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!_”