The Ambitious Madame Bonaparte

by Chatlien, Ruth Hull

  Betsy felt guilty that, in her distress, she had not thought of her aunt. “Yes, please go inquire how she is.” A wave of nausea rolled over her again, and she pressed her fist against her mouth. Her diaphragm ached from the constant heaving.

  Jerome made his way out of the cabin, touching the wall as he went to keep his balance. He was gone for several minutes. When he returned, he said, “Ta pauvre tante. Elle est plus malade que toi.”

  “Oh, dear,” Betsy said. If Aunt Nancy was worse than this, she must feel as though she were at death’s door. Betsy tried to push herself to a sitting position so she could go to the older woman, but the ship abruptly rose and then descended with a sickening plunge. She lay back down. “What can we do for her?”

  “Nothing, my love. I told her to drink a little water, but she would not. There is nothing else to do but ride out the storm.” He pushed Betsy’s sweat-soaked hair back from her forehead.

  After a while, Betsy ceased retching because her muscles were too exhausted to contract anymore and her stomach had nothing left to expel. Jerome carried the vomit-filled basin away. Then he carefully crawled into the bunk and pressed his body to Betsy’s back as she lay on her side. His nearness helped her relax, and she fell into a fitful sleep, broken several times during the night by the ship’s wild movement.

  Toward morning, Betsy awoke and listened to the crashing of the waves pounding the side of the ship. She wondered how long the gale would last. When she shifted her position to lie closer to Jerome, she marveled at how much her abdomen ached from the bout of seasickness. Then the hull of the ship jolted and shuddered. Betsy heard a sharp splintering sound. The ship began to sway like a very slow rocking chair, up and back, up and back.

  “Jerome!” He woke quickly, and she told him what had happened.

  “Sainte Mère, I think we have run aground.” He crawled over Betsy, being careful not to press his weight on her, and climbed down from the bunk. When he stood, Betsy realized that the floor of their cabin inclined from the outer hull to the exit. Jerome pushed hard to open their cabin door and left her.

  Shoving against the mattress, Betsy struggled to her feet and felt her way along the bunk to reach the washstand bolted to the wall at the end of the cabin. The ewer had been knocked onto its side but prevented from falling by a railing around the stand. The vessel still held a tiny amount of water. Betsy dribbled it into her cupped hand and rubbed it over her face. Then she tried to decide what to do.

  The ship was still rocking, and she thought it must be stuck on a sandbar or reef, where pounding waves could batter it. Betsy had heard too many stories of shipwrecks from her father and brothers not to know what to expect. In a storm of this ferocity, the wind and waves could break apart a grounded ship within hours.

  Most of their things were in the hold, but their most valuable possessions were stowed in a single wide drawer in the base of their bunk. When Jerome returned, Betsy was leaning against the bunk wearing her cloak and clutching her jewelry casket and the velvet-wrapped sword from Marengo.

  “We hit a sandbar. The captain says we cannot launch a boat until the weather subsides.”

  “Such a plan is suicidal. We must try to get ashore.” Betsy stood with difficulty. “We should speak to the captain again.”

  Grasping the doorframe, Jerome reached for her hand to help her up the sloped floor and out the cabin door. They went next door to Nancy’s cabin, and Betsy was shocked to see how pale her aunt looked. “Please, get up. We have to prepare to leave the ship.”

  “No,” Aunt Nancy said. She pressed a handkerchief to her mouth and swallowed hard. “I am sure we are safer on board ship than out in the storm.”

  “No, Aunt. You must trust my judgment on this.” Betsy sent Jerome out of the cabin and then she helped her aunt to dress, a process that took a long time because of the slanted floor and Nancy’s weakness. The older woman leaned on Betsy like a child.

  Finally, they rejoined Jerome, and the three of them felt their way to the ladder. Betsy went first. As she pulled herself up the ladder rung by rung, while awkwardly keeping the jewelry casket tucked under one arm, she heard a loud cracking overhead. The ship abruptly shifted, and the rocking ceased. Nancy screamed. Betsy gripped the rung tightly until she felt certain that the ship had settled into a stable position. Then she resumed climbing and called down to Jerome to start Aunt Nancy on her way.

