For The Love Of Adventure Chronicles

Chapter 3

A box of gold and a box of silver,

A box of gold and a box of silver,What more do I need?

What more do I need?Fancy rings on all my fingers

Fancy rings on all my fingersAnd forgiveness for my greed.

And forgiveness for my greed.From a popular song - c.1685

The Pride and Glory brigantine dropped her anchor in the harbor. She needed to fix the sails that were battered in a storm and to reinforce her splintered sides. The repairs were unremarkable, but the detailed orders to summon the troops for the ship’s protection were uncommon.

Pride and Glory When Gustave was ordered to join the patrolling crew, his heart leaped in his chest upon a glimpse at a locked iron strongbox in the Captain’s cabin. Was there a treasure on board? Officially, Pride and Glory carried tobacco and rum, but these commodities did not warrant an around-the-clock watch by a dozen men. The more Gustave thought about it, the more he became convinced that his prayers had been answered.

Pride and GloryHe had formed a vague plan a long time ago and he had laid his groundwork, vague enough to be independent of however the details manifested themselves. He resented bringing in an accomplice, but there was no way around it.

"Corporal Rossignol."

"M. Lieutenant de Brissot."

"At ease, Corporal. Walk with me."

The wiry, round-faced man held a reputation for his cunning, his l**t, and his greed; Gustave had watched him for a while, and he had not been disappointed by the results of his surveillance.

“You are poaching your officer"s woman,” Gustave stated.

Rossignol quickly repressed an involuntary curse. “I deny this, M. Lieutenant.”

“It is not common knowledge, Corporal. I only noticed because I think you have the potential for a promotion, but you must quit this affair and follow my orders.”

“I deserve a promotion,” the Corporal answered. “At any cost,” he added after a pause.

Gustave was relieved to hear that. “Excellent. You will be in command of night duty on the Pride and Glory, Corporal.”

Pride and Glory“A mighty storm is brewing, M. Lieutenant.”

“Your men might need special measures to calm their nerves in this weather, Corporal. I suggest you indulge them in a small amount of rum. Spice it up and make certain everyone enjoys it.”

“I have no rum, no spices, and no money, M. Lieutenant.”

Gustave glanced furtively around as he handed Rossignol the coins and a medicine bottle. He had bought an occasional sleeping draft and saved it all for such an occasion. Now he prayed that the potency had not diminished.

Hurricane season was officially over, but if the red streaks peeking through dark gray clouds and the repressing moisture in the air were any indication, a brutal storm was coming. Storms did not always care about man’s designation of their seasons. An ominous darkness descended. In another hour, the men would have finished the rum and fallen fast asleep.

Gustave paced along the shore in the increasing wind, waiting for the tenth hour to toll. When the bells faded away, he pushed off in his small boat and rowed across the choppy waves and toward the swaying brigantine. His progress was slow, and when he reached the Pride and Glory, he was soaked in sweat.

Pride and Glory, .“Corporal! Lower the ladder.”

The moon disappeared behind the clouds. The distant onshore lights barely illuminated the darkness, and he did not see the ladder until it hit him on the head. Cursing, Gustave tied up the boat and, picking up the bag, climbed on deck. “Where are the men, Corporal?”

“It has been quiet here, M. Lieutenant. I allowed them to sleep.”

“Excellent call, Corporal.” He licked his dried lips, for now came the most delicate part of the plot. “I must swear you to silence, Corporal, to carry out the secret orders I have received.”

The moon peeked from behind the clouds, shining on Rossignol’s round face. He dropped to his knees and crossed himself. “I swear by everything sacred that I will never betray the special command I shall receive today from my commanding officer.”

“We have received a tip that an English privateer ship is hiding by the cliffs just outside the harbor,” Gustave said. “Her captain is desperate enough to sail in this weather. He is aiming to steal the documents onboard. I must retrieve these documents and replace them with false ones, to trick him into false success.”

“Do you have the keys, M. Lieutenant?”

“No, Corporal. You will pick the locks.”

There was a sharp intake of air. “This will cost you.” Rossignol’s tone had lost the deference of the subordinate addressing his officer.

“It is the order, Corporal.”

“I don’t know how to pick locks.”

Thunder rolled in the distance. “Don’t lie. I have seen you doing just that. You always carry a set of iron gadgets for this purpose. Unlock the door or I will have you court-martialed.”

“You will go down with me, M. de Brissot.”

The threats had no effect on the insolent Corporal. They haggled over the price, but once agreed, Rossignol opened the door to the captain’s cabin in no time.

“Unlock the strongbox.”

