Edited by H. Albertus Boli, LL.D.
Today is H Day, the annual celebration of the day in 1911 when Pittsburgh won its H back after two decades of enduring the federal government’s insistence on spelling it “Pittsburg.” In honor of this illustrious anniversary, here is an H.
By an Associate.
Continuing the narrative that began here.
“To retake New-York,” I pointed out, “would be a great boost to American spirits.”
“But the army in Virginia,” Susanna said, “may do us more damage than the loss of New-York ever did, or even the loss of Philadelphia, which after all was only temporary. I think—begging your pardon, Chr— Mr. Gist—that we ought to strike boldly against Cornwallis; we may at least prevent him from cutting off the Carolinas and Georgia, and if we are bold enough, and fortunate enough, we might defeat Cornwallis altogether. Such a victory would, in effect, win the war, as without Cornwallis’ army the British could have no hope of success.”
“It sounds very well,” said Washington, “but how are we to be sure of victory against so great an army? Cornwallis has greater numbers on his side.”
“The French fleet, sir, will be essential,” replied Susanna. “Cornwallis, we hear, has taken a position on the peninsula. If the French can prevent his escape by water, and prevent his being reinforced or resupplied, then we need only block the land routes, and we have him.”
This seemed like good advice to Washington, and so Admiral de Grasse was summoned to a meeting with the General, at which La Fayette was also present, along with Susanna and me. We unrolled a large map of the peninsula between the York and James rivers, and the three great leaders studied it in intense silence for a while. At last Washington spoke.
“If we dispose our soldiers here, on the north and east, with Fayette’s French army on the south, then you, Admiral, should be able to cut off Cornwallis completely by water to the west.”
“Yes,” de Grasse agreed, “the plan, it is excellent. He shall not escape us, by blue.”
Susanna looked down at the map. “I believe, sirs, that you have mistaken the water for the land, and the land for the water. These wavy lines here, you see, indicate the water; the land is this area behind them, here.”
“Ah!” said Washington. “Thank you, Phillips. Well spotted. That is important information, and complicates the strategy considerably. We cannot expect the men to stand very long in water that is possibly up to their necks, or even over their heads. We shall need to make some adaptations; perhaps some sort of bridge or pier assembly, or better yet a series of floating wooden platforms with which we can surround the peninsula on three sides, and on which the men can stand dryshod for an indefinite period of time. It will require a good bit of wood, which will require a good bit of labor; although the labor will be hastened considerably if we can find any large stands of wild cherry. That will do for the army; but, unless I am very much mistaken, the disposition of the fleet will require at least as much thought and labor, if not more.”
“Very assuredly,” the Admiral agreed. “I believe that a construction of the rollers, made perhaps of the trunks of the trees, will be necessary for the placing of the ships in position, if indeed suitable trees find themselves nearby.”
“Well, there fortune favors us,” said Washington. “Tidewater Virginia has many stands of pine that grow straight and tall, with few branches until very near the top; such trees would, it seems to me, make admirable rollers for our purposes.”
Susanna was sitting with her head down, her eyes closed, and her fingers on her temples; but now she spoke again. “If I may be so bold, sirs, it might be better to reverse the positions of the army and the fleet.”
The General and the Admiral both looked at her blankly for a moment; then Washington spoke slowly and cautiously. “Do you mean, the army on the land, and the navy in the water?”
“Yes, sir,” Susanna said with care and patience. “Each force deployed in its native element, so to speak.”
“My word, Phillips! How much simpler that makes everything! You see, Admiral, why I insist on having Captain Phillips present whenever we discuss strategy. Captain Phillips? No, sir—Phillips, you are promoted to colonel as of this instant. We’ll skip lieutenant colonel—no point in lingering there, eh, Phillips? Well done.”
Later, as the meeting adjourned, I heard Admiral de Grasse ask Washington in a lowered voice, “That so brilliant young officer, the Colonel Phillips—is it that he perhaps appears pale to you?”
“I have often worried about that myself,” Washington replied, “but it seems to be his natural complexion. If he were not so valuable to me, I should insist that he take a few weeks’ rest; but, between us, Admiral, there are days when I do verily believe that our success in this war depends upon young Phillips.”
“It can be that you there have reason, General,” said the Admiral. “The army on the land and the navy in the water! Sacred blue! It is brilliant in its simplicity.”
As soon as it was practical, therefore, the French fleet set off for the Chesapeake; meanwhile the combined American and French armies marched southward. Everything went according to plan. Admiral de Grasse was in position with his fleet; the combined armies blocked the land route on the peninsula. Cornwallis was surrounded, and unless he fought his way up the peninsula, or unless a large British fleet defeated the French, he was helpless.
“And now what shall we do?” Washington asked at the council of war he had called.
“Nothing,” Susanna suggested.
“Nothing? But it seems to me that the ‘nothing’ strategy was ineffective at New-York, and I thought we had given it up.”
“There are times when nothing is effective, and times when it is not effective,” Susanna explained with all the patience in her power. “When something has to be done, then nothing will not do. But there are times when circumstances favor patience, and at such times waiting is preferable to action, which may risk an undesirable result. I believe this is one of those times. Provoking a battle risks defeat; keeping Cornwallis bottled up in the peninsula must deplete his resources and eventually induce him to surrender.”
“My word!” said Washington, “who would have thought that nothing would be so much more complicated than something?”
Hamilton spoke up. “It’s all very well to do nothing when nothing can be done, Su— uh, Colonel Phillips. But at any moment a British fleet may arrive in the bay, and then everything depends on the French ships, which may not be able to hold off a sufficiently powerful attack. Cornwallis knows this, and therefore Cornwallis will never surrender. It seems to me, therefore, that an immediate attack—”
“Excuse me, General,” said a young lieutenant who had appeared behind Washington.
“Just a moment, Hamilton,” said Washington, and he turned to the lieutenant. “What have you to report?”
“Lord Cornwallis is here, sir. He says he would like to surrender, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Tell him it’s really no trouble at all,” said Washington. “I’ll be with him directly, as soon as I’ve heard what Hamilton has to say.” The lieutenant went off to deliver Washington’s reply, and Washington turned back to face Hamilton. “Now, Hamilton,” Washington said, “please continue what you were saying, and forgive the interruption.”
“As I say,” Hamilton resumed, “I believe Cornwallis, in his present circumstances, will never surrender; and it behooves us, therefore—”
“But, Hamilton,” Parson Weems interrupted him, “Cornwallis is surrendering right now.”
“But that is a mere fact,” Hamilton replied. “My argument is founded upon reason.”
“Then, since the facts demand our attention now,” said Susanna, “let us attend to them, and we may reserve reason for our leisure.”
“Well said, Phillips,” Washington concurred. “For there is a wise old saying—” He produced the copybook, and we waited for him to find the page, which had become more and more difficult for him to do as his fingers increased in size. “Here it is: ‘Do not jog the desk on which another is writing.’ I find it useful to have a fund of these proverbs ready to hand, so to speak, for they distill the wisdom of our elders to its essence. Let us now receive Lord Cornwallis as gentlemen.”
The men had helpfully found Cornwallis a barrel to stand on, so that he and Washington could see eye to eye. He was waiting there, and Washington immediately engulfed Cornwallis’ hand in his own.
“General,” said Washington, “welcome to our camp.”
“General Washington, sir,” replied Cornwallis, “it is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance at last.”
“Oh, I know what you mean. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for ages. One never really gets to know a man when one is only firing cannonballs at him. I hope you don’t take it too personally, by the way—the cannonballs, I mean, and the defeat and such.”
“Certainly not. I have long since learned to expect that I shall often suffer such reverses, which I attribute entirely to the machinations of Willoughby.”
“Willoughby?” asked Washington.
“My mortal enemy—the most fiendishly devious and diabolically wicked stoat ever born. Of course he is not—
“—not visible in the strict sense! Ah, Cornwallis, I know exactly what you mean!”
“Of course you do, sir! I know that a man of your talents must have the same experience. It is the very mark of a commander’s greatness that he is pursued throughout his career—”
“—by the forces of envy and malice—”
“—personified in a malevolent invisible animal!” they both finished together.
“Mine is a mule named Irving,” Washington said.
“General Washington, it is a positive honor to surrender to a soldier of your caliber. I hope we can settle on gentlemanly terms.”
“Oh, yes, of course. I think it will be sufficient if you give me your word not to have anything more to do with fighting against the United States, and then you can be on your way.”
“My word as a gentleman,” said Cornwallis, extending his hand.
“I accept your word,” said Washington, taking the offered hand.
“But—” Hamilton sputtered, but Susanna and I both gestured to him to keep quiet.
“But how,” he continued quietly to us, “I mean—what guarantee do we have that he’ll keep his word?”
“He’ll keep his word,” Susanna insisted.
“But how do you know that?” Hamilton demanded in a hoarse whisper.
“I know it because he’s just as much of an imbecile as Washington is,” she replied. “And I sometimes wish the world were filled with such imbeciles.”
As Susanna had expected, the victory over Cornwallis virtually ended the war. It was true that no treaty of peace had been signed, and Sir Henry Clinton in New-York refused to recognize the de-facto victory of the American side, continuing to occupy the city with such forces as he had; but the United States could get along very well without the city of New-York, and did so for the next two years. Nor did Clinton ever admit defeat: he is still there, in a small house on Wall-street, with two aged captains for company, and occasionally issues orders to occupy Hartford or Albany or whatnot, which his captains receive with deference and alacrity, without, however, setting foot out the front door.
The army now had nothing to do, and idle men began to consider more carefully the question of their payment. Once again the Congress attempted to pay them in paper money, which the men rejected as not worth so much as the same paper without any printing on it. So discontented were the men that they began to speak openly of marching to Annapolis (where the Congress was meeting at the time) to have Washington made king: for they imagined that, once granted royal power, Washington would not be long in finding the means to pay them in specie. This plot came to the ears of Washington himself, who mentioned it over the Madeira one evening after supper in the old brick church he had made his headquarters, it being the only nearby building where his ten-foot figure could be comfortably accommodated. We had made a special table for him, with a chair his own height and a set of benches with stepladders so that we could all sit at the same table with him.
“Of course we do have the Articles of Confederation,” Washington said, “but I believe those must be regarded as a temporary measure. If we are to have a single nation rather than a rabble of thirteen unrelated States, we must adopt a form of government conducive to unity. A monarchy would, obviously, serve that purpose, and a careful choice of monarch is vital to the viability of our union. It ought to be—”
“Yes, we have been over this ground before,” said Susanna, “and we know that it ends at the conclusion that our ideal monarch would look very much like you, General Washington. But of course one doesn’t put oneself forward as seeking the kingship.”
“One doesn’t?”
“Modesty and diffidence are considered greatly desirable qualities in monarchs. Indeed, a monarch’s impassivity is precisely what makes him look like a monarch. It is essential to show that you do not desire the position of king, and that you would accept it only with extreme reluctance.”
“Do you think so? Yes, I can see how that might be true.”
“If you would like, I could draft you a few remarks, which you might use when the occasion presents itself.”
“Oh, would you, Phillips? That would be very kind of you.”
Later, as Susanna sat at the desk in our chamber writing some remarks for Washington to deliver extemporaneously, I asked her, “What exactly are you up to?”
