The Crimson Heirlooms

by Hunter Dennis

  “We are all human, Estelle. But not all humans run from sin like a deer from wildfire. For that, you should be commended. We need speak of this no more.”

  They continued their gardening in silence, as if they had not spoken at all.

  Estelle did not return directly home. She ran several errands before going to the banks of the Loire, where her father usually stood about talking with the rivermen and inspecting cargo. He looked irritated to see her, and took her to one side, “What are you doing here?”

  “I have secured a position, and I will be leaving shortly.”

  “What position?”

  “I’m going to be a governess, for an extraordinarily rich family.” She added the description because Papa respected ambition.

  He nodded, “Make sure their sons ring you before you commit to anything. Don’t be a fool.”

  Estelle had no idea what he was talking about.

  He spoke again, “It is not fitting that no one should mind the house.”

  “I have spoken with Sandrine-”

  “The Potato?” He called their neighbor Potato, for she was an old, curmudgeonly sort who preferred to live alone.

  “Indeed. I have spoken with Sandrine-”

  “Potato.”

  “I have spoken with Potato, and she has agreed to be your housekeeper. If you are at home for lunch or dinner, she will cook for you if you give her advance notice.”

  “You couldn’t find anyone more pleasing?”

  Estelle found someone who would be unaffected by his sharp tongue and ill-manners. “Now, now, Papa, she is willing and close by.”

  “Who is going to look over my reports before I send them?”

  “Your writing has advanced admirably. If you only looked up words in the dictionary you do not know-”

  “Pages are missing.”

  They possessed a used Dictionary of the French Academy, printed in 1762, but nearly forty pages had been torn out. Estelle sighed, “There is always Father Jonathan.”

  “He is a little chirping bird, that one. I think he’d burst into song and dance, if a cloud passed the sun.”

  Estelle embraced him, “Good luck, Papa.”

  “All right, then,” he said, as he looked down, and shuffled his feet.

  And off she went, as if to the market, and not to a faraway place. His reaction did not make her unhappy. She knew him well, and anticipated his tone.

  She loved him, in her way. He loved her in his.

  Jake, 1832

  Chapter 15

  Jake couldn’t sleep at all, although the bed in his new room at the inn was more than adequate. Rather than drink himself into unconsciousness, he simply tossed and turned his way to dawn. In his nocturnal rotations, he came to the conclusion that the best course of action would be, for now, to foster the perception that he was oblivious to the machinations of his observers. It was best if no one perceived him as being too alert or skittish. If he simply went about his ordered tasks without trying to spot his shadows, it would lower everyone’s guard - everyone’s except his own.

  The next morning the grim innkeeper thoughtfully had a basket of food and a cabriolet waiting at the curb. Jake thanked him and gave him a large gratuity for his trouble and risk. After a short shopping trip for oilskins, a satchel, a chest and some clothes, the ride to the southwest of Saint-Germain-des-Prés was grueling. Jake had a headache, was dead tired, couldn’t sleep and the traffic was a purgatorial stop-and-go nightmare for the entire, nearly-four-mile trip. Jake thought it would have been only slightly slower to walk.

  Jake imagined that if he were in America or England, he might have been able to take a train to Nantes. But there was only one train line in France, going from Lyon to some southern mining town. In typical fashion, France was the first nation on earth to have such a thing as a train line. But soon, in typical fashion, half the world caught up and soon surpassed her. France’s one train line remained France’s one train line, and it was nowhere near Paris. That alone was not typically French: everything was usually in Paris. So off to the stagecoach ticketing office went Jake.

  The coach station at the Barrière de Versailles gate was already filling up. No one there was rich, or they would have their own carriage. No one there was poor, for the coach was expensive. Including food and drink, the passage from Paris to Nantes could bleed one’s coin pouch for up to fifty livres. A drunk older man was loudly proclaiming that he intended to be intoxicated the entire ride, sleep soundly and make his water in a bottle. He was looking for others of like mind or those who didn’t mind. Jake gave a gratuity to the clerk in order to secure a coach only partially filled with passengers - and specified that they be quiet and not be of savage or drunken mien.

