CHAPTER XI
It will doubtless seem a matter for wonderment to those who may read this chronicle, that it was no more difficult, in those days, to secure an interview with the Governor of the State of Virginia than with any other gentleman in the Commonwealth. The morning after my arrival in Williamsburg, I betook myself to the Governor's mansion, clanged the iron knocker, and was shown by the negro doorkeeper straight into the Governor's office. He sat before a square deal table, littered with documents, inkhorns, and the like, while under his hand, on a small tray, lay a pile of letters, one of which he was engaged in deciphering. I made my bow in the doorway, and with my cocked hat upon my heart, after the latest manner, announced myself:
"Your Honor's most obedient servant, sir! My name is Donald McElroy, late captain in Colonel Morgan's rifle company."
Governor Henry rose and came to meet me, a friendly smile upon his lean, dark, beak-nosed face, his hand cordially outstretched. "Then you are one of the notable marksmen who whipped us the gallantly led English regulars at Freeman's Farm – closing thereby the trap in which Burgoyne was taken, a few days later. Let me shake your hand, sir, and thank you in the name of Virginia. Gates seems minded to claim all the glory, and that asinine congress still allows him to throw dust into their half shut eyes. But, history, sir, will be no more deceived than are General Washington, and others, and the debt of honor due Colonel Morgan and his riflemen will be paid in full by posterity, Captain McElroy."
Governor Henry's manner of saying this had far more effect than the mere words. His head went up, and his whole face beamed with lively enthusiasm, while his deep voice rang thrillingly. Wheaton had told me of Charles Fox, and how he made any man think what he pleased, more by the kindling power of his rich, finely modulated voice, than by his logic, or bursts of eloquence. Now, I understood what had seemed exaggeration in Wheaton; now I knew why those simple words, eloquent only with feeling, spoken by Mr. Henry before the Virginia assembly, at a surcharged moment, had set them aflame with patriotic fervor.
So proud was I again of my recent service under Morgan, that I forgot the depression and self-abasement I had suffered these last few days, and found it easy to sit down before Governor Henry, and give him an account of all that had happened to me since I was taken prisoner on the battle field of Chestnut Hill – leaving out, of course, the name of Nelly Buford, and hiding as well as I could the part a woman had played in my downfall. He guessed, I thought, much of what I tried to conceal, though his words in no way intimated that he did so. He told me candidly, that he thought I had been wrong to linger with my kind entertainers after my wound was healed, but added this remark of sympathy which warmed my heart anew:
"Yet, who knows but that I'd have done the same in like circumstances. Your conduct, sir, was less wise than natural. However, a whole year's absence from your command, without privilege of exchange, meantime, seems unwarranted by the harm you may be able or inclined to do them."
I thanked Governor Henry for his sympathy, and then unfolded to him my wish to spend this forced interval of absence from the regular army in frontier service, where I might still defend my state, and wipe from my conscience the reproach of having proved myself unworthy.
"If that be your wish, Captain," the governor answered heartily, "I have in waiting the very service you are looking for; and moreover, we sorely need men for the enterprise – as great a one and almost as difficult, to my thinking, as the undertaking of Jason and his Argonauts. Have you ever chanced to meet George Rogers Clark, one of the pathfinders in the Kentucky wilderness, a friend of Daniel Boone?"
"I have not had that honor, sir."
"Then it shall be yours, this evening, and an honor you may well esteem it. He is yet a young man, but he has the daring of a Cortez. He has vast schemes abrewing which, if successful, mean great things for Virginia, and timely aid to the cause. His plans, however, are yet secret, and must remain so, except in so far as he may see fit to enlighten you should you enter his service. Meet him here this evening, and, if Clark consents, you shall be present at our conference. I demand, you see, no credentials. Most men I can read in an hour's talk; and, moreover, I know the Scotch Irish breed – rugged, plain, a little hard and narrow, perhaps, but also steadfast as the rocks which rib the mountains they delight to dwell among."
"Though you but give proper praise to the worthy breed from which you also have partly sprung, Governor Henry, I still owe you warm thanks for saying it," I answered; "yet with your permission I'll leave my credentials for Mr. Clark's inspection," and I took from my pocket my captain's commission, a personal letter from General Arnold, commending my bravery at Freeman's Farm, and a copy of one written my father by Captain Morgan.
