The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [31]
The carriage reached a small wharf, and Adams was already off the horse, working the pains out of his back. Rutledge was quickly down, reached back to assist Franklin, and the old man did not object. His foot reached the hard ground, the usual pain in his legs spreading up, and Franklin steadied himself against the carriage, waved Rutledge away, said, “Thank you, young man. I am sufficiently balanced.”
Along the wharf, a group of militia had gathered, and Franklin waved to them, managed a smile, could tell by the points and stares he had been recognized, something he was accustomed to. The men drew up in an uneven line, and those with muskets tried to make a good show, some kind of military posture. Franklin tried to keep the smile in place, but the stiffness in his knees was slow to let go. He moved with uneven steps toward the ragged formation, and one man stepped toward them, a huge swarthy man with a thick beard. Franklin stopped, could feel Rutledge and Adams beside him, the man communicating pure menace, blocking their path to the wharf. The man saluted them, a great fat hand planted on the grime of his forehead.
“We are honored, gentlemen. Welcome to Amboy. I am Captain Dirth Foresdale, New Jersey Militia, in command of your guard. You are safe here.”
The voice was deep and growling, and left no room for argument. Franklin smiled again, felt relief, thought, Well it’s preferable you are with us rather than against us. Adams stepped forward, said, “Thank you, Captain. Have you received any word of our escort?”
Foresdale sniffed, his hands on his hips, emphasizing the profound expanse of his waist.
“Well, yes, sir, their boat is just below. They been here for a while now.” He leaned closer, and Franklin caught the sudden smell of rum and fish. Foresdale lowered his voice, said, “Them lobster-backs stayed right there, kept to their boat. Smart. We’d have put up with none of their nonsense here, sir. My men are primed for a fight.”
Adams seemed to vibrate beside him, and Franklin knew that Adams was holding tight to his words, that any incident with the British here would jeopardize the entire purpose of this conference. Franklin put a hand on Adams’ arm, a silent message, Be calm, it’s all right. Franklin kept his voice low, said, “Good work, sir. But we’ll handle them from here. They won’t dare attempt any intrigues in our presence.”
Foresdale seemed skeptical, looked back toward the water, and Franklin could see the British for the first time, a small crew, and one officer, peering up toward them, the man’s face wearing a cautious smile.
Franklin moved past the huge man, tried to avoid the billowing waves of unfortunate odor. Behind him, Adams followed, said, “Thank you again, Captain. We are in your debt.”
Rutledge followed silently, and the three men moved toward the British officer, the man stepping up off the flatboat, his caution giving way to formal cordiality. He snapped his heels together, made a short bow, said, “Gentlemen, Admiral Lord Howe offers his respects. This craft is to carry you across to Staten Island. Lord Howe awaits you at the Billopp House, a short distance from the water’s edge. You will be escorted there once you land. I am to remain here.”
Franklin was studying the perfection of the man’s uniform, the rich red, the gold trim, had not fully absorbed the man’s words, and Adams said, “Why would you remain here?”
The officer glanced up past them, slight dread betrayed on the man’s face, and Franklin knew he was considering the ragged men who answered to Captain Foresdale. The officer brought himself into composure, said, “Permit me, sir, but you are Mr. Adams, yes?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
Rutledge said, “I am Edward Rutledge, sir. South Carolina. Representing the Continental Congress.”
Franklin smiled, said simply, “Franklin.”
The officer