“Kiss my neck and don’t ask questions,” she replied.
It was not long before the expected occasion did present itself. A gathering of junior officers and enlisted men formed in front of Washington’s church headquarters, and when Washington appeared at the door, they presented him with a set of resolutions calling upon him to lead the army to Annapolis and declare himself king.
Fortunately, Washington had laboriously memorized Susanna’s response. “Gentlemen,” said he, “I am sensible of the honor you do me in making this request, but at the same time I find it impossible to acquiesce. Are you not aware that we have spent seven years fighting a war not only against George III, but against the very institution of monarchy? Why, every man I see before me is a king on a throne of gold; for in our republic, gentlemen, the power rests with the people themselves, and not with some class of arbitrarily distinguished men who have no more natural parts than you have, and perhaps a great deal less good sense. Would you have me elevate myself above you, when we have fought so long and so hard for the principle that all men are created equal? No, gentlemen, so reluctant am I to abandon our shared republican principles that I could never desire the position of king, and only the direst circumstances would induce me to accept such an honor.”
At the conclusion of this speech, the men gave a mighty cheer, which pleased Washington very much; but what did not please him nearly so much was that they took him at his word, and did not make him king.
“Well,” said Susanna, “we tried our best.”
“We did,” Washington agreed; “the principle was inarguably sound, and our lack of success can only be attributed to the malice of Irving, who would not wish to see me crowned king if he could prevent it. Irving will yet be the death of me, you may be certain of that. But though he may prevent my elevation to the throne, I hope he will not be able to prevent my enjoying the fruits of our hard-won victory. The time has come for me to retire from public life, and to give my full attention to the development of my estate at Mount Vernon.”
With this surprising announcement, Washington abandoned all hope of becoming King of the United States. Shortly afterward, a formal peace was concluded, and Washington traveled to Annapolis to resign his commission before the Congress. He was able to witness personally the evacuation of New-York by the British, with the exception of Clinton and the two captains aforesaid; and then he retired to Mount Vernon, fully intending to remain there for the rest of his life.
To be continued in Chapter XI.
We have long since passed the point where most of the traffic on the Internet is bots doing botty things. For example, there are days when more than nine out of ten visitors to this Magazine are bots reading the same article a thousand times over for inscrutable botty reasons, and then going on to read another article a thousand times, and then another. (We must say a word of appreciation to our host, DreamHost, which handles these sudden order-of-magnitude spikes in traffic without complaint.)
What you make of that observation, if you are a writer, is up to you. Dr. Boli chooses to write for humans; if other forms of intelligence also enjoy the articles, then he is happy to be of service to them. Perhaps he is less happy the thousandth time; but as long as he is not seriously inconvenienced, he welcomes nonhuman readers.
But it seems that, for many writers, the fact that bots are now the main audience is an important consideration.
For years, Dr. Boli has written everything in plain text with Markdown code for formatting. That way all the essential formatting—italics, headings, and so forth—is preserved in a form that can instantly be adapted to any form of publication. There is no complicated word-processor formatting that has to be undone every time the publishing format changes.
For most of that time, Markdown was a habit Dr. Boli shared mostly with hackers and academic writers. But then came the AI bots, and plain text with Markdown is their native language. Suddenly Markdown is everywhere.
In the old days of three or four years ago, there were sophisticated writing tools for academic writers who used Markdown, and many of those programs would use algorithms to analyze the readability of the written text. Dr. Boli always ignored those algorithms; he has the luxury of writing for educated adults, and therefore has no need to know whether a second-grader is expected to understand him.
Recently, however, he has noticed a trend among the many writing tools that use plain text with Markdown as their file format. Many of the recent ones will generate a readability score—but they are not asking how well humans can read your text. They are giving you a readability score for bots.
In other words, more and more humans are writing with the expectation that their primary audience will not be human. The dizzying development of artificial intelligence has already come to the point where we remaining organic life forms are asking ourselves, not what the bots can do for us, but how we can best serve the bots.
What does that mean? Well, it may mean that the human writer is becoming irrelevant. If, after all, the goal is to communicate efficiently with bots, then it is likely that bots can do that better. The most bot-readable text will be bot-generated.
But when the whole Internet is a mass of text written by bots to be read by bots, where does that leave us, the ordinary educated humans? It leaves us out of the loop. The bots don’t need us anymore.
And that means that we have no need to ask ourselves how well bots can read our text. Why would the bots care?
Dr. Boli has made this prediction before, but he will make it again. Professional writing will become entirely the domain of artificial intelligence. Already (and this is a subject for another article) we see abundant evidence that, in many circles, writing is no longer accepted as “professional” unless it has been generated by a bot.
This leaves writing by human beings in a different category. It becomes a craft. In the same way that painting a portrait in oil or acrylic is a skill that a few human artists still learn and enjoy; in the same way that knitting sweaters is still done in spite of the vast sweater-manufacturing plants in Malaysia—so the art of forming written words out of one’s own organic brain will be practiced by a few fanatically dedicated people. These artists will earn the same kind of admiration that painters and knitters earn from the non-artistic population: an appreciation of their skill as something superhuman, coupled with an inability to see any practical use in it.
The patrons of such human writers will be readers who expect some more direct connection with the spirit behind the writing than an artificial intelligence can provide for them. They may begin to demand books written by hand as evidence of the human mind behind the words. The art of the scribe may flourish as it has not flourished since before the days of Gutenberg.
Meanwhile, the bots can continue to produce writing for the bots, which will use what they have learned from it to produce more writing for more bots, and the squealy feedback loop can continue without any interference from grubby organic life forms like us.
By an Associate.
Continuing the narrative that began here.
“The honor is mine, General Fayette. I have heard much of your accomplishments in France.”
“Have you truly?” asked General La Fayette.
“Well, no. But I thought it would be a thing to say. Did it not sound well? We have arranged for you to make your headquarters in a small house nearby; not a palace, but commodious in its way.”
“Your consideration is very appreciated,” said La Fayette. “But tell me—is it that you have heard a sound, which one might describe as ‘yapping’?”
“Yapping? No, I don’t believe so.”
“Ah! It is good. I have fear that Sophie might have followed me from the France. One must be careful, you know.”
“A lady friend?” asked Washington.
“No! Sophie, she is caniche, yes? Poodle. My mortal enemy, though one sees her not.”
“And she lives to deepen your sorrows, to blast your victories, and to hound you to an early grave?”
“Yes! By blue, Washington, how is it that you knew?”
“My word, Fayette! I knew you were a great general the moment I saw you. All great military commanders (as I learned, sir, from one of the greatest of them all) are pursued throughout their careers by the forces of envy and malice, personified in malevolent invisible animals. I myself have been relentlessly dogged by the mule Irving.” Washington stooped down and shook General La Fayette’s hand warmly, and from that moment the two were the best of friends.
And then there appeared another officer from the clot of French soldiers, and it seemed that were was something familiar about him. But it was Washington who recognized him first.
“Lieutenant de Trop!” he called out in delight.
“It’s Colonel de Trop now,” the officer replied with a smile. “And my heavens, you are the same Washington I met at Fort Le Boeuf! But I believe you have grown somewhat taller.”
“I may have done, Colonel, but I have not outgrown my gratitude to you. You remember Mr. Gist, of course.”
I shook the colonel’s hand and exchanged polite greetings with him. Much later, when Washington and La Fayette had gone off together, I asked the colonel, “Is your name really de Trop?”
“General Washington,” he replied, “is a hero to every true Frenchman, and my name, sir, is whatever he wants it to be. And who is this very charming officer?” he asked, turning to Susanna.
“My wife Susanna,” I replied. “Susanna, this is Colonel, uh, de Trop, who was very courteous to us when Washington and I visited Fort Le Boeuf years ago.”
“Very pleased to meet you, sir,” Susanna said, offering her hand.
Instead of shaking her hand, the colonel raised it to his lips and kissed it. “Upon my faith, Mr. Gist, I should never have believed it if one had told it to me, but you Americans have made an improvement in gallantry of which we French had not even dreamed. What man would not beg to join your army if he might serve under such delightful officers?”
“Susanna is…unique,” I said.
“General Washington believes I am a man named Phillips,” Susanna explained. “And, as you say, my name is whatever he wants it to be.”
“And why, if I may be forgiven for asking, did you come into the army in the first place?” the colonel asked.
“It seemed to me, sir, that the military life would afford me more opportunities for indulging in my favorite pastime.”
“What is that, dear lady?” the colonel asked with a smile.
“Killing Redcoats,” she replied with a sweet smile of her own.
Before the colonel could make any answer to that, a loud voice came from behind him, rapidly approaching: “Mine God! This is what they an army call? It is not possible!”
“Oh,” said the colonel. “Mr. Gist, and, uh, Captain Phillips, this is a friend of General La Fayette’s, Baron von Steuben. Baron von Steuben, Captain Phillips and Mr. Gist.”
Ignoring the introduction, the Baron continued, “No uniforms of which to speak of, tents will he und also nill he distributed, no military exercises I see anywhere—this is the most ragged und tagged mess which I ever have seen! Und look you—negresses for officers!”
Susanna’s right hand was involuntarily closing into a fist. I gave her a warning glance, which was like giving a gentle word of admonition to an earthquake.
Fortunately Colonel de Trop intervened, desperately working to keep the conversation pleasant. “Baron von Steuben is a Prussian, and a great believer in military discipline.”
“Until today!” the Baron barked. “Now, mine God! I know not. Believe I even that military discipline exists? But yes, if my way I have, your American army disciplined shall be!”
“Oh,” I said. “Well…thank you.”
“Good luck,” Susanna added quietly.
In the morning Washington, Susanna, and I rose early and walked over to La Fayette’s headquarters, where we found him busy nailing a brass plaque to the door, a plaque on which was engraved,
“Ah! Washington, my friend!” he said as he continued hammering. “You will forgive me for completing this task, but I wished to lose no time. Gratitude is like the concombre, yes?”
“I know precisely what you mean!” Washington exclaimed in delight. “Ah, Fayette, we shall get along famously.”
Meanwhile Baron von Steuben had gone around the camp and roused a large number of sergeants at dawn, and was now drilling them in an open field, shouting insults that they only half-comprehended.
“That will not end well for Steuben,” Susanna remarked.
I told her to give the man a chance.
“I am giving him a chance,” she replied. “I am giving him a chance to get a blackened eye from them instead of me.”
Later, as we were pulling Baron von Steuben out of the barrel of sauerkraut into which he had been thrust upside-down, Parson Weems suggested a small wager: which would kill the Baron first—the enlisted men or Susanna? I told him I did not believe in gambling, at which he reminded me that he wore the collar, not I. I in turn reminded him that Steuben would also have me to deal with if he offered any insult to Susanna, and therefore his wager did not take all the possibilities into account; but Weems replied, “No, Gist; for we both know, begging your pardon, that no insult to Susanna goes unavenged long enough for you to intervene.” To all this the Baron said nothing; but as soon as he was cleaned up, he was out drilling some enlisted men again, which I thought showed admirable patience.
