His interesting account of the early historical horse reminds me of another incident, with which I shall close this chapter, being in line with the account of Mr. Peyton, the story of a pair of horses that helped make American history.
Horses have figured so often in the affairs of our country—they have helped us out of so many close places, so to speak—that a most interesting book could be written about the historical horses of America. There was Washington’s famous war horse, Paul Revere’s sprinter, Sheridan’s charger, General Lee’s Traveler, Stonewall Jackson’s old sorrel, Gen. John Adams’ old Charley, who died on the breastworks of Franklin—in fact, as I said, a most readable book could be written of the historical horses of America.
To-day I shall write about a pair of horses which played a most important part in a most critical moment of our history. We have single horses in plenty which have gone hand in hand with man in making history and fame, but this is the only instance in our history that I can find where a pair of horses accomplished the purpose. It is a part of the unwritten history of the West, but every word of it is true, as I have been able to gather it from old letters of pioneers, and old histories long since gone out of print.
The most critical period of American history was that right after the Revolutionary war, when the States were debating on the question of the new constitution and the West—Kentucky, Tennessee and Ohio—were uncertain whether they had any rights which anybody else was bound to respect.
For the first ten years after the Revolutionary war the most dangerous foe the young Republic had was the great, but waning empire of Spain. At that time the States were a narrow strip on the Atlantic stretching from Maine to Florida, and practically bounded by the Appalachian Mountains. England had large claims on the Great Lakes and extending down nearly to the Ohio, and Spain owned nearly everything else, holding all the territory bordering on the Gulf from Florida to Mexico, extending up into the present States of Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana. In this instance Louisiana meant really all that vast domain which lay west of the Mississippi, stretching clear up to the present State of Oregon. The great Mississippi river flowed for a long way through Spanish possessions, and Spain, foolhardy and narrow then as to-day, and wishing to do the young Republic all the harm she could, closed the river to American commerce, an act which meant stagnation and ruin to the young territories of the West. For these border settlers were altogether an agricultural people and a great wilderness infested by hostile Indians lay between them and the older States. What they raised for sale had to pass down the Mississippi river.
And they increased rapidly in Tennessee, Ohio and Kentucky, and, moreover, they were of that stock of people who would not be fooled with. They looked upon the great river as God-given and they did not understand how an arrogant nation living across the ocean, could deprive them of their natural rights. But that was not all. Spain was then as now cruel and vindictive, and while professing friendship for these people she secretly armed the savages and encouraged them to kill all the settlers west of the Alleghanies. And that they came near doing this the early records of Tennessee and Kentucky attest. The Indians murdered them day and night. But for a few heroic men and Indian fighters like Sevier, Robertson and Shelby, they had been entirely exterminated. But they increased in spite of everything, and naturally accumulating both in numbers and products, they wanted a market for their stuff. They asked aid of Congress, but Congress seemed to have troubles of her own just then and paid no attention to them, except to send John Jay over to treat with Spain about it. But Jay could do nothing, and it seems fell into the Spanish idea, for he sent in a report to Congress recommending a treaty with Spain which should close the Mississippi to commerce for twenty-five years. Jay explained that the right to use the river could only be acquired by a war with Spain, for which the United States was unprepared; that the matter was not important now, and that in twenty-five years the country would be strong enough to do as they wished. New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania and New England voted for this resolution, but the Southern States opposed it, and it failed to pass by only two votes.
The Western people became indignant. Public meetings were held everywhere from the Watauga settlement, in East Tennessee, to Kentucky, and the remoter West. “To inclose us in a Chinese wall, to prohibit the navigation of the Mississippi, to sell us and make us vassals to the merciless Spaniards, is a grievance not to be borne,” they said. So great was their discontent that strong talk was indulged in, and it began to be feared that they would have to organize a government of their own, since their own Congress would give them no assistance. The attorney-general of Kentucky wrote to the President of Congress: “I am decidedly of the opinion that this Western country will, in a few years, act for itself and erect an independent government; for under the present system we cannot exert our strength, neither does Congress seem disposed to help us.” In fact, things soon came to such a pass that one of two things would happen: the West would form a government of their own or the Mississippi must be opened for them. I shall show how a smart, brainy rascal and a pair of Kentucky geldings accomplished the opening of the river and saved the West to the Union.
James Wilkerson was his name, and a smoother, brainier, more ambitious and more unscrupulous scamp never figured but once before in American history—and that was his prototype, Aaron Burr. I have no space for his history. Suffice to say that he was one of the cabal who rose to some prominence in the war and who tried to oust Washington and put Gates in command of the army. Later events proved him to be an unscrupulous politician, and he moved to Kentucky. Kentucky must have had great horses even in those days, for Wilkerson got rich trading. He had a fine eye for good horses, and in his trafficking he got hold of a pair of beautiful geldings. Pork in the West was only a dollar and a half per hundred, corn ten cents a bushel and tobacco rotting in the fields, all owing to the great river being closed to American commerce. Wilkerson conceived a brilliant idea. He could get fabulous prices for all these articles in the Spanish city of New Orleans. He loaded an immense flat boat—several of them—with these articles and set them afloat on the great river. He himself got up a handsome retinue, took a pair of beautiful geldings and went overland to the first Spanish fort at Natchez. It was a big risk he ran, for it had been tried before, and every time the Spanish garrison had stopped the boats with their guns, called them in and confiscated the cargoes. Wilkerson went right to the Spanish commander, Don Gayoso de Lamos, at Natchez, who was a scamp after Wilkerson’s own heart, and there he began his game. He fascinated Lamos with his talk, his elegance, his wit and his learning. He convinced Lamos that he was the greatest and most influential man in the West, and could command an army of twenty thousand Westerners. He got Lamos drunk—no difficult task—and finally, as the flat boats neared, he began to talk horse to him. Mr. Lamos loved a good one, too—in fact he could talk on that subject all night, and so he and Wilkerson played cards and drank wine and talked horse until they became boon chums and companions. But all the time Wilkerson was holding back his trump card for the last. He kept the beautiful pair of Kentucky geldings safely in the background, well groomed and on their mettle. Then his men reported that his boats were coming—that they would be under the guns of Natchez the next day. Early that day Wilkerson brought out his beautiful geldings and called on the charming Mr. Don Gayoso de Lamos. Would Mr. Don walk with him to the grass plat on the bluff? Would he accept a trifling little gift, a token of his great admiration and everlasting friendship for the mighty Mr. Don? Certainly he would. No one ever heard of a Don refusing anything. When the blankets were taken off the Don could not contain his admiration. What beauties they were! How their coats shone! He hugged Wilkerson and then he hugged the horses. He talked fast and his eyes glittered and he was immensely merry. Then a gun boomed from the fort.
“What is it?” asked the Don.
“It was some flat boats loaded with produce,” so said the officer, “and must he sink them or call them in?”