Rossignol shook his head. “The deal was to open the door.”

Gustave kicked the strongbox, but his effort was useless. Rossignol would, no doubt, open the strongbox for himself if Gustave went in search of an ax. There was no time to lose; the crew might wake up sooner than he estimated.

“I will pay you a quarter more than agreed, Rossignol.”

“I want to see these false papers first.”

Gustave nearly choked on bile. The floor shifted under his feet.

“I heard rumors about what’s inside this strongbox.” Rossignol had the audacity to place his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I reckon there are no papers and no privateer ship.”

“It is your word against mine.” Gustave spat. “I outrank you, I am a nobleman, and you are scum.”

In the shifting light, his face was grotesque. “Guitaut!”

“M. Corporal!” A young and perfectly sober soldier appeared at the door.

“He does not touch rum,” Rossignol sneered. “What was your command, Lieutenant?”

Either the rolling deck or the shocked fury threw Gustave off balance. His shoulder painfully slammed into the wall. The thunder sounded closer than before. The lantern’s light flickered. He had no choice. “Open the strongbox,” he repeated.

“M. Lieutenant?” Guitaut squeaked.

“Stand back, Lieutenant.” Rossignol motioned with his hand. “Watch my back, Guitaut.” He abandoned any pretense of respect for his officer.

“M. Corporal?” the soldier squeaked again.

Rossignol set to work. Guitaut’s eyes darted between his Corporal and Gustave. His lips moved in either a prayer or a curse under his breath. A barely perceptible click indicated that the lock had been breached.

“What do we do now, de Brissot?” Rossignol asked.

“Move over.”

“No.” He reached for his pistol.

They stood facing each other, with Rossignol’s primed pistol pointed at Gustave, and Gustave holding the sword to Rossignol’s throat.

“M. Lieutenant! M. Corporal!” Guitaut gasped.

An idea struck Gustave. “Take this.” He flung the satchels to the naïve soldier. “Move the contents of the strongbox here.” Using his sword, he forced Rossignol to move away and they cautiously made way for Guitaut.

The soldier knelt on the floor and opened the strongbox with shaking hands. Lightning flashed, illuminating neat small trays stacked on top of each other, each individually wrapped in cloth.

Rossignol lowered his pistol. “Shall we divide this half and half, de Brissot?”

Gustave removed his sword. No, that was not what he intended, but now was not the time to haggle. “Didn’t you offer a share to Guitaut?”

The soldier flinched.

“Ah, yes.” Rossignol made a move toward the strongbox but changed his mind after glancing at the sword in Gustave’s hand. “See what is inside, Guitaut.”

With shaking hands, the soldier untied the bag and pulled out the tray.

Gustave had expected to behold a cascade of colorful sparkles, easily envisioning it even in the shifting semi-darkness, but the dull appearance of yellow pebbles almost caused him to collapse.

“What is that?” Rossignol snarled.

“Place them back in the bag. Leave the tray out,” Gustave rasped. He had staked his life on this enterprise, but had he been duped? Had fate played a cruel joke? But he had to see it to the end. “Check all the others.”

Guitaut revealed more dull pebbles, although these were larger in size. One rough edge caught the light, and a splash of brilliance burst out. If they were disguised diamonds, there was a fortune there to keep a man in luxury for life.

After what seemed to be an eternity, Gustave breathed a sigh of relief upon the sight of emeralds in the next bag; the green luster was unmistakable. Even if the pebbles were worthless, the emeralds alone would secure him a life of comfort … provided he did not have to share with Rossignol.

“Hand it over to me,” Gustave and the Corporal said in unison as soon as Guitaut secured the last knot and stood up.

The soldier dropped the bags and darted outside. Rossignol dove after them, affording de Brissot the opportunity to hit the renegade Corporal on the head. Pushing away the stunned body, Gustave grabbed the precious bags and stuffed them in the satchels. He stumbled out to the deck, where the rain pelted the boards, making them treacherously slippery.

The rough wind shook the ship, raising the starboard side to a steep angle. A loud banging on the hull could be the splintering of his escape boat, Gustave realized in panic. The sudden shift of the ship must have shaken the men awake; they cursed as they ran out of their cabins. Drowsy men slid and tumbled as the ship rocked back and forth. The sleeping potion had been weak, but the effect still lingered.

“Stay sharp! All to starboard! We are under attack!” Gustave shouted. He held on the railings, painstakingly creeping toward his boat. “Guitaut!”

For a terrifying moment, Gustave tensed, but the soldier man just saluted. In the darkness and the downpour, other guards struggled with their soaked pistols and lanterns.

