From Sea to Shining Sea (80 page)

“I don’t know. It depends what’s left o’ the Long Knife’s name. But I’m getting nervous. It’s been a week and no answer. Like as not they’ll come with their hatchets out. Little Turtle is no fool. He’s a better man than anyone here, except you and me. I expect he’s waiting to see if we leave. Count on this, though: He won’t be goin’ off to raid Kentucky as long as we sit this close to his towns.”

A
ND FINALLY, AFTER TEN DAYS OF OMINOUS SILENCE, THE
miracle happened.

The chiefs began coming down to Vincennes bringing the white belt, begging peace. First came Tobacco’s Son of the Piankeshaws, full of remorse at having turned against his old brothers the Big Knives. Then came Crooked Legs, of the Ouiatenons, then Loon, of the Kickapoos, then others. They wanted a truce until the peace council. They asked that the council be held at Vincennes, a place they knew, instead of the unfamiliar Clarksville. And as they yet had to provide for their women and children for the coming winter, they asked that the truce be extended until the next spring, instead of this November.

The officers could not believe such good fortune. With this one desperate bluff, Long Knife had turned his first failure into a triumph, and had gained Kentucky half a year’s reprieve—maybe even a permanent one—from the Indian invasions. And just in time. Their provisions had run out, and they would have
to quit the fort and go back to Kentucky. They gathered to celebrate one night in late October after the last chief had left in peace. William’s admiration of his brother was wider and deeper even than it had been when he was three years old.

“God in heaven,” Levi Todd said. “Gen’l, I think Vincennes is your blessed place! Here you take your longest chances, and here you come out best. Hear, hear!” he cried. “A toast with Spanish rum to Long Knife at Vincennes!” They all roared approval and hoisted their cups.

That night the officers and troops finished the last of Bazadone’s rum. William passed out with a smile on his face. George enjoyed the rum very much.

If he could have foreseen the troubles it would soon be causing him, he probably could not have swallowed a drop.

J
UDGE
H
ARRY
I
NNES WAS NOT A CLOSE FRIEND OF THE
C
LARK
family, but having been a classmate of George and Jonathan in Rev. Robertson’s school, he was a cordial acquaintance of long standing. And so when he came to Mulberry Hill in April of 1787, riding up the road between the budding locust trees through a gentle, misting spring rain, he was greeted warmly by John and Ann Rogers Clark, presented to the daughters, given tea, and shown the premises.

He spoke with the Clarks about mutual acquaintances, dwelling at some length on Elizabeth’s beau, Richard Clough Anderson, now a Colonel, and on James Wilkinson, whom he seemed to hold in higher esteem than did the Clarks. “He came here once,” George said. “Borrowed some papers of mine.”

“Really?” Innes seemed surprised, as if it were unusual for Wilkinson to do something without his knowledge. “Pray, what sort of papers d’you mean?”

“Some reports on the Vincennes expedition, proceedings of the court-martial on the Spaniard’s goods. Such things.”

Innes was gracious as always, but obviously preoccupied. He had come in his capacity as Attorney General of Kentucky, and had business of a confidential nature with George. Soon, therefore, the rest of the family withdrew and left them the library.

George pulled the big walnut-wood doors shut and decanted an amber liquid into crystal glasses, while Judge Innes watched him minutely and cleared his throat. “Peach brandy,” George said. “A new product of Louisville.” He was out of uniform, dressed in old-style brown wool frock coat, weskit, and breeches, lately brought out of a storage trunk to give him something to wear as a country gentleman; virtually all his wardrobe was uniforms and buckskins. Innes touched his glass to George’s, saying simply, “Health,” and studied the sharp, flat planes of the general’s face, the high, broad forehead, the new, slightly saddened aspect of the eyes, which now were surrounded by fine squint lines. But the eyes were still keen and piercing, an intimidating deep-water blue—certainly not the eyes of the addled inebriate the rumors in Eastern Virginia had him to be.

If anything, the years of experience seemed to have made him even more attractive than he had been in his youth. Innes could remember that the Tidewater lasses had been mad about young George before he had disappeared beyond the mountains. He wondered now what feminine company George might be keeping, what belle of which family might be in hopes of marrying the famous Kentuckian. Innes was addicted to social gossip, and had strangely heard no such gossip about Kentucky’s most illustrious bachelor. All he had heard was that he drank.

The judge observed, though, that George did not take his brandy like a drunkard, but merely sipped and savored it, his mind not on it but on the moment.

“Now, Harry, what brings you? I hope you’re here to look into the mutiny. Or that you’ve brought me some instructions from the Capital on the Indian treaties. They’re due, you know.”

“George, what I have is from the governor. But it’s neither of those matters. You know, I presume, that the Foreign Secretary’s trying to negotiate a trade treaty with Spain.” He cleared his throat.

“Of course. I daresay every man of sense in Kentucky speaks of it four or five times a day, afeard that they’ll barter away forever our right to float down the Mississippi.”

“Aye. Well, as y’ know, George, the majority of states want that treaty most desperately. They’ve got goods rotting in the warehouses and ships left half-finished in the yards.” Innes cleared his throat still another time, and George wondered why he should be so nervous.

“What’s this to do with me, Judge?”

“Why, George, something very direct, I’m afraid. Now, it’s not just the governor, George, but his council, and the Congress too.” He cleared his throat again. “They’ve a fear that, ahm, they … you see, they’ve learnt that you seized a Spanish boat at Vincennes.”

George’s eyes narrowed. He was detecting the drift of this, and he interjected:

“First,” he said, “’seized’ is hardly the word. I followed lawful proceedings. Second, I wonder how the Executive, who seems to have a deaf ear for anything from Kentucky, should hear o’ that obscure event so clearly.” He thought for a moment, for some reason, of Wilkinson.

