Eagle's Cry: A Novel of the Louisiana Purchase Read Online Free PDF

wanted monarchy in America—the general had made that decision for them years before—but they certainly wanted the best people in charge and probably liked the idea of institutionalizing their role in a hereditary form, nobles in perpetuity. Once, much later, he challenged Alex to his face on this and Alex backed and filled, smiling boyishly, but he never denied it.
    It wouldn’t have mattered so much if this were just a cabinet quarrel, but in fact it swept across the country. The parties shaped ever more clearly around these opposite visions, newspapers hammered the issue, even the states split up, taking sides, New England strong for Federalism, South and West for the Democrats, middle states swinging. Federalists shouted that any nation must be run by the nobility, call it what you like; Democrats denounced an elite rewarded at the common man’s expense. The general had judged the party break to be beyond repair.
    The image of an old soldier swapping his certificate for a sack of beans was darkly painful, but in the end he’d accepted
Alex’s plan because he’d seen no alternative; we would have no standing in the world till we could pay our bills. But an estrangement arose between him and the two Virginians. This hurt, especially with Jimmy. Tom was brilliant, but there was something foolish about him too. Jimmy was solid.
    A dream seized him. He’d plunged into a lake, didn’t know why. The water’s warmth was comforting and he’d gone down and down in search of something, he wasn’t sure what, until his breath began to fail and now he was fighting his way back to the surface, lungs bursting. He popped awake and heaved a great gasp that broke things open enough—
    Craik bent over him. With candle and mirror he cast light into the tortured throat. Craik’s face was strained; the general read fear. There were more men in the room. He recognized Dr. Brown from over at Port Tobacco, and Craik introduced a Dr. Dick, Elisha Dick, new young fellow from Alexandria, who bowed deeply. He’d just finished medical school at Edinburgh, well known as the best in the world, but he looked very young. Three doctors … he must be as ill as he felt. He let Craik depress his tongue while Brown held mirror and light and they all peered. He felt about like that heifer he’d been doctoring.
    “Quinsy, I think,” Craik said. Pus engulfing the tonsils. The general nodded: That’s what it felt like. Brown agreed. The young fellow hesitated, then said, “With respect, it could be inflammation of the throat membranes.” Craik grunted, which told the general all he needed to know about the young man. Edinburgh was fine, but the lines in Craik’s face made the real diploma.
    Martha wiped his face. He asked for the two wills in his desk. Her eyes widened and she started to object, but he gave her his command stare. One was out of date: Burn it. The other went into her closet. She said he’d soon be better, but he raised a hand; he knew he was in a long slide toward the end.
    Craik bled him again, Martha watching in alarm. Not
much blood came. Craik burned his neck with Spanish fly to bring blisters and draw blood from the throat. Fed him sage tea with vinegar, but his throat instantly closed and he was drowning until Craik lifted him. He fell back on the bed feeling more dead than alive; this was going to be harder than he’d supposed.
    He spun off into blessed darkness, yet felt his mind was firing with its old force. Too late now to dream of the healing speech, but he didn’t want to go into the dark night feeling his country was dying too. His brilliant young men had brought the issue to focus. Who are we? How will we define ourselves? Tightly held, narrowly based, men of wealth controling with lesser folk locked to place and class? Or open, fluid, moving, every man equal, with breaks as fair for the poor as for the wealthy, everyone limited only by his own capacities, free to be all that brains and grit could make