The Glorious Cause

  The meeting would be awkward for one other reason: Lord Howe requested that he not be required to accept the men of the committee as members of congress, since congress was not recognized by the king to be a legal body of a legal government. The men could only be received as individuals. Congress of course would not accept this, and the committee appointed was officially representing congress, whether the British saw it that way or not.

  Franklin was surprised to see Lord Howe waiting for them, standing with a cluster of British staff officers at formal attention as the boat slid alongside a narrow dock. Behind Howe, two lines of blue-coated Hessian soldiers lined a walkway that led up to a modest house. Franklin was helped from the boat, paused a moment to struggle with the stiffness again, disguised it by straightening his coat and appearing to wait for Adams and Rutledge to join him on the dock. He moved forward then, could see Howe smiling at him, the formality loosening. Howe came forward, held out a hand, said, “My dear Dr. Franklin! How good to see you again! It has been far too long!”

  Franklin took the admiral’s hand, felt the grip slightly cold and boneless.

  “How kind of your lordship to recall our meeting.”

  “My sister sends her warmest affections, Doctor. She misses her games of chess with you.”

  Franklin bristled at the ridiculous attempt at familiarity, thought, It is highly unlikely his sister knows of this meeting. It has only been confirmed for four days.

  “Yes, well, your lordship must understand, at present there are other priorities.” Howe put on a look of concern, said, “And, I must apologize. My brother, General Howe, offers his regrets. I had hoped the general would attend this meeting, but I’m sure you understand, army business and whatnot.”

  He heard the familiar grunt from Adams, and Franklin spoke quickly, cutting off any possibility of an indiscreet response.

  “We appreciate that the general must attend to his duties. As your lordship is probably aware, General Howe is involved in a war.”

  The admiral seemed to absorb that for a moment, then looked closely at Franklin, laughed, said, “Ah, yes, very good, Doctor! Indeed!”

  Howe was looking past him now, the obvious pleasantries complete, and Franklin thought, Well, it wasn’t that funny. He motioned toward Adams, said, “Your lordship, may I present Mr. John Adams, of Massachusetts. And, Mr. Edward Rutledge, of South Carolina.”

  There were more pleasantries, Rutledge putting on the best social graces, Adams doing his best not to betray his discomfort. Lord Howe led them up the walkway. On either side, the Hessians held their rigid stance, a salute to the honored guests. Franklin tried to avoid the comparison to Foresdale’s militia, focused instead on the flow of mindless chatter that came from Howe.

  He had come to know Lord Howe in London, where the British ministry recognized that Franklin was the most influential, and certainly the most famous, colonist in their midst. It was believed in London that Lord Howe favored some reconciliation with America. He was considered to be a peripheral member of that group who did not share the king’s enthusiasm for an all-out war. It was the admiral himself who had attempted to recruit Franklin in assisting the official opposition as a more outspoken and thus influential spokesman for the colonial cause. But Franklin understood that he could easily be made a sacrificial lamb. If the king’s opposition in Parliament fell further out of favor, Franklin would be the obvious scapegoat. If they were successful, and the king backed down, all the credit would go to men like Lord Howe. Franklin had left London profoundly disappointed that the opposition to the king was, in the end, toothless. The only effective way for him to serve the colonies was to serve congress directly, and so, he had gone home to Philadelphia.

  Though Franklin shared congress’ general feeling that this meeting would serve little constructive purpose, and Adams was downright negative in his sentiment, he felt that at least they should hear the latest version of what the supposed friends of America might have to say.

  As they moved into the house, Franklin caught a new smell, nearly overwhelming, the odor of the army, musty rooms where soldiers had stayed. He thought of the Hessians: Well, certainly this may be their post. It made him feel uneasy, too intimate with such a strange enemy. He had expected something a bit more formal, a bit more grandeur befitting Lord Howe’s position. But convenience had taken precedence over show. The Billopp House was close to the water, and would make their journey that much shorter.

