The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [107]
The road to Brunswick divided at Kingston, the army arriving at dark as a storm of fresh snow began to cover the trees. When the army reached the intersection, their commander agonized still over his decision, the dangerous temptation to continue marching the men toward Brunswick. Most of the men were still in rags, again leaving a trail of bloody footprints, and no matter the stores that might wait for them in Brunswick, they were still a brutally exhausted army. Few of the men knew what the intersection meant, and when Washington gave the order to march on the left fork, few knew that they were heading northward, to a place called Morristown. There they could make camp safely, would be protected, surrounded by great fat hills. Cornwallis would not follow them, would listen instead to the orders from General Howe, the British commander who would finally be allowed his winter quarters. If Washington’s men didn’t know the roads, didn’t realize that they would finally have some rest, every man understood that in the past ten days, the tall man on the large white horse had led them through the battles that had inspired their nation, shocked their enemy, and changed the war.
PART TWO
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
17. FRANKLIN
JANUARY 1777
HE HAD ARRIVED ON THE COAST OF FRANCE IN EARLY DECEMBER, AFTER a tormenting voyage that had aggravated every ailment he suffered. In the past, crossing the Atlantic had always been an adventure, a time for experiment, long hours testing the currents, the water temperature, all the fun of exploration. But his age was betraying him, and though he turned his efforts again to the science of the ocean, the aches and pains sapped him of any enthusiasm. By the time the ship moved close to the French coast, he was ready to feel dry land under his swollen feet. But there was one more torment. The winds kept the ship away from its intended port of call, and in frustration he disembarked at the wretched coastal town of Auray, welcomed by no one.
He was accompanied by his two grandsons. Temple was now seventeen, the boy displaying an interest in politics that would not be considered unusual, given his father’s notoriety as one of King George’s most loyal governors. Franklin had been careful not to influence Temple by speaking ill of the boy’s father, even though Temple was more aware than anyone that the break between his father and grandfather was permanent and absolute. Franklin had convinced himself that the boy’s eagerness to accompany him abroad, possibly as his secretary, was a victory of sorts, if not for America, then for the old man himself.
Benny was seven, his daughter Sally’s son, and politics was nowhere in the younger boy’s mind. The journey was the adventure of a lifetime, the youngster traveling with his grandfather to worlds that barely existed in a seven-year-old’s imagination.
The difficulties of the sea voyage extended onto land. Since they had not disembarked at a major seaport, finding comfortable passage inland was a challenge. Eventually, they reached Paris, after a nerve-fraying ride through desolate forests said to be overrun with ruthless bandits. For Benny, it was yet another adventure. For Franklin, it was the final tormenting chapter in a journey that had been far too difficult a distraction for the work he had come to do.
When they finally reached Paris, he moved them into the comforts of the Hotel d’Hambourg. Franklin was relieved to find that Temple could manage mostly for himself, the young man adapting immediately to the social settings, basking in the attention his famous grandfather attracted. The young man was already catching the eye of a number of flirtatious daughters of society.
But Franklin was uneasy about caring for Benny. He was, after all, only a child, and would still require considerable schooling. Franklin had once believed that his influence, his wise counsel would