by Mary Calvi
“Truly remarkable. And pay no mind to the wife. Une chieuse.” Jacobus’s mouth tipped into a smile as he wiped droplets from his sleeves. “And what of you? Have you selected a flower from the jardin or is the fortress of a military man’s heart impenetrable?”
“I pass the time.” He signaled to the woman with the pot.
“With the man you’ve become, I’m sure of it.” They found seats at the stump.
“In truth, I am trying to forget a lady.” A difficult task, is what he didn’t say. George could still feel the silkiness of his Affa’s flowing black hair in his hands.
“And where might we find this lady?”
“The lowlands.”
“A beauty of the lowlands. Hard to banish from the heart, I’m sure. But fear not. We will find other such lovelies on our journey.”
“That would only add fuel to fire, making me the more uneasy.” That woman—Affa—had crushed his spirit. Had he been wealthier, more educated … Clearly, he was not enough. “Was I to live more retired from young women, I might in some measure eliviate my sorrows … burying passion in eternal forgetfulness.”
Jacobus laughed aloud. “I guarantee you this: Before long, another passion will emerge, lifting you from such a grave of oblivion.”
The round-faced woman brought brewed coffee and sweet bread to the stump. George’s stomach noted their arrival, but he did not immediately partake. He thought of one of the rules he followed: Drink not nor talk with your mouth full.
“Lieutenant Vanbraam, my thanks for the personal respect you showed my family.”
“My condolences on the distressing event that has befallen you. Your late brother was a good man. I am proud to have served with him.”
“Lawrence is the reason I took up this mission.” The white plague robbed George of his half brother, who had been fourteen years his senior and who had been his mentor and closest companion. With a successful mission as this, he could bring honor to Lawrence’s memory and, perhaps, become a bit more like him. George and Lawrence were different. Lawrence was a product of George’s father’s first marriage and had received a formal education in London and vast military experience. When his father died, so went George’s chances of a similar path—life among the landed gentry as his brother; there would be no moneys for that.
George spoke about what motivated him to deliver the letter of ultimatum. “Lawrence believed strongly that if the French take possession of the Ohio, they might easily invade Virginia. Our mountains are not so formidable to protect us.”
“Wherever they come, they destroy. Your brother would have been glad to see you take up this mission. When the sword of war threatens, we must strike.”
* * *
THAT AFTERNOON, GEORGE hired his party, following another of his rules: Associate with men of good quality if you esteem your own reputation. He engaged a servitor, along with frontiersman Christopher Gist. If anyone could pilot them out, it would be Gist, haughty, brooding in his outward appearance, with a ruddy face covered by a full beard, the only explorer with precise knowledge of the Ohio country.
With baggage and horses, they traveled to the mouth of Turtle Creek at the Monongahela. George kept track of each detail in the land they traversed.
“Our leader’s heart is fixed,” Jacobus said to Gist as they trekked through marshlands, “to a beauty of the lowlands.”
“I would find a woman in the highlands.” Gist spoke with a slow drawl.
“Where the ladies can read and write,” added Jacobus.
“Aye,” replied Gist, “especially the rich ones.”
George did not want to speak on the subject. He believed that if he tried such a thing again, he would receive a rejection which would only add to his agony. He halted. “Gentlemen, more pertinent matters are before us.”
A scalp was staked into an elm.
Jacobus raised his eyes to it. “Such as pray they do not kill the messenger.”
Positioned above the scalp was a sizable copper plate bearing France’s royal arms.
“The blood is fresh. Scalping parties are near.” Gist examined the clean incision from the forehead to the back of the neck. “The enemy pays thirty francs in trading goods for each scalp. The pounding of stakes has become a common sound—the French claiming the territory as theirs.”
“Vive le roi is their call.” Jacobus looked to George. “Shall we take shelter from the enemy?”
“Waiting here is very contrary to my inclinations,” said George. “We must make all possible dispatch.”
* * *
MARY WONDERED WHAT bravery looked like in the flesh. She might learn that this night. She imagined the colonel a gallant warrior, rough-hewn, with a brawny physique, and a strong jaw that, when clenched, would display defined muscles at the sides of his face.
Washington’s writings continued on to the most perilous part of the journey. In order to deliver his letter to the enemy, he had first to cross through the natives’ trading post, without invitation, and get past guards staying close to their weapons, men who didn’t take kindly to strangers.
Susannah would soon be calling out for her, but Mary refused to put down the newspaper. Her delicate fingers turned the page.
* * *
DAY 27
The stars told George the time reached nine o’clock in the evening. The flame of a torch guided him down a dirt path. One guard in war paint walked in front of him, the other behind. He could hear chanting in the distance.
This was the natives’ trading post, a place called Logstown.
Calm and composed, George convinced those at the gate to let his company through. After agreeing, guards took him alone to a narrow dwelling built among the trees. He requested a meeting with the elders to obtain permission to continue through their lands and ask for assistance in the journey.
