by Judith James
They stopped first in Calais. An edict of tolerance passed a little over a decade ago, had partly restored the religious and civil rights of Huguenots in France, and it was amongst this community Davey intended to arrange financial backing, provision the L’Espérance, and fit her with a new copper bottom that would dramatically increase her speed. Leaving the ship there, they continued inland to Paris. It was Davey’s intention to take care of some personal business, see to his protégé’s introduction to polite society, and once his ship was ready, set sail for plunder and adventure. It caused him no discomfort at all to know he would be soon preying upon his host.
Davey insisted Gabriel accompany him as he went about his business, and the two of them made a striking pair. Gabriel was accepted wherever they went as a minor French nobleman and adventurer. His eagerness to see the sights made Davey laugh, and compare him to an English lordling on the Grande Tour. They received a great deal of attention, and were avidly pursued by eligible young ladies, disreputable widows, married women, and females of far less respectable origins. Davey enjoyed himself immensely, falling in and out of love at least three times over the course of a month, and in and out of welcoming beds far more often than that.
Gabriel found the interest tiresome, and although he was always scrupulously polite he didn’t encourage intimacy, coolly rebuffing those who solicited his attention, including males of a certain variety. He was casually dismissive of all who hungered for him, and his disinterest only heightened his appeal. The only person he had any sexual interest in was Sarah. He missed her terribly and wrote her as often as he was able.
His first letter didn’t reach her until a good three weeks after his departure. Sitting in the library, going through her correspondence, she was debating attending an upcoming scientific lecture at the Royal Institute. She was in desperate need of diversion, and a trip to London might be just what she needed to lift her from the doldrums. Shuffling her papers haphazardly across the desk, she cast her mind back to her last night with Gabriel. The whole evening had a fairy-tale quality to it that sometimes made her wonder if it had ever happened at all. Lost in reverie, she was so startled when Jamie burst into the room that she almost fell from her chair.
He ran to her, grinning with excitement, waving a thick white packet in his hand. “Look, Sarah! A parcel from Gabriel! It’s from France and it’s addressed to you. Open it, please. Read it to me. How is he?” Hopping onto the desk, Jamie peered over her shoulder as she ripped open the bindings and several letters spilled out. “Maybe one is for me,” he said hopefully.
“I do believe you’re right, Jamie; it looks like two are for you,” Sarah said, scooping them up and handing them to him. “Now why don’t you go and read yours, and I’ll read mine, and when we’ve both finished, we can share from them what we wish?”
“Oh, yes, of course, I understand. He will have written you private things, I suppose,” Jamie said with a disappointed sigh.
“You might be right!” Laughing, face flushed, she ruffled his hair and gathered her letters. Her heart was pounding so hard she was half surprised Jamie couldn’t hear it. “I believe I’d like to read these in my room, Jamie. Will you forgive me?”
“I think he may have written you some very private things,” Jamie said with a laugh. Bowing, he clutched his letters and practically skipped out the door,
The moment he left, Sarah rushed to her room, giddy as a schoolgirl. Throwing herself onto the window seat, she tore open an envelope and began to read.
Mon amour, chère amie, Madame Wife,
We are settled in Paris now, and I finally have some solitude to write. My head is crowded with you, mignonne, your voice, your image, your scent. You plague my thoughts and dreams, both day and night, and in revenge I shall plague you with letters. I miss you terribly, and have so many things to tell you.
The L’Espérance remains in harbor at Calais with most of the crew, loading provisions and preparing for several months at sea. Davey and I have rented quarters in St. Germaine. Our lodgings are situated very near the Luxembourg Garden, which much resembles an enormous English garden but for the statues and the little men bent head-to-head, playing chess. We tarry here so that we may purchase navigational equipment and various other necessities best found in Paris, and so that Davey may take care of some financial matters as well as business of a personal nature.
He seems to know everyone, in high places and in low, including the Charge d’affaires. He had no difficulty acquiring French citizen papers for us both, and it seems to cause him no discomfort whatsoever that we are soon to be preying on French and Spanish ships, It is curious how such an essentially amiable man, the wisest, truest, and most trustworthy of friends, can be so cheerfully amoral! I confess to feeling a great deal of admiration for him in this regard.
I am uncertain as to why he insisted I accompany him, but so he has, and so I do, not without much disquiet and unease. I can tell you and you alone, that I have no desire to encounter anyone that might remind me of my past, which is still too recent for comfort. Although I have a dread of it, it weakens day by day as I become evermore convinced that people see only what they expect to see. I introduce myself by the name St. Croix, and we are everywhere welcomed as gentlemen. Your acceptance of me as I am, and your choice to take that name as my wife, has served to take the sting from it. If it is acceptable to you, then how can it be otherwise for me?
In truth, my love, I am finding this entire experience passing strange. My life has been so circumscribed by the events and circumstances of my youth, that I find myself a stranger here in this country of my birth, with no sense of home or belonging, or even recognition. I have never known this city beyond a few confining blocks, never felt this as my country, never thought of any place as my home, until I met you, and now you are my only country, and my only home.
