Killing England

by Bill O'Reilly

* * *

  King George uses the power of optics to appear as authoritative as possible, sitting before Parliament in his ermine robes, wearing a heavy crown of gold, pearls, and diamonds. “My Lords, and Gentlemen,” he states, by way of greeting. His voice is loud and his delivery polished. Today, much more than on most days, he feels his full power as monarch.7

  “Nothing could have afforded me so much satisfaction; as to have been able to inform you, at the opening of this session, that the troubles which have so long distracted my colonies in North America were at an end; and that my unhappy people, recovered from their delusion; had delivered themselves from the oppression of their leaders, and returned to their duty.”

  The king pauses, knowing that his words will go down in history. The British Empire is larger than the Roman Empire of two thousand years ago. A group of rabble-rousers cannot and will not be allowed to form its own nation.

  The king’s demeanor is bolstered by news from America. As almost every legislator in this room knows, the war has been nothing short of a spectacular success. British forces now control not just Long Island but, having crossed over into Manhattan, all of New York City. In the north, Canada is now safely in British hands.

  Much of this is due to inept rebel leadership, particularly George Washington. While General Howe can do no wrong for the British, Washington’s army stumbles from one humiliating defeat to another. The British military leadership refuses to even acknowledge Washington as having military rank, because they don’t recognize the government that granted it to him. Thus, they even refuse to state his rank in their written requests for surrender. Rather than “General,” Howe refers to Washington by the title of “Esquire.”

  But the king must be careful. The denunciations made in the Declaration by Thomas Jefferson are so personal that he must not even acknowledge them, lest he appear vulnerable in the face of criticism. So, he goes to the heart of the matter. He intends to warn not only the rebels but also the powers of France and Spain that the American threat cannot be tolerated.

  “If their treason be suffered to take root, much mischief must grow from it, to the safety of my loyal colonies, to the commerce of my kingdoms, and indeed to the present system of all Europe.

  “No people ever enjoyed more happiness, or lived under a milder government, than those now revolted provinces.”

  Finally, putting his own spin on Thomas Jefferson’s “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness,” the king concludes on a paternal note.

  “My desire is to restore to them the blessings of law and liberty, equally enjoyed by every British subject, which they have fatally and desperately exchanged for the calamities of war.”

  Parliament erupts in shouts and applause.

  The king is pleased.

  Soon, his tormentors will die by the rope—as they should.

  10

  WILLIAMSBURG, VIRGINIA

  NOVEMBER 11, 1776

  MIDNIGHT

  Thomas Jefferson is anxious.

  Almost four thousand miles from London, the author of the Declaration of Independence lies in bed with his wife, Martha. Outside the many-paned bedroom windows of this borrowed home, the moon is dark. Almost five years into their marriage, Thomas and Martha’s passion for each other still burns hot. The grief surrounding her midsummer miscarriage still lingers, but the lovers have wasted no time in conceiving a new child, who, if born without incident, will be a sibling to their four-year-old, Patsy.

  Martha Jefferson is due to deliver sometime in May. She is a small woman, little more than five feet tall, a lithe brunette with hazel eyes whose petite features stand in sharp contrast to Jefferson’s towering stature. Once again, she has begun to add the prodigious curves of her typical pregnancy, not knowing that the added weight and her chronic diabetes play a part in the silent killing of her unborn children.1

  * * *

  The other matter dominating Jefferson’s thoughts is the struggle for independence. Abandoning the Congress to be with Martha was just the first step in the Virginian removing himself from the grind of national politics. Jefferson and his fifteen-year-old mulatto slave, Bob, rode away from Philadelphia the first week of September, making the 268-mile journey home to Martha at Monticello. The mountaintop home is their refuge, a simple two-story dwelling offering endless views of the thick forests and peaks of the American frontier.

  Jefferson’s journey was not easy. The roads were unpaved and rutted, there were many rivers and streams to ford, and there were few places to stop for proper lodging. Indeed, after the first fifty miles of travel, Jefferson entered the wilderness and thick primeval forests.