Our supper that evening was delayed until Baron von Steuben had cleaned himself up after being pulled out of the latrine; but once we were all seated, we ate better than we had done in quite some time. The French had brought not only soldiers, but money as well, and it was remarkable how quickly supplies appeared for sale when it was known that there were golden louis to be had, as well as the Spanish milled dollars we had brought from Virginia. La Fayette, whose disposition was naturally generous, made sure the American soldiers ate as well as the French did. Cries of “Long live Fayette!” could be heard all over the camp. I was glad to see the men so happy, and I was also glad to share in the excellent claret which La Fayette had brought with him. Washington made sure, for his part, to bring out his finest Madeira. Soon a friendly dispute arose, with La Fayette contending for the superiority of French claret, and Washington taking the part of Madeira, while Steuben advanced the claims of the hock from the valley of the Moselle. After much discussion among the three of them, Washington proposed a toast to “Germany, France, and Madeira, which have labored so fruitfully to give us pleasure.” And then he continued:
“If it will not offend you, gentlemen, I should like to tell you a story, which was related to me by my late brother Lawrence; for it has no little bearing on the matter under discussion. Once, so it is said, there were three merchants: a seller of hock, a seller of claret, and a seller of Madeira; and as they traveled they happened to meet along the road. As their businesses were so similar, they naturally conceived friendly feelings one for another; and when evening came, they stopped together at the same inn.
“In this inn, they naturally fell to discussing the relative merits of their merchandise; and the innkeeper overhearing their conversation, that worthy gentleman approached them, saying, ‘Sirs, I have heard your dispute over which wine is the best, and I would have you know, gentlemen, that it is a question to which I alone possess the answer; for in that cask in the corner of the room, sirs, is the best wine in the world.’
“ ‘By all means,’ said the claret merchant, ‘let us try a sample of this wine; if it is truly the best in the world, we will not stick at the price.’
“ ‘I may not open the cask,’ the innkeeper replied, ‘for I have given my solemn word; nor have I ever tasted the wine myself.’
“ ‘But, good heavens, man, how can you say it is the best wine in the world,’ asked the merchant of Madeira, ‘if you have never even tasted it?’
“ ‘Ah,’ said the innkeeper, ‘it is because of the circumstances under which I received the cask; and when I have once narrated them to you, I am so certain that you will agree that this is the best wine in the world, that I will wager you your night’s accommodations on it. These circumstances, sirs, I will now relate.
“ ‘When I was some years younger, my father left me this inn, which to speak in very truth was not so much of an inheritance; for it was not as much frequented in those days, and many nights would pass when nary a traveler appeared. It was on one of those nights, when I had gone to bed already—for it was a night of intermittent but ferocious storms, and such a night as no wise traveler would choose for his journey,—it was on such a night, I say, that I was awakened by a pounding on the front door. Dressing hastily, I took a candle in my hand and descended the stairs, where the pounding still continued. As soon as I opened the door, a hooded figure dashed in past me and took a position in the parlor by the last dying embers of the fire. I closed the door and followed; but you may well imagine my surprise when the hood was thrown back to reveal the most beautiful face I have ever beheld in my life. It was a young woman, no more than one-and-twenty, with an ivory complexion brought into relief by cheeks flushed with carmine, and a cascade of loose hair as red as flame.
“ ‘ “Madam,” said I, “how may I be of assistance?”
“ ‘ “If you would be so good as to start the fire again, I should be most grateful,” she replied; “and then, sir, I have great need of a worthy man to whom I can entrust the priceless treasure that sits on the wagon outside.”
“ ‘ “If it be within my power to assist you,” I assured her, “you shall be assisted.”
“ ‘ “But I must first determine whether it is in your power,” said she. “When you have made the fire, I shall tell you my conditions.”
“ ‘It was the work of a moment to lay more logs and kindling on the fire and fan it into a roaring flame. As soon as the heat filled the room, the lady let her cloak fall; and if my eyes had been ravished before, you may be sure that I could barely speak now: for the lady was dressed, not for traveling, but for a grand ball, with innumerable jewels, the chief of which was a pendant that hung into her bosom and terminated in the most prodigious carbuncle I have ever seen, or ever heard tell of.
“ ‘ “And now, sir,” said she, “you have the right to know who I am, and why I must demand that you be worthy of my trust; for the favor I have to ask of you may seem a slight thing, but I had rather lose my life than entrust my treasure to anyone unworthy. When you know the facts of the case, sir, you will understand what I mean.
“ ‘ “My father, sir, was a gentleman who, if he was not worthy to be denominated rich, was at least comfortable in life, save that he had lost the one comfort for which he would have exchanged all the others; that is, his wife, my mother, who died when I was but an infant. He always showed the most tender regard for me, and (you will pardon a tear or two) he made sure that I lacked nothing which could tend to my happiness.
“ ‘ “Nevertheless, as his only daughter, I was perforce much alone, and as I grew into a young woman, I was much addicted to long walks in the country round about our house. On one of those perambulations I met a young man walking the other way; we talked; we parted with the intention of meeting again on the morrow; and that night, sir, I thought of nothing but Christian (for Christian was the name of this young man), and in the morning counted the hours till I should meet him again. I shall be brief: we met each day after that, and the more I saw of him, the more my heart yearned for him. Nor did he appear to be without feeling for me; a thousand times he seemed on the verge of speaking his heart, and a thousand times stopped himself, until at last I could forbear no longer, and spoke to him boldly:
“ ‘ “ ‘If you have somewhat to say to me, Christian,’ said I, ‘let not doubt stand in your way; for believe me, my disposition is such that I would hear whatever you would say most willingly.’
“ ‘ “At this he sighed piteously and replied, ‘Alas, dear Eleanor, would that I could speak what is in my heart; but if I were to do so, it would mean death to one who in no wise deserves to die.’
“ ‘ “ ‘What can you mean by that?’ I asked. ‘Have you a wife already? For if you have, I conjure you to return to her at once and—’
“ ‘ “ ‘I have no wife,’ he said, interrupting me, ‘but what I have is far more of an impediment: indeed, I should not scruple to call it a curse.’
“ ‘ “ ‘No curse,’ said I, ‘is without hope, so long as we trust in God and despair not.’
“ ‘ “ ‘My curse, however,’ said he, ‘is so nearly hopeless that despair is but reason; for it can be broken in only one way, and that a very unlikely one. Yet until the curse is broken, the very night I take a wife, an innocent man must die the most ignominious of deaths.’
“ ‘ “I own that my heart sank at these words, but I persisted in believing that no curse could be without its remedy. ‘How can this be?’ I asked. ‘Is there nothing within your power,—or—or mine,—which would lift this terrible curse from your head?’
“ ‘ “ ‘Whether it be within your power I shall leave you to judge,’ said he, ‘when you have heard my tale, which is one of the most marvelous, and yet one of the most tragic, ever told by mortal lips.
“ ‘ “ ‘I was the youngest son of a gentleman who, though he possessed many virtues, had a weakness for cards, so that he had squandered most of his fortune by the time I reached my majority. Having no other prospects, I determined to go to sea, and found a place aboard a ship owned by a prosperous wine-merchant. The duties were hard, but I was capable, and had fate not made other plans for me, I might still be a sailor today.
“ ‘ “ ‘On my very first voyage, however, a tempest arose from the west, and buffeted our poor ship so severely that we were constrained to toss our cargo over the rail. When it came to the last cask, however, the merchant was so reluctant to part with it that he and the captain began a struggle that might had terminated with the death of one of them, had Nature herself not intervened by giving the boat such a toss at that moment that the barrel flew overboard on its own. At this the merchant was so wildly distraught that he began tearing his hair and shouting at the sailors to leap after the cask; and, finding no one willing to do so, he rushed against me, and, before I knew what he was about, had thrust me overboard. I struggled in the water and called for help, but in vain; the ship and I were so rapidly parted that no one could even contemplate my rescue. The cask, however, was floating close at hand, and I was able to haul myself up on it and ride out the tempest in that manner.
“ ‘ “ ‘For two days I floated on that cask, which I dared not pierce for fear of sinking it. A merciful Providence, after the tempest, sent me occasional light rains, which, forming puddles on the top of the cask, gave me sufficient fresh water to drink. On the third day, I spotted an island, and to my inexpressible joy the wind and current carried me straight to the sandy shore, where I was deposited gently by the lapping waves.
“ ‘ “ ‘Having thanked the Almighty for delivering me from the grasp of the sea, I took a look at my surroundings. The beach was bordered by a forest of palms and tropical trees, which I hoped might yield some sort of fruit; and indeed so it proved. So delighted was I by my discovery that I must have spent half an hour picking the grape-like berries of a species of palm before I noticed that, in the distance, I could hear the sound of rushing water—not the sea, but a steady sound from the interior of the island. Following the sound, I made my way through the verdant forest, until I came upon a scene that took my breath away; for there was a cascade of water at least a hundred feet high, and beside it a ruined temple festooned with barbarous but skillful carvings. Having drunk my fill of the clear water, I turned my attention to the exotic beauty of the temple, which was somewhat overgrown with vines, but still intact enough that the artistic taste of the architect and sculptors was evident. Monkeys chattered at me from the roof, and birds called from the trees, but there was no evidence that any man had set foot here within recent memory.
“ ‘ “ ‘Enough of the roof was left that it seemed to me the temple would make an admirable shelter for the night. I entered, and found myself between two rows of columns, each column covered with intricate reliefs, and the whole interior drawing the eye to a statue of a woman or goddess at the other end. The woman was represented as seated, and even in that position the statue was at least fifteen feet high; it was of remarkable beauty; but what captivated me most was the way the eyes appeared to glow with a deep red light. As I approached more nearly, I perceived that the apparent glow was the glinting of two prodigious carbuncles which served the statue for eyes.
“ ‘ “ ‘I am not by nature a greedy man, but it seemed to me that two such jewels in a temple long abandoned were doing no one any good, and therefore might as well belong to me as to anyone else. I approached the statue, scattering a troop of monkeys, and began to climb it; and I was just stretching forth my hand to grasp the carbuncle in the left eye when a voice right beside me spoke:
“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ’Tis not for mortal hands to touch the eye of the goddess!”
“ ‘ “ ‘I looked, but saw only a monkey sitting on the shoulder of the statue. “Who spoke?” I asked, and you may be sure that I was quite astonished when the monkey replied,
“ ‘ “ ‘ “I spoke—I, the guardian of the temple.”
“ ‘ “ ‘ “But you are a monkey,” said I, lowering myself to sit on the knee of the statue. “How is it that you speak, and in my own tongue?”
“ ‘ “ ‘ “That,” replied the monkey, “is my curse, and my blessing, and I cannot explain more, unless I tell you my history.”
“ ‘ “ ‘ “Nothing would delight me more,” said I; “for until now I believed myself alone on this island.”
“ ‘ “ ‘ “Then I shall be happy to tell you,” said the monkey, sitting on the other knee of the statue. “I was not always a monkey. I was born a man like you, and in the course of time became the priest of this temple. I performed my duties, I believe, most assiduously; and the temple prospered under my care, until one day three men came to the island from far away, and stopped at my temple, evidently with the intention of persuading me to purchase something from them.
“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘I,’ said the first, ‘am a seller of hock, which is without a doubt the finest wine in the world.’
