by Simon Hawke
“I respect your independence. We will speak no more of it. For now, at any rate. You must introduce me to your friends.”
Drakov performed the introductions. When he got to Andre, Lafitte looked at her admiringly, then bent down to kiss her hand. “A woman corsair! My respects, Ma’mselle. Anyone who can hold her own with Drako’s crew of cutthroats is deserving of admiration. Wherever did your find her, Drako?”
“In Marseilles,” said Drakov.” Andre was in some slight legal difficulties at the time.”
“You must tell me all about it later,” Lafitte said. “Come, we will take our wine on the veranda, where we can enjoy the breeze.”
Marie brought their wine to them and silently departed. Land couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“It appears you have been captivated, Mr. Land,” said Lafitte.
“Your pardon, sir,” Land said, awkwardly, having been caught staring. “I meant no offense to your wife, sir.”
Lafitte laughed. “Wife? She is my slave. You want her? I will sell her to you. But you will pay dearly.”
Land was too flustered to reply.
“Your men will be welcome ashore, as always,” Lafitte told Drakov, “however, I should caution you that Gambi is back. He and his crew have been a problem. I hope there will be no incidents.”
“There won’t be, so long as my men are not interfered with,” Drakov said.
“I am growing weary of Gambi,” Lafitte said. “He takes too much upon himself. We have enough problems already without him.”
“What sort of problems?” Drakov said, sipping his wine.
“Oh, that idiot Claiborne,” said Lafitte. “That fool of a governor who sits in his mansion on Toulouse Street and denounces me as a pirate to all and any who will listen. We must stop the smuggling, he says, over and over again. Stop the smuggling, indeed! He was only too happy to have this smuggler stop at his house and deliver goods to him on more than one occasion in the past. Now, he is a force for moral righteousness. The man is an insufferable ass. Do you know what he had the temerity to do? He posted a reward of five hundred dollars for my arrest! Can you imagine? I had the exact wording of the proclamation copied, substituting his name for mine, and I posted a reward for his arrest, only I offered fifteen hundred dollars. I sent him a challenge, offering my sword. Of course, I received no answer. Still, it caused some amusement in the city and the publicity is good for business.”
“Have you had more trouble with the British?” Drakov said.
Lafitte sneered. “Those imperialist pigs! Only the Spaniards are worse. I hear they have secured Detroit. Rumors have them heading toward us. They will find a warm welcome.”
The carriage returned with Dominique Youx and two men, who unloaded a chest and brought it into the house. Moments later, they had carried it up the stairs, grunting from the weight of it, and then out onto the veranda.
“Captain Drako comes bearing gifts, Jean,” said Youx. He opened the chest, revealing part of the treasure they had recovered from the sunken La Floridana. It was filled with pieces of eight, which Drakov’s crew had meticulously cleaned so they would not look as if they had been under water.
“Drako,” said Lafitte, reprovingly, “there is no need of this.”
“I know, Jean, but please accept the gift. Think of it as a token payment from my men for their entertainment.”
“In that case, I must present you with a gift, as well,” Lafitte said. “What will you have? Another ship, perhaps? We have recently brought in a prize, a Spaniard. She is only a merchantman, nothing like your Valkyrie, of course, but-”
“One ship is enough for me, my friend,” said Drakov. “From you, I will accept only hospitality and nothing more.”
“Well, then I must do something for your men, at least. Land, you like Marie? She’s yours. I give her to you. Marie!”
Land was thunderstruck.
“Now, Jean-” Drakov began.
“No, no, it is all settled! I have spoken. Ah, Marie, meet your new master, Mr. Ned Land. I have made him a present of you.”
Marie looked aghast. Her eyes filled with tears.
Drakov came to the rescue. “Jean, please, you will cause me problems if you do this. This girl is not made for a life at sea. If you give her to Land, it will only make the rest of my crew jealous.”
“Then I will give each of them a woman,” said Lafitte. “I have hundreds. Well, perhaps not hundreds, but certainly enough for each to take his pick.”
