The Lost Choice (17 page)

Jefferson's contributions to this Second Congress had been, so far, unexceptional. He was not an outstanding speaker, excelling instead at presenting clear thoughts on the written page in a fiery and effective manner. It was this talent for lofty prose that landed him among the Committee of Five, as it was called, and tapped him specifically to draft a proclamation to state their position.

The Committee of Five consisted of Adams and Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin,Roger Sherman, and Robert Livingston. It had been assumed by Congress, when the appointments were made, that Adams would draft the document. He, however, had insisted on Jefferson. When the younger man questioned his decision, Adams had replied, “Because you write better than I do!” Subsequently, Adams and the others worked on the document as editorial advisors.

“. . . that these United colonies are, and of Right, ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are . . .” Jefferson looked up.“Are you with me?”

Adams blinked. He cleared his throat and inhaled. Had he been asleep? He wasn't sure. “Yes. I apologize. Please continue.”

The red-haired man found his place with a finger, then continued, “. . . that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be, totally dissolved . . .”

The two men were as different as night and day. Their physical differences were obvious, but trifling compared to their monetary holdings. Jefferson's family was exceedingly wealthy and he had never cooked, cleaned, chopped wood, or even saddled his own horse. Adams, the son of a farmer,
had
grown up chopping wood and, even as a Boston attorney, continued to do so. But both men had become important to each other in an amazingly short period of time. Adams was proud of Jefferson and considered him a pro-tégé. Jefferson, for his part, saw Adams as a mentor. Clearly, both felt a sense of destiny as they led the forging of a new nation, and if either was ever haunted by doubts, no one ever knew it. They did battle with those demons as effectively as the men and women of the colonies were learning to do with the Redcoats.

The war had already begun. On the night of the eighteenth of April, the year before, farmers and merchants, warned with moments to spare by an engraver named Revere, turned out to meet British troops who were moving to destroy their military stores in Concord, Massachusetts. A brief engagement on Lexington Green was the first “shot heard 'round the world.” Other skirmishes soon followed.

In Boston, on June 16, Adams' own eight-year-old son, John Quincy, watched the Battle of Bunker Hill from atop Penn's Hill on the family farm. Of the 2,400 red-clad British soldiers, the 1,054 casualties inflicted by the colonists accounted for 40 percent of their ranks. The American dead and wounded numbered 441, including 30 who were captured during the retreat. The fight, though won by the British, was a turning point in the minds of the colonists, for it proved that the king's army was not unbeatable.

But the war was one thing. The Revolution, Adams stated, had already been completed before the war was begun, for the Revolution was in the minds and hearts of the people. The colonists had made difficult choices during this time. Choices not of self, but of a greater good. Adams' actions during the Stamp Act crisis was a case in point, discussed in private by many of the members of Congress who were in awe of his personal integrity.

The new law could have easily brought about Adams' ruin. The crux of the matter was this: The colonists refused to purchase stamped paper while the royal governor refused to acknowledge legal documents without the required stamps! And though this had the effect of cutting off Adams' income as an attorney, he stood with the colonists, in contrast to some “patriots” who made choices of sacrifice only when it did not affect their pocketbooks.

“. . . and for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence,we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our Sacred Honor.” Jefferson pursed his lips and looked to Adams, who smiled.

“Excellent, Thomas,” he said. “And in the morning, I shall present it to our brothers as if my very life depends upon it.”

As the carriage slowed to a stop, Jefferson snorted. “When this document is circulated with your name affixed, your very life
will
depend upon it . . . and mine as well.”

As the men stepped down from the coach, Jefferson carefully folded the pages and placed them inside his coat pocket. “This way, John,” he said and led his friend to the side door of a large house. Adams glanced around. This was the first time he had joined Jefferson at his residence and was suitably impressed. While most of the delegates stayed with relatives or roomed together in boardinghouses, the young Virginian had leased this two-room suite shortly after arriving on May 14.

