Chapter Thirteen

Philadelphia late February 1755

The masts of the warships bobbed up and down in the bay like corks in a vat of wine. Major General Edward Braddock looked every bit the part of a British general wearing his red jacket with gold epaulets, bone white trousers; black knee-high boots so shiny one could see his reflection and a white powdered wig beneath his black Tri-cornered hat. Colin, looking no different from the way he had several hundred years earlier, stood next to the general. He also bore epaulets and a powdered wig. The Major General stood grasping the railing near the starboard cannonade watching the troops disembark. Being in his usual foul mood, he turned to Colin, his aide-de-camp. “I do not see why these colonists cannot fight their wars. Why they need to get the Crown involved is beyond me.”

Colin learned after forty-five days at sea that the Major General was not expecting an answer from him nor would any response be welcome. General Braddock liked to hear the bellow of his voice and preferred the sound of silence from his underlings.

Colin could see the breath of the soldiers condense into clouds of smoke on this mid-February morning as they marched down the plank in the regimented single file. A lone rider galloped his horse down the street, dust scattering as horse hooves clapped the dusty road, and the rider skidded to a stop as he neared the boat. The man, wearing a uniform unrecognized by Colin, jumped from the horse, and ambled up the plank, jostling the soldiers heading the opposite way. The soldiers at the top of the plank stepped back and allowed the impatient man to pass them. The man rushed straight to the major general and handed him an envelope. “Courier Caesar Rodney, Sir, I came from Lieutenant Washington’s camp on the Monongahela, Sir.”

General Braddock glared at the soldier with distaste. The young man wore a wrinkled uniform, his boots were dirty, and his face was red, sweaty and streaked with dirt. “I suppose it is the custom of the colonist armies to disrespect their superiors?” asked Braddock, his mouth turned down. “Your appearance is a disgrace.”

“I am sorry sir, but I have just completed a long and tedious journey.” The man handed Braddock a crumpled, dirty envelope.

Braddock pointed to Colin. “Hand it to my aide. My eyesight is not as it was in my youth. Truth be told, at the wizened age of sixty-three, I should be in England sitting in the lap of luxury and providing much-needed advice to His Majesties Navy and not wasting my time in this God-forsaken wilderness wiping the noses of His Majesties bastard children.” The general turned to Colin and ordered, “Read the damned letter, Lieutenant.”

“Sir, it states you are to report at once to the aid of Lieutenant Washington. Mr. Rodney, the soldier you see here, is to act as your escort.”

“Is that all? This Washington expects me to subject myself to the atrocity of this message. Well, I am the major general. I do not take orders. I give orders. I cannot possibly march my soldiers in this weather. Being the expert logistician as I am, I have developed a strategy to deal with this situation and did not intend to waver from that strategy. I plan to order all provincial governors or colonial governors to visit me in this damned colony…”

“Virginia, sir,” Colin said.

“It is of little difference to me what the name of this God forsaken land is.  I will send riders as far north as New York to bring all the governors of this, this, Virginia. It is imperative that each of them understands what I expected from them. You,” he pointed at the courier, “You must go back to this Washington character and tell him I will deal with him shortly and will show him who is in charge. I expect the appearance of the troops will not be a disappointment when I arrive.”

Caesar stood his ground for an instant before turning to leave.

“There is more, sir,” Colin said. Caesar vanished into a sea of red coats. Colin felt sorry for him.

“Well, don’t stand there all day and keep me waiting. I have a strategy to execute, but first I must get off this bloody ship and into my quarters. I can only assume that appropriate quarters have been gained for my residence.” He pointed at another Lieutenant. “You there, see to it that the men are assembled immediately for my proper address to the troops.”

“Sir, yes sir, General Braddock, at once, sir.” The other lieutenant nearly tripped on a bucket left by a deckhand, and teetered, as he tried to keep his balance, Colin’s out-stretched hand prevented the officer from further humiliation.

