A Wilderness So Immense

by Jon Kukla

  “Not quite tall enough to be perfectly elegant,” a hostile contemporary thought, but “compensated by symmetry and [the] appearance of health and strength,” Wilkinson exhibited a face “beaming with intelligence.” His manners were “gracious and polite,” he spoke persuasively and wrote with florid eloquence and superb penmanship, and “by these fair terms he conciliated; by these he captivated.”6 Relying on his knack for persuading someone to hear more than he actually said and, equally important, on a good memory for the prodigious array of targeted exaggeration, omission, partial truth, and insinuation that comprised his vocabulary of intrigue, James Wilkinson positioned himself as frontier Kentucky’s man of the hour.

  When Wilkinson arrived in Lexington, the two major issues in the rapidly growing Kentucky district were access to markets down the Mississippi and the prospect of statehood. (The latter, in part, offered better frontier defense against the Indians than state officials in the Virginia capital at Richmond, five hundred miles to the east, were able to provide.) Vaguely authorized by a series of enabling acts passed by the General Assembly of Virginia, Kentuckians held nine or ten statehood conventions between November 1784 and the state’s eventual admission to the union in 1792. Wilkinson arrived in time to witness the third convention, in May 1785, and to win a seat in the fourth that August, which, as had become customary, petitioned the legislature of Virginia for an act “declaring and acknowledging the independence of the District of Kentucky”7 Or so it seemed.

  In May, the third convention had linked its call for separation from Virginia with the expectation of acceptance into the union as a fourteenth state. The August petition and address to the people of Kentucky and Virginia, written by none other than James Wilkinson in what he described as the “plain, manly, and unadorned language of independence” (actually the rococo eloquence he customarily employed for intrigue), called for Kentucky independence but not for admission to the union.8 By Wilkinson’s design and the convention’s inadvertence, the Kentucky resolution ignited an imperceptible spark that unforeseen events helped Wilkinson fan into the famous “Spanish Conspiracy.”

  Beaming from the canvas of this 1813 oil portrait by John Wesley Jarvis, the robust face of General James Wilkinson offers no hint of the shadows in his remarkable career. Implicated in the Conway Cabal against General Washington during the Revolution, the Maryland-born Wilkinson moved to Kentucky after the war, negotiated a lucrative Spanish pension and trade privileges down the Mississippi, and schemed to separate Kentucky from the union in the 1780s. Soon after helping to secure the transfer of Louisiana to the United States in December 1803, Wilkinson began plotting with Vice President Aaron Burr to bring an expedition downriver to New Orleans, ransack the city’s banks, and thereby finance their conquest of Mexico. Participants were “as greedy after plunder as ever the old Romans were”—“Mexico glitters in our Eyes.” The plot gained momentum after Burr killed Alexander Hamilton in 1804 but eventually collapsed after Wilkinson reported it to President Jefferson and then became the principal witness at Burr’s trial in 1807. Wilkinson was summoned before a court of inquiry in 1815 on a range of charges, including neglect of duty along the Canadian border during the War of 1812. Acquitted and honorably discharged from the army, he died penniless in Mexico City on December 28, 1825. (Courtesy Historic New Orleans Collection, ace. no. 1991.3)

  Entirely ignoring the omitted clauses in the Kentucky petition, on January 6, 1786, the legislature of Virginia passed another enabling act for Kentucky statehood, with a clear twenty-month schedule. A fifth convention was to meet at Danville, Kentucky, in September 1786. If that convention endorsed statehood, then Kentucky needed to adopt a suitable constitution and by June 1787 obtain consent from Congress to join the Confederation. Once these steps were taken, Virginia was willing to relinquish its authority over the Kentucky district as early as September 1, 1787.9

  The timetable could not have been more ill-fated. The Massachusetts delegation was using the Jay-Gardoqui negotiations secretly to push the southern states out of the Confederation, and when everything came to a head in August 1786 the sectional deadlock in Congress killed any hope of approval for Kentucky statehood. Later, as the Confederation Congress continued its drift toward insolvency, major issues like statehood for Kentucky were deferred until the Philadelphia convention drafted and nine states ratified the new Constitution.

