Bon Marche Read Online Free

shoulder like a sack of grain. He was set on his feet, and as he weaved unsteadily, de Boade bragged to the crew.
    â€œYou should have seen him,” the captain exulted. “He had that whore at his mercy—a true Frenchman, our brave Dupree!”
    The sailors’ raucous laughter was the last thing Charles heard as he collapsed slowly in a dissipated heap.
    There were other ports, other whores, other debaucheries. Master and cabin boy—they were partners in it all.
    Dupree, his friendship with the captain secure, did not hesitate to approach de Boade with a request.
    â€œThe word is, sir, that the Ville de Paris will be commissioned soon.”
    â€œAye, and a fine ship, too, it’s said. The largest man-of-war ever built.”
    â€œSir, I want to serve aboard her.”
    The request shocked de Boade. After a moment of reflection: “I’d miss you, my boy.”
    â€œAnd I you,” Charles assured him. “But if I’m to make my way in the navy, if I’m to follow in your footsteps”—he knew the captain’s ego would welcome the remark—“I’ll need new opportunities.”
    â€œAye, that’s true.”
    De Boade made the recommendation to the master of the Ville de Paris, Comte de Grasse, the Marquis de Grassetilly. The nobleman, aware that the flamboyant Monsieur de Boade, although he was crude and hardly a gentleman, turned out good sailors, accepted a lad named Charles Dupree as his cabin boy.
    The move—directed, Charles believed, by his guardian spirit—probably saved his life.
    In the sea battle off Cape Henry, Virginia, that denied the British fleet entrance to the Chesapeake Bay, effectively trapping General Cornwallis at Yorktown, the Refleche took a direct hit from an English broadside.
    Captain de Boade was killed instantly.
    His cabin boy, except for the intervention of fate, might have been standing by his side.
    V
    T HE Ville de Paris contingent, one midshipman carrying a flag displaying the de Grasse family coat of arms, marched smartly toward the Yorktown surrender grounds, the flagship’s cabin boy at the end of the column.
    In his station.
    His insignificance a shield.
    Charles marched more slowly than the others until some distance separated him from the main body. He watched for the best opportunity. It came when a farm cart, drawn by a lop-eared nag that had never known a brush or currycomb, crossed the road in front of him. He stopped marching, becoming just one of the people along the road.
    â€œAdieu, pour toujours,” he muttered aloud to himself. Then, in English: “Farewell forever.”
    He glanced at the morning sun, put his back to it, and walked westward into America.
    His America!

2
    S UNLIGHT filtered through the cracks between the logs and played on Charles Dupree’s face, waking him finally. He groaned sleepily, stretching aching muscles, pushing back the old hay that had kept him warm during the night.
    He knew only that he was in a small barn—little used, apparently—hard by a road some miles west of the village of Yorktown, Virginia. And that the month was October 1781. But he didn’t know exactly where he was, or how far he had walked before darkness halted him, or what his next move ought to be.
    However, there was one other important realization: he was now an American. His guardian spirit had willed that he be an American; that was why he had walked away at Yorktown, without concern for being a witness to the drama of the surrender ceremonies. He had missed it all, but he didn’t care.
    An American? How? With what skills? It was necessary, he reasoned, to assess his qualifications.
    He had some education.
    Admiral de Grasse had seen to it that he was tutored by Monsieur René Boulange, the ship’s surgeon, who had been schooled in England. The doctor had been a somewhat uneven teacher, but Charles could cipher some; he could read and write, both in French and