University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

Latour's Memoirs.

Getzendanner, and the buccaneer.—a signal.—the
mutineers.

The outlaw paced his room with a firm tread,
after the officer left him, his brow contracted with
thought and indignation, whilst the white line of his
even teeth glittered from between his curled and
contracted lips, upon which dwelt a sarcastic smile,
expressive of the bitterest scorn.

“Poor fools! they extend the right hand to Lafitte,
and say, `come and help us, good sir pirate'!”
said he, dashing the papers from him, and rising
from his chair as the door closed upon his
departing prisoner—“Cunning diplomatists as they
are! they shall find me the cunninger. They seek
my aid, and have come to ask it, with red hands
bathed in the blood of my men. They carry aloft
the flag of truce, as though a lady's white 'kerchief
would cover their treachery. This Englishman
thinks I have little cause to love my countrymen!
Thinks he I have better cause to love England?

Has she not hunted me down, worried and
torn me. Pressed, imprisoned, or hung without ceremony,
the bravest of my men; sunk my vessels,
and chased my cruisers from the sea, with overgrown
frigates? Verily! I have much cause to
love her!”

“But, Massa! 'merica do worse nor dat; she
take, she kill, she burn de craf'; she do, damma,
much more ob de debil's mischief dan massa Inglish.
She say she block you up in de bay, and
play de debil wid de camp on de island, and send
for to do it, dat brave cap'un Pattyson—and if he
come, he knock de ol' camp to pieces, or Cudjoe no
nigger—che! che! che!”

Lafitte paused a moment in his walk to and fro
in his little chamber, as his reflections were thus
interrupted. Cudjoe seldom restrained his thoughts
in the presence of his master, who allowed him such
license, not only because experience taught him
that he might as well stop his breath as his tongue,
but he had often profited by the shrewd observations
to which his slave from time to time gave utterance,
winding up every speech with a low
chuckle, expressive of satisfaction.

“You say well, Cudjoe! My countrymen have
given me little cause to love them neither. But,
then,” continued he, relapsing into his former
thoughtful walk; “but then it is my country, and
cursed be the hand that betrays either the country
of his adoption or of his birth! She is my country,
and I love her! No, proud Englishmen!” he added
firmly, “you shall yet learn that there is not only
honour among outlaws, but love of country—pure
and disinterested patriotism; and England shall
learn, that the outlaw Lafitte is too honourable to
submit to propositions which she had not honour
enough to withhold. She shall learn, that, although
she condescends to take the hand of a priced man,

from motives of policy, that man feels that he rises
superior to her when he refuses to accept it. No!
there is more honour for Lafitte in serving his country
as an outlaw, than in betraying her, with the
deck of a line of battle ship, which he could call
his own, under his feet. Where lies the greatest
infamy, in those who propose to an outlaw, or in the
outlaw who refuses to betray his country? Ho,
slave!” he called sternly, as he concluded.

Cudjoe was at his side in a moment, with a
long arm stretched to the handle of the door, while
he stood in the attitude of one just about to run—

“Hasten, and tell Captain Getzendanner I desire
to speak with him.”

This personage, with whom the reader is already
somewhat acquainted, was standing before a three-cornered
fragment of a mirror that once probably had
reflected the features of some honest sea-captain, affixed
into a lattice of a small hut, covered with palmetto
leaves, situated opposite to that occupied by
his commanding officer. The hut was about ten feet
square, and so low that Captain Getzendanner, who
was not very tall, unless five feet two inches be
termed so, could not stand upright, without bringing
the apex of his cranium in familiar contact with
the roof. Besides a hammock slung athwart the
room, the apartment contained a seaman's chart, and
a dark inlaid mahogany table, that once, no doubt,
graced the state-room of some fair lady, one or two
chairs, and a planed board, then reclining against
the side of the cabin, but which, twice a day, when
he was on shore, laid horizontally from the top of
one chair to the other, served effectually as a table.

Two or three cutlasses, a brace of pistols, small
swords, carbines, muskets, boarding caps, and the
various rude paraphernalia of a sailor's wardrobe,
were hung, or strewn carelessly, about the walls and
floor of the apartment.

The only opening admitting light to the interior,
was a square window, defended by a lattice of
reeds, which served at the same time to support the
lieutenant's mirror, before which he had been performing
the unclassical operation of shaving—almost
a sinecure with him, on account of the generous
depth of whiskers and mustachoes which he
allowed to grace his round physiognomy. The
lieutenant was of that age, when silver begins,
though sparingly, to mingle with the legitimate hue
of the hair, and when, from a proneness to table
pleasures, the person begins to assume a rotundity,
which, from some imaginary resemblance, has been
compared with that of a puncheon.

A Dutchman, and moreover a bachelor, he was a
man of phlegm. From a snub-nosed cabin-boy,
under a Hudson river skipper, he had passed
through all the phases of a sailor's life, until an unfortunate
predeliction for certain golden sequins
contained in a stranger's purse, who promenaded
the quay at Havana, led him to seek a mode of
life, where the distinction between meum and teum
was less scrupulously regarded than in the pale of
society.