  They were escorted into the dining room, and Franklin was not surprised to see a lunch already laid out, platters of meat and bread, several bottles of wine. Howe was, after all, the good host. They were seated, and Franklin realized that through all of the man’s continuous chatter, Howe might actually be nervous. He took comfort in the thought, glanced at both Adams and Rutledge, both men silent. The room was quickly cleared of staff and servants, and with a sudden rush, the main door was closed, and the four men were alone except for Howe’s secretary, who sat discreetly in the corner, prepared to record what was said. But there were no minutes to be taken yet. Howe had continued to talk, reminiscing to Franklin of London, of times that used to be, of days that Franklin knew would never be again.

  The lunch was concluded, and Howe spoke at length, and nothing he said was a surprise. They listened patiently, even Adams holding in his responses until the appropriate time. Franklin appreciated that Howe had not seemed to lose his general affection toward the American people, believing that the war was a truly awful consequence of stubbornness on both sides. Howe stopped short of mentioning the king, of course, but beyond the platitudes, Franklin could see that Howe was framing his words in the vague language of the diplomat.

  The lunch was stirring in his stomach, and Franklin avoided the wine, focused instead on Howe’s words.

  “You understand, of course, that this was never intended to be a meeting of British authority for the purpose of entertaining the American colonies as independent states.” Howe paused, and Franklin suddenly realized it was the most substantive thing Howe had said. “I cannot acknowledge your congress as having any authority to address the king. I had hoped that, as gentlemen all, we could ultimately devise some outline to put an end to the calamities of war. I fear you have come here expecting more than I can readily offer.”

  No one spoke, and Howe seemed distressed, said, “His Majesty’s most earnest desire is to make his American subjects happy, to offer whatever reform will address their grievances. Surely, every American colonist understands that the king was only concerned with obtaining aid from his colonies, a means of assisting the royal treasury in providing protection to the colonies’ very interests.”

  Franklin leaned forward, said, “My lord, we cannot muse about those issues which we know to have long passed beneath the bridge.”

  Howe seemed subdued, said, “I concede to you that money is not the significant issue here. The colonies can produce more solid advantage to Great Britain by her commerce, her strength, and her men.”

  Franklin laughed, and Howe seemed surprised. Franklin said, “Quite, my lord. We have a pretty considerable number of men. In time, your government may come to realize that in a way none of us here is likely to discuss.”

  Howe nodded slowly, said, “It is desirable to put a stop to the destruction that will ruin England as sure as it will ruin America. Is there no way of withdrawing this claim of independence? Can we not find the means of opening a door to a full discussion of the matter?”

  It was a question for all of them, and Franklin glanced at the others, said, “Your lordship is aware of the authority by which we attend this meeting. That authority speaks for itself. It is not likely, or desirable that we speak of reversing that. You have sent out troops, you have destroyed our towns. You plan even now the further destruction of our nation. That is the true voice of your king. Forgive me, your lordship, but his actions speak far louder than your lordship’s words.”

  Adams had said almost nothing, stood now, and Franklin leaned back i
n his chair, was relieved someone else would speak. Adams moved slowly around the table, said, “Sir, congress has declared the independence of the American colonies. That declaration is not swept away because the king does not recognize it, or because his representative here finds it inconvenient to speak of it. It hardly matters to the congress if you dismiss us from legitimacy. The voice of the congress, the very energy that created the congress, comes not from a few like ourselves, but has risen from the voices and the energy of the American people. There is nothing you can do, no army, no amount of destruction can silence that voice.”

  Adams sat down, and Franklin could hear his breathing, the anger still in him. He shared Adams’ spirit, had hoped that the man would state his case with that kind of fire. Rutledge rose uneasily, and Franklin knew that Rutledge would be conciliatory, the voice of moderation.

  “Your lordship, I too share Mr. Adams’ resolve, and can assure you that my home, South Carolina, will not waver from the cause of independence.” Franklin was surprised, looked at Rutledge, who searched for words. “Your lordship, I had hoped to convince you that there is great benefit to England if she maintains a positive relationship with America. We can surely form an alliance that benefits us all. The farmers and merchants of my state would welcome trade with England . . .”

