Love and Honor

by Harry Samkange

  Within the hour, Lieutenant Fortier had arranged transport to the Belle Héloïse and was piped aboard to considerable fanfare; the crew and most of the passengers turning out to give him a hero’s welcome as he came aboard. Though he did his modest best to downplay his part in the day’s action, he was glad-handed and saluted by everyone as introductions were made. At the forefront of those to greet him was the Baron de Salvagnac, who was one of the few who could claim a prior acquaintance with the lieutenant.

  “Your conduct today was magnificent!” The baron said to murmurings of approval from the surrounding crowd.

  “All in a day’s work, Monsieur. It’s what we train for,” Fortier replied unpretentiously, searching unsuccessfully for the face of the vicomtesse in the throng of well-wishers.

  “Come now. It’s no use being modest, Lieutenant Fortier. We watched it all from here. Your conduct was magnificent! This is my daughter Virginie,” Madame Dupluie said, thrusting her shy eldest daughter forward to the front of the swarm of admirers in the hopes that the gallant lieutenant would take particular notice of her. The Baron de Salvagnac rolled his eyes at Julienne who stood next to him, smiling with forbearance at the display of such uncouth behavior. Fortier paid the requisite courtesies to both mother and daughter then asked for everyone’s attention so that he might inform them of the principal reason for his presence on board.

  “You’ll forgive me, but I have orders from the vice-amiral that I must see to at once. Everyone is invited to attend the fête tonight on the Bon Majesté. I’m to escort the ladies and gentlemen back in the longboat when you are ready. We’ve captured several English Officers who will also be the vice-amiral’s guests. I expect you’ll all be interested to meet them,” Lieutenant Fortier said. There were twitters of excitement from those in the crowd and especially Madame Dupluie.

  “Excuse me, but I also have a rather urgent communication for the Marquis de Blaise. Where might I find that gentleman?” the lieutenant asked soberly. The Baron de Salvagnac felt the weight of the last question settle like a stone in the pit of his stomach. He glanced furtively at Sérolène, who stood unnoticed at the back of the crowd and briefly caught his eye. Neither could mask the worry on their faces.

  “He’s in his cabin, I believe, with the Comte de Marbéville. Come, let me take you to him,” Salvagnac said, motioning to the lieutenant to follow him. The Baron de Ginestas carefully observed the faces of the lieutenant and Sérolène, eager to divine what had happened. Have the English done me the favor of ridding me of our young Achilles? He wondered.

  “Stay with her. I fear some ill news about the chevalier,” Salvagnac whispered to Julienne. Julienne nodded, moving nearer to Sérolène as the men walked off. The crowd slowly dispersed, everyone going off happily to prepare themselves for the evening’s entertainment, leaving Sérolène and Julienne alone together on deck in a decidedly more somber mood.

  “Something’s happened, Julie; I can feel it. If nothing were wrong, the lieutenant would have said so,” Sérolène said with worry.

  “You don’t know that,” Julienne cautioned.

  “Oh, but I do! The lieutenant has much too kind a nature to allow us to suffer. I fear he feels it his duty to deliver the evil news first to the marquis himself!” Sérolène said, leaning against Julienne for comfort.

  “Dear God, am I to always suffer so when he enters the Army? Is this the life I shall have to prepare myself for when he becomes my husband?” Sérolène said with worry. Julienne looked about them with concern.

  “I’m pleased that you love me well enough to confide in me your secrets; but I caution you to be more guarded in future in the company of others,” Julienne said, nodding to indicate with a slight turn of her head the crew and others that milled about within earshot, among them the Baron de Ginestas.

  “I promise you that for my part I will do what I can to help you both, but you must have no illusions as to how large a chasm there is to bridge,” Julienne said.

  “I am not unaware of the general view, but I assure you our hearts are irrevocably joined. I should prefer death to an alliance with another,” Sérolène declared defiantly. Julienne stroked Sérolène’s forehead, kissing it softly.

