M. Laussat, a French colonial prefect, with a very small, mostly civilian party, reached New Orleans on March 26, 1803, to let those Creoles know they would soon become French again, and that General Victor (remember him, loafing around in Holland, waiting for a slant of wind?) would follow with a large army to secure the territory.
On November 30, 1803, the official exchange was held in the Place d'Armes before St. Louis Cathedral; cannon were fired, the flag of Spain was lowered, and the Tricolour soared aloft to the tune of " La Marseillaise "; the keys to the city of New Orleans were handed to Laussat, to the delirious joy of Louisianans.
Just twenty days later, however, on December 20, Laussat handed those same keys over to representatives of the United States, and the grand illusion was over, to Louisianans' utter consternation.
The bulk of the troops present were American; there was no Gen. Victor, no "large body of French soldiers," and the actual French contribution might have amounted to a Corporal's Guard. With so few weeks between exchanges, there certainly were some bemused Spanish troops loafing about to witness it all, waiting for a ship out.
Now, was that Captain Blanding's and Lewrie's handiwork? I'd certainly like to imagine that their taking of those ships off the Chandeleurs caused their absence. After all, that's what historical fiction is all about… ain't it?
So here's Alan Lewrie with his lifelong nemesis, that crooked Guillaume Choundas, dead as mutton, and the 1803 version of PetSmart crab food; his house and rented land sure to be lost (hey, it happens in the best of families, don't it!) and not one, but two, sons in the Royal Navy! Will Sewallis prove to be good at it, or will he come a cropper and rue his forgery and his decision? Hugh is in good hands, but will he survive and prosper?
Lewrie has had his period of grief and mourning; the demands of his frigate, his men, and the Navy are now his life, but… at some point in the future, we all know the life of a monkish widower simply can't be tolerated any longer, and it's good odds he'll kick over the traces and get back to his old troubles ashore, in his idle hours.
And what about those pestiferous Franklin-pattern stoves? Will he end up in court again? If he can't find what Mr. Pridemore did with them, will the prize-money due for the defeated French squadron get him off the hook?
All these matters, and a few more-perhaps with some naughty bits slung in for giggles… will be revealed in the forthcoming installment of the Alan Lewrie naval adventures… or mis-adventures, so please you! My editor and I have settled on the title The Invasion Year. 'Til then… enjoy!