Savage Surrender

by Natasha Peters

  Kirby chuckled. "Orders is orders, Ma'am. Now, if it was me—"

  "You should be the Admiral of this fleet, not he," I said graciously as we went up on deck. "Pooh. He is a petty tyrant." A soft breeze rustled the sails and the shrouds and blew my hair gently around my face. I breathed deeply. "Ah, let me say farewell to my freedom," I sighed ecstatically. "The air is soft and beautiful. I am sorry to be leaving this life. And the life that I carry, too—you know, I am going to have a child. It would have been a little son, I know, and he would have cherished his freedom as I have cherished mine." Tears coursed down my cheeks. I felt the grip on my arm loosening ever so slightly. "Your Admiral is a double murderer, my dear friend. With no more thought than that," I snapped my fingers, "he boldly snuffs out not just one life but two!" I began to weep noisily, heartbrokenly. "Oh, my son, my son."

  Kirby shuffled his feet with embarrassment. His hold relaxed still more, and in a flash I wrenched myself free and threw myself over the side of the Royal Oak.

  I plunged into the chill waters of the gulf. While I was still submerged I worked feverishly stripping off all my cumbersome outer garments so that I could swim for shore. I surfaced right under the ship's hull. I could hear the sound of running feet and angry voices over my head. The creaking of tackle told me they were going to lower a boat and come after me. I drew in a few long breaths and then dove under the waves and swam away from the ship. I was grateful for the hard work I had done on the Sea Demon for I was strong and I knew my endurance was good.

  I bobbed to the surface about fifty yards from the ship. I cast a quick look behind me. The decks seemed alive with activity. Then I heard a thunderous booming noise and a cannonball splashed into the water about twenty feet away from me. I gasped and dove again and swam with long strokes towards Grand Terre. They fired again. This time the ball came down in front of me and I could hear the sizzle that the hot sphere made as it entered the cool water.

  Just then I heard answering shots from ahead of me. I peered intently over the water. I could barely make out a sail on the horizon near Grand Terre. I swam towards it, praying that they would see me. They approached me swiftly. I shouted and waved my arms frantically. It was the Tigre, and as she drew nearer I even thought I could see Dominique at the helm. I hailed them wildly. I wasn't sure that they had seen or heard me, for they were diligently returning the Royal Oak's fire. Just when I thought they were going to run me down the vessel sheered off and then came about.

  I swam towards them and grabbed at the line they tossed me. They hauled me up on deck where I lay gasping like a beached fish. Someone poured whiskey down my throat and rough hands wrapped me in a blanket.

  "I told you boys we didn't have any time for fishin'!" I heard Dominique's hearty voice. The men laughed. "What is all this?" He knelt by me and tweaked my wet hair.

  "Hello, Dominique," I panted. "They were going to hang me for a spy and I decided to swim for it."

  The pirates roared with laughter. Dominique said, "Did you, now? Those slimy bastards, I'll show them who they're playing with! Give 'em a volley, boys, and "aim for her middle."

  His men ran to obey and soon I heard the deafening thunder of guns.

  "We were attacked this morning, Dominique. Lafitte and Garth—"

  "I heard all about it. Our men rousted the redcoats and sent 'em back to the swamps. Jean and Pierre got off all right. I don't know about that other one." Dominique was jealous of Garth.

  "I saw them hit him and he fell. I don't know if they finished him off," I said miserably. "Dear God, Dominique, we're wasting time! We have to get word to New Orleans at once. They're planning to attack by land and sea both! What if Jean didn't get through? Someone has to warn General Jackson."

  "It's all right, child. You just calm down. We're not boys at this game. Look."

  He helped me to my feet and turned me towards Grand Terre. Thick black smoke lay like a pall over the island, and I thought I could smell the reek of burning timbers even a mile out to sea.

  "She's in flames," I breathed. "The whole island! Oh, Dominique!"

