Long Knife

by JAMES ALEXANDER Thom

  For a long time Governor Henry had been encouraging General Hand, the commander at Fort Pitt, to launch an offensive westward. Such an expedition, if done in the orthodox manner, would be ponderous, with cannon, with baggage convoys, with livestock led along to be slaughtered for meat … A slow affair, costly, almost impossible to do in secrecy … But this, now … Woodsmen. Swift. Quiet.

  The governor turned back toward the hearth, and rubbed his hands before the fire. “George,” he said. “Have some more port. Then let us spread your maps on the table here. I should like to be made familiar with your whole conception before we broach it to Tom Jefferson and the others.”

  Clark rose, lithe as a panther, smiling but careful not to seem exuberant. Good, he thought. And Jefferson will see it my way, I am sure.

  He knew both of them were thinking of those lands above the Ohio, originally Virginia grant lands left under British control by the French and Indian War.

  They’ll agree to any campaign which might strengthen our claim to that, he thought. “Thank you, Excellency,” he said, tipping the decanter over his glass. “Let me show you what I have in mind …”

  4

  WILLIAMSBURG, VIRGINIA

  January 1778

  GIVING HIS CLOAK TO A SERVANT AT THE DOOR OF THE GOVERNOR’S residence, George was ushered into the drawing room. He was surprised to see there all four of the men who had carried his appeal to the Privy Council. He had met frequently and in secret with one or two of them at a time since his first discussion with Governor Henry almost a month earlier. Now, they were all here gathered around the sideboard and there was an atmosphere of subdued excitement in the room. They all stopped talking and turned cheerfully to him with raised glasses. Jefferson, his boyhood neighbor, immediately proposed the toast.

  “Gentlemen! To Virginia’s westward blade!”

  “Well said!” cried George Mason, eyes twinkling as usual at the sound of a good phrase.

  “To Colonel George Rogers Clark,” said George Wythe. “May his name become the bane of Henry Hamilton.”

  George laughed, and feigned surprise. As he had expected, then, it obviously had been approved. “What is that ’Colonel’?” he said, as he accepted a glass and their handshakes.

  “Why, George,” said Governor Henry, a smug expression on his face, “who else should lead this expedition but its original advocate? The colonelcy comes with your orders.”

  “I am to lead it?” he said, still pretending to be astonished.

  “Come now,” said Jefferson, throwing an arm up over his shoulders and looking archly at him from under his bushy red brows. “You haven’t fooled us a whit, hanging back all modestlike and playing hard-to-get. Why, you’d be mortified if we’d put your scheme in anyone else’s hands, now, wouldn’t you?”

  George grinned and bowed. “I’m delighted to accept, of course …” he said in a found-out tone that made the four prominent conspirators erupt in laughter and backslapping.

  “Now, George,” said the governor, “here are the public orders for your enterprise. The Assembly has authorized it on this basis.” He gave him a letter and stood sipping brandy, watching him read it:

  Lieutenant Colo. George Rogers Clark

  You are to proceed without Loss of Time to inlist Seven Companies of Men officered in the usual Manner to act as Militia under your Orders. They are to proceed to Kentucky & there to obey such orders & Directions as you shall give them for three Months after their arrival at that place, but to receive pay &c. in case they remain on Duty a longer Time.

  You are empowered to raise these Men in any County in the Commonwealth and the County Lieutenants respectively are requested to give you all possible assistance in that Business.

  Given under my Hand at Wmsburg

  January 2d 1778

  P. Henry

  “Well, that should alarm no one,” George said. “Yet it gives me all the authority I should need to raise a force. And rather a lot of elbow room for contingencies.”

  “And here are your secret orders,” the governor said, handing him a thicker packet. “They’re a bit more explicit, and ought not bear any surprises, as you all but wrote them yourself,” he added with gruff humor.

