Scarborough Fair - Chris Scott Wilson [14]
Benjamin Franklin began to polish his glasses. “What with one thing and another, procuring you a ship is proving somewhat difficult.” He glanced up, his gaze meeting the young captain’s eyes before returning to the soft cloth as he diligently rubbed each circle of glass. “It appears we will have to take the matter in hand ourselves.” He glanced up as Jones shifted in his chair. “I shall amend that statement. You will have to take the matter in hand. You understand that if I am seen to take a leading position it would jeopardize all I and the other American representatives in this country are trying to accomplish.”
“Then how is it to be done?”
Franklin smiled. “You will find a ship, publicly stating you are to buy her from your own reserves and equip her for a voyage. When you have done that, I will pass by M’sieur Sartine and de Chaumont. Diplomacy will compel King Louis to show willing by footing most of the bill.”
“How can you be so sure? I do, of course, have funds, but they are tied up in Virginia.”
“The inheritance from your brother William?”
“Yes, but my assets are all in land, and now would not be the best time for liquidating them. Even if it were possible, it could not be done overnight.”
“That will not be necessary. It has only to be known you are prepared to buy a ship and equipment. It will not actually be necessary to raise the money.”
Jones still appeared skeptical. “With respect, sir, I do not wish to appear naive, but what if King Louis is not induced to dip into the royal coffers? M’sieur Sartine as Minister of Marine and Le Ray de Chaumont as Privy Councilor both have the ear of the King.”
Franklin nodded. “Yes, they both have influence, but it would be impolitic for them to advise against helping you if you present them with a ship that is suitable. Their sole excuse to date has been that you have found each vessel they have offered you to be inadequate, thus laying the blame at your feet.” He held up his spectacles to examine the polished lenses against the light from the tall window. “In the rare event of your fears materializing, then the money will be forthcoming from Congress. That I can guarantee, but even so, nobody but you and I will know. To all intents and purposes you will have bought the ship. Do you agree to those terms?”
John Paul Jones pursed his lips. He would have mortgaged his soul for a ship. The right ship. His shoes had lost too much leather tramping the soil of France and he had lingered too many hours in Therese de Chaumont’s clinging arms when his conscience dictated he should be at war. He nodded. “Yes, I accept your terms.”
“Good. There remains only one thing to do.”
“Yes?”
Franklin put on his glasses in a business-like manner, then smiled. “Go out and find yourself a ship. Have you any thoughts on the problem?”
Jones nodded. “I have written to everyone who may be able to help, but my faith lies strongest in James Moylan, a merchant at Lorient. In my various dealings with him, he has served me well and I trust his judgment. He has promised to write as soon as he finds a likely vessel.”
“Do you think your presence would encourage him?”
“Perhaps.”
“Then I suggest you journey to Lorient to see him. Your absence from Paris would please M’sieur Sartine of whom we do not wish to make too great an enemy, and I also think it would please de Chaumont. Even he is beginning to think his young wife spends too much time keeping you company.”
Jones did not miss the glint in Franklin’s eye. “As always, sir, your advice is sound.”
Benjamin Franklin smiled. “My advice may not be the best in the world, but I think it’s the best you’ll get on this windy autumn afternoon.”
***
As the crow flies, Lorient lies 450 kilometers from Paris on the southern coast of Brittany. Danger lurked on every bend. Fragile wheels and axles were threatened by unexpected ridges or rocky-bottomed, ill-used river fords. Horses’ legs could snap like twigs trapped in the uncharted shifting