  Franklin sat back, listened while Rutledge went on, words of friendship, the hopes of diplomacy. He could not fault the young man, realized that the committee was actually a fortunate mix, conciliatory and yet determined in a way the British had always failed to understand. Rutledge was through now, sat down, and Howe seemed weary, said, “I admit that I do not possess the authority, nor do I expect ever to have the authority to consider you representatives of a state independent of the crown of Great Britain. I am sorry that you gentlemen have come this far to so little purpose. If the colonies do not relinquish their claim to independence, I cannot speak further.” Howe stood then, moved to a window, said, “If America will fall, I would feel the loss as for a brother.”

  Franklin glanced at Adams, said, “My lord, we will use our utmost endeavors to save your lordship that mortification.”

  Howe turned, a weak smile, and Franklin was surprised, thought, Well, he is not without humor. Howe lowered his head for a moment, said, “I suppose you will endeavor as well to give the king some employment in Europe.”

  Franklin did not respond, knew that any mention of foreign alliance was inappropriate, certainly the carefully guarded discussions with France. But of course, the consequences of such an alliance are well known to a man like Lord Howe. It could mean another war.

  The meeting seemed to have reached a conclusion. Howe looked toward his secretary, said, “That will do, Mr. Strachey.”

  The man stood, bowed, left the room, and Howe kept the door open. Franklin led the men out, the staff jumping to attention, but there were no more pleasantries, and they did not hesitate, moved out through the front door of the house. The Hessians were still outside, and Franklin was surprised by that, thought, They were made to stand here the entire time. He glanced at the sun, settling low in the west. It’s been . . . three hours at least. That requires discipline. He could not help seeing the image in his mind of the grotesque Captain Foresdale. Yes, well, what we lack in discipline, perhaps we make up for in sheer brutishness.

  They were escorted to the boat, and quickly they were under way. Adams sat beside him, his face frozen in a sullen frown, and he said, “This certainly confirms that General Sullivan is prone to exaggeration. I do not believe Admiral Howe had any power to do anything at all, other than sending Sullivan to attempt to seduce us into renouncing our independence.”

  Franklin glanced back at the sailors, saw no one who seemed to care what they were saying, and he said in a low voice, “I am not surprised, Mr. Adams. The king is not about to let the reins slip from his hand. Anything proposed today would have had to go to London for approval. This was, to be sure, a waste of our time.”

  Adams made the grunt, said, “I do not wish to offend you, Doctor. I know that Lord Howe is your friend. I must admit that I was not terribly impressed with the man. Perhaps it is what we are taught to believe, that British gentlemen are somehow superior. I admit to being embarrassed at having those expectations. He is simply a public official in a position where his competence stands trial with every act he performs. If he operates his navy with the same efficiency he operates his peace conferences, I do not fear so much for our chances.”

  Franklin stared toward the New Jersey shoreline, felt a wave of depression, his exhaustion now complete. No, there was no peace to be had at this conference, no reason to hope that anything had changed. Lord Howe claims not to want a war, and yet, there is nothing in all his talk about how to avert one. Mr. Adams is correct: This was a waste of time.

  He looked at the British officer now, the would-be hostage, the man acknowledging him with a polite smile. Our enemy. Well, we made at least one mistake today. We should have left him with Mr. Foresdale, made him a prisoner of war. At least this day would have accomplished something.

  6. CORNWALLIS

  SEPTEMBER 15, 1776

  He had been awake nearly all night, organizing his men, making preparations for boarding the flatboats. By two o’clock in the morning, the boats were being loaded, the soldiers lining up tightly with little of the usual grumbling. Every soldier knew that when the boats embarked, the enemy was right across the East River, waiting for them, and though only the senior commanders knew exactly where they would land, to the troops it hardly mattered. They had already swept their enemy away from one field. Now, they would do it again.

