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diff --git a/78822-0.txt b/78822-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0b61363 --- /dev/null +++ b/78822-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9894 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78822 *** + + + + +BLACK IVORY + +_By_ POLAN BANKS + +[Illustration] + + + + + Black Ivory + + By POLAN BANKS + + [Illustration] + + A. L. BURT COMPANY + Publishers New York + + Published by arrangement with Harper & Brothers + Printed in U. S. A. + + + + +BLACK IVORY _by_ POLAN BANKS + + COPYRIGHT, 1926, BY + HARPER & BROTHERS + PRINTED IN U. S. A. + + First Printing January 1926 + Second Printing February 1926 + Third Printing February 1926 + Fourth Printing March 1926 + +C-A + + + + +TO MY MOTHER + +_JEANNE ISABEL BANKS_ + +SWEETEST DAUGHTER OF THE HOUSE OF + +_Abravanel de Polan_ + + + + +PREFATORY GESTURE + + +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. _Black Ivory_ is a felicitous title. + +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. + +Considering what I know of the author of _Black Ivory_, 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 _Black Ivory_ will find +themselves interested, entertained, and rewarded. + + EDWARD LUCAS WHITE. + +_January 16, 1926._ + + + + +CONTENTS + + + _Prologue_ + + CHAPTER THE FIRST + + _Wherein Lizette Fondac Makes a Great Sacrifice and One Jean + Lafitte Makes a Momentous Decision_ + + CHAPTER THE SECOND + + _How a Gentleman Pirate Catches a Tartar, and the Personage in + the Moon Is Proven to Be a Woman_ + + CHAPTER THE THIRD + + _In Which the Black Fox Encounters an Old Acquaintance_ + + + _Book One_ + + CHAPTER THE FOURTH + + _Wherein a Gentleman Blacksmith Arrives upon the Scene_ + + CHAPTER THE FIFTH + + _How Jean Lafitte Tells of His Ambition and Incidentally Makes + a Change in Residence_ + + CHAPTER THE SIXTH + + _In Which Grambo, the Quadroon, Is Indiscreet, and Suffers + Thereby_ + + CHAPTER THE SEVENTH + + _Wherein Our Pirate Meets a Lady, and One Virginia Grymes Hears + a Strange Tale_ + + CHAPTER THE EIGHTH + + _How His Excellency, the Governor, Issues a Proclamation_ + + CHAPTER THE NINTH + + _In Which His Excellency Proposes; the Legislature Disposes: + and Pierre Dominique Becomes the Guest of the State_ + + CHAPTER THE TENTH + + _Wherein Twenty Thousand Dollars Appears upon the Scene_ + + CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH + + _How a District Attorney Receives an Insult, and Monsieur de + Moulin Tweaks the Nose of an American_ + + CHAPTER THE TWELFTH + + _In Which Is Related an Account of the Duel at Slaughterhouse + Point, and How Virginia Flirts with Profit_ + + CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH + + _Wherein Mr. Livingston Receives an Invitation, and Mr. Grymes + Pays a Social Call on a Pirate_ + + + _Book Two_ + + CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH + + _How Virginia Comes to Bordeaux Manor, and One Manuel Espinosa + Takes What He Wants_ + + CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH + + _In Which Virginia Hears the Toast of “Vive Le Bosse!”_ + + CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH + + _Wherein Is Encountered a Man—a Maid—and a Moon_ + + CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH + + _How De Moulin Comes to Flirt at the Quadroon Ball, but Remains + to Fight_ + + CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH + + _In Which Jean Lafitte Is Sorely Tempted, and, Incidentally, + Sees a Vision_ + + CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH + + _Wherein Laurent Mercier Beards the Lion, and His Excellency + Calls a Council_ + + CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH + + _How a Friend Arrives at Grande Terre, Who Proves to Be an + Enemy_ + + CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST + + _In Which “The Hellish Bandit” Makes an Offer, and “Old + Hickory” Makes an Answer_ + + CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND + + _Wherein the Pirate-Patriots Attain Glory, and Two of Their + Number Seek Death_ + + CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD + + _How One Lafitte Repeats a Prayer, and Another Enters the + Valley of the Shadow_ + + CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH + + _In Which Our Pirate Walks into a Trap, and Hauls Down His + Colors_ + + + + +PROLOGUE + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIRST: + +_Wherein Lizette Fondac Makes a Great Sacrifice and One Jean Lafitte +Makes a Momentous Decision_ + + +I + +“But, Jean, _mon frère_, this is not your quarrel! ’Tis folly to fight +this man—madness! _Mon Dieu!_ I’m sure this Brouillard meant no offense. +No doubt he was well in his cups.” + +His companion turned on him with sudden fury. + +“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!” + +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. + +“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....” + +“Jested? _Sacré nom de Dieu!_ When he named her ‘_fille de joie_’?... +When he dared—_dared_—call my Lizette a courtesan? A sorry jest ’twill be +for him—a bitter jest! By all the devils of Satan he shall—” + +Pierre Lafitte shook his head sadly, angrily. He had all along mistrusted +this affair. On the very first 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. + +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 _bon vivant_, 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. + +Pierre sighed a _blasé_, sophisticated sigh. + +“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, _garçon_, +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.” + +Jean shrugged his shoulders impatiently ... nervously. + +“It matters not, Pierre. I will fight him—and kill him.” + +“Don’t be over-confident,” dryly. “It is more probable that he will +kill—_you_! Don’t be a fool!” + +“The outcome is on the knees of the gods. If he kills me, I shall die +content, knowing I died for _her_!” + +“Heroics are quite unnecessary,” observed Pierre, resignedly. “If you’re +determined to be a target for Brouillard, it’s no use—” + +“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.” + +“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. _Au revoi’!_” + +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. + +When Pierre returned, later, having made arrangements for the coming +meeting, he found the air smoke-laden and his brother haggard. + +There were still three candles burning on the trestle. + + +II + +Dawn broke in a symphony of gorgeous rosy tints, heralding the awakening +of the ardent monarch of the 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“One— + +“Two—” + +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. + +“Three—!” + +She was almost upon them, now. So excited were 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— + +“Fire!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 from her +motionless body and led away by his brother. + + +III + +“Why do you follow me about, Pierre? Can I not have a moment’s peace?” +There was a nervous petulance in his voice. + +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. + +Pierre Dominique answered shortly, his own lips drawn together. + +“Because I cannot trust you alone.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Perhaps not, my brother.” + +“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.” + +Jean stared across the sea, his gaze wandering across the spacious blue +purity of the Indian Ocean. + +“I cannot go back—Pierre. It is impossible.” + +“But you cannot mean to stay, boy. It will not profit you and you surely +cannot forget, here.” + +“I do not wish to forget!” + +“I know, I know, _mon pauvre garçon_, but you must leave; this is no +place for you.” + +“Well, _mon frère_, if it will add to your happiness, I will tell you; I +do intend to leave Mauritius.” + +“_Bon!_ That’s the way to talk, Jean. We will—” + +“_Mais non_, you are wrong. I am not going back to Bordeaux.” + +“Why not?” puzzled. + +“I go elsewhere.” + +“Very well; we will go elsewhere if that is your desire. There are—” + +“But you do not understand, Pierre. Our ways must part, from now on.” + +“_Ventre-saint-gris!_ The boy is mad!” + +“Perhaps. But I have a duty to perform ... and you have not!” + +“What do you mean?” The older Lafitte looked vaguely uneasy. + +“Why, pretend, _mon frère_? You know that I must find—and punish—the +murderer of Lizette!” + +“Oh, that?” But his seeming indifference did not fool Jean. He could see +that Pierre was troubled in reality, now. + +“Just that! If I have to spend the rest of my life hunting him, I shall +find Brouillard; the coward, the base scoundrel!” + +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. + +Jean glanced shamefacedly at his brother, expecting some remark of +surprise ... displeasure. But none 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. + +Pierre Dominique spoke, quietly, authoritatively: + +“Very well, then, Jean. We shall first find Brouillard and then give him +up to justice.” + +“No, no, Pierre; you are too noble. I will not draw you into my quarrel; +you must not come!” + +“We will go together, _garçon_.” + +“We will not! Don’t forget you owe some one else a duty, Pierre. Do you +forget your Margot?” + +Pierre Dominique turned away his face. + +“No, I do not forget Margot, brother mine. But we will forget her.” + +“We will not!” + +“Margot will not miss one gallant; she has enough and to spare!” + +“Is that the Lafitte spirit?” demanded Jean, rather irrelevantly, but +glad to be able to take the offensive. + +Pierre looked chagrined. + +“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—” + +“You are right, _mon frère_. Enough of this foolish talk! As for you, +Pierre Dominique, you will return home—to Bordeaux. Go into trade, and +marry your Margot.” + +“What do you mean to do?” + +“What will I do? I shall be my own master, with my own ship. I have +thought it over, Pierre. No 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!” + +“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. + +“Perhaps,” said Jean, enigmatically. + +“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.” + +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. + +“You do not understand, Pierre! I loved—” In his glistening eyes was an +immeasurable anguish—the fires of an ecstatic mental torture. + +“No, Jean, you did not. You are but a boy. You do not know what real love +is.” + +“Nonsense! _Nom de Dieu!_ It is Brouillard himself that I want—to meet +again! To punish him—to make him pay.” + +“But he was really not to blame,” Pierre pleaded, half frightened at the +vindictiveness of his young brother. + +“Not to blame—not to blame?” cried Jean Lafitte, furious, unreasoning. +“_Dieu!_ Not to blame, you say? Can’t you understand, _mon frère_? Can’t +you realize?” There was a strained note in his voice. “No, he will 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!” + +Pierre Lafitte crossed himself, almost unconsciously. + +The younger Lafitte, his face pale, his eyes flashing in the way that +later became characteristic, made a striking picture. + +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. + +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. + +“I think I understand, Jean,” he said, quietly, and dropped his gaze. + +Together they stared at the sea, silently, broodingly. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SECOND: + +_How a Gentleman Pirate Catches a Tartar, and the Personage in the Moon +Is Proven to Be a Woman_ + + +I + +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. + +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. + +This sinister vessel, clearly built for speed, was undoubtedly a pirate. + +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. + +And what name is so boldly gilded on the stern? The _Lizette_.... + +The _Lizette_—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. + +Jean Lafitte, who, it is said, hates all women. + +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.... + +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. + +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. + +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. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 “_Le Renard Noir_” (“the Black Fox”), of whom he had heard +much but never met, were one and the same. + +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 _Lizette_ pry her inquisitive prow, +but so far her search was unrewarded. + +The _Lizette_ 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. + + +II + +“Sail ho!” + +The cry, called out from the heights of the shrouds, reverberated over +the ship like a trumpet-call. + +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. + +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: + +“Sail ho!” + +By this time Lafitte himself was on deck and the bulwarks were already +lined by many of his men, whose number was rapidly increasing. + +“Jacques!” + +A short, wiry young seaman with bright reddish hair and an astonishing +number of freckles quickly responded to Jean’s call. + +“Call Ramon....” + +“_Mon capitaine_ will fight?” + +“Send Ramon to me at once,” impatiently. “And Pedro.” + +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 _Lizette_ 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. + +“You passed the word?” + +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. + +Lafitte was anything if not cautious. Although he very well knew the +quality of the _Lizette_; 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. + +For a full minute Jean studied the approaching vessel with his glass. + +“It is a big ship,” he said, in an aside. + +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. + +“It is English ... yes, see, they are running up the British flag. Might +it not be a frigate?” + +“We shall take the risk. At the worst the _Lizette_ can use the better +part of discretion and show them a clean pair of heels. What say you, +Pedro?” + +The brawny gunner fidgeted, averting his eyes. He had just put down his +own glass. + +“To tell the truth, Don Juan, I like not its look. And of course the flag +doesn’t mean anything.” + +“Then you think we ... should not fight?” + +“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—” + +Suddenly Ramon cursed audibly. + +“How blind I am! That ship is one of the Brotherhood! It is the ship you +seek.” + +His two companions turned on him quickly. + +“Do you recognize it?” demanded Lafitte. + +The mate nodded his head slowly, putting down his glass. + +“I have seen her but once,” he answered, quietly, “but I could recognize +her anywhere.” + +“You are sure?” demanded Jean, impatiently. + +“It is the Black Fox!” breathed Ramon, heavily. + +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. + +“We shall fight!” he exclaimed, the joy of battle 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. + +“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. + +“I said that we will fight!” answered Jean, curtly. + +“But, Don Juan—” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +The Spaniard’s lips curled as he nodded appreciation of the grim +pleasantry. Another moment and he, too, had gone. + +Lafitte returned to his study of the oncoming vessel, a set smile of +anticipation playing about his tight-pressed 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. + +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. + +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 +_Lizette_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +“Fire!” + +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 wreckage of ropes +and sails, upon the deck. The ship was helpless for the moment, and the +master of the _Lizette_ grasped his advantage. + +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.... + +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 _Lizette_ whether they +faced friend or foe. When the wolf scents blood— + +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. + +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. + +Pandemonium reigned.... + +Step by step Jean’s men were forced back, fighting desperately. + +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. + +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 +_Lizette_, his shout pierced the tumult: + +“Cut loose, men!” + +Then he turned for a final stand, to defend the retreat of his followers. +In another few moments all the ropes that held the _Lizette_ 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. + +Flinging his empty, smoking pistol and broken sword into the face of his +enemies, Jean turned and leaped for the _Lizette_. + +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. + +The next moment the two vessels had drifted apart, the Black Fox’s guns +trained on the _Lizette_, 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 time the lady in +the moon veiled her face from the scene of bloodshed. The _Lizette_ +disappeared into the night, leaving her master in the hands of his +enemies. + +The howling of the wolfpack diminished and soon all was silent. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRD: + +_In Which the Black Fox Encounters an Old Acquaintance_ + + +“Get up!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Of a sudden, following the shuffling of feet overhead, a hatchway lifted, +letting in a flood of sunlight 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. + +A moment later another followed. The first one unlocked the chains, and +then they roughly dragged him up the ladder to the deck. + +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. + +Jean looked about him with interest, eager to see Brouillard. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“So, Monsieur Lafitte,” he drawled, “we meet again!” + +Jean defiantly gave him back stare for stare, contemptuously silent. + +“Why have you hunted me all these years?” suddenly demanded the other. + +“To kill you!” answered Lafitte, simply, his voice redolent of hate. + +The Black Fox did not laugh. + +“Why?” he persisted. + +“To avenge Lizette Fondac,” said Jean. + +Brouillard cursed expressively. + +“Damn you!” he cried, “you know it was an accident, that!” + +“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.” + +“I would not have retracted, however,” said Brouillard, heavily. “You are +a young fool. I told the truth about that wench.” + +“You lie!” cried Lafitte. + +“_Parbleu!_ But the gutter scum is impertinent!” + +The younger man fairly writhed with the frenzy of his rage. + +“Loosen me, coward,” he cried, “and I will kill you with my own hands! +Coward! Dog! Scoundrel!” + +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. + +“You are afraid to face me man to man, cursed one!” panted Lafitte. + +Brouillard laughed heartily. + +“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 _Le Renard Noir_.... 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, _mon brave_! Name of a name! Your lot shall be a living +death, Jean Lafitte!” + +Lafitte’s lip curled contemptuously. He had regained his self-possession. + +“Indeed!” he said. The insulting inflection of that one word seemed to +madden Brouillard, who poured a storm of obscene invective on his head. + +“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—” + +Jean yawned. + +“You bore me excessively, my friend,” he interjected. + +Brouillard stopped short, his face a panorama of conflicting emotions. +Then he suddenly turned and called one of his followers. + +“Bring the red-head!” he ordered, brusquely. + +Lafitte stiffened, and followed the pirate out of sight with his eyes. +Brouillard, watching him, grinned evilly. + +“It may interest you to know, monsieur, that you are not our only guest.” + +“What do you mean?” sharply. + +“There was a red-head....” + +“Red Jacques!” exclaimed Jean. + +“... who did not escape,” finished the Black Fox, grinning with enjoyment +at sight of Lafitte’s crestfallen face. + +“Well?” the latter demanded. + +“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.” + +“He is dead?” with horror. + +“Not yet!” was the laconic response. “He is only slightly wounded.” + +“Thank _le bon Dieu_!” + +“I said ‘not yet’!” went on Brouillard, smoothly. + +“What do you mean?” + +“_Vous verrez_ ... you shall see!” + +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. + +“_Mon capitaine!_ I thought you were dead!” + +“_Pauvre garçon!_ Jean Lafitte thanks you for your loyalty. He will +remember it.” + +Red Jacques flushed with delight. + +“I would die for you, _mon capitaine_,” he said, simply, and halted, all +confusion. + +“I’ll give you an opportunity,” put in the Black Fox, urbanely. “Sancho, +the rope!” + +“If you harm him,” cried Lafitte, “I will kill you! I swear it by Our +Lady!” + +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.... + +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. + +“Courage!” shouted Lafitte. “If he harms you he shall pay for this!” As +yet he could not fathom Brouillard’s intentions. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +“You devil!” shrieked Lafitte, straining at his ropes. “Let him down!” + +Brouillard laughed and cursed him. Again Red Jacques swung against the +heavy mast, and screamed in anguish. + +“Have you no pity?” cried Jean, perceiving the uselessness of his efforts +to free himself. “Let him down. You’re killing the lad!” + +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. + +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. + +Lafitte fainted. + +A douche of water brought back his senses. He looked up. + +Over his head in the bright sunshine swayed the body of his unfortunate +comrade, swinging limply and unresistingly. + +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 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. + +“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—” + +He broke off abruptly, for he had vowed in his heart to flay Brouillard +alive, strip him shrieking from his skin. + +The Black Fox laughed unsteadily, and for the second time cuffed the +unresisting Lafitte across the mouth, drawing a faint trickle of blood. + +“From now on, _mon ami_,” 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.” + +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. + +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. + +The Black Fox was attacked! + +For what seemed like ages he lay there helpless, listening to the +battle, torn with anxiety. Had the _Lizette_ returned to rescue him? But +that was doubtful, for he judged that the _Lizette_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +Suddenly the hatchway opened, revealing a man’s shoulders silhouetted +against the twilight sky. + +“Don Juan!” came a voice. “Are you there, Don Juan?” + +Lafitte’s heart bounded joyously. + +“Ramon!” he exclaimed. The impossible had happened. The _Lizette_ had +come to his rescue. A pæan of joy sang in his brain. + +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. + +Came explanations. The _Lizette_ 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 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 _Lizette_, and the fresh additions to her crew, +making victory possible. + +“And Brouillard?” demanded Jean. + +Brouillard, said Pierre, had been taken prisoner, as had the majority of +his men. Should they immediately hang him? And them? + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +The men of the _Lizette_ 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. + +Brouillard fought cautiously, ever on the defensive, knowing well that +his life was at stake. Parrying and 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. + +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. + +Fear, that most demoralizing of emotions, entered his soul, and this it +was, perhaps, that hastened the end. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +Lizette Fondac and Red Jacques were avenged. + + + + +BOOK ONE + +_Ambition_ + + “_... 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...._” + + —JEAN LAFITTE. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FOURTH: + +_Wherein a Gentleman Blacksmith Arrives upon the Scene_ + + +“Who is Jean Lafitte?” District-Attorney Grymes looked at his guest in +surprise. Edward Marshall, a stoop-shouldered, fastidiously dressed man, +nodded. + +“Exactly. I’ve only been in your blessed city two short days, and yet all +I hear is ‘Jean Lafitte’ ... ‘Jean Lafitte’!” + +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. + +“First of all, Lafitte, or rather, the Lafittes, are blacksmiths.” + +“I know that much!” + +“Well, they are what might be called ‘gentlemen blacksmiths.’ They are +both men of unusual education and refinement, and prominent in business +here.” + +“So I gathered ... but what is all this talk about them?” + +“Well, I suppose I’ll have to begin at the beginning. Here, Rappahannock, +bring some of that claret from bin four.” + +Rappahannock, the butler, obeyed, disappearing inside 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. + +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. + +And it is here that we meet Jean Lafitte again. + +“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 ... +listen: I’ll have to quote you a little history, Marshall; I’ll try not +to bore you. + +“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.” + +“I don’t know about that, Grymes. Up in New York we still get reports of +looted vessels, outrages of all kinds.” + +“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.” + +“Yes, but what’s all this talk—” + +“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. + +“But first, let me refresh your memory a little. Two years ago, in +January, 1808, I believe, Congress passed a law prohibiting the further +importation of slaves into this country.” + +Marshall showed interest. + +“I remember that fool law well,” he said, “and for a good reason. It made +me lose ten thousand dollars.” + +Grymes nodded. + +“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.” + +Marshall grunted. + +“It’s the same thing all over the country.” + +“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—” + +“That they went to Cuba to get them—” + +“—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. + +“It’s curious, Marshall, but these Creoles seem to 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. + +“I suppose you also know that for years New Orleans has been a noted spot +for _contrabandistas_ 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. + +“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. + +“In the last year, however, the smuggling business has changed its +aspect, and that in a very drastic manner. + +“These smuggling gentlemen soon realized that the legitimate slavers +carried small, poorly armed crews, and as swiftly decided that it would +be more profitable to take this—er—black ivory from the slavers by +force, rather than purchase it in Havana. They acted accordingly. + +“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.” + +Marshall yawned delicately and sipped his claret. + +“But where does Lafitte come in?” he asked. “For the life of me—” + +“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. + +“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. + +“And the Lafitte smithy is, therefore, a sort of clearing house for many +questionable transactions. + +“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 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. + +“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. + +“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!” + +He paused. Marshall seemed infected with Grymes’s enthusiasm. + +“This Lafitte must be a wonderful man, indeed,” he said, “but you have +forgotten to tell me one thing ... what, or where, is Barataria?” + +Grymes looked up eagerly. + +“I had forgotten! Barataria, or rather, Grande 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. + +“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! + +“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. + +“Do you wonder why the name of Jean Lafitte is on every lip?” + +Marshall looked thoughtful. + +“I understand, now. And I suppose every one is wondering what he will do +next.” + +“Exactly. But here, Marshall, I know I have bored you with my long talk.” + +“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?” + +The district attorney nodded, his eyes suddenly tender. + +“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.” + +Marshall answered perfunctorily. He was mentally wondering what Jean +Lafitte was going to do next. + +But for that matter, Marshall was one of many. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIFTH: + +_How Jean Lafitte Tells of His Ambition, and Incidentally Makes a Change +of Residence_ + + +“And so, _mes amis_,” said Lafitte, slowly, “I have decided to go to +Grande Terre.” + +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. + +“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. + +“Just what I said,” answered Lafitte, “I have decided to go to Grande +Terre.” + +“Why?” + +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 run over to our base of +operations and look after things.” + +“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.” + +“And since when have you taken it upon yourself to tell me my duty, +m’sieu?” demanded the Frenchman, haughtily. + +“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. + +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. + +“What’s up, Jean?” he asked, quietly. “Why this sudden determination?” + +“I have decided that it is for our best interests that I go to Grande +Terre—for a while.” + +“To—stay?” asked Grambo, quietly, although seething inwardly, as Lafitte +well knew. + +“I believe so. Here are my intentions: I shall go to Barataria to +superintend the work—” + +“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 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. + +“First of all,” said Lafitte, “it will hardly be necessary to send your +goods to New Orleans in the future.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“All goods—particularly black ivory—shall be brought directly to Grande +Terre, and unloaded there.” + +“But what is your object in this strange proceeding?” asked Pierre +Dominique. “Why all the extra trouble?” + +“It will not be extra trouble at all. Grande Terre is to be our +headquarters in the future. Our base of supplies.” + +“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.” + +“Not at all,” countered Lafitte. “We can sell them just as well—and as +profitably—at Grande Terre.” + +“Bud dere is no one to buy, dere! To sell, we muz ’ave customers. Dere +muz be a market!” + +“Exactly. We will create a market.” + +“_Comment?_” + +“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. + +For a moment they stared at him, turning the new idea over and over in +their minds. Lafitte went on. + +“It is absurdly simple. We shall erect warehouses, 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, _mes amis_, if it is managed right.” + +“_C’est vrai_—’tis true!” murmured Pocquelin, the ship owner. + +“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. + +“Therefore,” continued Jean, “I will leave for Grande Terre at dawn. +Pierre shall remain here, to act in my absence. As for Barataria, +_messieurs_, 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!” + +The response was enthusiastic. Jean smiled. He invariably had his way +with punctilious Creole aristocrat and uncouth smuggler. His magnetic, +forceful personality always triumphed. + +“As for yourself, Monsieur Grambo,” remarked the younger Lafitte, “since +you have such a deep-rooted prejudice against my visiting your island, +suppose you remain in New Orleans for a few weeks? You need the rest, +I’m sure.” + +All were silent, instinctively realizing that something was in the air. + +“Grambo will go to Gran’ Terre, _aussi_,” growled that gentleman, +half-defiantly; “he has naught to do een New Orleans!” + +Jean laughed softly. + +“Go by all means, _mon bon ami_! 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 ... _oui_. But only because +I permit you to go. Because it is my wish,” he added, with magnificent +condescension in his voice. + +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. + +“Grambo weel do w’at ’e dam’ weesh!” cried the Baratarian, at last. + +“_Très bien_,” 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 _notre ami_ ... Monsieur Grambo. No? Well, keep it +awhile. There are many of our privateer friends who might—” + +“Eet ees again ‘privateer’!” cried Grambo, jeeringly. “Murszhur Lafitte, +I—Grambo—am a pirate! Nod a _damné_ privateer! Bah! W’at do I cayeh who +know? To hell wit’ poleez! To hell wit’ de law! I—Grambo—” + +“—Am a damn fool!” finished Pierre, under his breath, as he filled his +pipe. Jean broke in. + +“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.” + +“Letters of marque?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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 Louisiana’s best-known citizens +were indirectly connected with it. + +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. + +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. + +After a little more discussion the visitors left without Grambo having +said anything more. The two brothers were alone. + +Pierre Dominique broke the silence. + +“Jean,” he said, staring into the fireplace, “I mistrust Grambo. Do you +think it wise to antagonize him?” + +“Perhaps not.” + +“You had better keep on your guard, _mon frère_.” + +“Don’t worry, Pierre. I am prepared.” + +“_Comment?_” + +“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?” + +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; 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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“_C’est vrai._ 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!” + +“Fighters?” + +“_Naturellement!_ 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. + +“There is naught that so impresses them as display 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. + +“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. + +“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 _éclat_ 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—” + +“Monarchy!” finished Pierre Dominique, soberly, his eyes on Jean’s face. +“_Ma foi!_ 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!” + +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. + +“Speaking of monarchies—kingdoms—Pierre, are those impossible? The little +Corsican, unknown to the world but ten short years ago, is now Emperor +of France! The obscure cadet of an Italian province is now our king!” + +“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. + +“There is the saying, ‘_si Dieu n’ existait pas, il faudrait +l’inventer_.’ And it is true. If God did not exist it _would_ 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!” + +Jean laughed lightly. + +“What of Toussaint L’Ouverture? Did he not make himself dictator of Santo +Domingo but a few short years ago?” + +“The ‘Black Napoleon’? _Ma foi_, Jean, but you have much to learn! The +conditions favored him. And, in any event, such things happen but once in +an age!” + +“What can happen once can happen again! Yet—” + +“‘Yet’! That’s exactly the point. _Yet_ it won’t 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 _he_ 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. + +“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—” + +Lafitte laughed and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. + +“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.” + +Pierre Dominique looked both exasperated and perplexed. + +“Then why do you crave this personal power? Why do you wish to reign +supreme at Grande Terre?” he demanded, bluntly. + +Jean Lafitte smiled grimly. His black eyes flashed. + +“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 _do_ intend, and I will succeed, in making +myself the economic dictator of the Mississippi Valley! The privateer of +Barataria shall set the price of slaves, and, mayhap, other commodities, +in this region. Opportunity is at our door. We shall win our desire, +_not_ by the right of the stronger—but—by the right of the wiser.... You +understand me?” he cried, enthusiastically. + +Pierre looked at his brother thoughtfully. “_Mais oui._ But that is an +unusual doctrine.” + +“All unused doctrines are unusual.” + +“But your idea has—possibilities. It’s not exactly impossible.” + +“Possibilities?” Jean laughed exultantly. “Impossible? _Impossible n’est +pas un mot français!_” + +Pierre did not answer. Jean kicked idly at the dying embers. + +“You wish to be—you are—_un chevalier d’industrie_!” accused Pierre, +suddenly. + +“A knight of industry, yes. But not a swindler—a sharper. Pierre, this is +an age of money—a mercenary age.” + +“That may be said of every age in history,” said Pierre Lafitte. + +“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?” + +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. + +“—And perhaps our holy men and women?” he added, ingenuously. + +“You speak blasphemy!” cried Pierre, furtively crossing himself. The +elder Lafitte was not greatly 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. + +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? + +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 “_un +libre-penseur_”—a free-thinker. + +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 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. + +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.... + +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. + +And it was just such a man who was to assist in molding the destinies of +a great nation. + +Such men are not types, nor yet like one another. Most emphatically not. + +Such men are _individuals_. And rarities. + +“Blasphemy?” sighed Jean, guilelessly. “_Non, non, mon frère._ I speak +but the truth.” He laughed cynically. + +“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 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. + +Pierre Dominique looked pained. + +“More blasphemy!” he muttered, ignoring Jean’s latter remarks, which, +truth to tell, he did not understand. + +Jean laughed unpleasantly, catching at the other’s train of thought, with +swift insight. + +“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, _n’est-ce-pas, mon Pierre_? 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!” + +He laughed mirthlessly. Pierre Dominique endeavored to look stern, but +without success. + +“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.” + +“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 blessing as a true son of Mother +Church ... me, the pirate ... the smuggler!” There was a trace of +bitterness in his voice. + +But Pierre Dominique did not answer. + +For a long while neither spoke, each buried in his own thoughts, as they +stared into the dying fire. + +The last ember sputtered out. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SIXTH: + +_In which Grambo, the Quadroon, Is Indiscreet, and Suffers Thereby_ + + +Grambo scowled. + +“I do nod trus’ him, I tell you! He ees nod betteh dan annybodee else!” + +“I knowce it, bud who gan mague an’teen?” + +“I’d lag to cud hiz troad! De—” + +“Hush! Heah come won af hiz boolies!” + +“De _canaille_!” + +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. + +Grambo snarled. + +“Señor Grambo,” said the other, “Manuel Espinosa, too, would lag to go +some nigh’ and cut-a hiz heart ou’—bud eet is impossible!” + +Grambo nodded gloomily. + +“_Oui_, 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 _diable_!” + +“Can nodin’ be done?” + +“I gan keel-a heem!” + +“W’at do de oders say?” he asked. + +“De oders?” Grambo cursed. “Dey are all wit’ 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 ‘_le bosse_’! Dad oz w’at day all +call heem—‘_bosse_.’ I go to dem—to Millar’, to Pascoval, to Mazara, +’Kenzie—dey are all crezzie! Dey sayce, ‘Of co’se Lafette iz de _bosse_! +Foah why nod?’ Dey sayce he is de sma’tes’ man een de Golf! Bah! Jus’ +beco’se he mague so mooch money!” + +“Did dey all say dad?” + +“_Non!_ 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—_moi_, Grambo!” + +“A chance-a weel come. We weel get heem yet,” promised Manuel. + +The quadroon nodded gloomily. Together they walked along the beach, +toward the busy crowd at the landing. + +As Grambo had remarked, Jean Lafitte was undoubtedly the undisputed +_bosse_ 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. + +Immediately after his arrival he had summoned into 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. + +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. + +But a few of the Baratarians, notably the quadroon, were not altogether +pacified. Far from it. + +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 _vice +versa_. + +And thus matters had rested. + +It was a bright June day and an unusual bustle was to be seen on the low, +sandy island. + +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 poor human chattels were immediately sent to the +slave stockades—large, heavily fenced inclosures containing sheds. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Grambo had by now stepped out of the chattering group and was eying +her—her supple body and comely face, the curve of her girlish bosom. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +For a long moment Jean stared the quadroon in the eye. + +Grambo repeated his demand gruffly. + +“What were you doing with it, if I may ask?” Lafitte asked, quietly. + +“W’at iz dat to you?” + +“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. + +“I was pun’sh’n’ dis wench,” sullenly. + +“Why?” + +“_Sacré!_ W’at iz dat to you?” + +“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. +Only Espinosa glared at Lafitte balefully, but even he made no move to +interfere. + +“Why?” came the question again. + +“Beco’se she waz disob-bead-yun’!” + +“Disobedient?” Lafitte wore an air of polite puzzlement. + +“_Oui._ She would nod come wit’ me.” The next moment he could have bitten +his tongue off for that damaging statement. + +“Is she your personal property?” asked Lafitte, suavely. + +“None of you’ dam’ bus’nez!” cried Grambo, defiantly, swiftly deciding to +brazen it out. “W’at do—” + +Lafitte turned to the near-by overseer. The crowd grew thicker. + +“Is this slave one of that group?” he demanded, imperiously pointing to +the near-by string of slaves. + +“Yesseh, _mon capitaine_!” respectfully. + +“Has this string been sold yet?” + +“No, _monsieur le bosse_. We were joost takin’ dem to de black-ivree pen. +Dey’ve joost come off de sheep.” + +“Have they been spoken for?” + +“No, monsieur. Dey are to go strai’t to de block.” + +Lafitte’s voice became hard. + +“Then how is this slave girl in his possession?” + +“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. + +“Speak out!” said Lafitte. + +“Grambo—_Capitaine_ Grambo, ordeh’d me to loosen heh and to geeve heh to +heem. I did nod know....” + +Jean wheeled around and faced Grambo again. + +“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. + +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. + +“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?” + +Jean Lafitte looked him over contemptuously. + +“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!” + +With a bound Grambo was face to face with him, shaking his fist +menacingly and uttering fierce curses. + +“Stand back, dog!” exclaimed Lafitte. + +Grambo only cursed the more. His hand was sneaking toward the knife in +his belt. + +“Stand back, thief!” said Jean, scornfully, “before I give you a +lesson for your insubordination! Malherébé, place this quadroon in the +_calabosa_!” + +With a shriek of rage the pirate sprang at Jean. In his hand was +clenched a gleaming knife. There was an involuntary gasp from the +bystanders and a general rush forward. + +But the cool Lafitte was prepared. A pistol flashed from its holster, +spoke reprovingly, and Grambo fell, shot through the heart. + +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. + +The crowd closed around the body. + +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. + +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 _bosse_ 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. + +But his hatred of Lafitte was but intensified, and within his shadowy +soul Manuel Encarnacion Espinosa swore vengeance. + +When he finally raised his head, however, and rose to his feet, his +swarthy face was blandly imperturbable. + +Grambo, the quadroon, had ceased to exist, but his work was to be carried +on. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SEVENTH: + +_Wherein Our Pirate Meets a Lady, and One Virginia Grymes Hears a Strange +Tale_ + + +I + +“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. + +“Meaning—?” asked Jean, inquiringly. + +“The two ladies who have just passed.” + +“The fair Amélie and her cousin Angélique?” + +“Precisely. It is something unusual to see them together. I wonder what’s +up?” + +“Ze frien’sheep of two women ees nozzing bud a plot against a zird,” +contributed De Moulin, sententiously. + +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. 