  Once on deck, they pushed past scurrying sailors as they searched for the captain. Betsy could barely see in the lashing rain. Although it was now mid-morning, the skies were dark grey and filled with turbulent black clouds. Finally, she spotted the captain on the forecastle issuing orders for the crew to cut away the sodden sails to release their weight from the mainmast, which had cracked as it leaned at an angle over the water.

  “Captain, I must speak with you!” Betsy called.

  He shouted a warning to one of his sailors and then said, “Madam, I am occupied. For your own safety, please return to your cabin.”

  “No, sir. I insist that you order a boat to be lowered so the passengers can make for the safety of shore.”

  The officer glared at her. Rain dripped from his hat, giving him an almost comical aspect that did little for his authority. “Do you imagine, madam, that you are in command of this ship?”

  Betsy pushed her sodden hood back from her face. “Perhaps I should be since you clearly lack competence. Do not suppose me ignorant of the dangers posed to passengers aboard a grounded ship, sir. I come from a seafaring community.”

  “Then you should know the risk of trying to row ashore during a gale. You waste my time with this debate, Madame d’Albert.”

  As he turned away, Betsy cried, “Sir, my name is not d’Albert. It is Madame Bonaparte, sister-in-law to the French emperor. I demand that you send us to safety.”

  He whirled around. Looking over her shoulder, he said to Jerome, “Is this true?”

  “Yes, I am Jerome Bonaparte.”

  “Damnation.” He beckoned to a crew member. “Higgins, prepare to lower the ship’s boat. Put four men in it to row the passengers to shore. And send Jurgensen below to gather the others.”

  The captain strode away, and Betsy approached Higgins. Raising her voice to be heard above the storm, she said, “Before you lower the boat, you must stow these things securely aboard.”

  “Madam, that is not possible. If I allow you to bring possessions, all the passengers will want to do the same and the boat will swamp.”

  Betsy fixed Higgins with blazing eyes and held out the wrapped sword. “This saber is an heirloom of one of Napoleon’s victories. Do you wish to take responsibility for its loss?”

  The sailor’s eyes grew wide, and he accepted the sword and casket from her. As they watched the crew hoist the lifeboat and swing it over the side, Jerome moved close to Betsy. “You would make a fearsome empress, Elisa.”

  When the boat was in the water, the captain approached the huddled group of nine passengers. “With this wind, I dare not use the sling to lower you to the boat. You will have to take it in turns to jump from the gangway.”

  “I cannot!” Nancy cried.

  Seeing her aunt’s terror, Betsy put an arm around her. “It will be all right.” Then she announced to the others, “I will go first as an example.”

  As she started toward the side of the ship, Jerome stopped her. “No, Elisa. Your cloak is too cumbersome. You must remove it.”

  Betsy took it off and handed it to him. Within seconds, the driving rain had plastered her dress to her body. Without hesitation, she moved to the open gangway and, using her hand to shield her eyes from the downpour, looked down. The sea was a dark greenish-grey. Even though the crew was holding onto ropes leading from the ship, the boat was bobbing in the churning waves. Behind her, Jerome shouted, “Leap far out.”

  Nodding, she took a deep breath, flexed her knees, and jumped. At the same instant, a surge of water caused the boat to buck away. Betsy saw the foam rush up to meet her as sh
e plunged into the cold bay. Her arm hit the side of the boat but could not grasp it, and her head went underwater. As stinging saltwater went up her nose, she started thrashing to regain the surface. The wet skirts of her gown clung to her legs, making it difficult to kick, and Betsy panicked at the thought that she would drown. She felt herself being pulled under, and her lungs started to burn.

  Then someone dove nearby, seized her, and pulled her upward. A moment later, they broke the surface, and her rescuer wedged her tightly against the side of his body as he swam. Rain was in Betsy’s eyes and her head kept dipping below water so that she had to gulp air whenever her mouth broke the surface. She thought she heard a shout, and a sailor grabbed her under the arms to pull her onto the boat. Once she was seated on one of the wooden benches, she saw the sailor help her rescuer aboard. It was Jerome.