  He soon found himself with a window seat on a large coach bound for Nantes. It would not stop for darkness but only at stages where the horses would be changed and the passengers could eat and stretch. The other six interior passengers were all calm young professionals who worked on their papers with charcoal pencils, or read books. Jake had a feeling they all had made this journey many times. None of them spoke to each other except to exchange polite pleasantries. A bedraggled family of four sat on the roof. It was cheaper, wetter, dustier and the seats were less comfortable. In spite of it, sometimes, at least in June, the air and sun could make it pleasant. The coach had a crew of two, a driver held the reins on the top bench, and one man sat postilion on the lead left charger. Chests of mail and parcels bound for Nantes, and points in-between, were stacked everywhere, inside the cabin and out.

  Jake was asleep in minutes. He woke up to see they were almost to Chartres and their first change of horses. He felt refreshed and anxious. He had reserved this moment to read the captain’s log, given to him by Monsieur Tyran.

  Jake had been forced to the quest, he was convinced that Monsieur Tyran was a madman, and he was leery of The Society, and their now different involvement in his life. Despite it all, he was intrigued by his mission. The Cross of Nantes was an attractive mystery, and the captain’s log was his entré. Whatever information it possessed, very few other people knew of it.

  He took the papers containing the log from his satchel. The writing was in a tight, perfect, uniform hand - the mark of a professional transcriber. This was then a copy, but was probably easier to read than the original. Without the original, however, Jake had no way to tell if the document was genuine, or if it had been altered from its text. But whether he trusted Monsieur Tyran or not, he had his orders.

  He began to read.

  Captain’s Log

  FBFW Dauphin-Royal, Téméraire-class 74

  CdV Henri-Marie Jacque Fabre, Comte l’Aigle

  In Command of Naval Group l’Aigle

  Dauphin Royal 74 Gun FBFW

  Corail 28 Gun Frigate

  Rapide 18 Gun Sloop

  January 3, 1763

  North Atlantic Ocean, 100 miles NE of the Caicos Islands

  23° 00’ 52” N 69° 01’ 22” W

  Choppy seas. Light Haze. Wind 6 knots NE.

  19 Officers, 26 Aspirans, 643 Sailors 159 Colonial Marines

  At four bells into the afternoon watch, a British Man-of-War was sighted at a distance of 8 miles southwest. She was identified as a 135-foot, 28-gun frigate travelling northeast with the trade wind. The frigate presumably sighted the naval group, and changed to a full-cloth due westerly course.

  It was my belief that this frigate was the HMS Autolycus, an independent British command raiding our shipping lines, and relying on her great speed to escape larger vessels. She had already been responsible for the interception and scuttling of numerous merchantmen, and also the destruction of the 28-gun frigate Saint-Malo in the terrible Winter of 1761. I also believed that our sloop Rapide could outdistance her, and engage her with fore-mounted guns during the pursuit. The Autolycus would dare not heave to in order to fire back at the weaker ship, for fear of the Dauphin Royal and Corail catching up and joining in the engagement.

  Orders
were given to the Dauphin Royal to tack west, and the Corail and the Rapide were signaled to pursue the frigate independently of group command. As a result, the Corail and Rapide were able to overtake and pass the Dauphin Royal, and become the lead chase elements.

  Orders were given to the Corail and Rapide to engage and slow the frigate to force an action with the entire naval group. When dusk fell both the Corail and Rapide were out of signal range. The enemy frigate could no longer be seen. The Corail was five miles away, and the Rapide nearly ten.

  All through the rest of the afternoon and evening, cannon fire was heard in the very great distance, presumably as our sister ships engaged the British frigate in an attempt to slow her down.

  January 4, 1763

  North Atlantic Ocean, 50 miles N-NE of Samana Cays

  23° 42’ 42” N 73° 09’ 24” W

  Choppy seas. Low Clouds. Wind 9 knots N-NE.