  George Mason, portly and clear-eyed, rocked back and forth on his heels and looked up at him with thoughtfulness. A longtime friend of the Clark family, Mason had overseen much of George’s schooling, both in practical disciplines and in gentlemanly principles. That look of his evoked memories of long, sunny afternoons at Gunston Hall, divided among books and maps and the strenuous athletic competitions among the youth of the local gentry. One of Virginia’s eminent men, Mason was the author of the Bill of Rights of Virginia’s first Constitution. But to the young frontiersman he was still teacher and mentor, and one whom George would as much wish to please as his own father and grandfather. Mason smacked his lips. “Now, m’lad, you’re on your way to an audacious adventure which is sure to try your every resource. God be with you, and however much you trust in yourself, never be too proud to get down on your knees to Him. Do you understand me?”

  “I do, sir.”

  “Even if you succeed in this, there’s no excusing pride.”

  “I shall succeed in it, sir …. But I hasten to add that I state that out of confidence, not pride.”

  Mason grinned at him with tight-bitten lips, gripped his broad shoulders with both hands and made as if to shake him. “You’re solid as an oak. I’m so pleased with you!”

  George opened his coat pocket and drew forth two silver medallions, one depicting a wrestler, one a runner. “D’you remember these, sir?”

  Mason beamed. “Aye! You still keep them! Well, I am touched!” Eyes filling, he smoothed between thumbs and forefingers the trophies he had awarded George more than ten years ago, then handed them back.

  Mr. Wythe came over then, crisp and dry as a lawbook, pale-faced under his powdered wig, with the physique of a sparrow and the beak of an eagle. He was one of the men who had signed the Declaration of Independence and, like Mason, had been a member of the Constitutional Convention. Clark respected and appreciated him, but felt no warm attachment to him as he did to all the others.

  “I should like to assure you,” said Wythe, “that Tom and George and I are drafting our letter guaranteeing those rewards of land we discussed to the volunteers in your expedition. Three hundred acres to each, in addition to their usual pay, if you succeed. And proportionately more to the officers by rank, of course.” He paused and gave a small wry smile which reminded Clark of a tenderfoot at Harrodsburg the previous fall who had eaten an unripe persimmon; it was difficult not to laugh. “I don’t envy you, my boy,” Wythe went on, “when you finally do tell your recruits where you’re taking them.”

  Clark looked down at Wythe and nodded. “I’ve given that occasion a great deal of forethought. I agree. It’s going to require a strong hand and a wise head. I think I have the hand,” he mused, raising his big, brown, long-fingered right hand, watching it close to a hard fist, then open. “I reckon I shall have to trust in Providence to give me the wisdom.”

  “As all must,” Wythe said. He was blinking, and his lips had gone a bit unsteady. Clark was surprised, seeing this first outward sign of any sentiment in Wythe. And suddenly, after all these weeks of meetings, he felt at last a bridge of warmth across the reserve of this great jurist.

  Wythe gripped his hand, and with his left palm squeezed his elbow. “By God, sir,” he breathed, “if I were younger, I would go with you!” And then he stepped quickly away and gazed into the fire.

  GEORGE ORDERED THE CARRIAGE STOPPED WHILE STILL SEVERAL blocks from the inn, and climbed out to walk the rest of the way. He was simply too charged with energy and anxiety to sit any longer in a conveyance.

  The carriage rattled away over the cobblestones into the darkness, disappearing and reappearing at intervals as it passed through the small pools of lamplight. It was late. Most house windows were dark. He stood in the blackness for a f
ew minutes, clenching and opening his hands, inhaling the bitter cold air through his clenched teeth, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and looking above the rooftops and chimneypots at the lucid cold stars. He put his right hand inside his cloak to lay his palm on the letter of secret instructions Governor Henry had given him, and felt as well the rapid thudding of his heart.

  It had been this way ever since he left the four great conspirators at the governor’s residence: He had been calm while there, somehow as calm and authoritative and confident as those august men, or even more; but once alone he had grown as taut and vibrant as a fiddle string, heart and imagination racing, his whole body silently shrieking its need for release through action.

