Bruce Alexander - An Experiment in Treason

A letter of invitation of a simpler and more direct sort was also dictated to Benjamin Franklin. It was to be given to Samuel Johnson that he might deliver it in person and use his justly famed pow-ers of persuasion to induce the colonial gentleman to attend this occasion.

“Can you think of any other, Jeremy, whom we might invite? I’d say we have room for one more.”

“Someone, perhaps, with an interest in science, and even some knowledge of Mr. Franklin’s experiments?” I suggested.

“Exactly right.”

“And yet with enough wit and gift for phrases that might acquit himself well in such company?”

“Perfect,” said Sir John. “Do we know anyone who would meet that description?”

“Indeed we do. Our own Gabriel Donnelly is himself a man of science. He quite surprised me with his knowledge of Franklin’s earlier work whilst on our recent trip to Portsmouth. And do we know another with his gift of the gab?”

So it was settled. Sir John hurriedly spoke forth a third invitation, this one to Mr. Donnelly. I copied it down, then hastily prepared all three for distribution to their intended recipients.

“See to Mr. Johnson first,” said the magistrate, “and if he is in the least encouraging, leave with him the letter of invitation to Mr. Franklin. Visit Mr. Donnelly afterward, and you may be able to get from him the report on that poor chap who was murdered in the course of that burglary of Lord Hillsborough’s residence. He promised it for today.”

“He’s usually quite dependable.”

“He is indeed.”

With the letters tucked into my pocket, I set off for Johnson’s Court (which in no wise was named after its most celebrated resident).

determined to do all that I could to persuade the great lexicographer to collaborate with Sir John in this endeavor.

I’ve no idea at what precise hour I arrived at the house in Johnson’s Court. It was, in any case, near noon, and I found, much to my consternation, that the head of the house had only some minutes before awakened and would not be available for some minutes more when he took breakfast. Frank Barber was away on an errand, and so was not about to keep me company. I had no choice but to sit and wait. And as the minutes ticked by on the large, standing clock in the hall, my mind went back to the theft of the letters. The more I thought upon it, the more certain it seemed to me that they would not be recovered unless we were given to know what those letters contained. I could come up with further hypothesis regarding them, yet what good would it be unless we knew what actually was in them? Still, I entertained myself by considering possibilities other than the one with which I had frightened Sir John, each one more daft than the last. The only possibility which seemed in the least practical was that the letters in question may have been from Lord Hillsborough’s predecessor to the Prime Minister, advising him to take certain actions which, if they were known to the colonists, would certainly not make them happy. Unless Ferguson and Skinner were located, and a case could be made against them, there would be no telling who had contracted to have the burglary done. Obviously, there were people in the government (how many? who were they?) who believed that Benjamin Franklin had put the two professional burglars up to it, and perhaps had made a map of the Hillsborough residence and had given a description of the letters to be taken. Yet save for a hearty dislike of the man, what reason had Franklin’s enemies for thinking so? Who knows? If they had such a reason why had they not confided it in Sir John? And what contacts had -

“You’re waiting to speak with Mr. Johnson, are you?” The woman who had let me in had returned from the interior of the house.

“I am, yes. I have a letter to deliver, also.”

“Well, come along. He’ll see you now.”

She led me down a short hall to the breakfast room, which I had visited before, though not often nor recently. It seemed I met Mr. Johnson only on occasions when he was eating. This may seem Stranger to you, reader, than in truth it was, for there were so many occasions during the day on which Samuel Johnson had before him a plate of something at which to nibble or snack, or a full meal. Thus did he appear always to be eating.

And, as a result, he was quite the largest man I knew. And by this I do not mean that he was merely stout or fat, for he was taller than most and had, in his own way, quite a powerful bodily structure. Yet he was in no wise physically attractive. The skin of his face was of a rubicund hue, roughened and pitted as a result of a childhood bout of scrofula, which had also left him blind in one eye. Still, he was a man who had to him a great sense of presence. Those who knew him not would pass him on the street, turn, and look back at him, knowing they had passed one of some importance. Even those who read no books at all knew him as “Dictionary Johnson,” as a salute to the great work he had done years before in assembling his great lexicon of the English language.

And though, in the beginning, he took little notice of me, he had manifested greater interest when he learned from Sir John that I was reading law with him. On one occasion, he had taken me aside and informed me that it had been his first and dearest ambition to be a lawyer and that therefore he wished me the greatest success in my chosen field. Ever after he had spoken more freely to me and addressed me by name.

“Ah, Jeremy,” said he, “it’syou, is it? Poll Carmichael said there was a lad with a letter for me. She didn’t say it was you, however. Perhaps she doesn’t know you by name.”

“Perhaps not, for I cannot say that I know her.”

“I’ll introduce you. But here,” said he, “would you like a bit of this?” — indicating the great pile of johnnycakes and hen’s eggs before him. “I can’t possibly eat it all.”

I declined and then watched him consume all on his plate with ease. However, I did accept his invitation to sit down.

“Well, you have a letter for me, do you?”

I withdrew the letter from my pocket and handed it across the table to him. He took it, broke the seal, and brought it up close to what I have heard him refer to as his “good eye.” Then did he scan it quickly and lay it aside.

“Now you must tell me, just between us two, what is this all about? “

What indeed? I blurted out something, unconsciously using some of the same phrases Sir John has used in the letter.

“No indeed sir, that will not do at all. You need not rehearse the letter’s contents for me. Tell me what is behind it.”

I sighed. Sir John had not told me what might be said and what might not. Therefore, he had left it to my discretion, had he not? Secure in that, I told Mr. Johnson quite all — from the burglary of a few nights past to what had transpired that morning during our meeting with the Lord Chief Justice. I left out nothing of consequence. My listener had paid me the compliment of attending closely to every word I said — even though he continued to bite, chew, and swallow through it all. At last I finished, nodded to indicate as much, and waited for him to speak — waited, that is, till he had gulped down the last bite and might lay aside his knife and fork. “Bravo,” said he, “an excellent summation of a deviously involved tale — well organized and well told, too. And now I understand better the reason for — nay, sir, the necessity of this hastily organized dinner party.”

“Sir John merely wishes to put questions to Mr. Franklin in a more comfortable setting than the usual,” said I. “It is out of respect for this distinguished gentleman that he wishes it so. After all, what might he think if a constable were to call at his residence and take him away without so much as a by-your-leave?”