The
Water Gate
The Water Gate
Will Cowling
Published by Will Cowling at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Will Cowling
Smashwords Edition, Licence Notes
This
ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may
not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to
share this book with another person, please purchase an additional
copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not
purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please
return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for
respecting the hard work of this author
Contents
Chapter 1:
The Craft of Mary Chart
Chapter
2: Captain George Orford and The Navy Barge
Chapter
3: Thomas Snape’s General Store
Chapter
4: The President
Chapter
5: The Three Lieutenants
Chapter
6: The Great Falls of Virginia
Chapter
7: The New Market Print Shop
Chapter
8: Georgetown
Chapter
9: The Virginian Eating House
Chapter
10: The House of Fabbri, New York
Chapter
11: Katherine Oxenden of New England
Chapter
12: The New England Carriage Ride
Chapter
13: The Virginian Federalist Campaign Office
Chapter
14: Rock Creek meets the Potomac
Chapter
15: The Horses Tethered at the General Store
Chapter
16: The Torches in the Forest
Chapter
17: The Sycamore Tree at the Crossroads
Chapter
18: The President’s Camp
Chapter
19: The Democratic-Republican Counter Argument
Chapter
20: The Strongbox
Chapter
21: The Informant
Chapter
22: The British Warships in the Chesapeake
Chapter
23: Captain George Orford and Mary Chart
Chapter
24: The Burning Of Washington
Chapter
25: The Construction of Watergate
Chapter 1: The Craft of Mary Chart
The Year is 1811. The place is the City of Washington.
Samuel Thetford was sat overlooking the sweeping bend in the Potomac River. He was thinking of the young woman he had met that morning, Mary Chart. Across the river the forest stretched south. He stared through the rich air to the forest’s horizon. He knew not how far the forest stretched for he had never managed to travel beyond its reach. Mary Chart, however, had.
Sam had, that morning, been clearing the felled trees on the north bank of the river. Before he had seen Mary Chart, he had seen her boat. The small vessel with its canvas sail had been slowly drifting in the light wind, along the northern bank. The sun was strong that morning and the sky almost cloudless. It wasn’t, therefore, until the boat was no more than 30 yards away that he could clearly see the figure of a woman at the rudder. Her face had been hidden under a wide brimmed canvas hat that was sodden with Potomac water intended to keep the sailor cool. He had stood up from his backbreaking work and marvelled at the uncluttered beauty of the scene.
Mary Chart had looked up at the man standing on the bank. The sailor and her boat were now only a few yards short of his position. Mary had stared at the young man. She had noticed the rolled up sleeves of his white shirt, the wood chippings in his blondeing hair, and his eyes, his kind well meaning eyes. She had been motionless, unable to realign her fixed gaze. She had given in to the situation, accepted the awkwardness and allowed herself to enjoy the emotional stimulation of the moment. Her gaze was then jolted, as the hull of her vessel gently scraped against the silted riverbed close to the bank. The vessel had come to a halt and tilted, causing Mary to make a reactionary grab for the tiller.
Sam had stepped into the shallow water and waded towards Mary’s boat. “Can I help re-float your craft?” he had asked, his hands holding the side of the vessel.
“That would be very kind”, Mary had replied. Sam then manoeuvred to the stern and hauled the vessel back across the silt. He had fallen once as his feet struggled for purchase but he was strong enough to free Mary’s vessel from its grounding. He had clung to the side his legs now swimming. “Thank you ….”, Mary paused.
“Samuel” he had interjected.
“Thank you Samuel”, completed Mary.
“I have been happy to help,” Sam had replied, “have you travelled far?”
“I have sailed up the Atlantic coast from North Carolina, and I have already been travelling a week”, Mary had replied.
“You have travelled far”, Sam had said, “and I presume your journey is not yet complete?”
“No” Mary had said “I have still some way to go, I must get to the Great Falls and then inland”.
“Can I not offer you some food and rest?” Sam had said.
