_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.