It may be well to declare here and now that I do not intend to burden this story with the business which had brought me to New Orleans.While in the city during the next few days I met a young gentleman named Daniel Clark, a nephew of that Mr.Clark of whom I have spoken.
Many years after the time of which I write this Mr.
Daniel Clark the younger, who became a rich merchant and an able man of affairs, published a book which sets forth with great clearness proofs of General Wilkinson's duplicity and treason, and these may be read by any who would satisfy himself further on the subject.Mr.Wharton had not believed, nor had I flattered myself that Ishould be able to bring such a fox as General Wilkinson to earth.Abundant circumstantial evidence I obtained:
Wilkinson's intimacy with Miro was well known, and Ilikewise learned that a cipher existed between them.The permit to trade given by Miro to Wilkinson was made no secret of.In brief, I may say that I discovered as much as could be discovered by any one without arousing suspicion, and that the information with which I returned to Kentucky was of some material value to my employers.
I have to thank Monsieur Philippe de St.Gre for a great deal.And I take this opportunity to set down the fact that I have rarely met a more remarkable man.
As I rode back to town alone a whitish film was spread before the sun, and ere I had come in sight of the fortifications the low forest on the western bank was a dark green blur against the sky.The esplanade on the levee was deserted, the willow trees had a mournful look, while the bright tiles of yesterday seemed to have faded to a sombre tone.I spied Xavier on a bench smoking with some friends of his.
``He make much rain soon, Michie,'' he cried.``You hev good time, I hope, Michie.''
I waved my hand and rode on, past the Place d'Armes with its white diagonal bands strapping its green like a soldiers front, and as I drew up before the gate of the House of the Lions the warning taps of the storm were drumming on the magnolia leaves.The same gardienne came to my knock, and in answer to her shrill cry a negro lad appeared to hold my horse.I was ushered into a brick-paved archway that ran under the latticed gallery toward a flower-filled court-yard, but ere we reached this the gardienne turned to the left up a flight of steps with a delicate balustrade which led to an open gallery above.And there stood the gentleman whom we had met hurrying to town in the morning.A gentleman he was, every inch of him.He was dressed in black silk, his hair in a cue, and drawn away from a face of remarkable features.He had a high-bridged nose, a black eye that held an inquiring sternness, a chin indented, and a receding forehead.His stature was indeterminable.
In brief, he might have stood for one of those persons of birth and ability who become prime ministers of France.
``Monsieur de St.Gre?'' I said.
He bowed gracefully, but with a tinge of condescension.
I was awed, and considering the relations which I had already had with his family, I must admit that Iwas somewhat frightened.
``Monsieur,'' I said, ``I bring letters to you from Monsieur Gratiot and Colonel Chouteau of St.Louis.One of these I had the honor to deliver to Madame de St.Gre, and here is the other.''
``Ah,'' he said, with another keen glance, ``I met you this morning, did I not?''
``You did, Monsieur.''
He broke the seal, and, going to the edge of the gallery, held the letter to the light.As he read a peal of thunder broke distantly, the rain came down in a flood.Then he folded the paper carefully and turned to me again.
``You will make my house your home, Mr.Ritchie, he said; ``recommended from such a source, I will do all I can to serve you.But where is this Mr.Temple of whom the letter speaks? His family in Charlestown is known to me by repute.''
``By Madame de St.Gre's invitation he remained at Les Iles,'' I answered, speaking above the roar of the rain.
``I was just going to the table,'' said Monsieur de St.
Gre; ``we will talk as we eat.''
He led the way into the dining room, and as I stood on the threshold a bolt of great brilliancy lighted its yellow-washed floor and walnut furniture of a staid pattern.Adeafening crash followed as we took our seats, while Monsieur de St.Gre's man lighted four candles of green myrtle-berry wax.
``Monsieur Gratiot's letter speaks vaguely of politics, Mr.Ritchie,'' began Monsieur de St.Gre.He spoke English perfectly, save for an occasional harsh aspiration which I cannot imitate.
Directing his man to fetch a certain kind of Madeira, he turned to me with a look of polite inquiry which was scarcely reassuring.And I reflected, the caution with which I had been endowed coming uppermost, that the man might have changed since Monsieur Gratiot had seen him.He had, moreover, the air of a man who gives a forced attention, which seemed to me the natural consequences of the recent actions of his son.
``I fear that I am intruding upon your affairs, Monsieur,'' I answered.
``Not at all, sir,'' he said politely.``I have met that charming gentleman, Mr.Wilkinson, who came here to brush away the causes of dissension, and cement a friendship between Kentucky and Louisiana.''
It was most fortunate that the note of irony did not escape me.
``Where governments failed, General Wilkinson succeeded,'' I answered dryly.
Monsieur de St.Gre glanced at me, and an enigmatical smile spread over his face.I knew then that the ice was cracked between us.Yet he was too much a man of the world not to make one more tentative remark.
``A union between Kentucky and Louisiana would be a resistless force in the world, Mr.Ritchie,'' he said.
``It was Nebuchadnezzar who dreamed of a composite image, Monsieur,'' I answered; ``and Mr.Wilkinson forgets one thing,--that Kentucky is a part of the United States.''
1
``I should have had more faith in my old friend Gratiot, he said; ``but you will pardon me if I did not recognize at once the statesman he had sent me, Mr.Ritchie.''
It was my turn to laugh.