The general turned to Colin and snapped, “You may tell me the rest of the letter while we walk.”

Once on solid ground, Colin, continued, “Sir, the letter also states that Lieutenant Washington is short on horses and wagons.”

“And how is that my concern? These filthy colonists must provide their supplies. We provide only enough horses for my officers. We will procure wagons to suit our needs. It is up to this derelict Washington to provide for his men.” Braddock stopped and glanced at his boots, disgusted, and bellowed. “Don’t these damned colonists have the common decency to keep the wharf clean? Look! My boots are dirty.”

Colin examined but saw only a minuscule speck of dust. “Begging your pardon, sir, but the letter continues to state that a Mr. Benjamin Franklin has bought the horses and wagons. Washington requests you send a regiment of your soldiers to Philadelphia and escort the wagons and horses to Lieutenant Washington’s camp at once.”

The general stopped him. “Franklin? Franklin, the inventor?”

The early morning bustle of sellers barking their wares had begun. Colin sidestepped burly men carrying large kegs or crates to shops along the wharf.  He stepped into a large pile of horse waste as he paid too much attention to the letter.  “It does not say, sir. We could assume it is another Franklin, sir,” Colin said, his voice rising above the din of the crowd. He stared at the brown spot on the sole of his boot and wiped it off as best he could on a small clump of grass.

“I cannot possibly spare a whole regiment at this time. I cannot imagine who has the audacity to give me orders.  Although, if they have already bought the supplies, I suppose I could provide a small escort.  Colin, you may take five men, go to this Philadelphia, and claim the horses, wagons, and any other supplies you deem necessary for the Crown and meet me at Lieutenant Washington’s camp no later than April. That is all, dismissed.”

“It would seem to me that your General Braddock was too full of himself,” mused Grant.

“That is putting it mildly,” Colin shook his head, “He was not a well-liked man.”

“If I recollect, a Caesar Rodney signed the Declaration of Independence.” Grant dropped an ash from his cigar into the silver ashtray. “I believe he represented Delaware.”

“Yes, the courier was the same Caesar Rodney that signed the Declaration.” Colin thought back to the time he met Rodney again, a few days before that fateful day in 1776. 

“I’ve heard of Benjamin Franklin, was it him that you saw?” asked Sally. “Did he have a kite?”

“I’m keeping that part a surprise, Sally. On a frigid day in February 1755, five handpicked British Soldiers, and I left Virginia for Philadelphia. Our mission was to claim whatever we deemed fit in the name of the Crown. I was a given blanket order to take anything we wanted with no compensation. I hoped that we were about to meet the well-known Benjamin Franklin. I also wished I could have chosen my fellow travelers, but General Braddock insisted on picking them himself. It appeared he dredged up the sludge from the bottom of the latrine. In other words, the men reminded me of the associates of my favorite Captain Luke.”

Grant chuckled. “Well, I guess, since you were the officer in charge; that would make you the new and improved Captain Luke.”

“Lieutenant Luke, if you don’t mind,” Colin corrected and laughed.

“Who is Captain Luke?” asked Sally.

“He was an atrocious man that robbed me years ago, Sally.”

Sally looked at Colin with her curious brown eyes, “He was still in the army?”

“No Sally, Colin was using him as an example,” her mother said.

“Oh, I will just never understand adults!” Sally said with a sigh.

Colin and his companions rode into Philadelphia just after nine o’clock in the evening after a two-day ride. Freshly fallen snow glimmered in the moonlight. They stopped at the Man Full of Trouble Inn on the banks of the Little Dock Creek. A soft light beckoned them from the frosted window.

Colin pointed to two soldiers on his right. “You two come with me. The rest of you locate a place where we can tend our horses for the night.” Mist from the winter chill spilled out of his mouth as he spoke.