“Just what I need,” said Drakov. “A woman for every man aboard my ship.”
Lafitte grimaced. “Yes, I suppose that would be a problem, wouldn’t it?”
“She seems quite close to you, Captain Lafitte,” said Land. “I wouldn’t wish to cause her to be unhappy.”
“Bah! Women attach themselves to men like barnacles. If a man gives them any regard, he’ll have a devil of a time scraping them off. Very well, then. I shall think of something else. Never mind, Marie. It appears Mr. Land prefers for you to stay with me.”
“Oh, thank you, Monsieur!” Marie said, standing on tiptoe to kiss Land upon the cheek.
“Go and thank him properly, at least,” Lafitte said. She took his hand and led the bewildered Land away.
“Are you as cavalier with everyone, Captain Lafitte?” said Verne, in a reproving tone. “Or only with your slaves?”
“Do I offend you, sir?” Lafitte said.
Drakov quickly intervened. “Mr. Verne, though something of an aristocrat in France, is nevertheless rather liberal in his ideas, Jean.”
“Is it liberal to believe that people should not be considered property?” said Verne.
“Ah, yes, the Negro question,” said Lafitte. “I perceive you subscribe to this anti-slavery idea, sir. I will tell you something, quite sincerely. In principle, I am not against it. However, allow me to point out that this idea, whatever its merits, is not a very popular one, certainly not at present, in this region. In the future, things may well change. I suspect they will. For now, it is the Negroes’ misfortune to be slaves. This does not mean I mistreat them. As you have seen, Marie was quite reluctant to leave me. What is more, the slaves I bring to Barataria and sell in places such as Donaldsonville and Memphis are not Negroes I have captured and taken from their homeland. Those I take from Spanish ships bound for Havana and South America have already been thoroughly subdued and domesticated. There would be little point, assuming a great idealism on my part, in returning them to Africa. Such a voyage would be prohibitive and they would not survive, in any case. Africa is not a civilized country and their own tribes would doubtless kill them. If I were to set them free, where would I take them? Where could they enjoy such freedom? How would they survive? Or would you rather I leave them with the Spaniards, who are, I assure you, far less benevolent masters than they will find here? What would you have me do?”
“Your points are well taken, Captain,” Verne said. “Nevertheless, and meaning no offense, I cannot help but feel pity toward young Marie.”
Lafitte shook his head. “You know very little of our ways, Mr. Verne. I do not say this in rebuke, you understand. Allow me to explain. Marie is what we call a griffe, the daughter of a white man and a quadroon woman. Here in New Orleans, we frequently have quadroon balls, lavish affairs attended by all eligible quadroon women and most of the young New Orleans gentlemen. A quadroon is not considered a Negro, Mr. Verne. However, neither is a quadroon considered white. Their position in society is strictly defined. For years, the young men of this city have gone to the Quadroon Ballroom, as is the custom, in search of mistresses. Do not make the mistake of thinking we have made them prostitutes or whores. They are not that. Their best chance for a good life is to find a white man who will act as their protector and their mothers prepare them for this from childhood. A quadroon girl usually becomes the mistress of a young gentleman of means, who keeps her in a comfortable home or an apartment, cares for her, frequently has children by her. She lives a good life, devot
ed to one man, who provides for her in a manner that allows her to live quite comfortably. Sometimes this association is terminated when the young man marries, sometimes it continues. Quadroon men-free men of color, as we call them here-are not as fortunate. Sometimes their fathers provide an education for them, but more frequently they become laborers or musicians. They often marry former mistresses of white men and lead normal, happy lives. If they are light enough in color, they might leave New Orleans and travel far away, passing as white.
