Page 5 of My Dear Hamilton

Chapter Four

W E WERE HEADED into Iroquoia.

The snows were still so deep we were obliged to go by horse-drawn sleigh, my father leading the way beneath gnarled tree branches that bowed, encased in glistening ice. Our slow pace frustrated the hard-charging Lafayette, who was eager to rendezvous with the Iroquois Confederacy.

And I was nearly as impatient, for so much was at stake—not just the Indians’ neutrality, but the war itself. I’d once asked myself how a daughter could make a difference. Now I might have the opportunity. Though I’d attended Indian conferences before, never one like this—in the company of soldiers, as if I, too, were a warrior in a fight I believed in.

Bundled in a fur cloak, I rode nestled beside Major Monroe, who I suspected had been tasked to watch over me. “Are you warm enough, Miss Schuyler?”

It was the fourth time he’d asked.

“I am. Thank you, Major. Are you always so attentive?”

I didn’t even have to look at him to know he was blushing. “I try to be attentive to ladies, who are so delicate.”

This made me laugh, because he said it through chattering teeth. “I daresay the weather seems to go harder on Virginians. Perhaps I should be the one to offer you my coat this time?”

I regretted pricking at his pride because he scolded, “Ladies of Virginia would not go out in this weather. Nor would their fathers condone their presence on such an adventure...”

I couldn’t tell if Monroe was jesting or if he truly disapproved. My father had never discouraged my sisters and I from taking an active part in his affairs; before she eloped, Angelica had dutifully sent Papa military intelligence reports from Albany, and I had sometimes accompanied him on his travels. I would later learn that the daughters of New Netherlanders expected to enjoy a bit more independence than other American women, but at the time it seemed only natural. “Why shouldn’t he condone it? I have lived alongside the Six Nations all my life.” When that didn’t seem to convince him, I added, “Besides, when I was thirteen, I was adopted by the Iroquois.”

At that last remark, Monroe’s shy smile disappeared. Beneath his dark wavy hair, his gray eyes went wide and he looked so startled that I feared he might fall out of the sleigh. “Whatever can you mean? You’re telling fibbery.”

“You insult me, sir,” I cried, like a man ready to challenge him to a duel. Laughing, I explained, “It’s true. I remember well how all the chiefs, clan mothers, and greatest warriors, row after row, stood silently around an open space where green grass gleamed.” Major Monroe now seemed enraptured, so I continued. “I dressed in white and they in the splendor of war paint. And I held tight onto my father’s hand when, with much pomp and ceremony, the chieftains put their hands upon my head, commented on my black eyes, and gave me an Indian name.” I pronounced the name in their language. “It means ‘One-of-us.’”

Though Monroe could not seem to decide if he ought to be awed or horrified, Lafayette, riding beside the sleigh, turned to marvel. “Then, mademoiselle , you know not only the symbols but the language of the Iroquois League?”

“Some.” I nodded, for I’d been raised in a home where Dutch, English, and Mohawk were all spoken.

Lafayette rubbed at his reddened nose. “Ah! We have the company of a pretty lady and the blessing of her knowledge. Pity, Monroe, you must leave us soon.”

Monroe had come with us as far as he could. Having discharged his duties in Albany, he felt bound to return to winter headquarters at Valley Forge. But as we reached the road where he would take his leave of us, Monroe didn’t seem to want to go.

It was hard to credit that such a big strong soldier could be so shy, but as he prepared to leave, Monroe reddened to the tips of his ears and stammered. “D-do you think your father would find it permissible, Miss Schuyler, for me to write to you?”

Was it such an improper thing for Virginians to correspond with a lady friend without her father’s permission? Or did he mean to imply the beginnings of a courtship? I wasn’t sure, but I am more apt now to think it was merely an attempt at gallantry owing to the antiquated peculiarities of James Monroe. Or maybe to his southern charm. Perhaps they were one and the same.

In any case, what I said was, “Well, what if I were to say you have my permission, sir? And that’s all you need.”