Upon entrance, a gamy smell greeted him. Skinned hides hung across bark-covered walls. Three glowing hearths ran down the center, with gray wisps dancing to smoke holes that opened to the night sky. Seated around the second hearth were men George believed to be the chiefs of the Six Nations of Iroquois, Seneca, Onondaga, Oneida, Cayuga, Mohawk, and Tuscorona. Without a word, one of them, Chief Tanacharison, tall and strong, with a fox fur upon his head—a man whom George heard was called “Half King”—motioned for him to address the sachems.
Every action done in Company, ought to be with Some Sign of Respect, to those that are Present—rule number one. With no time to prepare, and having never given a speech of diplomatic importance, or one of any significance, he accomplished this with one word, the first:
Brothers,
I have called you together in Council, by Order of your Brother the Governor of Virginia, to acquaint you that I am sent, with all possible Dispatch, to visit, and deliver a Letter to the French Commandant, of very great Importance to your Brothers the English; and I dare say, to you their Friends and Allies.
I was desired, Brothers, by your Brother the Governor, to call upon you, the Sachems of the Nations, to inform you of it, and to ask your Advice and Assistance to proceed the nearest and best Road to the French. You see, Brothers, I have got thus far on my Journey.
His Honour likewise desired me to apply to you for some of your young Men, to conduct and provide Provisions for us on our Way; and be a Safeguard against those French Indians who have taken up the Hatchet against us. I have spoke this particularly to you, Brothers, because his Honour our Governor treats you as good Friends and Allies, and holds you in great Esteem. To confirm what I have said, I give you this String of Wampum.
Half King accepted the offering. George ended his speech there. Let your discourse with men of business be short and comprehensive.
Success. Provisions and passage granted. Three guides provided.
DAY 46
Nearly seven weeks into the most fatiguing journey as is possible to conceive, George pushed the men onward. He could feel nothing from his fingertips. As for his toes, he knew not whether they were
still connected to his feet.
They lit fires to keep warm. George made a forked stick to cook his food, hunted from the woods. He had no dish, using instead a piece of bark for a plate.
They slept on whatever natural cover they could find, right on the wilderness floor.
Then they came upon a dead end.
Before him was a creek with waters so high and rapid, any chance at rafting or fording was impossible. They were obliged to pass through this place, somehow. Only one other way was possible, Gist informed him: a swamp downstream.
George had no choice. He and his men advanced through the stench. Without the ability to see much of what was in front of him, he led the men, keeping himself upright as his horse carried him through.
* * *
THE WEATHER PROVED more arduous every mile the company crossed, until finally the enemy was before them. A handful of men against an army. Never before in his lifetime had George suffered such anxiety as he did in this moment. French guards swarmed them upon approach. A strikingly regal lot quickly surrounded him in the middle of the forest. The soldiers wore ornate uniforms of white coats with bright blue lapels. Frilled lace flowed from the cuffs. His focus, though, was more on the weapons they were pointing at him and his men.
Scars crossed the face of the man for whom the French soldiers cleared a path, the commandant, George surmised. Gaze not on the marks or blemishes of others. He had all signs of a battlefield veteran, yet he dressed as a knight, with not a wrinkle in his uniform, and he carried himself with the deportment of royalty. A black patch sat over his right eye. Through interpreter Jacobus, Captain Jacques Legardeur de Saint-Pierre demanded to know the reason for this invasion.
George stood tall and cleared his throat. His mind remained focused. Think before you speak. Pronounce not imperfectly nor bring out your words too hastily, but orderly and distinctly. He pulled out the letter to the enemy from the Governor, which Jacobus interpreted:
Sir,
The lands upon the River Ohio, in the western parts of the Colony of Virginia, are so notoriously known to be the property of the Crown of Great Britain that it is a matter of equal concern and surprise to me, to hear that a body of French forces are erecting fortresses and making settlements upon that river, within His Majesty’s dominions.
The many and repeated complaints I have received of these acts of hostility lay me under the necessity of sending, in the name of the King, my master, the bearer hereof, George Washington, Esq., one of the Adjutants-General of the forces of this dominion, to complain to you of the encroachments thus made, and of the injuries done to the subjects of Great Britain, in violation of the law of nations, and the treaties now subsisting between the two Crowns. If these facts be true, and you think fit to justify your proceedings, I must desire you to acquaint me by whose authority and instructions you have lately marched from Canada with an armed force, and invaded the King of Great Britain’s territories, in the manner complained of; that according to the purport and resolution of your answer I may act agreeably to the commission I am honored with from the King, my master.
However, sir, in obedience to my instructions, it becomes my duty to require your peaceable departure; and that you would forbear prosecuting a purpose so interruptive of the harmony and good understanding, which His Majesty is desirous to continue and cultivate with the Most Christian King.
I persuade myself you will receive and entertain Major Washington with the candor and politeness natural to your nation; and it will give me the greatest satisfaction if you return him with an answer suitable to my wishes for a very long and lasting peace between us.
I have the honor to be,
Sir,
Your very humble,
Robert Dinwiddie
Silence.
Washington watched an eye stare at him with a guarded look.
