An Artist in Treason: The Extraordinary Double Life of General James Wilkinson (20 page)

Almost six hundred of the fourteen hundred soldiers in St. Clair’s force were killed, including his second-in- command, Brigadier General Richard Butler, and thirty-seven other officers, while wounds accounted for as many more. It was the bloodiest defeat Native Americans ever inflicted on the U.S. army. The shock felt throughout the nation was epitomized by the reaction of the president when he read St. Clair’s dispatch with the news. Having waited until the room was cleared of strangers, Washington burst out to his secretary Tobias Lear, “To suffer that army to be cut to pieces— hacked, butchered, tomahawked— by a surprise—the very thing I guarded him [St. Clair] against! O God, O God, he’s worse than a murderer! How can he answer for it to his country! The blood of the slain is upon him— the curse of widows and orphans— the curse of Heaven!”

Yet amid the chaos and terror, the resistance of the trained soldiers, who had withstood the initial onslaught and held their ground for some hours, stood out. When the national horror had subsided, it left a clear determination to create a professional army that would be large enough to inflict decisive military defeat on the Indians. In December 1791, Henry Knox, Washington’s secretary of war, proposed that its strength should be 5,120 men, the same number as that of a Roman legion. Three months later, in March 1792, Congress conquered its doubts about professional soldiers and not only voted the necessary funds but left it to Washington to determine the exact composition of the new army that was soon to be termed the Legion of the United States. He was also to appoint its commander.

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OL
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NEL
J
AMES
W
ILKINSON
assumed that position would fall to him. Early in December 1791, he wrote to Miró, primarily to explain why he had joined the army—“my private interest, the Duty which I owe to the Country I live in, & the aggrandizement of my family”— but he predicted that with the death of General Butler and expected dismissal of General St. Clair, “it is most probable that I shall be promoted [to] the chief command.”

To underline his credentials, he embarked on a whirlwind campaign designed to display his energy and unswerving adherence to the virtues of discipline and obedience. In January 1792, he arrived at the army’s western headquarters, Fort Washington. This massive defensive post, two stories high with a blockhouse at each corner, was, according to Harmar’s report, “one of the most solid substantial wooden fortresses . . . of any in the Western Territory.” It was home to almost three hundred soldiers, roughly the same number as the inhabitants of Cincinnati.

Pausing only to organize a covering party of militia cavalry, Wilkinson led out a column of 150 men on January 24, “whilst the snow is on the ground,” as he informed Knox, to follow the route taken by General St. Clair’s army. He resupplied the defenses at Forts Hamilton and Jefferson, the first two links in a chain of forts that would eventually stretch north from the Ohio. From Hamilton he sent an urgent message back to Samuel Hodgdon, in charge of supplies at headquarters, demanding that a depot be established at Fort Jefferson. “The depth of the snow and the hardness of the Roads makes [
sic
] it almost impossible for the Corn to be got on,” he admitted, “but it is an object of such great Moment that no effort should be left untried. The moment the season breaks, you are to get the business done.”

At the scene of St. Clair’s defeat, they found, in the words of one officer, “upwards of six hundred bodies, horribly mangled with tomahawks and scalping knives and by wild beasts.” Although blackened by frost, the corpses had been preserved through the winter, and the scene was “too horrible for description.” While some men were detailed to dig pits for burial of the bodies, Wilkinson ordered others to scour the battlefield, where they recovered a cannon and several hundred muskets. On the way home, he set the men to building another fort, which he named St. Clair, midway between Hamilton and Jefferson, boasting that although put up in just six days, it was as “handsome, stronger & as extensive” as its neighbors. Early in March, he sent an order for “60 good felling axes, 2 cross-cut saw, 4 whipsaws” and two carpenters to help in the construction of the new fort. It was followed soon afterward by a demand for mattocks, shovels, spades, ropes, and chains.