He gawped a bit at my brashness, and the fact that I’d taken up the reins of the sleigh, as if I meant to drive it. Which I had intended, until I realized he might think it unladylike.

It seemed to me as if we New Yorkers were too aristocratic for the New Englanders, and too bold for the Virginians, which made me wonder how we’d all get along together if we weren’t forced to it by our war with the king.

I parted with Monroe affectionately, though not nearly as affectionately as Lafayette did. The Frenchman hugged Monroe and kissed him upon both cheeks again and again, until the major finally seemed like a squirming cat eager to get away.

Then we continued westward onto Johnstown.

When the marquis first said that the world’s eyes were upon him, it seemed a self-important boast, but he was already known—or at least known of —by the chieftains. And because he was a Frenchman, we were very well received where the Iroquois had gathered for the conference along the banks of the Mohawk River.

Hair streaked with feathers, their ears cut open, jewels dangling from their noses, their tattoos and painted designs visible beneath the beaded skins they wore, the old men smoked pipes and talked about politics. And so did the women...

This did not give Lafayette pause. “If you could see the salons in Paris, the women are the same! Even in my own family. Perhaps especially the women of my family.”

With that, the Frenchman waded into the crowds and showered them with little gifts. Mirrors, rum, brandy, and shining gold coins—louis d’or. And the Iroquois took to him, just as we were beginning to take to him.

It was the same generosity he’d shown our soldiers in Albany. There, and with his own personal funds, he’d bought food, armaments, and clothing for the men. I would later learn that Lafayette spent more than twelve thousand dollars—an even more outrageous sum then than it is now. He’d been able to do for our soldiers what Congress could not. He put shirts on their backs, shoes on their feet, and beef in their bellies. And when he began drilling soldiers, they actually obeyed him, calling him the soldier’s friend . As the daughter of Philip Schuyler, I might have resentfully said it was because he bought their loyalty. But, in truth, I admired the sincerity with which the Frenchman approached his dealings. No one could ever accuse the marquis of being unpretentious, but his enthusiasm and optimism were infectious.

Even amongst the Six Nations. And I might’ve been more sure of the success of our mission were it not for the fact that the most distinguished Mohawk had not responded to the messengers with the wampum belts. No Seneca. Next to no Cayuga. Only a hundred Onondaga. Disappointed and alarmed, I said to my father, “They won’t even meet with us.”

Papa squeezed my hand. “There are nearly eight hundred, Betsy. It’ll be enough for word to get to the others.”

Finally, the ceremony commenced on the common; the Indians arranged themselves in a circle by nation and clan, sitting on the ground upon blankets and furs, men on one side, women on the other, chairs left for the commissioners, and for me.

In the center, a large pot of meat broth boiled away over a fire. And as a pledge of sincerity, three elderly chiefs delivered to Papa and Lafayette a belt of wampum much more intricate than any I’d seen before, curiously worked with porcupine quills, and handsomely painted.

When it was my father’s turn to speak, he didn’t dissemble. He merely explained that the King of England was an ocean away and would abandon his Iroquois allies when the Americans won this war. That if the Six Nations didn’t bury their war ax now, they’d soon find themselves facing a new American nation that would treat them as enemies.

I worried that he would press them too hard, but those who sat nearest to the fire—the Oneida and the Tuscarora—my father praised for maintaining the neutrality they’d once promised. And he pledged our friendship and protection.

That was all he was permitted to say for the time being. These tawny-skinned people of the longhouse abided by strict rules and rituals, and it was now time to dance.

An Oneida clan mother named Two Kettles Together approached me, bells in hand. “Are you not One-of-us?”

She was one of those who had adopted me into the Six Nations. And grinning that she’d remembered me after all these years, I readily fastened the bells on my ankles.

“I am so happy to see you,” I said, introducing her to Lafayette as a warrior in her own right, who had fought at Oriskany. Armed with two pistols, she’d reloaded her husband’s weapons when he—wounded—couldn’t do it for himself.