  "That's right, we've set her on fire, just like Jean said. And now we're going to join Jackson's army. They're grouping on the plantations south of New Orleans. Jean thinks the British will attack from the west first. They've built a road overland from Lake Borgne. And when they come we'll be ready. Jackson's brought in men from all over the country, from as far as Tennessee. Sharpshooters and scouts and Indians, too. And now he has us—he can't lose. Let's find you some dry clothes, Elise. Lord have mercy, I didn't expect to find you swimming out here! We heard the gunfire and thought they were attacking, and so we set fire to the island and came 'round to see if we could sink a few of His Majesty's ships before headin' into battle."

  The Royal Oak gave half-hearted chase and gave up when we slipped through the pass between Grand Terre and Grand Isle. Dominique hid the Tigre in the bayou off Barataria Bay and found the skiffs he had hidden to take him and his men to New Orleans.

  We beached the skiffs at the Temple where Jean had warehouses and dwellings. "We've got a ton of gunpowder stored there," Dominique told me proudly. "Enough to blow the whole damned fleet out of the water. I hope that old hornet Jackson appreciates it."

  We reached New Orleans on the evening of the fourth day after my capture by the British. Dominique took me straight to Jean's house on Dumaine Street. Lily opened the door and I fell exhausted into her arms.

  "Mister Jean, come quick!" she shouted.

  Jean ran to me and held me close. "Thank God, Elise!"

  "You can thank me and the boys," Dominique growled. "We're the ones that fished her out of the water."

  "After I had the wits to get away," I put in smugly. "Jean, is Garth all right? I've been so worried—" Jean's expression was grim. "I don't know, Elise. He disappeared after the attack. We combed the area and we couldn't find him. I think he must be—"

  "No!" I said quickly. "He isn't dead. He can't be. You don't know him, Jean. He's practically indestructible. He isn't dead! I would know if he were, somehow I would know." I started to cry.

  Lily led me upstairs and put me to bed. She tried to console and reassure me, but I knew she didn't believe he was alive. None of them did. I felt that I would know for certain if he were dead, because a part of me would die, too.

  There was an air of excited anticipation and elation in the city, almost as if people were expecting a fair or a carnival instead of a battle for their homes and possessions. Exotic-looking Indians from the north mingled with lanky woodsmen wearing caps of fur and costumes made of skins and decorated with feathers. Jean and Pierre and Dominique had left to join Jackson's army, leaving Lily and me alone in the house.

  "You better stop breakin' your heart over a dead man," Lily said one day.

  "Don't say that, Lily!" I flew at her in a rage. "I won't believe he's dead until someone shows me his corpse, do you hear?"

  "You ain't never goin' to see it if it's sunk in the mud of the bayou," she said matter-of-factly. "You better stop your broodin' and look ahead."

  "No. I know he's alive and I'll find him, you'll see."

  I wandered the streets of New Orleans disconsolately, hoping to catch sight of him. One day I saw Georgette, riding in a carriage down Rue St. Charles, past the house I had lived in. She saw me too, standing at the gate.

  I heard the carriage approach and slow down. I turned around and we faced each other for the first time in nearly two years. Neither of us moved a muscle. Her face gave nothing away. Then she spoke sharply to her driver and drove on. I didn't even look after her, but turned my thoughts once again to the house and my memories. She couldn't hurt me now.

  The Battle of New Orleans began on January 8, 1815. We could hear muffled gunfire, and Lily and I climbed to the top of the house and looked towards the south. We could see occasional puffs of smoke that the wind carried upwards before they disintegrated in the air. I couldn't stand the waiting and I visited our old haunts and begge
d for news of the battle.

  The Americans were victorious. Jackson and his motley army marched into the city and were besieged by deliriously happy citizens who showered them with flowers and kisses and coins. I scanned the faces of the returning soldiers for Garth, and I studied lists of the dead and wounded, terrified that I would see his name. I shouldered my way through the excited throng, asking everyone I knew and even people I didn't know if they had seen him. They all shook their heads and returned to their celebrations.

  I walked down every street and alley in the city, searching for him. I didn't even know if Jean had survived the battle, or if the Baratarians had distinguished themselves. I only wanted Garth, and as the day of victory wore on I felt a sense of urgency that told me he was alive and that he was near. I was frantic, certain that as soon as I had left one street he would appear there. I pictured him eluding me unknowingly, and I feared I would travel around and around in feverish circles while he stayed in one place, or while he traveled in larger or smaller concentric circles. At the end of the day, weary with searching and weak from hunger and despair, I decided to abandon my search and return to Lafitte's house. I brushed off the eager hands of jubilant soldiers and made my way towards Dumaine Street.

