 | Lafitte |  |
BOOK V.
DENOUEMENT.
“He left a corsair's name to other times.”
“How speed the outlaws? stand they well prepared,
Their plundered wealth, and robber's rock to guard?
Dreamed they of this, our preparation,—?”
“And Lara sleeps not where his fathers slept.”
Byron.
1. BOOK V.
1. CHAPTER I.
“Formerly, the influence of Obeah priestesses was very great over
the negroes. Hundreds have died from the mere terror of being under
the ban of Obeah. This is evidently a practise of oriental origin. Its
influence over the negroes some twenty or thirty years ago, was almost
incredible. The fetish, is the African divinity, invoked by the negroes
in the practice of Obeah.”
Madden's West Indies.
BRIDAL PREPARATION—AN OBEAH SORCERESS—SCENE AT THE HUT.
The events connected with our romance, naturally
divide themselves into several distinct parts,
which we have denominated books. Pursuing this
division, we now open our fifth and last book, which,
like the last act of a drama, contains the key to unlock
all the mysteries of the preceding the sagacious
reader has not already anticipated, dissipating the
darkness, and shedding the sunshine of an unveiled
denouément over the whole.
The evening of the day on which Count D'Oyley
and the fair Castillian, with whom he had escaped
from the rendezvous of the buccaneer after a warm
pursuit on the part of Lafitte, were taken up by his
own frigate, Le Sultan, in the channel of St. Marc's
—a stately ship arrayed in the apparel of war,
sailed, with majestic motion, into the bay of Gonzaves.
The flag of France waved over her quarter deck,
and a long tier of guns bristled from each side.
Her course was directly for the narrow pass between
the two parallel ridges of rocks, which formed
a communication from the sea, with the pirate's
grotto. An hour after she hove in sight at the
southward, she had breasted the pass, and anchored
in deep water, within a few fathoms of the outermost
rock terminating the passage.
On gaining the deck of his frigate, the count, after
attending to the comfort of the wearied Constanza,
had hastily replied to the questions of his astonished
officer; and informing them of his separation
from the tender, which had not been heard of, he
briefly recounted his adventures, and then issued
orders for proceeding directly to the cavern, and
demolishing the rendezvous of the pirates, by spiking
their guns and otherwise rendering it untenable
as a fortified place. It was the frigate, Le Sultan,
we have seen drop her anchor the same evening,
abreast of the cavern.
The setting sun flung his red beams across the
level waters of the bay, and the winds were dying
away with the fading of the sun-light, as Constanza
—the crimson rays of the sun tinging her brow with
a rich glow—leaned from the cabin window, and
with a calm and thoughtful countenance, gazed upon
the evening sky, its purple palaces of clouds—
its winged creatures, and its mountains of gold and
emerald. Her dreams—for although her eyes were
fixed upon the gorgeous west, she was wrapped
in a dreamy reverie of the past—were of her
happy childhood—her paternal home near the imperial
city of Montezuma—her aged father—his death,
and the various scenes through which she had passed.
The character of Lafitte—his crimes and his
virtues, and the kindness and noble nature of Theodore;
her capture and escape, all floated through
“And am I at last happy?” she said, half inquiringly.
“Oh! that my poor father were here to
share my happiness! Can it be true that this is not
a dream? Am I indeed free, and is D'Oyley indeed
here?”
“Here! my sweet Constanza, and folding you in
his arms;” said the count, who had entered the
state room unperceived, “here! to make you happy,
and terminate your sufferings.” Constanza leaned
her cheek upon his shoulder, and with one arm encircling
his neck, looked up into his face with the
artless confidence of a child, while her features became
radiant with joy. But she spoke not—her
happiness was too great for utterance. For a few
moments he lingered in this pure embrace, and then
breathed into her ear:—
“When, dearest one, shall D'Oyley become your
protector? Tell me now, while I hold you thus!”
and he clasped her closer to his heart.
She replied not, and the rich blood mantled her
brow, rivaling the crimson sun-glow which delicately
suffused it. Her lips moved inaudibly, and
her lover felt the small hand he held, tremble like
an imprisoned dove within his own.
“Say, Constanza, my love! this evening shall it
be? shall the chaplain of the frigate unite us this
very hour? Refuse me not this request!” he continued
ardently.
