by John Jakes
Pleasant began by noting that the first census, authorized by Congress in 1790, had discovered a population nearing four million, of which, he reported in a dour aside, almost seven hundred thousand were slaves. The editor predicted that by the time of the next census—the year the new century, opened—the country would probably grow to an astonishing five or six million people, particularly since there was now more room in which to raise families. The treaties maneuvered through the ministries of England and Spain by Mr. Jay and Mr. Pinckney had at last resolved some territorial disputes and brought a measure of stability to the northwest.
Jay’s treaty had removed or reduced the British threat on the country’s northern and western borders. Pinckney’s Treaty of San Lorenzo, signed in Madrid, had established the Mississippi as the official western limit of the country—set the southern boundary at the thirty-first parallel—and, most important, given America free navigation of the river and free deposit of goods—the right to store and re-ship them without paying duty—at Spanish-held New Orleans for an initial period of three years. Settlers raising crops for profit would now have a secure and easy route to a major port.
The nation had adapted with reasonable ease to the new coinage of 1786. Abraham smiled at Pleasant’s deliberate inclusion of the fact that Mr. Jefferson had thought out the system, based on the Spanish milled dollar; the editor wasn’t as pliant as he pretended.
A general economic boom was accelerating the pace of commerce and invention. Mr. Whitney of New Haven, for instance, had virtually eliminated the old, tedious process of cleaning green seed cotton. His new gin enabled a single slave to separate out a remarkable fifty pounds of staple per day. As a result, the entire south was turning to a cotton economy; the commodity had at last been made profitable. At the same time, the luckless Whitney was spending a fortune to defend his patent against infringements by rival manufacturers.
As for “expansionist fever”—well, a whole array of startling developments had made it possible for immigrants to travel into the newly won west faster and more safely than ever before.
Highways were a-building; a turnpike modeled after those in Britain had been opened between Philadelphia and Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Boone’s Wilderness Road had been widened to accommodate wagon traffic. And the waterways swarmed with one-way flatboats and keel-boats. Families going west gathered on the Pittsburgh docks faster than craft to transport them could be constructed. Wayne’s victory had made a journey down the Ohio relatively safe.
Mr. Pleasant touched on other trends that promised to quicken the pace of migration even more. Men were talking of canal systems. Steam, power was being harnessed for river boats. Fitch and Rumsey had already launched trial vessels on the Delaware and the Potomac—
With a sigh, Abraham turned over the last sheet. The editor had indeed painted a glowing picture. But in it, he still saw no definite place for himself.
He carried the article back to Pleasant’s office, hearing and feeling the thud and vibration of the building’s presses. That noise, that motion was a manifestation of his father’s power. It brought on the pessimistic thought that perhaps he never would find what he wanted.
On top of that, what he wanted most was something he probably wasn’t supposed to have—
Elizabeth.
iii
The shame of conducting an illicit relationship and the intolerable sameness of the work at Kent and Son finally drove Abraham to decisive action. One balmy Sunday in March, he surprised the family at dinner by announcing that he and Elizabeth were going walking in the afternoon.
As he said it, he caught Elizabeth’s quick, glowing glance of admiration. Immediately, his stepmother gave all her attention to the plate in front of her.
But to Abraham’s surprise, Philip’s reaction was exactly the opposite of what he’d expected. “Certainly, if you wish.” Philip smiled at his son. “I’m not quite the blind, insensitive fellow I’m sometimes credited with being. The interest you two have shown in one another hasn’t passed entirely unnoticed.”
In a panic, Abraham wondered how much his father knew. Peggy partially answered that. “We’ve noticed how you gaze at each other at mealtime.”
Abraham was still nonplussed, as was Elizabeth. Philip seemed almost as delighted as little Gilbert, who stared at Abraham with worshipful eyes. Abraham could no longer count the number of times he’d described the charge at Fallen Timbers to his half brother.
“Have you strolled by Hartt’s as yet?” Peggy asked her stepson.
“No—”
“It’s quite the attraction, even though work on the frigate has been suspended.” She was referring to the shipyard where the keel had been laid in 1794 for one of four large warships put under construction by the government. The ships had been ordered as a response to a threat to American commerce in the Mediterranean.
Pirate vessels of the Barbary states had taken to harassing U.S. merchantmen. A tenuous settlement had finally been reached with Algiers; it amounted to paying tribute in return for safe passage of American vessels in the area. At that point, work on the frigates being built at Boston, New York, Philadelphia and Norfolk had been stopped.
Still struggling to fathom Philip’s easy compliance, Abraham said, “Where we go is less important than—certain things Elizabeth and I need to discuss.”
“Then by all means discuss them,” Philip exclaimed. “I’m delighted to see you giving some thought to the future. Along with these personal matters, I imagine you’ll want to consider a decision about your livelihood.”
Peggy shot a warning glance at her husband. Philip ignored it. “Naturally I hope that will also be resolved in favor of a family association.”
So that was the trap! Philip was confident that if Abraham settled down with a wife, he would instantly surrender—join Kent and Son. Abraham’s jaw muscles hardened as he put down his napkin and rose abruptly.
“One decision won’t necessarily lead to the other, sir.”
