JOHN BESSAC’S GRANDSON CLOSES THE STORY

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Abraam Storms, American revolution, Anah Bessac, Chenango County, Chenango Forks, Chenango River, Fur Trader, George Park, Greene NY, Henry Birdsall, John Bessac, Madrid, North Fenton, Priest, Privateer, Royal Guard

John Bessac’s grandson Benjamin L. Bessac gave the introduction to this story with a short note. See the bottom of the following post.

https://waldotomosky.wordpress.com/2012/04/13/the-story-of-jean-guilliame-de-besse-1760-1824/ 

It would be proper, I believe, to allow Benjamin L. Bessac speak to us from his notes of July 30, 1863, written in Albion, NY.

My grandfather had eight children, four sons and four daughters, of whom all but one survived him. His widow [Anah] died at the city of Hudson on the Eleventh day of February, 1834, aged seventy-seven years.

[One paragraph is set aside for each child. Each paragraph gives the details of each child, their spouses and their children.]

It only remains for me to add a few personal recollections of one of the noblest men I have ever known. I first saw him in the spring of 1816 at my father’s house in Tioga County. He was then in his fifty-eighth year, about five feet ten inches high, straight as an arrow, and perfect in form and features; his face was bronzed by exposure, but his eye was as keen as the eagle’s, and his chestnut hair, without a stripe of grey, hung in curls about his neck. His movements were light and rapid, and his language as polished as that of an officer of the reign of Louis the Grand. He was as courteously polite to the pauper, who begged his bread by the wayside, as he would have been to the proudest monarch on earth. He was a man of unusual physical power, and was endowed with a constitution of iron. It was my good fortune to go with him to his home on the Chenango River, where I remained for some months, following him about on his daily walks about the farm and listening to his instructive and most entertaining conversation. In the cool evenings of that cold summer, when the rambles of the day were over, it was a pleasure never to be forgotten to sit near him by the cheerful fire and listen to the reminiscences of his eventful life – – – a life that had been passed in France, Spain and America, upon the sea and the land, and covering the overthrow of the Bourbon Dynasty, the crash of the French Revolution, the rise and fall of the great Napoleon, and the glorious uprising of this great and, then, happy and prosperous nation; “all of which he saw and part of which he was.” He told me of Louis the Sixteenth, and the good Lafayette, of Rochambeau, and Washington, of Kosciuszko and Pulaski, of the sunny slopes and smiling valleys of his beloved France; of his mother in that beautiful land, who he reverenced almost to idolatry; of Spain, the land of rugged mountains and sparking rivers, immortalized by the song of the Troubadour, and of his wanderings and romantic life and adventures. So the evenings would glide away until the small hours of the night, when he would rise from his chair, and with courteous obeisance, retire. I saw him again in the fall of 1817, a few weeks only, and then for the last time on earth. The disease of which he died had begun its fatal work upon his iron frame; his step was less elastic, his face appeared care-worn and tinged with a shade of sadness entirely unusual. I was about returning to the eastern part of the State to commence my education, and he walked from his house with me to the river and ferried me across. We went up the bank together, and then he gave me his blessing and turned away. May God so direct my footsteps on earth that I shall meet him in the realm above the stars, where the weary are at rest.

When I first became acquainted with Grandfather I noticed a small purple spot or pimple on his chin; when I saw him last it was so much enlarged that in shaving himself he cut around it. This incipient cancer continued to increase in size and virulence until the early spring of the year 1824, when on the 25^th day of March he was gathered to his fathers. So passed away from earth JEAN GUILLIAUME BESSAC, the novitiate of the French Catholic Church, the wanderer over the Pyrenees, the member of the life guard to the King of Spain, the soldier of the American Revolution, and aid-de-camp of Count Rochambeau; an affectionate son, brother and father; a wise and faithful counselor and friend. May all of his descendants strive to imitate those virtues which have rendered his memory so fragrant.

[Another page is used to describe encounters with people who knew of John Bessac or his family in France.]

There is nothing I could add to the story of John Bessac. So I close out these posts with a few relevant items that may serve as a summary of this story; in chronological order starting with John Bessacs parents and siblings.