I am seeing much of this city for the first time, as a tourist might, which seems to provide your cousin with much amusement. at my expense. Let me tell you first of the mood of the place. Bonaparte, the Little General, has come up in the world. He managed to slip past the British and his own troops, and has returned to Paris in glory, abandoning his fleet in Egypt to accept the great honor of being named First Counsel of France. A sense of excitement and a macabre gaiety have gripped the city. Everywhere, people from all classes join in the new craze from Germany, the waltz, at les bals publics that spring up throughout the city, and those aristocrats who managed to escape the revolution’s fury have begun to emerge once more. You may not credit it, but many of the relatives of the guillotined find it smart and stylish to sport a thin bloodred ribbon around their necks, in a ghoulish fashion they call à la victime.
More than a few young men have found their inheritance available to them sooner than expected, and possessing more money than experience or wit, they seem in a very great hurry to lose it. We are constantly invited to parties and to play at cards, and consequently I have developed a more-than-passing acquaintance with the gaming tables, both at the dens situated in the Palais Royale, which Davey loves to frequent, and in private homes. The habit of gambling gives one entrée into the beau monde; and it seems there is no other requirement to recommend one to the finest company in France.
I find myself much intrigued with a game called vingt-et-un. While most games appear to have nothing to do with skill, it seems to me that this one does, and a person who pays careful attention to the cards can greatly improve his chances of winning. My research of this theory has proven most fruitful to date, and despite, or because of my successes, I am somewhat sought-after wherever the play is deep.
Davey had asked me to accompany him to a gathering tonight, but I assured him that I would be useless at company or at cards, as I can think of nothing but you. Everywhere, I hear your voice, and I am constantly annoyed when I turn my head to see some painted creature clutching at my arm and prattling in my ear. It is your conversation I want, not theirs. I confess that the pleasure of your company has ma
de me rather difficult to please.
Now that I have relieved my conscience by confessing my newest vice, I pray and trust you will forgive me, though I’ve no intention of renouncing this particular sin. It is far too profitable and may, in itself, absolve me of the obligation I have to your brother. I pray you indulge me further by allowing me to share some observations I’ve made as a tourist. It’s a lonely pastime, as Davey is supremely disinterested and far more inclined to visit friends of his amongst the fairer sex. He maintains that he has seen it all before and is far more concerned with investigating the charms of the locals rather than the locale.
As I ramble about by myself, I’m certain that I’m often mistook for a madman, for I am constantly looking over my shoulder to remark upon some wondrous sight to you, and of course, you aren’t there. Yet, I have promised myself that I will share this experience with you, in as much as I can, and so I wonder what you’re doing as you read this now. Are you warm in your bed, or do you sit wrapped in my best shirt, with a candle in the window seat? Maybe you’re out on the balcony, under the stars. Accompany me in spirit then, my love, as I walk the streets of Paris.
The city is in a state of flux. Beggars are everywhere to be seen and much of the city has been vandalized. There are headless statues, streets running raw with sewage, and much bustle, chaos, and confusion. The façade of the Tuileries is ridden with bullet holes, and Louis IX’s priceless Saint-Chapelle sports a fine sign saying “National Property for sale.” Notre Dame has been sadly plundered and neglected, and is currently being used as a grain warehouse. She reminds one of an ancient grande dame, destitute, fallen on hard times but still magnificent and proud.
One needn’t travel to Italy to see the fine sculptures and artwork of ancient Greece and Rome. Napoleon, the art lover, has raped those poor countries and brought their treasures to the Louvre, along with plunder from Egypt, the Orient, and most of the noble houses of France. It is magnificent to the point of being overwhelming, and one would need to stay a month at least to do it any justice.
There is a place I know you would particularly enjoy, mignonne. We shall have to visit it together someday. I speak of the Observatoire de Paris, which has a splendid view of the city from its rooftop. They claim it to be the first modern observatory built in the world. I expect you would know the truth of it. You will be pleased to know they possess a refracting telescope made by your Mr. James Short. I had the good fortune, while there, of meeting the current director, a Monsieur Pierre Mechain, who has discovered no less than seven comets in the past twenty years! I took the liberty of telling him about your interest in such things and your exquisite taste in telescopes. My learned new friend did not believe me at first, but at my insistence he was much intrigued, and he has humbly begged you to correspond, if you so desire. I hope this pleases you.
Well, there now, it has started to rain. I can hear it drumming on the roof, tapping on the pane, and splashing in the street below. Alone here by myself, I find it a melancholy sound. With you by my side it would be a sweet song of peace and contentment, a prelude to warmth and comfort and secret delights. Damn, mignonne, this writing business is a double-edged sword! I feel both infinitely closer to you and infinitely forlorn and far away.
Lord, how I miss you, Sarah! You pervade my entire being. I miss the feel of your head on my shoulder at night, the soft caress of your breath against my cheek, and the soothing comfort of your heart, beating strong and steady next to mine. I leave a space for you beside me, even though you’re far away. I watch the night sky, and when I see Venus, I imagine your arms wrapped round me as you lean against my back. I smell your scent and crave your touch.
