Long Knife (24 page)

“It is a privilege, Colonel, to compliment you on a most enviable
coup
. I’m grateful that I happened to be here to see it.”

Several of the listening frontiersmen looked from one to another blankly, and said, “Coo?”

“Boys, if you’d kindly back off into the hall for five minutes or so, I need to do some diplomatic business with the governor here, before his party leaves for St. Louis.” As they moved off, elbowing each other and
cooing
, George motioned de Leyba to a chair and sank back behind the ornate desk. “You’ve saved me the trouble of a trip up to St. Louis, Governor. I have greetings for you from Patrick Henry of Virginia.”

“Thank you, colonel. I know Governor Galvez esteems his friendship highly. But I hope that this encounter need not preclude your visit to St. Louis at some time in the near future. We would be most pleased to show you our hospitality.”

George studied this dark, elegant little man with ambivalent feelings. He was enjoying, after so many years on the frontier, that kind of gracious courtesy and polished speech which he had not experienced since his young years at Williamsburg and with George Mason’s students at Gunston Hall. His own body itched and clamored for the feel of clean linen and fine cloth; his ear yearned for polite speech and genteel music, and for a momentary reprieve at least from the responsibilities of wartime leadership. At the same time he felt a little scorn for the Spaniard’s apparent softness and delicacy, and for the political hypocrisy which he knew underlay Spain’s friendly overtures to the American rebels. It’s not for their love of us but their hatred of the British that they side with us, he was thinking. And by taking the Illinois from British control now I am just as much complicating Governor Galvez’s eventual designs on it. Still, diplomatic friendship is reliable to a point, and there is precious little else to rely on in these times.

“There are two things I should like to mention before you embark, Governor,” he said. “The first, which you may or may not know of yet, is that King Louis of France has of late signed an alliance with the Colonies, which I intend to announce here as soon as I have got this place under better order.” The Spaniard’s eyebrows went up and surprise flickered through his eyes; then he smiled as if at good news.

“You must be pleased,” said de Leyba. George nodded, and went on.

“The other matter is that, although we’ve arrived here in considerable force …” he was careful not to smirk at his own lie, “we are nonetheless surrounded by a host of Indian nations whose minds have long been poisoned by the British. We hope
that, in the unlikely event we should sometime be overwhelmed by their numbers, we might be assured asylum on your side of the Mississippi while we would regroup and await reinforcements from our army at the Falls of the Ohio.” Again, at the thought of this imaginary force, he bit back his mirth.

“Be assured,” said de Leyba. “I should be honored to serve you in any way I can.” The Spaniard’s expression and tone seemed sincere, and George felt a rush of real appreciation for him.

“Good, then. And I likewise am at your disposal, Governor, should you ever have need of me.” In saying this, George suddenly had to gulp down an unexpected wave of emotion. I must be overly tired, he thought I’m getting maudlin. He stood up quickly and went around the desk to grasp de Leyba’s hand and go with him to the door. “When I have a proper government here,” he said, “I will treat you to the ceremony that Virginians accord their worthiest associates. For now, forgive my informality. I’ll have a detail escort your party to your boats, and I bid you Godspeed.”

The Spaniard paused in the foyer, looking up at him with glittering wide obsidian eyes, as if searching under the grime and stubble for an outline of the true gentleman he felt must be inside. He clicked his heels again and bowed quickly.

“Until that day,” he said. He was already anticipating the joy of his wife and sister.

C
APTAIN
H
ELM, STANDING LIKE A SILHOUETTE IN THE WINDOW
against the glare of the summer daylight outside, suddenly straightened up and turned to George. “Here comes that dang priest ag’in,” he said, “a-leadin’ his flock.” He chuckled. “An’ they look like he’s leadin’ ’em to th’ slaughter!” George got up and watched them arrive in the yard. From the looks of them, only their spiritual dependence on the priest was giving them the courage to stay upright and place one foot before the other. “Bring ’em in,” George said, returning to the desk and standing behind it. The delegation, now grown to about fifteen or twenty, followed the priest into the room, heads bared.