She pressed his hand, and looked up into his face
with her large black eyes full of confidence and love,
whose eloquent expression spoke a deeper and more
befitting language than words could convey.
“Bless you, my sweet angel!” he exclaimed,
reading with a lover's skill the language of her
speaking eyes; and their lips were united in that
pure, first kiss of love, whose raptures to mortals
never known but once.
The count ascended to the deck to complete the
preparations for his expedition against the rock.
From his knowledge of the pass and mode of access
to the cave, he determined to conduct the expedition
himself.
It was his intention merely to proceed to the
cavern, and leaving his men under the command
of one of his lieutenants, return to the frigate and
be united to the fair maiden, whom from her childhood,
when he first saw her, the pride of her father's
eye, and the idol of his household, while on a diplomatic
mission to Mexico, he had admired, whilst
her image lived, fondly cherished, in his memory.
In after years, when the old Castilian became an
exile, he sought him out in his retired villa in Jamaica.
But a few weeks before it was attacked by
the pirates, he had renewed that admiration, which
a few days beneath the same roof with the fair girl,
ripened into love. For a few short weeks he left
her for the purpose of cruising in the neighborhood
of Carthagena, to return, and find the villa a scene
of desolation, the venerable parent lying a corpse in
his own house, which was filled with armed soldiery,
and the daughter, his beloved Constanza, carried
off, no one could tell whither, by the daring
buccaneer.
In one hour more, their scenes of danger and trial
passed, they hoped for ever, he was to fold her to
his heart, his wedded bride! This hope filled his
bosom with ecstacy, as with an elastic step and joyous
eye he ascended to the deck.
The boats were already along side and manned;
and delaying a moment, to repeat his instructions to
the chaplain in relation to the approaching ceremony,
and commending Constanza to the watchful attention
more, to embrace her and assure her of his speedy
return.
“Why must you go, dearest D'Oyley?” she inquired
pleadingly, “I cannot trust you in that fearful
cave again.”
“I shall not stay, my love; I alone can conduct
the expedition, which the safety of these seas renders
it necessary should be undertaken.”
“But you will quickly return?” she inquired, detaining
him.
“Before Venus hovering in the rosy west,” he
said, pointing to that lowly planet, shining low in the
western sky like a lesser moon, “shall wet her silver
slipper in the sea, will I return to you.”
The next moment, he was standing in the stern
of the boat, which, propelled by twelve oars, moved
steadily and swiftly up the rocky passage to the
cave.
About a quarter of a mile to the south of the grotto
occupied by the buccaneers, extended from the
cliff a narrow tongue of land, strewn with loose gigantic
rocks. This tongue, connected by rocks and
sand bars, with one of the parallel ridges confining
the passage from the sea to the cave, formed the
southern and eastern boundary of the basin, or lagoon,
often before alluded to. Near its junction
with the rocks of the pass, it spread out into a level
flat, covered with long grass. It was half buried
at noon day in shadow, cast by the rocks which
overhung it on every side, but that opening to the
water. In this direction the sea was visible through
a narrow gap, a few yards in width.
In the back part of this area, whose surface was
rather less than an acre and a half, hid by a projecting
rock, which formed its roof, stood a rude hut
made of cane branches and bamboo leaves interlaid.
A single door facing the sea, was the only
blue smoke curling up its face indicated it to be.
The sun just setting, reddened with his fiery beams
the hideous features of an old decrepid hag, with a
sunken eye full of malignity, toothless jaws, grizzly
wool, long and tangled, and squallid figure bent
nearly double with age and infirmity. It was Oula,
and the rude hut, her habitation.
She was an aged African sybil, a degenerate
priestess of the terrible deity, fetish or the Obeah.
Through her incantations, charms, amulets and prophecies,
besides her skill in foretelling evil tidings,
and her accuracy in giving the fortunes of her deluded
votaries, which were usually of her own hue,
her name was widely extended.
Occasionally there would be some of a paler
complexion from among the buccaneers, from time
to time resorting to the grotto, who sometimes
honoured her art by seeking of her knowledge of
their future destinies.
As she squatted in the door of her hut, her eye
was fixed upon the advancing frigate, though she
watched its approach with apparent indifference.