  He sat beside her. Betsy was shivering uncontrollably. Jerome put his arms around her, but as he was also sopping wet, his embrace provided little warmth. The howling wind cut through the thin fabric of Betsy’s gown, and her hands and feet grew icy cold. It seemed to take an eternity for the other passengers to make it into the boat; most landed in the water and had to be fished out as Betsy had. Only Aunt Nancy avoided going into the bay. The ship’s crew took pity on her extreme terror and risked their lives to lean down from the ship and lower her by the arms until the men in the boat could grab her. Once she was settled in the boat, she sat there whimpering and praying.

  After everyone was aboard, the crew rowed toward land, but it was slow going because they were heading into the wind. Betsy’s shivering grew so violent that her teeth clacked against themselves and would not stop no matter how tightly she clenched her jaw.

  Slowly, the day grew brighter and the rain began to ease. When they were about twenty yards from shore, Betsy saw dark shapes huddled together on the beach. “I think people are waiting to meet us.”

  “No doubt, mum,” Higgins said, after checking over his shoulder. “The captain sent up rockets as soon as we hit the sandbar. Those will be sailing folk who live by the water.”

  Altogether, the journey took nearly two hours because the wind and waves were against them. When the boat finally reached the shallows, a couple of burly men waded into the water to pull it ashore. Then they helped the women from the boat. Betsy’s legs were so cramped from cold that, as soon as she put her weight on them, a thousand needles stabbed her. Now that she knew they were safe, she felt faint and weepy, and she turned to find Jerome. However, he was enlisting one of the other men to help him lift the quivering Aunt Nancy from the boat, so Betsy let him be.

  Turning back toward land, she scanned the scene. A boy was running up the beach toward a brick house that stood a few hundred yards back from the water. There were no other homes in sight, and Betsy wondered where the people on the beach had come from. As she watched, the boy reached the house and knocked on the door. It opened, and a bearded, middle-aged man came outside, putting on a broad-brimmed hat as he did. He strode toward them with the purposeful gait of a man used to being in charge. He ignored the bedraggled passengers and walked up to Higgins. “Where is the captain?”

  “There, sir.” The young sailor pointed toward the water, and Betsy looked back at the ship for the first time since she had leaped from it. A second boat was making its way to shore but was still a long distance away.

  “I see.” The bearded man turned to the passengers. “I’m a pilot, and there is my house. Go make yourselves to home. I will stay here to see that the rest of the crew make it to safety.”

  The other passengers began to struggle up the beach, but Betsy went first to the boat. After retrieving her jewel casket and Jerome’s sword, she too began to trudge up the wet sand.

  Jerome and Aunt Nancy were slightly ahead, and they paused to wait for her. They were the last passengers to enter the house. They found themselves in a warm kitchen that had a massive fieldstone fireplace with an iron oven door in the wall next to it. The room smelled of roasting poultry. As the group of miserable passengers stood dripping on the stone floor, the pilot’s son gave each an earthenware mug of rum, while the wife passed out towels so they could dry their faces. Then she led them upstairs to the bedrooms so they could remove their wet clothes and wrap themselves in blankets. Annoyed by her aunt’s sniveling, Betsy hurriedly stripped off her things and left the room.

  Descending the stairs, she realized that, as she had after her first night camping, she felt intensely alive.

  In the kitchen, Betsy saw the pilot’s wife at the sideboard carving a large bird. Next to it was a stoneware crock and a platter heaped with sliced meat. “Ma’am, I just finished preparing our dinner. Would you care for some roast goose and applesauce?”

  The smell of food made Betsy ravenously hungry, but she hesitated because she knew these people could not be rich. “Are you certain you have enough?”

  “Oh, yes. He was a big bird.”

  “Then I would gladly accept your offer.”

  The woman took a stoneware plate from the nearby cupboard, filled it with a generous portion, and set it on the table. Betsy sat and began to eat with relish. The goose was juicy, the crispy skin was rubbed with sage, and the chunky applesauce was both sweet and tangy. She thought it the best meal she had ever tasted. The pilot’s wife excused herself to go out to the springhouse for milk and exited through the door.