Entering the parlor,Adams saw that it covered the entire second floor of this new brick home. Located on the southwest corner of Seventh Street and Market Avenue, the suite, to Adams' mind, was huge. Like the carriage, it was grand by his standards, though he suspected Jefferson found the accommodations rather ordinary.

Jefferson took Adams' coat and removed his own, remembering to take the pages from the pocket. He indicated a comfortable, high-backed chair near an open window to his friend. “Please be seated, John. Madeira?” he offered, knowing it to be Adams' favorite.

“Yes,” Adams accepted,“and if you'll forgive my impertinence, have you also a pipeful of your precious Virginia tobacco?”

Jefferson laughed.“Of course.”As he uncorked the wine, he gestured with his elbow toward a covered dish on the table next to Adams' chair. “Please avail yourself of my good fortune. Fill your pockets.”

Adams loaded his pipe and accepted the glass from his friend. The sounds of the city ending its day drifted through the open window. Jefferson retrieved a portable lap desk from the dining table and, sitting in a chair near Adams, spread the pages out for both of them to see.“I have done my best.”

“Is this absolutely your final draft?” Adams asked. “No more thoughts?”

Jefferson smiled.“Would you like me to read it again?” When Adams didn't reply, he answered his own question. “I thought not.”He passed the pages to the older man and said,“Copy them then, in your own hand, and be ready for the morrow.”

“What will happen tomorrow, Thomas?” Adams asked good-naturedly as he plucked a coal from the tinder pot, which was kept burning on the table next to the tobacco. Jefferson leaned back with his glass and crossed his arms, waiting to answer until the older man had successfully lit his pipe. “You will be more spellbinding than any of the great orators. Cicero will be remembered as an amateur compared to the skills you will display. With your command of language and the rise and fall of your glorious voice, Congress will be eating out of your hand.” He took a sip of the Madeira.“Then, of course, they will take what I have written and rip it to shreds.”

Both men laughed heartily for they knew Jefferson's tongue-in-cheek prediction to be accurate indeed. No one approached Adams' ability as a speaker. And while Jefferson was a wordsmith, they also knew that Congress was likely to heavily edit what they had prepared.

“Ahh! I almost forgot to return your charm,” Jefferson said suddenly as he reached for his lap desk, which had been placed on the floor, and opened it. Momentarily scratching through used quills and loose papers, he drew out a small, rectangular object. Scooped a bit on one side, it was reddish-brown and etched deeply. He passed it to Adams.“Tell me the story behind that again,” he prompted.

Adams didn't immediately place it in his pocket, but turned it over in his hands, the better to view the side with the marks. “No story really,” Adams said, never taking his eyes off the object.“It was my father's, and his before him. My great-great-grandfather, Henry Adams, brought this with him from England in 1638. Family legend has it once belonging to Joan of Arc. An Adams was a king's guard and received it as a gift from the maid before she was burned.” He sipped his wine and shifted in the chair, shrugging slightly. “That is the romantic tale, in any event.”

Jefferson smiled. “Curious, certainly, wouldn't you say? First Joan of Arc . . . now us?”

“I must admit,” Adams said, “if it is indeed true, the thought had occurred to me as well.”

Jefferson pushed the notion again.“Pondering the message carved into your object's surface, knowing a bit about her quest . . . and now ours . . . the coincidence will most assuredly add to the family legend!”They sat quietly, each enjoying the other's company until Jefferson poured more Madeira and asked, “How did you come to translate the markings?”

Adams laughed suddenly. “Doth this enigma have you perplexed,Thomas?”

“No,” Jefferson said somewhat defensively, “of course not! It is merely a novelty.”Then, seeking to turn the tables, he said, “You, John, are the one who insisted I place it in my desk whilst drafting our Declaration. And you, sir,” he continued with a teasing smile,“are the one who speaks to Congress with the rock in his pocket as a boy would carry his lucky piece!” Nodding once as if to say,
there!
Jefferson waited for his friend's reply.