  19 Officers, 26 Aspirans, 643 Sailors 159 Colonial Marines

  At dawn, no ships were visible from the Dauphin Royal but cannon fire was heard in the great distance. At seven bells of the forenoon watch, we were able to catch sight of all three ships. The British frigate had lost her aft mast, which had fallen fore across the deck, and destroyed her mizzen and foremast rigging. She was immobile, and engaged in combat with the Rapide and Corail, both ships maneuvering to avoid broadsides from the frigate while hitting her with their own.

  By eight bells, we were upon her, but the frigate had already surrendered and the battle was over. The Rapide and the Corail were signaled to stand by as the Dauphin Royal pulled alongside the frigate. Lieutenant Petit’s three Marine platoons were ordered to secure the vessel as he saw fit, and soon she was ready for boarding.

  It was learned that in the engagement only 6 men were killed and 22 wounded between the Rapide and Corail, and neither craft had sustained significant damage. The striking of the aft mast of the Autolycus was a spot of good marksmanship, and slowed her considerably. Subsequent volleys of chain shot had cut the lines holding the mast and brought it to the deck, ripping sails, cutting more lines and nearly disabling the frigate and ending the pursuit. Although the Autolycus was willing to engage the Corail and Rapide, when the Dauphin Royal was spotted their captain wisely ended their stand to save the lives of the remaining crew.

  I myself went aboard the frigate and questioned the captain of the vessel. He identified himself as Captain William Eltis of Eastleigh, Hampshire County, England. The ship he commanded was indeed the Autolycus and he verified that his orders were to disrupt shipping and naval supply. He commanded a small crew of 240 souls, 39 of whom were now dead and 66 wounded. The polite nature of our conversation was interrupted by Marine Lieutenant Petit, who said that there was something that I needed to see below decks.

  I accompanied Lieutenant Petit to the captain’s quarters of the Autolycus. Inside was a pale girl in a torn black dress, of approximately fourteen years of age, who was chained to the wall from an iron collar around her throat. To our horror, she was very obviously European white and from her features could have easily been French. When questioned, it was revealed that she spoke no French, and very little English. Her name, as far as we could understand, was Shinaidah Braucklin and she was from a place called Ards, or perhaps the Forest of Ards, in the Kingdom of Tierconnel on the island of Eru, wherever that might be. She crossed herself and, through her other gestures and simple words, we determined she was a fellow Catholic, much to our astonishment. Darkly, it was also established that she was the slave of Captain William Eltis and she had been cruelly used in the most dishonorable and lowest fashion by this man for quite some time.

  I immediately confronted Captain Eltis regarding this disgraceful discovery, and told him I would see him hanged. Eltis claimed that she was his legal slave, and had the papers on board in his chest to prove it. It was astonishing to me that such a thing could be true, for I associated white slavery with savage Mohammedans from North Africa, and certainly not with the British. It could not be possible that such a nation as Great Britain could countenance such a thing. Captain Eltis, however, did indeed produce documentation proving that the girl legally belonged to him under the laws of the United Kingdom. His bill of sale was from a merchant house in Montserrat, but gave very little information on the girl. I destroyed the papers in front of him, and told him his paperwork bought him his life and nothing more, and that the girl was free.

  When she was brought above decks, she attacked Captain Eltis with her bare hands. In the attack, she took from him a pendant from around his neck that proved to be a cross of white stone and gold, bejeweled with red gems of unusual splendor. Captain Eltis was quite angry at the loss of his necklace and claimed that it too was legally his. With the cross, he explained, Captain Eltis planned to buy his nobility and retirement and the girl had no right to its possession. I saw upon the girl’s face, however, a glimmer of satisfaction, as if she knew what the cross meant to him. Upon asking for and being handed the cross by the girl, I realized that it was quite lovely, and it was also Catholic, having the Corpus Christi upon it in gold. I told Captain Eltis that it was my belief he stole the cross from a French merchantman, for why else would he have such a thing? As far as I was concerned, the poor girl had more claim to the necklace than he did. Also, the cross was a small price to pay for the treatment he had visited upon her, and I promptly returned the necklace to her as wergild for her troubles. Upon seeing this, Captain Eltis became hysterically upset, and it was no longer my desire to converse with him. He was imprisoned with his men in the hold of the Dauphin Royal, and neither he nor any member of his crew received special treatment for rank or status, being we all of like mind in our disgust for them.