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. + +“I have heard,” said Pierre, “that Amélie is contemplating entering the +Convent of the Ursulines. Is it true?” + +De Moulin laughed wickedly. + +“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. + +Jean laughed. + +“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!” + +“Without love,” said Pierre, sagely, “it would be sad to be a man....” + +“From which I am to infer,” responded his brother, “that you are in that +tortured state? Who is it this time?” + +Pierre sighed heavily. + +“You may jest about it, little brother, but wait—just wait—until the germ +bites _you_! I should like to see that day....” + +“The holy saints forfend!” exclaimed Jean, with mock piety. + +“Of co’se Pierre eez in love!” cried De Moulin. “An’ so am I—an’ oweh +fr’en’s heah, too.” + +“What do you mean?” demanded Jean. + +“There gan be bud won,” went on the Creole. + +“Who?” with perplexity. + +“_La belle Américaine!_” + +“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!” + +“Heh nem is Virginia Grymes,” contributed one of the others. + +“Grymes?” asked Jean. “Could it be—” + +“_Mais oui, mon frère!_ 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. _Sacré diable!_ One can well believe +it! She was the belle of the Assembly Ball in the Quaker City when she +made her _début_ there.” + +“Ah, Pierre,” said Jean, “I see you’ve been up to your old tricks. Has +she refused you, yet?” + +“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, _mon frère_, 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!” + +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! + +“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?” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 ceased its cries, awaiting the +further action of this rash man. + +The runaways were about fifteen yards from him when the man, pistol in +hand, aimed at the nearest horse. + +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. + +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. + +The crowd, cheering, surged tumultuously about them, leaving them +inclosed in a little space by the carriage steps. + +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. + +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, 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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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!” + +Jean mentally reared back on his heels. Here was a bit of femininity +altogether different from the languishing, insipid ladies of his +acquaintance. + +“Glorious!” he gasped. + +“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.” + +“Wonderful!” “Inconvenience!” Jean stared. + +“Do you realize, mademoiselle,” he said, stiffly, “that you might have +been seriously injured—killed—or perhaps drowned?” + +“Drowned?” she repeated, with a bewildered look. An old sailor, one of +the bystanders, now chimed in. + +“_Mon Dieu!_ De black devils were headed straight for dat wharf, down +dere. If it hadn’t been for _monsieur le capitaine_....” His voice +trailed off vaguely into nothingness, as if the words he left unsaid were +too terrible for contemplation, much less speech. + +Her terrified eyes followed his finger. She shuddered. Then, as suddenly +as before, she resumed her former attitude. Her voice was abjectly +apologetic. + +“How ungrateful I have acted! Pray forgive me, sir ... er ... Captain?” +she begged, archly contrite. + +The bow that _monsieur le capitaine_ 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. + +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. + +“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. + +So this was the new beauty—the rage of Creole society! He might have +known it, he thought, vexed. + +“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 momentary pause as the significance of that well-known name sank +into her consciousness. + +“Not—not—_the_ Jean Lafitte,” she faltered, and then could have bitten +off her tongue. + +He stiffened, and a curious dignity was apparent in his reply. + +“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. + +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. + +“Both my father and I would be delighted to have you call at your +earliest convenience,” she said, graciously, if somewhat stiltedly. + +At this moment Pierre Lafitte, accompanied by his friends, reached them, +having fought his way with difficulty through the dense crowd. + +“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!” + +“Your brother!” she exclaimed, strangely moved. + +“But certainly! _Que je suis bête!_ 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. + +Jean Lafitte had disappeared. + +And not ten feet away, in the thick of the throng, 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.... + + +II + +Margaret Claiborne frowned. + +“Yes, I’ll admit that he’s brave, Jinny, and all of that, but I wouldn’t +cultivate him.” + +“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 _the_ +Jean Lafitte!’—and it sounded _terrible_, 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?” + +“Simply this. This Lafitte person, although a pirate, is a rather +prominent society man in New Orleans.” + +“No!” Miss Grymes was shocked or surprised. Perhaps both—perhaps neither. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Yes, Pierre is rather nice. But his brother is impossible.” + +“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!” + +Margaret Claiborne flushed suspiciously, but Virginia forgot it at her +next words: + +“_I_ thought so once, too, Virgie, but let me tell you _why_ 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!” + +Virginia Grymes gasped, her delicately chiseled lips parting in surprise +and disclosing a row of pearls, apparently. + +“A—a—murderer!” + +“Yes. It is said that he killed a man—another pirate—shot him in cold +blood!” + +“Here in New Orleans?” + +“No; at their rendezvous at a little island in Barataria Bay, about fifty +miles from here.” + +“That handsome—er—nice-looking young man, shot—_killed_ a man?” asked +Virginia incredulously. + +“Yes,” reiterated her friend. + +“But why?” + +Margaret Claiborne unconsciously lowered her voice. + +Virginia leaned forward. + +“Over—a woman! A negro slave girl!” + +Virginia gasped, and suddenly felt faint. A feeling of intense disgust—of +loathing, pervaded her. + +“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! + +Margaret leaned back in her chair. + +“My father told me,” she replied, simply, as if stating an +incontrovertible fact. “He ought to know, oughtn’t he?” + +Virginia nodded dumbly, her eyes on the floor, her mind awhirl. + +Yes, Margaret’s father ought to know. Who should, if not William C. C. +Claiborne? + +He was the Governor of Louisiana. + + + + +CHAPTER THE EIGHTH: + +_How His Excellency the Governor, Issues a Proclamation_ + + +I + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He had enshrined this French fisher-maiden in his heart, in the firm +belief that he would never love again. Years had passed since the birth +of that resolution and he had not yet broken it ... which was an even +stranger thing. + +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. + +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. + +Those ten years were a curious chapter in his life ... a period of moods +... of inhibitions ... the metamorphosis of the youthful mind. + +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. + +But after his reunion with his brother, all this changed. + +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. + +In an incredibly short time Jean Lafitte became a _poseur_, 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. + +And now, at last, his schemes were bearing fruit, his ambition well on +the road to fulfillment. + +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. + +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 had almost vanished and the +United States customs in Louisiana, never very popular with the Creoles, +was practically a farce. + +Since his arrival at Grande Terre, when he had taken charge of the pirate +colony, the settlement had become as if reborn. + +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. + +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. + +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, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Jean and his followers still visited New Orleans. + +Surrounded by groups of admirers, the Baratarians swaggered through +the busy waterfront and business streets and fairly overran the Place +d’Armes. Every 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. + +The Lafittes had the _entrée_ to the most conservative of Creole homes, +attended balls, fêtes, dinners, and other social events galore. They were +social lions. + +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. + +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.... + +A new star had appeared on his horizon. + + +II + +“Oh, father, I’ve had the most curious adventure!” + +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. + +“Really, Jinny?” he asked, carefully sanding a letter. “I hope you +enjoyed it.” + +Virginia pouted adorably. + +“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 Leroux about that heavenly gown she’s making for me. You +should see it, father, with its lace—” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +Her father straightened abruptly. + +“And where was Scipio?” he demanded. + +“Scipio had not yet mounted the box, father, so—” + +“I’ll whip that black scoundrel within an inch—” + +“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!” + +Grymes looked worried. + +“Was that necessary, do you think, Jinny?” + +Her eyes clouded. + +“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. + +“Who did you say the man was, honey? Captain—who?” + +“Lafitte!” + +“Good God! Not Jean Lafitte?” + +Her adorable little mouth tightened. + +“Yes, and I wish that it were anyone else in the world but he!” + +“Why, child?” astonished at her vehemence. + +“Because he’s a pirate—a low sailor—a smuggler.” + +“Why, Jinny, who in the world told you all that?” + +“Then he isn’t?” + +The district attorney looked rather uncomfortable. + +“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—” + +“But, father, he’s a—murderer.” + +“Who told you _that_?” was the emphatic query. + +“Margaret Claiborne. She says that he killed a man—shot him, just because +he wouldn’t do what he told him.” + +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.... + +“That’s all nonsense!” + +“No, it’s not! Her father, His Excellency, says the same thing, so _she_ +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.” + +“Of course not! But she herself may be mistaken. 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.” + +“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?” + +He smiled. + +“No, not very well. Nor to his brother, either. Especially after he has +done you the service of saving your life.” + +She colored. + +“Well, he acted nicely, and I appreciated it. But still, I can’t help +thinking that he is a pirate.” + +“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.” + +Pouting prettily, she kissed him again, and left him to his own devices. + + +III + +It was a week later. + +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 that he had been playing at cards +with a gathering of friends. + +Virginia looked at the card-littered, wet table disapprovingly. + +“You’ve been gambling again, father,” she said, accusingly, “and after +you promised me!” + +The district attorney flushed. + +“There, there, Jinny! Just a little game between friends. But I have some +news for you. Lafitte has been here.” + +“To see me?” eagerly. + +“No, honey, on business. But there is more news, if you care to hear it.” + +“What is it, father?” She sat on the arm of his chair, playfully rumpling +his hair. + +“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.” + +Virginia was immediately all interest. + +“So what happened?” + +“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 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.” + +Virginia looked thoughtful. + +“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.” + +Grymes only laughed in answer. + +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. + +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. + +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, _mes +amis_! + +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! + +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. + +It was then that matters came to a head. + + + + +CHAPTER THE NINTH: + +_In Which His Excellency Proposes; the Legislature Disposes; and Pierre +Dominique Becomes the Guest of the State_ + + +I + +It was now early December, and the social season of the Creoles’ _Petit +Paris_ 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. + +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. + +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 _Américains_ to their +exclusive social circles, the social activities of New 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. + +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. + +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 _ancien +régime_ of France. Individually and collectively did these Southern +States represent the cream of American aristocracy and culture. + +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. + +These were the friends and compeers of the Lafittes. + +And on this eventful December day these were the men who sat in the +legislative chamber when Governor Claiborne delivered his notable address. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“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. + +“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 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. + +“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. + +“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.... + +“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! + +“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!” + +His Excellency paused a moment to mop his perspiring forehead, his +auditors still attentive, but impassive as stone images. He went on: + +“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. + +“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!” + + * * * * * + +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. + +The members of the Legislature begged to inform His Excellency that there +were no funds available, at present, for the purpose he required. + +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. + +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. + +“Milford!” he called, imperiously. + +Milford suddenly came to life. + +“Yes, Your Excellency!” + +“Those damned idiots down in the Legislature have refused me the +appropriation!” + +“Really, Your Excellency!” + +“Those driveling dolts! ... those demented fools! ... those smuggling +dogs! They’re smugglers, every one of them, I can swear, Milford!” + +“Quite so, Your Excellency.” Milford surreptitiously studied his thumb +nail. It was a bit ragged, he thought. + +“Damn you!” cried Claiborne. “Shut up!” + +Milford cleared his throat uneasily, but his master had already forgotten +him. + +“No doubt they’re every one of them in the pay of that damned Lafitte!” +fussed the Governor. + +Milford nodded assent, owlishly. + +“Was ever man so ill served before—was ever an Executive so ignored?” + +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. + +Finally the Governor quieted down and stared again at the fatal letter +from the Legislature, thinking deeply in the interval. + +Suddenly he sprang to his feet. + +Milford also jumped, although he was already on his feet. + +“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.” + +Milford gulped and then glanced at his thumbnail. + +It was still a bit ragged. + + +II + +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. + +François de Moulin, true friend that he was, sympathetically commiserated +with him. + +“Don’ worree, _mon ami_, 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. + +“What do you know about—Angélique?” he demanded. + +De Moulin laughed and clapped him on the back. + +“_Comme c’est drole!_ I know all, _mon galant_, all! Abou’ ze flow’rs, +an’ _billets_, an’ zat histo’ical serenade und’—” + +“Shut up!” + +“—ze balc’ny. An’ how all change’ when _la belle_ Virginia come—” + +Pierre shrugged his shoulders in exasperation. + +“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, ‘_Tempora mutantur, et nos mutamur in illis_’!” + +The Creole made a grimace. + +“A plague on you’ Latin! Why drag in a poet? _Ventre-saint-gris!_ 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 _la belle_ +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 _la +belle_ Virginia loves M’sieu Jean! _Voilà!_” + +Pierre stared at him with open disbelief. + +“Jean? You are mad, François, stark, staring mad! Why, she dislikes +him—nay, hates him. I cannot help but see it.” + +De Moulin laughed. + +“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—_dame_! +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 _petit pois_ to plant—ze +little idea. Eet may grow—but, _le bon Dieu!_ ... what have we here?” + +As he spoke, a constable, accompanied by a file of soldiers, entered the +smithy. Without parley, he advanced toward Pierre. + +“Mister Peer Lafitte?” he asked. + +Pierre nodded dumbly. + +“I’m sory, sor, but yez’ll have to come with me.” + +“I presume you are arresting me?” asked Pierre, in surprise. + +“That I am, sor,” replied the constable. + +“But why have you arrested M’sieu Lafitte?” demanded the Creole +authoritatively of the constable. “What eez ze charge?” + +The constable touched his cap and displayed a warrant. De Moulin read it +attentively. + +“What is it for?” asked Pierre. + +De Moulin looked at him in exasperation. + +“Eet ees—you are accused of being an accessaree to piracy!” + +Pierre Dominique considered for a moment. They looked at each other. + +“Let us go, then, and get the particulars.” + +“And I will go your bail!” cried François, gayly slipping his arm through +Pierre’s. “_Allons, mes gendarmes, à la calabosa!_” + +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. + +At the station-house, however, they met with an unexpected difficulty. + +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. + +“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.” + +At this they were both taken back. De Moulin was furious. + +“W’at you mean by zat?” he cried, “zat eez not law! I will give any +amount you say!” + +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. + +“_Sacré diable!_ Ees zis a free government—a free law?” he cried. + +The man at the desk said nothing. + +“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!” + +The prisoner intervened. + +“Go nowhere, François—but to Jean! Let him know of this!” said Pierre. + +François de Moulin stared at him for a moment, and then, wringing his +hand, left the room hurriedly, without a backward glance. + +“This way, sor, if ye plaze,” said O’Rourke, the constable, to Lafitte, +and together they disappeared through the door leading to the cells. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TENTH: + +_Wherein Twenty Thousand Dollars Appears upon the Scene_ + + +“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....” + +“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. + +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. + +“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 of Male and +Female Parents on Their Offspring’? It is exceedingly—” + +“—Dry, Livingston, no doubt of it!” responded Grymes, good-humoredly. +“Personally, for entertainment, I prefer good old Boccaccio, or +Rabelais....” + +“No doubt!” dryly. + +“Or an enjoyable hour with Margaret of Valois’s _Heptameron_. To my mind, +the _Decameron_ and _Heptameron_ 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 _ever_ read—” + +Livingston frowned, displeased. + +“I am surprised at your taste, Grymes. And you with a young daughter, at +that.” + +Grymes laughed. + +“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!” + +Livingston was obviously piqued. + +“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 _Conquest of Canaan_. +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—” + +Grymes held up his hand in humorous protest. + +“My dear Livingston, you are incorrigible. But listen here—” + +At this moment old Rappahannock, the Grymes butler, entered the +book-lined, oak-paneled library. + +“Massa Grymes! Massa Lafitte is in de droring-room.” + +Grymes turned in surprise. + +“Which Mr. Lafitte, Rappahannock?” + +“Massa Jean, suh.” + +Livingston and Grymes exchanged glances. + +“He asted if Massa Livingston was heah, suh.” + +“Show him in here, Rappahannock.” The old negro shuffled out. + +Grymes turned to Livingston. + +“Jean Lafitte in New Orleans!” he exclaimed. “What is he doing here?” + +Before his companion could answer, however, Lafitte himself entered and +the two attorneys politely rose to their feet. + +“Be seated, gentlemen,” said Lafitte. “No, don’t go, Mr. Livingston, I +wish to see both of you gentlemen.” + +Without another word Grymes rang for Rappahannock, who answered the call +a moment later. + +“Rappahannock,” said Grymes, “close the door and see that we are not +disturbed. I am not at home to anyone.” + +Bowing, Rappahannock left the room, closing the double doors behind him. + +“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?” + +Livingston merely nodded, his features impassive. + +“Yes, I have heard it, Mr. Lafitte,” said Grymes, “and I think His +Excellency has acted very unwisely. He does not appreciate the delicate +viewpoint which we Louisianians hold toward—er—” + +“Privateering,” supplemented Jean, smiling. + +“Precisely,” finished the district attorney, also smiling. + +“However,” said Lafitte, “it may be possible that you gentlemen do not +know that my brother has been placed under arrest.” + +Both of his auditors started and exchanged quick glances. + +“No, we do not,” answered Livingston. “On what charge has he been +arrested?” + +“On the charge of being an accessory to piracy. But that is not all, +however. He has been refused bail.” + +He paused, but received no answer. The two attorneys merely looked +thoughtful. + +“Therefore, gentlemen, I have come to you,” said Lafitte. + +“Exactly what do you wish us to do?” asked Grymes, beginning to +understand. + +Jean Lafitte leaned back in his chair and smiled again. + +“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. + +“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 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!” + +“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— + +“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.” + +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. + +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, 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. + +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? + +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. + +“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: + +“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!” + +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 gazed at him dumbly, as if unable to believe their +ears. + +“Twenty thousand dollars?” cried the district attorney, gripping the arm +of his chair. + +“Twenty thousand dollars, win or lose!” gasped Edward Livingston, for +once startled out of his invariable pose of impassivity. + +Jean smiled and sipped the Burgundy in his glass. + +“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. + +“But that is a fortune!” cried Grymes, voicing Livingston’s own thought. +“It sounds impossible. Twenty thousand dollars!” + +“_Parbleu! C’est vrai_,” 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.” + +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. + +“I accept!” he said, quietly. + +“_Bon!