Home of the Brave (27 page)

“John Austin has gone to
Brazoria for cannons. He should be back soon.”

“He won’t get them unless he
takes them by force,” Thomas said. “When I spoke to Colonel
Ugartechea he made it very clear to me that he isn’t willing to
oppose Bradburn.”

“I don’t think Austin was
planning to take the cannon from the fort.”

“No matter where he gets his
cannon he still has to transport them up the Brazos and Ugartechea
isn’t going to let him.”

“Maybe you should go over
there.”

“I’ll wait and see what you
people decide and if there’s not going to be a fight here, I’ll go
home by way of Brazoria.”

June 28, 1832

Velasco Presidio, Coahuila,
Mexican Province of Tejas

“I did my best to convince
Ugartechea,” John Austin said. “But he stubbornly refuses to join
us or to allow us to transport the cannon up the
Brazos.”

“I was afraid of that,”
Thomas said. “How long have you had him under siege?”

“Three days,” Austin
replied. “He’s almost out of ammunition. He’ll ask for a truce
soon.”

“Well,” Thomas said. “If you
don’t need me I’ve got Indian troubles at home.”

“Go on home. Thank you for
coming down here. After we’ve won our independence I’ll come up and
help you get rid of those troublesome Indians.”

August 1, 1832

Mississippi River and Bad
Axe River, Wisconsin Territory

The steamboat
Warrior
had no passenger
space, but instead towed a barge that easily accommodated the
soldiers and crew. Yank was in his comfortable cabin, reading a
book that he’d borrowed from Captain Throckmorton when he heard
musket fire from shore. As he stood to look out the porthole, the
cannon on the steamboat’s bow fired and a musket ball ripped
through the wainscot between his knees. He dressed quickly and by
the time he reached the steamboat, the troops were heavily engaged
with a band of Indians on the shore. “That’s Black Hawk’s English
Band,” Yank called to Lieutenant Kingsbury.”

“Can’t you hold her steady?”
Kingsbury shouted at Throckmorton, ignoring Yank. “We’re drifting
out of range.”

“I’m trying,” Throckmorton
shouted back. “But we don’t have enough wood to keep this up much
longer.”

“How long?” Lieutenant
Holmes asked.

“Maybe thirty more minutes.”
Throckmorton looked at the chronograph. “I have to leave us enough
fuel to maneuver in the River and at Prairie du Chien. There’s no
dock there that we can use.”

“What the hell happened?”
Yank asked. “How did we get tangled up with Black Hawk?”

“We came around the bend and
he was crossing the river here,” Throckmorton replied.

“A war party or his whole
band?”

“Men, women and children. He
tried to surrender but the soldiers started shooting and shouting
to remember Indian Creek.”

The boat had now moved
upstream too far and in addition to the musket fire, the Indians
rained arrows down on it.

“Damn it man,” Kingsbury
shouted at Throckmorton. “Pay attention to what you’re doing.
You’re going to get us killed.”

“I could drop anchor and let
you fight your way out of that,” Throckmorton countered.

As Yank walked forward, a
musket ball plucked at his sleeve. “Do you have an extra rifle or
musket, Lieutenant Kingsbury? If I’m going to be a target, I might
as well shoot back.

“How’s that?” Kingsbury
nodded toward a Kentucky rifle and ammunition pouch on the deck.
“It belonged to a scout that we lost upriver.”

“That’ll do fine.” Yank
knelt, loaded, stood up, fired and an Indian with a musket fell. He
reloaded, fired and brought down another warrior.

“Militia.” Lieutenant Holmes
pointed to the shore.

“Let’s disengage, Captain,”
Kingsbury said. “The militia can keep them pinned down while we
refuel and come back.”

“We don’t have time to get
to Prairie du Chien, refuel and get back here before dark,” Captain
Throckmorton warned.

“We’re about out of powder
anyway,” Holmes added.

“Very well,” Kingsbury
replied. “Cease fire,” he shouted. “Make for Prairie du Chien,
Captain Throckmorton.”