  He began walking toward the inn, walking faster and faster, his bootsoles and heels rasping and clicking on the street. The cold air stung his face and lifted his cape behind him; he seemed to walk in a wide saucer of blackness under a lid of starpoints, ringed by a horizon of barking dogs. The tension built in him faster than he could walk it off, a kind of savage bright eagerness which held off around the dark edges of his consciousness a throng of nameless and unadmitted fears, as a campfire in a wilderness holds off the wild things. He knew what those fears represented, but would not let his consciousness use their names, which were disappointment, and death, and worst of all, failure.

  He had to anchor his thoughts to something before they should run away with him; coming into a fringe of strong light from a tavern window, he stopped and drew out the secret version of his orders, unfolded the sheet, and read it again, to attach his mind to words, as he was unable yet to attach his physical self to action.

  In Council Wmsburg Jany 1778

  Lieut Colonel George Rogers Clark

  You are to proceed with all convenient Speed to raise Seven Companies of Soldiers to consist of fifty men each officered in the usual manner & armed most properly for the Enterprize & with this Force attack the British post at Kaskaskia.

  It is conjectured that there are many pieces of Cannon & military stores to considerable Amount at that place, the taking & preservation of which would be a valuable acquisition to the State. If you are so fortunate therefore as to succeed in your Expectation, you will take every possible Measure to secure the Artillery & Stores & whatever may advantage the State.

  For the Transportation of the Troops, provisions &c down the Ohio, you are to apply to the Commanding officer at Fort Pitt for Boats, &, during the whole Transaction you are to take especial Care to keep the true Destination of your Force secret. Its Success depends upon this …

  As he read in the lamplight, he was watched from the mouth of a pitch-black alleyway by two rancid and swarthy town thugs, who saw by the cut of his garments that he was a gentleman of substance, alone and unguarded. They elbowed each other in the darkness and then posted themselves in a niche from which they could ambush him when he resumed his walk. One drew a knife and the other a lead-loaded leather sap.

  … It is earnestly desired that you show Humanity to such British Subjects and other persons as fall into your hands. If the white Inhabitants at that post & the neighbourhood will give undoubted Evidence of their attachment to this State (for it is certain they live within its Limits) by taking the Test prescribed by Law & every other way & means in their power, Let them be treated as fellow Citizens & their persons & property duly secured. Assistance & protection against all Enemies whatever shall be afforded them & the Commonwealth of Virginia is pledged to accomplish it. But if these people will not accede to these reasonable Demands, they must feel the miseries of War, under the direction of that Humanity that has hitherly distinguished Americans, & which it is expected you will ever consider as the Rule of your Conduct & from which you are in no Instance to depart …

  “I claims them boots,” whispered one of the thugs, a short, scrawny man with a patch over his left eye. “I ain’t had warm feet for a month!”

  “Shush!” hissed the other. “Look you, he’s a big lad. Better take ’im quick. Might be he’s armed.”

  … It is in Contemplation to establish a post near the Mouth of Ohio. Cannon will be wanted to fortify it. Part of those at Kaskaskia will be easily brought thither or otherwise secured as circumstances will make necessary.

  You are to apply to General Hand for powder & Lead necessary for this Expedition. If he can’t Supply it the person who has that which Capt Lynn brot from Orleans can. Lead was sent to Hampshire by my Orders & that may be deliver’d you. Wishing you Success.

  I am Sir your hble Servt

  P. Henry

  My anxiety, he realized as he folded the letter and returned it to his pocket, is just that I can’t quite comprehend yet that they listened to me and said yes. My God, my God, what I have ahead of me.

  He had taken half a dozen steps when he sensed swift movement behind him, even before he consciously heard it; reacting with that rush of bristling readiness which had become second nature to him in the Indian campaigns, he spun about and dropped into a widestanced posture, poised on the balls of his feet, facing the dark forms that were advancing on him.

  One look at his coiled attitude and killing eye and the two thugs went cold with fright and forgot their motive. They backed off toward the shadows.

