University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

Latour's Memoirs of the war.

THE BARRITARIANS—BATTLE OF THE SIEGE—LAFITTE AND THE
STRANGER.

The subsequent events, immediately preceding
the decisive battle of the eighth of January, having
no material connexion with our tale, we shall briefly
pass by. Lafitte returned to the city, and again offered
his services to his country, with those of as
many of his former adherents as he could assemble.

After the disastrous capture of the American gun-boats
by the British, the invasion of the state was
deemed inevitable, and in the perilous condition of
the country, it was thought good policy by those
entrusted with the public safety, to avail themselves
of the services of men accustomed to war, and
whose perfect knowledge of the coasts and the various
bayous leading from the sea to the capital,
might render their aid of great importance to the
enemy, who it was now generally known, had in
vain and with great offers, entreated them to repair
to their standard. Although the expediency of uniting

them to the American standard, was general y
admitted, it was indispensably necessary that they
should receive pardon for all real or supposed
offences against the laws. This could only be
granted by the President of the United States.
Governor Claiborne, whose faith in the outlaw remained
unshaken, and who regretted the attack on
Barritaria, so far as it rendered, by breaking them
up, the forces of the outlaws less available to the
country, conferred on the subject with the major
general in command.

The result of this conference was very different
from that of the council convened by the governor,
and with the approbation of the commanding general,
he issued the following general order.

“The Governor of Louisiana, informed that many
individuals implicated in the offences heretofore
committed against the United States at Barritaria,
express a willingness at the present crisis to enrol
themselves and march against the enemy—

“He does hereby invite them to join the standard
of the United States, and is authorized to say, should
their conduct in the field meet the approbation of the
major general, that, that officer will unite with the
governor in a request to the President of the United
States, to extend to each and every individual, so
marching and acting, a free and full pardon.”

These general orders were placed in the hands
of Lafitte, who circulated them among his dispersed
followers, most of whom readily embraced the conditions
of pardon they held out. In a few days many
brave men and skilful artillerists, whose services
contributed greatly to the safety of the invaded
state, flocked to the standard of the United States,
and by their conduct, received the highest approbation
of the commanding general.

In anticipation of our narrative, we will here mention,
that previous to their adjournment, the legislature
of the state, recommended the Barritarians as
proper objects for the clemency of the President,
who issued a proclamation upon the subject, bearing
date the sixth of February, eighteen hundred
and fifteen, and transmitted it, officially, to the governor
of Louisiana, by the secretary of state, granting
to them a full and entire pardon.

We will now return from this digression to Lafitte,
the individual whose personal acts are the subject
of our tale.

The morning of the eighth of January was ushered
in with the discharge of rockets, the sound of
cannon, and the cheers of the British soldiers advancing
to the attack. The Americans, behind the
breast-work, awaited, with calm intrepidity, their
approach. The enemy advanced in close column
of sixty men in front, shouldering their muskets and
carrying fascines and ladders. A storm of rockets
preceded them, and an incessant fire opened from
the battery, which commanded the advanced column.
The musketry and rifles from the Kentuckians
and Tenneseans, joined the fire of the artillery,
and in a few moments was heard along the line a
ceaseless, rolling fire, whose tremendous noise resembled
the continued reverberation of thunder.
One of these guns, a twenty-four pounder, placed
upon the breastwork, in the third embrasure from
the river, drew—from the fatal skill and activity with
which it was managed, even in the heat of battle—
the admiration of both Americans and British; and
became one of the points most dreaded by the advancing
foe.

Here was stationed Lafitte, and three of his lieutenants,
Belluche, Sebastiano, and Getzendanner,
already introduced to the reader, and a large band
of his men, who, during the continuance of the battle,

fought with unparalleled bravery. The British
already, had been twice driven back in the utmost
confusion, with the loss of their commander in chief,
and two general officers.

In the first attack of the enemy, a column pushed
forward, between the leveé and river; and so
precipitate was their charge that the outposts were
forced to retire, closely pressed by the enemy. Before
the batteries could meet the charge, clearing
the ditch, they gained the redoubt through the embrasures,
leaping over the parapet, and overwhelming,
by their superior force, the small party stationed
there.