Stung, Philip turned red.
“Then you are a damned fool, sir!” he shouted as Abraham left the room.
Too overwrought to look back, Abraham heard Elizabeth hurrying after him. He paused in the hall to get control of himself. Elizabeth rushed to his side, grasped his arm in silent approval. As they left the house and turned down sloping Beacon Street, both could hear Philip’s voice raised in angry argument with Peggy.
iv
In the sunny warmth of the afternoon, they did wend their way to Hartt’s. Abraham perched on a rotting nail keg, barely seeing the huge frigate sitting unfinished on the ways that ran down to the lapping water.
The great hull, over two hundred feet long, was only partially sheathed in the copper supplied by Philip’s old friend Mr. Revere—the same gentleman who, years ago, had fitted Philip with a hand-carved replacement for a broken front tooth. Abraham’s father now and then liked to show off his tooth of African hippo tusk. Revere had been able to complete that small project—which couldn’t be said of his metalwork on the frigate.
Rated at forty-four guns and estimated to cost a staggering three hundred thousand dollars or more, Constitution sat in lonely splendor, guarded only by a couple of elderly watchmen. They paid no attention to the dozen people wandering through the yard to admire Boston’s would-be contribution to national defense.
Abraham took Elizabeth’s hand, stared into those blue eyes that, by turns, could be so intemperate and so loving. “I wonder how long Father and Mother have suspected.”
“What difference does it make, Abraham?”
“None. Actually, I’m glad the secret’s out. Now I can talk to them about my intention.”
“Which is—?”
“To marry you, Elizabeth. With their permission or without it.”
She bent to tease his mouth with her lips, caressing him briefly with her tongue. A middle-aged couple hurrying by with two children loudly expressed their outrage.
“You still want to marry me even after
enjoying what most men want from a wife?”
“How do you know so much about what most men want?”
“La, Abraham, don’t be so frightfully stern! I’m fairly suffocated by all the righteousness in the Boston air! And the thickest cloud hangs over Beacon Street—as you well know. I want to get away from here.” She touched his cheek. “With you.”
Abraham pondered silently a moment or two.
“Elizabeth—I must ask you a hard question.”
Her eyes clouded. “Ask it, then.”
“I know growing up in the Kent house hasn’t been easy for you—”
“Easier than running the streets and alleys, I suppose. But no, it hasn’t. Your father isn’t my father. Yet he insists on acting like—I’m sorry. What did you want to ask?”
He hesitated. She stamped her foot. “Go on!”
“All right. My question is this. Would you marry me just to escape?”
“Good heavens, that is a foolish question! Please don’t think me too conceited for saying this, but do you fancy you’re the only man I could marry?”
He sighed. “No. You’re a lovely girl. I’ve noticed the looks some of Papa’s gentlemen friends cast your way. I realize you could have your pick of husbands.”
“Doesn’t that answer your question, my darling?”
He shook his head. “Not entirely. I wouldn’t want you to say yes in order to spite father—”
“Impossible! You saw his reaction at the table. I think he’ll approve of the match.”
“Oh, no. Not unless a commitment to Kent and Son is part of it.”
“But it isn’t, is it?”
The intensity of her whisper bothered Abraham; revealed again the depth of her dislike of Philip. Still, he said, “No.”
“Then don’t make me out to be more wicked than you are, please.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Are you thinking of marrying me because it would help you break with him?”
Chilled, he realized how accurate her question was. All the turmoil of the past weeks seemed to clarify in an instant. He understood at last, completely, that Elizabeth’s pleas about resisting his father would never have taken root had not the ground been fertile. He needed a force to propel him to action; to help separate him from what he didn’t want—even though he still had no clear goal to pursue afterward.
Glumly, he admitted, “Yes—in part. Don’t misconstrue that. I do love you. Very much.”
“And I love you, Abraham. You needn’t be ashamed of admitting we need each other because neither of us can fight him alone.”
“He isn’t trying to influence me to join the firm out of malice—”
Her features froze. “Since he’s your father, you’re free to hold that view. But I see it differently. I’m not his child—and I refuse to jump at his every order.”
He was tolerant of her last remark. Her reaction to Philip wasn’t tempered by natural love, as his was. Yet even he could never remember a time when his father hadn’t terrified him just a little. Philip was a formidable person; a penniless bastard boy who, by sheer will and luck, had elevated himself from nothing to a position of importance in Boston. Abraham recalled one dreadful period of double intimidation—a dim time when Philip’s authority had been supported by a harridan housekeeper, a woman named Brumple, long dead. Under Philip’s orders, she had pushed Abraham this way and that—
He shook his head again, as if clearing his mind. There was no doubt that he had to escape Philip’s dominance, or perish.
Once more he clasped Elizabeth’s hand. He was heartened by the responsive pressure of her fingers. And her soothing tone.