“You are correct,”Adams said, chuckling and exhibiting a degree of embarrassment. Then, in a quiet voice, he said, “But answer me truthfully, all riposte aside, do you not find it exceedingly odd?”

Jefferson sighed.“Yes, I do. And a second time, John, how did you come to translate the markings?”

Before speaking, Adams noticed his pipe had gone out and indicated the bowl of tobacco nearby.“May I?”he asked. “Certainly.”

Jefferson waited patiently as his friend turned and opened the bowl. Packing the pipe full of the aromatic tobacco, Adams said,“It is Aramaic. Did I already tell you this?”

“No.”

“Aramaic is an ancient language similar to Latin.”

“I am familiar with Aramaic,” Jefferson said. “Phrases of Aramaic are often blended with the ancient Greek and Hebrew texts.”

“Exactly!” Adams agreed. Then, as an aside, he asked, “Did you study Greek and Hebrew?”

“With passion,” he responded. “While a student at the College of William and Mary,my language professors were uncommonly strident on the subject of ancient texts. Aramaic, however, was not among them.”

Adams sat back down and lit his pipe. “When I was accepted to Harvard, I was already fluent in several languages.” Jefferson sipped the Madeira and listened. He did not express surprise at the degree of education to which Adams had been exposed, for this was the norm, not the exception. “By my third year I, too, became steeped in ancient texts and came upon a passage one day, tucked amidst the Hebrew, that reminded me of my father's charm. A professor identified the excerpt as Aramaic, and when I brought the piece in one day, he helped me translate it.”

Jefferson reached over and picked up the object, which Adams had laid on a small table between them. He touched the etching with his knuckle. “Extraordinary. The people shall be free, you say?”

Adams puffed on his pipe. “
By your hand,
the people shall be free.
By your hand
, I am quite sure, is the message.” “How so?”

Adams tilted his head toward Jefferson.“Do you believe in charms?”

“Decidedly not.”

“Nor do I.
Charm
was my father's word, not my own.” He studied the pipe, making sure it was lit, then continued. “There is no such thing as ‘lucky' and items carried for luck are extra weight in the pocket of a fool. Consider the moronic rabble who carry a rabbit's foot for luck, never pausing to consider the lack of protection it provided its original owner!” Jefferson chuckled.

“In any case,”Adams said,“I
do
believe that words, paintings, a statue, or an object can harbor within it the unique power to inspire. And when one is inspired, an action is often taken. Only actions will change the world,Thomas. Intentions will not. Words will not. Only direct action
by your hand
, will ever change anything.

“There are those who would say, ‘Let us be patient. Let us sit and wait upon the Almighty.' I say to them, ‘Get up! The Almighty is waiting on you!' Make no mistake, the Lord God instructs us; He leads us and inspires us, but He expects us to
do something
with the gifts we've been given. It is a choice that too few make.

“Examine the markings on the object. They are mere words and have no more power than my pipe! But they inspire me to a choice—me, one man among the entire world's population. The choice to
do something
. And the action that one man takes, I believe, changes everything for everyone.

“This object? I have no idea what it is, what it is made of, or its origin. If indeed, it was borne by Joan of Arc, you can be certain that she understood its true meaning. History tells us that. This was a girl who did not set the object on a fence post and wait nervously for someone else to do what needed to be done. She sensed the inspiration, accepted the responsibility, and determined that,‘By all that is holy, by
my
hand, these people shall be free!'

“Thomas, this is why I left the object with you. By your hand, the people shall be free. As you composed the declaration whose words will ring through the ages, I wanted you inspired—so that you might inspire. I wanted your heart's lifeblood poured out upon the pages. It is not enough that we merely know the right thing to do. We must
do
it!”

Adams straightened his posture and inhaled deeply. “Excuse me, Thomas. I apologize. On this subject, I am rather easily carried away.”

Jefferson reached out a hand and touched Adams on the shoulder. “No need to apologize, my friend. Carry that passion with you on the morrow. Another glass?”