Chapter Fourteen

French and Indian War 1755-1763

The middle-aged man didn’t notice the British officer enter the Blue Anchor Inn. Deep in thought, he dipped his quill into the ink bottle and wrote into a notebook. He frowned, ripped the sheet from the notebook, crumpled it, and threw it into the nearby fireplace. A serving girl brought him a plate of cod and eggs, his preferred breakfast. He tapped his empty tankard of beer, which the serving girl scooped up with a curtsy, soon returning with a fresh tankard. Dust mites from the bright cold sunlight swirled around the room, parting as the British officer approached the patron.

“Do I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Franklin, the inventor?” asked the officer.

Franklin gazed up from his breakfast. “You have.” Benjamin’s head was bald, with the exception of a light brown ring of hair, which hung unkempt to his neckline. His brown waist jacket and a plain white shirt appeared as if the inventor slept in. He wore brown knee trousers, white leggings, and black shoes with silver buckles. The scuffed shoes needed a good polish. “And whom do I have the honor of addressing?” he asked, as he spooned a generous portion of eggs into his mouth.

“Lieutenant Colin Harcourt, attaché to Major General Edward Braddock at your service, sir,” Colin said with a slight bow.

“My, that is a mouthful. Please have a seat Lieutenant Harcourt attaché to Major General Edward Braddock,” Ben said and pointed to a vacant chair across from him. “Would you care for a tankard of beer?”

Colin thought for a moment. “No thank you, sir. It’s too early…” then he noticed a half-empty tankard in front of Franklin and cut his sentence short.

“Too early?” Ben finished the sentence with a laugh.

“I apologize. No insult was intended,” Colin, said. He noticed the odd breakfast.

“And none was taken. Pardon me if I indulge in one of my many passions. Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy. We all know there cannot be healthy living without good drinking. I see you are questioning my choice of breakfast?”

“No, sir,” Colin picked at a loose piece of dirt from his jacket with a fingernail.

“Ah, but there is a story behind my breakfast, and as I love telling a good yarn, please permit me. But first, let me buy you a beer and some breakfast.” Franklin waved the waitress over. “Please bring my friend here a tankard of beer and some breakfast. What suits your fancy?”

“I’ll have that beer after and a couple of apples if you have any.”

“Apples?” Franklin took a deep gulp from his tankard.

“Yes, we all have our stories, Mr. Franklin, and that is one of mine. I eat an apple every day I can. Now, I’d love to hear your story.”

“When I was a lad of sixteen, I came upon a book written by a Mr. Tyron. The book told of the benefits of a vegetable diet. I became a vegetarian and became staunch in my diet. On one occasion, I was on Block Island near Boston just as the fishermen brought in a massive haul of cod. They came on shore and cooked the cod at once. The smell was divine. I thought to myself that perhaps Mr. Tyron might have been slightly wrong on his assumption that partaking of any animal meat to be tantamount to murder. I reasoned that eating fish could be assumed to be justified slaughter. I have enjoyed a good plate of cod since, and I return to my strict diet of vegetables whenever the need arises. Now tell me the story of your apples.” Franklin took another drink of beer and slammed the tankard down too hard.

“No story. I like apples.”

“Well, you seem to be a strong, healthy young man, so the apples appear to treat you right. Maybe an apple a day keeps the doctor away. Suppose you tell me why you have searched me out?” Franklin pointed at Colin.

“I am here on Major General Braddock’s orders. We got a dispatch from a certain George Washington on your behalf. The letter states that you have a few wagons and horses that are required to defeat the French.” Colin lifted his tankard and sat it on the table again without tasting the ale.

Ben, who had returned to his journal again said, “That is correct,” without looking at Colin.

“I have been ordered to claim the horses and wagons in the name of the Crown.” Colin reached for the tankard once more but didn’t grasp it.

“Excellent, where is your regiment camped? You may claim for your Crown at once.” Ben placed his quill on the rough-hewn table. “Is there something wrong with your ale?”

“I am sorry, but Major General Braddock could not provide you with a regiment.” Colin polished a red apple on his sleeve but placed it near his tankard.

“Could not or would not?” Ben asked in disgust.

“It is not my place to judge. I follow orders, sir.”

“I understand. How many men are at our disposal?” Ben stopped the apple with a swift, firm hand. “Damn it, either eat the apple or don’t, it is no concern of mine. However, stop toying with it.”

