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author: www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> 2026-06-06 13:47:19 -0700
committer: www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> 2026-06-06 13:47:19 -0700
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+
+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78822 ***</div>
+
+<main>
+
+<div style="margin: auto; max-width: 25em;">
+
+<p class="noindent larger">BLACK IVORY&nbsp;<img class="inline" src="images/line1.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"></p>
+
+<p><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">Polan Banks</span></p>
+
+<figure class="figright illowp89" style="max-width: 15.625em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/halftitle.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation">
+</figure>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter ad">
+
+<h1>Black Ivory</h1>
+
+<div class="ad-middle">
+
+<div class="bb">
+
+<p class="center">By POLAN BANKS</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp75" style="max-width: 12.5em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/titlepage.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation">
+</figure>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="center">A. L. BURT COMPANY<br>
+Publishers <span class="spacer">New York</span></p>
+
+<p class="center smaller">Published by arrangement with Harper &amp; Brothers<br>
+Printed in U. S. A.</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p class="center">BLACK IVORY <i>by</i> POLAN BANKS</p>
+
+<p class="center smaller">COPYRIGHT, 1926, BY<br>
+HARPER &amp; BROTHERS<br>
+PRINTED IN U. S. A.</p>
+
+<p class="center smaller">First Printing January 1926<br>
+Second Printing February 1926<br>
+Third Printing February 1926<br>
+Fourth Printing March 1926</p>
+
+<p class="center smaller">C-A</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p class="dedication"><span class="allsmcap">TO MY MOTHER</span><br>
+<i>JEANNE ISABEL BANKS</i><br>
+<span class="allsmcap">SWEETEST DAUGHTER<br>
+OF THE HOUSE<br>
+OF</span><br>
+<i>Abravanel de Polan</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="PREFATORY_GESTURE">PREFATORY GESTURE</h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>As a background for an American historical romance
+Louisiana between 1810 and 1816 appears a very apt
+selection, and New Orleans about the time of the
+English invasion a judiciously chosen stage. Even
+more happy seems the choice, for a hero and protagonist,
+of Jean Lafitte, smuggler and slave-trader, also
+strongly suspected of piracy and near-piracy at not
+infrequent intervals through a considerable period of
+time, but not certainly any sort of rascal, and indubitably
+very much of a gentleman; popular, admired, even
+beloved. <i>Black Ivory</i> is a felicitous title.</p>
+
+<p>An historical romance is likely to interest its readers
+in proportion to the enthusiasm of its author for his
+plot, his characters, and their environment. (What
+measure of success my El Supremo has had has been
+due largely to the completeness with which I was carried
+away by what I had read in the writings of the
+Robertsons and others concerning Paraguay and
+Francia.) In any historical romance the blaze of the
+author’s delight in his material is what kindles the
+glow of enjoyment in his readers.</p>
+
+<p>Considering what I know of the author of <i>Black
+Ivory</i>, of his absorption in his work, of his flair for
+what is worth writing about, of his plot and characters,
+I forecast that readers of <i>Black Ivory</i> will find themselves
+interested, entertained, and rewarded.</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Edward Lucas White.</span></p>
+
+<p><i>January 16, 1926.</i></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/line1.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation">
+</figure>
+
+<table>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="book"><i>Prologue</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_1"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the First</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>Wherein Lizette Fondac Makes a Great Sacrifice and One Jean
+    Lafitte Makes a Momentous Decision</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_2"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Second</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>How a Gentleman Pirate Catches a Tartar, and the Personage in
+    the Moon Is Proven to Be a Woman</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_3"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Third</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>In Which the Black Fox Encounters an Old Acquaintance</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="book"><i>Book One</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_4"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Fourth</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>Wherein a Gentleman Blacksmith Arrives upon the Scene</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_5"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Fifth</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>How Jean Lafitte Tells of His Ambition and Incidentally Makes
+    a Change in Residence</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_6"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Sixth</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>In Which Grambo, the Quadroon, Is Indiscreet, and Suffers
+    Thereby</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_7"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Seventh</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>Wherein Our Pirate Meets a Lady, and One Virginia Grymes Hears
+    a Strange Tale</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_8"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Eighth</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>How His Excellency, the Governor, Issues a Proclamation</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_9"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Ninth</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>In Which His Excellency Proposes; the Legislature Disposes:
+    and Pierre Dominique Becomes the Guest of the State</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_10"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Tenth</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>Wherein Twenty Thousand Dollars Appears upon the Scene</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_11"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Eleventh</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>How a District Attorney Receives an Insult, and Monsieur de
+    Moulin Tweaks the Nose of an American</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_12"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Twelfth</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>In Which Is Related an Account of the Duel at Slaughterhouse
+    Point, and How Virginia Flirts with Profit</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_13"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Thirteenth</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>Wherein Mr. Livingston Receives an Invitation, and Mr. Grymes
+    Pays a Social Call on a Pirate</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="book"><i>Book Two</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_14"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Fourteenth</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>How Virginia Comes to Bordeaux Manor, and One Manuel Espinosa
+    Takes What He Wants</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_15"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Fifteenth</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>In Which Virginia Hears the Toast of “Vive Le Bosse!”</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_16"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Sixteenth</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>Wherein Is Encountered a Man—a Maid—and a Moon</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_17"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Seventeenth</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>How De Moulin Comes to Flirt at the Quadroon Ball, but Remains
+    to Fight</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_18"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Eighteenth</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>In Which Jean Lafitte Is Sorely Tempted, and, Incidentally,
+    Sees a Vision</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_19"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Nineteenth</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>Wherein Laurent Mercier Beards the Lion, and His Excellency
+    Calls a Council</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_20"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Twentieth</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>How a Friend Arrives at Grande Terre, Who Proves to Be an
+    Enemy</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_21"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Twenty-first</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>In Which “The Hellish Bandit” Makes an Offer, and “Old Hickory”
+    Makes an Answer</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_22"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Twenty-second</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>Wherein the Pirate-Patriots Attain Glory, and Two of Their
+    Number Seek Death</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_23"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Twenty-third</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>How One Lafitte Repeats a Prayer, and Another Enters the
+    Valley of the Shadow</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="chapter"><a href="#Chapter_24"><span class="smcap">Chapter
+    the Twenty-fourth</span></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><i>In Which Our Pirate Walks into a Trap, and Hauls Down
+    His Colors</i></td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="PROLOGUE">PROLOGUE&nbsp;<img class="inline" src="images/line2.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"></h2>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_1"><span class="smcap">Chapter the First</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>Wherein Lizette Fondac Makes a Great Sacrifice
+and One Jean Lafitte Makes a Momentous Decision</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<h4>I</h4>
+
+<p class="dropcap">“But, Jean, <i>mon frère</i>, this is not your quarrel!
+’Tis folly to fight this man—madness! <i>Mon
+Dieu!</i> I’m sure this Brouillard meant no offense. No
+doubt he was well in his cups.”</p>
+
+<p>His companion turned on him with sudden fury.</p>
+
+<p>“Enough, Pierre, enough! I am no longer a child
+to be told what to do! I love Lizette, and this is my
+affair—mine alone. You should be the last to interfere—you!”</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Dominique Lafitte smiled deprecatingly at
+his younger brother; this fair-skinned, handsome youth
+with the coal-black eyes of their long-dead mother,
+and the uncertain personality of an uncountable line
+of temperamental ancestors, that was as surely his
+heritage.</p>
+
+<p>“Jean,” said Pierre, patiently, “you are but a hot-headed
+youth, with all the foibles and fancies of youth.
+I tell you that Brouillard but jested....”</p>
+
+<p>“Jested? <i>Sacré nom de Dieu!</i> When he named
+her ‘<i>fille de joie</i>’?... When he dared—<i>dared</i>—call
+my Lizette a courtesan? A sorry jest ’twill be for
+him—a bitter jest! By all the devils of Satan he
+shall—”</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Lafitte shook his head sadly, angrily. He
+had all along mistrusted this affair. On the very first
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span>day of their visit to this sunny island of Mauritius,
+when Jean had encountered Lizette Fondac, the fisherman’s
+daughter, and as promptly fell in love with her,
+he had had disquieting fears. Hitherto, he knew, his
+impetuous yet well-poised brother had rather shied
+away from the fateful sex. Being experienced, he
+would have intervened in this affair, but had refrained,
+fearful of precipitating matters.</p>
+
+<p>Of course Lizette was beautiful. Too beautiful,
+he thought, musing on her delicate patrician features
+and shapely hands and feet. Without doubt she possessed
+good blood—Brouillard had hinted at that—and
+it was reasonable to believe that morose old Fondac
+was not even her father. Even he, Pierre, the <i>bon
+vivant</i>, to whom beautiful women were no novelty, had
+been momentarily intrigued by her unusual beauty and
+unsophisticated charm, but he was too sensible—so
+he told himself—to lose his head over a mere chit of
+a girl, a fisherman’s wench. That Jean had done so
+was to be deplored; yet he was young, inexperienced—and
+obstinate.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre sighed a <i>blasé</i>, sophisticated sigh.</p>
+
+<p>“This Brouillard, Jean—do you know that he is
+an excellent shot? And, since you are the challenger,
+it is most likely that he will choose pistols rather than
+steel—more’s the pity! I tell you frankly, <i>garçon</i>,
+I have no great liking for this business. There are
+too many pretty women in the world, as it is, to risk
+losing your temper, and mayhap your life. Think,
+first. You are neither the legal guardian, nor yet the
+betrothed, of this girl. It is not your quarrel.”</p>
+
+<p>Jean shrugged his shoulders impatiently ... nervously.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span></p>
+
+<p>“It matters not, Pierre. I will fight him—and kill
+him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t be over-confident,” dryly. “It is more probable
+that he will kill—<i>you</i>! Don’t be a fool!”</p>
+
+<p>“The outcome is on the knees of the gods. If he
+kills me, I shall die content, knowing I died for <i>her</i>!”</p>
+
+<p>“Heroics are quite unnecessary,” observed Pierre,
+resignedly. “If you’re determined to be a target for
+Brouillard, it’s no use—”</p>
+
+<p>“My mind is quite made up,” returned Jean, flushing.
+“But since our ideas do not coincide, please do
+not interfere. I’m sure that Bonville, or De Queux,
+will be glad to second me.”</p>
+
+<p>“I surrender,” said Pierre. “If you are determined
+on being slaughtered, of course I’ll second you.
+It is my right. And if you must be a fool, I had just
+as well enjoy your folly as the next one. I’ll hunt up
+our fine captain’s friend. <i>Au revoi’!</i>”</p>
+
+<p>With an expressive shrug, the elder Lafitte stalked
+out of the tavern and disappeared into the diamond-studded
+night. Jean, staring after him curiously,
+stood stockstill, a picture of indecision, and then, turning,
+sat down near the table, and began to shoot, with
+careful precision, at the three candles on the trestle
+near the window.</p>
+
+<p>When Pierre returned, later, having made arrangements
+for the coming meeting, he found the air smoke-laden
+and his brother haggard.</p>
+
+<p>There were still three candles burning on the trestle.</p>
+
+<h4>II</h4>
+
+<p>Dawn broke in a symphony of gorgeous rosy tints,
+heralding the awakening of the ardent monarch of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span>world of light. The waves, their deep green color
+variegated with shifting opaline lusters and gleams of
+phosphorescent hues, lazily chased one another over
+the restless sea, to dash into clouds of joyous spray
+upon the shining beach.</p>
+
+<p>Signs of life were already apparent in the line of
+fishing boats on and near the shore, and shreds of
+wraith-like smoke were appearing in the picturesque
+fishermen’s colony on the inlet. A new day—and
+a memorable one—had begun for Mauritius.</p>
+
+<p>In the grove behind the quaint little stone chapel,
+the principals of the little drama had already assembled.
+The Lafittes—Jean, eager, yet not without a
+touch of nervousness, and Pierre Dominique, looking
+rather too perturbed for a man of the world. Across
+the little clearing was Brouillard, tall, heavily built,
+with pugnaciously twisted mustachios. A French naval
+officer—his second—and the resident doctor completed
+the little party.</p>
+
+<p>At a word from the knight of the lancets, who was
+evidently also the referee, the duelists took their places,
+back to back, and marched away ten paces. Pistol
+in hand, still back to back, they awaited the physician’s
+signal. The Mauritian raised his arm for dramatic
+effect, and began to count, very solemnly.</p>
+
+<p>“One—</p>
+
+<p>“Two—”</p>
+
+<p>A young girl, hair as yet uncombed, lids still sleep-laden,
+and panting heavily, appeared at the head of
+the path, and ran toward them with horror-filled eyes.
+They were too absorbed to see her.</p>
+
+<p>“Three—!”</p>
+
+<p>She was almost upon them, now. So excited were
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span>the five men in the tense scene they were enacting that
+they failed to notice her footsteps, which audibly
+reached them. Simultaneously with the doctor’s next
+word she burst among them, exhausted with running,
+but not before he had cried—</p>
+
+<p>“Fire!”</p>
+
+<p>At the word both turned and fired. Brouillard’s
+shot was a second later than Jean’s. Lafitte’s had gone
+wild, so nervous was he, and he immediately realized
+that his doom was imminent. He was at the mercy
+of his enemy. But that interim of less than a single
+second, almost the briefest timable space, was enough
+to complete the tragedy. In that moment Lizette
+Fondac sprang between them, her body acting as a
+shield for Jean, just in time to intercept the bullet
+meant for him. A moment later she sank on the turf
+at Jean’s feet, clutching convulsively at her bleeding
+bosom.</p>
+
+<p>With a cry of utter horror, Jean dropped to his
+knees, holding her close to him, calling to her, with
+such an unspeakable anguish in his voice that Pierre
+himself, momentarily stunned by the shock, could not
+hold the tears back.</p>
+
+<p>Confusion reigned. Villagers, attracted by the
+sound of the shots, were now appearing at the head of
+the path, led by the old curé of the chapel. Brouillard,
+with one backward, horrified glance, disappeared into
+the forest.</p>
+
+<p>As for Jean, he was as if crazed, pressing Lizette’s
+still form close to himself, and babbling mad, incoherent
+terms of endearment. She had been almost
+instantaneously killed. With difficulty he was separated
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>from her motionless body and led away by his
+brother.</p>
+
+<h4>III</h4>
+
+<p>“Why do you follow me about, Pierre? Can I not
+have a moment’s peace?” There was a nervous petulance
+in his voice.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Dominique smiled, albeit with commiseration,
+as he looked at his brother. Jean Lafitte had indeed
+changed in the past week, changed for the worse.
+There were hollow circles under his lustrous coal-black
+eyes, which afforded a startling contrast to his unusual
+fairness of skin. But it was the aspect of the eyes
+themselves which gave Pierre cause for concern, now
+dull, now sparkling, but ever brooding—two silent
+pools of apathy.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Dominique answered shortly, his own lips
+drawn together.</p>
+
+<p>“Because I cannot trust you alone.”</p>
+
+<p>Jean did not answer, but stared at the sea, its
+waters gleaming in the sunlight. He well knew why
+Pierre did not trust him to himself, for he had attempted
+suicide in the first ecstasy of his grief. But
+a week had passed since then, and, if his brother had
+known, he no longer contemplated self-extermination.
+The law of youth and nature forbade it—and the
+young Frenchman was but human. But he disliked
+Pierre Dominique’s watchfulness. He wished to be
+alone, to sit and brood; to commune with the invisible;
+to give vent to his aching grief, his loneliness; to let
+his emotional nature run the gamut of his varied
+sensations.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span></p>
+
+<p>Jean Lafitte’s was a most unusual character, which
+was understood by no one, himself least of all. Temperamental,
+imaginative, impulsive, together with other
+strange mixtures of characteristics, he might perhaps
+be called a genius in the embryo. But time alone could
+tell what form that genius would take. At the present
+he was but a crucible, containing an assortment of
+ingredients that would sooner or later take tangible
+form. And now this crucible of emotions had been
+prematurely stirred.</p>
+
+<p>But Pierre Dominique could not know this, nor understand
+it if he did. In Jean he saw a masculine
+counterpart of their long-dead mother, and lavished
+all the affection that his nature was capable of on his
+younger brother.</p>
+
+<p>“Jean,” said he, breaking the silence, “I wish to
+leave this accursed island. Come, rouse yourself out
+of this lethargy. Pining and brooding will not bring
+back the dead.”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps not, my brother.”</p>
+
+<p>“Come then, Jean, let’s sail for Bordeaux. You
+will soon forget this. We will go into trade, as our
+father wishes us to do, and meanwhile you can read
+and study to your heart’s content.”</p>
+
+<p>Jean stared across the sea, his gaze wandering
+across the spacious blue purity of the Indian Ocean.</p>
+
+<p>“I cannot go back—Pierre. It is impossible.”</p>
+
+<p>“But you cannot mean to stay, boy. It will not
+profit you and you surely cannot forget, here.”</p>
+
+<p>“I do not wish to forget!”</p>
+
+<p>“I know, I know, <i>mon pauvre garçon</i>, but you must
+leave; this is no place for you.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Well, <i>mon frère</i>, if it will add to your happiness, I
+will tell you; I do intend to leave Mauritius.”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Bon!</i> That’s the way to talk, Jean. We will—”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Mais non</i>, you are wrong. I am not going back to
+Bordeaux.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why not?” puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>“I go elsewhere.”</p>
+
+<p>“Very well; we will go elsewhere if that is your
+desire. There are—”</p>
+
+<p>“But you do not understand, Pierre. Our ways
+must part, from now on.”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Ventre-saint-gris!</i> The boy is mad!”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps. But I have a duty to perform ... and
+you have not!”</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean?” The older Lafitte looked
+vaguely uneasy.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, pretend, <i>mon frère</i>? You know that I must
+find—and punish—the murderer of Lizette!”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, that?” But his seeming indifference did not
+fool Jean. He could see that Pierre was troubled in
+reality, now.</p>
+
+<p>“Just that! If I have to spend the rest of my life
+hunting him, I shall find Brouillard; the coward, the
+base scoundrel!”</p>
+
+<p>Here Jean paused and cursed the absent Brouillard,
+thoroughly, bitterly. For a few moments Pierre listened
+quietly, making no comment, but he was thinking
+hard. At last the younger man subsided, his store of
+invective exhausted, but still seething with rage. For
+the moment his grief was forgotten, and it was not long
+before he regained control of himself.</p>
+
+<p>Jean glanced shamefacedly at his brother, expecting
+some remark of surprise ... displeasure. But none
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span>came. He wondered. It was one of the very rare
+moments of his life that he had given way to his passion,
+and he was ashamed, for, unconsciously, perhaps,
+he was very proud of his self-control. He glanced at
+his brother and looked away again.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Dominique spoke, quietly, authoritatively:</p>
+
+<p>“Very well, then, Jean. We shall first find Brouillard
+and then give him up to justice.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, no, Pierre; you are too noble. I will not draw
+you into my quarrel; you must not come!”</p>
+
+<p>“We will go together, <i>garçon</i>.”</p>
+
+<p>“We will not! Don’t forget you owe some one else
+a duty, Pierre. Do you forget your Margot?”</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Dominique turned away his face.</p>
+
+<p>“No, I do not forget Margot, brother mine. But
+we will forget her.”</p>
+
+<p>“We will not!”</p>
+
+<p>“Margot will not miss one gallant; she has enough
+and to spare!”</p>
+
+<p>“Is that the Lafitte spirit?” demanded Jean, rather
+irrelevantly, but glad to be able to take the offensive.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre looked chagrined.</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps not, but there are many fair women in
+this world, and but one brother. And besides, Jean,
+I am not the marrying kind. But enough of this foolish
+talk. We—”</p>
+
+<p>“You are right, <i>mon frère</i>. Enough of this foolish
+talk! As for you, Pierre Dominique, you will return
+home—to Bordeaux. Go into trade, and marry your
+Margot.”</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean to do?”</p>
+
+<p>“What will I do? I shall be my own master, with
+my own ship. I have thought it over, Pierre. No
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>doubt Brouillard will go far away—to the West
+Indies, or the Caribbean. Therefore I shall go
+there. Sooner or later I shall meet him!”</p>
+
+<p>“And then you must turn him over to the authorities,
+for trial. You should want no more revenge
+than that, Jean. In reality, Lizette’s death was an
+accident.” Apparently Pierre had assented to Jean’s
+determination to hunt out Brouillard.</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps,” said Jean, enigmatically.</p>
+
+<p>“I see you are determined, Jean. But I tell you,
+I do not approve of your intention. Brouillard will
+be caught, sooner or later, never fear. Leave it to
+justice.”</p>
+
+<p>Jean stared down at the sand, watching the swift
+flight of a sand-fiddler. In a single moment it seemed
+he had become a man—with mature thoughts and
+mature determination. The youth had disappeared
+forever.</p>
+
+<p>“You do not understand, Pierre! I loved—” In
+his glistening eyes was an immeasurable anguish—the
+fires of an ecstatic mental torture.</p>
+
+<p>“No, Jean, you did not. You are but a boy. You
+do not know what real love is.”</p>
+
+<p>“Nonsense! <i>Nom de Dieu!</i> It is Brouillard himself
+that I want—to meet again! To punish him—to
+make him pay.”</p>
+
+<p>“But he was really not to blame,” Pierre pleaded,
+half frightened at the vindictiveness of his young
+brother.</p>
+
+<p>“Not to blame—not to blame?” cried Jean Lafitte,
+furious, unreasoning. “<i>Dieu!</i> Not to blame, you say?
+Can’t you understand, <i>mon frère</i>? Can’t you realize?”
+There was a strained note in his voice. “No, he will
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span>not be punished for killing Lizette—for that alone he
+might be pardoned! But do you forget that he dared
+to insult her? That he called her a ‘wanton’? ‘Wanton’!
+Hear me, Pierre, I shall send him to hell with
+my own hand, if I hang for it! By Our Lady I swear
+it!”</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Lafitte crossed himself, almost unconsciously.</p>
+
+<p>The younger Lafitte, his face pale, his eyes flashing
+in the way that later became characteristic, made a
+striking picture.</p>
+
+<p>And his brother realized that this was not mere
+boyish heroics, that this was a little more than a dramatic
+pose. Jean was fiercely in earnest, even if his
+earnestness was theatrical. He was dedicating his life
+to a purpose which, whether laudable or open to criticism,
+was yet a definite purpose. He was a man, now,
+to think and act for himself.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Dominique stared at his brother for a long
+time, his own face impassive and impersonal. But in
+his eyes was a searching, probing gaze. What he
+saw apparently satisfied him.</p>
+
+<p>“I think I understand, Jean,” he said, quietly, and
+dropped his gaze.</p>
+
+<p>Together they stared at the sea, silently, broodingly.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_2"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Second</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>How a Gentleman Pirate Catches a Tartar, and the
+Personage in the Moon Is Proven to Be a Woman</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<h4>I</h4>
+
+<p class="dropcap">The great brig, its rakish, slanting masts and
+white spars clearly delineated against the azure
+of sea and sky, was gradually taking on a somber air
+as the daylight slowly waned.</p>
+
+<p>Everything about her, from the grim black hull with
+its carved and gilded figurehead to its tapering stern
+and its trim lines, bespoke its true occupation. When
+one thoughtfully noted the unusual spread of canvas,
+weather-beaten, perhaps, but still snowy when contrasted
+with the deep blue ultra-marine of the Caribbean,
+one felt assured that his guess was correct. And
+if this mythical spectator by any chance should go close
+enough to catch a glimpse of the vicious black guns
+peeping through the ports, he would be doubly convinced.</p>
+
+<p>This sinister vessel, clearly built for speed, was undoubtedly
+a pirate.</p>
+
+<p>And this was but natural, for this was the eventful
+summer of the year 1806, when the Caribbean Sea
+was the cruising-ground of the most ruthless buccaneers
+of any period, masking their piracy under the
+guise of privateersmen; more to be dreaded than the
+adventurers who sought golden galleons, treasure-chests,
+and captive beauties.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span></p>
+
+<p>And what name is so boldly gilded on the stern?
+The <i>Lizette</i>....</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Lizette</i>—Jean Lafitte. One and inseparable,
+or, so it is said. Jean Lafitte, the handsome youth
+with tragic eyes; the daring freebooter who is the
+talk of Havana, of Maracaibo, of Carthagena, and
+of the Mexican Gulf from the bayous below New
+Orleans to the shores of Yucatan.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Lafitte, who, it is said, hates all women.</p>
+
+<p>The man who has successfully resisted the wiles of
+every siren of these southern seas. Impossible? A
+pirate a woman-hater? A woman-hater a pirate?
+It would seem so.... Yet the gentlemen rovers of
+the Caribbean shake their heads sagely. There is
+something behind it all....</p>
+
+<p>It is whispered that the youth with the eloquent
+eyes has been crossed in love, that he has met with a
+disappointment, that he has turned to the profession
+of piracy as the only occupation fierce enough to obliterate
+his memories. Thus argue the “ladies”—the
+courtesans—of the Caribbean ports.</p>
+
+<p>And perhaps they are right. But they do not know
+that not only for forgetfulness, but for vengeance,
+has this mystery man joined the turbulent gentry of
+the sea—a vengeance that, after three years, still
+eludes him.</p>
+
+<p>The three years that have passed since Lafitte expressed
+to his brother, on the beach at Mauritius, his
+determination to hunt out Brouillard, have done much
+toward the shaping of the life of the young Frenchman.
+Contrary to his expectations and wishes, Pierre
+Dominique had persisted in his resolve to accompany
+him, and, together, they had set sail for the Caribbean.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>Once there, with ample funds coupled with the knack
+of making friends, it was not long before they were
+serving their apprenticeship in piracy. After their
+first voyage they fitted up and manned a small but
+speedy ship.</p>
+
+<p>At the end of their second year Jean, who had taken
+the leadership, was in command of a heavily armed
+brig whose fame was to fly the length and breadth of
+every lane of the sea. At the end of their third year
+the youth was a man, feared and respected by both fellow-rovers
+and victims.</p>
+
+<p>It was not until the beginning of that third year,
+however, that Lafitte got definite news as to the
+whereabouts and doings of Brouillard, the object of
+his long search.</p>
+
+<p>The former French officer, as he had anticipated,
+had also joined the bands of the Brotherhood of the
+Caribbean. And he, too, like Jean, had sprung to
+notoriety overnight, as it were. But his was an assumed
+name and it was only a chance recognition of
+him by Pierre Dominique, in Maracaibo, that informed
+Lafitte that Brouillard, the former naval officer,
+and “<i>Le Renard Noir</i>” (“the Black Fox”), of
+whom he had heard much but never met, were one and
+the same.</p>
+
+<p>On ascertaining this fact, Jean had immediately
+sailed for Maracaibo, to arrive and find his quarry
+gone. And so began a chase that lasted a year.
+Whether or not the Black Fox knew that Lafitte was
+hunting him, or whether it was chance that was to
+blame, they never met. In every nook and corner of
+the Caribbean did the <i>Lizette</i> pry her inquisitive prow,
+but so far her search was unrewarded.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span></p>
+
+<p>The <i>Lizette</i> was only a few miles off Guadaloupe, in
+the hope of falling in with some spoil-laden French
+privateer, which, using that colony for the base of
+their operations in preying upon the British West Indian
+trade, might be making for the not-far-distant
+harbor of Basse Terre. With the magnificent impartiality
+that characterized the man, Lafitte took toll
+from French ships as well as from those of any other
+nationality. In these days of political change in the
+mother country, Jean bore her not too much love.
+The Lafittes were not Bonapartists.</p>
+
+<h4>II</h4>
+
+<p>“Sail ho!”</p>
+
+<p>The cry, called out from the heights of the shrouds,
+reverberated over the ship like a trumpet-call.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment there was silence, broken only by the
+lazy swish of the sea against the ship’s side. Then
+the deck came to life as if by magic. The moon, just
+beginning her climb across the partly clouded heavens,
+illuminated the expanse of phosphorescent waters, at
+intervals, with a clear and mellow light.</p>
+
+<p>A mile or so to the east could be seen the upper
+spars and vaguely indefinite bulk of a ship. If it had
+not been for the fact that the moon had been hidden
+behind a bank of light clouds for the past half hour,
+the stranger would have been detected long before.
+Again the cry rang out:</p>
+
+<p>“Sail ho!”</p>
+
+<p>By this time Lafitte himself was on deck and the
+bulwarks were already lined by many of his men,
+whose number was rapidly increasing.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Jacques!”</p>
+
+<p>A short, wiry young seaman with bright reddish
+hair and an astonishing number of freckles quickly responded
+to Jean’s call.</p>
+
+<p>“Call Ramon....”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Mon capitaine</i> will fight?”</p>
+
+<p>“Send Ramon to me at once,” impatiently. “And
+Pedro.”</p>
+
+<p>The auburn-haired youth was gone in a flash. A
+minute later Ramon, the mate, and Pedro, the chief
+gunner, both of them half-breed Spaniards, came for
+orders. Pierre Dominique was not on board the
+<i>Lizette</i> at this time, but was encamped with a small
+hunting party at an island rendezvous some thirty
+miles away, where Jean was to join him the next
+morning and take aboard his additions to the ship’s
+larder.</p>
+
+<p>“You passed the word?”</p>
+
+<p>Ramon grunted and waved his hands toward the
+bow. All was activity on deck. Its former aspect
+had changed magically. Boarding pikes, pistols, cutlasses,
+and other small arms were being laid out and
+shot was being placed on the racks.</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte was anything if not cautious. Although he
+very well knew the quality of the <i>Lizette</i>; he also knew
+that it was very possible to catch a Tartar in the form
+of a heavily-armed ship, which had been, as likely as
+not, sent out for the express purpose of punishing his
+many depredations on the French, British, and Spanish
+commerce.</p>
+
+<p>For a full minute Jean studied the approaching
+vessel with his glass.</p>
+
+<p>“It is a big ship,” he said, in an aside.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span></p>
+
+<p>Ramon nodded. “I thought as much.” He hesitated.
+“Do you think it is wise to attack, Don Juan?”
+The Spaniards invariably called Lafitte by this title.</p>
+
+<p>“It is English ... yes, see, they are running up
+the British flag. Might it not be a frigate?”</p>
+
+<p>“We shall take the risk. At the worst the <i>Lizette</i>
+can use the better part of discretion and show them a
+clean pair of heels. What say you, Pedro?”</p>
+
+<p>The brawny gunner fidgeted, averting his eyes. He
+had just put down his own glass.</p>
+
+<p>“To tell the truth, Don Juan, I like not its look.
+And of course the flag doesn’t mean anything.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then you think we ... should not fight?”</p>
+
+<p>“I think we should show them our heels, yes.
+There is a stiff breeze. Let’s get out of gun-shot before
+they get in range. We could easily—”</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Ramon cursed audibly.</p>
+
+<p>“How blind I am! That ship is one of the Brotherhood!
+It is the ship you seek.”</p>
+
+<p>His two companions turned on him quickly.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you recognize it?” demanded Lafitte.</p>
+
+<p>The mate nodded his head slowly, putting down his
+glass.</p>
+
+<p>“I have seen her but once,” he answered, quietly,
+“but I could recognize her anywhere.”</p>
+
+<p>“You are sure?” demanded Jean, impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>“It is the Black Fox!” breathed Ramon, heavily.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment it seemed that Jean’s heart stood
+still. So unexpected was Ramon’s news that he stood
+rooted to the spot, motionless, expressionless. But
+within, his mind was in a tumult. At last, at last, by
+the favor of the gods he had stumbled on his quarry.</p>
+
+<p>“We shall fight!” he exclaimed, the joy of battle
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>with his enemy lighting his face, his tone thrilling his
+hearers. Ramon showed his amazement. Until
+this moment he had not known Lafitte sought the
+Black Fox as an enemy.</p>
+
+<p>“But when the Black Fox knows that we are of the
+Brotherhood, señor, there will be no trouble,” he said,
+not in fear, but adverse to hard knocks with so redoubtable
+an adversary.</p>
+
+<p>“I said that we will fight!” answered Jean, curtly.</p>
+
+<p>“But, Don Juan—”</p>
+
+<p>“Enough! It is my will. Pass the word to the
+gunners, Pedro. We will first give him some of his
+own strategy, and then give him a smashing broadside.”</p>
+
+<p>He turned. Pedro grunted. His not to question
+his chief. Saluting awkwardly, he left. Wolves of
+the sea both, wolf would prey on wolf. Honor
+among thieves was respected when convenience demanded
+it, but it was not unusual for one member of
+this wolfpack of the sea to prey upon another. Pedro
+grinned hideously; there would be an interesting fight.</p>
+
+<p>“Run up the black flag,” ordered Lafitte, “but do not
+break it out until I give the word. Have the men in
+readiness for boarding. We’ll pay the Black Fox
+our respects with a salute, and then make a visit on
+board. But don’t forget that our visiting cards must
+be sure to reach them ... and find them in.”</p>
+
+<p>The Spaniard’s lips curled as he nodded appreciation
+of the grim pleasantry. Another moment and he,
+too, had gone.</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte returned to his study of the oncoming vessel,
+a set smile of anticipation playing about his tight-pressed
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span>lips. As he stood there, a grim, lonely figure,
+the black flag was run up, ready to be broken out at
+his signal. The gunners were standing to their guns,
+matches in hand.</p>
+
+<p>By now the stranger was only fifty yards away. A
+tall, heavily-built, bearded man, stood on the quarter-deck.
+With an inward thrill, Jean realized that he
+was observing his arch-enemy.</p>
+
+<p>In another moment the hail of the Black Fox came
+across the water, asking the name of Jean’s vessel.
+As he did so, her coy ladyship, the moon, re-emerged
+from behind a cloud, suddenly throwing the two ships
+into full relief. By way of answering to his question,
+the black flag of the <i>Lizette</i> was swiftly broken out,
+where it was caught by the night breeze and, because
+of the added moonlight, promptly proclaimed the presence
+of the rover. Came another cry from the Black
+Fox that was both surprise and disappointment.</p>
+
+<p>By this time, however, the stranger, which had been
+approaching with a confidence that was foolhardy,
+bore up. Even the friendliest of wolves are distrustful.</p>
+
+<p>But it was too late. No one knew better than
+Lafitte the terrible, demoralizing effect of a sudden
+smashing broadside, and it was just this confusion that
+he wished to create in the pack of the Black Fox.</p>
+
+<p>“Fire!”</p>
+
+<p>Simultaneously with the terrific crash of the guns
+the pirates, with a yell, rose from behind the bulwarks
+and poured out of other places of concealment as the
+guns raked the stranger from stem to stern, doing
+deadly execution and bringing down the foremast, a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>wreckage of ropes and sails, upon the deck. The ship
+was helpless for the moment, and the master of the
+<i>Lizette</i> grasped his advantage.</p>
+
+<p>Another moment and the brig was alongside the
+stranger. Grappling-irons were speedily hooked, and
+the buccaneers, led by the pirate captain himself,
+poured over the side, in a mad charge upon the decks
+of their victim. A wolf had overhauled an apparent
+sheep, to suddenly find another wolf in sheep’s clothing.
+The battle of the wolves was on....</p>
+
+<p>Close behind Lafitte was the youth with the red hair,
+a pistol in each hand. Behind him rushed his comrades,
+with yells of triumph, shooting and slashing and
+cutting as if a crew of demons were let loose. At that
+moment, little did it matter to the men of the <i>Lizette</i>
+whether they faced friend or foe. When the wolf
+scents blood—</p>
+
+<p>As Jean leaped down upon his enemy’s deck he
+charged immediately toward the quarter-deck, anxious
+to meet Brouillard face to face, grudging the seconds
+that would intervene before he could reach him, for
+fear that another’s bullet or blade would cheat him of
+his vengeance.</p>
+
+<p>Before he could cover a quarter of the distance,
+however, came a surprise. Suddenly, with a shout
+that outdid their own, it seemed, from near-by hatchways
+and doors gushed a veritable mob of seamen,
+armed to the teeth, outnumbering the invaders three
+to one. These, taking advantage of their surprise,
+swept the pirates back to the ship’s side by sheer weight
+of numbers.</p>
+
+<p>Pandemonium reigned....</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span></p>
+
+<p>Step by step Jean’s men were forced back, fighting
+desperately.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Lafitte had indeed caught a Tartar. His fellow
+wolf had fangs as well as himself. On every side
+his men were falling. Their intended victim had become
+a scourge. In the midst of his rage and disappointment
+he was cool enough to realize that he
+must regain his own deck or all was lost. It was impossible
+to reach Brouillard now. His vengeance had
+waited three years. It could wait another day.</p>
+
+<p>At his side Red Jacques was fighting valiantly.
+Less than ten men were left with him, and these were
+attempting, between blows, to regain their ship.
+Springing to the side, preparatory to jumping into the
+waist of the <i>Lizette</i>, his shout pierced the tumult:</p>
+
+<p>“Cut loose, men!”</p>
+
+<p>Then he turned for a final stand, to defend the retreat
+of his followers. In another few moments all
+the ropes that held the <i>Lizette</i> in that fatal embrace
+with her enemy were quickly cut. The last surviving
+pirate, with the exception of Lafitte and one other,
+had reached safety.</p>
+
+<p>Flinging his empty, smoking pistol and broken
+sword into the face of his enemies, Jean turned and
+leaped for the <i>Lizette</i>.</p>
+
+<p>As he stood a brief moment on the rail, a musket-butt
+fell on his head and he dropped backward on to
+the ship’s deck into oblivion.</p>
+
+<p>The next moment the two vessels had drifted apart,
+the Black Fox’s guns trained on the <i>Lizette</i>, fast crippling
+that gallant craft and turning her deck into a
+shambles. The loss of her foremast, however, made
+his own vessel unmanageable, and just at this convenient
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span>time the lady in the moon veiled her face from
+the scene of bloodshed. The <i>Lizette</i> disappeared into
+the night, leaving her master in the hands of his
+enemies.</p>
+
+<p>The howling of the wolfpack diminished and soon
+all was silent.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_3"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Third</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>In Which the Black Fox Encounters an Old Acquaintance</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap">“Get up!”</p>
+
+<p>Jean, semi-conscious, seemed to hear the
+voice from a great distance; he could not, as yet, associate
+it with himself. Nor, in the same dim, unreal
+way, could he feel the kick that struck his side. Seemingly,
+he was oblivious to any pain in his body. The
+miniature hell in his head was occupying his whole, absorbed
+attention.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a bucket of water was dashed over him.
+He regained his senses slowly, his first definite impression
+that of an acute, numbing pain in the back of his
+head. Attempting to lift it, he experienced such torture
+that he was forced to lie back, groaning. He
+heard retreating steps as of one ascending a ladder.
+Then a hatchway slammed and all was black again.</p>
+
+<p>When his mind had cleared a little, he endeavored
+to understand his whereabouts. It was not long before
+he pieced out the details of the short disastrous
+fight—its ending—the sudden pain—oblivion. Where
+was he? Where was faithful Red Jacques? All
+about him was pitch blackness. Then he became conscious
+of the fact that his feet were wet. He smelled
+bilge water. That explained matters. He must be
+a prisoner, put in the hold for safe keeping. And
+then for the first time he realized that his feet were
+securely ironed.</p>
+
+<p>Of a sudden, following the shuffling of feet overhead,
+a hatchway lifted, letting in a flood of sunlight
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>that well-nigh blinded him. Despite the glare, however,
+he was able to note that he was lying on a heap
+of ropes and cordage with his feet in the water. A
+sailor was descending the ladder.</p>
+
+<p>A moment later another followed. The first one
+unlocked the chains, and then they roughly dragged
+him up the ladder to the deck.</p>
+
+<p>Again the glare of light dazzled him. Before he
+could accustom himself to his surroundings he was led
+stumbling across the deck and backed against a stanchion,
+to which the two seamen began to securely tie him.
+This duty satisfactorily completed, they fell back.</p>
+
+<p>Jean looked about him with interest, eager to see
+Brouillard.</p>
+
+<p>All around him, at a respectful distance, was a circle
+of faces—the hang-dog, devil-may-care physiognomies
+of the typical rover of the Caribbean. Sailor-like, he
+next glanced aloft. The foremast was still unrepaired.
+The great ship was motionless on a placid
+sea, and the early morning sun was just beginning its
+lofty climb across the cloudless sky. He dropped his
+eyes back to his captors.</p>
+
+<p>As he did so, the Black Fox stepped through the
+silent circle and paused before him, a stately figure in
+gaudy raiment, his black beard carefully curled and
+pomaded.</p>
+
+<p>With an imperious gesture Brouillard motioned his
+followers away. In a moment the two, prisoner and
+captor, were alone, as far as they were concerned.
+For a long interval the latter stared at the helpless
+man, a curious expression in his eyes. His words
+were inevitable, bridging the years.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span></p>
+
+<p>“So, Monsieur Lafitte,” he drawled, “we meet
+again!”</p>
+
+<p>Jean defiantly gave him back stare for stare, contemptuously
+silent.</p>
+
+<p>“Why have you hunted me all these years?” suddenly
+demanded the other.</p>
+
+<p>“To kill you!” answered Lafitte, simply, his voice
+redolent of hate.</p>
+
+<p>The Black Fox did not laugh.</p>
+
+<p>“Why?” he persisted.</p>
+
+<p>“To avenge Lizette Fondac,” said Jean.</p>
+
+<p>Brouillard cursed expressively.</p>
+
+<p>“Damn you!” he cried, “you know it was an accident,
+that!”</p>
+
+<p>“But yes ... I know. But I have followed you
+across the seas for another reason, Brouillard. You
+forget that we did not finish our little affair. And I
+had sworn to make you retract or kill you. Lizette is
+dead, therefore retraction is unnecessary—so I will
+kill you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I would not have retracted, however,” said Brouillard,
+heavily. “You are a young fool. I told the
+truth about that wench.”</p>
+
+<p>“You lie!” cried Lafitte.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Parbleu!</i> But the gutter scum is impertinent!”</p>
+
+<p>The younger man fairly writhed with the frenzy of
+his rage.</p>
+
+<p>“Loosen me, coward,” he cried, “and I will kill you
+with my own hands! Coward! Dog! Scoundrel!”</p>
+
+<p>By way of answer the Black Fox cuffed him viciously
+across the mouth, seeing which, a group of his henchmen
+lounging on the opposite rail laughed.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span></p>
+
+<p>“You are afraid to face me man to man, cursed
+one!” panted Lafitte.</p>
+
+<p>Brouillard laughed heartily.</p>
+
+<p>“Fool that you are!” he cried, “I have no desire to
+kill you. You have insulted Gaston Brouillard—you
+have cursed him—you have given him the lie. For
+each of these things you should die a terrible death.
+Moreover, you have hunted <i>Le Renard Noir</i>....
+You have treacherously attacked him and killed many
+of his men. For that you should die a death of torture
+... you and all your followers ... a death
+that only one of the Brotherhood could contrive. But
+the Black Fox has a far pleasanter fate in store for
+you, <i>mon brave</i>! Name of a name! Your lot shall
+be a living death, Jean Lafitte!”</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte’s lip curled contemptuously. He had regained
+his self-possession.</p>
+
+<p>“Indeed!” he said. The insulting inflection of that
+one word seemed to madden Brouillard, who poured a
+storm of obscene invective on his head.</p>
+
+<p>“From now on,” he declared, grimly, when his
+passion had somewhat subsided, “you shall be my servant,
+my slave! I shall find ways of breaking your
+spirit as well as your back. You shall be at the beck
+and call of the lowliest of my men. The slightest
+disobedience will get you a hundred lashes from the
+‘cat.’ The—”</p>
+
+<p>Jean yawned.</p>
+
+<p>“You bore me excessively, my friend,” he interjected.</p>
+
+<p>Brouillard stopped short, his face a panorama of
+conflicting emotions. Then he suddenly turned and
+called one of his followers.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Bring the red-head!” he ordered, brusquely.</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte stiffened, and followed the pirate out of
+sight with his eyes. Brouillard, watching him, grinned
+evilly.</p>
+
+<p>“It may interest you to know, monsieur, that you
+are not our only guest.”</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean?” sharply.</p>
+
+<p>“There was a red-head....”</p>
+
+<p>“Red Jacques!” exclaimed Jean.</p>
+
+<p>“... who did not escape,” finished the Black Fox,
+grinning with enjoyment at sight of Lafitte’s crestfallen
+face.</p>
+
+<p>“Well?” the latter demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“Your young cockerel would not jump over the side
+when he saw you fall, but stood over your body and
+defended it with his cutlass. It was necessary to
+shoot him to get to you, which I deeply regret, because
+of his courage.”</p>
+
+<p>“He is dead?” with horror.</p>
+
+<p>“Not yet!” was the laconic response. “He is only
+slightly wounded.”</p>
+
+<p>“Thank <i>le bon Dieu</i>!”</p>
+
+<p>“I said ‘not yet’!” went on Brouillard, smoothly.</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean?”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Vous verrez</i> ... you shall see!”</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, the pirate reappeared on deck, pushing
+some one before him. It was Red Jacques, his auburn
+hair dishevelled, his face powder-grimed, and limping
+painfully. As he caught sight of Lafitte his face
+lighted up.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Mon capitaine!</i> I thought you were dead!”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Pauvre garçon!</i> Jean Lafitte thanks you for
+your loyalty. He will remember it.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span></p>
+
+<p>Red Jacques flushed with delight.</p>
+
+<p>“I would die for you, <i>mon capitaine</i>,” he said,
+simply, and halted, all confusion.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll give you an opportunity,” put in the Black
+Fox, urbanely. “Sancho, the rope!”</p>
+
+<p>“If you harm him,” cried Lafitte, “I will kill you!
+I swear it by Our Lady!”</p>
+
+<p>Brouillard contemptuously ignored him and made
+a sign toward his henchman. That worthy, advancing
+toward Red Jacques, trailing a long rope, began
+to use its end to tie a tight noose around the lad’s
+wrists. Evidently Red Jacques was not to be
+hung....</p>
+
+<p>Then it was that Lafitte noticed that the rope end
+was in reality part of one that hung from the cross-trees,
+high in the mast above. As he watched, fascinated,
+two seamen, at a signal from their captain,
+hauled away at the other end of the rope. With a
+sudden jerk Red Jacques was lifted from his feet and
+slowly swung aloft, his face pasty with fright.</p>
+
+<p>“Courage!” shouted Lafitte. “If he harms you he
+shall pay for this!” As yet he could not fathom
+Brouillard’s intentions.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly the helpless youth was raised in the air until
+he swung aloft, above their heads, suspended only by
+his wrists from the cross-trees.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment nothing happened. Then as the ship
+gave a slight roll the lad’s body described an arc,
+swinging outward. The slightest movement of the
+ship swung him like a pendulum.</p>
+
+<p>Fascinated, Jean saw the body of his comrade swaying
+far above his head. In horror he realized the
+dreadful vengeance Brouillard had planned. He was
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span>to see, helpless to prevent, his comrade pounded to
+death against the mast. To every motion of the ship
+the swinging body responded. The victim’s struggles
+were vain. They only added a more fiendish horror
+to the scene. As he swung, the lad spun like a top.
+And then with a thud that made Jean sick and dizzy
+his body struck the mast.</p>
+
+<p>“You devil!” shrieked Lafitte, straining at his ropes.
+“Let him down!”</p>
+
+<p>Brouillard laughed and cursed him. Again Red
+Jacques swung against the heavy mast, and screamed
+in anguish.</p>
+
+<p>“Have you no pity?” cried Jean, perceiving the
+uselessness of his efforts to free himself. “Let him
+down. You’re killing the lad!”</p>
+
+<p>But Brouillard insanely laughed and cursed again.
+The members of his crew, hardened and calloused by
+years of crime, watched the sport with interest. They
+were no strangers to torture; they merely applauded
+their master for his new ingenious device.</p>
+
+<p>Again and yet again the swaying body of the boy,
+swinging dizzily, smote against the mast, but now
+there were no cries from the helpless victim. Life had
+left his battered body.</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte fainted.</p>
+
+<p>A douche of water brought back his senses. He
+looked up.</p>
+
+<p>Over his head in the bright sunshine swayed the
+body of his unfortunate comrade, swinging limply and
+unresistingly.</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte fixed his burning eyes on those of the Black
+Fox, who waxed restless under their relentless gaze,
+and averted his own. He, too, had fallen silent, nor
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span>did he once look aloft. Finally he called two of his
+henchmen to take Lafitte back below. As they unlashed
+the latter from the stanchion, he spoke over
+their shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>“Brouillard, you hell hound,” said Jean steadily,
+“for to-day’s work I shall deal you in kind. You will
+do well to kill me now, for if ever my turn shall
+come—”</p>
+
+<p>He broke off abruptly, for he had vowed in his
+heart to flay Brouillard alive, strip him shrieking from
+his skin.</p>
+
+<p>The Black Fox laughed unsteadily, and for the second
+time cuffed the unresisting Lafitte across the
+mouth, drawing a faint trickle of blood.</p>
+
+<p>“From now on, <i>mon ami</i>,” he sneered, “you’ll wish
+you hadn’t been born rather than to have crossed me.
+Away with him, Sancho! Bring him up again this
+evening for a hundred lashes,” he added, as an afterthought.
+“We shall have more sport.”</p>
+
+<p>A minute later Jean was back in the hold. All day
+he lay there, suffering acutely from thirst and the heat,
+and not a little from hunger. But no one came.</p>
+
+<p>It was almost evening when he heard a loud scuffling
+of running feet above his head, and a confusion of
+raucous voices. Evidently something of moment was
+happening. Exactly a quarter of an hour later he
+heard the sudden detonating explosion of one of the
+ship’s guns above him. It was followed by another.
+Then there was a roar as though from a broadside.
+And answering guns.</p>
+
+<p>The Black Fox was attacked!</p>
+
+<p>For what seemed like ages he lay there helpless,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>listening to the battle, torn with anxiety. Had the
+<i>Lizette</i> returned to rescue him? But that was
+doubtful, for he judged that the <i>Lizette</i> was badly
+crippled. Then the newcomer could only be a man-o’-war,
+whether French, British, or Spanish made no
+difference whatsoever. For even if he were found a
+prisoner of the Black Fox’s, he, too, was a pirate, and
+as such would be summarily hanged.</p>
+
+<p>Therefore, with mingled feelings of anxiety, hope,
+and rage engendered by the possible deferring of his
+vengeance, he lay chafing in the hot, noisome hold.</p>
+
+<p>Finally there was a cessation of gun-fire, a confusion
+of pistol-shots, yells, and running feet above told him
+that the Black Fox was being boarded. Then the
+tumult died down, but the thumping, racing feet told
+its own story.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the hatchway opened, revealing a man’s
+shoulders silhouetted against the twilight sky.</p>
+
+<p>“Don Juan!” came a voice. “Are you there, Don
+Juan?”</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte’s heart bounded joyously.</p>
+
+<p>“Ramon!” he exclaimed. The impossible had happened.
+The <i>Lizette</i> had come to his rescue. A
+pæan of joy sang in his brain.</p>
+
+<p>But there was a greater surprise yet awaiting him
+on the deck above. As he emerged from the hatchway,
+Pierre Dominique Lafitte rushed toward him and,
+sweeping him in his arms, gave him a bear-like hug.</p>
+
+<p>Came explanations. The <i>Lizette</i> had returned to
+the island rendezvous sometime during the night,
+bringing news of the catastrophe. The elder Lafitte
+had immediately hurried his party on board, spent a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>few hours in making necessary repairs, and set sail
+for the crippled vessel of the Black Fox. On finding
+the latter, there had been a short fight, the superior
+condition of the <i>Lizette</i>, and the fresh additions to her
+crew, making victory possible.</p>
+
+<p>“And Brouillard?” demanded Jean.</p>
+
+<p>Brouillard, said Pierre, had been taken prisoner, as
+had the majority of his men. Should they immediately
+hang him? And them?</p>
+
+<p>“Name of a name, no!” cried Jean. He proceeded
+to tell Pierre Dominique of the death of Red Jacques,
+and pointed out his body still swinging above them.
+Orders were immediately given to lower the body and
+prepare it for a proper burial at sea. Then Jean
+Lafitte sent for Brouillard and had his shackles removed.</p>
+
+<p>“Brouillard,” said he, “I swore to kill you, and I
+will do it. But I will give you a chance for your life,
+because I want to have the pleasure of killing you with
+my own hand, as I promised you. Ramon, give him
+a sword.”</p>
+
+<p>Although astonished by the offer, the Black Fox
+snatched the blade with alacrity and placed himself
+in a posture of defense. Taking up another sword,
+Jean placed himself on guard. The duel commenced.</p>
+
+<p>The men of the <i>Lizette</i> gathered about them in a
+wide circle, several of them holding up lanterns, to
+give better light. Not a sound was to be heard but
+the clashing and scraping of the steel and the quick
+footsteps of the furious pair.</p>
+
+<p>Brouillard fought cautiously, ever on the defensive,
+knowing well that his life was at stake. Parrying and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>lunging, thrusting and feinting, they circled round the
+little space, contesting every inch of ground. On and
+on they fought, their blades flashing in the lantern-light
+like living streaks of silver; in carte and tierce,
+darting and twisting.</p>
+
+<p>As the Black Fox fought, he realized, perhaps for
+the first time in his life, what it meant to face a man
+who was full of the deadly determination to kill him,
+the fury of whose attack spoke of concentrated rage
+and hate that could only find an outlet through the
+heart of his opponent.</p>
+
+<p>Fear, that most demoralizing of emotions, entered
+his soul, and this it was, perhaps, that hastened the
+end.</p>
+
+<p>At last came the moment when Jean’s blade found
+the brief breach in Brouillard’s guard, and he lunged
+forward with all his strength. The Black Fox dropped
+his arm abruptly; his sword clattered to the deck
+as he clutched at his side.</p>
+
+<p>For a brief moment there was a pregnant pause.
+Then the Black Fox raised his eyes to the passion-marked
+face of Lafitte, who was pointing toward his
+sword on the deck.</p>
+
+<p>What he saw written there must have terrified him,
+for suddenly he turned and broke through the circle
+of rovers. Before anyone could stop him, or even
+think of stopping him, he literally threw himself over
+the bulwarks. There was a splash, and a body that
+rose for a moment in the gentle swell of the phosphorescent
+waters. And then their eyes fastened on
+a triangular black fin which was darting straight for
+the swimming man. He, too, caught sight of it, for,
+screaming with terror, he began to swim furiously
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>toward the ship. The fin suddenly disappeared. A
+moment later there was a choking cry and the Black
+Fox suddenly disappeared beneath the surface of the
+Caribbean.</p>
+
+<p>Lizette Fondac and Red Jacques were avenged.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_ONE">BOOK ONE<br>
+<i>Ambition</i></h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>“<i>... You think me ambitious, brother.
+You are wrong. Ambition is but the
+pursuit of mirages ... the big things
+of to-day are but the stepping-stones to
+the bigger things of to-morrow.... Ambition
+is desire—and desire is will ...
+that is unconquerable....</i>”</p>
+
+<p class="right">—<span class="smcap">Jean Lafitte.</span></p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_4"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Fourth</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>Wherein a Gentleman Blacksmith Arrives upon the Scene</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap">“Who is Jean Lafitte?” District-Attorney
+Grymes looked at his guest in surprise.
+Edward Marshall, a stoop-shouldered, fastidiously
+dressed man, nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“Exactly. I’ve only been in your blessed city two
+short days, and yet all I hear is ‘Jean Lafitte’ ...
