Pensacola, Franklin Parish, Republic of West Florida
10 December 1810
“Senor Reuben?”
“Humberto, I said twenty — ” Colonel Kemper looked up at the standing clock and saw that it had indeed been twenty minutes since he’d asked his aide to delay his guests. “I’m sorry, Oom. Another half moment. Help me with these writs.”
“Oui, m’sieur.”
Reuben scrawled and his graying gaunt slave blotted and assembled the documents into a neat stack at the corner of the desk. “Is General Claiborne still waiting outside with the Govern — er — the Senator to be?”
“Yes, senor. With the OTHER new Senator.”
Reuben stood and slapped Humberto on the back. “I wish you were coming with me to Washington City.”
“The spoils of war are yours to command, Senor.”
“Of course, mon ami. But Nathan needs you here. He will be well served by a boy who speaks English, French, Spanish, and Muskogean.”
“I am pleased to hear it, sir. I have served this hacienda twenty years. I confess I have grown to love it, despite a few rather — unpleasant grandees.”
“Grandees no more, amigo. Soon we will all be Americans. Now bring in Mr Madison’s emissary, and have Carlotta fetch us some refreshments.”
Humberto ducked his head and departed, and in came General Claiborne and Senator-elect Skipwith. Claiborne extended his hand. “Good morning Senator. Shall we get on with the formalities?”
Reuben smiled and gripped his hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, General. I’ll wait until Mr Clinton accepts my oath. At present I am well satisfied with Mister.” He offered his hand to Skipwith. “I hope Samuel enjoys life in St Francisville, sir.”
Skipwith smiled. “Your brother seems well disposed to insuring that our just rights will be respected here at home. As for me, the blood which flows in my veins yearns to return, unimpeded, to the heart of Washington.”
Reuben laughed. “And return we shall, sir. Gentlemen, sit.”
Claiborne grunted as he eased himself down. “You missed a bit of a tussle in your legislature, Colonel. Your Volunteers seem unsatisfied with the scraps you’ve thrown them.”
“Bugger the Volunteers. They’ve got their beloved Franklin back. And they’ve got the House Delegation, too. What more do they deserve?”
“Arguably, sir,” said Skipwith, “we owe them our independence.”
“Their arrival at Mobile Bay was timely, but it was my vision, and the valor of my brothers, that drove the Spanish ’crost the Apalachicola.”
A young negrita bearing a tray appeared in the doorway. Reuben rose again. “Please, gentlemen, join me in a toast to the Lone Star Republic, our bonnie new state, and,” he winked at Claiborne, “so that I may properly accept your surrender, General.”