“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ said the second, ‘but I contend that the claret of the blessed land of Bordeaux, which I have the honor to sell, surpasses all other wines whatsoever.’
“ ‘ “ ‘ “ ‘Neither of them,’ said the third, ‘can hold a candle to my Madeira.’ ” ’ ” ’
“And that, gentlemen, is the story my brother Lawrence told me,” Washington concluded.
There was silence in the room for half a minute, and then Parson Weems demanded, “What? Where is the rest of it? What of the priest who turned into a monkey?”
“And the curse of the man who must die an ignominious death?” added Susanna.
“And the beautiful red-haired lady?”
“With the prodigious carbuncle pendant?”
“And the ball gown on a stormy night?”
“And her love for the cursed young man?”
“And the innkeeper who must prove himself worthy?”
“And the cask of the best wine in the world?”
“Which he can know is the best without tasting it?”
“And the three men who wagered their night’s lodging?”
“That was the way the story always ended when Lawrence told it,” said Washington. “I remember specifically because that was always where his wife came in and said, ‘Lawrence! Are you filling little Georgie’s head with that nonsense again? You know what my Uncle Henry said about those stories. He said, “I met a man once who started to tell a story that went like this: ‘Once there—’ ” ’ ”
“No!” cried Susanna. Then, seeing that all eyes had turned to her, she added, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
The arrival of the French changed the balance of the war considerably. The British evacuated Philadelphia almost immediately, and French fleets gave the British navy no end of trouble on the seas. Furthermore, the discipline introduced by Baron von Steuben had a salutary effect on our army. By coordinating their efforts to drop the Baron down wells, tar and feather him, &c., the men learned to work together as a unit.
For three more years the fortunes of war favored first one side and then the other, but it was becoming more and more difficult for the British to hold any temporary gains they had made. Eventually, when the news came that Cornwallis had landed his army in Virginia, it seemed that the time had come for a decisive stroke.
To be continued in Chapter X. Or you can order the whole book now and spare yourself the wait.
“
Gosh, this is exciting! What wonderful new capabilities has Windows added?
1. You can see the battery-status percentage in the taskbar.
2. Now you can use WEBP images as desktop backgrounds without having to convert them to JPEG format.
3. “The Emoji 16.09 release introduces new, thoughtfully curated emoji…” If your chief complaint about Windows was that the emoji were curated without sufficient thought, you can stop complaining now.
4. Microsoft Paint now has a free-rotate feature. “No more fixed orientations or workarounds…”
5. “The revamped Start menu puts your favorite apps front and center with smarter organization.” This means grouping the apps in categories. Microsoft will decide for you which of six categories your apps go in. Some of the writing programs, for example, ended up in “Productivity”; most ended up in “Other.” This is probably Bing AI’s subtle dig at the quality of your writing.
These are not all the new features added in the latest update. They are just the most exciting ones.
And now your essay question for the comments section: Where did Linus Torvalds get enough money pay Microsoft to advertise Linux so unsubtly?
By an Associate.
Continuing the narrative that began here.
Meanwhile Howe was not inactive. New-York being securely occupied, Howe was able to land an enormous army just below Philadelphia. Washington attempted to oppose Howe in a straightforward manner, but while he was giving Howe an honest and straightforward battle, and not without some success, Lord Cornwallis marched deviously around to our right flank and surprised us, which Washington regarded as simple cheating. The result, which even to this day I blush to relate, was that we lost Philadelphia. The Congress managed to escape just before Howe’s army marched into the city, and removed to York, where some of the members indulged a simmering resentment against Washington. Our army settled in at Valley Forge, and there we spent a miserable winter, in which, however, some of the qualities of true greatness manifested themselves in the General.
One afternoon Washington was in an unusually cheerful state as he came back to his headquarters after his daily rounds in the camp. Susanna and I, along with Parson Weems, were put up in the house with Washington (a luxury that gave me occasional pangs of guilt when I thought of the soldiers in their icy tents), so we were sitting by the fire when Washington came in with Hamilton in tow and announced that the pay problem was solved.
“That’s very good news indeed,” I said. “How did we get the money?”
“Oh, we haven’t got it yet. But Hamilton has figured out a way to get the money from the Congress.”
“I thought,” said Susanna, “that the last time we asked for money, the Congress replied that, owing to Mr. Hamilton’s program of spending more and taxing less, all they could come up with was two shillings, four pence, and three brass buttons.”
“Yes,’ replied Washington, “but the beauty of Mr. Hamilton’s new plan is that the Congress need not actually have the money to give it to us.”
“You mean they’ll steal it from somebody else?” asked Susanna.
“Of course not. Explain it to them, Hamilton.”
“My thought,” Hamilton explained, “is that we can simply instruct the Congress to have the money we need printed.”
“Printed?” I think Weems, Susanna, and I all repeated the word together.
“Precisely. You see the beauty of it, don’t you? Instead of coins, the soldiers will simply receive small slips of paper with the words ‘One Dollar,’ ‘Five Dollars,’ ‘Ten Dollars,’ or what have you, printed on them, and will use them the same way they would use coins in the same denominations.”
“But why would they think a piece of paper was worth ten dollars?” Weems asked.
“Why do we think a piece of gold is worth ten dollars?” Hamilton returned.
“Well, because,” Weems began, “because it’s—well, because it’s gold.”
“Precisely,” said Hamilton. “We think gold is valuable because we agree to think gold is valuable. Why? We cannot eat gold; we cannot build shelter with it; we cannot burn it to keep ourselves warm. We can only exchange it for the things we really need, because we agree that a very small quantity of gold is worth a very large quantity of food. Its value depends entirely on our agreement: it is not in any way intrinsic. Now, my very simple plan is this: that, in the same way we have agreed to regard gold as valuable, so we shall now agree to regard money on paper as valuable. Once again, our simple agreement will suffice to create the value.”
“Isn’t it a remarkable thought?” asked Washington.
“Remarkable,” Susanna agreed, although her tone suggested that there was room for more than one kind of remark on the subject.
“I’m sending Hamilton to York to speak to the Congress about it,” said Washington. “Just imagine—in our new North American empire, no one need ever be poor again. We can provide all the money every citizen of these United States will ever need for any purpose whatsoever.—Come along, Hamilton: I’ll write a letter for you to take with you detailing the successes of our current campaign; for I trust, sir, that you understand the value of a good dispatch.”
With those words, Washington led Hamilton into the back room he used as his office.
“One of them is an imbecile and the other one is mad,” Parson Weems remarked.
“It seems to me,” said Susanna, “that there is no reason why they could not both be imbeciles.”
I must own that I had not expected much result from Hamilton’s expedition, but a few weeks later he was back with stacks of freshly printed money, which was distributed forthwith to the puzzled soldiers. I say “puzzled,” though in many cases “mutinous” might have been a more nearly accurate description.
Hamilton, however, was full of optimism; and Susanna and I went with him to demonstrate the utility of his new form of money by using it to buy some sorely needed potatoes from a nearby farm.
“Dollar a bushel,” the farmer replied when asked the price of his potatoes. I might have spent some time negotiating with the man, but Hamilton was eager to present his new creation, and therefore simply asked for ten bushels, and handed the man a ten-dollar note.
“What’s this?” the farmer asked.
“It’s ten dollars,” replied Hamilton.
“No it isn’t,” said the farmer. “It’s a piece of paper that says ‘Ten Dollars’ on it.”
“But it is in fact ten dollars,” Hamilton told him. “You see here where it says, ‘By act of Congress, this note is legal tender for all debts, public and private.’ ”
“I don’t need a tender,” the farmer insisted. “I need ten dollars.”
“Precisely,” said Hamilton, undaunted. “I’m giving you this piece of paper with ‘Ten Dollars’ printed on it. And because we agree that it is worth ten dollars, it is in fact worth ten dollars.”
“Tell you what,” said the farmer. “You give me that piece of paper with ‘Ten Dollars’ written on it, and I’ll give you a piece of paper with ‘Ten Bushels of Potatoes’ written on it.”
“But a piece of paper won’t feed the men,” Hamilton objected.
“It will if they agree that it is in fact ten bushels of potatoes,” the farmer replied. “Won’t it?”
In the end we did not succeed in procuring our ten bushels of potatoes, and for the most part the men were similarly unsuccessful in exchanging their paper money for useful goods. Hamilton himself refused to be entirely discouraged, but the men were cold and hungry. To make matters worse, not only could we not persuade the Congress to do anything for us, but in fact we could not even find the Congress. Fearing a surprise attack, the men of the Congress had turned peripatetic. From York they moved to Lancaster, and then to Annapolis, and then to Baltimore, to Winchester, to Cumberland, to Pittsburgh, and briefly (owing to the gentlemen’s refusal to stop and ask directions) to Mexico City. We were left to our own devices, and it seemed as though we should eventually lose our army altogether without some means of procuring money in the form of coins rather than paper.
“Of course there is much to be hoped for from the French,” said Washington when we were discussing the situation one bitter morning in late winter. “I have every confidence in our diplomats. Dr. Franklin reports that the French women are particularly susceptible. I have no doubt that he has spent every evening explaining to the court ladies that it is to France’s advantage to have a strong American empire that is well disposed toward France and capable of defending their remaining North American interests.
“You mean St.-Pierre and Miquelon?” asked Parson Weems.
“Exactly. Surely the French will see the wisdom of balancing British power in the north with a great independent empire to the south.”
“The French may or may not come to our aid,” said Susanna, “but for the present we need money. We need to be candid and admit to ourselves that the paper-money project has been a failure.”
“The fault is not on our side,” Hamilton insisted. “We have maintained from the beginning that the money is in fact worth exactly the value printed on it. It is the ill-bred and uneducated bumpkins who inhabit these parts who are to blame: they refuse to see the logic of the notion, and to be absolutely frank I suspect them of Tory sympathies.”
“At the moment we must be practical,” I said. “For reasons we may or may not know, our suppliers refuse to accept our paper money, whereas we know they would accept money in specie. It is vital to our cause that we obtain money they will accept. Can anyone think of any possibilities?”
“I think we’ve run out of possibilities,” Weems remarked grimly.
“Gentlemen,” said Washington, “we certainly cannot allow ourselves to lose hope: for, as the old proverb has it,—” (he brought out the tattered copybook, and we waited patiently for him to find his page)—“ ‘Do not chew your nails in the sight of others.’ The wisdom of our fathers, gentlemen, when understood metaphorically, is an ever-present help in managing our affairs. For my own part, I am convinced that our current difficulties all spring from the evil machinations of Irving, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction of letting him see me despair.”
“Irving?” asked Hamilton.
“The wicked invisible mule who bedevils him throughout his life,” Weems explained.
Hamilton looked helpless: his question had been answered, but not in a way that satisfied him intellectually.
“I cannot believe,” said Susanna, “that there are no possibilities left to us.”
“In fact I can think of one possibility,” Washington said.
“What’s that?” asked Weems. “And don’t tell me it involves any more invisible livestock.”
“When I was a boy, I used to spend hours at Ferry Farm throwing Spanish milled dollars across the Rappahannock. It became, as you know, a lifelong habit, but I have never since had so much leisure to indulge in the sport. There were times when I went to the riverbank day after day to spend all afternoon throwing dollars. That was how I developed the accuracy for which, I may say without boasting, I am still noted.”