  Just as I reached the corner of the street about five blocks away from Jean's house, I felt a huge stinking hand clamp down over my mouth and another pass around my waist. I was dragged upwards, up a flight of stairs into a rotten-smelling room over an inn. I thrashed and kicked at my unknown captor but I was unable to deter him. When we reached our destination he kicked the door closed behind us and released me. I whirled around to face him.

  It was Josiah Fowler!

  His face was horribly scarred, almost beyond recognition, but I knew him. I was paralyzed. My worst dreams had come true. The nightmare that had plagued me, the fear that had haunted me for the past four years had become reality. He was alive and he had found me. I couldn't move, couldn't speak. I could only stare and stare while waves of sickening memory washed over me. The monster lived. He lived, and he had found me at last.

  "Surprised to see me, ain't you, lady? Thought I was dead, didn't you?"

  The voice was the same, the stench was the same, the crazed gleam in his watery eyes was the same. My mouth opened and shut soundlessly.

  "Your pirate boyfriend thought he was doing you a kindness, puttin' me and the Belle out to sea to rot together. But I'm no fool. I found a flint in the hold and I made a spark, and I lit a fire that burned my ropes and sent the Belle to the bottom. I almost went with her. You're sorry I didn't burn, ain't you? I nearly did. That's how this happened." He touched his hideous face.

  I shook my head wordlessly. He came closer. I shrieked and moved back hastily.

  "You don't like my good looks," he growled. "You don't think Josiah would be just as good in the dark, even though his face has been burned off? What good's a face anyways? You look like you done mighty well for yourself, bitch. You're a fine lady now, ain't you? And you don't cotton to the likes of me. You know how I been livin' these past few years? Like an animal! Like a mangy dog that no one even wants to look at." He lunged at me. "Come here, wench, and let Josiah kiss you!"

  I scrambled away from him, looking around frantically for a weapon, anything that I could use to fight him off. The room was almost bare of furniture. I hurled a candlestick at his head. It glanced off his forehead and he yowled with pain. He came at me blindly, like an enraged bull. I raced towards the door, shouting for help at the top of my lungs. Festive noises still drifted up from the street below. No one would ever hear me.

  He grabbed my skirt and pulled me down, clambering on top of me and ripping my bodice open. He reeked of urine and sweat and the accumulated filth of years. I tried unsuccessfully to twist away.

  I called out Garth's name over and over as though it was a magic word that would somehow protect me.

  "You quit callin' for your pretty boy," Fowler snarled. He struck me across the face. "Your pretty boy ain't here to help you now."

  "Garth!" I bellowed.

  As Fowler placed his gross hands on my thighs and wrenched my legs apart, I heard footsteps pounding up the stairs.

  "Elise!" He had come, he had found me. "Elise, are you in there?"

  "Gar—"

  Fowler's fist stopped my mouth. My head was whirling and I gasped for air. The repulsive creature stood up and stumbled to the door.

  "You get away or I'll kill her," he shouted. "You hear me, pretty boy? I'll kill your whore!"

  I heard the splintering of wood. The door burst open and Garth came into the room. Fowler attacked him at once and wrestled him to the floor. I saw the glint of steel in Fowler's hand.

  "Garth," I cried, "he has a knife!" Dragging myself to a corner, I watched the fight through dazed eyes.

  Fowler slashed mindlessly at Garth, who skipped lightly out of reach time and again until his adversary gave an enraged howl and attacked him blindly. Then Garth tripped him up and the knife went flying. They both went after it, and Fowler got there first. Garth brought his fist down on the horrid creature's wrist, and when the knife dropped to the floor he gripped it and plunged it into Fowler's chest. The Captain lurched and stumbled towards me. I could see blood and spittle drooling down his chin. Then he dropped like a felled tree, slowly and not ungracefully, and lay spread-eagled at my feet.

