Thibadeau The Pirate(The Early Years)

Thibadeau The Pirate~~The Early Years

happyhugo

Historical, romance

26,105 Words

copyright (C) 05/14/09

A Chester, Vt Tale 

Readers score 7.90

The early years of "Thibadeau the Pirate,"
a character in a previous story, "Thibadeau the Pirate."
A peek into plantation life in the 1700's.
Also naval battles during the Revolutionary War.
Mostly historical but a romance as well

Sarah and Jason Thibadeau received a letter from the publishers of their story Thibadeau the Pirate. Opening it they read: Jason, we have just received a letter from a person by the name of Thibodeaux located in North Carolina. She has asked me to put you in contact with her. She claims to have information about an ancestor of hers that very possibly could be the same person as the first Jason Thibadeau of Vermont. According to this lady there are too many similarities between her ancestor and the Jason of your book to be just a coincidence. Her address follows.
Miss Harriet Thibodeaux
123 River Road
Charlotte, NC 28205
Tel 919-555-6201

Sarah and I were both curious about Jason’s early years and just maybe this woman had some answers. Sarah called that evening. A woman with a pleasant voice answered. “Hello, this is Harriet Thibodeaux.”

“Hello, this is Sarah Thibadeau of Vermont. I’m calling in reference to a letter you sent to the Sunshine Publishing House about the family Thibodeaux. Would you explain why you might think my husband’s ancestor that we wrote about and the one that is the ancestor of yours might be one and the same?”

“I certainly will. I have the diary of the mother of the one we are talking about. Her name was Winifred Boylston, wife of John Boylston of Raleigh. She had three children, all boys. John Jr., Jason, the middle son and William, the youngest.”

Sarah broke in. “Thibadeau. I was asking about Thibadeau.”

“I know. This may take a few minutes to connect the dots. Bear with me. John Boylston owned a small plantation and kept slaves. Apparently his was an unhappy marriage with dissension between husband and wife always present. It had to do with the husband spending much time among the female Nigra slaves which Winifred felt was very demeaning. Especially as her husband was producing progeny by these same Nigras.

“According to this diary, things came to a head when the second child reached four years of age. John Jr. was short, fair and the same coloring and stature as his sire. Jason, on the other hand, was slim, dark and tall for his age. John Sr. never gave it a thought until some visitors from Winifred’s home town came to call. One of visitors was Etienne Thibodeaux and he made much of little Jason. It was obvious that they shared some common blood when they were seen in close proximity. John Sr. recalled that Winifred had made yearly trips home on extended visits for the last several years.

“A major battle raged for over a week until a truce was put together. Each had to compromise. John Sr. agreed to raise Jason until he reached the age of ten years. In return Winifred agreed to never have contact with Thibodeaux again. When company came, Jason would be hidden from view, for Boylston feared humiliation.

“In many ways, it was a miserable life for little Jason. The Boylstons, father and son, made sure of that. The mother Winifred, produced another son, William. This child was born a year later after the compromise and conceived from the rape by her husband.

“The day she regained her feet from her confinement she faced her husband. ‘If you ever touch me again you will die. Look around you. I brought my slave Mammy with me when I came to you. If I say I want you to get sick and die, that is what will happen. And know that if you try to sell her, I will have the law on you. I will be your wife in name only from this day on. I also would have you consider how you treat my son Jason. I will make the arrangements to have him leave as agreed when he reaches the age of ten. Just make sure nothing happens to him until then.’ ”

“You read this in Winifred’s diary?”

“Yes. It gives an insight to daily life on our early plantations.”

“How did you come by this diary if she was a Boylston and you are a Thibodeaux?”

“Winifred outlived her husband by some years. When this Jason was thirty years old she moved back to her home town away from her oldest son who had inherited the plantation. She did keep her promise to never see Etienne again, but was in constant contact through the years with him by post. She was buried in his family plot although not next to him as he had family of his own. She was a cousin of his wife, so she legitimately could lie there. She directed that her papers be given to the cousin or her niece after her death.”

“Is there any way to tell if this Jason was the one who came to Vermont?”

“Not absolutely, but it is quite certain. He wrote his mother letters which I have, as well as the diary. Letters continued periodically to the family up until 1794 which seems to be the last time there was any information about him.

“Later on it was indicated that one Rachel Curtis may have had contact with someone from the north, but there is no record of it that I have in my possession. You will find that this Rachel Curtis played a large part in being an ancestor and I am descended from her through her son, Steven.

“Jason was a privateer, for he sent his mother the Lettre de Marque he sailed under sometime after the war was over. He did live a very exciting life, both at sea and on land, where he had the honor of meeting well-known personages. He met General Washington several times.”

“Why did he drop out of sight when he did?”

“There was a scandal in 1793 that possibly contributed to his disappearance. He and his older brother never got along, going back to his childhood before he was driven from home. The scandal was over a woman that both men may have coveted. The woman was to be William’s wife. It isn’t quite clear what the relationships were.

“A duel was fought with Jason wounding his older brother. He spent quite some time in the sheriff’s keep while the case against him was being decided. Dueling was illegal at that time although seldom enforced. John Jr. was a well-known plantation owner and that is why Jason was held. Shortly after he was released, he disappeared and was lost to friends and foes alike.”

“The time line seems to be correct. He was thirty-five when he reached Vermont.”

“Maybe not. This Jason Thibodeaux would have been nearly forty. That seems to be a discrepancy.”

“If he is the one, maybe he lied about his age for some reason. What do you want to do with the information you have?”

“I thought maybe you would take what I have and make a fairly factually account of him. He is the only ancestor I have that I know of who was the least bit exciting. When you read the letters, you will see what I mean. I would be glad to have you peruse them.”

“I would love to see them. Would it be possible for us to visit you?”

“Certainly my dear. Just think, both of you could possibly be relatives of mine. My family in and around this section of the country have mostly died out. Down through the years, the Thibodeauxs never amounted to much, all being in trade of one sort or another. That may be why I have clung to all of the papers concerning Jason Thibodeaux.”

“Don’t say that. There is nothing special about either Jason or myself. We met, found out we had common ancestors, fell in love and wrote a story about what drew us together. Jason will bring some pictures of his great-aunt Nellie. Who knows, there may be a similarity in your features. As soon as we can make arrangements to travel, I will let you know when to expect us. Our two-year-old son Marcus will be traveling with us. He is a Thibadeau to the last hair on his head.”

“Oh, I’m so thrilled! I almost didn’t write your publisher, thinking it would be futile to expect that they would forward my letter to you. Then I ascertained there was nothing to lose. I do have plenty of room for you to stay with me.”

“We don’t have your letter. The publisher just gave us your name and phone number. We don’t really need the letter now, do we?”

“No. It was just a request for you to contact me if you were interested. Do call soon so I can meet you in person.”

***************

“Jason, we are going to North Carolina as soon as I can arrange travel plans. We have to meet this lady. We have often wondered about the original Jason Thibadeau. You are his namesake and we must find out if there is a connection.”

“I suppose. What about my business? Do you expect me to drop everything and take off?”

“Yes. You are going even if I have to bribe you.”

“And how would you bribe me?”

“The same way Ruth Baker bribed the original Jason Thibadeau when she wanted something.”

“Okay, put Marcus in bed and make sure he is asleep.”

***************

My wife had flown several times but I had not, so was a little hesitant. It was almost a nonstop flight so there was only the complication of having to make one change. Marcus was excited and we bought a little model plane for him to play with while in the air. Landing at Raleigh-Durham, we took the shuttle into Raleigh to a hotel, only going into the lobby to call a taxi to take us to the address of Miss Harriet Thibodeaux.

I was startled when we met, for this lady could have been the sister of Aunt Nellie. She looked much as I remembered my aunt when I was twelve. Miss Harriet was a little more refined looking, had somewhat finer features, stood more upright and had beautiful coiffured white hair. But then she never was burdened by having murdered her husband as my aunt had done. This lady greeted us as if we were long lost relatives and we may be just that.

The first thing Miss Harriet did after finishing our greetings and we were relaxing, was to ask if she could take a picture of Marcus. Hooking her camera up to her computer, she printed this image out. She did something so it came out old-time looking. Opening up an album she placed this with images of three other children. “Look at these. Tell me they are not all of the same blood.”

Sarah and I stared at the images as she continued, “This child is Steven and could be little Marcus’ twin. The other two resemble him closely. They were a little older when their pictures were taken. All these children are from different generations. Jason, I wish I had asked you to bring a baby snap of your own to compare.”

“No need for I looked exactly like those you have here.”

I think this Miss Harriet was as strung up on the Thibodeauxs as Aunt Nellie had been. Conversation would drift away but soon would return to the Thibodeaux family. She had contact with three distant cousins that lived in the Louisiana area near New Orleans. She was somewhat disgusted with them for they didn’t appear interested in family history at all and had kept no documents going back more than a generation or two.

Miss Harriet brought forth the diary that she treasured so. Winifred Boylston was evidently literate, for every word inscribed in the diary was legible. Her letters and sentences were even and well-formed and quite easy to read. Much different than Ruth Baker’s struggle to record the life of Jason Thibadeau.

“I brought out only the first of three books that comprised her diary. This is the one that tells of her marriage to John Boylston. Boylston was not her choice for a husband, but that of her father’s. She never forgave her father and he wasn’t welcomed to come and visit. She did have one brother who she thought well of. She wrote much of life on the plantation up until Jason was four.

“I will tell you this though, there is very little information on these pages after that except about Jason. Even Etienne Thibodeaux was seldom mentioned. He was always referred to as ‘My Love’ after the big fight that she had when it was discovered that Boylston was not the sire of Jason. The most salient fact I wanted you to see is the birth date of Jason Thibodeaux.” She thumbed through the diary. “Here it is; Jason Boylston, son, born April 19th, 1756.

“He would have been four when his parentage was disclosed in 1760 and he went to his biological father in 1766. Winifred made much note of this remarking she was sad to see her son leave her side, but that the agreement she made was a good decision. Her eldest son, two years older than Jason, had already followed his father at his early age to the quarters of the Nigras. He bedded a wench which he was wont to brag upon. She didn’t want that for Jason.”

I was thinking that life in Vermont and life in North Carolina ran parallel in some respects at that time. A whole lot of fornicating going on. Maybe not as much in the north, but for the reason only of not having an available partner as on a plantation. I guess in this instance, my sympathies would lie with the slaves who couldn’t object to the attention of the one that owned them.

“How well do you know these diaries and the letters that you say you have?”

“Almost word for word. Would you like to see the Lettre de Marque? I have it here.”

“May I?”

Miss Harriet went out of the room and soon returned with an elaborate document encased in a frame that we could tell was made by a conservator of valuable papers. This was issued by the Continental Congress of these United Colonies. It listed the countries that the bearer of this document could legitimately attack and seize ships and take prizes.

This really was a document that was a protection for the bearer, if caught, to prevent him from being hanged as a pirate. Other than that, it was a license to go about as a privateer, attacking whoever he wanted as long as the country at war with the issuer was on the list. There were other conditions spelled out as to the dissolution of the goods seized. Maritime law was the most universal adhered to form of governance and recognized by every country.

“Miss Harriet, tell us a little about yourself. It is fun talking about past history and those in it but we are here and we should talk about the present. You know much about Sarah and I from the book, but we know nothing about you.”

“Not much to tell. I taught school, more of the arts than the three R’s. I never married, but that isn’t to say I haven’t had my share of companions. I think the Thibodeaux blood runs deep in that respect. The most exciting happenings in my life usually centers around hurricanes that come down on us periodically. I did live in the center of Raleigh for a long time and have moved to this location just within the last three years.

“How long will you be staying? I ask for I would like to take you down to Wilmington where the Thibodeauxs were located and show you the actual homestead. I will point out the graves of Etienne and Winifred and Miz Liz as well. The Boylston plantation here in Raleigh was swallowed up a century ago by developments. I do know where it was located though.”

“What was the crop the Boylstons produced--cotton?”

“No it was tobacco. The world clambered for it as people became increasingly addicted to it.”

“We should have rented a car to drive you to these places. We only planned on being here three days.”

“No need. I have a nice roomy car and know the area. I may be getting old, but it hasn’t slowed me down one iota. We leave here and go right down Route I 40. I make the trip all the time. Wilmington, you know, was a great shipping port early in the 1700’s. It has always played a part in shipping and ship building.

“The Thibodeauxs first settled in New Orleans, but some splintered off and came here to this port.” Miss Harriet started laughing. “You notice I seem to always get back to mentioning the Thibodeauxs. That is why when I discovered your book I just had to contact your publisher.”

“I’m so glad you did. You know if worst comes to worst, we could have some DNA testing done to prove we are related. I have a feeling though that your Jason Thibodeaux and my Jason Thibadeau are one and the same. We just have to make the connection.”

“I alluded to Jason meeting and the knowing of great personages. That came about right here in Wilmington. When Jason was four, there was a shipping firm established here in Wilmington by a man that later signed the Declaration of Independence. His name was Joseph Hewes. He was what we would call today a shipping tycoon. He was much into politics and an elected official both here in the colony and in this new administration when it was established.

“He dealt with all things naval and placed his ships at the disposal of the Continental Forces. He was instrumental in procuring a great portion of the heavy armament such as the cannons and shot for General Washington to wage war with. He died young at age fifty after falling ill while in office. He was the first de facto Secretary of the Navy. Where it touched on this family, he was the one to give Jason Thibodeaux the Lettre de Marque at age nineteen. Jason earned it through some previous hair-raising exploits while at sea.”