As the ship lessening her sail, finally dropped her
anchor within half a mile of her wild abode, her features
gave indication of interest.
“Quacha!” she called in a low harsh voice, as
the ship swung to her anchor.
At the sound of her voice, a little deformed negro,
whose size indicated extreme youth, but whose
large features, and the lines of sagacity and cunning
drawn in his face, showed that he had seen
many years, perhaps one-third of the number his
mother, for in this relation she stood to him, herself
counted, stood before her. His head was large,
and covered with long, strait, shaggy hair, which fell
in thick masses over his eyes. It was the head of an
child.
“Hoh, mummy!” he replied, as he emerged from
the hut where he had been lying, with his head
among the ashes, with which he was cooking their
evening meal.
“Did you sa' dat Spanis' Martinez, come down
in boat' day, Hugh?” she inquired, without turning
her head.
“'Es ol' mum.”
“Wat I tell'er 'bout nebber call me ol', you debbles'
brat,” she said, in a loud angry voice, and aiming
a blow at his head, with a long staff she held
in her hand, which he from much practice, dexterously
evaded, and improving his phraseology, replied—
“'Es, mummy.”
“Wat he come for, Quacha?”
“Quacha don't know, mummy. He sa' he come
see de ol' Obi.”
“Ol' Obi! he say dat?” she said, muttering; “I'll
ol' Obi him, wit his black Spannis fas.”
“Hoh! here he come hesef, mummy,” exclaimed
the hope and promise of the old beldame; and
the athletic, finely moulded figure of the young
Spaniard emerged from a path, which, winding
among the rocks, led to the main land, and stood
before them.
“Good even to you, Oula,” he said, with an air
in which superstitious reverence struggled with incredulity
and an inclination to jest with the mysterious
being, whose supernatural aid he sought.
“Oula is't, an' god een,” she growled. “Well,
that's better nor ol' Obi,” she said, without turning
her eyes from the frigate. “You needn't 'spose
any thing's hid from Oula. Wat for is she Obi, if
not to know ebery ting.”
“Now be at peace, Oula, and harm me not with
you. Listen! do you know the music of this
gold?” he asked, shaking several gold pieces in his
hand—“I have brought it to give you, Oula.”
The eyes of the negress sparkled as she stretched
forth her bony arm, to grasp the coin, which he
resigned to her greedy clutch.
“Wat want for dese, Martinez? Sall Oula Obi
you en'my, show you de prize-ship, or find de white
breast buckra missy for you,” she said, as slowly
and carefully she told the money from one hand into
the other.
The Spaniard approached her, and said, with
emphasis—“The last, Oula! Serve me, and you
shall have five times the coin you clasp so tightly
there.”
“Come in, come in, Martinez,” said she, rising
upon her staff, and hobbling into the hut. Obi can
do nothin' wid de fire-stars, looking down so bright.”
With a paler brow and flatering step, he entered
the gloomy hut, half filled with smoke, and hot
and filthy, from the fumes of tobacco, and nauseous
herbs, drying in the chimney, which was built of
loose stones.
Closing the door, after commanding Quacha to
stay without and watch against intrusion, she pointed
Martinez to a seat upon a fragment of rock, and
bidding him turn his back and preserve the strictest
silence till she spoke, she commenced her mysterious
preparations.
Baring her shrivelled arms and scraggy neck,
she passed her long fingers through her tangled
hair till it stood out from her head like the quills of
a porcupine. Then taking from a box by the fire-place,
a tiara, or head-dress, formed of innumerable
stuffed water-snakes, curiously interwoven, so that
their heads were all turned outward, forming in the
eye of her credulous devotee, a formidable and terrific
her dishrivelled locks—a second Medusa.
From the same repository which used to contain
her materials for practising Obeah, she drew
forth a necklace, strung with the claws and teeth
of cats, the fangs of serpents and the teeth of
hanged men, which, with great solemnity of manner,
she passed three times around her neck. To
this, she suspended a little red bag, filled with grave
dirt, and tied up with the hair of a murdered woman.