“And how will that help us right now?” I asked.
“Well, I never brought any of them back.”
We looked at him in stunned silence.
“There were always more, you see. We seem to have had a good many Spanish milled dollars. It was never necessary to retrieve them, because there were always more to throw.”
“Do you mean you think that, in all these years, no one has picked up the dollars you threw across the Rappahannock?” Susanna asked, trying not to sound too incredulous.
“The other side of the river is Washington land, too. Why would anyone be looking for dollars there?”
“So you mean,” I said, “that if we went down there right now, we’d find some of the money you threw?”
“It’s worth trying,” said Washington. “Gist, why don’t you head down there now? See what you can find, and then we’ll have something to pay the soldiers.”
It sounded very dubious to me. “Well, I’m, uh, not sure—”
“Take Phillips with you. You may need more than one man to carry the money back.”
“I’m, uh, not—”
“We’ll go right away, General,” Susanna declared.
Why was Susanna suddenly interested in this unlikely prospect? I had learned not to discount any idea of hers, but it did not seem reasonable to expect that Washington’s idly flung dollars should still be waiting for him after so many years.
“I think we should take Mr. Hamilton with us as well,” Susanna added. And now I was certain she had some notion in her mind, but what it was I could not guess. When Washington seemed to hesitate, she added, “He’s very good at finding money.”
“That is true. Very well then,” Washington agreed. “Take Hamilton with you, find the dollars, and you should have enough to pay the soldiers, with a little left over for Madeira. Best set off at once: for, as they say” (and here he produced his copybook, and we waited for him to find the appropriate citation): “ ‘If others talk at dinner, be attentive, but do not speak with your mouth full.’ ”
We had to go by land, as the British made the sea route unreliable. Susanna has always been an excellent rider. I at least can stay on the horse, and Hamilton was not entirely hopeless; our progress, therefore was fairly rapid.
At our first stop, Hamilton took the opportunity to ask the obvious questions about Susanna.
“She is my wife,” I explained in a tone that I hoped would answer all unexpressed questions.
But Hamilton persisted.
“Why, then, is she also a man called Phillips?”
Susanna replied, “We find it best not to contradict the general too often. It confuses him.”
“Is that why we’ve come looking for lost treasure?” Hamilton asked. “Are we making a useless journey of several days and unknown dangers because no one wants to contradict General Washington?”
“No,” Susanna replied, and I listened attentively myself to hear her explanation. “Your mission to the Congress showed that you have an aptitude for parting rich fools from their money. Virginia is stuffed with rich fools, and such a man as you ought to be able to extract enough from them for our purposes.”
“But what shall I tell them?”
“Just draw another picture of the Liberty Bell,” Susanna replied, “and tell them the same nonsense you told us.”
Hamilton was not convinced that the same nonsense would apply, and was worried that he might have to come up with different nonsense in order to persuade the Virginia planters to come up with the back pay of an entire army. Nevertheless, in broad outline, Susanna’s plan seemed a reasonable one.
We agreed, however, that it would be necessary at least to pay a quick visit to Ferry Farm, so as to be able to assure the General (for he himself was so naturally honest that we should have been ashamed to lie to him) that we had done our best to retrieve his long-lost dollars. Accordingly we found the old plantation, which had, by various curiosities of wills and inheritance laws, passed into the hands of Washington’s elderly Uncle Cedric, who answered the door and received our awkward greetings.
“Little Georgie,” he said when we had told him of our errand. “How many years have passed since I saw him! Is he out of short pants yet?”
“I can assure you that his pants are quite long,” I replied. “In fact he is general of the continental army.”
“Always loved to play soldiers, our little Georgie, especially when his father took away his hatchet. He needs money, you say? I might be able to find a few shillings in my coat pocket.”
“We thought we might borrow your boat, if you would be so kind,” Susanna said. “General Washington suggested there might be a few coins across the river.”
“Might be. Or pine cones. If you can use pine cones, I’m sure it’s the place to look.”
Susanna thanked him and headed toward the shore; I was beginning to follow her when Uncle Cedric took my arm and said in a confidential undertone, “That young man” (pointing to Susanna)—“does it strike you that there’s something odd about him?”
“Well,…” I began hesitantly.
“I think he looks pale,” said Uncle Cedric. “I hope he’s not ill.”
I assured him that I would look after the pale young man, and then Hamilton and I joined her at the boat. Before I could say anything, Susanna took the oars, which I suppose was her prerogative as the only military man among us, and with energetic strokes she took us across the Rappahannock in good time.
The other side of the river was a forest of tall pines, and our footsteps seemed preternaturally silent in the thick carpet of needles that made the ground a rich uniform sable color.
“Nothing but pine needles and a few cones,” Hamilton remarked, and his voice was jarringly loud in the silence of the winter forest.
I looked around, idly scraping my foot through the needles. “I’m afraid you’re right, But at least we can tell the General—”
“Look!” cried Susanna, pointing toward my feet.
I looked down. Where I had scraped the ground, something metallic was glinting through the needles. Quickly I stooped and started brushing away the needles with my hands. Under them was a layer on the ground made up entirely of Spanish milled dollars.
Susanna knelt down where she stood and swept away the needles, and there, too, she found a carpet of dollars.
I stood and took half a dozen strides and stooped again. And Susanna did the same, and Hamilton joined us; and for quite some time wherever we brushed away the needles, we found a uniform layer of dollars below. It took us at least half an hour to delineate the limits of the field of dollars, and most of it was done by Susanna and me, for a strange lassitude had overcome Hamilton. He lay on his back, his fingers slowly gripping and releasing the coins beneath him.
“Are you feeling ill, Mr. Hamilton?” Susanna finally asked him.
“I want to live here,” replied Hamilton. “No—I want to die here. Nothing will ever equal this. My life has reached its peak, and no experience will ever bring joy to me again. I have lived as much as I care to live, and it would be fitting now that I should be taken directly to the heavenly Jerusalem, which is the only greater joy I can ever hope to experience.”
“Mr. Hamilton,” said Susanna, “you are still a young man, and life has many joys waiting for you. You will find love, and—”
“I have found love, Captain, uh, Phillips! I am passionately in love with money, money in all its forms, beautiful gold, ravishing silver, charming copper, neatly printed slips of paper;—I desire money as other men desire their mistresses! And here is a forest made of money! If you were suddenly placed among the seventy-two willing virgins of the Mohammedan heaven, would you have any desire to leave that spot? Well, not you personally, captain—forgive me—the uniform, you see, makes me forget the lady—but I have found my seventy-two virgins! I have found the earthly paradise, and now it must be broken up and taken away. I must be cast out of Eden, and cherubim with a flaming sword must keep me from the tree of life. What reason have I to live any longer?”
“We are founding a new government,” said Susanna, “with all the problems of government to be solved—including the question of money.”
“Yes,” I added, “you will be present at the birth of a new pecuniary system. Is that not something to live for?”
He sat up with a start. “A new kind of money?”
“Yes, Mr. Hamilton,” said Susanna. “The coin of the United States of America.”
“Why, yes! That is true,” said Hamilton. “It will be only fitting that I should be present at the birth of an entirely new species of specie. How many true lovers of money are afforded that opportunity?”
“But first,” Susanna continued, “we must win the war, and to do that we must pay the army.”
This argument was enough to bring Hamilton out of his lethargy; and, with a last wistful look at the forest of dollars, he began helping us gather the coins into large piles. Then he and Susanna went back to find a large number of sacks, while I sat in the silent forest to guard the piles of coins from no one except a ragged-looking fish crow, which took enough of an interest in the shiny dollars to make it worth my while to chase the bird away.
It took many trips with the boat to bring the hoard across the river, and then we had to arrange for what amounted to a caravan to transport it all back to Pennsylvania; but of course we had all the funds we could possibly need to pay for the wagons, drivers, and escorts. We finally reached Valley Forge in the spring—only to find an enormous army marching in just as we arrived.
At first all of us presumed the worst; but then we spotted the fleur-de-lis flag and realized that the French had arrived at last, and in numbers we had not dared hope for.
Just as we reached Washington with the good news that we had found his trove of dollars, the French commander made his appearance.
“La Fayette, I am here, yes?” he announced. “Which one is the général Washington?”
To be continued in Chapter IX. Or you can order the whole book now and spare yourself the wait.
Dear Dr. Boli: I was talking to some guy on the streetcar, and he said that artificial intelligence isn’t really intelligent because it doesn’t meet the definition of intelligence. But he said I’d have to pay him twenty bucks to hear what the definition of intelligence is, and I didn’t have twenty bucks with me. So I figured I’d ask you, since you seem to answer questions for free: What is the definition of “intelligence”? —Sincerely, Ardis Wallslair McFurtle, Stowe Township.
Dear Madam: Intelligence is the quality that separates human beings from machines or animals. That is the only definition of “intelligence” that is of any permanent value. Specific criteria may be mentioned in some academic definitions of “intelligence,” but when we come across a machine or animal that meets those criteria, we change the criteria. The ability to make and use tools has been rejected as a criterion, because crows and apes can do that, and obviously they are not really intelligent. The ability to make reasoned arguments has been rejected, because AI bots can do that, and obviously they are not really intelligent. Eventually intelligence may be found to reside in the small number of genes we do not share with the chimpanzees. But, meanwhile, “the quality that separates human beings from machines or animals” is a reliable permanent definition, because it will not change no matter how much the facts have to be revised to fit it.
By an Associate.
Continuing the narrative that began here.
“So what do you intend to do to prepare for Howe’s arrival?” I asked him.
“Nothing,” Washington responded confidently.
“Nothing?” Susanna and I both repeated at once.
“Precisely,” said Washington. “You taught me that, Phillips. It worked for Forbes at Pittsburgh; it worked for us at Boston; it will work again here. Nothing, I might go so far as to say, is the greatest contribution our present age has made to the art of military strategy. In the future, wars will be fought entirely by armies doing nothing, nothing on a titanic scale; and think what a savings in men and material we shall have when opposing armies both adopt a strategy of doing nothing whatsoever! Furthermore, as doing nothing has been demonstrated to be the strategy that procures victory, both sides in future wars will invariably be victorious. There will be none of the bitterness of defeat and concomitant desire for revenge; but all men will live in amity in a world that is constantly at war, providing pleasant employment for young men in the armies and navies, and leaving the other classes of society to enjoy all the benefits of the profoundest peace. From now on, nothing is the strategy I intend to adopt.”
Susanna was rubbing her temples as if suffering from a headache, but she apparently was resigned enough to hold her peace.
“Meanwhile,” Washington continued, “I’ve set up my headquarters in this very commodious house, although I must say the ceilings are a bit low and the bed a bit short. I’ve set aside a room for you and Phillips to share, just upstairs and to the right, across from my own chamber.”
“I’m sure I could find something in—”
“I won’t hear of it,” Washington said with finality. “After your journey you both must be in need of a good rest, and you’ll find no accommodations but soldiers’ tents elsewhere. I should like to have you with me and Parson Weems here, so please indulge me. Now, if you’ll excuse me for a time, I have to make my usual rounds.”
