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  THIS IS THE ONLY KNOWN PORTRAIT from the life of Jack Jouett, a silhouette made by his son, Matthew Harris Jouett.

  When Tarleton and his 250 troops reached the Cuckoo Tavern, Captain Jack Jouett was there. Some accounts claim that he was asleep on the lawn and was awakened by the clattering of so many hoofs. Other reports state that upon spotting the British troops, he hid himself in nearby bushes so that he could discover what they were after. One newspaper of the day reported that he was inside the tavern showing himself off in a uniform he had taken from a British dragoon he had recently captured. Whatever the case, Jouett was definitely there. And, from conversations between the British officers and soldiers that he overheard, it became clear to him what their mission was.

  The more he heard, the more he became alarmed. These troops meant to capture the government of Virginia, men upon whom the Revolution depended. Aware that the only colonial troops in the region were too far away to be of assistance, he realized that the only hope for Jefferson and his legislators was warning and escape. And he had an even more sobering personal revelation. Who but he was there to provide the warning? He and he alone had to save the General Assembly.

  But how? He had read accounts of Paul Revere’s ride. But Revere had ridden twenty miles at the most and over good roads. Warning Jefferson and his legislature required at least a forty-mile horseback ride in the dark over extremely rough terrain. It was a journey bound to be made even more difficult by the constant presence of British scouts all along the only barely passable road to Charlottesville. Jouett would have to make the entire long journey through the dense Virginia backwoods.

  Yet he knew that it had to be done immediately. He had heard that some of the lawmakers were staying with Jefferson at Monticello, while the others had found quarters in the Swan Tavern two miles from Monticello in Charlottesville itself. He would have to go first to Monticello and then to Charlottesville in order to reach all those he needed to warn.

  The clock was striking 10:00 p.m. when Jouett mounted his bay mare Sallie—a horse thought by many to be the fastest in the entire region—and took off on his improbable mission. The route he chose to follow was nothing more than an old Indian trail, grown over with thick brush and dense woods. As Virginius Dabney wrote,

  The unfrequented pathway over which this horseman set out on his all-night journey can only be imagined. His progress was greatly impeded by matted undergrowth, tangled bush, overhanging vines and gullies . . . his face was cruelly lashed by tree limbs as he rode forward and scars said to have remained the rest of his life were the result of lacerations sustained from those low hanging branches.

  Still he kept on riding, always aware of the absolute necessity of beating the British to Monticello. At four in the morning, after having been in the saddle for six straight hours, he reached the village of Milton at the Rivanna River ford.

  Jouett spurred Sallie on up the long, steep terrain between Milton and Monticello. Arriving at the mansion, he unceremoniously burst through the doors, awakened the governor of Virginia and future president of the United States, and the other members of the two houses of the General Assembly who were staying there. Once he heard what Jouett had to say, the ever-gracious Jefferson thanked the brave messenger profusely and then insisted on sharing a glass of his best Madeira with him. The young officer downed his drink quickly, telling Jefferson he had to get to Charlottesville immediately to warn the other members of the Assembly. Then he took off on the two-mile ride to the Swan Tavern.

  Amazingly, neither Jefferson nor his houseguests were panic-stricken by Jouett’s warning. Perhaps they didn’t really believe that the British were on their way. In any event, as Jefferson later wrote, they all breakfasted at leisure before the assemblymen left for Swan Tavern to join their colleagues. In the meantime, Jefferson made arrangements to send his wife and children to a friend’s estate some fourteen miles away. He then spent the better part of the next two hours gathering up his important papers and hiding them in secret places throughout the house.

  If Tarleton had stuck to his determination to reach Monticello and Charlottesville without any delay, Jefferson’s dallying could have been disastrous. But fortunately for the Patriot cause, the British officer, increasingly confident that he would catch the governor and the legislators unawares, deviated from his plan. First, about an hour after pausing at the Cuckoo Tavern, Tarleton halted his troops near a Louisa County courthouse, where he ordered a three-hour rest. Shortly after the march toward Charlottesville was resumed, the troops suddenly encountered and captured a train of eleven wagons loaded with guns, ammunitions, and clothing for General Nathaniel Greene’s Continental Army troops in South Carolina. Now concerned with the fleeting time, Tarleton ordered that the wagon train and its valuable possessions be burned rather than hauled along with the troops. In the process, however, still more time was lost.

  The result of the delays was that Tarleton and his troops reached the Swan Tavern just as the legislators were making their escape. The British were, in fact, so close on the trail of the legislators that even though Thomas Jefferson, Patrick Henry, Richard Henry Lee, Benjamin Harrison, Thomas Nelson Jr., and many others got away, seven Patriots were captured, among them a young Daniel Boone.