  I gave full range of the ship to our young girl Mademoiselle Braucklin and proclaimed her the good luck charm of our vessel. I ordered that she be shown the respect and courtesy due her as a young woman of God, and was pleased to see that the sentiment of my orders was embraced immediately by all hands.

  Upon inspection of the Autolycus, it was revealed that her injuries were such that she would have to be towed to port in order to be repaired enough to move on her own. This was deemed unfeasible under the circumstances and I ordered everything of value taken from the ship prior to her being scuttled. This was achieved by eight bells of the first watch and the Autolycus, with her sordid exploits and crew’s misdeeds, given to the sea.

  I ordered the naval group to change course for Cap-Français in order to transfer our captives to prison barges, and to deliver Mademoiselle to a friendly port.

  (January 5 through January 13 omitted)

  January 14, 1763

  Cap-Français, Saint-Domingue

  19° 44’ 46” N 72° 11’ 50” W

  Becalmed. Clear. Wind 2 knots NE.

  19 Officers, 26 Aspirans, 642 Sailors 159 Colonial Marines

  At one bell middle watch, Graduate Seaman Pierre Leroux died of wounds sustained in his fall on January 6, and was buried at sea before reaching Cap-Français. May God rest his soul.

  Upon reaching port, all captives were transferred to the care of Squadron Vice-Admiral Maurice Roland de Chauvirey minus the twenty-three who died of wounds. All flag officers of the naval group were debriefed by Colonial Naval Command Cap-Français.

  Resupply, refit and repair was to take six days and orders were given to issue stages of leave time to the men.

  Mademoiselle Braucklin had become quite a fixture onboard the Dauphin Royal and we were sorry to part with her. She was given one-hundred livre donated by the ship’s senior officers, and entrusted to a local freeman named Féroce Guerrier, a law-abiding Octoroon with whom I have had some dealings. He was told to help her, and make sure her honor was kept intact. Although Monsieur Guerrier is an extraordinarily colorful and fierce character, he is completely honorable, and a man of his word. He agreed to make sure Mademoiselle was not lost in the bustle of Cap Français, and would help her in any way he could. He was given additional funds, and initi
ally refused them. He finally accepted fifty livres on the condition it was only spent on the needs of Mademoiselle. When she left the ship for the last time, there were no dry eyes amongst us, and we felt as if we had all lost a little sister.

  I moved the naval group headquarters to a rented villa for the time we would be in Cap Français. All of the ship captains were invited to the governor’s mansion for dinner, and we duly attended. Governor General Gabriel de Bory de Saint-Vincent and his wife were delightful. We were told that the war would probably be over within months. We were both saddened and gladdened by the news. This conflict has not gone well for the Fatherland. I fear that if a great victory is not won soon, the peace settlement will not be in our favor. French blood has been spilled all over the world, and it calls from the ground to be honored and avenged. We trust in God and Saint Michael for the future.

  (end)

  Jeannine, 1786

  Chapter 16

  The Time of the Heirlooms

  Caroline Lacroix Cœurfroid was once beautiful. She had big green eyes, and a head of full-bodied, light brown hair. Her mouth was big and full, and, when she smiled, she revealed a set of perfect, large teeth. Jeannine Cœurfroid knew this of her mother because there was a painting of her in the foyer hallway. No one, of course, would accuse Madame Cœurfroid of being beautiful now. She had lost the lank of youth, and was beset by ungainly rolls of fat. Her hair was grey and thinning, her teeth rotted out from eating too much sugar, and her face was curled from an infernal, perpetual craving to pester and annoy anyone who aroused her baser instincts.