  But the journey was uneventful, and on September 9, 1776, at roughly the same moment Congress declared that the thirteen colonies would henceforth be named “the United States of America,” he stepped through the front door of Monticello.

  Within weeks, however, Jefferson realized he could not separate himself from the cause of independence. So, he and the pregnant Martha boarded a carriage and traveled east all the way across Virginia to the capital city of Williamsburg, where Jefferson assumed his seat in the state’s House of Delegates.2

  That is why the Jeffersons have now taken up residence at the home of longtime friend George Wythe. But once more, Jefferson is confronted with a dilemma. Earlier this fall, the president of the Second Continental Congress, John Hancock, requested that the Virginian return to the revolution—imploring him to sail immediately for France with Benjamin Franklin. Their goal would be to convince French king Louis XVI to assist in the American war effort. Franklin accepted the assignment immediately—indeed, he is now somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic, two weeks into his voyage to France.

  Not so Jefferson. On October 11, after three agonizing days of indecision, he again chose Martha over his nation. He would not join Franklin in Paris. The introverted Virginian could not imagine subjecting a pregnant Martha to the rigors of an Atlantic crossing during this storm-tossed time of year; nor could he envision making the journey without her.

  Jefferson’s decision angered his fellow Virginian Richard Henry Lee, who chastised him for putting his personal life before his country. Lee compared Jefferson’s marital commitment to that of being a British slave—should the war be lost.

  “I heard with much regret that you had declined both the voyage, and your seat in Congress,” Lee wrote. “No man feels more deeply than I do, the love of, and the loss of, private enjoyments; but let attention to these be universal, and we are gone, beyond redemption lost in the deep perdition of slavery.”

  Jefferson never responded.

  But while the Virginian may seem indifferent to the cause of independence, making no effort to join a militia or otherwise take up arms for liberty, his ongoing intellectual attacks on King George have broadened the scope of the American rebellion.

  “I saw, too,” Jefferson will write years from now, justifying why he turned down the appointment to France, “that the laboring oar was really at home, where much was to be done.”

  Jefferson is a popular figure in the assembly, promoting his own idealistic views on how best to expand liberty. He has begun by altering Virginia’s laws to reflect the new reality of its being a state, not a colony. Freedom of religion has been expanded, the Church of England has been disestablished as the one true theology, and the right of primogeniture, a feudal tradition that gives firstborn sons power of inheritance to the exclusion of others, is soon to be abolished.

  In this way, Thomas Jefferson fights the British monarchy—by destroying its traditions. The battle Jefferson wages is one for lasting change—he wants few remnants of the English imposition. It is a cause that does not yet bear this title but that will soon be remembered as a Revolutionary War.3

  Jefferson believes that all of Virginia’s existing laws must be rewritten or completely thrown out. His mind works frantically, as does his writing hand. Jefferson puts his prodigious thoughts on paper each day, organizing the various issues facing Vi
rginia, and America, into a wide-ranging collection of essays: “Notes on Religion,” “Notes on Heresy,” and, just this morning, “Notes Concerning the Bill for the Removal of the Seat of Government in Virginia.”

  It seems there is nothing the fervent mind of Thomas Jefferson cannot imagine. But as he sleeps next to his beloved wife on this dark autumn night, not knowing if the baby growing inside her womb will live to see its first birthday, Jefferson also believes that he might not live to see his unborn child’s first year.4

  As a signer of the Declaration of Independence and known member of the Second Continental Congress, Thomas Jefferson is a marked man. Already, the British Navy has attacked the coasts of South Carolina and Virginia. The ships have since sailed north to support General Howe in his fight against George Washington at New York, but it is inevitable that they will soon return to Virginia and bring the fight to Jefferson’s front door.

  When that day comes—and it will—Thomas Jefferson will be forced to run for his life.

  Revolution comes with a cost.