_” cried Jean, “I thank you! And you, Mr. Grymes?” + +The district attorney was staring into his wine glass, his fingers +beating a restless tattoo on the polished top. + +In his mind’s eye was that magic, “Twenty thousand dollars.” To John +Grymes, high-living and pleasure-loving as he was, and by no means +well-off, twenty thousand dollars was simply—twenty thousand dollars. +Still.... + +“I am the district attorney,” he stated, looking questioningly at +Lafitte. “How can I—” + +Oh, the wonderful promise held forth by that twenty thousand dollars! + +Lafitte laughed. + +“That’s easily enough dealt with,” said he. “Simply resign!” + +“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? + +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? + +And Virginia, what of her? What mightn’t he give her with that money? + +“I accept,” said Grymes, firmly, “and shall resign immediately.” + +Jean Lafitte smiled and shook him heartily by the hand. + +“The present is the best time,” he remarked. “Do so by all means.” + +For the next half hour the three men talked business, 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. + +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. + +As he was thus occupied, he heard a step and looked up. + +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. + +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. + +“What does this mean, father?” she asked, her voice troubled. + +Grymes assumed a casualness he did not at all feel. + +“Just what it says, Jinny. It is my resignation. I am giving up my post +as district attorney.” + +She looked vaguely uneasy. + +“But why, father? You tried so hard to get this office. Why do you +resign?” + +“Listen, Jinny. Mr. Livingston and I are to be the legal counsel of Mr. +Lafitte.” + +“Mr. Lafitte?” + +“Yes. Pierre Lafitte has been arrested.” + +“Pierre? What for?” + +“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.” + +“But why?” + +“What do you mean, Jinny? He merely offered us the case, and after due +consideration we accepted.” + +“But you cannot; you are the district attorney!” + +“That’s why I am resigning, dear,” indulgently. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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 money mother left me, although I’ve +begged you to. Don’t you think that charity begins at home?” she ended, +pleadingly. + +He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. + +“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!” + +“Twenty thousand dollars? What do you mean?” she asked, in surprise. + +“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.” + +“Oh, father, how _could_ you?” she asked, her cheeks glowing. + +He looked at her in astonishment, and with well-masked trepidation, it +may be admitted. + +“What do you mean, Jinny?” sharply. + +“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?” + +“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 _you_ are defending him! Just +because Jean, however, had the misfortune to kill two men, both of whom +attempted 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?” + +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. + +“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. + +He did not answer her this time, however. + +Folding the resignation, he placed it in an envelope, addressed it, +sealed it, and rang for the butler. + +A moment later old Rappahannock entered. + +“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. + +No sooner had he left, however, than Virginia followed him to the door. + +“Good night, father,” she said, listlessly, and was gone. + +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.... + +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. + +The candles began to gutter out. Weird shadows furtively stalked the +circumambient gloom. + +Plans, projects—gold. Exaltation.... + +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. + +Walking to the window, John Grymes stared out into the velvet chalice of +the night, drenched in magic and moonlight. + +Twenty thousand dollars? + + + + +CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH: + +_How a District Attorney Receives an Insult and Monsieur de Moulin Tweaks +the Nose of an American_ + + +I + +The court-room was crowded, for it was the first day of the trial of +Pierre Lafitte. + +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. + +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. + +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 +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. + +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. + +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. + +The trial of the People of the State of Louisiana _versus_ 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. + +And thus the first day. + + +II + +The third day of the trial had come, and with it a crisis. + +During the first two days nothing of any note had taken place. The +general consensus of opinion was in favor of Pierre Lafitte. But the +State, in the person of Hemingway, was by no means discouraged. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +On the other hand, the newcomers, the Americans, 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. + +Therefore, the friends and enemies of the Lafittes were ranged on two +sides and the supporters of the Baratarians were undoubtedly the most +numerous. + +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. + +Hemingway was speaking on a question of law. + +“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.” + +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. + +This was nothing less than a direct fling at his opponents, a gratuitous +insult. + +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. + +“Am I to understand,” asked Grymes, quietly, though boiling inwardly, +“that you intimate that counsel for the defense are not gentlemen?” + +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. + +Hemingway leered. + +“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. + +“Kindly explain yourself, sir!” said he sternly. The judge nodded, but no +one noticed him. + +Hemingway drew a long breath and then took the plunge. He had stepped +into the Rubicon. He must cross it now or drown. + +“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!” + +For a moment Grymes merely stared at him, too astonished at this sudden, +unwarrantable charge, to answer it, if that were possible. Hemingway +rushed on, with a pseudo-fury. + +“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!” + +It was out! + +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. + +There was but one thing to be done and he did it. + +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. + +“Mr. Hemingway,” he exclaimed, acutely conscious of the fact that +all eyes were focused upon him, “gentleman or not, you must give me +satisfaction for this or I will horsewhip you to death on the Place +d’Armes!” + +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. + +“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. + +“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. + +A redbird, perched on the branch of a magnolia, just outside the +courthouse, chirped loudly, calling to its mate. + +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. + +Edward Livingston, with a contemptuous look at the prosecuting attorney, +pointedly gathered up his papers, arose from the table, and walked +across the inclosure to a side table. The insinuation was obvious. + +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. + +His Honor was sore perplexed. But so was New Orleans. + + +III + +“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?” + +Cyrus Nash, a broad-shouldered, blue-eyed Yankee giant, nodded and +glanced across the room at his principal. + +Herbert Hemingway, standing at a long French window which gave egress to +a balcony overlooking the Rue Royale, wheeled, but was silent. + +“I am the representative of Mr. Hemingway,” said Nash, loftily, “and I +presume you are the representative of Mr. Grymes?” + +“Correc’, sair, _c’est vrai_. 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’ _d’honneur_!” He glanced across at Hemingway, +who, rigid, his hand gripping the back of an armchair, stared at him +strangely. + +“Quite so,” replied the Yankee. “We ... I—have been expecting you. But, +Mister dee Moolan, can we not reach an understanding in some other way?” +He glanced at Hemingway, who almost imperceptibly nodded. + +The young indigo-planter drew himself up. + +“Pardon, monsieur, I do not understan’. If Monsieur weel ’ave ze kin’nez +to exbhlain.” + +“I mean, mister, can’t we settle this some other way? My principal would +prefer not to fight—” + +“Ees you’ preencipal a coward?” demanded the Creole, astonished. + +The other hastily made a sign of deprecating negation. + +“Of course not!” he cried. “Only Mr. Hemingway would dislike +the—er—publicity that would unavoidably become connected with this +affair. He would prefer—” + +Hemingway leaned forward, his voice somewhat strained. + +“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—” + +“Ees eet zat monsieur wish’ to refuse Monsieur Grymes _l’amende +honorable_?” the Creole cried, aghast. His chivalric soul could not +understand such idealistic scruples, such a Puritanical conscience. + +For a moment Hemingway was at a loss. The Yankee sought to remedy the +situation. + +“Look here, mister; Mister Hemingway is not afraid to fight, not by a +damn sight—” + +“Ah, zen monsieur wish’ to ’pologize? Pardon, messieurs, _Que je suis +bête_!... ’Ow stupid h’I am! Eef Meestaire Hemingway weel ’pologize, +retrac’, mek ze _amende honorable_, zat ees altogether anozzer ’ting. +I ’ave no doubt zat Meestaire Grymes weel consent to conseeder eet! +Monsieur Livin’ston, he sayce to me—” + +The district attorney held up his hand, and his face wore an air of +dignity. + +“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!” + +The Creole looked frankly bewildered. He looked from one to the other. + +“Zen what in ze name of ze thousand devils do you mean to do?” he +queried, in exasperation. + +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. + +“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! + +“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 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?” + +“I would hardly cayeh to say,” rejoined the Creole, dryly, his eyes +showing his utter contempt. + +“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! + +“Personally, Mister dee Moolan, I wouldn’t lower myself to fight with Mr. +Grymes, myself. He’s no gentleman, as Hemingway—” + +The Creole turned on him in a flash, his fine sensibilities infuriated at +the liberties being taken with him in his character of ambassador. + +“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 _canaille_ as you, monsieur, I only use my cane!” + +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! + +Cursing obscenely, the infuriated Nash sprang at him, but he was stopped +by Hemingway. + +“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. + +“As the challenged party,” said the district attorney, “of course I have +choice of weapons?” + +“_Oui_, monsieur, zat ees ze propaire etiquette,” said De Moulin, +soberly, “ze choice ees yours!” + +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. + +“Well, then, I choose pistols. And the usual place, I suppose. I believe +that is Slaughterhouse Point, is it not?” + +The young planter nodded mutely. + +“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.” + +De Moulin bowed. + +“Zat ees pairfectly sateesfactory,” he answered. “Meestaire Grymes, he +sayce, ‘_Mon ami_, mek all arrangements. I leave zem to you.’ At dawn, +zen, shall it be.” + +The district attorney bowed in turn. + +“Thank you for calling, Mr. de Moulin. We shall meet in the morning, I +trust.” + +“_Très bien_,” returned the Creole. “In ze morning zen.” He turned to +leave the room. + +At this point, however, Nash interrupted. + +“Wait, Mr. dee Moolan,” he cried, pointing to his nose. “What about this? +What about this, sir?” he choked with rage. + +François de Moulin laughed. + +“_Le nez, mon ami?_” he asked, mockingly, “w’at about eet? _Eh, bien_, +my opinion, monsieur, eet ees razzer objec’sh’n’able to zee eye. Take my +advice, Meestaire Nash, and remove eet!” He laughed debonairly. + +A moment later and he was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWELFTH: + +_In Which Is Related an Account of the Duel at Slaughterhouse Point, and +How Virginia Flirts with Profit_ + + +I + +Morning was nearing its dreary dawn, cold and dark, and New Orleans +slumbered. + +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. + +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. + +This bit of paradise on earth, however, was somewhat 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. + +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. + +And with good reason, for Slaughterhouse Point was _the_ 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. + +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.... + +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. + +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 to slay the +other, one to avenge his honor, the other to protect himself from that +well-merited vengeance. + +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. + +They were all there. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +He is not the only observer, however. + +Slaughterhouse Point, as is known, was already famed for its duels, and +often held large crowds, especially when the duelists were prominent +persons. + +This case was no exception to the rule. + +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. + +Therefore, quite a large gathering has assembled. This heterogeneous +crowd is largely made up of the 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. + +At last the preliminaries have been settled. + +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. + +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 _gentlemen_.... + +Yet these same aristocratic ranters cannot keep away from a duel, if they +are remotely interested in it. So it goes.... + +The principals are in their places, pistols in hand, with their coats +and beavers lying on the sward ... their sleeves rolled up ... ruffles +loosened. + +Old Sieur de la Follette, veteran of a hundred duels, is to give the word. + +He raises his elegantly shaped hand, still ungnarled by the hand of +Time. Apparently the last-named old 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. + +It is said, secretly, of course, that he was once the lover of a +_duchesse_. 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. + +The Sieur de la Follette is a human milestone in history. + +But we digress! + +The Sieur raises his hand. + +A dead silence falls on the crowd. + +The duelists, back to back, walk ten paces from each other, and halt, +pistol in hand. + +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. + +The white-haired nobleman with the gray imperial speaks: + +“_Un—Deux—Trois!_” + +As a man they wheel about, pistols extended. + +Two shots are heard as one. Hemingway has fired first, Grymes an instant +later.... + +The crowd peers through the haze. + +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. + +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. + +But Hemingway is not dead. + +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. + +“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. + +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 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. + +There is now a general exodus. + +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. + +The barge on the river hauls up its anchor and soon disappears +downstream, vanishing behind a bend of cottonwoods. + +Slaughterhouse Point is again deserted; steeped in the flaming radiance +of the newly-risen sun. + +The sighing magnolias have a new tale to add to their repertory. + + +II + +“Not guilty!” + +A gasp was heard, followed by roll after roll of applause as the frantic +crowd rose to its feet. + +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. + +And well might the audience cheer, for Pierre Lafitte is acquitted. + +But it is not the mere fact that the brother of the _bosse_ 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. + +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, _mon ami_) +have not these paragons of the bar, these advocates _par excellence_, +discreetly taught them certain legal tricks whereby they can still +continue to do business at the same spot, and yet make a _pied-de-nez_ +... a thumb to the nose ... and say, “Pouf! That for you!” to the +Government? + +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, _mes +amis_, a precious boon! Monsieur Grymes? _Il fut une merveille!_ Monsieur +Livingston? _Il fut magnifique! Oh, là là!_ What a rolling of Creole +eyes!... What ecstasies of admiration!... + +What gallant badinage—sallies—laborious repartee! + +What a glorious victory for our friends! What humiliation for this +upstart government! + +And (between you and me, _mon ami_), what a blow to the pride—the +haughty self-sufficiency—of his most respected Excellency, _Monsieur le +gouverneur_! + +“_C’est pour rire!_” + +It is to laugh, indeed.... + +“Not guilty!” + + +III + +“Ah, Mr. Lafitte, you are a flatterer!” + +“‘Pierre’!” + +“Well, Pierre, then ... since you are so insistent. But I warn you, sir, +I do not believe a word you say!” + +“But I swear I am in earnest, _ma belle_!” + +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. + +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.... + +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, 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.... + +“Oh, Virginia, you are cruel ... heartless! You cannot doubt me! I +insincere? Pierre Lafitte? What—” + +She looked at him, her eyes roguish. + +“Pierre, do you love me?” + +“_Do_ I love you? _Do_ I love you? Why you are my dream—my star—my—” + +“Really?” amusedly. + +“Ah, mademoiselle, you jest. But I am not like your cold-blooded +Americans. We Frenchmen hold _la grande passion_ above everything! After +all, _ma belle_ 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 _raison d’être_!” + +“Platitudes, sir, mere platitudes!” + +“But it is the truth!” + +“Enough of these fine words, Monsieur Lafitte. I believe in deeds, not +words.” + +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. + +“Mademoiselle pleases to jest,” sulkily. + +“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. + +The Frenchman started in surprise. + +“Gabrielle—Angélique!” he stammered. “What do you know of Angélique?” + +Suddenly light came to him. + +“What has François de Moulin been telling you?” he demanded. + +“There, there,” she teased, “don’t fly into such a rage. ’Twill spoil +your handsome brow.” + +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. + +Virginia shook her finger at him reprovingly. + +“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.’” + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“Jean? He’s a prince. Why, he—” + +“Why doesn’t he mingle with people more than he does? I very seldom see +him.” + +He considered this for a moment. + +“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. + +She ignored this, however. + +“I suppose your brother is as much of a heartbreaker as yourself, then,” +she remarked with an assumed lightness. + +For a moment he was strangely silent. + +“I have never known Jean to look at a woman twice,” he replied, soberly. + +“And why, pray?” + +“Because his thoughts are of but one.” + +Her body became rigid, tense. + +“And who is the fortunate lady, if I may ask?” + +“She is dead!” he replied, nettled at her apparent lightsomeness. + +She was immediately contrite, sensing the resentment in his tone. But a +great curiosity filled her. + +“Please forgive my flippancy!” she exclaimed. “Do tell me about it. I +know there is a story attached to it.” + +Mollified by her contrition and apparent interest, he told her. Perhaps +another purpose actuated him. Who knows? + +Slowly, seriously, almost oblivious of his auditor, he told her the tale +of Jean and Lizette ... the 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. + +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.... + +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. + +For a while there was silence. + +Virginia was torn with conflicting emotions. + +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. + +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. + +Suddenly an inspiration came. + +“Pierre,” she said, haltingly, “is it true that your brother killed a +man—a quadroon—at Grande Terre?” + +He answered without hesitation, matter-of-factly! + +“Yes, it is. That was a very unfortunate occurrence, however. Jean was +forced to do it. If he hadn’t—” + +“Didn’t he—wasn’t it over a girl, a slave girl?” she demanded, strangely +wrought up. + +“Why, yes, that was the cause of it, I believe,” he admitted, absently, +unknowing of the havoc his words were creating. It _had_ been over a +slave girl, but each of these two very naturally were putting different +constructions to this simply-worded fact. + +Of such incidents are lives molded, empires destroyed, history made, +mayhap. + +She sobbed, then fiercely smothered it. + +“What’s the matter?” he asked, in surprise. + +She sniffed. + +“Nothing,” calmly. “I merely coughed. I have a headache, Pierre. Won’t +you bring me a drink of water?” + +He left her hurriedly, all solicitude. + +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. + +She had disappeared. + +Utterly. Inexplicably. + +Pierre Dominique, musing bitterly on the peculiarities of the sex, turned +misogynist. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH: + +_Wherein Mr. Livingston Receives an Invitation and Mr. Grymes Pays a +Social Call on a Pirate_ + + +I + +“Monsieur Livingston?” + +“At your service, sir.” + +The Creole bowed, his white teeth flashing in a deferential smile. + +“I ’ave _l’honneur_ to be ze bearer _d’une lettre_—of a letter—wheech h’ +I am to geeve to you een pairson, monsieur.” He bowed again. + +Edward Livingston looked puzzled. The contraction of his brows became +more accentuated. + +“A letter, for me?” he murmured. “Who can be sending me a letter by +messenger?” + +The Creole rightly interpreted his perplexity. + +“I come from ze Exchange een ze _Rue St. Louis_, sair, but ze lettaire, +she come from Grande Terre!” + +“Grand Terre!” + +“_Oui_, 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 _bosse_ want you to geeve zeze lettaires to Monsieur Grymes +an’ Monsieur Livingston ... _rapidement_ ... an’_moi_, 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 Monsieur Grymes, and +_l’autre est ici_ ... ’ere ees ze ozzer.” + +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. + +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. + +As he read on, a look of surprise passed over his face, to be succeeded +by disappointment, astonishment, vexation, and finally thoughtfulness. + +When he finished his perusal, he read it over again carefully, and then +stared thoughtfully into space. + +At just this moment his negro butler entered the door. + +“Mistuh Grymes, suh,” the darkey announced, “am in de hall. He sez hits +impawtant, suh.” + +“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.” + +Joseph bowed again, and was gone, noiselessly. + +“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.” + +“_Certainement_, monsieur.” + +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. + +“Did you get a letter from Lafitte?” asked Grymes, abruptly. “Ah, there +it is in your hand. Well, what do you think of it?” + +Livingston looked at him narrowly. + +“What do _you_ think of it?” he asked. “I presume our letters are +practically the same.” + +Grymes nodded. + +“He invites me to that island—Grande Terre—to pay him and his friends a +visit and to come and get my fee!” + +“Exactly. Mine is another invitation to the same effect.” + +“Well, Livingston, what do you think of it?” The repetition seemed to +please him. + +The other smiled wryly. + +“Think of it? Personally, I think it is a rather unusual request. In +effect, Lafitte invites us to collect our fee—ostensibly.” + +“What do you mean?” puzzled. + +“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!” + +Grymes stared at him for a moment. + +“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. + +The other pursed his lips. + +“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 on +Toulouse Street. In other words, I mistrust his offer.” + +The Virginian looked at him blankly, and then burst into a roar of +laughter, as if bitten by the tarantula of mirth. + +“May I inquire as to the cause of your levity?” asked Livingston, +exasperated, and secretly a little ashamed of his suspicions. + +“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. + +“Then I am to understand that you intend to—er—pay a social call on Mr. +Lafitte—you will accept?” asked Livingston, impassively. + +“Will I accept? Will I?” cried the Virginian, joyfully. “I should _say +so_! I wouldn’t refuse it for anything!” + +Livingston seemed somewhat taken aback at this. + +“You mean—” + +“I mean that I am going—at once, too! Lafitte says in my letter that he +has a boat here—the _Saucy Susan_, I believe—all ready to sail. When she +does you can rest assured I’ll be on board. I’ve already 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....” + +“But you are really going?” + +“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. + +“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!” + +Livingston paced up and down, his brows drawn together in thought. At +last he looked up. + +“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?” + +The Virginian briefly considered this. + +“Fine! I’ll do it, though not necessarily for the commission. But you’d +better come along, Livingston; you’ll enjoy the trip.” + +“No, thank you! I have made up my mind. Go alone, and earn your +commission if you can.” + +The Virginian looked him in the eye and laughed. + +“Thanks,” he said, dryly. “I’ll do my best!” + +Two hours later the _Saucy Susan_, all sails set, was merrily flying +before the breeze, down the Mississippi, 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. + +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. + + +II + +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. + +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. + +Hardly waiting to go through with the usual polite banalities, Virginia +Grymes plunged directly into conversation. + +“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 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 +_must_ see him!” + +Livingston smiled paternally. + +“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. + +She looked puzzled, her expressive dark eyes clouding. + +“But why all the secrecy, Mr. Livingston?” + +“Well, I—” + +“But I simply must see him. It is very important for me to do so.” + +“I’m very sorry, but it is impossible.” + +“Why?” sharply. + +The attorney decided to tell her. + +“Because you cannot reach him at present. He has gone to Barataria.” + +She clutched at her bosom, her hand rigid. + +“To Barataria?” she murmured. + +Livingston looked surprised, and vaguely annoyed at her emotion. + +“Yes, to Grande Terre.” + +“But why—why?” she cried. + +“What do you mean?” he asked, coldly. + +“Why did he go there, of all places?” + +“If you must know,” he answered, his displeasure manifest in his voice, +“he went to see Mr. Lafitte, on business.” + +“Mr. Lafitte!” thunder-struck. “But why did he go? You must tell me—I +insist!” + +Livingston gazed at her disapprovingly. + +“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. + +“You must tell me why,” she commanded, her eyes defiant, her chin +haughty; “you must, you _must_!” + +Livingston stared at her, thoroughly astonished and somewhat alarmed. + +“My dear Miss Grymes, calm yourself! I am very much surprised at your +behavior, I must admit. Indeed, I would like an explanation.” + +Virginia looked at him for a moment, gravely. + +“Mr. Livingston ... it is highly essential that I know. You must tell +me!” She released his lapels. + +“But—” + +“I saw Pierre Lafitte last Tuesday. He mentioned nothing of any such +trip.” + +“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.” + +She stared at him, puzzled. + +“But why didn’t Mr. Lafitte send it to you? Why didn’t you go with father +to Barataria?” + +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 discuss it with some one ... and she was John +Grymes’s daughter. Why not with her? + +“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—” + +“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 _has_ 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. + +“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 _dare_ to, sir, how _did_ you dare to, when you knew that he was +going into danger?” + +For a moment the eminent lawyer was speechless—with rage, and something +else, something he couldn’t 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 _banquettes_! + +She must be stopped at all costs! + +“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. + +She turned and looked at him, her manner breathing contempt. + +“Do, sir? Why, I’m going to father, of course!” + +He was astounded at this intelligence. Was the girl demented? + +“You’re going to Barataria?” he cried, hoarsely. “Good God, girl, you +don’t know what you are saying! It—it’s impossible!” + +Her chin came up defiantly. + +“Why is it impossible? I’m my own mistress, Mr. Livingston.” + +“But, Miss Grymes ... it _is_ 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!” + +“I hardly think that Mr. Lafitte, if he _is_ a ruffian, would let me come +to harm, sir. He would not dare!” + +The choleric Livingston almost choked with exasperation. + +“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!” + +For a moment she regarded him intently, as if trying to fathom his very +soul. + +“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?” + +“Yes, but people will think—will say—er—they will put different +constructions—” + +“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.” + +“No, no, it is not to be thought of!” + +“I am of the same opinion, Mr. Livingston. It is not to be _thought of_ +... it is to be done! And the sooner the better! Therefore, I wish you a +very good day, Mr. Livingston!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Miss Grymes,” he cried, as the carriage was about to roll off, “in your +father’s name, in the name of decency, I _forbid_ you to go to Grande +Terre!” + +For a moment she stared at him in unbelief, and then burst into silvery +laughter. At his distinctly audible words the loiterer started in +surprise and moved a little nearer. Neither the girl nor the man noticed +him, so absorbed were they. + +“I’ faith,” she cried, “_you_ 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!” + +The carriage rolled away over the cobblestones and turned the next +corner, to disappear. + +But Edward Livingston stood on the curbstone—dumb—infuriated. + +For the first time in his life, Edward Livingston, leader of the +Louisiana bar, a Livingston—of _the_ Livingstons—had been insulted, +shamed to his face, and by a mere slip of femininity. + +He shook with the violence of his emotions. + +“Impertinent baggage!” + +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. + +A moment later, he, too, walked hurriedly away, and again the +sun-splashed Rue de Burgundy was deserted. + + + + +BOOK TWO + +_Temptation_ + + “... _Why must you engage in the barter of human souls?... + Won’t you give it up—for my sake?_” + + —VIRGINIA GRYMES + + * * * * * + + “... _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?_” + + —JEAN LAFITTE + + + + +CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH: + +_How Virginia Comes to Bordeaux Manor and One Manuel Espinosa Takes What +He Wants_ + + +Barataria Bay! + +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. + +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. + +A little later the _Virginia_, 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. + +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 interest, while awaiting the return of Scipio, the mate, +and his master. + +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. + +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 _Virginia_ was undergoing an attentive scrutiny ... +and that the person so scrutinizing was smiling—an unpleasant smile. + +Of a sudden, Virginia became aware of several men, who, emerging from the +crowd, entered the _Virginia’s_ dory and began rowing toward her. From +the fact that they wore red shirts, she knew they were Baratarians. + +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. + +A scant space after their boarding the _Virginia_, the door of the +little cabin quickly opened and the red-shirted, bearded men entered it +abruptly, hesitating a moment on catching sight of the two women huddled +against the opposite wall. + +Smirking, the first Baratarian made an awkward bow. + +“You are Ma’amselle Grymes?” he asked. + +Virginia nodded, with a sudden wave of relief that they knew her +identity. No doubt John Grymes had sent them for her. + +“Where is my father?” she asked, tremulously. + +For a moment he hesitated, and she looked from one to another +uncertainly, flushing as she caught their frankly admiring, insolent +looks. + +“He could not come.... M’sieu Grymes had an accident. He—he broke his +leg, ma’amselle, and _le bosse_, who is with him, sent us to bring you to +him. He is anxious—” + +Virginia snatched up her cloak, her half-born distrust vanishing at this +momentous news. + +“I will go to him,” she said. + +“_Mais certainement_,” 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +On the beach she heard whispered voices, other hands took up the hamper, +and again she was being carried away. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +With brooding eyes Espinosa gazed at the stronghold of Lafitte; a gaze of +envy, hate, and the gloating pleasure of anticipation. + +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. + +Entering the dory, they rowed to and boarded the _Virginia_. 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. + +From then on, things began to happen. + +No one, it seemed, had noticed the coming of the 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. + +“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.” + +Thanking him fervently, Jean ordered a boat manned and, with Grymes, set +out in chase of the supposed abductors. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +When Espinosa entered, he immediately hastened to a certain inner room, +whose door he locked behind him. Virginia Grymes, its sole occupant, +looked up in surprised affright. + +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. + +As he stared at her, he realized that she recognized him, and he was +pleased, in his animal way. + +“So we meet again, señorita,” he essayed, smirking and unsuccessfully +attempting an imitation of a bow by Lafitte. + +“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. + +He grinned, displaying his horrible teeth. Yellow, evil teeth. + +“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. + +“But why—why did you do this?” she cried. + +His answer was candor itself, given with the ungarnished simplicity of +the human animal that he was. + +“Because I wanted you. And what Manuel Espinosa wants, he takes!” + +She did not answer, but stared at him, her bosom heaving. Was this a +terrible dream? Where was the prosaic world of commonplace happenings? + +“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!” + +“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?” + +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. + +“Lafitte’s day is over!” he cried. “I—Manuel Espinosa—am now _bosse_ 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 +_me_! 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. + +“My men now hold the fort. My guns command 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?” + +That she thought so was only too apparent by her horrified look, and the +Spaniard smirked again. + +“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. + +“I’ll die first!” she said, distinctly. His expression became menacing, +when he had assimilated this. + +“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 _bosse_ of Barataria is a great man.” +At any other time Virginia would have laughed at the simplicity of his +overweening egotism. + +“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!” + +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. + +“Little fool,” he whispered, “if the saints decide to 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. _Y suenos suenos +son_—dreams are only dreams—remember that!” He grinned. “And now a kiss, +little flower!” and he grasped her arms. + +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. + +“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. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH: + +_In Which Virginia Hears The Toast Of “Vive Le Bosse”_ + + +I + +“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. + +“_Dieu le sait!_ ... 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!” + +“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. + +“’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. _Sacré nom!_ If I only knew who’s responsible!” + +Already a half hour had passed since the rescue 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 _chevaux de frise_ of the dwarf palmetto—unhealthy +shallows swarming with millions of coarse aquatic plants. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +At sight of their pursuers the fugitive oarsmen redoubled their efforts, +although it was certain they could not escape. + +Plucking a pistol from his belt, Jean sent a ball over their heads, and +then another. With surprising alacrity the abductors halted, backed water +a space, and deliberately ran their boat aground. + +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. + +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. + +“Where is Miss Grymes?” he demanded. + +The burlier of the two shook his head. But Jean, in his rage, grasped his +throat, choking him. + +“Tell me what you know!” he panted “or you shall die a thousand deaths! +_Sacré nom!_—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 +_bosse_ was in earnest, confessed. + +“We do not know where she is now, _mon capitaine_,” he muttered, “but she +was taken to Manuel Espinosa!” + +Lafitte stared at him aghast, remembering who had given him the clue for +the chase. + +“Espinosa! You are mad! Why, he—” He 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. + +Grymes, again white with anxiety, broke in. + +“But where is he now? Where has he taken Virginia?” + +Jean whirled on the prisoners. + +“Yes—where is he? Don’t lie to me, or your life will pay for it! Where +has he gone? To Cuba? To Mexico?” + +“I don’t know—I swear it, _mon capitaine_!” desperately. + +As he spoke, they heard the muffled boom of a ship’s cannon, far to the +southeast—whence they had come. + +“It’s Grande Terre!” exclaimed Grymes. + +For a moment the _bosse_ listened intently. But no more shots followed. +Again the forests were still; the west was a sea of liquid fire. + +“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. + +“And these _canaille_,” spoke up a red-shirt, with callous insouciance, +“shall we shoot them, _mon capitaine_?” + +“Bring them along,” ordered their leader, shortly. “We’ll deal with them +later.” + +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. + +When nearly back, again they heard the roar of a 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +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! + +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. + +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. + +It was now dusk. + +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. + +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. + +“A secret passage!” exclaimed Grymes. + +Lafitte nodded. Only he, himself, and a very few trusted lieutenants knew +of its existence. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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! + +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. + +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 _via_ the French window. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Jean Lafitte, returning momentarily to consciousness to find her tears on +his face, decided that he must be dreaming, and closed his eyes again. + +When next he opened them she was gone. + + +II + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Would you like to join our gentlemen privateers at dinner this evening, +Miss Grymes?” asked Lafitte, near its end. + +She looked puzzled. + +“What do you mean, Mr. Lafitte? I thought—” + +“Pardon me—” He signaled to the huge slave 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. + +In the meantime a much smaller table, laden with the dessert, had been +placed directly in front of this tapestry. + +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. + +She gave a gasp of astonishment, while Lafitte and Grymes looked at each +other and smiled. Evidently the Virginian had witnessed the spectacle +before. + +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, also with blazing torches, +flooded the chamber with light. The flagged pavement which was the floor +was littered with animal skins and rich rugs. + +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 _bosse_ of Barataria. + +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. + +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. + +At the moment, a tall, swashbuckling gentleman rover was standing, and +singing a melancholy French 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 with +an undefinable suspense—to give one the sensation that the tableau was +not yet complete. Nor was it. + +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: + +“_Vive le bosse!_” + +The toast and cry of “Long live the _bosse_!” 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. + +It was all very dramatic, this tribute to their chief. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +This was his throne-room, these his subjects. The “Duke of Little Manchac +and Barataria” was receiving the homage of his subjects. + +Slowly—unconsciously almost—as a man in a dream, the man whom a thousand +lawbreakers called _bosse_ inclined his head—a simple gesture, true, but +a regal one. + +The cheering doubled—trebled—became deafening. + +“_Vive le bosse!_” + + + + +CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH: + +_Wherein Is Encountered a Man—a Maid—And a Moon_ + + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It was a typical Southern night, and Virginia, a 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. + +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. + +A man—a maid—and a moon! + +“What a beautiful moon!” exclaimed Virginia, impulsively. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +They looked at each other guiltily and laughed. + +“You are a sentimentalist, Mr. Lafitte,” she accused, “and, apparently, a +great lover of novels ... and romance.” + +“All Frenchmen are lovers of romance,” he returned, smiling. + +“And are adepts in the art of love-making?” + +He flushed. “No. If you will allow me to say so, here is one who is not.” + +“I have—er—heard differently,” with an assumed indifference. + +“Indeed?” + +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. + +“What of your Mauritian fisher-girl?” + +He stiffened. “What do you mean?” abruptly. + +“I mean—Lizette Fondac,” faintly. Inexplicably, she turned her face from +him. + +“What do you know of—of Ma’amselle Fondac?” he asked, in surprise. + +“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?” + +“No!” fiercely. “Love’s greatest sacrifice is when one has loved and lost +... when one has given up one’s love—living—to his rival—to his best +friend—to his brother!” + +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! + +“I thought so, once, too,” with reference to the eyes of Lafitte. + +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! + +Pierre Lafitte had unembarrassedly told her the story of Grambo, with but +the slightest mention of a slave girl. + +“Jealousy!” + +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. + +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 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. + +He could not, in honor, now drop what was really a mask and enter the +lists ... he must remain a poseur. + +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. + +But the next moment found him despising himself for the thought, for he +remembered Espinosa. The Spaniard, too, had taken what he wanted. + +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— + +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. + +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 +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. + +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. + +“How did you come to hear of Lizette, Miss Grymes?” he asked, quietly, +regaining his poise. + +“Your brother—Pierre Dominique—told me.” + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“Pardon her,” indeed! He trembled with delight. + +“But certainly! Forget the matter. I will tell you of it, though I have +never spoken of it to anyone else.” + +Virginia thrilled. + +“I was but a boy when it took place. And I was deeply in love with +Lizette. _Parbleu_—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, after her death, and since, I have never +let myself fall in love—but once, perhaps, and that is irrelevant—” + +She instantly thought of Margaret Claiborne—he was thinking of one +Virginia Grymes. But neither was a mind-reader, unfortunately. + +“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. + +At his words she unaccountably flushed, and Jean felt convinced ... his +theory that she and his brother loved each other was a true one. + +The tables had been turned on Virginia. Embarrassed, she turned the +conversation. + +“By the way,” she interjected, suddenly, “pardon my interruption, but +there is something I want to talk to you about.” + +At once he was all attention. + +“It is ‘black ivory.’” + +Jean stared at her. + +“I believe that is what you call them—the slaves, I mean.” + +“Yes, we call them ‘black ivory,’” answered Lafitte, somewhat puzzled. + +“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.” + +“The Quakers,” supplemented the Frenchman. + +“Yes. Well, their sect doesn’t seem to be at all in 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.” + +“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.” + +“Isn’t that a selfish doctrine?” demanded Virginia. + +“Perhaps, but nevertheless a true one. What the Quakers say is all +nonsense. Slavery is better for all concerned.” + +“But in the North the slave isn’t very important.” + +“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—” + +“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, 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?” + +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. + +“You know what they are saying of you?” she asked. + +“My enemies, yes. That I am a pirate—a—” + +“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?” + +He stared at her for a moment before speaking. + +“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.” + +She grew thoughtful, her ivory-like brow wrinkling. + +“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 is a menace to the +government!’ That is practically what a great many people are saying, +to-day. + +“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. + +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. + +“Mr. Lafitte, what do you say? It is not too late. Give up this life—” + +The light in his eyes died out and his lips closed firmly. + +“You may be right, Miss Grymes, but I cannot desert my friends.” + +But she ignored this. + +“Sue for pardon of the Governor, sir. You have friends. It can be done!” + +“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 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? + +But Pierre, what of Pierre? + +“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? + +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. + +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 +a fierce desire ... why, she couldn’t even explain to herself. + +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 _lack_ of +that homage? + +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. + +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. + +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? + +“Romance,” he had said, “enters into the life of every mortal—and, like +love—and hate—it is primitive.” + +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. + +Thus Eve. Thus Cleopatra. Thus Laura. Thus Helen. Thus Juliet. And thus +the Eves, Cleopatras, Lauras, Helens, and Juliets of all ages, all time. + +“Jean—Mr. Lafitte—” The “Jean” was a daring touch. + +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. + +“_Sacré Dieu!_” he muttered, his senses in a swirl, “was ever man so +tempted before?” _Was_ 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? + +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.... + +“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. + +For a moment Lafitte was stone-like—his black eyes in vivid contrast to +his pale face. + +“For _your_ sake?” he murmured, more with a fierce joy than in surprise. +“_Nom de Dieu!_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +She knew, at that moment, that she loved and always would love this +imperious pirate—this Jean Lafitte! + +“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, your eyes in every star—whose voice echoed in every breeze—whose +angelic presence has blessed my dreams! For your sake—” + +“You love me?” she murmured, still under the hypnosis of that magic +glamour. “_You_ love me?” unbelievingly, mechanically. + +“Do I love you?” he cried, exultantly. “Great God! Why did Leander swim +the Hellespont? Because he loved her! Why did I—love you? _Je t’adore!_ I +adore you—worship you!” He half sobbed with a fierce joy, the joy bells +in his soul deafening him with their wondrous pæan. + +“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, _ma cœur_, 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. + +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. + +“But where can I find _le bosse_?” they heard, faintly. + +“He cannot be disturbed. He is with his guests,” came the reply. + +“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. _Dame_, yes!” + +“Trouble again?” said the other. “It is to laugh! Why, only to-day—” His +voice became indistinguishable as the two evidently moved away. + +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. + +“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’ ... _c’est vrai_ ... too true! I cannot turn traitor to my +friends—my men. _Le bon Dieu_ forgive me for a coward ... a heartless +wretch—but I cannot! You will forgive my ungentlemanly conduct, Miss +Grymes?” he pleaded. + +“Ungentlemanly conduct!” And he had just avowed eternal love! What a +mockery—a travesty—is life! + +She smothered a sob in the merciful shadows, and Lafitte looked at her +eagerly. + +“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? + +“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—” + +“Ma’amselle!” His hands contracted ... the thrust had gone painfully +deep. “Do you mean to say that you do not—that you did not—” + +She raised her chin haughtily, though her wet, sensitive eyes denied any +imputation of acting on her part. + +“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. + +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. + +She hardened. + +“Moreover, Mr. Lafitte,” she exclaimed in a choked voice, “I—hate you.” + +And she was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH: + +_How De Moulin Comes to Flirt at the Quadroon Ball but Remains to Fight_ + + +I + +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. + +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. + +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 modest, lagoon-like bayous, unexpectedly scattered, +here and there, on the marge of the virginal forests. And the personage +in the Moon smiles tenderly. + +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. + +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. + +What, you have not heard of the quadroon, _mon ami? Nom d’un nom!_ What +deplorable ignorance! The quadroon caste, _mon pauvre ami_, 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. + +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. + +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 “_jeunesse dorée_”—the gilded youth. Were the quadroons +their equals? Of course not! But what would you? When one seeks +amusement.... + +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. + +The theater balls were a habit. As was the masquerade—the Mardi Gras. + + +II + +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. + +“And he sayce to me,” De Moulin was saying, “‘you do nod realize eet, +_mon ami_, 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!’” + +“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!” + +De Moulin nodded. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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 _guichinango_, perhaps—a garrotter, or night cutthroat, with +which the city abounded. When they reached the corner, however, he had +disappeared. + +“Speaking of Grymes,” said François, “have you heard zat he ess in +financial difficulties?” + +“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 _en route_. It had +been the talk of the town, mulled over and magnified a hundred times in +the clubs and on the _banquettes_. + +“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?” + +“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!” + +“Enough about ze war!” cried François, gaily. “We have bud one life to +live, Pierre—let’s get what we can out of eet. If ze war comes, we’ll +fight. In ze meantime we’ll flirt! _Allons!_” + +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. + +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 _demi-monde_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +“Eet ees ze adorable Dolores,” whispered François. “She ees going to +dance—bud wait an’ see!” + +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 _demi-monde_, +for as such was she known, although of mixed descent, looked to be +Spanish to her dainty finger tips, and danced with 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. + +At the finish of her dance the crowd closed around her with acclamation +and applause, and the music struck up again. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +“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. + +Pierre Lafitte, watching the little scene from the rear, chuckled. + +“In the meantime, we’ll flirt!” he quoted, and laughed. + +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. + +“This dance is mine, Mister dee Moolan!” cried the Yankee, angrily. “What +do you mean by—” + +De Moulin looked at him in surprise. + +“Why, it’s Meestaire Nash!” he murmured, with feigned cordiality. “And +’ow ees youah nose, sair?” innocently. + +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. + +“You—you—I’ll break every bone in your body!” + +“M’sieu wishes to fight?” cried François, with alacrity. “He ’ave wait a +long time—two years, _n’est-ce-pas_? I ’ave been greatly disappoint!” + +“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 _haut monde_ publicly quarreling over +her; ignorant of the real cause of their enmity. + +“Stop—stop—m’sieurs! You muz not fight! I gave dis dance to—” + +“—Me!” broke in François, urbanely. “If m’sieu wants to fight, for why he +don’t join ze army?” + +A shout of laughter went up, in which even Dolores joined, at which Nash +paled with anger. + +“Will you fight?” he demanded. + +“No!” responded François, promptly. Dolores looked at him in dismay. Was +she to be cheated out of this? + +“You’re scared!” exclaimed Nash, triumphantly. + +De Moulin laughed, and stared pointedly at the other’s nose. + +“Perhaps I am. But I only fight as gentlemen do, not like lackeys,” +contemptuously. + +“All right!” snapped Nash, desperately. “I’ll meet you with pistols!” +Dolores brightened and looked at François eagerly. + +“But I only fight _with_ 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. + +“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. + +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. + +But at this moment some adventurous spirit fired a 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 _demi-monde_. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +“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. + +“Forget it,” said the Yankee, “and thank you for getting me out of there. +I take back what I said, sir! You _are_ 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. + +“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!” + +“I know it!” admitted François, chuckling. + +“Then why—” began Nash. + +But Pierre Lafitte interrupted. “Simply,” he explained, “because François +came to flirt and had not counted on a fight. _Mais, sacré nom!_ What’s a +pretty wench more or less between friends?” + +And arm in arm the trio marched off down the moonlight-spattered street. + + + + +CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH: + +_In Which Jean Lafitte Is Sorely Tempted, and, Incidentally, Sees a +Vision_ + + +I + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +Small wonder that the cellars of Bordeaux Manor 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. + +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 _bosse_ of Barataria. + +Dominique You disappeared into the near-by throng. + +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. + +Of a sudden, almost unbelievably so, came the detonation of a ship’s +cannon. + +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. + +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. + +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 +Lafitte, a commanding figure, with Dominique You, alone, by his side, +awaited their arrival at the marge of the water. + +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. + +For a moment, the Baratarian and the Englishman eyed each other. + +“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. + +“I am Captain Lockyer, sir, of His Majesty’s frigate _Sophia_. I have +important dispatches for you, from Colonel Nichols, at Pensacola.” + +Lafitte showed his surprise, but attempted to cover it. + +“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? + +Within the Manor, Captain Lockyer presented Lafitte with the dispatches +he had mentioned, which were inclosed in a packet addressed to “Jean +Lafitte, Esquire, Commandant at Barataria,” and resplendently sealed. + +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. + +“I suppose you know the contents of this letter, Captain Lockyer?” he +asked, quietly. + +The Britisher nodded gravely. + +“I do, and I would strongly advise you to accept.” + +Jean rose from the table slowly. + +“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.” + +“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. + +A moment later he was closeted with Dominique You. + +“What do dese _canaille_ want?” demanded the latter. + +“Enough—” said Jean, his brow clouding. + +Dominique looked at him keenly from under beetling brows. + +“I can guess.” + +“What?” demanded Jean, startled. + +“Dey want your help.” + +“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—” + +“I know,” impatiently. “I ’ave seen dem.” + +“And the other is a letter, asking my aid.” + +The old Creole cursed softly. + +“Wait. They don’t want it for nothing. _Parbleu_—no! They offer me thirty +thousand dollars cash.” + +Dominique You looked pained. + +“Thirty thousan’ dollaires? To de _bosse_ of Barataria? _C’est pour +rire!_” It was to laugh, indeed. Jean Lafitte, money lord of the +Mississippi ... thirty thousand dollars! A bagatelle! + +Lafitte, however, looked serious. + +“That is not all, Dominique. They offer me a captain’s commission in +the royal navy—quite an honor, _n’est-ce-pas_? And they offer us all +amnesty—pardon for our past deeds.” + +“Dose dam’ _Anglais_ offeh us Baratarians a’nesty?” demanded the other, +unbelievingly. “_Sacré Dieu!_ Dey offah us—” For a moment words failed +him. “But foah what, _bosse_?” + +“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.” + +“You weel not accept, _bosse_? _Non?_” asked the Creole, anxiously. + +“And why not?” returned Jean, coolly. But there was a curious gleam in +his eyes. Dominique stared at him, aghast. + +“It is a strong temptation,” went on Lafitte, reflectively, “very strong. +And I will admit that I am sorely tempted.” + +His companion regarded him with puzzlement. Something he could not divine +was in his young chief’s voice. Was he posing? For what reason? + +“I am not an American,” continued Lafitte, slowly, as if arguing with +himself— “neither by birth nor by inclination....” + +“You are a Frenchman,” said Dominique, uncertainly, “but—” + +“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, +_mon ami_....” 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.” + +“Dat is nod the _bosse_ of Barataria speakin’!” cried Dominique. “Jean +Lafitte is nod a coward ... _pardieu, non!_” + +“Thank you ... I hope not. But the men—” + +“De men go where you lead,” declared the Creole. + +For a moment Jean was buried in thought. + +“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....” + +“_C’est vrai_....” + +“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. + +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! + +In his mind’s eye, already, the man who had fought 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? + +And both he and his master were wealthy—ready to retire. Was not the +prospect of an honorable position—in security—a pleasant one? + +“Why should I resist this temptation?” demanded Lafitte again. “I have +everything to gain and nothing to lose....” + +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. + +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 _know_ it!”... God! how beautiful she had looked, and how +convincing were her fervored words! + +And in that mystic moment Lafitte _knew_ ... 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, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +For the simple reason that Jean Lafitte _was_ Jean Lafitte. + + +II + +“Well, Mister Lafitte,” demanded Captain Lockyer, affably, “what is your +decision?” He had turned halfway round to the door as Lafitte entered, +followed by Dominique You. + +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. + +“I am very sorry, Captain, but I cannot yet give you my decision.” + +Captain Lockyer looked askance. + +“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....” + +The Britisher looked knowing. He winked openly as he chuckled. + +“I understand,” he said, insinuatingly. “It is to be expected, of course.” + +At the moment both Jean and Dominique You were mentally cursing him in +unison. But their features were impassive. + +“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!” + +Dominique You coughed unobtrusively, but his face retained its +unaccustomed blandness. + +“I know,” replied the doughty commander of the _Sophia_. “About how much +time would you want for your—er—persuasion?” He grinned sneeringly. + +“About a fortnight,” responded Jean, casually. + +“Very well, then. I’ll be back for your answer in exactly fifteen days. +How does that suit you?” + +“It is excellent,” answered the Baratarian, coldly. + +Captain Lockyer rose to his feet. His subordinates followed suit. + +“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.” + +“As you so well did in ’seventy-six!” remarked Jean, dryly. + +Captain Lockyer flushed. For a moment it seemed as if he were about to +spring at the Baratarian, so obviously angry was he. + +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. + +And then he suddenly remembered the importance of his mission. He must +needs be diplomatic. Later— + +He laughed hollowly. + +“You have a ready wit, Mister Lafitte,” he said, attempting cordiality. + +Lafitte bowed in response. + +“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....” + +Lafitte smiled. + +“You are right, _mon capitaine_, it can be but one way,” with meaning. + +Dominique You coughed again. His face was losing its blandness. Lafitte +could not resist smiling. + +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. + +In that fleeting clairvoyant instant Jean Lafitte saw what it is given to +few men to see—and recognize. + +He saw that he had reached a turning-point in his life. + +Being only human, he was appalled. And thrilled. And vaguely disquieted. + +Jean sighed. + + + + +CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH: + +_Wherein Laurent Mercier Beards the Lion and His Excellency Calls a +Council_ + + +I + +His Excellency frowned. + +“Am I to understand, sir, that you wish to interview me in reference to +Mr. Lafitte?” + +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. + +His Excellency frowned again, portentously. + +“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. + +The Honorable Mercier smiled sweetly. + +“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....” + +“If I am not mistaken, that phrase is ordinarily the ostensible object of +your—er—remarks!” remarked the Governor, with thinly veiled hostility. + +“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.” + +His Excellency loftily overlooked this. + +“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.... + +The Creole imperceptibly straightened. + +“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. + +“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. + +Governor Claiborne frowned for the third time, angrily. His glance +unconsciously strayed to some papers before him, for a brief moment. + +“The rascally pirate did have the audacity to write me!” he admitted, +irefully. + +The Honorable Mercier nodded. + +“And no doubt Your Excellency has taken steps in the matter?” he asked, +inquiringly. + +“I—have—not!” declared Claiborne, flatly. + +Laurent Mercier looked respectfully astonished. + +“You do not doubt Monsieur Lafitte’s—word, m’sieur?” + +His Excellency grew almost apoplectic. + +“His word!” he cried, scornfully. “The word of a damned pirate? An outlaw +with a price on his head?” He choked momentarily. + +The Creole looked pained, but said nothing. + +“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—” + +“What exactly did he say?” asked the other, as if he were merely an +interested auditor. The Governor grimly enlightened him. + +“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. + +“Is that all?” asked Mercier, quietly. + +“He offered the services of himself and men in defense 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!” + +The