As Throckmorton struggled to
stop the paddles and reverse one, the big boat began to float
downstream on the current.

Yank had reloaded and fired
knocking a warrior down who had taken aim at the
militia.

“I said cease fire,”
Kingsbury growled.

“Don’t start getting the
idea that I’m going to take orders from you, Lieutenant,” Yank
answered as he reloaded the rifle, “or you’re in for a big
disappointment,”

“We’re out of range,”
Kingsbury replied for lack of anything better to say.

Yank shot a warrior with a
tomahawk who was standing over a downed militiaman, ready to
strike. “What was that, Lieutenant?”

Kingsbury grinned, shook his
head and then looked at Holmes. “How far?”

“Two hundred and
seventy-five yards,” Holmes guessed. “Twice musket
range.”

Kingsbury looked back at
Yank. “This would be a good time for me to shut up, I
think.”

August 1, 1832

Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin
Territory

The soldiers from the
steamboat
Warrior
had marched to Fort Crawford to resupply, while the
Warrior’s
crew loaded
fuel. Yank had followed the troops at route step until several
officers and a half company of musketeers halted them outside the
main gate. Unwilling to wait for the business to conclude, Yank
walked around the formation but was stopped by an army surgeon.
“I’m Dr. William Beaumont and I need to examine you before you can
enter the fort.”

“The hell you do,” Yank
replied. “I don’t need to go in there that badly.”

Beaumont signaled a colonel
who walked over to join them. “What’s the trouble?”

“This man refuses to be
examined,” Beaumont said.

“That’s not quite accurate,”
Yank argued. “The doctor said I couldn’t enter the fort without an
examination and I said I didn’t need to go in there that
badly.”

“I’m Zachery Taylor, the
commanding officer here and I’m afraid that the doctor understated
our needs. I’m going to have to insist that you submit to an
examination.”

“The hell you are,” Yank
said.

Taylor was on the verge of
shouting but stopped and looked closer at Yank. “General Van
Buskirk?”

Yank grinned at
him.

“My God,” Taylor exclaimed,
shaking Yank’s hand. “I didn’t recognize you under the
whiskers.”

“The Sioux stole my scissors
and razor.”

“I haven’t seen you since
Fort Harrison.”

“Bill Harrison told me that
you’d resigned your commission,” Yank said. “I was damn angry at
you for that after I’d pulled so many strings to get you promoted
to Major.”

“They reduced me back to
captain in 1814 so I resigned. But then they took me back the next
year as a major.” He looked over his shoulder. “Your son is here,
General, but I really can’t let you go into the fort until you’ve
been examined. We’re fighting cholera.”

“Cholera,” Yank repeated. “I
thought it was confined to Europe.”

“So you don’t know,” Taylor
said, nervously.

Yank shook his
head.

“It came in through Canada
and there was a terrible epidemic in Buffalo.” He squirmed. “It
killed your daughter-in-law and your grandchildren.”

“Little John’s dead?” Yank
staggered back as if he’d lost his balance then almost immediately
recovered some of his composure, walked away, blew his nose in his
handkerchief and then walked back. “Sorry, Zach.”

“I thought I should tell you
and save Jack from having to do it,” Colonel Taylor said
apologetically. “I guess I could have done it better.”

“No, no, thank you, Zach.”
Yank looked at Beaumont. “I’ll take the physical examination,
Doctor. Where should I go?”

“I can do it,” Beaumont
said. “I’m terribly sorry about your family, General.”

~

Yank knocked on the door and
waited until it opened. “Hello, Jack.”

“Dad?” Jack gasped. “Dad.”
He threw his arms around Yank. “Oh Dad.”

Yank looked nervously down
the hall then awkwardly patted his son on the back.

Jack stepped back with tears
streaming down his face. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

“Don’t be.” Yank pushed him
gently into the room and closed the door. “Zach Taylor told me
about Caroline, little John and baby Thomas. I’m very
sorry.”