Bracelets, of similar materials of the necklace,
with the addition of the beak of a parrot, which
had been taught to speak the three magic names of
Fetish, ornamented her arms. Encircling her
waist with an enormous green and black serpent,
she tied it by the head and tail, leaving them to
dangle before her.
Then oiling her face, arms, neck, and breast, she
dipped her finger into a basin of water which stood
upon the box, muttering mean while, words unintelligible
to the Spaniard. Taking an iron pot,
she placed it, with great solemnity, in the back
part of the hut, leaving room to pass between it and
the wall.
These preparations completed with great show
of ceremony, she took from a branch upon which
it lay, a long slender human bone, and stirred the
fire with its charred end. Laying this aside, she
took from the same place, a skeleton hand, the
joints retained in their places by wires, with which
she took up a live coal, and placed it under the pot.
After several coals were transferred from the fire
place, in this manner, she got down upon her knees,
before the fire, she had thus kindled under the
pot, and began to blow it until it blazed.
Then rising and hobbling to the fire-place, she slipped
a slide which had once belonged to a binnacle
case, and reaching her hand into the cavity, drew
from long, and careful keeping.
This bird, held sacred in all Obeah rites, the old
sorceress placed over the coals, upon a roost which
she had constructed of three human bones, two placed
upright, and one laid on them horizontally.
These mysterious preparations completed, she
walked three times round the cauldron, working, as
she moved, her features into the most passionate
contortions, so that when she stopped on completing
her round, her face was more demoniac than
human in its aspect and expression. In a shrill,
startling voice she then addressed her votary.
“Rise, buckra, look; no speak!”
The Spaniard had witnessed with feelings of dismay
which he could not subdue, all the ominous
preparations we have described, reflected in a small
broken mirror which he was made purposely by her
to face, that by its imperfect representation the reality
might be exaggerated by her visiters, and their
fears acted upon, better to prepare them for her
purpose.
As she spoke, he stood up and turned with a wild
look, while his hand voluntarily grasped the hilt of
his cutlass. The distorted features of the beldam,
and her strange ornaments and appalling preparations
met his superstitious eye. She allowed him
to survey the scene before him for a moment, and
then commenced chanting in rude improvisatore:
Ax of Fetish for you do?
If you b'lieve dat Fetish know
Ebery ting abub, below—
Den you hab all dat you seek,
Walk dree times roun', den buckra speak.”
leaped with almost supernatural activity three times
around the pot, drawing him after her with reluctant
she paused, and taking an earthen vessel from the
box, she commenced dancing round the fire, commanding
him to follow, dropping as she whirled,
something she took from it into the iron vessel, the
while chanting in a rude measure;—
Fetish lub dis much!
Here de hair from off de cat
Dat knaw de nails,
Eat out de eyes,
Dat drink de blood
Ob dead man.
Here de poison for de friend!
Fetish lub dis too!
Here de trouble for de foe!
Here de egg ob poison snake—
Here de head ob speckle cock—
Here de blood, and here de dirt
From de coffin, from de grave
Of murdered 'ooman an' her babe.”
language unknown to the Spaniard, and still grasping
both of his hands, she whirled with him around
the cauldron. Suddenly stopping, after many rapid
revolutions during which her body writhed in convulsions,
while the astonished and paralyzed victim
of his own superstition, yielded passively to the
strange rites in which he was now an unwilling actor,
she again commenced her monotonous chant,
in the same wild and shrill tone of voice:
Perfect make de Obeah art;
Buckra's wish will den be grant,
An' Fetish gib him dat he want.”
“What mean you, Oula?” he inquired, as the
Obeah priestess drew a long knife from her girdle
and held the earthen vessel in the other hand. She
replied, while her eyes darkened with malignity and
her features grew more haggard and hideous:
Den his blood mus' fill dis dish;
Middle finger—middle vein,
Blood from dat will gib no pain—
In de kittle it shall mix,
Wid hangman's bones for stirring sticks!
Now buckra Spaniard, wat's dy will?
Speak! dy wis' to Oula, tell.”
his own quailed, full upon her votary.
The Spaniard, who had sought her in the full belief
of her supernatural powers, to solicit her aid in
the accomplishment of his object, was wholly unprepared
for the scenes—of magnitude, to one of
his tone of mind—which he had passed through.