“What will it be now, gentlemen?” George asked the priest.

“Colonel,” Father Gibault began, “we come to return thanks for the indulgence you have shown us, and beg your permission to address you further on a matter that is more dear to us than anything else.”

“Speak,” said George, clasping his hands behind his back and assuming a pose meant to express strained patience.

“We are resigned that our situation is the fate of war,” the priest began his obviously rehearsed dissertation. “My friends here are reconciled to the loss of their property. But they pray that you might not part them from their families. They hope that the women and children might be allowed to keep some of their clothes, and perhaps enough tools and provisions by which they, ah, at your mercy, of course, might through industry support themselves wherever they are to be sent …” The priest’s voice ended in a hanging tone, as if he hoped some sort of answer might be forthcoming. But when George only continued to stare at him, Father Gibault proceeded, a bit more desperately now, “… They wish to assure you that their conduct has always been influenced by their commandant, Monsieur Rocheblave, whom they always felt themselves bound to obey. They, ahem, they say that they have never had opportunity to inform themselves of the nature of the American war, but … but as much as they dared to, some of them have expressed themselves to be in favor of the Americans …” Here the priest paused to observe George carefully again, no doubt aware that this might sound very patently like a ploy to save their skins. Still George answered nothing, and his face betrayed no sign either of gullibility or skepticism. The priest did note from the corner of his eye, however, that some of the American officers were elbowing each other’s bare ribs and smirking. He gulped, licked his mouth as if it were extremely dry, and then feebly finished his petition: “That is all they ask, Colonel. As for me, I … I ask only that some vestige of my church be permitted to remain. I mean, I …” His speech fell apart; he seemed to have run out of either hopes or words, and a painful silence filled the room.

This was the point to which George had hoped to bring them. He came around to the front of the desk, stood straight before the dismal-looking Frenchmen, and placed his fists on his hips.

“One moment, Father. D’you suppose you’re speaking to savages? You must, judging by the tenor of your conversation. Don’t insult me! Do you suppose Virginians mean to strip your women and children and take the bread out of their mouths? Do we look like the sort of people who would condescend to make war on the church?” He paused a moment; the suppliants stood with their mouths open, not yet comprehending the course of his words. “It wasn’t the prospect of plunder that brought us
here, but only to prevent the effusion of the innocent blood of
our own
women and children by the Indians, through the instigation of your vile commandant and his British friends. As for your church, our only concern with it is to punish anyone who does it insult. All religions are tolerated in America.”

He paused again to let the priest translate this, and to watch the stir being created among the listeners by their gradual comprehension of his message.

“By thunder, people!” he went on now, loudly and rapidly, “we are
not
savages and plunderers. Listen, Father: it is so apparent to me that you’ve been influenced by lies and false information from your leaders, that I am willing to forget everything past. Now, as soon as I am able to turn the heads of certain nations of Indians hereabouts, I will be perfectly satisfied to conclude our business here and rejoin my main army on the Ohio …” His officers looked at each other and sucked on their tongues. The Frenchmen stood as if dumbstruck, absorbing all these unexpected words, and George continued:

“I expect an end to this war before long, as the King of France has joined the American cause.” This information seemed to send still another wave of astonishment through them, and he waited until they had finished exclaiming among themselves about it. “Now,” he resumed, “I am going to release your militia officers; but Mr. Rocheblave—who is so vicious and intemperate—he is going to be sent away. Now all of you might as well return to your families and tell them that they can conduct themselves as usual, with all freedom and without any apprehension of danger. My guards will be withdrawn from your town, with the exception of the home of a Mister Cerré, whose name has been put under question by some of your people. I shall post a proclamation shortly, and ask only that your people comply with it. You’re free to ally yourselves with my purposes or stay neutral, and any who wish to remain belligerent will be given a chance to go and take up arms with the British, in which event we would rejoice in doing honorable battle with them. If you gentlemen understand me now, why, I am tired of talking and have nothing more I care to say.”

