Chapter Twenty-seven

Washington D.C. August 24, 1814

President Madison paced the floor of the house on the corner of Maryland Avenue and Constitution Avenue in the nation’s capital. He, Colin, and a small group of Patriots waited for any movement by the British forces near the house. Their aim was to delay the inevitable. The day was the hottest remembered, yet he and his party remained at the ready. Thousands of British soldiers camped a few miles from the house, and they had yet to make a move. The room was filled with men, yet silent.

"I wish they would do something," a man said, his rifle dangled out an open window.

"They will soon enough," the older man next to him, said, "They are probably relishing their victory at Bladensburg." He swatted a mosquito from his face.

The horrid heat and humidity had turned the stagnant swamps surrounding the capital into breeding grounds and hatcheries for the disease-carrying pests. Millions of them plagued the city. The only good thing was the pests didn't care who they bothered. The British marines fought the mosquitoes as well.

Colin waved at mosquitoes, mopping the sweat from his forehead. His shirt stuck to his back. He was not alone. The room stank of sweat.

His friend and employer stepped next to him and gazed out the window. "Hot enough for you, Mr. President?" Colin asked.

Madison stared wearily at Colin. "This infernal heat and these annoying mosquitoes will be the death of us all. The British will have nothing to stop them."

"It's just a minor setback, Jim," Colin said. "We will slow down those pesky marines or allow our force of mosquitoes to attack their flanks."

James Madison swatted a barrage of flying pests squishing one that landed on his arm. "Don't they realize that I am the president of the United States?" He paused before continuing, "The British, not the pests."

"Oh, trust me they know you are in here," Colin peered out the window.

"What will they do to me?" The president placed his hand on his saber. The saber was almost as big as he was.

"My guess is they will do nothing to you. They will march past us with little care. They can squash us as quickly as a mosquito if they choose to do so." Colin rubbed his tired eyes with the tips of his fingers.

"Sir, three riders approach. They carry a truce flag," a private from the corner announced.

"What shall I do?" the president asked Colin.

A shot rang out from an unknown man in the room, missing the British riders, but splitting them apart. They hesitated for a brief moment and rode off.

"Who is the fool that just fired their musket?" Madison demanded.

"Well, that answers your question on what to do. You should find a good seat and watch the World's finest Marines march by. We are no match. We held them off as long as they allowed." Colin’s gaze fell on the obvious person who fired his musket. The man sat in the corner with his face buried in his hands.

Madison slumped into a nearby chair. He cupped his head in his hands, defeated. "I need to get a message to Dolly. She needs to evacuate the city." Madison stared at Colin, his face all a worry.

"I'll go," Colin said firmly.

"I knew you would volunteer," Madison said with a weary smile. "Tell her she is to leave at once, save nothing except the slaves and the servants."

Colin peered out the open window. There was no enemy in sight. He knew it was the time to go. "Yes, sir." Colin inspected his rifle and placed it on the table. “I might be spared if I am not armed.”

"What about your family, Colin? Are they safe? Beth is pregnant with your third if I am not mistaken?"

Colin stared at the British soldiers gallop away. "She is, sir. George is four and Isaiah is six."

Madison appeared piqued as he glared up at Colin, "There is no need to return. Get your family to safety. Warn the citizens as you ride. We all must flee Washington. I dub thee a modern day Paul Revere."

Colin’s sweat-soaked shirt clung to every inch of flesh. The stagnant stink from the swamps turned his stomach. He heard the muffled sound of soldiers marching to a cadence in the distance. He wondered what had become of the president and the handful of defenders in the yellow house.

He found Dolly in the mansion’s foyer scurrying from servant to servant barking out orders of what to save from destruction. She gripped a tray of silverware clutched in her arms.

Colin rushed up the stairs, three at a time. Dolly stopped barking orders and watched. "I have been sent by the president with orders to see that you leave the house at once Mrs. Madison. The British are only a few blocks from the house."  Colin out of breath bent over his hands on his knees.

"Mr. Harcourt, you must realize I cannot leave until all the priceless works of art have been removed and safe," she said matter-of-factly.

Colin glanced around. There were too many valuables to save. A portrait of General Washington still hung on a wall. Someone hung the portrait too high on the wall and would require a ladder to retrieve. "There is no time. I will remain behind and help your colored man save whatever we can," he said, knowing that he could not warn Beth and the children if he stayed. Beth was near term for their third child. He worried if she could handle the stress. "There is a carriage waiting outside, take it and leave at once."

"Please, Mrs. Madison, we gots it under control. Mr. Magraw dun went to fetch a ladder, and your doorman found a wagon," a slave Colin knew as Paul Jennings said.