+‘Jean Lafitte’!”</p>
+
+<p>John R. Grymes, district attorney of New Orleans
+and former member of the Virginia bar, laughed. He
+was a handsome man of middle age, with a leonine
+head, a splendid physique, and the unmistakable stamp
+of aristocrat on every bold feature. There were
+wrinkles about his eyes, however, and the observant
+spectator might have detected a few, although a very
+few, signs of dissipation.</p>
+
+<p>“First of all, Lafitte, or rather, the Lafittes, are
+blacksmiths.”</p>
+
+<p>“I know that much!”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, they are what might be called ‘gentlemen
+blacksmiths.’ They are both men of unusual education
+and refinement, and prominent in business here.”</p>
+
+<p>“So I gathered ... but what is all this talk about
+them?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I suppose I’ll have to begin at the beginning.
+Here, Rappahannock, bring some of that claret from
+bin four.”</p>
+
+<p>Rappahannock, the butler, obeyed, disappearing inside
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>the house. The district attorney and his guest
+were sitting on the wide, white-columned veranda, of
+a brick Colonial country home. The roof, of red-painted
+cypress, was to be seen from the road, peeping
+out of a grove of ancient magnolias, its airy belvedere
+rising jauntily above the trees. Red-brick walks
+wound in and out the grounds, and a long winding drive
+swept down to the tall, brick-pillared gates. Jasmine
+and crimson-hued oleanders bloomed in profusion, together
+with crisp boughs of pomegranates, orange
+trees, and massed thickets of acacia. It was a typical
+Louisianian home with a touch of Colonial Virginia.</p>
+
+<p>This was the stirring year of 1810, the year ending
+that memorable decade when the recently established
+United States government was the most unpopular
+institution in Louisiana; when the aristocratic Creoles,
+both French and Spanish, were still voicing their emphatic
+protests against such hateful innovations as
+American dances, trial by jury, politics, anti-smuggling
+laws, and the printing of the Governor’s proclamation
+in English! It was the beginning of the end of
+French social domination in the Mississippi Valley,
+the state of Louisiana ... and that “Little Paris”
+of the Creoles, New Orleans.</p>
+
+<p>And it is here that we meet Jean Lafitte again.</p>
+
+<p>“To begin,” said Grymes, the claret having been
+brought, “the Lafittes, gentlemen blacksmiths, are men
+of means, of some social position; capitalists. They
+are French, of course.... It is said that they come
+from the south of France, for they speak with that accent
+peculiar to natives of the Garonne region. I am
+not sure of this, but it makes no difference. To get
+to the subject, however, which you asked me about
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span>... listen: I’ll have to quote you a little history,
+Marshall; I’ll try not to bore you.</p>
+
+<p>“No doubt you’ve heard about the smugglers, or
+pirates, hereabouts? Yes? As you know, the Gulf
+of Mexico has always been a breeding-place for pirates,
+buccaneers of the old type. Well, in recent
+years, piracy has gradually died out. To be sure,
+there is still some lawlessness in the Caribbean, but
+the pirates of years back—Morgan, Kidd, and the rest
+of their ilk—are extinct.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know about that, Grymes. Up in New
+York we still get reports of looted vessels, outrages
+of all kinds.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, perhaps so, but those are isolated cases. I
+certainly hope so, anyway. But there is very little
+prey for an ambitious buccaneer these days. The celebrated
+treasure cities of South America are no more
+and the only treasure ships that sail these days are
+too strong to fear pirates.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but what’s all this talk—”</p>
+
+<p>“Just a moment, I’m coming to that. As I said,
+there is not much booty lying around nowadays to
+cause a self-respecting pirate to risk his neck. But
+these waters, the Gulf in particular, still offer many
+opportunities of aggrandizement for enterprising nomads
+of the sea. And personally, Marshall, I think
+that the gentlemen of fortune of to-day, instead of
+seeking gold, pieces of eight, and all that sort of thing,
+deal in human booty! Instead of attacking treasure
+galleons they raid slave ships! They traffic in black
+ivory.</p>
+
+<p>“But first, let me refresh your memory a little.
+Two years ago, in January, 1808, I believe, Congress
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>passed a law prohibiting the further importation of
+slaves into this country.”</p>
+
+<p>Marshall showed interest.</p>
+
+<p>“I remember that fool law well,” he said, “and for
+a good reason. It made me lose ten thousand
+dollars.”</p>
+
+<p>Grymes nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, we were all hard hit,” he remarked, “but
+especially our section of the country, the South. It’s
+no use telling you that the Southern States have to rely
+on slave labor, solely. You know all that. But you
+cannot know how hard Louisiana is hit, because this is
+a newly acquired territory and we are deprived of our
+only source of labor. At any rate, due to the lack
+of labor, our crops rotted and business came practically
+to a standstill.”</p>
+
+<p>Marshall grunted.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s the same thing all over the country.”</p>
+
+<p>“But not as bad as here,” added Grymes, quickly,
+“for that same year the price of slaves rose to a thousand
+dollars a head! In Cuba, to the south of us, they
+could be gotten for three hundred dollars apiece.
+Therefore, the result was—”</p>
+
+<p>“That they went to Cuba to get them—”</p>
+
+<p>“—And smuggled them in—exactly! That’s how
+the practice of slave-smuggling started. The first
+smugglers, men of doubtful antecedents, for the most
+part, bought their slaves in Cuba and, sailing across
+the Gulf, landed them in out-of-the-way harbors on
+our coast, from where they were marched overland
+to the auction markets of Baton Rouge and New
+Orleans.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s curious, Marshall, but these Creoles seem to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>be born smugglers. Smuggling, it appears, has long
+been almost an acknowledged part of Louisiana’s commerce.
+It flourished mostly, I believe, in the old
+Spanish and French colonial days, and when Napoleon
+sold us this territory it had become such a profitable
+business that the Creoles, for the most part, who bear
+our government no love, as you know, have continued
+to defy the law. Indeed, they seem to take pleasure
+in doing so.</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose you also know that for years New Orleans
+has been a noted spot for <i>contrabandistas</i> of
+many kinds, together with refugees from San Domingo
+and revolutionists from South American republics.
+And there has been a good trade carried on
+between our merchants and the smugglers.</p>
+
+<p>“Naturally, at the advent of the law and its resulting
+condition the practice of smuggling slaves was
+born and developed. Place a ban upon anything for
+which there is a public demand and you create lawbreakers.
+However, a new class of people have
+entered into the smuggling trade. It is said that many
+of the best people in New Orleans, men of wealth and
+social position, merchants, planters, bankers, and
+politicians, are all connected with this traffic in slaves.
+Incredible as it may seem, it is nevertheless true that
+the Lafittes, who are known to be intimately connected
+with it, move in excellent Creole circles.</p>
+
+<p>“In the last year, however, the smuggling business
+has changed its aspect, and that in a very drastic
+manner.</p>
+
+<p>“These smuggling gentlemen soon realized that the
+legitimate slavers carried small, poorly armed crews,
+and as swiftly decided that it would be more profitable
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>to take this—er—black ivory from the slavers by
+force, rather than purchase it in Havana. They acted
+accordingly.</p>
+
+<p>“Consequently the smugglers have become out-and-out
+pirates and are at present conducting an exceedingly
+prosperous business in captured cargoes. Anyway,
+despite the combined efforts of British, French,
+and our own warships, the waters of the Gulf of
+Mexico to-day have become a dangerous thoroughfare
+for commerce of any sort, for the ‘black ivory’
+buccaneers make no discrimination as to booty.”</p>
+
+<p>Marshall yawned delicately and sipped his claret.</p>
+
+<p>“But where does Lafitte come in?” he asked. “For
+the life of me—”</p>
+
+<p>“This is where Lafitte comes in. As you may know,
+the smithy of the Lafitte brothers is on the corner of
+Bourbon and St. Philippe streets—a large, barn-like
+building occupied by a good many slaves; real blacksmiths,
+who toil at the forges.</p>
+
+<p>“What supplies the pirates cannot get from captured
+ships they get in New Orleans. It is a matter
+of common knowledge that they have purchased
+chains and caufles used in ‘black ivory’ from the Lafitte
+smithy. The Lafittes have grown to be popular with
+the smuggler-buccaneers. Jean and Pierre Dominique
+Lafitte, who are, by the way, exceptionally shrewd
+business men, are their chief agents and bankers. This
+is common knowledge, as I said before.</p>
+
+<p>“And the Lafitte smithy is, therefore, a sort of
+clearing house for many questionable transactions.</p>
+
+<p>“Jean Lafitte, in particular, is a very remarkable
+man, in my estimation. He has, as has been proved,
+a rare executive ability, coupled with a genius for
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>organization and, what is more, a magnificent contempt
+for the law that transcends even that of his neighbors.
+That is one of the reasons for his popularity with the
+Creoles, perhaps.</p>
+
+<p>“His success in managing the affairs of the buccaneers,
+in which his usefulness to them has become a
+necessity, so I understand, has obtained for him a
+complete control over their affairs and, what is more
+astonishing, themselves. That alone demonstrates the
+force of his personality. I, myself, will vouch for the
+latter. He has the most charming manners and magnetic
+personality of any man I have met, and I have
+met quite a few.</p>
+
+<p>“This is what you are hearing so much of, about
+Jean Lafitte. That is the story of his ascendancy
+over the pirates. Of course, all of this was not done
+in a day, or a month. He had first to unite their
+many rival interests, compose their differences, and
+form them into an organization which pools its varied
+resources for the good of the whole. At least, that
+is what is said of him. The future will tell. But if
+it is true, then, in my opinion, Jean Lafitte is a genius,
+for no one but a genius could succeed in such an apparently
+impossible undertaking, and no mind but that
+of a genius could have given birth to such a colossal
+conception!”</p>
+
+<p>He paused. Marshall seemed infected with
+Grymes’s enthusiasm.</p>
+
+<p>“This Lafitte must be a wonderful man, indeed,” he
+said, “but you have forgotten to tell me one thing
+... what, or where, is Barataria?”</p>
+
+<p>Grymes looked up eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“I had forgotten! Barataria, or rather, Grande
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>Terre, is the headquarters of these pirates. That is
+how they get their name of ‘Baratarians.’ All operations
+of this magnitude demanded a base of operations,
+and these buccaneers established one at Barataria.</p>
+
+<p>“Barataria Bay, itself, is a name that is applied to
+all of the Gulf coast of Louisiana from the mouth of
+the Mississippi to the Bayou La Fourche, a distance
+of about fifty miles. The island of Grande Terre,
+their headquarters proper, screens this bay from the
+Gulf, with which it is connected by a deep and narrow
+channel. The trees of this island, you see, are high
+enough to easily hide the masts of the ships of these
+slave-raiders from any hostile warship cruising outside,
+and, in my estimation, not a better rendezvous
+for their purpose could be found anywhere in the Gulf!</p>
+
+<p>“Between the Mississippi and the Bayou, there is an
+intricate network of navigable channels that extends
+almost to this city. I am not familiar with it myself,
+and, really, no one is but these buccaneers. This
+makes their headquarters all the more desirable, as it
+gives them what might be called a back-stairs connection
+with New Orleans. It might also be termed a
+direct line of communication between the wholesale
+and retail markets of this rapidly developing trade.
+Indeed, it has come to the pass that this combination
+of which of course the brain is Lafitte, really controls
+the rise and fall of slave prices, and a few other commodities,
+in the Mississippi Valley.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you wonder why the name of Jean Lafitte is
+on every lip?”</p>
+
+<p>Marshall looked thoughtful.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I understand, now. And I suppose every one is
+wondering what he will do next.”</p>
+
+<p>“Exactly. But here, Marshall, I know I have
+bored you with my long talk.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not at all. It is highly interesting. I would like
+to meet this Lafitte, but I suppose it is impossible, for
+I must return to New York to-morrow. By the way,
+Grymes, on my way back, I believe I will stop over
+in Philadelphia and visit your charming daughter.
+She is at school there, is she not?”</p>
+
+<p>The district attorney nodded, his eyes suddenly
+tender.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Virginia is attending Miss Borden’s school
+for young ladies, and was quite a belle, I am told, at
+the Assembly Ball. I shall give you a letter to her if
+you will be so kind as to take it. I can hardly wait
+until she comes down here. She’s never been here,
+you know.”</p>
+
+<p>Marshall answered perfunctorily. He was mentally
+wondering what Jean Lafitte was going to do
+next.</p>
+
+<p>But for that matter, Marshall was one of many.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_5"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Fifth</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>How Jean Lafitte Tells of His Ambition, and Incidentally
+Makes a Change of Residence</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap">“And so, <i>mes amis</i>,” said Lafitte, slowly, “I
+have decided to go to Grande Terre.”</p>
+
+<p>For a long moment there was a strange silence.
+His companions, grouped about the long, paper-littered
+table, were evidently very much surprised and
+perturbed at his simple statement. At the foot,
+Pierre Dominique Lafitte, a gallant figure in fashionable
+garments, stroked his imperial thoughtfully, but
+made no comment. A close observer, however,
+would have noticed that he was keenly studying the
+expressions of the other members of this strange company.</p>
+
+<p>“W’at you mean?” asked one, a curious inflection
+in his voice. Like the majority of his companions, he
+was a seafaring man, but, unlike the others, he was
+not a pure Caucasian. Grambo—no one knew him
+by any other name—was a quadroon. One of the
+most disreputable smugglers in the Gulf, he was also
+one of the leading spirits of the Baratarian colony.</p>
+
+<p>“Just what I said,” answered Lafitte, “I have decided
+to go to Grande Terre.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why?”</p>
+
+<p>Jean looked at the quadroon with a well-simulated
+surprise. “Because I think it necessary that I go
+there,” he said, coolly. “You see, my dear Grambo,
+hitherto I have attended to the business at this end.
+Now I have decided that it would be wise for me to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>run over to our base of operations and look after
+things.”</p>
+
+<p>“Eet is nod necessaire dat you go dere,” hastily put
+in Grambo, frowning. “We shall send you de blac’
+ivree heah. We don’t need you dere.”</p>
+
+<p>“And since when have you taken it upon yourself
+to tell me my duty, m’sieu?” demanded the Frenchman,
+haughtily.</p>
+
+<p>“I dell you no’ting. I onlee say dat eet is not
+necessaire foah you to go dere. W’y do you weesh to
+go?” There was a peculiar look in his shifty eyes,
+a note of insolence in his voice.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Dominique, the peacemaker, knew that
+Grambo was very influential among a large number of
+the smaller fry of smugglers, who feared him for his
+well-known, bullying nature, yet admired him for his
+daring and the vague mystery that surrounded many
+of his ventures. It was whispered of him that he had
+served his apprenticeship in shady deeds in the West
+Indies, the hotbed of piracy.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s up, Jean?” he asked, quietly. “Why this
+sudden determination?”</p>
+
+<p>“I have decided that it is for our best interests that
+I go to Grande Terre—for a while.”</p>
+
+<p>“To—stay?” asked Grambo, quietly, although
+seething inwardly, as Lafitte well knew.</p>
+
+<p>“I believe so. Here are my intentions: I shall go
+to Barataria to superintend the work—”</p>
+
+<p>“W’at work?” asked Grambo, genuinely surprised.
+He could not associate actual work—even the superintendence
+of manual labor—with the immaculate, impeccable
+Frenchman. Lafitte was the brain of the
+organization, the man behind the smuggling on the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>Gulf, who furnished the necessary funds, planned the
+infinitely clever coups, and directed the chief operations
+of the work in general—but who never soiled
+his hands with the contact of actual sweat and blood.
+Grambo was truly surprised.</p>
+
+<p>“First of all,” said Lafitte, “it will hardly be necessary
+to send your goods to New Orleans in the future.”</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean?”</p>
+
+<p>“All goods—particularly black ivory—shall be
+brought directly to Grande Terre, and unloaded
+there.”</p>
+
+<p>“But what is your object in this strange proceeding?”
+asked Pierre Dominique. “Why all the extra
+trouble?”</p>
+
+<p>“It will not be extra trouble at all. Grande Terre
+is to be our headquarters in the future. Our base of
+supplies.”</p>
+
+<p>“Bud I do nod understand,” remarked another.
+“Why nod breeng dem direc’ to New Orleans? Heah
+is de market. Eet is onlee heah dat we gan sell dem.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not at all,” countered Lafitte. “We can sell them
+just as well—and as profitably—at Grande Terre.”</p>
+
+<p>“Bud dere is no one to buy, dere! To sell, we muz
+’ave customers. Dere muz be a market!”</p>
+
+<p>“Exactly. We will create a market.”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Comment?</i>”</p>
+
+<p>“Simple enough. The planters need slaves badly
+enough to come all the way to Grande Terre for them.
+Let them do so. Why should we go to all the trouble
+of bringing them here?” demanded Lafitte.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment they stared at him, turning the new
+idea over and over in their minds. Lafitte went on.</p>
+
+<p>“It is absurdly simple. We shall erect warehouses,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span>slave stockades, and living quarters at Barataria, and
+mount some guns, for protection. Then we can bring
+our black ivory there, place them in our own stockades,
+and sell them when we please, for what we please, instead
+of selling them to dealers here for what they
+want to pay us. There is money in this business, <i>mes
+amis</i>, if it is managed right.”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>C’est vrai</i>—’tis true!” murmured Pocquelin, the
+ship owner.</p>
+
+<p>“And, moreover, we can set our own prices on them
+and can auction them off right there. It will save us
+both time and trouble, not to say being much safer,
+and will fill our pockets in the bargain. What do you
+say?” His companions, with the exception of Pierre
+and the taciturn Grambo, applauded heartily. Pierre
+was silent, reserving his opinions and questions for a
+later time. The quadroon, however, was silent because
+he realized that Lafitte was right, and was
+piqued because he could not find fault with his plans.</p>
+
+<p>“Therefore,” continued Jean, “I will leave for
+Grande Terre at dawn. Pierre shall remain here, to
+act in my absence. As for Barataria, <i>messieurs</i>, I
+prophesy that it will become the largest market in the
+Mississippi Valley. Mark my words! In time we
+shall control the ‘black ivory’ trade of the entire
+Gulf!”</p>
+
+<p>The response was enthusiastic. Jean smiled. He
+invariably had his way with punctilious Creole aristocrat
+and uncouth smuggler. His magnetic, forceful
+personality always triumphed.</p>
+
+<p>“As for yourself, Monsieur Grambo,” remarked
+the younger Lafitte, “since you have such a deep-rooted
+prejudice against my visiting your island, suppose
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span>you remain in New Orleans for a few weeks?
+You need the rest, I’m sure.”</p>
+
+<p>All were silent, instinctively realizing that something
+was in the air.</p>
+
+<p>“Grambo will go to Gran’ Terre, <i>aussi</i>,” growled
+that gentleman, half-defiantly; “he has naught to do
+een New Orleans!”</p>
+
+<p>Jean laughed softly.</p>
+
+<p>“Go by all means, <i>mon bon ami</i>! After all, our
+town air may not be so good for your health. Yes,
+go. But remember, Grambo”—his voice hardened,
+almost imperceptibly—“you go to Grande Terre
+... <i>oui</i>. But only because I permit you to go. Because
+it is my wish,” he added, with magnificent condescension
+in his voice.</p>
+
+<p>Grambo writhed, unable to speak coherently for his
+very rage. Pierre Dominique looked appealingly at
+his dominating brother. He could not know that
+Jean was deliberately attempting to make a display
+of his authority to Grambo because it was necessary
+to the furtherance of one of his many plans.</p>
+
+<p>“Grambo weel do w’at ’e dam’ weesh!” cried the
+Baratarian, at last.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Très bien</i>,” replied Lafitte, tranquilly, too tranquilly,
+one thought. “Pierre, you may return that
+five thousand dollars I got from our bankers to-day.
+Take it to Toulouse Street at once. But wait! Perhaps
+some of these gentlemen here might be able to
+use that sum on a venture somewhat like that planned
+by <i>notre ami</i> ... Monsieur Grambo. No? Well,
+keep it awhile. There are many of our privateer
+friends who might—”</p>
+
+<p>“Eet ees again ‘privateer’!” cried Grambo, jeeringly.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span>“Murszhur Lafitte, I—Grambo—am a pirate!
+Nod a <i>damné</i> privateer! Bah! W’at do I cayeh
+who know? To hell wit’ poleez! To hell wit’ de
+law! I—Grambo—”</p>
+
+<p>“—Am a damn fool!” finished Pierre, under his
+breath, as he filled his pipe. Jean broke in.</p>
+
+<p>“As you wish, monsieur, as you wish! For my part
+you can be pirate, robber, cutthroat, murderer, thief,
+or mere scoundrel! But as for me and these gentlemen,
+I would have you understand ... we are privateers,
+business men, with letters of marque.”</p>
+
+<p>“Letters of marque?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. I have procured regularly authorized letters
+of marque from the Republic of Carthagena, to wage
+warfare on Spanish commerce. Of course, we can
+use our own discretion as to others. Anyone can
+make a mistake, you know.”</p>
+
+<p>They were suddenly silent on receipt of this bit of
+intelligence. Letters of marque would be of great
+service to them. At that date, and for many years
+previous, the practice of privateering was merely a
+system of open piracy with legal sanction. Indeed,
+all privateering might have been given that definition.</p>
+
+<p>“Privateers” and “pirates” were, in fact, almost
+convertible terms. Grambo’s scorn of Lafitte’s polite
+euphemism may easily be understood. The system
+of privateering, indeed, invariably proved a monstrous
+aggravation of the evils of war, although not one spark
+of patriotism animated either owners or crew. Their
+sole object was to make money by plunder. The
+owners of privateers were not honorable or reputable
+citizens as a rule, yet at this period, and especially in
+this locality where smuggling was the vogue, many of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>Louisiana’s best-known citizens were indirectly connected
+with it.</p>
+
+<p>And the practice was not strictly confined to American
+waters. It was authorized by great European nations,
+and in this very same year, while the Lafittes
+were organizing the “black ivory” trade, much outright
+piracy in the guise of honorable warfare was
+going on in the English Channel.</p>
+
+<p>Therefore, the little group of Louisianians gathered
+in the room above the Lafitte smithy were more than a
+little satisfied to learn that Lafitte had secured letters
+of marque from Carthagena.</p>
+
+<p>After a little more discussion the visitors left without
+Grambo having said anything more. The two
+brothers were alone.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Dominique broke the silence.</p>
+
+<p>“Jean,” he said, staring into the fireplace, “I mistrust
+Grambo. Do you think it wise to antagonize
+him?”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps not.”</p>
+
+<p>“You had better keep on your guard, <i>mon frère</i>.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t worry, Pierre. I am prepared.”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Comment?</i>”</p>
+
+<p>“I have not been idle all these months, my brother.
+I saw this day approaching. For almost six months
+I have been recruiting forces, selecting men. Ah, you
+look surprised! I will explain. As you know, New
+Orleans is filled with men ready for any sort of business.
+You know what I mean?”</p>
+
+<p>Pierre nodded soberly. He well knew that the
+streets, wharves, and low dives were swarming with
+soldiers of fortune; swaggering adventurers from all
+over America; fiery revolutionists from South America;
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>fugitives from Santo Domingo and Mexico; men
+ripe for any sort of dare-deviltry, any adventure, no
+matter how dangerous; men ready to sell their lives
+for gold.</p>
+
+<p>“I have visited the saloons, the levees, the river—boats—everywhere!”
+went on Lafitte, “picking a man
+here, a man there. And now, I flatter myself, I have
+the finest band of rascals in the Gulf. And I have
+tested them. I can rely on them.”</p>
+
+<p>Pierre looked puzzled. “But, Jean, I do not see—I
+do not understand. What will you do with them?
+Will you fit out more ships? If so, there are good
+crews in abundance, and assuredly there are far better
+sailors than these roaming adventurers you speak of.”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>C’est vrai.</i> But I know all that, my brother,”
+laughed Jean. “You are dull to-night, indeed! I
+will explain, however. I do not want sailors; I want
+fighters!”</p>
+
+<p>“Fighters?”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Naturellement!</i> Do you think I am fool enough
+to trust myself alone at Grande Terre, to be at the
+mercy of such fools as Grambo? Most assuredly
+not! When I go to Grande Terre to-morrow I go
+with a suitable escort, my brother. Men who will
+obey Jean Lafitte and no one but Jean Lafitte! Without
+them to overawe the trouble-makers, and to keep
+the peace, incidentally, how do you think I will be
+able to weld together our associates, with their many
+differences and jealousies? We must work as a
+whole, not individually. I know these people well,
+Pierre—very well. I have not studied them for
+nothing.</p>
+
+<p>“There is naught that so impresses them as display
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span>of force—of power. The more the pomp and the
+haughtier the bearing, the better they like it. You
+should realize that most of our men are not of this
+democratic, inquisitive type, such as are these Americans
+from the north. The Americans distrust pomp
+and are suspicious of power, but our Creoles and
+Spaniards are Europeans at heart, with the same
+European traditions and ideas, to a large extent.</p>
+
+<p>“They may scoff at power—at the high places—but
+I notice they scramble for those seats of the mighty
+if but given the opportunity. My ‘Myrmidons’—I
+have dubbed them ‘Myrmidons,’ Pierre—shall serve
+many purposes.</p>
+
+<p>“They shall keep order for me at Grande Terre,
+thus assisting in quickening our business expansion projects.
+They shall keep for me the balance of power
+at Barataria, so that I may carry out my plans, unhindered
+by insurgents and dissentients. They shall
+provide the pomp and <i>éclat</i> necessary to dazzle, impress,
+and overawe these smugglers. And, lastly,
+they shall serve to uphold the prestige and power of
+Jean Lafitte personally—so that at Barataria his word
+shall be law! Only thus can be built a strong—”</p>
+
+<p>“Monarchy!” finished Pierre Dominique, soberly,
+his eyes on Jean’s face. “<i>Ma foi!</i> But you are ambitious,
+brother mine! In other words, your gallant
+swashbucklers shall raise you on their swords to a
+throne, if but a small one!”</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte stared into the dying fire, whose last flickering
+embers threw his tall figure into shapely relief
+against the wall. His face, however, was in shadow.</p>
+
+<p>“Speaking of monarchies—kingdoms—Pierre, are
+those impossible? The little Corsican, unknown to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span>the world but ten short years ago, is now Emperor of
+France! The obscure cadet of an Italian province is
+now our king!”</p>
+
+<p>“Europe is not America, Jean. What can happen
+there cannot happen here. The European is so accustomed
+to the idea of monarchies and empires that
+no other form of government seems possible to him.
+Both our ancestors and our European contemporaries
+have been, and still are, unconsciously governed by
+tradition. The idea of the divine right of kings is as
+indelibly stamped in their hearts as is their belief that
+there is a deity in heaven. And, for them, it is as
+it should be. Another form of government would be
+impossible for them ... and is improbable.</p>
+
+<p>“There is the saying, ‘<i>si Dieu n’ existait pas, il
+faudrait l’inventer</i>.’ And it is true. If God did not
+exist it <i>would</i> be necessary to invent him. So with
+monarchies. If they should suddenly cease to exist,
+it would be necessary to invent new monarchical forms
+of government—in Europe! But not in America,
+Jean—not in America! You wish to establish a monarchy?
+In Europe, yes! It might be possible. But
+in America, no!”</p>
+
+<p>Jean laughed lightly.</p>
+
+<p>“What of Toussaint L’Ouverture? Did he not
+make himself dictator of Santo Domingo but a few
+short years ago?”</p>
+
+<p>“The ‘Black Napoleon’? <i>Ma foi</i>, Jean, but you
+have much to learn! The conditions favored him.
+And, in any event, such things happen but once in an
+age!”</p>
+
+<p>“What can happen once can happen again! Yet—”</p>
+
+<p>“‘Yet’! That’s exactly the point. <i>Yet</i> it won’t
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>happen again, and certainly not here—in America!
+You talk nonsense, Jean. Did not Aaron Burr, that
+talented American, dream of a great western empire—and
+did he not dream in vain? And <i>he</i> was a
+really great man, a man of eminence, of influence.
+Have you already forgotten how he came here to New
+Orleans several short years ago with their General
+Wilkinson? And how he failed? Aaron Burr still
+lives, but his star has set forever.</p>
+
+<p>“Kingdoms? There will be no more kingdoms in
+America, Jean. When Washington refused the title
+of king, he sounded the death-knell of any future attempt
+to set up a monarchy in America, or on this continent!
+Where is Burr to-day? Where is the Dictator
+of Santo Domingo? Where—”</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte laughed and put his hand on his brother’s
+shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>“You are right, Pierre, as usual, but you have misunderstood
+me. I have no intention whatsoever of
+attempting to establish a miniature sovereignty or independent
+state.”</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Dominique looked both exasperated and perplexed.</p>
+
+<p>“Then why do you crave this personal power?
+Why do you wish to reign supreme at Grande Terre?”
+he demanded, bluntly.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Lafitte smiled grimly. His black eyes flashed.</p>
+
+<p>“You still do not understand, Pierre? I am not
+fool enough to dream of a monarchy, as you suggest.
+As you say, monarchies are only for Europe, and I
+know that well enough. But I <i>do</i> intend, and I will
+succeed, in making myself the economic dictator of the
+Mississippi Valley! The privateer of Barataria shall
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>set the price of slaves, and, mayhap, other commodities,
+in this region. Opportunity is at our door.
+We shall win our desire, <i>not</i> by the right of the
+stronger—but—by the right of the wiser.... You
+understand me?” he cried, enthusiastically.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre looked at his brother thoughtfully. “<i>Mais
+oui.</i> But that is an unusual doctrine.”</p>
+
+<p>“All unused doctrines are unusual.”</p>
+
+<p>“But your idea has—possibilities. It’s not exactly
+impossible.”</p>
+
+<p>“Possibilities?” Jean laughed exultantly. “Impossible?
+<i>Impossible n’est pas un mot français!</i>”</p>
+
+<p>Pierre did not answer. Jean kicked idly at the dying
+embers.</p>
+
+<p>“You wish to be—you are—<i>un chevalier d’industrie</i>!”
+accused Pierre, suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>“A knight of industry, yes. But not a swindler—a
+sharper. Pierre, this is an age of money—a mercenary
+age.”</p>
+
+<p>“That may be said of every age in history,” said
+Pierre Lafitte.</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps. But the time is not far off when trade
+will influence both politics and society. And mayhap
+religion. Cannot money buy almost anything? Cannot
+it buy legislators, women, pleasure, power?”</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, the vesper bells of the convent of the
+Ursulines were heard in the distance, their silvery
+melodies faintly borne to them by the Gulf breeze.
+At the sound a new thought entered Lafitte’s head.</p>
+
+<p>“—And perhaps our holy men and women?” he
+added, ingenuously.</p>
+
+<p>“You speak blasphemy!” cried Pierre, furtively
+crossing himself. The elder Lafitte was not greatly
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>religious, but was superstitious to a marked degree.
+He well knew that Jean listened to the religious talk
+of the priests and pious Catholics with a cynical intolerance,
+and privately deplored the fact. Like most
+French boys, the Lafittes were, in both their juvenescence
+and adolescence, ardent supporters of Holy
+Church. But since reaching manhood all had changed—in
+the case of Jean, particularly.</p>
+
+<p>Jean, who had sorrowed so for his lost Lizette,
+musing and pondering on the insignificance of the
+trivialities of life, his eyes on the immovable stars,
+all alone in the infinite stillnesses of the night, during
+that period of his career in the Caribbean, had gradually
+and almost unconsciously come to doubt the existence
+of a deity, and to lose what moderate respect he
+had ever possessed for his personal religion. For,
+he argued within himself, if a beneficent, kind, and all-potent
+power did exist, why had it allowed his Lizette
+to die, and himself to live on, with a memory-fraught
+future?</p>
+
+<p>For this, and similar reasons, partly due to his temporary
+companionship and intercourse with the lawless,
+creedless free-booters of the Caribbean, he had
+lost practically whatever faith he had ever possessed,
+and which was never totally regained, even when he
+had partly forgotten his boyhood sweetheart and had
+taken a creditable place in cultured society. A certain
+acquaintance had once called him “<i>un libre-penseur</i>”—a
+free-thinker.</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte was wise, however, and well knew that it
+would be rather embarrassing, while in Creole circles,
+to be religionless, to all outward appearance, so, externally,
+at least, he again became a pious, dutiful son
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span>of Mother Church, much to the edification of his
+ecclesiastical contemporaries and the approval of his
+Creole friends. It cost him nothing, and his convictions
+were his own.</p>
+
+<p>If the teachings of the priests were true, then by
+conformity to the exactions of the Church his future
+existence was safeguarded. If they were untrue, as
+he half suspected, he would enter the Great Vacuum
+with curiosity, but not fear, to face what there was to
+be faced with the courage of a true Lafitte, a true
+gentleman, and a true Frenchman. He would doubtless
+meet others....</p>
+
+<p>Such was Jean Lafitte, such his ideas about the great
+scheme of things ... a man with that perfect poise
+which is the essence of individuality, with unusual
+imagination and vision; a creature of intuitive impulse,
+and one whose keen sense of honor was primarily a
+peculiar sportsmanship whose chief ingredients were
+a love of fair play, an acute sense of justice, and the
+love of excitement that permeates every man of action.</p>
+
+<p>And it was just such a man who was to assist in
+molding the destinies of a great nation.</p>
+
+<p>Such men are not types, nor yet like one another.
+Most emphatically not.</p>
+
+<p>Such men are <i>individuals</i>. And rarities.</p>
+
+<p>“Blasphemy?” sighed Jean, guilelessly. “<i>Non, non,
+mon frère.</i> I speak but the truth.” He laughed
+cynically.</p>
+
+<p>“You think me ambitious, brother. You are
+wrong. Ambition is but the pursuit of mirages; the
+big things of to-day are but the stepping-stones to the
+bigger things of to-morrow. Say, rather, Destiny.
+Yes, that is the word. Destiny. I am inclined to believe
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span>that I am somewhat of a fatalist, like these Easterns
+one reads about.” He paused. “But you may
+be right, at that. Ambition is desire—and desire is
+will ... that is unconquerable. I believe I have
+that,” he mused.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Dominique looked pained.</p>
+
+<p>“More blasphemy!” he muttered, ignoring Jean’s
+latter remarks, which, truth to tell, he did not understand.</p>
+
+<p>Jean laughed unpleasantly, catching at the other’s
+train of thought, with swift insight.</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, Pierre, fear not for my immortal soul. I am
+as devout a Catholic as yourself. I merely spoke my
+thoughts. You should ignore them. I am but a
+pirate, after all, <i>n’est-ce-pas, mon Pierre</i>? And it is
+well known that a gentleman of piratical tendencies
+should profess no religion. It would be inconsistent.
+Pardon my speech, brother, if it offends you. You
+well know I am not one of these canting hypocrites
+who pretend great piety, nor yet am I like these superstitious
+peons whose only possessions are a wealth of
+vermin and an unshakable faith in the holy saints!”</p>
+
+<p>He laughed mirthlessly. Pierre Dominique endeavored
+to look stern, but without success.</p>
+
+<p>“But you should not speak so of—of the servants
+of Holy Church, my brother. Nor yet should you
+take pride in the fact that you once were—a pirate.
+Rather, you should repent.”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps. But I cannot but notice, Sir Champion,
+that L’Abbe Constantin did not refuse my pair of
+golden candlesticks last Michaelmas. Nor did the
+Mother Superior of the Ursulines refuse my costly
+altar cloth. On the contrary, they both gave me their
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span>blessing as a true son of Mother Church ... me,
+the pirate ... the smuggler!” There was a trace
+of bitterness in his voice.</p>
+
+<p>But Pierre Dominique did not answer.</p>
+
+<p>For a long while neither spoke, each buried in his
+own thoughts, as they stared into the dying fire.</p>
+
+<p>The last ember sputtered out.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_6"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Sixth</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>In which Grambo, the Quadroon, Is Indiscreet, and
+Suffers Thereby</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap">Grambo scowled.</p>
+
+<p>“I do nod trus’ him, I tell you! He ees nod
+betteh dan annybodee else!”</p>
+
+<p>“I knowce it, bud who gan mague an’teen?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’d lag to cud hiz troad! De—”</p>
+
+<p>“Hush! Heah come won af hiz boolies!”</p>
+
+<p>“De <i>canaille</i>!”</p>
+
+<p>In silence the two Baratarians, Grambo, the quadroon,
+and Manuel Espinosa, a Spanish Creole, watched
+the approach of a gayly dressed swashbuckler, who,
+with lofty contempt apparent in every gesture, passed
+them quickly.</p>
+
+<p>Grambo snarled.</p>
+
+<p>“Señor Grambo,” said the other, “Manuel Espinosa,
+too, would lag to go some nigh’ and cut-a hiz
+heart ou’—bud eet is impossible!”</p>
+
+<p>Grambo nodded gloomily.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Oui</i>, señor. Bud wad gan won do? Dad dam’
+Lafette haz alread’ bin heah a mont’, an’ wa’d a
+zchance’ I tol’ you so, did I nod? When I ask ’im een
+New Orleans foah why he come to Gran’ Terre, he
+anseh, ‘to take charge.’ An’ dad ees w’at he haz
+done, de <i>diable</i>!”</p>
+
+<p>“Can nodin’ be done?”</p>
+
+<p>“I gan keel-a heem!”</p>
+
+<p>“W’at do de oders say?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“De oders?” Grambo cursed. “Dey are all wit’
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span>heem! No sooneh do he arrife dan day all run to
+heem lak a flo’k of ship. From dad day when he stip
+on Gran’ Terre he iz ‘<i>le bosse</i>’! Dad oz w’at day all
+call heem—‘<i>bosse</i>.’ I go to dem—to Millar’, to Pascoval,
+to Mazara, ’Kenzie—dey are all crezzie! Dey
+sayce, ‘Of co’se Lafette iz de <i>bosse</i>! Foah why
+nod?’ Dey sayce he is de sma’tes’ man een de Golf!
+Bah! Jus’ beco’se he mague so mooch money!”</p>
+
+<p>“Did dey all say dad?”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Non!</i> Jacques an’ José an’ de othehs—oweh
+crowd—mague protes’ also lak me! Bud id do no
+goo’. Doze dam boolies ov hiz come an’ t’reat’n uz.
+Try to mague a fight. W’at gan we do? Dey are
+t’ree to one and each ov dam iz lak a debil! Dat
+Lafette iz sma’t! Too sma’t. He knowce dat he
+could nod do what he weesh alone, so breeng hiz
+boolies wit’ him ... an’ we gan do nodings! Bud I
+weel feex dat Lafette yet—<i>moi</i>, Grambo!”</p>
+
+<p>“A chance-a weel come. We weel get heem yet,”
+promised Manuel.</p>
+
+<p>The quadroon nodded gloomily. Together they
+walked along the beach, toward the busy crowd at the
+landing.</p>
+
+<p>As Grambo had remarked, Jean Lafitte was undoubtedly
+the undisputed <i>bosse</i> of Grande Terre.
+The privateer had been joyfully welcomed by the majority
+of the Baratarians, and, in an incredibly short
+time, almost all authority had been placed in his hands.
+This was perhaps partly due to the prestige which
+had accrued to his name through his large smuggling
+operations and, on the other hand, equally due to the
+personality of the man himself.</p>
+
+<p>Immediately after his arrival he had summoned into
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>conference all of the more powerful and influential of
+the leaders then present in the Bay. In forceful terms
+he let them know his plans for the future of Grande
+Terre. The majority of them readily saw the many
+advantages they would possess if his scheme were carried
+out, and heartily acquiesced.</p>
+
+<p>Others, who like Grambo were jealous of Lafitte’s
+popularity and power, did all they could to hinder him,
+but this availed them little. A group of Jean’s
+“Myrmidons,” armed to the teeth, who were in the
+habit of visiting the malcontents and using a form of
+gentle persuasion known only to themselves, soon put
+the fear of Jean Lafitte in their hearts.</p>
+
+<p>But a few of the Baratarians, notably the quadroon,
+were not altogether pacified. Far from it.</p>
+
+<p>As for Grambo, he was perhaps the most piratical
+scoundrel of the entire colony, notwithstanding his
+tendency to boast of the fact. He possessed all of the
+predatory instincts of the true pirate and was a genuine
+disciple of the scuttle-the-ship and walk-the-plank
+school, having frequently practiced many of the cruel
+deeds generally attributed to his kind. Manuel Espinosa
+ran him a close second—some said it was <i>vice
+versa</i>.</p>
+
+<p>And thus matters had rested.</p>
+
+<p>It was a bright June day and an unusual bustle was
+to be seen on the low, sandy island.</p>
+
+<p>A large slaver had been captured the day before
+and had just been brought into the bay and anchored
+at Grande Terre. Her cargo of slaves was now being
+landed on the large wharf, weak, emaciated, and half-dead
+from their long, tortuous trip. As they came
+over the ship’s side and were landed on the wharf the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>poor human chattels were immediately sent to the
+slave stockades—large, heavily fenced inclosures containing
+sheds.</p>
+
+<p>Hordes of half-naked slaves, property of the buccaneers,
+toiled ceaselessly, loading and unloading
+bundles, bales, bags, barrels, and packages of every
+description imaginable. Up and down the slope, back
+and forth, they hurried, piling their burdens in the
+flimsy warehouses, or loading some outbound vessel.</p>
+
+<p>Practically the whole Baratarian world was at this
+one spot; bronzed sailors, swaggering adventurers,
+conservative tradesmen, loud-voiced pirates, poorly
+clad fishermen, swarthy Mesquite Indians from the
+Honduras coast, and equally dark Choctaws from
+Louisiana.</p>
+
+<p>Among the largest groups of privateersmen at the
+wharf, perhaps the liveliest of them all was one in
+which the central figure was the swarthy Grambo,
+loudly describing some adventure or other in which he
+had figured. By his side was Manuel Espinosa.</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, laughing and cursing at intervals, a
+group of slaves, shackled at the neck to one another so
+as to form a human chain, halted for a moment to
+allow another group of slaves to pass.</p>
+
+<p>Among the blacks a negro girl, strangely light complexioned
+as compared to her fellows, and rather
+pretty as to face and figure, caught the eye of the
+swarthy Grambo. He stared at her, unmistakable desire
+shining in his eyes. The girl, probably the offspring
+of an African mother and an Arabian father,
+looked up, intercepted the burning look, and dropped
+her eyes fearfully.</p>
+
+<p>Grambo had by now stepped out of the chattering
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span>group and was eying her—her supple body and comely
+face, the curve of her girlish bosom.</p>
+
+<p>With a word to the overseer he laid his hand on her
+shoulder. She shrank back at his touch. Grinning,
+the quadroon ordered that she be taken out of line.
+His order was immediately obeyed, unnoticed by the
+surrounding throng. Taking hold of the dangling
+chain from her neck, he endeavored to lead her away
+from the wharf, but the frightened girl, understanding
+his purpose, refused to go, dragging back and
+finally biting and kicking in her terror.</p>
+
+<p>The surrounding crowd, attracted by the noise, encircled
+the swarthy pirate and his struggling victim,
+with loud laughter and coarse jests. This, however,
+only served to put the quadroon into a rage. Snatching
+a whip from a near-by overseer, he proceeded to
+lash the girl, raising bloody welts on her soft, unprotected
+skin, which shortly was leaving the flesh raw
+and hanging. Again and again the whip descended
+on the body of the groveling, shrieking slave, her persecutor
+seeming to take fiendish delight in his occupation.
+Espinosa, the Spaniard, bared his yellow teeth
+in a hideous grin as he looked on approvingly.</p>
+
+<p>It was at this moment that Jean, attracted by the
+cries of the girl and the loud, obscene curses of the
+pirate, came upon the scene. As he saw them, his
+brow grew dark with anger and his handsome black
+eyes glowed in his pale face like live coals.</p>
+
+<p>Striding through the crowd, he came behind
+Grambo and with one powerful wrench took the descending
+lash from the quadroon’s hand. With a
+howl of rage the burly Grambo swung around sharply,
+to face the smuggler chieftain.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Geeve-a me back dat wheep!” he demanded, with
+a curse. At sight of Jean all of his hatred for the
+Frenchman welled up within his soul. To his former
+jealousy had come venom. Lafitte had dared to interfere
+with him, Grambo, the terror of his compeers,
+in the presence of the whole Baratarian world! His
+fury rose into his throat, choking him—becoming a
+physical pain.</p>
+
+<p>A sudden silence fell on the crowd. Every Baratarian
+there knew instinctively that a crisis had come—that
+was to determine the future of Grande Terre,
+perhaps.</p>
+
+<p>For a long moment Jean stared the quadroon in
+the eye.</p>
+
+<p>Grambo repeated his demand gruffly.</p>
+
+<p>“What were you doing with it, if I may ask?”
+Lafitte asked, quietly.</p>
+
+<p>“W’at iz dat to you?”</p>
+
+<p>“I requested you to tell me what you were doing
+with this lash,” said Lafitte, mildly, as if he were
+speaking to a child. His calm voice made an impression
+on the pirate.</p>
+
+<p>“I was pun’sh’n’ dis wench,” sullenly.</p>
+
+<p>“Why?”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Sacré!</i> W’at iz dat to you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why?” His casual air disturbed Grambo. He
+glanced around the circle of near-by faces. Not one
+was friendly. His friends, he saw, were all closely
+surrounded by Lafitte’s swashbucklers. He cursed
+silently. Grambo was not very popular outside his
+own circle, and he began to imagine that even his own
+friends were watching his discomfiture with amusement.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>Only Espinosa glared at Lafitte balefully, but
+even he made no move to interfere.</p>
+
+<p>“Why?” came the question again.</p>
+
+<p>“Beco’se she waz disob-bead-yun’!”</p>
+
+<p>“Disobedient?” Lafitte wore an air of polite puzzlement.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Oui.</i> She would nod come wit’ me.” The next
+moment he could have bitten his tongue off for that
+damaging statement.</p>
+
+<p>“Is she your personal property?” asked Lafitte,
+suavely.</p>
+
+<p>“None of you’ dam’ bus’nez!” cried Grambo, defiantly,
+swiftly deciding to brazen it out. “W’at do—”</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte turned to the near-by overseer. The crowd
+grew thicker.</p>
+
+<p>“Is this slave one of that group?” he demanded, imperiously
+pointing to the near-by string of slaves.</p>
+
+<p>“Yesseh, <i>mon capitaine</i>!” respectfully.</p>
+
+<p>“Has this string been sold yet?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, <i>monsieur le bosse</i>. We were joost takin’ dem
+to de black-ivree pen. Dey’ve joost come off de
+sheep.”</p>
+
+<p>“Have they been spoken for?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, monsieur. Dey are to go strai’t to de block.”</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte’s voice became hard.</p>
+
+<p>“Then how is this slave girl in his possession?”</p>
+
+<p>“I hope you’ excellency will pardon me, bud I did
+nod know,” the overseer replied, looking appealingly
+at the glowering Grambo. The latter gave no sign.</p>
+
+<p>“Speak out!” said Lafitte.</p>
+
+<p>“Grambo—<i>Capitaine</i> Grambo, ordeh’d me to
+loosen heh and to geeve heh to heem. I did nod
+know....”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span></p>
+
+<p>Jean wheeled around and faced Grambo again.</p>
+
+<p>“And what have you to say to this, sirrah?” demanded
+Lafitte. “Since when have you taken upon
+yourself the authority to take what you want ... to
+take what you haven’t been given, nor bought at open
+auction, nor captured yourself? That which is the
+property of the colony?” he thundered.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment the crestfallen Grambo did not answer.
+Suddenly he realized that Lafitte was undoubtedly
+in the right, and cursed himself for a fool. He
+had broken one of the unwritten laws of the brotherhood.
+He must act quickly.</p>
+
+<p>“Who are you?” he demanded, in turn, “to tell a
+free Baratarian w’at to do? Who made you oweh
+chief—oweh tyran’?” he asked, excitedly. “Who tol’
+you to bill’ dose w’arfs an’ huts? An’ dat beeg howse
+of yo’se up on de heel?”</p>
+
+<p>Jean Lafitte looked him over contemptuously.</p>
+
+<p>“You ungrateful dog,” he said, scornfully. “May I
+ask who it was that gave you a start—a ship—a crew—money—when
+you didn’t have a picayune, much less
+a dollar? May I ask who it was who made you? I
+might have expected that from a quadroon dog and
+son of a dog!”</p>
+
+<p>With a bound Grambo was face to face with him,
+shaking his fist menacingly and uttering fierce curses.</p>
+
+<p>“Stand back, dog!” exclaimed Lafitte.</p>
+
+<p>Grambo only cursed the more. His hand was
+sneaking toward the knife in his belt.</p>
+
+<p>“Stand back, thief!” said Jean, scornfully, “before
+I give you a lesson for your insubordination! Malherébé,
+place this quadroon in the <i>calabosa</i>!”</p>
+
+<p>With a shriek of rage the pirate sprang at Jean.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>In his hand was clenched a gleaming knife. There
+was an involuntary gasp from the bystanders and a
+general rush forward.</p>
+
+<p>But the cool Lafitte was prepared. A pistol flashed
+from its holster, spoke reprovingly, and Grambo fell,
+shot through the heart.</p>
+
+<p>For an instant, with a contemptuous smile on his lips,
+Lafitte stared at the body. Then, without a glance
+toward the crowd, he replaced his smoking pistol in
+its holster and nonchalantly walked away.</p>
+
+<p>The crowd closed around the body.</p>
+
+<p>Manuel Espinosa kneeled and, lifting Grambo’s
+head, stared into his glazed eyes, morbidly regarding
+the carmine stream that was dyeing the Baratarian’s
+scarlet shirt a deeper hue. His head bent, he bared
+his teeth with his characteristic grimace, and his ugly
+hands bunched convulsively as if they already felt
+Lafitte’s throat in their iron grasp. Terrible curses
+choked him—but did not pass his thin lips, for the
+Spaniard was no fool.</p>
+
+<p>After all, his fury was not so much over the death
+of his crony as it was an expression of his virulent
+hatred for the <i>bosse</i> of Barataria. Sorrow was
+utterly foreign to the nature of the freebooter; indeed,
+he felt not even regret, for Grambo’s death merely
+cleared his own path to the leadership of their bloody
+clique, which he had long desired. To attain that end
+he would have unscrupulously murdered the quadroon
+himself at the proper time—indeed, he had recently
+been considering ways and means for just such an act.</p>
+
+<p>But his hatred of Lafitte was but intensified, and
+within his shadowy soul Manuel Encarnacion Espinosa
+swore vengeance.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span></p>
+
+<p>When he finally raised his head, however, and rose
+to his feet, his swarthy face was blandly imperturbable.</p>
+
+<p>Grambo, the quadroon, had ceased to exist, but his
+work was to be carried on.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_7"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Seventh</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>Wherein Our Pirate Meets a Lady, and One Virginia
+Grymes Hears a Strange Tale</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<h4>I</h4>
+
+<p class="dropcap">“Speak of Angels,” remarked Pierre,
+brightly, “and you hear the flutter of their
+wings!” He straightened up from his bow to the
+occupants of a passing carriage.</p>
+
+<p>“Meaning—?” asked Jean, inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p>“The two ladies who have just passed.”</p>
+
+<p>“The fair Amélie and her cousin Angélique?”</p>
+
+<p>“Precisely. It is something unusual to see them together.
+I wonder what’s up?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ze frien’sheep of two women ees nozzing bud a
+plot against a zird,” contributed De Moulin, sententiously.</p>
+
+<p>The little group of friends, the Lafittes, De Moulin,
+and two Creole acquaintances, all laughed together at
+this conceit. It was a bright sunny day and the Rue
+Royale was alive with promenaders. As the little
+group strolled down the street headed toward the
+waterfront, stopping every now and then to salute a
+passing acquaintance, bow to a lady or ladies in some
+picturesque balcony or passing carriage, they presented
+a gallant sight. At this period of history, fashions
+in men’s clothing were undergoing a marked change.
+The Lafittes, like most of their Creole friends, still
+clung to the colorful knee-breeches and silk stockings
+of the Revolutionary period, or highly polished boots.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>They carried sword-canes. The Americans of the
+new order of things, however—men like Livingston,
+Grymes, Governor Claiborne, and others of their official
+contemporaries—wore the long breeches which
+were buttoned at the ankles, that were just at that
+time becoming the vogue, with long stocks for neck-wear,
+high beaver hats, and double-breasted, full-skirted
+coats.</p>
+
+<p>“I have heard,” said Pierre, “that Amélie is contemplating
+entering the Convent of the Ursulines.
+Is it true?”</p>
+
+<p>De Moulin laughed wickedly.</p>
+
+<p>“If you notice,” he remarked, “ze ladiz turn to God
+when ze dev’l won’ hay’ nozzin’ moah to do wiz dem—dat
+is, speak’n’ gen’rallee ...” he amended, hastily.</p>
+
+<p>Jean laughed.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t defame the fair sex so, François,” said he,
+“for if men loved God as much as they love women—as
+Pascal says—men would be saints!”</p>
+
+<p>“Without love,” said Pierre, sagely, “it would be
+sad to be a man....”</p>
+
+<p>“From which I am to infer,” responded his brother,
+“that you are in that tortured state? Who is it this
+time?”</p>
+
+<p>Pierre sighed heavily.</p>
+
+<p>“You may jest about it, little brother, but wait—just
+wait—until the germ bites <i>you</i>! I should like
+to see that day....”</p>
+
+<p>“The holy saints forfend!” exclaimed Jean, with
+mock piety.</p>
+
+<p>“Of co’se Pierre eez in love!” cried De Moulin.
+“An’ so am I—an’ oweh fr’en’s heah, too.”</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean?” demanded Jean.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span></p>
+
+<p>“There gan be bud won,” went on the Creole.</p>
+
+<p>“Who?” with perplexity.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>La belle Américaine!</i>”</p>
+
+<p>“A nymph—a fairy!” cried Pierre. “I had forgotten
+that you but just came to town, Jean. Forgive
+me. She is a stranger—an American—and she is
+ravishing—divine!”</p>
+
+<p>“Heh nem is Virginia Grymes,” contributed one of
+the others.</p>
+
+<p>“Grymes?” asked Jean. “Could it be—”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Mais oui, mon frère!</i> It is the only daughter of
+our good friend Grymes, the district attorney. It is
+said that she left a trail of broken hearts in Philadelphia
+and Richmond. <i>Sacré diable!</i> One can well
+believe it! She was the belle of the Assembly Ball
+in the Quaker City when she made her <i>début</i> there.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, Pierre,” said Jean, “I see you’ve been up to
+your old tricks. Has she refused you, yet?”</p>
+
+<p>“Only twice,” returned his brother, coolly, “but
+there is yet time. Women like brave men, but audacious
+ones still more. I shall keep on trying. However,
+I advise you to watch yourself well, <i>mon frère</i>,
+for if she ever directs the battery of her eyes at you
+your poor heart will capitulate at once. She is not
+the usual type of girl one meets, Jean. Somehow she
+is different, fresher, a typical American, a Virginia
+rose!”</p>
+
+<p>Jean looked amused. No woman had ever interested
+him like that. And he told himself that no
+woman ever would. He had much to learn!</p>
+
+<p>“Whatever she is,” he remarked, dryly, “I see that
+she has no lack of supporters. But you need have no
+cause for anxiety.... What’s that, gentlemen?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span></p>
+
+<p>With one accord the group turned their eyes in the
+direction of his glance. There, a few hundred yards
+up the street, was tearing a large open carriage, of the
+type known as barouche, drawn by two magnificent
+black horses. Their eyes flamed, their teeth were
+bared between slavering jaws, and their clattering
+hoofs struck sparks from the old cobblestones.</p>
+
+<p>As the careening equipage bore down on them the
+crowd scattered left and right, upsetting one another
+in their eagerness to escape from the path of the oncoming
+steeds, to whose fright they added materially
+by their excited cries and calls.</p>
+
+<p>On second glance one saw that the box was empty.