  The hours passed, the boats were full, and Cornwallis watched as the rest of the plan moved into precise action. Out in the river, five of Lord Howe’s warships had moved into a single line, were now positioned close to the Manhattan shoreline. As the ships made their way upstream, there had been only a scattering of artillery fire from the rebel positions, and the message was clear. Washington’s cannon were simply not there in force, and the naval observers were certain that the only concentration of artillery around the city was still nestled into the rebel battery at the southern tip of the island. But even that threat was not enough to prevent Lord Howe from moving additional men-o-war up the Hudson River, on the west side of Manhattan Island. While Cornwallis waited to begin the short trip across the East River, he knew that the navy’s big guns were already in position to cut off any rebel retreat into New Jersey. The immense size of the island might provide a number of defensive options for Washington, but it also put him at a disadvantage. There was simply no way the rebels could protect every place the British could anchor their warships, and no way to guard every possible location the British army could put ashore.

  The flatboats moved out at six, Clinton leading the first wave, while Cornwallis followed close behind. The army was divided into three parts, and de Heister had requested that General Howe place Colonel Karl von Donop in command of the third segment of the invasion. Howe had not objected, would likely have allowed de Heister any latitude the old Hessian wanted. After Long Island, there was no doubt that the Hessians were a fierce and reliable ally.

  The first light of the dawn provided the grand show: The flatboats again were in motion, oars breaking through the glassy calm of the river. As at Gravesend Bay three weeks before, the armada contained nearly ninety boats, fifty men in each, all making their way toward the landing point. As the light grew, so did the magnificence of the show. In the vast spreading formation, the uniforms of the British and Hessian troops covered the black water in great patches of color. Cornwallis could feel the pure energy, his impatience and anguish at the delays wiped away by the spectacular sight.

  Down to the south, a rumble of cannon rolled toward them, and the men in the boats turned in one motion, questioning, wondering whose guns they were. Cornwallis paid no attention, knew that the navy had begun shelling the rebel battery in the city. No one expected Washington to be fooled by L
ord Howe’s cannon, that the rebels would believe the landing was coming right at their greatest strength. There was no hiding this great sea of flatboats. Cornwallis knew it was simply good tactics, a diversion to keep the rebel artillery occupied, holding them in one place.

  His own boat pulled farther from the shore of Long Island, closer to the line of great ships that would give them protection. Around him, the voices grew, the sense of awe infecting the men, and the flatboat was soon passing close behind one of the navy frigates, the Rose, anchored broadside to the shore. The men in his boat were waving, some calling out, a breach of discipline, but Cornwallis said nothing, could see the sailors above them responding, could hear their cheers. Yes, they know. We are already a victorious army, and no power on this continent can stand up to us.

  On the far shore, Cornwallis could see a long row of turned-up earth, motion behind, men gathering along the shore, rebels emerging from the safety of their earthworks to stare at the great force moving toward them. He smiled at that. Of course, those men have never seen anything to compare to this. As they will soon learn, it is the hand, no, the fist of God and King George, coming right down upon them.

  The men at the oars pulled his boat steadily past the big ship, and he turned to see the great open maws of the gun ports. The troops were watching as well, and the flatboat was now past the frigate, between the big ship and the shoreline. Cornwallis gave his own silent command to the ships, All right, you may begin firing. But the big guns did not respond. Around him, the cheers and salutes grew quiet, and he could feel the changing mood of his men. One man shouted, “You may commence to firing!”

  There was nervous laughter at the man’s mock command, and Cornwallis stared still at the guns, thought, We cannot go much farther. He turned toward the shoreline, saw the mass of flatboats in front of him, Clinton’s oarsmen now holding their boats in place, jamming up the smooth flow of the crossing. There was a drummer now, a signal to the sailors in each flatboat, and abruptly his own oarsmen began to pull the opposite way, their officer giving the command to hold the boat in a stationary position, fighting the slow current in the river. Cornwallis knew the naval officer had the boat under control, and there was nothing for him to do except wait with the rest of the landing force for the ships to begin their artillery barrage. He looked again at the frigate, felt like cursing, held to his own discipline. Can you not see us? We cannot go closer until . . .