"I suppose you’re right. Mr. Harcourt will help." Dolly Madison said as servants escorted out the door with the silverware in her arms. Dolly climbed into the waiting carriage. "I will look in on Mrs. Harcourt and the children," she said as the coach whisked her away. Colin smiled and waved as the carriage hurried down the street.

"Masser Harcourt now mights be a good time to get busy." the slave, Jennings, said, pointing to the ladder positioned under the portrait of Washington.

"Wait a minute," Sally said defiantly. "We learned in school that Dolly Madison saved everything when the White House burned. And the president lived in the White House, not an ordinary house."

"Sorry to change your history lesson. First, she didn't have the time to save everything. A slave, Paul Jennings, the doorman Jean, I forget his last name, and the president's gardener, a man named Magraw, and myself saved what we could before we made a hasty retreat. We scarcely had time to leave before the first Marines battered down the door. We learned later that the marines even ate the lunch Jennings prepared for the president and forty guests. And the White House did not become the White House until it was rebuilt after the war." 

“I wasn’t aware that Dolly did not rescue Washington’s portrait either,” Grant said rubbing his beard. “It doesn’t matter who saved it. At least there is truth in the fact it was saved in the nick of time.”

"We snuck out the back door as the advancing Marines started up the walk. We watched from a short distance as the vanguard of the British army reached Capitol Hill. They systematically burned public buildings on the hill. They burned any building even remotely related to our government. The White House was the first to go. There, are you happy, Sally? I called it the White House so as not to confuse you." Sally grinned. "They burned the unfinished Capitol Building and the temporary Senate and House of Representative Building.  He didn’t spare the building housing the Library of Congress. Thomas Jefferson later donated his extensive library to replace the books that were lost."

"What about your wife, your children, and the president? How did they fare?" Anne asked, motioning Sally not to fidget with her petticoats.

"The British satisfied that they had destroyed our government moved on toward Baltimore. I met up with Mr. Madison a few days after that. He told me that the British burnt the yellow house to the ground. He also told me a story about British Rear Admiral Cockburn. The daily paper, The National Intelligence, printed some rather scathing remarks about the Admiral, calling him a ruffian. Well, the story goes that the Admiral who was behind much of the burnings, marched into the newspaper's office intent to burn it to the ground. However, several women, including one very pregnant woman, convinced the Admiral not to burn the building. Instead, he ordered the building torn down brick by brick."

"Was Beth the pregnant woman?" asked Grant.

Colin shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, she never told me. She said that we both had secrets. However, I doubt it. When I finally found her three days later, she greeted me with a beautiful baby girl that we named Dolly."

"The battle of Washington lasted a little over ten hours. Our side only fired one shot, other than the shot fired at the yellow house. They never reported how many Americans died, but about thirty British died. All the deaths were from accidents or the heat.”

“A young lawyer on board a British man-of-war ship penned a poem he called the ‘Attack on Baltimore.’"

"I've read that poem. ‘The bombs bursting in air gave proof through the night that our flag was still there,’" James said more as a question than a statement.

"That's the one. I only met Mr. Key a few times, but he was a brilliant man. He died way too young." Colin stood, stretching his legs, and rubbing the kinks out of his back before sitting again.

"That poem should be attached to our heritage in some way," Grant stated and poured him more wine. “The words are so haunting. It might make the perfect national song.”

"Francis thought so too. Who knows, maybe someday," Colin said, his thoughts were now on Beth. He thumbed his timepiece from his vest pocket. He stared contentedly at the lithograph of his wife on the inside. "Look at the time. I have a few more thoughts, and then if you don't mind I will retire to bed, I will continue in the morning, for those still interested in my ramblings."

"We will be here, won't we, Mommy?" Sally nestled into her mother’s lap, batting her eyes.

A nod from her mother confirmed the answer. Grant and James said they would return in the morning.

"The Treaty of Gent, ending the war was signed on Christmas Eve in 1814. General Andy Jackson defeated the British in New Orleans in January 1815. He had not heard the news of the treaty. There was strong talk about moving the nation’s capital north of the Mason-Dixon Line. Many cities volunteered, including Philadelphia. Local people in business financed a temporary home for Congress until they could build a better one.

Madison did not seek re-election, and the country voted for James Monroe over New York's mayor, Rufus King. The problem was that Mr. Monroe did not like or believe me. I lost my position when Monroe took office. That wasn't the worst of my troubles. People were questioning my character. They swore I was in league with the devil. It was time to move on."

Chapter Twenty-six

Boston 1805-1806

The house appeared in a rundown condition, the paint flaking, and shutters hung off their hinges. Grass stood waist-high, weeds choking the once weekly trimmed lawn.  While the house next door was dark, with cobwebs woven over sealed doors and windows.

