Land of the Free (21 page)

“So he is indeed a
legitimate privateer, not a pirate.”

“The line between the two is
always blurry. Our Navy lists him as a smuggler and although they
haven’t yet gone so far as to label him as a pirate, that could
soon change.” He hesitated. “I know that you want to go, Nan,
but…”

She raised her hand. “Don’t
even say it, Thomas. I’m going and there will be no
discussion.”

May 22, 1805

El Paso Del Norte, Province
of Tejas

The San Elizario Presidio
resembled a miniature castle, with four thick, high walls and two
tall lookout towers flanking the main gate. A set of parallel inner
walls were connected to the outer walls by a flat tar and gravel
roof that provided a wide firing platform, while the space between
the walls housed the men and materiel of the garrison. Gun
platforms on all four walls housed cast-iron cannons.

Tom was examining the fort
through a small, brass telescope. “It’ll take all your cannons to
breach those walls, Monsieur Lafitte.”

Jean Lafitte, wearing a
wide-brimmed hat with a turkey feather, looked every bit like the
pirate that he claimed not to be. “We cannot take that place by
force, Colonel, only by finesse.”

Tom lowered the telescope to
look at him. “We agreed that you would maintain full command of
your ship and men, but that the ground portion of the planning
would be mine.”

“Let Captain Lafitte explain
his plan, Thomas,” Nannette complained. “He might have an idea that
hasn’t occurred to you.”

Tom sighed. “Very well,
Monsieur Lafitte. Tell us your plan.”

Lafitte pointed at the fort.
“You will notice that the gates are open.”

“Yes, and very well
guarded,” Tom replied.

Lafitte ignored him. “They
are open to provide access for the citizens in case of an Indian
attack. We shall pay a few Indians to stage an attack and become
citizens who can run in through the gates, unmolested.”

“To be trapped like rats
inside,” Tom said.

“The outer walls are stone
six feet thick,” Lafitte replied. “The inner walls are made from
timber and mud, no thicker than those of a house.”

“Even so, breaching them
with muskets and cutlasses will be impossible.”

“Stop it, Thomas,” Nannette
said hotly. “Let Captain Lafitte finish.”

Lafitte offered her a small
bow. “We have aboard our ship, four breech loading swivel guns and
four men strong enough to carry them. The rest of us will carry
loaded breeches.”

“I’ve seen those small
cannons that they sometimes call swivel guns,” Nannette said, “but
the terms breech and breech loading are new to me.”

“
A breech resembles a beer
mug,” Lafitte said. “It contains powder and either shot or
canister. The guns have an opening on the top where the breech is
inserted and wedged in place.”

“They pack a helluva wallop
and can be reloaded fast,” Tom said. “Very fast.” He grinned at
Lafitte. “It might work. When do we do this?”

“We need to discover exactly
where young Colonel Van Buskirk and his men are imprisoned so that
we do not harm them,” Lafitte replied. “Finding the Indians to
stage the attack will take a few days as well.” He looked around
and gestured toward the church. “Today is Wednesday. I should think
that we could be ready by Sunday. Joining with the parishioners
that will be running in terror from the church to the palisades
gates should provide us with the cover we need.”

“Brilliant,” Tom said. “I
was wrong about you, Lafitte. You’re a genius.”

Lafitte smiled. “At last we
agree on something, Colonel.”

May 26, 1805

San Elizario Presidio, New
Mexico

Yank Van Buskirk and the
seven survivors of his expedition were crowded inside a small room
with an iron-banded door. The room was hot and reeked with the
odors of excrement, blood, urine and vomit.

“Colonel,” Roberts
whispered.

“He can hear you,” McGregor
said. “But don’t make him talk.”

Roberts, McGregor and the
other men looked awful with bloody faces, broken fingers and
bruised bodies, but Yank looked worse. His face was so swollen that
his eyes were slits; all the fingers on both hands were nail-less
and broken; and his mouth was a bloody, toothless gash.

Roberts moved closer. “Did
you see that Indian that come to empty the chamber pots,
Colonel?”

“I told you not to make him
talk,” McGregor growled. “We seen the savage. What of
it?”

“The Indian said when the
church bells stopped ringin’ we was to keep our heads
down.”

Yank tried to speak but only
managed to groan.

“Why is we to keep our heads
down?” McGregor asked.

“They’s gonna bust us out,”
Roberts replied with a grin.

“Who’s gonna bust us
out?”

“The Indian didn’t say. But
he talked real good English like us, so maybe he ain’t no real
Indian.”

“Pass the word to the boys,”
McGregor ordered. “Most of ‘em is down anyway so it don’t hardly
matter.”

~

“You should stay here,” Tom
insisted.

In answer, Nannette flicked
open the blade of a stiletto and hid it in the folds of her
skirt.

As the last of the faithful
entered the church, Lafitte and his men appeared in the graveyard,
shielded from view of the fort by the walls.

“There they are,” Tom said,
pointing out Lafitte.

“I see them.” Nannette
looked over her shoulder. “Give the signal to the
Indians.”

“Not yet,” Tom growled.
“Yank will be waiting for the bells to stop.”

“Don’t be a fool. He and his
men will have gone to ground when the bells started
ringing.”

“I hope to Christ you’re
wrong because if they did, the guards will know something’s
up.”

“Well that’s an even better
reason to give the signal now. It’ll take a few minutes to get
inside and open fire.”

Tom removed his hat and
waved it. A moment later an Apache war-cry echoed from the grove of
cottonwoods behind the church.

