“THERE IT IS, GENTLEMEN. A volunteer for our cause whose name will give us political legitimacy in the East and whose West Point training will help us shape our military strategy in the West.”
Gabriel Todd's smile suggested he could not imagine a negative response from his five-man audience. Janet was tempted to cast her vote by applauding. Her father had made a masterful case for accepting Major Paul Stapleton in the upper ranks of the Sons of Liberty.
But the man whose vote counted for more than the other four votes combined was not impressed. Rogers Jameson, his broken jaw wired shut, seized a piece of paper and scrawled on it:
I DONT TRUSTE
HIM.
Gabriel Todd had surrendered most of the active leadership of Daviess County's George Rogers Clark Brigade to Jameson. He had recruited most of the junior officers and enlisted men. He knew how to talk to them in the taverns and fraternal societies where they spent their free time. He used his reputation as a fighting captain in the Mexican War to impress them.
Rogers's inability to spell the word
trust
summed up Janet's opinion of him. His marriage to Amelia Conway had elevated him to the company of his social superiors. But he had never made the slightest attempt to acquire any polish or education.
“Rogers,” Gabriel Todd said. “Surely you remember his father, George Stapleton. He was the best volunteer general in the Mexican War.”
Rogers Jameson seized another piece of paper and
scrawled.
I STILL DONT TRUSTE HIM. HIS NIGER SERGINT BROK MY JAWR.
“He's a soldier,” Janet said. “He's ready and eager to fightâto lead a regiment or a brigade.”
“Perhaps I should add that my daughter is considering an offer of marriage from Major Stapleton,” Gabriel Todd said. “An offer that's already won my approval.”
This drew an even darker scowl from Rogers Jameson. He seized more paper and scrawled:
I THOT SHE WAS PROMISED TO ADAM.
“Nobody has promised me to
anyone,”
Janet said
“Adam has my approval, too,” Gabriel Todd said with a genial smile. “When this cruel war is over, I'm sure Janet can settle the matter between the two gentlemen on her terms.”
Once more Rogers Jameson glared and scrawled:
FIRST LET HIM SWEAR A SOLUM OATHE. MAKE SURE HE IS A TRU SON OF LIBERTY,
“Of course he'll swear our oath,” Gabriel Todd said. “There'll be no difficulty on that score.”
“Of course not,” Janet said.
“Is he here?” asked red-haired Colonel Luke Bowman, the most intelligent of the four regimental leaders. He farmed a thousand acres not far from Hopemont. The others were more middling men.
“He's upstairs,” Janet replied.
“Ask him to join us,” Gabriel Todd said.
Janet found Paul in his room, reading a newspaper. “They're ready to welcome you into the Sons of Liberty. But you'll have to swear an oath of loyalty,” she said.
For a moment he looked unhappy. “I can see why they don't trust me,” he said.
“Everyone has to swear it.”
“Even you?”
“No. They don't think of me as a soldier.”
“They should.”
She gave him a fierce affirmative kiss.
Downstairs, everyone except Rogers Jameson rose to his feet when Paul entered the dining room. Gabriel Todd gravely introduced him to each of the colonels. With a wry smile, he added, “I believe you know Rogers Jameson.”
“I fear I owe him some sort of apology,” Paul said. “I want to make it clear that I had nothing to do with Sergeant Washington slugging him.”
He held out his hand. Rogers Jameson hesitated for a moment, dislike still flickering in his bulging eyes. But he could not avoid shaking hands.
Gabriel Todd slapped Jameson on the back. “You see, Rogers? You can't help but like this young fellow.”
Jameson's beefy face remained sullen. Gabriel Todd ignored his recalcitrance and said, “Major, we're prepared to welcome you into the Sons of Liberty. To join us requires a solemn oath that no honest man can ever repudiate. Are you prepared to swear it?”
“I am,” Paul said. His gaze was on Janet. There was not a hint of hesitation in his voice, not a trace of evasion in his eyes.
“We'll proceed to the ceremony,” Gabriel Todd said.
He lifted a thick leather-covered book from a serving shelf near the dining room door and opened it on the table. He was immensely proud of this volume. He had written much of it himself and had paid to have it bound by the best bookseller in Cincinnati. Other versions in less expensive covers circulated throughout Kentucky and Indiana and Illinois.
He opened it and began to read: “âListen, then, to these principles of government, as I enumerate them, Brother. For they must be the guiding principles of your life, if you hope to join our fraternityâ'”
For the next twenty minutes Gabriel Todd recited the fundamental ideas of the Sons of Liberty, all of them derived from the writings of Thomas Jefferson. They stressed liberty above government and the consent of
the governed above everything else, as expressed through the votes of originally independent states.
Finally Gabriel Todd studied Paul for a long moment. “How do you respond to the declarations you have just heard?”
He handed Paul the book and he read the oath. “I, Paul Stapleton, fully comprehending and appreciating the declaration of principles I have just heard pronounced, hold them for truth, and promise to cherish them in my heart, to inculcate them in my fellows, to illustrate them, as far as in me lies, in my daily talk and conversation and if needs be defend them with my life.”
Again Gabriel Todd studied Paul. He placed both hands on his shoulders and said, “By the power vested in me by the Grand Council, I pronounce you a Son of Liberty.”
A beaming Luke Bowman leaped up and extended his hand. “Welcome! Welcome!” he said. “I met your father in Mexico. I'm absolutely certain he'd approve this step. If he were alive, I suspect he'd be the leader of the Sons of Liberty in New Jersey.”
“You may be right,” Paul said.
Gabriel Todd also extended his hand. “I hope we can do great things together for the cause of peace and justice,” he said.
“I hope so too,” Paul said.
