Franklin had no reply.
Duncan spoke in a slow, contemplative voice as he sipped his wine. “I recall being struck by the paintings of the great masters when I was young,” he related. “My Dutch schoolteacher pointed out that it is the little things, the subtle tint of a cloud, the hint of fire in a horse’s eye, the tiny point of color on an autumn leaf that make the masters’ paintings so complete. The magic is all about many inconspicuous pieces joining to create the whole. Any one of them would not signify on their own,” he added with a meaningful gaze at Franklin.
His listeners gazed in mute confusion. “Duncan, you’re obviously tired,” Mrs. Stevenson said. “Do have some tea.”
“There’s information in Whitehall about you, sir,” Duncan continued. “Hidden things, some of those subtle things that no one else should rightly know, that on their own may not seem important, even.”
“Some ham, perhaps?” Mrs. Stevenson said, extending a small platter toward Duncan.
He declined with a smile, glancing at Mrs. Laws as she slipped into the back hallway that led to the water closet and the rear stairs. “Newton Pippins,” he said. “You told me, sir, it was one of your greatest secrets, that no one out of this house knows about your secret shipments of Newtown Pippins, because the supply in Pennsylvania was so limited. But the War Council knows. I have a witness who heard the War Council discuss them.”
Franklin was growing impatient. “Impossible! And prithee, Duncan, why would such an esteemed body fuss over my apples? Why are we speaking of such trivial things?”
“The truth often dwells in the subtle pieces, as I said.” Duncan reached into his pocket and extracted the slips of paper Woolford had given him and handed them to Franklin. “The printer’s mark of crossed swords means it’s from the press the War Council uses for internal documents.”
Franklin sagged as he read the couplets.
“You are right, Doctor,” Duncan said. “Who would fuss over such things? The apples aren’t important except they prove that information has been leaking out of this household to the War Council. These are just mocking ditties written by the one who supplies information to them. I assure you they have had much more information from this household, for many months. Fatal information, you might say. Like the details of the expedition to the Lick, the mission of Ezra, the name of Mademoiselle Dumont, and the existence of the Covenant. It was your letter that suffocated Ezra, but not the original. It was a copy provided to the Horse Guards, probably the same day you signed that original. I would have realized that eventually since the copy would not have your original signature, but the Shawnee burnt the letter, so their gods could see it. If we had not been so careful in hiding the incognitum they would have captured it long ago. As it is, they were given a letter to the prime minister in which you spoke of spies, and that resulted in a raid on your friend Joseph Priestly’s house. And the pending presence of the leader of the Covenant in Boston was revealed to them in a secret letter you sent to Faulkner House, though not with the usual trusted courier,” Duncan said, with a glance to Polly. “Not to mention the notes you keep about the details of the enigmatic Hephaestus.”
Mrs. Stevenson pushed forward, her face flushing with anger. “Mr. McCallum! Do you suggest we would spy on our Benjamin? You go too far!”
“Of course not, dear madame. Not your family. Not your servants. There is another.” He turned his gaze toward the stairway, toward which Henry Quinn was inching, and nodded at the secretary. “Someone who knows about apples and cranberries and everything that is written down in this chamber.”
“You make light of my honor, sir?” Quinn snapped. “I should call you out!”
“If I had but the time,” Duncan replied in a frigid voice. “And you left your honor behind when you joined with Major Hastings and his assassins.”
“Henry?” Franklin asked. “Tell Duncan it is not so!”
“That blood is on your hands,” Duncan continued. “Ezra, his wife and child, Pierre Dumont, even poor Robbie. Not to mention the new danger in Boston because of the secrets you stole.”
Hewson moved to block Quinn’s path to the stairs. The secretary hesitated, as if wondering whether to continue the game, then flung the folder in his hand at Duncan, sending sheets of paper fluttering through the air, and leapt toward the shadowed rear hall. He had nearly disappeared when a pewter knob materialized out of the shadows and slammed into his skull. He collapsed onto the floor, unconscious.
