_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.