The governor and admiral appeared beside the group, and Admiral Normand put a hand on Wake’s arm. “Ladies, ladies, I could not help overhearing. Our handsome American guests have had a very long day and must return to their ship.” He held up a finger. “Let us allow them to do so and return tomorrow with even more energy for the New Year’s Eve gala at St. Pierre. Lieutenant Wake, would you be so kind as to grant our request? You will enjoy the ride across the island and will be absolutely enchanted by St. Pierre. It is known as the Paris of the West Indies, as you may have heard, and its New Year’s Eve gala is famous throughout the French world.”
Before Wake could reply, His Excellency, Simon Graisse, governor of the French West Indies, made his own plea. “Lieutenant, I ask you in the name of the French Republic and in the name of our ancestor who forged the bond between our two nations so long ago, the Marquis de Lafayette—please attend the gala in St. Pierre. And bring two of your magnificent officers also.”
Seven people now leaned forward, waiting for his reply, the most eager of whom were Laporte and Grimsrud. Wake saw others around the room were also watching. He thought of all the routine work that needed to be attended to aboard Omaha, but then the vision of St. Pierre along the coast came to mind. Taking a deep breath he turned to the governor. “Your Excellency, how can I say anything other than a very humble ‘yes.’ I must confess something, sir. We have been absolutely captivated by the charms of your hospitality and, most especially, by the beauty of your ladies.”
7
Enchanté à St. Pierre
They stayed at the Hotel République, welcomed in grand fashion by the entire staff, who lined up in front. The hotel was the town’s finest and overlooked the Caribbean on Rue Petite Versailles in the heart of St. Pierre. The first reception of the evening would be held in two hours, and anticipation was in the air as workers put together the last-minute touches.
Aboard the ship early that morning, Wake picked Second Engineer Les Partington and Ensign Ed Davies to accompany him to St. Pierre, the explanation being that he wanted as many of the Omaha’s officers as possible to sample French hospitality while the ships were visiting Martinique. Besides, he admitted to himself, he was more than a little apprehensive about bringing Laporte and Grimsrud along on an overnight excursion after their obvious social success with the ladies of Fort de France.
Wake was tired but content after an amazing all-day ride through the mountains of the interior. Sights unlike any he had seen before were indelibly imprinted in his mind. Martinique was a tropical paradise and the American naval officers spent most of the ride wide-eyed, commenting on the exotic beauty of the scenery. Fortunately, their transport was a newly imported carriage with good suspension, unlike the old one used at Antigua, so the trip was not nearly as physically stressful. Though it took all day, it seemed as if it had only lasted a few hours.
Each curve of the road through the interior of the island had provided a vista that outdid its predecessor. Silvery waterfalls, verdant jungle, quaint pink villages, ragged three-thousand-foot peaks, and colorfully clothed people of every shade of skin, from pasty white to the darkest blue-black, were seen along the way. Wake’s senses were overwhelmed. Music heard while passing through villages ranged from ominous African to elegant French, the pastries they had for lunch at a plantation house were delicately exquisite, and the language was a wonderful jumble of patois from three continents. Even the air was a mixture of powerful scents, from flowers to bakeries to fetid earth.
As they passed through the villages of Balata, Absalon, and Fond St. Denis, the Americans heard stories from the driver of bravery and treachery among the island’s various inhabitants over the centuries, and marveled at how those hearty souls managed not only to survive, but to keep their French culture alive and thriving. They also heard tales of the most dreaded animal threat of the island, a blackish-brown snake called the fer de lance, that lived in the humid tropical forest, could kill with a single bite, and claimed several unwary human victims each year. Wake had a terror of snakes and his imagination started seeing them at every turn.
When the carriage had rounded the top of Morne des Cadets in the mid-afternoon after a steep two-thousand-foot climb, the travelers were treated to the breathtaking sight of Montagne Pelée, its base covering the entire northern horizon and its ridges reaching up beyond the clouds. Descending through cool mists to the valley of the Riviére Roxelane, they followed the south bank to the coast, emerging at St. Pierre as the sun lowered over the sparkling Caribbean, turning the sea from dark blue to shimmering gold.
***
“Sir, it is my honor to introduce to you my daughter, Audrey,” announced the Hotel République’s proprietor, Raoul Jason, with pride when Wake arrived in the bar after dark to meet the others before heading to the first reception. Partington and Davies looked decidedly uncomfortable in their full-dress uniforms—young Davies had to borrow half of his from other officers—and they stayed in the background as Wake took the social lead and spoke with Jason’s daughter as the guests moved into the salon.
In modest light blue dress, twenty-year-old Audrey was one of the most beautiful girls Wake had ever seen—the blood of her French father and Creole mother combining to create a lithe young woman with creamy milk-chocolate skin, long shiny black hair, and perfectly