Mary had looked at Sam still clinging to the side of the boat. She would have loved to stop and sit and talk and eat with this man. She had looked at his eyes and heard his voice. She had thought he is a kind man, perhaps the kindest she had met. She would have like to have stopped for a very long time. “I cannot, Samuel”, Mary had said, eventually, “I am not sure of the importance of my journey, but still cannot risk not completing it”.
“In that case” Sam had said, “I pray the Potomac winds carry you safely”. Sam had pushed her boat back towards the deeper water, his head ducking under as he did so.
He had looked up and heard Mary say “I may be able to sail back this way, I will look out for you at this bend in the river, where the trees are felled and the tributary silts up the northern bank. Take care Samuel”.
So there Sam sat thoughtfully remembering every detail of his brief encounter with Mary Chart. His memory of the event was being skewed by his emotions. She had ruffled his mind, and he could not stop himself dreaming what might have been or what might be. His imagination climbed through a lattice of steps: the fine conversations that they would have had; the experiences they would have shared; the comforting they would have given; the passion; the love. He slumped against a tree stump. For a moment he was motionless and lonely.
Chapter 2: Captain George Orford and The Navy Barge
Sam eventually got to his feet and walked back to his felling axe and broad axe. He recommenced his woodcutting. He looked around him at the two dozen trees he had already felled. They still lay where they had fallen. The Navy’s barge was due to arrive on Friday to collect their order, it and was already Tuesday. The axe cut into the bark. With his second, precise, swing of the axe handle the first triangular wedge of bark was chipped out. He swung again, now approaching the familiar rhythm that is quickly gained by a healthy man with a keen mind and a dextrous bent. His thoughts now became less selfish.
What, he wondered, had Mary Chart meant when she had referred to the possible importance of her journey and her need to reach her destination. She had travelled many hundreds of miles, he presumed alone. She had sailed up the Atlantic coast as opposed to travelling overland. Perhaps it was, she could not ride a horse or did not own a horse. Perhaps she only had access to her boat. That small but sturdy craft he had re-launched westward, under the mid morning sun. His thoughts were now gathering a pace. Could it be that she felt it too dangerous to travel overland? Could it be that she felt she had had to travel alone? Perhaps it was less complicated to travel alone? Perhaps she didn’t wish to put a travelling companion in danger? What danger? What was the possible importance of her journey?
His axe had now cut through to the felling point. The Sycamore tree creaked and cracked, the last sounds it would utter after a hundred years standing and overlooking the Potomac River. Sam lent against the fine wood destined for the Gosport Shipyards. The Sycamore tree fell where it had stood. Sam moved methodically to its neighbour, and recommenced the rhythm of the swinging axe. In his mind he was planning to have the required number of trees felled by dusk today. This would give time enough to collect them together and pile them up ready for the Navy’s barge.
He worked through dusk and under the frightening light of his lantern he felled the last tree. Utterly exhausted he dragged his feet and body the 50 yards to his shelter and collapsed onto his fur-lined bedding. If he had had the energy for contemplation he would have been pleased that he was tired. He knew that being alone in the forest at night was inherently dangerous. His natural fear of loneliness was magnified by the night sounds of the forest. The sounds of Tiger Owls shifting slightly on their perches, the sounds of deer flitting unseen through the ferns, even the sounds of the toads methodically creeping through the undergrowth. The night sounds of the forest could cause him to fix a stare on the bark-covered roof of his shelter and pray for dawn. Sam was well aware it was best to be exhausted before attempting sleep.
The shelter Sam had built was primitive but effective. He had merely constructed a lattice of thin sturdy branches in the shape of a rounded cave. Around this lattice he had tied thick strips of bark taken from the Silver Birch trees to be found on the slightly higher ground to the north. He had set a fire at the open entrance to his shelter. He would try and keep the fire alight day and night. It was central to his existence. It was the tool he needed to cook his food, the tool he needed to keep him warm, the tool he needed to ward off inquisitive animals and the focus for his thoughts and hopes.
He awoke early, which although induced by the outdoor conditions, was his nature. He peeked out from under the fur that kept him warm. The world on the north bank of the Potomac River had been freshly lit by the rising sun. The embers of the fire glowed faintly. A stork flew strongly above the surface of the river. The river, ever flowing, glinted. He remembered Mary Chart coming to ground the previous day. He smiled, he almost laughed. He was full of hope.