“Like Joan de Arc!” Lafayette exclaimed, in warm greeting. “A French warrior woman. I have an ancestor who fought beside her. Perhaps one day, you should fight beside me.”

“If you are lucky,” Two Kettles Together said with a shrewd little smile, before taking my hand and pulling me into the dance, where the Indians united by hands and jumped round the pot that hung over the fire, animated by the music of a small drum. One of the chiefs likewise took Lafayette by the hand and danced him round the circle, too. Another blackened Papa’s face with grease from a pot. Whether this was a trick to excite a laugh, or a part of their actual national ceremony, I didn’t know.

But my very dignified father did not like it.

And yet, Lafayette insisted he must also have his face greased!

Apparently charmed by his boisterous participation, the Iroquois adopted Lafayette, too, with a new name. Kayewla . Fearsome horse man.

I knew this was partly because they liked him and mostly because he was a representative of France. Too many of our fellow Americans dismissed the sons of the forest as simple savages, but we who lived so near to the Six Nations knew better. They were not to be trifled with or tricked. Other Indians lived in fear and dread of them. What the Six Nations wanted was a balance of power in the region. If they couldn’t have it with the King of England, they’d seek it with the King of France, with the Marquis de Lafayette as the conduit.

And because I was hopeful that peace between our peoples could be achieved, I stayed late with the women, who danced, ate soup, and drank rum. I was quiet, listening to those who didn’t realize I understood their language enough to overhear something not meant for my ears.

Two Onondaga women complained of going through the motions of this treaty convention. It was a sham, they said, meant only to raise our hopes. I pretended at fascination with the dance, softly clapping my hands. Only when it would draw no notice did I make ready to return to Papa’s side and warn him.

But when Two Kettles Together rose to walk with me, I feared she knew that I understood. And for a fleeting moment, I felt in the gravest danger of my life.

A feeling that lessened only a little when she whispered, “You know now that the Onondaga cannot be trusted. Tell your company to be on its guard. I’ve heard talk of a spy in the neighborhood who has eyes on your father and, especially, your Frenchman.”

Sweat beaded upon my nape as I remembered at least two prior occasions when the British sent agents to kidnap or assassinate my father. With damp palms, I squinted in the dim light of the fire, daring a glance at the faces around it, suspicious and mistrustful of everyone. I suppose Papa would be flattered to know he was, even stripped of command, still in their sights. But the marquis was the more valuable prize. “Do they mean to kill him?”

“I don’t know the plan,” she said. “Only that the British have put a target on his back, and the arrow man is near...”

***

“ M ADEMOISELLE, YOU ARE a most excellent patriot,” Lafayette said when I returned to the safety of Johnston Hall, where I reported everything.

To my surprise, the Frenchman seemed sanguine. “It is good you learn of all this in secret while all eyes were upon your father and me. You have been an essential asset to the cause.”

It was flattery—French flattery at that!—and I wanted to believe it was true.

But I was crestfallen at the certain failure of our mission, and worried, too.

“The British aren’t the only ones who have spies,” Papa said to reassure me. “I can say with confidence that the man they’ve sent to make trouble is Major Carleton, the nephew of the Canadian Governor. I suspected he was in the area incognito to suborn the Indians who are friendlier to us. Now we have better reason to think so.”

I bit my lower lip, thinking it quite a risk for such a prominent British officer and gentleman to take; even if he was not an assassin or kidnapper, if he was caught in disguise he could be hanged as a spy. And perhaps that’s what Lafayette had in mind when he said, “I shall offer a reward of fifty guineas to anyone who will bring him to me alive.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “And since there are Indians who are friendly to us, I will offer them, and only them, trading posts and protection.”

“But might not attempts to divide them further provoke those who are against us, ending our hopes to get the Six Nations to remain neutral?” I dared to ask.

Lafayette nodded. “If we cannot get neutrality, perhaps we get something better.”