The commandant’s soldiers with their heavy weaponry took a step forward now. George sensed Jacobus reach for his saber. An endless number of the enemy’s men moved in closer. He could feel the cold breath of one of them at his neck.
It may have been seconds, but it felt like hours as George tried to remain as still as possible. He realized that this might have been the worst decision of his life. Who was he to step onto enemy territory and make such a demand? He was only an adjutant general! And in name only. A volunteer is all, and an ill-advised one at that. How could he have ever believed such an inexperienced person as he could negotiate a matter of such great importance? Moreover, how could the governor! The moment of clarity that struck George in that second left him scared for his life.
He watched Legardeur scan his clothing from hat to shoe; he was wearing little more than hunter’s garb. He eyed George’s delegation with a smirk, seemingly looking upon them as a motley sort.
“As to the summons you send me to retire, I do not think myself obliged to obey it.” Legardeur’s French was interpreted for George.
George moved not a muscle.
“We refuse to acquiesce,” the commandant said with certainty.
The guards moved in closer. George believed this the end. He swallowed hard.
The commandant raised his hand to stop his guards’ movement. “Monsieur Washington.” Legardeur motioned to George to follow him into a private room and offered him a seat at a heavy table. He spoke to him through his interpreter. “You are a brave man for coming to this place.”
George nodded his appreciation, although he rather would have left this place by now, for the guards again surrounded him, too close for his comfort.
The commandant put quill to paper for a response to the Colonial governor of Virginia and had his interpreter say the words aloud: “Whatever may be your instructions, mine bring me here by my general’s order; and I entreat you, sir, to be assured that I shall attempt to follow them with all the exactness and determination which can be expected from a good officer. I have made it my particular care to receive Mr. Washington with a distinction suitable to your dignity, as well as his own quality and great merit, and I flatter myself, sir, that he will do me the justice to be my witness for it with you, as well as the evidences of deep respect with which … I have the honor to be, your very humble and very obedient servant, Jacques Legardeur de Saint-Pierre.”
One guard melted gold wax. Legardeur himself sealed the paper with the mark of the French. A guard handed it to George. With the commandant’s letter of refusal in hand, George and his band of men departed the enemy’s fort with urgency.
The blackest night was before them, brightness coming only from the moon’s light reflecting on the heavily falling snow. They did not welcome sleep this night nor for many more. Danger was too close.
DAY 54
Frost reached his skin through stiff clothing. Exhaustion left George without any ability to continue. Eight days had passed since he left the commandant. This was the longest of those days. George refused any stoppage. He nearly collapsed on whatever ground was below him. He found respite seated against a naked maple. Fierce, howling winds stripped trees of their white coats. George wished for warmth. He wished for her. He imagined Affa in his embrace, the silkiness of her hair, the way its softness would feel with his hand through it.
If he were wealthier or more educated, maybe then he would be enough for her. She never responded to his letters. He forced the thought from his mind and closed his eyes to allow sleep in.
* * *
AT DAYBREAK, THE company continued. For days more, they traveled. He wrote in his journal the trials of the journey:
Our Horses were now so weak and feeble, and the
Baggage heavy (as we here obliged to provide all the
Necessaries that the Journey would require) that we
doubted much their performing it: therefore
myself and others (except for the Drivers who were
obliged to ride) gave up our Horses for Packs, to
assist along with the Baggage. I put myself in an
Indian walking Dress, and
continued with them three
Days, till I found there was no Probability of their
getting home in any reasonable Time. The Horses
grew less able to travel every Day.
Therefore as I was uneasy to get back, to make Report
of my Proceedings to his Honour the Governor,
I determined to prosecute my Journey the nearest
Way through the Woods, on Foot.
Accordingly, I left Mr. Vanbraam in Charge of
our Baggage; with Money and Directions, to
provide Necessaries from Place to Place for themselves
and Horses, and to make the most convenient
Dispatch in.
George chose only Gist to travel with him now. They moved quickly, completing eighteen miles in one day. Each had his reasons for a swift return. George was in a hurry to return a response to the governor.
As for Gist: “My child, George, my first, is about to be born. I have no time to waste in this godforsaken spot.”
They arrived at the place others told George about. What he saw explained why it was called “Murdering Town.”
Their fast pace came to a halt as they heard the sound of a stranger’s feet racing in the white powder. A warrior with his face covered in paint came from behind a big standing oak, pointed a pistol at them; he fired.
Gist crouched down.
George raced to Gist’s side. “Have you been shot?”
“No,” he replied and began to run toward the man behind the tree.
George hurried to the left to stop the assailant. The man was attempting to reload. George grabbed him.
“You will die today!” Gist shouted at the man.
George, with a length of rope he’d carried at his side, tied the shooter’s hands behind his back. “Do not take his life, Gist. I forbid it. We shall keep him in custody. Be sure he has no other weapons.” George searched the area to see if another enemy was lurking. Nearby, he discovered newly set traps and footprints. Worry set in that they could be scalped if they stayed any longer.