  George saw the glint of lamplight on a knife, and touched the hilt of his sword, but felt no urgency to drawn it. Suddenly in this confrontation he had grown completely calm, with a keen and happy serenity in which no doubts existed. Mirth bubbled up in him like an intoxicant.

  “Hey now, you two!” he roared into the night after their retreating shapes. “Hey, now, gents, you want a fight? Then come and let me sign you up … Ha! Ha! You can be my first volunteers! Gain yourselves a medal or two, and a plot of ground for your old age, eh? Ha, ha! Ha, ha!”

  He turned and strode on toward the inn, leaving behind him the echoes of his own voice, the renewed barking of unseen dogs, and the sounds of window casements flying open. And from the darkness beyond the tavern lights a snarly voice yelled back:

  “Ho, you crazy coxcomb! God blast yer eyes!”

  And its cackle of laughter trailed off in the darkness.

  NELL LAY AWAKE IN HER LITTLE ROOM UNDER THE STAIRS OF THE inn. For hours she had been listening to hear a carriage stop outside, but none had. She was hopelessly wide awake. She had turned over a hundred times under the great thick down comforter, trying to find the magical position which would make her too drowsy to think about the red-haired young officer. She had sensed today that his sojourn here in Williamsburg was about to end, and that he would soon be gone without ever having known of her yearnings. This morning, going to his room to change the linen, she had found him cleaning his long rifle, and all his books were off the shelf and in his trunk. He had looked up at her, smiled pleasantly enough, then returned to his maintenance of the weapon, preoccupied and seemingly not even aware of her presence. And then this evening the carriage had come to take him away again, and there had been something about his manner which had made her feel that his efforts here, whatever they might be, were coming to a conclusion.

  Suddenly now she heard the front door of the inn open and close, and she recognized his footsteps, that soft, swift tread, going up the stairs above her alcove. Her heart sank, then raced.

  He had not rung for her. If she was to see him she would simply have to go to his room unbidden. The thought of being so bold frightened her even more. What if he should leave before morning? she thought.

  Nell slipped out from the bed’s warmth, and the icy air chilled her through the thin nightdress. She put her feet into the slippers beside the bed, draped a blanket around her shoulders and clutched it with one hand, picked up a candlestick, and opened her door. She lit the candle at a sconce in the hallway and, trembling with cold and apprehension, quietly mounted the stairs, carrying the small flickering point of light, followed by the huge leaping shadow of herself on the stairwell walls. She turned at the top of the stairs and rapped delicately on his door. Often i
n her daydreams he had opened the door and taken her into his arms. She breathed deeply, waiting. There was a pause, then the door handle turned, the door opened a few inches, and Nell gasped. She was looking into one dark blue eye and the barrel of a flintlock pistol.

  He lowered the pistol. “What is it, Nell?”

  She worked her lips for a moment and finally was able to say, “I wondered, do you need anything, sir? I heard you come in …”

  “No, thank you, Nell, but that’s a fine lass. Wait …” He disappeared behind the door, then reappeared. “Here, with thanks for your kindness.” He extended a silver coin to her with his bare arm.

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t want that.”

  “Of course, you do, girl.” He pressed it into her hand.

  “Are you going away?” she whispered, suddenly feeling as if she would fall apart inside.

  “Early tomorrow.” He paused and looked at her tremulous expression. He remembered what Herring, the courier, had said about her. George had been too preoccupied with his plans to pay much attention to her during his stay. Now, it was obvious that she wished to be asked in. He reached out and placed his hand against her cheek and neck; his thumb touched her small, warm ear. He had a sudden impulse to draw her into the room; she seemed pliant and soft; she seemed to be wilting against his palm. No, he told himself. He needed to think and be alone with these documents and comprehend everything. He leaned out of the doorway and kissed her forehead, then withdrew and pushed the door shut. It was a minute before he heard her blow her nose softly and then shuffle down the stairs.