When the exhausted column returned to Fort Washington at the end of the month, the colonel turned his unrelenting energy to the task of restoring discipline in the garrison. Despite St. Clair’s devastating defeat, and the scalping of an army blacksmith within sight of the wooden walls, the fort was laxly defended, and Wilkinson was appalled by the disorderly atmo-sphere and by the sight of brawling soldiers in the town.

“A drunken Garrison and a Guardhouse full of prisoners appears to be the result of a relaxation in [discipline],” he stormed in a general order following his inspection. “Any private, therefore, who may henceforward be discovered drunk beyond the Walls of the Garrison Shall receive fifty lashes on the spot where he may be detected.” To enforce his order, he instituted daily patrols to pick up defaulters and established a routine of drill and exercise culled from Steuben’s Blue Book “to check and restrain the licentious habits which have infested the troops.”

Deeply impressed, the garrison chaplain, the Reverend William Hurt, assured Washington, “General Wilkinson is the prominant character in this country, & is thought by many will have the Chief command in the next expedition, & I really believe he has abilities equal to it; & far superior to what his enemies, or even friends, are aware of.” From Philadelphia, Wilkinson received a letter of congratulations from Henry Knox. “The Zeal and promptitude with which you execute the wishes of the executive are noted with pleasure,” Knox wrote, “and will not fail of receiving the approbation of the President.”

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9, the president brought together his innermost cabinet of Thomas Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton, and Henry Knox to consider the candidates for command of the Legion. Washington ran through the qualities of each, and even in the official version of their discussions his verdicts sound uncompromising. Of the nine major generals from the Revolutionary War, most were ruled out by age, drink, or reluctance to serve. The fifth was Anthony Wayne. “More active & enterprizing than judicious & cautious,” Washington decided. “No oeconomist it is feared. Open to flattery—vain— easily imposed upon—and liable to be drawn into scrapes. Too indulgent (the effect perhaps of some of the causes just mentioned) to his Officers & men. Whether sober— or a little addicted to the bottle, I know not.”

Wilkinson came at the head of the brigadier generals—his brevet rank dating from November 1777 gave him seniority over those promoted later—and the president’s opinion was curiously brief: “As he was but a short time in Service, little can be said of his abilities as an Officer. He is lively, sensible, pompous and ambitious; but whether sober, or not, is unknown to me.” In public at least, not a word was said of his failings as clothier general, or of the allegations of conspiracy leveled at him. But from Jefferson, who jotted private notes of cabinet meetings, came the suggestion of a deeper discussion of his background. Wilkinson was deemed to be “brave, enterprising to excess, but many unapprovable points in his character.” Among those points were presumably the doubts aroused by his Spanish connections.

At the end of March, while Wilkinson was still waiting to hear the results of the president’s deliberations, Nancy and the boys joined him at Fort Washington, and the
Kentucky Gazette
soon reported that in the colonel’s “schemes for adornment and social pleasure he was ably and cordially seconded by his wife.” There was not much to choose between Louisville and Cincinnati in terms of population, but Nancy’s preference was always to be with her husband. And for the first time since they came out to the frontier, his regular salary and access to government transport opened up the long-deferred chance to see her family in Philadelphia again.

In the winter of 1789, her beloved father had died, but anxiety about the future of her children still made her long to return east. In one of her last letters to John Biddle, she had confessed, “I regret much, indeed it grieves me, that they have not an Opportunity of going to a good School. However I pay every attention to there Learning that my Domestic affairs will admit off; John Reads Prettily, James Spells, but he is so heedless that it is with difficulty I can prevail on him to say a lesson.”

In Kentucky, she had to make do with what they could learn from “a Poor Simple looking Simon who told me he was taught [in Philadelphia] which prejudiced me in his favor & I concluded he could not learn them bad Pronunciation; at any rate it was better than running about the Streets.” The schooling available in Philadelphia, however, would smooth away the frontier roughness she fought against. In July, before the river dropped and cut off access to the east, she and the boys boarded an army boat and headed upstream to civilization. Looking after them was Lieutenant William H. Harrison, later president of the United States, who had been detailed “to accompany Mrs Wilkinson to Philadelphia” by the new commander in chief of the Legion, Major General Anthony Wayne.