+Almost two blocks behind the carriage ran a coachman
+in livery, his black face almost livid with fear, shouting
+to the horses and brandishing his useless whip.</p>
+
+<p>The woman, or rather, girl, who was in the carriage,
+made no outcry, but gripped the arm of her seat,
+her face white and tense, lips parted, eyes wide.</p>
+
+<p>Less than a block away, at the foot of the street,
+was the levee, beyond which sparkled the waters of
+the Mississippi. It was straight for this that the
+maddened runaways were thundering, straight to destruction.</p>
+
+<p>The street was in an uproar. In the whole crowd
+of sailors, soldiers, merchants, laborers, loafers, and
+negroes, not one man had the presence of mind to do
+something to stop their spectacular flight—except one.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly, as if he had sprung up from the very
+earth, there appeared a man standing in the middle
+of the street ... standing in the path of the oncoming
+runaways bearing down upon him with the speed
+of a veritable Juggernaut. The crowd for an instant
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>ceased its cries, awaiting the further action of this
+rash man.</p>
+
+<p>The runaways were about fifteen yards from him
+when the man, pistol in hand, aimed at the nearest
+horse.</p>
+
+<p>That brief moment before he fired seemed an age to
+the onlookers. Just as the horses were upon him he
+nimbly jumped aside. With a scream that sounded
+almost human, the off horse fell dead in its tracks, a
+bullet in his head. The other came to an abrupt halt.</p>
+
+<p>In the meantime the man had not been idle. As the
+horses lurched past him, he sprang to the carriage just
+in time to grasp its occupant in his arms as she fell
+forward from the jar of the sudden halt. So nicely
+was this maneuver timed that she hardly felt the shock
+and was lightly swung into the street.</p>
+
+<p>The crowd, cheering, surged tumultuously about
+them, leaving them inclosed in a little space by the
+carriage steps.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Lafitte stared at the girl he had rescued, and,
+unconsciously dropped his jaw in amazement. For
+the first time in his life he felt disconcerted, bewildered,
+unsure of himself. His mind was in a tumult.
+Never before, he thought, had he seen such a
+beautiful girl.</p>
+
+<p>Nut-brown hair, dark, curly and now a mass of riotous
+disorder, hung about her shoulders, framing a
+piquant, highbred face of a delightful olive complexion,
+which was heightened by a soft rosy glow. Her
+eyes, veiled by long silky lashes, topped with exquisitely
+arched eyebrows, were of an indescribable greenish-gray-brown
+color, the emerald note predominating,
+perhaps. At the moment, in his subconscious mind,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>Jean was trying to solve that all-important question,
+but their color was so changeable that he felt himself
+baffled. Before he had time to complete his mental
+inventory of her charms, however, he was brought
+back to the prosaic realities of life by the sound of
+her voice.</p>
+
+<p>Low, mellow, well modulated, it enchanted him as
+much as had her finely cut face and slim, graceful, perfectly
+proportioned figure. As she spoke he forced
+himself to listen.</p>
+
+<p>“I cannot fully express, sir, my gratitude to you for
+your brave act. It was wonderful!” Her eyes
+glowed, and her girlish bosom could be seen to rise
+and fall from the excitement engendered by that wild
+ride.</p>
+
+<p>“Scipio, the coachman, left the box for a few minutes,
+and our poor horses took fright at something.
+In a moment they had bolted on that terrible, thrilling
+ride! It was glorious!”</p>
+
+<p>Jean mentally reared back on his heels. Here was
+a bit of femininity altogether different from the
+languishing, insipid ladies of his acquaintance.</p>
+
+<p>“Glorious!” he gasped.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course! It was wonderful!” she cried, not
+noticing the look on his face. “Only, I’m sorry my
+poor horses caused you any inconvenience.”</p>
+
+<p>“Wonderful!” “Inconvenience!” Jean stared.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you realize, mademoiselle,” he said, stiffly,
+“that you might have been seriously injured—killed—or
+perhaps drowned?”</p>
+
+<p>“Drowned?” she repeated, with a bewildered look.
+An old sailor, one of the bystanders, now chimed in.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Mon Dieu!</i> De black devils were headed straight
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span>for dat wharf, down dere. If it hadn’t been for
+<i>monsieur le capitaine</i>....” His voice trailed off
+vaguely into nothingness, as if the words he left unsaid
+were too terrible for contemplation, much less
+speech.</p>
+
+<p>Her terrified eyes followed his finger. She shuddered.
+Then, as suddenly as before, she resumed her
+former attitude. Her voice was abjectly apologetic.</p>
+
+<p>“How ungrateful I have acted! Pray forgive me,
+sir ... er ... Captain?” she begged, archly contrite.</p>
+
+<p>The bow that <i>monsieur le capitaine</i> made was
+worthy of a Brummel. It set her to thinking. Indeed,
+he presented a figure that any maiden would not
+disdain to admire, and this one was not false to her
+sex.</p>
+
+<p>For the first time she critically took note of his
+firm mouth, square chin, domineering arched nose,
+broad brow, fine eyes and graceful figure, and was
+at once favorably impressed. She also suddenly
+noticed the obvious respect accorded him by the bystanders,
+a fact worthy of investigation in itself. She
+at once burned to know his identity.</p>
+
+<p>“I realize now, sir,” she went on, “what a debt I
+owe you, and shall never forget it. If you would do
+me the honor of calling, sir, my father would take
+pleasure in adding his thanks to mine. Perhaps you
+know him. I—I am Virginia Grymes,” she ended.</p>
+
+<p>So this was the new beauty—the rage of Creole
+society! He might have known it, he thought, vexed.</p>
+
+<p>“And I—I am Jean Lafitte,” he answered, with a
+studied carelessness. Though he scarcely knew why,
+he waited for her next words eagerly. There was a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>momentary pause as the significance of that well-known
+name sank into her consciousness.</p>
+
+<p>“Not—not—<i>the</i> Jean Lafitte,” she faltered, and
+then could have bitten off her tongue.</p>
+
+<p>He stiffened, and a curious dignity was apparent in
+his reply.</p>
+
+<p>“I believe I have that honor,” he said, dryly, as he
+mentally wondered at the repugnance manifest in her
+tone, which he could not understand.</p>
+
+<p>She hesitated for the briefest timable space, and
+in her answer Jean recognized her as the thoroughbred
+and gentlewoman that she was, notwithstanding
+the fact that she obviously had cause to dislike his
+name.</p>
+
+<p>“Both my father and I would be delighted to have
+you call at your earliest convenience,” she said, graciously,
+if somewhat stiltedly.</p>
+
+<p>At this moment Pierre Lafitte, accompanied by his
+friends, reached them, having fought his way with
+difficulty through the dense crowd.</p>
+
+<p>“My dear Mademoiselle Grymes,” he cried, bowing,
+“how strange that this should have happened! And
+that it should have been my brother who had the pleasure
+of serving you! The lucky dog!”</p>
+
+<p>“Your brother!” she exclaimed, strangely moved.</p>
+
+<p>“But certainly! <i>Que je suis bête!</i> I have forgotten
+that you do not know him. How awkward of
+me! Allow me to introduce, mademoiselle,” said
+Pierre, turning, “my only brother, M’sieu Jean Lafitte.”
+He stopped suddenly, embarrassed and surprised.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Lafitte had disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>And not ten feet away, in the thick of the throng,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span>Manuel Espinosa studied the little tableau with his
+insolent eyes. He had seen Lafitte unobtrusively slip
+away, but his intent glance had not followed him. It
+was fixed on Virginia Grymes, and it was not pleasant
+to see. At that moment his eyes were those of a
+primitive beast....</p>
+
+<h4>II</h4>
+
+<p>Margaret Claiborne frowned.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I’ll admit that he’s brave, Jinny, and all of
+that, but I wouldn’t cultivate him.”</p>
+
+<p>“But he seemed very nice. And really, honey, I almost
+insulted him. When he told me his name, I
+exclaimed, like a perfect little fool—‘not <i>the</i> Jean
+Lafitte!’—and it sounded <i>terrible</i>, my dear! But I
+didn’t know that he was really a gentleman ... and
+such a handsome one ... before to-day. You see,
+in your letters to me you mentioned him occasionally,
+and called him a pirate. And then, his name is also
+known back home, too. They call him the Buccaneer
+of Barataria—that is, the newspapers do, and lots of
+other horrid names; so—so I naturally came to think
+of him as being a picturesque old pirate, with black
+whiskers—with a red handkerchief on his head, and
+pistols, and everything, and I was astonished, you may
+be sure, when that handsomely dressed gentleman
+coolly said his name was Jean Lafitte. What does it
+mean, Margie?”</p>
+
+<p>“Simply this. This Lafitte person, although a pirate,
+is a rather prominent society man in New
+Orleans.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span></p>
+
+<p>“No!” Miss Grymes was shocked or surprised.
+Perhaps both—perhaps neither.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, it’s a fact. Strange as it may seem, the very
+best people here—the Creoles—who are, you know,
+Virgie, descended from some of the oldest and proudest
+families in France—welcome him and his brother
+in society as if he were one of themselves.”</p>
+
+<p>“That reminds me! I just learned that that fascinating
+Mr. Lafitte I met at the Lavalayé dinner last
+night is his brother. He saw his brother, the pirate—rescue
+me—that is, stop the horses, to-day, and wanted
+to introduce me formally to him, but he had disappeared.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Pierre is rather nice. But his brother is impossible.”</p>
+
+<p>“But why, Margie? They are both in the same
+trade, aren’t they? And I really think Jean—Mr.
+Lafitte—is much better-looking than his brother. He
+has such fine eyes!”</p>
+
+<p>Margaret Claiborne flushed suspiciously, but Virginia
+forgot it at her next words:</p>
+
+<p>“<i>I</i> thought so once, too, Virgie, but let me tell you
+<i>why</i> I say he is impossible. If it were only his occupation,
+I wouldn’t mind it so much, for everyone in
+New Orleans is his friend—everyone worth knowing.
+But—he is a murderer!”</p>
+
+<p>Virginia Grymes gasped, her delicately chiseled lips
+parting in surprise and disclosing a row of pearls,
+apparently.</p>
+
+<p>“A—a—murderer!”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. It is said that he killed a man—another
+pirate—shot him in cold blood!”</p>
+
+<p>“Here in New Orleans?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span></p>
+
+<p>“No; at their rendezvous at a little island in Barataria
+Bay, about fifty miles from here.”</p>
+
+<p>“That handsome—er—nice-looking young man,
+shot—<i>killed</i> a man?” asked Virginia incredulously.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” reiterated her friend.</p>
+
+<p>“But why?”</p>
+
+<p>Margaret Claiborne unconsciously lowered her
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>Virginia leaned forward.</p>
+
+<p>“Over—a woman! A negro slave girl!”</p>
+
+<p>Virginia gasped, and suddenly felt faint. A feeling
+of intense disgust—of loathing, pervaded her.</p>
+
+<p>“How do you know?” she questioned, breathlessly.
+After all, she should not condemn him unheard. He
+had saved her life. And he did have such fine eyes!</p>
+
+<p>Margaret leaned back in her chair.</p>
+
+<p>“My father told me,” she replied, simply, as if
+stating an incontrovertible fact. “He ought to know,
+oughtn’t he?”</p>
+
+<p>Virginia nodded dumbly, her eyes on the floor, her
+mind awhirl.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, Margaret’s father ought to know. Who
+should, if not William C. C. Claiborne?</p>
+
+<p>He was the Governor of Louisiana.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_8"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Eighth</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>How His Excellency the Governor, Issues a Proclamation</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<h4>I</h4>
+
+<p class="dropcap">Ten years had passed since that ill-fated visit of
+the Lafittes to the Isle of Mauritius, but the dramatic
+scene enacted there had been indelibly stamped
+on the mind of the younger. As Pierre Dominique,
+wise philosopher that he was, had said, Jean’s passion
+for the hapless Lizette Fondac had been a mere infatuation—a
+passing fancy—which, like most emotions
+of its kind, would have dissolved into nothingness
+in the course of time.</p>
+
+<p>If Lizette had not died as she had, and so changed
+the entire current of Jean’s life, Lafitte, perhaps,
+youthful and impressionable that he was, would have
+in time fallen out of love with her as quickly as he
+had tumbled into that amorous state. For such is the
+immutable law of youth. On the other hand, however,
+it is not improbable to assume that Jean, being
+his own inexplicable self, might also have stayed in
+love—married her—and this chapter in American
+history might never have materialized.</p>
+
+<p>But Lizette was ordained by an inscrutable Fate to
+die, and, dying, to be the instrument that influenced
+his whole future, not to mention the lives of countless
+others.</p>
+
+<p>He had enshrined this French fisher-maiden in his
+heart, in the firm belief that he would never love
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>again. Years had passed since the birth of that resolution
+and he had not yet broken it ... which was
+an even stranger thing.</p>
+
+<p>The Lizette incident, however, had served its purpose
+in the great scheme of things. Because of the
+memory of her, during his short but exciting career of
+piracy in the Caribbean, he had never harmed a woman
+prisoner, nor so much as allowed his men to do so;
+treating them as courteously as place and policy would
+permit. Men would grumble and men would jeer,
+but in the end they came to respect his whim, for they
+could not help but recognize his prowess.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, in a certain sense, he was not much better
+than the average run of the scavengers of the high
+seas. It was not consistent with his nature that he
+should be a celibate. But although he had the vices
+of his calling, as well as of any other, for that matter,
+his taste was a fastidious one, and his few amorous
+adventures were well worth relating, if only for their
+romantic value. But these had been born of passion,
+not love; or at least not the love that he imagined he
+had possessed for Lizette.</p>
+
+<p>Those ten years were a curious chapter in his life
+... a period of moods ... of inhibitions ... the
+metamorphosis of the youthful mind.</p>
+
+<p>Unconsciously, however, the image of Lizette
+faded—faded and became a dream of the dead past.
+At first he had his moments of brooding in the still
+watches of the night, leaning on the taffrail, perhaps,
+staring moodily on the moonlit waters of the phosphorescent
+sea, which, rolling, ever rolling, washed
+against the sides of his ship, aflame with ruffled incandescence.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span></p>
+
+<p>But after his reunion with his brother, all this
+changed.</p>
+
+<p>Once established in New Orleans, with abundant
+means and plentiful leisure, he found himself plunged
+into a whirl of gayety—Creole balls and Creole
+society. Gallant figures and gentlemen of leisure, the
+Lafittes were invited everywhere, and many were the
+sparkling eyes that turned in admiration on the two.
+Pierre Dominique immediately accepted the many
+challenges and soon became the most flirtatious of all
+the Creole beaus, but Jean did not yield so easily.</p>
+
+<p>In an incredibly short time Jean Lafitte became a
+<i>poseur</i>, wearing an unconsciously assumed mask, behind
+which he withdrew himself as a protection against
+sentiment and behind which he dreamed great dreams
+and planned great plans.</p>
+
+<p>And now, at last, his schemes were bearing fruit,
+his ambition well on the road to fulfillment.</p>
+
+<p>Before that memorable year of 1811 was over,
+Barataria Bay, the headquarters of the pirates of the
+Gulf, had established such a reputation for itself in
+Southern trade that even the national government was
+forced to officially recognize its importance as a factor
+to be coped with in handling the commercial situation
+of that day. The name of Jean Lafitte stood out in
+red letters upon the economic and political ledgers of
+not a few traders in Southern cotton states and the
+Mississippi Valley region.</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte had indeed attained his ambition. After
+only three years in the United States, he, together
+with the efficient aid of Pierre Dominique, had brought
+the smuggling profession to such a point that legitimate
+commerce in the great seaport of New Orleans
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>had almost vanished and the United States customs in
+Louisiana, never very popular with the Creoles, was
+practically a farce.</p>
+
+<p>Since his arrival at Grande Terre, when he had
+taken charge of the pirate colony, the settlement had
+become as if reborn.</p>
+
+<p>Many large wharfs, warehouses, slave stockades,
+and houses had been erected, and were overflowing.
+The bay swarmed with every type of vessel, from almost
+every nation on the globe. The wharves teemed
+with sweating slaves and stevedores who busily unloaded
+the contraband cargoes, both human and otherwise,
+the former transferred to the log stockades,
+where they were kept until sold at the auction block
+and thence transported to the plantations of the interior,
+often by way of New Orleans, through which
+they went duty free.</p>
+
+<p>Of the booty other than “black ivory,” the Baratarians
+had their share. This, when brought to
+Grande Terre, was placed in long, low, closely-guarded
+warehouses, to be disposed of at the whim
+or will of the “bosse.” And of this there was not a
+little. Jewels, silks, gold, arms, ammunition, rare
+wines, fine clothes—valuables of all kinds, including a
+heterogeneous collection of luxuries and necessities,
+were all there and it is little wonder that the pirates
+lived a life of riotous luxury and wild carousal.</p>
+
+<p>What was not used by the buccaneers was disposed
+of by many devious ways. Part was smuggled to
+New Orleans and there turned over to dishonest shopkeepers,
+who sold it at a large profit. As the large
+variety of articles daily pouring into their possession
+demanded to be sold by the same number of dealers,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span>the Lafittes reaped a double profit by charging dealers
+for the privilege of handling their goods. This fee
+the dealers paid willingly enough, for they could buy
+goods from the Baratarians at one-third the price they
+would have had to pay legitimate wholesale houses.</p>
+
+<p>But the unheard-of prosperity of the smugglers, or
+“privateers,” began to have another effect on the situation.
+The shipping of New Orleans and neighboring
+trade centers had become seriously impaired, for sea
+captains and planters soon got in the habit of going to
+Grande Terre to buy their slaves and supplies at bargain
+prices that could not be obtained in New Orleans.</p>
+
+<p>It was not long before Grande Terre changed from
+a mere pirates’ rendezvous to a feverish trade center.
+Traders came from all parts of the South to do business
+at Barataria. At this period, according to an
+official statement, four hundred slaves were sold at
+the auction block there, daily.</p>
+
+<p>New Orleans felt this competition, but nothing
+could be done to remedy it. The business of the
+banks decreased because of lack of deposits, owing to
+the absence of trade in the legitimate trade centers.</p>
+
+<p>But at Barataria all was liveliness. So defiant of
+the law did the Baratarians become that the streets
+of New Orleans were placarded with handbills announcing
+the daily auction sales at Grand Terre, and
+the daring “privateers” even had the effrontery to
+post them alongside the Governor’s proclamations,
+which offered rewards for their arrest and conviction.</p>
+
+<p>Jean and his followers still visited New Orleans.</p>
+
+<p>Surrounded by groups of admirers, the Baratarians
+swaggered through the busy waterfront and business
+streets and fairly overran the Place d’Armes. Every
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span>dive and grog-shop on Canal Street welcomed them
+with open arms, willingly took their money, and resounded
+to the loud recital of their exploits.</p>
+
+<p>The Lafittes had the <i>entrée</i> to the most conservative
+of Creole homes, attended balls, fêtes, dinners,
+and other social events galore. They were social
+lions.</p>
+
+<p>And now, in New Orleans, at the close of these ten
+years of transition from mental adolescence to spiritual
+manhood, Jean was beginning to realize that he
+had never loved Lizette Fondac, that, after all, his
+brother had been right.</p>
+
+<p>But it had not been his brother who had brought
+home to him this realization. It had taken a beautiful
+girl to bring him to his senses ... a girl whom
+he hardly knew and had met but once. A vision in
+silk and crinoline who thought it was “wonderful” to
+flirt with death....</p>
+
+<p>A new star had appeared on his horizon.</p>
+
+<h4>II</h4>
+
+<p>“Oh, father, I’ve had the most curious adventure!”</p>
+
+<p>John R. Grymes, district attorney of New Orleans
+and parent of its present reigning toast, looked up
+from his work and enthusiastically returned Virginia’s
+caress.</p>
+
+<p>“Really, Jinny?” he asked, carefully sanding a
+letter. “I hope you enjoyed it.”</p>
+
+<p>Virginia pouted adorably.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, not that kind, father. You’d never guess it
+in a coon’s age. It was like this: I was just returning
+from Margaret’s, and stopped in to see old Madame
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span>Leroux about that heavenly gown she’s making for
+me. You should see it, father, with its lace—”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes—yes—I’m sure it’s very pretty, honey, and
+no doubt I’ll soon get a pretty bill for it. But you
+said something about an adventure?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, father, just as I was leaving and had entered
+the carriage, one of those horrid old sailors passed
+by—he looked like a pirate—and he was singing and
+shouting, and poor Molly and Billy got frightened
+and ran away.”</p>
+
+<p>Her father straightened abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>“And where was Scipio?” he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“Scipio had not yet mounted the box, father, so—”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll whip that black scoundrel within an inch—”</p>
+
+<p>“No, you won’t father. It wasn’t really his fault.
+Anyway, they ran away and went through the whole
+city, I suppose, before we stopped. We had come
+all the way from the Rue Des Ursulines down to one
+of those dirty waterfront streets, and I was almost
+scared to death, when a man stepped out of the crowd,
+right in front of Billy and Molly, and—shot Billy!”</p>
+
+<p>Grymes looked worried.</p>
+
+<p>“Was that necessary, do you think, Jinny?”</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes clouded.</p>
+
+<p>“He saved my life, father. The horses were heading
+straight for the wharf, and an old sailor said that
+if Captain Lafitte hadn’t stopped them we’d have
+all—” At this point she could not help sobbing.
+John Grymes felt a lump rise in his throat at the
+thought of the danger in which his only child had
+been.</p>
+
+<p>“Who did you say the man was, honey? Captain—who?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Lafitte!”</p>
+
+<p>“Good God! Not Jean Lafitte?”</p>
+
+<p>Her adorable little mouth tightened.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, and I wish that it were anyone else in the
+world but he!”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, child?” astonished at her vehemence.</p>
+
+<p>“Because he’s a pirate—a low sailor—a smuggler.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, Jinny, who in the world told you all that?”</p>
+
+<p>“Then he isn’t?”</p>
+
+<p>The district attorney looked rather uncomfortable.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, some people might call it that. Perhaps
+the Lafittes do engage in questionable practices. But
+then there are few of our citizens who aren’t connected
+with it in the same way. You have a wrong
+impression of Mr. Lafitte, honey. He is one of the
+most popular men in New Orleans—moves in the best
+circles, and is well liked by everybody. Really,
+Jinny—”</p>
+
+<p>“But, father, he’s a—murderer.”</p>
+
+<p>“Who told you <i>that</i>?” was the emphatic query.</p>
+
+<p>“Margaret Claiborne. She says that he killed a
+man—shot him, just because he wouldn’t do what he
+told him.”</p>
+
+<p>She did not mention the negro slave girl. Young
+ladies of her day would have died before mentioning
+such an affair to a man—even to a father....</p>
+
+<p>“That’s all nonsense!”</p>
+
+<p>“No, it’s not! Her father, His Excellency, says
+the same thing, so <i>she</i> says. And, father, during the
+last eight years I’ve been going to Miss Borden’s
+school in Philadelphia, with Margaret, I’ve never
+known her to—exaggerate.”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course not! But she herself may be mistaken.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span>Don’t you know, Jinny, that Governor Claiborne is the
+worst enemy the Lafittes have. It’s very natural that
+he should tell Margaret so. Don’t you worry, honey,
+Jean Lafitte is a perfect gentleman, no matter what his
+occupation, and so is his brother.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, his brother is very nice. I met him at the
+Lavalayé dinner last evening, and he was very attentive
+to me. But I couldn’t very well be rude to him,
+could I, father?”</p>
+
+<p>He smiled.</p>
+
+<p>“No, not very well. Nor to his brother, either.
+Especially after he has done you the service of saving
+your life.”</p>
+
+<p>She colored.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, he acted nicely, and I appreciated it. But
+still, I can’t help thinking that he is a pirate.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, forget it, honey. And take everything
+Margaret tells you about the Lafittes with a grain of
+salt, because it’s her father’s ideas that she expresses.
+Now run along, like a good little girl, and let father
+finish his letter.”</p>
+
+<p>Pouting prettily, she kissed him again, and left him
+to his own devices.</p>
+
+<h4>III</h4>
+
+<p>It was a week later.</p>
+
+<p>Virginia Grymes had just returned home from a
+dance to find her father, as usual, in the library. On
+the table in front of his armchair were many empty
+wine glasses and a few broken card counters. He
+was playing a game of solitaire, but it was very evident
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span>that he had been playing at cards with a gathering
+of friends.</p>
+
+<p>Virginia looked at the card-littered, wet table disapprovingly.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve been gambling again, father,” she said,
+accusingly, “and after you promised me!”</p>
+
+<p>The district attorney flushed.</p>
+
+<p>“There, there, Jinny! Just a little game between
+friends. But I have some news for you. Lafitte has
+been here.”</p>
+
+<p>“To see me?” eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“No, honey, on business. But there is more news,
+if you care to hear it.”</p>
+
+<p>“What is it, father?” She sat on the arm of his
+chair, playfully rumpling his hair.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s more of a joke, I think. Your friend, the
+Governor, sent a revenue cutter yesterday—that is,
+he got Washington to send one—to Barataria Bay,
+with the purpose of destroying the colony of Grande
+Terre. But it turned out to be a farce. The pompous
+fool ought to have known that the smugglers
+have spies everywhere. Why, they knew the government
+vessel was coming before it had left the harbor.”</p>
+
+<p>Virginia was immediately all interest.</p>
+
+<p>“So what happened?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, when Captain Lloyd and his crew arrived
+at Grande Terre, the smugglers, or pirates—whichever
+you prefer—simply laughed at them. Not only
+that, but they politely asked them to come ashore and
+offered them cognac and champagne. Think of it—cognac
+and champagne, when they came with the intention
+of capturing the whole place! Anyway, they
+were forced to return, empty-handed, having been
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span>warned by the Baratarians not to return.” He
+paused to chuckle. “I think it’s the best joke I’ve
+heard in a long time. All New Orleans is talking
+about it, and laughing at Claiborne up their sleeves.
+He should have known that it would take more than
+one ship and one crew of customs officers to attack
+hundreds of desperate, well-armed men who take
+pleasure in defying the law. But not only that, it is
+said that even the government agents are in partnership
+with the smugglers. It is really hard to tell who
+isn’t, nowadays.”</p>
+
+<p>Virginia looked thoughtful.</p>
+
+<p>“Still, father, I hardly think the Governor was unprepared
+for this. He must be shrewd enough to
+think of some other plan, if that failed; or he wouldn’t
+be the Governor of Louisiana.”</p>
+
+<p>Grymes only laughed in answer.</p>
+
+<p>Virginia’s suspicions were proved well founded the
+next day, however, for the citizens of New Orleans
+found a new proclamation posted about the city.</p>
+
+<p>This was to the effect that His Excellency denounced
+the Baratarians as pirates and cautioned the residents
+of the state to have intercourse with them in no
+way whatsoever. He moreover threatened dire
+penalties for those who would disobey this decree, together
+with any Baratarian who might fall into his
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>However, to the secret joy of the majority of the
+inhabitants, notably the Creoles, with whom the
+United States government was at the time extremely
+unpopular, the Baratarians heeded the gubernatorial
+threats no more than if they had never been published.
+Frightened? Not they, <i>mes amis</i>!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span></p>
+
+<p>On the contrary, the Lafittes, exquisitely dressed,
+chatted with the prominent merchants and bankers on
+street corners and in the cafés; they patronized charities
+and public entertainments more than ever, were
+still prominent figures at the social functions of New
+Orleans society—and continued to post their notices
+of slave auctions, right beside the Governor’s proclamation!</p>
+
+<p>By this time the worthy Claiborne became desperate.
+It was not long before a second manifesto appeared,
+offering five hundred dollars reward for the
+arrest of either of the Lafittes.</p>
+
+<p>It was then that matters came to a head.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_9"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Ninth</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>In Which His Excellency Proposes; the Legislature Disposes;
+and Pierre Dominique Becomes the Guest of the State</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<h4>I</h4>
+
+<p class="dropcap">It was now early December, and the social season
+of the Creoles’ <i>Petit Paris</i> was at its height.
+Indeed, everything conspired to make that year the
+most eventful, socially speaking, of any that had gone
+before it, unless one excepts the equally notable season
+when that most fascinating person, Mr. Aaron
+Burr, had been the guest of honor at a hundred fêtes.</p>
+
+<p>But this season had indeed opened auspiciously and
+many were the matchmaking Creole mammas who
+planned for their daughters intricate campaigns of
+offense and defense, with all the skill and finesse of
+seasoned generals, against all and sundry eligible
+bachelors. And equally numerous were the aforesaid
+eligible gallants, out for conquests and wary for possible
+matrimonial traps.</p>
+
+<p>When the new political régime had first been entered
+upon there had been a rather abrupt cessation of social
+happenings of any brilliance, but when the Creoles—which
+appellation, by the way, is correctly used only
+when speaking of American-born persons of full and
+unmixed European ancestry, without any admixture
+of Indian or of negro blood—when the Creoles gradually
+began to admit the disliked <i>Américains</i> to their
+exclusive social circles, the social activities of New
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span>Orleans began to take on a new impetus. It was not
+long before locality distinctions began to fade. Governor
+Claiborne, himself, had done much to destroy
+these distinctions by marrying two separate times into
+Creole families.</p>
+
+<p>To add to the brilliance of this present season, the
+Legislature of the state of Louisiana was holding its
+yearly session in New Orleans, and the presence of its
+members, who were representative of the most prominent
+and cultured families in the state, helped to add
+to the general social gayety. In most cases their families
+had accompanied them from their respective districts,
+primarily to take part in the annual social whirl.</p>
+
+<p>This was the New Orleans of old—the real New
+Orleans. A city essentially French in customs and
+breeding, European in culture and social atmosphere.
+Louisiana, like its sister states of the South, with its
+representative population descended directly from the
+European upper classes, was really European in its
+outlook upon everything—on world affairs, in its literature,
+in its fashions. As Virginians were in the main
+of Cavalier stock, so Louisianians were remnants of
+the <i>ancien régime</i> of France. Individually and collectively
+did these Southern States represent the cream
+of American aristocracy and culture.</p>
+
+<p>And these gentlemen of the State Legislature, in
+turn, were representative of the best families in the
+state, living examples of the real definition of
+“Creole”; wealthy, cultured, haughty; true “blue-bloods”
+... persons truly to the manner born.</p>
+
+<p>These were the friends and compeers of the
+Lafittes.</p>
+
+<p>And on this eventful December day these were the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>men who sat in the legislative chamber when Governor
+Claiborne delivered his notable address.</p>
+
+<p>William Claiborne, clean-shaven, hawk-nosed, and
+with an air that seemed to challenge the world at
+large, was on the speaker’s rostrum, addressing the
+silent assemblage. It was very seldom indeed that
+the Governor of Louisiana addressed in person either
+house of the Legislature, and not a few of the members
+thereof felt surprise to see him there.</p>
+
+<p>After the rather unnecessary formal introduction
+by the Speaker, His Excellency plunged directly into
+his subject. That it was of importance was attested
+by the close attention paid his discourse by every member
+of that dignified body.</p>
+
+<p>The great room, stately in its proportions and blazing
+with the light of many lamps, provided a picturesque
+setting. Not a sound was to be heard except the
+voice of the speaker, rising, falling, clear, lucid, and
+coldly concise, and with an undercurrent of righteous
+indignation:</p>
+
+<p>“And, gentlemen,” His Excellency was saying as he
+harangued them, “it behooves us, as the official guardians
+of the welfare of this great state and territory,
+to see that the citizens who placed us in office—in this
+position of honor and trust that we occupy—should be
+served, and served to the best of our ability.</p>
+
+<p>“Obviously, gentlemen, it is our duty to unselfishly
+sacrifice both ourselves and our personal interests for
+the best interests of the people as a whole—our constituency.
+And in this particular case I say that, as
+Governor of Louisiana, in my official capacity and as
+a conscientious citizen, I honestly believe that the
+wisest, the most logical thing to do is to wipe out this
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span>atrocious practice of smuggling, this unparalleled
+menace to the commonwealth!” He glanced pugnaciously
+over to that part of the room known as the
+“Left,” where sat the acknowledged supporters of the
+privateers.</p>
+
+<p>“This practice has enriched the worst element of
+our population. In innumerable instances it has debauched
+magistrates and police officers!” There was
+a well-defined stir in the assemblage.</p>
+
+<p>“It is a stigma upon the state and an infringement
+upon the rights of our legitimate merchants! Obnoxious
+to the prosperity of every honest citizen....</p>
+
+<p>“As you all know, business in shipping circles of
+this city of New Orleans is practically at a standstill.
+Legitimate commerce has been crippled. The very
+prosperity of the entire Mississippi Valley is at stake.
+Not only that, but the United States customs in New
+Orleans is practically a farce!</p>
+
+<p>“I prophesy, gentlemen, that if stringent steps are
+not immediately taken to put a stop to this rank piracy,
+this flagrant public lawbreaking, the honor and
+safety of our fair state will be so far jeopardized as
+to cause the national authorities to step in, perhaps
+use martial law! Think of the disgrace of such a
+proceeding!”</p>
+
+<p>His Excellency paused a moment to mop his perspiring
+forehead, his auditors still attentive, but impassive
+as stone images. He went on:</p>
+
+<p>“But you gentlemen of this honorable assembly
+know the details of these various crimes as well as I,
+so I will no longer take up your time. It is necessary
+to act at once. That is why I have come here.
+And I shall speak plainly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I hereby request that an appropriation be made
+by the Legislature of Louisiana, by the use of which
+a force of armed men may be collected and properly
+provided for. With these I propose to break up this
+unspeakable buccaneering business. Gentlemen, I ask
+you for funds to destroy that pirates’ nest infesting the
+bay of Barataria, that we may vindicate the honor of
+Louisiana. Gentlemen, the welfare of the state is in
+your hands!”</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Two hours later, at the gubernatorial mansion,
+Claiborne received his reply from the Legislature. It
+was as brief and to the point as his address.</p>
+
+<p>The members of the Legislature begged to inform
+His Excellency that there were no funds available, at
+present, for the purpose he required.</p>
+
+<p>The cautious legislators had declined to take action,
+partly for the reason that they were unwilling
+to interfere with an enterprise that, illegitimate or
+not, was unquestionably developing the resources of
+lower Louisiana and incidentally was enriching their
+constituents; and, partly, because many of them, themselves,
+were connected with the Baratarians in various
+ways.</p>
+
+<p>But the Governor could not know this, nor appreciate
+it if he did. In any event, the refusal in no whit
+served to abate His Excellency’s choler. Claiborne
+stared at the reply for a long while and then turned to
+his secretary, a pimply-faced youth with a nascent mustache,
+who sat at a small desk, paring his finger nails,
+his face apparently a vacuous blank.</p>
+
+<p>“Milford!” he called, imperiously.</p>
+
+<p>Milford suddenly came to life.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Your Excellency!”</p>
+
+<p>“Those damned idiots down in the Legislature have
+refused me the appropriation!”</p>
+
+<p>“Really, Your Excellency!”</p>
+
+<p>“Those driveling dolts! ... those demented
+fools! ... those smuggling dogs! They’re smugglers,
+every one of them, I can swear, Milford!”</p>
+
+<p>“Quite so, Your Excellency.” Milford surreptitiously
+studied his thumb nail. It was a bit ragged,
+he thought.</p>
+
+<p>“Damn you!” cried Claiborne. “Shut up!”</p>
+
+<p>Milford cleared his throat uneasily, but his master
+had already forgotten him.</p>
+
+<p>“No doubt they’re every one of them in the pay of
+that damned Lafitte!” fussed the Governor.</p>
+
+<p>Milford nodded assent, owlishly.</p>
+
+<p>“Was ever man so ill served before—was ever an
+Executive so ignored?”</p>
+
+<p>Milford, however, was imperturbable. He did not
+say so, but he could not see where it was a Legislature’s
+duty to serve its governor, although he wisely refrained
+from expressing his opinion. It is the better
+part of discretion to keep such opinions to oneself,
+when one has to earn one’s bread and butter, and especially
+when one hopelessly loves one’s master’s
+daughter. At thought of the blond, ascetic-looking
+Margaret Claiborne he gulped.</p>
+
+<p>Finally the Governor quieted down and stared
+again at the fatal letter from the Legislature, thinking
+deeply in the interval.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he sprang to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>Milford also jumped, although he was already on
+his feet.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Milford,” he commanded, “send for Judge Cabell
+at once—at once, do you hear? But wait, I have a
+note to send to the courthouse. Wait a moment until
+I write it.”</p>
+
+<p>Milford gulped and then glanced at his thumbnail.</p>
+
+<p>It was still a bit ragged.</p>
+
+<h4>II</h4>
+
+<p>Pierre Dominique, his eyes moodily fixed on the
+glistening shoulders of his dusky blacksmith’s as they
+busily moved around in the firelight, swung his sword-cane
+idly. Apparently all was not well with Pierre.
+The truth was that Virginia Grymes, the evening before,
+had refused his proffered heart and hand.</p>
+
+<p>François de Moulin, true friend that he was, sympathetically
+commiserated with him.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’ worree, <i>mon ami</i>, zere are many ozzer demoiselles
+who weel nod repulse Pierre. Try you’
+luck wiz Gabrielle, or Céleste Angélique.” He gracefully
+twisted the ends of his mustache, eying Pierre
+mischievously. Lafitte, catching the look, reddened.</p>
+
+<p>“What do you know about—Angélique?” he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>De Moulin laughed and clapped him on the back.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Comme c’est drole!</i> I know all, <i>mon galant</i>, all!
+Abou’ ze flow’rs, an’ <i>billets</i>, an’ zat histo’ical serenade
+und’—”</p>
+
+<p>“Shut up!”</p>
+
+<p>“—ze balc’ny. An’ how all change’ when <i>la belle</i>
+Virginia come—”</p>
+
+<p>Pierre shrugged his shoulders in exasperation.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span></p>
+
+<p>“If Angélique had not grown so stout—so fleshy;
+but what can a man do? One can’t be expected to
+bind one’s affections fast to one woman all the time.
+That were to make love as irksome as marriage!
+And, as the poet says, ‘<i>Tempora mutantur, et nos
+mutamur in illis</i>’!”</p>
+
+<p>The Creole made a grimace.</p>
+
+<p>“A plague on you’ Latin! Why drag in a poet?
+<i>Ventre-saint-gris!</i> How een-consist’nt eez man!
+Heah you say zat love eez as irksome as marriage.
+And a moment ago you were on ze verge of despair
+becoz <i>la belle</i> Virginia refuse’ you! An’ eet ees betteh
+so. You do nod love heh, Pierre. Fah from eet.
+You are een love wiz ze game of love! You, oldeh
+zan Jean, are nod as wise as he. You know w’at I
+b’lieve, Pierre? I b’lieve zat <i>la belle</i> Virginia loves
+M’sieu Jean! <i>Voilà!</i>”</p>
+
+<p>Pierre stared at him with open disbelief.</p>
+
+<p>“Jean? You are mad, François, stark, staring
+mad! Why, she dislikes him—nay, hates him. I
+cannot help but see it.”</p>
+
+<p>De Moulin laughed.</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, Pierre, you ’ave much to learn. When a
+woman show hate foah a man—show scorn—she eez
+interest’ in him. When she ees indifferent—<i>dame</i>!
+Zat is an altogezzer different mattaire. She never
+can love him—unless her indifference melts. Bud
+woman ees as changeable as ze weazzer. No, I shall
+enlighten you no furzzer. I geev you ze <i>petit pois</i>
+to plant—ze little idea. Eet may grow—but, <i>le bon
+Dieu!</i> ... what have we here?”</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, a constable, accompanied by a file of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>soldiers, entered the smithy. Without parley, he advanced
+toward Pierre.</p>
+
+<p>“Mister Peer Lafitte?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre nodded dumbly.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m sory, sor, but yez’ll have to come with me.”</p>
+
+<p>“I presume you are arresting me?” asked Pierre, in
+surprise.</p>
+
+<p>“That I am, sor,” replied the constable.</p>
+
+<p>“But why have you arrested M’sieu Lafitte?” demanded
+the Creole authoritatively of the constable.
+“What eez ze charge?”</p>
+
+<p>The constable touched his cap and displayed a warrant.
+De Moulin read it attentively.</p>
+
+<p>“What is it for?” asked Pierre.</p>
+
+<p>De Moulin looked at him in exasperation.</p>
+
+<p>“Eet ees—you are accused of being an accessaree to
+piracy!”</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Dominique considered for a moment. They
+looked at each other.</p>
+
+<p>“Let us go, then, and get the particulars.”</p>
+
+<p>“And I will go your bail!” cried François, gayly
+slipping his arm through Pierre’s. “<i>Allons, mes gendarmes,
+à la calabosa!</i>”</p>
+
+<p>And so, arm in arm, to the city prison, known by the
+euphonious title of the “calaboose,” they marched, accompanied
+by the constable and his deputies.</p>
+
+<p>At the station-house, however, they met with an
+unexpected difficulty.</p>
+
+<p>The charges against Pierre, it seemed, were only
+as an accessory to piracy, but when the Creole asked to
+be told the amount of bail necessary to temporarily release
+Pierre from custody the police captain gave
+them a disconcerting reply.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span></p>
+
+<p>“By order of His Excellency the Governor himself,”
+he said, “the prisoner must remain in custody
+until the day of trial and is allowed no bail whatsoever.”</p>
+
+<p>At this they were both taken back. De Moulin
+was furious.</p>
+
+<p>“W’at you mean by zat?” he cried, “zat eez not
+law! I will give any amount you say!”</p>
+
+<p>Smiling, the police captain informed him somewhat
+lengthily as to the intricacies of the law, but the
+Creole refused to listen. Imbued with hatred as he
+and his class were against the new government, this
+example of their tyranny, as he deemed it, only incensed
+him the more.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Sacré diable!</i> Ees zis a free government—a free
+law?” he cried.</p>
+
+<p>The man at the desk said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>“Hah, eet ees of no use to argue wiz you—you are
+but a servant.” The police captain winced angrily
+at this. “I shall go to your superior—ze Governor—ze
+President heemself!”</p>
+
+<p>The prisoner intervened.</p>
+
+<p>“Go nowhere, François—but to Jean! Let him
+know of this!” said Pierre.</p>
+
+<p>François de Moulin stared at him for a moment,
+and then, wringing his hand, left the room hurriedly,
+without a backward glance.</p>
+
+<p>“This way, sor, if ye plaze,” said O’Rourke, the
+constable, to Lafitte, and together they disappeared
+through the door leading to the cells.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_10"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Tenth</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>Wherein Twenty Thousand Dollars Appears upon the Scene</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap">“Why, my dear fellow, your contention is perfectly
+absurd! I am very much afraid,
+Grymes, that your ideas of jurisprudence and mine can
+never coincide. Why, take the speech of Sir Vickary
+Gibbs, the Royal Attorney General in the Court of the
+King’s Bench, delivered on November the twentieth,
+1809, if I mistake not....”</p>
+
+<p>“The devil take your exactness, Livingston!
+You’re always quoting some authority or another.
+But it’s useless to argue with you—you’ve always got
+an apt retort,” with a comical grimace.</p>
+
+<p>Edward Livingston smiled. He was a tall, spare,
+silver-haired man, with bushy, grizzled eyebrows, a
+habitual contraction of the forehead, and the clearly
+cut features and haughty carriage of the born aristocrat.
+Known to be the most distinguished member
+of the Louisiana bar, together with the accrued prestige
+of his New York legal reputation, he was perhaps
+one of the best-informed men of his day. These were
+the days when every gentleman, apparently, was a
+lawyer or a politician.</p>
+
+<p>“Grymes, the trouble with you is that you don’t
+read enough. You’re an excellent advocate, but a
+poor scholar. You would do well, I think, to read
+some of the letters to the Right Honorable Sir Joseph
+Banks, K.B., P.R.S. They are extremely interesting.”
+He paused. “Have you ever read Thomas
+Andrew Knight’s letter on The Comparative Influence
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span>of Male and Female Parents on Their Offspring’?
+It is exceedingly—”</p>
+
+<p>“—Dry, Livingston, no doubt of it!” responded
+Grymes, good-humoredly. “Personally, for entertainment,
+I prefer good old Boccaccio, or Rabelais....”</p>
+
+<p>“No doubt!” dryly.</p>
+
+<p>“Or an enjoyable hour with Margaret of Valois’s
+<i>Heptameron</i>. To my mind, the <i>Decameron</i> and <i>Heptameron</i>
+are two of the most interesting books ever
+written!” He chuckled. “And, speaking of literary
+matters, when reading of the birth of Gargantua, have
+you <i>ever</i> read—”</p>
+
+<p>Livingston frowned, displeased.</p>
+
+<p>“I am surprised at your taste, Grymes. And you
+with a young daughter, at that.”</p>
+
+<p>Grymes laughed.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Livingston, Livingston! You old-fashioned
+old fogey! Do you think that I could amuse myself,
+for a moment, by reading an old law tome or something
+equally thrilling? Not John Grymes—no, sir!”</p>
+
+<p>Livingston was obviously piqued.</p>
+
+<p>“Not necessarily. But why don’t you read something
+more suitable for a man of your age? I’ll send
+you over George Pryme’s <i>Conquest of Canaan</i>. It
+was a Seatonian prize poem. I’ve just received it in
+response to my order on Cadell and Davies, of London.
+There is one passage in particular, Grymes, referring
+to the command of universal extirpation—”</p>
+
+<p>Grymes held up his hand in humorous protest.</p>
+
+<p>“My dear Livingston, you are incorrigible. But
+listen here—”</p>
+
+<p>At this moment old Rappahannock, the Grymes
+butler, entered the book-lined, oak-paneled library.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Massa Grymes! Massa Lafitte is in de droring-room.”</p>
+
+<p>Grymes turned in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>“Which Mr. Lafitte, Rappahannock?”</p>
+
+<p>“Massa Jean, suh.”</p>
+
+<p>Livingston and Grymes exchanged glances.</p>
+
+<p>“He asted if Massa Livingston was heah, suh.”</p>
+
+<p>“Show him in here, Rappahannock.” The old
+negro shuffled out.</p>
+
+<p>Grymes turned to Livingston.</p>
+
+<p>“Jean Lafitte in New Orleans!” he exclaimed.
+“What is he doing here?”</p>
+
+<p>Before his companion could answer, however,
+Lafitte himself entered and the two attorneys politely
+rose to their feet.</p>
+
+<p>“Be seated, gentlemen,” said Lafitte. “No, don’t
+go, Mr. Livingston, I wish to see both of you gentlemen.”</p>
+
+<p>Without another word Grymes rang for Rappahannock,
+who answered the call a moment later.</p>
+
+<p>“Rappahannock,” said Grymes, “close the door and
+see that we are not disturbed. I am not at home to
+anyone.”</p>
+
+<p>Bowing, Rappahannock left the room, closing the
+double doors behind him.</p>
+
+<p>“Gentlemen,” said Lafitte, abruptly, after he had
+seated himself, “I have no doubt that you are aware
+of the fact that the Governor has seen fit to indict my
+associates and myself on a charge of piracy?”</p>
+
+<p>Livingston merely nodded, his features impassive.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I have heard it, Mr. Lafitte,” said Grymes,
+“and I think His Excellency has acted very unwisely.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span>He does not appreciate the delicate viewpoint which
+we Louisianians hold toward—er—”</p>
+
+<p>“Privateering,” supplemented Jean, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>“Precisely,” finished the district attorney, also
+smiling.</p>
+
+<p>“However,” said Lafitte, “it may be possible that
+you gentlemen do not know that my brother has been
+placed under arrest.”</p>
+
+<p>Both of his auditors started and exchanged quick
+glances.</p>
+
+<p>“No, we do not,” answered Livingston. “On what
+charge has he been arrested?”</p>
+
+<p>“On the charge of being an accessory to piracy.
+But that is not all, however. He has been refused
+bail.”</p>
+
+<p>He paused, but received no answer. The two attorneys
+merely looked thoughtful.</p>
+
+<p>“Therefore, gentlemen, I have come to you,” said
+Lafitte.</p>
+
+<p>“Exactly what do you wish us to do?” asked
+Grymes, beginning to understand.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Lafitte leaned back in his chair and smiled
+again.</p>
+
+<p>“Just this, gentlemen. I will speak plainly; but
+first I’d better outline the situation. Governor Claiborne
+is not an antagonist to be despised. Glance
+over his record and you can readily see that.</p>
+
+<p>“His Excellency has seen fit to institute legal proceedings,
+and has gone so far as to arrest my brother
+on a charge of complicity in piracy, without even extending
+him the courtesy—nay, the right, of giving
+bail! We, the privateers of Barataria, doing business
+in our own way as it is being done all over the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span>world to-day, have done naught thus far to interfere
+with the Governor. From now it is war to the knife,
+however. We shall fight this to a finish. We shall
+have justice!”</p>
+
+<p>“Justice?” murmured Grymes to himself. He
+could not help thinking that justice was exactly what
+the Governor of Louisiana had in mind to mete out
+to the Baratarians, but in a very different sense than
+that, no doubt, meant by Lafitte.... However, notwithstanding
+his own sentiments in the matter, the
+chief of the “privateers” had come to him, professionally,
+it appeared, and therefore was protected by
+professional ethics. He was the district attorney, the
+representative of the commonwealth, the people.
+Should he listen further? It looked very much as if
+Lafitte was about to attempt to enlist his aid. Yet
+there was Livingston—</p>
+
+<p>“And to get justice,” went on Lafitte, “we must fight
+him with his own weapons. Legally. Therefore,
+gentlemen, knowing that you are the two ablest ornaments
+of the Louisiana bar, the Baratarians, whom I
+represent, wish you to do us the honor of accepting
+our case—to be our legal counsel in the coming trial.”</p>
+
+<p>It was as if a bombshell had fallen into the midst
+of the room, such a disturbing effect did it have on the
+distinguished “ornaments of the Louisiana bar.” To
+say that they were surprised would be putting it
+mildly.</p>
+
+<p>To Grymes, this offer was not wholly a surprise, but
+Livingston, strange to say, had not foreseen this as a
+result of Lafitte’s opening remarks and was rather at
+a loss for words. Though not prejudiced or biased
+in the matter, he leaned toward the Baratarians’ cause,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>yet rather felt as if he needed time to consider the proposal.
+Friendly though he was toward Lafitte, he
+was still a cautious man, and never made a decision
+until he had weighed the matter carefully in his mind
+and had resolved as to whether or not his decision
+would be either beneficial or detrimental to himself,
+one way or the other.</p>
+
+<p>In this brief moment, before Lafitte had finished
+speaking, all this and more had swiftly passed through
+his brain. True to his nature, Edward Livingston
+was mentally debating this question: would it benefit
+him most to espouse the cause of Lafitte, popular as he
+was in New Orleans, or that of the Governor of
+Louisiana, who, after all, represented the law of the
+state?</p>
+
+<p>Before he had time to make a decision, however, or
+even to further debate it within himself, he was arrested
+by Lafitte’s next words.</p>
+
+<p>“Gentlemen, I am not asking you to look at this
+offer from a biased viewpoint, one way or the other.
+This is purely a business matter and should be treated
+as such. If I am so fortunate as to possess your
+friendship, don’t let that influence you. But, gentlemen,
+I hereby make this offer:</p>
+
+<p>“If you will accept this case, which means to attempt
+to acquit my brother, my associates, and myself,
+from these infamous, unjust charges, I will—pay—you—each—the
+sum of—twenty—thousand—dollars,
+win or lose!”</p>
+
+<p>If his earlier offer had had the effect of a bombshell,
+this last had that effect multiplied a hundredfold, a
+thousandfold. For a moment the two eminent lawyers
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>gazed at him dumbly, as if unable to believe their
+ears.</p>
+
+<p>“Twenty thousand dollars?” cried the district attorney,
+gripping the arm of his chair.</p>
+
+<p>“Twenty thousand dollars, win or lose!” gasped
+Edward Livingston, for once startled out of his invariable
+pose of impassivity.</p>
+
+<p>Jean smiled and sipped the Burgundy in his glass.</p>
+
+<p>“Twenty thousand dollars,” he repeated. “And
+you can rely on the word of Jean Lafitte when he says
+that it will be paid promptly. I have a little habit
+of paying my debts,” he added, whimsically.</p>
+
+<p>“But that is a fortune!” cried Grymes, voicing Livingston’s
+own thought. “It sounds impossible.
+Twenty thousand dollars!”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Parbleu! C’est vrai</i>,” said Lafitte, relapsing for
+the moment into French, “but nevertheless a fact.
+We Baratarians, you see, are willing to pay heavily to
+have our honor vindicated. What do you say, gentlemen?
+Do you accept? What is your decision? I
+do not like to hurry you, but time presses.”</p>
+
+<p>Edward Livingston looked at the floor for a moment,
+his face impassive, his brain hard at work.
+Then he looked up, glanced fleetingly at Grymes, and
+then looked Lafitte full in the face.</p>
+
+<p>“I accept!” he said, quietly.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Bon!</i>” cried Jean, “I thank you! And you, Mr.
+Grymes?”</p>
+
+<p>The district attorney was staring into his wine
+glass, his fingers beating a restless tattoo on the polished top.</p>
+
+<p>In his mind’s eye was that magic, “Twenty thousand
+dollars.” To John Grymes, high-living and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>pleasure-loving as he was, and by no means well-off,
+twenty thousand dollars was simply—twenty thousand
+dollars. Still....</p>
+
+<p>“I am the district attorney,” he stated, looking questioningly
+at Lafitte. “How can I—”</p>
+
+<p>Oh, the wonderful promise held forth by that
+twenty thousand dollars!</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte laughed.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s easily enough dealt with,” said he.
+“Simply resign!”</p>
+
+<p>“Resign?” echoed Grymes. Why had he not
+thought of that? It was the simplest matter, after
+all, that. To resign. He could then accept the case—and
+the twenty thousand dollars. What couldn’t
+he do with all that money, a bagatelle, apparently, to
+Lafitte, but in his present circumstances, unknown as
+they were to the rest of the world, a fortune to himself?</p>
+
+<p>And then Livingston, the conservative, the former
+celebrity of the New York bar and at present equally
+well-known lawyer of the Louisiana bar, had accepted.
+If he, the respected Livingston—whom, truth to tell,
+Grymes held in some awe—had accepted, then why
+not he?</p>
+
+<p>And Virginia, what of her? What mightn’t he
+give her with that money?</p>
+
+<p>“I accept,” said Grymes, firmly, “and shall resign
+immediately.”</p>
+
+<p>Jean Lafitte smiled and shook him heartily by the
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>“The present is the best time,” he remarked. “Do
+so by all means.”</p>
+
+<p>For the next half hour the three men talked business,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span>going over the coming legal campaign as if they
+were a council of generals planning a battle. At the
+end of that period they arose, their compact was
+sealed in a toast, and then the group broke up. Lafitte
+and Livingston to go their respective ways, and
+Grymes to return to the large, oak-paneled library.</p>
+
+<p>Sitting down to his large carved mahogany desk,
+he spent the next fifteen minutes in composing a letter.
+Sanding it, he waved it lightly back and forth in the
+air to assist the drying process and laid down his quill
+pen.</p>
+
+<p>As he was thus occupied, he heard a step and
+looked up.</p>
+
+<p>Entering the door was Virginia, charming in a
+simple but costly evening gown; a blood-red rose in
+her dark coiffure and her exquisite shoulders agleam
+in the light of the many candles in the wall sconces,
+with their twinkling pendant prisms. She was apparently
+returning from a dance, or a dinner perhaps.
+The social season of “Little Paris” was at its hectic
+height.</p>
+
+<p>As she stopped to kiss her father, Virginia noticed
+the letter he had written and, woman-like, was at once
+curious to know what it contained, not really expecting
+to be told. For once, however, she was agreeably disappointed.