Colin removed his hand from the apple and studied it briefly as if mentally counting his fingers, “Sir, there are five, not including myself.”

“FIVE! Your Major General is a fool. How are the five of you going to get twenty wagons and two hundred head of horses to the Ohio Territory in time for Washington to put them to good use? Is there one teamster among the five? Is there a wrangler in the midst? I hardly doubt it. Your Braddock has wasted precious time. Once time is lost, it can never be found,” Franklin slammed his tankard down, sloshing beer all over the table, his face red with anger.

“I, apologize. I was following orders.” Colin reached for his tankard and drained it with one gulp. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he let the tankard drop to the table with a loud clang.

“Yes, yes, I do not hold you to blame. I am afraid many a good man loses a limb, or a fool gave life following orders. Let me think. It will take weeks to hire enough Teamsters and wranglers to suit our needs. Then there is the challenge of traversing the Appalachians during winter, but the right men can get it done.”  Ben jotted notes in his notebook as he spoke.

“Sir, I have direct orders to have the horses and wagons in Ohio by April,” Colin said. He didn’t mention how he had once missed an April deadline and had paid dearly for that mistake.

“We shall do our best, Lieutenant. Now if you will excuse me, I have my work cut out for me. Poor Richard’s Almanac can wait for a few weeks.” Ben hurriedly gathered his belongings and placed them in a small carrying case.

“Might I add I have enjoyed your Almanac for some time?” Colin stopped short of telling Ben he had read every Almanac since they had first started publication over twenty years ago.

“Thank you. I suppose I should change the name to Poor Ben’s Almanac. I used the pseudonym Richard Saunders in the beginning to avoid fame, but everybody knows Richard Saunders and Ben Franklin are the same.” He swallowed his last piece of cod, standing.

“Sir, what can my men and I do to help?” Colin stood, shoving the second apple into his pocket.

Ben patted his pockets looking for something. “You may invite your men in for a tankard of beer. Rest for the night and depart in the morning for Ohio.”

“But sir, I have yet to claim the wagons or the horses, and I don’t have a clue as to how to get to Ohio.” He pointed to the top of Ben’s forehead. 

“Awe there they are,” Ben said as he retrieved his glasses from on top of his head. “Claiming for the Crown is a mere formality. Allow me to claim in your stead. I have a few maps of Western Pennsylvania gathering dust in my printing office. I will have my associate drop them off later this evening. Have you a place to stay for the night?”

“I have found the people of Philadelphia less than hospitable. We dropped by the Man Full of Trouble Tavern last night and were treated rather rudely.”

“I would not doubt that for an instant,” Ben grinned. “The proprietor is French. I will talk to Master Guest, the owner, and great-grandson of the original owner of the Blue Anchor; he will provide you and your companions a room for the night and breakfast in the morning. You need not worry; they do not serve only cod for breakfast.” Ben unpicked his quill and wrote again. Colin excused himself and turned to go. “Lieutenant, I hope we meet again. I can tell by your eyes and countenance that you have a story of your own to tell. I look forward to hearing it.”

 

“It is so beautiful,” Private Dawson said as the group enjoyed a panoramic view of the Appalachian Mountains. The soldiers were two days west of Philadelphia. The snow packed peaks, and the evergreens were indeed beautiful. Drifts of high snow made the journey difficult and occasionally near impossible. The soldiers were in a barren valley. A tree lined ridge lay behind them. A large forest of trees lay to the west, the direction they were traveling. Mountain peaks rose dramatically beyond the trees.

“Yes, private, the beauty is breathtaking. However, they aren’t much of a mountain range,” Colin said scanning to the horizon before them.

“It looks like mountains sir. Have you seen better mountains?”

“I have been lucky enough to see the Alps,” Colin said, leaving out that he had seen most of the mountain ranges in Europe, Asia, and Africa. The Appalachian Mountains were puny to him.

“I was born and raised in East London. These are mountains in my mind,” the baby-faced private said dismounting, leaving a trail of yellow snow.

Corporal Jacobs, who had been riding in the rear, galloped up to Colin through drifts of snow. “Sir, I believe we are being followed.”

“I have observed them, too, Corporal. They have been following us for the last half-hour.”

“Do you think they might be friendly natives?”

