Once upon a time the orphanage had produced its own little newspaper. The press had not been used in many years, however, and we were missing some of our “sorts,” or the metal characters used in printing. The nearest foundry was across the ocean in London, England, at Palmer’s Printing House, where Franklin had once worked. As we were leaving the dining room after the disastrous midday meal with Brother Nessus, Brother Jean turned to Franklin and asked if he would mind going downstairs to see if the printing press could be fixed. Madeline, White Dog, and I went with him. Mrs. Fisk stayed upstairs making last-minute arrangements with Brother Jean concerning Madeline’s adoption.
In the basement, we combed through the composing trays of old printer’s type. White Dog rummaged around on his hands and knees and found some missing type under the press. All Madeline and I discovered were cobwebs, dust, and mice pellets. While he looked over the press, the inventor spoke to us about the nature of music and harmonics. He said the note of G was the sound of thunder, the sound of thunder was the colour red, and the colour red was the roll of a drum.
Franklin studied a few of the sorts we had left. He wrote down which letters were missing. While he worked, he talked about how a word may be spelled several different ways and, according to a theory of his, using fewer letters. He told us he had concluded that six letters of the alphabet, c, j, q, w, x, and y, weren’t really needed. He proposed to replace these six letters with six new letters of his own devising.
“The only problem,” he said, “is that every printer’s type would have to be changed. And how on earth would you get everyone to agree to learn a new alphabet?” We were all laughing when Brother Jean came downstairs with the dreadful news.
A dry-goods merchant in town had been arrested that morning with an incriminating letter from none other than Benjamin Franklin. It was all over town — Franklin must be somewhere in Quebec City. The merchant was jailed, Brother Jean said, and would surely be charged with treason. The letter apparently contained information crucial to the American cause.
“Captain Pennington just came by with the news,” Brother Jean said, sitting on a nearby stool and running his fingers through his white hair. “The British have posted guards along the shores of the St. Lawrence and on the roads and exits out of Quebec City. They have vowed to capture Franklin at any cost.”
Brother Jean told Madeline that Mrs. Fisk had rushed home to print a special issue of her pamphlet about the hunt for Ben Franklin. Before leaving with Captain Pennington, Madeline’s new mother had smiled and whispered to Brother Jean that she “smelled a hanging.” She would be back on Friday to collect Madeline and her belongings.
The great Franklin sat deep in thought. What were we going to do?