On 2 September, 1776, the Second Continental Congress, including Delegates Dr. Franklin and John Adams, listened to General Sullivan's message from General Howe.
“Since I now hold all of Long Island, I am empowered by King George III to offer you a peace settlement. However, since I don't recognize your assembly as official, I respectfully submit that you elect a committee comprised of private citizens, and then I will discuss the King's terms.”
Congress deliberated for four days. On 6 September, 1776, the assembly elected Dr. Benjamin Franklin, John Adams and John Rutledge to represent them and confer with General Howe about the King's terms.
“Took their damn time in deciding,” Adams, frustrated with Congress' inability to deliberate faster, said to a rather placid Franklin.
“What's the fuss? Good decisions require lengthy sessions. Keep that in mind and you'll sleep sounder at night.”
“A pleasant thought. Here's one more thought for you. Printer Dunlop approached me earlier this morning, agitated and remorseful.”
“Dunlop? What has his apprentice done?” “The original copy of the Declaration of Independence is missing. His assistant insists that it wasn't him. Now, Doctor, what kind of decision does this action call for?”
Dr. Franklin continued sucking on his long stemmed pipe as he returned his attention back to the Pennsylvania Evening Post.
“Did you hear me? Printer Dunlop told me where he stored that original, and it's gone.” Adams paced the chamber, hands clasped behind his back. The other delegates talking amongst themselves ignored him, considering him a troublemaker.
Dr. Franklin withdrew his pipe from wrinkled lips. “Are you sure? His apprentices deny any involvement with it?” He shrugged. “No matter, we have other original copies.”
“It doesn't make sense,” Adams insisted, stopping and standing right in front of Dr. Franklin. Unperturbed, he removed his pipe a second time.
“General Washington passed along to the Safety Committee a report from one of his spies on the movements of that Woburn man who escaped the Sons of Liberty in New Hampshire last May.”
Dr. Franklin took another puff, blew out several rings, staring Adams down as if quieting and patting him on the shoulder like a favorite dog. He buried himself in the newspaper. Adams resumed his pacing, lips puckered, as he pursued his dark, stark thoughts and imagined wrongs.
Impressive building, Benjamin Thompson, late of Woburn, Massachusetts, New Hampshire and London, England, thought as he mounted the wooden stairwell that led into Carpenter's Hall. He noticed numerous men with some escorted ladies milling in the main chamber. An opened door, off to the left, seemed to attract a lot of people, so Thompson followed faithfully behind them.
In the room's center, a wooden and glass case stood. Several people crowded around it as if studying or even examining it. Thompson ambled up to the cabinet and peered down into the case. A document rested flat against a velvet cushion. It’s title read “The Constitution of the United States of America.” Though interested in what the document implied, Thompson didn't believe a single word of it. Like the Magna Carta, it was a novelty and yet, even he recognized, that most Americans would set great store by it, some day.
“Want a better look?” Thompson pushed himself away from the cabinet and looked up. A plain, mousy woman held a stack of parchment in her hands.
“We're giving free copies away so that all citizens can read this historical document and understand how a great nation is conceived and nurtured.”
He accepted a copy, and unimpressed, scanned it’s contents. Word for word it reminded him of some of John Locke's outlandish principles, but he knew that a natural order existed and that everything had its place. This Constitution obstructed that order. He rolled it up and placed it into his pocket. Leaving the Hall, he took out his watch fob and checked it against the Hall's tower clock. Both chimed the hour, and he left, hurrying to his carriage.
Once inside, he removed the rolled document and stuffed it in between the seat cushions. And with that, it was no longer of any concern. Thompson concentrated on his ultimate victory, his theft of the Declaration of Independence.
The trip from 1792 to 2176 didn't take long. He was annoyed that the original Declaration carried only a few of the delegates' signatures on it and his disappointment forced him to travel further into the future to acquire a more complete version.
Inside the building that he had so recently left in 1792, Thompson noticed that not too many things had changed. The building's structure was the same, but the wood was now splintered and its white paint peeling.