  “Hush, my dearest. Enough talk of death. Let us wait here and breathe this pleasant air and hope that my good beau-frère yet breathes it with us. Only when that prayer is answered may we then dare hope for greater favors,” Julienne counseled.

  They stood waiting for what seemed an eternity for any news. Finally Lieutenant Fortier emerged alone from below decks, his hands behind his back, his visage serious and solemn. Sérolène, fearing the worst -- that Nicolas must be dead, and the baron and Francis had remained behind to console the marquis -- pressed her head into Julienne’s shoulder to prevent the lieutenant from seeing her tears, the free flow of which she now felt herself unable to prevent. The lieutenant saw them standing together near the railing and altered his course to speak to them.

  “Good day to you both. I hope you’ll pardon my interruption. I’m Lieutenant Fortier, from the Fantassin. Forgive me for being so forward Madame, but I take it I have the honor of speaking to the Comtesse de Marbéville?” the lieutenant said, forced by the vicomtesse’s state of distress to make his own introduction to Julienne.

  “You do, Lieutenant, but may I ask how you knew me?” Julienne asked.

  “Nicolas has often spoken of you, Madame, in the most praiseworthy of terms I might add. His description matched you perfectly enough that I couldn’t fail to recognize you,” Fortier said, noting the apparent distress of the Vicomtesse de La Bouhaire with concern.

  “Mademoiselle de La Bouhaire, I am sorry that I was not able to first come and reassure you, but I was under orders from the vice-amiral to report directly to the marquis and so was anxious to discharge my duties there first,” Fortier said, waiting for a sign that he should continue.

  “Thank you for your consideration, Monsieur. May I ask as to what you wish to reassure us about?” Julienne inquired anxiously, answering for Sérolène who was too distressed to respond at all. Fortier seemed reluctant to continue, noting how the figure of the Baron de Ginestas, whom he did not know, hovered nearby in an effort to overhear what he could of their conversation. Observing the state of distress that affected the vicomtesse, however, he felt compelled to come quickly to the point

  “As I have just reported to the marquis and the Comte de Marbéville, the Chevalier d’Argentolle was wounded --heroically, I might add -- in the day’s action. He was tended to by both French and English surgeons after having suffered a serious wound to his left arm. He is recuperating well and we hope he shall be back in form and on his feet in a few days’ time,” Fortier said. Sérolène lifted her head from Julienne’s shoulder to look at the lieutenant.

  “Then he has not been killed?” she exclaimed breathlessly. Fortier looked back at her in astonishment.

  “Certainly not! I swear to you both. I was never more than a few steps away from him throughout the battle on the deck. I was also there when his wound was treated. He bore the pain heroically. I myself also supervised his transfer to the vice-amiral’s flagship, and when I left him he was resting comfortably, though he had not yet regained consciousness,” Fortier declared. Sérolène felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her and that she could finally breathe again. While she rejoiced silently at the welcome news from the lieutenant, the marquis and Francis came up from below, passing a disappointed-looking Baron de Ginestas as he descended. The Montferrauds joined the lieutenant as he continued to relate more details of the day’s events.

  “As I have already related to these gentlemen, Mademoiselle, he has lost a lot of blood so he may seem pale to you when you see him, but it is natural in such cases. The wound itself looks far worse than it is, though it was serious. It bled quite frightfully and had to be cauterized. I thought at first it was a sword cut, but it was a splinter from a cannon ball that had lodged deep in his arm,” Fortier said.

>   “A cannon ball?” Julienne inquired.

  “Yes, Monsieur. It appears that before the chevalier decided to join the boarding party he was below decks in the gun chamber working a cannon himself. The crew had all been killed by a ricocheting ball, the same one that injured him. Despite his condition, it didn’t stop him from joining the fight aboard the Perseverance. I must confess, Monsieur, I had heard tales of the martial prowess of the Montferrauds, tales that I thought quite exaggerated…until today. In addition, as I have related, the chevalier himself took the sword of the English captain, whom you will meet tonight at the vice-amiral’s table, after a rather spirited contest. Such a feat would have been impressive enough had he had the use of both arms, but to do it with one, and at his age…well, he is quite remarkable!” Fortier declared with open admiration. The marquis nodded, acknowledging the compliment.