Lafitte, who was commanding, in conjunction
with his officers, at one of the guns, no sooner saw
the bold movement of the enemy, than, calling a
few of his best men by name, with Théodore by
his side, he sprung forward to the point of danger,
and clearing the breastwork of the entrenchment,
leaped, cutlass in hand, into the midst of the
enemy, followed by a score of his men, who in many
a hard-fought battle upon his own deck, had
been well tried.

Astonished at the intrepidity which could lead
men to leave their entrenchments and meet them
hand to hand, and pressed by the suddenness of the
charge, which was made with the recklessness,
skill, and rapidity of practised boarders bounding
upon the deck of an enemy's vessel, they began to
give way, while, one after another, two British officers
fell before the cutlass of the pirate, as they
were bravely encouraging their men by their inspiring
shouts, and fearless example. All the energies
of the British were now concentrated to scale
the breast-work, which one daring officer had already
mounted. While Lafitte and his followers,
seconding a gallant band of volunteer riflemen,

formed a phalanx which they in vain assayed to
penetrate.

As the British column advanced to this attack, a
small boat, propelled by two seamen, and containing
a handsome man, in the dress of a British naval
officer, after ascending the river, unnoticed in
the confusion and uproar of battle, touched the bank
nearly opposite to the centre of the advancing column.
The officer sprung out amidst a shower of
balls, which fell harmlessly around him; then drawing
his sword, and loosening his pistols in his belt,
he hastened forward to the head of the column,
and side by side with a gallant Scotchman, leaped
into the redoubt.

Twice he mounted the breast-work, and was
hurled back to rise and again mount; his blue eye
emitting fire, and his sword flashing like a meteor
as he hewed his way through the opposing breasts
of the Americans.

At this moment, Lafitte bounded into the redoubt,
and turned the tide of battle. The stranger, whose
reckless daring and perseverance had, even in the
midst of battle, attracted the attention of those on
whose side he fought, was also pressed back with
the retreating column. Yet, with an obstinacy
which drew upon him the fire of the riflemen, and
the cutlasses of the pirates, he stood his ground
and fought with cool and determined courage.
Every blow of his weapon laid a buccaneer dead at
his feet.

The British, leaving their numerous dead, had retreated;
yet he stood alone, pressed on every side,
and heedless of danger. His object seemed to be
to press forward to the spot where stood the pirate
chief, who was separated from him by half a dozen
of his men. In vain they called upon him to surrender.
His brow was rigid, with desperate resolution;

his eye burning with a fierce expression,
while his arm seemed endowed with the strength of
a Hercules.

“Take him prisoner, but harm him not!” said
Lafitte, struck with the daring of the man.

“Give back,” cried the stranger, speaking for the
first time. “Give way to my revenge! Pirate,
Lafitte! ravisher! murderer! I dare you to single
combat!—coward!” and his voice rung clear, amid
the din of war.

“Ha, is it so! stand back, men. Hold, Sebastiano!
leave him to me, if I am the game he seeks
so rashly!”

The men who had involuntarily given back at
the sound of the stranger's voice, now left a path
between him and their chief, and, before Lafitte,
surprised at his conduct—but in his checquered life,
not unused to adventure and danger in every shape
—could bring his weapon to the guard, he received
that of the stranger through his sword arm.

“Not that vile stream; but your heart's
blood,” shouted the officer. “Revenge! revenge!
I seek!”—and with a headlong impetuosity that
swallowed up every emotion but the present passion,
he played with fatal skill, his weapon about
the breast of his antagonist, who required all his coolness
and swordsmanship to save his life, for which
it became evident to his men he now only fought.
By a dexterous manœuvre, the stranger caught the
guard of the pirate's cutlass on his own sword, and
at the risk of his life, held it entangled for an instant,
till he drew and cocked a pistol, which he
levelled at his heart.

At that moment, Chitalusa, who, on leaving the
hut, sought in vain to obtain an interview with the
governor, to inform him of Lafitte's intentions, and
had now joined the army, sprung forward to seize

the weapon, crying, “Chitalusa, tinkee you bad,
brother Lafitte! Chitalusa save your life now for
dat.”

His heroic atonement, for what he deemed his
unworthy suspicions, seeing that Lafitte was fighting
on the side of the Americans, was fatal. The
officer fired, and the ball passed through the tawny
breast of the simple minded Indian.