Thompson climbed the same stairs, although, they were now firmer to his legs and didn't buckle from his weight. At the door, a young girl met him, dressed in colonial style clothes and her hair tied back with a big, fat red bow. As he followed her directions, he entered the main assembly room where the old wooden case still stood, except there were guards standing in all the corners of the room.
Annoyed, he banged his silver handled cane on the floor. One guard glanced over at him, but left him alone. A few young children stared, pointed or even giggled at him, but their mothers restrained them from going up to him and asking silly questions.
He looked away and saw that the other guards yawned behind their fists, their bored eyes briefly making contact with him as they scanned his colonial- style powder blue frock coat, white ruffled shirt, blue satin breeches and his black patent leather, silver buckled shoes. One of them, more intrigued than the others, allowed Thompson the courtesy of coming up and asking him a question.
“The Declaration of Independence, where is it?” The guard pointed with a bony finger. “If you follow the double red and blue lines, it will take you directly into the inner chamber where it's on permanent display. The brochures are on a stool by the door.”
“Bro-chures?” Thompson's flat, faintly British accent startled the guard. “Help yourself. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. We're here to accommodate you.”
“You are most kind,” Thompson said and strode out to the hallway following the double red and blue lines exactly. In the hallway, an alarm shrieked as he and all the other visitors froze in their viewing positions. The guards ran out into the hall and checked each room connected with it. Thompson watched them as they hurried by, pistols half cocked in their hands, their faces anxious. As each room was declared safe, they raised their thumbs up. One guard herded him back into the main room.
Amused, he waited. The children whispered and were instantly hushed by their mothers. All the children held hands. Eventually, the guards drifted back into their corner's position.
“A false alarm. Someone tripped the motion detector. No harm done.” The mothers gathered their children and moved towards the other exhibits in the room. Curious, he followed one determined mother who read all the wall plaques to her children so that they would understand the significance of the building and its documents. Idly, Thompson flowed with them, sitting on benches when they did, rising and examining the exhibits one by one. Somehow, they all landed in a small octagonal room dominated by a large, wooden pedestal with a multi-layered glass cabinet. Behind the glass walls was the Declaration of Independence. He studied the engrossed signature: Charles Thomson, Secretary of State, John Hancock's outrageous Presidential signature and 56 Delegates names. Thompson counted them, satisfied that he had found a completed original of the Declaration.
He waited as the children, with mouths wide open, fidgeted and wriggled as their mother read aloud that The Declaration of Independence birthed a new nation, conceived in liberty, and that all men were created equal. Bored, they scampered off while their mother, teary eyed, leaned over the exhibit. The guard caught her just in time.
“No, ma'am, that will set off the alarm. Here, take the brochure.” He shoved it into her hands and pointed her towards the gift shop.
“You can buy a framed copy and take it home for the kiddies.” Embarrassed, she mumbled her thanks and stumbled away. Thompson sniffed, but the guard ignored him. Another seeker of the American way, the guard thought, and left him in his adoration of the Republic. Each crazier than the last. He snickered. The guard left the room, leaving the seeming pop-in-jay by himself.
Thompson set his cane against the pedestal, removed two jewelers' tools from his pocket and laid them on the marble floor.
Remembering his last conversation with Lord George Germain in London before he sailed to the colonies, Thompson reviewed the words and actions that finally convinced Lord Germain that he was serious. Appointed by his Majesty, King George, III, as Officer in Charge of the American colonies, Lord Germain received him with a summer's cold; coughing and sneezing into an immaculate white monogrammed handkerchief. After Thompson declared his suit, Lord Germain was unimpressed.
“I don't believe it. I've read nothing in the trade journals about it.” “It's something that I recently built after many experiments with electricity. It works. Let me show you.”
Thompson removed from his pocket a large leather wallet. Opening it, he withdrew a miniature carriage with two carved horses.
Lord Germain bent over his desk, steepled his fingers and peered at the contraption that Thompson placed on his desk. He saw that carriage's inside was decked out in green satin upholstered seats and tiny glass paneled doors. The two horses held dainty metal bits in their mouths and tiny leather reins were attached to the carriage. The toy caught his attention immediately.
Examining it, Lord Germain removed a knotted rope from his desk and measured the carriage. It was roughly ten by three by four inches. He shrugged his shoulders.