“I have no idea Corporal, but I am about to find out. Spread out, men. On my command, ride to yonder line of trees on the double.” Colin stood in his stirrups, scanning the horizon to his rear flanks. An arrow whizzed by his ear, falling harmlessly. “Double time, to the trees now.”  The five soldiers burst through the snow covered ground and headed for the shelter of the line of trees. Arrows followed. Colin heard an arrow brush close and lodge itself in the back of the soldier next to him; the soldier groaned in pain and tumbled off the horse.

“Dismount and stand your ground,” commanded Colin once they reached the trees. The fallen soldier, still alive, writhed in pain where he fell. One attacker leaped from his horse and with one swift move, drew his knife, and ran it against the soldier’s forehead, and then sliced his throat. The soldier’s limbs twitched for a moment and then his body lay limp in the snow. The killer waved his trophy to taunt the other troops in the trees.

The Corporal gagged, swallowing the rising bile. “Can you tell what tribe those savages come from?”

Colin rubbed the Scarab beneath his shirt, willing it to protect them. “One savage looks the same to me as any. I know the uniform of the man in the rear. That is the uniform of a French captain.”

“We are outnumbered.”

Countless arrows soared toward them, countered with a volley of musket fire killing a half a dozen attackers on the first volley and a couple of more on the second, but it wasn’t enough. The second to die was Corporal Jacobs. An arrow pierced his heart, and he fell backward, a look of shock on his face. The baby-faced private next to Colin gallantly fired one last shot before he slumped back after taking a ball in his gut. The last soldier dropped his musket and stepped out from behind the trees, his arms in the air to surrender. The French captain smiled and motioned the soldier to come forward. Relieved, the soldier stumbled closer to his captor.

“I give up. Mercy. Mercy. Have mercy on me,” the soldier dropped to his knees.

 “Oui,” the captain said, just before he leveled his pistol and shot the soldier between the eyes.

Savages had already swarmed over the bodies of his fallen soldiers, stripping them of anything worthwhile, and yelling and shouting as they scalped them. The peaceful snow stained an angry red.

The savages surrounded Colin, and he waited for them to move in for the kill, but they parted as the French captain stepped forward. “Leave him. We do not kill officers. We will let the elements do our job for us,” the captain said in French. In English, he spoke to Colin, “I will, however, require your horses, muskets, and your saber. General Washington’s camp is seven days walk to the west, my friend. I hope we do not meet again in the field of battle. I will show no mercy in combat.”

The captain yelled an order, and the savages rushed to their horses and galloped away to the south. Leading Colin’s horses with them and leaving him alone with his dead companions.

Colin tumbled to the ground, his body completely exhausted. He closed his eyes, fresh snow landing on his face.

He awoke to the sound of boots crunching in the snow.

“It looks like a party of Delaware ambushed this group. Sergeant, look for survivors.”

The crunching grew closer. “This one is alive.”

“Amazing. Simply amazing,” James said, “With all of those arrows flying around you, it’s amazing that you were not struck by one.”

“That’s just it. I seem to have an uncanny sense of my danger. I know in which direction to duck or weave. It has been this way in all the battles I have fought.”

“Other battles?” Sally’s mother asked.

“Yes, I previously said that I searched for any adventure or danger.” Colin thought of all the brave men he fought next to over the years. “That included too many wars.”

“I’m glad those savage Indians didn’t kill you.” Sally smiled.

“Oh, would have, if the French officer had allowed them. I think they thought I was some spirit. That’s why they didn’t attack me when they had me surrounded.” Colin adjusted his bothersome scarab beneath his shirt.

Grant lit another cigar. “It was fortuitous that there was a regiment in the vicinity.”

“Yes, fortunate indeed. A squad of provincial regulars was patrolling the area when they heard gunfire. I have no idea how long I was unconscious, but the captain assumed it could not have been long, the bodies of my fallen companions were still warm.”

“What happened next?”

“Well, we buried my companions best we could in the frozen ground. I was given a horse because of my rank, but that meant a private had to ride double.”

“What did you do with the dead savages?” asked Sally.

“We left them where they fell. I suppose the wolves had a feast that night.”

“The spoils of war have not changed over the last century.” Grant puffed on his cigar.

“They have not changed over the past seven hundred years,” Colin said. “Thus after a two-day ride, I entered the main encampment of Lieutenant George Washington and his Provincial Army on the last day of February 1755.”

“Was General Braddock waiting for you?”

“No, I came to find out that General Braddock remained in Maryland until the first week of June. He and his troops entered the camp the first week of July. Franklins promised horses and wagons showed up in the camp somewhere in between.”