“Me tinkee de red snake de Inglish. Me tinkee
bad,” he murmured; and died, the victim of the outlaw's
change of purpose, on receiving the governor's
note, and of the figurative language in which
he had expressed it to the Indian.

The outlaw felt as if his own hand had slain him,
for his own ambiguous words had caused his death.

The combat now grew fiercer, and the pirates began
to murmur, and fear for the life of their leader,
handling their weapons, and looking upon the stranger
with eyes of malignity; anxious, notwithstanding
his prohibition, to save the life of their captain by
sacrificing that of his antagonist.

Théodore, had stood by the side of Lafitte, with
his sword drawn, often involuntarily crossing the
blade of the stranger, simultaneously with him, as
some more skilful pass threatened his life. His
eye, which all the time was fixed with an inquiring
gaze, upon his features, suddenly lighted up with
peculiar intelligence.

“Hold señor! there is some error!” he said rapidly
to Lafitte, and whispered in his ear.

The point of Lafitte's sword dropped, as he exclaimed,
“Thank God! I hurt him not!”

The stranger, without knowing the cause which
produced it, and in his eagerness, heedless of the
defenceless state in which Lafitte had exposed his
person by the action, plunged his sword into his
side, and would have run him quite through the

body, had not Théodore dexterously caught the
weapon upon the guard of his own.

Lafitte, murmuring—“this for Constanza's sake!”
fell backward into the arms of Théodore and his
men.

His adherents, absorbed by the danger of their
chief, gave all their attention for the moment to
him. When, the next instant, they turned to revenge
him, they saw the mysterious stranger, who
had retired the moment he saw his object—the death
of Lafitte—apparently accomplished, mingling with
the retreating column of the British.

Lafitte was borne within the entrenchment by
his men, who found it useless to pursue his late antagonist.
But as they reascended the breastwork,
Théodore looked back with a searching eye, while
foreboding apprehensions filled his anxious mind,
and saw the late mysterious antagonist of his chief,
distinguished by his naval attire, step into the boat
which had conveyed him to the scene of action,
and amidst the hurricane of iron hail storming
around him, harmlessly, as if he bore a charmed
life, and with great speed, move rapidly down the
river.

With the true spirit of Christianity, the doors of
the churches and convents of the invaded city were
thrown open to the wounded soldiers, not only of
the defending army, but of the invading foe. To the
convent des Ursulines, one of these temporary hospitals
in the heart of the city, Lafitte was borne by
the attentive Théodore and some of his followers.

“Who have you there, my children?” inquired
an aged priest with silvery hair flowing over the
collar of his black robe, as the faithful buccaneers
bore the litter on which lay their leader, into the
paved hall of the convent, and placed it against the
wall. “He is a man of noble presence. I trust
not one in high command.”

“It is of no importance father,” said another
of the priests coming forward, in whom Théodore
recognized the padre Arnaud whom he had seen at
Barritaria, the odour of whose sanctity had not
availed to save Sebastiano's schooner, whose passenger
he once had been, from being finally blown
into the air. “It is enough that he is wounded and
that his situation demands our charity.”

“You say well, my son; call the physician, and
we will have his wounds forthwith examined. Heaven
grant he is not in danger!” he said, looking upward
devotionally: “It were sad to die without
confession and absolution—but Heaven is merciful.”

The father Arnaud, immediately on his entrance,
recognized Lafitte, who had once sent for him from
Havana, to confess and give general absolution to
such of his men, who were Roman Catholics. The
father thought if he was recognized as the outlaw
whose name had struck terror throughout the Mexican
seas, he might not, among the simple-minded
sisterhood and fraternity, receive the attention due
to every human being, in such a situation. He
therefore, with true benevoleuce of heart, sought to
conceal the real character of the invalid, and hastened
to bring to him medical aid.

His wound was probed, and dressed by the surgeon,
who declared his case by no means dangerous,
and said that the loss of blood, had rendered it only
apparently so; adding, that sleep, quiet and attention,
would in a few days restore him to health. Recommending
him to the care of Théodore and one or
two aged nuns, who were bending over him with
commiseration expressed in their calm faces, he
left him with professional abruptness, to attend to
a wounded soldier, just brought in from the field.