***************

Harriet Thibodeaux was a most interesting person. The Thibodeaux family was not her only interest. She was proud of North Carolina and its history. Especially some of the famous men that had made the history. She recounted the exploits of numerous men, some even while still a colony of England.

I, in turn, bragged about those of Vermont. I spoke of my mother with affection and when age was discussed we decided that Harriet and Mom were of the same age. She gave forth that she would like to meet her. I, off the cuff, invited Miss Harriet to visit us in Vermont. She in turn pleaded with us to extend our visit as long as we were here. We did and it was ten days before we saw Vermont soil again.

We returned with all of the papers and journals that Harriet had in her possession. While we were with her, the conversation always turned to the family Thibodeaux and what the diaries contained as she knew them so well. By the time Vermont and its luscious Green Mountains came into view, we had a pretty good idea about the early life of Jason Thibodeaux.

***************
1760
Jason Boylston, age 4.

Author’s note: I leave the present and pick up Jason Thibodeaux at an early age. I have given this child until he was ten the ability to speak as an adult in the interest of furthering the story. Actually he spoke much beyond his ken at that age. I am writing in the manner of a couple of centuries ago

***************

The man came to see Mama. He was much different than Papa. Papa was very angry and I didn’t know why. Maybe it was because the man kissed Mama and Papa saw him. The man called me to him and squatted down and looked into my face. He looked very happy to see me and smiled up at Mama looking pleased. Papa got very angry and told the man to leave. This man was tall and had very dark hair and he laughed at Papa saying he would, but wanted to talk to Mama first.

Mama was closeted with the man while Papa walked up and down outside and swore great oaths. If I hadn’t dodged, Papa would have kicked me. Mama saw him do this when she was coming out the door with the man. I never saw Mama so mad. The Nigras came up from the quarters and watched Mama and Papa fight. The man stood and then said some words to Papa warning him against doing something to me and Mama.

The man got ready to leave. He came to me again and knelt down and said someday I would live in his house. He hugged me to him and kissed me on both cheeks. He then went to Mama and kissed her on the lips as she clung to him. He then mounted his horse and rode away. Papa went down to the Nigra quarters and got drunk. Johnny called me a l’il bastard the next day. I hate him!

Mama and Papa are fighting all the time. I go and stay by Mammy when this happens. Mammy belongs to Mama and sleeps with Big Obie. I feel safe with Big Obie. I go to the fields and he shows me how to be strong. Johnny can’t be mean when I am beside him. Big Obie is Papa’s best Nigra, so Papa doesn’t say anything about me being with him.

Sometime after the man came, Big Obie was acting different one afternoon. Papa had given him some rum. Mammy was awful mad at Big Obie and stayed down in the quarters with him so Essie and Madie wouldn’t get in the bed with him. Papa came to Mama’s room that night and Mama was screaming at him. I wanted to help Mama but I didn’t know what to do.

Mama is going to have a baby like Madie and Essie do. After Mama gets a big belly Mammy says I am going to have a brother or sister. When my brother came, he is small and I guess I like him and I call him Willie. Mama likes him too, but she doesn’t like Papa at all. She locks her door every night. I start school this week. Mama has a man come in from the big town to teach us, Johnny and me. Mama says for me to study hard for someday I will need to know things. She didn’t tell Johnny this, and spoke to only me.

I knew I was studying for something--Mama said to be bright with my figures. Mama was loved by the Nigras and they protected me as best they could. If Papa was drunk or feeling mean, I was shielded by them urging me to be someplace away from him. In other ways they helped me too. When it came time to learn to ride a pony, I was given every guidance by those same Nigras. As my ten-year birthday approached, Mama was more with me.

Sitting me down one evening, she proceeded to tell me that Master Boylston was not my father. “Your real father is a man of the sea. I have always loved him. Years ago your grandfather informed me he was dead and pressured me to take Boylston as a husband which I did to my regret. When I became pregnant and had nearly come to term with John Jr., Etienne Thibodeaux and I met by chance, he believing me dead and I believing the same of him. Later in subsequent meetings you were conceived. Etienne Thibodeaux visited that time you were four, but you were too young to go with him.

“You remember him don’t you? Your life has changed much since that time.”

“Yes Mama, I remember him. He kissed me on both cheeks.”

“That is the French way. It is time for you to join him now that you are ten. My heart and my love go with you. You may tell him that I have taken a vow not to meet with him, but I still love him dearly. His representative will be here in the morning to escort you to the south and to the town of Wilmington. Son, even at ten years you are the image of your father.

“Now tonight, go down to the quarters and tell those that love you, good-bye. Don’t forget to kiss Mammy, for without her I could never have stood between you and the death that Boylston would have had for you. I will see you in the morning.” Mama was crying as I left her room.

The drums were beating a sad and slow rhythm as I approached the quarters. Shy for once before all of these people so much different than me in so many ways. My heart ached for the freedom that they deserved but might never see. Then the rhythm speeded up and Essie came out from between two huts and danced around me as I stood in the middle of the little square. Madie, big with child, came and joined her. Soon all of the Nigras were dancing.

Mammy and Big Obie had pulled a cart wagon in to sit on. They motioned me to come sit between them. I watched as the rhythm picked up until there was a whirling mass of jumping and gyrating dark-skinned bodies giving homage to me who was leaving in the morning. The dancing went on for hours. During the third hour, Papa came staggering into the square screaming for everyone to go to their huts.

There was immediate silence. This was the man that had been my father. I thought he was for the first four years of my life and then he was the hated husband of my mother for the last six. Silently the Nigras closed in about their master. Looking into their eyes, he put his head down and slowly pushed his way out through the ring of bodies.

Soon tired and only of ten years, I crawled onto Mammy’s massive lap and with her arms around me I fell asleep. As the sun was coming up, Mammy said as I looked around and found everyone gone, “Come little master, I’ll make you breakfast. You say good-bye to your Mama and then the chaise will be here to take you away.”

**************
1766-1775
Jason Thibodeaux
The learning years

**************
Three days we were on the road. My driver was a free Nigra. When I asked a question of him he said Thibodeaux would tell me. Other than that he took care to see that I was fed and the two nights we traveled, he pulled into a plantation and I was taken to a small room where I was to sleep. I was fed in the kitchen by a mammy much like my own. Each time when we left, there was a new horse pulling the chaise and it was just as fast as the one we left behind.

It was well after dark when we arrived and the Nigra said that we were here. A good thing it was, for I was sore all over. The chaise was of one seat, two wheels and I had been bounced and buffeted for three days. A pleasant faced woman came and helped me down. “How did it go, Sam?”

“Fine Miz Liz. The young one never complained a bit. He took the trip almost as well as I did myself.” He pulled away after telling the lady he would bring my things around in the morning.

I was alone and homesick which the lady must have been aware of. “Jason, for the time being you can call me Aunt. Thibodeaux has some plans for you which he will explain when he returns in a week or so. Right now he is at sea. Have you ever been to sea?”

“No ma’am.”

“You will be very soon. Come, I’ll show you where you will be sleeping. Do you want anything to eat?”

“No, I’m too sleepy.”

“To bed with you then. You will be hungry in the morning. There will be my two girls breaking fast with you. They have been waiting anxiously for your arrival.” I hardly remembered the walk from the front door to my room. My shoes came off and then my shirt and I didn’t care if this fine lady saw me when my trousers came off, I was that tired.

Emmaline and Maybelle were the two girls. I was introduced and for the first time I was near a girl that wasn’t colored. They had on beautiful dresses which were even prettier than what my Mama wore. My new aunt was pretty too. They all seemed to resemble each other, being very white of the skin and with long dark tresses. It was very straight, not like the kinky hair on the girls I had known. Emmaline was fourteen and Maybelle was twelve.

When my aunt left the room, Maybelle said, “You are not a cousin you know and Mama isn’t your aunt. You are Papa’s bastard and that makes you some kind of brother. Did you know he is going to make you a Thibodeaux just like us? Mama couldn’t have any more babies after she had me and that is why he made a baby with Mama’s cousin and was glad when you were a boy to carry on his name.”

I looked at Emmaline, who I thought was the prettiest. “Does your mama know about this?”

“Of course, she is the one that told us. She is happy for Papa too. We are all sad for cousin Winifred though. She can’t ever see Papa again. It must be awful for you to leave your mother. Do you miss her?”

“Yes.” As I said this a wave of loneliness came over me and tears came to my eyes. My aunt heard this last exchange and came and put her hand on my shoulder.

“Jason, don’t mind them. They aren’t being mean. They just wanted you to know how bad they would feel if I wasn’t with them. They know how you feel. They feel a little bit of this every time their papa goes to sea. Even I feel like that. Come let’s go write your Mama a letter and then you won’t feel so lonely.”

And he came! His presence filled the room--maybe the whole house even. He was quite loud and kissed his daughters and then kissed their mama long and hard. He turned to me and did just as I remembered. He kissed me first on one cheek and then the other. “Good, you made the trip fine. Missing your Mama some I expect. That is good too. You should never forget those who love you. I’m tired tonight. You and I will have a talk in the morning. I have some changes planned for you. I hope you will like them.”

He turned away and taking his wife by the hand, led her from the room. Maybelle giggled. “Papa is going to make love to Mama. He always does when he first comes home.”

***************

In the morning he called me into a room where there were a few books and racks and racks of rolled up paper which he said were maps. “Jason, I don’t know how much you know about your mother and myself. At one time I loved your mother and wanted to make her my wife. Events interfered and we were denied that pleasure. I married her cousin whom I now love very much. She has given me two beautiful daughters.

“For reasons I won’t discuss, I coupled with your mother and you are the result of that union. That makes me your father. I would ask you if you would take my name. I have been informed that you have no particular affection for John Boylston. If you have objection, I will listen.”

“No objection at all, sir.”

“Good. I will petition the Royal Governor to have your name changed to mine. Now as to your instruction. Your mama says you are intelligent. Have you ever been on the water out of sight of land?”

“I have never been on any water.”

“We will change that, and soon. To go long distances and fast and if the wind is right, water is the only way to travel. I am captain in the employ of a man that has a great number of ships. This next year you will be with me at all times here at home as well as on the water. You have much to learn. After that you will be shipping out with other captains and eventually earning your papers so that someday you can captain a ship of your own. Is this something you would do?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, that’s settled. Start your education by listening to those around you. If I am in a meeting which I often am, no word will be spoken by you. Evenings I will question you on what you have seen and heard. You must learn to know people. Don’t look just at their face, but at the thoughts that are hidden behind their words.”

“Yes, sir.”

“To see what I mean by this, I will ask you, what do you think of my wife Elizabeth? You have been here two weeks so you must have some opinion. Speak freely.”

I put my head down as I thought over his words--not the request he had just made, but back to what he had said before. Was he going to look beyond my face and see my own thoughts? I decided he would know both my face and my thoughts. My head came up and I looked directly at him. “Sir, your wife loves you above all else. She knows I am your son by another and that makes her sad that I am not of her.”

Thibodeaux looked sharply at me. “You are young, boy. How do you know this?”

I was caught and might get others in trouble, but he would know. “Sir, I heard Maybelle and Emmaline talking. Maybelle talks all the time and about everything, especially about her mother and you.”

This brought the most intense look directed at me. Held one long minute, it dissolved into a broad smile. “And what do you think about my daughters?”

“Sir, I could wish they would be my sisters.”

“They are son. They certainly are.”

Two days later I was aboard a ship for the first time. Different smells assailed me. Tar was the predominant one. It seemed to be used for everything. As we went down the Cape Fear waterway there were hundreds of boats and ships to be seen. As we went by one or passed a ship that was tied up, Thibodeaux would identify what type of ship it was. A sloop, barque, pinnace and many more. There were no frigates present so he couldn’t show me one. I was told of the different sizes of these depending on what they were used for. The ones used for defense or war were named as often by the number of guns they carried. You could tell some by how many sails were spread and how these were positioned.

We returned by evening as there was a welcoming onshore wind that was effective in this inland waterway. I was tired and sleepy when we reached home. I didn’t get to sleep immediately, for I was questioned about the things I had seen and things that had been explained to me.

Miz Liz came in and chided Thibodeaux about it. His rebuttal was that I was ten years old and many years too old to not know about the sea. Therefore he had to push me to learn these things in short order. This was said in front of me. “Jason, what is the difference between thirty-two pounds and twenty-four pounds and why do I need to know?”

“It is the weight of the shot that is fired from a ship’s cannon and it gives you some idea how far away you will be safe if you know what size cannon a ship is armed with.” The answer pleased him and I was soon allowed to go to my bed.

In the days, weeks and months I learned much. My name was officially changed and I was a Thibodeaux. I was years behind my sisters in many things but I was a Thibodeaux and looked up to by them. They taught me too. Manners at the table, and manners at the dances and how to address my betters. This was because as my father said, I would be in meetings where I was often with the ship owner and some times even in the chambers of the Colonial Assembly of North Carolina. Joseph Hewes was elected to that body the same year I became a Thibodeaux and he (Hewes) depended on my father to direct some of his business.

***************

The year I turned twelve I made my first long voyage not under Thibodeaux. The captain’s name was Collins and the destination was to Portsmouth in the colony of New Hampshire. I was the cabin boy. Three days out my hammock disappeared from the cabin corner. It was late and the captain said I was to bunk with him for the rest of the voyage. Understand the captain of a ship was everything in all things.

“Yes sir.” I took off my sandals, my trousers and my shirt, leaving me in my linens. I took the dagger that was hanging down the back of my neck and brought it around to the front. I looked the captain in the eyes and said, “This is a present from the owner, Joseph Hewes. He said to always carry it to not only protect my own self, but those I sailed under.”

