The Glorious Cause (7 page)

As he had sailed westward from England, he had nurtured a fantasy that his duty on this side of the Atlantic would be brief, that he might return home after one decisive battle, enjoying complete optimism that no band of rebels could stand up against the might of the king’s forces. The embarrassment at Charleston had sent the dream far back in his mind, and now, he felt the gloom returning, the dream erased altogether. He thought of the flatboats, waiting in the harbor. So now they will sit idly by, will not be loaded until Lord Howe has his diplomatic meeting. And in New York, the rebels will continue to build their works and fortify their position, while once again, we delay.

5. FRANKLIN

S
EPTEMBER 11, 1776

They had spent the night in Brunswick, rising early to complete the final part of the journey from Philadelphia. The confirmation had come from Howe’s staff that a boat would be waiting for them when they reached Amboy.

Franklin had stayed in the carriage the entire way, could never have stood the journey on horseback, and even the relative softness of the chaise had jarred him into a general discomfort for most of the trip. For the entire journey he had ridden beside Edward Rutledge, the aristocratic young man from South Carolina. Rutledge was a small, thin man, with a high, tinny voice who had built his reputation in the congress as a leader of those men who would prefer to err on the side of caution. Rutledge had been an advocate of delaying the signing of a Declaration of Independence, but was pragmatic enough to understand that once the sentiment toward independence became unstoppable, the conservatives could delay no longer. Rutledge had finally changed his stance, had led South Carolina to sign the document after all. Though the man’s self-interest for South Carolina placed him naturally at odds with many of the New Englanders, he had built a particular dislike for John Adams. The feeling was mutual. Now, Adams was the third member of their committee, and throughout the journey, Adams rode a horse beside the carriage. Franklin had wondered if there would be some kind of open conflict between the two men, Adams particularly prone to falling into a heated debate about those subjects on which he disagreed. But Adams was pragmatic as well, kept his distance from Rutledge throughout the trip. If they were to meet with Lord Howe, they must present a united front.

Franklin had watched Adams on the horse, the New Englander clearly as uncomfortable as Franklin was. Adams was a fair horseman, but his girth made riding awkward, the uneven stretches of roadway causing Adams the same agony that Franklin endured. Rutledge had occasionally offered polite conversation, and Franklin obliged him. Though he didn’t care for Rutledge’s politics, he didn’t quite share Adams’ strong dislike of the man, so they passed much of the time in idle pleasantries.

Franklin could hear the unmistakable sound of seagulls, thought, The water, we’re getting closer. He looked out to see them, felt a sharp breath of salt air, chilling him. The morning had been surprisingly cool, and he pulled his coat a bit tighter, thought, At least there is no rain. If the weather turned for the worse, the meeting would have to be delayed. Though the crossing to Staten Island was a short one, Lord Howe had warned them that his small flatboat would not do well in inclement weather.

He sat back in the seat again, felt himself rolling over another steep drop in the road, the creaking of the carriage now etched in his mind. Rutledge made some sound of discomfort beside him, and Franklin glanced at the man, thought, You are young enough to be my grandson. I will hear no sound of ailments out of
you
. He caught himself, knew his own mood was suffering, looked back toward Adams, who rode close behind the carriage. Adams nodded toward him, pointed, said simply, “The shore.”

Franklin looked that way, could see a wide salt marsh, saw grass moving in a slow wave with the chilly breeze. They were close to the small town of Amboy, houses appearing up along the road, the masts of small fishing boats in a cluster. Rutledge had seen them as well, said, “Well, finally. I won’t mind leaving this uncomfortable box, I assure you.”

Franklin didn’t respond, thought, It couldn’t have been any more uncomfortable than Adams’ horse. He had wanted to suggest that Rutledge ride, giving Adams some respite, but the subject had not come up, and Franklin had realized that Rutledge was watching Adams as well, a silent glare of satisfaction on the man’s birdlike face. Well, of course. Like children, vying to sit beside the father. Franklin scolded himself, Well, no it might not have anything to do with the pleasure of
my
company. There was one more place in the carriage, and Rutledge claimed it. Though John Adams may best him in every debate, though he may be the great orator and the man of influence, out here, Edward Rutledge gets the more comfortable seat. Franklin let out a breath, and the thought stayed with him.
Children
. Despite all the importance, the gravity of the issues we face, so many of those men in congress behave the same way. It could be the ruin of us all.

