by Mark J Rose
Franklin took pride in his knowledge of human events and his ability when it came to interpreting the motivations of men. This was the South Sea Bubble all over again, and the signs had been there from the start, yet he had followed the sheep right to the edge of the cliff! Now he was only hanging on. He had been so arrogant as to believe that he had the wit to leave the market before it was too late. “’Tis the game we play,” Franklin sighed. He studied his beer.
Franklin knew his situation wasn’t as bad as most. Smarter men than he were already in debtor’s prison. All the gold Franklin had carried to London was gone, though. Luckily, he’d paid six month’s rent in advance, but he’d be mostly insolvent until he could sell some of his property in Pennsylvania. He’d be constrained to live on credit and his royalties from Miller Head and Stomach Tablets for the remainder of his time in London, and he’d be paying his creditors for years.
One thing Franklin couldn’t gripe about when it came to his former pupil was that tablet sales were going up like a Chinese rocket. When they had first formed their partnership, Franklin had considered his choice to purchase fifteen percent of Miller Head and Stomach Tablets to be the musings of a sentimental old man. Matthew had been highly leveraged while he was trying to build his business, and then he had left Philadelphia in what Franklin had considered a fit of mad passion.
As he sat looking over the Thames, Franklin thought back to his conversation with Matthew about the Virginia gentlewoman who he wanted for his wife. The image of that chilly Philadelphia afternoon was so vivid in Franklin’s mind that he felt himself shiver at the thought of the uncommonly cold day when they had spoken.
“You’re a madman,” Franklin had said to Matthew. “Your affairs are only now profitable, and you want to retire to be a farmhand? Why not bring her hither?”
“I agreed to go there.”
“I don’t give idle advice,” Franklin said. He remembered Matthew showing him an impatient face and rolling his eyes, and thinking how predictable he was at times. Franklin had ignored the gesture. “You must complete your affairs in Philadelphia before running off to chase—.”
Matthew waved him quiet. “I’m not running off.”
“Do what you must now that you may do what you want later.”
“I belong in Virginia.”
“You know less about horses than I do,” Franklin said.
“My laboratory’s done,” Matthew replied.
“They’re finished with that?”
Matthew had nodded.
“I still have trouble imagining this future you say we share,” Franklin had declared. “Carriages that move by themselves. You were pulled into a hole between centuries and shot like a lead ball through a piece of rotted parchment?”
“It was a reactor accident,” Matthew said thinking for a moment, “but for all intents, that’s about right.”
“I expect a man from two hundred and fifty years in the future to be smarter,” Franklin proclaimed. “He wouldn’t throw a successful business away to chase a lady.” Franklin still remembered the fire he had seen Matthew’s eyes. It had made Franklin jealous not to be twenty-seven.
“I know it sounds stupid,” Matthew replied. “I’m willing to take the risk.”
Franklin had to keep from smiling. He knew the boy was making a mistake. “Rethink this!” he cried, trying his best to keep a grim face. “Bring her here.”
Matthew had shaken his head. “I’d be lying in a gutter somewhere if not for them,” he explained.
“You’ll be married with five children speculating about how you’re going to pay the debt collector.”
“I hardly think God transported me two hundred and fifty years into the past to let me become a beggar.”
“Arrogance!” Franklin cried. “It’s the easiest way to hear God laugh.”
“Ever since I arrived in this century, everyone has said, ‘Trust in God.’ I finally decide to trust in God, and now I’m arrogant?”
“How do you know this lady will even take you as her husband?” Franklin asked.
Matthew gave him a dirty look. “You’ve met her. Nothing is guaranteed. Who said that?”
“Some old fool,” Franklin replied. “How much money do you have?”
“Enough,” Matthew replied.
“Do you want help or not?”
“Seven hundred pounds give or take.”
“Tell me why, exactly, you’re going there,” Franklin demanded.
“To collect my wife, help the farm and start manufacturing.”