“Humph! Turn down the lantern boy and sleep.” I didn’t sleep much that night and miraculously my hammock appeared in the corner next day for me to sleep in the rest of the voyage.

***************

I had my Third Officer’s papers when I was fifteen. Those came from studying hard, learning everything naval and obeying orders promptly. I could navigate by the stars if necessary and recognize the flags and the ships of different countries. I had just signed on as Third Mate of a barque that was bound for France. Four days out there was a disruption in the crew’s quarters. One of the sailors reported for duty on deck and unbeknownst to the officer, quite drunk.

The order had been given to spread on more sail. The sailor, Tim by name, started up the lines with the rest of the other crew members. The sheets were unfurled and had to be tied off. Tim, out on the end of a spar, missed the sail and it started to flap, knocking the next sailor off the spar. The sailor went into the sea, barely missing the deck.

Hell to pay! The shout went up and a boat was quickly lowered to retrieve the man overboard. The ship had to make a huge circle to give the rescue boat time to first reach the sailor and then come up to the ship. Two hours were lost before the ship resumed the journey. Tim was in the brig until he was to stand before the captain in the morning.

As Third Officer, it was I that opened the brig and it was I who led the sailor to stand before the captain, and it was I that read the charges of drunkenness and dereliction of duty. “Fifteen lashes well laid on, twenty-four hours in the brig to recover and present himself before the captain first watch on the morrow. Mr. Thibodeaux, carry out the sentence.”

I knew I was being tested. I had never flogged a man before, but I had seen it done. Boylston had done it on occasion to his slaves. I was fifteen and looked to be a stripling. Tim grinned cockily at me when I stripped the cloth off his back and tied his hands on the other side of the mast he was face to. Tim was on his knees when the count reached ten and nearly unconscious when he took the last one. I signaled for him to be carried to the brig.

The captain had respect in his voice when he said, “Well done Mr. Thibodeaux. You may be excused the rest of your watch.” There was respect in the crew’s faces when I faced them as well. Tim had gotten what he deserved.

An hour later I was standing outside the brig. “Tim Baker, get up. I’m coming in to administer to your back. You have to promise you won’t scream when I do. I’ll fix you so you will hardly know you have been flogged.” The rum I used to disinfect Tim’s back hurt him like Satan, but he didn’t whimper. The soothing salve I spread over the mangled flesh was painful, but soon gave him relief. “Tim, what do you know? I didn’t use all of the rum on your back. Would you join me in disposing of the remainder?” I took the empty flask with me as I left Tim at ease face down on the bunk.

Morning found Tim before the captain ready to resume his duties. “Return to duty, then.” A new Third Officer needs a friend in the crew. A hard way to earn one, but I had one.

When I reached the age of eighteen I had my First Officer’s papers. I had taken to the sea. I liked shore life well enough, but it seemed life moved so slowly there. Emmaline was now married and Maybelle was a belle in the finest sense of the word. I loved spending time with each of them, but for only a short while. Maybelle always had a friend for me to squire when in port.

I kept a regular correspondence with my mother, Winifred, all of these years. She was so proud of me and was thrilled when I passed on to her information of Etienne Thibodeaux--and I passed on a lot as requested, for this was the man she had always loved.

She always asked after her cousin Elizabeth and my half-sisters and declared she was closer to them than her own sons, except me. She couldn’t understand how she could birth a person like John Jr. and have no love for him at all. William, the child born when Boylston took her against her wishes, was small and weak. She had affection for him, but it was tempered by how he was conceived.

****************
1775-1783
The war years
****************

As 1775 drew near, the western part of the colony was increasingly unhappy with our Royal Governor, Joseph Martin. Knowing it would soon boil over and blood would be shed, most likely his, he escaped to a British frigate lying offshore. Thibodeaux was privy to his leaving through certain spies and I was with him as First Officer of the sloop we sailed. We followed at a distance to see where the retreating governor was heading. Waiting for nearly two hours, we saw the Britisher up sail and take the Royal Personage with it.

War was imminent. There was an untold number of acts that were leading us into it. Britain had ruled the seas and had the largest number of ships afloat in the world. The most egregious was the pressing of our sailors and of course the taxes. Not only that there were laws to keep us from selling our goods anywhere except to Britain itself. The people of the colonies were divided, some for England and some for independence. There were almost as many spies as there were politicians and there were a great number of each.

Etienne Thibodeaux was Joseph Hewes’ right-hand man in all things. When Hewes went to Philadelphia in 1775, Thibodeaux went with him. Thibodeaux had purchased a Bermuda sloop a year and a half before and had it mounted with twelve cannons. The ship, named The Chester, was fast, maneuverable and very deadly. It was designed to be the ultimate warship. Thibodeaux started getting a crew together as it was delivered into his hands. When war commenced he turned the ship over to another captain while he was tied up in Philadelphia with Hewes, and the naval affairs.

He manned it with not only the crew that ran the ship, but had three prize crews on board to man ships he knew would fall into his hands when war was declared. I became its First Officer at nineteen when the Declaration of Independence was signed. At that exact time the sloop was tied up in the Cape Fear waterway. I had traveled to see my mother and had been to a ball where I had escorted my sister Maybelle.

A ketch had come up the river reporting that there was a frigate blockading the entrance and keeping us bottled up in the river. A Captain Bingham from Boston was our captain. He didn’t think too much of me, declaring I was too inexperienced for the position. It was he that was inexperienced in these waters and had to rely on locals, of which I was one, to navigate the channel.

Captain Bingham paced the deck fearing his ship was bottled up and would be useless in the coming conflict if it couldn’t make the open sea. The reason he was captain, he had sailed most out of Boston and had escaped from there successfully when the British started the blockade in that region. He was well thought of by Hewes who strongly recommended him to Thibodeaux. Two weeks we stood in the center of the waterway. I was receiving daily reports of the position of the larger British ship. It patrolled back and forth never deviating its pattern in keeping us bottled up.

“Captain Bingham, Sir. If you give me leave, I will take the ship out and I will not be fired on by one cannon. I will write a letter to my father before we start down the Cape Fear absolving you of any mistakes I would make getting us out of here.”

Two days later, more frustrated than ever, he agreed. Bravely he retained full authority, saying he couldn’t in good conscience relinquish the responsibility. It took two more days before conditions were to my satisfaction and we set sail. Now if the British frigate hadn’t changed its sailing pattern, we were as good as free of the blockade.

We had on board two local pilots, deep fog around us and a seaward wind. The frigate’s lookout never saw us until we were well past Oak Island and the fog started to lift. The Britisher never did give chase, knowing it was useless. We stood well out to sea and started cruising for ships to come up with and take as prizes, or sink.

In many ways what we were doing wasn’t that exciting. We stopped many ships, small and large. Most were legitimate, unless we determined they belonged to a well-known Tory. Then we would confiscate the cargo and take the ship as a prize. Once in awhile we would sight a schooner or frigate and would run from them, fearful that we would be sunk our own selves. During the first part of the war, the English concentrated their activities around Boston and New York.

We cruised from the Outer Banks of North Carolina to the Grand Banks off Newfoundland. Many of the Tories were moving north out of the colonies to Nova Scotia where they were closer to the mother country. Because of this and it being one of the trade routes from England, the pickings for us were good.

***************

Our most memorable taking was in February of 1778. The Chester was cruising off the Grand Banks and waiting for a flotilla of nineteen merchant vessels escorted by one frigate, two schooners and a barque. We had word of the flotilla heading across from England to replenish supplies for the English forces. General Washington had been bottled up at a place called Valley Forge since December, 1777. He and his soldiers were having a tough time of it.

I guess God was with us. We saw the ships coming toward us as we hid in the edge of a cloud bank to follow their progress. The lookout marked their position as they were enveloped by the heavy fog. We knew that the English would heave to and throw out sea anchors and maintain their position until the fog dissipated. This was Captain Bingham’s home territory and he knew that it wouldn’t be long before there would be enough wind to gain steerage. He surmised that the British wouldn’t recognize it as such.

We spread the aft sail and slowly pulled to where we thought the nearest merchant vessel was stalled. Suddenly it came out of the fog before us. Striking the sail, we coasted alongside and throwing over three grappling lines, bound us to them. Our forward motion was such that it turned us a quarter to the south before stopping. Gathering our boarding crew of five, we climbed over the rail and faced the captain and three sailors.

Unarmed, he capitulated when a pistol was shoved into his midsection and we herded all four into his cabin. I announced that his ship had been taken and the prize crew would now assume command. The only armament the ship carried was a four-pounder used for a signal gun. There were eleven men aboard. Four of these were pressed American sailors that had been taken off different ships by the escort frigate on a previous voyage.

When questioned, they said the captain who commanded this vessel was of a decent sort. The cargo the ship carried was grain to feed the horses of the English and was bound for Boston. One of the pressed sailors knew my father Etienne and had at one time sailed with him. The schooner was old but well made. The rigging it carried was worn out and half the days the sailors spent their time repairing the lines and patching the canvas.

Finding this out took an hour. At the end of the investigation, two of the original crew were deemed troublemakers according to the released Americans and these were transferred to The Chester. The schooner, The Mrs. Kay, made sail and moved away to the south with myself as captain. We soon ran out of fog and into the sunlight at 1100 hours. A day later in the afternoon we came up with another schooner that had been through a sudden squall and had lost one of its masts. It was named The Pelican.

This was a larger ship than the one I now commanded and was sixteen feet longer than the one I was on at 137 feet. It also would carry an extra amount of tonnage. This was another Britisher that had taken on a cargo of horse shoes, woolen blankets and barrels of beef, purchased in Spain. As we drew near we could see repairs being made in a haphazard manner.

The captain had been killed when two-thirds of the mast had snapped off and crashed to the deck. Any ship was a welcome sight under these conditions. The only officer aboard was a first mate and he wasn’t of much brilliance. He turned the ship over to me after I promised he wouldn’t be incarcerated when we reached land. It was an easy promise to make. This vessel carried six, six-pounders but with none knowing how to service them, they being mostly for show on this voyage.

There were some small arms in the ship’s stores and I armed my men fully with pistols, including the four American sailors I had set free from the first vessel. I was in a quandary as I had only nine Americans including myself to take The Mrs. Kay and The Pelican into port. A port that might be blockaded when we reached landfall. Also there was always the chance that an English warship might come up to us on the open seas and I and my sailors would be spending years in a brig. We had already heard about the prison ships where the English housed those they had captured and it wasn’t a place I wanted to be.

“Mr. Culhane, I will take your parole if you will help take this ship into port. This will include the men that you command. In return, when possible, passage will be secured for your return to England at the earliest possible convenience. I warn you this might not be before hostilities are resolved. Would you agree to these terms?”

“You can still assure me that I will not be incarcerated?”

“Yes, as long as you do not break your parole by taking up arms against our forces.”

“I freely give it.”

Repairs were underway to the splintered mast in a matter of minutes. We jury-rigged the mast which left off short of where the top gallants would be positioned. Even so, this ship crippled as it was, would be faster than The Mrs. Kay. We stayed hove to for the dark hours. It was bitterly cold, but nearly calm. Morning found the wind freshening and we made our way again to the south keeping less than a half league between the two ships.

By my reckoning, four days found us opposite Boston about three hundred miles out. We still drove south at between six and eight knots. None of the flotilla had been seen and I hoped we would be past having to worry about them if Boston were their destination. The Pelican, not part of that fleet, had been driven north by the storm and had been part of another flotilla that had come more directly across from Spain. This one I worried about, although by this time they must have reached landfall. From what Mr. Culhane said, their destination was the island of Manhattan.

I was really worried. I wanted these ships to end up in the Delaware River. The problem was how to get there. Giving it much thought I decided to go south, wait for the wind I wanted and then turn and head north. There was so much to prevent me from being successful. It wasn’t only the enemy ships that were sailing about. There was the weather to contend with. February was known for its vicious storms coming up the coast. That was what decided me as I should have the prevailing winds with me.

When I deemed my ships were off the Hatteras, I made my turn and reversed, setting out to the north. One day after I made this turn, a ship appeared off my port bow. It was more than hull down when the lookout reported it to the deck. It rapidly gained on us, slow as we were. What a relief to me especially when the flags went up and we recognized The Chester.

Captain Bingham sailed close enough to speak. He had been looking for The Mrs. Kay and was much surprised to find the second ship under my command. He said that the frigate I was so worried about had sailed north two days before. However there were several small gunboats that had been covering the entrance to the inter-coastal waterway where we were headed. With this, Philadelphia seemed farther away than ever.

A storm overtook us as we neared our goal. It was fast moving and was dumping inches of snow on deck and rigging. We were fearful of being driven beyond our destination, but suddenly the storm turned and went out to sea. We could see The Chester ahead of us and he signaled to close up. I, in turn, signaled The Mrs. Kay abaft of our station to do the same.

We recognized Cape May off the bow and made the turn to larboard and into the Delaware Bay. Two gunboats appeared off North Cape May, but Captain Bingham fired a salvo over them and they quickly turned tail. We sailed the bay until reaching Oyster Cove where we dropped anchor. The Chester did likewise standing between us and the open bay.

I was invited aboard the sloop and reported my experiences. I actually was much more successful than Captain Bingham. He had tried to cut another ship out of the flotilla, but always found a warship between him and the prize. He finally gave up and came looking for me and The Mrs. Kay. He deemed this a successful voyage when I opened the manifest for him to see.