  “We had just finished taking the English capitaine’s surrender when the severity of the chevalier’s wound became apparent to us all. He’s under the care of three physicians now, including the vice-amiral’s own and the English doctor who helped to extract the splinter,” Fortier said, intentionally omitting the part about Nicolas’ collapse, not wanting to cause further worry.

  “I thank you for what you have done for him. I shall not forget it. Now if you’ll excuse us, the comte and I have many preparations to attend to,” Blaise said with a bow as he moved off with Francis in tow, leaving Fortier alone with the ladies again.

  “Please try not to worry too much. I promise you I shall do all I can to return him to you safely,” Fortier said. Sérolène allowed herself only a partial smile, knowing that she would not feel truly reassured until she at last saw Nicolas for herself.

  “Thank you Lieutenant. How fortunate we are to have your friendship. My heart beats with his. I pray you keep them both safe,” Sérolène pleaded.

  Fortier bowed low once more then took his leave to attend to the numerous other tasks his duties demanded of him. What a charming girl! he thought in admiration of the vicomtesse. She reminded him in many ways of his own Aurélie; so often a pearl like that would be married off to an old man to satisfy family concerns with no thought of her own wishes or desires. Fortunately for the vicomtesse, she’d found a young man who actually appeared to deserve her. He hoped for them both that providence would smile upon them; given the many obstacles likely to be placed in their paths, they would need more than a fair share of their own good fortune to overcome them.

  XIII. Victory’s Hard Price

  The stylized serving of the fête a la victoire – the feast of victory, was a part of the Bon Majesté’s tradition that always occurred on the evening following a victory at sea. The ceremonial meal of offering was a rite intended to bring continued good fortune and safety to the crew; providing the deities of the sea in whom all mariners believed, with offerings to satiate and appease their never ending hunger for the blood of those who travelled across their realm. It was not often, however, that the ritual meal was so grandly put on or attended. With so many important guests under the protection of his convoy, Vice-Amiral de Baudrie was determined to reap the best advantages, both social and political, of the rare confluence of events that brought so many potential benefactors to his table.

  From this day forward, his name would go down in history as one of the few French naval commanders to achieve victory at sea against the English. No matter that his foe had been surprised and outgunned, success was success and he was sure he would now achieve the rank of Amiral and perhaps a dukedom, once the details of the victorious engagement and the capture of the English frigate became widely known. His success would also be reflected among his officers and crew, with rewards, promotions, grants and pensions from the King, in the wake of their collective triumph.

  Wrapped in the cloak of victory, Vice-Amiral de Baudrie could afford to be both gracious to his foes and generous to his men. The value of the Perseverance as a prize of war would make many of his officers and crew significantly richer when she was sailed triumphantly into port and the spoils of war were divided. Some careers would be made, others ended as long-serving sailors might now be able to effectively retire from the service. For the vice-amiral, tonight would be a crowning celebration of his achievement and he wanted everything just so. No detail was too small for his attention; both men and officers undergoing scrupulous inspection for any flaws in presentation or grooming that might lessen the splendor of his table.

  The decks and general quarters had already been scrubbed clean by the crew, fresh paint brought out to cover up any gory stains too resilient or inconvenient to remove. Atop the tables erected on deck for the crew and guests, the softest, whitest linens were laid out; a pristine base upon which the ship’s finest china was set out to impress. The best of the remaining food was ordered up for the occasion, much of it from the vice-amiral’s personal stock. Beneath the decks of the great warship, stewards, cooks, and orderlies all moved about in purposeful fashion; selecting, sampling, and preparing a wide variety of delicacies.