  But there is no turning back. In the morning, Jefferson will rise at dawn, as always. He will soak his feet in cold water and record the temperature outside his window, just as he does every day. He will dress; eat a simple breakfast of coffee, cold ham, and bread; and say good-bye to Martha before making his way across the Palace Green to the state legislature.

  In this routine, the introverted Jefferson manages his emotions.

  Ironically, taking the assignment in Paris would have guaranteed his personal safety. He would have had nothing to fear in the court of Louis XVI.

  But Jefferson has no stomach for the puffery and debauchery of royal living.

  He prefers the simple things in life: love, routine, and the intellectual work of defining true liberty. For now, his life is calm.

  But not for much longer.

  11

  THE BRETON COAST, NORTHERN FRANCE

  NOVEMBER 22, 1776

  DAWN

  Benjamin Franklin is retching.

  His hands grip the aft wooden railing of the USS Reprisal. A thirteen-striped American flag snaps high above Franklin’s head.1 Franklin is bent at the waist, facing down into the turbulent Atlantic Ocean as his upset stomach almost overwhelms him.

  The Reprisal is a small ship, currently buffeted by nonstop waves and wind. The vessel is astonishingly compact, measuring just one hundred feet long and thirty feet at the beam. Despite this, she boasts a crew of more than one hundred men, plus Franklin and his two grandsons. On both sides of the Reprisal, an armament of cannon, eighteen in all, lines the main deck, facing out to sea. The Reprisal is built for speed, not comfort, and right now Benjamin Franklin is experiencing this firsthand.

  It has been a difficult journey for the seventy-year-old Franklin. After almost thirty days at sea, his body is plagued by psoriasis, gout, and pustules. His intestinal discomfort is not caused by seasickness, for that is one malady to which Franklin’s weathered physique seems impervious. Instead, it is the steady diet of salt beef that is convulsing his stomach on this November morning. It is his deepest desire to get off this warship as soon as humanly possible.

  “I was badly accommodated,” the Doctor will write of the crossing, “in a miserable vessel, improper for those northern seas, was badly fed, so that on my arrival I scarce had the strength to stand.”

  Despite his misery, Benjamin Franklin knows that his presence on the Reprisal is vital. He is America’s greatest celebrity. His lengthy list of accomplishments in science and at the highest levels of government have made his name synonymous with the cause of freedom—and also guarantee that he will be quite a prize should the British capture the Reprisal. His show trial and ultimate hanging in the Tower of London would be a dagger in the heart of the American cause. Already, British cruisers have harassed the Reprisal on a number of occasions during Franklin’s voyage, but the nimble brig has managed to slip away each time.

  The Reprisal, too, is a proud symbol of America. Her captain is forty-one-year-old Lambert Wickes, whose ancestors were among the first settlers of Maryland’s Eastern Shore. Once known as the Molly, the rechristened Reprisal now carries a name promising vengeance for enemy transgressions. She is the first vessel in America’s new yet growing naval arsenal to carry such a blatantly aggressive name, so it is appropriate that she now become the first American vessel to sail into European waters.

  Life aboard the small ship is challenging, even in good weather. Franklin and his grandsons, seventeen-year-old William (whose father now rots in prison at the Doctor’s behest) and seven-year-old Benjamin, must sleep belowdecks, in a space with little ventilation or even enough room for them to stretch out in comfort. There is no privacy. Scores of men surround them, and the small cabin in which they sleep is barely the size of a large closet. Meals are taken with the captain, in his larger cabin, or in the communal mess area belowdecks with the men. But as Benjamin Franklin knows very well, no matter where the location, the food is abysmal.

  Benjamin Franklin on his way to France aboard the Reprisal

  Though a relatively small ship, the Reprisal enjoys a large crew, consisting of a captain, lieutenants (meant to serve “in lieu” of the captain, should the situation arise), coopers, carpenters, a doctor, ship’s boys, and sailors. Officers wear breeches, waistcoats, and long-sleeved jackets, while the rest of the crew attire themselves in shirts and short, loose pants known as slops. Officers wear buckled shoes, but many sailors prefer to go barefoot, for greater ease in climbing the rigging. Only the most senior officers and esteemed passengers such as Franklin are allowed a cabin and private restroom facilities. The remainder of the men sleep in hammocks suspended just below the main deck. The rotating system of standing watch means that half the crew is on duty while the rest sleep. The term head, in reference to a toilet, comes from the special board extending from the “beak head” of the ship (the pointed bow) out over the ocean for passengers to use as a communal toilet. The wind and waves dispatch any odor or mess.

