Chapter Twenty-five

Washington D.C. August 1805

President Jefferson gazed out the window of his office in the newly completed presidential house. The late August heat made the office and the entire house unbearable. Jefferson clutched the letters, just given him by his friend Colin, unopened in his hand.

"Maybe I should return at a more opportune time, Mr. President," Colin said holding his best beaver pelt hat in his hand. His buckskin shirt and pants chafed him, so he shifted several times.

"What has gotten into you, Thomas?" the other man in the room asked. The man was a head shorter than Colin was and looked as if he weighed only one-hundred pounds if that. Thomas introduced the man as his Secretary of State, James Madison. Colin greatly admired the diminutive Father of the Constitution.

"Meriwether and William left on their expedition in May?" Jefferson said without turning around.

"Yes, May 21st, as I have told you. We can talk when you are feeling better," Colin said turning to go. "Mr. Madison, it is an honor to make your acquaintance."

"No, please stay, Colin," Jefferson ordered before James had time to speak. "I apologize for my demeanor. It's just they won't let the ugly matter rest. Since that reprobate journalist, Chandler wrote about my private life and my relationship to Sally Hemings’s, my colored girl slave. Whether there is a relationship or if I have fathered children with this slave is not open fodder to the American people. It is my private life and not germane or a hindrance to my ability to perform my duties to my office. My vice president, Aaron Burr, is another story altogether, killing Mr. Hamilton in a duel over honor. It was no secret that I did not like Alexander's political views. We were on different sides of the coin more often than not, but Burr's actions are unforgivable. He has been dropped from my re-election ticket." Jefferson, visibly angry, glared at Colin and pounded his fist into his palm.

"Thomas, do you think it is wise to discuss such matters in front of a messenger?" James Madison said.

"Relax, James. Colin here is not a messenger. We go back as far as June 1776.  There are no secrets between Colin and myself. My mother raised me to respect my elders."

James studied Colin as if he was about to purchase a piece of furniture. "Impossible, he could not be your elder; the gentleman is only thirty. And, there is no way he was with you in 1776 unless you bounced the child upon your knee while writing the Declaration."

Jefferson turned around to face Madison and chuckled. "How old are you, Mr. Harcourt?  If I were to hazard a guess, I would say seven hundred and forty years old by now."

Madison's eyes narrowed, and he pursed his lips. "So, I am to become the object of your childish humor?"

"Ssshh, James let my friend answer. Am I on the mark with my guess, Colin?" Jefferson winked.

Colin's face became bright red as he answered, "Close. I will be seven-hundred-and forty years old next March, sir."

James Madison smiled and then laughed, "That's a good one, Thomas. He plays his part in earnest. Bravo, Colin. I almost believe you. Tell me, why you chose that particular age? Why not pick a thousand years old or five-hundred years old?"

Colin squirmed in his hot clothing. He wished he were anywhere else. "Sir, I did not choose the age. The age is accurate."

"Sit down, James," Jefferson suggested, "Get comfortable. Colin will tell you his story. I had difficulty with it at first myself. Poor John Adams never has truly believed in the story. George Washington thought we all should pay particular attention to it. Especially when George himself stated that Colin served under him in the French and Indian Wars. Ben Franklin swore that Colin visited him in Philadelphia around the same time and once again in England a decade later. It was through Ben's interference that Colin is in America. Colin, would you please tell your story and then we can discuss our offer to you?"

Colin cleared his throat, asked for some water, and then began his life story. Showing his cursed scarab when relevant to the story while leaving out parts that were irrelevant to his coming to America. He mentioned Columbus briefly but left out his journey with Marco Polo. He mentioned his Alison but left out all the rest of his wives in his life.  “And that brings me to here, and now, I believe you said something about an offer?"

Madison became speechless. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. He stared at his friend Thomas for answers. "Amazing."

"You said something about an offer," Colin interjected hoping to change the subject would make him feel less the focal point.

Thomas returned to staring out the window. James, however, fired one question after another at Colin.

Colin answered as fast as he could but wondered what this had to do with any offer they might have.

"Maybe we can quiz poor Colin another time," the president interrupted as he dragged a large wing-backed chair near his cluttered desk. He picked up his ever-present violin and absent-fidgeted with it. Smiling, he motioned for Colin.

"Colin, are you up-to-date on our current problem with the king?" Thomas said as he strummed the violin beneath his chin.

Colin shook his head, "Sorry, St. Louis is not exactly up to date with the news. I wasn't aware that Aaron Burr shot and killed Hamilton until Lewis told me in May."

Madison paced, pounding his fist into his palm. "Confound it, Thomas, put that contraption away, unless it is your intention to report our recent trouble with England lyrically.”

Thomas glanced oddly at the violin in his hands as if it had magically appeared. "I apologize. I sometimes pick her up without knowing it." He gingerly replaced the violin to its cradle. "Recently, British warships have been laying siege to American merchant vessels. Most often, they attack without provocation. They are forcing American sailors to rejoin the British Empire, or face death."

"We are setting up a committee to see if we can stop this barbarian," James continued. James stood next to the president, wringing his hands.

"You would think that the British admirals would have second thoughts about their actions after our victory in Tripoli," Thomas reiterated.

"And you want me to...?" Colin asked shyly.

"Come now man, think," James shouted.

"Calm down, James. Colin, we would like you to join the committee.” Jefferson stood and looked out of the window. “Your expertise on the British actions would be beneficial. We, as a nation, want to examine every avenue, short of war," Jefferson said, pacing.

Colin massaged his temples. "Sir, I feel I am not the right man for your committee."

Madison shot up from his seat and stood over Colin and shook his finger as if scolding a child. "Thomas has been telling me all these fantastic merits and your unquestionable mettle.  Now you tell us you would rather not help your country out when asked?" He glared at Thomas, "Which is it? Is he the man you said he is or just another British lap-dog unwilling to learn new tricks?" He stalked over and whispered something in the president's ear before returning to his chair.

Thomas smiled, shook his head. "Mr. Madison reminded me how much I praised your ability. You don't wish to portray your president as a fool, do you?" Thomas continued without giving Colin a chance to answer, "You are the perfect man for the job, and you know it."

"I haven't been to England in almost forty years. I do not know of the British Navy." Colin confided.

Jefferson raised his hand to stop Colin, "You are a British subject still, aren't you?”

Colin squirmed in his seat. "Well yes, I still maintain ties back to England.”

"Perfect, case closed," Thomas slapped James Madison on the back.

Colin sat in his chair, stunned. "I’ll accept on one condition. I have pressing issues in Boston. I wish to clear them up before I can concentrate on affairs of the Nation," Colin tapped his fingers on the chair.

"Excellent, go to Boston and report to James as prudently as is convenient,"

"No later than two months from now."

Colin stood and bowed "That will be enough time," Colin said placing his beaver cap on his head. "I only hope I am not too late," he whispered as he trod to the door.