The Ambitious Madame Bonaparte (19 page)

They did not reach the falls that night or even the next day, although the sound increased continually. Their tenth night out, as Betsy tried to fall asleep, she felt the noise vibrate inside her as a physical presence, and she wondered how anyone ever got used to the roaring.

Early the next day, they reached the Niagara River. Riding on the northeast bank, they passed a place where the river divided to flow around a huge, heavily wooded island. Immediately beyond it, the river was about two miles wide, but the rocky gorge through which it ran quickly narrowed.

The crashing water was deafening. Jerome gestured with his arm and led the way to a high point, where he dismounted. Betsy followed and saw that they were on a promontory overlooking two gigantic waterfalls. The near set of falls featured tons of water plummeting from a wide precipice. The more distant and even wider set of falls was curved like a horseshoe. The waterfalls were much taller than she had imagined; they looked to be more than twice the height of the Presidential Mansion. The cascading water churned and foamed, creating a thick white mist that rose for hundreds of feet.

Jerome led their horses away from the promontory’s edge and tied them to a tree in a grove twenty feet away. Returning to Betsy, he slipped his arms around her waist from behind.

The air was filled with a cool spray, and the thunderous sound enveloped them. Mesmerized by the sight of the tremendous stream racing toward the precipice, Betsy felt that it symbolized the way she and Jerome were caught in the onrush of forces beyond their control. As she gazed upstream, she saw a dark shape moving in the water. A young deer struggled in the river, trying frantically to swim to shore, but the forward crush of the water was too powerful to escape. The animal swept over the edge of the falls and disappeared. Horrified, Betsy hid her face against Jerome’s chest.

Was that to be their fate? By defying Napoleon, were they flinging themselves over a cataract to their own destruction? For each of the seventeen days of their journey, she had wondered what other course they could choose. They had joked about Jerome becoming a fisherman or a farmer, but neither had been a serious proposal. From early childhood, Jerome had only one end in mind, that of sharing his brother’s destiny. Could she deprive her husband of the only life he had ever craved? And what of her own dream of living in Europe and becoming royalty?

Abruptly, Betsy drew down Jerome’s head and kissed him. He responded eagerly, and she stroked him through the fabric of his trousers. Jerome moaned and, seizing her hand, led her back into the shelter of the trees. Stopping by a tall oak with a wide trunk, he kissed Betsy again. Then after unbuttoning the front flap of his pants, he raised her skirt, lifted her so that her thighs rested on his hips, and bracing her against the tree, entered her.

The roaring of the water, the insistence of her desire, and the driving energy with which Jerome pushed into her merged into one massive force, and Betsy cried out in exultation as she came to climax. Afterward, she found that a new and steely resolve had taken possession of her. Whether wisely or foolishly, she and Jerome had long since chosen their course. No matter whether they were destined to dash upon the rocks or be swept to safety, it was far too late for them to extricate themselves from the rushing torrent of fate that swept them toward the cataract. She could only pray that they survived.

XIV

I
N mid-August Jerome and Betsy returned to New York by a northerly route that included a visit to Boston. When they finally reached Greenwich Village forty days after leaving for Niagara, they found Lieutenant Meyronnet living with Dr. Garnier and Le Camus, whom they had left occupying their house. The men were playing whist at the mahogany pedestal table in the drawing room on the evening the Bonapartes arrived home.

Jerome strode over to Meyronnet. “Why did you not sail on the
Didon?”

“Because the French frigates are still here. The British did not break their blockade for some time, so Captain Brouard decided to wait upon your return to see if you are now willing to obey the emperor’s orders.”

Posing with one arm held behind his back, Jerome gave Meyronnet his haughtiest stare. “Has Brouard decided to allow Madame Bonaparte to accompany me?”

Meyronnet shot Betsy an uneasy glance. “No.”

“Then my resolve has not changed.”

“Bonaparte, think before you do anything rash. Captain Brouard asks you to attend a reception aboard ship to discuss the matter.”

Jerome thrust out his chin. “There is little point.”

Betsy crossed to Jerome and took his arm. “It does no harm to talk to the man. Perhaps a way exists to work this out that you have not considered.”

“I will not compromise on the question of leaving you.”

“I know that.” She gazed into his eyes so he could see her belief.

After a moment, Jerome nodded and turned back to the table where the others had resumed their card game.

Betsy decided to go upstairs and ask her maid Jenny, a girl she had hired in Baltimore, to prepare a bath for her. On her way from the room, she overheard Garnier tell Jerome that, while they were gone, Vice-President Aaron Burr had killed Alexander Hamilton in a duel and then fled to his daughter’s home in the South.

“Merde!”
Jerome exclaimed, a vulgarity he rarely uttered in her hearing. “I was looking forward to meeting him again and telling him about our excursion.”

The next day, Betsy worked at checking their food supplies and sending their travel clothes to a laundress. At midday, she found Jerome in the sitting room writing letters. One was an appeal to Napoleon, in which Jerome begged for different orders that would allow him to bring Betsy to France: “Why do you, who claim to uphold public morality, wish to make a virtuous woman suffer the consequences of your anger toward me?”