He left us alone in the house, and I immediately said to Susanna, “I can sleep in the parlor.”
“It seems as if every man I meet tries to take advantage of my sex and my color,” Susanna remarked. “Except for you. You have always behaved as a gentleman to me.”
“I’ve always tried to—”
“What is wrong with you?” she demanded with sudden vehemence.
“Susanna, I would never take advantage of a lady, in spite of all the pressing temptations I suffer every time you’re near me—temptations I struggle mightily to resist, because I would not insult the finest lady I have ever known.”
“And did you think you were the only one who was tempted?”
For a moment I stood mute and looked into her eyes. Then I asked carefully, “What do you mean, Susanna?”
“I mean, obviously, that I don’t want you to sleep in the parlor.”
“Then you really do feel…some attachment to me?”
“I have a weakness for perfect gentlemen.”
I was probably gaping like a fish in a boat, because she continued:
“Mr. Gist, I know where I stand. I know I can never be more than a mistress to you. But even though—”
“By God, you’re wrong!” I cried. “Susanna, I love you, and I know I can never deserve you, but if you’re fool enough to have me, will you be my wife?”
A long interval of dreadful silence followed, until at last Susanna said quietly, “You’re mad.”
“I do believe I am. Since the moment I saw you a divine madness has taken possession of my soul, a madness that—”
“Oh, shut up!” Susanna exclaimed, and she enforced her will by pressing her lips hard against mine. She held them there until I had lost all desire to express my thoughts in articulate speech.
At last she spoke again: “I will be your wife, Mr. Gist, when we can do it, but I don’t think I can wait that long.”
“There’s a clergyman in this very house,” I reminded her.
“You mean that jackass?”
“A jackass with the power to make us both what we long to be.” I took her hand and led her up the stairs, where we found Parson Weems sitting in his little room composing a tract.
“Weems,” I said breathlessly, “marry us now.”
Weems thought for a moment and then said, “Gist, may I have a brief word with you?”
“No,” I replied. “Not without Susanna, who is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh from this day forward.”
“You do realize that I really am a clergyman, Gist, don’t you? If I do this—”
“Weems, you fool! Do you think I’m plotting to seduce this lady with a sham marriage? By heaven, I should thrash you. But wedding now, and we’ll save the thrashing for later.”
“I’ll do the wedding if you’ll forgo the thrashing.”
“Done,” I said.
“Only do it quickly,” Susanna added, clinging to me.
“All right,” said Parson Weems. “Dearly beloved, et cetera, honorable estate and so on, skip to the good part. Do you, Susanna, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, whether he snores or not, till death do you part?”
“I do,” she replied.
“And do you, Christopher, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, under all the usual conditions et cetera?”
“I do,” I answered eagerly.
“Then I now sentence you to be man and wife, and may God have mercy on your souls.”
“We’re done?” asked Susanna.
“For the rest of your natural lives,” Weems replied.
Susanna yanked me out the door and into our own chamber, where what an hour before had been a dreadful temptation was now, by a few words spoken in front of the parson, mystically transformed into a sacred duty.
Our joy, though complete, was, however, short; for the next day Howe’s army appeared, and it soon became evident that Washington’s plan of doing absolutely nothing was not as effective as he had hoped. Howe had hemmed us in from both sides, and it was clear that, without something near a miracle, the army was lost.
But then the miracle came, and Susanna seized it. As evening came on, a thick fog settled in, and it was impossible to see more than a few paces in any direction.
“If only we had some way to slip across the river!” said Susanna. “We could be out of harm’s way if we had boats, or even rafts.”
“There are trees everywhere,” I said.
“But it would be impossible to reduce them to logs quickly enough to do any good,” Susanna responded.
“Are any of them cherry trees?” I asked.
“Oh!” said Parson Weems. “I see what you mean! There’s a fine large stand of black cherries right by the river.”
“Get us an axe,” I told him, “and we’ll go get Washington.”
“I don’t understand,” said Susanna. “How is it easier to make logs from cherry trees?”
“You don’t know Washington as well as we do, my love,” I replied. Then I turned to find the nearest officer, who happened to be an old captain. “We need the men together and ready to build rafts. Any rope they can find, any fabric that can be twisted into ropes—have them gather as much as they can and go down to the river by the cherry grove. We’ll provide the logs.”
We found Washington eventually. It was difficult in the fog, but we kept asking soldiers until we found the place where he had fallen off his horse. We led him to the river, where the fog, by some providential dispensation, was dissipating; and when we came to the cherry trees, Washington did not need to be told what to do. The mania took hold of him before we said anything, and Susanna watched with awe as the trees were reduced to logs in a few minutes at most, with a terrifying din that must surely have been discouraging to the enemy. As soon as it was safe to approach, the soldiers began assembling the logs into rafts; and as the rafts were assembled, they set out for the lights across the river, where the fog had now entirely cleared.
By the next morning, the entire army had slipped out of Howe’s grasp, and was safely lodged in New-York, where the local militia supplemented our forces, and for the present Howe did not dare pursue us.
New-York in those days was a much smaller town than it is today; indeed, I believe there was scarcely a building over forty storeys in the whole island. But even in those days it was a town that loved a spectacle, and the movements of troops across the river, and the prospect of imminent invasion by Howe’s army, did not prevent New-Yorkers from enjoying themselves.
Having disposed his troops as well as he could, Washington gave them a day’s leave, and he himself spent the evening with Weems, Susanna, and me indulging in his favorite entertainment. He had learned that there was a popular puppet-show all the way uptown on Fourth-street; and, asking directions, was told to walk down the stairs at the next corner. These proved to lead down to an underground chamber hollowed out of a tunnel, where two dozen or so people were standing, apparently waiting for something. In a few minutes we heard the clopping of horses’ hooves echoing in the tunnel, and a light was visible coming into the chamber. A team of eight horses entered, followed by a very long carriage; imitating the rest of the crowd, we entered the carriage, which was already stuffed with riders, so that we were forced to stand and cling to leathern straps hung from the ceiling, apparently for that purpose, as the carriage began to move and entered the dark tunnel once more.
Uncomfortable though the arrangements were, the carriage did convey us to Fourth-street, which, when we emerged from the subterranean conveyance, proved to be lined with theaters and expositions of every sort. We found the puppet-show, where we enjoyed the amusing adventures of a cast of oddly shaped befurred puppets with bulging white eyes—most of the audience laughing in delight, but Washington watching with his usual stony dignity and expressionless silence.
After the show, Parson Weems, Susanna, and I retreated to a popular tavern across the street for a bit of Madeira; but Washington’s eye was attracted by a poster advertising an exhibition in the rooms next to the tavern:
and
the incomparable sherwin
twin brothers who are
He told us he would meet us in the tavern, and went in to enjoy the exhibition. Some time later he joined us, and declared himself well pleased with what he had seen. “It really is remarkably interesting,” he said. “The men are twins, and yet you cannot imagine two men more different in every respect.”
“How did you know they were twins?” asked Parson Weems.
Washington looked surprised and shocked. “I took it upon their word as gentlemen.”
The rest of us decided not to pursue that line of inquiry. Instead, I turned the conversation to the question of what was to be done now that Howe occupied Long island and was doubtless plotting to move on New-York itself.
“Nothing,” Washington replied with confidence.
“Nothing?” Susanna repeated incredulously. “But surely what happened across the river must have persuaded you that it is necessary to do something!”
“What happened there, I am quite convinced, was entirely owing to the malevolent influence of Irving. It was not the strategy that was at fault, but merely the events.”
“But—” Susanna began, and then stopped and took a very big gulp of her Madeira.
“To my mind,” said Parson Weems, “our most pressing problem is one of money. The soldiers have not been paid for some time. If they are not paid soon, they will begin to desert.”
“They had better not,” Washington replied with some warmth. “I am not a cruel man, but I do believe in strong discipline, and if I have to send men to bed without supper, I will do it.”
“I must agree with the Parson,” I said. “Even the sternest discipline will not keep the men long if we cannot pay them what they are legitimately owed. We must find a way to persuade the Congress to deal with the question of paying the army.”
“And I’m sure the Congress will respond with alacrity once we have made our case,” said Washington. “Meanwhile, I have been thinking of erecting a fort at the northern end of the island.”
“A very good idea, General,” said Susanna, obviously pleased. “If we control the navigation up the Hudson, we deprive the enemy of the opportunity to drive a wedge between the East and the Middle.”
“True,” said Washington. “I had not thought of that. I was more interested in establishing the site of a new city on Manhattan Island—a city that, as it grows, will doubtless eclipse New-York to the south, and perhaps even absorb it; a city that will soon rival even Philadelphia as a center of our new American civilization; a city called Washington. A fort, of course, will be the seed from which such a city sprouts. And there is one more thing I’ve been thinking of, Phillips.”
“What is that, General?”
“You’re a lieutenant, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you mind terribly being a captain?”
She glanced at me, and then answered, “No, sir.”
“Good. Captain Phillips it is, then.”
Susanna smiled broadly. “Thank you, sir.”
“You are, after all, the architect of the nothing strategy, and you deserve recognition. Perhaps in the future nothing will be named for you.”
Susanna’s smile froze on her face as she repeated, “Thank you, sir.”
Washington found us lodgings in a rather large inn. Susanna and I had a room on the twenty-seventh floor, which required a bit of labor in climbing the stairs, but rewarded us with a fine view of the city. I told Susanna I was very proud to be married to the most beautiful captain in the continental army, and we spent a very pleasant night together. It would be the last pleasant night for some time.
In the morning, when we found Washington (rather late, since Susanna and I had slept but little), he was in earnest discussion with a small, energetic man who seemed to be explaining something to him, while writing or drawing something on a paper in front of him.
“Ah! Gist—Phillips—just the men I wanted to see,” Washington said when he saw us. “This is Mr. Alexander Hamilton, a young fellow who has the most amazing ideas about money. Mr. Hamilton, this is Mr. Gist, my trusted advisor; and the other young man is Captain Phillips, one of my most valuable officers.”
The small man named Hamilton looked perplexed. “Other young man?” he repeated.
“The one in the uniform, of course.”
Hamilton continued to look perplexed for a moment, and then appeared to decide that perplexity was not worth the effort. “Very pleased to meet you both, uh, gentlemen.”
“Mr. Hamilton was just explaining to me how to get all the money we need for the army,” Washington continued. “It turns out that the Congress can have all the money it wants by simply increasing military spending and lowering taxes.”
“Don’t you mean raising taxes?” Susanna asked.
“Ah! That’s the clever part,” Washington replied. “Explain it to them, Hamilton.”
Mr. Hamilton turned his paper over to its blank side and started drawing something while he spoke. “You see, military spending stimulates economic activity by creating demand for manufactured products. But higher taxes have the opposite effect by reducing the incentive to get rich. By lowering taxes, we create incentive to gain wealth, and the wealth is then spent on luxury items, creating more wealth for the producers thereof, and thus raising tax revenue overall.”
I looked at the paper in front of him. He had drawn a sort of crude outline of a bell.
“And is this drawing some sort of graphic representation of your theory?” I asked.
“No. That’s just a drawing of the Liberty Bell. Sorry—I always doodle like that when I’m explaining things. It’s a nervous habit.”