“It wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t guided us in, Captain Bingham. I had so much good luck, I was afraid it would run out at any time.”

“Don’t sell yourself short Mr. Thibodeaux, every decision you made was the correct one.” I was to be twenty-two next month.

***************

Word had flown to Philadelphia that Jason Thibodeaux had arrived with two prizes and had on board much material to succor General Washington’s troops at Valley Forge in Pennsylvania. Lighters were immediately present to remove the goods and move them north. Etienne Thibodeaux was the first to board as daylight was breaking. He was accompanied by Joseph Hewes and Captain Bingham. Congratulations were handed out all around and I was presented with a Lettre de Marque and my papers as captain so that I could sail out on my own to harass the British shipping.

I needed a ship and at the prize court was awarded The Pelican. After much deliberation it was decided that The Pelican would beat down the coast to Charleston, South Carolina, where the ship could be refitted as a warship. Two new taller masts were stepped in which gave the ship another set of sails and increased the speed of the vessel. Not as maneuverable as the sloop, The Chester, I was well satisfied with what fate had handed me..

There was not much armament available, but four twelve pound rifled cannons were eventually purchased and mounted two to each side. These were extremely accurate and experienced crews were found to service the weapons. There were various other mismatched cannons mounted, but these were more for defense than for attacking, they being heavier and nowhere near as accurate. Hopefully no close-in engagements would be encountered.

While all of this was going on, I was home with Miz Liz and Maybelle. My being there was appreciated for Etienne was most often in Philadelphia and sorely missed. Emmaline had by now birthed one child and her husband was sometimes away on government business. He was always out raising funds for the war effort.

I traveled to see my mother, still on the plantation in Raleigh, and spent a fortnight with her. John Sr. was sickly and wasn’t expected to live for very long. John Jr. avoided me as much as possible. William, five years younger than me, was a pleasant sort of fellow and I got on good with him. I charged him with the chore of looking to our mother’s welfare if relations became too tense when John Jr. inherited the plantation. Still not feeling this was enough, I bought a small cottage with my prize money in Wilmington, where Mama could retreat if necessary.

One of Maybelle’s friends, Rachel Gains, took my eye. I had never paid that much attention to the women, taken up as I was with the sea. We began walking out together, but I was warned that nothing would come of it for she hated the sea. Her father had been lost and her brother had become crippled when he got into a fight with another crew member on a ship he was signed on with.

But still we enjoyed each others company to the point we became intimate. I made promises that after the war was over I would come ashore and take up a trade or some such. The last night before I headed for Charleston and my ship was one where we let ourselves go and spent the night in each others arms.

My father was there when The Pelican was renamed before we set to sea. I insisted on renaming her The Rachel after the girl I had promised to return to. Father had brought with him suggestions from Joseph Hewes that easier pickings might be found closer to the British Isles and would be just as effective as preying on the British here at home. Ben Franklin had been working with the French, those arch enemies of the British, and they were willing to take in the prizes the Americans captured and dispose of the goods for the fledgling country.

Of course the French charged a hefty fee for this service, but it gave us privateers an outlet for a way to turn our prizes into monies. Their ports serviced our vessels and replenished the supplies as we needed. Monies derived were deposited into the control of our embassy which in turn helped those here at home in an effort to free us from the yoke of England. We weighed anchor and set sail for the colder waters surrounding England on July 1st, 1778. General Washington had just broken out of Valley Forge and armies were on the move.

I believe we were a happy ship. We had a full complement of crew and what we were about was not too onerous. All of our sailors had signed on of their own free will and wanted to be on board because they preferred this way of life. We had three extra officers signed on, for if and when we took a prize, one would be delegated to sail it into a French port much as I had done earlier in the year. Our holds would be empty when we sailed and hopefully filled when we returned. Often we took only the cargo and let the captured ship and its men go after relieving them of what were in their holds.

Tim Baker, the man that I had flogged was on board and became my most treasured asset. He told time and again how he had been flogged by this very captain. How the captain had come down into the hold and treated his wounds with rum and salve to block out the pain. This same captain then sat in the brig with him and finished the bottle one sailor to another.

I suggested many times Tim apply for his officer’s papers, but he always said no. Finally, disgusted that he wouldn’t, I made him Gunnery Officer anyway and told him I would flog him if he didn’t live up to the office. Grinning, he saluted me and said being flogged once by me was enough. I didn’t know it at the time, but he not only was to save my ship later, but maybe my life as well.

It didn’t take long for us to have our presence felt. We had a major spy network working London and the seaports of Britain. Our enemy was always in our sights for we knew approximately where he would be. It was boring in a way, for sometimes we would lie in wait a month or more for a bevy of merchant vessels to set sail. Then we would swoop in, fire a few shots, cut out a prey and herd it away from the flotilla until we were able to put a prize crew aboard. Then we would chase after the ships again and try to do it all over once more. Sometimes we came up empty and sometimes the merchant ships were too well guarded. Only once that first year were we in a gun battle with the enemy.

We were dodging one frigate off the port bow when a brigantine came in from the starboard. Knowing we couldn’t run from both and knowing we were not going to be able to escape without a fight, we prepared the best we could. We were going across the brig’s bow and it looked as if the ship was trying to ram us, which would have been our sinking. Our First Officer had the wheel and timing his maneuver just right, he turned to the starboard and head-on to the other ship.

We approached each other dead-on. I conferred with Tim, my Chief Gunnery Officer at this time, and we put into practice a maneuver we had only previously discussed. He had his cannons withdrawn when we first made contact with the brigantine. My First Officer crowded our vessel into the other. Their guns were out and as we came abreast it was like scraping bristles off a pig as we passed by. They got off one shot into our ship before that cannon was tipped off its carriage. The rest were tipped over and unmounted when we caught the barrels as we brushed by.

Tim had heated shot when we first made the sighting and instead of running out our cannons the full distance, fired our cannon into the moving ship before they were fully extended. This was dangerous for the recoil drove the guns back the shorter distance to the stops. But we were in a dangerous situation and no harm resulted. The red-hot shot started fires in the enemy vessel which we could see as soon as we pulled away. One found a powder magazine. By the time we were a half league distant, the frigate was pulling alongside of the burning brig and taking on the survivors.

We didn’t get away unscathed. The one shot going through the forward part of our ship damaged the area where the anchor chain was stored and the windlass was inoperable. The starboard side of the ship was torn up from slamming into and tipping over the enemies’ cannon. We had two deaths and three wounded on deck from musket fire. I’m sure we caused as many or more deaths when our sailors returned fire with our own small weapons. Overall it was a successful engagement.

***************

Word from home was scarce and uncertain. I had word that John Boylston, my erstwhile father, had died and John Jr. had inherited his estate. A settlement had been made on my mother and on William, my half brother. They, never more than tolerated, moved to Wilmington to the cottage I had purchased with some of the prize money I had received when the court settled The Mrs. Kay and The Pelican prizes. William, intelligent and finally free of the plantation, started reading for the law.

I never received word of any sort from Rachel Gains. This saddened me for I was quite taken with her. Emmaline produced another child. When I was able to post a letter to Maybelle I begged of word of Rachel. Periodically I was answered, but word of Rachel was conspicuously absent. I came to the conclusion she may have died and turned my thought back to war.

The spring of 1779, I made the decision to sheath the hull of The Rachel with copper plates. This was done in France and while the ship was tied up for two months, I caught up on some social life I had been missing. The French had seeds of their own revolution brewing, although it wouldn’t come to a head for ten more years. Paris was where I spent much of my time. I made friends with an expatriate from Boston who married a French woman and ran a public house. I had a bed to go to upstairs and he didn’t mind if I brought in company with me.

On the sea again we cruised with a vengeance. The British were treating the captured seamen of ours like dogs. Still it seemed senseless to me. The Rachel had made a name for itself and how fair it treated those that fell into our hands. We didn’t know it then but a year and six months later this was to pay off as we were the ones captured and sent to England in chains. The officers should have been given a chance to give their parole, but we were all thrown in prison together.

It just so happened that the town where we were imprisoned was on the seacoast. Half the sailors from there had been captured by The Rachel and then freed to go their ways at one time or another. We were celebrities when it was learned we were incarcerated. Our gaolers didn’t dare mistreat us or the wrath of the townsfolk would be visited upon them because of our treatment of their sailors previously. We hoped we might not be here too long, for regular exchanges of prisoners were arranged and was done all the time.

Paris was two years and a half behind us when finally we were given our freedom. Even then we had to arrange our own passage home. In the last six months we were technically in prison, but at times we were let out to mingle with the townsfolk. No one abused the privilege. It wasn’t long before a ship was chartered and with the blessing of those who we had been guests of, bid us bon voyage.

The south had been the place of turmoil as Lord Cornwallis had been rampaging there. His surrender brought about many changes in England. The French had defeated the British navy in a couple of notable battles, one off Rhode Island and one in the Chesapeake Bay. Those in England found they weren’t invincible anymore. I was twenty-six when I stepped onto land that I hadn’t seen in almost five years. The treaty of Paris came months later and now I had to find something to do.

Joseph Hewes, the power behind finding armaments for both land and sea forces, had sickened and died in November of 1779. This was a shock to me, for I had known him well. The country in 1783 returned to more normalcy. Etienne Thibodeaux, my biological father, had enough of associating with the new government leaders and came home to North Carolina and raised up a ship’s chandler business. Miz Liz finally had her husband home. Home, not only from the sea, but from the country’s business that had kept him away for so many years.

***************

Maybelle, my favorite sister, was the first place where I stopped. She owned a farm just out of the city limits. Beautiful and impeccably dressed, I found that she was a widow, only having had a husband for a few months. He had died at Kings Mountain, but had left her fairly well-to-do, both in land and slaves. I shook my head for the thought of being owned by another person was totally against everything I stood for.

After a sumptuous dinner and over coffee, I asked, “Maybelle, you have been avoiding telling me about Rachel for years. Would you explain? There must be a reason for you knew how I felt about her.”

“Jason, of course there is a reason. Rachel made me promise not to tell you about her until you got home--if you came home, that is. That is what she was the most fearful of, you know, you not coming home. Something happened and she had to make some decisions, and had little time in which to make them. I’m to tell you everything, but first I’m to extract a promise that you will not look for her. If you find out where she is you will not under any circumstances go to her. Can you promise me that?”

I thought about what this meant. I had known Rachel for only a couple of months and I hadn’t seen her for five years. I guess she was only a sweet memory. “Yes, I will give you my promise and if you know where she is staying you may relay that to her. She is married, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she is married. She was married a short three months after you set sail to a fine man named Conway Curtis. She still lives in this state and has three children now. She has come to love her husband very deeply, for he did her a very great service by agreeing to be her husband.”

“Maybelle, I think I know where this is heading. Go ahead and tell me.”

“Yes, Rachel found that she was with child a month after you went to sea. She was a nice girl when you knew her and no worse thing could have happened to her. She knew Conway had always had affection for her, but she hadn’t settled on him as a husband when she met you. She was honest with him which took more courage than I would have had. Rachel went to him and asked him to be father to the unborn child. In return she would exact a promise of the child’s sire to never interfere. You have made that promise.”

“I have made that promise and I will abide by it. I am curious though.”

“I can understand that. In a way it parallels what Papa did by covering your mother to produce a male child. This must remain hidden though even as the bloodline continues.”

“What about the name, Thibodeaux? That was important to Papa as well.”

“They are named Thibodeaux. Steven and Jason. Steven Thibodeaux Curtis and Jason Thibodeaux Curtis. Rachel had twin boys. Some day a long time after they reach their majority they can drop the name Curtis. That also was agreed to by Conway.”

“This Curtis must love Rachel a lot.”

“Yes. It is a match made in heaven.”

I knew Maybelle was uncomfortable with this subject--so I changed it. “So tell me about your life. Do you have someone waiting in the wings to take the place of your husband?”

“Of course. I found I liked married life and all that goes with it. I like being rich too.”

“How many slaves do you own?”

“Six, not counting my personal maid.”

“When are you going to manumit them?”

“Never. Why should I?”

“I would if it were me. But then I have been through several years of war to make this country free. England owned us. Now they don’t. It is a wonderful feeling. Tell me how much would you lose if you freed them?”

“I would lose the value of them. Together they are worth almost ten thousand dollars.”

“But in your situation they didn’t cost you anything. They came to you through your husband’s estate.”

“What would they do if I freed them? They would be lost.”

“Have you mistreated them while you have owned them? If you haven’t they would stay and work for you. You wouldn’t have to pay them much and they must feel secure living here. That wouldn’t change.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Maybe, but think about it, will you? How is my Mama? Do you see her?”

“I see her often. William never married and is happy taking care of her. He is just becoming known as a wise man in the courts. Someday he will be a good solicitor.”

“I’m going over there now. Mama never had an easy life. I hope she is somewhat happy.”

“She is. The only thing that would make her happier is if Papa could only be with her. That won’t happen though, for she respects her cousin too much. Papa was her first love and she still loves him as much as ever.”

“I’m finding out there are a lot of disappointments in this life.”

I approached Mama’s cottage. Mammy was just going in the kitchen door. She didn’t live in the cottage herself, but in a little shack positioned a dozen feet from the bigger dwelling’s back door. The cottage consisted of a kitchen, two good-sized bedrooms, a sitting room and a parlor. The room for facilities was off the kitchen and quite modern by the day’s standards, although it smelled during certain periods of the year. This odor was controlled by the liberal use of lime.

I snuck into the kitchen to see Mammy peeling potatoes for tomorrow’s breakfast. She had aged greatly and moved slowly. Still massive, she was as I remembered and loved her. I put my arms around her from behind and laid my cheek to her head. “Mammy, I came home.”