“I miss them every day,”
Jack said. He turned away abruptly, went to the wash basin, washed
his face then blew his nose in a handkerchief and washed his face
again. “Being here, so far from them, I wouldn’t have seen them
anyway but I’d be able to think about them. I could imagine how the
children had grown.” He shook his head and blinked back more
tears.

Yank sat down on the bunk.
“I know I haven’t been much of a father, Jack, but…”

“Don’t say that, Dad. You’ve
been a fine father. There’s never been a moment in my life when I
wasn’t proud to be your son.”

“Somehow that doesn’t seem
to be enough.”

Jack’s reply was interrupted
by a knock on the door and Yank got up to open it.

“Sorry to intrude,” General
Henry Atkinson said. “But we need to move out in pursuit of Black
Hawk before he slips away again.”

Yank looked at Jack who
nodded almost imperceptivity before shaking Atkinson’s hand. “Come
in, Henry.” He closed the door behind the general.

“I’m moving out with the
militia immediately, Major,” Atkinson said to Jack, “and I would be
grateful if your regulars could come with us.”

Jack opened the door again
and looked out. “Captain Davis?”

“Sir.” The man hurried
toward him.

“A favor please.”

“Yes, sir?” The captain came
into the room.

“Oh.” Jack turned to Yank.
“General John Van Buskirk, may I present Captain Jefferson
Davis.”

“Captain Davis.” Yank shook
the young man’s hand.

“It’s an honor to meet you,
General.”

“Thank you,
Captain.”

Davis turned back to Jack.
“What can I do for you, sir?”

“Would you please tell
Captain Turner to get the men out in the company street, armed and
in battle dress? We are moving out immediately in pursuit of Black
Hawk and his British Band.” He looked at Atkinson. “Where are they,
sir?”

“They’re at Bad Axe River,”
Atkinson said.

“Please tell Turner that the
troops are to pack for three days.”

Davis nodded and left the
room.

“That boy doesn’t like me,”
Atkinson said.

“He has a strong prejudice
against militia, General,” Jack said. “It’s nothing
personal.”

“Jerk a knot in his tail,
Henry,” Yank suggested. “Who’s his commanding officer?”

“Colonel Taylor,” Atkinson
said. “But I don’t want to cause any trouble, Yank.”

“Is Zach marching with you
too Henry?”

“Taylor? No. His orders are
explicit to defend the fort.”

“Well, you couldn’t find a
better man than Zach Taylor for that job. At least you know that if
you have to retreat to here, the fort will still be in friendly
hands.”

“How many are we facing out
there?” Atkinson asked.

“The whole band is up
there,” Yank said. “Over a thousand. But there are no more than
five or six hundred warriors.”

“Then we have a two to one
advantage. We’ll crush him this time.”

“Not so fast, Henry,” Yank
said. “There are several hundred Sauk and Fox somewhere near Black
Hawk that are, so far, unaccounted for.”

“We can handle them
too.”

“Who has your brigades?”
Yank asked.

“James Henry, Alexander
Posey, Milton Alexander and Major Van Buskirk’s
regulars.”

August 2, 1832

Bad Axe River, Wisconsin
Territory

The steamboat
Warrior
finished
refueling at midnight and left Prairie du Chien immediately.
Captain Throckmorton estimated that against the river’s strong
current, they would arrive at the previous day’s location no sooner
than 10:00 AM.

At dawn, Jack’s regulars
took the center and led Atkinson’s forces toward the Indians’ main
camp and brushed the scouts aside. Black Hawk and many others had
slipped away during the night to go north leaving a vacuum in
leadership that soon turned a retreat into flight.

Alexander and Posey were on
Jack’s right with Henry’s brigade on the left. Henry came out of
the woods, on the top of a bluff, above several hundred Sauk and
Fox warriors, women and children. A fierce battle followed for
about thirty minutes, until Jack ordered half his regulars to break
contact and close with Henry’s force to cut off the enemy’s escape
route. Some of the Indians took to the river, reaching a
willow-covered island, but many, mostly women and children,
drowned.