  Hearing footsteps in the passage, Betsy looked up. She hoped to see Jerome, but Aunt Nancy entered the room. “Betsy! You should be down on your knees thanking God for His mercy, not stuffing your face like a glutton.”

  Betsy put down her fork and wiped her hands on a napkin. She found it difficult not to laugh at her aunt’s red face. “I mean no disrespect. In my own way, I am thanking God by celebrating how sweet is the life that He has restored me to.”

  As she spoke, Jerome entered the kitchen. “I thought I smelled food. I am famished.”

  “Sit down, and I will serve you.”

  AS BETSY EXPECTED, by the time the storm ended, the Philadelphia had completely broken apart, spilling everything from the hold into Delaware Bay. The Bonapartes lost not only their clothes but also Jerome’s pocketbook containing his last three thousand dollars. Upon learning that they had rescued Napoleon’s brother, the townspeople agreed to house his party, while a boat carrying Jerome’s secretary sailed south to the mouth of Delaware Bay. The plan was to voyage down the Atlantic coast to the Chesapeake and then turn north.

  To Betsy’s surprise, Le Camus did not go to her family in Baltimore but instead landed at Annapolis and traveled overland to Washington to fetch Pichon. The chargé was so shaken when he arrived a few days later that he supplied Jerome with replacement funds even though doing so violated the emperor’s orders. As Pichon transported them to Baltimore, he told Jerome that a new French ambassador would be arriving in the United States within the month. “Please, sir, take the frigate Presidente back to France. Do not risk another foolhardy passage such as this.”

  “Must I tell you again that I will do so only if they accept my wife?”

  “I cannot authorize such a deviation from the emperor’s orders.”

  “I will talk to the captain,” Jerome answered, “and persuade him to do as I wish.”

  BACK IN BALTIMORE at the beginning of November, they moved into the Patterson house to await the Presidente, while Le Camus and Garnier took rooms nearby. Betsy and Jerome occupied Betsy’s former bedroom, despite the inconvenience of its narrow bed. William Patterson grumbled about the overcrowding, but Betsy was grateful to be home. After the first exhilaration of survival, she realized what a shock her nerves had suffered. She felt unusually tired, and little annoyances made her want to cry.

  A week after arriving in Baltimore, Betsy felt nauseated at breakfast. Excusing herself from the table, she barely made it upstairs in time to retch into her chamber pot.

  Before leaving the bedroom, Betsy glanced into the mirror and saw vomit spattered on her gown. As she put o
n fresh clothing, she noticed that her breasts were tender as they often were right before her monthly flux. Perhaps that was what ailed her. What with moving from city to city and living through a shipwreck, she had lost track of her cycle.

  Betsy crossed to the small writing table and checked her journal. The last time she bled had been shortly after they arrived at Springfield in mid-September. Her cycle was nearly four weeks late. Laying her hands over her abdomen, she thought, I am carrying a child. After living in dread of such a development for so many months, how could she not have known?

  It was too soon to get confirmation from a doctor. She would first need to miss another cycle or two. In the meantime, she would keep her suspicions secret from Jerome.

  IN DECEMBER, THEY boarded the Presidente at Annapolis, Maryland. To their great surprise, the captain offered no objections to Betsy’s presence, and Pichon was so impatient to get Jerome off his hands that he did not challenge the captain’s decision.

  By then, Betsy had missed two monthly cycles, and she was certain from her other symptoms that she was carrying a baby. She still had not told her husband. Although she had dreaded conceiving a child while their marriage was in doubt, now she wondered if it might not be the way into her brother-in-law’s favor. The reason Napoleon had become emperor was to ensure his government’s survival by creating a hereditary succession, and if her child was a boy, he would be an additional Bonaparte heir.

  The Presidente weighed anchor and sailed south down Chesapeake Bay. At Hampton Roads, it turned east to sail into the Atlantic—and found the way blocked by British warships. The captain called Jerome on deck to discuss the matter, and Betsy followed.