“Glory, glory, it be Jason.” Tears of joy poured down her cheeks. Silently, except for some sobs, we hugged each other. This was the person that I loved and cared for the most from the first. The one that held me when life’s troubles hurt a little boy. She was the one that gave me the affection that my mother was restrained by protocol from displaying, because it just wasn’t done.

“Is Mama home?”

“No, she out to meeting with your brother. He a good man. Smart too.”

“How is Mama?”

“She good. Be glad you home from de war. She happier dan at de plantation. Young massa not liked much by her even doe she birthed him. She love you first.” I asked many questions of Mammy, getting a sense what life had been for these that I loved since I had been away. Mammy continued working, saying finally it was almost time for Mama to come home. There was a daybed in the parlor that Mammy put bedclothes on where I was to sleep.

I sat in the sitting room waiting. Mama came in with William behind her. I was sitting in the shadow and neither realized there was a person in the room for Mammy had only lit one candle. They were discussing the meeting they had come from and I could hear that they were at ease with each other.

“Mama, William, I am home.” Startled they turned to me and then my mother came into my arms for a hug. Not speaking, she clung to me. Eventually freeing me, I was able to shake my brother’s hand and then we started talking. Questions and answers from both sides. It was nearly morning before we were talked out enough to lay down our heads.

William was a full-fledged solicitor now. Most of his business centered on land titles and such. My brother, shorter than me and fair like his father had been and his brother was now, was looked on fondly by his peers. When I asked him if there was a woman in his life, he said no, not at the present. He wasn’t worried about finding a mate as he was only twenty-four and had plenty of time.

I stayed with my mother for two days and then I figured it was time to make myself known to my father and stepmother. I was well received and spent the week telling them of my experiences. I related how I had lost The Rachel and had been incarcerated for a long time. Father knew where I was and was chagrined that he could do nothing about freeing me. “If Joseph Hewes had still been alive, you would have been freed long before the war ended.”

He asked about the men that had served with me and I told him that most had survived. I said that I had lost track of one of my favorite officers. “The sailor that I flogged when I first became an officer myself I eventually turned into my gunnery officer. We had taken many prizes and I put him on one ship to take into Bordeaux. I never expected to run into a warship, but we did and that is when I lost The Rachel. Seven of my crew were killed and more wounded and that is when I struck the flag and surrendered.”

“What was the name of the gunnery officer?”

“Timothy Baker. He was married, but couldn’t get away from the sea. He would go home and seed his wife, and then come back and try to find the ship I was on. He always said his luck was in my hands. Too bad I’ve lost track of him.”

“Where was he from?”

“Some place up in the Hampshire grants. His state was chartered in 1777, but hasn’t come under the United Colonies yet. Last I heard they will be the first state to be added to the original thirteen. They should be, for they contributed enough to the war. It was a Vermonter that fired the first shot that drew blood at Lexington in 1775. All during the war some farmers called the Green Mountain Boys were in the thick of things. They were at Saratoga and at the Battle of Bennington.”

“Interesting. I’ll ask around if I meet anyone from our new government that might know. Do you have any money?”

“Hardly any. There is a lot of prize money owed me and my crew, but I don’t know if I will ever get it. It was banked in Paris, but things are getting bad over there now. Many of the French are talking about getting rid of their government just like we did in this revolt. It will be bloodier than ours was, I suspect.”

“Son, if you need financing in anyway, maybe I can help you. The shipping business is booming now that we can trade with any country in the world. If it wasn’t for Miz Liz I would be out there myself. She wants me home every night and I don’t blame her. She missed enough of them through the years.”

“I don’t know if I want to go back to the sea. Maybe if I still had the ship, The Rachel, but she’s gone. I’m thinking I might own a public house somewhere. I stayed in one in France and I think I could run one.”

“That seems pretty tame after being at sea for most of your life.”

“Tame would be fine if I had the right woman with me. That is what I’ve missed the most.”

“What happened to that woman you were so much taken with that you named a ship after her? The friend of Maybelle’s.”

“She couldn’t wait for me to come home and married another man so Maybelle told me. No great loss, I guess.” I wanted to tell my father that there were two Thibodeauxs out there of our blood, but I had promised not so I let the moment pass.

***************

I found my public house. It was on a major road in the northern part near Edenton, of the colony or state as people were referring to North Carolina now. It was off the Albemarle. There was much traffic and I had room to put to bed women as well as men, for the women were traveling more. My establishment had a good record for both food and drink. I made sure there was no rowdy behavior so families could come in and enjoy themselves at the table. I still slept alone in my bed, although invitations had been extended to me on occasion.

I had several free Nigras working the place for me, both in the kitchen and around the grounds. There were stables in the rear to put up single mounts and the teams that pulled the carriages that arrived. Although we were off the Sound, I could be reached by small boat and had a little quay for patrons arriving that way. It was a good life. Three years and Papa was paid off for the investment he had made in me.

Papa was beginning to be sickly and I made the trip out and down the coast to visit as often as possible. Mama, about of the same age of sixty-two, was failing in health also. Miz Liz was as staunch as ever. Maybe it was because she looked on life with a calm eye that made her so. This trip, I met a Mrs. Rebecca Coyn. She, a woman five years younger than me and a widow from London, was visiting relatives. Again Maybelle was the one that introduced me to someone I could care for.

Affairs progressed on that track until I was to return to my place of business and she agreed to accompany me. We were very discreet and took precautions that she wouldn’t be put in the same position that had caused me to lose Rachel. She took permanent lodging at the public house I ran, just giving out she would stay there until she decided to return to England. Four times a year she received funds and paid for her lodgings even when I said it wasn’t necessary.

She declared she did have to return to her country to settle her husband’s affairs--someday. She knew she couldn’t marry until that was done. For four years I urged her to finish her affairs and then return so we could be married, but was always put off. Finally, exasperated, I said I would accompany her to England. Tears in her eyes, she said I couldn’t. Then she explained she wasn’t a widow at all but still married and had to stay away from her husband for some indiscretions she had committed. He had settled monies on her and she would continue to receive them as long as she remained out of the country.

Her husband had made threats that if she did return, she might not live out a full life. She didn’t doubt but what that is what would happen to her as he was in a position to make it come about. We continued in the same role as lovers, but for some reason the sweetness we held for each other was fast disappearing.

During this period Papa had passed away and Mama was very frail. I received a post from William that it was time for me to visit Mama now if I wanted to speak with her ever again. I hurriedly turned my business affairs over to the man I had helping me, and I took ship for the south. I found Mama at death’s door, but semi-lucid when I arrived. At first she thought I was my father Etienne, and talked about the love they had for each other at one time.

After realizing who she was talking to, she roused up and made me promise to take her papers and journals that she had religiously kept through the years and give them to either Miz Liz or Maybelle to keep. “Someday Jason, someone will want to know about our life. Yours especially, for you were in service to our country in time of turmoil. I am leaving what little monies I have to William. He has been here for me all of these years and has put his own life aside while taking care of me. At first I hated him, but he is not a person to hate and I have come to love him as much as I have loved you.

“Son, I made a promise to your father that if he would take you to raise and give you his name, I would never see him again. It has been a burden, but seeing his image in you, I haven’t regretted it. Be careful of your other brother, for he is more cruel than his father. I pity the slaves he owns, but have never been able to free them.” There was a long pause and I thought Mama slept. Then, “Son, I am getting tired and will see you in the morning. Kiss your Mama goodnight.” I’m glad I showed that affection for the light in her eyes was dimmed by morning.

Maybelle--my friend and sister! Married again and this time to a gentle soul named Walter Richards, who loved the farm that came to him with the marriage. I do believe he was ahead of his time for he was always experimenting with his crops and how they performed under different conditions. When he wasn’t out in the fields with his crops, he was in the house with Maybelle. I never saw two happier people. Hesitantly, my sister told him about my thoughts on freeing the slaves.

Giving it some thought, he freed the field hands and promised them a percentage of his profit if it increased over what the farm made the year before. Before I left for home at Edenton he was visited by some plantation owners. They were unhappy with his decision to manumit his slaves, saying it would cause trouble in the whole system. Gentle he might have been, but he stuck to his guns and turned the visitors away. To show he meant it he freed the remaining house slaves.

***************

It took three weeks to bury Mama and wind up my affairs. She was in the same burying ground as Etienne Thibodeaux although across the walk path. Miz Liz of course would be at his side. I felt that the depth of the love my mother had for my father, a few feet of ground apart wouldn’t prevent them from being together.

All of my mother’s papers went to Maybelle to keep. She made me promise I would write to her of my doings and she would keep them with the papers just so my descendants would know of Jason Thibodeaux, the family hero. I laughed for I never felt that label should be hung around my neck. I did promise to write though. Miz Liz had a small family gathering on a Sunday afternoon. Emmaline was there, stout now, with five children and her husband. Maybelle and husband of course attended and the two they produced out of the love they held for each other. Monday morning I shook William’s hand and took ship on a ketch for home.

When I reached home, there was disaster! I had the word as I was coming up the Sound that my public house had burned. Two Nigra housemaids and one guest had died in the conflagration. The woman who had shared my blankets for four years was nothing but ashes and those couldn’t be found as the fire had been that fast and severe. She had been heard screaming from the second story, but no one had been able to reach her.

The only consolation I had was that I had comforted her for a time when she dearly needed it. The two Nigra maids had families and I settled small monies on them. I passed my thirty-sixth birthday sitting in someone elses public house in the bar consuming more rum at one time than I had for years.

Sobering up I went to look at my property. Nothing was left. Even the beautiful trees the previous owner had planted that had added so much to the beauty of the grounds were gone. They were scarred and with the charred bark, would have to be removed. Some business owners came to me and urged me to rebuild for I was popular among them. I put them off for a time.

I thought back over my life. Something always seemed to come along to discourage me in finding happiness. I had some high points and some very low ones. The thing of it was, I was getting older all the time. I wish I could retreat to where life was slower. Maybe have a little tavern somewhere that wasn’t too busy. Make some good solid friends like Tim Baker. I made the decision to go look for him. We could talk about our times together as privateers. I knew he had three boys.

First I decided to go back south and speak to Maybelle about my two sons by Rachel. I wanted them to know that Thibodeaux blood flowed in their veins. I would never interfere, because Conway Curtis had stepped up and saved Rachel censure by her being unwed and with child. This plan had been in the back of my mind for some time. Now it could be solidified if I moved out of the area. I put the land up for sale and an offer was in hand immediately.

I had done well after my father had been paid back for the loan he had extended me for the property in Edenton. I wasn’t rich, but I could make do with less. I could even go back to the sea as I still held captain’s papers. It was striking how the tall, dark and handsome good looks held true to any Thibodeaux, male or female. Maybelle had it, Emmaline carried it although she was of a more solid stature, and I was a younger version of our father. I would ask Maybelle to view my sons to see if they carried it as well. Someday she would write and tell me.

I was welcomed with open arms when I arrived back in Wilmington and settled in for an extended stay. William, now thirty-two, had found a woman, Lily, that enjoyed his company. He walked out with her most often. She was a spinster of twenty-six who had taken care of her widowed and invalid mother. This prevented her from finding a mate until the present. William and she were much the same in this respect.

The months went by--three and four and then winter. Spring brought trouble to William and to me. A date had been set for a springtime wedding for William’s marriage to Lily. The slaves had been restless and the plantation owners had called a meeting in Wilmington to discuss what to do if there was an uprising. It was an early Thursday evening and my brother, his bride-to-be, and myself were going to services at the church.

We had to pass by a tavern and as we approached several owners of plantations came out and pushed into us. One was our brother, John Jr. He recognized both of us and called me the by-blow of a pirate, pegging me a Bastard. He shamed William’s bride-to-be, naming her a Doxie. Angry, William strode forward to strike his own brother. Restraining him with hand, I faced John Jr. and asked with a strong voice if he had sold any of the children of Essie, his slave. If he had they would have been half brother or sister to both William and John Jr. I did know this as fact and if he denied it, I could call him liar.

Rather than answer, he challenged me to duel in the morning for impeaching his integrity. I accepted gladly and named William as my second. John Jr. named one of the men with him who seemed reluctant, but being promised this affair would remain from public view, he agreed. Being the challenged party, I named pistols to be found.

This was a code and although illegal it did take place on occasion. Dark now, the seconds repaired to the tavern and made plans for the event to take place one hour after daylight in the morning. I escorted Lily home, her crying all the way, for we had become friends and I was often with my brother when she was in his company.

William found us there at her home, she still crying. He was upset for although he trusted his brother’s second, he felt that John would cause some grief if he could. I wasn’t particularly worried as I had faced death so many times in more difficult situations than this. It was agreed that a surgeon be present in case he was needed. I didn’t intend to kill my brother, but I certainly wouldn’t let him kill me if I could prevent it. What kind of pistoleer he was I had no idea.

I think I slept the night more than William, for I awoke refreshed and had strong coffee to make sure I was fully with all my faculties. The duel was to take place on the far side of the same burying place my mother and father were interred. I thought this was appropriate. All parties were present and I believe I was the calmest of all. The surgeon who was also acting as referee, gave us the instructions.

As we faced each other, hate showed from my brother’s countenance. “Would either one of you apologize to the other, I beg of you?” asked the surgeon. We both shook our heads no. “Then if you have any last remarks before we proceed, do it now.”

“I still name you Bastard, just as my father named you.”

