yank added. “What do you suppose they want?”

  “They’ll want you to give them cattle and horses as payment for crossing their land,” Marina said. “Don’t agree to their initial demands. They expect you to bargain.”

  “Bargain?” Yank looked at her. “I’ll give them nothing.”

  She appeared to be ready to argue but then changed her mind.

  “You translate what I say,” he admonished.

  “I know.”

  “I mean it, Marina.”

  “I know, I know. Stop worrying.”

  “I can’t risk you second guessing or trying to outthink me.”

  She made a face at him. “There’s a good chance that I don’t have any lingua franca with them anyway, so you may have to resort to sign language.”

  Yank watched as the Indians drew nearer. “Just remember to be accurate with what you say and that I’m the only negotiator in our party.”

  Marina raised her hand and started offering greetings in several languages until one man answered her. Unlike the others, he wore no headdress but instead wore his hair in two long braids down his back tied with leather thongs. A third braided strand of hair from the top of his head was decorated with colored scraps of cloth, beads, and a single feather.

  “He’s Comanche,” Marina said. “And his tone is very belligerent.” Her nervousness was abundantly apparent. “I don’t know what he’s doing here.”

  “Ask him what he’s doing here,” Yank suggested calmly.

  She tried to speak but was almost immediately interrupted by the warrior. “He says that they demand six muskets, six horses and one beef.”

  Yank raised his eyebrows. “Demand? Was that his word or yours?”

  “His,” Marina replied.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” she snapped. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Did he say musket, rifle or some native representation like fire-stick, Marina?”

  “He said musket.”

  Yank looked the Indian in the eyes. “Tell him that we might agree to sell them a cow or goat but our horses and weapons are not for sale.”

  She began translating, then shook her head in frustration as the Indian again interrupted her. “He says no trade.” She listened a moment. “You must present the weapons and animals to them as a gift.”

  “Tell him to get out of our way or we’ll kill them all,” Yank said.

  She turned to look at him.

  “Tell him, please, Marina. In those words if you can. Try to convey my resolve.”

  Marina spoke quickly and then moved back beside Yank.

  Yank glanced at his armed riflemen who were arrayed to either side and behind him. “Riflemen, and riflemen only, present,” Yank’s voice rang out.

  Sixteen Kentucky rifles came up in steady hands.

  Yank raised his right hand in the air. “On my command, aim for their bellies.”

  After a brief argument the Indians began to move slowly back the way they came.

  “Order – arms,” Yank called out, lowering his hand when the Indians were beyond the range of their bows and arrows.

  “Not good,” McGregor grumbled after a short silence.

  “What’s troubling you?” Yank asked.

  “We shoulda killed ‘em when we had the chance. Now they’re gonna find a place to ambush us.”

  “I don’t think so,” Marina interjected. “The Caddo warriors looked troubled by that Comanche’s rudeness and arrogance.”

  “Yer wrong, Missus Van,” McGregor said. “This here is a flood plain so they sure don’t have no village this close to the river. But you can see plain as day that they’re followin’ the river, just like us.” He pointed toward the Indians who had broken into a trot and were now moving very quickly. “The onliest reason for them goin’ that-a-way is to set us a ambush. When we top yonder rise we’ll walk into a hail o’ arrows and lances.”

  “I agree.” Yank rode to the closest rifleman, took his rifle and rode back beside McGregor. “Fire a shot into the air with your pistol, if you please Mr. McGregor.”

  “Sir?” McGregor asked in complete confusion.

  “I do not wish to shoot that man in the back.”

  “You don’t intend to shoot,” Marina gasped.

  “I do intend to shoot.” Yank set his heels in the horse’s flank and aimed the rifle at the Indians. “One pistol shot into the air, Mr. McGregor. Please.”

  Still unsure, McGregor drew his pistol, cocked it and fired into the air.

  A second later, when the sound of the pistol shot reached them, the Indians all stopped and turned toward the Americans. The Comanche warrior pushed his way through the others, raised his fist in the air and shouted a blood-curdling war-whoop.

  Yank shot him in the chest, then tossed the smoking weapon back to its owner. “That should cool them down,” he said, watching the Indians disappear over a
rise, dragging the dead man with them.

  Marina was staring at Yank with an expression of horror or disbelief.

  “What?” Yank asked her. “Did you doubt what Mr. McGregor said?”

  “No, but…” She shook her head then pointed upriver. “You murdered that man.”

  “Murdered?” Yank laughed. “When they attacked us, we would have been forced to kill at least half of them in self-defense. Add to that, our party would have surely suffered casualties. Now only one has died. That’s what I call a fine bargain.”

  “It was unnecessary,” Marina insisted. “It was just like when you shot that alligator.”

  Yank looked at his men. “We’ll camp here in circular formation. Muskets on the outer perimeter.” He turned to McGregor. “I want two-man listening posts on each quadrant all night. Set their positions now so that the musketeers and riflemen know where they are to avoid accidents when it gets dark.”

  “I doubt they’ll come back,” McGregor replied.

  Yank just looked at him.

  “But ‘tis better to be safe than sorry.”

  “No fires after sundown. We’ll sleep with our weapons.” Yank rode close to Marina and lowered his voice. “If you continue to challenge my authority I’ll be forced to become very disagreeable.”

  “I didn’t challenge your authority, I challenged your morality. You talk like a God-fearing man but take lives without any regard whatsoever.”

  “Who are you to preach to me?”

  “Ha. I knew we’d come to this eventually. I’m just a whore and I have no right to disagree with such a fine gentleman.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant at all. I meant that who are you, who shot a man down in the Gray Lady Tavern, to preach to me about taking lives without regard?”

  “That was an accident.”

  “So you say.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “No. I think you shot him in cold blood and then were overcome with guilt when you saw the reality of a corpse at your feet. I’ve seen it a thousand times with young soldiers.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said, “but even if you were right, I did it to save your life.”