The president had made the appointment on April 9. On the same day Wilkinson received a consolation prize of promotion to brigadier general, and with it the assurance that he would be second-in- command. Later in the summer, Knox sent the president a note: “Brigadier Wilkinson’s attention to all parts of his duty and his activity render him a great acquisition to the public.” To this Washington immediately replied, “General Wilkinson has displayed great zeal & ability for the public weal since he came into Service— His conduct carries strong marks of attention, activity, & Spirit, & I wish him to know the favorable light in which it is viewed.” The compliment was deserved, but it was also intended to soothe Wilkinson’s wounded vanity.

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1791, Esteban Miró sailed for home, handing over the governorship of Louisiana to Baron Hector de Carondelet. Like Miró, Carondelet had been a soldier before joining the colonial service, but, Flemish-born and something of an outsider, he lacked his long-serving predecessor’s confident judgment. Small, portly, and fussy, he compensated by paying close attention to administrative detail— his modernization of the municipal government of New Orleans, and the introduction of street lighting and waste collection, left it a better- run and cleaner place. It was also more expensive for, as an anonymous official in Madrid sharply noted, “He has always shown a great predilection for new projects . . . without ever thinking of the funds or expenditures that such Projects naturally will cost.” During his administration the expense of running Louisiana rose to over $800,000 a year, while its revenues never amounted to more than $75,000, a disparity that would eventually force Madrid to look for cheaper ways of defending its silver-cored empire.

The flair in Carondelet’s administration came from the governor of Natchez district, Manuel Gayoso de Lemos. Miró, who was rarely deceived about character, judged that Gayoso “distinguished himself through his talent, knowledge of various languages and excellent conduct.” He was also artistic, emotional, and devoted to his family. Educated in England and twice married to American women, he had a cosmopolitan background that helped in the government of a fast-growing, volatile population of American, British, French, and Spanish settlers. Although most were concentrated around Natchez, others were scattered across much of modern Alabama and Mississippi, and Gayoso’s responsibilities included command of all the forts that stretched north along the Mississippi.

On July 5, 1792, he provided Carondelet with a report on the province he now governed, entitled “Political Conditions of the Province of Louisiana.” Ranging widely over the challenges presented by American settlers, British imperialists, and French revolutionaries, Gayoso picked out one unjustly neglected asset: “In Kentucky we have had Don Jaime Wilkinson well affected to our side. He is a person of great talent and influence, who has twice come down to this province and presented several memorials. In his own country he has performed several important services to this province. Yet although he was recommended by Don Esteban Miró for a pension and other help, the resolution was so long delayed because of the distance that separates us from the court [in Madrid] that in the meanwhile he lost his credit in Kentucky for lack of means to maintain it.” To retrieve his fortunes, Gayoso explained, Wilkinson had joined the U.S. army, but since his enlistment he had “suspended his correspondence with the governor at New Orleans and with me.”

Like many colonial reports, Gayoso’s was designed for reading back in Madrid as well as in New Orleans. In fact, as he knew well, Wilkinson was one of Carondelet’s top priorities. In February 1792, the new governor of Louisiana had sent the American a message informing him that the pension of two thousand dollars a year suggested by Miró had at last received royal approval, and that it was to be backdated to January 1, 1789. Should Wilkinson wish to resume his connection with New Orleans, Carondelet could promise that the sum of four thousand dollars was immediately available. Gayoso was still drawing up his report when, as he noted, a messenger, Michael La Cassagne, passed through Natchez on his way to New Orleans with a sealed letter from Don Jaime. Although he had not read its contents, Gayoso expressed his confidence that by the time his report was delivered, the governor of Louisiana would know whether Miró’s spy had been reactivated.

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F ALL THE CREDITORS
pressing Wilkinson for money, La Cassagne was the most insistent. Having converted Wilkinson’s original loan to one involving his partner Peyton Short, the Frenchman had begun to squeeze both for payment. As La Cassagne’s vise closed, Short’s pleas for help from his partner became ever more desperate.