The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [30]
Franklin had stayed in the carriage the entire way, could never have stood the journey on horseback, and even the relative softness of the chaise had jarred him into a general discomfort for most of the trip. For the entire journey he had ridden beside Edward Rutledge, the aristocratic young man from South Carolina. Rutledge was a small, thin man, with a high, tinny voice who had built his reputation in the congress as a leader of those men who would prefer to err on the side of caution. Rutledge had been an advocate of delaying the signing of a Declaration of Independence, but was pragmatic enough to understand that once the sentiment toward independence became unstoppable, the conservatives could delay no longer. Rutledge had finally changed his stance, had led South Carolina to sign the document after all. Though the man’s self-interest for South Carolina placed him naturally at odds with many of the New Englanders, he had built a particular dislike for John Adams. The feeling was mutual. Now, Adams was the third member of their committee, and throughout the journey, Adams rode a horse beside the carriage. Franklin had wondered if there would be some kind of open conflict between the two men, Adams particularly prone to falling into a heated debate about those subjects on which he disagreed. But Adams was pragmatic as well, kept his distance from Rutledge throughout the trip. If they were to meet with Lord Howe, they must present a united front.
Franklin had watched Adams on the horse, the New Englander clearly as uncomfortable as Franklin was. Adams was a fair horseman, but his girth made riding awkward, the uneven stretches of roadway causing Adams the same agony that Franklin endured. Rutledge had occasionally offered polite conversation, and Franklin obliged him. Though he didn’t care for Rutledge’s politics, he didn’t quite share Adams’ strong dislike of the man, so they passed much of the time in idle pleasantries.
Franklin could hear the unmistakable sound of seagulls, thought, The water, we’re getting closer. He looked out to see them, felt a sharp breath of salt air, chilling him. The morning had been surprisingly cool, and he pulled his coat a bit tighter, thought, At least there is no rain. If the weather turned for the worse, the meeting would have to be delayed. Though the crossing to Staten Island was a short one, Lord Howe had warned them that his small flatboat would not do well in inclement weather.
He sat back in the seat again, felt himself rolling over another steep drop in the road, the creaking of the carriage now etched in his mind. Rutledge made some sound of discomfort beside him, and Franklin glanced at the man, thought, You are young enough to be my grandson. I will hear no sound of ailments out of you. He caught himself, knew his own mood was suffering, looked back toward Adams, who rode close behind the carriage. Adams nodded toward him, pointed, said simply, “The shore.”
Franklin looked that way, could see a wide salt marsh, saw grass moving in a slow wave with the chilly breeze. They were close to the small town of Amboy, houses appearing up along the road, the masts of small fishing boats in a cluster. Rutledge had seen them as well, said, “Well, finally. I won’t mind leaving this uncomfortable box, I assure you.”
Franklin didn’t respond, thought, It couldn’t have been any more uncomfortable than Adams’ horse. He had wanted to suggest that Rutledge ride, giving Adams some respite, but the subject had not come up, and Franklin had realized that Rutledge was watching Adams as well, a silent glare of satisfaction on the man’s birdlike face. Well, of course. Like children, vying to sit beside the father. Franklin scolded himself, Well, no it might not have anything to do with the pleasure of my company. There was one more place in the carriage, and Rutledge claimed it. Though John Adams may best him in every debate, though he may be the great orator and the man of influence, out here, Edward Rutledge gets the