JOHN BESSAC VISITS MOROCCO

 

JOHN BESSAC THE RUNAWAY PRIEST

 

JOHN BESSAC LEAVES A TEARFUL MOTHER

 

JOHN BESSAC PASSES GERONA ON HIS WAY TO MADRID

 

JOHN BESSAC’S FIRST LOVE

 

THE KNIFE FIGHT

 

JOHN BESSAC OFFERS HIS RESIGNATION FROM THE ROYAL GUARD

 

 

JOHN BESSAC SEARCHES FOR HIS BROTHER’S SHIP

 

JOHN BESSAC BECOMES A PRIVATEER

 

JOHN BESSAC INVOLVED IN AMERICAN REVOLUTION

 

JOHN BESSAC THE FUR TRADER

 

 

JOHN BESSAC ON THE MOVE (Again)

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American ships, Bay of Biscay, Bordeaux, Burgos, Cantabrian Mountains, French ships, Madrid, Philadelphia, San Juan, Santandar, St. Andero, Valladolid

John Bessac’s commitment of one year in the service of the Spanish Royal Guard had been completed. He accepted his mustering-out pay and purchased a few new clothes.

Since the episode of the knife fight John had received two letters from his old friend Barte and one from his brother Baptiste. Barte’s letters were letters of friendship, as were Baptiste’s. However, Baptiste’s letters were also about business. He informed John that he had made contacts in Philadelphia and would be travelling there that summer. John’s hopes of joining him were high.

Without looking back, except for his lost love, he departed Madrid without so much as one regret.

A clumsy and tumble-down coach took him to Valladolid.

He had two other passengers to contend with. One was so silent that John kept checking to see if he had passed on from this earth. The other was quite opposite. Before the trip was completed John knew about the talkative passenger’s family, his business acumen, his inheritance and a few of his mistresses. It finally dawned on John why the other passenger was so silent; he had heard it all before.

The ninety mile coach trip from Madrid to Valladolid was not without constant chatter. The silent and almost dead passenger came to life. It was from him that John heard about a treaty between the United States and France which was signed in Paris. The Bay of Biscay, where he was headed for in order to meet his brother Baptiste, was overrun with British vessels. The British were taking prizes; the contents of all American and French ships that they fell their way.

John knew that he would have to take the shortest route from Valladolid to the Bay of Biscay. There was no carriage road on that route. John decided take carts from Valladolid to Burgos and finally to San Juan. After that it was over the mountains to St. Andero; also called Santander.

The Cantabrian Mountains were scenic but only offered transportation by mule. John was offered a mule and an armed guide. Feeling confident John declined the service and departed on foot.

With his leather sack, the one that originally held a bible and a few silver coins from his mother, he departed San Juan. The path was used by mules and pedestrians. John was able to ford several small streams but eventually came to a very deep one with a bridge crossing. He was about half way across when he met a burly man on a mule coming from the other direction. John was about to pass when the man turned his mule sideways so as not to let John pass. After a few impertinent remarks by the man John had quite enough. John grabbed the mule by the reins in order to make enough room to get by. The mule lost his footing and both the beast and the man ended up in the stream. John watched for a few seconds to ensure that both were uninjured and then went on his way toward St. Andero.

John was fatigued when he reached St. Andero. All he had eaten since leaving San Juan were a few figs. He found a place to eat and rest.

His next task was to find a ship on which he could take passage to Bordeaux.

JOHN BESSAC THE CONFLICTED

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John Bessac, Madrid, Sleepless, Sleepless in Madrid

John Bessac had a sleepless night following the near-mortal confrontation with his subordinate.

It was a devastating occurrence to John, who had never before threatened the life of a man. All the scenes from his past played in front of him. The picture of his beloved mother with tears streaming down her face, his father’s anguish in having to face the community and the church, and his uncle who had been so patient to ensure he learned his language lessons well, the same uncle who had treated him to the journey of Morocco and the northern side of Africa, and his own disobedience of the church.

John’s past created a mental conflict that he had been avoiding. The picture of him with bayonet in hand, pointed at a subordinates throat, was the catalyst that brought everything back. Yes, – – – – – indeed it was a sleepless night for John Bessac.

Over and over his thoughts were a mixture of what he had done to his parents when he so suddenly departed Montvalant, the teachings of the church which his mother had implored him to follow and what he may have done with that bayonet; the most unforgivable sin.

He wept like a child and murmured to himself over and over again;

“Je me leverai”

     [I will get up]

“Et je men irai vers mon père”

     [And I will go towards my father]

“Et je lui dirai”

     [And I will say to him]

“Mon père j’ai péché contre le ciel et devant toi”

     [My father, I have sinned against heaven and in front of you]  

“Et je ne suis plus digne d’etre est appelé ton fils”          

     [And I no longer am worthy of being called your son.”