“Can you swim?” Gustave asked.

“No, M. Lieutenant.”

“Follow me.” Gustave headed to the boat. “Climb down, take the oars, and wait for me.”

The soldier muttered a prayer but gripped the rope and made his way down. As soon as Gustave reached the boat, he cut the anchoring rope. “Row to the shore,” he ordered.

Guitaut inefficiently slapped the oars frenziedly, but the waves carried the boat in the right direction. They had almost reached the sand when lightning pierced the darkness. Amongst the white crests of the pounding waves, a man was swimming after them.

“Faster!”

A wave raised the boat high and pitched it forward. The boat overturned, mercilessly flinging them onto the sand. Disoriented, Gustave coughed up salt, and crawled further on land. His satchels were still secured across his body. He had started to rise to his feet when a figure emerged from the water. The sword in his hand was aimed at Gustave’s chest, but Rossignol stumbled and sunk down on his knees to cough out the water. Gustave poised himself for an attack, but the distant sounds of alarm stopped him. He fled, hiding under the cover of vegetation. Rossignol plunged after him, cussing and bellowing for him to stop. The leaves and branches blocked the way, and Gustave lost his footing on the slippery trail.

The rain suddenly stopped, and the moon illuminated Rossignol as he ungracefully burst forward from the bushes.

“You planned to kill me, bastard!” Gustave reached for his useless, soaked pistol.

“I didn’t, did I?” Rossignol had the impertinence to say through the labored breathing. “I changed my mind. Nobody would believe me that you stole the gems, anyway.”

The shrubbery rustled to admit the panting Guitaut.

“You cannot kill me for nothing, Lieutenant,” the Corporal sneered. “Guitaut here is an honest man. You would have to deal with both of us.”

“May the devil take you to hell.” Gustave rose to his feet. No bones were broken, but he could feel the imminent bruises. “Do you realize that someone has already raised an alarm?”

Rossignol comprehended the implications of this statement. “We need to hide the loot.”

“Yes. We shall hide it at my house.” It pained Gustave to disclose his plan, but there was no time to waste. He had to reach his house and hide the treasure before anyone could even think about searching there. “Should anything happen to me, Corporal, the land will be forfeited and sold. You may never be allowed to set a foot in it.”

“How do we account for tonight?” Rossignol asked. There was no hiding place at the barracks. He must have figured that he would wield no blackmailing power over a new landowner.

Gustave, Rossignol, and Guitaut staggered through the tall grass and prickly shrubbery before they found a semblance of a path and followed it to the unpaved road. Gustave and Rossignol walked shoulder-to-shoulder, keeping a wary eye on each other and on the skittish Guitaut in the lead. By the time they reached the house, they had concocted a plausible story.

The storm had subsided, and the night started to yield to the pre-dawn fog when Gustave opened the door and backed inside.

“There is no place to hide the treasure,” Rossignol snarled upon surveying the sparsely furnished room.

“It’s built on mud. We will dig a shallow hole under the floor planks.”

“Any simpleton will search there first.” Rossignol did not hide his contempt. “Didn’t think it through, did you?”

“Do you have a better idea, Corporal?”

“Do you have a better idea, Guitaut?” Rossignol submitted brusquely.

The soldier cleared his throat. “I … I don’t know if it’s better, but … maybe … this fireplace will do.” He swallowed heavily. “Sometimes, it’s built with a hollow space between the bricks, so maybe this one is not just solid stones, either.”

“How do you know about that?”

“I … I was a mason’s apprentice.”

“Check the tools in the box by the door,” Gustave ordered the soldier.

For once, the need for never-ending repairs in this hovel was a benefit. Yet Guitaut whined that he needed different, fancier tools, and took his sweet time to chisel out the opening.

Rossignol edged closer. “I want to see again what’s inside those bags.”

Gustave had no intention to hand the treasure to his accomplice. Under the Corporal’s intense watch, he unfastened the buckles of the satchels and extracted the bags. “All here.”

“Open and check them. I want to be certain that nothing has been switched along the route,” Rossignol demanded.

Clenching his teeth, Gustave reached for the sword.

A scraping sound from the fireplace and a muffled exclamation broke their glares.

Gustave slid the satchel on the floor toward the soldier. “Put them all in a single bag.”

The precious stones clinked faintly as they bounced off each other. The sight of their disappearance almost drove Gustave to madness. When Guitaut started to inter the treasure into the fireplace’s wall, Gustave fought back a howl at the thought that he had to abandon this fortune until the investigation burned itself out. He would probably have to suffer another year on this Godforsaken island before he could retrieve his loot, providing he could be rid of his unwelcome accomplices …

“Should we go back?” Rossignol’s grating voice brought up the immediate urgency of the current situation. “Our absence has probably been noticed by now.”