“Mein Got, but in in dis little tamn tree corner,
dere is no seeing half-quarter of a jentlemansh fas',”
and as he spoke, he dodged every way his red round
face, gashed here and there with his razor, peering
through his fiery red whiskers and bushy hair, like
the full moon, (to venture such a comparison,)
seen through the bright leaves of an autumn tree.

“Vat vool maks de fashion off shavin'.—Blood
and blodkins! if I cut one tamn more hair off my
fas'! Abra'am was one wise mans, and he wore a
beard a saint might shwear py, and dunder and
blodkins! fader Abra'am vill pe nor petter man nor
mynheer Capt. Jacop Getzentanner,—to pe shure!
Hi, you plack peast of de teyvil's tam,—vat you poke

your ugly snout in here for, heh?” suddenly shouted
the lieutenant, as he saw, without the effort of
turning his body, the reflection of Cudjoe's features
in the glass, as he darkened the little doorway
opening into the interior of the camp.

“Vat now, you elephantsh cub? Some infernal
order pefore preakfast, I vill shwear! I vish Captain
Lafitte, who ish a most exshellent sailor, and
very much petter gentlemansh, vould get into the
comfortable habits of doing pusiness after preakfast
ish eaten. It were petter for de digestions. Hi,
you kunning ape—I'll cut your ugly visand off if
you pe saucy—to pe shure!” and he brandished his
razor, threatningly.

“Gi, Massa Cap'un Jacob, if you use dat instrum',
you quicker saw him off—Che! che! che!”
and Cudjoe looked behind like a wary general, to
secure a retreat.

“Hoh! hoh! hoh! you pe pretty near de truth,”
said the burly captain, laughing good-humouredly;
“here, you take de razor yourself to saw off dose
vite tusks. It vill help you peauty;” and the captain
chuckled at his own wit, as he esteemed it,
complacently in his own bosom; but the eye of the
slave gleamed with rage, and a demoniac smile fearfully
displayed the hideous features of his mouth for
a moment, and then he echoed the laugh of the
officer; but deep and bitter was the hatred which
rankled in his dark bosom against him for tampering
with his deformities. Lafitte, and he alone,
could allude to them jocosely, with impunity; but
it was seldom that he did so; whilst his followers,
imitating his language and manner towards the
slave, without penetration to discover the strong
current of resentment excited in the bosom of the
object of their rough witticisms, were sowing unconsciously
seeds of revenge in the heart of the
deformed negro, of which they were, in his own

purposes, destined to reap the bitter fruits. He
never forgot nor forgave the joke elicited by his natural
deformities. To time and opportunity, while
he passed by the present jest with a laugh, or apparently
unnoticed, he deferred, whilst he gloated over
his terrible schemes, that revenge, which he had
sworn by Obeah, his most solemn adjuration,
should be one day his.

“Vell, you peauty plack poy, vat do you vant
mit me?” inquired the captain as he cleaned his razor
upon the edge of the glass.

“Massa say him want see you? dem English
capins dat come play de spy, make de water
boil and all de fuss,” replied Cudjoe, turning about
to go, although in the opinion of captain Jacob there
appeared no necessity for such a preparatory change
in his position.

The slave walked grumblingly to the quarters
of his master. “Young elephant—heh! saw de
tusk—heh!” and he ground his large teeth together,
while the protruding objects of the officers
jest, glanced longer and whiter from his huge red
lips.

The portly captain after twisting his mustachoes
into a fiercer curl, and placing on his carroty locks
a broad brimmed hat, looped up in front to a silver
button made of a frank piece—buckled on a huge
sword, placed his pistols in his belt, which he drew
tighter with the air of a man who expects to meet,
and is accustomed to, danger—passed, not without
some difficulty through the narrow door, and rolled
along over the area to the quarters of his commander.

Entering the door of the passage leading to the
room, he heard the heavy and measured tread of
its occupant, pacing the floor, as his habit was, when
his thoughts were busy, and matters of deep and
exciting interest occupied his mind.

“De lion is lashing his sides mit his tail,” said
he, “captain Jacop Getzentanner look to your discretions.”

“Come in,” answered a low, stern voice as he
tapped hesitatingly at the door with the point of
his sheathed sabre. The visitor entered, and at a
nod from his master, Cudjoe handed him a chair.

“Captain Getzendanner, I have sent for you.
This is a time of action. You love the British, Getzendanner?”
and he looked fixedly into the face of
his officer, with his deep, searching eyes which let
not a shade of expression escape detection and mental
analysis.

“Tousand teyvels! Captain Lafitte,” replied the
Dutchman warmly, striking his clenched fist upon
his knee. “Do I love de murterer of my proder?
did dey not press him into der tam navy? and vas
he not kill in de pattlesh? I love de hangman petter,
vat ish one tay to tie mine veasand round apout
mit de hemp.”

