28 MAY 1851 (MID-DAY)
WASHINGTON-ON-THE-BRAZOS, REPUBLIC OF TEXAS
When no collision ensued he looked up at the pilot-house, wondering if he’d been unfair to the captain and crew. Then he decided he hadn’t been. Texans were quite obviously mad, all of them.
When the boat had been secured Stewart found himself hovering around the door to his stateroom, bag at his feet, reluctant to approach the stage from the bow to the wharf. Now he was finally here—Texas at last—he felt a tremendous uncertainty. What do I do now? It had been easy enough to imagine himself here and doing… something… to foil his uncle’s plan. But now he realized he’d never actually thought, in any real sense, about what doing something would involve.
Colonel Walker had implied having support from places of power in Texas, possibly even within the government. How would he know if any given official or minister was safe to approach? And what about Colonel Walker himself? Stewart had been out of touch with the expedition for nearly two months now. Had the invasion even happened? It would be just his luck to throw himself at the government only to be made a fool of when the threat turned out to be nothing more than the fantasies of eastern politicians.
It was the appearance of the Cherokee delegation on deck that prompted Stewart to movement. If Coloneh and his companions were going to land then he owed it to himself to be bolder.
He was at the railing of the boiler deck when, looking up the road to the main part of the capital, he felt a chill sense of discomfort move through him. Something’s not right, he thought. If Colonel—no, General—Jackson asked for my opinion, I’d have to say there are too many soldiers on the streets. Too many armed soldiers. He looked again. Almost no civilians, either. And the soldiers were in groups of three or four, their posture tense and their strides nearly jerking, some of them.
Steward ran down to the main deck.
“Don’t get off the boat,” he told Coloneh when he reached the stage. “Sir.” After a pause for breath he said, quietly so the crewman who’d gone down the stage to the wharf couldn’t hear. “Something’s wrong. I don’t think you or your people will be safe.”
“We have an invitation from the government, sir,” Coloneh said.
“I’m not certain the government that invited you is in control here. I can’t tell you why I think this—just believe me, please, that I have cause.” Stewart pointed to the road that ran from Washington down to what passed for the capital’s harbor. A group of armed men walked down that road, some in uniform of a sort and others in a strange motley of fringe, leather and red flannel. “That,” he said, “does not look like a welcoming party.”
Coloneh’s eyes narrowed. “No,” he said. “No, it does not.” Without pausing for breath he muttered something in what Stewart guessed must be the Cherokee tongue. “I would imagine you intend to leave us,” he said to Stewart as his companions darted away in multiple directions. “Even if I think you’d be safer going back to the coast.”
“I didn’t come all this way to run at the first sign of opposition, sir,” Stewart said. At least now I know I was right to do this. I just have to survive long enough to do something useful. “I’d be grateful if you could do something to distract those people, though. I’d rather not have their undivided attention when I disembark.”
Coloneh smiled. “I would suggest you make your way to the stern, then. Hide yourself behind some of those barrels back there and wait for my signal. I think we’ll just invite our military friends to join us in the saloon for a drink. We’ll have them disarmed and the boat taken over in less time than it’d take to blow a stump.”
The chief was true to his word. Stewart didn’t hear even a peep of protest once the soldiers and their companions—Rangers, perhaps—had gone up the stairs to the boiler deck. He learned the Cherokee had taken control of the boat when a young man, no more than a boy, really, came back to his hiding-place to tell him he was safe to leave. “Coloneh ask you just please unhitch the rope for me when you go,” the boy added.
Stewart didn’t turn around to watch as the Bluebell drifted away from the wharf.
Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen
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