They say that time and distance teach perspective. Well, it has taught me this. Fortune, adventure, discovery, these are hollow things without your presence to bring them to life. I am determined that when this adventure is completed, I will not part from you again. I confess to a love for the sea, but her charms are insipid and pallid things compared to yours. I will spend my life at sea only insofar as you may wish to accompany me.
I am serious, mignonne. I hope to gain enough from this adventure to have a vessel and a crew of my own. If you will have it, we will adventure together as man and wife. If you will not, then I shall hire a captain and spend my days doting upon you until I am so much underfoot and such a nuisance that you will indulge me, and we shall run away to sea together. Think what a marvelous observatory we might fashion on the quarterdeck at night.
Ah, mon amie, you’ve become a habit with me, much like breathing, and God’s truth, it seems as hard to do without you as to do without air. If I were there with you now, or you here with me, I would pull you close in my arms, bury my face in your hair, and give you a thousand kisses, starting with your pretty shell toes and the magnificent arch of your dainty foot, which, I assure you, is far lovelier and more inspiring than any of the tracery or architecture in all the cathedrals and palaces I have seen here in Paris.
I shall wish you a good night now, love. I’m going to slip between the sheets and close my eyes so that I may imagine you beside me and visit you in my dreams. Until I can take you in my arms again, know that I hold you close in my mind, in my heart, and in my soul.
Forever Yours,
Gabriel
CHAPTER
23
It was mid-June when they finally returned to Calais. The newly fitted L’Espérance stood at anchor in the harbor, riding high in the water, pennants flapping in the breeze. She’d been captured from the French in 1784. French warship design and construction was far superior to that of the English, and she was sleeker, faster, and more powerful than anything Davey might have bought from an English shipyard. Square sailed, she was fitted with twelve nine-pound cannon, Davey having chosen to sacrifice some of her original firepower for maneuverability and speed. She was no longer a warship after all, but a privateer, and her prey was merchant ships, her goal, to catch and board them, not to sink them. As it was, she combined a formidable capacity for attack and defense with agility and lightning speed. She was Davey’s first love, his pride and joy.
As they were rowed out to join her, the bustle and frenetic activity, which from shore had resembled a swarming anthill, became sharper, distinguishing itself into human form. Gabriel could see busy sailors passing casks of salt pork and beef, cheese and ship’s biscuit, beer and rum, into the hold from the boats hove to alongside. They also loaded powder and solid shot, for bringing down masts and smashing through hulls; chain shot, to take down sails and rigging; and bags of sand, to act as ballast. When their cutter bumped to a halt against the starboard side, the waterman caught the main chains with a hook, holding it steady alongside as they climbed, hand over hand, up the ladder and onto the deck.
Early the next morning, Gabriel stood on the quarterdeck, skin pricking with excitement, seized by the spirit of adventure and the thrill of the unknown. The L’Espérance was rolling a little, but she slid along smoothly, the only sounds the gurgling of the sea green waves frothing past her hull, and the rhythmic creaking of her spars and joints. As she surged forward, the coastline faded and disappeared, and only the deep blue sea and azure sky stretched on the horizon. Taking a deep breath he raised his face into the sea breeze and called out a course for Gibraltar. They were underway.
Davey managed his ship and crew with far more organization and discipline than would be found on a pirate vessel, and far more freedom and flexibility than would be found in His Majesty’s Navy. There were no floggings or hangings, and no drunkenness or desertions aboard his ship. His men were a tight-knit group of highly skilled, highly trained professionals, and he treated them as such. He respected his men and made them rich, and they loved him for it.
It took three weeks to sight Gibraltar. The language spoken in the Mediterranean ports was the lingua Franca, a bastardized vernacular parsed together from the many tongues spoken throughout the region by natives, traders, and captives from many nations. Since leaving Calais, D
avey had insisted the crew converse in it so as to accustom them to its use. Its many Latin derivatives made it familiar to Gabriel, and with his facility for languages he picked it up quickly.
Mornings were taken up with gunnery drill and the putting on and the taking off of sail. A well-trained gun crew could get off three shots in two minutes, and they practiced over and over again until that standard was as easy to them as breathing. They were also repeatedly exercised in the use of small arms, cutlasses, and boarding pikes. Gabriel was the only member of the crew who had never traversed these seas before, and as was his habit, he shared his discoveries with Sarah.
Ma chère, mignonne,
It is now seventy days since last I held you in my arms. Somehow, I have survived, though I curse each day that takes me farther away from you, and pray for swift winds to bring me home. With luck that will be before Christmas. I have many wonderful things to tell you! We have made Gibraltar our base of operations as it is the major English settlement in the area, its fort controlling the entrance to the Atlantic, and its trading post a conduit to and from the Iberian Peninsula to the north, Africa to the south, and the Mediterranean and the Orient to the east.