Mrs. Laws appeared from the darkness, balanced on her solitary foot. “Thank you for that pleasure, Duncan lad,” she said with a satisfied smile, and with the help of Hewson hopped to a nearby chair to reattach her wooden leg. She looked up as if just noticing her silent onlookers. “Mr. McCallum asked if I would be prepared to repel boarders in the back hallway.” She affectionately tapped her false appendage. “Ain’t used her since the Barbary Coast, but she still works just fine.”
Franklin had collapsed into a chair. He stared in stunned silence as Clementine Laws manipulated her limb into place. “Henry?” he gasped. “My Henry?”
As Mrs. Laws arranged her skirts, three men appeared in the shadows and bound Quinn’s hands and feet. Sinner John and two others propped the unconscious man up and tied a gag around his mouth. One of the others was a thick-bodied, nautical-looking man; the other, thin and dressed in dark clothing, stayed in the shadows, keeping his back to the parlor. “We will deal with him, never you mind,” Mrs. Laws declared, recognizing her onlookers’ question.
“Surely you’re not—” Mrs. Stevenson began. Not wanting to voice her real question, she just said, “He’s an educated lad.”
“Not going to harm the one who provided the means for so much suffering?” Mrs. Laws asked with a rather sinister smile. “This traitor and abettor of assassins is going straight to the Thames,” she announced and paused for dramatic effect, causing Mrs. Stevenson to swell up with an apparent protest. “Where he will continue his education. He will be put on board a whaler sailing in the morning for the South Seas, which means he’ll have a couple of years to meditate on his sins.”
Mrs. Stevenson sighed and nodded her approval.
“Better than he deserves,” Hewson declared as he gazed into the shadows where Quinn had disappeared.
“Better than he deserves,” Duncan agreed. “But there’s been enough killing. And we need to go—” He paused as the second man helping Sinner John stepped into the light of the parlor. “Ensign Lewis!” he said in surprise, and suppressed an urge to run to the window in search of Horse Guards.
The youth turned a bruised, worried face to Duncan. “Just Lewis, sir. I’m done with the army.”
“They deal harshly with deserters,” Duncan warned as the words sank in.
“I’m done,” Lewis repeated, “whatever the cost. I have much to atone for.” As he spoke, he drew a long belt knife and fixed Duncan with a sober, determined expression. Polly Stevenson stepped behind Hewson. Mrs. Laws raised a restraining hand as Hewson warily advanced toward Lewis.
“They tried to turn me into a demon. But my mother raised no demon, just a boy who was too easily led astray,” Lewis told Duncan. “You said you were of the western Highlands and the Hebrides. Like my own people, until a few years ago.”
“Aye,” Duncan said uncertainly, then tensed as Lewis advanced with the knife outstretched.
“My mother told me how small clans and broken men could make blood oaths to stronger clans,” Lewis said, his voice growing more confident.
Duncan lifted an arm in defense as the knife swung out. But Lewis reversed it and knelt before him, extending the hilt to Duncan in both hands. “I swear myself to you, Clan McCallum. I don’t know all the proper words but I will try. I swear my lifeblood in allegiance to Clan McCallum, to protect you and do your will, and if ever I were to betray that oath then may this cold steel pierce my heart.”
Duncan stared, stunned. Olivia Dumont softly clapped her hands.
“Bravo!” Frankli
n said in a loud whisper.
“Good lad, that’s the way of it,” Mrs. Laws declared, and Duncan realized she had helped Lewis muster his courage.
Franklin made a rolling gesture toward Duncan, as if telling him to proceed. But Duncan himself did not know the words. He had been a boy when he had last seen such a ritual, at a clan gathering.
“I accept your allegiance and your oath, and may the good St. Michael protect us both,” Duncan said, clasping his hands around Lewis’s, which still held the blade. “I fear I have little to offer you, Lewis.”
“No sir, you have the best of all to offer. America!” Lewis grinned. “I have passage on the Galileo,” he said, with a meaningful glance at Mrs. Laws that Duncan did not understand.
“Which means we must go,” Duncan said. “The Galileo leaves on the tide.”
“Thaddeus Rhys will nae be sailing without us,” Mrs. Laws declared.
Duncan hesitated, trying to recall if he had ever heard the captain’s Christian name. “Us?”
