1824: The Arkansas War Read Online Free PDF

President. I’ll be in my offices at the War Department, should you need me again today.” He turned and nodded to Adams. “A pleasure, as always, Mr. Secretary.”
    He probably even meant it, Adams thought. Winfield Scott and he got along quite well, as a rule. If for no other reason, because Scott was even less prone to suffering fools gladly.

    After the general was gone, the silence returned for a time. Finally, sighing, Adams spoke up. “There is some talk, I believe, that people might want me to succeed you, Mr. President.”
    “Yes, so I’ve been led to believe.”
    Monroe maintained a studied blandness in his expression and tone of voice. It was the firm protocol of the young republic that no gentleman suited to be chief executive in the first place would ever directly express any ambition for the post, as absurd as that apparent indifference might be. Even Henry Clay maintained the posture, though every suckling babe in the nation knew that the Speaker of the House lusted for the presidency as other men lusted for food or whiskey or money or women.
    Adams scratched under his chin. “Should that unlikely eventuality come to pass, my answer would be the same as yours. Not one dollar spent to send one soldier against the Confederacy.”
    Monroe nodded. “Jackson’s answer might be different. He’s as savage as anyone on the subject of the runaway slaves for whom Arkansas has become a magnet. But he’s also far shrewder than most people realize. Even something of a genuine statesman, I think, in his own way. Finally, Jackson takes his honor seriously, and there is his vow to Houston. Which he might—or might not—feel has been satisfied by now.”
    Houston.
Always Houston, it seemed. On Mondays, Adams thought the young man was the republic’s greatest blessing. On Tuesdays, its greatest curse. On Wednesdays and Thursdays, he was indifferent to the question, for the secretary of state had many other things in midweek to occupy his mind. By Friday, he was back to blessing the youngster, and on Saturday to showering him with silent curses.
    Sunday, of course, was the Sabbath. On Sundays, Adams studied the Bible and tried not to think about the subject of Houston at all. Sometimes he even succeeded.
    “Yes, Andrew Jackson,” he said. “Impossible to know how he’d react, and what he’d decide. With Henry Clay, of course…”
    He left the rest unsaid. Monroe, however, did not.
    “Clay will do whatever serves opportunity, as he sees it. And since he can’t get the presidency without the support of Calhoun and at least the acquiescence of Crawford, that will determine his course.”
    “He’ll call it a great compromise,” Adams predicted.
    The room burst into momentary laughter, again. The moment over, Adams began rolling up the map.
    “Let’s hope we never have to find out.”

CHAPTER 2

    A tavern not far from Lexington, Kentucky
    M AY 10, 1824
     
    The innkeeper eyed the big man in front of him uncertainly.
    First, because he
was
big. At least two inches over six feet and very broad-shouldered. The heavy Cherokee blanket he was wearing over his uniform made him seem as massive as a bear. He filled practically every square inch of the doorway to the room he’d rented for the night.
    Second, because he’d obviously had some whiskey to drink, even though it was only two hours past dawn. The smell of it on his breath was not overwhelming but was still noticeable.
    And finally, of course, simply because of who he was.
    If there was one thing the whole country had come to know about Colonel Sam Houston, it was that…
    You never knew. He might do anything.
    The innkeeper decided to try reason. “Look, Colonel, you were planning to leave town this morning anyway.”
    “Not before breakfast,” came the feared rejoinder. Stated every bit as reasonably.
    “Well, sure,” the innkeeper admitted. “But there’s a good tavern just six miles down the road. And your boy’s already getting your horses