“Bastard I may be, but I was born out of love. Something that you could never understand. My father and my mother are only a few feet from here to witness this duel. They lay behind you less than fifty paces. Enough of this, let us get on with it.”

We stood back to back as we waited to be handed our weapon. I had first choice and I took the nearest one, believing they to be equal. I could feel the tenseness in my brother as we braced our backs together. The surgeon had a pistol as well in case one of us was to cheat. He would use it if need be and we knew he had in the past. We were to take measured steps fifteen times, turn and fire as we pleased. This would put us about sixty feet apart. A goodly distance, but if your eye was true and your hand steady---well we would see.

When the count reached fifteen, John turned and fired first. He was close. His bullet clipped the buttons on my shirt. As he lowered his pistol, I fired into his right arm. I knew it had broken the bone. He turned, staggered and slumped to the ground. “Captain Thibodeaux, please return your weapon and leave the field immediately.”

“Thank you.” I gestured for William to follow me and I walked slowly to where my carriage awaited. I passed mother’s resting place and knelt a moment saying a prayer. I did the same across the walk at my father’s grave.

As we neared my carriage, the sheriff stepped from behind a monument and arrested me for the crime of discharging a weapon pointed at another person. “You were observed Captain Thibodeaux in this deed. I will have to take you to the keep.”

“William, take the carriage. I may need your services in your capacity as solicitor. Would you start building my defense?” I wasn’t too worried, but I should have been. Forces were working against me. I had been too outspoken against slavery and some plantation owners were going to make an example of me.

Three months later I still hadn’t been charged. It was reported that my brother John had recovered from his wound, but had not the strength to lift a cup to his lips with that hand. When I heard this I smiled in satisfaction. I guess John wouldn’t be using his whip on any slave for awhile. My time in the keep was spent quietly and I was a model prisoner.

Maybelle visited every week and William’s new wife brought in delectables for me to consume. I do believe I was living better than the sheriff. It was expensive for the county for I refused to give my parole and the keep had to be guarded night and day. I was often the only person locked within. William was tireless in working on my behalf. The name Thibodeaux still commanded some respect and William made sure the circle widened.

He posted letters everywhere--some even as far as Philadelphia where the new delegates argued over where to have a permanent place for the federal government to sit. I did give my parole temporarily when a hurricane came ashore. Otherwise I would have died, for the building I was housed in was blown away. I stayed with the sheriff in his home. His grandchildren hated for me to leave as I shared with them the sweetmeats and tidbits that came my way.

Nine months I was incarcerated without being charged and then I was suddenly free. An Undersecretary of the Navy appeared and inquired about my whereabouts. It was strange for it was my father Etienne that had set the world to favor me, though he had been dead these many years. Before he died he had requested that the government look into the whereabouts of the prize monies owed to me.

France was in the throes of a revolution which stalled my claim from being tended to. Eventually somebody who knew somebody who knew somebody set the wheels in motion to satisfy my claim. It all culminated when the naval undersecretary arrived. Several people who were aware of my plight had used their contacts to bring justice to me. Those who had worked so hard to keep me in prison didn’t want the story known of why I was imprisoned and I was immediately a free man.

I had a long talk asking the secretary about tracing a person and he directed me to an agency who had listed every sailor that had sailed on the privateers during the war with England. He thought that I would find one Timothy Baker listed and his home address as well at the time of the conflict.

The money that he brought as my prizes was in a chest with different coins of the world. It was no great fortune, but greatly appreciated. With them, wrapped in fine silk and chamois was a sword hilt. Traced with gold it had two rubies embedded in it. It was useless as a weapon even if it had a blade attached for it was for show only. I did remember the chest, but not the hilt. Most likely the division had been made and the hilt had been given a value and included to make a division even.

***************

While incarcerated I had thought much about my life. I was denied the joy of my twin sons and their mother who was the only one that I had ever loved. My sisters were both happily married and sometimes I didn’t fit in with them that well. One brother, happily married, and the other I had done great bodily harm to. My father and mother were both dead and close to each other.

Thoughts? Why not go away and find a place for myself? To go north and find a new life and maybe change my name. If I found a woman that would have me she wouldn’t even have to know how aged I was. I could take five years off my count of thirty-nine. I had lived easy and well these last few years. Who would know?

My twin sons, in their teens now, were on my mind constantly. I decided to break the promise that I had made, to some small extent. I floated my proposal before Maybelle and she agreed that it would do no harm. I sent a letter, requesting an audience before Conway Curtis. I just said it concerned his sons and their future. I declared that I didn’t want to meet them or Rachel, his wife. A week later I received a reply saying he would meet with me.

I traveled to Raleigh, so the man Curtis did not have to travel far. A room was reserved in a public house for the morning. I was taken with the sincerity of this man that had claimed my sons as his own. He was poorly dressed and I could surmise that the world’s riches had not landed before his feet. Yet Maybelle had imparted that he and Rachel were happily married and that family was their first priority.

“Mr. Curtis sir, I’m sure you know who I am and in what capacity I have the right to speak with you. That being said, I do not wish to disturb you and Mrs. Curtis or to press myself on you. I have a great sense of the name Thibodeaux, and as two of your children bear the name, I would at some point have you tell them about my father, Etienne, and myself, Jason, which is their heritage. The war split many people apart and when it was over, those lives and loves were disrupted. Life does go on however, and I find I am unhappy in this part of the country.

“Therefore I am leaving and going on a quest to find someplace where I can make a new life for myself. Monies have come to me that were due from the time of war and the disruption of lives I speak about. It is only fair that both parties be compensated, not just one. Therefore I am handing over to you some of the money I have just received. This is given to be used to educate not only your sons, but for any other children in your family you may have.”

“Captain Thibodeaux, you are more than generous. I have a daughter, do you mean her as well?”

“Especially your daughter. The women of the family seem to be the ones to take the time to record the happenings around them through the journals and the diaries they keep. I would like to think that someday these journals would be read and the name Thibodeaux be listed in history’s annals. Mrs. Curtis’ good friend Maybelle is doing this, but for reasons you know of, your family should have their own history recorded as well.”

“It shall be done as you wish. My daughter already knows her letters and she isn’t in her teens yet. Sir, I hesitate to ask, but would you like to meet with Mrs. Curtis at some point?”

“I would dearly love to see her. However, our time is in the past and it will ill serve us or you to have a meeting. I will remember her as she was in our youth and I want to thank you for caring for her when she was in trouble. It takes a great man to do what you did in that situation. Reports say you are a happy family and that is as it should be.”

“Thank you, Captain, I appreciate you saying so. May I buy you a toddy?”

“No, I must be on my way. The money I spoke about is deposited at the Plantation Banking institution here in Raleigh for you to draw on. We will not be meeting again, so I bid you good day.”

***************
Winter
1794-1795
****************

It was late in the season when I left Wilmington, North Carolina. I sailed by various packets north to Boston. I would layover in this bustling seaport and ask the many sailors if they had ever known of a Timothy Baker that had sailed with either the merchant owner, Joseph Hewes or the Captain Etienne Thibodeaux earlier in the century--yes and sailed with me as well. I gave the description of a robust man that had a scarred back from flogging--and bragged about it. Two months I frequented the grog shops. Finally in November, it was hinted that he might have sailed out of Portsmouth, New Hampshire and I should inquire at that port.

Gathering my trunks, I took ship up the coast and secured quarters in a dockside establishment. I arrived sick from a severe consumption of the chest and for days lay as dead and only lightly attended by a barmaid who I made acquaintance of on arriving. It was the guns firing, bringing the New Year in, that first I decided I might live. Now the year 1795, I resumed my questioning of those old sailors that were too old to ship, but had sailed the seas at one time.

Luck was with me in the first week, for Tim was remembered and had passed through here the year before. No one knew exactly where his home was, but they remembered he spoke of living about twenty miles from Fort #4 in Charlestown, New Hampshire. This being a place on the Connecticut River, Vermont being across from it. Surely I could have word of Tim if I traveled that far.

Due west, the Connecticut River was 80 miles away. I might travel 150 miles to reach there, following the roads that would be open to me in the winter time. Needing still to recover from my illness I dawdled for another two weeks before buying a nag and a buggy to transport my body and belongings in that direction. Five days it took me to cross the southern part of this wild and mostly uninhabited state. I will say when I stopped for the night the people were friendly and always asked for news of the world before letting me lay down my tired body.

Reaching Charlestown, I was directed across the river by ferry to the town of Springfield, Vermont. I stayed in a tavern and was seated by a person that actually knew of Timothy Baker. Unfortunately he informed me Tim had passed away just after the New Year had arrived. I was in a quandary. I was thousands of miles from where I called home. I had missed my goal at the end of my quest by two months. Should I go on and make myself known to his family?

I knew he had three sons. They might like to know things about their father that only I could tell them. What decided me was the person that had just imparted Tim’s whereabouts, I was informed Tim had a daughter. And then he roared with laughter and wouldn’t say more. Well she must want to know more about her father and I was the one that could tell her. Next morning I told my nag we were nearly to our destination and I would soon find a stable and grain for her.

***************

I came down into the village of Chester, passing a stone that had chiseled into it, “Chester, Vermont. Inc. 1766.” I inquired for directions to the Baker holdings and was informed I still had four miles to go on the stage road to reach the farm. I arrived in the late afternoon and was met as I pulled into the yard by three bearded giants. They were much alike, just crossing from a barn that held livestock. Behind them a person, more girl than woman, was struggling with a full pail of milk and totally ignored by her brothers.

I stepped down and passed the reins of my horse to one of the giants and took the pail of milk into my hand, saying, “Let me carry that for you, milady. Show me the way into your abode.”

She stood there staring open mouthed at me. I spoke again. “I’m Captain Thibodeaux come to see my old friend Gunnery Officer, Timothy Baker.”

“Well you ain’t going to see him, unless you die first. He dead.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. My condolences.”

“Yes, well you be here, you might’s well come in. I’ll get us some supper. Zeke you put the man’s hoss up. Give it some corn. It looks done in.”

I don’t know what I expected. Tim had the rough edges taken off of him after I made him an officer. It looked to me as if his children still had theirs. I wasn’t a fastidious person, but I shuddered at the lack of hygiene that presented itself. All four did wash their hands, but that was all. Suddenly the girl stated, “My name is Ruth. I be just sixteen come last Saterday.”

Thinking quickly, I asked, “Did you get a birthday present?”

“No, why should I?”

“Where I come from birthdays are a big thing and presents are always given. I thought maybe your boyfriend might have given you something.”

“Ain’t got one of them. Don’t go nowhere to get one either. I just stay here and mind the farm with my brothers. The oldest one is Jonathan and then Zeke and the youngest be Sam. You set in there in the sitting room and tell the boys what you knew about Pa. He talked about you a mite. You can tell me some other time. What you want to drink for supper? We got milk and cider with some kick to it.”

“Cider would be fine.” I went in and sat in a chair that had held an old dog that Sam kicked out of the way when it got down. I was hoping it didn’t have fleas.

The first question was how old I was when I flogged their Pa. “Pa he was proud of them stripes. He said it was the first time an officer cared about him. He said you weren’t nothing but a stripling kid, but you sure knew how to lay them on.”

I could begin to smell good things from the kitchen and I had missed the noon meal. Ruth came to the door after an hour. “Come eat.” There was a heaping bowl of unpeeled boiled potatoes on the table. There were three loaves of bread on a slicing board with a knife. There was a platter of fried pork and a pewter pitcher that held the cider. The plates were of pewter and the forks were two tined. The table knives were a mismatched bunch with homemade wooden handles.

To round things out there was a tub of butter and a crock of dark colored something. When Ruth saw me looking at it she said, “That’s apple butter. Goes good on the bread if you don’t like cow’s butter.” The cider was poured out into mugs of ironstone that never had handles on them. It was all pretty crude but it was all tasty.

After supper we all sat in the sitting room and talked. It was my turn to ask questions, the first being, could I stay overnight with them? It was going to be cold. “I guess we can put you up. Zeke and Sam can sleep in the same bed. You can have Sam’s bed. I suppose you want sheets? I got some flannel ones I can put on for you.”

Sam burst out with, “You never put them on for me.”

“I know but you ain’t company and I ain’t washing them every month for you. If you want that, get yourself a woman to do for you. Jonathan, why don’t you get the captain’s trunks and put them in Sam’s room?” I was tired and soon went to my bed. I was used to rough quarters on a ship, but this was no better. The smells that permeated the house were mostly from the barn. Cleanliness wasn’t a priority, but these people lived with it so I could until I found a place more to my liking.

I rummaged in one of my trunks and found the sack of coffee beans I was searching for. I guess I overslept for Ruth was just coming in from the barn with a pail of milk. There was a room behind the kitchen with copper pans about on benches. I will say she did strain the milk with a bit of linen. She explained what she was doing. “Butter is one of the things we do to make a little money. I set the pans of milk and then when cream rises to the top I skim it off to make butter. The rest of the milk I slop the hogs. We got one old sow that throws us eight or nine piglets a year. Don’t have a boar and it is a bother getting the old sow to him.

“The boys are out already in the woods. They be cutting next year’s firewood. What have you got in your hand? Is them coffee beans?”

“Yes, do you know coffee?”

“I surely do. Pa used to bring me beans when he come home from sailin’. The boys don’t like it much so Pa used to bring it just for me. Can I have a mite if you have some?”

“It would be my pleasure to have you join me. Do you know how to prepare the beans?”

“Yup, Pa said I was good at it. You plannin’ on staying awhile?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m thinking of starting a tavern or public house someplace. If Tim was here I was going to ask him.”