As Betsy read the letter, tears filled her eyes. She laid it on the drop-down writing surface of the secretary, and Jerome handed her the second letter, written to Minister of the Navy Decrès:

I beg you to be so kind as to give my brother the enclosed letter. I explain to him my situation in this country, which daily becomes more cruel, and I urgently ask for orders to leave it. You have yourself been long in this part of the world, and can, best of all people, explain to him how out of place my life is here.

Betsy did not believe that these entreaties would move the emperor, but later that day, another letter arrived that renewed her hope. In it, Samuel Smith informed them that his acquaintance General John Armstrong Jr. was about to travel to Paris as the new ambassador to France. Smith suggested that they entreat Armstrong to let Betsy sail with his diplomatic party while Jerome sailed aboard the
Didon.
Jerome instantly wrote the letter.

Because of this new possibility, Jerome decided to attend Brouard’s reception after all. He returned from the event in an ebullient mood. “They addressed me as ‘Imperial Highness’ even though the emperor has not given me that title. I think they believe I must prevail.”

Dismayed that his optimism could be restored by such flattery, Betsy held her tongue.

A week later General Armstrong wrote that he would be honored to escort Madame Bonaparte and that she should board his ship in New York Harbor the afternoon of September 4. Accordingly, Betsy packed her trunk, and Jerome made arrangements to give up the house. He would sail on the
Didon
a few days after her departure.

Anxious to be on her way, Betsy arose early on September 4, and they left the house in such good time that they reached the designated landing shortly before noon. However, no ship was moored near that pier. Perplexed, Jerome flagged down a passing boat and asked the crew if they knew where General Armstrong’s ship was docked.

“That vessel left early this morning,” the skipper called back. “The ambassador took a sudden notion to leave before his scheduled time.”

Jerome waved his acknowledgment and returned to Betsy, who stood next to their carriage. “Why would he leave without you?”

“I suspect he reconsidered his position and decided that becoming embroiled in your family quarrel might damage his standing with the French government.”

The next day Jerome sent word to Brouard that he would not sail aboard the
Didon,
and Betsy wrote her father that they were returning to Maryland and would stay at the Springfield estate.

IN EARLY OCTOBER, Betsy’s brother Joseph rode to Springfield to say that their mother had been delivered of a girl during the night. Both mother and daughter were healthy, and Dorcas had asked to see Betsy and Jerome.

They arrived at the Patterson house late the next afternoon. After hanging her cloak on a peg, Betsy started upstairs, but Jerome lingered in the hall. Gazing at him over the banister, Betsy said, “My mother asked for you too.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Elisa, I do not belong in a birth chamber. That is the province of women.”

“Don’t be silly. All signs of the birth will have been cleared away long since.”

With a grimace, Jerome followed her upstairs. Betsy knocked lightly on the bedroom door and entered. Seeing that her mother was awake, she said, “How are you?” Leaving Jerome at the door, Betsy crossed the room to kiss her mother’s cheek. Then Betsy knelt to look at her new sister, sleeping in a cradle by the bed. The two-day-old infant had a shock of red hair, and she held one fist beside her mouth as if she had dozed off sucking her fingers.

Betsy picked up the baby. “What have you named her?”

“Mary Ann Jeromia.”

“Oh.” Meeting her mother’s eyes, Betsy understood that she had chosen the name to proclaim that Jerome was as much her son as any of the children she had borne.

Jerome drew near. “You would name her for me?”

As Dorcas murmured her assent, Betsy transferred Mary Ann to her husband’s arms and showed him how to hold her. Watching him smile into the baby’s face, Betsy wondered if she had been wrong to dread having a child. A baby would give Jerome another person to fight for.

THE NECESSITY FOR Jerome and Betsy to travel to France remained, as did the danger that British warships would waylay them. After conferring with his father-in-law, Jerome decided to make secret preparations to travel on a merchant ship leaving from a port they had not yet used. They sent one of Patterson’s agents to book passage for “Monsieur and Madame d’Albert” on the
Philadelphia,
soon to leave Port Penn, Delaware, for Cadiz, Spain. Garnier and Le Camus would accompany Jerome, and as her companion, Betsy invited her favorite aunt, Nancy Spear.

After a two-day coach journey, they boarded the ship, which departed on October 24. Because the ship was often used to transport passengers, their quarters were slightly more spacious than those aboard the
Didon,
although the furnishings were basically the same—a bunk, a writing desk and chair, and a washstand bolted to the cabin wall. At first, the weather was beautiful, cool but clear with brilliant blue skies. Aunt Nancy proved to be a nervous sailor and remained in her cabin, but Betsy and Jerome spent most of that first afternoon strolling on deck enjoying the views of Delaware Bay.

Toward evening, clouds massed over the land to the west, gusts of westerly wind blew with increasing force, and the temperature dropped. Betsy saw heightened activity among the crew as they worked to keep control of the ship, which was listing to port. As rain began to fall, Jerome hurried her below to their cabin.

For hours, the gale lashed the ship, causing it to buck and roll. Betsy lay in the bunk, clinging to its railing to keep from being tossed about. Jerome sat beside her in the cabin’s single chair. Betsy’s stomach heaved along with the sea, and she vomited several times into the washbasin, which Jerome had moved onto the bed beside her. He did not get sick, in spite of being shut up with a retching wife, but he looked pale and agitated. Finally, after an hour, he said, “Elisa, do you feel well enough for me to leave you for a short while? I feel uneasy about Miss Spear.”

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.”