John no longer knew if he was the prodigal son of his father or of his God. He was confused and bitterly disappointed in what he thought he had become in Madrid.

He wondered if he was worthy of his father, worthy of his church, worthy of being a Royal Guardsman and most of all worthy of himself. His guilt, past and present, twisted his mind into thoughts he never knew were present within himself.

John Bessac would not allow himself to think about his lost love, the prettiest senorita in Madrid. It never dawned on him that his conflict with the subordinate may have been displaced anxiety over this loss. Was it possible that the crude insults of the subordinate against an innocent girl were, in John Bessac’s mind, insults against his first love? We will never know because John Bessac could not allow himself to enter into those painful thoughts.

At an early hour in the morning, too early to be knocking on anyone’s door, John Bessac was at the quarters of his superior; the sub-commandante` of the Royal Guards. The man, luckily for John, was a gentleman of the first degree, a noble and generous Frenchman.

John related what had happened between him and the subordinate the previous evening. His guilt had led him to make a confession to anyone who would listen. John begged the sub-commandante` to deem whether those actions were worthy beyond reproach. If not, John would submit his resignation from the Royal Guard and receive an honorable discharge.

The sub-commandante`, a colonel, laughed in a gracious way and without a hint of reproach in his tone. “If I had to discharge every soldier with similar offenses I would have none remaining in my command.”

The colonel sent John on his way with a promise. If John requested a discharge, when his committed year was up, then the colonel would sign it and allow him to leave the guard.

John finished his commitment.

JOHN BESSAC PROTECTS A SENORITA’S HONOR

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Honor, John Bessac, Knife fight, Madrid, Pride, Spanish Royal Guard

John Bessac’s world had been turned upside down. His first love had unexpectedly left this earth. John fell into a deep dark fog and could not seem to emerge.

He sought relief from this anguish in the noise and bustle of Madrid. The metropolis was buzzing with life and fun.

It was at an evening social that he met up with several of his close friends from the Royal Guards. Untamed language and laughter flowed like the wine they were drinking. A young subordinate, apparently who had lost control of his better judgment, spoke quite disrespectfully of a female acquaintance of John Bessac.

John, still deep in sorrow from the recent loss of his love, took the insult personally and possibly even as an insult against that first love.

These words of the subordinate, against a female friend of John’s, would forever be repeated if John allowed them to stand.

John, therefore, and in a mild way, determinedly defended the senorita who had been spoken against. The subordinate vocally pushed back at John. Words were flying faster than the brains that originated them. The party broke up in mayhem. Those who understood the situation thought that in the morning wiser minds would view the episode as the result of too much wine; it would soon be forgotten.

John was on the way home with close friends when two figures emerged from the darkness. It was the obviously insulted subordinate and a companion. The subordinate immediately insulted John Bessac with the intention of recouping his own honor. John would have none of it. The subordinate called upon John to defend himself, and with that withdrew his sword.

John Bessac had only his bayonet to defend himself. Several blade passes were made at each other. The inexperienced but defiant subordinate soon suffered a wound and was prone on his back, minus his weapon and with John’s bayonet pointed directly at his throat. John, feeling the his new power, demanded that the subordinate recant his words against the disrespected senorita.

The subordinate spoke a few obligatory words of apology. John sensed the falseness in the young man’s words and demanded an abject and sincere apology. All the while John’s bayonet drew closer and more threateningly. The subordinate finally gave a deep apology in a submissive manner. The matter had been settled between the two.

However, the event had left John wondering about himself and what he was capable of.

John parted company with his friends and was involved in self-introspection for the remainder of the way to his quarters.

John Bessac had bullied another human. He had violated his own ethics.

JOHN BESSAC’S FIRST LOVE

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Charles III King of Spain, death, Don Ramon de M., Duke of Parma, John Bessac, La Granja de San Ildefonso, Madrid, Segovia, Sierra de Guadarrama, Spanish Royal Guard, St. Ildefonso Palace, Young love

John Bessac had arrived in Madrid penniless and friendless.

As luck would have it there was a group of young Frenchmen in Madrid. It was not John’s wish to lean on friends for assistance. However, after a few weeks of living on next to nothing John was becoming desperate. His outgoing personality allowed him to make friends quite quickly. Among those young Frenchmen were some on the king’s personal guard. The Spanish royal family preferred the French for that security force.