Impatiently I awaited the chance to learn more of this great adventure, and not a moment behind the hour named, presented myself. Yet Clark was before me. The first look into each other's eyes fixed, I think, our mutual confidence, and with our first handclasp began a life long friendship.
George Rogers Clark had the look and bearing of a man born for deeds of great emprise. He was half an inch taller than I, measuring in his moccasins six feet three and a half inches, and not one of Morgan's riflemen was tougher of muscle, suppler of limb. His face, lighted with glowing brown eyes, was singularly handsome, at once winning and commanding. It indicated a lofty mind, and a sweet nature, but also a reckless boldness of disposition. Better than all, for the fulfilling of his purposes, there was boundless confidence in himself and his resources, and a buoyant hopefulness of disposition; and these were united with a daring will which but strengthened under difficulty.
"Captain McElroy, I introduce you to Captain George Rogers Clark. He is quite ready to take you into his service if you can promise to join him heart and soul in this bold enterprise he is determined upon," said Governor Henry.
"Yes, Captain McElroy," and Clark grasped my hand, bestowing his winning smile upon me. "I am satisfied that I can trust you, and you may be of great assistance to me. Could you enlist forty or fifty volunteers in your valley, think you?"
"If there be left that many able bodied men, if the service be one of Virginia's need or honor, and there be no rumor of an Indian uprising afloat."
"Our enterprise will put an end to all fear of Indian forays, by driving them to the Mississippi. Our nominal purpose, indeed, is to turn back the gathering forces of the Northwest savages, who are planning a surprise for Bonnesville, Harrodsburg and Logan's Fort, and who, after devastating Virginia's outposts, expect to over-run your valley, and exterminate the settlements of the Blue Ridge. Now, while all the able bodied men are engaged in the war upon the coast, is the red man's last opportunity to regain his lost hunting ground. Does the plan to meet them more than half way, to do ourselves the surprise act, appeal to you, Captain McElroy? Is it likely to appeal to your neighbors in the valley?"
"Next to fighting our invaders, it is the service I shall like best, Captain Clark; and there are those of my neighbors more likely to respond to this call upon their rifles than to any other. The happy results of Point Pleasant have taught us 'tis best not to wait for the savages, but to go to meet them."
"That's encouraging talk, Captain," and Clark's voice rang more heartily, and his face sparkled with animation and humor, "and you may be doubly grateful before we see the end of our expedition; though we go against the Indians, and shall cheerfully fight them if there be need, our real object" – his voice sank to a whisper – "is to strike the forts at Kaskaskia and Vincennes. They are weakly garrisoned and unsuspecting, and their French inhabitants, I hear, are much disaffected to British rule. We have but need to appear before them with a small, resolute, well-armed force to compel capitulation, after which we can form alliance with the French, intimidate the Indians, and claim all the Ohio Valley as Virginia territory. By doing so we will not only more than double the dominion of our State, and give a blow to autocratic power, but will secure safety to the pioneers of Virginia and Kentucky, and save from butchery many a helpless family."
"But my parole, Governor Henry," I said, turning to him with rueful countenance.
"You are not violating its terms, Captain McElroy, by accepting service with Clark, since there's small chance of a clash with the British before your parole has expired."
"Then what can I do, Captain Clark, to forward your bold enterprise?" I said, turning again eagerly to my new leader.
"First you can sit here and listen, while Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Wythe, Mr. Mason, Governor Henry and I devise ways and means that will make known to you the details of our plan. You can then hasten home to enlist men for an advance against the Indians. Later – "
"That's Jefferson's voice now," interrupted the Governor, "and the others are with him," and hastening to the street door with a flaring candle in his hand, he lighted the group through the passage way to our presence.
Mr. Jefferson had once dined at our house, and I remembered him as an elegant and gracious gentleman, though somewhat over dignified and sententious. Colonel Mason, and the learned and able Wythe, I saw now for the first time. Since he had written our "Declaration of Independence" Mr. Jefferson's fame was world-wide, and Colonel Mason, as the author of our "Bill of Rights," and our State's Constitution, was not less favorably, though perhaps less widely, known; while Mr. Wythe's reputation as jurist had already extended beyond America.