They had taken too long. The sun had already traveled high in the sky, drying the foliage, hardening the ground, and heating the damp air.

“If you don’t return, the command will hunt and hang you,” Gustave rasped. The fear of retribution had crept upon him. “You and I saw a man emerging from the cabin.” He improvised a plausible scenario. “You challenged him, he ran, you called Guitaut, and the three of us chased him inland, but lost him in the darkness.”

“You challenged him,” Rossignol stipulated. “You are the senior officer. I obeyed your command.” He picked up the empty bags and shoved them into the satchel.

Guitaut picked up a broom to sweep away his tracks from the floor. It was too obvious that they led to the fireplace’s masonry. Rossignol stepped away to allow the soldier to clean away his footprints, and so did Gustave. They reached the door and squeezed through it together, all watching one another’s hands.

They squinted at the day’s brightness. Guitaut industriously continued to sweep away the pile of dirt from the ramshackle porch. He suddenly spun around to swipe the broom through the air in a wide arc. Taking advantage of the Lieutenant’s and Corporal’s momentary crouching positions, he darted into the overgrown foliage and disappeared from view.

“Halt!” Rossignol charged after him.

Gustave had the presence of mind to lock the door before rushing after them, but he lost precious moments and thus the sight of either one. He slapped the branches and tall grass away, but they lashed back. His throat was parched from thirst, exhaustion, and fear. What if Rossignol were to circle around at his back?

Gustave stopped to listen, but the only sounds were the birds overhead and the frantic beating of his heart. Maybe he should hide in the valley until he could take the treasure, but how? What would he eat and where would he sleep? How would he reach Port-de-Paix to sail to Tortuga? No, he had to return and cope with the hell of the official investigation. He was an officer and a nobleman; his word would be weighted heavier against Rossignol’s and Guitaut’s, even though he was outnumbered. He slowly made his way to Cap-Haïtien, where the inquisition by his superiors awaited him.

howDirty, hungry, thirsty, and exhausted, he staggered into town late in the afternoon. The sergeant in his pressed cross-buttoned uniform demanded Gustave surrender his sword.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“I know nothing,” the man declared. “I am just following my orders, M. Lieutenant.”

They searched him like he was a common thief, even counting the coins in the purse he carried in his pocket. With a sense of deep regret, the sergeant returned all the money, not daring to steal it in broad daylight and in front of witnesses.

An hour later, Gustave faced the Colonel. “Have you found, in your adventures deep inland, any sea-roving pirates or their loot, Lieutenant de Brissot?” The fury in the Colonel’s voice rang with derision and menace.

Gustave could not tell if his superior were mocking him, or if Rossignol, and maybe Guitaut, had convincingly presented his tale of chasing a man inland. “No, monsieur.”

monsieur“Only the most incompetent i***t would order his second in command to abandon the troops and go on a goose chase!” the Colonel screeched. “You are dishonorably discharged!” He ranted and raged for a quarter of an hour.

Stripped of his military insignia, Gustave was escorted through the streets.

“I was discharged, not imprisoned,” he rasped to the sergeant. “I am at liberty now.”

“Not yet, monsieur. You will wait here.” The sergeant pushed him inside a dark cell.

monsieurGustave vaguely remembered collapsing after that. In the days that followed, he was asked to give testimony, and then to list an inventory of his personal belongings. They brought him his clothes, his papers, and his daily utensils. He refused to sell his useless land and he spent sleepless nights in dread that his defiance would elicit suspicion. He had learned that everyone on the watch was detained and was awaiting being shipped back to France, and he rejoiced that neither Rossignol nor Guitaut would steal his fortune.

After countless agonizing days, he was informed that the Colonel had ordered all guardsmen from the Pride and Glory to be conducted back to France under guard. Gustave was led onto the assigned ship along with the other soldiers, but there was no sight of either Rossignol or Guitaut. Gustave almost wept as the island disappeared from the horizon. It was supposed to be a moment of joy and relief, but instead Gustave felt nothing but resentment at his fate and at the unfairness of life. He had been torn away from his wealth just when he had it in his hands.

Pride and GloryDamn Rossignol. Damn Guitaut. He prayed that they had either perished in the night or were already on the way to France or, better yet, at the bottom of the sea. Gustave would come back before either one of them had a chance to lay their dirty hands on his treasure.