Bruce Alexander - An Experiment in Treason

“And where is he now?”

“In custody.”

“Well, send him up to me at Old Bailey, and we shall at least get one of these fellows hanged.”

“Let us speak of that later, shall we?”

“As you wish. Sir John. I must be getting on in any case. By the bye, do you wish me to put in for two places for you and your assistant in the gallery of the Cockpit for Franklin’s appearance?”

“Do so, by all means, ” said Sir John. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The Cockpit? What could that mean? Was I to believe that members of the House of Lords and the House of Commons met there in Westminster to pursue the ancient English pastime of cockfighting? Surely that seemed beneath their dignity. (Little notion had I then how without dignity were both bodies.) During the next week I pursued the question with Sir John, yet without much satisfaction.

“What is it, sir, this place called the Cockpit?”

“Why, it is a committee room in Westminster Palace. They conduct business there.”

“But why do they call it the Cockpit?”

“Well, it’s … it’s …” His words hung in the air for near a minute as he attempted to come forth with a proper answer to my question.

“You know, I really have no idea why it is called in such a way.”

Unbeknownst to me, Clarissa heard my query to Sir John. She gave the question some thought and asked Mr. Donnelly to put it to Mr. Goldsmith, who seemed, as she said, “to know quite all about everything.” The answer came back that in the time of Henry VIII, that particular room had indeed been used for cockfighting, and to this day it has retained the name, though its purpose is now altogether different. Or perhaps not quite so different as all that, for the two hours spent by Benjamin Franklin in the Cockpit had all of the drama and intensity of such a clash, even if it lacked something of the brutish nature of that sort of conflict.

Sir John feared for Franklin’s safety. Upon hearing from me of the gruesome death of Isaac Kidd, he had posted an armed constable at the door of Mrs. Stevenson’s house in Craven Street, in which Dr. Franklin made his home and office. During the day, there were groups of hecklers to be sent upon their way, and at night, there was always the possibility of a visit by George Burkett; and so it was young Mr. Queenan during the day, and the taciturn veteran Constable Brede at night. Only some of this I was aware of till later. I did know, however, that as time grew nearer to the hearing in the Cockpit, the magistrate grew increasingly concerned regarding the threat of George Burkett at the event and immediately afterward.

I recall quite well that Sir John had once said that if one were to murder another, it might well be best done in a great throng. I have not the words or his reasoning exact, but he felt that within a mob much may be concealed, including the killer, his weapon, and his mode of attack; and once the deed was accomplished, the mob would provide him with his means of escape, for he had but to melt into the multitude to become invisible.

Thus it was that he began making preparations as he heard news of the large crowd which was expected at Westminster. It was those who would gather outside the palace who worried him. When did a large crowd become a mob? And how? Would Lord Hillsborough have planted paid shouters in their midst to agitate against Franklin? Against all the so-called Americans? It was surprising and disturbing to me how many of those, neither upper-class nor lower but somewhere between, had united against the colonials since news of the “tea party” had come from Boston. Estimates of the size of the expected crowd were high, all the way up to a thousand. Could the constables cope with such a number? Sir John consulted with Benjamin Bailey and Mr. Perkins, as well as others, regarding what might be done. At some of these conferences I was present, and at some I was not. Yet I was sufficiently close to the planning to understand that matters might be regulated down to the last jot, yet still and all, ‘twas naught but Sir John’s feeling that Benjamin Franklin was in mortal danger at the time of the hearing that had activated this flurry of preparation. Yet, in the past, had this feeling not been enough? Often before, with little to support his certain belief, he would choose a course directly opposed to that which all logic dictated was the “right” one — and then see his choice triumph. He had instinct on his side, and Sir John’s instincts had proven accurate time and again. How odd then that they should now be enlisted in this effort to protect Dr. Franklin, the very champion of logic and science.

In the end, it was fairly evident that, depending upon the size of the crowd, there was not a great deal could be done to ensure completely the safety of Dr. Franklin. If the number waiting at the great door to Westminster Palace approached a thousand, all that one could do was pray. A hundred or two hundred, even three, could be handled easily by the contingent of constables Sir John had at his disposal. But if there were many beyond that, all would depend upon the temper of the crowd. If it became an unruly mob, then the best that could be done would be to form a ring round Dr. Franklin and, with drawn cutlasses, usher him to the coach which would wait just a short distance from the entrance.

The day before the hearing was to take place Sir John dictated a letter to Benjamin Franklin in which he outlined the potential dangers to him (mentioning the murders of Isaac Kidd and Ned Ferguson, though sajang nothing of the mutilation); then did he outline the precautions he had taken or was intending to take. He emphasized the importance of his cooperation and instructed him to wait there in the Cockpit and leave only with himself or “the bearer of this letter.”

“I want you, Jeremy,” said he to me, “to return with a firm commitment from him that he will do as I ask.”

“I shall, sir.”

Thus did I make a commitment, as well.

Before I could make myself known to Dr. Franklin, or to Mrs. Stevenson, I had to push my way through a small crowd in Craven Street, which had gathered at Number 10. There were less than a dozen there. They seemed curious rather than hostile. Constable Oueenan seemed not to mind them, and he was most happy to see me — though less so when he learned that he and Mr. Brede would be conveying Benjamin Franklin to the hearing next day.

“Mr. Brede will drive, and you will guard Dr. Franklin,” said I. “That’s as Sir John wants it.”

“Is that going to be as slow-going as this has been?”

“No, I give you my guaranty that tomorrow will be more interesting — cutlasses and pistols.”

As we spoke thus, the door flew open and Mrs. Stevenson pulled me inside.

“Have you something for Dr. Franklin? For if you don’t, then back you go whence you came.”

“Yes, I-”

“I’ll not have anyone bothering him while he prepares for tomorrow unless it’s something important.”

“A letter from Sir John Fielding.”

“Oh, well, that’s important. Give it here, and I’ll bring it right to him.”

“No, ma’am, ” said I firmly. “I’m to put it in his hands and wait for an answer.”

“Oh … all right.”

So saying, she turned and made her way to the stairs. Then, mounting them swiftly, she disappeared above.

As I waited, I heard a quiet mumble of voices from the first floor. All I understood of it was Sir John’s name spoken loud by Mrs. Stevenson. A minute later, or perhaps less. Dr. Franklin’s step sounded upon the stairs, and he appeared, a worried frown upon his face.

“Mrs. Stevenson says you have a letter for me from Sir John.”

“Correct, sir,” said I, taking it from my pocket and offering it to him.