+Smiling, Grymes handed it to her, and
+she, proceeding to put on a charmingly business-like
+air, began to read it through. Before she had finished,
+however, the laughter left her face.</p>
+
+<p>“What does this mean, father?” she asked, her
+voice troubled.</p>
+
+<p>Grymes assumed a casualness he did not at all feel.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Just what it says, Jinny. It is my resignation. I
+am giving up my post as district attorney.”</p>
+
+<p>She looked vaguely uneasy.</p>
+
+<p>“But why, father? You tried so hard to get this
+office. Why do you resign?”</p>
+
+<p>“Listen, Jinny. Mr. Livingston and I are to be the
+legal counsel of Mr. Lafitte.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mr. Lafitte?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. Pierre Lafitte has been arrested.”</p>
+
+<p>“Pierre? What for?”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t ask so many questions, puss, and I’ll tell you.
+As you know, the Lafittes have been indicted for piracy.
+The Governor had Pierre arrested. Well, his
+brother was here and asked that Livingston and I
+take the case. We accepted.”</p>
+
+<p>“But why?”</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean, Jinny? He merely offered
+us the case, and after due consideration we accepted.”</p>
+
+<p>“But you cannot; you are the district attorney!”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s why I am resigning, dear,” indulgently.</p>
+
+<p>“But, father, why have you taken this case? Why
+have you resigned? What influenced you? There
+must have been something to make you defend this
+murd—I mean, this Mr. Lafitte.”</p>
+
+<p>“Isn’t Pierre Lafitte a friend of yours? Wouldn’t
+you like me to get him out of jail?” asked the masculinely
+subtle Grymes, understanding her aversion toward
+Jean.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, of course! But still, it wasn’t necessary
+for you to resign, to help him, was it? And besides,
+he has his brother. They are rich enough to protect
+themselves. And you—you must depend on your
+salary. You know you wouldn’t take a cent of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>money mother left me, although I’ve begged you to.
+Don’t you think that charity begins at home?” she
+ended, pleadingly.</p>
+
+<p>He shrugged his shoulders impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s why I am resigning, Jinny. Charity does
+begin at home. And that’s why Livingston took the
+case, too. I know. Rich as he is, twenty thousand
+dollars isn’t to be despised!”</p>
+
+<p>“Twenty thousand dollars? What do you mean?”
+she asked, in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>“Just what I say. Lafitte offered us each twenty
+thousand dollars, if we would take the case. And
+we accepted. After all, twenty thousand dollars is a
+fortune.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, father, how <i>could</i> you?” she asked, her cheeks
+glowing.</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her in astonishment, and with well-masked
+trepidation, it may be admitted.</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean, Jinny?” sharply.</p>
+
+<p>“How could you take that pirate’s blood money?
+The money he made out of human flesh, out of the
+bodies and souls of poor negro slaves!” she cried,
+flaming. “This terrible slave trade should be abolished—destroyed!
+And instead of that—what do
+men do? They smuggle them, like silks and tea and
+wine, and mistreat and beat them! And this pirate
+... he is worse! And yet you will defend him?”</p>
+
+<p>“And what about your precious Pierre Lafitte?”
+demanded Grymes. “He is no better than his
+brother, if you regard it in that light. He is just as
+much of a pirate, as you call them. Yet <i>you</i> are defending him!
+Just because Jean, however, had the
+misfortune to kill two men, both of whom attempted
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>to take his life, as I’ve been told by reliable persons,
+you call him a murderer! And after he saved your
+life! That’s not like you at all! I told you, Virginia,
+not to pay any attention to what Margaret Claiborne
+tells you. Her father is the man who sent Pierre to
+jail without bail and is their deadly enemy! How
+can you expect him to speak well of the Lafittes?”</p>
+
+<p>Virginia listened to her father’s angry peroration
+in silence. He, however, could not know of what she
+was thinking—of the story of the slave girl—for
+whose possession Jean had supposedly killed Grambo,
+the quadroon.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t care!” she cried, passionately, “I hate
+him ... despise him ... loathe him! And both
+you and that supercilious Mr. Livingston ought to be
+ashamed to have any dealings with him! The ...
+the....” She broke off abruptly. “I warn you,
+father, that no good will come of this. Don’t resign—don’t!”
+Her eyes glistened, tearful, pleading.</p>
+
+<p>He did not answer her this time, however.</p>
+
+<p>Folding the resignation, he placed it in an envelope,
+addressed it, sealed it, and rang for the butler.</p>
+
+<p>A moment later old Rappahannock entered.</p>
+
+<p>“Rappahannock,” said Grymes, without looking at
+Virginia, “see that this letter is delivered to Judge
+Linwood the first thing in the morning. That is all.”
+The old butler, with a glance at the silent Virginia,
+took the letter and, bowing, shuffled out of the room,
+closing the door behind him.</p>
+
+<p>No sooner had he left, however, than Virginia followed
+him to the door.</p>
+
+<p>“Good night, father,” she said, listlessly, and was
+gone.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span></p>
+
+<p>John Grymes stared at the closed door, the muscles
+of his face tense. For the first time in her life Virginia
+had not kissed him good-night and suddenly, inexplicably,
+without being able to understand it himself,
+he found himself thinking of her long-dead
+mother. After all these years....</p>
+
+<p>Dropping into his armchair, he filled his glass from
+the decanter of Burgundy on the table, and drank it
+down. Staring into the dying fire in the huge fireplace,
+he drank another, and another and another.</p>
+
+<p>The candles began to gutter out. Weird shadows
+furtively stalked the circumambient gloom.</p>
+
+<p>Plans, projects—gold. Exaltation....</p>
+
+<p>A few words from youthful lips—lips framing the
+hymnus of youth, the gladness of life. Words vibrant
+with the honesty, the unhypocriticalness of youth.
+Stinging, damning words.</p>
+
+<p>Walking to the window, John Grymes stared out
+into the velvet chalice of the night, drenched in magic
+and moonlight.</p>
+
+<p>Twenty thousand dollars?</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_11"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Eleventh</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>How a District Attorney Receives an Insult
+and Monsieur de Moulin Tweaks the Nose of an American</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<h4>I</h4>
+
+<p class="dropcap">The court-room was crowded, for it was the first
+day of the trial of Pierre Lafitte.</p>
+
+<p>Though the air was soft and balmy, the large chamber
+itself was hot, and the discomfort was not lessened
+by the heterogeneous crowd that filled the
+benches, rear aisles, and balcony.</p>
+
+<p>Grymes and Livingston sat together at one end of
+the long oak table reserved for counsel. At the foot
+of the table sat the new district attorney, Grymes’s
+successor, one Herbert Hemingway; a short, squat,
+overdressed man, clean-shaven, and painfully concise
+in his speech. Hemingway was a Pennsylvanian, of
+some merit as a lawyer, with a large amount of ambition
+and a larger meed of vanity. He had been
+Grymes’s rival when that gentleman first ran for the
+office of district attorney, but was defeated. However,
+being a henchman of Governor Claiborne and
+thus influential to a certain degree, he had become
+assistant district attorney, after certain devious maneuverings
+for which the worthy chief executive was
+noted.</p>
+
+<p>Jealous and morose by nature, Hemingway had
+bided his time. Now, due to the resignation of
+Grymes, he had succeeded him in office. Great was
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span>his joy when he discovered that Grymes, himself, was
+to be his first opponent in the exercise of his new office,
+and his cup of happiness was fairly brimming when
+he learned the identity of the client of the former
+district attorney, despite the fact that with Grymes
+was allied the redoubtable Edward Livingston.</p>
+
+<p>Hemingway smiled maliciously as he looked across
+the table at his former chief, and the look in his eye
+boded no good for the Virginian. Of all this, however,
+Grymes was happily unconscious. Conversing
+in low tones with Livingston, running through his portfolio
+and occasionally answering the nod of an acquaintance
+in the audience with a cordial smile, he
+seemed oblivious of the existence of his former assistant.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the buzz of conversation subsided, for
+the judge had entered, and the crowd made obeisance,
+all rising and standing until the court was formally
+opened and then resuming their seats in an attitude
+of curious expectancy.</p>
+
+<p>The trial of the People of the State of Louisiana
+<i>versus</i> Pierre Lafitte had begun. Then followed the
+tedious process of impaneling the jury, but finally Herbert
+Hemingway, the new prosecuting attorney, rose
+to his feet and, ostentatiously clearing his throat, began
+the opening address.</p>
+
+<p>And thus the first day.</p>
+
+<h4>II</h4>
+
+<p>The third day of the trial had come, and with it a
+crisis.</p>
+
+<p>During the first two days nothing of any note had
+taken place. The general consensus of opinion was
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>in favor of Pierre Lafitte. But the State, in the person
+of Hemingway, was by no means discouraged.</p>
+
+<p>The general public well knew that the issue was not
+merely a question of Pierre Lafitte being an accessory
+to piracy. A far greater principle was at stake. The
+outcome of this trial would decide one thing, above all
+others. It would determine the further status of the
+Baratarians—whether they were to bear the appellation
+of “pirates” and thus bring upon themselves,
+legally, official condemnation, together with punishment
+to the full extent of the law—the death penalty;
+or whether the Baratarians, which included, most
+naturally, one Monsieur Jean Lafitte, would be honorably
+cleared and thus enabled to continue their careers
+as respectable “privateers.”</p>
+
+<p>Public opinion in New Orleans was most decidedly
+in on channel. The majority of the inhabitants—merchants,
+bankers, professionals and prominent citizens—Creoles
+and natives for the most part—were strong
+adherents to the cause of the Baratarians. And a
+large majority of the State Legislature were also in
+this class.</p>
+
+<p>Nor was this state of affairs unnatural. A large
+number were connected in some way with the smugglers,
+and many, together with the whole of the lower
+portion of the state, were greatly benefited by their
+presence and activities. Then again, the Creoles cordially
+disliked the new régime and all its works, notwithstanding
+the fact that many of them served in the
+State Legislature. Therefore, they had all the more
+reason to be friendly toward the Lafittes and their followers.</p>
+
+<p>On the other hand, the newcomers, the Americans,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span>were for the most part disliked and sided instinctively
+with the Governor and his followers. This may be
+due to the inherent loyalty to government that was instinctive—a
+feeling that, not long after, was planted
+and nourished in the hearts of the Creoles. The latter
+transformation, however, did not take place until those
+stirring days of the British attack on New Orleans.</p>
+
+<p>Therefore, the friends and enemies of the Lafittes
+were ranged on two sides and the supporters of the
+Baratarians were undoubtedly the most numerous.</p>
+
+<p>By the third day of the trial, the battle between the
+lawyers, Livingston and Grymes, on one side, and
+Hemingway and his battery of assistants, on the other,
+had become heated. It was not long before personalities
+were indulged in, as witness after witness was
+called, examined, cross-examined and questioned again.</p>
+
+<p>Hemingway was speaking on a question of law.</p>
+
+<p>“And so, if we are at variance,” he cried, turning
+now and again to the jury, but addressing the main
+body of his remarks full at his rival—“if we are at
+variance, I say, it is because the question under discussion
+is not fully understood.” He paused, breathing
+heavily, and stared balefully at the debonair
+Grymes. “Nor should I expect it to be understood,
+nor appreciated,” he went on, “for it would take a
+gentleman, who has the understanding and sensibilities
+of gentlemen, to comprehend it.”</p>
+
+<p>There was a well-defined stir in the jury box. A
+rustle of whisperings swept over the crowded body of
+the large chamber, while His Honor noticeably gave
+a start.</p>
+
+<p>This was nothing less than a direct fling at his opponents,
+a gratuitous insult.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span></p>
+
+<p>Livingston was thoroughly angry, but wise enough
+to repress his emotions. Before he could make any
+movement toward reprimanding the prosecution, his
+colleague was on his feet, an ugly glitter in his usually
+kind eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Am I to understand,” asked Grymes, quietly,
+though boiling inwardly, “that you intimate that counsel
+for the defense are not gentlemen?”</p>
+
+<p>The judge made a motion toward Hemingway, but
+he, apparently, was ignorant of it. Livingston began
+to rise. A sudden hush came over the great room—a
+frozen silence, fraught with unimaginable possibilities.</p>
+
+<p>Hemingway leered.</p>
+
+<p>“Exactly!” he exclaimed, venomously, “although I
+had but one person in mind. The other I hold in the
+highest respect.” He half bowed to Livingston. The
+latter spoke before the enraged Grymes could answer,
+his voice icy.</p>
+
+<p>“Kindly explain yourself, sir!” said he sternly.
+The judge nodded, but no one noticed him.</p>
+
+<p>Hemingway drew a long breath and then took the
+plunge. He had stepped into the Rubicon. He must
+cross it now or drown.</p>
+
+<p>“Just what I said,” he ejaculated, half frightened
+at his own temerity in thus bearding the two distinguished
+attorneys. “And I will not retract a word!
+Mr. Grymes,” he said, sternly, looking at that individual,
+“I hereby repeat my belief that you are not a
+gentleman!”</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Grymes merely stared at him, too
+astonished at this sudden, unwarrantable charge, to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>answer it, if that were possible. Hemingway rushed
+on, with a pseudo-fury.</p>
+
+<p>“No, Mr. Grymes, you are not a gentleman ...
+for you are without honor! You, who have bartered
+it, sold it to the highest bidder, for twenty thousand
+pieces of silver. Mr. Grymes, as God is my witness,
+I am ashamed to think of ever having been associated
+with you, who have stepped from the path of honor,
+bribed by pirate gold!”</p>
+
+<p>It was out!</p>
+
+<p>Within his soul John Grymes, laughed, ironically,
+bitterly. The fee for which he had resigned his honored
+office was indeed twenty thousand silver pieces. And
+now it was denounced as a bribe! Thoughts passed
+like lightning through his brain as he stared, unseeing,
+almost uncomprehending, at the sneering figure of his
+accuser. And then a truly royal rage filled the soul of
+the hot-headed Virginian. For a moment a murderous
+glint sparkled in his eye. To be thus accused,
+thus branded, in the presence of all New Orleans—all
+the world! He, John Grymes, a Virginian of the old
+Cavalier stock, to be thus insulted, thus held up to the
+scorn of a relentless world, the cynosure of cynical
+eyes. He rocked in the throes of an internal tempest
+that threatened to uproot the very moorings of his
+soul.</p>
+
+<p>There was but one thing to be done and he did it.</p>
+
+<p>Half suffocating with rage, his eyes flashing, and an
+unconquerable sob welling up in his throat, he threw
+the gauntlet into the enemy’s teeth. There was only
+one way out.</p>
+
+<p>“Mr. Hemingway,” he exclaimed, acutely conscious
+of the fact that all eyes were focused upon him,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>“gentleman or not, you must give me satisfaction for
+this or I will horsewhip you to death on the Place
+d’Armes!”</p>
+
+<p>The prosecuting attorney bowed, ostensibly ironical,
+but in reality sick at heart. Strange as it was, he had
+not counted on this. Duels were but survivals of a
+barbarous age, he had always maintained ... the
+practice which merely enabled obscure nonentities to
+challenge, and perhaps kill, prominent men—really
+great men. But he could not withdraw with honor.
+If he did, he would be forever disgraced.</p>
+
+<p>“I am entirely at your service, sir,” he said, determined
+to make the best of it. “Your most obedient!”
+He bowed again, but his lips were gray.</p>
+
+<p>“My friend will call on you—on anyone you designate,”
+returned Grymes, as courteously as possible,
+though striving mightily to control his temper. Then,
+because he could trust himself no longer, he faced the
+judge, muttered something unintelligible, and, turning
+around, walked slowly up the main aisle of the court-room,
+head high and chin thrust outward. John R.
+Grymes was undoubtedly a thoroughbred.</p>
+
+<p>A redbird, perched on the branch of a magnolia, just
+outside the courthouse, chirped loudly, calling to its
+mate.</p>
+
+<p>Herbert Hemingway stared for a moment at the retreating
+figure of the man to whom he had just offered
+a deadly insult, and then slumped into his chair, his
+gaze on the floor. He was learning that a gesture was
+very satisfying for the moment but very dangerous
+in its after effects.</p>
+
+<p>Edward Livingston, with a contemptuous look at
+the prosecuting attorney, pointedly gathered up his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span>papers, arose from the table, and walked across the
+inclosure to a side table. The insinuation was obvious.</p>
+
+<p>The judge took this opportunity to announce an
+adjournment. But when the great room had emptied,
+he still sat there, under the great stained-glass window,
+the bars of colored sunlight slanting across his robes
+in billets and lozenges of vert and gule and azure.</p>
+
+<p>His Honor was sore perplexed. But so was New
+Orleans.</p>
+
+<h4>III</h4>
+
+<p>“Meestaire Nash,” said De Moulin, “I understand
+zat you are ze gent’man who ees ze secon’ of Monsieur—pardon,
+sair, I meant ‘Meestaire’ Hemingway,
+ees eet not true?”</p>
+
+<p>Cyrus Nash, a broad-shouldered, blue-eyed Yankee
+giant, nodded and glanced across the room at his principal.</p>
+
+<p>Herbert Hemingway, standing at a long French
+window which gave egress to a balcony overlooking
+the Rue Royale, wheeled, but was silent.</p>
+
+<p>“I am the representative of Mr. Hemingway,” said
+Nash, loftily, “and I presume you are the representative
+of Mr. Grymes?”</p>
+
+<p>“Correc’, sair, <i>c’est vrai</i>. I ’ave ze honnaire of
+being a secon’ of my frien,’ Monsieur Grymes. I ’ave
+come to arrange ze mitting of owêh preencipals on ze
+fiel’ <i>d’honneur</i>!” He glanced across at Hemingway,
+who, rigid, his hand gripping the back of an armchair,
+stared at him strangely.</p>
+
+<p>“Quite so,” replied the Yankee. “We ... I—have
+been expecting you. But, Mister dee Moolan, can we
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span>not reach an understanding in some other way?” He
+glanced at Hemingway, who almost imperceptibly
+nodded.</p>
+
+<p>The young indigo-planter drew himself up.</p>
+
+<p>“Pardon, monsieur, I do not understan’. If Monsieur
+weel ’ave ze kin’nez to exbhlain.”</p>
+
+<p>“I mean, mister, can’t we settle this some other
+way? My principal would prefer not to fight—”</p>
+
+<p>“Ees you’ preencipal a coward?” demanded the
+Creole, astonished.</p>
+
+<p>The other hastily made a sign of deprecating negation.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course not!” he cried. “Only Mr. Hemingway
+would dislike the—er—publicity that would unavoidably
+become connected with this affair. He would
+prefer—”</p>
+
+<p>Hemingway leaned forward, his voice somewhat
+strained.</p>
+
+<p>“What my good friend means, sir,” he said, “is
+that I am very strongly opposed to dueling, to personal
+chastisement—er—encounters, of such a murderous
+nature. In my opinion, sir, it is a barbarity, the relic
+of a depraved and uncivilized age! It would be
+against my principles, my ideals—”</p>
+
+<p>“Ees eet zat monsieur wish’ to refuse Monsieur
+Grymes <i>l’amende honorable</i>?” the Creole cried,
+aghast. His chivalric soul could not understand such
+idealistic scruples, such a Puritanical conscience.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Hemingway was at a loss. The
+Yankee sought to remedy the situation.</p>
+
+<p>“Look here, mister; Mister Hemingway is not
+afraid to fight, not by a damn sight—”</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, zen monsieur wish’ to ’pologize? Pardon,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span>messieurs, <i>Que je suis bête</i>!... ’Ow stupid h’I
+am! Eef Meestaire Hemingway weel ’pologize, retrac’,
+mek ze <i>amende honorable</i>, zat ees altogether
+anozzer ’ting. I ’ave no doubt zat Meestaire Grymes
+weel consent to conseeder eet! Monsieur Livin’ston,
+he sayce to me—”</p>
+
+<p>The district attorney held up his hand, and his face
+wore an air of dignity.</p>
+
+<p>“I—I have no intention of apologizing,” he said,
+calmly, although his heart was beating furiously. And
+he murmured to himself, “The Lord knows I cannot!”</p>
+
+<p>The Creole looked frankly bewildered. He looked
+from one to the other.</p>
+
+<p>“Zen what in ze name of ze thousand devils do you
+mean to do?” he queried, in exasperation.</p>
+
+<p>Hemingway was thinking rapidly. There was nothing
+to be done, after all, he thought, but give in with
+the best grace possible. For all his faults, Herbert
+Hemingway was somewhat of a sportsman ... a
+gambler, with all the varying moods of men who are
+born to be eternally doomed to indecision. His lips
+whitened.</p>
+
+<p>“You are right, Mr. de Moulin, you are right! I
+cannot but give your principal the satisfaction that he
+demands ... though it cost me my life. God knows
+that it is only a farce, this dueling—this official
+murder—but I shall not back out; I shall fight ... if
+need be, die!</p>
+
+<p>“But I still maintain,” he continued, grasping this
+opportunity for a sly thrust, “that your principal is no
+gentleman and should not even be given this opportunity
+to—er—fight, as gentlemen do, since he has forfeited
+the right to put himself in that class through his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>dishonorable dealings with those pirates, of which I—er—fearlessly,”
+he mouthed the word, “accused him!
+Do you still think I am afraid to fight, sir?” he cried,
+waving his hand in an assumption of dignity, “when I
+have the moral courage to accuse this fire-eating,
+swashbuckling Virginian to his face, before his fellow-citizens
+and fellow-dupes?”</p>
+
+<p>“I would hardly cayeh to say,” rejoined the Creole,
+dryly, his eyes showing his utter contempt.</p>
+
+<p>“Mister Hemingway is right,” suddenly interjected
+the last-named gentleman’s self-styled second, “neither
+he nor anyone else is afraid of this shyster, this Judas.
+I believe in calling a spade a spade. Mr. Grymes is
+not only working for these pirates, for blood money,
+but it’s my belief that he’s a smuggler, himself!</p>
+
+<p>“Personally, Mister dee Moolan, I wouldn’t lower
+myself to fight with Mr. Grymes, myself. He’s no
+gentleman, as Hemingway—”</p>
+
+<p>The Creole turned on him in a flash, his fine sensibilities
+infuriated at the liberties being taken with him
+in his character of ambassador.</p>
+
+<p>“But I’m zhure you’ll have no objection to mitting
+me!” he snapped, enraged. “François de Moulin
+ees at you’ sairvice h’at any time ... an’ at any
+man’s! But wait—I meestake—I mean at ze sairvice
+of any gentleman. But for such <i>canaille</i> as you,
+monsieur, I only use my cane!”</p>
+
+<p>Before his surprised auditors could recover from
+the effect of his only too justifiable wrath, the zealous
+young Creole had leaned over and tweaked the prominent
+nose of the Yankee!</p>
+
+<p>Cursing obscenely, the infuriated Nash sprang at
+him, but he was stopped by Hemingway.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Here, gentlemen, here!” the latter cried. “This is
+no time for quarreling. Let us finish this unpleasant
+business! Nash, be quiet!” There was a ring of command
+in his voice. The Yankee subsided, strangely
+enough, and glowered at the young Creole, who, regaining
+his composure, was superbly oblivious of him.</p>
+
+<p>“As the challenged party,” said the district attorney,
+“of course I have choice of weapons?”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Oui</i>, monsieur, zat ees ze propaire etiquette,” said
+De Moulin, soberly, “ze choice ees yours!”</p>
+
+<p>For once Hemingway dropped his habitual indecision.
+An observer would have thought that he was
+the second in this case, rather than the principal, so
+cool and matter-of-fact was his demeanor.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, then, I choose pistols. And the usual place,
+I suppose. I believe that is Slaughterhouse Point, is
+it not?”</p>
+
+<p>The young planter nodded mutely.</p>
+
+<p>“And, if it will not inconvenience your principal,”
+went on Hemingway, “I would like the meeting to
+take place at dawn. Let us have it over with as
+quickly as possible.”</p>
+
+<p>De Moulin bowed.</p>
+
+<p>“Zat ees pairfectly sateesfactory,” he answered.
+“Meestaire Grymes, he sayce, ‘<i>Mon ami</i>, mek all arrangements.
+I leave zem to you.’ At dawn, zen,
+shall it be.”</p>
+
+<p>The district attorney bowed in turn.</p>
+
+<p>“Thank you for calling, Mr. de Moulin. We shall
+meet in the morning, I trust.”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Très bien</i>,” returned the Creole. “In ze morning
+zen.” He turned to leave the room.</p>
+
+<p>At this point, however, Nash interrupted.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Wait, Mr. dee Moolan,” he cried, pointing to his
+nose. “What about this? What about this, sir?” he
+choked with rage.</p>
+
+<p>François de Moulin laughed.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Le nez, mon ami?</i>” he asked, mockingly, “w’at
+about eet? <i>Eh, bien</i>, my opinion, monsieur, eet ees
+razzer objec’sh’n’able to zee eye. Take my advice,
+Meestaire Nash, and remove eet!” He laughed debonairly.</p>
+
+<p>A moment later and he was gone.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_12"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Twelfth</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>In Which Is Related an Account of the Duel at Slaughterhouse
+Point, and How Virginia Flirts with Profit</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<h4>I</h4>
+
+<p class="dropcap">Morning was nearing its dreary dawn, cold
+and dark, and New Orleans slumbered.</p>
+
+<p>At last the red rim of the rising sun, heralded by
+the misty flush of sunrise behind the forests lining the
+shores of Lake Pontchartrain, appeared above the
+level disk and cast its first sleepy rays on the world—the
+long, refuse-littered levees of the queenly Mississippi;
+the red tile roofs of the Franco-Spanish houses
+of stuccoed brick; the wide, deserted avenues, lined
+with balconies, through whose long French windows
+could be had glimpses of lace curtains and brocade upholstery;
+and the high white spire of St. Louis Cathedral,
+which benignantly looked down on the awakening
+city from its lofty, kindly height.</p>
+
+<p>On a long point of land to the northwest of the
+city, surrounded on three sides by the muddy, swirling
+waters of the Queen of Rivers and thickly wooded
+with dark palmettos and white-blossomed magnolias
+that stood out in clear-cut picturesque silhouette
+against the sky, was a spacious glade, alive with bright-colored
+flowers, warmly green climbing vines, mossy
+natural lawns of cocoa grass, and ablush with flowering
+trees.</p>
+
+<p>This bit of paradise on earth, however, was somewhat
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>euphoniously known to the natives as “Slaughterhouse
+Point,” and not without reason, for this
+fair spot was in truth a slaughterhouse, a human abattoir,
+as some had bitterly called it.</p>
+
+<p>Many a strong man, pulsing one moment with life,
+love, and passion, had watered the greensward with
+his blood the next; and many a loving wife or sweetheart,
+mother or sister, had suffered in consequence.</p>
+
+<p>And with good reason, for Slaughterhouse Point
+was <i>the</i> dueling ground of the gay capital of the Louisianians,
+of the Little Paris of the New World. Here
+the Spanish grandees had settled their quarrels with
+the clash of steel and skill of wrist, to be followed by
+the debonair French chevaliers’ light rapiers, and the
+more modern pistol bullets of the punctilious Creole.</p>
+
+<p>What countless tales might those age-old trees tell
+if they could but speak! Of the grievous—and
+fancied—wrongs wiped out in blood ... of the
+strange outcomes, of the counter-duels ... of the
+hesitant confession of the dying, and the blessed administration
+of the father confessors, brokenly bestowing
+absolution....</p>
+
+<p>These and much more might these old trees have
+told, but they could only tell their tales by the rustlings
+of their limbs and the sighing of their leaves, which
+language is only too unfortunately beyond the human
+capacity for understanding.</p>
+
+<p>By now, however, the principals of this dramatic
+little incident in American history had assembled and
+were all too impatiently awaiting the further rising
+of the huge celestial orb that was to aid with her light
+the purpose of two of their number, each determined
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span>to slay the other, one to avenge his honor, the other to
+protect himself from that well-merited vengeance.</p>
+
+<p>Of all this, and much more, doubtless, both the
+former and present district attorneys were thinking.
+Men think strange thoughts at times like these, but it
+is stranger still that no one is conscious of it—least of
+all, themselves.</p>
+
+<p>They were all there.</p>
+
+<p>Herbert Hemingway, clad in ultra-fashionable
+clothes; beaver, lace ruffles, et cetera, as if just about
+to set out for a quadroon ball at the St. Philippe Street
+Theater; and his second, Mr. Cyrus Nash, Esquire,
+lately of Kennesettock Point, New Hampshire, also
+loudly dressed, with much more ostentation but equally
+much less taste than his principal, have just arrived on
+the scene, and are leaving the carriage of the former,
+on the road just outside the historic glade.</p>
+
+<p>John Grymes, together with Monsieur François de
+Moulin, are already on the scene and are standing a
+little to the right of a giant magnolia, conversing in
+low tones.</p>
+
+<p>This does not complete the party, however. Two
+men, obviously physicians, are standing in and aside,
+also busying themselves in the mysterious depths of
+two little valises. Mr. Grymes, while talking to his
+second, watches these two gentlemen of the lancet, and
+cannot help feeling a certain fascination in doing so,
+although this is not the Virginian’s first duel.</p>
+
+<p>The former district attorney had passed a sleepless
+night, sitting up in the library, eying a wine decanter
+that he dared not touch, yet whose contents he craved
+with all his soul. He had been wise enough, however,
+to withstand the temptation, and had spent his time at
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span>solitaire, which could not keep him from thinking of a
+woman who slept in a Virginian churchyard—of
+bygone days. John Grymes spent much time with his
+thoughts of late; thoughts dug out of secret mental
+archives.</p>
+
+<p>Therefore he is fit, this morning, and his eye and
+nerve are steady. It speaks well for the hard-living
+Virginian that he did not remove the tempting decanter
+all through the night, but left it, with its mute appeal,
+to stare him in the face until the gray hours of dawn,
+to be finally interrupted by the advent of faithful
+Scipio, coming to reawaken the slumbering embers in
+the huge old fireplace.</p>
+
+<p>That gentleman of color, already introduced to the
+reader in the episode of the runaways, is now unobtrusively
+hidden behind the generous bole of a magnolia,
+waiting, round-eyed, to see the outcome of the
+master’s fight.</p>
+
+<p>He is not the only observer, however.</p>
+
+<p>Slaughterhouse Point, as is known, was already
+famed for its duels, and often held large crowds,
+especially when the duelists were prominent persons.</p>
+
+<p>This case was no exception to the rule.</p>
+
+<p>Insulted as he had been before a crowded court, an
+assemblage of well-known citizens, it was inevitable
+that all New Orleans would anticipate a duel, and half
+of its male population attend, if possible. It was
+equally easy for anyone to guess the location of the
+coming encounter. Such personal meetings were very
+seldom held in any other place but Slaughterhouse
+Point.</p>
+
+<p>Therefore, quite a large gathering has assembled.
+This heterogeneous crowd is largely made up of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span>Creole gentry, prominent bankers, merchants, and
+others of that class; but there are also a sprinkling of
+Americans, friends of both combatants. There is no
+likelihood of interference on the part of the local authorities.
+No Creole would dream of interfering in an
+affair of honor, while an American official, if he did
+hold personal views about the wisdom of dueling, discreetly
+shut his official eyes, especially if present.</p>
+
+<p>At last the preliminaries have been settled.</p>
+
+<p>The sun has risen in its glorious entirety and flooded
+the grove with its golden light. Out on the sparkling,
+muddy Mississippi a river barge has come to anchor.
+One sees that it holds a goodly crowd of gentlemen,
+all of whom, apparently, have an excellent view of
+the proceedings.</p>
+
+<p>Gone indeed are the days when affairs of honor were
+purely personal encounters between the two principals,
+to be conducted as privately as possible. In these
+times one cannot even fight privately, cry the Creoles,
+without making a large public spectacle. It is all the
+cursed ideas of this new hare-brained government,
+they declare in unison. In the olden days; ah, then
+gentlemen were <i>gentlemen</i>....</p>
+
+<p>Yet these same aristocratic ranters cannot keep
+away from a duel, if they are remotely interested in it.
+So it goes....</p>
+
+<p>The principals are in their places, pistols in hand,
+with their coats and beavers lying on the sward ...
+their sleeves rolled up ... ruffles loosened.</p>
+
+<p>Old Sieur de la Follette, veteran of a hundred duels,
+is to give the word.</p>
+
+<p>He raises his elegantly shaped hand, still ungnarled
+by the hand of Time. Apparently the last-named old
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span>gentleman has passed him by out of pure respect for
+his many praiseworthy qualities (so say the Creoles, at
+least)—for his love of sport, his gameness, his keen
+sense of honor, his scrupulous sense of fairness ...
+all these go toward the making up of old Etienne
+de la Follette, prince of duelists, with twenty duels and
+fourteen love affairs to his credit.</p>
+
+<p>It is said, secretly, of course, that he was once the
+lover of a <i>duchesse</i>. No wonder he is held with such
+respect in the dreamy land of the Creoles! It is such
+as he that remind us of duels in the moonlight; serenades
+under trellised balconies; black-eyed demoiselles
+and peruked gallants; balls, fêtes, levées; grand bediamonded
+dames; scented, bejeweled fops.</p>
+
+<p>The Sieur de la Follette is a human milestone in
+history.</p>
+
+<p>But we digress!</p>
+
+<p>The Sieur raises his hand.</p>
+
+<p>A dead silence falls on the crowd.</p>
+
+<p>The duelists, back to back, walk ten paces from each
+other, and halt, pistol in hand.</p>
+
+<p>Hemingway is white-faced; his eyes glittering, a
+hectic flush in his pale cheek. Grymes is cool, collected,
+and his face is as stern as that of the great
+Roman father who ordered the death of his own son.
+The honor of a Virginian, a Grymes, is no small thing.
+Beware who shalt presume to besmirch it! It is the
+Grymes way to wipe out an insult in blood. An exaltation—a
+lust to kill—fills him; thrills him.</p>
+
+<p>The white-haired nobleman with the gray imperial
+speaks:</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Un—Deux—Trois!</i>”</p>
+
+<p>As a man they wheel about, pistols extended.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span></p>
+
+<p>Two shots are heard as one. Hemingway has fired
+first, Grymes an instant later....</p>
+
+<p>The crowd peers through the haze.</p>
+
+<p>The smoke clears quickly. One of the duelists,
+dropping his smoking weapon, clutches at his side,
+makes a half turn, and crumples up on the green turf,
+to lie there inert. The other stands for a moment—straight,
+stern, with the mien of an avenging god—for
+a moment only. Then, throwing aside his still smoking
+instrument of death, he quickly reaches the side of his
+former opponent.</p>
+
+<p>For one moment the heart of John Grymes is like
+a frozen stone.... Has he killed his man? After
+all, flashes through his mind, the district attorney but
+stood up for the courage of his convictions. The Virginian
+cannot help but admire that sort of man. And
+now that he has apparently killed his adversary, it is
+the nature of the high-strung Grymes to glorify his
+enemy. His mood of exaltation has dropped from
+him like a cloak—his lust for revenge vanished into
+thin air.</p>
+
+<p>But Hemingway is not dead.</p>
+
+<p>The doctors have quickly taken charge and are making
+an examination. The senior physician, a tall, baldish
+man, looks up to meet the mute question in
+Grymes’s eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“He will live, sir,” says he, “but the ball has gone
+through his hip. Mr. Hemingway will be crippled for
+life!” He turns back to his patient.</p>
+
+<p>John Grymes stares down at the body of his enemy
+for a moment, his face impassive. Then, without a
+word, he turns, slowly puts on his coat and hat, and,
+followed by De Moulin, enters his carriage. The
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span>proud Scipio, fairly radiating joy, cracks his whip over
+the heads of the blacks. The carriage quickly disappears
+down the road, headed south, for New Orleans.</p>
+
+<p>There is now a general exodus.</p>
+
+<p>The motionless figure of the unconscious district
+attorney is carried to the carriage and is rapidly driven
+away toward town, followed, at intervals, by a string
+of horseback riders and carriages.</p>
+
+<p>The barge on the river hauls up its anchor and soon
+disappears downstream, vanishing behind a bend of
+cottonwoods.</p>
+
+<p>Slaughterhouse Point is again deserted; steeped in
+the flaming radiance of the newly-risen sun.</p>
+
+<p>The sighing magnolias have a new tale to add to
+their repertory.</p>
+
+<h4>II</h4>
+
+<p>“Not guilty!”</p>
+
+<p>A gasp was heard, followed by roll after roll of
+applause as the frantic crowd rose to its feet.</p>
+
+<p>Never before, perhaps, in its whole history, had that
+old court-room seen such a demonstration as was taking
+place now ... a demonstration that, rising to
+the roof, seemed to be literally flying over the town.</p>
+
+<p>And well might the audience cheer, for Pierre
+Lafitte is acquitted.</p>
+
+<p>But it is not the mere fact that the brother of the
+<i>bosse</i> of Barataria has been acquitted of a grave
+charge that causes such a commotion in the good city
+of New Orleans. Something of more moment than
+that had hung on the decision of those twelve tried
+men and true: the further legitimate existence of the
+colony of Grande Terre.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span></p>
+
+<p>And the primary causes of all this excitement,
+Messrs. Edward Livingston and John Grymes, are
+receiving their share and more of the congratulations
+that are pouring on the heads of the victors of this
+legal battle. For have not these two eminent lawyers
+cleared their poor, innocent, persecuted clients of the
+utterly unfounded and absolutely preposterous charges
+brought against them? And (whisper it, <i>mon ami</i>)
+have not these paragons of the bar, these advocates
+<i>par excellence</i>, discreetly taught them certain legal
+tricks whereby they can still continue to do business
+at the same spot, and yet make a <i>pied-de-nez</i> ...
+a thumb to the nose ... and say, “Pouf! That for
+you!” to the Government?</p>
+
+<p>Yes, they have done this, and much more beside,
+and now they stand, each flanking the triumphant
+victim of the malignity of a despotic government, and
+modestly receive the plaudits of their friends. How
+fortunate has Pierre Lafitte been to have such powerful
+defenders ... men with tongues of silvery eloquence!
+And how wise was the great Jean Lafitte
+when he secured their aid! With what magnificent
+oratory did the grandiloquent Livingston assail the ears
+of His-Honor-on-the-Bench! With what marvelous
+shrewdness did Grymes argue for long hours with that
+round dozen of blockheads in the jury-box! Ah, it
+was a treat to listen to them, <i>mes amis</i>, a precious
+boon! Monsieur Grymes? <i>Il fut une merveille!</i> Monsieur
+Livingston? <i>Il fut magnifique! Oh, là là!</i> What
+a rolling of Creole eyes!... What ecstasies of
+admiration!...</p>
+
+<p>What gallant badinage—sallies—laborious repartee!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span></p>
+
+<p>What a glorious victory for our friends! What
+humiliation for this upstart government!</p>
+
+<p>And (between you and me, <i>mon ami</i>), what a blow
+to the pride—the haughty self-sufficiency—of his most
+respected Excellency, <i>Monsieur le gouverneur</i>!</p>
+
+<p>“<i>C’est pour rire!</i>”</p>
+
+<p>It is to laugh, indeed....</p>
+
+<p>“Not guilty!”</p>
+
+<h4>III</h4>
+
+<p>“Ah, Mr. Lafitte, you are a flatterer!”</p>
+
+<p>“‘Pierre’!”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, Pierre, then ... since you are so insistent.
+But I warn you, sir, I do not believe a word you say!”</p>
+
+<p>“But I swear I am in earnest, <i>ma belle</i>!”</p>
+
+<p>She tapped him chidingly on the shoulder with her
+fan. From their seat in the trellised, jasmine-covered
+arbor could be seen the moving figures of the dancers
+in the candle-lighted ballroom, multiplied a thousandfold
+by the flashing mirrors on the walls ... an orgy
+of color, a pandemonium of merriment.</p>
+
+<p>The strains of a dreamy waltz floated out to them,
+haunting—ethereal—unreal. The soaring moon, a
+glorious disk of silver in a sky of royal purple—a
+cupola of basalt—the twinkling stars, friendly celestial
+chinks of light, therein ... the balmy, scent-laden
+air ... all contributed to make of this Southern
+desmesne a fairyland—a night for love—and love—and
+naught but love. The moonlight lay like snow on
+the silver-misted foliage....</p>
+
+<p>Virginia Grymes, clad in an eye-arresting gown of
+shimmering, filmy, gauze-like material, the make-up of
+which no mere man knows, laughed. Her companion,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span>Pierre Dominique Lafitte, a gallant figure in cambric
+frills and claret-colored damask, bent toward her, intoxicated
+by the glamour of the night—the challenge
+of her eyes—the appeal of her feminine charm....</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Virginia, you are cruel ... heartless! You
+cannot doubt me! I insincere? Pierre Lafitte?
+What—”</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him, her eyes roguish.</p>
+
+<p>“Pierre, do you love me?”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Do</i> I love you? <i>Do</i> I love you? Why you are my
+dream—my star—my—”</p>
+
+<p>“Really?” amusedly.</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, mademoiselle, you jest. But I am not like your
+cold-blooded Americans. We Frenchmen hold <i>la
+grande passion</i> above everything! After all, <i>ma
+belle</i> Virginia, love is the greatest of all things. We
+were born to love. And love really comes but once to
+us ... and it comes to stay.... Virginia, that
+great love has come into my life. And you are the
+cause of it—its <i>raison d’être</i>!”</p>
+
+<p>“Platitudes, sir, mere platitudes!”</p>
+
+<p>“But it is the truth!”</p>
+
+<p>“Enough of these fine words, Monsieur Lafitte. I
+believe in deeds, not words.”</p>
+
+<p>The protecting darkness concealed her flush as her
+mind reverted back to a certain day not long past when
+a man with coal-black eyes stood in the path of an oncoming
+carriage, pistol in hand.</p>
+
+<p>“Mademoiselle pleases to jest,” sulkily.</p>
+
+<p>“Jest? No, I do not. But, there, sir, you are but
+a sulky cavalier. Are you that way with all of your
+friends? With Gabrielle—and Céleste—and Angélique?...”
+She laughed lightly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span></p>
+
+<p>The Frenchman started in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>“Gabrielle—Angélique!” he stammered. “What
+do you know of Angélique?”</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly light came to him.</p>
+
+<p>“What has François de Moulin been telling you?”
+he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“There, there,” she teased, “don’t fly into such a
+rage. ’Twill spoil your handsome brow.”</p>
+
+<p>He all but gnashed his teeth in exasperation. If
+thoughts could kill, a certain young indigo-planter
+would have died a horrible death at that moment.
+Fortunately for the latter, however, this is both a
+physical and psychological impossibility. And it is
+better so perhaps, for if such thought-murder were
+possible, it is doubtful if the world would be as populous
+as it is.</p>
+
+<p>Virginia shook her finger at him reprovingly.</p>
+
+<p>“I dare you to mention a word of it to poor François,”
+she said. “You yourself have often said ‘all’s
+fair in love and war.’”</p>
+
+<p>He stared at the frivolous stars, disdaining to
+answer. If he could but lay his hands on his friend,
+it would be a “war” indeed; perhaps premeditated
+murder.</p>
+
+<p>To his relief, she turned the subject. This was not
+altogether an act of mercy, had he known it, but a
+seizure of just this opportunity to discuss the man
+whom she professed to dislike above all men.</p>
+
+<p>“By the way, Mr. Lafitte—Pierre—I have never
+really met your brother, have I? What sort of a man
+is he?” Casually. Too casually, perhaps.</p>
+
+<p>“Jean? He’s a prince. Why, he—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Why doesn’t he mingle with people more than he
+does? I very seldom see him.”</p>
+
+<p>He considered this for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>“Society? Why he does, when he’s in town. But
+of late he’s been away so often, and for such long
+periods, that, no doubt, since you are but a recent
+arrival, you haven’t seen him about much. Jean is very
+popular around town, however. Much more, I am
+forced to admit, than my humble self. And very
+naturally,” he added, loyally.</p>
+
+<p>She ignored this, however.</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose your brother is as much of a heartbreaker
+as yourself, then,” she remarked with an assumed
+lightness.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment he was strangely silent.</p>
+
+<p>“I have never known Jean to look at a woman
+twice,” he replied, soberly.</p>
+
+<p>“And why, pray?”</p>
+
+<p>“Because his thoughts are of but one.”</p>
+
+<p>Her body became rigid, tense.</p>
+
+<p>“And who is the fortunate lady, if I may ask?”</p>
+
+<p>“She is dead!” he replied, nettled at her apparent
+lightsomeness.</p>
+
+<p>She was immediately contrite, sensing the resentment
+in his tone. But a great curiosity filled her.</p>
+
+<p>“Please forgive my flippancy!” she exclaimed. “Do
+tell me about it. I know there is a story attached to
+it.”</p>
+
+<p>Mollified by her contrition and apparent interest,
+he told her. Perhaps another purpose actuated him.
+Who knows?</p>
+
+<p>Slowly, seriously, almost oblivious of his auditor,
+he told her the tale of Jean and Lizette ... the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span>duel ... the tragedy ... Jean’s vengeance. The
+Frenchman, his voice low and impassioned, now swelling,
+his eyes sparkling, now melting, might have been
+a troubadour of old Normandy reciting the age-old
+story of love and death. In the magic of the moonlight,
+he was a glamorous figure.</p>
+
+<p>Entranced, engrossed in his absorbing tale, Virginia
+felt her emotions sway her—the hot tears fill her eyes.
+As she listened she felt a great envy of this girl who
+had died for Jean Lafitte—and a great yearning....</p>
+
+<p>Pierre ended his tale, making little mention of Jean’s
+career in the Caribbean. His own eyes were wet, for
+Pierre was a sentimentalist, a lover of women as a
+sex; of the beautiful.</p>
+
+<p>For a while there was silence.</p>
+
+<p>Virginia was torn with conflicting emotions.</p>
+
+<p>On one side was this new viewpoint of the Creole
+smuggler—“the fashion plate,” as she mentally labeled
+him; a gallant gentleman, and a constant lover. All
+the world loves a lover, but Virginia felt more than an
+impersonally worldly affection for this lover in particular,
+if the truth be told.</p>
+
+<p>On the other hand, there was that damning story of
+her chum, Margaret Claiborne, which pictured him as
+a cruel pirate, a murderer, and a lustful villain.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly an inspiration came.</p>
+
+<p>“Pierre,” she said, haltingly, “is it true that your
+brother killed a man—a quadroon—at Grande
+Terre?”</p>
+
+<p>He answered without hesitation, matter-of-factly!</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, it is. That was a very unfortunate occurrence,
+however. Jean was forced to do it. If he
+hadn’t—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Didn’t he—wasn’t it over a girl, a slave girl?”
+she demanded, strangely wrought up.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, yes, that was the cause of it, I believe,” he
+admitted, absently, unknowing of the havoc his words
+were creating. It <i>had</i> been over a slave girl, but each
+of these two very naturally were putting different constructions
+to this simply-worded fact.</p>
+
+<p>Of such incidents are lives molded, empires destroyed,
+history made, mayhap.</p>
+
+<p>She sobbed, then fiercely smothered it.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the matter?” he asked, in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>She sniffed.</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing,” calmly. “I merely coughed. I have
+a headache, Pierre. Won’t you bring me a drink of
+water?”</p>
+
+<p>He left her hurriedly, all solicitude.</p>
+
+<p>When he returned with the drink for which she had
+asked, however, he stared around the arbor, in surprise,
+and swept the black ocean of shrubbery with
+his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>She had disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>Utterly. Inexplicably.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Dominique, musing bitterly on the peculiarities
+of the sex, turned misogynist.</p>
+
+<p>The sheen of the river, near by, was like celestial
+silk. The moonlight still coquetted with the shadows,
+and the night-breeze, odorous with jasmine, was sodden
+with music. But to little avail; the girl was gone.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Dominique Lafitte, a gallant figure in cambric
+frills and claret-colored damask, raised his head to the
+opaque gloom of the nocturnal sky and said words—unrepeatable
+words.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_13"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Thirteenth</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>Wherein Mr. Livingston Receives an Invitation and Mr. Grymes Pays
+a Social Call on a Pirate</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<h4>I</h4>
+
+<p class="dropcap">“Monsieur Livingston?”</p>
+
+<p>“At your service, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>The Creole bowed, his white teeth flashing in a deferential
+smile.</p>
+
+<p>“I ’ave <i>l’honneur</i> to be ze bearer <i>d’une lettre</i>—of a
+letter—wheech h’ I am to geeve to you een pairson,
+monsieur.” He bowed again.</p>
+
+<p>Edward Livingston looked puzzled. The contraction
+of his brows became more accentuated.</p>
+
+<p>“A letter, for me?” he murmured. “Who can be
+sending me a letter by messenger?”</p>
+
+<p>The Creole rightly interpreted his perplexity.</p>
+
+<p>“I come from ze Exchange een ze <i>Rue St. Louis</i>,
+sair, but ze lettaire, she come from Grande Terre!”</p>
+
+<p>“Grand Terre!”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Oui</i>, monsieur. I am a fr’en’ of Monsieur Lafitte,
+an’ I was at ze Exchange when anozzer fr’en’ of our
+he approach me an’ geev me two lettaires. I am sooprise
+a verry gred deal. Zen zis man sayce to me, he
+sayce: ‘Ze <i>bosse</i> want you to geeve zeze lettaires to
+Monsieur Grymes an’ Monsieur Livingston ...
+<i>rapidement</i> ... an’<i>moi</i>, you weel fin’ me een ze Café
+de Chat Noir. H’I weel ‘wait an ansair.’ An’ zen
+zis fr’en’ goes off. So h’I take zese lettaires, one to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span>Monsieur Grymes, and <i>l’autre est ici</i> ... ’ere ees ze
+ozzer.”</p>
+
+<p>And the attorney’s caller handed Livingston a large
+letter addressed to himself in the bold, graceful handwriting
+of Jean Lafitte, and sealed with a great splotch
+of purple wax.</p>
+
+<p>With a word or two of thanks, Livingston motioned
+the Creole to a seat and rang for wine. Then he
+opened the letter and eagerly read the message.</p>
+
+<p>As he read on, a look of surprise passed over his
+face, to be succeeded by disappointment, astonishment,
+vexation, and finally thoughtfulness.</p>
+
+<p>When he finished his perusal, he read it over again
+carefully, and then stared thoughtfully into space.</p>
+
+<p>At just this moment his negro butler entered the
+door.</p>
+
+<p>“Mistuh Grymes, suh,” the darkey announced, “am
+in de hall. He sez hits impawtant, suh.”</p>
+
+<p>“Bring him right in, Joseph. But wait.” He reflected
+for a moment. “I’ll see him in a moment.
+Take him to the drawing-room.”</p>
+
+<p>Joseph bowed again, and was gone, noiselessly.</p>
+
+<p>“Pardon me for a moment, sir. I’ll be right with
+you in a few minutes. I believe that Mr. Grymes
+wishes to consult me on a matter connected with the
+letters you so kindly brought. There may be an
+answer.”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Certainement</i>, monsieur.”</p>
+
+<p>A moment later Livingston entered the drawing-room,
+there to find his colleague pacing up and down,
+manifestly excited. In his hand was an opened envelope
+sealed with a huge purple seal.</p>
+
+<p>“Did you get a letter from Lafitte?” asked Grymes,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>abruptly. “Ah, there it is in your hand. Well, what
+do you think of it?”</p>
+
+<p>Livingston looked at him narrowly.</p>
+
+<p>“What do <i>you</i> think of it?” he asked. “I presume
+our letters are practically the same.”</p>
+
+<p>Grymes nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“He invites me to that island—Grande Terre—to
+pay him and his friends a visit and to come and get
+my fee!”</p>
+
+<p>“Exactly. Mine is another invitation to the same
+effect.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, Livingston, what do you think of it?” The
+repetition seemed to please him.</p>
+
+<p>The other smiled wryly.</p>
+
+<p>“Think of it? Personally, I think it is a rather
+unusual request. In effect, Lafitte invites us to collect
+our fee—ostensibly.”</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean?” puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>“Just this. Our piratical client invites us to come
+and get our money—collect in person. In other
+words, to put ourselves right into the hands of a horde
+of smugglers, pirates, slavers, and other riff-raff—where
+our lives won’t be worth a minute’s purchase!”</p>
+
+<p>Grymes stared at him for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you mean to imply that Lafitte will go back
+on his word? That he will let harm come to us, or
+perhaps cheat us out of our money?” he cried, in astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>The other pursed his lips.</p>
+
+<p>“I imply nothing,” he said, “but only state this: If
+it had been the honest intention of our client to pay
+us, he would have somehow sent the money here, or
+had it transferred to us through one of the bankers
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span>on Toulouse Street. In other words, I mistrust his
+offer.”</p>
+
+<p>The Virginian looked at him blankly, and then
+burst into a roar of laughter, as if bitten by the
+tarantula of mirth.</p>
+
+<p>“May I inquire as to the cause of your levity?”
+asked Livingston, exasperated, and secretly a little
+ashamed of his suspicions.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Livingston, what a curse it is to lack a sense
+of humor!” cried Grymes, cryptically. “Here you’ve
+just finished extolling the virtues of Jean Lafitte to a
+jury, and yet you’re too cautious to trust him! And
+after solemnly informing those twelve respectable men
+of his courage, high sense of honor, ideals, square
+dealing, charitableness, and so forth, making a saint
+out of that jolly smuggler, and perjuring yourself like
+a gentleman, you have the consummate audacity to
+stand here and tell me that you distrust your client—or
+words to that effect. Really, my dear fellow, you
+are rather inconsistent, don’t you think?” He looked
+at the discomfited attorney quizzically.</p>
+
+<p>“Then I am to understand that you intend to—er—pay
+a social call on Mr. Lafitte—you will accept?”
+asked Livingston, impassively.</p>
+
+<p>“Will I accept? Will I?” cried the Virginian, joyfully.
+“I should <i>say so</i>! I wouldn’t refuse it for
+anything!”</p>
+
+<p>Livingston seemed somewhat taken aback at this.</p>
+
+<p>“You mean—”</p>
+
+<p>“I mean that I am going—at once, too! Lafitte
+says in my letter that he has a boat here—the <i>Saucy
+Susan</i>, I believe—all ready to sail. When she does
+you can rest assured I’ll be on board. I’ve already
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span>given orders to pack a few clothes. I’m only sorry
+that I can’t see Jinny, but she’s visiting Margaret
+Claiborne at their country place, so I’ll just leave her
+a note....”</p>
+
+<p>“But you are really going?”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course! It’s the chance of a lifetime, man!
+I’ve always wanted to see Grande Terre, I’ve heard
+so much of it, heretofore my official position made it
+impossible for me to even entertain such a thought.
+But now ... I should say I am going!” He
+chuckled and smacked his lips.</p>
+
+<p>“And I mean to investigate that famous cellar of
+Lafitte’s, too. Of course I wouldn’t like to lose the
+fee, but I trust Lafitte, anyway. He’s a real gentleman,
+if there ever was one!”</p>
+
+<p>Livingston paced up and down, his brows drawn together
+in thought. At last he looked up.</p>
+
+<p>“If you are set on going, Grymes,” he said, “I won’t
+try to dissuade you. But I shall decline Lafitte’s offer
+with thanks. However, I’ll make you a proposition.
+If you will collect my share of the fee—the twenty
+thousand dollars—I will give you ten per cent commission!
+How does that strike you?”</p>
+
+<p>The Virginian briefly considered this.</p>
+
+<p>“Fine! I’ll do it, though not necessarily for the
+commission. But you’d better come along, Livingston;
+you’ll enjoy the trip.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, thank you! I have made up my mind. Go
+alone, and earn your commission if you can.”</p>
+
+<p>The Virginian looked him in the eye and laughed.</p>
+
+<p>“Thanks,” he said, dryly. “I’ll do my best!”</p>
+
+<p>Two hours later the <i>Saucy Susan</i>, all sails set, was
+merrily flying before the breeze, down the Mississippi,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span>her dainty nose headed south. John Grymes, briskly
+walking the poop-deck, stared across the muddy
+waters, now and then chuckling, as if inwardly amused.