“Well, I thought as much,” replied Lafitte, “and
knew you would rather swing to the yard arm, than
do Mister Englishman service. Here are papers,
but you do not read?”

“I vas read Teuche, ven I vas a leetle pit poy;
put de smooth Inglish lettersh pe mitout handles,
and I never could keep dem from slipping out of
mine memorysh, and now tevfil a one is left behind
put F—to pe shure,” said he, half seriously, half
humourously.

“And that you remember from its resemblance
to a gallows, ha! worthy Getzendanner? But a truce
to this trifling. Here in these papers,” and he
struck emphatically the documents he held in his
hand, “here are proposals from the Hon. W. H.
Percy—so says the endorsement,” and his lip curled
ironically as he continued, “Captain of his Brittanic
majesty's sloop of war Hermes, and Admiral

of the naval forces in these seas, and from Lieut.
Col. Edward Nicholls commander of his majesty's
military forces on the coasts of Florida, to me—
simple Captain Lafitte.” He then briefly stated
the nature and extent of the proposition to his astonished
lieutenant.

“Now, Getzendanner, I well know, for love nor
fear, would you obey neither me nor Satan, but from
hatred to the English, I can depend upon your cooperation;
therefore I will trust you; but betray
me and you know the penalty. Here, in this paper,
you have my written instructions, which if you cannot
read, Théodore, who is always in my confidence,
will explain to you.”

Théodore, at this moment, who was leaning out
of the window which overlooked the sea, suddenly
interrupted him.

“There is a signal flying on board the Lady of
the Gulf, for your presence on board, sir.”

“Ha! it is so indeed. What can Belluche
want? why not send a boat? Have ready my barge,
Théodore. Getzendanner, I must aboard; during
my absence observe the strictest vigilance in the
camp, and on your life, see that those Englishmen
escape not; and that the excited crews of the privateer
do not seize and sacrifice them to their suspicions.
On my return, I will talk with those mutinous
fiends, and you must aid me in giving a right
direction to their roused feelings. Ho! there, you
sea-dogs, are you ready?” he shouted from the
window.

“Aye, aye, sir,” came from the beach, where at
the end of a small pier lay a large boat, in which,
resting on their oars, sat eight seamen in red shirts
and white trowsers, each with a red woolen cap
upon his head. They were all dark, fine looking
men, with muscular arms, whose sinews, exposed

by the drawn up sleeve, showed in relief out from
the surface like whip-cords. The glitter of their dark
eyes, and the reckless expression of their faces, indicated
that marked character, peculiar to men trained
in the school of blood and rapine. They were seated
two by two, on the four thwarts of the boat with their
faces to the stern, where with his hand resting carelessly
upon the head of the tiller, sat Théodore, who
had preceded Lafitte, dressed in an embroidered jacket
of velvet, and snow-white trowsers, with a richly
wrought belt, confining a brace of costly pistols and
a silver-hafted dirk. An eye, of the rich hue of the
chestnut, sparkled beneath a brow whose fairness a
maiden might envy, and a profusion of silken, auburn
hair curled luxuriantly from under his blue
velvet Spanish cap, terminated by a tassel, which,
drooping over his ear, played with his delicately
browned cheek in the passing breeze. An expression
of resolution, calm and deep determination,
the more severe, from its being foreign to features
so delicate, compressed his lips, as he gazed upon
the turbulent crews of the vessels lining the beach,
talking loudly and fiercely of British spies, and occasionally
whispering to each other, that their leader
was about to sell them to the English as the
price of his own pardon. At that moment, there
was a movement among the multitude, which gave
back on either hand as he advanced, and Lafitte
came through the crowd to his boat.

“What means this turmoil, my men?” he said,
in a conciliatory tone as he stepped upon the gunwale;
“have you not confidence in me? These
men are not spies. They seek restitution for those
two London brigs taken by you before my return
from my late cruise in the West Indies; and shall
they not have it, if they state their terms in ready
gold?” he said chiming in with their humour.

“Aye, give them their vessels if they give us
their gold,” cried several voices.

“Very easy said, my masters,” growled an old
weather-beaten smuggler near Lafitte, “but who is
to handle the chink when its got?” and he cast his
eyes moodily and suspiciously at his commander.

“Down with old Fritz;” said two or three who
heard him; “our captain is all honour; we never
have had cause to grumble at shares.”

“Rest easy, my men,” continued Lafitte in the
same tone; “you shall have all things explained
and understood when I return from the schooner.
If there is a man who mistrusts Lafitte or doubts
his word, let him step forward.”

No one moved, and the next moment every hat
was in the air.

“Give way,” he cried to his young coxswain,
and shoved off from the land amid the cries of,
“Long live Lafitte—viva Lafitte!” which rose long
and loud from the fickle and tumultuous assembly
upon the shore.