Sally twirled a strand of hair between her fingers. “Did you meet President Washington?”

“No, Washington was sick at the time. He had a severe case of dysentery and hemorrhoids. His hemorrhoids were so painful he had to strap cushions on his saddle to buffer the pain. I did little. I had no formal orders so I could not do any official duties. An aide introduced me to Lieutenant Washington sometime later. He was courteous and conversed in small talk, but the meeting was short. I did, however, find that the rank and file Provincial Army to be congenial and kind overall. As I was not there as an official officer in His Majesty’s Army, I could fraternize with them. One, in particular, was a Private Isaiah Paige from Boston. He and I became fast and inseparable friends.”

Grant lit his cigar and said with authority, “I would have allowed none of my officers to fraternize with the enlisted men.”

“Braddock would not have allowed it either, but he was still in Maryland. When he arrived in camp, there was no time for fraternization. We were too busy making preparations for the assault on Fort Duquesne. It would take too long to go into details of the attack against the Fort. The assault began July 8th. On July 9th, we were hopelessly pinned in between the Allegany and the Monongahela Rivers, and the Fort. The enemy outsmarted and outmatched us. Five-hundred of our two-thousand one-hundred soldiers died, including Major General Braddock. Lieutenant Washington, Private Paige, one aide, and I escorted the dying General from the field. Washington saved the regiment with a fighting retreat. For the next year, I became the unofficially assigned an aide to Washington. We suffered one defeat after another. Yes, we had some victories but not enough. My end to the war came on a warm May afternoon in 1756. I was bivouacked close to the camp.”

“Lieutenant Harcourt, Captain Washington wishes a moment of your time.”

“How old are you boy?” Colin questioned the messenger.

“I am fifteen, sir.” The boy stood up straighter.

“You are too young to face the trials of war. What is your name, boy?” Colin stepped beside the boy.

“Arnold, sir. Benedict Arnold and I’m not too young.” The boy’s mouth in a straight line and his eyes were cold. Colin saw something in them that he had not seen in someone so young.  “I plan on making the military my career.”

Colin stopped, facing the boy. “A career in the military is a grand plan. However, I would pray for peace in your lifetime. Pray that there is no war in these Colonies after this war has ended.”

“Sir, my dream is to be a general and fight for the Colonies’ rights against an oppressive…” The boy’s jaw tensed, and his eyes flashed—just for a moment, Colin glimpsed fire in his soul.

“Oppressive king? Arnold, I can assure that His Majesty has the warmest regards for his colonies. Besides, any confrontation against England would be a foolish and unwise venture. We are allies and will remain allies for generations to come.” Colin watched the boy, waiting for the look in his eyes to show itself again.

Arnold stood at attention and said, “Captain Washington wishes to see you at once, sir.”

“Very well, but remember my words, young Arnold. Remember them well.”

Washington sat behind a cluttered field desk as Colin entered the command tent. “You wish to speak with me, Captain?” Colin said as he snapped to attention.

“At ease, Lieutenant,” Washington said without glancing up from the paper he was reading. “I have been removed from my post, effective immediately.”

Surprised and shocked, all Colin could mutter was. “What?”

“It’s true. My failures on the battlefield have not gone unnoticed. I am to leave for the border of Canada at once and lead an attachment of volunteers and secure our borders to the north and west.”

“I will be packed and ready to join you by the morning, sir.” Colin turned away.

“You have other orders. You are relieved of your duties and are free to return to England.” He went back to reading his paper. “The quartermaster is making a journey to Philadelphia for supplies at the end of the week. I have asked that he take you along. Dismissed.”

“But sir,” Colin pleaded.

“Orders are orders. I have eighteen months left in my enlistment after which I intend to retire and live out the rest of my days in anonymity. Martha deserves a husband removed from public life.” He threw his hands up in the air. “I believe history will remember George Washington as a military failure if history remembers me at all.”

“That was the end of my military career, temporarily. I left with the quartermaster and hopped onto the first ship back to England. I remained retired for the next few years, content to remain obscure. The Scarab, however, was not content. The scarab was determined to get me involved when troubles escalated in the colonies. I had no choice but to follow.” Colin drew the necklace from beneath his shirt and stared at the green surface.

Colin had no choice. He hated being told by the scarab what to do or what not to do. He wished he could throw the damn thing away, but knew he couldn’t. He had little choice but to follow the scarab, despite its destiny.