"Eric Flint - TOG 02 - 1824, The Arkansas War" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flint Eric)

seated.

“Oh, certainly,” General Scott replied. “Driscol’s been building another Line of Torres Vedras in those
mountains. The original took Wellington over a year to build—and he had the population of Lisbon to
draw on. Even with all the negroes who have migrated to Arkansas the past few years, Driscol doesn’t
begin to have that large a labor force. And the Cherokees and Creeks are useless for that sort of work,
of course. For the most part, at least.”

The secretary of state, the third man in the room, cleared his throat. “Perhaps…” John Quincy Adams
pursed his lips. “The work stretched out over that long a period of time…”

President Monroe shook his head. “I thank you, John, but let’s not be foolish.Sam Houston? ”

He chuckled. “I remind you that my son-in-law is the same man who, at the age of sixteen, crossed sixty
miles of Tennessee wilderness after running away from home. Then he lived among the Cherokee for
several years, even being adopted into one of their clans. He could find his way through any woods or
mountains in Creation.”

The president’s tone of voice grew somber. “Even drunk, as he so often is these days.”

Monroe finally turned away from the window. “No, let’s not be foolish. He spends as much time in the
Confederacy as he does here at home, since the treaty was signed. There is no chance that Sam Houston
failed to see what his friend Patrick Driscol was doing. Nor, given his military experience, that he didn’t
understand what he was seeing.”

As he resumed his seat at his desk, Monroe nodded toward Scott. “It didn’t take Winfield here more
than a few days to figure it out, when he visited the area. And—meaning no offense—Winfield’s not half
the woodsman Houston is.”

The general’s notorious vanity seemed to be on vacation that day. His own chuckle was a hearty thing.
“Not a tenth, say better! I’ve traveled with Houston a time or two. But it didn’t matter on this occasion.
Patrick provided me with a Cherokee escort, who served as my guides. He made no attempt to keep me
from seeing what he had wrought in those mountains. Quite the contrary, I assure you. Hewants us to
know.”

A bit warily, Scott studied the president. John Quincy Adams didn’t wonder as to the reason. James
Monroe was normally the most affable and courteous of men, but they were treading on very delicate
ground here. That most treacherous and shifting ground of all, where political and personal affairs
intersected.

Sam Houston’s marriage to James Monroe’s younger daughter Maria Hester in 1819, following one of
the young nation’s most famous whirlwind courtships, had added a great deal of flavor and spice to an
administration that was otherwise principally noted for such unromantic traits as efficiency and political
skill. The girl had only been seventeen at the time. The famous Hero of the Capitol—still young, too,
being only twenty-six himself, and as handsome and well spoken as ever—receiving the hand in marriage
of the very attractive daughter of the country’s chief executive. What could better satisfy the smug
assurance of a new republic that it basked in the favor of the Almighty?
 It hadn’t been all show, either. Very little of it, in fact. Allowing for his constant absences as the
administration’s special commissioner for Indian affairs, Houston had proved to be something of a model
husband. He treated Maria Hester exceedingly well; she, in turn, doted on the man. And, thankfully,