The citizens simply stood there for a moment, staring at him or whispering to the priest, who appeared to be almost beside himself. “They … they beg your forgiveness that they seemed to take you for barbarians …” he stammered. “They only imagined that conquered property goes to the victors, and they want
you to understand that they did
not
presume you’re barbarians, ah …”

“No more on the subject. Now just go and relieve the anxiety of your people.”

The priest stood swallowing, moist-eyed, his countenance glowing as if he had witnessed some sort of a miracle, and George fully expected him to drop straight-away to his knees. The citizens shuffled and hesitated, every sort of expression passing over their faces, and the American officers, moved by the transformation that had taken place in this room in the last few minutes, stood up straight and stared at their colonel, blinking with amazement.

At length the priest stretched out his trembling hands and took George’s big, hard right hand, and clung warmly to it, saying, “Colonel Clark …” George himself, who had been engrossed mainly in making the most profound impression possible, now was growing relaxed and receptive, and felt suddenly almost overwhelmed by the love that was radiating out of this odd-looking priest like heat from an oven. It was a powerful and unexpected presence in the desperate war room, a remarkable spiritual power, and George began to suspect that this priest was not some mere cringing capon, but quite possibly the best man in the territory. Father Gibault finally seemed to have found his tongue again. “… Colonel, I can only say that I and whatever influence I have with my Lord are at your disposal.”

He turned then and rushed the citizens out of the room. George’s officers stood around with nothing to say; George sat down behind the desk, drained but somehow calm, and feeling his old familiar confidence returning to him.

And then in the buzzing midday silence a clamor of joyous voices began building up throughout the town; the bells of the church began to peal and people could be heard running through the streets, cheering and sobbing. George slumped behind the desk for a few minutes, swallowing hard, until he heard a commotion of women’s and children’s voices in the foyer; four or five young ladies and girls came sweeping into the room carrying vases of flowers, which they placed all over his desk, then curtsied and fled from the room like blowing petals. He got up and mounted the steps to the upstairs window again, and gazed out to see most of the populace thronging around the church, while others moved about in the streets decorating the fences with ribbons and flowers and putting up colorful pavilions. It was a spontaneous and extravagant scene,
which strangely and unexpectedly wrenched his heart. Dear Heaven, he thought, I must find the leisure to write and describe this spectacle to my family and to George Mason. Why, these people are like children!

When he went downstairs again, Leonard Helm followed him to the desk, wreathed in smiles, drew up a chair and sat facing him, shaking his head. Finally he said, “George, it’s the damnedest thing I ever seen. How in tarnation did y’ever dream up a vict’ry t’ turn out this way?”

George leaned back in the chair and, with a great sigh, rubbed his palm across his clammy forehead.

“I didn’t have much choice, did I? I told you, there’s ten times as many people in this valley as we have, and God knows how many Indians attached to ’em. The only way to control ’em is to make ’em our bounden friends.” He drew his hand down over his jaw now and sat forward, toying at the petals of a huge purple iris with his forefinger. “But we’re a long way from finished. We’ll lose our whole advantage if we don’t do
everything
right for a long time to come. Now, listen …”

E
ARLY IN THE AFTERNOON, AS THE FESTIVITIES WENT ON
, G
EORGE
ordered the people of Kaskaskia to provide some three dozen horses, with which Captain Bowman would take an expedition to the villages of Prairie du Rocher and Cahokia farther up the Mississippi. Some of the happy gentlemen, in bringing their horses, expressed their opinion that little more would be needed to win those villages than to have some of Kaskaskia’s citizens go along with Bowman and convey the news of what had happened here. “There are many among us,” said one of the released French militia officers, “who have been in sympathy with your rebellion, Monsieur. We do not care for Governor Hamilton nor for Monsieur Rocheblave, and you may be assured that you would be welcomed joyfully if only the truth about your cause and your benevolence could be explained.” George pondered this, and wanted very much to believe it. But the attack on Kaskaskia and its attendant shock had been so dramatically effective in winning over the Kaskaskians that he felt a reenactment of it in those places would be more compelling.