Abbott sailed to England aboard the civilian sloop Lily Rose, captained by Roger Chittum and flying a white flag. It was a relatively smooth voyage. Other than bumping his head several times on a bulkhead—they were designed for shorter men—he suffered no ill effects from the voyage.
On the way, they were boarded three times—once two days off the coast of Philadelphia, where the ships of the British blockade seemed thick in the water, once in mid-ocean and once as they made landfall on the southwest tip of Ireland. On the first two occasions, the officer in charge of the boarding party had briefly inspected their papers, including the commission appointing Abbott as Ambassador Plenipotentiary. Each time, the officer had handed the papers back, saluted Captain Chittum, wished them fair sailing and departed.
The third time was different. The officer in charge of the boarding party had been openly hostile and had insisted Abbott and Captain Chittum board his longboat and return with him to his own ship, HMS Duke, a three-decker 98-gun ship of the line. Abbott had never before laid eyes on such a huge vessel.
Once aboard Duke, the British captain and two of his officers had interrogated them for more than two hours, before finally acknowledging that perhaps they were who they said they were and permitting them to return to their own ship. But the Captain of Duke had icily instructed Captain Chittum that the Lily Rose was to remain in place for twenty-four hours to give the British ship time to make port and advise the authorities of the imminent arrival of the American ship. So Captain Chittum sailed Lily Rose back and forth for a day off the Irish coast. Even in winter, Abbott found it beautiful.
Four weeks earlier, Charles Thompson had been present when Huntington had given Abbott his ambassadorial instructions. Whether to record them for the records of the Congress in his job as Secretary, or for some other reason, Abbott was unsure.
After Huntington had left the room, Thompson said, “I know you have been told your powers are limited and that you may do this, but not that.”
“True.”
“My advice? Promise what you need to get Washington back. From what I have heard in the Congress these many months, day in and day out, we are currently losing the war. With Washington to lead us, we can still win it. Without him, I fear we will not.”
“What if I promise something beyond my authority?”
“I’d not worry about it. Just get Washington released as part of the agreement you make while they wait for confirmation from Congress—which you will assure them is only a formality. It will all work out.”
“Why would they let him go before the agreement is confirmed?”
“He can be paroled, if we are lucky, to some neutral country, and promise on his honour to come back if the agreement is not confirmed. We’ll then spirit him out of that country.”
“You’re certain, then, that this strategy will work?”
“If the reports the Congress has received of what is being said in Parliament are correct. North, who initiated the intolerable taxes and restrictions visited upon us, has more recently become desperate to end the war and get on with the task of defeating France. He simply has yet to convince the King.”
“Do you know if the King can be convinced?”
“I would have no way of knowing. But in the end the decision belongs to the government.”
“If the King opposes the deal?”
He shrugged. “He can abdicate.”
“I am still concerned about exceeding my authority.”
“If you have to exceed your authority, you can use Dr. Franklin as your model. He has never paid much attention to such boundaries.”
“I know him, of course, but only as a sometime client, and then only briefly. Do you know him well?”
“Fairly well, yes, although we have not always been political friends.”
“I will try to emulate him, sir. But I have a question of you.”
“Of course, Colonel. What is it?”
“What will you be doing on this side of the ocean to respond to this outrage? Surely, the Congress and the generals will not just sit here and think that sending me is a solution.”
“We are recalling to Philadelphia all the delegates who have already left to spend Christmas at home. For those who are many days away, we have sent fast horsemen.” He paused and laughed. “From the look on your face, Colonel, you don’t think that is adequate.”
“I don’t. Is there anything else?”
“Many of our best generals are in the Carolinas, fighting Cornwallis and his troops. But we still have considerable forces near New York, and we are talking now with the generals who are nearby about doing something audacious.” He paused. “As soon as a temporary commander-in-chief is named.”
“Who might that be?”
“By talent and success it should be—likely will be—Major General Nathanael Greene. But he is on his way to North Carolina to take command of our southern army. He will need to be recalled, and that will take weeks.”
Abbott was incredulous. “So the audacious thing you think of may be delayed by weeks?”
“It might. Sometimes this war grinds exceedingly slow.”
“Even so, what kind of thing might that be to retaliate for this outrage?”
Thompson stood there for a moment, saying nothing.
“Do you not trust me, Mr. Thompson?”
Thompson laughed again. “We do. Indeed we are entrusting you with perhaps the most important thing, getting General Washington back here. It’s just that we have no plan as yet. We are awaiting the arrival of several men and generals important to anything we might do. They should be here within days. I assume that some kind of new military thrust will be the result.”
“I see. Perhaps you will find a way to let me know.”
“We will write to you regularly, and we will assume that you will send us your reports regularly. But you will be many weeks away and in the midst of the enemy. It would be hard to assure the secrecy of what we might tell you or what you might tell us. You may need to go for long periods without any further formal instructions from us. And your communicating back to us may end up being just as general in nature.”
“You could send a person to me with the instructions in his head.”
“Of course, and we may. Is there anything else you wish to ask, Colonel?”