Colin was running out of time. He promised James Madison that he would return to the Nation’s Capital by the end of October to begin his new position as Madison's aide yet. He lacked the courage to do what he needed to do. Hiding in the shadows he waited for any sign of Isaiah Paige or his daughter Jacqueline, but a sign never appeared.  He never planned to approach the house. He wanted to know if they were all right, then he could go on with his life. He had decided years ago that he would never fall in love again. It was too painful. It was painful for him, and it was too painful for his family. He had turned Jacqueline down years ago for that very reason. Now, he just needed to make sure she was okay, and he could go on with his life.

A little girl with red hair and freckles joined him on his watch.

She asked, "Why doncha just go up to the house and ask em?"

He needed to work up the courage to do the easy thing.

"If you don't go to the door, I will," a young voice from behind him said.

Colin turned to see his young freckle-faced accomplice bundled up for the afternoon chill. "I will go. I just need to formulate a plan."

She scrunched her face and shook her head. "Mommy said I shouldn't come help.”

"Then stop helping me," Colin shouted.

Tears flowed down her freckled face, her lips pursed into a pout.

"I am sorry. I didn't intend to be mean." Colin patted her on the top of her head.

A sly grin filled her face, her eyes twinkled, and her freckles shined in the bright autumn sun. She darted across the street without saying a word. Colin chased after her, trying to stop her. She knocked on the door. Colin’s mouth dropped as the door opened. The freckle-faced girl pointed to Colin and motioned for him to greet the owner of the house. He couldn't move. The young woman beside the door, she was the exact image of Jacqueline, holding a musket.

"Is she your daughter?" asked the Jacqueline look-alike.

Colin managed a weak, "No."

"I knew that." She placed the musket into the crook of her arm."Maybe you could tell me why you have been stalking my house?"

Colin could not speak.

"I should go, papa will wake soon and will want his lunch," she said and turned to go, patting the young girl on the top of the head.

Colin stood frozen, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

 "Wait," Colin blurted out. "Is this still the home of Isaiah Paige?"

"It is," the girl said, "Why do you ask?"

"Is Jacqueline or Isaiah at home?"

The girl left the porch and walked over to Colin pensive, her smile dropping to a straight line. Her eyes, the color of Jacqueline's probed his face for answers. "Why do you ask?"

"It's nothing. I was a friend of Isaiah's, and I remembered he had a daughter, that's all. Sorry for taking up your time. And I am sorry my young friend disturbed you." Colin felt every ounce of blood rush to his head.

The girl from the house stood a few paces from Colin and placed her weapon inside of the door. Her arms dangled by her side, and her eyes were sparkling. "It's impossible. My Grandfather returned from the war and hadn't said a word for nearly three decades. You are too young to have ever known him."

Colin inched closer.

The girl crossed her arms, and she tapped her foot on the ground. "I am sorry to say I lost momma to yellow fever back in '97. Daddy went to Ohio to see if he could find a better life for us. I haven't heard from him in two years. Grandpa, well Grandpa, lives in his little world. He misses his sons. They died at Bunker Hill."

"I know," Colin said, bowing his head. "I was there. Who is your father, and if I might be so bold as to ask your name and age?"

"How could you have been there?" The girl’s looked at Colin.

"Believe me. I was there." Colin was close to the young girl, his eyes pleading.

"I am Beth Olsen. My father is William Olsen. Grandpa brought him home from the war. And my age is none of your business." Beth shut the door.

Colin reached for her hand, but she pulled away. "The last time I saw your father he was freezing in Valley Forge. I haven't seen your grandfather since that awful day on Bunker Hill. I am happy they both survived. I am sorry for your loss. Your mother and I were very close."

Beth stood speechless. Her mind trying to digest what the stranger had told her.

Colin fought his feelings. This was not an ordinary girl, and it was the granddaughter of his dear friend. "Did your grandpa ever mention a Colin?"

Beth shook her head. "As I said, Grandpa hasn't spoken since his return from the war."

Disappointed, Colin hung his head, "Again I am sorry for intruding. I will take my leave now."

"Momma mentioned the name Colin, many times. Sometimes it infuriated Papa. Papa would say you were dead." She took hold of Colin’s hand for an instant.

The light touch sent sensations Colin had not felt for a very long time up his arm and into his heart. "What did your momma say about Colin?"

Beth gazed into Colin's eyes and smiled, "She said to wait for you."  She took Colin's hand and led him inside the house. The entryway had not changed over the years. The living room was as he remembered it except for a large portrait of William and his lovely bride.

Isaiah sat bundled in a corner rocking chair. He stared blankly at nothing in particular. His eyes brightened as Colin stood beside him, his weak hands fumbled for his dear friend's hand, "I was wondering when you would come see me."

 

"I knew it. I knew it. I knew it," Sally shrieked with glee, jumping up and down clapping her hands together. Her joyful antics brightened the room.