“Well,” Innes said, “albeit obscure, it’s alarmed them. They’re afraid it might lose us the treaty, even provoke war with Spain.”

“War? Preposterous! He wasn’t even legitimate! He had no passport!”

“They’re also alarmed that your garrison at Vincennes could be construed as a hostile move against Spanish interests on the Mississippi.”

“What! How could they—By God, Harry! Let’s remind ’em, the Executive
authorized
that damned expedition! And Congress condoned it!” In his astonishment, George reached for the decanter and refilled the two glasses while protesting: “That was an expedition to save Kentucky from Indians. It had no connection with Spain whatsoever. And when we impressed those goods, we’d never yet even
heard
of John Jay’s precious treaty!” He was pacing like a lion fretting in a cage, and paused only to toss down his brandy. “Besides that, the garrison at Vincennes is long since disbanded. It had nothing to exist on! By God, Harry! Sometimes I swear, government’s an ass, and I’m out here pullin’ on its blind side!” His voice had been rising with his anger to the kind of volume that can carry through walls, and suddenly he brought it down. Turning to face Innes squarely, he said in a low tone, “Very well, though. I’m used to this. What would they have me do to soothe their troubled little minds, eh? Do they wish me to crawl down and kiss his Catholic Majesty’s ring and beg his forgiveness? What?”

Innes cleared his throat still again, held out his glass, and formed his reply as both gulped another dram. “No, Gen’l,” he said at last. “They’ve already apologized to Spain. What they want is … for me to prosecute you.”

George froze. His eyelids hardened, his nostrils distended. He
seemed to become tense as a drawn bow, and for an instant Judge Innes actually felt a fear of physical harm. In the silence, the clock in the corner ticked menacing seconds. Innes unbuttoned the flap of a coat pocket, took out a folded and sealed packet, and held it forth.

Breathing deep with the effort to contain his fury, George snatched it, broke the seal, and shook it open. The first sheet was a handwritten letter from the governor.

The second sheet was printed.

When George looked up at Innes, the whites of his eyes showed all around the blue, his teeth were clenched, his face was livid, his whole body was shaking. “This has been
published?
” he demanded. At Innes’s timid nod, he flung the papers to the floor and ground them under his heel, shouting: “He says
I
would injure the honor of the Commonwealth? My Go
d
! I’ve given every power and penny I ever possessed,
for
the honor of Virginia! And now he will sacrifice my good name, will he, to mollycoddle a Spanish king and his slimy ministers?” His voice was roaring in the confines of the room now, and there were footsteps in the hall, and creaking stairs, as if his bellowings were causing members of the family to scurry about the house.

Many men had watched George Rogers Clark strain to master his temper during his ten years of command. Now Harry Innes was seeing him vent it, without restraint, at last. George swept his hand to the floor and snatched up the papers, crumpling them in an upraised fist over Judge Innes’ head, shouting at him: “You’ve smirched your hands just
carrying
this paper to me! By God, Innes, if you mean to prosecute me, then you betray as staunch a patriot as this country’s ever had! And by all the Powers,” he snarled, now shaking the papers under the nose of the cringing judge, “YOU KNOW THAT’S TRUE!”

Innes was so far back in his chair that it nearly tipped backward, but he was waving his hands back and forth in a calming gesture and trying to speak. George’s fist looked as hard and heavy as a war club and his eyes were full of violence.

“No,” Innes finally gasped, “no, George, I wouldn’t
do
it! I’m not going to! God, no, I’d never
do
it!” George now stood poised over him; still thrusting the papers in his face, perhaps not really hearing him, when the doors of the room suddenly opened and Mrs. Clark stood there glaring in at the two men.

“George,” she said. “
George
!”

He turned to look at her, at the admonition in her imperious blue eyes, and slowly collected himself out of his threatening stance. She said simply:

“Mister Innes is our guest.”

The judge gathered his composure, bowing his head slightly toward her. And when George blinked and took a deep breath and said, “Yes, that’s so,” she curtseyed and closed the doors.

Now George stood glaring at Innes, and the judge was clearing his throat repeatedly and soothing down his lapels. Finally Innes said, “I’d never
do
it, George. No, there’s technicalities by which I can decline to prosecute.”

“Technicalities? Ye should refuse to on
principle
, God damn your little gray lawyer’s soul!”

“Aye! Surely! Surely! It’s, ah, on principle that I refuse, but
by
a, ahm,
by
a technicality. I say, I must be stirring, General, I’ve, ah, got another call in Louisville yet.” Innes was still half frightened for his safety, and was, besides, unaccustomed to being cursed; he was scowling and clenching his jaws even while going through the motions of a graceful withdrawal, bowing and offering his hand. George did not take the hand, but instead crammed the crumpled papers into it, demanding now as Innes backed toward the door:

“So ye bring me nowt but this insult? Nothing about the most pressing business at hand? The Indian councils?”

“General, you need not concern yourself about those. You have, ahm,”—he had his hand on the door handle now, and opened the door—“you’ve been, ah, succeeded as Indian Commissioner.”

George’s face now paled. “By whom?” he growled between clenched teeth.

“By General Wilkinson.”

So saying, Harry Innes darted into the safety of the hallway, where the elder Clarks sat like sentries on a mammy bench. He pulled the door shut just as a mighty bellow of rage reverberated through the room, followed by the shattering crash of glass against the inside of the door.

The corners of Ann Rogers Clark’s eyes crinkled momentarily with the chagrin she felt, both as a hostess and as a mother.