John allowed his new friends to know he was looking for work. The word was passed around. John was made aware of an opening on the royal security force. John’s friends were the sons of French Courtiers. The Royal Guard, likewise, was made up of the same group of select people. John eventually found work as a member of the Royal Guard.

Guarding Charles III, King of Spain, Naples and Sicily, Duke of Parma, was a plum occupation.

Charles III, King of Spain, Naples and Sicily, Duke of Parma

Also guarding the king was Don Ramon de M.

What the “M.” stood for we are not told.

Don Ramon was not a guard of his king but rather a guard of Charles III’s health as well as the royal family’s health.

Don Ramon was the royal physician and he had a beautiful daughter who caught John Bessac’s eye.

John Bessac was either fortunate enough, or forward enough, to make her acquaintance. They formed a friendship and spent many leisure hours together.

It was summer time and the royal family made their annual move . It was a short trip only thirty-five miles north to nearby Segovia. There, at the foot of the forested northern slopes of the Sierra de Guadarrama, was a magnificent summer palace; La Granja de San Ildefonso.

The young girl’s father had been assigned to accompany the family there. John’s Royal Guard duties, likewise, also called him there. It was not coincidence that they would spend summer months together.

The palace gardens were a perfect setting for the two young people to discover each other’s mutual interests. There were antique statues and busts to make comment on. A particular relief allowed them to discuss the story it told. St. Ildefonso Palace was adorned with much artwork to be admired.

The young friendship started with the purest principles of esteem and mutual regard. The bud of romance appeared and John found himself growing closer and closer to the young girl.

His anticipation was dashed. She suddenly died from a fatal fever. The summer flower never fully bloomed for John. The joy went out of his world.

Madrid had now lost its principal attraction for him. Darkness and brooding overcame John Bessac.

JOHN BESSAC CROSSES THE PYRENEES MOUNTAINS

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Abd ar-Rahman III, Alicante, Alicante Wine, America, American Army, Arabs, Badalona, Barcelona, Blanes, Cadiz, Coll de Panissars, France, Gerona, Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus, John Bessac, Jonquera, Madrid, Mataro, Mediterranean, Minstrel, Perpignon, Philadelphia, Pompey the Great, Pryrenees, Roman Roads, Romans, Spain, Tortosa, Toulouse, Via Augusta, Via Domitia, Vidreres

John had been sitting in the city of Toulouse, France, knowing that he had to make a decision about where to settle. But Madrid? Why Madrid? Cadiz had no calling for him since his brother Ruffus died. But why did John choose Madrid? It had to be his adventuresome spirit. Young men tend to think romantically about far places as well as beautiful women. So Madrid it would be.

John’s first leg would be from Toulouse to Perpignon. He would still be in France; however, he would be on the cusp of the Pyrenees Mountains. Perpignon would allow him to gather whatever information he may need to help him cross the mountains.

It was an eighty mile trek from Toulouse to Perpignon. Being excited about his next great adventure he made the trip in three days. John had overestimated his endurance. He required rest. He found some solitude on the banks of the river. There was thick brush near the bridge that would shield him from the sun and the prying eyes of the church.  That is where he spent the fourth day. Many others were also there resting their tired feet and doing their best to get out of the November sun. The nights were cold but by nine in the morning the heat was well on its way.

It was there that he met a minstrel of sorts. They agreed to become traveling companions while they crossed the Pyrenees. A plan was made between them. They would enter Spain at Jonquera. The die was cast and they set their course forward.

Their path through the Pyrenees was only six miles from the Mediterranean Sea. John could smell the mountain shrubs and the salt air simultaneously. He had never experienced an aroma like this before. His senses were aroused and his romantic thoughts of wanderlust almost undid him. He considered staying there. His new companion, the minstrel, convinced him that they needed to keep moving.

There were no inns across the mountains and a person needed to be “established” in order to set roots in the villages. They met many local people along their way through the Pyrenees. It was not that the people were terse or rude. In fact they went out of their way to offer the two travelers shelter. The mountain people shared their black bread and onions with them.

After a twenty mile trek they finally reached Jonquera.

John Bessac’s romanticism once again took control as he viewed the castle in the mountains. It rested above Jonquera with a commanding presence. A Roman road, the Via Augusta , which ran from Cádiz to the Pyrénées , also captured John Bessac’s imagination. There, at Jonquera, it joined the Via Domitia at the Coll de Panissars. The people informed John that this was an alter built by Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus; Pompey the Great. John Bessac was carried away with the history of La Jonquera.

