But Sheff hadn't really been close to Dupont, so there wasn't 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 he's calling the Arkansas Post Medal, and they're handing those out like candy. Everybody who was there gets one, except the steamboat crews, and they're complaining like nobody's business."
"Them!" Cal snorted. "They didn't get within half a mile-not even that-of a shot being fired."
He gave Sheff a big grin. "Don't get your hopes up too soon, though. What I heard, it'll be weeks before they can get around to actually making the things. There's 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 he'd 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 Post-they never had but a little over six hundred, to begin with-and a fair number got killed or badly wounded during the escape. So:well, 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. And-ah-he'd 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. "Wasn't 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. Canister-and 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 canister's what it is. There ain't much left of the Colberts, I can tell you that."
"Oh:Jesu-Sam Hill," Sheff murmured, barely avoiding the blasphemy.
John Ridge's face was stiff. "Sam Hill is right. My father's furious. So's Chief Ross, although he's 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 told-well, watched, anyway-but I can't help think the Laird'll 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 he'd 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. And-sorry, fellows-but if push comes to shove, fuck you Cherokees, too. You got Sam Hill's nerve, as far as I'm concerned, expecting us niggers"-he rolled his eyes at Cal-"and some white boys to do your fighting for you while thinking you'll 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. I've been working since I was ten years old."
"Me too," said Cal. "My family's poor Scots-Irish-well, not poor any longer-from New York. We never owned any slaves. And sure as hell aren't gonna start now."
He gave Buck a look that had none of its earlier friendliness. "And I'd be real careful, was I you, Lieutenant Watie, making too many noises about 'civil wars.' You think we can't 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, Cal-there was no call for that. Buck was just expressing a concern. He wasn't 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. Simultaneously-it almost made Sheff laugh, watching it-the two Cherokees did the same.
They let it out at the same time, too. Then Cal said: "Sorry. Didn't really mean it that way."
John chuckled. "Sam Hill, you didn't! Stilclass="underline" "
He sighed, and wiped a hand over his face. "The truth is, Buck and I don't 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 we're not going to make any bones about the rest of it. There's no slavery in Arkansas-that's established, right there in the Constitution-and 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 devil's 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 Chickasaws-almost any of them, the shape they were in-gonna 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 doesn't matter, anyway. Nobody"-he managed a real smile, here-"not even us disputatious natural-lawyer Cherokees, thinks this is something you can settle in a courtroom. The Laird's been pushing for this ever since he brought out that separate Arkansas flag. Pushing it harder than ever, after Houston arrived and made clear he'd back him. Sooner or later, something like this was going to happen, anyway. May as well be now-when everybody knows there's another U.S. army sitting there on our northern border, and the second battle of Arkansas Post is fresh in everybody's mind."
He caught the look on Sheff 's face.
"Oh," Ridge said. "Guess you didn't know about that, either, did you? The word just got to New Antrim yesterday."
"There's at least two regiments of U.S. regulars sitting on the Arkansas just north of the border," Buck added. "They're building a great big fort. Colonel Zachary Taylor's in command."
"They got us surrounded, in other words," Cal said. "The stupid bastards."
1824: TheArkansasWar
CHAPTER 39