_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.