“Marie would have been a free woman of color in New Orleans and she would easily have found a wealthy man to provide for her. However, until I intervened, her destiny was to be a Spanish slave. She was in chains when I found her, though she was kept chained in the captain’s cabin, rather than in the hold with the others, for reasons which seem quite obvious. She was born in Havana and she grew up a slave. The Spaniards did make a whore of her. She knew nothing else since the age of twelve. In New Orleans, she could have been free, only what would have been her opportunities? She had received no training in manners and social graces. She has no mother to take her to a quadroon ball. She had no home, no means of support. She would have fallen back on the only thing she knew and would have become a prostitute for certain. Nevertheless, I gave her that choice. It may not have been much of a choice, but it was all I could offer her. Freedom or being sold as a slave. She pleaded with me to keep her. She said she would serve me faithfully and keep me happy. Well, sir, I understood only too well what she meant. And I did not wish to put myself in the position of taking advantage of such a situation. That would have made me no different from the Spaniards.”
“Yet you keep her as a slave,” said Verne.
“I do,” Lafitte said, “so other men will respect her as my property. Yet, I have trained her, taught her, treated her well and never bedded her.”
“And offered her to Land,” said Verne.
“As was my right,” Lafitte said. “I offered her the choice of freedom or slavery.” He shrugged. “She chose slavery.”
Verne sighed and stared out at the setting sun. “You are a complicated man, Captain.”
Dominique Youx joined them once again to tell Lafitte the men were arriving for the council.
“You will excuse me for a short while,” Lafitte said, getting up. “Prior to your arrival, I called for a meeting of my captains. It is a matter of some importance. Please, the night is warm. Remain here for a while and I shall have supper brought to you. This should not take very long.”
They waited on the veranda, watching the captains of Barataria arrive, many coming with members of their crews who remained outside, and they gorged themselves on the delicious Creole cuisine. Ned did not reappear, prompting Andre to observe that Marie must be giving him a truly proper thanks. Verne looked shocked.
Downstairs, shouts were heard, then the sounds of furniture overturning. They heard a door slam and looking out over the railing of the veranda, they saw a heavyset, swarthy-looking man leaving in a huff to join some of the men gathered on the beach.
“That’s Gambi,” Drakov said. “It appears he has walked out of the meeting. This may mean trouble.”
The meeting broke up soon after that and Lafitte rejoined them, looking no different than before. Whatever had happened at the meeting seemed to have affected him little, if at all.
“We saw Gambi leaving in a rage,” said Drakov, trying to draw him out. “If he is being difficult, perhaps I should send word to my men to steer clear of him and his crew during our stay.”
Lafitte shrugged. “Gambi is his own worst enemy. His own greed and lack of self-control will do him in. He has never understood that we owe our existence here to the most precarious balance. As corsairs, we prey on Spanish and British shipping, indulge in a little smuggling, in short, provide goods and services in return for which we are left well enough alone. But Gambi is a stupid pig. Of late, too many ships have been disappearing in the gulf. American ships. I know for a fact Gambi has attacked at least one. Some of the others have started to follow his example. I have laid down the law. The American flag is to be respected. Anyone attacking a ship fly ing that flag will be expelled from Barataria at once. Gambi did not take that well.”
“What about the others?” Drakov said.
“The others will fall in line, but they shall wait and see how I deal with Gambi first.”
“And how will you deal with him?” said Verne.
“I will give him enough rope to hang himself with,” Lafitte said. “Unless I am very much mistaken, he is about to start gathering that rope right now.”
There was quite a bit of shouting coming from the direction of the beach. The sun had gone down and the men on the beach had lit fires. A large group of them were now advancing on Lafitte’s mansion, carrying torches, shouting, being led by Gambi. Lafitte produced a clay pipe and casually began to fill it with tobacco.
“LAFITTE!”
The man shouting from below was not Gambi. He was a large, muscular seaman, dressed in a loose-fitting white shirt and loose white trousers. He was bald and bearded and he looked quite formidable as he stood in the glare of the torchlight, shaking his fist at those sitting up on the veranda.
Lafitte calmly lit his pipe.
“Jean Lafitte! You hear me?”
Lafitte did not respond.