“While you’re helping these kind people with their farm, how will you be supporting your family?” Franklin asked. He looked at Matthew hard. Franklin’s humor had disappeared.
“I’ll be starting the aspirin synthesis,” Matthew said. “I don’t have all the details.”
“You expect her family to support you?”
“Seven hundred pounds will last me a long time,” Matthew replied.
“Purchase a piece of that farm.”
“Seven hundred pounds won’t buy much.”
“Another two thousand pounds?”
“I already owe Ricken too much money,” Matthew replied.
Franklin’s offer had slipped out of his mouth. “Furnish collateral, and I’ll lend it to you,” he said.
“I don’t have anything worth two thousand pounds, except the business.”
“With your debt?” Franklin replied seriously. “It’s worth naught.”
“I employ seven people,” Matthew said. “Hardly worthless.”
“Leave the dog,” Franklin said smiling. He looked down at Scout, Matthew’s shepherd dog, who was between them moving his head to the sound of each of their voices.
“It’d break his heart if he couldn’t be with his horse,” Matthew said. He was referring to the peculiar fellowship between Scout and Thunder, Matthew’s thoroughbred stallion. Franklin had rarely seen Matthew without one or both of his animals, and the three of them had achieved storybook proportions in Franklin’s fantasies. Franklin still held a romanticized image in his mind of a dashing young man from the future, accompanied by his two animal comrades, traipsing about the colonies curing human ills and confronting injustice.
Franklin gazed down at the dog and let out an audible sigh. “Who will join me on my walks when you’re gone?”
“He’s not even mine; he’s a loaner from the Taylors.”
Franklin had shaken his head in mock disgust. “I cannot fancy how you became so entwined with these people in so little time. How did you manage to quit them when you did?”
“Needed to make my fortune,” Matthew replied. “Do what you must now so—”
“You have absolutely nothing of value?”
“Besides a business that employs seven people,” Matthew repeated, now also sounding irritated.
Franklin had come to think of Matthew as a son, so he fought every urge to give him the money outright. “I want fifteen percent of all future profits on those fizzing tablets everyone is griping about.”
“Only when they eat them like candy,” Matthew replied. “Fifteen percent? Are you mad?”
“You’re confusing me with one of your fellow farmhands,” Franklin declared. “’Tis a fair price. I may never see you again.”
“Twenty-five hundred pounds for fifteen percent of future earnings,” Matthew countered. “And you will see me again.”
“Two thousand,” Franklin insisted.
“An extra five hundred pounds would take the pressure off.”
“Fine,” Franklin said resigned. “I’ll have the papers drawn on the morrow. I can’t fancy you’ll retire before then.” Franklin shrugged his shoulders and then turned to go.
“I want your opinion on a few things,” Matthew called trying to convince him to turn back around.
Franklin had waived him off and spoke, still ready to walk away. “You know the future. Figure it out. I plan to take my stroll with the Taylor’s dog. Maybe they’d be willing to sell.�
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“Come down to Richmond with me and ask,” Matthew had said.
Franklin remembered that he had seriously considered taking another journey with the young man and animals that had become a part of his life. He resisted the temptation.
“Go ahead,” Matthew said to the dog who was looking up for permission to follow Franklin. Scout trotted to catch up to the older man’s side as he reached to open the door.
“Ben,” Matthew had called.
Franklin placed his hand on the door and finally turned to face him. “What now?”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Franklin remembered the intense melancholy he felt that day as the dog strutted happily at his side while they walked the hills that overlooked Philadelphia. Even now, he missed them dearly.
Chapter 14
Limeys
The sun worked with the growing gusts to disperse the protective fog that had shrouded the Norfolk. The sails were filling with a stiff breeze, and this was enough to foster a new sense of purpose among the crew as they rushed about the deck. Matt watched the sails swell, heard the stretching and straining of the canvas and rigging, and felt the ship lurch forward. The sensations all around him combined in a rousing symphony of human ingenuity. Stepping out of himself to experience the moving montage of ocean, ship, and crew, Matt suddenly knew why men took to the seas. The ship’s transformation had put a satisfied smile on his face. “I get it,” Matt thought.