state senator grunted. + +“And what of his enclosed information?” + +“Humbug, pure humbug! As if the British would condescend to make a pirate +such a ridiculous offer!” He sniffed scornfully. + +“But what of his information?” persisted the Creole, thoughtfully. + +“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.” + +“I do not think so, Your Excellency.” + +Claiborne stared at him. + +“What!” he ejaculated. + +Mercier’s face was grave. + +“I believe that Lafitte is perfectly sincere ... and that his information +is correct!” He folded his arms and gave the other stare for stare. + +His Excellency looked at him, agape. + +“It is preposterous, I tell you!” + +“I beg to differ!” haughtily. + +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. + +“I am very sorry that I cannot agree with you.” + +“What will you do, sir?” + +“Do? Nothing, of course!” His face was adamant. + +Mercier stepped forward and gripped the edge of the old mahogany desk. + +“Do you mean to say that you, the Governor, will not pay heed to his +warning?” he demanded, tensely. + +“The Governor of Louisiana will have no dealings with a pirate!” + +“It is the duty of the Governor of this state, however, to guard the +welfare of the state!” he said, with meaning. + +“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.” + +“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!” + +Claiborne rose to his feet, red with anger. + +“And who are you, sir,” he thundered, “to tell the Governor his duty?” + +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. + +“The People!” he snapped, quietly. + +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. + +“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. + +For a moment the Honorable Mercier was disarmed. + +“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. + +His Excellency sneered. + +“The People defies Public Opinion, then,” he said, calmly. + +The Creole grew furious, but fought to control himself. + +“_Très bien_, m’sieu!” leaning forward. “When Public Opinion, backed up +by the ‘Left’—denounces—impeaches the Governor of Louisiana for neglect +of duty—for _treason_, perhaps—which will prevail? The Governor, who +refused to take steps for the protection of the citizens—or Public +Opinion—the _People_?” + +For a breathless, charged moment the two glared at each other, both pale +with excitement. + +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. + + +II + +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. + +Claiborne came to the point immediately. In a few 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. + +“What does he definitely warn us of, Your Excellency?” asked Commodore +Patterson, thoughtfully. + +“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.” + +“How much, exactly, does that mean?” interrupted Colonel Forbes. + +“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. + +“The army could use them,” said Forbes, reflectively. “They’re hardened +fighters, all of them ... and dare-devils if there ever were any.” + +Commodore Patterson interrupted: + +“To my thinking, since they’re seamen first, they—” + +“Since they are Louisianians, and Creoles at that,” put in Major Borland, +bridling, “it is most fitting that they join the militia.” + +“Not so fast, gentlemen,” interrupted the Governor. “We haven’t accepted +his offer, as yet.” There followed a moment’s silence. + +“What does Lafitte want in return for this information, assuming that it +is true?” demanded Patterson. + +“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 which their past deeds should be forgiven and forgotten.” + +“Fair enough,” said Colonel Forbes, brightening; “it’s—” Claiborne looked +at him coldly. He subsided. + +“Personally,” announced His Excellency, “I believe that it is all merely +a trick—a ruse whereby he can secure a pardon.” + +“Jove! but I believe Your Excellency is right!” exclaimed Patterson. + +“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!” + +“Then you doubt Lafitte’s sincerity?” said Claiborne. + +“Dammit, yes!” put in Patterson, testily. “In my opinion those inclosed +letters you have, sir, are forgeries!” + +“Decidedly so!” said Colonel Forbes, sagely. + +“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! _That’s_ not like the British, +and you know it, every one of you!” + +The company nodded affirmation. They all had had a close acquaintance +with the British character, often to their cost. + +“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?” + +His Excellency nodded approval, but said nothing. + +“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. + +“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!” + +The others assented warmly. + +“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. + +“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—” + +“There’ll be loot and to spare, take my word for 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. + +Claiborne laughed unpleasantly. + +“Yes, gentlemen, there will no doubt be loot in plenty ... but as for me, +I want Jean Lafitte, dead or alive! Remember that, Commodore!” + +“Most decidedly so!” put in Colonel Forbes, sagely. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH: + +_How a Friend Arrives at Grande Terre, Who Proves to Be an Enemy_ + + +I + +The man who had fought with John Paul Jones spat dexterously through the +open French window. + +“We gan depend on Mercier, _bosse_, if only—” + +“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 +_his_ actions.” + +Dominique You pulled on his villainous-looking pipe with great enjoyment. + +“Maybe nod, but dat Claiborne cannot help seeing dat w’at we say is true. +He simply muz b’lieve us!” + +“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.” + +“He must still be t’inking it over. You mus’ rememb’, _mon captaine_, dat +he is a ver’ cautious man—and a fool!” + +“But this is a serious affair, Dominique. It’s a question of the public +safety.” + +Again the veteran privateersman communed with his pipe before answering. + +“_Très bien!_ W’at do you care if he don’t accept? You did youah duty, +_bosse_ ... dat is enough for you to worree ’boud.” + +Lafitte made a gesture of impatience. + +“Don’t you remember what Captain Lockyer said?” he demanded. “What he +threatened to do in the event of our refusal?” + +Dominique You abruptly removed his pipe from his lips. + +“_Morbleu!_ I had forgotten!” + +“He promised to return with a fleet ... destroy our settlement and hang +us all, if you’ll remember—” + +Apparently the Creole remembered. + +“—And I believe him,” eloquently. + +“De _bosse_ is nod afraid of dat puff-bag?” with surprise. + +“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.” + +“And you weel refuse?” with a curious side-glance. + +“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!” + +“And when Lockyer returns?” suggested Dominique You. + +“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 to keep their unwelcome +attentions to themselves.” He smiled reflectively. + +“W’at do you mean?” the Creole asked, all interest. + +“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. + +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. + +“Dere is a wahsheep in de pass, _mon capitaine_!” + +His two auditors rose hurriedly to their feet. + +“It is _un Americain, bosse_!” added the newcomer, breathlessly. + +Jean and his followers glanced at each other and smiled. A curious +coincidence, this. And a welcome. + +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. + +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 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. + +And from every port on the larboard, or port, side, peered the wicked +black mouths of cannon. Dominique turned to Lafitte thoughtfully. + +“Do you notice de guns, _bosse_?” + +Lafitte nodded. + +“Dey mus’ t’ink dat de Britishers are here,” ventured the Creole, “and +wish to impress dem.” + +“It’s more likely that they wish to impress _us_,” answered Jean, dryly, +then grasped the other’s arm. “Do you see that, behind the frigate? It’s +another ship—two—three!” + +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? + +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. + +Jean turned a worried look seaward. If these ships should happen to +be inimical, they could have Grande Terre at their mercy. Yet it was +impossible that Claiborne could prove so base.... + +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. + +Of a sudden—so suddenly as to be breath-taking—the unbelievable happened. + +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. + +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. + +“_Tracasserie!_” + +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. + +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. + +“_Aux armes!_” + +“To arms,” by all means! Although the Baratarians were caught like rats +in a trap, they were by no means cowed. Not they! + +“_Aux armes!_” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Smoke—fire—yells—screams—curses—obscenities—explosions; +muskets—pistols—bayonets—swords—dirks—knives ... implements of +destruction, all, and all in use. + +Here a group of soldiers beat frantically at the 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. + +But every moment reinforcements were arriving from the fleet ... and as +quickly the islanders were slipping away to the mainland—to safety. + +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. + +“What news?” cried Lafitte, gasping. + +The man who had fought with Paul Jones cursed expressively. His face was +smoke-blackened. + +“_Tout est pris!..._ All, all is taken! De guns are disabled ... dey are +landing more men....” + +“I know ... I know! Get the men together.... We must make a charge ... we +must get through them!...” + +Dominique laughed, but his expression was horrible to see. + +“De men are leaving, on all sides. _Ma foi!_ Dat is w’at we mus’ do, too!” + +“Never! Let the _canaille_ flee for their lives, if they will. Jean +Lafitte stays here!” + +The old privateersman grasped his shoulder. + +“Don’t be a fool. We are beat’n ... beat’n! Do 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, _bosse_, dat you have a score to settle wid dat +Claiborne!” + +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. + +But passion soon gave way to reason. + +“You are right! We will go.... Pass the word!” + +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.... + + +II + +“One more salute,” ordered Captain Lockyer, “and then be damned to ’em!” + +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. _Sophia_. For a long minute there was +silence, neither of his two companions, junior naval officers, daring to +interrupt him. + +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 pass gave ingress to a small bay; but what was in the bay, if +anything, could not be seen from without. + +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. + +Captain Lockyer lowered his glass with a curse. + +“If I could only get my hands on that dog of a pirate!” he muttered. One +of his subordinates, gathering courage, spoke up: + +“Couldn’t it be possible that no one’s there, sir?” + +The Britisher laughed scornfully. + +“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. + +“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—” + +“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 when we do ... when we do....” +His voice trailed off menacingly, into nothingness.... + +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. + +And Captain Lockyer of H.M.S. _Sophia_ grimly promised himself that he +had not seen the last of it ... which, however, remained to be seen. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST: + +_In Which “The Hellish Bandit” Makes an Offer and “Old Hickory” Makes an +Answer_ + + +I + +The Honorable Mercier swore softly. + +“That General Jackson of yours is a fool ... a stubborn fool!” he cried, +beating the table with his fist for emphasis. + +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. + +“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!” + +Grymes raised his hand tentatively. + +“Pardon me, Mercier, but why did you go to him in the first place? I +confess I’m rather at sea.” + +The other looked at his companion in surprise. + +“You do not know,” he asked, “that I was sent by Lafitte?” + +Grymes nodded his head in negation. + +“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.” + +“_Sans doute._ But what is this about Jackson’s last proclamation?” + +“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’!” + +The state senator nodded gloomily. + +“But why in the world do the authorities persist in rebuffing the +Baratarians? It has been proven that their offer was sincere.” + +Grymes shrugged his shoulders. + +“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!” + +“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? _Le bon Dieu_ 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?” + +Grymes nodded assent. + +“What will you do now?” he asked. + +“Go back to Lafitte.” + +“Where is he?” + +“Still at the Bayou St. John.” + +“Have you been there yet?” + +“Yes. Lafitte sent for me several weeks ago.” + +(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!) + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“I doubt it!” with a grimace. + +“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, 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!” + +Mercier nodded. + +“_C’est vrai!_ 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 _us_. + +“One benefit that this crisis has brought about, _mon ami_, 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. + +“Think—think, man! Of what we have lived, and are living to see! We +have seen the rise and fall of a 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. _Ma patrie +malheureuse!_ 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! + +“But _ma pauvre France_!—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. + +“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 us—and may the future bring us many more such bonds! + +“Did I say ‘we Americans’? I did. And meant it, Mr. Grymes! + +“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!” + +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. + +“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!” + +“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!” + +“‘Hang the hellish bandit!’” + +Grymes stared at the floor thoughtfully. What _would_ the future bring? + + +II + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The general had dark circles under his slightly sunken eyes, which looked +up peevishly at the newcomer. + +Colonel Ross, nothing daunted, saluted smartly and at once plunged +into his business. Evidently he was giving a report which he had been +instructed to bring. Jackson listened attentively. + +“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. + +“In other words,” said the general, in a heavy voice, “we have little to +expect here. The defenses are almost negligible.” + +Colonel Ross flushed. + +“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.” + +General Jackson nodded. + +“So I see. But what can these untrained men do against the veteran +legions of the British?” + +“Fight for their lives, sir!” snapped the other. + +For a moment the general did not answer, but his eyes twinkled. When he +responded, however, his voice was more friendly. + +“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 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—” + +“The ‘Dirty Shirts’!” exclaimed Ross. Everyone knew of that famous band +of frontiersmen from the forests of Kentucky and Tennessee. + +“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. + +“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. + +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. + +A moment later the door opened and an orderly appeared. His face wore an +air of suppressed excitement. + +“What is it?” demanded Jackson, with asperity. + +“A gentleman to see you, sir ...” he faltered, uneasily. + +“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. + +The orderly turned and beckoned to some one without. + +“Mister Jean Lafitte!” he announced, dispassionately. + +And a moment later the Baratarian crossed the threshold. + + +III + +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. + +The general stared at him in astonished fascination. Ross appeared to be +seeing a ghost. Lafitte bowed, and spoke first. + +“General,” he remarked, pleasantly, “you may possibly have heard of me. +My name is Jean Lafitte.” + +Jackson suddenly came to life, his face red with anger. + +“What the devil do you mean, sir,” he exploded, “by coming into my +presence so brazenly? Don’t you know—” + +Jean bowed courteously. + +“I trust you will pardon my intrusion, sir, at such a time,” he said, +with deep regret apparent in his voice, “but I felt it my duty to my +country to come.” + +“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. + +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. + +When the storm had somewhat subsided, Lafitte spoke. + +“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: + +“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. + +“That alone, sir, is an impregnable proof of my patriotism and love of +my adopted country, for which, 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. + +“_That_ is the kind of thanks I got for warning the authorities of the +great danger which still threatens New Orleans ... and _that_ 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. + +“I ask you, General Jackson, before God Himself, is that justice—or is +that honor?” he thundered. For the moment their rôles were reversed. + +Jackson was silent, and stared hard at the speaker.... All the anger had +left his face. Ross watched the Baratarian in fascination. + +“_But_, 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. + +“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.... + +“Does the state care to accept their services ... or _does it not_?” + +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. + +Outside the window could be heard the renewed buzz of voices. Colonel +Ross stirred restlessly, his eager gaze on his superior. + +Finally Andrew Jackson raised his head and slowly rose to his feet. He +had decided. + +“The state accepts!” he replied, and held out his hand.... + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND: + +_Wherein the Pirate-Patriots Attain Glory, and Two of Their Number Seek +Death_ + + +I + +“Where can I find Captain Lafitte?” + +The hurrying Creole with the antiquated musket on his shoulder slackened +his pace for a moment. + +“De Baratarians? Dey are wit’ de Americans on de Rodriguez Canal, +_m’sieu_, and on de redoubts neah de city.... _Capitaine_ Lafitte is at +de canal, I t’ink....” + +“_Merci bien...._” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The rider dismounted. Lafitte turned. + +“Jean!” + +“Pierre!” + +They embraced, and then simultaneously fired a volley of questions. The +frontiersman unobtrusively vanished. + +“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?” + +Pierre Dominique brightened. + +“New Orleans is swarming ... excitement everywhere. The women and girls +have organized a hospital. _Le bon Dieu_ 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—” + +Jean stiffened, his jaw tightening. Pierre went on, unnoticing. + +“—down at their hospital. She was dressed in white and looked like an +angel ... an adorable angel!” + +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 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. + +Pierre Dominique continued, his next words well calculated to cause Jean +more mental unrest. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“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, _mon frère_, love is a terrible thing ... and +a wonderful thing! Both bitter and sweet!” He sighed heavily at some +half-forgotten recollection, and again turned to his brother. + +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. + +“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_ tried to counsel you.” He paused a moment. “Do you +know, Jean, that once—once, I thought _you_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.... 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! + +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 _knew_! Following each other in +quick succession came soul-disturbing thoughts—barbed arrows of jealousy. + +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! + +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. + +“Yes, Jean, I _know_ she loves me.” He paused, hesitated, and turned his +head. “In fact ... you see, I’m _sure_ of it!” + +Jean turned pale ... choked a sob ... and fiercely turned his head away. +When he turned it again his eyes were glistening. + +“I wish you both the best of luck ... _mon frère_!” + +A quick pressure of the hand and he turned abruptly and walked away. + +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. + +“—the best of luck ... _mon frère_!” + +He sobbed aloud. + + +II + +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. + +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. + +As they marched within range of the American guns 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. + +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. + +The scarlet host steadily moved onward—and onward. + +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. + +The bugles shrilly sounded the retreat, which was a rather useless +proceeding, as the redcoats were already in sullen retreat.... + + +III + +’Twas New-Year’s Day.... + +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 skillfully intrenched British had thirty heavy guns +running parallel to the American front. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +“What’s this, Dominique?” demanded Jackson, testily. “Why have you +stopped firing? What the devil do—” + +“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!” + +“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! + +Although the battle had lasted but twenty minutes as yet, and was +destined to last but five more, both of 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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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 _had_ but +flirted with him. And he had not believed. Now he _knew_! + +Good Pierre Dominique! Honest Pierre! Life-long comrade, nearest +relative, and dearest of friends! Doubt Pierre? Never! Dear old Pierre! +_He_ 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 _had_ 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 _was_ ... +without doubt! + +Thus reasoning, Jean unselfishly had resolved to seek death. + +And Pierre, too, for an altogether different reason, was seeking death. + +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 _his_ 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. + +Therefore, he, too, was seeking the death that ever eluded him. But both +brothers were now discovering that death invariably side-steps from the +path of men who eagerly seek to meet it. + +And now the battle was drawing to a close, and both Lafittes were yet +alive ... and death still was—but was it? + +The ebb-tide of the battle had begun. + +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. + +Sir Edward, on his deathbed, gave his last order. + +“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?” + +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. + +With a universal shout of mingled hate and triumph 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +They must be checked, and at once. Everything was at stake!