Colin smiled before continuing. "I wouldn't exactly say it was love at first sight, I had fallen fast many times over the last eight hundred years. No, it wasn't love at first sight, but it was the closest I've come to it. Well, the closest thing to it since when Alison walked into the tavern after my return from the Crusades."

"What did you do?" asked Grant.

"I don't understand the question, General. I did what every young man does. I fell entirely under her spell. Mind you. I tried not to fall in love. I worked hard. I had decided I would never place myself or another woman through that misery again, but in the end, my heart won out," Colin said with a sigh.

"I meant, what did you do? As in you needed to be in Washington D.C. within the next week or so," Grant said lighting another of his perpetual cigars.

"General, those things will kill you," Sally's mom said before Colin could answer the question.

"Nonsense woman, an excellent cigar could hurt no one. It's in the Constitution, you know." Grant inhaled his lit cigar and vigorously blew out a tremendous smoke ring. "So what did you do about your timetable?"

"I—”

"Just a minute, Colin," Sally's mother interrupted.  "Where in the constitution does it say cigar smoking is protected? I missed that part."

"My good woman, it is in the preamble of course. When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness? Cigars make me happy," Grant finished with a laugh. The room joined in. "Now answer my question before this confounded woman tells me alcohol will kill me as well."

Sally's mother glared at Grant, but she couldn't pull off the angry woman stare. Breaking into a smile, she said, “Yes, what did you do?"

"I sent a letter to Mr. Madison requesting more time. What else could I do? I wasn't about to leave Isaiah and Beth."

"Did you get more time?" Sally asked.

"Yes and no. Thomas replied that I could take as much time as I required. In his letter, he said that Napoleon was giving Britain trouble in Europe. It would be some time before they could be much of a threat to our sailors. Mr. Madison, on the other hand, requested that I return at once. He informed me that since the British defeated Napoleon's Navy at Trafalgar, he assumed that the British Navy would be free to continue their harassment of American sailors."

"Which one was right?" Grant asked.

"I guess you could say Madison was right. Napoleon passed what history called the Napoleonic Code, which forbade any British vessel from landing anywhere in Europe. The Royal Navy found America shipping merchants to be easy prey."

Grant snubbed out his cigar. "So you left Beth and rushed off to Madison?"

"Hell no. The president said I could take my time. I stayed in Boston.  Isaiah passed away just before Christmas 1805," Colin said.

"Did you tell him the secret before he died?" asked Sally intently.

"No, he said he had already guessed my secret. He called me to his side three days before Christmas." Tears flowed down Colin's cheeks.

 

"Colin it's getting late, we are to be at the theater before 8:00 p.m.," Beth rushed around in the room.

"Relax Beth. I just got here. I don't know why you couldn't have met me at the tavern. It is much closer to Red Lion Street than here." Colin fumbled with his jacket.

"We have been through this, Colin. It is unladylike for me to do such a thing. Not until we are married in two weeks." Beth turned, silently asking Colin to approve her new dress. Colin thought the neckline dipped too much but said nothing.

Colin gripped his fiancée's wrap. "You are right, as usual. Why do we need to go to the theater? Doesn't the Robertson's Touring Company perform Shakespeare?"

"Yes, and there is nothing wrong with trying to fit a little culture into your life." She tapped her foot on the floor and hinted that she needed approval or at least some acknowledgment. She seldom wore such revealing dresses, and she had bought the dress specifically for Colin.

"I have culture. I knew Shakespeare," Colin said defeated.  He knew he would end up at the theater with or without knowing the Bard. “You look beautiful, Dear.”

"You knew Shakespeare, Dear," Beth said with no trace of doubt.

"No, I knew him. He was a friend." Colin handed Beth a shawl.

"Of course, Dear. Did you bring a top coat? We are going to the theater to celebrate your birthday. It isn't every day that you turn seven hundred and forty now is it?"

Colin struggled to place his overcoat on over his expensive suit. "How else do you think Shakespeare got all the facts about English kings that died years before William wrote plays about them?" Colin whispered helping Beth into her coat.

"I know. You told me a thousand times. That isn't getting you out of attending the play," Beth said as she stood by the door waiting for Colin to open it for her.

"Beth and I were married April 7th, 1806, in a private ceremony held in the mostly refurbished Faneuil Hal. The only attendees were the clergy, a handful of laborers, Mayor Byron, and the world-famous architect, Charles Bullfinch."

"That sounds like a particularly odd guest list," Sally's mom surmised.

"Oh, that wasn't the guest list. As I said, it was partially refurbished. Bullfinch and the mayor were going over final details, and the laborers welcomed the break, which we paid for."

"How unromantic," Sally's mother said. "I hope you had a decent honeymoon."

"Well, we honeymooned in Washington D.C., at Mr. Madison's insistence."

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.