The Navy’s barge arrived a little after midday. The 38 foot craft had a captain and was crewed by 6 men. This was third time the Navy had collected a consignment of logs from Sam. They sailors were in good spirits and greeted Sam with friendly laughter. They jibed him about his shelter, but only gently. They appreciated this was a young man on his own trying to make his way in life. Sam smiled, he was pleased to see them. They were familiar enough for him to speak to them without apprehension. They had reached a socially comfortable area in their relationship. He and the crew of the barge were familiar enough not be nervous allowing them to be themselves, yet did not have a lengthy relationship weathered by incidents of animosity, often caused by misunderstanding.
George Orford, the captain of the barge ordered his crew to load the barge with the carefully stacked wood. The barge was anchored a few yards from the water’s edge forcing the crew to drag the logs from the riverbank to the barge using ropes and a winch. George spoke to Sam while the work was done. “The Gosport yards are building the ships at speed”, George explained, “I’ve a Navy works order for a further consignment of lumber from you Samuel, they are needed three weeks from today, do you think you can fulfil the order?”
“I feel healthy and the weather’s holding” replied Sam “I think I can George”.
“Good man!” exclaimed Captain Orford, now beaming with an almost fatherly smile.
Captain George Orford was someone who liked to feel he was progressing forward. He had worked hard to reach his present command. Work was no hardship to him just as long as was achieving something. He was acutely aware that he did not want to look back at his life and deem it was wasted. He was now the captain of a barge in the American Navy. The American Navy was building ships to assist the French in their war against the English. The American’s had fought for independence from the English. The American Navy was working to maintain America’s freedom. The American Navy was working to progress America. He and his crew were vital cogs in that wheel of progression. Samuel Thetford was uncomplaining and willing to work hard. Samuel Thetford was not hindering George Orford’s or America’s progress.
Samuel watched as the Navy barge once again moved back into the centre of the Potomac and sluggishly returned east back towards the ship building yards. Another three weeks of hard work lay ahead of him. He would not, he resolved, start today. Having enjoyed the conversation of the sailors that afternoon he had the taste for company. He would walk the few miles to the trading station at Funkstown. There he would be able to restock his supplies and, more importantly enjoy some more conversation, glean some more news and perhaps share a drink with the owner, Thomas Snape.
Chapter 3: Thomas Snape’s General Store
The walk to Funkstown was easy while the sun shone. The walk was, however, across partial swampland and could be considerably more difficult when it rained or, indeed, at night. If the opportunity offered itself, Sam thought, he may stay overnight in or around Thomas’s General Store.
As he meandered through the dry reed beds he composed the stories he would tell Thomas Snape and any other company he might come to speak with. He smiled to himself with anticipation, the prospect of being able to tell a good tale turning his walk into a broken run. He would tell them of his work, of the Navy barge and, it was this section he was savouring, of his meeting with the ‘beautiful and mysterious’ Mary Chart. He would also use any conversation as an opportunity to perhaps gain a clue as to where Mary might have come from and even more importantly when she might return.
He arrived at the Foggy Bottom General Store a little after five o’clock. A number of tethered horses were collected outside. A well used cart complete with mule stood in the middle of a dusty courtyard. Looking out onto the courtyard was a railed porch. One end of the porch was made impassable by a collection of barrels, whilst the other end was made equally impassable by two dozen, mostly full, sacks. In the centre, were the wonderful swing doors. The doors had two sets of hinges on either side, allowing a smooth swing forward but a dampened swing back. Sam pushed through and both the left and the right door swung open to their full extent, they then gently swung back as he passed, as if operated by two butlers at the President’s Montpelier mansion in Virginia.