Captain Pearce looked down at him from the quarterdeck and shouted, “A good seaman is only happy when his lady is pregnant with the wind.” The Norfolk began to pick up speed. Captain Pearce raised his telescope to his eye to assess their attacker while Second Lieutenant Creighton spun the wheel to give them the best angle to catch the wind. The pirate ship, having fired her starboard guns, took time to come about and start the chase, and their delay gave the Norfolk a head start. Captain Pearce inspected the pirates through his brass telescope. He dropped the glass from his eye and called, “Look alive, they have a long nine.”
The pirate ship was equipped with a chase gun, a longer than normal, forward-pointing cannon that could fire a nine-pound cannonball. This ball was relatively small compared to those used in her main battery guns, which were probably from eighteen to thirty-six pounds. The long nine, if used effectively, could strike the Norfolk at distances up to about a mile. The Norfolk’s two, rear-facing four-pounders were no match.
“They’ll pick us apart if we let ‘em,” the Captain said.
“We’ve a scheme, Captain, to blow her from the water,” Jay replied.
They heard cannon fire from the pirate ship and saw a ball splash far back from their stern. It was a range-finding shot. The next one would probably be closer.
“Lose not a moment,” Pearce said. “I’ll not let ‘em chew us apart before we have a go.”
Matt almost saluted the man, thrilled to have the chance to try their plan.
“Mr. Miller,” Jay commanded as he waved at Matt impatiently to follow him to the entrance to the hold. “I’ll want your help.”
They began descending a ladder through three levels to reach the ship’s hold. The first level held the sleeping quarters for the crew. The second, lit by portals, contained bags of flower, bread, fruits, and vegetables. Matt noted some open crates that held lemons. Citrus fruit was an essential part of a seaman’s diet because vitamin C prevented them from getting scurvy on a long sea voyage.
Every sailor feared scurvy and its symptoms that included lethargy, muscle weakness, and loose teeth. The disease was so prevalent that it was the basis for the old seaman’s taunt, “Ye scurvy dogs.” They called British sailors “limeys” in reference to the British Navy’s dictate that limes be the preferred citrus on British vessels. Hindsight would recognize this as a poor decision because limes contain about half as much vitamin C as lemons and oranges.
There were a few livestock in pens on the third deck including pigs and chickens. Jay lit a candle from a sconce on this third deck, covered it with the protective glass of the holder and carried it with him as he descended the ladder to the very bottom of the ship. The Norfolk was a new vessel, so its hold was not as bad as the lower decks of some older rat-infested ships, but it was still dark, damp and musty. The murkiness, the creaking of the wood hull and the intermittent sound of cannon fire did nothing to help Matt become more comfortable in its shadowy confines.
Jay set the candle down as he stepped off the ladder and then pointed at a stack of empty barrels. “The large ones,” he instructed as he turned away to look for something else. Matt stepped to the barrels to pull the top one from the stack. Dirt and debris littered his head as he tilted the barrel. He hefted it to the ladder and then delayed to brush whatever had fallen into his hair. Pieces of chewed wood and rodent droppings fell onto the floor. Still bent over and shaking his head, Matt shuddered in disgust. “Damn rats,” Jay said beside him.
Jay had two long coils of rope on each arm that he dropped next to the barrel, and then he turned to search for additional supplies. Matt stepped to lift another barrel. He took care now to dump their tops before lifting them. They stacked all the items on the elevator to the top deck. There were six wooden barrels, three coils of rope and a crate of carpenter’s supplies.
Matt followed Jay up the ladder. The ship was underway and swaying broadly, so they had to work to keep from falling back down into the hold. They reached the top deck in time to hear cannon fire, followed almost instantly by the sound of a ripping mainsail. They turned their head to the sails, realized concurrently that the damage was mild and then returned their attention to the ship’s deck.