At the next day’s council, the Indians were in an uproar, all pretense of accord abandoned. For the magnificent chieftain, Grasshopper, of the Oneida, rose to address the warrior class. “By refusing to make peace, you sow the seeds of your own destruction. You have forced us all to terrible choices. Now, instead of being strong as six arrows all together that cannot be broken, we are in splinters!”

Six arrows. The Seneca, Cayuga, Onondaga, Mohawk, Oneida, and Tuscarora. Together, they’d formed a confederacy older than Great Britain.

The chief turned to my father. “The Oneida and Tuscarora will not remain neutral.” Amidst murmurs and shouts, I nearly gasped as Grasshopper raised his voice over the fray. “We say to our brethren, the Americans, that we, too, are a free people with absolute notions of liberty. And we will join your cause and pledge to be buried in the same graves with you or to share in the fruits of your victories and peace.”

The impact of the moment resounded in my bones.

I wasn’t alone. Lafayette didn’t hide his tears as he rose. “This man possesses the dignity of a Roman senator. The philosopher Rousseau speaks truly of man’s nobility in his state of nature. For here, as much as any place in America, has taught me that we are, all of us, and of right, to be free.”

That very day, the Oneida promised to send warriors to join Washington’s army at Valley Forge and a clan mother with white corn to help feed the starving soldiers, and teach them how to prepare it so they wouldn’t get sick from eating it dry.

We had meant to secure neutrality. Instead, we came away with allies, warriors, and food. Though Papa was wary, Lafayette thought it a triumph. Perhaps not as glorious as victory upon a battlefield, but a triumph that would redound to both Lafayette’s and Washington’s credit and help win the war.

As for me, I was so stunned by what had taken place that I allowed myself a sip of rum that night at the campfire when Lafayette offered it to me.

And then I coughed on it.

Which brought a guffaw from the Frenchman. “Do you dislike the taste of rum, Mademoiselle Schuyler?”

My eyes watered as I struggled to answer.

He laughed again. “You and I can speak candidly, now that we are kin. Nous sommes une famille, comme frère et soeur. ”

“Pardon?” I asked, hoarsely.

“We are sister and brother, yes? Having been adopted by the Indians. We are both savages, you and me.” Lafayette said this word as if it were more glorious than his noble title. But then, as if fearing I didn’t understand, he added, “The Iroquois forests are peopled by my friends; to me, the despots of Europe are the true savages.” He leaned in with a grin. “After we leave this place, come to Washington’s headquarters at Valley Forge with me.”

I blinked. “Whatever for?”

“Because you shall have a bevy of admirers. I would even count myself amongst them.”

Fearing that the Frenchman, despite being married, meant to press an improper flirtation upon me, I’m afraid I was quite tart. “I do not think even with your encouragement that my father would consent for me to become a camp follower.”

Lafayette threw up his hands. “ Mon Dieu! I suggest nothing dishonorable. Men like me, the wilds remind us that when stripped of luxuries and titles, we are all the same but for our honor .” With that, Lafayette’s chin gestured in the direction of my father. “And weary men of honor need to be reminded of what they fight for. Come with me to Washington’s camp, ma chère Mademoiselle Schuyler. You and your father, who may be safer in a military camp than facing spies and treachery on his own.”

I was touched by Lafayette’s concern for my father. And just then, across the campfire I spied Two Kettles Together, who went where she pleased, wore what she pleased, did what she pleased, and fought when she pleased. I knew that if it were my choice, I would go with Lafayette. But it was not my choice. “You forget the matter of Papa’s court-martial...”

“Bah! The stain on your father’s name will be lifted soon enough. Now that France is involved, the war will be so swiftly over, you will miss it all if you do not come.”

I hoped Lafayette was right that the war would be over swiftly, and when it was finally time for us to part ways, I said, “Farewell, General. I hope to see you again soon.”

“You will. I am certain of it.”

But in the end, Lafayette was wrong. My father’s court-martial didn’t take place until autumn. I wouldn’t see the eccentric young Frenchman again for another three years.

And even then, the war was far from over.