  Early in 1787, the two-year-old spark from James Wilkinson’s petition began to glow. That January a letter from Richmond was carried down the Ohio and Kentucky Rivers to Buck Pond, the home of fifty-seven-year-old Thomas Marshall, who had come to Fayette County as a surveyor in 1781. Marshall’s son John, then a member of the General Assembly of Virginia (and later chief justice of the United States), alarmed his father with news out of Congress that the seven northern states were threatening to barter away American navigation rights to the Mississippi River. Soon thereafter, the Scots-born and Virginia-trained chief justice of the Kentucky district court, George Muter, opened a letter from Congressman James Madison asking, “Would Kentucky purchase a free use of the Mississippi at the price of its occlusion for any term, however short?” From these and countless other sources, the dire news spread, and it provoked exactly the kind of anger that Rufus King and the Massachusetts separatists had expected. A resident of Louisville exclaimed that news of “the late commercial treaty with Spain has given the western Country an universal shock, and struck its Inhabitants with an amazement.”10

  “I have not mett with one man,” Judge Muter hastily replied to Madison, “who would be willing to give the navigation up, for ever so short a time, on any terms whatever.” Kentucky attorney general Harry Innes, a transplanted Virginian who had attended the College of New Jersey with James Madison, read law with George Wythe, and practiced in the Old Dominion for ten years before moving to Kentucky, warned the governor of Virginia that “this western country will, in a few years, Revolt from the Union and endeavor to erect an Independent Government.” The Reverend Caleb Wallace, another of Madison’s classmates at Princeton, who was formerly affiliated with the Hanover Presbytery in Virginia and was now a judge of the district court, predicted that Kentucky would declare “absolute independence” if Congress failed to offer statehood. “Freedom from State and Federal obligations would enable us to govern and defend ourselves to advantage,” he continued, because “we should no longer be in subjection to those who have an interest different from us.” These were the voices of reasonable and responsible elected leaders who gathered in conventions to chart the district’s future. When Kentuckians gathered at court days and church services, at militia musters and squirrel hunts, however, impatient voices could also be heard echoing Wilkinson’s boast that “the People of Kentucky alone, unaided by Congress in any particular whatever, could dislodge every Garrison the Spaniards have on or in the neighborhood of the Mississippi… with ease and certainty”11

  Although Wilkinson proclaimed that “a Free Trade out of the Mississippi” was the “inestimable prize [for which] we are all unanimously ready to wade … through Blood,”12 attacking New Orleans at the head of an army of Kentucky militiamen was not his plan. Flatboat diplomacy was. Late in 1786, with help from John Marshall, Wilkinson sought a passport from the governor of Virginia for a journey down the Mississippi—and about the same time he attempted, through Baron von Steuben, to get a passport from Diego de Gardoqui. Formal authorization to travel into Louisiana might have been convenient, but neither request was successful, so before leaving Kentucky on December 20, 1786, Wilkinson dispatched a personal letter written in French to the Spanish commandant at St. Louis, Francisco Cruzat.13

  Why French? Perhaps the lingua franca of European court diplomacy was intended to make a good impression, or perhaps to shield the letter’s contents from curious eyes. Or both. If Cruzat or his superiors wondered about the identity of this new informant, Wilkinson’s letter did not expressly claim any authority beyond that of a private citizen. Surely Cruzat could b
e counted upon to draw his own conclusions when Wilkinson’s letter happened to arrive with the same courier, “a brother in arms,” who brought Cruzat a separate note from a man in Louisville who chanced to describe himself as a friend of “General Wilkinson’s.”14

  “I venture to assure you that the outrage recently committed against the property of a Spanish merchant at the post of Vincennes,” Wilkinson purred, “is generally disavowed here, and is the work of only a small number of unprincipled men under the command of General [George Rogers] Clark”—who had captured three Spanish boats in retaliation for the Spanish seizure of Thomas Ormis’s boats at Natchez in June 1786. “At this very moment,” Wilkinson volunteered, “a certain Colonel Green and other desperate adventurers are meditating an attack on the posts of his most Catholic Majesty at Natchez.” If the Spanish commander at St. Louis got the impression that Wilkinson’s promise to “do everything in our power here to foil this band” came from a Kentucky officeholder, that was just fine. If Wilkinson’s warning gave Cruzat “time to inform his Excellency, Don Miró, of [Green’s] projected plan” and of Wilkinson’s help in thwarting it, so much the better.15

