BOOK THREE
CHAPTER XXIV
IN FRANCE WITH FRANKLIN
Jack shipped in the packet Mercury, of seventy tons, under CaptainSimeon Sampson, one of America's ablest naval commanders. She had beenbuilt for rapid sailing and when, the second day out, they saw aBritish frigate bearing down upon her they wore ship and easily ranaway from their enemy. Their first landing was at St. Martin on theIsle de Rhe. They crossed the island on mules, being greeted with thecry:
"_Voila les braves Bostones_!"
In France the word _Bostone_ meant American revolutionist. At theferry they embarked on a long gabbone for La Rochelle. There the youngman enjoyed his first repose on a French _lit_ built up of sundrylayers of feather beds. He declares in his diary that he felt the needof a ladder to reach its snowy summit of white linen. He writes awhole page on the sense of comfort and the dreamless and refreshingsleep which he had found in that bed. The like of it he had not knownsince he had been a fighting man.
In the morning he set out in a heavy vehicle of two wheels, drawn bythree horses. Its postillion in frizzed and powdered hair, under acocked hat, with a long queue on his back and in great boots, hoopedwith iron, rode a lively little _bidet_. Such was the Frenchstagecoach of those days, its running gear having been planned with aneye to economy, since vehicles were taxed according to the number oftheir wheels. The diary informs one that when the traveler stopped forfood at an inn, he was expected to furnish his own knife. The highwayswere patrolled, night and day, by armed horsemen and robberies wereunknown. The vineyards were not walled or fenced. All travelers had alicense to help themselves to as much fruit as they might wish to eatwhen it was on the vines.
They arrived at Chantenay on a cold rainy evening. They were settledin their rooms, happy that they had protection from the weather, whentheir landlord went from room to room informing them that they wouldhave to move on.
"Why?" Jack ventured to inquire.
"Because a _seigneur_ has arrived."
"A _seigneur_!" Jack exclaimed.
"_Oui_, Monsieur. He is a very great man."
"But suppose we refuse to go," said Jack.
"Then, Monsieur, I shall detain your horses. It is a law of _le grandmonarque_."
There was no dodging it. The coach and horses came back to the inndoor. The passengers went out into the dark, rainy night to plod alongin the mud, another six miles or so, that the seigneur and his suitecould enjoy that comfort the weary travelers had been forced to leave.Such was the power of privilege with which the great Louis had saddledhis kingdom.
They proceeded to Ancenis, Angers and Breux. From the latter city theroad to Versailles was paved with flat blocks of stone. There wereswarms of beggars in every village and city crying out, with handsextended, as the coach passed them:
"_La charite, au nom de Dieu_!"
"France is in no healthy condition when this is possible," the youngman wrote.
If he met a priest carrying a Bon Dieu in a silver vase every onecalled out, "_Aux genoux_!" and then the beholder had to kneel, even ifthe mud were ankle deep. So on a wet day one's knees were apt to be asmuddy as his feet.
The last stage from Versailles to Paris was called the post royale.There the postillion had to be dressed like a gentleman. It was amagnificent avenue, crowded every afternoon by the wealth and beauty ofthe kingdom, in gorgeously painted coaches, and lighted at night bygreat lamps, with double reflectors, over its center. They came uponit in the morning on their way to the capital. There were few peopletraveling at that hour. Suddenly ahead they saw a cloud of dust. Thestage stopped. On came a band of horsemen riding at a wild gallop.They were the King's couriers.
"Clear the way," they shouted. "The King's hunt is coming."
All travelers, hearing this command, made quickly for the sidings,there to draw rein and dismount. The deer came in sight, running forits life, the King close behind with all his train, the hounds in fullcry. Near Jack the deer bounded over a hedge and took a new direction.His Majesty--a short, stout man with blue eyes and aquiline nose,wearing a lace cocked hat and brown velvet coatee and high boots withspurs--dismounted not twenty feet from the stage-coach, saying withgreat animation:
"_Vite! Donnez moi un cheval frais_."
Instantly remounting, he bounded over the hedge, followed by his train.