  Right now, Captain Wickes is extremely concerned. He hurries to find Franklin, eventually locating the Doctor near the two towering masts of the main deck. Wickes has been ordered to take Franklin directly to France and not engage in any hostilities en route. But just a few days out of Quiberon Bay, off the Breton coast, lookouts have spotted two English merchant vessels. In the eight months since taking command of the Reprisal, Wickes has shown a singular talent for bedeviling the British Navy, particularly during early action in the Caribbean. Now he is eager to strike another blow.

  In this, Captain Wickes seeks a personal act of reprisal: his brother, Richard, was killed by a British cannonball in heavy fighting off the coast of New Jersey five months ago. Wickes was an eyewitness to that death.

  But orders are orders. Wickes cannot attack unless his higher-ranking passenger gives permission. Now, with the coast of France almost within sight, Captain Wickes approaches the miserable Franklin and requests permission to attack the two British merchant ships.

  The suffering Franklin does not hesitate. The attack is ordered.

  The British merchant ships are headed back to ports in England and Ireland—one to Hull, the other to Cork. They are brigantines, speedy two-masted vessels not much different in construction than a brig. Captain Wickes captures them without a fight, and both ships, and their full cargo of goods from French ports, are taken as prizes.2

  * * *

  Less than a week later, Benjamin Franklin is ferried ashore. Franklin has no idea how long he will be in Europe, or if he will ever return to America. He has accepted the position as commissioner to France with the full knowledge that his nation desperately needs a European ally. It is a duty Franklin does not take lightly. He plans to start by requesting “clothing and arms for twenty-five thousand men, with a suitable quantity of ammunition, and one hundred field pieces.”

  But bullets are not enough. The Americans need an active ally, one that will recognize them as a sovereign
nation, and then send money, soldiers, and warships to help fight for the cause of independence.

  Despite his advanced years, there is no better man to argue the patriot cause than Benjamin Franklin. Securing a French alliance will not be easy. The wily genius will have to seduce the French monarchy and allay its fears that the American rebellion will fail. The French are hesitant to anger the British if there is little hope of colonial success.

  Franklin is aware that the French long to regain a toehold in America, one they lost in the French and Indian War. Through the careful use of diplomatic finesse, he hopes to leverage that desire in America’s favor.

  * * *

  As Benjamin Franklin nears the French coast aboard a small ferry, he is the object of scrutiny. The French royal court would be happy to see the hated British destroyed. But George Washington’s crushing defeat at Brooklyn and his subsequent three months of retreat have cast a pall on Franklin’s visit. There is serious doubt in the court of Louis XVI about whether the Americans have the ability to wage effective war.

  Dr. Franklin needs to dispel that doubt.

  And of course, George Washington needs to start winning.

  * * *

  General Washington has never crossed the Atlantic. Nor has Thomas Jefferson.

  Given a choice, few choose to make the journey at all.3

  Benjamin Franklin has sailed the passage seven times.

  When the Doctor accepted the invitation to be commissioner to France, he did so with the full knowledge that he would undergo a punishing two-month ordeal at sea just to reach French shores. Also, there would be a very good chance his ship would sink. Yet, he went anyway.

  It was an act of courage. As one passenger wrote of the transatlantic crossing,

  [D]uring the voyage there is on board these ships terrible misery, stench, fumes, horror, vomiting, many kinds of seasickness, fever, dysentery, headache, heat, constipation, boils, scurvy, cancer, mouth rot, and the like, all of which come from old and sharply-salted food and meat, also from very bad and foul water, so that many die miserably.