  Lacking formal passports from Virginia or from Gardoqui, in April Wilkinson set off for Louisiana on a tide of bravado, with a cargo of hams, butter, and tobacco (all contributed for the purpose without any investment by Wilkinson) and a pair of fine horses. “Loudly exclaiming in the mean time against restraints on the rights of navigation and free trade,” according to an eyewitness, Wilkinson left “his countrymen enraptured with his spirit of free enterprise and liberality, no less than his unbounded patriotism.”16

  On June 16, 1787, the glib American arrived at Natchez in a canoe, accompanied by Captain Carberry (the “Gentleman of the late American Army” who had carried Wilkinson’s first letters to St. Louis), one slave, and an enganchado, or boatman. Carlos de Grand-Pré, the Spanish commander of Fort Panmure, at Natchez, duly advised Governor Miró that he had given Wilkinson “a room in this fort, entertaining him to the best of my ability, since this officer is a very worthy person in every respect.” Wilkinson was “awaiting here a big barge, which should arrive today,” Grand-Pré continued, “in order to continue with it his voyage to [New Orleans], where he is to embark for Philadelphia.” The commander saw no need to mention Wilkinson’s friendly gift of the two fine horses.17

  At Natchez Wilkinson apparently transferred his remaining cargo onto flatboats, perhaps as many as five of them, before going on to New Orleans. While the evidence about some details of Wilkinson’s journey is contradictory, it is certain that the general reached New Orleans on July 2, 1787—as did Grand-Pré’s letter warning Miró of his imminent arrival. Escorted directly to the governor’s office by a Spanish corporal, Wilkinson quickly impressed Miró and Intendant Navarro as “a person endowed with high talents” whose influence in Kentucky might prove useful for the defense of Louisiana. Portraying himself as the man “in whom the [Kentucky] settlements have placed their hope of future happiness,” Wilkinson “informed the governor and myself,” Navarro wrote, “that it was the[ir] intention … to put themselves under the protection or vassalage of his Catholic Majesty.”18 On the chance that Wilkinson might be able to deliver on this promise, Miró and Navarro allowed him to sell his cargo and began a series of secret conversations, lasting into September, that launched the Spanish Conspiracy.

  Two months into their negotiations, on August 22, 1787, James Wilkinson wrote and signed a formal document “transferring [his] allegiance, from the United States to his Catholic Majesty.” “Born and educated in America,” Wilkinson wrote,

  I embraced her cause in the recent revolution, and steadfastly I adhered to her interests until she triumphed over her enemy. This event, having rendered my services no longer needful, released me from my engagements … and left me at liberty, having fought for her welfare, to seek my own. Since the circumstances and policy of the United States have rendered it impossible for me to attain this desired object under her government, I am resolved, without wishing them any harm, to seek it [with] Spain.19

  During the course of his secret talks at the government house on St. Louis Street, Wilkinson also wrote a lengthy essay describing the western situation and his plan for Kentucky’s separation from the United States and subordination to Spain.

  New Orleans can be a gossipy village, but Miró and Navarro protected Wilkinson and their negotiations about Kentucky separatism with a cover story to dispel “the excessive curiosity of the prominent men of this capital.” They “insinuated that Wilkinson came as a commissioner of the settlements to solicit a general permission to send down their produce.” The disinformation spread quickly, “the good effect of which is that nobody has imagined anything else.”20

  Ostensibly, Wilkinson’s Memorial (as the document has come to be known) recommended to Miró and Navarro “what ought to be the policy of the Spanish Court at this critical juncture.” In fact, with their help, the Memorial was written so that they could forward it to Spain. It opened with a review of the rapid growth of the western settlements, their dependence on the Mississippi River to counterbalance “those commercial advantages which their Brethren on the Atlantic enjoy,” and the American Confederation’s inability to protect western interests. Kentucky independence was inevitable, Wilkinson contended. When it came, Spain would have two options. On the one hand, “an accommodating deportment” could entice Kentucky to become “subservient to the interest of Spain.” On the other, “hostile restraints” would surely “drive them into the arms of Great Britain.”21