  Garth gathered me into his arms. "Oh, dear God, Elise, are you all right? I've been looking everywhere for you. Lafitte told me you were alive. Alive. Oh, Elise, oh, my darling."

  I hid my bruised face in his neck. "I knew you weren't dead," I whispered. "I knew you would find me. I love you, Garth. I've always loved you. I don't care what you do with me. If I could see you just once a year, from far away, that would be enough for me. I'll never love anyone else."

  He picked me up and carried me out into the street. The crowds seemed to part when they saw us coming. Several soldiers began to cheer, and soon the whole mob took it up.

  "That's the way to do it, soldier," someone shouted. "Don't ask the gal, just take her!"

  "That's always been your way," I said softly in his ear. "I love you so much! Where are we going? To Jean's?"

  "No, we're going home."

  "Home? Where's that?" I asked him.

  He didn't answer but continued to stride forward. Soon we were on Rue St. Charles, and then we reached the house, our house. Savannah flung the door open.

  "Mis' Elise! Oh, Lord, what's happened to you?"

  "Hello, Savannah." I stretched out my hand. She grasped it and held it to her cheek." I—I' ve missed you."

  "Oh, mercy, Mis' Elise, you come on upstairs with me and I'll get you cleaned up. Who did this to you? I'll—I'll shoot him, that's what I'll do! Was it one of them Northern riffraff? Damned no-accounts, don't know how to behave!"

  Garth laughed and swept me up the stairs. "Stop your complaining and bring up some hot water and some cold champagne, Savannah," he called over his shoulder. "I'll take care of the rest."

  Chapter 20

  The Trial

  I peered at my face in the looking glass.

  "Three days and it's still swollen, Garth," I said dolefully. "I'm not beautiful anymore. How can you still want me when I'm not beautiful? I shall have to join a convent," I declared.

  "Stop fussing over things that aren't important and come back to bed," he grumbled.

  I cocked my head. "I shall not even consider your invitation, sir. Do you realize that we've only been out of this house once in the past four days, to meet General Jackson? How can you, a man of action, be content to spend your days in idleness while the world passes you by?"

  "As you say, I'm a man of action, Elise. That should answer your question." He raised himself up on his elbow and ran his fingers through his hair. "Are you coming or do I have to come and get you?"

  I brushed my hair languidly. "You're so impetuous, Garth! Anyone would think we were a hot-blooded youth and his first mistress instead of a ste
ady, reliable public servant and the woman who has been his constant companion for four months—and his bane and despair before that."

  He grunted. "If I were a young man I would drag you back to bed by force. But because I am old and white-headed I can only lie here pleading with you."

  "Oh, well, in that case," I strolled over to the foot of the bed and pinched his toe, "I most certainly won't join you! I am not interested in old men—"

  He lunged at me. I squealed and tried to escape him, but I caught my slipper in the carpet and stumbled, and we both fell to the floor, laughing and kissing each other fiercely.

  "Oh, I love you so much," I murmured happily. "I wish—I wish it didn't have to end."

  "It won't end," he said. "But I thought you were going to be quite happy looking at me once a year from afar? What happened to that resolution?"

  "I'm so weak," I said. "And so greedy. I love you too much. I'd kill you before I'd let you do that to me!"

  "Silly child, you were doing it to yourself, as I recall. I had nothing to say about it."

  "But you have a wife and a home and a responsibility to your voters—"

  "Damn them. Damn Georgette and Highlands and the United States Senate. Do you think I'd let any of them keep me from having you? We'll go away. We'll go west, to parts of the country that no white man has ever seen. I'll sit back in the sun while you fight off bears and Indians and wolves—"

  "Oh, Garth, stop teasing me."

  "I'm not teasing you. I admire you, Elise. I never could have gotten that information to Jackson without you. And the way you went after those redcoats! Like an angry mother to the defense of her young. 'Somebody give me a weapon!'" he mimicked. "Magnificent! Superb! If all women were like you we men wouldn't have to fight at all. I do feel a bit sorry for Cochrane. He not only lost the war for Britain, he lost his prize catch, the wicked Louisiana-French spy!" He laughed. "I can just see that poor sailor's face when you jumped ship."