+He was.</p>
+
+<p>It had been often said of the high-living Virginian
+that he feared nothing on two feet or four. Indeed,
+he rather prided himself on that reputation. Certainly
+he could take care of himself. In any event,
+he anticipated an interesting stay at Grande Terre.
+He was not to be disappointed.</p>
+
+<h4>II</h4>
+
+<p>The carriage, rolling majestically down the Rue de
+Burgundy, that quaint street of heavily grated archways,
+high lattices, and iron-railed balconies, came to
+a smooth halt before the red-brick-front, balconied
+mansion of the Livingstons, with its dark, covered
+carriageway and green batten shutters. A passer-by,
+at sight of its occupant, suddenly stopped and stared
+at her, unnoticed.</p>
+
+<p>Alighting from the carriage, a woman ascended the
+steps of the imposing dwelling, was admitted, ushered
+into the high-ceilinged, paneled chamber, and was left
+there to face the master of the house.</p>
+
+<p>Hardly waiting to go through with the usual polite
+banalities, Virginia Grymes plunged directly into conversation.</p>
+
+<p>“Could you tell me, Mr. Livingston, where father
+has gone? I’ve just returned from the Claibornes’,
+to find a note at home telling me that he has had to
+go out of town on business and would be gone about
+a week. That is quite unusual for father. He always
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span>tells me where he goes—Rappahannock told me,
+however, that he was here just before leaving, so I
+thought perhaps that you might know. I’m rather
+worried ... and I <i>must</i> see him!”</p>
+
+<p>Livingston smiled paternally.</p>
+
+<p>“There is no need to worry, my dear, for I do happen
+to know where he has gone. But I should prefer
+not to tell you ... at least, I don’t believe that he
+would like me to tell you, since he hasn’t so informed
+you in his note. It is a business matter, you see.”
+He smiled again quite paternally.</p>
+
+<p>She looked puzzled, her expressive dark eyes
+clouding.</p>
+
+<p>“But why all the secrecy, Mr. Livingston?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I—”</p>
+
+<p>“But I simply must see him. It is very important
+for me to do so.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m very sorry, but it is impossible.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why?” sharply.</p>
+
+<p>The attorney decided to tell her.</p>
+
+<p>“Because you cannot reach him at present. He has
+gone to Barataria.”</p>
+
+<p>She clutched at her bosom, her hand rigid.</p>
+
+<p>“To Barataria?” she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>Livingston looked surprised, and vaguely annoyed
+at her emotion.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, to Grande Terre.”</p>
+
+<p>“But why—why?” she cried.</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean?” he asked, coldly.</p>
+
+<p>“Why did he go there, of all places?”</p>
+
+<p>“If you must know,” he answered, his displeasure
+manifest in his voice, “he went to see Mr. Lafitte, on
+business.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Mr. Lafitte!” thunder-struck. “But why did he
+go? You must tell me—I insist!”</p>
+
+<p>Livingston gazed at her disapprovingly.</p>
+
+<p>“I am afraid I cannot,” he said, calmly. It could
+easily be seen, he thought, that the daughter of John
+Grymes was spoiled. Virginia, however, forgetting
+all convention, grasped his coat lapels.</p>
+
+<p>“You must tell me why,” she commanded, her eyes
+defiant, her chin haughty; “you must, you <i>must</i>!”</p>
+
+<p>Livingston stared at her, thoroughly astonished and
+somewhat alarmed.</p>
+
+<p>“My dear Miss Grymes, calm yourself! I am
+very much surprised at your behavior, I must admit.
+Indeed, I would like an explanation.”</p>
+
+<p>Virginia looked at him for a moment, gravely.</p>
+
+<p>“Mr. Livingston ... it is highly essential that I
+know. You must tell me!” She released his lapels.</p>
+
+<p>“But—”</p>
+
+<p>“I saw Pierre Lafitte last Tuesday. He mentioned
+nothing of any such trip.”</p>
+
+<p>“He did not know anything about it, Miss Grymes.
+But, since you are so insistent, I will tell you. Your
+father went to Grande Terre to collect our fees, at
+the invitation of Jean Lafitte.”</p>
+
+<p>She stared at him, puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>“But why didn’t Mr. Lafitte send it to you? Why
+didn’t you go with father to Barataria?”</p>
+
+<p>Livingston looked rather uncomfortable, although
+he fought against showing it. Why should he, Edward
+Livingston, experience embarrassment on being
+questioned by a mere slip of a girl? But then, why
+shouldn’t he tell her the reason of his reluctance to
+accept the pirate’s invitation? He fairly ached to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span>discuss it with some one ... and she was John
+Grymes’s daughter. Why not with her?</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll tell you, Miss Grymes. Personally, I mistrusted
+Mr. Lafitte’s invitation to come to Barataria
+to get our money. As you say, why shouldn’t he have
+sent it to us here, as is proper? Therefore, I refused,
+and—”</p>
+
+<p>“Let father go!” finished Virginia. “Mr. Livingston,
+I am surprised at you! How dared you let him
+go, alone, to that nest of—pirates? I just know
+he’ll never get back alive! And it will be your fault,
+sir, and Mr. Lafitte’s, too! I warned father not to
+take that case—that no good would come of it. And
+I was right! What <i>has</i> come of it? First, father
+resigned his official position to accept it. That was
+bad enough. Then he was insulted in open court—accused—of—of—dishonor,
+and was forced to fight
+a duel in consequence ... and almost killed Mr.
+Hemingway ... crippled him for life!” She was
+almost in tears now, but her anger was growing upon
+her. Livingston stared at her, fascinated, unable to
+put in a word in his own or Grymes’ defense, so petrified
+with surprise was he. As for his militant companion,
+she swept on.</p>
+
+<p>“And now you’ve let him go to Grande Terre—to
+those pirates, and didn’t stop him! Why? Because
+you wanted that money, Mr. Livingston, but valued
+your own skin too much to try to get it! So you let
+father go! How did you <i>dare</i> to, sir, how <i>did</i> you
+dare to, when you knew that he was going into
+danger?”</p>
+
+<p>For a moment the eminent lawyer was speechless—with
+rage, and something else, something he couldn’t
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>quite define. But she gave him no time for further
+thought—further argument. She walked to the door,
+cheeks blazing and eyes flashing, without another word
+... as if unable to trust herself to say more. Livingston
+followed her to the hall; indeed, almost jeopardized
+his dignity by hurrying. What might not this Amazonian
+creature do? Where might she not make another
+scene, doing infinite harm to both her father and himself?
+Suppose Claiborne should get hold of the
+story ... at just this most inopportune time? Or
+suppose any one of those Creole gentlemen scandalmongers
+should get it into their heads that he, Edward
+Livingston, scion of one of America’s most elegant
+families, was afraid to risk his skin in the stronghold
+of the man who was his client, whom he had just
+extolled so highly before all the world! What gossip
+would ensue! At the clubs—on the <i>banquettes</i>!</p>
+
+<p>She must be stopped at all costs!</p>
+
+<p>“Miss Grymes, where are you going—what do you
+purpose doing?” asked Livingston, nervously, as he
+reached her at the door, which she had already
+opened. At the curb her carriage was waiting, with
+the impassive Scipio on the box.</p>
+
+<p>She turned and looked at him, her manner breathing
+contempt.</p>
+
+<p>“Do, sir? Why, I’m going to father, of course!”</p>
+
+<p>He was astounded at this intelligence. Was the
+girl demented?</p>
+
+<p>“You’re going to Barataria?” he cried, hoarsely.
+“Good God, girl, you don’t know what you are saying!
+It—it’s impossible!”</p>
+
+<p>Her chin came up defiantly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Why is it impossible? I’m my own mistress, Mr.
+Livingston.”</p>
+
+<p>“But, Miss Grymes ... it <i>is</i> impossible! Think
+of it ... you, a young—lady ... a gentlewoman,
+to go alone to that pirates’ resort ... to voluntarily
+place yourself in the power of those outlaws, low
+sailors! It is preposterous! Unthinkable!”</p>
+
+<p>“I hardly think that Mr. Lafitte, if he <i>is</i> a ruffian,
+would let me come to harm, sir. He would not dare!”</p>
+
+<p>The choleric Livingston almost choked with exasperation.</p>
+
+<p>“But, Miss Grymes, you do not understand! It is
+impossible because you simply cannot. It would be
+the worst breach of convention one could make....
+Come, Miss Grymes, you must admit that it will arouse
+a great deal of unpleasant talk—scandal! It may be
+bad taste for me to mention this, but you force me
+to.... Come, come—give up this foolish project!
+You have your name, your reputation, to think of ... and
+that of your father, besides. I know you
+love him too well to cast a stain on his name!”</p>
+
+<p>For a moment she regarded him intently, as if trying
+to fathom his very soul.</p>
+
+<p>“That is just why I am going, Mr. Livingston,”
+she said, proudly, “because I love him and wish to
+shield him from harm. In the event that he is in
+danger, as you, yourself, believe him to be—don’t deny
+it, sir!—I may be the means of averting it. They
+would not dare harm me! As for scandal, let them
+talk! This is no time to consider petty conventions!
+My father is in danger and I am going to him ...
+and besides, sir, who can be a better chaperon for me
+than my own father?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but people will think—will say—er—they
+will put different constructions—”</p>
+
+<p>“Who need know, Mr. Livingston? I will go on
+our own little sloop, which will be manned by our own
+people.... And I’m sure you will not advertise the
+fact of my departure.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, no, it is not to be thought of!”</p>
+
+<p>“I am of the same opinion, Mr. Livingston. It is
+not to be <i>thought of</i> ... it is to be done! And the
+sooner the better! Therefore, I wish you a very good
+day, Mr. Livingston!”</p>
+
+<p>She swept him a curtsy and descended the steps,
+walking toward the carriage. Scipio gathered up
+the reins and the mettlesome blacks champed at their
+bits, eager to be off. Unnoticed, the same passer-by, a
+Spaniard, was still loitering near by, his insolent gaze
+fixed on Virginia.</p>
+
+<p>Livingston followed her to the carriage step, not
+primarily for the purpose of helping her into the vehicle,
+as was the custom, but to further remonstrate.
+Virginia would not hear him, however. The coachman
+was about to start.</p>
+
+<p>Livingston, goaded to desperation in the knowledge
+of her intentions, which, if discovered, would make
+that estimable personage the laughing-stock of New
+Orleans, threw all discretion to the winds. He had
+tried everything—cajolery, veiled threats, argument.
+But she had been obdurate. He was desperate.</p>
+
+<p>“Miss Grymes,” he cried, as the carriage was about
+to roll off, “in your father’s name, in the name of decency,
+I <i>forbid</i> you to go to Grande Terre!”</p>
+
+<p>For a moment she stared at him in unbelief, and
+then burst into silvery laughter. At his distinctly
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span>audible words the loiterer started in surprise and
+moved a little nearer. Neither the girl nor the man
+noticed him, so absorbed were they.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ faith,” she cried, “<i>you</i> should be the last to forbid
+anyone, Mr. Livingston!” Her scorn deepened.
+“Though one shouldn’t be surprised in your forbidding
+a mere girl to go where a great strong man like
+yourself would not trust himself! But Virginia
+Grymes is the daughter of her father, sir! Good
+day, Mr. Livingston!”</p>
+
+<p>The carriage rolled away over the cobblestones
+and turned the next corner, to disappear.</p>
+
+<p>But Edward Livingston stood on the curbstone—dumb—infuriated.</p>
+
+<p>For the first time in his life, Edward Livingston,
+leader of the Louisiana bar, a Livingston—of <i>the</i>
+Livingstons—had been insulted, shamed to his face,
+and by a mere slip of femininity.</p>
+
+<p>He shook with the violence of his emotions.</p>
+
+<p>“Impertinent baggage!”</p>
+
+<p>But Manuel Encarnacion Espinosa paid him no further
+attention, for he was staring down the street after
+the departing carriage, a joyous gleam in his eyes, his
+faith in the holy saints now trebly strengthened by this
+stroke of luck.</p>
+
+<p>A moment later, he, too, walked hurriedly away, and
+again the sun-splashed Rue de Burgundy was deserted.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_TWO">BOOK TWO<br>
+<i>Temptation</i></h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>“... <i>Why must you engage in the
+barter of human souls?... Won’t you
+give it up—for my sake?</i>”</p>
+
+<p class="right">—<span class="smcap">Virginia Grymes</span></p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>“... <i>I am not an American—neither
+by birth nor by inclination.... On my
+decision hangs the destiny of this territory....
+Have I reason to love the
+American government? Why should I
+resist this temptation?</i>”</p>
+
+<p class="right">—<span class="smcap">Jean Lafitte</span></p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_14"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Fourteenth</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>How Virginia Comes to Bordeaux Manor and One Manuel Espinosa
+Takes What He Wants</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap">Barataria Bay!</p>
+
+<p>Swarming with water-craft of every description
+and every nationality—brigs, schooners, caravels,
+sloops, pinnaces, tartanes, barges, and countless small
+boats—French, Spanish, English, American, and the
+indeterminate nationalities of the visiting rovers of
+the Caribbean; these, with the numerous vessels of the
+Baratarians, the waters of this smuggler stronghold
+fairly teemed with life, and presented a scene not to
+be duplicated in any other portion of the globe.</p>
+
+<p>A trim little sloop, beating up from the north, had
+just emerged from the narrow pass into the bay, and
+rapidly made its way through the host of stationary
+and moving water-craft off the yellow shores of
+Grande Terre.</p>
+
+<p>A little later the <i>Virginia</i>, for such was the name
+that was faintly distinguishable on either side of the
+weather-beaten bow, came to anchor, and almost immediately
+two negro sailors disembarked into a trailing
+dory and swiftly rowed ashore, where, upon landing,
+they vanished in the crowd that thronged the
+beach.</p>
+
+<p>Virginia Grymes, hidden from view in her father’s
+sloop’s tiny cabin, with her maid, a fairish West Indian,
+watched the animated scene ashore with absorbed
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>interest, while awaiting the return of Scipio, the mate,
+and his master.</p>
+
+<p>Seen from seaward, Grande Terre was a picturesque
+sight, with its long, low buildings and tall, graceful
+palmettos silhouetted against the southern horizon,
+the island rising in gentle sandy slopes from the marge
+of the busy bay, which, like an immense opal, flecked
+with innumerable prismatic tints—ruby, amethyst, sapphire,
+emerald, topaz, and chrysoprase—was heaving
+in languorous undulations.</p>
+
+<p>Even as she watched, inwardly thankful that her
+arrival was apparently an inconspicuous and unnoticed
+one, she was unconscious of the fact that at that very
+moment the <i>Virginia</i> was undergoing an attentive
+scrutiny ... and that the person so scrutinizing was
+smiling—an unpleasant smile.</p>
+
+<p>Of a sudden, Virginia became aware of several men,
+who, emerging from the crowd, entered the <i>Virginia’s</i>
+dory and began rowing toward her. From the fact
+that they wore red shirts, she knew they were Baratarians.</p>
+
+<p>Another minute and the dory was alongside; still
+another, and its passengers had clambered aboard.
+Not daring to come on deck, anxious to know what had
+happened, wondering at the non-appearance of her
+father, Virginia began to heartily regret the foolish
+impulse that had brought her to Grande Terre. But
+she was not to long remain in doubt as to the identity,
+or intentions, of the newcomers.</p>
+
+<p>A scant space after their boarding the <i>Virginia</i>, the
+door of the little cabin quickly opened and the red-shirted,
+bearded men entered it abruptly, hesitating a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span>moment on catching sight of the two women huddled
+against the opposite wall.</p>
+
+<p>Smirking, the first Baratarian made an awkward
+bow.</p>
+
+<p>“You are Ma’amselle Grymes?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Virginia nodded, with a sudden wave of relief that
+they knew her identity. No doubt John Grymes had
+sent them for her.</p>
+
+<p>“Where is my father?” she asked, tremulously.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment he hesitated, and she looked from one
+to another uncertainly, flushing as she caught their
+frankly admiring, insolent looks.</p>
+
+<p>“He could not come.... M’sieu Grymes had an
+accident. He—he broke his leg, ma’amselle, and <i>le
+bosse</i>, who is with him, sent us to bring you to him.
+He is anxious—”</p>
+
+<p>Virginia snatched up her cloak, her half-born distrust
+vanishing at this momentous news.</p>
+
+<p>“I will go to him,” she said.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Mais certainement</i>,” said the pirate, and he and
+his companions respectfully drew apart so that she
+could pass out of the cabin. Drawing her cloak
+closely about her, she hurried between them and began
+to ascend to the deck.</p>
+
+<p>The next moment a huge hairy hand clamped itself
+over her mouth, she was seized, and in an instant was
+helpless. A stifled shriek told her that Marie, her
+maid, was being treated in the same manner. The
+icy hand of fear suddenly gave her heart an excruciating
+wrench.</p>
+
+<p>Then, before she had time to struggle, or even to
+coherently think, she felt herself being firmly trussed
+and gagged, forcibly doubled so that her knees touched
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span>her chin, and unceremoniously and hastily forced into
+a sack-like hamper, which was then closed. Helpless,
+blinded, dumb, and half stifled by the foul odor of the
+hamper, the terrified girl felt herself lifted from the
+floor, carried on deck, and lowered into the dory.</p>
+
+<p>On the beach she heard whispered voices, other
+hands took up the hamper, and again she was being
+carried away.</p>
+
+<p>Not long after she had been taken from the
+scene, one Manuel Encarnacion Espinosa strolled
+by, ostensibly dawdling, but in reality noticing much
+... and from the corner of his eye he watched a
+small boat that was rapidly crossing the little bay,
+headed for the mouth of one of the numerous streams
+that emptied into Barataria from the network of
+waterways that interlaced the forests of the mainland.
+And as he watched it disappear into the great green
+wall he smiled, for in it was a veiled woman.</p>
+
+<p>On all sides were sweating slaves and stevedores,
+their black skins shining in the pitiless sun’s glare;
+creaking winches and tarry ropes; bearded Baratarians
+with red-kerchiefed heads and bright red shirts; lean,
+fierce-faced pirates from the Caribbean; seamen of all
+nationalities; soft-voiced Creoles; quadroons, octoroons,
+and mulattoes; Mesquite Indians from Florida;
+Choctaws; Cubans, Spaniards, and Mexicans with
+spurs and silver-braided sombreros; revolutionists and
+exiles from Santo Domingo and other South American
+states; gentlemen adventurers and fortune-hunters
+from every unsavory corner of the continent; slavers,
+slave dealers, and traders; and last, but not least, the
+brilliantly clothed, swaggering dare-devils who belonged
+to Lafitte’s personal following.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span></p>
+
+<p>In the background were the long, low warehouses,
+the stockades and sheds of the slave pens, and the auction
+block in the midst of a busy little square. And
+dominating the whole scene, Bordeaux Manor—named,
+incidentally, in honor of the birthplace of the
+Lafittes—which, crowning the highest point on the
+island, in a grove of palmettos and cypresses, was a
+stately structure of stuccoed brick, of a distinctly
+Franco-Spanish type of architecture, with Moorish
+arches and many grilles and balconies.</p>
+
+<p>As a strange contrast to the ugly, noisy village below
+were its grounds, its pounded shell walks, brick terraces,
+and its gardens replete with oleander, jasmine,
+and acacia thickets, orange trees, china trees, and
+bananas. A strange contrast to the busily nondescript
+scene farther down.</p>
+
+<p>The whole was surrounded with a high spiked wall,
+with a huge gateway made for practical defense rather
+than beauty. This jarring note was emphasized by
+the presence of heavy ships’ cannon, which were placed
+so as to command both the village and harbor.</p>
+
+<p>With brooding eyes Espinosa gazed at the stronghold
+of Lafitte; a gaze of envy, hate, and the gloating
+pleasure of anticipation.</p>
+
+<p>Even as he stood there he became aware of Lafitte
+and Grymes, trailed by the latter’s two slaves, approaching
+the beach, both apparently excited.</p>
+
+<p>Entering the dory, they rowed to and boarded the
+<i>Virginia</i>. In an even shorter period of time they had
+regained the shore, Grymes pale with anxiety, Lafitte
+furious and Scipio and his fellow chalky with fear.</p>
+
+<p>From then on, things began to happen.</p>
+
+<p>No one, it seemed, had noticed the coming of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span>sloop, nor had any paid attention to its occupants. It
+remained for Señor Espinosa to furnish a clue, which
+he did at the proper—in his judgment—time.</p>
+
+<p>“Señor ‘Bosse’,” he volunteered, “I saw a small
+boat which bore a veiled woman enter that stream just
+a few moments ago. But I never gave it a second
+thought, thinking her to be some planter’s wife, or a
+prized slave. But now I am convinced it was the
+young señorita.”</p>
+
+<p>Thanking him fervently, Jean ordered a boat manned
+and, with Grymes, set out in chase of the supposed
+abductors.</p>
+
+<p>Manuel Espinosa vanished into the seething crowd,
+but emerged again across the plaza, on the Manor
+road. And with him, when he did so, came a goodly
+number of his friends and followers. All were armed,
+and when, after an interval, a similar group followed,
+none gave them heed, for on Grande Terre every man
+went armed and every man kept his business to himself.</p>
+
+<p>At the Manor gates, strangely enough, Jean’s Myrmidons,
+the customary Manor guards, were absent,
+and henchmen of the Spaniard held their place. The
+former had been treacherously attacked and overpowered.
+Bordeaux Manor was now entirely in the
+Spaniard’s possession ... its treasures, its guns, and
+the power its existence implied.</p>
+
+<p>Immediately following the entrance of the last of
+the conspirators, the great gates were barred and the
+walls manned. Manuel Espinosa was, for the time,
+the master of the Manor and Grande Terre.</p>
+
+<p>When Espinosa entered, he immediately hastened
+to a certain inner room, whose door he locked behind
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span>him. Virginia Grymes, its sole occupant, looked up
+in surprised affright.</p>
+
+<p>She was liberated now from the tortures of the
+hamper, but was by no means happy. As she saw the
+Spaniard stand with his back to the door, for a moment,
+his insolent eyes avidly drinking in her beauty,
+memory came to her aid. He was the man who had
+loitered without Livingston’s house in New Orleans—and
+now she remembered seeing his face in the crowd
+on the day of her adventure with the runaways. And
+as she stared at him, fascinated, she remembered that
+she had been uncomfortably aware of him on other
+occasions ... of his insolent admiration, his lustful
+gaze.</p>
+
+<p>As he stared at her, he realized that she recognized
+him, and he was pleased, in his animal way.</p>
+
+<p>“So we meet again, señorita,” he essayed, smirking
+and unsuccessfully attempting an imitation of a bow
+by Lafitte.</p>
+
+<p>“Why have you done this?” she demanded, her eyes
+terror-filled, her shapely hand clutching at her bodice.
+“Where is my father—and Mr. Lafitte?” She was
+as yet unable to comprehend, in its ominous entirety,
+what had happened.</p>
+
+<p>He grinned, displaying his horrible teeth. Yellow,
+evil teeth.</p>
+
+<p>“They are gone ... in the forests, trying to overtake
+your maid. When they heard of your disappearance,
+they were like headless chickens running around,
+until I, the good Manuel, told of how I had seen men
+take you away into the forest. And they instantly followed.
+Am I not a cunning one?” he smiled fatuously,
+anxious to exhibit his cunning to her.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span></p>
+
+<p>“But why—why did you do this?” she cried.</p>
+
+<p>His answer was candor itself, given with the ungarnished
+simplicity of the human animal that he was.</p>
+
+<p>“Because I wanted you. And what Manuel Espinosa
+wants, he takes!”</p>
+
+<p>She did not answer, but stared at him, her bosom
+heaving. Was this a terrible dream? Where was
+the prosaic world of commonplace happenings?</p>
+
+<p>“I have wanted you since I first saw you,” he went
+on, “and I have planned to get you ever since. At
+last my chance has come. Now you are mine!”</p>
+
+<p>“My father will kill you.” She choked, conscious,
+even then, of surprise at her own courage. “When
+Mr. Lafitte returns he will flay you alive. Can’t you
+realize that?”</p>
+
+<p>The Spaniard laughed, pleasurably. Then he
+cursed Lafitte, with a fluency, thoroughness, and
+variety of epithet that caused her to shudder—as much
+at the venomous hate in his tone as at the vileness of
+his obscenity.</p>
+
+<p>“Lafitte’s day is over!” he cried. “I—Manuel
+Espinosa—am now <i>bosse</i> of Barataria—not Lafitte!
+Do you think me a fool? Me—Espinosa? By the
+nails of Christ—no! The French dog with his airs
+and arrogance has always been in my way—but I have
+bided my time—I, the cunning Manuel. I let him go
+ahead and build up Grande Terre, with his money and
+influence ... for <i>me</i>! He thought Grambo was his
+enemy—but the quadroon was but a tool—my tool.
+I waited—waited—and now my time has come. The
+saints brought you into my hands—and through you
+put Lafitte out of the way.</p>
+
+<p>“My men now hold the fort. My guns command
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span>both the town and the bay. I can destroy the whole
+colony, if I wish. But I shall not, yet. I shall give
+them all a chance to join me—or be shot to hell! And
+I think they will join me, and even catch Lafitte for
+me—don’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>That she thought so was only too apparent by her
+horrified look, and the Spaniard smirked again.</p>
+
+<p>“Lafitte is a cunning one—very cunning. But I,
+Espinosa, am smarter than he. You’ll be proud of
+your husband, my pretty bird!” He advanced toward
+her slowly, his arms half outstretched, in his fatuous
+vanity interpreting her look of terror for admiration
+of himself.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll die first!” she said, distinctly. His expression
+became menacing, when he had assimilated this.</p>
+
+<p>“You should be glad that I’d marry you!” he exclaimed.
+“If you were not a great lady I wouldn’t
+bother to marry you. But a great man should have
+a great lady for a wife—and the <i>bosse</i> of Barataria
+is a great man.” At any other time Virginia would
+have laughed at the simplicity of his overweening
+egotism.</p>
+
+<p>“You beast!” she cried, passionately. “I warn you,
+for the last time, to let me go! Mr. Lafitte and my
+father won’t let you escape them, and if you’ve come
+near me, whether I’ve already killed myself or not,
+they’ll tear you to pieces, limb from limb!”</p>
+
+<p>Forgetting her terror in her truly royal rage, she
+made a beautiful picture, and the renegade was by no
+means unappreciative of it. Again he grinned and
+attempted to take her in his arms. She beat a furious
+tattoo on his breast, like a fluttering, helpless bird.</p>
+
+<p>“Little fool,” he whispered, “if the saints decide to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>give the victory to the French dog, don’t think you’ll
+escape, for when I leave Grande Terre I’ll take my
+wife with me, and we’ll go back to the real life where
+there’s blood and wine and gold—and women! But
+my little flower will outshine all of them, and I shall
+wear her—until I tire of her or throw her away to
+pick another. That is the way of the Brotherhood.
+But before I go—if I do—this upstart Frenchman
+will suffer, and you shall see the show. Dream of
+escape, señorita, all you please. <i>Y suenos suenos son</i>—dreams
+are only dreams—remember that!” He
+grinned. “And now a kiss, little flower!” and he
+grasped her arms.</p>
+
+<p>Regardless of the consequences, she hit him in the
+face, painfully—and he laughed. Suddenly the reverberating
+roar of a cannon was heard; hesitating, he
+loosened her and then opened the door.</p>
+
+<p>“I will be back, señorita,” he promised, and laughed
+again as she quailed. A moment later she heard the
+bolt and his departing footsteps. With a pitiful gasp,
+she fainted.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_15"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Fifteenth</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>In Which Virginia Hears The Toast Of “Vive Le Bosse”</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<h4>I</h4>
+
+<p class="dropcap">“But why did she come—what on earth possessed
+her?” demanded Grymes, for the tenth time,
+eying Lafitte anxiously as the crowded longboat
+emerged from the winding stream to shoot across
+a lagoon-like bayou, to re-enter another stream that
+twisted and turned its way through the jungle-like
+forest.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Dieu le sait!</i> ... there must have been some
+urgent reason that impelled her. But that is unimportant
+now. We must find her, and that before—before
+it is too late!”</p>
+
+<p>“My God!” exclaimed the Virginian, as if suddenly
+remembering. “If anything happens to my little girl
+I’ll—I’ll—Oh, why did I ever come here—why?”
+His voice broke. In his mind’s eye he saw a grave
+in an old Virginian churchyard, where slept the woman
+who had intrusted her baby to his care with her dying
+breath. He could still see her feverish eyes, hear her
+faint voice.</p>
+
+<p>“’Twas my fault for asking you to come, m’sieu,”
+said Jean, pressing his hand—understandingly. “I’d
+give my life not to have had this happen. But don’t
+worry. We’re bound to catch the scoundrels before
+long—they have but a few minutes’ start. <i>Sacré nom!</i>
+If I only knew who’s responsible!”</p>
+
+<p>Already a half hour had passed since the rescue
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span>party had left Barataria. Impelled by the powerful
+sweep of eager arms, the longboat made its way up
+the channel, passing through a perfect network of bayous
+and marshes, long stretches of cypress forests
+and low-water willows, thorny bushes hung with
+prickly smilax, and wide expanses of mud bristling with
+the <i>chevaux de frise</i> of the dwarf palmetto—unhealthy
+shallows swarming with millions of coarse aquatic
+plants.</p>
+
+<p>Now and then glimpses could be caught of the horrible
+reptiles and snakes beneath; slimy, nightmarish
+creatures—crawling alligators; miniature forests of
+reeds, peopled with armies of bellowing frogs, purple
+ironweed, wild roses, pink spiderwort; an occasional
+dead cypress standing in lonesome isolation in the
+center of a marsh, on whose gaunt arms roosted rows
+of vultures.</p>
+
+<p>Through forest and marsh, lagoon and stream—then
+a sudden unexpected bend of the stream, and the
+crowded boat glided out upon the surface of a glass-like
+bayou whose shores were lined with live-oaks and
+low-water lilies. The westering sun, gently dropping
+behind the farthest trees in a blaze of pink and gold,
+lightly tinted the silvery waters ... willows and
+acacias were passing from the dull green of distant
+foliage to the brilliancy of chrysoberyl.</p>
+
+<p>Almost simultaneously the voyageurs shouted, for
+across the bayou a small boat, carrying two men and
+a woman, was about to enter a tributary stream.</p>
+
+<p>At sight of their pursuers the fugitive oarsmen redoubled
+their efforts, although it was certain they
+could not escape.</p>
+
+<p>Plucking a pistol from his belt, Jean sent a ball over
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>their heads, and then another. With surprising alacrity
+the abductors halted, backed water a space, and
+deliberately ran their boat aground.</p>
+
+<p>Thinking that they sought to escape into the jungle
+with their prisoner, Lafitte called on them to stop,
+and again fired. Taking the hint, they remained motionless,
+awaiting the others’ approach. In another
+minute the Baratarians were alongside, and the incensed
+men had roughly laid hands on the unresisting fugitives.</p>
+
+<p>Paying them scant attention, Lafitte, followed by
+Grymes, approached the swaying girl, and eagerly tore
+off her veil. For a moment he was as if petrified,
+realizing the extent of the hoax in a flash. Leaving
+Grymes to release and question the cruelly gagged and
+bound slave girl, he sprang back to the prisoners, with
+such unrestrained fury in his face that Espinosa’s surly
+henchmen cowered.</p>
+
+<p>“Where is Miss Grymes?” he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>The burlier of the two shook his head. But Jean,
+in his rage, grasped his throat, choking him.</p>
+
+<p>“Tell me what you know!” he panted “or you shall
+die a thousand deaths! <i>Sacré nom!</i>—you dare parley
+with me?” as the other hesitated. “’Kenzie—a fire—quick!
+I’ll make them speak!” Even Grymes did
+not protest this apparently inhuman order. But the
+second prisoner, realizing that the <i>bosse</i> was in earnest,
+confessed.</p>
+
+<p>“We do not know where she is now, <i>mon capitaine</i>,”
+he muttered, “but she was taken to Manuel Espinosa!”</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte stared at him aghast, remembering who had
+given him the clue for the chase.</p>
+
+<p>“Espinosa! You are mad! Why, he—” He
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span>paused. “No, I believe you, dog! Yes, yes, I see
+it all now! So the Spaniard has struck—he thought
+to avenge Grambo—the fool! Or is there more to
+this—is there more?” he mused.</p>
+
+<p>Grymes, again white with anxiety, broke in.</p>
+
+<p>“But where is he now? Where has he taken Virginia?”</p>
+
+<p>Jean whirled on the prisoners.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes—where is he? Don’t lie to me, or your life
+will pay for it! Where has he gone? To Cuba?
+To Mexico?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know—I swear it, <i>mon capitaine</i>!” desperately.</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, they heard the muffled boom of a ship’s
+cannon, far to the southeast—whence they had come.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s Grande Terre!” exclaimed Grymes.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment the <i>bosse</i> listened intently. But no
+more shots followed. Again the forests were still;
+the west was a sea of liquid fire.</p>
+
+<p>“That was Bordeaux Manor!” he exclaimed.
+“Something has happened. Dominique You is signaling
+us to return. Perhaps they have caught the
+Spaniard. Into the boats!” he ordered, quickly, his
+thought now all on Grande Terre.</p>
+
+<p>“And these <i>canaille</i>,” spoke up a red-shirt, with
+callous insouciance, “shall we shoot them, <i>mon capitaine</i>?”</p>
+
+<p>“Bring them along,” ordered their leader, shortly.
+“We’ll deal with them later.”</p>
+
+<p>Both boats recrossed the bayou, heading for Barataria.
+And this time they sped along even more
+quickly, if that were possible, than when they came.</p>
+
+<p>When nearly back, again they heard the roar of a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span>cannon, and again Lafitte recognized it as one at the
+Manor. Ten minutes later they met another boat,
+hastening to meet them. In it, to his surprise, Jean
+recognized the grizzled Dominique You, one of his
+lieutenants, whose pride it was that he had once fought
+with John Paul Jones, and who worshiped his present
+master, the “Duke of Little Manchac and Barataria,”
+even more than he had his late leader.</p>
+
+<p>In a few sentences he apprised Lafitte of all that
+had taken place. Manuel Espinosa and his followers,
+most of them members of Grambo’s former disgruntled
+coterie, had formed a conspiracy and secretly
+taken possession of Bordeaux Manor by a surprise
+attack.</p>
+
+<p>The first notification the colony received of the
+change of affairs was a salute of the Manor gun. The
+shot was followed by Espinosa’s sending out one of
+his prisoners with a message to the Baratarians announcing
+that he had assumed the leadership of the
+colony, and demanding that they consider Lafitte as
+deposed and recognize him as its head. If any refused
+to join him, they must leave the bay at once.
+If any attempts to attack the Manor were made, he
+would bombard the village and harbor. If adherents
+of Lafitte remained, the promised bombardment would
+also take place.</p>
+
+<p>Although furious at the Spaniard’s treachery and resenting
+his high-handedness, the colonists were in a
+trap and at a loss what to do. For the time being
+the renegade held the whip hand. The Manor battery
+had the village at its mercy and was more powerful
+than any guns mounted on the privateers in the
+harbor. Bordeaux Manor, as was well known, could
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span>stand a long siege, being well provisioned and armed.
+And what was more to the point—in the Baratarian’s
+estimation—the vaults of Bordeaux Manor held all
+the accumulated treasure of the colony. Leave Barataria?
+Not they!</p>
+
+<p>Just on the marge of the forest a council was held,
+and Jean was joined by many of his lieutenants. All
+were infuriated, but as yet no attack had been made
+on the stronghold, pending the arrival of Lafitte.
+The village of Grande Terre was seething with excitement.
+At any other time Jean would have withdrawn
+the Baratarians to the mainland—even if under
+fire—and there have decided ways and means with
+which to recapture the Manor at their leisure. He
+realized that the Spaniard’s real aim was not to govern
+Grande Terre, but to escape to the Caribbean with
+the treasure of the Baratarians.</p>
+
+<p>The fact that Virginia was in the Manor, made this
+theory more probable, and it was this fact, too, that
+decided him to rescue her at once ... to save her
+before it was too late—if it was not already so.</p>
+
+<p>It was now dusk.</p>
+
+<p>Returning to the island, Jean left Dominique You
+with certain orders, and, taking some twoscore of his
+trusted personal followers, with Grymes, he led them
+away from the village to the upper, wilder end of
+Grande Terre.</p>
+
+<p>At a certain thicket he stopped, and his little band
+gathered around him. Tearing aside a mesh of vines
+with a cutlass, Jean at length revealed to their wondering
+gaze a little mound, half covered with a huge stone
+slab. When this was raised, it revealed a black hole.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span></p>
+
+<p>“A secret passage!” exclaimed Grymes.</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte nodded. Only he, himself, and a very few
+trusted lieutenants knew of its existence.</p>
+
+<p>Followed by the men in single file, Lafitte entered,
+with the Virginian close behind him. For what
+seemed an interminable time they made their way
+through the mephitic darkness, guided by the walls, until
+the upward slope of the ground told them that they
+were approaching the Manor. Another interval, and
+the line came to a halt, while Lafitte fumbled with
+something at the end of the passage. A moment later
+a door swung inward, and the foremost men found
+themselves looking into the great banquet hall of the
+Manor, now empty and shadowed. On passing
+through, one found the entrance of the passage to be
+behind a movable slab that formed the back of the
+huge fireplace.</p>
+
+<p>Passing through the great chamber to the entrance
+hall, they overpowered a few rebels found there before
+they knew what had happened. Then, surging
+through the stately entrance in a wild charge into the
+courtyard, they fell on the surprised garrison with a
+fury that matched their enthusiasm.</p>
+
+<p>During the fierce mêlée that followed, the gates
+were opened and a human flood led by the man who
+had fought with Paul Jones triumphantly swept in.
+The courtyard for a brief period was an inferno of
+struggling men, slashing, shooting, yelling—a mob
+gone mad—with no quarter given or expected.</p>
+
+<p>But Lafitte and his guest were not among them.
+Together they were conducting a furious search for
+Virginia. Nor had they far to seek. For not a moment,
+it seemed, after the beginning of the short battle
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>in the courtyard they heard a woman’s scream. At
+a wild run they scaled the grand staircase—a moment’s
+indecision until raised voices gave them their direction—and
+then threw themselves against a locked
+door!</p>
+
+<p>Grymes cursed aloud, and, not noticing where Jean
+was running, flung himself against the door. From
+within he heard a man laugh and a woman sob.</p>
+
+<p>Jean, realizing the futility of an attack on the stout
+door, ran to the next floor to the room above, dropped
+from the window to the balcony below, and burst into
+the room <i>via</i> the French window.</p>
+
+<p>As he did so he saw Virginia, hair and clothes
+disheveled, struggling in Espinosa’s arms. At his entrance,
+the Spaniard spun around in surprise, cursing
+as he recognized Lafitte. Evidently he was ignorant
+of the rescuers’ arrival.</p>
+
+<p>Just then, as Lafitte sprang forward and they grappled,
+Grymes, given strength by excitement, burst in
+the door. He saw Lafitte slip and fall—saw Manuel
+miraculously produce a knife—saw it flash downward—and
+fired from the hip.</p>
+
+<p>And then he saw Espinosa, still gripping the knife,
+suddenly sink to his knees and fall across the half-recumbent
+body of Lafitte, who, his temple having hit
+a stool in falling, was stunned.</p>
+
+<p>And finally, John Grymes saw his daughter run
+across the room, not to himself, but to Lafitte, and,
+lifting his head, thinking the knife had done its work,
+burst into a frenzy of weeping.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Lafitte, returning momentarily to consciousness
+to find her tears on his face, decided that he must be
+dreaming, and closed his eyes again.</p>
+
+<p>When next he opened them she was gone.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span></p>
+
+<h4>II</h4>
+
+<p>Several hours after the recapture of the Manor and
+the death of Espinosa, when peace had once more descended
+upon Grande Terre, Lafitte met his two guests
+at dinner.</p>
+
+<p>Grymes and his daughter met their host in a small,
+luxuriously appointed chamber, in which was a table
+laden with an imposing array of silver and crystal,
+with a huge, many-branched candelabrum in the midst
+of a mass of crimson oleander, serving as a center-piece.</p>
+
+<p>During the meal little mention was made of the
+terrible experience through which the girl had gone,
+all tacitly avoiding it. Virginia told of her conversation
+with Livingston before leaving New Orleans, and
+her father scolded her roundly for coming to Grande
+Terre. The three were just beginning to emerge from
+the tension of the past day. It seemed like a nightmare
+one had gone through, and so it was.</p>
+
+<p>During the wonderful meal that followed, Grymes
+told his daughter how royally Lafitte had entertained
+him since his arrival ... told in detail of feasts and
+sports and thrilling experiences—as he was to tell it
+to his cronies many another time in the future. And
+as the meal progressed, the happenings of the day
+faded into the unreal past.</p>
+
+<p>“Would you like to join our gentlemen privateers
+at dinner this evening, Miss Grymes?” asked Lafitte,
+near its end.</p>
+
+<p>She looked puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean, Mr. Lafitte? I thought—”</p>
+
+<p>“Pardon me—” He signaled to the huge slave
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span>who had piloted them here a short half hour before,
+and spoke a few words to him in crisp French, which
+she could not quite catch. With a bow, the negro left
+the room, to return in less than a minute. Then,
+walking over to the farthest wall, at the end of the
+room, which was almost wholly covered by a great
+tapestry, half hidden by hangings and potted palms,
+he pulled a silken cord.</p>
+
+<p>In the meantime a much smaller table, laden with
+the dessert, had been placed directly in front of this
+tapestry.</p>
+
+<p>As the negro pulled the silken rope the tapestry
+slowly rose into the air, to hang suspended and to disclose
+a little wrought-iron railed balcony. Offering
+his arm to Virginia, Lafitte led her over to the smaller
+table, where she was seated behind a large palm which
+protected her from the eyes of anyone beyond the
+balcony, but afforded her an excellent view.</p>
+
+<p>She gave a gasp of astonishment, while Lafitte and
+Grymes looked at each other and smiled. Evidently
+the Virginian had witnessed the spectacle before.</p>
+
+<p>Beneath her was a strange scene. The little balcony
+upon which they sat projected from the wall, apparently,
+of a great room, many times the size of the
+dining hall, and rectangular in shape. At one end
+was a great fireplace, behind which, incidentally, was
+the secret passage, in which a log fire was merrily
+crackling. On the walls were hung rich tapestries,
+wine-stained hangings, mounted animal heads, weapons
+of all descriptions, and a variety of other ornaments.
+In place of candelabra, large blazing torches
+in wrought-iron braziers were placed in the walls at
+intervals, and three great chandeliers of wrought-iron,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>also with blazing torches, flooded the chamber
+with light. The flagged pavement which was the floor
+was littered with animal skins and rich rugs.</p>
+
+<p>But the center of interest was the long table in the
+middle of the floor, running the length of the room,
+around which were sitting perhaps two hundred men.
+These, although Virginia did not yet know it, consisted
+of the most prominent of the Baratarians, the
+wealthier of the traders and visitors to Grande Terre,
+and the closest followers, personal friends, and retainers
+of the <i>bosse</i> of Barataria.</p>
+
+<p>All of this was briefly explained to Virginia by her
+father, who also informed her that the banquet scene
+below was a nightly affair, which was usually presided
+over by Jean Lafitte himself. At the moment, a great
+carved armchair, which stood vacant at the head of
+the long table, bore mute testimony to the fact that
+the master was not there, corroborating his statement.</p>
+
+<p>Grymes, however, did not mention that the feasting
+and carousal going on below them was of a much more
+restrained nature than was usual. He also did not
+describe the nightly orgies of a Lucullian nature that
+took place; of the revelers who drank and sang all
+through the night; of the scenes which he had witnessed
+and which he intended to describe at length
+to his less fortunate friends who had never taken part
+in a pirate revel. The hard-drinking, high-living Virginian
+felt very much at home among these hard-drinking,
+high-living buccaneers; and, if the truth may be
+told, wished very much that he could be among them
+below, now.</p>
+
+<p>At the moment, a tall, swashbuckling gentleman
+rover was standing, and singing a melancholy French
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span>love song to the accompaniment of a group of Baratarian
+musicians who sat before the fireplace. He
+sat down amid much cheers and applause. These
+Creole lawbreakers evidently had much of the sentimentalist
+in their make-up.</p>
+
+<p>This was followed by a rollicking drinking song,
+which was gradually taken up by the whole assemblage,
+accompanied by the music, the thumping of feet,
+“beating juba” with the hands in the Southern fashion,
+and the clinking of the drinking mugs on the table-top.
+The effect was astounding. Virginia drank it
+in, fascinated by the picturesque scene before her—the
+colorful costumes, the roaring melody, the continuous,
+ever-increasing noise and hilarity. It seemed
+unreal, bizarre, as if it were but a figment of the imagination.</p>
+
+<p>At this point, however, Lafitte stood up, with the
+intention of leading his lady guest from the scene. He
+well knew that it would not be long before it would
+develop into a bacchanalian orgy, and wished to spare
+Virginia the sight. Grymes, intuitively understanding
+his intention, nodded approval. He privately hoped
+that his daughter would soon retire to her own rooms,
+so that he could join the revelers.</p>
+
+<p>As Lafitte stood up, however, he was seen by a few
+of the feasters below, and in a very few moments, it
+seemed, the whole assemblage was aware of his presence.
+Indeed, it was almost impossible not to be seen,
+although he was partially screened by the palms.</p>
+
+<p>In any event, as if by magic, the song suddenly died
+down and for a brief moment there was silence. Unconsciously,
+Virginia gripped the arm of her chair; the
+sudden silence made the air seem to have become electric
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span>with an undefinable suspense—to give one the sensation
+that the tableau was not yet complete. Nor
+was it.</p>
+
+<p>On a sudden, a gaudily dressed, black-bearded Baratarian
+leaped up on to the long table, a goblet of wine
+in his hand. Holding the beaker high in the air, with
+a raised sword in the other hand, he cried, enthusiastically:</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Vive le bosse!</i>”</p>
+
+<p>The toast and cry of “Long live the <i>bosse</i>!” was
+taken up with a will, and the vaulted ceiling rang with
+the deafening cheers, accompanied by the brandishing
+of weapons and the spilling of wine. For a brief period
+a pandemonium of wild cheering continued to fill
+the great chamber with a volume of sound. All eyes,
+apparently, were directed toward the little balcony.</p>
+
+<p>It was all very dramatic, this tribute to their chief.</p>
+
+<p>Thrilled to the core, her every nerve vibrating with
+a strange exhilaration engendered by the excitement
+of the demonstration below, the girl looked at her host.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Lafitte stood perfectly still for a moment, like
+a man of stone. Unconsciously, he was making a
+heroic pose, and for the moment was forgetful even
+of his guests.</p>
+
+<p>He was proud of his men, and was prouder to think
+that they were proud of him. He was their leader,
+and they would have no other. It was a gratifying
+thought—this.</p>
+
+<p>This was his throne-room, these his subjects. The
+“Duke of Little Manchac and Barataria” was receiving
+the homage of his subjects.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly—unconsciously almost—as a man in a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>dream, the man whom a thousand lawbreakers called
+<i>bosse</i> inclined his head—a simple gesture, true, but a
+regal one.</p>
+
+<p>The cheering doubled—trebled—became deafening.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Vive le bosse!</i>”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_16"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Sixteenth</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>Wherein Is Encountered a Man—a Maid—And a Moon</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap">“Romance?” queried Lafitte. “Romance,
+Miss Grymes, enters into the life of every mortal—and,
+like love—and hate—it is primitive.” He fell
+strangely silent, staring into the darkness of the trees.</p>
+
+<p>The two of them were alone, for Grymes had
+joined the feasters in the banquet hall, leaving his
+host and daughter together on the terrace near the
+dining room, leaning on the parapet overlooking the
+gardens. In the distance, through the palmetto fronds
+and foliage of the magnolias, could be seen the lights
+of great bonfires in the village and the glimmering
+lanterns of the ships in the harbor. Snatches of song
+and altercation, laughter and jesting, were borne to
+them on the night breeze, telling them that the celebration
+of the day’s victory was not yet over.</p>
+
+<p>Above them, high in the purple-black firmament,
+hung the harvest moon, whose soft golden glow, falling
+on the shadowed gardens, breathing of mystery
+and romance ... the gleaming, phosphorescent
+waters of the Bay ... and the flagged terraces and
+tiled roofs of Bordeaux Manor ... lent an air of
+glamourous enchantment to the scene.</p>
+
+<p>Forgetting to reply, the girl cupped her chin in her
+hands and stared into the mysteriously alluring distance,
+fascinated by the scented, balmy atmosphere—the
+odor of jasmine, orange blossoms, roses—and the
+magic of the friendly but coquettish moon.</p>
+
+<p>It was a typical Southern night, and Virginia, a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span>Southerner in every fiber, fairly gloried in it, basking
+in its magnetism—for it had magnetism. But Lafitte,
+himself a lover of the beautiful—himself a Southerner
+of that romantic Gallic land where chivalry and sentiment
+went hand in hand, although under the same
+celestial hypnosis—was more absorbed in another
+spectacle, the most exquisite that Nature vouchsafes
+to mere man—that of a beautiful woman, of a land
+noted for its feminine pulchritude.</p>
+
+<p>Feasting his eyes on this slip of Virginian loveliness
+he felt his artistic soul stirred to its tumultuous depths;
+filled with an exquisite yearning, suffering every torturing
+ecstasy of the lover who feels that he worships
+in vain.</p>
+
+<p>A man—a maid—and a moon!</p>
+
+<p>“What a beautiful moon!” exclaimed Virginia, impulsively.</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte started, aroused from his self-imposed
+lethargy, and turned his stare on that celestial gentleman.
+He regarded it seriously, probingly, his shapely
+head slightly atilt.</p>
+
+<p>“On just such a night,” he half whispered, as if to
+himself, “Jessica stole from Shylock’s house to meet
+her lover ... Leander swam the Hellespont ...
+and Romeo serenaded Juliet.”</p>
+
+<p>As if to give credence to his words, a man’s rich
+baritone was heard from the beach, singing a French
+love song—a pæan of nocturnal sins—to the thrumming
+of a wailing guitar. The eyes of the two listeners
+instinctively turned toward a high balcony above their
+heads, to the right, much as if they expected to witness
+just such another amorous tableau.</p>
+
+<p>They looked at each other guiltily and laughed.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span></p>
+
+<p>“You are a sentimentalist, Mr. Lafitte,” she accused,
+“and, apparently, a great lover of novels ...
+and romance.”</p>
+
+<p>“All Frenchmen are lovers of romance,” he returned,
+smiling.</p>
+
+<p>“And are adepts in the art of love-making?”</p>
+
+<p>He flushed. “No. If you will allow me to say
+so, here is one who is not.”</p>
+
+<p>“I have—er—heard differently,” with an assumed
+indifference.</p>
+
+<p>“Indeed?”</p>
+
+<p>How exasperating he was. She realized she had
+met her match in the game of repartee, and they had
+hardly as yet crossed swords! She grew reckless.</p>
+
+<p>“What of your Mauritian fisher-girl?”</p>
+
+<p>He stiffened. “What do you mean?” abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>“I mean—Lizette Fondac,” faintly. Inexplicably,
+she turned her face from him.</p>
+
+<p>“What do you know of—of Ma’amselle Fondac?”
+he asked, in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>“I know the whole story—of how she saved your
+life.” She paused uncomfortably, then bravely
+plunged. “Speaking of love—and romance—there is
+an example, sir. You said a moment ago that love is
+primitive, or words to that effect. I say that real love
+is more than primitive—it is magnificent—especially
+magnificent when it gives all without question. Real
+love is renunciation. That is how, I imagine, your
+Lizette felt toward love. She gave her life without
+question. Isn’t that the greatest sacrifice a lover can
+make?”</p>
+
+<p>“No!” fiercely. “Love’s greatest sacrifice is when
+one has loved and lost ... when one has given up
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span>one’s love—living—to his rival—to his best friend—to
+his brother!”</p>
+
+<p>The bitterness of his outburst startled her, and its
+wording the more. Doubtless, she thought, he was
+referring to an affair in which he had been worsted by
+a friend—or Pierre! Perhaps concerning Gabrielle,
+or Céleste, or Angélique—or Margaret Claiborne!
+Like a lightning shock came back to her the forgotten
+words of her chum, on that memorable day!</p>
+
+<p>“I thought so, once, too,” with reference to the eyes
+of Lafitte.</p>
+
+<p>Could it be that Margaret and Lafitte—and why
+not? Suddenly her heart felt sick. Suppose she had
+been wrong all this time ... Margaret might have
+told her that story purely from meanness of soul—or
+jealously!</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Lafitte had unembarrassedly told her the
+story of Grambo, with but the slightest mention of a
+slave girl.</p>
+
+<p>“Jealousy!”</p>
+
+<p>She hugged the word to her heart ... could it be?
+From that moment a dislike of Margaret was to remain
+with her, and a new emotion was born—the emotion
+that had gripped her by the throat when Espinosa
+had attacked Lafitte, that very day.</p>
+
+<p>Virginia would have given much to read the mind
+of the Baratarian at that moment. If she had been
+able, many things would have been cleared, for Lafitte,
+in his last bitter remark, had been referring to herself—thinking
+that his own brother loved Virginia
+Grymes, and he, Jean, could not enter the race, because
+of no less than—his past attitude. For Pierre, he
+knew, was convinced that he, Jean, could never love
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>again ... that his heart was buried with Lizette.
+And, fool that he was, he had strengthened Pierre’s
+conviction these past ten years, by his acting, his foolish
+pose.</p>
+
+<p>He could not, in honor, now drop what was really
+a mask and enter the lists ... he must remain a
+poseur.</p>
+
+<p>Yet how he loved her—how he fought to restrain
+his love! For one mad moment he had thought of
+taking her—this American rose. Was she not in his
+power? Was not his word law, here at Grande
+Terre? She had willfully put herself into his hands
+... why should he not take this gift of the gods?
+After all, he was considered but a pirate, and a pirate
+took what he wanted—regardless of consequences.</p>
+
+<p>But the next moment found him despising himself
+for the thought, for he remembered Espinosa. The
+Spaniard, too, had taken what he wanted.</p>
+
+<p>Looking at her, bewitchingly lovely in the moonlight,
+he trembled with the very fury of his emotions—longing
+to pick her up in his arms, and fly, to the
+southern seas—to some uncharted tropical island—anywhere
+away from the world. Happiness was sure
+to be found—</p>
+
+<p>But he knew it was impossible—this. It was only
+a dream, tantalizing, but unreal. There was one obstacle
+which he could never surmount—his conscience—his
+sense of honor. Never could he play the traitor’s
+rôle to his brother—and his associates—his comrades.</p>
+
+<p>He stared at the lights of the distant village and
+heard the snatches of rollicking laughter—the oaths—the
+songs. No, never could he desert his beloved rascals,
+for without his brain, his cunning, they would be
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span>but as easy prey to that inveterate enemy, William
+Claiborne. And if love—bitter-sweet poison!—could
+force him to desert them, he could never thus
+use his brother.</p>
+
+<p>In this strain rushed Lafitte’s thoughts, while Virginia
+mused, neither noticing the silent absorption of
+the other, yet both acutely conscious of each other’s
+proximity.</p>
+
+<p>“How did you come to hear of Lizette, Miss
+Grymes?” he asked, quietly, regaining his poise.</p>
+
+<p>“Your brother—Pierre Dominique—told me.”</p>
+
+<p>“What—how much did he tell you?” asked Jean,
+wondering if Pierre had been indiscreet enough to
+mention the death of Brouillard—his career in the
+Caribbean.</p>
+
+<p>“We were speaking about you—I was asking about
+you—” unguardedly. He thrilled to learn that she
+had been interested enough in him to question Pierre.</p>
+
+<p>“He told me about the duel—and the accident—and
+that’s all—” lamely. Suddenly she turned to him.