Inside Thomas Snape was measuring out some flour for a lady wearing a navy blue shawl. Thomas was wearing a large and durable apron. The apron’s stains told the story of six months of produce prepared and served to the customers of the north bank of the Potomac River. Thomas Snape had curly uncut hair, greying at the edges and thinning on top. His face was tidied by a pair of copper spectacles that sat slightly below his eye line. The lady in the blue shawl was, Sam thought, perhaps in her mid thirties. She had a strong face. It was an attractive face. Too attractive, for as she turned to look at Sam he found himself staring at her, his eyes momentarily locked onto her eyes. Before he managed to look away, at some flour sacks on the floor, she had become fully aware of his thoughts. She turned back to look at Thomas Snape and smiled, though it was a smile of embarrassment.
Thomas Snape greeted Sam with grin. “Ah! Samuel Thetford, it has been two weeks since we saw you, I trust all is well?”
“I have been cutting trees from dawn to dusk and beyond”, Sam replied, “In order to fulfil the Navy’s order.”
“Ah, the ‘Navy’s order’”, Thomas repeated, “The President’s gunboats”.
“Yes”, Sam confirmed, without inflection and ignoring the almost sceptical tone in Thomas Snape’s voice.
“This is Mrs Darsham”, said Thomas, introducing the lady in the blue shawl to Samuel.
The lady turned to Samuel to shake his hand and again he found his gazed fixed. “Christine Darsham” she said directly to Samuel holding out her hand.
“Samuel Thetford”, Sam replied, finding himself uncomfortable at his embarrassment, fuelled by the knowledge Mrs Darsham was reading his thoughts and further fuelled by the fact he knew she knew he was embarrassed.
“Have you completed your work for the Navy?” asked Christine Darsham.
“No”, replied Sam, “I am happy to report they have contracted me for a further three weeks work”.
“And three weeks after that and three weeks after that!”, interjected Thomas Snape, “If my reading of the situation is right. The Navy men I’ve spoken to have indicated that the President’s plan is now set. The Navy is to be armed by a large fleet of gunboats. America will assist the French in their conflict against the British. Thus enabling America to protect its independence.”
“Do I detect a slight tone of scepticism, Mr Snape?” asked Christine Darsham, with a smile.
“Perhaps”, replied Thomas, his voice flattening to convey a friendly seriousness, “I am sure, in time, America’s independence will be safe. I do admit to a certain amount of scepticism as to whether the creation of gunboat fleet and, indeed, taking up arms with the French, is the shortest distance between two points. The ‘two points’ being the situation today and the day when America feels strong and safe in its independence.”
“But” said Christine, livening to the intelligence of Thomas Snape’s answer, “If that it is not the ‘shortest distance between two points’, then what is?”
“A well targeted question, Mrs Darsham”, said Thomas, “Indeed the search for the shortest distance between two points may in this case carry a time penalty of such length that any advantage in disregarding President’s plan is negated.”
Christine Darsham did not reply and Thomas Snape’s flow of words had halted, so Sam took it upon himself to bring the conversation to a gliding end. “I, in common with most, can do no more than strive to do the best I can for myself. I am young and strong. I have a desire to improve my lot. To acquire property and find love. I am, therefore, grateful for the further three weeks work.”
“Well said Samuel Thetford”, said Christine Darsham, “such is the way of the world”.
“Mr Snape” exclaimed Samuel, “May I have a bottle of beer?”
“You can, Mr Thetford”, replied Thomas Snape, reaching under the counter for one of the corked clay bottles of beer. “This beer is brewed in Baltimore and I can recommend it highly”.
Sam drank and some of the worries of the day and the previous two weeks ebbed away. Christine Darsham took her leave. She collected her small bag of groceries from Thomas Snape and thanked him. She turned to Sam.
“It has been a pleasure meeting you Mr Thetford”, she held out her hand, her eyes already fixed on his initially downward looking eyes.
He looked up and was met by the confident intensity of her farewell. “Thank you”, said Sam “I have also most enjoyed your company”. He was pleased with his similarly confident reply and believed it demonstrated an attractive level of maturity.
“I hope, and am sure, we will meet again”, suggested Christine Darsham, “Perhaps soon, at the bend in the river where you work and sleep?”
“Perhaps, Mrs Darsham” Samuel replied politely.
The gaze of Thomas Snape and Samuel Thetford followed Christine Darsham as she left the shop and climbed into her modest carriage.