“It seems to me,” said Susanna, “that the incentive to get rich is that, once you’ve done it, you’re rich. Even if you take away fifty per cent, if I make a thousand pounds, I still get to keep five hundred, so I’m five hundred pounds better off.”
Hamilton gave her a condescending smile. “I don’t expect military… uh, men to understand economics.”
“I’m sending Hamilton down to Philadelphia to explain all this to the Congress,” said Washington. “All they have to do is lower taxes and spend more money on the army, and everything will be fine.”
“Do you really think the Congress will be that…” Susanna searched for an appropriate adjective, and at last came up with “…amenable?”
“Oh,” replied Washington, “the Congress is—heh—the Congress—heh heh heh—best minds of the—ha ha ha ha ha—of the—ha ha ha ha ha!”
The laughing fit was now fully upon him, and Washington was pounding his great fists on the table, nearly upsetting the inkpot, trying to speak but finding it impossible.
“It is the effect of a puppet-show he saw last night,” I explained to poor Hamilton, who was watching with an expression of barely suppressed terror.
Washington threw his head back and exclaimed, “The blue one lives in a garbage can!” Then he fell forward, banging his forehead repeatedly on the table, so that the ink spilled all over Mr. Hamilton’s bell.
It was some time before he recovered. But eventually Mr. Hamilton was sent off to Philadelphia to persuade the Congress, and I wished him very good luck with that.
Meanwhile, things did not go well in New-York, and Washington’s strategy of doing nothing did not bear the fruit he had hoped it would bear. Even as Hamilton set off for Philadelphia, Howe, reinforced by Hessian mercenaries, invaded New-York, and our brave soldiers ran all the way across New-Jersey before they stopped. Washington eventually regrouped what was left of his army west of the Delaware, but that was not very much, most of the soldiers having deserted along the way.
All was not lost, however: two or three days after we arrived on the west bank of the Delaware, Susanna, Parson Weems, and I were very much surprised to see that little Hamilton fellow walking toward us.
“Mr. Hamilton!” I greeted him. “What a surprise to see you here! How did your mission to the Congress go?”
“Perfectly, of course,” he said, with the air of one confident that all his projects must always proceed perfectly. “I explained my ‘Drip-Down Theory’ to the Congress, which sent me back with the entire back pay of the army in specie.”
“So at last the soldiers can be paid,” Parson Weems said. “I’m sure that will come as very good news to the ones who are left. Where is the money?”
“I left it with General Washington,” replied Hamilton. “He’s down by the river in that direction.”
Weems was the first to give voice to the sudden fear that had gripped me as well. “You mean you left the General with a bag of coins? Beside a river? Alone?”
“Was that unwise?” asked Hamilton.
We said nothing; we simply began running toward the river. Susanna followed, and Hamilton trailed behind us, saying,
“Surely you don’t mean to imply that the General can’t be trusted!”
But we merely kept running for the river, whither we arrived just in time to see Washington, surrounded by empty sacks, hurling one of of the dollars the Congress had provided across the Delaware.
“What is he doing?” Susanna asked in disbelief.
“He can’t help himself,” I said to her; then to Washington, “Washington! For heaven’s sake, stop!”
“I have to stop anyway,” he said cheerfully. “I ran out of dollars.”
“But, general,” cried Susanna, “that money was all we had to pay the soldiers!”
“Was it? I suppose it was. I didn’t think of that. I saw dollars, and I saw a river, and the rest just naturally followed. My word! It felt good. I haven’t done that in a very long time.”
“But why?” Susanna demanded.
“I don’t think I understand the question,” Washington replied.
“And how will you get the dollars back?” Parson Weems asked in a mildly disapproving tone.
“By the usual method, I suppose. We’ll cross the river and retrieve them.”
“But the other side of the river is crawling with Hessians,” Weems reminded him.
“Oh—is it? I suppose it is.”
Nevertheless, there was nothing else to be done. The men had to be paid, or we should have no more army. The money was on the other side of the river. We found a few boats nearby and decided to send a small patrol across to retrieve the money if it could be done. I recommended that some subordinate officer be found to lead the patrol, but Washington would not hear of it. I therefore placed myself in Washington’s boat, with Susanna (over my objections) beside me, and we set out across the icy Delaware, fully expecting (at least for my own part) to be shot before we even reached the opposite shore.
No shots were fired, however, and when we reached the other side it became apparent why that was so. Bodies of Hessian soldiers were strewn all over the ground. At first I wondered whether some local militia had come before us and massacred the men; but as we came closer it became clear that the Hessian soldiers were not dead, but unconscious, lying in a field of Spanish milled dollars. The hail of coins had been too much for them, and each dollar hurled by the mighty arm of Washington had found its target on a Hessian skull.
“Well,” said Washington, “this is very convenient. Disarm these men and take them prisoner, and we can collect our money and our prisoners and take them back with us.”
“Or,” said Susanna, “we can bring the rest of the army across and press forward and take Trenton.”
“Would that be good?” asked Washington.
“Very good,” I told him. “The Hessian troops lie here, our prisoners. Trenton is undefended, and Trenton is the capital of the province.”
“Oh! Well, in that case, by all means. Excellent thinking, Phillips.”
Thus, having crossed the Delaware, Washington was able, by a singular stroke of good fortune, to take Trenton. The cause of independence, which had seemed so nearly hopeless after the loss of New-York, was once again embraced by public opinion.
To be continued in Chapter VIII. Or you can order the whole book now and spare yourself the wait.
By an Associate.
Continuing the narrative that began here.
Meanwhile, the victories at Ticonderoga and Boston had changed the perception of the conflict throughout the colonies. It was a war now, and it seemed possible that it might be a war that could be won. The popular sentiment now favored a complete and permanent break with Great Britain, and Washington himself had come around to the idea and now embraced it enthusiastically.
“The time has long passed,” he declared at dinner one afternoon, “when we could expect King George and his ministers to see their own folly and redress our grievances in a forthright and responsible manner. We have grown too distant from England for that; we have our own interests, and I may be so bold as to say that we have preserved the true spirit of English government, which has been lost in the mother country. I believe it is our destiny to found a new kingdom on the American continent, a kingdom which, as it is already greater in extent, must soon be greater in wealth, population, and power. Of course it will be necessary, in order to have a kingdom, that we should have a king.”
“Perhaps one of the exiled Stuarts,” Parson Weems suggested.
“But the last Stuart king was even more tyrannical than George III,” I objected.
“That is true,” Washington concurred. “I believe that the founder of a new American dynasty ought to be one of our own people: a man born on our soil, and one widely known in the colonies; a man of stature, you might say, who would naturally be looked to as a leader. It might also be of use in easing our transition to full independency if he bore a name already in accustomed use as the name of kings, so that it came naturally to the tongues of the people. A good uniform would also be a desideratum, as kings look well in uniforms. I say no more for the present, but I shall be ready with my suggestions when the time comes.”
Much later, after Washington had gone upstairs to bed, Susanna asked, “Shall we really trade one imbecile for another?”
“Washington,” I said rather too warmly, “is a man with a great heart and the most thoroughly honest nature I have ever known. If we must have a king, let it be such a king as that.”
“Besides,” added Parson Weems, “imbecility has never been thought a detriment in kings.”
“But why must we have a king at all?” Susanna asked, and to that I could think of no very good answer.
The next day we received messengers from Philadelphia, who informed us that the question of independence was to be brought up in the Congress. It was not possible that Washington should leave the command of the army, but he did earnestly desire to have a report of the debates.
“You go, Gist,” he told me. “There’s no one I trust more than you, and if I cannot be spared, I should at least like to have you there to hear what is said, and to make my sentiments in favor of independency known.”
“I am honored by your trust,” I replied.
“Take Phillips with you,” Washington added. “He has a sharp mind, that man. He might be useful if difficult questions come up, especially in matters of arithmetic. I have found him extraordinarily useful in matters of arithmetic, especially when the numbers go above twelve. I am not very good at numbers above twelve.”
All at once I was paralyzed by indecision. If I had to go to Philadelphia, how much more pleasant it would be to have the divine Susanna with me! Yet it would expose me to great and terrible temptations of the sort Parson Weems had not been able to resist. Ought I not, therefore, to suggest that she stay with Washington? But that would deprive me of her company, and of the possibility of yielding to temptation, which could be very pleasant if Susanna were equally tempted. If not, I might end up with a blackened eye, as Parson Weems had done, and if I behaved as he had behaved then I would certainly deserve that fate.
Thus buffeted by conflicting desires, I said nothing; and because I said nothing, Washington’s will was done.
We were to go to Philadelphia by ship—something of a risk, but not too much of one, as the British did not yet have the capacity to blockade our ports. I would like to tell you a thrilling sea-tale, but in fact we had calm weather and no danger of any description, except the danger to my self-mastery incident to traveling with a lady whose charms seemed to captivate me more every hour. I behaved as a gentleman the whole way, and I still regard that as one of my proudest achievements.
Susanna, of course, excited some comment, the more so as she was still in uniform; but the letters from General Washington answered all questions. If the General stated that a colored woman was a lieutenant named Phillips, then so it must be.
We arrived in Philadelphia to find the city miserably hot. Susanna and I lodged at the same inn where Washington and I had stayed months before, and indeed Susanna slept in the same room Washington had occupied. The innkeeper was a little baffled by the arrangement: he accepted the letters from Washington as proof enough of her right to wear the uniform, but still persisted in assuming that I must have brought her along for immoral purposes. I fear I must have used some language with him that was strong in proportion to the temptation I was resisting, for the poor man after that was never quite able to decide whether to treat her as an officer or as a lady. But at any rate he treated her with respect, mingled with a certain amount of fear.
At dinner we discovered that two of the members of the Congress were staying at the same inn: Mr. Harrison and Mr. Jefferson, both from Virginia. When he saw the divine Susanna, Mr. Jefferson gave obvious signs of admiration; I thought his eyeballs might tumble out of his head, so eagerly did he devour the sight of her. My jealousy was naturally inflamed, but as I had made no declaration to Susanna, I could but watch and fume silently, meanwhile treating Jefferson with scrupulous, if not over-scrupulous, politeness.
“I believe the question will be settled in the next few days,” Jefferson said when I asked about the debate on independence. “We require a unanimous vote; Mr. Franklin has some clever saying about the necessity for unity, which I have forgotten at the moment, though it has something to do with hanging, believe it or not, but that’s Franklin’s sense of humor. At the moment Georgia and Delaware are holding out. It goes without saying that Massachusetts and Virginia have stood for independence from the beginning. The other colonies have fallen into line one after another, but Georgia is waiting for the silkworm issue to be addressed before making a decision. As for Delaware, I believe the whole colony has no more than three men in it, and the two sitting in the Congress now are of opposite opinions. The third went home with a headache some time ago, but we may have to send for him to get a decision from Delaware. Meanwhile, I have been asked to draft a proclamation or declaration showing the causes why we must break the bonds which connect us with England, on which I should be happy to have your opinion.”
“Oh, I’d be very interested in seeing that,” said Susanna.