“It’s all right, Abraham. Marrying to escape him is no sin—”
He didn’t answer. His gaze drifted back to the copper plating on Constitution’s lower hull. A highlight from the sun blinded him a moment. In the glare he saw a ghost-image of Elizabeth’s blue eyes. Unsettling, defiant—
He loved her in spite of all he knew about her: that she’d been born with rebellious blood; a temperament that delighted in defying accepted standards and conventional family authority. It didn’t pay to dwell too long on that side of her character. He had to remember only that she was lovely, and said she loved him—
“What we’ve decided raises another issue, though,” he said. “I must support you, but I have no trade.”
“We’re both young and strong—” She clapped her hands and threw her arms wide. “We can do anything we wish! The country’s vast now. There’s room for us to search for the kind of life that suits us. I honestly don’t care where we live so long as it’s not Boston.”
Abruptly, his mind jumped to a memory of Anthony Wayne’s musings about the promise of the northwest, then to the article by Mr. Pleasant, specifically, his comments on the tide of migration sweeping through Pennsylvania and down the Ohio to the territory east of the Mississippi. Speculating aloud, he described what Wayne had said about the opportunity in the lands now largely cleared of Indian menace.
As he spoke, Elizabeth watched him with total attention. When he finished, her voice was hushed.
“My father felt just as General Wayne does, Abraham. You know he was a lifelong friend of George Rogers Clark—”
“Yes.”
“Mother’s told me Clark wrote him many letters about the west. But he only got as far as Pittsburgh. We—we could go farther. Build our own home—why, I’ve read you can buy an acre of ground out there for as little as two dollars!”
“If you attend an auction sponsored by one of the speculation companies. They’ve grabbed up a lot of the acreage.” His speech quickened, just as hers had a moment ago. “There are other ways—”
“Tell me!”
“Men who fought in the Revolution can claim parcels of western land the government reserved for veterans.”
“Does your father own land like that?”
“I’ve no idea. I suppose if he ever did, he’s sold it by now.”
“Even if he hasn’t, he’d never give it to us.”
“You’re probably right. Better we don’t even raise the subject with him. Besides, when I was in the army, I saw a few people who simply moved in and settled where they wished. Squatters, they’re called. They choose their land first and worry about filing a claim later. If you go far enough west, you see, you’ll find territory that hasn’t been laid out into townships—or even surveyed as yet. Pick a parcel like that, and if you’re lucky, no speculators will ever leave their comfortable eastern parlors to dispute your title—” He sighed all at once. “It’s an exciting idea.”
“Oh, yes!”
“But there’s a drawback.”
“I don’t see any.”
“The one I mentioned before. I’ve no trade I could practice out there.”
“You know how to run a printing press.”
“I’ve no particular desire to be a printer. Besides, it’ll be a while before the west is civilized enough to want many newspapers and handbills.”
“Frankly, I don’t care what you do. Keep a store. Hammer at a smith’s forge. Farm—”
“I doubt I’d be too successful at farming—”
“How do you know till you’ve tried? You’re certainly bright enough to learn anything you want to learn. If you want it badly enough.”
Standing, he put both hands on her waist. “I want only you. Let the rest happen as it will.”
Again he thought he detected that strange glint of malicious delight in her sunlit eyes. He resolved not to worry about it. Who ever understood all the motives behind any action or decision? He was content that her passion matched his.
In a moment, emotion swept practical considerations out of his mind. The thought of the two of them launching out together beyond the mountain barriers had an almost magical attraction—
“All right,” he said abruptly. “We’ll try the new country.”
She fairly leaped into his arms, hugging him while scandalized heads again
turned their way. He felt the warmth of her mouth near his ear. “Do you know a secret? I despise wearing stockings and shoes—isn’t that funny? In the west, I won’t have to, will I?”
“No.” He laughed. “No, you can run barefoot any time you please.”
Happy and confident, they rushed back to the Kent house to break the news.
v
When Philip heard Abraham’s breathless declaration of the young couple’s plans, he reacted swiftly and emphatically. “Madness! Absolute madness!”
His strong, blunt jaw had drained of color. He stalked back and forth in front of the windows overlooking the street and the Common, where noisy children played in the sunlight. A chill had enveloped the sitting room all at once, it seemed to Abraham.
Peggy Kent, seated, tried to temper her husband’s rage. “Perhaps we should discuss the whole subject later, Philip. When everyone’s a bit calmer—”
“What is there to discuss, woman? The very idea’s preposterous!”
Consigned to a corner of a settee, Gilbert bounced to his feet. “I think it’s splendid, Papa. I’ve read Mr. Pleasant’s articles in your paper—men will be needed for all sorts of work in the west.”
“Be damned to your impertinence!” Philip shouted. Gilbert turned white. Philip shot out one hand, pointing. “To your room—immediately!”
Hurt, Gilbert rose and hurried out.
Philip limped over and slammed the doors. Then he whirled to face his son. In moments, Philip had almost destroyed Abraham’s confidence. But Elizabeth looked as determined as ever, and almost as angry as the head of the household.
Before she could say anything, Philip shook a finger in his son’s face. “The time to abandon this lunacy is now, young man!”
“No, I won’t—”
“Yes! You’re being totally impractical!”
“Papa, I refuse to listen to—”
Philip drowned him out. “Precisely what do you plan to do after you complete this romantic pilgrimage? Become one of Mr. Jefferson’s noble and impoverished dirt farmers?”