“Thaddeus had money from his old smuggling days tucked away. I had money set aside. The inn has been prosperous. We pooled our resources, ye might say.”
“Might say what exactly?” Duncan asked.
“We are the new owners of the Galileo! And Sinner John will mind the Neptune while Thaddeus and I take our maiden voyage to Boston.”
Duncan was not sure why, but he laughed. The laughter spread through the chamber, then faded as a commotion rose at the front door. Mrs. Stevenson darted to the head of the stairs, then froze and looked back at Duncan, who now heard loud whispers in the Nipmuc tongue. In an instant he was beside her, and stared down as Conawago, braced on each side by Ishmael and Darby, slowly ascended to Franklin’s parlor. Conawago began to laugh and cry at the same time as he saw Duncan. When he reached the top of the stairs, he threw his arms around Duncan and gave a long sob.
“We were in the carriage approaching the river,” Ishmael explained, “when he just looked up and said, ‘I was in a long dream but now I awake.’ He embraced me, then he asked for you. When I told him he insisted he had to come to meet Dr. Franklin, whom he knew to be a noble man and a kindred spirit.”
When Conawago finally released Duncan, they turned to their host, now standing beside them. Benjamin Franklin was weeping too.
“There is but one noble person in this chamber, sir,” the great inventor said to Conawago, “and that is you.” Franklin helped the old Nipmuc to his favorite chair by the hearth and called for refreshment. Duncan stayed at the side of his old mentor, who reached out and held his hand as Franklin spoke of his own captivity in Bedlam, his adventure at the top of St. Paul’s, and then of Duncan’s remarkable mission to the Lick. Conawago, whose voice was hoarse and weak, offered nods and smiled in reply, punctuated by tight squeezes of Duncan’s hand. Eventually his old friend just stared into the hearth with a dull smile as new toasts were offered.
More food was brought and they ate a makeshift breakfast as the first rays of the new day filtered into the room. Franklin, who had recovered enough to enjoy a thick slice of bread and marmalade, kept looking at Conawago and Duncan and repeatedly seemed about to speak, but words seemed to fail him for once.
“You can’t leave,” he finally said. “Conawago and I have so much to talk about. Days and days we must talk. The French court! The first George court! The tribes! The Jesuits! The stars! Do you not know what a treasure this man is?”
Duncan smiled. “I think we know that above all else.”
“And you, Duncan,” Franklin continued. “How valuable you are! How priceless your contributions! You do not even blink when the War Council roars! We need you!”
“Which is why I must return. You forget that my pursuit of Major Hastings is not over. He returns to America to sow more despair.”
Franklin offered a reluctant nod.
“Mr. Conawago and Mr. Duncan reside at Edentown on the New York frontier,” Polly Stevenson said. “Surely the deputy postmaster for the colonies can find a way to get mail there.”
“We do get mail,” Ishmael observed, “twice a month in warm weather. And we can add this household to the subscriber list for our newspaper.”
“Perhaps I can send a note on London life for publication from time to time,” Franklin suggested. His face colored with emotion, then he jerked his head toward his bedroom. “Prithee! Tarry a few more minutes.” He disappeared into the chamber and returned with a folded piece of muslin, which he unwrapped to reveal a shiny piece of wire. “The finest English copper,” he explained. “Duncan, next time you visit Philadelphia you must use this to bypass the bell on my lightning alarm, for my dear Deborah’s sake.” He hesitated, then lifted the silver watch from his pocket and unfastened the chain. “I want you to have this, Duncan, as a small remembrance of the night on top of the cathedral when time seemed to stand still.”
“Surely I cannot,” Duncan protested as Franklin extended the expensive watch, his good luck charm inscribed with a lightning bolt.
“Surely I can,” Franklin rejoined, “and a pittance it is for what you have done for me. For all of us. The only thing that is certain in the royal court is the king’s fear of scandal. Events did not go as planned, but events did conspire to reach our aspired result. I am confident no troops will be sent.”
“For now,” Duncan said.
“For now,” Franklin agreed. “Not for a year or two at least. Which gives us time to heal the wounds, to find the compromise that will avoid rebellion.”