Matt hurried behind Jay to the wooden crane to lift the supplies they had gathered. Before reaching the crane, Jay tapped a seaman on the shoulder and then waved to two others. When the three had assembled, he gave them instructions. They headed in Matt’s direction, making him step aside, and then continued to the hold.
Matt helped Jay work the pulleys on the crane to raise the supplies. The pirate’s cannon fired again, and they ducked until they saw a ball crash into the water off the Norfolk’s stern. The booming of the long nine was coming at about five-minute intervals, so they used the intermittent calm to return to their task until they had to duck another cannonball. When the pallet of supplies had reached the main deck, Jay locked the rope into the wood pulley. They worked in unison to move the supplies from the crane.
By the time they emptied the pallet onto the deck, the three sailors had returned with crates containing mortar shells and a small box of fuses. The mortar shells were impressively large with removable inserts. They were packed with gunpowder through the insert opening, and there was a hole for a fuse. The three sailors set the crates down and then hurried back to their posts.
Jay rushed to organize the wooden barrels in three pairs along the deck and then placed a rope coil in between each. Matt’s respect for the first lieutenant increased as he watched him in action. Matt’s suggestion to throw mines in the water had been vague at best, but Jay had filled in the missing pieces and translated the plan into action. “I’ll set the fuses,” Jay said. He pointed to the barrels. “Nail the ends of the rope. They’ll hit her hull hard so the leash should be solid.” Jay turned before the last word left his mouth, now to place the fuses into the mortar shells.
Another blast sounded from the pirate ship, followed by crashing as a ball smashed into the wood beside them, knocking Matt to the wooden deck and covering him with splinters. Captain Pearce, now at the helm, spun the wheel sharply to guide them out of the pirate’s sights, and the ship tilted hard to starboard. The six wooden barrels tipped and headed straight at Matt who was trying to regain his feet while brushing splinters from his face. He saw the barrels rolling at him at full speed and dodged as best as he could, but a barrel smacked his forehead and opened a bloody gash above his eyebrow. The next thing he remembered was Jay pulling him to his feet.
“You fi
ne?” Jay asked. He was holding Matt’s arm tightly to keep him upright.
Matt wiped the blood from his eye and looked for the barrels. There was jittering in his head from his injury, and his vision was being interrupted by intermittent pictures. “Crap,” he said aloud as he pressed at his temples. The last thing he needed was to lose his sight. He relaxed enough to bring himself back into the present. It was something he hadn’t done for almost two years. He was relieved when the aura dulled, and he could finally take stock of the five barrels still left on the deck. “One’s missing,” he yelled.
“Overboard,” Jay shouted. “We’ll make due.”
“Shit, shit…shit,” Matt swore loudly. He looked back at the pursuing ship and the expanse that separated their two vessels. The likelihood of throwing tethered barrels off the back of the Norfolk and having the pirate ship hit them already seemed unlikely, and now they had one less chance to try. Matt rushed with Jay to retrieve the four barrels, and they carried them each back to their original place beside the rolls of rope. Matt wedged the fifth barrel against the side of the ship so it wouldn’t come rolling at him the next time the Captain turned the wheel. He wiped the blood away that was dripping into his eye.
Matt picked up the rope, made one loop around each of the remaining four barrels and tied a knot. He tried not to let his dripping blood distract him even as it smattered the barrels with red. Matt hammered six nails into each barrel along the length of wrapped rope and then used the hammer to bend the nails to keep the rope centered. He did this for one set of barrels and then the other.
When he was finished hammering, Matt tested each rope connection by pulling hard after smashing the nails down. The knots were tight, and the rope was solid. He considered them again, and for good measure, hammered another four nails. Matt agreed with Jay that the barrels were likely to be pressed hard into the pirate ship’s hull. The rope would have to hold and the barrel needed to be strong enough not to be smashed to bits before the fuses could burn down and explode.