“Why don’t you start one near here. The fork in the road is right outside and this is a stage road. There is the daily stage and a lot of team traffic heading for them settlements over the mountin and just back down the road apiece, there is the road to Townshend. In fact there is the forty acre lot up across the fields that has been cut off. Pa had planned on selling it come spring.”

“Why do you want to sell it? You might have need of it someday.”

“We got more-n five hunnerd acres to do with. Ain’t going to miss it a mite. If you got gold, it might be had for one-two dollars an acre. God this coffee smells good. I might just take coffee beans for my share.”

I hung around Tim Baker’s family all week. Jonathan was the oldest at twenty-eight, Ezekial at twenty-five and Samuel was twenty-two and then there was a stretch of years when Tim had been away to sea before Ruth was born, now at sixteen. I guess you could tell what years Tim had been home and what years he had been at sea, the way the kids came. The boys didn’t say much and Ruth bossed them unmercifully. She was the hardest working and she was what kept the family together. Jonathan said she was a spitting image of the mother they had in actions. Ruth took over when the mother died when Ruth was thirteen.

I had a deed in hand for forty some acres when the twentieth anniversary of Paul Revere’s ride came. No brick works locally, I had stone quarried for a foundation and a pit sawmill was brought in for planks and boards. The heavier timbers were hand hewn and a man known for his barn raising ability did that work. Shakes were riven for the roof. The stonemason built the fireplaces and when he had finished that he did the ovens after the pattern of the Dutch.

The Connecticut River was somewhat passable all the way to the sea with canals around the falls at Bellows Falls village here in Vermont (1791) being built and others on the drawing boards. Where they hadn’t been constructed yet, little businesses transported goods to where the two-way traffic continued up or down.

My funds were fast disappearing, for I had spared no expense. I had little in reserve when I posted off an order for goods to stock the pantry and rum to stock the bar of my new establishment. My last major expense was for four brothers and their uncle to construct a well to serve the tavern. I was doubtful about the site they chose for it was on a hill in back of the tavern. Confident, they gave me the guarantee they would find sufficient water within one week or not charge me a shilling.

Four days later they were burning the centers out of the pipe logs to pipe the water directly into the tavern. I watched the well diggers work all through the process. It took almost as much stone for the well as it did for the cellar of the tavern under the great room. This well was twenty feet deep and when stoned up the well was six feet across the opening with two feet of stone all the way around.

The pipe logs--live hemlock trees not more than five inches or less than four inches in diameter. The centers were burned out the six foot length of each “pipe” and the hole bored (burned) to about one and a half inches. One end was sharpened to a point and the other was hollowed out to take in the point of the next section. This was an art to construct so that when placed all together and buried underground, water would not leak from where the logs were joined. The well was a masterpiece, each stone being chinked in such a way as to not cave in on itself. The water was sweet. I knew, for I had drank water that was stored in casks for months on shipboard and this was untold pleasure to imbibe.

***************

I was living with the Bakers while my tavern was being built. As soon as it was complete I would move up the hill. For now though, I was having my own problems. Ruth, sixteen and robust, wasn’t a pretty lass as men would determine, but likely, even with a pug nose, wide mouth and a very high forehead. She still had a certain amount of baby fat about her and was causing me to lose some sleep. I resisted her innocent charms and why wouldn’t I? I was a man of the world. I had spent months in Paris, the capital of the cultural world and I had partaken often of what it offered.

Here I was in the backwoods of a state where the biggest event of the day was a stagecoach traveling by. Ruth, the innocent young chit of a girl that bothered my dreams, she smelled of the barn and its animals--what to do about that? She was ignorant as far as her letters were concerned. Oh, she knew them, but could barely write them down. “Captain, how old are you?”

I did not want to confess that I was thirty-nine and the average life-span at this time was a mere forty-six. I needed more years on earth than that. “I’m thirty-five, my dear. Why do you ask?”

Ruth stood silently and then she blushed. “Just wondering. You are much traveled so I thought you must be very old. Thirty-five isn’t so old. Jonathan hasn’t been anywhere and he is only seven years younger than you.”

“Well I had certain advantages in my youth. My family saw to it that I was taught many things.”

“I wish I had some of those advantages. I feel so unknowing when I am around you.”

“But you are happy aren’t you? You are always singing some ditty or another.”

“I guess, but there should be something more for me. When you move to your tavern, can I come and watch the stage come in and see the people that ride in it?”

“You certainly may.”

“Will you tell me what to wear and how to act so they won’t laugh at me?”

“All those things and more if you wish.”

“Thank you Captain Thibadeau.” Her pronunciation of my name was slightly different than the Thibodeaux I was addressed as formerly. I didn’t correct her.

So started the lessons that this backwoods child so craved. I found her a rough book of empty pages explaining that all of my ancestors had kept a journal of happenings and thoughts they wanted to remember. I impressed on her that this was for her eyes only and shouldn’t be shown to any other person. That way if she had a private thought she could put it down and no one would know how she felt. I never saw the book again.

A month later I held open house at Thibadeau’s tavern. I had Ruth spell out my name as she said it and that is how it came to be the tavern’s as well as my name. The opening was held on a Saturday afternoon and continued into the wee hours of Sunday. All of the workers that had constructed the building of this my new home and business were there. I even had two fiddlers provide some music. Ruth wasn’t there but her three brothers were and they took on more of a load than they should have to safely traverse the distance home.

I parked them on a bench and closed the tavern tight. Jonathan, less worse off for wear, helped me steer his brothers down and across their fields and into their rooms. They sank on their beds and were soon fast asleep. From Ruth’s room and from behind the cracked door she asked, “Captain Thibadeau, I left some coffee beans out to be crushed. If you would be so kind to prepare them and make a brew I would join you and you can tell me about your day.”

Tired and more than a little inebriated myself, I did as she bid. I noticed that there was water on the floor and knew that Ruth had her usual Saturday night bath. In fact I had brushed by the small copper oval shaped tub outside of the door when I was trying to get her brothers into the house.

As I was pouring the coffee, I heard her door open and when I looked up she was standing before me. Her hair always before in a bun, was down and parted so it half hid the front of her. Only those parts that protruded from her chest peeked through the locks and was the only covering she was wearing. The hair was long and dark and she must have spent the hours brushing it while waiting for me. It shone in the candlelight.

“Captain, I have looked on you with fondness and I want you to make me a woman.” I had been without a woman’s charms for nearly a year and here was one fully developed standing before me. Would I have taken her if I had been sober? Impossible to answer after the fact. Wholeheartedly she gave herself to me and I only escaped her arms as the sun was coming up.

***************

I had many regrets as the days unfolded. Tim had been my friend and his children had become so. What would the brothers say if they found me out? Just one of them could do me in with one blow of his ham-sized fist. I would never survive if all three started laying their fists about me. I couldn’t fight back either for I had lived with them a half year and they trusted me.

But damn, that little hussy was sweet. I was going to make sure she didn’t get me alone again. I had never felt so guilty in all of my life. As the week wore on I kept busy with things in the tavern. I tired myself out so I could sleep without thinking of Ruth. I rationalized my behavior somewhat. I had been a big help to the Bakers. I had built this tavern and the boys had been paid when I used them for day labor.

They now had a ready market nearby for what they raised on the farm. They had bought another bred sow in anticipation of selling the extra meat to me for my guests at the tavern. Already they were supplying me with eggs and butter. Some of my guests would be asking for sweet milk and others would want buttermilk. The orchard blossomed and promised a heavy crop this year. They would be busy pressing apples for cider. By Christmas it still might be green, but should have plenty of kick to it. If it was as good as that they served me at their table, I could sell all they put down into barrels.

Saturday evening all three boys appeared in the taproom. They all indicated rum would go down their gullets pretty damned neat. By eleven they were staggering worse than they had been the week before. It was a good thing it was all downhill from the tavern. I made it as far as the horse barn with them. Giving it up and leaving them on the barn floor, I headed for the back door of the house. I opened it to find Ruth sitting at the kitchen table with a robe around her.

“I can’t get your brothers any farther. They are on the horse barn floor. Can you help me get them into the house?”

“No. I don’t want them in the house. Pitch some hay down for them to lie on and throw some horse blankets over them. While you are doing that, I will brew some coffee. Coffee tastes better when you are here to drink it with me.”

“If I remember correctly we didn’t drink what was brewed last week. Coffee beans are rare and hard to get.”

“The coffee didn’t go to waste. I drank it all in the morning and remembered you just as if you were here with me. I can do the same tonight.” Ruth was looking at me expectantly.

“Ruth, are you sure? I feel awful guilty. I’m so old and you are just a child.”

“Captain, you go take care of the boys and we will talk about it.”

***************

I think the word was besotted to describe my feelings. How could this mere chit of a girl control me as she did. She did it in a way that we were never discovered. On a rainy or snowy day she and one or all of her brothers would come into the tavern and she would innocently ask me to teach her her letters or numbers or have me tell her about the world. Saturday nights on occasion gave us a chance to be bedded together when the boys drank to excess.

It wasn’t long before she grew big with child and she refused the telling of who was responsible. At that time of year I might close the tavern of a slow evening and go down and sit by the kitchen table to continue her lessons. One or all of her brothers would be at the same table and I would discuss things of interest with them. To me to be the one that had planted a seed in their sister was unthinkable. So she kept me away except for the occasional Saturday when the stars aligned.

Did I make her life easier? I would think so. I casually mentioned to the brothers that Ruth shouldn’t be going to the barn as much, and they could well afford a lad to take her place in that capacity. One was engaged that lived down the road apiece. He would come in and do morning milking, break his fast and then feed the livestock. He would return for the evening milking and chores.

The boys had to do the mucking out of the animals, something that Ruth had done all her life. They offered the lad more money, but he refused. A battle royal took place amongst the three and finally after a onetime thing of drawing straws the order was set and each had their turn weekly. My fine hand was in this, but Ruth was the only one aware of the new order at the farm.

Ruth wouldn’t name me as father of the coming baby, but she could be insanely jealous. The number of patrons steadily increased at the tavern and I was busy enough so I had to take on a couple of maids in the kitchen and to serve up the beverages in the taproom. Samuel was quite taken with one and bragged about her beauty to his very pregnant sister. The next Saturday night when I brought the staggering brothers home, the door was closed to me.

Sunday morning I was outside when the milking lad came up from the barn. I took the two pails from his hand and asked him to open the door for me. “Could you do your other chores before breakfast? I’ll prepare wheat cakes if you stand off an hour.” He agreed and held the door for me as I entered.

Setting the milk in the keeping room, I started some coffee brewing. Ruth had evidently been to the outhouse and came in, startled to see me there. Pleased enough though to smell coffee boiling suspended over the fire. “Ruth, you are troubled. Please tell me about it.”

“No.”

“Is it because you are big with child and don’t feel well? Tell me. I can’t have you angry with me.”

Tears started coursing down her cheeks. “You hired two pretty maids and look at me. I’m big and fat and I waddle. Sam says that one maid is very pretty.”

I didn’t say anything. I poured the coffee. Ruth’s pain was real. I helped her sit in a chair and walking behind her, I ran my hands slowly down over her breasts and when they came to rest on where she was carrying our child I said, “Ruth Baker, I swear on this baby I feel beneath my fingers that I will never look at another woman until you agree to come to me and be mine forever.”

She looked up at me and seeing I was serious and meant it, a bright smile appeared on her face. “Captain, I believe you. I cannot come to you, but you are making me very happy. Soon the baby will be here and I will be normal again. Now I must get the lad’s breakfast. Would you stay and join us? The boys are still sleeping. They better get up soon for sugaring is coming and they have to break out the kettle.” The lad got his wheat cakes and Ruth directed me to open the last flask of honey, she was that happy.

It was just a month later, during the last sap run that the lad came hammering on the tavern door all excited. “Miss Ruth is all alone and birthing her baby. She wants your maids to be with her.”

It had been a sunny day and as the sun was setting, little Sarah Baker entered the world. Her head was covered with the finest down and it was a fiery red. No blame could find its way to me for my hair was Thibadeau dark. Ruth wasn’t surprised for she said her mother had red hair.

***************

Ruth was the ultimate mother and could handle her household chores with Sarah on her hip as she worked. Little Sarah was a happy child, and very little fussed her. My business prospered and I was planning an addition where I could have more overnight guests if they cared to stop. Ruth and I resumed our Saturday night frolics if the chance presented itself. Just a little over a year later after Sarah was born, Ruth informed me she was with child again.

I was exasperated at her and harangued her so much the words were bitter at times. I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t consent to be my wife. “Is it because I am so old?” (I was forty-two and admitted to thirty-eight?)

“No, of course not. I’m not ready to be married yet.” The whole town by this time knew that young Ruth Baker had a child out of wedlock and wouldn’t tell who the father was. Speculation ran rampant and even the lad that worked for the Bakers was accused of having relations with the woman of the house. It didn’t seem to bother Ruth at all and she went serenely about her chores. She did not appear in public much and as her size increased, not at all.

Ruth was having a more difficult time with this confinement than she had with her daughter. At six months she was as heavy as she had been with Sarah. Her brothers grumbled about it saying housework was never done and meals were often late. I suggested they hire her some help which they did reluctantly.

Ezekial was sparking a widowed woman. When pressed of why the family hadn’t met her, he finally declared that she couldn’t abide his unwed sister with one child and another expected in a few months. He was torn, for he had feelings for his sister and as all the family did, doted on their niece, Sarah. Mazie, the widow, was a schoolteacher with puritanical values.

