La Belle Christiane

Copyright 2011 By Lyn Cote

All rights reserved.

Chapter Five, Scene 1

Following Josiah’s directions after nearly a month’s delay to enter New York City, she headed southwest to Hobb’s Ferry to cross the Hudson. After she’d spent years in the wilderness, New York City with over twenty thousand people intimidated Christiane. Josiah had drawn a rude sketch of the main boundaries and points of the city. “X’s” marked the area where he believed Washington’s army would be camped.  Inhaling deeply, she contemplated confronting an army.

The ferry, a flat barge with wooden sides like a fence appeared as she topped the river’s bluff. A network of ropes connected the two riversides and prevented the ferry from floating on down the river. Christiane, the only passenger, paid her ha’penny and the ferryman, a large, rough-looking man, began his chore of pulling them across the river along the ropes.

Very soon she stepped onto the opposite shore, mounted and urged Nancy onto the road. Suddenly the thought that she would be reunited with Jacob sometime that day surged through her. She longed for him, but the burden of bringing the news of his son’s death filled her with foreboding. She consulted her little map once more and faced eastward with as much confidence as she could summon. Softly, bravely, she hummed a French tune she had not sung in a long time.

Prosperous farms bordered the lane. The inhabitants were busily harvesting the fall crops: corn, pumpkins, squashes, rye, and wheat. The colors were rich amber, orange, dark green, and red. Christiane savored the bustling harvest sounds of the scythe, locust, and busy voices. The homeliness of the atmosphere served to calm her lingering nerves. Soon the farms gave way to streets lined with brick homes. Other riders on horseback and ox-drawn carts joined her on the thoroughfare.

Suddenly Christiane saw a young man in dark blue, military dress, cantering toward her. Without thinking she stopped and waved to him. He slowed agreeably, pulling up across from her and doffing his tri-corn hat. Immediately Christiane was struck with her own forwardness, but her desire for information spurred her confidence. “I apologize, sir, for stopping you so boldly.”

“Oh, please, Mistress, don’t give it a worry,” he cut in smoothly. “This may be my most pleasant duty today.”

At this she blushed and bowed her head. “Are you with Washington’s army?” she inquired, looking up at him once more.

“Yes, indeed. Lt. Colonel John Laurens, aide de camp to the General himself,” he answered with a slight bow.

“Oh,” Christiane replied. Her mouth retained the “O.” She was abashed at approaching so important a person. “I apologize again, sir. I did not wish to keep you from your important duties, but, you see, I am looking for the army. I wished to know if I am going in the correct direction.”

“Yes, Mistress, you are.” His face sobered. He gazed at her as if worried about something. “Just continue south on Bloomingdale Road and you cannot miss it.”

“Thank you so much, sir,” she said as she made to start onward.

“Ah, Mistress,” he detained her by holding up his hand. “Are you sure you really want to seek out Washington’s Army?”

“I am joining my husband, sir,” she replied simply

“Your husband?” Laurens eased back in his saddle. “I see.”

She gathered her reins. “Thank you again, Lt. Colonel Laurens.”

“Madame, I must not abandon you,” he replied. “An army is not a safe place for a young wife alone. I will escort you to your husband.”

Christiane gazed at the young man; his open honest face convinced her. “I would be grateful to have your assistance, sir.” She bowed her head in an elegant gesture she had been rigorously taught. She regretted demonstrating this trace from her past , so at odds with her present status.  I am just a farmer’s wife now.

“Will you accompany me for a little while and then I will help you seek out your husband.” He gestured for them to proceed.

Unable to stop herself, Christiane repeated her graceful nod and rode beside the young officer, seeing more and more military men. Then suddenly she was there.

She’d dreaded entering a city, but she’d had no conception of what a whole army looked like. She sat stick straight on Nancy’s back and stared with her mouth open.

Men. Thousands. Thousands of men. Covering pastures and commons as far as she could see. Men. Thousands of men. Thousands. In tents. Beside tents. Walking. Drilling. Sitting. Squatting. Talking. Men wearing all manner of clothing: proper uniforms, frontier buckskin, linsey-woolsey of dark blue.

Her eyes took in more than her mind could process. This was an army, a whole army. She was unaware of the minutes passing. Finally though her mind formed a thought. “Oh, my,” she breathed. How will I ever find Jacob in this sea of soldiers?

Laurens had paused beside her. “It is quite a sight.”

“Oui,” she said, lapsing into French.

“You’re French then. I thought you had a very slight accent.”

She pulled herself together and glanced Laurens’ way. “I was born in Paris.”

“Is your husband French?”

“No, sir, he is from New York.” She scanned the legions before her, feeling helpless.

“Regular army or militia?”

“Militia,” she said, mesmerized by the sight of so many before her. They rode on.

Headquarters proved to be a village of sad-looking tents. Laurens helped her from her mount and then offered her a camp chair. She sat and waited. Many officers dressed similarly to Laurens and other men in buckskin or home-loomed linsey-woolsey moved in and around the tents.

Within minutes, Laurens came toward her. “I am free, madam. I’ve asked about the New York militia and believe I have a good idea where they are encamped.”

Before she could stop herself, she rose and executed a curtsey, again as she had been taught. Somehow Laurens’ gentleman’s dress had triggered her Paris manners. She let him toss her onto her horse and followed him as he led her through the tight lanes between tents and groups of men.

“We will concentrate on New York’s Clinton Brigade. The brigade has two regiments which are both over three hundred men. But once we find Clinton’s men, we should find your husband.”

When they reached Clinton’s men, the two of them dismounted and led their horses forward. Then Christiane hung back, leading Nancy and letting Laurens do her talking.

He questioned a few more men and located Fish’s men in the midst of the Second New York Regiment. Then they spoke to a sergeant, named Main.

“Jacob Kruger? Certainly I know him. He’s my corporal. Glad to meet you, ma’am.” The sergeant clasped Christiane’s small hand and shook it.

Christiane smiled politely as she cast around, trying to see her husband. After all the time, all the miles, I’m going to see Jacob! Her heartbeat quickened.