Once John came to his senses he realized that it was a long eighty miles to Barcelona and another three hundred miles to his goal of Madrid. The next day he and his companion were once more on the pathway to their final destination.

Some of the trip was through the countryside of Gerona and Vidreres which reminded him of his home country. The trip was, at times, more enjoyable once he reached Blanes, Mataro and then Badalona. Along that route he could see the Mediterranean and it took his mind off of his feet.

The eighty mile walk from Jonquera along the coast to Barcelona was completed in four days.

John’s minstrel friend decided to stay in Barcelona. There were many people there and several venues in which he could ply his craft. John travelled alone for the remaining one hundred miles to Tortosa.

Another castle and more romantic notions held John’s attention as he spoke to the people of Tortosa.

John heard stories of Roman conquest and the start of this castle. The Arabs under the second caliphate of  Abd ar-Rahman III added to it. John was mesmerized by the view of the castle above the Ebro River.

John still had another two hundred miles after leaving Tortosa.  The trip gave him plenty of time to think. He had thoughts about eventually getting to Philadelphia to become an agent for a business. His brothers had recently become involved with establishing contacts in America.

Or possibly, if that did not work out, he would join the American army. John carefully weighed several different plans. His trip was not all planning. He had plenty of time to enjoy himself.

Once he slept in a cottage and another time in the open air under a wide spread chestnut tree.

He remembered one evening staying with a priest and three lay brothers. That evening he enjoyed roasted chestnuts followed up with a few servings of Alicant wine.

Most of the trip was on foot.

Once in a while, rain – – – sun – – – or fog, he would hitch a ride on a rickety mule-hauled cart.

He never knew if he would be sitting next to a keg of olive oil – – – or at other times sacks of figs. There were a few times when a cart was loaded with honey or bee’s wax. Then he would have to keep swatting at bees that were drawn to the load.

John arrived in Madrid without a coin in his pocket.

JOHN BESSAC’S FOOTPATH TO FREEDOM

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Agen, Beaumont, Cadiz, Catholic Church, France, Gendarme, Madrid, Montvalant, Shylock, St. Martin's Day, Toulouse

John Bessac walked speedily along the highways all that evening. He made considerable distance. However, as daylight appeared he knew that his father, his uncle and the Holy Roman Catholic Church would be searching for him. Agen was his immediate destination.

He kept up his pace so that he could put more distance between himself and Montvalant. To be safe he departed the highway and walked the fields and solitary footpaths. He wished to see the city of Agen soon; and then Beaumont and Toulouse.

John’s forty mile trip from Montvalent to Agen was without incident. On the second morning he decided to rest after being two days without sleep. He found a comfortable place near a stack of hay and drifted off for a well-deserved rest.

Something brought him out of his deep sleep. Even with his eyes closed he felt a presence of some sort. Slowly opening his eyes he found himself looking at the well-shined boots of a state gendarme. A conversation about John ensued.

After some convincing, the policeman was satisfied that John was on a trip to visit friends. He pointed out to John that a storm was in the air and that he should find a more secure place to rest. John, in his deep sleep, had not noticed the change in the temperature, wind and clouds. He remained a little foggy from his recent awakening and attempted to determine what day it was.

“November 13^th or 14^th; a few days after St. Martin’s Day” he said out loud.

“Pardon me?” responded the policeman.

“Nothing, nothing at all” lied John. “Just forgot the actual date.”

The policeman looked askance at John, excused himself, and departed.

John felt rested up enough to continue his journey towards Toulouse. He was somewhat conflicted as to whether to find shelter or move on. He decided to put more distance between himself and the dreaded plans that the church had for him.

The next sixty miles to Toulouse were windy and cold. John was thankful that it did not rain. He had not thought about a canvas wrap to keep the wetness from soaking him. There was a heavy fall mist coming from the Atlantic side of France but it was not enough to dampen him through.

It took three more days of walking for John to reach Toulouse. He found a reasonable priced boarding room and started making plans. His first task was to write his good friend Barte. Barte’s return letter contained advice and a gift. The advice was for John to head for Cadiz where John had established friends. Barte suggested that John may be able to find a job in the hospital where he had once worked. John did not wish to relive the memories of his brother dying in Cadiz.

The gift was a note that John could cash. It was a second party check drawn on a merchant from Bordeaux. The only person that John could find to cash it was a shylock who extracted an ungodly sum “due to the risk.”

Being desperate, John took the partial amount.

A month had passed while he stayed in Toulouse.

John then departed for Madrid.