It was several moments before he recovered his
self-possession, and then an impulse to withdraw his
application, rather than pursue his object, influenced
him. But after a moment's reflection, and recollection
of the object he sought in this visit to her,
he summoned resolution, and replied with a hoarse
voice, while he looked about him suspiciously, as if
fearful of being overheard,
“Oula, there is a maiden beautiful as the
moon! I love her—but she would scorn me if I
wooed her, and she is also betrothed to another.
He was my prisoner—I brought him to this
island and imprisoned him to await our captain's
arrival. The next day, before my vessel sailed
again, she was brought in a prisoner. I bribed my
captain, and lingered behind in disguise, that I
might see her, of whom I had heard so much. I
at length had a glimpse of her from the opening in
the top of the cave, and when I saw her—I loved
her.
“Loved her to marry, Martinez?” she said, with
an ironical grin.
“I said not so,” replied the Spaniard, quickly.
gain the part of the grotto she occupied, and arranged
my plan; but Lafitte returned, and the next day
I would have effected it, but they the last night escaped,
she and her lover, and I have all the day been
planning some way to obtain her. This evening as
I was sitting by the cave, cursing my fate and
thinking perhaps I should never see her more—
yonder frigate hove in sight. I took a glass and
watched her until she dropped her anchor—and
whom think you I saw upon her deck?”
“The buckra lady?”
“The same—I knew her by her form and air.
She leaned upon the arm of my late prisoner, who
is, no doubt, commander of the ship.”
“What you want done?” she inquired, as he abruptly
paused.
“I would possess her,” he replied warmly; “now
good Oula, fulfil your boasted promise,” he added
eagerly, as his dark eye flashed with hope and passion.
“It hard business—but Fetish he do ebery ting—
you 'bleive dat, buckra Martinez,” she added, fixing
her blood-shot and suspicious eye upon him.
“All, every thing, only give me power to accomplish
my desires,” he exclaimed, impatiently.
“Dat you sall hab,” she replied, seizing his arm;
“hol you lef arm—dat next de heart's blood,” she
cried, chanting,
Firs' mus' part,
'Fore Fetish
Grant you wish.”
With revolting gestures, and brandishing her
glistening knife, she danced around him, then fastening
her long fingers upon his hand, she continued,
Blood must flow, you' end to gain.”
When the Spaniard, after a struggle between apprehension
and fear of failing in his object, and of
danger to himself, made up his mind to go through
the ordeal, though resolved to watch her so that she
should inflict no severe wound upon his hand, the
voice of the old beldam's son was heard at the door
in altercation with some one in the possession of a
voice no less discordant than his own.
The Obeah surprised in the middle of her orgies
in a shrill angry voice, demanded the cause of this
interruption.
“It is Cudjoe, mummy—he want see ol' Obi, he
sa'.”
“Maldicho!” exclaimed the Spaniard, “it were
as much as my head is worth for Lafitte's slave to
find me here, when I should be at sea. “Is there
no outlet?” he inquired, hastily.
“No—but here be de deep hole,” she said, removing
some branches and old clothing—this will
hide you. He mus come in, or he brak in,” she
added, as Cudjoe's anxiety to enter grew more obvious
by his loud demand for admittance, and his
repeated heavy blows against the door.
The Spaniard, not in a situation to choose his
place of concealment, let himself down into the hole,
which formed her larder and store-room, and seating
himself upon a cask, was immediately covered over
with branches and blankets.
“What for such rackett, you Coromantee nigger
—break in lone 'oomans house af'er dark,” she
grumbled with much apparent displeasure, as taking
a lighted brand in her hand, she unbarred the frail
door.
At the sight of her strange attire and wild appearance,
increased by the flame of the burning
brand she held, alternately flashing redly upon her
back with an exclamation of terror. The old sorceress,
who with a strange but common delusion,
believed that she possessed the power for which
the credulous gave her credit—having deceived
others so long, that she ultimately deceived herself
—enjoyed his surprise, feeling it a compliment to
her art, and received character, as one of the terrible
priestesses of Fetish.
“Hugh! Coromantee,” she said, “if you start
dat away, at Oula, wat tinky you do, you see Fetish?
What you want dis time?” she inquired, abruptly.
