| |
“THE AIR AND HILLS SMOKED and echoed terribly. The fences and walls were knocked down and torn to pieces; men’s legs, arms, and bodies mingled with cannon and grapeshot all around us.” . . . a Pennsylvania soldier following the Battle of White Plains, New York. October 1776.
Because Betsy knew the peace talks in New York had come to nothing, she expected that by now Dr. Franklin had returned to Philadelphia, so the only thing she could think to do toward exposing François Dubeau’s duplicity, and perhaps getting word to General Washington that a double spy had traveled to New York for the express purpose of joining his intelligence gatherers, was alert Dr. Franklin.
Upon entering the noisy newspaper office that October afternoon, she was surprised when the young clerk promptly told her, “Dr. Franklin has left the country, Mrs. Ross.”
“Left the country? But, I expected he would have returned from New York by now.” Betsy was fairly yelling in order to be heard above the noisy clack of the presses churning out the evening newspaper in the cluttered print shop.
“No, ma’am.” The clerk leaned toward her over the counter, his tone dropping to barely above a whisper, which meant Betsy had to strain in order to hear him and only by reading his lips did she make out what he was attempting to convey. “Dr. Franklin departed last week for France.”
“France!” Betsy blurted out in a normal tone, then cast a surreptitious glance over one shoulder. “Dear me; I had no idea he was planning to embark on such a lengthy voyage.” And certainly not now, she thought. The notion of an overseas journey at this time of year was . . . well, not wise.
The clerk smiled sagely. “Dr. Franklin purposely kept the news of his journey and his destination under wraps. Philadelphia is a-swarm with British spies these days,” he informed her.
Betsy’s brow furrowed. Were British spies scouting out Philadelphia in preparation to overtake the city, she wondered.
“Is there anything else I can do for you today, ma’am?”
“No . . . thank you, sir, that will be all.” Distracted by the chilling thoughts swirling in her mind, Betsy turned to go.
“Would ye like a fresh copy of the evening news, ma’am?”
Betsy nodded absently and accepted the still damp copy of the newspaper the clerk handed her. Thanking the fellow, she tucked the paper under one arm and quitted the noisy print shop to return home.
Why would Dr. Franklin choose to make an arduous voyage overseas now? Everyone knew that with winter close upon them, now was the worst possible time of year in which to make a crossing. And why did he go to France? Did his destination have anything to do with the war? Could he possibly mean to appeal to the French government for French troops to aid in the colonies fight for independence, just as the British had solicited, and were receiving, help from German mercenaries?
Heading home, Betsy continued to mull the matter over. Were France to agree to aid the colonies, especially if they supplied money, as well as soldiers, might mean the rebels still had a fighting chance. She could think of no other plausible reason why the busy statesman would suddenly wake up one day and decide to embark upon a sea voyage to France. Plus, she reasoned, Dr. Franklin had departed in secrecy in order to conceal not only his plan, but also his destination from the prying eyes of British spies, who, according to his clerk, were a-swarm in the city.
Before Betsy reached home that day, she took a whit of pleasure from realizing that all on her own, she had unraveled a well-kept state secret. On the other hand, she had accomplished nothing in regard to warning General Washington against the duplicitous Frenchman. Perhaps she could write a letter, but who could she trust to deliver it? And would anyone here even know where Washington was? There were other newspapers in the city, but she suspected they were Loyalist owned, so to reach General Washington through another newspaperman did not seem a viable option. She longed to discuss her dilemma with Joseph, but he was adrift somewhere upon the high seas. Once again, she was left with no choice but to wait . . . and wonder.
At the next Fighting Quaker meeting, news of the war proved as dismal and bleak as the daily reports Betsy read of it in the newspaper.
In quite a dejected tone, the group leader told the members that in mid-October four thousand British soldiers had outflanked the rebels below their own fortifications at Harlem Heights. Upon spotting a sea of redcoats advancing towards them, the far-outnumbered rebel troops had simply abandoned their posts and retreated northward toward White Plains, New York.
Just yesterday, on October 28, British General Howe had dispatched a combined force of thirteen thousand redcoats and Hessian troops up the northern road towards White Plains. Suddenly, it was said, one column of marching redcoats turned sharply to the right and headed straight towards Chatterton’s Hill, where only a small company of Patriot militia stood guard. Although General Washington quickly ordered additional troops to scramble atop the higher hill, it was too few too late. The attack on the rebels was vicious and deadly. Washington at once pulled his troops even further north to North Castle, leaving General Greene behind to hold Fort Washington with a regiment of only three thousand men.
“The small bit of good news at this juncture,” the group leader said, “is that at North Castle, our troops will be able to take on fresh supplies and provisions. I understand a good many New Englanders up that way are sympathetic to the Patriot Cause.” The remark met with only feeble applause.
At this juncture, both the rebel troops and Fighting Quakers were all left wondering where the British would strike next? Would the entire rebel army be wiped out before the bitter hostilities ceased? As things now stood, the Patriot troops had lost not only Long Island, but the whole of Manhattan, and now White Plains, New York.