Rogers Jameson made no attempt to shake hands. Incapable of diplomacy, he continued to regard Paul with patent disapproval. Janet wondered what role this man would play if they succeeded in setting up the western confederacy. It was not a pleasant thought.
Joseph, the Todds' aging butler, announced dinner. They sat down to a feast of roast pork and sweet potatoes. Gabriel Todd poured one of his best clarets and raised his glass. “To the union of all honest men,” he said.
“Isn't it time we discussed what Major Stapleton can do for us?” Janet asked.
Paul's eyes assured her they were thinking identical thoughts. “First and foremost I'm offering you my sword, gentlemen,” he said. “I don't think what you're hoping to accomplish can be done without some sharp fighting. Do you have a plan for the campaign that I could study?”
Rogers Jameson gave Paul a contemptuous look and reached for his pencil.
WE DON'T NEED NO WEST POINT PLANN
, he wrote.
“I ain't so sure I agree with you, Rogers,” Luke Bowman said, passing the note to the other colonels.
“I emphatically agree with Major Stapleton that we need a plan,” Gabriel Todd said. “Nothing gives an army more confidence than knowing it has a winning strategy.”
OUR PLANN IS TO TAK KEYPORT KILL GENTRY AND HIS NIGERS AND HEAD FOR INDIANAPOLIS,
Jameson wrote.
Colonel Todd read this aloud. “I don't call that a plan,” Paul said.
The thud of a galloping horse came up Hopemont's gravel drive. Luke Bowman looked uneasily at Gabriel Todd. “Are you expectin' anyone?” he asked.
Colonel Todd shook his head. “Janet, will you go see who it is?”
Janet hurried down Hopemont's candlelit entrance hall to the front door. She opened it and stepped back, astounded. Looming against the darkness was a gigantic black-bearded man in a Confederate uniform and a wide-brimmed cavalryman's hat. He had two huge pistols strapped to his waist. “Janet!” he said.
It was Adam Jameson. His beard made him seem like a figure out of
Rob Roy
or some other historical saga by Sir Walter Scott. He swept Janet against him for a fierce kiss. “For three years I've been dreaming of doing that,” he said.
Janet disentangled herself from his arms. “Adamâthis is a
total
surprise,” she said.
“Is my father here?” he asked.
“He's in the dining room. Along with my father and several other menâ”
Gabriel Todd stepped into the hall to greet the uninvited guest. “Colonel Jameson,” he said, a broad smile on his face. “What a pleasure to shake hands with one of the South's finest soldiers.”
“Thank you, Colonel Todd. I've come a long way for information. Whether I get it or not, seeing Janet has made the trip worthwhile.”
“No doubt, no doubt,” Gabriel Todd said. “Your father is here. And some other gentlemen you probably knowâand one I hope you'll be pleased to meet.”
He waved Adam into the dining room. Janet followed him, numb with dismay.
“This is the fellow I'm certain you know,” Gabriel Todd began good-humoredly, gesturing to Rogers Jameson. The father gave a strangled cry and lurched to his feet to fling his arms around Adam. Never before had Janet seen the man display such affection.
“What the hell?” Adam Jameson said, shoving his father aside. His eyes were on Major Paul Stapleton in his blue uniform. Adam's right hand was on the pistol on his hip.
“This is Major Paul Stapleton,” Gabriel Todd said. “He just took an oath as a Son of Liberty.”
“What about the oath he took to Abe Lincoln?” Adam growled.
“That's been superseded. These other gentlemen will be happy to reassure you.” Gabriel Todd introduced Luke Bowman and the other colonels. Their names were familiar to Adam, although he had no doubt only seen them at a distance on market days in nearby Owensboro, the county seat.
“I'm no admirer of the Sons of Liberty,” Adam growled. “As far as I'm concerned, you're responsible for ruining the best cavalry division in the Confederate
Army. And the best general. John Hunt Morgan has never recovered from our so-called invasion of Indiana. It turned him into a slobbering drunk. He's gone off to Tennessee and left me in command of the division.”
“AdamâColonelâwe were given no notice of your approach last year,” Gabriel Todd said. “The whole thing was poorly coordinated. Our people were downcast because of General Lee's defeat at Gettysburgâ”
“I've heard all the excuses,” Adam snapped. “I've just ridden three hundred miles on roads patrolled by Union cavalry to make sure there won't be any need for excuses this time!”
“There will be none,” Gabriel Todd said. “This time it's victory or death. That's going to be our motto. The same password Washington gave his men on Christmas night in 1776 when they crossed the Delaware.” He pointed to a copy of the painting by Emanuel Leutze in a gilt frame on the north wall of the dining room.
Adam's mouth curled contemptuously. “Washington's ridiculous little army wouldn't last ten minutes on any battlefield I've seen,” he said. “Wouldn't you agree, Major Stapletonâassuming you've seen a battlefieldâand haven't spent all your time five hundred miles behind the lines in comfortable posts like Keyport?”
“I would agree completely, Colonel,” Paul Stapleton said. “At Gettysburg we would have blown him to smithereens, as the Irish say, as totally as we demolished General Pickett's charge.”
The hostility etched into both men's voices shivered Janet Todd's nerves. She saw it was doing the same thing to the colonels and to her father and Rogers Jameson.
“I want to know how many men you've got,” Adam said. “How many of them are armed and trained. Who's leading them in Kentucky and who's in charge in Indiana.”
“There isn't any one man in military command in either
state. The men will come out under local commanders in each county,” Gabriel Todd said.
“There's no commanding general?” Adam said. “No staff? No army? Just a collection of half-baked civilians?”
“Civilians, Colonel, who've sworn a solemn oath to fight tyranny and dictatorship!” Gabriel Todd said.
“What about deserters?” Adam asked. “How are you treating them?”