  “If Spain drives the Americans into the arms of Great Britain,” Wilkinson warned, “she immediately endangers her Louisianian territories, and eventually her Mexican provinces,” but “if she attaches the Americans to her interests,” Kentucky would serve as “a permanent barrier against Great Britain and the United States.” As things stood, it was essential that Diego de Gardoqui “absolutely refuse to Congress the Navigation of the Mississippi,” Wilkinson advised, “for should this Gentleman form a treaty by which the Americans may become intitled to the independent enjoyment of this Navigation, he will destroy the power which Spain now enjoys over the American settlements, and entirely defeat our principal” objective. It was “an absolute Fact that these Settlements will… look up for protection to that power which secures them this most precious privilege.” Therefore, let Spain “carefully preserve this right to herself, until she can employ it in exchange for such concessions as she may think proper to demand from the western settlers of America.”

  Opening the river “generally” to American trade—Wilkinson underlined the word—was contrary to Spain’s best interests, and his own: “The prohibition of intercourse by the Mississippi… should be still supported, generally, with as much rigor as ever,” he advised, but with one or two carefully chosen exceptions. “In order to conciliate and prepare the Minds of the western Americans for the grand object of these speculations,” he wrote, “it may be politic … to offer indulgence to men of real influence.” If Miró and Navarro could grant special trading privileges to one or two prominent Kentuckians (men like Brigadier General James Wilkinson leapt to mind) surely that valuable “indulgence” monopoly is such an ugly word!) “would attach the leading characters in that Country to the interest of Spain.” What’s more, the benefits of trading privileges would surely trickle down from the favorites, “cheer the People with the hope of a free and friendly intercourse,” dissuade them from “outrage and hostility,” and pave the way for a “transition from the renouncement of the federal Government of America to a Negociation with the Court of Spain” that would be “natural and immediate.”22

  “Know then,” Wilkinson’s Memorial asserted, “that the leading characters of Kentucky… urged and intreated my voyage hither, in order to … discover … whether [Spain] would be willing to open a negociation for our admission to her protection as subjects” (Wilkinson’s emphasis). Accordingly, if Miró and Navarro agree
d to the propositions they had helped him write, Wilkinson promised to return to Kentucky and “exert my political weight and influence to familiarize and recommend to the Body of the People among whom I live those views which constitute the design of my present voyage, and which have already fixed the attention of the discerning part of that Community.” His final request was for “the most inviolable secrecy” in all that he proposed.23

  “Gentlemen,” he reminded Miró and Navarro, “I have committed secrets of an important nature, such as would, were they divulged destroy my Fame and Fortune forever. … If the plan should eventually be rejected by the Court, I must rely on the candor and high honor of a dignified Minister to bury these communications in eternal oblivion.”24

  How rare and pleasant are the moments when national and personal interests honestly mesh. How generously Wilkinson offered to send down from Kentucky cargoes comprising

  Negroes, live Stock, tobacco, Flour, Bacon, Lard, Butter, Cheese, tallow, [and] Apples [in] the amount of fifty or sixty thousand Dollars … which articles may be sold for my account, and the proceeds held by his Excellency the Governor, as a pledge for my good conduct until the issue of our plans is known, or I have fixed my residence in Louisiana.

  How intelligently—the very next day—Miró and Navarro encouraged their undercover agent by accepting his trade proposal, “though not to exceed half of the sum he had suggested.” How shrewdly the governor and intendant protected the crown by investing their own money, as silent partners, in the cover operation of buying tobacco at $2 per hundredweight in Kentucky and selling it for $10 in New Orleans. And later, when Wilkinson’s first shipment arrived and he asked for immediate payment rather than leaving his money on account, how sensibly Miró “determined to gratify him on this occasion.” Compared to “the mischief that might arise from vexing him” or the “impediments that a lack of money would doubtless put in the way of his operations,” how wise of Governor Miró to forgo “the greater security we might have in keeping his money in the treasury.”25