“Dear lady, nothing would delight me more. If you would come to my chamber, we can peruse it together as long as we like, and—”
“Why don’t we bring it down here to the front parlor?” I suggested quickly, “—so that the three of us have room to peruse it together.”
Jefferson was visibly disappointed when Susanna eagerly assented to my suggestion, but it was too obviously reasonable to admit of any objection. Accordingly, after dinner, we sat in the parlor and heard Mr. Jefferson read the text he had written, after which he invited our opinions and suggestions.
“The beginning might perhaps be a little more dignified,” I said.
“Do you think so? I wondered about that. I was aiming for a colloquial directness, but you say that ‘When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go’ leans too far in that direction?”
“It ought,” said Susanna, “to begin with a few resounding phrases, easily remembered but impressive and tending to emphasize the seriousness of the occasion.”
“How about something like ‘We, the people of the thirteen United States of America,’ and go on from there?”
“I don’t think that quite fits,” said Susanna. “It sounds well, and you should keep it in mind for something in the future, but for the present we need something that places us firmly in the flow of history, so that the world knows that we are justified not only by facts but by precedent. Something like ‘When in the course of events’ to start with, and then a brief statement of what we are compelled to do.”
“By heaven, dear lady, I think you’ve hit on something there,” Jefferson said, hurriedly dipping his quill in the ink-pot and scribbling her suggestion at the top of his first sheet.
“You have quite a list of complaints against King George,” I remarked.
“Yes, it seemed necessary to make the list long and detailed, so that we should not seem to be revolting for light and whimsical reasons.”
“Some of them,” I continued, “I do not quite understand. For instance, ‘He has made us eat spinach.’ ”
“Somebody made me eat my spinach,” said Jefferson. “Mother always said, ‘Eat your spinach for King George.’ ”
“Ah, I see.”
“I don’t like spinach,” Jefferson added.
“What about the slave trade?” Susanna added.
“The slave trade?”
“The slave trade,” she repeated, her dark eyes blazing; “that wicked and murderous trade in the human species, which condemns the more fortunate of its victims to a miserable death on unspeakably filthy ships where they are stacked like cordwood, and the less fortunate to a life of unending servitude under the whip of a master whose cruelty is unchecked by law, and against whose foul lusts the women have no defense; the children from such unions, the only consolations afforded to the victims, being ripped from the arms of their wailing mothers and callously sold to buy a few trifling luxuries for the man who calls himself their owner. What have you to say to King George about the slave trade?”
“By God, madam, I shall have something to say about it!” Jefferson said, his pen scratching frantically. “Where, madam, did you learn such eloquence?”
“My father, sir—my adoptive father, for I was left on his doorstep—was a minister of God, with a library of a few well-chosen books. One of them was the Bible.”
“Oh, yes—the Bible. I’ve always meant to read it, but every time I start I think what an awful lot of words there are to get through. I have always thought it would attract more readers if it were condensed into the form of a small octavo of a few dozen pages. When I have leisure, I shall undertake the work.”
Fatigued by our journey, Susanna and I both retired early. The next morning I woke and dressed and came downstairs to find Jefferson nursing a blackened eye. I said nothing, and he was not as garrulous as he had been the evening before. When Susanna came down, and Jefferson was momentarily out of the room, I asked her, “Did Mr. Jefferson pay you a visit last night?”
“I took care of it,” she replied. She had no more to say on that subject.
As General Washington’s representatives, we were allowed to be present at the daily sessions of the Congress as silent observers. On that first morning, Jefferson presented his draft declaration, and debate began with the first line.
“I think you ought to specify what kind of events you mean,” said Mr. Whipple.
“What kind of events?” asked Mr. Jefferson.
“Say, ‘When in the course of human events.’ That makes it clear.”
Mr. Harrison interrupted. “Really, Whipple, what other kinds of events would we be talking about?”
“Well, equine events, for example. Or canine events. Things happen to horses and dogs all the time. It’s not just humans who have events.”
“Do you really want to complain that King George has trampled on the rights of horses and dogs?” asked Mr. Harrison.
“No,” said Mr. Whipple. “I wish specifically to remove the ambiguity and make it clear that we are not concerned with the rights of horses and dogs.”
“The word has been added,” said Mr. Jefferson. “When in the course of human events.”
“Which is absurdly redundant,” Mr. Harrison grumbled.
“But it will do,” said Mr. Jefferson.
“Why are we not concerned with the rights of horses and dogs?” asked Mr. Gerry; but he spoke in a soft voice, and thus was ignored as Mr. Reed rose to speak.
“Delaware,” said Mr. Reed, “has not declared for independency; but if she were to do so, her representatives could in no wise accept this condemnation of spinach-eating. Spinach-growing is one of our two main industries: that and picture postcards with sand dollars on them are the twin pillars of our prosperity.”
“It is removed, Mr. Reed,” said Mr. Jefferson, striking a line through the offending clause.
“Look here, Jefferson,” said Mr. Rutledge, “what’s all this intemperate language about slavery?”
“It hardly seems intemperate to me,” said Jefferson. “The language indeed seems hardly adequate to describe the human misery inflicted by the institution of slavery.”
“But you make human misery sound like a bad thing,” Mr. Rutledge complained. “Human misery is the foundation of our happiness in South Carolina. Misery is the divinely ordained condition of the African, so that by God’s providential arrangement the white man can have the leisure to glorify his Creator by drinking juleps and playing whist. That is why he gave the African such a hideously dark complexion.” And then, realizing that there was a lady present, he nodded to Susanna and said, “No offense intended, madam.”
She gave him a smile that would have frozen a volcano.
Here Dr. Franklin stood and, with an eye on Susanna, began to speak: “I wish to register my strong objection to Mr. Rutledge’s characterization of the African complexion as ‘hideous’—a characterization rendered nigh incomprehensible by the ample evidence to the contrary we all have right before our eyes. It is time to end this curse before it blights the hope of our nascent confederation. A stitch in time saves the mime. I support the condemnation of slavery and the slave trade as Mr. Jefferson wrote it, and I further condemn slave-owners as depraved and debauched men whose wickedness makes them hardly less than devils incarnate. No offense intended, Mr. Rutledge.”
Mr. Wythe spoke next: “But see here, Jefferson, you’re a slave-owner yourself.”
“Am I?” Mr. Jefferson responded with some surprise. “Why, so I am. I have so little to do with the slaves, you see. I have a manager for that purpose.”
“And who is your manager?” asked Mr. Rutledge.
“Oh, one of the slaves takes care of that. Well, then, gentlemen, I think we can strike the slavery clause, can’t we? Let’s move on to more important questions.”
Susanna’s right hand was clenched into a fearsome-looking fist, but she kept her seat.
Mr. Gwinnett spoke up. “The colony of Georgia is not likely to declare for independence unless the silkworm issue is addressed. We suggest a clause, perhaps replacing the slavery clause, along these lines: ‘He has failed to send the right species of mulberry for our silkworms.’ ”
We returned from the day’s debate somewhat dispirited, but nevertheless appeared dutifully to hear the next day’s session, which was taken up mostly with the silkworm question, until at last, by various whispered compromises, the Georgians were persuaded to declare for independence without a silkworm clause specifically so worded, but with the addition of a more general clause stating that “He has refused his assent to laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good,” which everyone agreed to understand as referring to the silkworm crisis.
The day after that was consumed with fruitless wrangling: only Delaware held out, the two delegates still holding opposing opinions on independence. Thus, in fact, there was only one member left to be moved, but he was as immobile as the Alleghenies. It was finally decided that Mr. Rodney would have to be sent for to gain a clear majority one way or the other from Delaware. A rider was dispatched, with the hope that he would return with Mr. Rodney on the morrow.
In the evening we had supper with Dr. Franklin, who gave every evidence of being captivated by the charm of the divine Susanna. Indeed, I believe he must have given her some quite unmistakably clear evidence: for I had left the room to answer the call of nature, and when I returned Dr. Franklin was holding a wet rag over his eye. When I asked Susanna about it later, she would say only, “I accepted his apology.”
Mr. Rodney arrived in due time, and spent the hour after his arrival excoriating the Congress in general and his brethren from Delaware in particular for making him ride all the way up to Philadelphia with the most appalling headache ever suffered by mortal man. It was some time before he ran out of breath; but at last Mr. Hancock was able to put the question to him directly.
“Independence, Mr. Rodney: Aye or nay?”
“Oh, yes, by all means, let us have independence, and let us all be hanged as traitors and put out of our misery,” replied Mr. Rodney.
“Yes,” Dr. Franklin began, “we must all hang together, or—”
“Shut up, Franklin,” said Mr. Rodney, holding his head in both hands.
“So finally the question is decided by Delaware,” Mr. Wythe remarked.
“Which will doubtless be known for ever afterward as ‘The Last State,’ ” added Mr. Harrison.
But at last the Congress was unanimous: we should have independence, if General Washington and his army could procure it for us. There remained yet some few clauses in the Declaration which did not please everyone, and another few days were expended in debating them. But in the end the document had been drawn up in a form that, if it did not please all the delegates, was at least no longer worth fighting over.
“Now, gentlemen,” said Mr. Hancock on that memorable day, “what remains is for each of us to affix his signature to this Declaration, as a pledge that we shall all remain united in our determination to establish a permanent separation from the tyranny of King George.”
“Yes,” Dr. Franklin agreed, “we must all hang together, or we shall assuredly hang our heads in shame.”
“That one needs some work before it goes in the almanac,” said Mr. Clymer.
“Now, my friends,” Mr. Hancock continued, “let there be no jealousy over the order of the signatures. We shall simply start on my right with the delegation from Georgia, and then we may go around the room in an orderly fashion.”
“And if I may suggest,” added Mr. Harrison, “we ought to leave a good space near the center for General Washington to sign at the next opportunity.”
“Hear, hear,” Mr. Chase concurred. “The General was a member of this Congress until we ourselves committed the command of the continental army to his care. He more than anyone else has brought us to the point where independency can be considered by reasonable men. Centuries from now, when the infant nation born this day has grown to a mighty empire of perhaps as many as eighteen or nineteen states, our distant progeny will treasure this Declaration and will look eagerly for the name of Washington subscribed to it.”
Mr. Hancock looked a little sour, but all he said was, “Yes, of course; but first let us all sign it, so that the thing is finished and we are all pledged to independence.”
“Yes,” said Dr. Franklin, “for we must all hang loose, or we shall assuredly hang together.”
“Keep working on it, Franklin,” said Mr. Clymer.
Meanwhile the Georgian delegation had already subscribed, and then came the Carolinas, and so on from one end of the room to the other, until all but Mr. Hancock had signed.
“And now,” said Mr. Samuel Adams, “it remains only for our President to add his name to the roll.”
Mr. Hancock plunged the quill into the ink as if he meant it to soak up the whole pot.
“Don’t forget to leave a space for—” Mr. John Adams began; but Mr. Hancock was already applying the quill to the Declaration with vigorous motions of his whole arm, extending all the way up into his shoulder.
“Why, Mr. Hancock,” Mr. Gerry remarked after the President had lifted his hand from the paper with a final flourish, “you’ve left no room at all for General Washington’s name!”
“Oops,” said Mr. Hancock.
To be continued in Chapter VII. Or you can order the whole book now and spare yourself the wait.