The carriage reached a small wharf, and Adams was already off the horse, working the pains out of his back. Rutledge was quickly down, reached back to assist Franklin, and the old man did not object. His foot reached the hard ground, the usual pain in his legs spreading up, and Franklin steadied himself against the carriage, waved Rutledge away, said, “Thank you, young man. I am sufficiently balanced.”

Along the wharf, a group of militia had gathered, and Franklin waved to them, managed a smile, could tell by the points and stares he had been recognized, something he was accustomed to. The men drew up in an uneven line, and those with muskets tried to make a good show, some kind of military posture. Franklin tried to keep the smile in place, but the stiffness in his knees was slow to let go. He moved with uneven steps toward the ragged formation, and one man stepped toward them, a huge swarthy man with a thick beard. Franklin stopped, could feel Rutledge and Adams beside him, the man communicating pure menace, blocking their path to the wharf. The man saluted them, a great fat hand planted on the grime of his forehead.

“We are honored, gentlemen. Welcome to Amboy. I am Captain Dirth Foresdale, New Jersey Militia, in command of your guard. You are safe here.”

The voice was deep and growling, and left no room for argument. Franklin smiled again, felt relief, thought, Well it’s preferable you are with us rather than against us. Adams stepped forward, said, “Thank you, Captain. Have you received any word of our escort?”

Foresdale sniffed, his hands on his hips, emphasizing the profound expanse of his waist.

“Well, yes, sir, their boat is just below. They been here for a while now.” He leaned closer, and Franklin caught the sudden smell of rum and fish. Foresdale lowered his voice, said, “Them lobster-backs stayed right there, kept to their boat. Smart. We’d have put up with none of their nonsense here, sir. My men are primed for a fight.”

Adams seemed to vibrate beside him, and Franklin knew that Adams was holding tight to his words, that any incident with the British here would jeopardize the entire purpose of this conference. Franklin put a hand on Adams’ arm, a silent message, Be calm, it’s all right. Franklin kept his voice low, said, “Good work, sir. But we’ll handle them from here. They won’t dare attempt any intrigues in our presence.”

Foresdale seemed skeptical, looked back toward the water, and Franklin could see the British for the first time, a small crew, and one officer, peering up toward them, the man’s face wearing a cautious smile.

Franklin moved past the huge man, tried to avoid the billowing waves of unfortunate odor. Behind him, Adams followed, said, “Thank you again, Captain. We are in your debt.”

Rutledge followed silently, and the three men moved toward the British officer, the man stepping up off the flatboat, his caution giving way to formal cordiality. He snapped his heels together, made a short bow, said, “Gentlemen, Admiral Lord Howe offers his respects. This craft is to carry you across to Staten Island. Lord Howe awaits you at the Billopp House, a short distance from the water’s edge. You will be escorted there once you land. I am to remain here.”

Franklin was studying the perfection of the man’s uniform, the rich red, the gold trim, had not fully absorbed the man’s words, and Adams said, “Why would you remain here?”

The officer glanced up past them, slight dread betrayed on the man’s face, and Franklin knew he was considering the ragged men who answered to Captain Foresdale. The officer brought himself into composure, said, “Permit me, sir, but you are Mr. Adams, yes?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

Rutledge said, “I am Edward Rutledge, sir. South Carolina. Representing the Continental Congress.”

Franklin smiled, said simply, “Franklin.”

The officer was still more interested in the line of militia, said, “For lack of any better description, gentlemen, I am to be your hostage. It is my duty to remain on this shore until your mission is complete, and you return safely here.”

Franklin understood now, said, “An extraordinary courtesy, sir, but an unnecessary one. I don’t believe any of us considers himself to be at risk of being kidnapped by Lord Howe.”

Rutledge laughed, said, “A preposterous offer, sir. The honor of Lord Howe is well known. We do not come here with any fear of betrayal. Nonsense.”

Franklin could see relief on the officer’s face, thought, Well certainly, this wasn’t his choice. Being held by Foresdale’s men would likely be a more horrible duty than the man has ever endured. Franklin said, “You should certainly accompany us, sir. At the very least, it will demonstrate to Lord Howe that we have faith in his word, and his flag of truce.”

Adams moved toward the flatboat, the handful of sailors coming to life. He looked back toward Franklin, shrugged his shoulders.