It was as I suspected. Although I hadn’t said anything, Ruth produced twin boys. After all I had sired twin boys previously. Relieved of her burden, she quickly regained her figure. To me she was amazing. Only barely nineteen, unwed with three children and the oldest in her second year, to me the situation would be daunting. She was now pleasant and smiling again.

Ruth was getting pressured from both me and Ezekial to wed. I wanted those boys, named Harry and Tom, to carry my name. I mean how could she deny me this right? A Saturday night when Jonathan and Samuel came to the tavern, Jonathan handed me a note. It was sealed and somewhat mystified, I opened it.

Captain Thibadeau: In the past you have frequently asked me to become your spouse. If you would attend Sunday dinner with my brothers and myself, I would listen to your proposal before witnesses.
Sincerely, Ruth Baker

Jonathan and Samuel were more intent on what the bar held than what was said in a note sent to a tavern keeper and they didn’t see the joy that had to be showing on my features. I asked Sam, “Where is your brother?”

“He’s out with the widow woman. He is worried she is going to give up on him, they have been going together for over a year now. I saw him and Ruth talking and she said she would like to meet her. I think Zeke is going to invite her to dinner tomorrow. Why don’t you come too and see what Zeke is getting into? That way if the claws come out you can help us keep them women apart. Hey, maybe you will like her and if she drops Zeke there’s a woman for you.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Yes, by God it is. I’ll tell Ruth to set another plate.”

***************

The rest of the Saturday night I was greatly distracted. I took the brothers home as I had done so many times. When Ruth opened the door and asked me in, I said no, not tonight. “Jonathan has asked me for Sunday dinner. You don’t mind if I grace your table, do you?”

“It would be my pleasure, Captain.”

Tomorrow I was going to ask Ruth to be my wife. Then I thought, great God, I don’t have a trinket or ring to plight my troth. Ruth was no beauty, but she had been in my thoughts now for almost four years. She had grown from a dirty childish milkmaid into a woman. Yes I had made her pregnant twice, but she embraced each pregnancy with gladness and happiness. Not only that, and I opened the note and read it again, she could now write with a more than passable hand.

I had taught her her numbers and she begged to be involved in knowing how to keep accounts such as the tavern necessitated. Some times she did this when I was more interested in her charms than the questions she was asking. Little Sarah had her mother’s features of too-wide mouth, little pug nose and the high forehead, but her mother’s disposition was there too and that was the most important. Tom and Harry, Thibodeauxs--oops, Thibadeaus to the core. They were going to take after me, I could see it.

I knew then how I was going to plight my troth. I rummaged around in the trunk I had brought with me. Near the bottom, I found the sword hilt where it had lain for years. I unwrapped it and the two rubies shone in the candlelight and I polished it till the gold stood out. I took one of the fancy stocks I used to wear when I was going to a ball and wrapped it in that, covering it all in a bit of muslin.

I took my best coat from the closet and brushed it to make it look fresh without wrinkles. I laid down and tried to sleep. How soon would the lass be sleeping by my side? And our babies? I went to sleep with a smile on my face.

Mazie was something. I don’t know how Ezekial was able to attract her, rough as he was. Of course the farm was doing well and maybe that was it. She was a finely boned woman with nice regular features and of good form. She dressed well, but she was hardly civil to Ruth. She wouldn’t even look at the four-month-old twins and totally ignored little Sarah who was walking and into everything. I decided that I didn’t like her.

She was also brazen and challenged my right to be at this, the Baker family Sunday dinner. A mere tavern owner had no place at the table of an upstanding farmer such as Ezekial. “My dear, I’m the best thing that ever happened to you. It is me that is going to remove the obstacle to your happiness.” I received a huh! Ruth snickered and all three of the boys looked puzzled. Mazie’s tight lips just pinched together a bit more.

The meal progressed apace. Ruth made it known that Captain Thibadeau was a dear friend and had once been captain of the ship their father sailed on. Then she told of the flogging he had received by my hand. Jonathan then proceeded to tell how I purchased much of what the farm produced. Mazie realized shortly that she never would be able to drive a wedge between the tavern owner and the Bakers.

Over pie, Ruth was waiting for me to say something. I looked across the table. As I stood I said, “I don’t usually serve much wine at my establishment. However I do stock some. I brought a bottle of the finest Madeira from my cellar. Wine should be served in glass and I brought enough glasses for each of you to drink from. Not only that, you may keep the glass to remember the day. Ruth, if you would fill them, I would like to say something. A toast and a proposal if you would hear me out.”

The glasses were filled. She complied with almost a smirk on her face. Ruth returned to stand at the table across from me. All stood when we remained upright. “Ruth Baker, it has come to my attention that you have need of a husband. You have faithfully kept house for your brothers since your mother went to meet her maker. Tim, who was my good friend, I’m sure would not object to what I am going to say.

“I am asking you to become my wife. I am also asking you to put these babes of yours in my charge and let me be father to them. It would also please me to have the babes take my name.”

“Captain Thibadeau, it would be my pleasure to become your wife. I accept your proposal.” I was so proud of Ruth. Her speech had improved much since I first met her. She would be a good mate for me in all things.

“A toast then to our coming nuptials. And may I have a kiss to seal our agreement?” I advanced around the table and took her into my arms. She was much shy and bussed me lightly. (Some different than from how we frolicked when alone.) I took the package I had brought with me off the serving table and laying it before my fiancée I said, “My dear Ruth, I haven’t had the time to have a ring made for you. However I have a present here to plight my troth. Would you accept this in lieu of a ring?”

All eyes were on the irregular package on the table as Ruth unwrapped it. When the hilt was brought to light, a gasp went around the room and all eyes turned to me. I explained, “This was awarded to me to balance monies that were owed to me for some prizes that I took during the war with England. Tim Baker was with me when many of these prizes were taken. It is only right that it should come into this family. That is the only item other than money I ever received. The monies are all invested in the tavern up the hill. That is right too for Ruth to have part in that as well.”

***************

Three weeks later Ruth and I were married. Not wanting to leave our children for long we didn’t go far for our honeymoon. Brattleboro, to the south, was a cultural center, having a playhouse and shops that weren’t available in Springfield, the largest nearby town. Hiring a buggy with a matched pair of high stepping blacks, we went the thirty-five miles to Brattleboro.

Arriving in the late afternoon we secured lodging and freshened up. I took my newly acquired wife out to the best known public house for dinner of clams and oysters. A barrel of each had arrived from the Connecticut coast that very morning, being repeatedly well iced for the journey of several days. This was something that she had never enjoyed before.

The play at the playhouse by a group that made the rounds of the larger towns was a comedy and how Ruth laughed at the antics of the players. The costumes were of outlandish attire and that added to her enjoyment. Tired, we made our way through the darkened streets to our lodgings. Disrobing we almost fell into bed.

“Jason, I love you. You have made me so very happy.”

There were two firsts in that statement. One, she had never said she loved me and two, she had never called me Jason before. Always she had called me Captain.

“I love you too. I really am puzzled over the last four years about your actions. You have seduced me and I know you have enjoyed our times in bed together. You have had my babies. And you have borne many insults because of this. I have proposed innumerable times and yet you wouldn’t marry me. I know you love me for you have shown great affection toward me. Will you tell me why, now that I am your husband? You shouldn’t be keeping secrets from one who loves you.”

“I know all of this. I will explain. My Pa was so taken with you, he talked of you all the time. When he was home he would tell me how your family lived and how you acted and of the fine people you associated with. He knew you lived in a fine house with servants. You came here and the day you first met me, I couldn’t speak well. I was dirty and I smelled of animals. You were such a fine gentleman I wished to be a fit mate to you. I knew if I had your baby you would take care of the babe and eventually, me as well.

“You have taught me many things and when I thought I was ready to walk by your side without bringing shame on you, I accepted your proposal. I have never been bothered by what others say about me, only if they say bad things about you. Over time people will forget I was an unwed lass. Once you called me ‘milady’ and I knew I wasn’t. You can call me ‘milady’ now and I will believe you whether I am or not in the eyes of others.”

I had known many women before, but this one was truly in my heart. If it took four years in her mind to become worthy of me--so be it. We snuggled in the feather bed and life seemed so complete. Morning found us in a little shop having a sweet bun and coffee. Later we visited a lady’s milliner shop and I urged Ruth to be fitted for some new dresses. Some time in the future they would arrive and my wife would be dressed as befitted her new status.

In the afternoon we were advised of a poetry reading by a traveling poet held at the church by a ladies’ group. We had planned to stay two more days, but on the third day in town Ruth indicated she wanted to go home and see her babies. Besides, she said, she neglected to write in her journal and wanted to get everything down before she forgot things. This was the first that I knew she had kept a diary since I had suggested it early on when I first knew her.

We returned to where we had enjoyed the clams the first evening and we were informed that they had halibut steak on the menu that evening. I wondered how many ice houses were tapped on the way up the Connecticut River from the sea to keep the fish fresh so we could enjoy it. It came to us in perfect order grilled until just done and then smothered in butter. There were little stalks of wild asparagus for a vegetable. The potatoes were somewhat soggy from being kept over the winter, but still better than what we were used to at home.

Thick slices of bread made from oatmeal served with a pot of wildberry jam. Ruth liked the bread so much she wheedled the receipt from the baker. Dessert was a white cake so light and deep you would think it would blow away. It was graced with a maple cream frosting. Too full, we returned to our room and made an early evening of it. Later, satiated in both heart and body, I opened a bottle of white wine so we could toast each other. So ended our honeymoon.

***************

Our honeymoon relieved Ruth of much of her shyness around people. At first she would not appear in the dining room at the tavern. She was more comfortable in the taproom where the female gender was barred. Not by any law but by convention. Over time with my urging, this reversed and she became the serving wench in the dining room. My two scullery maids, one more fair of face than my wife, were worried about a woman coming to boss them.

Instead they all became fast friends and before I knew it, I was the one being bossed--by all three. Rarely did I mind for they did their work with dispatch and I never had any complaints. This was a smooth running tavern. Ruth was very frugal and poured over the accounts to make sure the tavern never lost money and was always looking for ways to increase our take. She was frugal but not cheap, if you can see the difference.

It was her suggestion that the tavern host some political meetings, saying that usually when the meeting was done, the bar would see an increase in patronage. By the time the twins were crawling on the floor, she was saying we needed to expand. One of her reoccurring complaints had been the cost of our honeymoon. She was the one that had totted up the expenses when we came home. She especially grumbled at what it had cost to eat out and the dresses I insisted she order.

I rebutted this by saying many women demanded such expenditures several times in a season. As this was a one time thing I was very pleased and had value received. I would then take her to bed and we would relive those three days where she had no cares. I did one other thing to make her happy. A traveling artist stopped one month and I engaged him in making a likeness of my wife on canvas.

Ruth sat for him in the prettiest of her dresses. She was not to see it until after I approved it. When nearly finished, I viewed the image and suggested if he wanted to be paid he should make some very subtle changes. This was not for myself, really, but for Ruth’s self-esteem. Her mouth became a little less wide, her nose just a little longer and straighter and her hairline was lowered just a mite, so her forehead wasn’t as high.

And maybe her bust was just a little fuller with a hint of cleavage. The kitten she was holding in her lap, he questioned--didn’t I want to change that as well?

“Nope, I want everything true to life.” The artist couldn’t see the humor in my remark. He left before the unveiling with his money as promised. Not happy though, for I had compromised his integrity. Ruth loved it!

Saturday nights still brought the Baker boys to my establishment. Mazie came a couple of times for supper in the dining room. She would not be served by her sister-in-law who she repeated loudly and often, was nothing but a doxie, only saved from shame by a tavern keeper.

Ezekial always came to the tavern every Saturday evening with both Jonathan and Samuel. This changed over time, first one brother came one week with him and then the other brother the next week. Fairly early on a particular evening, Samuel and Ezekial took on more of a load sooner than was normal. The taproom was inordinately busy so I asked Ruth to travel down to the farm and ask Jonathan to come retrieve his brothers.

Ruth related the experience through various uncontrollable giggles as we snuggled in bed later that night. “It was dark and I was without light as I made my way down the familiar path to the farm where I grew up. I opened the kitchen door as I had done many times in my nineteen years of living there. There was a candle burning on the sitting room sideboard. Noises were coming from Jonathan’s room. I opened the door to my brother’s room and by a candle flickering on the bureau, I saw him with Mazie. She was pinned to the mattress and I watched them for nearly fifteen minutes until they started to pull apart.

“I gained my brother’s attention. ‘Jonathan, when you are finished seeing to your sister-in-law, Jason has need of you to bring her husband home to her. I will wait in the kitchen and you can light my way back to the tavern where there are no doxies.’ ” Ruth was shaking with mirth in this telling.

“Are you going to tell Ezekial what his brothers are up to?”

“No, but Mazie better not stick her nose up in the air when she meets me next time. Umm Jason, for some reason I think I need pinning to the mattress tonight.”

The only time this was mentioned by anyone was the next Saturday when Zeke and Jonathan arrived at the tavern. I innocently asked of Jonathan where Samuel was. “He couldn’t come with us tonight. He had something to see to.”

It took an apology by Mazie for her past treatment of Ruth before all was made right and over time the two women became fast friends. Mazie proved to be of fertile ground and seed was planted. No one was ever sure which brother did the planting. Ezekial might not have minded, but secrets were best kept and happiness reigned.

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This concludes the early years of Jason Thibadeau for which I received requests. I had a difficult time weaving this into the fabric of the original story, never thinking ahead to relating more about Jason. If I ever write more about the Thibadeaus, I have left many openings this time so I can expand it further.

The End

happyhugo