Samuel Thetford spoke with Thomas Snape, “Mrs Darsham is an attractive woman, Thomas”.
“Yes” replied Thomas Snape followed by a reflective pause, “Yes, she is”.
“However!” exclaimed Sam, jolting both of their thoughts from their Mrs Darsham associated moorings. “It is of another woman I wish to speak of.”
“Speak long and freely,” said Thomas Snape with a smile and expectancy.
Samuel continued, “Do you remember what a wonderful morning it was last Monday?”
“The weather has been fine all week, Samuel”, agreed Thomas Snape.
“It has Thomas, it has, but Monday morning was particularly special”, Sam said enthusing to the story he was about to tell. “I stood on the river bank that morning and watched with serene wonder as a woman from Carolina sailed towards me in a small sailing craft. She was a quite beautiful woman wearing a canvas hat with a wide brim weighed down by river water.”
“Did she stop?” asked Thomas Snape.
“Thomas she ran aground!” stated Sam. “She ran aground on the North bank where the river is silted.”
“It sounds to me that I am being given the privilege of being at the start of a story that began by fate”, said Thomas Snape. “Did this lady from Carolina have a story?”
“As to whether fate has stepped into my life, or even our lives Thomas, I do not know. The lady’s name was Mary and although she did not tell me her story I think that one exists. A story of a person trying to do the right thing”, replied Sam.
“What intimation did Mary give you for you to surmise that?” asked Thomas Snape.
“Thomas, it was the tone in her voice, calm but not entirely sure. It was the look in her eyes, purposeful but asking for help. It was the clarity of her words, thoughtful yet easily spoken. This beautiful woman’s thoughts would normally be as fragile as yours or mine, but by having the courage to pursue a purpose, her thoughts had strength.”
Thomas Snape said nothing. He simply let the vision implanted in him by Sam’s words take a few moments to sail down the Potomac River.
Sam finished his drink, “Thomas, if you hear anything at all of this woman. Of her place of departure, of her place of destination or of her, will you let me know?” he appealed.
Thomas Snape chuckled kindly “I will, I promise. If fate deems I should be included in this story”.
“Thank you, Thomas” said Sam “And now I am away across the marshes”.
Sam collected his prepacked sack of supplies and went into the dusk and fog. He walked quickly then ran carefully until he reached his shelter. He re-lit his fire and burrowed himself into his shelter.
Chapter 4: The President
The President stood in the garden of his Virginia house, overlooking the country that he governed. He was accompanied, as ever, by two unshakeable companions: the desire to run free and the desperation to cling on to what he had. They made poor companions, for rarely did the directions that they took him not conflict.
He was a leader of his people. He desired to simply walk over all the fields and through all the woods until he reached the sea. When he reached the sea he wished to sail away. He knew, after perhaps the first few steps he would come across someone or something that would need his help. Something that would benefit from his capacity to work hard and his experience. He knew that before taking further steps towards the sea he would have to solve this problem. He knew that after he had moved on he would encounter other difficulties, he knew that some of these would be more difficult to solve. To solve these, he would need to work harder and draw more deeply from his experience. He could not allow his position to be degraded for it would hinder his ability to help. To run free he had to solve the problems that obstructed his path. To solve the problems that obstructed his path he had to cling on to what he had.
The President thought back to the uneven chronology of his life that had lead to him to his present position. It had been a life of continual striving and unceasing hard work. A life punctuated by frustrating setbacks and yet interwoven by sudden advances. He knew at times that some of the actions he had taken, might, if discovered, be perceived as unscrupulous. He was sure that they were not. He had acted in the past and would act in the future for the good of others.
At present he was considering the forthcoming Presidential election. Polling day was now less than a year away. He felt that his chance of victory were good. He had, however, been hearing that increasing numbers of registered voters were listening with a sympathetic ear to the words being spoken by his main opposition, the Federalists. He considered the risk of him losing the election was too high. He needed to combat directly the opposition’s statements that were appealing most to the electorate. As he thought about the most effective techniques he realised that what he really wanted was advanced knowledge of the opposition’s planned announcements. With knowledge of these he could instruct his team to prepare counter arguments.