“I suppose I agree. After all, one British officer would hardly be an adequate trade for three congressmen. The least he could have done is sent his brother.”

The congress had debated the wisdom of sending any committee to meet with Lord Howe, strong arguments made on both sides. When General Sullivan had arrived in Philadelphia to make his plea, he seemed not to understand that most of congress considered him utterly taken in by Howe’s assurances of his power to make any kind of real peace offering. Franklin had come away from the meetings and discussions with a new respect for Sullivan’s gullibility. It was especially demoralizing, since, of course, Sullivan was one of Washington’s most senior commanders. But the general had returned to captivity on Staten Island, fulfilling the terms of his temporary parole, full of the satisfaction that his service had possibly shortened the war.

In congress, there was a simple dilemma. If congress ignored Lord Howe’s offer of a meeting, they could be accused of casual disregard for the plight of their own army. The Tory element in the colonies could have made great cry, labeling the congress a mass of bloodthirsty rebels who passed up a clear opportunity for peace. That extreme view was no less ridiculous than the other, which was to send a committee that could be seen as weak and submissive, a defeated congress begging for mercy for their defeated army.

The meeting would be awkward for one other reason: Lord Howe requested that he not be required to accept the men of the committee as members of congress, since congress was not recognized by the king to be a legal body of a legal government. The men could only be received as individuals. Congress of course would not accept this, and the committee appointed was officially representing congress, whether the British saw it that way or not.

Franklin was surprised to see Lord Howe waiting for them, standing with a cluster of British staff officers at formal attention as the boat slid alongside a narrow dock. Behind Howe, two lines of blue-coated Hessian soldiers lined a walkway that led up to a modest house. Franklin was helped from the boat, paused a moment to struggle with the stiffness again, disguised it by straightening his coat and appearing to wait for Adams and Rutledge to join him on the dock. He moved forward then, could see Howe smiling at him, the formality loosening. Howe came forward, held out a hand, said, “My dear Dr. Franklin! How good to see you again! It has been far too long!”

Franklin took the admiral’s hand, felt the grip slightly cold and boneless.

“How kind of your lordship to recall our meeting.”

“My sister sends her warmest affections, Doctor. She misses her games of chess with you.”

Franklin bristled at the ridiculous attempt at familiarity, thought, It is highly unlikely his sister knows of this meeting. It has only been confirmed for four days.

“Yes, well, your lordship must understand, at present there are other priorities.” Howe put on a look of concern, said, “And, I must apologize. My brother, General Howe, offers his regrets. I had hoped the general would attend this meeting, but I’m sure you understand, army business and whatnot.”

He heard the familiar grunt from Adams, and Franklin spoke quickly, cutting off any possibility of an indiscreet response.

“We appreciate that the general must attend to his duties. As your lordship is probably aware, General Howe is involved in a war.”

The admiral seemed to absorb that for a moment, then looked closely at Franklin, laughed, said, “Ah, yes, very good, Doctor! Indeed!”

Howe was looking past him now, the obvious pleasantries complete, and Franklin thought, Well, it wasn’t that funny. He motioned toward Adams, said, “Your lordship, may I present Mr. John Adams, of Massachusetts. And, Mr. Edward Rutledge, of South Carolina.”

There were more pleasantries, Rutledge putting on the best social graces, Adams doing his best not to betray his discomfort. Lord Howe led them up the walkway. On either side, the Hessians held their rigid stance, a salute to the honored guests. Franklin tried to avoid the comparison to Foresdale’s militia, focused instead on the flow of mindless chatter that came from Howe.

He had come to know Lord Howe in London, where the British ministry recognized that Franklin was the most influential, and certainly the most famous, colonist in their midst. It was believed in London that Lord Howe favored some reconciliation with America. He was considered to be a peripheral member of that group who did not share the king’s enthusiasm for an all-out war. It was the admiral himself who had attempted to recruit Franklin in assisting the official opposition as a more outspoken and thus influential spokesman for the colonial cause. But Franklin understood that he could easily be made a sacrificial lamb. If the king’s opposition in Parliament fell further out of favor, Franklin would be the obvious scapegoat. If they were successful, and the king backed down, all the credit would go to men like Lord Howe. Franklin had left London profoundly disappointed that the opposition to the king was, in the end, toothless. The only effective way for him to serve the colonies was to serve congress directly, and so, he had gone home to Philadelphia.