Thompson ignored him and saw that a pedestal was attached to the desk. He placed the carriage with the horses on it.
“Let me set it … ten minutes into the future.” He pushed several levers. A low humming sound invaded the chamber. Bluish white light exploded around them as the carriage and part of the pedestal disappeared from sight with a pop. Germain sat upright and rubbed his eyes.
“A child's game, I assure you,” Thompson said. Dumbfounded, Germain stared at the empty spot. “In God's name, where did it go?” Leaning forward, he shoved his hands through the air. “I can't find them. Ouch!” His hands jerked back. “Merciful heavens!” He lifted his fingertips to his nose and sniffed. “I burnt myself.”
Thompson rose from his seat and quickly grabbed a soft cushion from a window box seat. He turned and placed the cushion on the partial pedestal shelving. Lord Germain followed every movement.
“Expecting that carriage with the horses and the pedestal to reappear soon? I doubt it.”
He sighed, drumming his fingers on the desk. Thompson paid no mind to Lord Germain's rambling. Instead he focused on the cushion.
Germain crossed his legs. “You've made your point, sir! Shall we continue with our discussion? I have no time for parlor tricks.”
Still, he remained silent and examined the contents of his chamber. His landscapes and portraits were intact upon the walls. Only that carriage with its two horses and part of his pedestal were missing.
Thompson ignored him, but concentrated on the pedestal. Lord Germain studied him. Bushy eyebrows that connected to an aquiline nose, scraggily red hair; was this man a charlatan or a dreamer? Undisturbed, Thompson watched as Lord Germain fidgeted.
“I don't understand what you're trying to prove. I saw it disappear, but it's got to be here. Where else would it go?” and Germain shifted in his seat. “I have a right to know if I'm financing your expedition.”
Another white light showered them and was followed by an insect-like drone. The carriage reappeared with the remainder of the pedestal and graced the cushion. Lord Germain stared wide-eyed at Thompson.
“My intentions are to travel into the future, steal the Declaration of Independence with all 56 Delegates' signatures affixed, and return with it, giving you the Declaration so that the colonies will lose their rebellion.”
This time Lord Germain didn't dare interrupt him. He hadn't expected rational explanations to his questions, but before he pledged his and the King's support, he must extract all relevant information.
“Time is critical. The King will require proof. When can I receive it? All 56 signatures must be on that document before we can stop the Rebellion and hang its ringleaders.”
“In 1774, the rebellion would've started, but the conspirators were not solidified as yet.”
“When can you leave?”
“I require one day to settle my affairs and arrange passage on an outgoing sea vessel.”
“How will I know you in 1774? Your activities in Boston are not common knowledge and the Home Office wants to keep it that way.” Lord Germain half smiled.
“A mutual acquaintance whom you already knew, in 1774, perhaps?” Thompson suggested.
“Yes, I know someone who will oblige me. When she reports in, I'll send her along.”
“Splendid.” Thompson stood up and put his carriage and horses back into his leather wallet, then put it in his pocket. Lord Germain wasn't finished.
“You'll recognize Betsy by a section of golden strands amidst her auburn hair.” Germain sighed as he breathed deeply into his perfumed handkerchief. This signaled the end of Thompson's interview, and he left knowing that Lord Germain was interested in spite of his qualms and lack of faith.
Thompson came back to reality sneezing and half witted, and reached for his cane. A guard strayed into the chamber and pointed to his watch.
“Ten minutes before closing,” and walked away. Feeling the cane brought him back to reality and he picked up his jewelry tools. Examining the case, Thompson moved as close to it as he dared. He noticed thin hairline cracks around the glass and realized that the alarm would go off if tampered. Frustrated, he put his tools away and took out his leather wallet from his pocket. Thompson removed the carriage and reviewed his options. Looking beneath the cabinet, he saw that six inches below the encased Declaration was an ornate carved wooden ledge. Thompson saw that the carriage would just fit into the alcove. Biting his lips, he set the date and placed the carriage far into the alcove so that the guards wouldn't notice it.
No alarm sounded. He pushed the primary lever down.