  Double rations of spirits had put the men in a happy mood, as had the news that there was to be dancing tonight and ladies present. Many of the servants sailing with the convoy had already been ferried aboard the flagship to help with the preparations for the meal. As a result, the tight quarters below deck were unusually crammed with people, many of them unfamiliar with the habits or customs that encouraged the smooth running of a warship. All the sailors, however, were inclined to overlook and forgive any indiscretions, and those who were not were put under orders to do so.

  The men did their best to spruce themselves up: faces and hands were washed; wet combs were run through hair and beards; best dress uniforms taken out of careful storage, dusted, and pressed. The sailors all wanted to look their best, knowing that if they were lucky, they might have the rare chance to stand up with a real lady for a dance or two, the favor of whose company they had not had to purchase.

  At seven o’clock, the longboats began arriving with the first military and civilian guests. By seven-thirty, the deck of the Bon Majesté was already crowded with people. Long tables had been set up to seat the more than twenty naval men from all ships singled out for merit, and the “lesser” guests. Those not receiving any particular distinction on the day took their meals below decks in rotation, alongside the common crew. The vice-amiral’s stateroom and the quarterdeck were the sole preserve of the senior officers and the most distinguished guests, the glitter and gleam of gold braid and polished brass, creating an atmosphere of pomp and ceremony aboard the flagship. The seas were surprisingly calm and accommodating, with very little wind to upset things, or to provide an impetus for the unexpected return of a once defeated foe.

  The most sought-after guests were the captured English officers, who were treated with every courtesy by the vice-amiral. As educated well-born gentlemen, the English officers naturally spoke passable French themselves and there was much effort to find neutral topics of conversation to avoid the embarrassment of the meal appearing too much like a triumph, though it was, in fact, precisely that. The one thing that was still missing from the glittering spectacle was the presence of the ladies, for whom the gentlemen peacocks were eagerly waiting to put themselves on display.

  The longboat from the Belle Claire was announced with anticipation at forty minutes before first night watch, ferrying the first of the women to the flagship. The seamen rushed forward, eager to help the ladies aboard, most of whom were maids or common passengers, intended to provide partners for the regular crew. The sling was lowered several times in succession; occasional murmurs of approval being followed in some cases by applause as the Belle Claire’s longboats disgorged their fair passengers. There were thirty-eight arrivals in total, of which twenty-one were women, all in the best of their comparatively modest finery. Even so, all the ladies, regardless of status, were welcomed with considerable enthusiasm by seamen and officers alike, and escorted to their places at tables of honor on the main deck
. Among those arriving in the first boat was Madame Petitfleur with her three daughters, and her son, Michel; all of whom were shown to the section reserved for common passengers. An orchestra had been put together from members of the various crews and began playing upon the poop deck, where a space for dancing had been set aside, white ribbon and bunting along the railing demarcating the boundaries.

  Last to arrive were the transports from the Belle Héloïse, the first boats containing the maids, lackeys and common passengers, the last transporting the distinguished gentlemen and ladies of that ship. Lieutenant Fortier led the gentlemen off first while the sling was readied for the ladies. Everyone looked respectfully toward the procession of distinguished noblemen as they came aboard in considerable pomp and dignity, the Amiral himself and his senior officers lining up to welcome them. All the men who were on deck however, craned their necks eagerly in hopes of getting a glimpse of the true stars of the evening, as the sling was lowered again and again to bring aboard the highborn ladies of the Belle Héloïse. Though all were free to look on in respectful admiration, there was no chance for most, of any more allowance than that; the company of the belle dames being exclusively reserved for the officers and other gentlemen.

  First to touch foot upon the deck was the Baronne de Salvagnac. She was announced with fanfare, accompanied by Éléonore. The baronne wore a silver-tinted gown dotted with an intricately sewn pattern of red and white roses which drew murmurs of approval from the several hundred men that now crowded almost all the available space of the main deck and the rigging as well. The baron walked back to escort the baronne and Éléonore aboard, and to introduce them to the officers and gentlemen of the flagship.