“Listen to me, Jean Lafitte,” the seaman shouted, taking out a pistol and brandishing it in the air. A chorus of shouts backed him up. Gambi stood to the side, his arms folded on his chest, watching the performance with approval. “We do not take orders from the likes of you, eh? Captain Gambi’s crew only takes orders from Captain Gambi! Here is what I think of your orders… “
The seaman spat up at the veranda. Lafitte seemed to move lazily, but that was deceptive. He reached inside his jacket, pulled out a pistol, leveled it almost casually and fired. The shot startled them all. With an expression of surprise upon his face, the seaman pitched forward onto the sand, shot through the heart.
Lafitte stood slowly, the smoking gun still held in his hand, and leaned on the railing of the veranda, looking down at the assembled men. He said nothing. His eyes met Gambi’s. With a scowl, Gambi turned away and walked off into the darkness. The remainder of the mob broke up.
“Now then,” said Lafitte, turning around and putting the pistol back into the holster hanging inside his jacket. “What do you say to a game of poker?”
9
Fires burned on the beach. Men drank and sang, caroused with women, danced, fired guns off into the air and pummeled each other drunkenly. Many of Drakov’s crewmen went into New Orleans with seamen from the other ships of Lafitte’s fleet. Drakov went downstairs with Lafitte and Verne, to play cards with some of the other captains. Lucas, Finn and Andre had declined. Drakov didn’t seem to care. Apparently, it made no difference to him whatsoever what they did. Land rejoined them shortly after the others had gone down to play cards. With some awkwardness, he pointedly explained that all he and Marie had done was talk. To do any more, he said, would have been taking advantage.
“I learned a bit that may be of interest,” he said, as he filled his wine glass. “Drakov does not come here just so his crew can enjoy themselves. He buys slaves from Lafitte.”
Lucas frowned. “Slaves? You’re sure?”
“Marie told me,” Land said. “She said that Negroes are being put aboard the Valkyrie even as we speak.”
“How many?” Finn said.
“This time, he bought a hundred,” Land said. “Last time, twice as many. She saw his men taking them from the warehouse. Grigori and Martingale, from what she said. She hasn’t any idea where he takes them.”
“Martingale,” Andre said. “What’s he doing, playing both ends against the middle?”
“I don’t like him,” Land said. “You said you would tell me of this Underground he claims to belong to.”
“It’s not easy to explain, Ned, but I’ll try,” said Lucas. “You remember when I tried te
lling you before about how people in the future travel back through time so they can fight their wars in the past?”
Land nodded, grimly. “I didn’t want to hear. I thought you were making fun of me. After what I’ve seen, mon aini, I would no longer doubt a thing you tell me.”
“Well, that’ll make things easier,” said Lucas, wryly. “The Underground is made up mostly of soldiers from the armies of the future. These soldiers have become deserters. Sometimes soldiers from the future become… well, lost, for lack of a better way of putting it. They become separated from their units. Sometimes they’re found again. Sometimes not. Some of them become trapped in the past through no fault of their own, others become deserters. Many of them make contact with the Underground. Either they find the Underground or the Underground finds them. If they wish to return to their own time, the Underground helps them. But if they wish to desert, the Underground takes them in. It’s a complex, loosely knit organization. They have methods of keeping in touch with one another, but they’re spread out through all of time. Some of them, by choice, remain in one specific time period. Others travel a great deal, to any time they choose. We met one of them once. His name was Hunter. He was responsible for taking Andre from the time where she was born, 12th century England, to 17th century Paris, where our paths crossed again. Andre became one of us. Hunter, unfortunately, was killed by a member of the same group Drakov once belonged to.”
“The Timekeepers,” Land said.
Lucas nodded. “Hunter lived in 12th century England most of the time, but he could visit any other time, any other place, anytime he wanted to. The Underground is an illegal organization. Technically, they’re criminals, but no one tries very hard to catch them.”
Land frowned, concentrating. “Why?”
“Because, for one thing, it’s very hard to do,” said Lucas. “For another, they may be deserters, but they also serve a purpose. It’s just as important to them that history not be interfered with as it is to us. They represent a certain danger, since they are people living in times where they do not belong, but they are very aware of the dangers and they take great care not to interfere. If any of them are ever caught, they are tried as criminals, but there are more important things to do than spend time actively looking for them.”
