Author: Clive Cussler
Category: Thriller
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/43830_6
He lit his night candle and made his way along the silent White House corridors to his bedroom.
Up at dawn, he rode to the new president’s inauguration with his usual lack of pomp and ceremony. With a touch of his hat, he simply galloped past the waiting cavalry escort, dismounted near the Capitol, and hitched his horse to a picket fence. He sat with the public during the inauguration. Later, he paid a farewell visit at the White House. At the inaugural ball he danced with Dolley Madison.
The next day he finished packing, making certain in particular that the trunk with his Indian material was on the wagon that would take it to the James River. Setting off on horseback for Monticello, he rode eight hours through a driving snowstorm in his eagerness to resume life as a country gentleman.
The watcher stood in the shadow of a snow-covered oak tree near the edge of the James River, where several cargo boats were tied up for the night. Raucous laughter emanated from a nearby tavern. The voices were growing louder, and he judged from personal experience that the boat crews had reached the last stage before drinking themselves senseless.
He emerged from the protection of darkness and made his way over the snow-covered ground to a boat that was outlined faintly in the flickering light of its stern lantern. The fifty-foot-long bateau was a narrow, flat-bottomed craft designed to move tobacco along the river.
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He stood on shore and called out, receiving no answer. Enticed by the prospects of drink, a warm fire, and female company, the captain had gone ashore with the two pole men who worked the riverboat. Crime was practically unknown in this remote part of the river, and none of the boats felt the need to leave crew aboard on this cold night.
The watcher padded up the ramp and used the lamp hanging from the stern to light his way as he ducked under an arched awning covering the central part of the deck. The awning sheltered more than two dozen bundles stenciled with the initials TJ . He set the light down and began to go through the baggage and boxes.
He pried a trunk open with a knife and pulled out a handful of the papers neatly packed inside. As he’d been instructed, he stuffed the papers into a large sack and threw a handful onto the riverbank. He tossed more papers into the river, where they drifted out of sight on the swift currents.
The man grinned at his accomplishment. With a quick glance toward the noisy tavern, he crept silently down the gangway onto the riverbank and melted like a ghost into the darkness.
SOON AFTER, Jefferson was returning to Monticello with friends and saw his house slaves unloading boxes from a wagon drawn close to the mansion’s columned entrance. As he rode closer, he recognized a stocky, bearded figure as the captain of the James River boat carrying his baggage from Washington.
He dismounted and strode to the wagon, but, in his excitement at seeing his baggage arrive, he didn’t notice the boatman’s stricken expression. He rapped his knuckles on the side of the wagon. “Good work, Captain. All arrived safe and sound, I see.”
The captain’s round face crumpled like an overripe pumpkin. “Not all, I’m sorry to say, sir,” he mumbled.
“What do you mean?”
The captain seemed to shrink into himself. Jefferson towered over the riverman by several inches and would have been a formidable figure even if he hadn’t been the former president of the United States. He seemed to bore holes right through the hapless captain with eyes almost luminous in their intensity.
As the riverman told his story, he wrung his hat so tight it was a wonder that he didn’t tear it into pieces.
Jefferson’s trunk had been vandalized on the last leg of the boat’s journey while ascending the river above Richmond. The thief had boarded the boat while it was tied up and the crew was sleeping on shore, the captain said. A trunk had been emptied. The captain handed Jefferson some mud-smeared papers, explaining that they had been found on the riverbank.
Jefferson stared at the wet wad in his hand.
Barely able to get the words out, he said, “Nothing else stolen?”
“No, sir.” The captain brightened at the opportunity to point out the silver lining. “Only the one trunk.”
Only the one trunk.
The words echoed in Jefferson’s ears as if they were being spoken in a cave.
“Tell me where you found this,” he demanded.
Moments later, Jefferson and his friends galloped off, and rode until they came to the river, then fanned out along both sides. After an intensive search, they fished out some papers that had floated ashore. Except for a few sheets, the mud-caked specimens of Indian vocabularies were water-damaged beyond use.
Later that summer, a petty thief and drunk was arrested and charged with the crime. The man claimed he had been hired by a stranger to steal the papers and pretend they were destroyed.
Jefferson was glad the culprit had been caught and might be hanged. He took no interest in the man’s fate. The scoundrel had caused him an irreparable loss. Jefferson had more pressing problems, such as tending his long-neglected fields and trying to figure out how to pay his mounting debts.
That was all changed months later when a letter arrived in the mail.
Jefferson had received several replies from the notes he had mailed from the White House to members of the Philosophical Society. All expressed their puzzlement at the word lists Jefferson had transcribed from the vellum. Except for one.
Professor Holmberg was a linguist at OxfordUniversity. He apologized for not answering Jefferson sooner but he had been traveling in North Africa. He knew exactly what language the words were written in and enclosed translations.
Jefferson’s eyes widened as he read Holmberg’s findings. With the letter in hand, he roamed his library and plucked volume after volume from his bookshelves. History. Language. Religion.
He spent the next several hours reading and making notes. When he had pushed away the last book, he sat back in his chair, tented his fingers, and stared into space. After a moment lost in thought, Jefferson silently mouthed a familar name.