  And it was here that Jack Jouett performed yet another act of heroism and ingenuity. One of the legislators attempting to make his escape was Brigadier General Edward Stevens, who was recovering from a wound he had received at the Battle of Guilford Courthouse on March 15 of that year. Stevens was plainly dressed and was riding a shabby horse. Jouett, who, according to historian Henry S. Randall, Jefferson’s mid-nineteenth-century biographer, “had an eccentric custom of wearing such habiliments,” was dressed in a fancy coat with a plumed military hat. Guessing correctly that the British would believe that the better-dressed man was the more important figure to be pursued, Jouett galloped off ahead of the British troops, leading them away from Stevens, who was then able to make his escape.

  Frustrated by the escape of the legislators and aware that Jefferson had not been at the Swan Tavern, Tarleton ordered his chief officer, Captain McLeod, to leave immediately for Monticello in pursuit of the governor. One story, recounted by Randall, has it that when McLeod came into view on the approach to Monticello, Martin, one of Jefferson’s slaves, was busily engaged in passing silver and other valuable articles to another slave named Caesar through a trap door in the floor. According to the story, when the British were first spotted, Martin quickly dropped the door, leaving Caesar in the cramped and dark place until the troops left some eighteen hours later.

  In the meantime, Martin was not the only one to spot the British as they approached Monticello. Captain Christopher Hudson, en route to join Lafayette’s forces, had also seen them and had immediately hastened to the mansion to warn Jefferson. Hearing the news, Jefferson finally left.

  Jefferson sent his family off in their carriage and then departed himself. He was not convinced that British troops were on their way to take him prisoner, and after proceeding only a short distance he stopped and dismounted his horse. Jefferson trained his telescope on his home and saw no troops, but suddenly realized that, in leaving Monticello, he had dropped his “walking sword.” As he headed back to retrieve it, he took another look through his telescope and was startled to see that British dragoons and mounted infantrymen had suddenly surrounded his house. Immediately, he mounted his horse and raced off into the woods.

  Jefferson not only escaped, but also was able to make such good time through the woods that he was able to dine with his family that evening. However, he did not escape unscathed from Tarleton’s raid. Political opponents inside and outside Virginia accused him of having behaved cowardly by fleeing and abandoning his post as Virginia’s governor. For many years, his enemies continued to pursue these accusations, bolstered by statements from Tarleton, who reported that Jefferson “provided for his personal safety with a precipitate retreat.”

  Determined to clear his name,
Jefferson appeared before the Virginia General Assembly in December 1781, stating that, as many of the legislators knew, at the time of his flight he believed that his term as governor had expired. Although legislators readily accepted Jefferson’s explanation, his political opponents, particularly those in the Federalist Party, would for the rest of his life continue to charge him with incompetence, negligence, and even cowardice during the events of June 1781.

  As for Jouett, his actions did not go unnoticed or unrewarded. On June 15, 1781, almost immediately after reconvening in Staunton, thirty-five miles west of Charlottesville, the Virginia General Assembly adopted a resolution that stated:

  Resolved, That the Executive be desired to present to Captain John Jouett, an elegant sword and pair of pistols, as a memorial to the high sense which the General Assembly entertain of his activity and enterprise, in watching the motions of the enemy’s cavalry on their late incursion to Charlottesville, and conveying to the Assembly timely information of their approach, whereby the designs of the enemy were frustrated, and many valuable stores preserved.

  For whatever reasons, it was two years before Jouett received the pistols. And it took twenty years before he was presented with the sword. By that time, he had made a name for himself in what is now Kentucky. His move to there in 1782 had a most inauspicious start.

  Jouett and some companions were traveling along Daniel Boone’s Wilderness Road through the Cumberland Gap when, according to Virginius Dabney, they heard a woman’s screams coming from an isolated cabin. Entering the small dwelling, Jouett discovered a man beating his wife. Ever gallant, he immediately went to the lady’s rescue by knocking her husband down. The still young Jouett obviously had not learned how dangerous it could be to interfere in a marital dispute, for as soon as he struck her husband, the woman picked up a long-handled frying pan and struck such a heavy blow across his head that the bottom of the pan fell out and its rim became wedged around the would-be hero’s neck. And there it remained until Jouett was at last able to find a blacksmith to remove it some thirty-five miles down the road.

  Fortunately for Jouett, the years that followed were much more rewarding. He married his sweetheart, Sallie Robard; settled down in Mercer County, Kentucky; and entered politics. He was instrumental in helping Kentucky become a state and served four terms in its new legislature. He also began importing fine horses and cattle from England and is credited with having pioneered livestock breeding in the Bluegrass Region.

  Jouett and his wife had twelve children, including the famous American painter Matthew Harris Jouett. After serving as a lieutenant in the War of 1812, Matthew, whose father wanted him to be a lawyer, went to Boston, where he studied with Gilbert Stuart. Even after his son had become highly acclaimed, particularly through his portraits of the Marquis de Lafayette and Thomas Jefferson, his father remained unimpressed. “I sent Matthew to college to make a gentleman of him, and he has turned out to be nothing but a damned sign painter.”