+“I hope you’ll pardon my curiosity, Mr. Lafitte,” she
+said, contritely. “It was rude of me and far ruder to
+mention it to you.” Her eyes clouded.</p>
+
+<p>“Pardon her,” indeed! He trembled with delight.</p>
+
+<p>“But certainly! Forget the matter. I will tell you
+of it, though I have never spoken of it to anyone else.”</p>
+
+<p>Virginia thrilled.</p>
+
+<p>“I was but a boy when it took place. And I was
+deeply in love with Lizette. <i>Parbleu</i>—yes! She was
+dark, slim, charming—a sprite—a mermaid....”
+He paused for a moment, his introspective gaze bridging
+the colorful years. “But you know the story ...
+it is not one that one likes to talk about. In any event,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span>after her death, and since, I have never let myself fall
+in love—but once, perhaps, and that is irrelevant—”</p>
+
+<p>She instantly thought of Margaret Claiborne—he
+was thinking of one Virginia Grymes. But neither was
+a mind-reader, unfortunately.</p>
+
+<p>“But Lizette ... I almost persuaded myself that
+my love was the real thing. Indeed, I sincerely believed
+so ... until I met—until Pierre persuaded me
+differently.” Damning evidence! “Pierre has always
+been my adviser—my chum. There is a husband for
+any woman,” he added, loyally.</p>
+
+<p>At his words she unaccountably flushed, and Jean
+felt convinced ... his theory that she and his brother
+loved each other was a true one.</p>
+
+<p>The tables had been turned on Virginia. Embarrassed,
+she turned the conversation.</p>
+
+<p>“By the way,” she interjected, suddenly, “pardon
+my interruption, but there is something I want to talk
+to you about.”</p>
+
+<p>At once he was all attention.</p>
+
+<p>“It is ‘black ivory.’”</p>
+
+<p>Jean stared at her.</p>
+
+<p>“I believe that is what you call them—the slaves,
+I mean.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, we call them ‘black ivory,’” answered Lafitte,
+somewhat puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll tell you,” she began, assuming a confidence she
+did not feel. “You see, I’ve spent the past few years
+in Philadelphia, and during that time I’ve met many
+interesting people, among whom were some members
+of the Society of Friends.”</p>
+
+<p>“The Quakers,” supplemented the Frenchman.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. Well, their sect doesn’t seem to be at all in
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>favor of slavery, Mr. Lafitte, and to a certain extent
+I agree with them. Personally, I really think that
+slavery is a cruel institution—but it can’t be otherwise,
+I suppose, and will always exist. Father says that the
+negro is too uncivilized and altogether mentally incapable
+of assuming the responsibility of his own welfare—if
+he were allowed to do so.”</p>
+
+<p>“That is true,” said Lafitte, “and not only that, but
+the blacks will never be freed, for the simple reason
+that we can’t do without them ... they are our only
+source of labor.”</p>
+
+<p>“Isn’t that a selfish doctrine?” demanded Virginia.</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps, but nevertheless a true one. What the
+Quakers say is all nonsense. Slavery is better for all
+concerned.”</p>
+
+<p>“But in the North the slave isn’t very important.”</p>
+
+<p>“Because he couldn’t live in the Northern climate.
+While here, in the South, the negro, accustomed to
+heat, is the only laborer to use. I have heard some of
+these men speak, from the Colonies of Massachusetts
+and New York,” he went on, “but they are wrong—absolutely.
+And they forget, most of them, that it
+was their own ancestors who fostered slavery in America.
+Finding that they could not profitably use the
+blacks in the cold North, they sold them to the Southern
+planters. Now Congress has forbidden the further
+importation of slaves. The Northern Colonies can
+no longer make money by selling them to us, and so
+are enraged—”</p>
+
+<p>“But, Mr. Lafitte, I am not talking about the rights
+or wrongs of the practice of slavery itself. You may
+be right there. But I do think they should be treated
+better—not like cattle or goods.” She looked up,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>facing him, with hesitation. His dark eyes were meditative.
+“And not only smuggled, but stolen!” She
+paused then took the plunge. “Mr. Lafitte, why do
+you engage in this trade—in the barter of human
+souls?”</p>
+
+<p>He did not answer, but looked into the distance.
+Suddenly he realized that he had been expecting this
+question—dreading it—and knew that he was unable
+to answer it.</p>
+
+<p>“You know what they are saying of you?” she asked.</p>
+
+<p>“My enemies, yes. That I am a pirate—a—”</p>
+
+<p>“The world does say that! And, true or not, is it
+worth it?” Impulsively she laid her hand on his as it
+rested on the parapet. “No real gentleman would
+stoop to such an occupation. Ah, I have hurt you?
+No? I didn’t mean to, but nevertheless it is the truth.
+Some day you may regret it, Mr. Lafitte. It does not
+benefit one to antagonize convention, sir, or the world.
+Come, why do you do it? There must be a reason; of
+course, it’s partly money, but still another. What is it?”</p>
+
+<p>He stared at her for a moment before speaking.</p>
+
+<p>“You are right,” he said, slowly, “it is more than
+mere money. I have enough of that. But it is the
+love of the game—the excitement of the thing—that
+keeps me at it. Excitement is the breath of my life;
+it stimulates me—keeps me from thinking too much—gives
+me my only pleasure.”</p>
+
+<p>She grew thoughtful, her ivory-like brow wrinkling.</p>
+
+<p>“But why not use your brain and money in a legitimate
+service, Mr. Lafitte? Lead an honest life, if I
+may use the term, and don’t give anyone an opportunity
+to say that ‘Jean Lafitte is a pirate, who, with
+his money and influence, corrupts men of honor and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span>is a menace to the government!’ That is practically
+what a great many people are saying, to-day.</p>
+
+<p>“Why do you do this, Mr. Lafitte? I know, or
+rather, have been told, that the Creoles dislike our
+government—and that there are those who wish to
+defy it, who really hold it in contempt! But it won’t
+be long, sir—it won’t be long before your Creoles will
+be only too proud to call themselves Americans!
+Some day our United States will be the greatest nation
+on earth ... I know it!” In her voice was the fiery
+spirit bequeathed to her by her mother and grandmother,
+the women who had sent their husbands and
+sons to fight for their nation’s independence with smiling
+lips and breaking hearts.</p>
+
+<p>As she stood there, her face earnestly aglow with a
+prophetic light, her figure etherealized by the moon’s
+magic, she looked almost unearthly. Lafitte was as
+one struck dumb, his eyes alone shining with adoration,
+his heart-beats set a-rioting by the contact of
+their hands, of which she seemed unconscious.</p>
+
+<p>“Mr. Lafitte, what do you say? It is not too late.
+Give up this life—”</p>
+
+<p>The light in his eyes died out and his lips closed
+firmly.</p>
+
+<p>“You may be right, Miss Grymes, but I cannot
+desert my friends.”</p>
+
+<p>But she ignored this.</p>
+
+<p>“Sue for pardon of the Governor, sir. You have
+friends. It can be done!”</p>
+
+<p>“Ask Claiborne for a favor? Never! You don’t
+know the Lafittes, ma’amselle. No, what you ask is
+impossible—utterly!” His voice was harsh; she
+could not know of the mental strain under which he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span>was laboring—how he fairly longed to win her favor,
+to do this thing that would make them friends. If he
+did, if he but would ... what could not happen?</p>
+
+<p>But Pierre, what of Pierre?</p>
+
+<p>“No, Miss Grymes,” he went on, gravely, “I am
+sorry to be forced to say so ... and please believe
+that I appreciate your interest. But what you ask is
+impossible. I have made my bed and must lie on it.
+Some day, perhaps, some day....” He stopped
+and stared moodily at the Bay. What was the use?</p>
+
+<p>For a brief moment Virginia was silent. But her
+mind ran riot with tumultuous thoughts. A strange
+mental metamorphosis toward Lafitte had taken
+place—from one extreme to another. Whereas, up to
+this eventful day, and this last hour of enlightenment,
+she had held a fierce antagonism toward this gentleman
+smuggler—born of her belief that he had shot
+the quadroon for the possession of a negress—now
+that she had unwittingly discovered the falsity of the
+tale, or rather, had convinced herself of its falsity,
+she felt overwhelmed with a sense of shame and remorse,
+perhaps not unmixed with self-pity.</p>
+
+<p>Shame, that she should have ever harbored or expressed
+a feeling of repulsion or hatred against
+Lafitte; remorse, that she should have ever spoken or
+felt bitterly against him, who, whatever he might be,
+had saved her life, and again saved her from a fate
+worse than death; and lastly, she felt self-pity as she
+thought of what might have been—of how she might
+have had even this man among men at her feet. Not
+because of a spirit of coquetry nor as a salve for her
+vanity—she was too sweet to be vain—but for some undefinable
+reason, she knew she wanted him there, with
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span>a fierce desire ... why, she couldn’t even explain to
+herself.</p>
+
+<p>But, easily to be seen, the Baratarian was not in that
+position, and she could not but admit that she was
+piqued by his aloofness. Masculine aloofness toward
+herself was a hitherto unimaginable experience. This
+pique it was, then, that had forced her so to dislike
+him! A woman will forgive anything in a man—anything,
+’tis said—but a pointed lack of interest in
+herself. What woman is insensible to the homage
+paid her charms? And by the same token, what
+woman is insensible to the <i>lack</i> of that homage?</p>
+
+<p>With all the passionate fire of her Southern temperamental
+heritage, Virginia was fiercely jealous of
+Margaret Claiborne—and Lizette. Equally unknown
+to herself, she loved the man styled “the duke of
+Little Manchac” ... the handsome autocrat of his
+island domain.</p>
+
+<p>On one thing she was clearly resolved. She would
+do all she could to atone for her unjust suspicions, her
+lack of faith. She would reclaim him, if possible,
+from his piratical life—and perhaps yet break that
+wall of aloofness.</p>
+
+<p>The end justified the means ... why worry at this
+pregnant moment about the niceties of convention?
+All man-made customs and conventions and inhibitions
+must give way to the demands of nature.... Was
+not nature and romance but as one? And had not
+Lafitte himself but a short time before quoted an immutable
+cosmic law?</p>
+
+<p>“Romance,” he had said, “enters into the life of
+every mortal—and, like love—and hate—it is primitive.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span></p>
+
+<p>Yes, romance was primitive ... as was love and
+hate. The cave-woman of the Stone Age and this
+cultured young girl of this modern era, beneath the
+thin veneer of civilization, were at heart but as one.</p>
+
+<p>Thus Eve. Thus Cleopatra. Thus Laura. Thus
+Helen. Thus Juliet. And thus the Eves, Cleopatras,
+Lauras, Helens, and Juliets of all ages, all time.</p>
+
+<p>“Jean—Mr. Lafitte—” The “Jean” was a daring
+touch.</p>
+
+<p>He turned abruptly, thrilling at their proximity.
+How he yearned for her!—with a mental ache that
+tortured his every nerve. He struggled to avert his
+eyes, to resist the temptation of crushing her in his
+arms.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Sacré Dieu!</i>” he muttered, his senses in a swirl,
+“was ever man so tempted before?” <i>Was</i> ever man
+so seared by this fiendish demon of Love? He gripped
+the parapet until his knuckles shone white—fighting
+within himself for control—struggling to regain his
+much-vaunted poise. Two internal Lafittes were now
+at grips—the cool-headed, impassive cynic and the
+emotional, love-torn sentimentalist. Which would
+gain the mastery?</p>
+
+<p>But the girl could not know of this mental chaotic
+maelstrom. If she had known, would she carry out
+her plan—execute her test? Perhaps not, and again,
+being a woman, perhaps....</p>
+
+<p>“Captain Lafitte,” she breathed, face upturned to
+his, dark eyes on his in mute appeal, “won’t you do
+this—can’t you, for my sake?” It was the acme of
+feminine appeal, this, used, perhaps, since the days of
+Eve.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span></p>
+
+<p>For a moment Lafitte was stone-like—his black eyes
+in vivid contrast to his pale face.</p>
+
+<p>“For <i>your</i> sake?” he murmured, more with a fierce
+joy than in surprise. “<i>Nom de Dieu!</i> For your
+sake?” He gripped her by the arms and gazed
+searchingly into her eyes, an operation not conducive
+to lucid introspection at any time, let alone when they
+shone with the very essence of the moon-glamour.</p>
+
+<p>For a brief space she was filled with consternation
+at the reaction her words had evoked, and longed—fairly
+longed—for the power to recall them. But
+something greater than her will, some vague, indefinable
+power, urged her on. She nodded dumbly,
+unable to resist the magnetism of his eyes, momentarily
+fascinated.</p>
+
+<p>Sweeping her into his arms, he passionately kissed
+her, once—twice—on the lips, and, wonder of wonders!—she
+returned it! But it was that strange, delirious
+power within her that did so. The normal Virginia
+Grymes was in a spell—a spell of sudden, overwhelming
+happiness, ’tis true, but still in a state of
+unreality—the sweet wonderland of love’s flaming
+exaltation.</p>
+
+<p>Attempting to awaken from that delicious momentary
+surrender, to regain the world of prosaic reality,
+she attempted to break away, but hopelessly, and
+capitulated—gloriously.</p>
+
+<p>She knew, at that moment, that she loved and always
+would love this imperious pirate—this Jean
+Lafitte!</p>
+
+<p>“For your sake,” he repeated, with a fierce under-note,
+“I’d cheerfully walk through the Inferno and
+laugh! I, who have seen your form in every flower,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span>your eyes in every star—whose voice echoed in every
+breeze—whose angelic presence has blessed my
+dreams! For your sake—”</p>
+
+<p>“You love me?” she murmured, still under the hypnosis
+of that magic glamour. “<i>You</i> love me?” unbelievingly,
+mechanically.</p>
+
+<p>“Do I love you?” he cried, exultantly. “Great
+God! Why did Leander swim the Hellespont? Because
+he loved her! Why did I—love you? <i>Je
+t’adore!</i> I adore you—worship you!” He half
+sobbed with a fierce joy, the joy bells in his soul deafening
+him with their wondrous pæan.</p>
+
+<p>“The wonder of it!” he whispered, “the glorious
+wonder! I love you, and you love—but do you, do
+you? Tell me, light of my life, <i>ma cœur</i>, if you could
+care for a poor devil of a Frenchman? Tell me ... tell
+me!” he entreated, hoarsely, holding her a little
+away, staring with devouring eyes into her pale face—experiencing
+a rhapsody of eager joy.</p>
+
+<p>Of a sudden voices were heard; across the gardens,
+’tis true, but none the less distinct. Startled, the two
+lovers looked up and half fell apart.</p>
+
+<p>“But where can I find <i>le bosse</i>?” they heard, faintly.</p>
+
+<p>“He cannot be disturbed. He is with his guests,”
+came the reply.</p>
+
+<p>“But I must see him!” exclaimed the first, with an
+oath. “I come post-haste from N’Awleens with letters
+from Monsieur Pierre Lafitte. There is trouble in
+the wind. Martain says that Claiborne has cooked up
+another scheme. <i>Dame</i>, yes!”</p>
+
+<p>“Trouble again?” said the other. “It is to laugh!
+Why, only to-day—” His voice became indistinguishable
+as the two evidently moved away.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span></p>
+
+<p>When Jean next spoke, the fire had died from his
+voice. Jean the lover was gone ... the old Lafitte
+was back in his place, jerked back to himself by the
+interruption at this critical moment.</p>
+
+<p>“Virginia—ma’amselle—” he said, dully, “forgive
+me, pray forgive me, if you can. I was mad—mad!
+This thing can never be. God, no! What a fool I was!
+I thought to bury honor—manhood. ‘The evil that
+men do lives after them’ ... <i>c’est vrai</i> ... too
+true! I cannot turn traitor to my friends—my men.
+<i>Le bon Dieu</i> forgive me for a coward ... a heartless
+wretch—but I cannot! You will forgive my ungentlemanly
+conduct, Miss Grymes?” he pleaded.</p>
+
+<p>“Ungentlemanly conduct!” And he had just
+avowed eternal love! What a mockery—a travesty—is
+life!</p>
+
+<p>She smothered a sob in the merciful shadows, and
+Lafitte looked at her eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“Can’t you—won’t you understand?” he asked, a
+world of suffering in his voice. But she was oblivious
+to it, apparently, for she laughed—or was it a sob?</p>
+
+<p>“I understand perfectly, sir,” she said, with
+hauteur, in a hard, bitter voice, “and despise the advantage
+you took of a defenseless woman. And I do
+not forgive you, for there is nothing to forgive!”
+She laughed scornfully, but it broke and became a sob.
+“But I suppose all men are alike! Only the—the
+Spaniard was frank—”</p>
+
+<p>“Ma’amselle!” His hands contracted ... the
+thrust had gone painfully deep. “Do you mean to
+say that you do not—that you did not—”</p>
+
+<p>She raised her chin haughtily, though her wet, sensitive
+eyes denied any imputation of acting on her part.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Precisely. I was merely playing with you, Mr.
+Lafitte, flirting, if you will.” Ah, if his eyes could
+have but pierced the gloom and detected the heartbreaking
+lie. Poor Jean ... and poor Virginia.</p>
+
+<p>His head fell to his breast and his half-outstretched
+hands to his side. For a moment her features softened,
+but only for a moment. For she remembered
+those kisses—her surrender.</p>
+
+<p>She hardened.</p>
+
+<p>“Moreover, Mr. Lafitte,” she exclaimed in a choked
+voice, “I—hate you.”</p>
+
+<p>And she was gone.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_17"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Seventeenth</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>How De Moulin Comes to Flirt at the Quadroon Ball
+but Remains to Fight</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<h4>I</h4>
+
+<p class="dropcap">The lady in the moon, at ease in her
+airy chariot, gazed downward with smiling eyes.
+Far beneath her lay the city of New Orleans, picturesque
+enough by day, but even more so by night,
+with the one lone spire of St. Louis praying silently to
+the stars.</p>
+
+<p>Here could be seen the old gardens of the Faubourg
+Ste. Marie, with its parterres of jonquils and hyacinths
+smiling in the silvery glow, and its groups of lagustrums
+and laurestines vaguely delineated in the black
+shadows of the acacia thickets. Here could be caught
+dazzling glimpses of the walks of gleaming pounded
+shell, winding through groves of magnolias with buds
+as white as the moon itself, and flowering orange
+trees. And from each fairy-haunted garden is wafted
+aloft on the balmy night air the myriad scents and
+odors of nature’s efflorescent masterpieces, to delight
+the senses of the immortals on high.</p>
+
+<p>And her celestial ladyship peers down on the
+sparkling waters of the Gulf, and continually kisses
+its face, and with magnificent impartiality distributes
+her favors, as well, on the broad bosom of the restless,
+sullen, ever-changing Mississippi—that Titan of many
+moods—and the youngest of the watery trinity, Lake
+Pontchartrain; and does not even neglect the more
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span>modest, lagoon-like bayous, unexpectedly scattered,
+here and there, on the marge of the virginal forests.
+And the personage in the Moon smiles tenderly.</p>
+
+<p>On Ste. Philippe Street, in a broad, white-brick theater,
+honeycombed with gambling dens, ablaze with
+light, and made conspicuous by the two huge wrought-iron
+lanterns hanging pendant on either side of the
+entrance, a theater ball is in progress.</p>
+
+<p>The Philippe Street Theater, like that of Condè
+Street, is, as all the world knows, one of those celebrated
+edifices of amusement wherein are held the
+brilliant quadroon balls which are the talk of half the
+South.</p>
+
+<p>What, you have not heard of the quadroon, <i>mon
+ami? Nom d’un nom!</i> What deplorable ignorance!
+The quadroon caste, <i>mon pauvre ami</i>, are descended
+from the merry chevaliers of the colonial military
+Frenchmen, grown coarsened by intimate contact with
+Spanish-American frontier life, and, on the other
+hand, from the most comely specimens of the less
+negroidal types of the newly brought-over slaves,
+bought at the auction-block of New Orleans. And
+now, after perhaps seventy or eighty years, their half-caste
+female descendants, one-fourth negro though
+they are, are among the most beautiful of all the beauties
+of this lotus land of the South; and, truth to tell,
+oftentimes are hardly recognizable for the class they
+are.</p>
+
+<p>The balls? Ah, the balls that were gotten up for
+them! What beauty! What gayety! What elegance!
+What a brilliant attendance! The quadroon balls
+alone were sufficient to give New Orleans a unique
+place in history.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span></p>
+
+<p>How often would the aristocrats, the Creole gentry,
+desert their friends at the fashionable Theatre
+d’Orleans to spend the rest of the evening at the
+equally exclusive, quadroon theater balls! Here were
+to be found the flower of the masculine world of
+Little Paris—planters, officials, gentlemen of leisure,
+merchants, bankers—scions of the proudest names in
+Louisiana, the “<i>jeunesse dorée</i>”—the gilded youth.
+Were the quadroons their equals? Of course not! But
+what would you? When one seeks amusement....</p>
+
+<p>To have danced, quarreled, and made passionate
+love at the quadroon theater ball was as necessary a
+part of a gentleman’s education as to have a course in
+debauchery in Orleans Street, in gambling for high
+stakes in Royal Street, or in having fought at least one
+duel at Slaughterhouse Point. And it was a pleasureable
+duty participated in by every Creole gentleman
+from his later adolescence to his second childhood.</p>
+
+<p>The theater balls were a habit. As was the masquerade—the
+Mardi Gras.</p>
+
+<h4>II</h4>
+
+<p>Pierre Dominique and François de Moulin, in
+spirits as lightsome as their costumes were gay,
+marched arm-in-arm down the moonlight-drenched
+street, headed for the cluster of lights that told of the
+presence of the theater ball.</p>
+
+<p>“And he sayce to me,” De Moulin was saying, “‘you
+do nod realize eet, <i>mon ami</i>, bud zis war es going to
+be brought home to us—an’ dam’ soon, at zat!’ An’
+when I laugh he sayce, ‘ze next step de British are
+going to take will be an attemp’ to invade Louisiana!’”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I’m not so sure, Grymes isn’t right,” said Lafitte,
+thoughtfully, for once. “Jean tells me that he’s sure
+of it. Du Boulanger got through the blockade last
+week—he was coming from France—and he told Jean
+that it isn’t a rumor, but a fact; that none of us have
+the slightest conception of the blow that Great Britain
+contemplates dealing us. He pointed out that the
+war between England and France is at an end, that
+Napoleon is safe in exile, and, therefore, that she is
+now able to send her whole military and naval power
+against us—and you know what that means!”</p>
+
+<p>De Moulin nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“You may be right. Accord’n to Grymes, zere ees
+at zis moment an armada on ze sea, zat consists of at
+least fifty warsheeps an’ a zousand guns; manned by
+ze veterans of Trafalgar an ze Nile. But of course
+it’s all rumor.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where there’s smoke, there’s bound to be a fire,”
+said Pierre, dryly. “I’ll admit that I don’t believe the
+story that the Duke of Wellington, himself, is to be
+in command, but I do believe that something is afoot.
+Anyway, Du Boulanger thought it important enough
+to go to Claiborne and warn him. But the pompous
+ass laughed at him.”</p>
+
+<p>“If he wanted zat man to believe anyzing, he should
+’ave told him exactly ze opposite!” muttered François.
+“Ze more I zink of some people, ze less I zink of
+zem!” with sage plagiarism.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment or two they walked on in silence. A
+block ahead of them a dark figure vanished around the
+corner of a stone wall on the Rue Polymnia; a <i>guichinango</i>,
+perhaps—a garrotter, or night cutthroat, with
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span>which the city abounded. When they reached the
+corner, however, he had disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>“Speaking of Grymes,” said François, “have you
+heard zat he ess in financial difficulties?”</p>
+
+<p>“I shouldn’t be surprised, when I remember how
+he gambled away his fee two years ago,” referring to
+the Virginian’s visit to Grande Terre. Jean Lafitte
+had sent him home in a yawl boat loaded to the gunwales
+with chests containing the forty thousand dollars
+that was his and Livingston’s fees, for the legal defense
+of Pierre Lafitte, in gold and silver coins. And
+all New Orleans knew the story of how Grymes had
+gambled away his share of the treasure before he had
+even returned to the city, having stopped to visit
+several planter friends <i>en route</i>. It had been the talk
+of the town, mulled over and magnified a hundred
+times in the clubs and on the <i>banquettes</i>.</p>
+
+<p>“Two years,” murmured De Moulin. “What a lot
+’as happened in zose two years! Heah it’s 1814 an’ ze
+war isn’t over yet. I wonder what will happen in ze
+next two years?”</p>
+
+<p>“According to Du Boulanger, quite a lot will
+happen!” retorted Pierre. “He says that the fleet’s
+bringing along a complete set of civil officials to govern
+us, after they’ve annexed us to His Majesty’s dominions.
+The officers are said to be bringing their
+wives, so they must no doubt expect to make a rather
+longish stay. And Du Boulanger says that British
+speculators expect to bring home fourteen millions of
+dollars in loot—loot from our homes!”</p>
+
+<p>“Enough about ze war!” cried François, gaily.
+“We have bud one life to live, Pierre—let’s get what
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span>we can out of eet. If ze war comes, we’ll fight. In ze
+meantime we’ll flirt! <i>Allons!</i>”</p>
+
+<p>And arm in arm they approached the bright entrance
+of the theater ballroom and began to ascend
+the stairs, exchanging pleasantries with a descending
+pair of convivial friends.</p>
+
+<p>In the great long room where the ball was in progress,
+they found an animated and noisy crowd. In the
+flickering light of the colored lamps a merrymaking
+mob of both sexes, members of the <i>demi-monde</i> in the
+main, but with a fair sprinkling of the masculine upper
+class, were dancing to the music of violins and guitars,
+whose piercing melody rose even above the lively buzz
+of the chattering groups.</p>
+
+<p>As the pair entered, the dance came to an end and
+the floor began to clear, until the center was almost
+empty. But as the music struck up again, with the
+preliminary rattle of castanets, instead of beginning
+to dance, the crowd formed a circle.</p>
+
+<p>And as they eagerly craned their necks there was a
+slight commotion and a babel of voices at the upper
+end of the room, and a girl was half pushed into the
+circle—a quadroon, true, but beautiful as only beauties
+are that are found among her caste—languorous, provocative
+eyes, sheenful hair of storm-cloud hue, and a
+slim, lithesome, perfectly proportioned figure.</p>
+
+<p>“Eet ees ze adorable Dolores,” whispered François.
+“She ees going to dance—bud wait an’ see!”</p>
+
+<p>Even as he spoke the “adorable Dolores,” with a
+swish of skirts and a tap of little red heels, had begun
+to dance. The queen of the <i>demi-monde</i>, for as such
+was she known, although of mixed descent, looked to
+be Spanish to her dainty finger tips, and danced with
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span>the daring abandon inherited from some light-footed
+Andalusian ancestress. To the rattle of castanets,
+and the delirious throb of the music, she whirled and
+pirouetted, the admired cynosure of all eyes.</p>
+
+<p>At the finish of her dance the crowd closed around
+her with acclamation and applause, and the music
+struck up again.</p>
+
+<p>Shouldering his way through the throng, using his
+elbow to good advantage, De Moulin with some difficulty
+reached her side, to find her beseiged by a dozen
+gallants, begging her for the next dance.</p>
+
+<p>“Ef ze gentlemen will pardon her”—his voice carried
+over the shoulders of the group—“ma’amselle, I
+believe, ’as honored me wiz zis dance!” And he
+smiled ingenuously into her startled eyes as he pushed
+his way to her side.</p>
+
+<p>A chorus of voices protested, but he took her arm
+decisively, looking deep into her eyes, a proceeding
+rather popular with his friends of the other sex.</p>
+
+<p>“Am I not right?” he asked, and winked almost imperceptibly.
+For a moment she hesitated, colored,
+then smiled. Without another word he began to lead
+her to the floor.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Lafitte, watching the little scene from the
+rear, chuckled.</p>
+
+<p>“In the meantime, we’ll flirt!” he quoted, and
+laughed.</p>
+
+<p>But his laugh died away, for he saw a third figure
+suddenly confront the Creole and his fair companion
+and lay his hand on the girl’s arm. With surprise he
+recognized the gangling figure of the Yankee, Cyrus
+Nash, friend of Hemingway, the district attorney, who
+had seconded the latter in his duel with John Grymes.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span></p>
+
+<p>“This dance is mine, Mister dee Moolan!” cried
+the Yankee, angrily. “What do you mean by—”</p>
+
+<p>De Moulin looked at him in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, it’s Meestaire Nash!” he murmured, with
+feigned cordiality. “And ’ow ees youah nose, sair?”
+innocently.</p>
+
+<p>Nash reddened, acutely conscious of the fact that
+the member mentioned was now the object of a hundred
+curious stares. For a moment he merely spluttered
+incoherently.</p>
+
+<p>“You—you—I’ll break every bone in your body!”</p>
+
+<p>“M’sieu wishes to fight?” cried François, with alacrity.
+“He ’ave wait a long time—two years, <i>n’est-ce-pas</i>?
+I ’ave been greatly disappoint!”</p>
+
+<p>“Who said anything about—” began the other, but
+paused. “So you want to fight, do you? Any time’ll
+suit me! But it will be with bare hands, Frenchy!”
+His fists doubled with anger as he stepped forward
+threateningly. Dolores sprang between them theatrically,
+secretly overjoyed to have two men of the
+<i>haut monde</i> publicly quarreling over her; ignorant
+of the real cause of their enmity.</p>
+
+<p>“Stop—stop—m’sieurs! You muz not fight! I
+gave dis dance to—”</p>
+
+<p>“—Me!” broke in François, urbanely. “If m’sieu
+wants to fight, for why he don’t join ze army?”</p>
+
+<p>A shout of laughter went up, in which even Dolores
+joined, at which Nash paled with anger.</p>
+
+<p>“Will you fight?” he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“No!” responded François, promptly. Dolores
+looked at him in dismay. Was she to be cheated out
+of this?</p>
+
+<p>“You’re scared!” exclaimed Nash, triumphantly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span></p>
+
+<p>De Moulin laughed, and stared pointedly at the
+other’s nose.</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps I am. But I only fight as gentlemen do,
+not like lackeys,” contemptuously.</p>
+
+<p>“All right!” snapped Nash, desperately. “I’ll meet
+you with pistols!” Dolores brightened and looked at
+François eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“But I only fight <i>with</i> gentlemen,” added the latter,
+suavely, at which Nash sprang forward, cursing furiously.
+“Bud since you ’ave insult’ zese ladies here wit’
+your language,” the Creole continued, “I weel fight
+you right now and will horsewhip you afterward!”
+The dancer simpered, and the crowd yelled encouragement.
+The music had long since abruptly stopped.</p>
+
+<p>“You muz nod fight ’count of me,” Dolores put in
+faintly, hoping that they would pay her no attention.
+To her delight, and the envy of certain of her dearest
+friends, her wish was gratified, but beyond even her
+wildest dreams, for other gallants in the room,
+anxious to share the limelight, pressed forward with
+offers to fight the “Yan-kee,” on the flimsy grounds
+of his insult to the “ladies.” Evidently his profanity
+of a few minutes before was to cost him dear.</p>
+
+<p>As the tumult heightened, De Moulin, who was now
+sorry that he had given way to the temptation of baiting
+the man he disliked, wondered how the matter
+could be peaceably terminated; not because he was
+afraid to fight, but because of what he knew the crowd
+would do to the rash New Englander, in their eagerness
+to win admiration from their women-folk. For
+a moment he hesitated, and his eyes, meeting those
+of Lafitte, flashed a message.</p>
+
+<p>But at this moment some adventurous spirit fired a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>shot, and a lamp fell to the floor, shattered. Women
+screamed and men cursed, forgetting their chivalric
+intentions; there was a flashing of knives. Close upon
+the heels of the first shot came a second, and a third,
+all fired harmlessly overhead, but adding materially
+to the confusion. The Latin is quick to take advantage
+of an opportunity to fight—especially a heaven-sent
+moment like this when one could safely and conveniently
+wipe out old scores with a dexterous blade or
+an errant bullet, and still add one’s bit to the pleasure
+of the evening—for a ballroom fracas was no less than
+a pleasure, here in the <i>demi-monde</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Both Lafitte and De Moulin well knew these things,
+and simultaneously decided to make themselves conspicuous
+by their absence, as some others were already
+doing. They did not relish the prospect of having
+their names connected with any such affair.</p>
+
+<p>Cyrus Nash stood, an impotent figure in his bewilderment,
+a well-justified apprehension taking its
+place as he uncertainly regarded the rapidly darkening
+room, whose confusion was increasing tenfold. François
+had unaccountably disappeared, he could hear the
+“adorable” Dolores shrieking, and felt himself
+hemmed in, powerless to extricate himself from the
+mêlée.</p>
+
+<p>“Follow me!” Of a sudden he heard François’s
+voice in his ear and felt a hand on his arm. The next
+moment he was being hurried along by two men
+toward the door, the trio’s combined weight forcing
+a quick exit through the milling throng. It was now
+completely dark, and the gun-fire, yells, and screams
+had increased in volume. The suddenness of what had
+taken place seemed dream-like, nightmarish, unreal.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span></p>
+
+<p>A moment later the three reached the door, were
+stopped for a space by an inrush of newcomers anxious
+not to miss the excitement, and with some difficulty
+reached the bottom of the stairs and the outer air,
+which, once gained, they hurried down the street, to
+pause a block away, panting from their exertions, the
+gaiety of their raiment somewhat spoiled.</p>
+
+<p>“Meestaire Nash,” said De Moulin, abruptly, “I
+apologize for what I said; you were right to be
+angry!” As he spoke they heard the sounds of battle
+from the theater ballroom increase, the ranks of the
+disputants evidently having been augmented from the
+gambling dens.</p>
+
+<p>“Forget it,” said the Yankee, “and thank you for
+getting me out of there. I take back what I said, sir!
+You <i>are</i> a gentleman!” And he held out his hand,
+which François shook warmly. Then, for a moment,
+they listened, and watched several women emerge hurriedly
+from the building in the next block.</p>
+
+<p>“That Dolores,” said Cyrus Nash, reflectively,
+“sure did make a fool out of me. You know, Mister
+dee Moolan, she really had promised me that dance!”</p>
+
+<p>“I know it!” admitted François, chuckling.</p>
+
+<p>“Then why—” began Nash.</p>
+
+<p>But Pierre Lafitte interrupted. “Simply,” he explained,
+“because François came to flirt and had not
+counted on a fight. <i>Mais, sacré nom!</i> What’s a
+pretty wench more or less between friends?”</p>
+
+<p>And arm in arm the trio marched off down the
+moonlight-spattered street.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_18"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Eighteenth</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>In Which Jean Lafitte Is Sorely Tempted, and, Incidentally,
+Sees a Vision</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<h4>I</h4>
+
+<p class="dropcap">“Dix milles diables!” exclaimed Dominique
+You, bitterly, as he spat ferociously on
+the sand. “Dey weel ruin us yet. Here de planters
+weel pay a thousand dollaires a haid, and our pens are
+empty. If we could only get one shipload more we
+could mek a fortune!”</p>
+
+<p>Jean Lafitte, walking by his side toward the beach,
+made no reply, seemingly buried in thought, while the
+old man who had fought with Paul Jones rambled on
+in the same strain. “Ten thousand devils,” indeed!
+Slaves were scarce in these days of blockades and war,
+and the planters were willing to pay any price for
+them.</p>
+
+<p>By now the two Baratarians had reached the landing
+on the shore, where ship’s cargoes were being rapidly
+borne to and fro. A loaded vessel had but recently
+arrived, and the slaves, under the unpleasantly
+insinuating lashes of the overseers, were busily unloading
+the small boats. Evidently her cargo had consisted
+in the main of wines, Spanish and French, for it
+was being brought ashore in all varieties of containers—barrels,
+casks, tierces, pipes, hampers, octaves, and
+baskets.</p>
+
+<p>Small wonder that the cellars of Bordeaux Manor
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>bore a striking resemblance to the paradise of a Bacchanalian!
+Bacchus himself would have felt very
+much at home there, as had one John Grymes, on his
+memorable visit some two years before.</p>
+
+<p>Jean languidly inspected the labels of several casks.
+Of late, it seemed, everything he did was done
+languidly. Wartime though it was, life seemed to
+hold no interest for the <i>bosse</i> of Barataria.</p>
+
+<p>Dominique You disappeared into the near-by
+throng.</p>
+
+<p>The day was extremely warm; not a breeze stirred,
+it seemed. It was early September, and no hint of
+coolness was offered by the placid sea, which was
+glittering with every imaginable tint, from palest
+aquamarine to the brightest emerald—from the pure
+blue light of the turquoise to the dark deep blue of the
+sapphire.</p>
+
+<p>Of a sudden, almost unbelievably so, came the detonation
+of a ship’s cannon.</p>
+
+<p>There, around the easternmost end of a thickly
+wooded point, appeared the bowsprit, and gradually
+the hulk, of a frigate, which, it could be seen, was
+anchoring directly off the entrance of the narrow pass
+giving ingress to the inner bay. From her masthead
+flew the naval banner of—Great Britain.</p>
+
+<p>And then, as Lafitte watched, a gig was lowered,
+manned, and passengered with three scarlet-coated
+figures in the sternsheets. It then entered the pass and
+made for shore.</p>
+
+<p>By this time a number of armed Baratarians had
+assembled awaiting its coming, while others hurriedly
+made for their own ships at anchor in the bay, to prepare
+to repel any threatened attack, if necessary. Jean
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span>Lafitte, a commanding figure, with Dominique You,
+alone, by his side, awaited their arrival at the marge
+of the water.</p>
+
+<p>The gig was soon landed, and the three scarleted
+officers disembarked and stood for a moment, looking
+about them. At a word from Lafitte, Dominique approached
+them and engaged them in a conversation, at
+the end of which he pointed toward Jean. The three
+Britishers then came forward, one of them, a ruddy,
+bewhiskered man wearing the uniform of a captain in
+the royal navy.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment, the Baratarian and the Englishman
+eyed each other.</p>
+
+<p>“Captain Lafitte, I believe?” ventured the latter,
+politely. Lafitte bowed, and his bow was even more
+correct than that of the punctilious visitor, given in
+return.</p>
+
+<p>“I am Captain Lockyer, sir, of His Majesty’s
+frigate <i>Sophia</i>. I have important dispatches for you,
+from Colonel Nichols, at Pensacola.”</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte showed his surprise, but attempted to cover
+it.</p>
+
+<p>“Indeed? Won’t you gentlemen accompany me to
+my quarters, where we can talk comfortably?” On
+the captain’s quick acquiescence he turned and accompanied
+them through the silent, sullen, red-shirted
+crowd. Lafitte well knew that his men resented the
+presence of the Britishers, but he was nothing if not
+hospitable. And he was also very curious. What message
+could this Britisher have for him, a pirate?</p>
+
+<p>Within the Manor, Captain Lockyer presented
+Lafitte with the dispatches he had mentioned, which
+were inclosed in a packet addressed to “Jean Lafitte,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span>Esquire, Commandant at Barataria,” and resplendently
+sealed.</p>
+
+<p>On opening it, Jean found it to contain a number of
+printed forms, and a letter addressed to himself. As
+he read the first few lines of the letter he could not
+suppress a slight start, but remained impassive until he
+had finished.</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose you know the contents of this letter,
+Captain Lockyer?” he asked, quietly.</p>
+
+<p>The Britisher nodded gravely.</p>
+
+<p>“I do, and I would strongly advise you to accept.”</p>
+
+<p>Jean rose from the table slowly.</p>
+
+<p>“If you gentlemen will pardon me, I would like to
+retire for a moment. Colonel Nichols’s offer greatly
+surprises me, and I would like to think it over.”</p>
+
+<p>“By all means,” nodded the captain. “It is hardly
+to be expected that you....” his voice trailed off
+vaguely, for Jean had bowed, and was already leaving.</p>
+
+<p>A moment later he was closeted with Dominique
+You.</p>
+
+<p>“What do dese <i>canaille</i> want?” demanded the latter.</p>
+
+<p>“Enough—” said Jean, his brow clouding.</p>
+
+<p>Dominique looked at him keenly from under beetling
+brows.</p>
+
+<p>“I can guess.”</p>
+
+<p>“What?” demanded Jean, startled.</p>
+
+<p>“Dey want your help.”</p>
+
+<p>“You are right, old friend. Here are the papers.
+Most of them are merely proclamations made by
+Nichols, commander of the British forces in the Gulf,
+to the Louisianians, promising and threatening all
+sorts of things—”</p>
+
+<p>“I know,” impatiently. “I ’ave seen dem.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span></p>
+
+<p>“And the other is a letter, asking my aid.”</p>
+
+<p>The old Creole cursed softly.</p>
+
+<p>“Wait. They don’t want it for nothing. <i>Parbleu</i>—no!
+They offer me thirty thousand dollars cash.”</p>
+
+<p>Dominique You looked pained.</p>
+
+<p>“Thirty thousan’ dollaires? To de <i>bosse</i> of Barataria?
+<i>C’est pour rire!</i>” It was to laugh, indeed.
+Jean Lafitte, money lord of the Mississippi ...
+thirty thousand dollars! A bagatelle!</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte, however, looked serious.</p>
+
+<p>“That is not all, Dominique. They offer me a captain’s
+commission in the royal navy—quite an honor,
+<i>n’est-ce-pas</i>? And they offer us all amnesty—pardon
+for our past deeds.”</p>
+
+<p>“Dose dam’ <i>Anglais</i> offeh us Baratarians a’nesty?”
+demanded the other, unbelievingly. “<i>Sacré Dieu!</i>
+Dey offah us—” For a moment words failed him.
+“But foah what, <i>bosse</i>?”</p>
+
+<p>“For our aid. Colonel Nichols wants us, in return,
+to enlist in the British navy, and to help them especially
+in their contemplated attack on New Orleans.”</p>
+
+<p>“You weel not accept, <i>bosse</i>? <i>Non?</i>” asked the
+Creole, anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>“And why not?” returned Jean, coolly. But there
+was a curious gleam in his eyes. Dominique stared at
+him, aghast.</p>
+
+<p>“It is a strong temptation,” went on Lafitte, reflectively,
+“very strong. And I will admit that I am
+sorely tempted.”</p>
+
+<p>His companion regarded him with puzzlement.
+Something he could not divine was in his young chief’s
+voice. Was he posing? For what reason?</p>
+
+<p>“I am not an American,” continued Lafitte, slowly,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span>as if arguing with himself— “neither by birth nor by
+inclination....”</p>
+
+<p>“You are a Frenchman,” said Dominique, uncertainly,
+“but—”</p>
+
+<p>“As it is,” soliloquizing, “we must face the truth.
+We Baratarians ever face the prospect of the hangman’s
+noose, for we are naught but pirates, <i>mon
+ami</i>....” His lieutenant nodded unwillingly. “And
+besides, Colonel Nichols promises to destroy Grande
+Terre and hang us all as pirates, if I refuse. So, you
+see, I have the men to think of.”</p>
+
+<p>“Dat is nod the <i>bosse</i> of Barataria speakin’!” cried
+Dominique. “Jean Lafitte is nod a coward ... <i>pardieu,
+non!</i>”</p>
+
+<p>“Thank you ... I hope not. But the men—”</p>
+
+<p>“De men go where you lead,” declared the Creole.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Jean was buried in thought.</p>
+
+<p>“With my help,” he murmured, “these British dogs
+could take New Orleans ... which means Louisiana!
+I—Lafitte, can lead them through the swamps
+and bayous to the very gates of the city before anyone
+could possibly know of our coming....”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>C’est vrai</i>....”</p>
+
+<p>“On my decision hangs the destiny of this territory ... on
+me, a pirate, with a price on my head.
+On me, whom Claiborne hunts like a dog! Have I
+reason to love the American government? Why
+should I not accept?” he demanded, bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>Dominique did not answer. He was confused, realizing
+that Lafitte spoke the truth. After all, what
+did America mean to them? And what an exquisite
+revenge this would be on the vengeful Governor!</p>
+
+<p>In his mind’s eye, already, the man who had fought
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span>with Paul Jones saw the triumphant entry of the red-shirted
+Baratarians with their red-coated allies into
+New Orleans. After all, he thought, it was the best
+policy to ally themselves with the stronger side—and
+undoubtedly the might of England was the more fearsome.
+Perhaps the British were destined to take back
+their own—for was not America really theirs?</p>
+
+<p>And both he and his master were wealthy—ready to
+retire. Was not the prospect of an honorable position—in
+security—a pleasant one?</p>
+
+<p>“Why should I resist this temptation?” demanded
+Lafitte again. “I have everything to gain and nothing
+to lose....”</p>
+
+<p>Curiously enough, he thought of Virginia
+Grymes.... If things had been different ... and,
+then, he could have—But had he not been thinking
+of nothing but her during these lonely two years? He
+was forced to admit it to himself—he still loved her;
+yet, knowing that she was not for him, that was all the
+more reason, perhaps, why he should assist her country’s
+enemies.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly, as if a man in a dream, he saw her again
+as she had been that eventful night in the moonlight—when
+she had cried in that prophetic moment: “Some
+day our United States will be the greatest country on
+earth.... I <i>know</i> it!”... God! how beautiful she
+had looked, and how convincing were her fervored
+words!</p>
+
+<p>And in that mystic moment Lafitte <i>knew</i> ...
+knew that he had never had the intention of proving
+traitor to his adopted country, his friends, his—he
+stopped; daring to go no further, even in thought.
+Come what may, he would give his life, if necessary,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span>for his country. He knew it was his now; had been all
+along—and he would persist in working for its welfare
+even if that country itself would demand his life for
+his past deeds.</p>
+
+<p>Unconsciously he shuddered at the thought of the
+narrow escape he had had. By what a small margin
+had he saved his honor—his ideals! And it had taken
+that momentary vision of Virginia to light his way.</p>
+
+<p>On this moment he had hinged his whole future—and
+he had now irrevocably made his decision. His
+head told him that he would do wrong by refusing the
+British offer—that, logically, it was the best thing to
+do, for he had all to gain and nothing to lose. His
+was not the rôle of a Benedict Arnold, for he was not
+even an American! But his heart—that capricious,
+headstrong, arbiter of human destinies—assured him
+that he did right. That although he lost everything,
+including life, he would retain his honor.... And
+the heart triumphed over the head, which was rather
+unusual for Jean Lafitte. But, then, the heart is commonly
+supposed to be the abode of Love.</p>
+
+<p>And so it came to pass that Jean Lafitte, at this
+turning-point of his life, took unto himself the counsels
+of his heart, and thus threw into the great cauldron
+of the future the destinies of a nation—and his
+happiness.</p>
+
+<p>For the simple reason that Jean Lafitte <i>was</i> Jean
+Lafitte.</p>
+
+<h4>II</h4>
+
+<p>“Well, Mister Lafitte,” demanded Captain Lockyer,
+affably, “what is your decision?” He had turned
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span>halfway round to the door as Lafitte entered, followed
+by Dominique You.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Jean did not answer, but his eyes
+sparkled. His companion’s eyes were suspiciously
+moist. The British officers did not notice this,
+however.</p>
+
+<p>“I am very sorry, Captain, but I cannot yet give you
+my decision.”</p>
+
+<p>Captain Lockyer looked askance.</p>
+
+<p>“You see,” went on Jean, slowly, “first, I must consult
+with my associates, many of whom are not at
+Grande Terre at present. Then, again, there are several
+truculent Baratarians who must be er—convinced—or
+else....”</p>
+
+<p>The Britisher looked knowing. He winked openly
+as he chuckled.</p>
+
+<p>“I understand,” he said, insinuatingly. “It is to be
+expected, of course.”</p>
+
+<p>At the moment both Jean and Dominique You were
+mentally cursing him in unison. But their features
+were impassive.</p>
+
+<p>“You see,” went on Lafitte, “there are many of our
+men who er—er—have an embarrassing aversion
+toward your countrymen. Indeed, I regret to say that
+it is rather marked, in some cases!”</p>
+
+<p>Dominique You coughed unobtrusively, but his face
+retained its unaccustomed blandness.</p>
+
+<p>“I know,” replied the doughty commander of the
+<i>Sophia</i>. “About how much time would you want for
+your—er—persuasion?” He grinned sneeringly.</p>
+
+<p>“About a fortnight,” responded Jean, casually.</p>
+
+<p>“Very well, then. I’ll be back for your answer in
+exactly fifteen days. How does that suit you?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span></p>
+
+<p>“It is excellent,” answered the Baratarian, coldly.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Lockyer rose to his feet. His subordinates
+followed suit.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m sure you’ll like your new life much better,” he
+went on, conversationally, “and it will be a real
+pleasure to have you with us when we thrash those
+American yokels.”</p>
+
+<p>“As you so well did in ’seventy-six!” remarked Jean,
+dryly.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Lockyer flushed. For a moment it seemed
+as if he were about to spring at the Baratarian, so obviously
+angry was he.</p>
+
+<p>In the nick of time, however, he caught the gleam
+in the eyes of the other that spelled “Danger,” and interpreted
+it rightly. Captain Lockyer was no coward,
+but he suddenly realized that he was not on his own
+deck, but in the stronghold of the pirate.</p>
+
+<p>And then he suddenly remembered the importance
+of his mission. He must needs be diplomatic.
+Later—</p>
+
+<p>He laughed hollowly.</p>
+
+<p>“You have a ready wit, Mister Lafitte,” he said,
+attempting cordiality.</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte bowed in response.</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” continued Captain Lockyer, suavely, “I
+will be back for your answer in exactly fifteen days.
+Of course,” patronizingly, “it can be but one
+way....”</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte smiled.</p>
+
+<p>“You are right, <i>mon capitaine</i>, it can be but one
+way,” with meaning.</p>
+
+<p>Dominique You coughed again. His face was losing
+its blandness. Lafitte could not resist smiling.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span></p>
+
+<p>But when he was again alone, Jean forgot the Britisher
+and his mission for a moment. He was thinking
+of a girl in the moonlight—of a woman’s declaration
+of ideals that had suddenly sprung from the obscure
+recesses of the years to influence a decision of
+momentous import to a whole nation.</p>
+
+<p>In that fleeting clairvoyant instant Jean Lafitte saw
+what it is given to few men to see—and recognize.</p>
+
+<p>He saw that he had reached a turning-point in his
+life.</p>
+
+<p>Being only human, he was appalled. And thrilled.
+And vaguely disquieted.</p>
+
+<p>Jean sighed.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_19"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Nineteenth</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>Wherein Laurent Mercier Beards the Lion and His Excellency
+Calls a Council</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<h4>I</h4>
+
+<p class="dropcap">His Excellency frowned.</p>
+
+<p>“Am I to understand, sir, that you wish to
+interview me in reference to Mr. Lafitte?”</p>
+
+<p>The Honorable Laurent Mercier nodded briefly.
+He was a spare, hatchet-faced gentleman whose voluble
+manner and haughty nose at once bespoke his
+French extraction. Like the Lafittes, he spoke an almost
+perfect English, which was a rather uncommon
+accomplishment for Creoles, but this may partly be
+accounted for when one learns that the Honorable
+Mercier was a prominent member of that august law-making
+body known as the State Legislature. It may
+be added that Monsieur Mercier was addicted to making
+addresses. For this reason, plus the knowledge
+that the great majority of his speeches had ever been
+in favor of some form of protection or benefit to his
+open friends and private business associates—the
+Lafittes—State Senator Mercier was not exactly
+ardently popular with His Excellency the Governor.</p>
+
+<p>His Excellency frowned again, portentously.</p>
+
+<p>“I might at least have been spared the infliction of
+further listening to eulogies of Mr. Lafitte, and the
+many benefits his piratical trade is bestowing upon our
+community!” the gubernatorial voice continued with
+frigid sarcasm.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span></p>
+
+<p>The Honorable Mercier smiled sweetly.</p>
+
+<p>“If your Excellency will allow me to proceed,” he
+suggested suavely, “you will learn that what I have
+come to say concerns the welfare of the state....”</p>
+
+<p>“If I am not mistaken, that phrase is ordinarily the
+ostensible object of your—er—remarks!” remarked
+the Governor, with thinly veiled hostility.</p>
+
+<p>“Exactly!” agreed the Creole, courteously, “but I
+have not come here, Your Excellency, for the purpose
+of indulging in personalities, however—er—enjoyable
+they may be.”</p>
+
+<p>His Excellency loftily overlooked this.</p>
+
+<p>“Therefore, as I am very busy,” he suggested,
+“could it be convenient for you to come another—?”
+No pretense of courtesy here! When Greek meets
+Greek—they talk Greek! Likewise, when political
+enemy meets political enemy....</p>
+
+<p>The Creole imperceptibly straightened.</p>
+
+<p>“When a question of vital importance, concerning
+the welfare of the state, arises, whom, if not His
+Excellency, should be informed?” he demanded,
+brusquely. If possible, the haughtiness of his
+demeanor exceeded that of the chief executive, himself.
+Without giving the other time to answer, he went on.</p>
+
+<p>“May I ask, Your Excellency, as to whether or not
+you received a letter from Monsieur Lafitte this morning,
+by special messenger?” His manner was imperative.</p>
+
+<p>Governor Claiborne frowned for the third time,
+angrily. His glance unconsciously strayed to some
+papers before him, for a brief moment.</p>
+
+<p>“The rascally pirate did have the audacity to write
+me!” he admitted, irefully.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span></p>
+
+<p>The Honorable Mercier nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“And no doubt Your Excellency has taken steps in
+the matter?” he asked, inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p>“I—have—not!” declared Claiborne, flatly.</p>
+
+<p>Laurent Mercier looked respectfully astonished.</p>
+
+<p>“You do not doubt Monsieur Lafitte’s—word,
+m’sieur?”</p>
+
+<p>His Excellency grew almost apoplectic.</p>
+
+<p>“His word!” he cried, scornfully. “The word of a
+damned pirate? An outlaw with a price on his head?”
+He choked momentarily.</p>
+
+<p>The Creole looked pained, but said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course, I don’t believe it, sir! Not a word of
+it! The damned rascal is merely trying to hoodwink
+me—pull the wool over my eyes! It is a fairy-tale, sir,
+that—about the British. Pure nonsense! I could see
+at once that his scoundrelly offer was only made in the
+hope that it would avert the just punishment the government
+is about to bring down on his piratical head—”</p>
+
+<p>“What exactly did he say?” asked the other, as if
+he were merely an interested auditor. The Governor
+grimly enlightened him.</p>
+
+<p>“His letter is full of lying patriotic and altruistic
+phrases. He admits that, though ‘being fully guilty
+of having evaded the payment of certain customs
+duties,’” quoted Claiborne, ironically, “‘he had never
+lost his loyalty and affection for the United States,
+and that, notwithstanding the fact that there was a
+price on his head, he would never miss the opportunity
+of serving his adopted country.’ The impudence of
+it!” He laughed harshly.</p>
+
+<p>“Is that all?” asked Mercier, quietly.</p>
+
+<p>“He offered the services of himself and men in defense
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span>of the state and the city, on condition that they
+were granted a pardon for past offenses!” said he, explosively.
+“You can see for yourself that is merely a
+ruse!”</p>
+
+<p>The state senator grunted.</p>
+
+<p>“And what of his enclosed information?”</p>
+
+<p>“Humbug, pure humbug! As if the British would
+condescend to make a pirate such a ridiculous offer!”