Duncan took the watch, and the hand that Franklin extended. “My influence may be slight, Highlander,” the inventor said, his voice swollen with emotion, “but if there is ever anything in my power to do for you, you have but to ask.”
Mrs. Stevenson rushed forward with tears in her eyes, and before Duncan could react, threw her arms around him in a motherly embrace.
“I look forward to reading of your work on the lymphatic glands,” Duncan said as Hewson offered his hand. “You will go far, William. The Royal Society will soon be issuing you medals.”
“I shall sail on the first ship to Boston after the royal ball,” Olivia Dumont promised as she embraced Duncan.
As Madeline Faulkner, still in the garb of the raid, approached Duncan for her farewell, Franklin seemed to take full notice of her Indian disguise. “Oh my,” he said. “Most striking.” He looked up at Duncan. “This is an excellent subterfuge. I shall write to Sam Adams and suggest a Mohawk disguise if ever he has a mission in Boston.”
At last they helped Conawago to his feet. He was exhausted beyond words and once more seemed to have become disconnected from his surroundings. He responded with weak, silent smiles to the enthusiastic farewells his new friends extended. At last he put an arm over Duncan’s shoulder for support and gestured to the stairs.
“Home,” was all he said.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
THE DEBATES TRIGGERED BY THE eighteenth-century discovery of the mysterious incognitum in a salt lick near the Ohio River became a touchstone of the turbulent times. Scholars, clergymen, and political leaders on both sides of the Atlantic offered sharply divergent interpretations of the huge bones and their origins. Whether viewed as a reminder of holy wrath, evidence of a giant race of humans, or a provoking suggestion of a world unknown to man, this monster of the western frontier challenged conventional thinking. The bones took on a uniquely American character—a bit defiant, a bit troubling to European institutions—adding one more piece to the puzzle of the evolving American identity.
The ever-inquisitive Benjamin Franklin requested relics of the incognitum to be sent to him in London for study, which resulted not in identification of the fossils—he accepted that the tusk was from an elephant-like creature while insisting that the tooth was from a carnivore—but rather in the extraordinary insight that they might indicate a physical shift in the continents over time. A generation later, with the mystery still unsolved, Thomas Jefferson dispatched Lewis and Clark on separate expedit
ions to what had become the famous Bone Lick, which eventually resulted in remains of the incognitum being strewn about the East Room of the White House as the president pondered them. The saga of incognitum inquiries, including fanciful skeletons assembled from various bones, is a fascinating, sometimes amusing, tale of the uneven progress of science, reflected in more detail in Stanley Hedeen’s informative book Big Bone Lick and Paul Semonin’s American Monster. Only in the last century did paleontologists confirm that the Lick held the remains of both the woolly mammoth and the mastodon, in addition to other prehistoric creatures. Generally neglected in our history books is the fact that the first recorded identification of a fossil in America occurred in the early eighteenth century, made by slaves on a Carolina plantation who recognized the features of elephants among the remains of what was later identified as a mammoth.
Widespread excitement about the transit of Venus on June 3, 1769, was closely aligned with the incognitum phenomenon in both time and popular reaction. Preparations for the transit reflected how intellectual inquiry and dialogue were becoming democratized as American colonists caught “transit fever” in anticipation of the planet’s movement across the face of the sun. Benjamin Franklin also had a deep interest in astronomy—years earlier, for a prior transit of Mercury, he had printed and distributed at his own expense instructions for its observation, which was ultimately frustrated by inclement weather. The Royal Society and King George III went to considerable efforts, including construction of a new Royal Observatory outside London, to ensure that the British government played the leading role in measuring the 1769 transit.
The king no doubt shared the surprise, if not outright shock, of many Royal Society members at discovering that scholars in Philadelphia had captured the best observations and were able to offer up the long-awaited calculation of the earth’s distance to the sun. For the first time, the natural philosophers of the colonies took center stage in the Western quest for knowledge, a development that proved deeply galling to the detractors of Franklin and his allies. Franklin proudly published the Philadelphia results in the journal of the Royal Society, and eventually the king’s official astronomer acknowledged publicly that the best observations were made not by “the schooled and salaried astronomers who watched from the magnificent observatories of Europe but by unaided amateurs in Pennsylvania.”
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