~

“Somethin’s goin’ on
outside,” Roberts said, “but the church bells is still
ringin’.”

McGregor was listening.
“Whoever thought this up might not o’ knowed that they ring the
church bells as a alarm. Tell the boys to get down low but not to
be noticeable.”

“How do they do
that?”

“Hell, I do no’ know. Just
do it.”

A moment later the walls
shook and the halls outside were filled with dust and screams of
pain.

~

Van Buskirk Point, New
Jersey

Marina screamed in
pain.

“Won’t be long now, Child,”
Sally said. She put a fresh cloth on Marina’s forehead. “When the
next big un comes, you just go ahead on and push.”

“What’s your name?” Marina
asked in a weak voice.

“Why you knows my name,
child,” Sally replied with some concern.

“Your family name. I want to
know your whole name so I can tell the angels to look out for
you.”

“You ain’t goin’ to be
seein’ no angels for a mighty long time.”

“Your name.
Please.”

“Well now, I ain’t got no
family name, child.”

“How can you
not?”

“I was born a slave in
Jamaica. Ol’ Mister Peter Van Buskirk bought me, brung me here,
gimme my freedom and then Mister Abraham Van Buskirk taught me how
to doctor.”

“Then your name is Van
Buskirk, just like mine.”

“Honey child. I’d ‘splain it
to ya, but you just ain’t got no idea what bein’ a slave is all
about.”

“You’re wrong, Sally. I was
a slave in New Orleans until my husband bought me, freed me and
married me. My emancipation papers are there in the dresser
drawer.” She cringed as the contraction started.

“Here we go, now,” Sally
said. “You gots t’ push this time.”

May 28, 1805

The Rio Grande at the Gulf
of Mexico

The cannon at Villa del
Refugio fired a single shot that passed over and aft of Lafitte’s
ship as it came up before the brisk west wind and sailed out from
the Rio Grande into the placid waters of the Gulf of
Mexico.

“We have made it,” Nannette
breathed. She was standing on the upper deck with Lafitte while Tom
was in the cabin below where a surgeon was caring for Yank and his
men.

Lafitte pointed astern to
the cannon smoke over the river. “If they fired on us from Villa
del Refugio we can be sure that the fleet at Veracruz is now in the
wind and racing toward us.”

“How many ships?”

“Five schooners at
least.”

“Can we outrun
them?”

“To New Orleans, yes. But
they will be close behind and there is nothing to prevent them from
sailing right up the Mississippi to box us in.”

“Nothing but the
thirty-eight guns of the frigate
USS
Constellation
,” Nannette said with a
smile.

Lafitte gaped at her.
“
Constellation
.
Now there is a fine ship. During the Quasi-War she captured
L’Insurgente
, which was
the fastest ship in the French navy. Then the following year she
out-fought the fifty-four guns of
La
Vengeance
. The French sailors call her
the
Yankee Racehorse
.”

“Let us hope that the
Spanish have the same respect as the French.”

“Let us hope she is there,”
Lafitte countered.

“She will be. Her captain is
Thomas’s cousin, David Van Buskirk. Do you know him?”

“Fortunately, by reputation
only.”

Nannette smiled. “I must
introduce you to him when we make port.”

“It would be my honor.” He
looked about the ship quickly before returning his attention to
Nannette. “Captain Van Buskirk’s nephew has recently been gaining
quite a reputation of his own.”

“Who is that?”

“A young captain by the name
of Stephen Decatur.”

“Margaret’s boy,” Nannette
said with a smile. “He has become quite the celebrated hero since
his success at Tripoli last August.”

“
And well he should be. It
is said that Lord Nelson has called it the most bold and daring act
of the Age.”

“Who?”

“Admiral Nelson is
commander-in-chief in the British Mediterranean fleet.”

“Ah. Then I suppose his
opinion of Stephen is held in high regard even if he is an
Englishman.”

Lafitte chuckled. “He is
held in high regard by the French Admiral Villeneuve who was chased
all the way from the Mediterranean to here and back by Nelson.” He
looked south. “We can also thank Nelson for drawing some of the
Spanish fleet away from Veracruz, otherwise we would now be pursued
by twenty Spanish ships of the line and that would be too many,
even for
Constellation
.”

Nannette started to reply
but stopped as she saw Tom come onto the deck.

“The surgeon says that Yank
will live,” Tom said as he joined them.

“May I go below and see him
now?” Nannette asked.

Tom shook his head. “Not
yet. The men are near naked, badly battered and in great pain. The
presence of a woman might embarrass and distress them.”

She nodded. “I
understand.”

“If I had known what those
Spanish dogs had done I would have had every one of them executed,”
Lafitte said.

“We killed all the officers
and the guards,” Nannette replied. “Sergeant McGregor told me that
it was a major that instigated the torture. I found him but he was
already dead.”

Tom looked toward the
southern horizon. “If I live long enough, I’ll get revenge for
this, some day.”

June 15, 1805

Van Buskirk Point, New
Jersey

Marina ran across the wooden
causeway toward the ferry but was stopped by Nannette. “Is he
dead?” Marina asked in a flat tone.

“No,” Nannette replied, “but
he’s in bad shape.” She took Marina’s hand and tried to turn her
back toward the house. “Let the men bring him and get him settled
in bed.”

Marina jerked her hand free
and raced down hill to where four men were carrying a
litter.

Tom stepped in front of her.
“You’ll do more harm than good if you go to pieces.”

“I won’t go to pieces.” She
moved around him to look at the ruined face on the litter. “Hello,
husband; you look a bit worse for wear,” she said, reaching for his
hand.