January 8th, 1776
My spirits have been in an impossible ferment, as were they corked.
Two of the women came today to return the clothing removed yesterday. Though Nsia was not among their number, Dr. Trefusis had clamored for a place aboard their skiff, that he might come and inquire after our health and our part in the battle. I narrated its events, not stinting Pro Bono’s actions therein. We then read Greek, and it was most welcome: Dr. Trefusis has set me upon the Voyage of the Argo; in which I recall those tales of heroism for which my fondness was so great in childhood. To read these ancient episodes is to be returned, as ’twere, to myself; in lost antiquity, I seek my restoration. And so with gratitude did I con out the tales of Jason and his brethren plagued by the screaming race of harpies; or stranded on the infinite beach of Libyan Syrtis; my fancy conjuring up not simply the gray plain, the mist, the ship tilted in soft mud, not simply the scenes of battle, but also my chamber back in Boston, where of an evening, in my childhood, I would sit beside my mother, a fire in the hearth, and dream of spear and claw. They are a gift, these tales, the milk of solace, and he knoweth well who teaches me, that he grants a boon in thus recalling me to former ages.
Pro Bono, however, mocked us when he came down from his exercise on deck, and jested — I recall not what raillery — at our bookishness, that we were fine gentlemen to be studying at such a time — this, when he himself and Dr. Trefusis, but a few weeks hence, were waggish in confederation like smirking schoolboys as I looked on.
Dr. Trefusis was, I’ll warrant, not unriled by Bono’s jests at his expense, and protested with some pride that there were excellent reasons to study the ancient texts in time of war, et cetera; to which Bono replied that he had just apprehended news, would give us little appetite for our dainty repast of Greek tit-bits.
“Which is, sir?” said Dr. Trefusis.
“You told us of an agent who rode up to fetch down the Indians and such? To aid us?”
“One Connolly,” said Dr. Trefusis. “Lord Dunmore dispatched him with the highest hopes for his success. He is to gather a force to supplement the —”
“Aye, he been taken.”
“What do you mean, ‘taken’? By the rebels?”
“By a Funktown hatter.”
“I see.”
“Man knew his head from hatting. Recognized him. Committee of Safety took him. He was real insolent to them and they threw him in jail. Just heard about it on deck. They’re all squawking on the fo’c’sle. Lord Dunmore, he got a letter from him. The agent.”
“Connolly.”
“Is that the name? Well, it’s all up. No one’s going to the Indians. The agent’s in jail and the rebels has published the whole plan as an example of, you know, perfidy.”
Dr. Trefusis scowled and swore. Bono crossed his arms in satisfaction at our discomfiture. My faculties could not encompass the news; for though I was not insensible of our perilous condition, I must own that my thoughts gnawed primarily on Bono’s pride in relating disaster, his satisfaction always in knowing. My idol wished always to be first in the telling, to regale others with the story in its fullness, from beginning to end, from miller’s hut to crown and castle. I considered, my choler rising: He was that nature of personage who, when they laugh, make all who don’t laugh feel prim; and when they are solemn, make all who have been laughing sensible of the chill of silence and the feebleness of gaiety. How doth the voice of one determine the pitch of the others!
And so, to my shame, I felt only insolence toward my rival when I should have meditated upon our difficulties, the danger that, without allies, we might be overwhelmed and tried for treason, slain, or sold to the Sugar Isles.
Dr. Trefusis, from the distraction of his countenance, clearly thought on our straights, and found little comfort there.
“We ain’t going to yield,” said Bono. “You look at the ships — we’re a force, sir.”
“That you are.”
Bono and I both noted the “you”; Bono looked at the philosopher and said, “You’ll hang too, sir.”
“Indeed.” Dr. Trefusis gave a wan smile. “I won’t make as fine an ornament as you, though.”
“That’s the truth. I reckon they’re hanging me in effigy right now just so as they can have my face around town more. Special ladies’ request. ‘Hang that William Williams again. When his eyes bulge out, they seem to look at my very soul.’”
Neither of us laughed at his jest; Dr. Trefusis was sorrowful at the news, while I endured the lashes of irritation as well as, in some confused wise, the murmurs of desperation.
“Gents, I’m sorry I called halt to your boat story. I just reckoned you might like to be apprised that we’s alone in this battle with no aid coming and the rebels all around us. Now back to the Greek. I hear it repels grapeshot real fine.”
But indeed, we had no stomach for our Greek dainties, once he had delivered his bitter mouthful.