“They’ll be what I make them to be, Major, and the bastards will all hang. That’ll send the fear of God, or whatever Germanic totem they worship, into the Hessian deserters now at Fort Washington and preparing to fight us.”
Fitzroy managed to extricate himself and went to the provost’s office in the fort where he looked on the score of confused and bedraggled men crammed together in a small cell. They were in shackles and looked at him mutely. Some were bruised; it was obvious they had resisted being arrested.
How on earth could they be spies? Several were old enough to be his grandfather and others were still children. To hang these people would be an atrocity. But then, he reminded himself, Tarleton specialized in atrocities.
“Bloody Christ,” he muttered to himself. “How do I stop this from happening?”
* * *
Benjamin Franklin loved to have little soirees where he could make the informal contacts that were his specialty and use his still considerable influence to affect the course of the young nation.
Sadly, his get-togethers were nothing like what he’d held in Paris, or even Philadelphia. The surroundings were plain at best, and the refreshments were Spartan. There was bread and butter, and some meats and jams, and a choice of raw whiskies or a kind of tea to drink. Nobody went hungry, but there was nothing impressive or tantalizing. Certainly, there were none of the French wines that had made dealing with the miserable French themselves so pleasant and tolerable. Most of those present were thankful for a surprisingly good beer that a former assistant of Samuel Adams had managed to brew. Even though these were the rebellion’s leaders, their dress was shabby. Many men wore buckskins and otherwise plain woolen cloth. Again, none of the elegance of France or even Philadelphia was present. It was so depressing. It didn’t help matters that the floor was dirt.
Every host needs a hostess, and Franklin had called on Sarah and a handful of others to fulfill those duties. The ladies had managed to find enough fair quality dresses to make them presentable. He made pains to ensure that everyone knew that Sarah was his hostess and not his mistress, although he also made pains to let anyone know that he would be delighted if she were. For her part, Sarah found it amusing, as did Will.
In return for her duties, she’d insisted that Franklin also invite Will, who stood against a wall, sipping a wretched tea and watching the great and the not so great mingle. Cyrus Radnor, a man who referred to himself as a congressman from South Carolina, stood by him and smiled affably.
“I understand you were rescued from prison by a Negro?”
“That is correct,” Will answered, puzzled by the question. Radnor was one of many congressmen who represented absolutely nobody. An obscure militia colonel and an only moderately successful tobacco farmer, he’d owned property and slaves before being chased out of South Carolina by the British and their Tory allies. He had not signed the Declaration of Independence, nor had he been sent to Congress in Philadelphia. He’d been chosen by the others to be in the current Congress because of his South Carolina residence and the fact that the Congress needed someone from South Carolina to claim any degree of legitimacy. There were some who doubted that Radnor had ever been a congressman in the first place.
“Then you have opinions about slavery, do you not?” Radnor asked.
“The Negro who freed me was a free man himself. He was never a slave and I would not want him to ever be one. I owe him too much for that to happen.”
Radnor nodded, causing loose skin from his face to shake. It looked like he’d lost weight, but then, so had many people in Fort Washington. Will thought he was one of the few who’d gained, since he’d still been suffering from his privations when he’d arrived.
Radnor persisted. “Doctor Franklin says we should abandon the slave issue, Major, do you agree? Do you think slavery is inherently evil?”
“Whether I think it is evil or not is irrelevant. The egg has been broken and cannot be mended. Slaves have been free for a while now and will not take lightly to being reenslaved. During the war, the British raised several regiments of Negro infantry and they acquitted themselves quite well against Indians, although, to my knowledge, they never fought against us. If we win and attempt to enslave them again, it will be another war resulting in a bloodbath that could destroy what we had won.” Assuming we win anything, he thought.
Radnor sighed. “With extreme reluctance, I tend to agree, although not all of my southern friends are of like mind. At the worst, they feel that we can import fresh slave stock for our plantations; however, the British will not permit that. They suggested that planters use white prisoners as indentured servants, and that won’t work for several reasons. First, there aren’t enough of them to supply the needs of the planters, and, second, the two groups hate each other and there would be murders.” He blinked owlishly and Will realized that Radnor was drunk. “There must be a third reason, but I can’t think of it.”
“And why can’t the planters import fresh slaves?”
Radnor chuckled and took a beer from a passing serving girl. It was Sarah’s cousin Faith and she winked at Will.
“Goodness, what great tits on her and I think she likes you, Major. Too bad her cousin does as well.”
Will winced. Were there no secrets in this bloody town?
Radnor laughed at Will’s discomfort and continued, “Southern planters cannot import a fresh crop of slaves because the British have used their navy to close down the slave trade from Africa and the Indies. The British government is beginning to come under tremendous pressure to abolish slavery altogether and it may come to pass. In which case, they will piously impose their decision everywhere they can.”
Will thought that would be a good thing, but kept quiet.
“Franklin wants us to have a constitution,” Radnor continued, “and he wants that document to include a statement of freedoms to all Americans so they can see what we’re fighting for and why the British proposals are so odious. The British have, in the opinion of many people, seized the moral high ground by freeing the slaves, and Franklin feels that we can attract followers by declaring our freedoms within an official constitution.”
“How do you feel, Mr. Radnor?”
“I heartily agree with the need for a constitution and reluctantly agree that the issue of slavery is over and must be put behind us.”
Will added. “Then whatever document we agree on must be published throughout the colonies well before the British strike so it can be another weapon in our humble arsenal.”
Radnor belched, nodded and walked away. A moment later, Abigail Adams took him by the elbow and steered him away from the wall.
“Are you having a pleasant time, Major Drake?”
“Indeed, and are you Mistress Adams?”
She laughed wickedly. “Surprisingly so. There are too many men and too few women. I do believe I’ve had my middle-aged bottom patted a good dozen times and not all of them by Dr. Franklin.”
“Doctor Franklin is a most interesting man,” Will said, grinning.
“And I think your poor Sarah is suffering the same fate. She is a quite remarkable woman, I hope you realize.”
“I do.”
“Then don’t lose, her, Major. And how was your conversation with the distinguished gentleman from South Carolina?”
“We discussed slavery.”
She arched an eyebrow. The arguments for and against slavery had been a divisive issue in Congress. “I’ve heard rumors that he was wavering?”
Will smiled. “They would appear to be correct.”
* * *
Owen and Faith met in a dark and cluttered storeroom after Franklins’ party. He was delighted that she was willing to be alone with him, particularly since they were in what could easily be considered a compromising situation. Even though he felt that she liked him, she had seemed withdrawn instead of drawing closer since his return from Detroit.