  It was through Matthew that the Jouett name was immortalized even further. Matthew’s son, James Edward “Fighting Jim” Jouett, was a distinguished naval officer who, as Dabney commented, “shared his grandfather’s fate in being forgotten by history.” During the Civil War, James Edward Jouett was with Admiral David Farragut at Mobile Bay. It was there that Farragut became famous for having shouted the command, “Damn the torpedoes! Full steam ahead.” But that has never been an accurate quote. What Farragut actually said was “Damn the torpedoes! Four bells! Captain Drayton go ahead! Jouett full speed!”

  The exploits of Jack Jouett’s son and grandson pale, however, in comparison to what the young militia captain accomplished on the long, dark night of June 3, 1871. Some early historians called his better than forty-mile horseback journey that night a ride that had been unequaled in history. Other historians agreed that had Jefferson and the other leaders whom Jouett saved that night been captured, it might well have meant the end of the Revolution. In 1926, Stuart G. Gibbony, president of the Thomas Jefferson Memorial Foundation, echoed the sentiment by stating, “But for Captain Jack Jouett’s heroic ride, there would have been only unsuccessful rebels.” Dabney provided the most detailed assessment of all:

  What would have been the fate of such men as Jefferson, Henry, Harrison, Nelson and Lee if they had fallen into British hands? They would almost certainly have been carried off into captivity by Tarleton . . . ; it is hardly conceivable that the men of the stature of Jefferson, Henry, and the rest would have been paroled. Their capture would have been a serious blow to the morale of the Continentals, especially at a time when things were going rather badly for their cause. Incalculable, even catastrophic results might have followed from such a coup.

  So why, when he died in March 1822, was Jack Jouett buried in an unmarked grave? Why has he been lost to time and history? The answer seems clear. Like Sybil Ludington, he never had a Longfellow to immortalize what was undoubtedly a greater accomplishment than that of Paul Revere.

  In June 1910, a bronze tablet was placed on the front wall of the Red Land Club, bearing the following inscription:

  Site of Old Swan Tavern

  Where lived and died Jack Jouett,

  whose heroic ride saved

  Mr. Jefferson, the Governor,

  and the Virginia Assembly

  from capture by Tarleton

  June, 1781.

  Erected by the Monticello Branch

  of the Association for

  the Preservation of Virginia Antiquities,

  1910.

  But still no Longfellow has come to praise him. However, the tribe of poets has not died with Longfellow. There was one on the staff of the Charlottesville Daily Progress on October 26, 1909, at the time of the unveiling of the tablet to the memory of Jack Jouett. Unfortunately the name of the poet is unknown.

  Hearken good people: awhile abide

  And hear of stout Jack Jouett’s ride;

  How he rushed his steed, nor stopped nor stayed

  Till he warned the people of Tarleton’s raid.

  The moment his warning note was rehearsed

  The State Assembly was quickly dispersed.

  In their haste to escape, they did not stop

  Until they had crossed the mountain top.

  And upon the other side came down

  To resume their sessions in Staunton Town.

  His parting steed he spurred

  In haste to carry the warning

  To that greatest statesman of any age,

  The Immortal Monticello Sage.

  Here goes to thee, Jack Jouett

  Lord keep thy memory green;

  You made the greatest ride, sir

  That ever yet was seen.

  It was hardly a poem for the ages, and definitely not a challenge to Longfellow’s position as poet of the Revolution. What it does do, however, is remind us that, like Sybil Ludington, this man who has fallen through the cracks of history deserves a much better fate.

  SIX

  ELISHA KENT KANE

  America’s Greatest Hero (1847–57)

  He may be the most once-famous person you never heard of. During his all-too-brief lifetime, he became the United States’ greatest hero. His death elicited the greatest outpouring of grief the nation had ever previously witnessed. His extraordinary adventures in the Arctic signaled the beginning of the scientific investigation of that still-mysterious region and led directly to the discovery of the North Pole. The two books he wrote describing his adventures inspired generations of adventurous souls to become explorers. Yet he has been all but forgotten.

  His name was Elisha Kent Kane. Born on February 3, 1820, into one of Philadelphia’s most elite and influential families, his father, John Kintzing Kane, had served as what today would be regarded as press secretary to Andrew Jackson before being appointed to the bench in eastern Pennsylvania. The elder Kane wanted his son to become the latest male member of the family to attend Yale. Elisha, however, wishing to avoid both Greek and L
atin, chose instead to enroll at the University of Virginia, where he pursued his scientific interests and was able to join his professor William Barton Rogers on his mapping expeditions of the geological formations of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It was a happy time in the young student’s life, one in which he seemed headed for a career in either geology or engineering. But when, in 1838 and 1839, his heart was permanently damaged by a series of severe attacks of rheumatic fever, his dream of such rugged pursuits seemed closed to him forever.

  ELISHA KENT KANE, portrayed in an engraving from the mid-nineteenth century.

  Devastated by his illness and by his doctor’s admonition that he could die “as suddenly as from a musket shot,” Kane took to his bed for several weeks. The sight of him lying in such a pitiful state was even more devastating to his father, who, according to mid-nineteenth-century historian William Elder, ordered him out of bed, saying, “If you must die—die in the harness.”