As the soldiers entered the room, the boisterous voices ceased. All eyes turned to the door. Glares and sneers followed them as they made their way to the bar. One large man stood to stop their progress. After a staring contest, the man bowed sarcastically and motioned the soldiers to continue. An overweight, balding man with bad teeth shoved three shot glasses in front of Colin and his companions. “What’ll it be? We don’t get many lobster-back boys in here.”

Colin searched the dimly lit room. “I can’t imagine why not? We are feeling so welcomed. This establishment is so friendly to strangers.”

“We are friendly to those of the right sort.”

“Something tells me we are not the right kind. We are seeking to lodge for the night,” Colin said.

The bartender stared at the soldiers with Colin and spat on the floor. “We have a room above the stables, but we sleep four to the bed, so you will have to share,”

“The stables, is that the best you have? There are five of us.”

“It’s the best I have for the likes of you. I guess you’ll be sleeping five to bed. And we don’t have a privy so when nature calls, just find an empty corner.”

“Could you tell me if Mr. Franklin frequents this fine establishment?”

The barkeep laughed a loud guttural laugh. The patrons in the bar glanced up. “Mr. Franklin, are you in here? Soldier boy, you’re daft. This fine establishment caters to a slightly harder crowd, mostly sailors, stevedores, stew-bums, and deck hands. They come in here after months at sea. They are particular about who they share their drinking time with, and lobster-backs are not who they choose. You may stay in the stable but keep out of sight. Payment upfront and be gone by sunrise.”

Colin tossed a half a crown on the bar. The barkeep bit it and returned to his work.

A pudgy barmaid with ample cleavage wobbled to the bar next to Colin and yelled out an order to the barkeep. Under her breath, she said, “You will find Mr. Franklin most mornings at the Blue Anchor downtown,” she said, and then, bending over far enough to show Colin her wares, “If you are looking for companionship for the evening, I am free to midnight. For the right price, I can satisfy the lot of you.” Colin stifled a gag. Her breath smelled of rotten fish. He graciously thanked her for the information, declined her invitation, and stomped out the door followed by curses from the barmaid.

The stable was not as any Colin had seen in England. It was no more than a long lean-to with a trough, hay, and a rod to tie the horses. There was a rope to the loft at the top and a bed of hay. There was no protection from the cold wind as it flew in from the open side of the barn. The men unrolled their bedrolls onto the frigid planking.

“I think we should post a guard. I do not trust our safety. Those drunken buffoons would slit us in our sleep,” a baby-faced soldier said. Colin expected he was no more than eighteen.

“I would worry more about that bar witch, she might be infected,” an apparent career soldier said. The soldier’s face was marked with a pox.

Colin laughed, “You might be right. I will take the first watch. Relieve me in two hours.” Colin took his great coat from his saddlebag, grabbed his musket, and took the position in sight of the rear door of the inn.

Snow fell. At first, the snowflakes were small and fell harmlessly to the ground. Soon large wet flakes fell, covering Colin and his soldiers in an eerie white. Colin shivered as he searched for some dry wood to start a fire, but there was none. The night was miserable.

The baby-faced private relieved Colin as ordered, but sleep eluded him. Thoughts of Alison and his daughters flooded his mind. Through the evening, an entire parade of his separate lives complete with wives and children he outlived prevented his sleep. A reoccurring nightmare of the blood-filled streets of Jerusalem haunted him once sleep came to him. He awoke just as the dull sunlight arose over the Delaware River to the East. The horses had been saddled, and his soldiers stomped their feet for warmth waiting for orders.

“Mount up. Ride two abreast. I can only hope that the other citizens of Philadelphia will be more hospitable, but we are only to ask for directions if we become lost and then I will do all the talking. Are my orders clear?” Colin and his soldiers left the miserable barn just before sunrise in search of the Blue Anchor Inn. Colin hoped that Mr. Franklin would be there when they found the Inn. He wished he had a better night sleep. The cursed scarab occasionally set his future into motion, but he never knew where or when. He had learned centuries ago that his feelings in such matters were seldom right, but the scarab always had it right. He had learned not to interfere with the scarab.