+He sniffed scornfully.</p>
+
+<p>“But what of his information?” persisted the
+Creole, thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>“There is a mass of information which he claims
+he has gotten in various ways, as to the strength, resources,
+and plans of the preposterous expedition ...
+but of course it is all false. Merely a blind.”</p>
+
+<p>“I do not think so, Your Excellency.”</p>
+
+<p>Claiborne stared at him.</p>
+
+<p>“What!” he ejaculated.</p>
+
+<p>Mercier’s face was grave.</p>
+
+<p>“I believe that Lafitte is perfectly sincere ... and
+that his information is correct!” He folded his arms
+and gave the other stare for stare.</p>
+
+<p>His Excellency looked at him, agape.</p>
+
+<p>“It is preposterous, I tell you!”</p>
+
+<p>“I beg to differ!” haughtily.</p>
+
+<p>Claiborne scowled. He was not used to open defiance,
+and the fact that he could not very well resent
+this angered him the more. He fell back upon a frigid
+reserve.</p>
+
+<p>“I am very sorry that I cannot agree with you.”</p>
+
+<p>“What will you do, sir?”</p>
+
+<p>“Do? Nothing, of course!” His face was adamant.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span></p>
+
+<p>Mercier stepped forward and gripped the edge of
+the old mahogany desk.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you mean to say that you, the Governor, will
+not pay heed to his warning?” he demanded, tensely.</p>
+
+<p>“The Governor of Louisiana will have no dealings
+with a pirate!”</p>
+
+<p>“It is the duty of the Governor of this state, however,
+to guard the welfare of the state!” he said, with
+meaning.</p>
+
+<p>“Exactly,” said Claiborne, with forced suavity,
+“and, as Governor of Louisiana, I will not defile the
+dignity of my high office by treating with a pirate.”</p>
+
+<p>“It is not a question of dignity!” cried the Creole,
+angrily; “it is a question of the public safety! We are
+threatened with invasion—or worse. And an attack
+on New Orleans is highly probable! It is the duty of
+Your Excellency to take immediate measures to protect
+the lives and property of the people who put you in
+that office!”</p>
+
+<p>Claiborne rose to his feet, red with anger.</p>
+
+<p>“And who are you, sir,” he thundered, “to tell the
+Governor his duty?”</p>
+
+<p>For a moment the state senator was silent, staring
+him in the eye. The very air of the great room was
+vibrant with a suppressed excitement.</p>
+
+<p>“The People!” he snapped, quietly.</p>
+
+<p>For a fraction of a second the other paled, too astounded
+at the other’s unexpected retort to reply. He
+stared at the daring mortal with fascination.</p>
+
+<p>“The People?” he repeated, mechanically. “You
+are insane! If any one man is the People, as a unit,
+who is it but I, the chief executive?” His overweening
+egotism was simplicity itself.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span></p>
+
+<p>For a moment the Honorable Mercier was disarmed.</p>
+
+<p>“I was slightly mistaken,” he riposted; “my title is
+Public Opinion. Yes, Public Opinion!” He glared
+defiantly at the other, rather proud of his statement.</p>
+
+<p>His Excellency sneered.</p>
+
+<p>“The People defies Public Opinion, then,” he said,
+calmly.</p>
+
+<p>The Creole grew furious, but fought to control himself.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Très bien</i>, m’sieu!” leaning forward. “When
+Public Opinion, backed up by the ‘Left’—denounces—impeaches
+the Governor of Louisiana for neglect of
+duty—for <i>treason</i>, perhaps—which will prevail? The
+Governor, who refused to take steps for the protection
+of the citizens—or Public Opinion—the <i>People</i>?”</p>
+
+<p>For a breathless, charged moment the two glared
+at each other, both pale with excitement.</p>
+
+<p>Then, as suddenly self-possessed again, but speechless
+yet, Laurent Mercier bowed politely and before
+His Excellency could say a word to stop him, had
+turned on his heel and left the gubernatorial presence.</p>
+
+<h4>II</h4>
+
+<p>That very evening the Governor called a military
+council, and by nine o’clock every important military
+official in New Orleans was present, seated around the
+long conference table in the Mansion library. It is
+noteworthy that the assembly was in every respect
+military in character. Neither legislator nor landowner,
+banker nor merchant, was there.</p>
+
+<p>Claiborne came to the point immediately. In a few
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span>well-worded sentences he apprised his auditors of the
+letter and information sent him by Lafitte, but made no
+mention of Mercier’s visit, which, indeed, had forced
+him to take some action.</p>
+
+<p>“What does he definitely warn us of, Your Excellency?”
+asked Commodore Patterson, thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>“Lafitte claims that an attack in force is to be made
+on both New Orleans and Mobile. He offers us the
+services of himself and his men in their defense.”</p>
+
+<p>“How much, exactly, does that mean?” interrupted
+Colonel Forbes.</p>
+
+<p>“He claims to have a well-armed and trained force
+of over a thousand men,” answered the Governor,
+after referring to some papers. There was a general
+exclamation of surprise.</p>
+
+<p>“The army could use them,” said Forbes, reflectively.
+“They’re hardened fighters, all of them ...
+and dare-devils if there ever were any.”</p>
+
+<p>Commodore Patterson interrupted:</p>
+
+<p>“To my thinking, since they’re seamen first, they—”</p>
+
+<p>“Since they are Louisianians, and Creoles at that,”
+put in Major Borland, bridling, “it is most fitting that
+they join the militia.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not so fast, gentlemen,” interrupted the Governor.
+“We haven’t accepted his offer, as yet.” There
+followed a moment’s silence.</p>
+
+<p>“What does Lafitte want in return for this information,
+assuming that it is true?” demanded Patterson.</p>
+
+<p>“He asks that all proceedings against Grande Terre
+be abandoned, that amnesty be given himself and his
+followers; and that an act of oblivion be passed, by
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span>which their past deeds should be forgiven and forgotten.”</p>
+
+<p>“Fair enough,” said Colonel Forbes, brightening;
+“it’s—” Claiborne looked at him coldly. He subsided.</p>
+
+<p>“Personally,” announced His Excellency, “I believe
+that it is all merely a trick—a ruse whereby he can
+secure a pardon.”</p>
+
+<p>“Jove! but I believe Your Excellency is right!” exclaimed
+Patterson.</p>
+
+<p>“And so say I!” put in a Colonel Ross, who had
+hitherto listened in silence. “To quote General Jackson,
+these Baratarians are hellish banditti—and
+should be destroyed, root and branch!”</p>
+
+<p>“Then you doubt Lafitte’s sincerity?” said Claiborne.</p>
+
+<p>“Dammit, yes!” put in Patterson, testily. “In my
+opinion those inclosed letters you have, sir, are forgeries!”</p>
+
+<p>“Decidedly so!” said Colonel Forbes, sagely.</p>
+
+<p>“What man in Lafitte’s position,” demanded Major
+Borland, triumphantly, “would refuse a captaincy in
+the royal navy? It’s preposterous, and Lafitte’s a fool
+to try and make us think so! And His Excellency says
+the offer included thirty thousand dollars, in gold.
+That’s easily to be detected as a falsehood, aside from
+its absurdity. Why should the British—tried veterans—want
+the aid of these smugglers? No doubt
+they despise them for backwoodsmen. No, suh!
+<i>That’s</i> not like the British, and you know it, every one
+of you!”</p>
+
+<p>The company nodded affirmation. They all had had
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span>a close acquaintance with the British character, often
+to their cost.</p>
+
+<p>“Gentlemen,” said Commodore Patterson, gravely,
+“we know very well that the British would deem it
+beneath their dignity to deal with pirates—that they
+despise them. Shall it be said that we, too, condescended
+to treat with common smugglers—lawbreakers?”</p>
+
+<p>His Excellency nodded approval, but said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>“The only negotiations I want to carry on with
+Lafitte,” said Colonel Ross, hammering the table-top
+with his clenched fist, “are bullets!” There was a
+general chorus of affirmation to this pugnacious sentiment.</p>
+
+<p>“Therefore,” said the Governor, “we must hurry
+forward preparations to attack Grande Terre in force.
+If it were not for these French fools in the Legislature,
+I could have cleaned out that smugglers’ nest long
+ago. But they refused me money. Most of them are
+secretly connected with the Lafittes, or I miss my
+guess!”</p>
+
+<p>The others assented warmly.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course there is no possibility of the British
+really attacking New Orleans ...” ventured Forbes,
+half-heartedly. He was speedily convinced of the impossibility
+of such a contingency by a well-controlled
+shout of laughter, led by the Governor, himself.</p>
+
+<p>“We shall meet with some opposition,” said Claiborne,
+after a while, “so we must make haste, and
+work as secretly as possible. Commodore Patterson
+will command the expedition, of course. It will be
+best, I think, to make a surprise attack—”</p>
+
+<p>“There’ll be loot and to spare, take my word for
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span>it!” broke in Ross. The whole company involuntarily
+stiffened, as if reminded of something that had lain
+dormant in their brains, but which had not been
+allowed to awaken.</p>
+
+<p>Claiborne laughed unpleasantly.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, gentlemen, there will no doubt be loot in
+plenty ... but as for me, I want Jean Lafitte, dead
+or alive! Remember that, Commodore!”</p>
+
+<p>“Most decidedly so!” put in Colonel Forbes, sagely.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_20"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Twentieth</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>How a Friend Arrives at Grande Terre, Who Proves to Be
+an Enemy</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<h4>I</h4>
+
+<p class="dropcap">The man who had fought with John Paul Jones
+spat dexterously through the open French
+window.</p>
+
+<p>“We gan depend on Mercier, <i>bosse</i>, if only—”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course we can,” Lafitte answered, impatiently,
+“but we can’t depend on what that fool of a Governor
+will do. After all, Mercier can’t control <i>his</i> actions.”</p>
+
+<p>Dominique You pulled on his villainous-looking pipe
+with great enjoyment.</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe nod, but dat Claiborne cannot help seeing
+dat w’at we say is true. He simply muz b’lieve us!”</p>
+
+<p>“Then why the devil doesn’t he send an answer?”
+demanded Lafitte. “It’s almost a fortnight since I
+sent him those papers and the letter, and yet I haven’t
+had a word in reply.”</p>
+
+<p>“He must still be t’inking it over. You mus’ rememb’,
+<i>mon captaine</i>, dat he is a ver’ cautious man—and
+a fool!”</p>
+
+<p>“But this is a serious affair, Dominique. It’s a
+question of the public safety.”</p>
+
+<p>Again the veteran privateersman communed with
+his pipe before answering.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Très bien!</i> W’at do you care if he don’t accept?
+You did youah duty, <i>bosse</i> ... dat is enough for you
+to worree ’boud.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span></p>
+
+<p>Lafitte made a gesture of impatience.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t you remember what Captain Lockyer said?”
+he demanded. “What he threatened to do in the
+event of our refusal?”</p>
+
+<p>Dominique You abruptly removed his pipe from his
+lips.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Morbleu!</i> I had forgotten!”</p>
+
+<p>“He promised to return with a fleet ... destroy
+our settlement and hang us all, if you’ll remember—”</p>
+
+<p>Apparently the Creole remembered.</p>
+
+<p>“—And I believe him,” eloquently.</p>
+
+<p>“De <i>bosse</i> is nod afraid of dat puff-bag?” with surprise.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t be foolish, Dominique. You know that the
+British could blow us out of the water if they had a
+mind to. And I am inclined to believe they will have
+a mind to.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you weel refuse?” with a curious side-glance.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course! You don’t think I’m a damned turn-coat,
+do you? I’ve thrown in my lot with the Americans,
+and with them I’ll stay, whether I’m welcome or
+not. Just because there’s a conceited fool in the seat
+of authority, who is our enemy, is no reason why I
+should not help the people he represents. I shall stick
+to my friends!”</p>
+
+<p>“And when Lockyer returns?” suggested Dominique
+You.</p>
+
+<p>“I shall tell him my decision, and then be damned to
+him! A man’s conscience is his own. But Jean Lafitte
+isn’t ready to be hung out of hand, yet. If necessary,
+we’ll fight. At the worst, our men could escape to the
+mainland and hide in the swamps, but I don’t think it
+will come to that. I think that I can persuade them
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span>to keep their unwelcome attentions to themselves.”
+He smiled reflectively.</p>
+
+<p>“W’at do you mean?” the Creole asked, all interest.</p>
+
+<p>“We shall merely make Captain Lockyer’s neck responsible
+for mine,” he said, and chuckled at the
+other’s expression. “We’ll just keep Lockyer and his
+officers here as hostages for the duration of the war,
+and inform Colonel Nichols at Pensacola that they will
+be well treated, but that their lives will be forfeit for
+ours. They’ll believe us, never fear. We’re only
+pirates, you see.” He laughed again.</p>
+
+<p>Before Dominique You could answer, however,
+there came an interruption. The door of Lafitte’s
+sanctum flew open, admitting an obviously excited
+Baratarian. Hardly waiting to touch his forelock,
+man-o’-war fashion, he broke his news.</p>
+
+<p>“Dere is a wahsheep in de pass, <i>mon capitaine</i>!”</p>
+
+<p>His two auditors rose hurriedly to their feet.</p>
+
+<p>“It is <i>un Americain, bosse</i>!” added the newcomer,
+breathlessly.</p>
+
+<p>Jean and his followers glanced at each other and
+smiled. A curious coincidence, this. And a welcome.</p>
+
+<p>Without another word the trio hurriedly made for
+the beach where they found all confusion. A milling
+throng was massed at the water’s edge, awaiting the
+arrival of their new allies; it could be seen that the
+Baratarians—to all appearances—were by no means
+sorry to make peace with the government.</p>
+
+<p>At Lafitte’s approach, a path through the dense
+crowd magically appeared, and he eagerly looked
+toward the pass connecting sea and bay. There, a
+quarter-mile away, a frigate, fullrigged, her snowy
+canvas bellied out by the wind, was entering Barataria
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span>Bay. From her masthead hung the American flag, its
+thirteen red stripes, with its ring of stars on a blue
+background, adding a colorful note.</p>
+
+<p>And from every port on the larboard, or port, side,
+peered the wicked black mouths of cannon. Dominique
+turned to Lafitte thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you notice de guns, <i>bosse</i>?”</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“Dey mus’ t’ink dat de Britishers are here,” ventured
+the Creole, “and wish to impress dem.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s more likely that they wish to impress <i>us</i>,”
+answered Jean, dryly, then grasped the other’s arm.
+“Do you see that, behind the frigate? It’s another
+ship—two—three!”</p>
+
+<p>A babel of excited comment arose, its contagion
+sweeping the throng. Apparently, a considerable
+fleet had come to Grande Terre. By now the frigate
+was well within the harbor, and her decks could be
+seen to be crowded. A second ship was entering the
+bay and others were bearing up into the wind and
+tacking about in the attempt to maneuver their way
+into the narrow pass. Had this been a hostile fleet,
+it would never have gotten this far, for the narrowness
+and difficulty of navigation made it an ideal spot
+for defense against enemies by sea. But suppose this
+fleet were unfriendly?</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps thoughts like these were annoying Lafitte
+and his lieutenant, for both of them wore an air of uneasiness.
+As the second newcomer entered the bay,
+Lafitte gave Dominique a whispered order. A few
+moments later the latter and a file of men were hurrying
+back to the Manor.</p>
+
+<p>Jean turned a worried look seaward. If these ships
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>should happen to be inimical, they could have Grande
+Terre at their mercy. Yet it was impossible that
+Claiborne could prove so base....</p>
+
+<p>But a sudden silence had fallen on the crowd—a
+silence so accentuated as to be felt. Premonitions of
+impending danger were besieging more than one, but
+the majority were merely apprehensive. Weapons and
+scowls began to appear simultaneously. Angry murmurs
+began to sweep the beach, leaping from group to
+group.</p>
+
+<p>Of a sudden—so suddenly as to be breath-taking—the
+unbelievable happened.</p>
+
+<p>With a detonating crash and roar, the frigate fired
+a broadside; the balls passing slightly over the heads
+of the Baratarians, to bury themselves in clouds of
+dust in the village square.</p>
+
+<p>For a brief moment there was a stunned silence.
+The shock of the act—the utter unexpectedness—had
+turned the crowd to stone. But only for a moment.
+That pregnant space of time passed, and pandemonium
+reigned.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Tracasserie!</i>”</p>
+
+<p>The cry raced from lip to lip ... “treachery” indeed!
+Black treachery—heinous treachery!—unforgivable
+treachery! If the warship had intended to
+inspire fear, it had accomplished the reverse. Rage,
+royal rage, and righteous anger were there instead.</p>
+
+<p>A second broadside followed the first with more
+disastrous effect, for a man on the outskirts of the
+crowd was killed. The colony of Grande Terre was
+now thoroughly alarmed.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Aux armes!</i>”</p>
+
+<p>“To arms,” by all means! Although the Baratarians
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span>were caught like rats in a trap, they were by no
+means cowed. Not they!</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Aux armes!</i>”</p>
+
+<p>By now the guns of Bordeaux Manor were answering,
+and they were voicing their defiance well, for their
+first volleys found their target. Not for nothing did
+these dare-devil privateersmen have the name of expert
+gunners. The second warship now joined the
+battle. The harbor seemed to be one vast cloud of
+smoke, with intermittent flashes of fire now and again
+piercing the haze. Many of the smugglers’ vessels
+were doing their share by way of retaliation, while
+boats of every description scurried across the bay, making
+for the safety of the mainland. But many more
+remained on Grande Terre, resolved to make a last
+desperate stand.</p>
+
+<p>In a scant ten minutes, it seemed, the village itself
+was a smoking, flaming ruin. Yells of pain and fright
+came from the slave stockade, where the black ivory,
+trapped in the strong inclosure, were being maimed
+and killed by the falling balls of iron. But even their
+terrible shrieks but added its mite to the general
+uproar.</p>
+
+<p>Under cover of the fire of their guns, boat-loads of
+soldiers were being landed, sent to try to save the
+burning warehouses, if possible. But to their surprise,
+the village was still occupied, and a fierce hand-to-hand
+battle ensued.</p>
+
+<p>Smoke—fire—yells—screams—curses—obscenities—explosions;
+muskets—pistols—bayonets—swords—dirks—knives ... implements
+of destruction, all, and all in use.</p>
+
+<p>Here a group of soldiers beat frantically at the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span>flames; there another group fought like wolves ...
+wounded, dying, dead ... dim apparitions appearing
+and disappearing in the red haze; there a group of
+demons in red shirts, slashing, cutting, and firing, held
+at bay twice their number. It was a scene worthy of
+perpetuation—worthy of the inspired brush of a
+master.</p>
+
+<p>But every moment reinforcements were arriving
+from the fleet ... and as quickly the islanders were
+slipping away to the mainland—to safety.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Lafitte, disheveled, powder-blackened, and
+bleeding from a scalp wound caused by a wild musket-ball,
+half ran, half stumbled, toward the one remaining
+serviceable gun on the Manor walls. Dominique You,
+his face gleaming with the unhallowed lust of battle,
+detached himself from its immediately surrounding
+murky haze, and ran to meet him.</p>
+
+<p>“What news?” cried Lafitte, gasping.</p>
+
+<p>The man who had fought with Paul Jones cursed expressively.
+His face was smoke-blackened.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Tout est pris!...</i> All, all is taken! De guns
+are disabled ... dey are landing more men....”</p>
+
+<p>“I know ... I know! Get the men together....
+We must make a charge ... we must get through
+them!...”</p>
+
+<p>Dominique laughed, but his expression was horrible
+to see.</p>
+
+<p>“De men are leaving, on all sides. <i>Ma foi!</i> Dat is
+w’at we mus’ do, too!”</p>
+
+<p>“Never! Let the <i>canaille</i> flee for their lives, if
+they will. Jean Lafitte stays here!”</p>
+
+<p>The old privateersman grasped his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t be a fool. We are beat’n ... beat’n! Do
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span>you want to go back to N’Awleens in chains? To be
+hung? Let’s escape through the secret passage to the
+mainland. The treasure is safe enough ... they’ll
+never find it. And don’t forget, <i>bosse</i>, dat you have
+a score to settle wid dat Claiborne!”</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Little Manchac and Barataria cursed
+fluently.... He possessed, it may as well be admitted,
+a truly ducal profanity vocabulary—a vocabulary
+with the saving grace of originality.</p>
+
+<p>But passion soon gave way to reason.</p>
+
+<p>“You are right! We will go.... Pass the word!”</p>
+
+<p>Then, while Dominique You yelled an order, and
+then sped away to the banquet hall to open the secret
+passage, Jean Lafitte sprang to the carriage of the last
+gun and, pushing aside a grizzled gunner, himself applied
+the match....</p>
+
+<h4>II</h4>
+
+<p>“One more salute,” ordered Captain Lockyer, “and
+then be damned to ’em!”</p>
+
+<p>Touching his forelock obediently, the sailor hurried
+away. The captain, his usual ruddy color greatly accentuated
+by what was apparently anger, put his
+glass to his eye and returned to a study of the land
+which lay off the starboard bow of H.M.S. <i>Sophia</i>.
+For a long minute there was silence, neither of his two
+companions, junior naval officers, daring to interrupt
+him.</p>
+
+<p>The frigate, against whose side the lazy waves beat
+the minor melodies of the cerulean sea, lay at anchor,
+perhaps a half mile from the shore. Directly opposite
+the length of the ship, a narrow, twisting, but navigable
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span>pass gave ingress to a small bay; but what was in
+the bay, if anything, could not be seen from without.</p>
+
+<p>With a roar that loosened a thousand echoes, a
+cannon on the frigate’s deck spoke, doubtless in response
+to the order of the ship’s commander. As the
+echoes died away, however, no sign of life could be
+seen anywhere in the vicinity of the pass.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Lockyer lowered his glass with a curse.</p>
+
+<p>“If I could only get my hands on that dog of a
+pirate!” he muttered. One of his subordinates, gathering
+courage, spoke up:</p>
+
+<p>“Couldn’t it be possible that no one’s there, sir?”</p>
+
+<p>The Britisher laughed scornfully.</p>
+
+<p>“Not there? He’s there well enough, but is too
+frightened to show himself. And I’m not surprised
+... he knows I’d hang him like a dog if I
+could only catch him!” He growled in his beard. “It’s
+been forty-eight hours since we’ve been hanging around
+here, not daring to stick our nose in, for fear they’d
+blow us out of the water if we did. And that’s just what
+they want us to do! I can swear there’s at least twenty
+heavy guns trained on the other end of that channel.
+But I’m not so easily fooled as that!” He breathed
+heavily and glared shoreward over the rail.</p>
+
+<p>“But might I not suggest, again, sir,” said the first
+junior officer, “that it might have been wise to have
+sent a boat in to reconnoitre? At least you could
+have—”</p>
+
+<p>“You have much to learn, Lieutenant!” said Lockyer,
+coldly. “That would be playing right into their
+hands. If I had sent in a boat, it would never have
+returned. But there’s no use staying here any longer.
+It won’t be long before we come back—in force—and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span>when we do ... when we do....” His voice trailed
+off menacingly, into nothingness....</p>
+
+<p>Half an hour later Captain Lockyer, still pacing his
+deck, watched Grande Terre, covering but a tiny segment
+of the horizon and dim and dreamy in the blue
+perspective, disappear from sight behind the level disk
+of the sea.</p>
+
+<p>And Captain Lockyer of H.M.S. <i>Sophia</i> grimly
+promised himself that he had not seen the last of
+it ... which, however, remained to be seen.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_21"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Twenty-First</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>In Which “The Hellish Bandit” Makes an Offer and “Old Hickory”
+Makes an Answer</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<h4>I</h4>
+
+<p class="dropcap">The Honorable Mercier swore softly.</p>
+
+<p>“That General Jackson of yours is a fool ...
+a stubborn fool!” he cried, beating the table with his
+fist for emphasis.</p>
+
+<p>John Grymes did not answer for a moment, a deep
+frown on his forehead. The two, the former district
+attorney and the Creole legislator, were closeted in the
+library of the Grymes residence.</p>
+
+<p>“I have just come from Mobile,” Mercier continued,
+“and I might as well have not made the trip.
+Jackson is a second Claiborne ... one is as unreasonable
+as the other!”</p>
+
+<p>Grymes raised his hand tentatively.</p>
+
+<p>“Pardon me, Mercier, but why did you go to him in
+the first place? I confess I’m rather at sea.”</p>
+
+<p>The other looked at his companion in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>“You do not know,” he asked, “that I was sent by
+Lafitte?”</p>
+
+<p>Grymes nodded his head in negation.</p>
+
+<p>“That would be the last thing I would have suspected.
+Lafitte is a fool to have repeated his offer—as
+I presume he did”—Mercier nodded in his turn—“after
+the general’s last proclamation. He should
+have let well enough alone, suh. He has more than
+proved his patriotism.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span></p>
+
+<p>“<i>Sans doute.</i> But what is this about Jackson’s last
+proclamation?”</p>
+
+<p>“Haven’t you heard? He recently issued a savage
+manifesto denouncing the British for their unusual
+methods of making war and among the sins he mentioned
+none seemed to him quite so bad as that of their
+attempt to employ against the Americans the band of
+pirates, or ‘hellish banditti,’ as he called them, led by
+Jean Lafitte. Indeed, his phrase has become famous
+in these last few days. ‘Hellish banditti’!”</p>
+
+<p>The state senator nodded gloomily.</p>
+
+<p>“But why in the world do the authorities persist in
+rebuffing the Baratarians? It has been proven that
+their offer was sincere.”</p>
+
+<p>Grymes shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>“Precisely. Let’s see, it’s December now, just three
+months since Lafitte gave his first warning. The British
+fleet is expected to enter the river any day. And
+still they refuse to accept!”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s that damned Claiborne who’s behind all this,
+in my opinion,” said Mercier, hotly. “Remember how
+he resented yours, and Livingston’s, activities at the
+time? <i>Le bon Dieu</i> knows that we need every fighting
+man that we can get ... and yet Jackson refuses!
+There are at least twelve thousand Britishers at Pensacola;
+our army is a mere handful, in comparison. I
+don’t mean to disparage our people, for their bravery
+has been well proved time and again, but, I repeat,
+what chance have we against the British?”</p>
+
+<p>Grymes nodded assent.</p>
+
+<p>“What will you do now?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Go back to Lafitte.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where is he?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Still at the Bayou St. John.”</p>
+
+<p>“Have you been there yet?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. Lafitte sent for me several weeks ago.”</p>
+
+<p>(A smuggler had “sent for” a state senator—and
+had been obeyed. Strange times, these, when a “hellish
+bandit” wielded such influence over men of prominence!)</p>
+
+<p>“Most of his old associates and followers are also
+there,” continued Mercier. “When Patterson treacherously
+captured Grande Terre, he made a number of
+prisoners, but the majority escaped to the mainland,
+where they are encamped with their leader on the St.
+John. Patterson and Ross brought back a vast amount
+of loot in triumph to New Orleans, but Lafitte tells
+me that his principal treasure chests were not found
+... are still hidden. The Governor did succeed in
+breaking up the smuggling activities for a while, I
+admit, for nowadays business is at a standstill. But
+he certainly failed to break up Lafitte’s band, for they
+are as strong as ever, and still together, which is far
+more important.”</p>
+
+<p>“Wait until Jackson comes to New Orleans. When
+he sees the real state of affairs here ... the utter
+lack of any kind of defense ... he will be only too
+glad to accept.”</p>
+
+<p>“I doubt it!” with a grimace.</p>
+
+<p>“Why? He won’t be able to refuse, once here. What
+defenses we have now aren’t worth a picayune when
+compared with the armament that may confidently be
+expected to be brought to bear on us. So far, our only
+hope is in Jackson, for if New Orleans falls, the British
+will have the whole state at their mercy. And if
+they once get a foothold in the Mississippi Valley,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span>they will sweep it clean ... make of it a greater
+desert than they made of Spain in the Napoleonic
+wars! Given time and proper action, the Western
+states alone could pour down a hundred thousand men
+to repel invasion. And that is what will happen if the
+British do get a foothold in the Valley. But by that
+time it will be too late, for our own fields, our crops,
+will be turned to ashes, and our homes as well. As
+for our lives and liberties, no more need be said. The
+British are smarting already with the few defeats
+they’ve met ... and surely haven’t forgotten ’Seventy-six.
+We can rely on them to make existence interesting
+for us once they get the upper hand!”</p>
+
+<p>Mercier nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>C’est vrai!</i> The whole future of the Mississippi
+Valley ... perhaps of the entire nation ... depends
+on the defense of New Orleans. And this means
+that it depends on Jackson ... and <i>us</i>.</p>
+
+<p>“One benefit that this crisis has brought about, <i>mon
+ami</i>, is the final disappearance of class and race prejudice
+between my people and yours. And I am glad!
+From now on we Creoles are Americans and naught
+else! You know of the various attitudes that have
+been taken by one class or another since the purchase
+of Louisiana from Bonaparte. Now all is changed.
+We are a common people, fighting for a common
+cause! Louisianians—Americans, you shall see that
+we can fight as well as any other man in the defense
+of our country ... for it is our country!” The
+Frenchman, rising to his feet, began to stride excitedly
+back and forth.</p>
+
+<p>“Think—think, man! Of what we have lived, and
+are living to see! We have seen the rise and fall of a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span>great empire—and a far more wondrous miracle still—the
+birth of a great nation—of two! For not only did
+the world witness the birth of America, but also that
+of France. <i>Ma patrie malheureuse!</i> She has suffered
+even more than America. Your country’s birth was
+astounding enough—epochal, true! But the spirit of
+America was in a new race—a new form of human
+life on the globe. New blood; hardy, independent,
+liberty-loving! New stock—new human material—new
+ideals!</p>
+
+<p>“But <i>ma pauvre France</i>!—what of her? Hers was
+a different birth. The pregnancy of France was one
+of the most terrible in history ... feudal oppression—religious
+oppression—moral oppression! ... the
+same monotonous oppression that had beaten down
+the spirit of our fathers and forefathers. America,
+at least, has no history of countless years of suffering
+behind her ... her people’s souls are not seared
+with the mark of hereditary shame and insult. Her
+oppression, in proportion to ours, was comparatively
+non-existent. But it was given to America to pave the
+way for our freedom ... for the freedom of the
+world, perhaps. For that we Frenchmen are grateful.</p>
+
+<p>“The rebirth of France was one of blood and terror,
+misery and anarchy. America, for all her sufferings,
+never experienced such an agony of body and soul as
+did France! Nor ever will, please God! But Frenchmen
+and Americans, above all other nationalities,
+should be as brothers ... and will be, I hope, until
+the end of time. We Americans have not forgotten
+young Lafayette, nor the sympathetic ideals he stood
+for ... nor have we Frenchmen forgotten Benjamin
+Franklin—nor Paul Jones! They are a bond between
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span>us—and may the future bring us many more such
+bonds!</p>
+
+<p>“Did I say ‘we Americans’? I did. And meant it,
+Mr. Grymes!</p>
+
+<p>“We Creoles are both American and French. American
+by birth, adoption, environment ... French by
+ancestry, custom, religion, and culture. But America
+is our adopted country, and so it is sure to remain.
+And we will prove our Americanism, beyond doubt, in
+the next few days ... perhaps sooner. If the tide
+goes against us, then at least we shall have had the
+consciousness that we die side by side—brothers all—facing
+our enemies. Ours—the Frenchman’s—for
+countless centuries past.... Yours—the American’s—by
+reason of the very cause of your birth!”</p>
+
+<p>For a moment after Mercier stopped, the Virginian
+was silent, his silence a tribute in itself to the Creole’s
+eloquent outburst. He knew that the other’s impassioned
+words were not mere cant—patriotic mouthings.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re right!” he said, reflectively. “But to return
+to our original topic, do you think it will be of any use
+to approach Jackson with a final plea? So much is at
+stake!”</p>
+
+<p>“I doubt it! The general told me that the only
+thing he’d have to do with Lafitte ... I’ll quote his
+words ... would be ‘to hang the hellish bandit’!
+From what I’ve seen of him I hardly think he is the
+type to change his mind, except under the strongest
+provocation! It’s useless!”</p>
+
+<p>“‘Hang the hellish bandit!’”</p>
+
+<p>Grymes stared at the floor thoughtfully. What
+<i>would</i> the future bring?</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span></p>
+
+<h4>II</h4>
+
+<p>Colonel Ross, spick and span in his full regimentals—skin-tight
+leather trousers, full-skirted blue coat,
+shining boots, gaudy epaulets, cocked hat, and clanking
+sword, stepped briskly along the sidewalk near the
+long white picketed fence bordering the house known
+simply as “Headquarters” and turned in at the little
+gate.</p>
+
+<p>The official New Orleans residence of Major-General
+Andrew Jackson was a long, one-and-a-half-story
+cottage in a big garden with its side to the street. One
+chimney alone stood in the exact center of the sloping
+roof, the lower portion of which sloped down far
+enough to also roof the long, low porch that ran the
+length of the house. Near the gate grew a large
+willow, of a size that enabled it to shade both house
+and garden.</p>
+
+<p>Greeting acquaintances right and left, the colonel
+ascended the steps, crossed the piazza, and entered the
+wide front door, with its hospitable fanlight above; a
+few moments later he was admitted into the Presence.</p>
+
+<p>Andrew Jackson, thin, querulous-looking, with piercing
+dark eyes and abundant wavy locks, was clad in a
+uniform almost the counterpart of the colonel’s, with
+the addition of the insignia of his rank and a startling
+amount of gold lace.</p>
+
+<p>The general had dark circles under his slightly
+sunken eyes, which looked up peevishly at the newcomer.</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Ross, nothing daunted, saluted smartly
+and at once plunged into his business. Evidently he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span>was giving a report which he had been instructed to
+bring. Jackson listened attentively.</p>
+
+<p>“Will you repeat the gist of that, please?” he asked,
+at the recital’s end. Slowly, carefully, Ross did so.
+Through the open window could be heard the loud
+hum of many voices in the front of the house.</p>
+
+<p>“In other words,” said the general, in a heavy voice,
+“we have little to expect here. The defenses are almost
+negligible.”</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Ross flushed.</p>
+
+<p>“You may count on every man in New Orleans capable
+of bearing arms, sir. The planters, merchants,
+bankers, lawyers ... all ... have volunteered for
+service. Creole volunteers are daily coming in by the
+hundred from the near-by parishes and plantations
+... in every imaginable kind of uniform and with all
+kinds of weapons. Then we have a company of
+colored freedmen, and another company of negro refugees
+from Santo Domingo, men who sided with
+the whites during their revolution. Even the
+prisoners in the calaboose will be provided with weapons
+and released. As you can see, sir, New Orleans
+is doing her best.”</p>
+
+<p>General Jackson nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“So I see. But what can these untrained men do
+against the veteran legions of the British?”</p>
+
+<p>“Fight for their lives, sir!” snapped the other.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment the general did not answer, but his
+eyes twinkled. When he responded, however, his
+voice was more friendly.</p>
+
+<p>“You are right, Colonel!” he exclaimed, honestly,
+“I beg your pardon! But we are in desperate straits,
+I am just beginning to realize it. I had no idea of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span>the terrible conditions here. I see we must really depend
+on outside help. Hinds arrived this morning
+from Mississippi with a troop of cavalry”—Colonel
+Ross nodded—“and I have just a few minutes ago received
+a courier who says that General Coffee will be
+here in a few hours with his brigade—”</p>
+
+<p>“The ‘Dirty Shirts’!” exclaimed Ross. Everyone
+knew of that famous band of frontiersmen from the
+forests of Kentucky and Tennessee.</p>
+
+<p>“The same!” said Jackson, smiling. “And they
+are wonders. After a journey of eight hundred miles
+through the wilderness, they will cover—are covering,
+according to the courier—the one hundred and fifty
+miles from Baton Rouge to New Orleans, in two
+days!” Jackson could not forbear chuckling at the
+colonel’s look of astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>“Added to these,” he continued, “we have a thousand
+raw militiamen, brought down the river on barges
+and flatboats; and a hundred Choctaw Indians in war
+paint and feathers!” He smiled sardonically.
+“What a magnificent army with which to face the
+British!” he added.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly, as he finished speaking, the two became
+aware of a strange cessation of the buzz of voices
+without. Undoubtedly something of moment was taking
+place. For a brief space the general and the
+colonel looked at each other in a mild surprise and
+wonder. Then, before either had the opportunity to
+speak, they heard the challenge of the sentry outside
+the door.</p>
+
+<p>A moment later the door opened and an orderly
+appeared. His face wore an air of suppressed excitement.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span></p>
+
+<p>“What is it?” demanded Jackson, with asperity.</p>
+
+<p>“A gentleman to see you, sir ...” he faltered, uneasily.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, show him in then!” snapped the general,
+motioning Ross to be seated. Jackson well knew that
+only a very important personage could have gained
+access to him at this moment.</p>
+
+<p>The orderly turned and beckoned to some one without.</p>
+
+<p>“Mister Jean Lafitte!” he announced, dispassionately.</p>
+
+<p>And a moment later the Baratarian crossed the
+threshold.</p>
+
+<h4>III</h4>
+
+<p>Clad in a full-skirted bottle-green coat, cocked hat,
+white leather trousers, and polished Hessian boots,
+the Frenchman presented a gallant figure. He wore
+no sword, but carried a sword-cane.</p>
+
+<p>The general stared at him in astonished fascination.
+Ross appeared to be seeing a ghost. Lafitte bowed,
+and spoke first.</p>
+
+<p>“General,” he remarked, pleasantly, “you may possibly
+have heard of me. My name is Jean Lafitte.”</p>
+
+<p>Jackson suddenly came to life, his face red with
+anger.</p>
+
+<p>“What the devil do you mean, sir,” he exploded,
+“by coming into my presence so brazenly? Don’t
+you know—”</p>
+
+<p>Jean bowed courteously.</p>
+
+<p>“I trust you will pardon my intrusion, sir, at such
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span>a time,” he said, with deep regret apparent in his
+voice, “but I felt it my duty to my country to come.”</p>
+
+<p>“Duty? How dare you mention duty and your
+country in the same breath! You have overreached
+yourself this time, you damned pirate....” He
+proceeded to overwhelm the Baratarian with abuse
+until he was exhausted by his efforts. It was a noteworthy
+fact, however, that he did not call the sentry
+to arrest his audacious visitor.</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte stood silent, coldly aloof, his face only
+showing courteous interest. Indeed, he appeared
+slightly bored.... Colonel Ross looked at him with
+admiration, forced to pay tribute to his aplomb.</p>
+
+<p>When the storm had somewhat subsided, Lafitte
+spoke.</p>
+
+<p>“Pardon my interrupting you, General, but I came
+here to speak to you, and I mean to do it if you order
+me hung in five minutes.” Jackson quieted down and
+stared at Lafitte balefully. The Baratarian continued:</p>
+
+<p>“I am a lawbreaker, I candidly admit, and have no
+defense to make. That matter does not touch our
+business in any way. If you will remember, General,
+I was approached by the British government with a
+most flattering offer, of which I need not go into detail,
+for my aid in their expected invasion, and, incidentally,
+was threatened with death if I eventually refused.
+As you know, I refused; and not only did that,
+but warned the authorities of the attack on New
+Orleans that is planned, and even furnished them with
+important papers given me by Captain Lockyer.</p>
+
+<p>“That alone, sir, is an impregnable proof of my
+patriotism and love of my adopted country, for which,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span>if I may say so, I should have been thanked. But,
+on the contrary, as a reward for my good intentions
+and information, which last has since been proved to
+be perfectly accurate, the authorities sent a fleet to
+Grande Terre ... utterly destroyed our homes ...
+looted our warehouses, and killed many of our men,
+and more of the ‘black ivory.’ Many of those taken
+prisoners have since been hung. I and my friends
+were forced to flee for our lives and hide for several
+months in the swamps.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>That</i> is the kind of thanks I got for warning the
+authorities of the great danger which still threatens
+New Orleans ... and <i>that</i> was the reward I got for
+offering to risk our lives in the defense of this city!
+All we asked in return was a pardon for our past misdeeds
+and a chance to reform and become law-abiding
+citizens.” Lafitte drew himself up proudly.</p>
+
+<p>“I ask you, General Jackson, before God Himself,
+is that justice—or is that honor?” he thundered. For
+the moment their rôles were reversed.</p>
+
+<p>Jackson was silent, and stared hard at the speaker....
+All the anger had left his face. Ross watched
+the Baratarian in fascination.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>But</i>, notwithstanding,” went on Jean, “the destruction
+of our homes and the murder of our comrades—we
+still repeatedly offered our services, the love
+of our country overcoming our personal animosity.
+You repeatedly refused. Therefore, for the last
+time, General, we renew our offer. I have come to
+you myself, this time, well aware of the fact that you
+will, in all probability, imprison me, or perhaps even
+hang me outright. But I have taken a chance, well
+knowing the actual need for my help, to speak frankly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span></p>
+
+<p>“General, I have at my command a body of brave,
+well-armed, and highly disciplined men who have been
+trained to fight ... and are more than willing to do
+so. The decision rests with you....</p>
+
+<p>“Does the state care to accept their services ...
+or <i>does it not</i>?”</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte folded his arms and stared Jackson in the
+eye. For a moment their gazes held ... and then
+the general suddenly drooped his chin on his chest,
+looking down, thinking hard. There was a long
+pause.</p>
+
+<p>Outside the window could be heard the renewed
+buzz of voices. Colonel Ross stirred restlessly, his
+eager gaze on his superior.</p>
+
+<p>Finally Andrew Jackson raised his head and slowly
+rose to his feet. He had decided.</p>
+
+<p>“The state accepts!” he replied, and held out his
+hand....</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_22"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Twenty-Second</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>Wherein the Pirate-Patriots Attain Glory, and Two of
+Their Number Seek Death</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<h4>I</h4>
+
+<p class="dropcap">“Where can I find Captain Lafitte?”</p>
+
+<p>The hurrying Creole with the antiquated
+musket on his shoulder slackened his pace for a
+moment.</p>
+
+<p>“De Baratarians? Dey are wit’ de Americans on
+de Rodriguez Canal, <i>m’sieu</i>, and on de redoubts neah
+de city.... <i>Capitaine</i> Lafitte is at de canal, I
+t’ink....”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Merci bien....</i>”</p>
+
+<p>With which word of thanks the rider was off, to
+disappear down the dusty road, and the old man with
+the older musket resumed his untiring trot toward
+New Orleans.</p>
+
+<p>The newcomer on horseback, having reached the
+fortifications on the canal, now slowly rode along its
+length, seeking Lafitte. He seemed to note with interest
+the grim-faced, raw-boned wilderness hunters
+he passed, who, distributed along the lines, made striking
+figures with their buckskin shirts, powder-horns, abnormally
+long rifles, and occasional—tomahawks! Interspersed
+with these were a few red-shirted Baratarians,
+personal followers of Lafitte. The main body
+of the pirate-patriots were stationed at the line of
+fortifications before the city, where even now the big
+guns were being placed into position.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span></p>
+
+<p>At last the rider reached the object of his search,
+who, a gallant figure in a resplendent uniform, was
+conversing with an officer of the frontiersmen.</p>
+
+<p>The rider dismounted. Lafitte turned.</p>
+
+<p>“Jean!”</p>
+
+<p>“Pierre!”</p>
+
+<p>They embraced, and then simultaneously fired a
+volley of questions. The frontiersman unobtrusively
+vanished.</p>
+
+<p>“How goes it in the city?” asked Jean, after a while.
+“Indeed, we’re about to retreat there, for we cannot
+hope to hold this place long—although we repulsed a
+night attack with great success. What’s news?”</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Dominique brightened.</p>
+
+<p>“New Orleans is swarming ... excitement everywhere.
+The women and girls have organized a hospital.
+<i>Le bon Dieu</i> knows we’ll need it! We’re expecting
+the British to attack in force any day....”
+He paused. “By the way, Jean, I saw Virginia
+Grymes—”</p>
+
+<p>Jean stiffened, his jaw tightening. Pierre went on,
+unnoticing.</p>
+
+<p>“—down at their hospital. She was dressed in
+white and looked like an angel ... an adorable
+angel!”</p>
+
+<p>The other looked away, suddenly interested in the
+landscape, but his heart was all aflutter, nevertheless.
+It had been over two years, now, since he had last
+spoken to her at Grande Terre, and though he had
+avoided her since, he had found it impossible to forget
+her. He knew that he still loved her as he loved
+life itself. But pride—and circumstance—or both—had
+kept him from going to her in the endeavor to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span>patch up the old quarrel.... Then two years since
+his conscience had told him the price was too great a
+one to pay for happiness. But now that he at last
+was free to go to her, a lawbreaker no longer, but a
+respected patriot, he felt a strange reluctance. He
+sighed.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Dominique continued, his next words well
+calculated to cause Jean more mental unrest.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you know, Jean ... that if I come out of
+this—out ... of ... you know what I mean” ...
+Jean nodded, gravely ... “alive I’m going to
+marry Virginia, if she’ll have me. I’ve intended to
+speak to you about this for a long time ... but never
+had the opportunity.”</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte turned his face away again; and still his
+brother noticed it not, but went on speaking, ignorant
+of the mental torture he was causing the other.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course, Jean, I’m not really worthy of her ...
+she’s above me in every way. But I love her—oh,
+how I love her! If she refuses me ... I ... I
+... I ... don’t know what I’ll do!” he burst out
+suddenly, and his face wore a strange look ... a
+look foreign to it. Then, as if ashamed of his little
+outburst, he smiled weakly, and impulsively put his
+hand on his brother’s arm.</p>
+
+<p>“I know, Jean, that I have always been pretty much
+of a philanderer ... a trifler. I cared for all
+women ... and none of them. And I have always
+thought—expected—that I would live and die a
+bachelor. But now ... all is changed. Love, the
+real thing, has come to me ... and I feel that I can’t
+live without her! Oh, <i>mon frère</i>, love is a terrible
+thing ... and a wonderful thing! Both bitter and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span>sweet!” He sighed heavily at some half-forgotten
+recollection, and again turned to his brother.</p>
+
+<p>As for Jean, his whole being was in a tumult ...
+he felt as if he were on fire ... as if his bare soul
+were being laid on hot coals. Pierre drove the iron
+in deeper, still unwitting.</p>
+
+<p>“I realize now,” he added, in a low voice, “the
+sufferings you went through ... on Mauritius. I
+was blind, then, ignorant, although I, in my egotism,
+thought myself wise in the ways of woman-kind—of
+love. Poor fool that I was, <i>I</i> tried to counsel you.”
+He paused a moment. “Do you know, Jean, that
+once—once, I thought <i>you</i> loved Virginia?” He
+laughed hollowly. He did not add that he had once
+thought that Virginia was interested in Jean; he could
+not help remembering De Moulin’s words on that
+memorable day of his own arrest.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Jean did not answer ... he could
+not. Desperately he fought for control of himself,
+trying to keep the words from pouring from between
+his lips ... the words of jealousy, of rancor.
+Mightily he strove to hold in the deadly poison of
+hopeless despair that filled his soul. Suddenly he
+determined to learn the worst ... to face the true
+facts. If they were painful, he would accept the
+pain. In the game of love, all family ties drop away.</p>
+
+<p>He turned on his brother, in his turn, his face pale
+as death, his coal-black eyes dully alight, as he clutched
+Pierre’s shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>“Tell me ... Pierre.... No doubt you know” ...
+he asked, tensely, “does—Virg—does Miss
+Grymes love you?” The question was out. On
+Pierre’s answer, he dimly felt, rested his whole future....
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span>As a drowning man clutches at a straw, he
+mentally hugged to himself the memory of that one
+exquisite moment ... those kisses on the terrace of
+Bordeaux Manor. Those kisses—they seared his very
+brain!</p>
+
+<p>As for Pierre Dominique, he stared at his younger
+brother for a full moment while digesting the content
+of the question. And suddenly a light flashed through
+his brain ... and he <i>knew</i>! Following each other
+in quick succession came soul-disturbing thoughts—barbed
+arrows of jealousy.</p>
+
+<p>De Moulin’s jests—Jean’s strange withdrawal from
+society—the changed demeanor of Virginia during
+these last two years—her reserve—the unfathomable
+look that came to her eyes at the mention of Jean’s
+name! Fool that he was, not to have noticed before!</p>
+
+<p>Forgotten now were all blood ties—boyhood affections—fraternal
+loyalty. Pierre, in his turn, was now
+on the rack of jealousy. He knew, even now, that if
+he did marry Virginia he would still be jealous—would
+always remember that “something” between them. A
+wave of jealous rage swept over him that left him cold
+... and resolved. He nodded curtly, and when he
+spoke, could hardly recognize his own voice.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Jean, I <i>know</i> she loves me.” He paused,
+hesitated, and turned his head. “In fact ... you see,
+I’m <i>sure</i> of it!”</p>
+
+<p>Jean turned pale ... choked a sob ... and
+fiercely turned his head away. When he turned it
+again his eyes were glistening.</p>
+
+<p>“I wish you both the best of luck ... <i>mon frère</i>!”</p>
+
+<p>A quick pressure of the hand and he turned abruptly
+and walked away.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span></p>
+
+<p>Pierre Dominique stared after him ... looked at
+his hand ... stared again at the other’s retreating
+figure. He took an uncertain step forward—and
+stopped.</p>
+
+<p>“—the best of luck ... <i>mon frère</i>!”</p>
+
+<p>He sobbed aloud.</p>
+
+<h4>II</h4>
+
+<p>The last belated stars twinkled out of sight and
+there was that brief period of darkness that precedes
+the first flush of dawn. Although as yet invisible, the
+fields stretching out before the American lines ...
+that long line of earthworks; timber, sand-bags, fence
+rails, and cotton bales ... was sparkling with frost,
+for this, it must not be forgotten, was the 27th of
+December. And even the southern state of Louisiana
+has a bowing acquaintance with winter.</p>
+
+<p>At length the sun rose, dispelling the early-morning
+mists with an impatient hand, and revealing, to these
+equally impatient Americans, an amazing sight.
+There, not more than a half mile in front of the lines,
+in as perfect alignment as though on parade, was the
+British army, perhaps eight thousand strong, a blaze
+of scarlet. The contrast was indeed striking. On
+one side, the well-ordered legions of the British, aflush
+with all the pomp and panoply of war; on the other,
+the comparative handful of defenders intrenched behind—cotton
+bales. Even as the surprised Americans
+watched this awe-inspiring sight there was heard the
+silvery shrill of the British bugles, sounding the advance,
+and the muffled roar of the kettle-drums.</p>
+
+<p>As they marched within range of the American guns
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span>a loud explosion was heard, and a group of plantation
+buildings which masked Jackson’s front were blown up.
+Now it was the turn of the invaders to feel surprise,
+for they suddenly found themselves face to face with
+a row of ships’ cannon, which were manned as seldom
+guns are manned on land.</p>
+
+<p>Around each gun was clustered a crew of lean, fierce-faced
+men with red shirts and kerchiefs, caked with
+mud and sweat. Farther down the line was Captain
+Beluche, Lafitte’s second in command, the same man—by
+the way—who became in after years an admiral
+of Venezuela.</p>
+
+<p>The scarlet host steadily moved onward—and onward.</p>
+
+<p>But it was not until he could make out the brass
+buttons on the tunics of the advancing redcoats that
+Lafitte gave the command to fire. Then it was that
+the great guns of the pirate-patriots flashed and
+thundered, mowing down the ranks of the scarlet invaders
+as the sickle cuts the grain. On all sides men
+could be seen dropping, first by twos and threes, and
+then by dozens and scores.</p>
+
+<p>The bugles shrilly sounded the retreat, which was a
+rather useless proceeding, as the redcoats were already
+in sullen retreat....</p>
+
+<h4>III</h4>
+
+<p>’Twas New-Year’s Day....</p>
+
+<p>The sun, true to habit, rose again, but on an entirely
+different scene. In the short interval of three days
+many things had changed. Now, it could be seen, the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span>skillfully intrenched British had thirty heavy guns
+running parallel to the American front.</p>
+
+<p>But the Americans had not been idle, either, for
+additional batteries had been constructed, and Commodore
+Patterson, with wise forethought, had gone
+through the sailors’ boarding-houses in New Orleans
+with a fine-toothed comb, impressing every nautical-looking
+man on whom he could lay his hands to serve
+the guns, regardless of nationality, creed, color, or
+excuse.</p>
+
+<p>Behind the British breastworks were sheltered their
+storming columns, awaiting the moment when the inevitable
+breach would be made in the American lines,
+while their batteries opened the artillery duel with a
+crash that shook the skies.</p>
+
+<p>The Baratarians, on whom fell the brunt of the
+defense, trained their guns as carefully, and served
+them as coolly, as though they were fighting from the
+decks of their own dependable privateers.</p>
+
+<p>At the expiration of exactly an hour and a half the
+impatient British columns realized that they had
+waited in vain, for their batteries were silenced, their
+guns dismounted, and their parapets leveled with the
+plain.</p>
+
+<p>A band of buccaneers, reinforced by a few score
+American blue-jackets and volunteers, had decisively
+whipped the laureled veterans of Nelson and Wellington!
+And the conquerors of Napoleon’s Old Guard
+had been conquered, in turn, by a group of French
+Creoles. Poetic justice, indeed!</p>
+
+<p>On the morning of the 8th of January began the
+death struggle. By this time Jackson had received
+the long-expected reinforcements from Kentucky—twenty-five
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span>hundred strong—who had just arrived in
+a naked and half-starving condition, after a forced
+march of fifteen hundred miles from the Blue Ridge.
+These foot-sore, ragged, and hungry mountaineers
+were scattered along a three-mile front, one end of
+which extended so far into a swamp that the soldiers
+stood in water waist-deep by day, and slept on floating
+logs tied to trees by night.</p>
+
+<p>When the gray mists of early morning lifted, the
+scarlet columns could be seen advancing across the
+fields. The battle was on—and the fate of America
+hung in the balance.</p>
+
+<p>General Jackson, lantern-jawed, lean, and excited,
+reined up his horse at Dominique You’s battery. On
+all sides was excitement ... the fever of the battle
+was at its height. The man who had fought with
+Paul Jones, at sight of the general, made his way to
+him through the spasmodic clouds of smoke. His
+own battery was silent, strangely enough.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s this, Dominique?” demanded Jackson,
+testily. “Why have you stopped firing? What the
+devil do—”</p>
+
+<p>“Because the powder’s good foah not’in’!” snapped
+back the Baratarian, saluting. “It might do to shoot
+blackbirds wit’, bud nod dese dam’ redcoats!”</p>
+
+<p>“Tell the ordnance officer that I will have him shot
+as a traitor in five minutes if Dominique complains
+again of his powder!” ordered Jackson to an aide-de-camp,
+and continued his way down the lines; cheering,
+directing, exhorting. “Old Hickory” well lived up
+to his name that day!</p>
+
+<p>Although the battle had lasted but twenty minutes
+as yet, and was destined to last but five more, both of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[268]</span>the Lafittes were present in the thick of the fight; indeed,
+their courage and intrepidity were to become by-words
+for years to come. One could not but marvel
+at their magnificent contempt of danger, their reckless
+bravery.</p>
+
+<p>But there was one thing alone that none but themselves
+knew. No one, moreover, could be expected
+to know that these two brothers had resolved to die in
+this battle, and were courting death, each in his own
+way.</p>
+
+<p>Jean, ever since his talk with Pierre Dominique,
+perhaps a fortnight before, had lived as if in a daze.
+But one thought was uppermost in his mind—haunted
+him by day and by night—that Pierre loved Virginia—and
+that Virginia loved Pierre! Or so he believed.