As behooved in such company, I was a silent listener, learning much of Colonel Clark's plans, and even more of the difficulties in the way of them. It seemed to me a rash and dangerous undertaking but not without chance of success.
Governor Henry, I found, was not a whit behind Clark in zeal for the enterprise; nor was Mr. Jefferson much less ready to give the plan full countenance, though he did not expect from the expedition, even if successful, the vast results that Clark reckoned upon so confidently. Mr. Wythe showed the caution to have been expected from his calm and logical mind, suggesting difficulties at every turn, and urging forethought in the plans, while Colonel Mason spoke infrequently and with less of flowing readiness than any of the others, but most pointedly and justly, first on the side of caution, and then on the side of boldness, as Clark's enthusiasm and strongly presented arguments gradually won him to our side.
Governor Henry's fiat had already gone forth, nor could he be persuaded to modify it, that the men for the expedition must be drawn from the counties west of the mountains. If the seven companies, of fifty men each, which was the minimum force demanded by Clark, could be raised in the counties of Frederick, Augusta, and Fincastle, Clark was welcome to enlist and use them – otherwise the undertaking must be given up. But Clark was no wise minded to give up and, after accepting the Governor's terms, turned to me to know what I thought might be done toward raising a company in Augusta.
"It has been more than two years since I left home," I answered, "and I cannot speak with assurance, but I believe one or more companies of fifty might be raised, if I am allowed to say that the settlements in Kentucky are threatened, and that our object is to turn back an Indian invasion."
"You can say that with truth, Captain McElroy. I shall rely upon you for at least one company."
"I'll do my best, Captain Clark. I continue my journey homeward to-morrow, and shall begin the work of enlistment at once."
"You ride my way, Captain McElroy, I think," said Mr. Jefferson pleasantly, "and I also go to-morrow; with your consent we'll keep each other company."
I thanked him, and we fixed sun rise as the hour for our departure from the Bell Tavern.
"You are the son of Justice McElroy, of the Stone Church neighborhood, I suppose, Captain? The name is not a common one even in your valley of Macs."
"I am his only son, sir."
"Once when you were a lad I dined at your house; you scarcely remember the occasion, I suppose?"
"Perfectly, sir, and I should have recognized you anywhere. We cherish with pride the memory of your visit."
Mr. Jefferson was evidently pleased – few men are so great as to be indifferent to appreciation.
"By the way, Clark," continued Mr. Jefferson, "the ex-scout hermit we were talking of this morning lives on McElroy's direct homeward route, near the top of the south slope of the mountain between Monticello and Staunton. It might be well to engage McElroy to see him; that would save delay and me a journey at a busy season."
"I am at your service, Mr. Jefferson," spoke I. Then made my bow and left them. They might wish to talk matters over before taking me further into their confidence.
CHAPTER XII
That ride with Mr. Jefferson, and the day I spent at Monticello, have still a pleasant flavor in retrospect. Mr. Jefferson's urbanity matched his delightful conversation, and my pleasure in his condescension and his intellectual charm gave him evident satisfaction.
Part of our way lay through the forest, and one could hear the oozing sap, mounting upward into the yet leafless branches interlaced above us. The graceful, clean-limbed maples had strung themselves with strand after strand of glowing coral leaf buds, and the white trunked cotton woods were hung thickly with a soft pinkish brown fringe, while each branch of the laurel, the dogwood and the ivy shrubs bulged with close folded gray green buds – big with promise of leaf and blossom. The rich loam under our horses' feet was cracked open here and there, making tiny winrows of the rotted leaves, where reawakened roots of fern or flower were pushing upward with divine instinct for life and sunshine. From sunny dell's slope, and the southern side of oak and locust trees, rose nature's incense – the breath of purple violets, of white anemones, and flushed arbutus blossoms, floating intermittently upon the whimsical zephyrs of a balmy day in March.
Sudden bursts of rapture, or shrill, happy calls from vibrant throats of robin, and wren, cat bird and oriole, red bird and yellow hammer, mocking bird and blue jay, rang from treetop to treetop, and the fluttering of busy wings, and the important chirruping and twittering of the nest builders, told that the birds, too, recognized the many hints of coming spring, and were all of a spirit with the mounting sap, and the promise-breathing perfume of violet and arbutus buds.
