The sedan chair swayed past, a white handkerchief fluttering at the window. A moment later Nathaniel climbed in with us, somewhat too unconcerned and matter-of-fact; and with him came the heavy odor of violets. Mr. Leonard tapped his stick against the front of the chaise, the driver cracked his whip smartly, and we lurched toward Westminster Bridge and the Dover road.

… Three days later, in the harbor of Boulogne, we boarded the privately owned ship-rigged sloop-of-war Beau Soleil—a fast vessel with a great cabin equipped to house six passengers in separate berths—though the word “great” could be applied to it only as a sort of French politeness.

Already there were two Frenchmen aboard, Captain Gallette and Captain La Flamme, bound for America to obtain the highest possible rank under the gentleman they called Vasington. They had taken the best berths for themselves, so that we tucked ourselves in where we could.

That evening a third Frenchman unexpectedly arrived—a colonel, a most courteous and highly bred gentleman. Distinction and affability seemed clearly stamped all over him; and we were nearly a week, such was his surface polish, in seeing the meannesses and arrogance and selfishness that lay beneath that cultured exterior. He had enough names and titles to equip the officers of an entire regiment, some of them being Chevalier Mathieu Alexis Roche-Fermoy. He had three swords and a whole trunkful of uniforms; and the best berth, of course, was conceded to be his, as by an act of God. Consequently there was no berth for Captain La Flamme save the poorest of all, which, we were at once made aware, was galling to the pride of a French gentleman. In fact, he said openly that Nathaniel and I, being Americans, were without birth or breeding or military ability, and so entitled to no precedence whatever. He wished, in short, to have one of our berths.

When we did not see fit to accede to his demands, he took it for granted that we could not be so ill-bred as to take offense at the remarks he had made about us. He turned polite and amiable again, so that we found it impossible not to be friendly with him; and in no time at all we were joining him in a glass of wine and helping him write a letter to Congress—a letter in which he spoke highly of himself and demanded the rank of brigadier general in the American army.

We found all these Frenchmen pleasant to be with, though it seemed to me they spent a large part of their time in speaking of their honor and breeding, and at the same time boasting of their amours and planning how to take advantage of somebody—preferably an American.