+Ordinarily, shrewd and analytical that he was, he would
+have dispassionately and deliberately considered the
+situation, weighing and testing each of its multiple
+phases, but now, blinded and deafened by the emotions
+of love and jealousy, he did not for an instant doubt
+his brother’s veracity. All during these past two years
+the thought of Virginia Grymes, alone, had kept up
+his courage ... and he had gloried in the hope of
+some day seeking her again ... and of coming to an
+understanding. He had been sure—fool that he was—that
+she yet loved him. For rumor itself had never
+in all that time linked her name to that of any man’s.
+And then, that one divine moment of surrender—those
+kisses!</p>
+
+<p>Now, once more a respectable citizen of the United
+States, he was to have gone to her again—and claimed
+her. Nothing could induce him to believe that she
+had merely flirted with him, as she had told him.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[269]</span></p>
+
+<p>But Pierre’s lie had changed everything. There
+was nothing more to live for. For her love for him
+had been but a pretense ... she <i>had</i> but flirted with
+him. And he had not believed. Now he <i>knew</i>!</p>
+
+<p>Good Pierre Dominique! Honest Pierre! Life-long
+comrade, nearest relative, and dearest of friends!
+Doubt Pierre? Never! Dear old Pierre! <i>He</i>
+loved Virginia ... and Virginia—loved him! Why
+should he intrude his misery—his unhappiness, upon
+their happiness? If it had not been for—for what
+<i>had</i> taken place, there would have been no girl on earth
+whom he would so sincerely have recommended his
+brother to wed. Why should he selfishly feel jealousy?
+All was for the best. He was not worthy of the Virginian
+girl ... undoubtedly not! And Pierre Dominique
+<i>was</i> ... without doubt!</p>
+
+<p>Thus reasoning, Jean unselfishly had resolved to
+seek death.</p>
+
+<p>And Pierre, too, for an altogether different reason,
+was seeking death.</p>
+
+<p>He, also, had had his fortnight of mental torture
+... of jealous brooding and retrospection. Pierre
+Dominique, not quite as big-minded, or unselfish, as
+was his brother, had no thoughts of giving up his love
+to Jean, just to secure <i>his</i> happiness! He knew now
+that Jean loved Virginia; but that fact alone did not
+serve to inspire him with thoughts of renunciation.
+The fact that infuriated him was that he was reasonably
+certain now that Virginia loved Jean ... and
+that she was not destined for himself, whatever the
+outcome of the battle.</p>
+
+<p>Therefore, he, too, was seeking the death that ever
+eluded him. But both brothers were now discovering
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[270]</span>that death invariably side-steps from the path of men
+who eagerly seek to meet it.</p>
+
+<p>And now the battle was drawing to a close, and
+both Lafittes were yet alive ... and death still was—but
+was it?</p>
+
+<p>The ebb-tide of the battle had begun.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly but surely the shattered British regiments,
+demoralized by the sudden fall of their commander,
+Sir Edward Pakenham—who was even now dying behind
+their lines—and their own proud ranks fearfully
+depleted by the American fire, were losing ground,
+their morale gone.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Edward, on his deathbed, gave his last order.</p>
+
+<p>“Sound the charge!” he murmured. “We must
+take them by storm ... or all is lost! The honor
+of England is at stake.... Shall a handful of yokels
+take it from our keeping?”</p>
+
+<p>Close on the silvery message of the bugles ran
+the shouts of the officers. Encouragement—profanity—exhortation—curses—pleading.
+And cowed and
+discouraged as they were, the remainder of the crimson
+host, still far outnumbering their untrained opponents
+and still smarting with their injuries, listened to
+their officers and took courage once more—the courage
+of desperation. Individually infected with the
+enthusiasm of the mass, their fury self-whipped by
+thoughts of their humiliation, they responded with a
+deadly vim. The troops of England the invincible,
+England the all-conquering, were being defeated by a
+comparative “handful of yokels.” The veterans of
+Trafalgar, Waterloo, and the Nile, their divisions
+shattered, were in danger of ignominious extinction.</p>
+
+<p>With a universal shout of mingled hate and triumph
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[271]</span>the living red mass, still awe-inspiring in their numbers,
+charged at a run and swept across the field toward
+the American trenches, hell-bent into the very
+jaws of death.</p>
+
+<p>Although hundreds were momentarily falling before
+the Baratarians’ cannon fire, the majority rushed onward
+up the slope, in a desperate last-hope attempt to
+scale the intrenchment, and overpower the Americans
+in a hand-to-hand encounter, by sheer weight of
+numbers.</p>
+
+<p>As it happened, Jean Lafitte, commanding the Baratarians,
+was stationed in almost the exact center of
+the American lines, upon which was naturally directed
+the brunt of the British attack.</p>
+
+<p>Through the smoke he saw the British columns
+charging, ever onward, in spite of their continuous loss—driven
+through the rain of death by the magnificent
+courage of their indomitable officers. And he knew
+that in another moment the red line would reach his
+breastworks and, if unchecked, might sweep over by
+its sheer weight and perhaps yet turn the tide of
+battle.</p>
+
+<p>They must be checked, and at once. Everything
+was at stake!—everything!</p>
+
+<p>With Lafitte to think was to act, and in this case
+it seemed that the thought and action were simultaneous.
+By a freak of fate, at just this instant there was
+the briefest lull in the cannon fire, as sweating gunners
+feverishly reloaded ... and the enemy was
+halfway up the slope, their ranks torn and ragged—but
+still advancing!</p>
+
+<p>With a hoarse shout Jean sprang upon the crest
+of the earthworks, brandishing his sword with an
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[272]</span>unintentionally heroic gesture.... In the comparative
+stillness his full voice, ever powerful, rang out and
+swept up and down the lines with the clearness of a
+trumpet!</p>
+
+<p>“Baratarians, charge!”</p>
+
+<p>With a great shout that rose even above the crackle
+of musketry and the intermittent roar of the guns,
+the pirate-patriots surged over the earthworks, their
+muskets spitting death, and followed their beloved
+leader in a wild, glorious charge down the bloody
+slope.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Vive</i> Lafitte!”</p>
+
+<p>The battle cry rose simultaneously, spreading down
+the lines, as rank after rank of the Americans poured
+over and down, their guns now silent, but their bayonets
+flashing murderously as they charged.</p>
+
+<p>Amid a shower of balls, Jean, a few yards in advance
+of his men, ran on, his blood singing in his veins
+with the lust of battle, recklessly braving death in his
+determination to die. Not far behind him came his
+friends—de Moulin, Grymes, Dominique You ...
+Pierre. And close on their heels came his red-shirted
+followers, a scarlet mist in their eyes. How glorious
+it was to die!</p>
+
+<p>With a terrific, air-shaking shock, the two charging
+hosts met, and the next moment seemingly assimilated
+... a crimson caldron ... hand-to-hand,
+blade-to-blade; shots, yells, groans, curses.... Wrestling
+bodies, falling bodies, writhing bodies.... Inferno.</p>
+
+<p>As he fought, Jean felt a joyous lust sweep his soul,
+and plunged into the thick of the fight again and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[273]</span>again. Seconds were eternities. Of a sudden, before
+him, he saw Pierre Dominique engaged with two Britishers.
+Even as he watched he saw one bayonet his
+brother, as his fellow swung his musket stock to crush
+the Frenchman’s head like an egg shell.</p>
+
+<p>Even as the musket descended Jean fired the last
+shot in his pistol, and the redcoat toppled forward.
+The next moment he saw De Moulin appear from
+the red mist and fall on the first Britisher with the
+fury of an avenging angel.</p>
+
+<p>A moment later Jean was kneeling at the side of
+his brother, heedless of the flying bullets, his face
+ashen.</p>
+
+<p>And then it was that the remainder of the British
+columns that had charged up the slope broke and ran.</p>
+
+<p>It was now eight o’clock, and the American bugles
+shrilled their call!</p>
+
+<p>“Cease firing—”</p>
+
+<p>All along the lines the rows of weary, powder-grimed
+and blood-stained Americans were cheering
+... with their caps madly swinging on the ends of
+their long, hot rifles ... and cheered even more
+tumultuously as Jackson—whom this victory was to
+make President of the United States—followed by his
+staff, rode slowly down the lines, his passing the signal
+for the regimental fifes and drums to burst into “Hail,
+Columbia.” All was joy—mad, mad joy. The impossible
+had happened ... the Americans had won
+the day!</p>
+
+<p>But there was no joy in the heart of him who was
+largely responsible for this victory ... the pirate-patriot.</p>
+
+<p>For Lafitte, with a file of silently sympathetic Baratarians,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[274]</span>was hurrying his brother to the city—to the
+hospital ... racing with death.</p>
+
+<p>But death, glutted already with British blood,
+grinned hideously.</p>
+
+<p>And Jean Lafitte shuddered at the sight.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[275]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_23"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Twenty-Third</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>How One Lafitte Repeats a Prayer, and Another Enters
+The Valley of the Shadow</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<h4>I</h4>
+
+<p class="dropcap">François de Moulin clutched Jean’s arm
+eagerly, his dark eyes filled with anxious forebodings.</p>
+
+<p>“W’at—how—w’at does ze docteh say?” he demanded,
+huskily.</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte did not answer until he had completely closed
+the door of the room from which he had just emerged.
+And François, catching sight of his abnormally pale
+face, felt a sinking of the heart.</p>
+
+<p>“He says ... there is very little hope....” He
+choked and sobbed, but De Moulin saw that his eyes
+were dry. “Father Chambertin is with him....”</p>
+
+<p>François stared at him as if in a trance, his hand falling
+abruptly to his side.</p>
+
+<p>“Not—not—” he faltered.</p>
+
+<p>Jean nodded, his head averted.</p>
+
+<p>“Father Chambertin is Pierre’s confessor,” he said,
+rather unnecessarily. With his hands locked behind
+his back, he began to walk up and down the little room
+... back and forth ... up and down. For a moment
+François stared at him, his own eyes wet and his
+heart trembling with pain. Yet, even in the midst of
+his own emotion, he could not but marvel at the self-control
+of Jean ... unknowing that it was impossible
+for the other to find physical relief in mere tears
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[276]</span>... that the great grief which had come to him was
+pent up within his breast, racking his soul, yet leaving
+him dry-eyed and tortured as no man had ever been
+tortured before.</p>
+
+<p>With an inarticulate murmur François turned to
+stare at the closed door behind which lay his friend,
+who even now was making his peace with the All-High,
+preparatory to venturing into the Valley of the
+Shadow. His head falling upon his breast the Creole
+gazed at the floor, unseeing.</p>
+
+<p>Through the open French window could be seen a
+Virginia cardinal in a flaming red coat, perched upon
+the branch of a venerable magnolia, pouring forth a
+symphony of sound ... a tribute to the glory of life;
+expressing his thanks to the Omnipotent for the boon
+of living. The air was heavy with the balmy fragrance
+of roses and the sweet perfume of oleanders.</p>
+
+<p>Somewhere below could be heard snatches of low
+conversation. Suddenly came the sounds of prancing
+hoofs on cobblestones and the indescribable whir of
+carriage wheels; the equipage slowly coming to a stop.
+Sounds of renewed conversation. A well-ordered
+babel of voices.</p>
+
+<p>A step upon the stair. First animated—then faltering.
+A light step.</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte, engrossed in his thoughts, did not notice,
+beyond a vague, momentary wonder as to the identity
+of the person who was invading the upper regions so
+thoughtlessly. De Moulin, however, looked up
+sharply, with mild resentment for the intruder.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the person stood in the doorway ... and
+paused.</p>
+
+<p>For a brief moment De Moulin stared at the intruder
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[277]</span>in astonishment, and then, fiercely brushing his
+eyes, bowed in the direction of the door and, turning
+quickly on his heel, vanished through the French window
+on to the balcony without, disappearing from
+sight.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly sensing the presence of a stranger, Jean
+slowly looked up.</p>
+
+<p>It was Virginia.</p>
+
+<p>For a timeless space they stared at each other.</p>
+
+<p>As she recognized him, she started violently,
+colored, and her hand uncertainly clutched at her
+bodice. For another moment there was an embarrassing
+silence. Pale as death, the Frenchman looked at
+her, devouring her with his hungry eyes ... his heart
+wildly thumping against his ribs. It was the first time
+he had seen her face-to-face for a period of two years.
+If anything, he thought she was more beautiful than
+ever. For the moment he forgot the man who lay in
+the next room—forgot life itself—while his starved
+soul feasted itself upon her beauty.</p>
+
+<p>Her pallor suddenly returning, she averted her embarrassed
+eyes and looked quickly toward the closed
+door across the room. Jean, intercepting the glance,
+felt his heart sink like lead ... and returned to
+realities.</p>
+
+<p>He bowed ceremoniously, averting his tell-tale eyes.</p>
+
+<p>She nervously returned a curtsy.</p>
+
+<p>Being a woman, she regained her composure first.</p>
+
+<p>“How is your brother—Captain Lafitte?” she asked,
+falteringly.</p>
+
+<p>He bit his lip, and for a moment was silent. Her
+pallor deepened.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[278]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Pierre is at—confessional.” He vaguely marvelled
+at his own poise.</p>
+
+<p>She looked at the closed door in fascination, not
+pretending to misunderstand his meaning. He saw
+her eyes suddenly fill with tears, and, turning his back
+on her, rapidly walked to the window, to hide the tortured
+soul that stood revealed in his own.</p>
+
+<p>“I—I cannot begin to express my—my”—she
+paused, groping for words—“grief and sympathy ...
+Pierre—your brother is a very dear friend of
+mine....”</p>
+
+<p>He started at her words, but did not turn.</p>
+
+<p>“I was expecting you to come,” he said, slowly, and
+did not see her look of surprise at his words. For a
+moment she was at a loss.</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps this is an ill-chosen time to say so, sir, but
+allow me to compliment you for your—bravery!” she
+said, half shyly. “I, like your brother, owe my life
+to that same bravery, and can well appreciate its
+worth....” Virginia paused abruptly, and could
+have bitten off her tongue, for she suddenly remembered
+that Pierre was—at confession! The irony of
+her words! She flushed with embarrassment, but Jean
+still did not seem to see her.</p>
+
+<p>“I would to God that I were in his place!” he exclaimed,
+dispassionately.</p>
+
+<p>She did not answer, but unaccountably flushed again.
+The years seemed to have vanished, as if they had
+never been.</p>
+
+<p>“Why?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why?” he repeated, incredulously. “<i>You</i> ask me
+<i>that</i>?”</p>
+
+<p>She nodded uncertainly. He paused.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[279]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Because I have nothing to live for,” bitterly. Jean
+Lafitte was only human, after all.</p>
+
+<p>Her face expressed her astonishment. He continued
+speaking, quickly, to hide his embarrassment.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you remember a certain evening two years ago,
+mademoiselle?” he asked, abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>She did not answer, her face averted.</p>
+
+<p>“It was a moonlight—”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t!” she pleaded.</p>
+
+<p>He swept on, unheeding.</p>
+
+<p>“—night. Do you, by chance, remember our conversation?”</p>
+
+<p>Virginia was silent.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you remember,” he went on, “what you asked
+of me?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” slowly.</p>
+
+<p>“And what I answered?”</p>
+
+<p>She nodded, her eyes fixed on his in fascination.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you remember, mademoiselle,” he swallowed
+hard, “those—<i>kisses</i>?” His eyes were burning—glowing.
+It seemed to Virginia that she could detect his
+very soul imprisoned in those magnetic eyes.</p>
+
+<p>She shivered with a strange emotion, and turned
+scarlet with embarrassment.</p>
+
+<p>“Mr. Lafitte!...” The crimson wave receded
+and rose again.</p>
+
+<p>He laughed shortly, painfully.</p>
+
+<p>“Afterwards—you said you were flirting, mademoiselle.
+But I did not believe you—I could not believe—”
+She started. “But now I do believe!” he
+added, bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>Virginia paled, and grasped the back of a chair, to
+steady herself.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[280]</span></p>
+
+<p>Jean Lafitte bowed to her again, with elaborate
+courtesy.</p>
+
+<p>“I repeat,” he said, quietly, “that now I do believe.
+<i>That</i> is why I say that I wish with all my soul that I
+were on Pierre’s death bed!”</p>
+
+<p>The Virginian girl looked at him with astonishment,
+amazed at his frankness, his utter lack of self-consciousness.</p>
+
+<p>“You are surprised?” asked Jean. “Don’t be! It
+is best to remove our masks. I was a fool—a blind
+fool! But it is too late now for vain regrets. You
+are right, mademoiselle. I was, and am, naught but
+a pirate! An outcast from decent society—a pariah!
+Your choice was wise. I cannot blame you. I merely
+pity myself—and curse circumstance.” In a sense, his
+words were meaningless; an incoherent rigmarole.</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean?” in real astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>“Evidently everyone who comes into intimate contact
+with me must suffer! Even you and Pierre cannot
+enjoy happiness ... for the bullet that should
+have reached me was directed toward him by the malignant
+fate that watches over Jean Lafitte!”</p>
+
+<p>Virginia stared at him, full of wonderment. As for
+Jean, he was even more amazed at himself, for his
+unpremeditated outburst, but, now that he had begun,
+he resolved to finish his peroration, sparing neither
+himself nor his companion. He felt that his whole
+being was in an uproar ... in a chaos of crucifying
+emotions.</p>
+
+<p>“I confess that I cannot understand your—wild
+words, Mr. Lafitte,” the girl said with hauteur. “Allow
+me to believe that they were born of your great—grief.
+You know not what you say, sir!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[281]</span></p>
+
+<p>He smiled—a sad smile. A sudden transformation
+had taken place in him at her voice.</p>
+
+<p>“You are right, mademoiselle. I do <i>not</i> know what
+I say. Please forget and forgive my words. But I
+mean what I said. It may interest you to know that
+I sought death on the field with an ardor with which I
+have never sought anything else. Life is all wrong,
+somehow—and I will not try to understand its mysteries.
+They are not for mortal eyes. But Pierre’s
+fatal bullet <i>should</i> have reached me, instead of himself—”</p>
+
+<p>Virginia interrupted, vexed at the mystery in his
+words.</p>
+
+<p>“Why do you repeat that, sir?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why?” he repeated. He could not help thinking
+that they were both back at the same point in their
+conversation that they had been at its beginning.
+“You ask me that?” unconsciously repeating, too, the
+same words he had used five minutes before. “It
+is because you and Pierre—”</p>
+
+<p>But he was never to finish his sentence. At this
+juncture the door of Pierre’s room opened slowly and
+a portly tonsured priest garbed as a Capuchin came out.
+As he caught sight of the lady a strange expression
+flitted across his face, but he said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>The two others looked at the ecclesiastic inquiringly,
+but he gave them no time to question him.</p>
+
+<p>“My son,” he said, softly, “your brother wishes to
+speak to you.” He drew closer. “Pierre Dominique
+Lafitte has made his peace with his Maker,” he continued,
+“therefore I advise you, <i>mon fils</i>, to be as
+forgiving as your Master has been.” He crossed himself.
+“Be not hasty in thy judgment,” he went on enigmatically,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[282]</span>although in a kindlier tone, “for it is more
+blessed to forgive than to punish.”</p>
+
+<p>Jean looked at him in bewilderment.</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean, father?”</p>
+
+<p>The old Capuchin looked at him pityingly.</p>
+
+<p>“You shall know in good time, <i>Deo volente</i>.”</p>
+
+<p>He pointed to the closed door.</p>
+
+<p>Without another word or glance toward the girl,
+Jean Lafitte opened the door—visibly stiffened—and
+went in.</p>
+
+<p>The heavy door closed behind him. The old Capuchin
+turned toward the girl, his face grave.</p>
+
+<p>“My daughter—”</p>
+
+<h4>II</h4>
+
+<p>As Jean stepped over the threshold he unconsciously
+paused, the sudden transition from sunlight to semi-darkness
+causing him to blink. All the windows of
+the room were heavily curtained.</p>
+
+<p>At the upper end of the chamber was a huge canopied
+bed on a dais. On this lay Pierre Lafitte, the
+outline of his body thrown into strong relief by the
+wavering light of the tall candles grouped at his head
+and feet. On his breast, beneath his crossed hands, lay
+a crucifix. At the sound of Jean’s entrance the dying
+man slowly turned his head, and it could be seen that
+his mustache and imperial, once the proud object of
+his tender care, had lost their well-groomed air, in the
+same strange manner that he himself appeared to have
+lost his former debonair worldliness.</p>
+
+<p>In less than a moment Jean was at his side, tenderly
+taking one of his brother’s hands in his own.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[283]</span></p>
+
+<p>“How are you feeling, Pierre?”</p>
+
+<p>The other smiled faintly.</p>
+
+<p>“I am at peace—almost.”</p>
+
+<p>“Nonsense! We’ll have you up and about in another
+week, Pierre. Don’t be so pessimistic.”</p>
+
+<p>Pierre made a weak sign of negation.</p>
+
+<p>“The sands of my life are running out, <i>mon frère</i>,”
+he whispered, weakly; “it is useless to blind yourself
+to the truth. Don’t weep, brother mine, for it hurts
+me—it <i>hurts</i>!” A groan escaped him.</p>
+
+<p>Jean dashed away the moisture from his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“It is but the smoke from these candles that makes
+my eyes smart,” he lied. For a few moments he was
+silent, head bent, as he awkwardly patted the hand of
+his dying brother. The latter felt a burning drop on
+his hand.</p>
+
+<p>“Grieve not, Jean. I am to die ... it is written.
+I feel no fear; on the contrary, I am happy. I shall
+soon be with our sainted <i>maman</i>.”</p>
+
+<p>Jean gripped the coverlets fiercely.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, that we could have gone together! Pierre,
+<i>mon</i> Pierre, I cannot let you go alone—I cannot—I
+cannot!” he sobbed, “into the cold—into the unknown....
+You were made for the light, <i>mon frère</i>, for the
+sunshine—”</p>
+
+<p>“Hush, Jean! I go willingly. And my stay in
+Purgatory shall be bearable, for above I shall always
+see our sainted <i>maman</i>—waiting, waiting.”</p>
+
+<p>Jean buried his face in the bedclothes to hide his
+anguish, and his brother caressed his hair. What
+greater bitterness could come to man than that he
+should watch a dear one die—pass away from sight
+and hearing—before one’s eyes! The crushing heart-ache
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[284]</span>of it! The stars shine on—the sun goes on its
+accustomed way—yet, how can they?</p>
+
+<p>Again Jean was a child—a boy—a youth. But always
+the younger brother—the youth whose hero
+Pierre had been. With the rapidity of lightning a
+swift succession of scenes passed through his mind—incidents
+from his boyhood days, youthful memories....
+And always there had been Pierre—brother
+Pierre. Father, mother, and brother, all in one!
+His father Jean could not remember, and his mother
+but dimly, but there had <i>always</i> been Pierre! Pierre
+with his understanding sympathy; Pierre with his ever-ready
+aid; Pierre with his helpful advice; Pierre with
+his unstinted love! Jean groaned aloud. Again he
+was the little boy, fearful of shadows, and Pierre was
+his knight-defender....</p>
+
+<p>The ghostly sands of the infinite hour glass trickled
+ceaselessly, inexorably. But his thoughts sped on.</p>
+
+<p>Unconsciously he prayed aloud, while Pierre listened,
+and slow tears welled up in his eyes and over.
+At the foot of the bed grinned the figure of Death,
+but at the head smilingly wept a beautiful woman with
+the dark eyes of Jean—</p>
+
+<p>Then, together, they repeated a prayer in unison—a
+prayer that they had together nightly made in the
+far-off days of Jean’s boyhood. Strangely enough,
+it was neither their “Ave Marias,” nor any other
+prayer used exclusively by those of their faith. It
+was a prayer used by countless faiths—a universal
+plea to the one existing Deity. What matter if His
+prophet be Moses, Christ, Mohammed, or Confucius?</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[285]</span></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">“Our Father, Who Art in Heaven,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Hallowed be Thy Name, Thy Kingdom come,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thy will be done,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">On earth as it is in heaven....”</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>As they chanted on, Jean’s voice grew louder—so
+loud, indeed, as to be heard in the next room. When
+he began the next stanza, though he knew it not, the
+old Capuchin and Virginia were both on their knees,
+repeating it with him. And Virginia was sobbing....</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">“Give us this day our daily bread,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And forgive us our trespasses</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">As we forgive those who trespass against us;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And lead us not into temptation,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But deliver us from evil,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For Thine is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Forever and ever. Amen.”</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>The prayer was not particularly appropriate, but
+it soothed them.</p>
+
+<p>When the two brothers had finished they were
+both silent for a long while, each busy with his own
+thoughts, and both unashamedly weeping. But weeping
+as only brave men weep—men who are not
+ashamed of their tears. The simple little prayer had
+brought a slight relief to both of them.</p>
+
+<p>“Jean,” said the dying man, at length, “I have a
+confession to make—and dread it.” He shuddered.</p>
+
+<p>The younger Lafitte tenderly kissed his brother’s
+hand by way of answer. His heart was too full to
+allow him to speak.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Mon frère</i>,” said Pierre Dominique, haltingly, “I
+have done you a great wrong....”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[286]</span></p>
+
+<p>“<i>C’est impossible!</i> Forget it, <i>mon</i> Pierre!”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Oublier je ne puis.</i> I cannot forget, <i>mon frère</i>.”
+His voice gathered. “Jean, my brother, I have done
+you a great wrong—deceived you—lied to you, God
+forgive me!”</p>
+
+<p>Jean trembled violently, suddenly sick with a premonition
+of what was to come. Unconsciously, as if
+to physically ward off the impending disclosure, he
+extended his palm.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre, however, once having gained the necessary
+courage, was not to be put off. There was a semi-hysterical
+note in his voice.</p>
+
+<p>“I lied to you—lied to you....”</p>
+
+<p>Strangely enough, Jean did not ask for particulars—he
+merely stared at the dying man, fascinated. Pierre
+Dominique half raised himself on his elbow; his face
+was suddenly rendered grotesque—strange—by a
+curious chiaroscuro—a blending of light and shade—caused
+by the uneven flame of the burning tapers.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you remember, Jean ... at the Rodriquez
+Canal ... that morning?” The look in the other’s
+face suddenly convinced him that Jean remembered—painfully,
+“I said—I said that Virginia Grymes loved
+me—that I knew it.” His words were coming in
+gasps, “Well ... I lied to you!” He sank back on
+the pillows, choking for lack of breath.</p>
+
+<p>“You—lied—to—me!” repeated Jean, in a daze.
+He was as if stunned—suddenly struck treacherously
+from behind. “You are—mad! You cannot have
+lied!” he murmured.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre weakly grasped his hand, his face working.</p>
+
+<p>“I lied, Jean—lied ...” he choked.</p>
+
+<p>“You did not know!” cried Jean, desperately, trying
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[287]</span>to make his brother’s load lighter, even though he
+felt himself mortally stricken.</p>
+
+<p>“I knew,” mechanically said the other, “and I have
+suffered the tortures of the damned, Jean ... the tortures
+that I shall soon suffer in Purgatory! I knew
+you loved Virginia ... and I knew she loved—loves
+you. And I was jealous and lied!</p>
+
+<p>“Can’t you find it in your heart to forgive me,
+Jean? I loved Virginia Grymes as I’ve loved no other
+woman on earth—except little <i>maman</i>! Can’t you
+realize?”</p>
+
+<p>Jean looked up, his face a picture of suffering—misery.</p>
+
+<p>“Forgive you? Gladly, my brother. I understand—too
+well. I too, have loved her—and I understand.
+Put your mind at ease, <i>mon</i> Pierre. There
+is naught to forgive.”</p>
+
+<p>“I have made you suffer.”</p>
+
+<p>“For a short time. But it was nothing. Now I
+am happy.” There was a radiance in his face.
+Pierre Dominique saw it and sighed. Oh, Life, Life!
+But Death, grinning hideously at the footboard,
+stepped nearer—and sneered.</p>
+
+<p>“Then I am happy. And can die happy, Jean....”
+But his face belied his avowed happiness.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, <i>mon frère</i>.”</p>
+
+<p>“You will marry Virginia....”</p>
+
+<p>“If she will have me!” humbly. Pierre smiled.
+The expression on his face was simply indescribable:
+envy—regret—longing—bitterness....</p>
+
+<p>“Never fear. She has always loved you and still
+does. But, as I said, you two will marry. I know
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[288]</span>it. And you should appreciate her worth, <i>mon</i> Jean.
+A good woman is man’s greatest blessing. As
+François—good old François—says, we cannot do
+without them—nor should we. Man born of woman
+is brought up by woman—trained by woman—and, as
+he is given life by woman, could not live without her.
+Virginia is representative of all that is best in womanhood.
+Cherish her—if not for your own sake, for—mine....”
+He trembled.</p>
+
+<p>“And Jean....”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Oui, mon frère.</i>” The pathos of his voice!</p>
+
+<p>“If there should be a son—and there must be, for
+you must perpetuate the race of Lafitte ... if there
+should be a son, I say—will you name him—‘Pierre’—and
+tell him of the uncle whom—he—never—knew?”</p>
+
+<p>The tears were coursing down Jean’s lean cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, my brother ... by the living God, I <i>swear</i>
+it!... If we shall be blessed with a son, he shall be
+Pierre Dominique Lafitte, and I only hope that he’ll
+be as brave—and good—and noble—as his uncle!”
+He sobbed again. Farcical this scene may seem, but
+these two were in sober earnest. All men are—when
+in the shadow of the inexorable Angel of Death—the
+divine messenger of finality.</p>
+
+<p>For a long minute there was silence. Then:</p>
+
+<p>“Jean....”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Oui, mon frère.</i>”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve always looked like the little <i>maman</i>....
+I am about to go to her.... Kiss me, Jean....”
+He was now too weak to even turn his head ... a
+strange light shone in the dying man’s face. Jean,
+leaning over tenderly, reverently kissed his brother on
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[289]</span>the lips.... “Good-by, <i>mon</i>—Jean....” His eyes
+were glazing.</p>
+
+<p>“No—no!” cried Jean, suddenly alarmed. “Don’t
+leave me. Pierre!” He sobbed wildly ... a taper
+flickered....</p>
+
+<p>As if by a superhuman effort of the will, Pierre
+aroused himself temporarily from his semi-coma.</p>
+
+<p>“That—is—not—the—Lafitte—way, Jean,” he
+whispered. “Tell—me—good-by!” Already, step
+by step, he could see that grinning specter at the foot
+of the canopied bed advancing, his sable wings horribly
+unfolding, his bony hand beckoning with horrible
+insistence.</p>
+
+<p>Jean suddenly straightened, and he grasped his
+brother’s hand tightly. He, too, had caught sight of
+the inexorable march of the specter and realized the
+futility of resistance.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Au revoir, mon frère!</i>” firmly.</p>
+
+<p>“Till we meet again,” not “good-by”!</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Dominique Lafitte smiled, weakly.</p>
+
+<p>The sable specter was almost upon him, but he
+cared not, for there, above him in a shaft of golden
+light, hovered the figure of a woman ... and her
+eyes were like those of Jean....</p>
+
+<p>“Little <i>maman</i> ...” murmured Pierre contentedly,
+shuddered, and closed his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>With a great cry Jean sank to his knees, convulsively
+kissing his brother’s hand ... calling....</p>
+
+<p>The door was pushed open. He was conscious of
+a crowd surging into the closed candle-lit room. The
+air was stifling—strangling. His head was light, his
+feet were slipping away into nothingness. The face
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[290]</span>of his dead brother was growing indistinct before his
+very eyes....</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly silence. Then, “<i>Chapeux bas!</i>” exclaimed
+a voice.</p>
+
+<p>“Hats off!” indeed....</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Dominique had entered the Valley of the
+Shadow.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[291]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_24"><span class="smcap">Chapter the Last</span>:</h3>
+
+<p class="chap"><i>In Which Our Pirate Walks into a Trap And Hauls Down His Colors</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<h4>I</h4>
+
+<p class="dropcap">“I ’ave news foah you, <i>mon ami</i>,” said De Moulin,
+following his host up the broad steps to the white-columned
+veranda above. Grymes motioned him to a
+comfortable chair, and sat down in another near-by.</p>
+
+<p>“I can guess at it,” he answered, smilingly.</p>
+
+<p>“W’at?”</p>
+
+<p>“Your news.”</p>
+
+<p>“Guess away, zen, monsieur.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t have to guess—I know.”</p>
+
+<p>“Impossybl’!” with exaggerated doubt.</p>
+
+<p>John Grymes laughed. Before he could answer,
+however, old Rappahannock, the Grymes butler, made
+his appearance. As he caught sight of him, the Virginian’s
+eyes brightened.</p>
+
+<p>“A bottle of that claret, Rappahannock. Bin four!”
+Grinning widely, the old darky turned, but Grymes,
+struck by another thought, recalled him. “No, wait!
+Make us a couple of mint juleps instead, Rappahannock—the
+kind you make at home!” Rappahannock’s
+grin became more accentuated and he disappeared into
+the cool recesses of the hall of the rambling old mansion.
+The Virginian favored his guest with a broad
+wink.</p>
+
+<p>“Wait until you taste that julep, De Moulin.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[292]</span>There’s not a man in the South that can make it like
+that old darky of mine can.”</p>
+
+<p>François smiled.</p>
+
+<p>“As for your news,” went on Grymes, fanning himself
+with his hat, “it’s public property.”</p>
+
+<p>François, startled, looked up quickly. Grymes intercepted
+the look and laughed.</p>
+
+<p>“It couldn’t but be otherwise, old man. You are
+referring to the President’s proclamation, of course.”</p>
+
+<p>De Moulin looked blank. The Virginian chuckled
+with the glee of a man who has found a responsive
+audience to which he can impart news of which it is
+ignorant.</p>
+
+<p>“You guess’ wrong,” said the Creole. “My news
+concerns Jean.”</p>
+
+<p>Grymes chuckled.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course it does! You can’t be thinking of anything
+else but the proclamation. There’s Lafitte’s
+revenge against Claiborne. I’ll bet the Governor is
+as sore as a wet hen!”</p>
+
+<p>“W’at you mean?”</p>
+
+<p>“What do I mean? Lord! Lord! The man
+doesn’t know! I’m talking about President Madison’s
+proclamation, of course! Jean Lafitte and his Baratarians
+are no longer pirates, but officially acknowledged
+patriots. That’s what I mean! You may not
+know it, but, after the battle, General Jackson strongly
+urged Washington to make some recognition of the
+splendid services rendered by the Baratarians. Now
+the President has granted them a full pardon. His
+message ends something like this:</p>
+
+<p>“‘Offenders who have refused to become the associates
+of the enemy in war upon the most seducing terms
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[293]</span>of invitation, and who have aided to repel his hostile
+invasion of the territory of the United States, can no
+longer be considered as objects of punishment, but as
+objects of generous forgiveness.’</p>
+
+<p>“Jean Lafitte can hold his head as high as any man
+in America to-day, François. And, do you know, it
+was really he and his men who turned the tide at the
+battle, and who, consequently, saved Louisiana from
+invasion. Jean Lafitte has made history—and the
+world knows it! Lafitte, the pirate! Now, it’s
+‘Mister Lafitte, patriot.’... How he must be laughing
+up his sleeve!”</p>
+
+<p>“I know zat all along, <i>mon ami</i>. Bud I ’ave ozzer
+news. Jean eez going to <i>la belle France</i>, Mistah
+Grymes.”</p>
+
+<p>The Virginian sat upright with a jerk, abruptly putting
+down his hat. Footsteps in the hall of the house
+were heard approaching, but Grymes was oblivious to
+anything but this startling intelligence.</p>
+
+<p>“What the devil do you mean?” he asked, in astonishment.
+The young indigo-planter smiled.</p>
+
+<p>“Joos’ what I say, Jean eez goin’ bac’ to France.”</p>
+
+<p>The Virginian leaned back in his seat limply.</p>
+
+<p>“Well I’ll be damned!” he ejaculated, with emphasis.
+“I <i>am</i> damned!”</p>
+
+<p>“Poor father!” said a sympathetic voice. And Virginia,
+a cool vision in white, stepped out upon the
+spacious veranda.</p>
+
+<p>Both men instantly rose to their feet. François
+bowed gallantly, and she greeted him cordially.</p>
+
+<p>“I beg your pardon, my dear,” said Grymes, flushing,
+“for my er—words, but—”</p>
+
+<p>“But what, father? Of course I’ll forgive you.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[294]</span>But I confess I’m curious. What made you say it?”
+She glanced archly at the young Creole.</p>
+
+<p>“Reason enough,” said her father, brusquely. “De
+Moulin tells me that Jean Lafitte is going back to
+France.” He looked at the Creole for confirmation,
+and so failed to see the strange look that passed across
+his daughter’s face.</p>
+
+<p>“Why?” asked Virginia, in a voice meant to be
+casual.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, why?” said Grymes. He began pacing the
+porch. “Here I’ve been looking forward to an opportunity
+to repay him for his hospitality to us—<i>me</i>”—hastily—“when
+I was at Grande Terre, and you tell
+me that he is going to France.”</p>
+
+<p>“Foah won zing, I s’pose he want a change of
+scene,” said De Moulin.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, that’s so. Pierre’s death broke him all up, I
+know. <i>There</i> was a man for you.”</p>
+
+<p>François de Moulin stared into the distance.</p>
+
+<p>“He was won of ze bes’ man zat evah live’,” he said,
+soberly, “an’ I am ’appee to be able to say zat I was
+eez fr’en’.” He turned his head abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Requiescat in pace</i>,” murmured the Virginian.</p>
+
+<p>“He was a brave man and—a gallant gentleman,”
+said Virginia, softly, her eyes suddenly moist. She
+thought of that moonlit night at the dance, when
+Pierre, a handsome figure in cambric frills and claret-colored
+damask, had made love to her in the little
+trellised bower under the magnolias. How long ago
+that seemed—how far away! She could still see, in
+her mind’s eye, the sparkling of his eyes as he told her
+the story of Jean and Lizette ... could still hear the
+musical inflections of his voice. Poor Pierre! What
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[295]</span>a great number of things had happened since that time.
+Now Pierre was peacefully sleeping in the crypt of
+St. Louis’s, and Jean—</p>
+
+<p>“And Jean Lafitte is just as true a gentleman in
+every respect!” remarked Grymes, assertively. At his
+words Virginia started and a slow blush mounted to
+her cheek. She experienced an uncanny feeling, as
+if her father had taken the words right out of her
+own mind.</p>
+
+<p>“The only thing lacking in Lafitte’s make-up,” went
+on Grymes, thoughtfully, “is his birthplace; meaning
+no offense. De Moulin,” turning to the Creole,
+“Lafitte should have been a Virginian!” The others
+laughed and De Moulin surreptitiously cleared his
+throat.</p>
+
+<p>“I forgot to say,” he remarked, “zat anozzeh
+meestery eez aboud to be solv’. Jean heemself tol’
+me zat he eez going to Havre, een particular. It
+seems zat he eez relate’ to Lafitte, ze banker of Havre,
+whose daughteh eez to be married zis summeh to
+Prince de la Moskowa. I ’ave also learn zat zees
+Lafitte of Havre eez an int’mate fren’ of ze Emperor,
+an’ I would nod be sooprize if Jean neveh comes bac’
+heah. <i>Sans doute</i> ... weezout doubt, his relations
+will mek him remain een France. An’ you rilly gannot
+blame Jean. He eez reech ... <i>très riche</i>, an’
+he gan go high een ze service of ze Emperor. Napoleon
+laks reech men, anniway.”</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Grymes did not make any comment,
+so surprised was he at this budget of news. As for
+Virginia, her mind was in a chaos. Jean was going
+away—perhaps forever. She would never see him
+again. Although her pride would not let her admit
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[296]</span>it, even to herself, ever since the day of Pierre’s death
+she had anxiously waited—waited for the coming of
+the lover—who never came. Everything had been
+cleared—yet he did not come.</p>
+
+<p>And here she learned that he was going to France—perhaps
+never to return. How lonely life would be
+for her—and how passionately she loved him! She
+did not trouble to deny this to herself, now. She
+knew it was only too true. She loved him more than
+life itself. And she was sure that he loved her—or
+thought so. Yet—he was going to France! She
+could feel the hot tears of self-pity and longing well
+up in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly, so suddenly as to attract the attention of
+her two companions, she murmured something inaudible
+and hurriedly disappeared within the house.</p>
+
+<p>The two men stared at her with surprise, and
+Grymes looked openly troubled.</p>
+
+<p>“To tell you the truth, De Moulin,” he said gravely,
+“I am rather worried about Virginia. I hope you will
+excuse her sudden withdrawal.... I suppose she—No,
+I’ll tell you the truth!”</p>
+
+<p>The Creole looked at him in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>“W’at do you mean, m’sieur?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I don’t know exactly what to say, because I
+really don’t—can’t understand. But the fact is, that
+Virginia has been behaving rather strangely, here
+lately. No, I don’t mean that, either. I’m trying to
+say that for some time she hasn’t appeared to be herself,
+exactly. She’s not ill, as far as I know, but she
+eats very little, is unusually quiet, and seems to be
+worried about something or other. She’s <i>always</i>
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[297]</span>thinking or brooding, whichever you may prefer. I’ll
+confess I’m worried.”</p>
+
+<p>For a moment or two the Creole was silent.</p>
+
+<p>“I gan tell you in a word,” said De Moulin, wise
+philosopher that he was, “Virginia eez een love!” He
+looked keenly at the other.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I’ll be—” Grymes caught himself abruptly.
+Then he swore to himself softly under his breath.
+Finally he burst into roars of laughter until the tears
+came. De Moulin merely smiled.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course that’s it!” exclaimed the Virginian, after
+his mirth had subsided. “Why couldn’t I see that before?
+All girls in love act that way, strangely
+enough, I suppose I thought my Jinny different from
+other girls.”</p>
+
+<p>“She <i>eez</i>!” put in François, warmly.</p>
+
+<p>“But who can it be?” asked Grymes, a new idea
+striking him. Then, “It isn’t <i>you</i>, is it?” with genuine
+interest.</p>
+
+<p>François sniffed.</p>
+
+<p>“I onlee weesh eet were!” he exclaimed, devoutly,
+shaking his head in sad negation.</p>
+
+<p>“Then, who in the world—” Suddenly the older
+man stopped and a shadow of real worry passed across
+his face. When he next spoke, his voice was seriousness
+itself.</p>
+
+<p>“It can’t be—you don’t think it was—Pierre Lafitte?”
+A real fear had entered his mind, now. If
+this were the truth, what suffering must his daughter—the
+legacy of his long-lost wife—be undergoing!
+With a painful pang he suddenly remembered that her
+recent absorption could be traced back to the period,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[298]</span>some weeks previously, of Lafitte’s death. His mouth
+tightened.</p>
+
+<p>But François, understanding his sudden fear, quickly
+put him at his ease.</p>
+
+<p>“No, eet was not Pierre,” he said, earnestly; “zat
+I gan sweah to!”</p>
+
+<p>“Then who is it?” demanded the Virginian, vexed
+in spite of himself.</p>
+
+<p>De Moulin leaned forward and tapped his arm
+slowly.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Jean Lafitte!</i>”</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Grymes stared at him with utter disbelief,
+but the look in the other’s face convinced him.
+A wave of relief swept over him, and he could not but
+tell himself that this intelligence pleased him.</p>
+
+<p>“Then why—” said he, and could go no further.</p>
+
+<p>But the astute Creole understood.</p>
+
+<p>“Jean Lafitte—I know—ees mad aboud Virginia—<i>bud</i>—”</p>
+
+<p>“But what? You say that she loves him, and <i>he</i>
+loves <i>her</i>—then why don’t they—” he paused—“Er—I’m
+sure I would have no objections. As I said, I
+think he is a perfect gentleman, and I believe him to be
+worthy of her,” magnanimously.</p>
+
+<p>François nodded and smiled. Then, glancing
+around to assure himself of their security from any
+possible eavesdroppers, he pulled his chair closer to
+that of the Virginian and began to talk in a low voice.
+And talked on. And talked.</p>
+
+<p>Ten minutes later, when Virginia reappeared on the
+veranda to apologize for her sudden withdrawal—having
+regained control of herself, and, incidentally,
+having had a self-communion of relieving tears—she
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[299]</span>found them, head to head, carrying on what appeared
+to be a highly interesting conversation. And John
+Grymes was unashamedly smiling broadly. But she
+forebore to ask questions.</p>
+
+<p>And a little later, just as De Moulin was leaving,
+her father turned to Virginia innocently.</p>
+
+<p>“By the way, Virginia, we are having guests to-night
+for dinner. Just François, here, and Captain
+Lafitte. We want to bid him farewell before he leaves
+for France.” He turned back to his departing guest
+and again bade him good-by ... and, incidentally,
+temporarily closed his left eye.</p>
+
+<h4>II</h4>
+
+<p>When Jean and François arrived that evening for
+dinner, however, although they were intentionally a
+little late, they found that their hostess was apparently
+conspicuous by her absence.</p>
+
+<p>“However,” apologized their congenial host, “Virginia
+will be down any minute, I suppose. You know
+how women are—always late—and everlastingly
+adorning themselves.” Jean laughed politely, but
+could not help wondering why this very simple witticism
+should cause his host and companion so much
+mirth.</p>
+
+<p>While waiting in the library Grymes and De Moulin
+began an apparently interminable discussion of politics,
+of a particularly boring nature, and both of them
+skillfully managed to convey to him the idea that they
+had forgotten Lafitte’s very existence. For a while he
+looked from one to the other puzzled. Suddenly, as
+he glanced idly around the room, he became aware of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[300]</span>the fact that the old negro butler, Rappahannock, was
+standing in the door, and was undoubtedly trying to
+get his attention. He glanced at his companions.
+They were oblivious of him. Getting up slowly, he
+sauntered nonchalantly over to the door. Strangely
+enough, his two companions were seemingly as unaware
+of the plainly discernible darky as they were
+of his own actions.</p>
+
+<p>He walked out into the hall—and did not see the
+smiles and winks of the two in the library. Rappahannock
+stepped close and whispered.</p>
+
+<p>“Marse Lafitte, dars a pusson would lak tuh mek
+tawk wif yuh, in de gyarden, suh.”</p>
+
+<p>“Some one wants to speak to <i>me</i>—in the garden?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yassuh.”</p>
+
+<p>“Who is it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Hits a—lady.”</p>
+
+<p>“Who is she?” Rappahannock shrugged his
+shoulders expressively.</p>
+
+<p>Lafitte looked at him with suspicion.</p>
+
+<p>“Did she send for me, herself?”</p>
+
+<p>“Nossuh,” said the clever old darky, well instructed
+in his part, “she didn’t sen’ me—dat is, she tol’ me not
+to.... Anyway, suh, ah’m pow’ful shuah dat she
+wants tuh mek tawk wif yuh. Leastways, ah reckon
+dat she’s pow’ful anxious, ’cause she done say—Lawd,
+man! I’se done gone an’ done it!” And
+turning on his heel, he hurried away down the hall.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Jean stood still, thinking. He did
+not for a moment doubt the sincerity of the darky, but
+was trying to adjust himself to the fact that she had
+summoned him—clandestinely, as it were! Drawing
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[301]</span>a deep breath, he silently slipped out of the front door
+and into the silvery night.</p>
+
+<p>To the left of the long piazza with its lofty Colonial
+pillars was one end of the garden. Its other extremity
+was bounded by the Mississippi, its broad surface
+sparkling like so many diamonds under the playful
+shafts of moonlight.</p>
+
+<p>At his back was the stately old mansion, half concealed
+in a grove of ancient magnolias. Before him
+stretched a curving red-brick path, winding through the
+length of the garden. On all sides was the balmy
+fragrance of many flowers—flowers, for the most part,
+made invisible in the shadow of huge thickets of acacia
+and pomegranate and orange trees. The mingling
+scents of odorous jasmine, crimson-hued oleander, and
+roses of every species, made the air actually heavy
+with their sweet fragrance as he followed the path
+slowly.</p>
+
+<p>Straight ahead of him was a long natural aisle
+formed by two rows of palmettos, which terminated,
+almost abruptly, at the water’s edge. The night was
+young—twilight had but just merged into a fragrant
+evening—and the moon, beginning its lofty climb,
+could be seen rising, apparently, out of the very waters
+of the Queen of Rivers; obese, golden, and beautiful.</p>
+
+<p>Somehow, instinctively, he knew he would find her
+at the end of that aisle at the water’s marge. It was
+as if the hunted woman had fled as far as was possible,
+down to the water’s edge—and the hunter, man, was
+unerringly bringing his long hunt to an end.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly he walked down the path, his eyes fixed on
+that magnificent moon; and the intoxication of the
+glorious night permeated his every sense. At last he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[302]</span>reached its end—and there, as his intuition had told
+him, he saw her. She was standing in the center of
+the little glade, clad all in shimmery, silvery white;
+leaning with one arm on an old stone sun-dial, staring
+at the soaring moon.</p>
+
+<p>For a long moment he stood still, feasting his eyes
+and soul on the picture of her exquisite loveliness.
+Then he stepped out of the shadow into the drenching
+moonlight.</p>
+
+<p>With a low cry, as she caught sight of him, she half
+turned as if to run. Then, changing her mind, apparently,
+she drew herself up to her full height and remained
+standing—motionless—silent.</p>
+
+<p>He suddenly felt that he had to say something—and
+had nothing to say.</p>
+
+<p>“Virginia—mademoiselle—I am here,” he said,
+somewhat awkwardly.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment she did not answer.</p>
+
+<p>“Really?” she said, rather scornfully.</p>
+
+<p>He felt his face grow hot with embarrassment.
+And then it was that he suddenly realized that she had
+never sent for him—never would have. He suddenly
+remembered the strange actions of Grymes, François,
+and old Rappahannock, and a great fury welled up
+within him. He half turned on his heel, with an
+apology on his lips, when another thought struck—and
+overwhelmed him. Jean Lafitte was a great believer
+in Fate. Was this not Fate—this strangely
+contrived meeting? He would make the most of it—to
+justify himself. Then he would take himself out of
+her life forever.</p>
+
+<p>“Miss Grymes, I have something to tell you—something
+to explain.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[303]</span></p>
+
+<p>She did not answer, but remained motionless, her
+eyes fixed on him. He could not know that <i>she</i> was
+in a crucible of emotion—that she was fighting fiercely
+for control of herself.</p>
+
+<p>“Miss Grymes—once, on just such a night as this,
+you asked me to do something, for your sake—and I
+refused. You asked me to drop my piratical life—for
+I <i>was</i> a pirate—and for reasons you know—I refused.
+But I wish to tell you this, mademoiselle, that, in consequence
+of what later took place”—he faltered—“I
+almost betrayed my comrades, because—I loved you.
+I loved you then, and since, and now. And I shall
+love you, ma’mselle, till the end of time.” She
+started perceptibly but made no answer.</p>
+
+<p>“But, because I wished to protect my men, who
+trusted me, I refused, and you told me—that you but
+flirted with me. Later, when I became, of my own
+volition, a patriot, I was able to go to you, but I did
+not. For I believe that you really did not flirt.”</p>
+
+<p>Still she was silent. Jean rushed on.</p>
+
+<p>“And still later, when I was convinced that you did
+not flirt”—she started again—“in honor I could not
+go to you, for I believed ... was led to believe ... that
+you loved—Pierre.”</p>
+
+<p>She half turned from him.</p>
+
+<p>“I know. Father Chambertin told me.” So low
+was her voice that he could hardly hear her. A meandering
+breeze fitfully wandered thru the garden, rustling
+thru the bushes in gentle reproof.</p>
+
+<p>“Still,” he went on, hurriedly, “when I learned that
+this person—had not told the truth—it made no difference.
+For I still did not know whether or not you
+were—flirting—and so, after much thought, I have
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[304]</span>come to the conclusion that you <i>were</i>—and I have decided
+to sail for France—to-morrow. Of course, this
+cannot interest you, but I merely wished to let you
+know—that when a <i>man</i> loves once—really loves—he
+can never again love another in the same way. And
+no doubt it will interest you to know that I have always
+loved you, ma’mselle, and always—will. But—ma’mselle
+will, in the future, no longer be troubled
+with the odium of my presence!”</p>
+
+<p>Then, turning, he began to go back toward the
+house, but suddenly stopped, for she was speaking.</p>
+
+<p>“Captain—Lafitte,” she was saying, “you have forgotten
+one thing in your elaborate plan. What of
+me, sir?”</p>
+
+<p>He stared at her.</p>
+
+<p>“What of <i>you</i>, ma’mselle?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. Aren’t you taking too much for granted,
+sir?”</p>
+
+<p>He trembled ... his brain was whirling.</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean?”</p>
+
+<p>“For the sake of argument, sir, answer me this.
+You say that you learned that Pierre—that this person—had
+lied. Yet, how could you know that <i>I</i> was
+not—lying—that night—at Grande Terre?”</p>
+
+<p>He thought this over for a brief moment, puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>“But how could I know?”</p>
+
+<p>“Then why didn’t you—ask—sir?” Very low.
+Why <i>were</i> men so dull-witted? But he did not
+answer—he was stupefied.</p>
+
+<p>She stamped her foot—and he suddenly saw that
+she was both laughing and crying—together. He
+stared at her wonderingly.</p>
+
+<p>“Why don’t you ask me—sir?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[305]</span></p>
+
+<p>And then he knew.</p>
+
+<p>“Virginia!” He stepped uncertainly toward her.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes—Jean.” How unutterably sweet his name
+sounded on her lips!</p>
+
+<p>“You <i>weren’t</i> telling the truth!”</p>
+
+<p>But it was altogether unnecessary for her to answer
+this, for they were already in each other’s arms....</p>
+
+<p>The breeze grumbled in the trees. It had all been
+such a meaningless performance—to the breeze.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">John Grymes and François de Moulin, arm in arm,
+came down the garden walk, and they were laughing
+and talking—in low voices. Suddenly rounding a
+curve, they stopped, and the Virginian, excitedly
+clutching his companion’s arm, pointed toward the
+foot of the winding path.</p>
+
+<p>There, silhouetted in the moonlight against the
+bright silver of the river, were two figures, unmistakably
+in a close embrace.</p>
+
+<p>The head of the man bent downward for an equally
+unmistakable purpose. But although the lovers were
+ignorant of the presence of intruders, their friend and
+ally, the Lady in the Moon, was not—for she indignantly
+proved her friendship again by retiring forthwith
+into a quilted bed of clouds....</p>
+
+<p class="titlepage">FINIS</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter ad">
+
+<p class="noindent"><i>The greatest pleasure in life is
+that of reading. Why not then
+own the books of great novelists
+when the price is so small</i></p>
+
+<div class="ad-middle">
+
+<p class="noindent">¶ <i>Of all the amusements which can possibly
+be imagined for a hard-working man, after
+his daily toil, or in its intervals, there is
+nothing like reading an entertaining book.
+It calls for no bodily exertion. It transports
+him into a livelier, and gayer, and more diversified
+and interesting scene, and while he
+enjoys himself there he may forget the evils
+of the present moment. Nay, it accompanies
+him to his next day’s work, and gives him
+something to think of besides the mere
+mechanical drudgery of his every-day occupation—something
+he can enjoy while absent,
+and look forward with pleasure to return to.</i></p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p class="noindent"><i>Ask your dealer for a list of the titles
+in Burt’s Popular Priced Fiction</i></p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent"><i>In buying the books bearing the
+A. L. Burt Company imprint
+you are assured of wholesome, entertaining
+and instructive reading</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+</main>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78822 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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author	www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org>	2026-06-06 13:47:19 -0700
committer	www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org>	2026-06-06 13:47:19 -0700
commit	675a821c386e975d4c2ab9505696abde28837184 (patch)
tree	96b7c8447e8bcfe6c1a36d55c6f4aafbaec34f45 /78822-h