We talked of farming and gardening, upon which subject Mr. Jefferson had gathered much valuable information. From horticulture we drifted to books, and the writers of them. It pleased me to find that, as far as my limited reading had gone, our tastes were similar. He preferred the Greeks and Greek literature to the Romans and their writings. He admired Demosthenes, Thucydides, and Homer; Tacitus and Horace were his favorites among the Latins; and when we came to English writers, he also gave first place to Dryden, Milton, Pope and Ossian among the poets, to Bacon, Hume and Addison among prose writers. Finding I knew nothing of French, Italian or German literatures, he barely mentioned Molière, Racine, Petrarch, Tasso and Goethe. Yet his mere word of appreciation kindled my resolution to know these masters, when peace and a quiet life should give me opportunity.
My liking for Ossian seemed to delight Mr. Jefferson, and he quoted freely from his poems, saying, with warmth, that he thought "this rude bard of the North the greatest of poets."
"Then, sir, you give no credence to the charge of the English critics, that there was never any other Ossian than his pretended translator?"
"No, I do not!" answered Mr. Jefferson emphatically, then proceeded to give me cogent reasons to back his opinion.
The urgency of Mr. Jefferson's invitation to stop a day at Monticello was not to be resisted, nor was my inclination far behind the courtesy of my host. The early morning was spent about the beautifully turfed and planted grounds, and the carefully cultivated gardens. I was even allowed to look over the garden books, as accurate as algebraic demonstrations, and as neat as copy books. Horses were then ordered for a ride over the plantation. Mr. Jefferson scanned their satiny coats with critical eye, rubbed a single rough spot on his own mount with his handkerchief, and showing the black groom who held the impatient steed's bridle the dust stain made upon it, gave him a sharp reprimand. We got back in time for a glass of Scotch rum and hot water, seasoned with nutmeg, before dinner. A second ride to Charlottesville in the afternoon, to procure the mail and attend to some matter of business, seemed necessary to Mr. Jefferson's indefatigable energy.
Mrs. Jefferson gave us her charming company in the evening, and some excellent music with voice and spinet, after which I was so fortunate as to be able to entertain her by an account of the Philadelphia performance of "A School for Scandal," with a few quotations from the text – since they had not yet had the opportunity to read any of Mr. Sheridan's plays.
Though Mr. Jefferson had given me most minute directions, I came near losing the trail – to the right, half way up the mountain – which was to lead me to the hermit's retreat. One of the giant sentinel maples, which marked the entrance to the trail, had recently blown down, and its sprawling branches completely hid the path. A double log cabin, built in a dent of the mountain's southern slope, was the old scout's home. The forest clustered about it protectingly, except for a clearing a few yards wide just in front of the door, and no other than wild growth was anywhere visible. Two yelping dogs came from the doorway at the sound of my horse's feet, followed closely by the hermit himself.
"Light, stranger, an' hitch," he called, pointing to the nearest tree trunk.
I did so, while he leisurely approached, a short stemmed cob pipe in his mouth, his hands pushed deep into the pockets of his homespun breeches. His hunting shirt was also of homespun; his leggins, belt, and moccasins of leather; and the cap which surmounted his face – so covered with beard that a pair of heavy browed, keen brown eyes, and a large crooked nose were the only features visible – was made of deerskin. Though hair and beard were grizzled, he showed no signs of age in figure or bearing. Within the cabin's wide chimney a fire smoldered, and a rough bench was drawn up before it. Seated and served with tobacco for my pipe, I unfolded my mission.
"Thar' ain't no two men nowhares I'd ruther pleasure thin Pat Henry en' George Clark," said the scout, "en' I 'low I'm the man they er' lookin' fur. I knows them Algonquins, en' ther savage ways, en' ther heathen talk better'n menny."
"Governor Henry and Mr. Clark say they cannot do without you, and Mr. Jefferson bade me tell you to come to Monticello this week to give him your promise."
"Thar' ain't but one thing es'll hinder me – but thet's 'nuff. I see