“No. Is there anything else you might want to tell me?”
“Only that when you see His Excellency please give him my regards and my best wishes for his good health and his prompt return to lead us on to victory.”
“I will.”
“Godspeed, Colonel.”
* * *
Almost five weeks after he had said goodbye to Philadelphia, Abbott stood on the deck of the Lily Rose, pondering his conversation with Thompson, which by then seemed long ago. He watched as the harbour pilot guided them slowly into port, the long ocean voyage finally behind him. As a foreign ship, they had first been quarantined off the port for five days before being permitted into the harbour, so Abbott fully expected to be met by someone from the government.
He was not disappointed. When they disembarked, he found a squad of British soldiers in dress uniforms waiting for him on the quay. Standing slightly in front of them was a well-dressed civilian wearing a long black coat with silver buttons, a red waistcoat beneath and black breeches, topped off with a white cravat at the neck. His black boots came to mid-calf.
“Greetings, sir,” the man said. “We have been expecting you. But I have not yet had the pleasure of learning your name.”
“I’m Ethan Abbott, Ambassador Plenipotentiary from the Continental Congress of the American States. I am here with full authority to negotiate the release of His Excellency, General Washington.”
“Welcome to England, Mr. Abbott. I’m Jacob Hartleb, first assistant to His Excellency Lord North, First Lord of the Treasury and Chancellor of the Exchequer.” He bowed slightly.
“Is he not also the Prime Minister?”
Hartleb smiled. “He prefers not to use that title because he says it doesn’t exist in our laws, but he is oft called that, yes. Or sometimes First Minister. In any case, if you are asking if he has authority to negotiate on behalf of His Majesty, he does.”
“I see. Now that we have introduced each other, has His Excellency, George Washington, already arrived in England?”
“Yes. He is well and living in the Tower of London.”
“He is imprisoned?”
“Yes, in the Tower, but he is not closely held. You might say he is for the moment more of a guest.”
“Whatever his status, I should like to see him immediately.”
“I’m afraid that will take a while. First your credentials must be examined, the government must decide what status you are to be accorded and so forth. But I’ll see what can be done.”
Abbott thought to protest that his status was clear—he was an ambassador from a sovereign and independent country—but then thought better of it. This was neither the time nor the place. Instead, he said only, “Thank you. I plan to ask after His Excellency’s well-being every day.”
Hartleb looked over Abbott’s shoulder, as if searching for someone else. After an awkward few seconds, and looking slightly embarrassed, he asked, “Are you the only person of ambassadorial rank in your party?”
Abbott smiled. “Yes. Were you expecting someone else?”
“Candidly, we were expecting Dr. Franklin to arrive from France on a different ship, or even John Adams, although, given His Majesty’s disposition with regard to the latter gentleman, it was perhaps wise not to send him.”
“I am the only one, and I have as yet had no contact with our representatives in France. I have full authority to negotiate with your government without him.” Without a further word, he handed Hartleb his commission. Hartleb gave the papers no more careful examination than had the first two officers who had boarded Lily Rose, and handed them back.
“I’ve never seen such papers before, but they seem in order. I am being rude, however,” Hartleb said. “I do not mean to keep you standing here. We have two carriages nearby, one for us and one for whatever baggage you have, which the porters will see to unless something in it is confidential.”
“No, there is nothing like that.”
“Good. We should go, then. Unfortunately, we were not able to bring either carriage onto the dock.” He stared at Abbott’s peg, which Abbott had intentionally left visible beneath a pair of culottes, rather than try to strap on a fake boot of wood and leather, made for him by a clever shoemaker in Philadelphia. “Can you...?”
“Fear not, Mr. Hartleb. I can walk a long way on this peg. I have had it quite a while. Sometimes I limp a bit, but please don’t worry about it.”
“If I might be so bold as to ask a personal question of someone of whom I have only just made the acquaintance, how did you lose it?”
Abbott knew that what he was really asking was whether it was a military wound or something else. He was only too happy to oblige him.
“I lost it at the battle of Saratoga. A ball in the leg.”
“Ah, that was a battle we lost, and badly. Indeed, the generals who lost it came back to testify before Parliament as to how it could possibly have happened. Back then, we thought all of you, and your soldiery in particular, were rural bumpkins.”
“But we weren’t and we are not.”
“So true. Well, at least one of your famous generals in that battle, General Arnold, has now come over to us.”
“I know Mr. Arnold. I rode beside him. You are most welcome to keep him.”
“You don’t refer to him as General Arnold?”
“No, his name was struck from the records of our army. If he is a general at all, he is your general now, not ours.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized that getting into an argument about who was or was not a traitor wasn’t a path it made sense to go down. At least not right then.
Nor, apparently, did Hartleb since he quickly changed the subject. “Let’s head to the carriage, then—” he pointed down the dock, where Abbott could see a black carriage waiting, perhaps a hundred yards away “—and be on our way to London.”
Abbott didn’t usually walk with a limp over short distances, despite his peg, but on that day he chose to limp a bit. Just to drive home who he was and what he stood for.