—everything! + +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! + +With a hoarse shout Jean sprang upon the crest of the earthworks, +brandishing his sword with an 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! + +“Baratarians, charge!” + +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. + +“_Vive_ Lafitte!” + +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. + +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! + +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. + +As he fought, Jean felt a joyous lust sweep his soul, and plunged into +the thick of the fight again and 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. + +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. + +A moment later Jean was kneeling at the side of his brother, heedless of +the flying bullets, his face ashen. + +And then it was that the remainder of the British columns that had +charged up the slope broke and ran. + +It was now eight o’clock, and the American bugles shrilled their call! + +“Cease firing—” + +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! + +But there was no joy in the heart of him who was largely responsible for +this victory ... the pirate-patriot. + +For Lafitte, with a file of silently sympathetic Baratarians, was +hurrying his brother to the city—to the hospital ... racing with death. + +But death, glutted already with British blood, grinned hideously. + +And Jean Lafitte shuddered at the sight. + + + + +CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD: + +_How One Lafitte Repeats a Prayer, and Another Enters The Valley of the +Shadow_ + + +I + +François de Moulin clutched Jean’s arm eagerly, his dark eyes filled with +anxious forebodings. + +“W’at—how—w’at does ze docteh say?” he demanded, huskily. + +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. + +“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....” + +François stared at him as if in a trance, his hand falling abruptly to +his side. + +“Not—not—” he faltered. + +Jean nodded, his head averted. + +“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 ... 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +A step upon the stair. First animated—then faltering. A light step. + +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. + +Suddenly the person stood in the doorway ... and paused. + +For a brief moment De Moulin stared at the intruder 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. + +Suddenly sensing the presence of a stranger, Jean slowly looked up. + +It was Virginia. + +For a timeless space they stared at each other. + +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. + +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. + +He bowed ceremoniously, averting his tell-tale eyes. + +She nervously returned a curtsy. + +Being a woman, she regained her composure first. + +“How is your brother—Captain Lafitte?” she asked, falteringly. + +He bit his lip, and for a moment was silent. Her pallor deepened. + +“Pierre is at—confessional.” He vaguely marvelled at his own poise. + +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. + +“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....” + +He started at her words, but did not turn. + +“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. + +“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. + +“I would to God that I were in his place!” he exclaimed, dispassionately. + +She did not answer, but unaccountably flushed again. The years seemed to +have vanished, as if they had never been. + +“Why?” + +“Why?” he repeated, incredulously. “_You_ ask me _that_?” + +She nodded uncertainly. He paused. + +“Because I have nothing to live for,” bitterly. Jean Lafitte was only +human, after all. + +Her face expressed her astonishment. He continued speaking, quickly, to +hide his embarrassment. + +“Do you remember a certain evening two years ago, mademoiselle?” he +asked, abruptly. + +She did not answer, her face averted. + +“It was a moonlight—” + +“Don’t!” she pleaded. + +He swept on, unheeding. + +“—night. Do you, by chance, remember our conversation?” + +Virginia was silent. + +“Do you remember,” he went on, “what you asked of me?” + +“Yes,” slowly. + +“And what I answered?” + +She nodded, her eyes fixed on his in fascination. + +“Do you remember, mademoiselle,” he swallowed hard, “those—_kisses_?” His +eyes were burning—glowing. It seemed to Virginia that she could detect +his very soul imprisoned in those magnetic eyes. + +She shivered with a strange emotion, and turned scarlet with +embarrassment. + +“Mr. Lafitte!...” The crimson wave receded and rose again. + +He laughed shortly, painfully. + +“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. + +Virginia paled, and grasped the back of a chair, to steady herself. + +Jean Lafitte bowed to her again, with elaborate courtesy. + +“I repeat,” he said, quietly, “that now I do believe. _That_ is why I say +that I wish with all my soul that I were on Pierre’s death bed!” + +The Virginian girl looked at him with astonishment, amazed at his +frankness, his utter lack of self-consciousness. + +“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. + +“What do you mean?” in real astonishment. + +“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!” + +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. + +“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!” + +He smiled—a sad smile. A sudden transformation had taken place in him at +her voice. + +“You are right, mademoiselle. I do _not_ 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 _should_ have reached me, instead of himself—” + +Virginia interrupted, vexed at the mystery in his words. + +“Why do you repeat that, sir?” + +“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—” + +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. + +The two others looked at the ecclesiastic inquiringly, but he gave them +no time to question him. + +“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, _mon fils_, to be as forgiving +as your Master has been.” He crossed himself. “Be not hasty in thy +judgment,” he went on enigmatically, although in a kindlier tone, “for +it is more blessed to forgive than to punish.” + +Jean looked at him in bewilderment. + +“What do you mean, father?” + +The old Capuchin looked at him pityingly. + +“You shall know in good time, _Deo volente_.” + +He pointed to the closed door. + +Without another word or glance toward the girl, Jean Lafitte opened the +door—visibly stiffened—and went in. + +The heavy door closed behind him. The old Capuchin turned toward the +girl, his face grave. + +“My daughter—” + + +II + +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. + +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. + +In less than a moment Jean was at his side, tenderly taking one of his +brother’s hands in his own. + +“How are you feeling, Pierre?” + +The other smiled faintly. + +“I am at peace—almost.” + +“Nonsense! We’ll have you up and about in another week, Pierre. Don’t be +so pessimistic.” + +Pierre made a weak sign of negation. + +“The sands of my life are running out, _mon frère_,” he whispered, +weakly; “it is useless to blind yourself to the truth. Don’t weep, +brother mine, for it hurts me—it _hurts_!” A groan escaped him. + +Jean dashed away the moisture from his eyes. + +“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. + +“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 _maman_.” + +Jean gripped the coverlets fiercely. + +“Oh, that we could have gone together! Pierre, _mon_ 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, _mon frère_, for the sunshine—” + +“Hush, Jean! I go willingly. And my stay in Purgatory shall be bearable, +for above I shall always see our sainted _maman_—waiting, waiting.” + +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 of it! The stars +shine on—the sun goes on its accustomed way—yet, how can they? + +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 _always_ +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.... + +The ghostly sands of the infinite hour glass trickled ceaselessly, +inexorably. But his thoughts sped on. + +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— + +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? + + “Our Father, Who Art in Heaven, + Hallowed be Thy Name, Thy Kingdom come, + Thy will be done, + On earth as it is in heaven....” + +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.... + + “Give us this day our daily bread, + And forgive us our trespasses + As we forgive those who trespass against us; + And lead us not into temptation, + But deliver us from evil, + For Thine is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory, + Forever and ever. Amen.” + +The prayer was not particularly appropriate, but it soothed them. + +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. + +“Jean,” said the dying man, at length, “I have a confession to make—and +dread it.” He shuddered. + +The younger Lafitte tenderly kissed his brother’s hand by way of answer. +His heart was too full to allow him to speak. + +“_Mon frère_,” said Pierre Dominique, haltingly, “I have done you a great +wrong....” + +“_C’est impossible!_ Forget it, _mon_ Pierre!” + +“_Oublier je ne puis._ I cannot forget, _mon frère_.” His voice gathered. +“Jean, my brother, I have done you a great wrong—deceived you—lied to +you, God forgive me!” + +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. + +Pierre, however, once having gained the necessary courage, was not to be +put off. There was a semi-hysterical note in his voice. + +“I lied to you—lied to you....” + +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. + +“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. + +“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. + +Pierre weakly grasped his hand, his face working. + +“I lied, Jean—lied ...” he choked. + +“You did not know!” cried Jean, desperately, trying to make his +brother’s load lighter, even though he felt himself mortally stricken. + +“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! + +“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 _maman_! Can’t +you realize?” + +Jean looked up, his face a picture of suffering—misery. + +“Forgive you? Gladly, my brother. I understand—too well. I too, have +loved her—and I understand. Put your mind at ease, _mon_ Pierre. There is +naught to forgive.” + +“I have made you suffer.” + +“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. + +“Then I am happy. And can die happy, Jean....” But his face belied his +avowed happiness. + +“Yes, _mon frère_.” + +“You will marry Virginia....” + +“If she will have me!” humbly. Pierre smiled. The expression on his face +was simply indescribable: envy—regret—longing—bitterness.... + +“Never fear. She has always loved you and still does. But, as I said, +you two will marry. I know it. And you should appreciate her worth, +_mon_ 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. + +“And Jean....” + +“_Oui, mon frère._” The pathos of his voice! + +“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?” + +The tears were coursing down Jean’s lean cheeks. + +“Yes, my brother ... by the living God, I _swear_ 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. + +For a long minute there was silence. Then: + +“Jean....” + +“_Oui, mon frère._” + +“You’ve always looked like the little _maman_.... 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 the lips.... “Good-by, +_mon_—Jean....” His eyes were glazing. + +“No—no!” cried Jean, suddenly alarmed. “Don’t leave me. Pierre!” He +sobbed wildly ... a taper flickered.... + +As if by a superhuman effort of the will, Pierre aroused himself +temporarily from his semi-coma. + +“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. + +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. + +“_Au revoir, mon frère!_” firmly. + +“Till we meet again,” not “good-by”! + +Pierre Dominique Lafitte smiled, weakly. + +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.... + +“Little _maman_ ...” murmured Pierre contentedly, shuddered, and closed +his eyes. + +With a great cry Jean sank to his knees, convulsively kissing his +brother’s hand ... calling.... + +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 of his +dead brother was growing indistinct before his very eyes.... + +Suddenly silence. Then, “_Chapeux bas!_” exclaimed a voice. + +“Hats off!” indeed.... + +Pierre Dominique had entered the Valley of the Shadow. + + + + +CHAPTER THE LAST: + +_In Which Our Pirate Walks into a Trap And Hauls Down His Colors_ + + +I + +“I ’ave news foah you, _mon ami_,” 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. + +“I can guess at it,” he answered, smilingly. + +“W’at?” + +“Your news.” + +“Guess away, zen, monsieur.” + +“I don’t have to guess—I know.” + +“Impossybl’!” with exaggerated doubt. + +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. + +“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. + +“Wait until you taste that julep, De Moulin. There’s not a man in the +South that can make it like that old darky of mine can.” + +François smiled. + +“As for your news,” went on Grymes, fanning himself with his hat, “it’s +public property.” + +François, startled, looked up quickly. Grymes intercepted the look and +laughed. + +“It couldn’t but be otherwise, old man. You are referring to the +President’s proclamation, of course.” + +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. + +“You guess’ wrong,” said the Creole. “My news concerns Jean.” + +Grymes chuckled. + +“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!” + +“W’at you mean?” + +“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: + +“‘Offenders who have refused to become the associates of the enemy in +war upon the most seducing terms 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.’ + +“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!” + +“I know zat all along, _mon ami_. Bud I ’ave ozzer news. Jean eez going +to _la belle France_, Mistah Grymes.” + +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. + +“What the devil do you mean?” he asked, in astonishment. The young +indigo-planter smiled. + +“Joos’ what I say, Jean eez goin’ bac’ to France.” + +The Virginian leaned back in his seat limply. + +“Well I’ll be damned!” he ejaculated, with emphasis. “I _am_ damned!” + +“Poor father!” said a sympathetic voice. And Virginia, a cool vision in +white, stepped out upon the spacious veranda. + +Both men instantly rose to their feet. François bowed gallantly, and she +greeted him cordially. + +“I beg your pardon, my dear,” said Grymes, flushing, “for my er—words, +but—” + +“But what, father? Of course I’ll forgive you. But I confess I’m +curious. What made you say it?” She glanced archly at the young Creole. + +“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. + +“Why?” asked Virginia, in a voice meant to be casual. + +“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—_me_”—hastily—“when I was at Grande Terre, and you tell me that he is +going to France.” + +“Foah won zing, I s’pose he want a change of scene,” said De Moulin. + +“Yes, that’s so. Pierre’s death broke him all up, I know. _There_ was a +man for you.” + +François de Moulin stared into the distance. + +“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. + +“_Requiescat in pace_,” murmured the Virginian. + +“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 a great number of things had happened since that time. Now +Pierre was peacefully sleeping in the crypt of St. Louis’s, and Jean— + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. _Sans doute_ +... weezout doubt, his relations will mek him remain een France. An’ you +rilly gannot blame Jean. He eez reech ... _très riche_, an’ he gan go +high een ze service of ze Emperor. Napoleon laks reech men, anniway.” + +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 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. + +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. + +Suddenly, so suddenly as to attract the attention of her two companions, +she murmured something inaudible and hurriedly disappeared within the +house. + +The two men stared at her with surprise, and Grymes looked openly +troubled. + +“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!” + +The Creole looked at him in surprise. + +“W’at do you mean, m’sieur?” he asked. + +“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 _always_ thinking or +brooding, whichever you may prefer. I’ll confess I’m worried.” + +For a moment or two the Creole was silent. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“She _eez_!” put in François, warmly. + +“But who can it be?” asked Grymes, a new idea striking him. Then, “It +isn’t _you_, is it?” with genuine interest. + +François sniffed. + +“I onlee weesh eet were!” he exclaimed, devoutly, shaking his head in sad +negation. + +“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. + +“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, some weeks previously, of Lafitte’s death. His mouth +tightened. + +But François, understanding his sudden fear, quickly put him at his ease. + +“No, eet was not Pierre,” he said, earnestly; “zat I gan sweah to!” + +“Then who is it?” demanded the Virginian, vexed in spite of himself. + +De Moulin leaned forward and tapped his arm slowly. + +“_Jean Lafitte!_” + +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. + +“Then why—” said he, and could go no further. + +But the astute Creole understood. + +“Jean Lafitte—I know—ees mad aboud Virginia—_bud_—” + +“But what? You say that she loves him, and _he_ loves _her_—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. + +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. + +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 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. + +And a little later, just as De Moulin was leaving, her father turned to +Virginia innocently. + +“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. + + +II + +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. + +“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. + +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 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. + +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. + +“Marse Lafitte, dars a pusson would lak tuh mek tawk wif yuh, in de +gyarden, suh.” + +“Some one wants to speak to _me_—in the garden?” + +“Yassuh.” + +“Who is it?” + +“Hits a—lady.” + +“Who is she?” Rappahannock shrugged his shoulders expressively. + +Lafitte looked at him with suspicion. + +“Did she send for me, herself?” + +“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. + +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 a deep +breath, he silently slipped out of the front door and into the silvery +night. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +He suddenly felt that he had to say something—and had nothing to say. + +“Virginia—mademoiselle—I am here,” he said, somewhat awkwardly. + +For a moment she did not answer. + +“Really?” she said, rather scornfully. + +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. + +“Miss Grymes, I have something to tell you—something to explain.” + +She did not answer, but remained motionless, her eyes fixed on him. He +could not know that _she_ was in a crucible of emotion—that she was +fighting fiercely for control of herself. + +“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 _was_ 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. + +“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.” + +Still she was silent. Jean rushed on. + +“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.” + +She half turned from him. + +“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. + +“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 +come to the conclusion that you _were_—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 _man_ 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!” + +Then, turning, he began to go back toward the house, but suddenly +stopped, for she was speaking. + +“Captain—Lafitte,” she was saying, “you have forgotten one thing in your +elaborate plan. What of me, sir?” + +He stared at her. + +“What of _you_, ma’mselle?” + +“Yes. Aren’t you taking too much for granted, sir?” + +He trembled ... his brain was whirling. + +“What do you mean?” + +“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_ +was not—lying—that night—at Grande Terre?” + +He thought this over for a brief moment, puzzled. + +“But how could I know?” + +“Then why didn’t you—ask—sir?” Very low. Why _were_ men so dull-witted? +But he did not answer—he was stupefied. + +She stamped her foot—and he suddenly saw that she was both laughing and +crying—together. He stared at her wonderingly. + +“Why don’t you ask me—sir?” + +And then he knew. + +“Virginia!” He stepped uncertainly toward her. + +“Yes—Jean.” How unutterably sweet his name sounded on her lips! + +“You _weren’t_ telling the truth!” + +But it was altogether unnecessary for her to answer this, for they were +already in each other’s arms.... + +The breeze grumbled in the trees. It had all been such a meaningless +performance—to the breeze. + + * * * * * + +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. + +There, silhouetted in the moonlight against the bright silver of the +river, were two figures, unmistakably in a close embrace. + +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.... + + +FINIS + + + + +_The greatest pleasure in life is that of reading. Why not then own the +books of great novelists when the price is so small_ + + +¶ _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._ + +_Ask your dealer for a list of the titles in Burt’s Popular Priced +Fiction_ + +_In buying the books bearing the A. L. Burt Company imprint you are +assured of wholesome, entertaining and instructive reading_ + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78822 *** |