Walking home from the meeting that night, Betsy, Minette and Emma glumly discussed the dismal state of their world.
“Only a few short months ago, we were all in high spirits,” Emma lamented. “We were so elated as we watched our boys gaily march off to war on Independence Day. Since then, we’ve not had one word of good news.”
“I have received only one letter from Caleb since I wish heem ‘Au revoir’ in August,” Minette said.
“I’ve heard nothing from Joseph,” Betsy added, “and he isn’t anywhere near the fighting.”
“Has Sarah heard from William?” asked Emma.
Betsy shook her head.
“Well.” Emma sighed. “We’ve a goodly supply of mufflers and mittens ready to deliver to the rebel army. I wonder where our troops will winter? And will we be able to get the warm clothing to them?”
Betsy and Minette turned palms upward.
Betsy silently wondered when the much-needed French reinforcements would arrive?
* * *
ONE AFTERNOON IN EARLY November, Joseph surprised Betsy by appearing at her door. Because she had begun to lose all hope for his safe return, she fell into his arms, tears of joy swimming in her eyes. “Praise God, you are safe!”
“I only just arrived, love, and came straight to see you.” He hugged her small body to his much larger one.
Because it was an especially warm fall day, they decided to walk to Aunt Ashburn’s to tell her Joseph was home. Betsy purposely did not ask if his mission had been successful. She knew he’d divulge the details of his journey, good or bad, of his own accord. Instead, they spoke of the war.
“It appears now the British have changed their entire plan of attack,” Joseph said. “Word on the wharf is that a sen’night ago, after taking White Plains, the entire British army suddenly did an about face and headed off in a southwesterly direction toward the Hudson River and King’s Bridge. Appears now they intend to penetrate the Jerseys and then . . . unfortunately, head on down to Pennsylvania.”
“Oh, Joseph. What will we do if the British march into Philadelphia?” Betsy thought again of the French troops that she fervently hoped Dr. Franklin would be successful in acquisitioning and that the French soldiers would arrive in time to save them from the British.
“We fight. Even now, my men are organizing a reserve unit of soldiers willing to shoot any man wearing a red coat. I daresay I’m careful not to wear mine ashore.” He grinned. “We plan to arm the new militia with the very muskets and gunpowder we just stole from the British.”
“Your mission was successful then?” Betsy asked breathlessly.
“In a manner of speaking. Despite the Union Jack I hoisted and the British uniforms we donned, we still met with a good bit of resistance when we attempted to seize the enemy weapons.” He shrugged. “In the end, the two paltry British guards gave in and helped us heft the heavy crates onto the deck and store ‘em in the hold. They even shook hands with us and wished us well before we hove anchor and sailed away.”
“But why did it take you so long to return to Philadelphia?” Betsy wanted to know.
“Gale winds and a torrential rainfall befell us about fifty miles south of here. Took on so much water, I feared we’d sink.” He grinned down at her as they crossed busy Market Street. “All the time my men and I were sloshing through knee-deep water, I kept thinking about how much I wanted to see your pretty face again. And, here I am.”
“I’m so glad, Joseph. Your aunt has been frightfully worried about you, as have I.”
“I’ve missed you, too, Betsy.”
At her home that evening, Betsy hastily prepared supper for the two of them and whilst they ate what remained of the boiled mutton she’d prepared the day before, she brought Joseph up to date on what was happening here at home.
“Mostly we’ve all just kept our heads down scouring the newspapers for news of the war. Poor Sarah still hasn’t received word from William. I can’t help but fear for him.”
“And what of François?” Joseph asked, reaching for the last wedge of day old bread lying on the platter. “Is the blackguard still pestering you?”
“Minette hasn’t mentioned her brother since he left for New York, ostensibly to volunteer his services to General Washington to spy on the British. I tried to get word to His Excellency through Dr. Franklin but learned that he had suddenly departed for France. I think . . .” Betsy told Joseph her theory regarding Dr. Franklin’s secret mission.
“Well, if that’s the case, we’ve cause to rejoice,” Joseph replied. “On the down side, if French reinforcements do come, it will be spring or early summer before they arrive.”
Betsy’s face fell. “Why so long?”
Joseph shrugged. “As a rule, armies generally don’t fight during the winter months. They’ll likely pitch tents or throw together some sort of shelter and lay low waiting out the harsh weather, then, resume fighting in the spring.”
“Oh-h.” Betsy sighed. “And now we must also wait out the long winter. I fear we have a very long way to go before this dreadful war is over.”
Joseph pushed up from the table. “What do you say we wait some of it out on the sofa?” His tone turned playful. “I’ve been thinkin’ about kissin’ those sweet lips of yours for a mighty long time, love.”
Rising from the table, Betsy smiled up into his hazel eyes as he led her to the sofa where they settled down before a warm fire, and for the next hour, nary a thought of war, or fighting, entered either of their heads.