“What for you no wid you massa Lafitte?”
“Him sail way af'er de prisoners dat get way
las night, and leave Cudjoe sleep in de cave like a
col' dead nigger, and know noffin.”
“Gi me! well what for you come 'sturb Oula—
you no 'fraid she obi you?”
“Oh Gar Armighty! good Oula, nigger! dont
put de finger on me. Cudjoe come for Obi,” exclaimed
the slave in alarm.
“Obi can do nottin without music ob de gold,”
she said, mechanically extending her hand.
“Cudjoe know dat true well 'nuff,” he replied,
taking several coins of copper, silver, and gold,
from the profound depth of his pocket, in which almost
every article of small size missing in the vessel
in which he sailed, always found a snug berth.
Giving her the money, which she counted with
an air somewhat less satisfied than that she wore
when telling the weightier coin of the Spaniard,
she invited him into her hut.
Casting his eyes around the gloomy apartment
with awe, he at last rested his gaze upon the white
cock which still reposed upon his roost of human
bones. Gradually, as he looked, and became more
familiar with the gloom of the interior, his eye dilated
with superstitious fear, and without removing it
on the other, the while rapidly repeating some heathenish
form of adjuration, and then fell prostrate,
with his face to the damp earth.
For a moment, he remained in this attitude of
worship, in which fear predominated over devotion,
when the voice of Oula aroused him.
“Dat good—Obeah like dat. Now what you
want Cudjoe? be quick wid your word, coz I hab
much bus'ness to do jus dis time.”
“Cudjoe want revenge ob hell!” replied the slave
rising to his knees, his features at once changing
to a fiendish expression, in faithful keeping with his
wish.
“Bon Gui! Who harm you now, Coromantee?”
she inquired in a tone of sympathy, gratified at
meeting a spirit and feelings kindred with her own.
“Debble! Who?” he said fiercely, “more dan
de fingers on dese two han'!”
“What dare name?” she inquired. “Obeah mus'
know de name.”
Here the slave, who never forgave an insult elicited
by his personal deformities, recapitulated the
injuries he imagined he had suffered from this cause,
while the old beldam gave a willing ear, forgetting
in her participation of his feelings, her first visiter,
who impatiently awaited the termination of this interview.
And as he heard his own name in the catalogue
of vengeance repeated by the slave, he muttered
within his teeth, that the slave should rue the
hour he sought the Obeah's skill.
“Gi me!” she exclaimed, as he ended. “All
dese you want hab me gib obi! Hugh! what nice
picking for de jonny crows dey make. But dare
mus' be more gold. Hough! hoh! hoh!” she
laughed, or rather croaked. “Gah me! what plenty
dead men! Well, you be de good cus'omer, if you
be de Coromantee nigger!”
“Will de obi be set for dem all?” he impatiently
inquired.
“Dare mus' be two tree tings done fus; you mus'
take de fetish in de fus place,” she said, going to
her box and taking from it an ebony idol carved into
many grotesque variations of the human form.
“Here is de great Fetish,” she continued; “now
put you right han' on de head ob dis white bird,
while I hol' dis fetish to you lips. Dare,” she continued,
as he tremblingly assumed the required position
and manner, “dare, now swear you b'leve
wat I speak—
Fetish he be black—debil he be white,
Sun he make for nigger,—for buckra is mak de night.
her the form of an Obeah oath, administered only to
those of her own race and religion. One or two
other similar ceremonies were performed, when
she suddenly exclaimed, “Dare I hab it—how de
debble, no tink sooner?”
“Coromantee,” she said abruptly—“dare is one
ting more mus' be done, or Fetish do noffin' and
Obeah no be good.”
The slave looked at her inquiringly, and she continued:
“Dare mus' be de blood from de heart ob a
white breas' lady, to dip de wing ob de white bird
in. You mus' get de lady; she mus' be young,
hab black eye, an' nebber hab de husban'. Do dis,
an' you sall hab you wish.”
The slave's countenance fell, as he heard the announcement
suggested by her practised subtlety.
“Dare was a white lady,” he replied, “in de
schooner, but she gone—oh gar! it take debble time
to do dis;” he said with an air of disappointment.
“Mus' de great Fetish hab one?” he inquired anxiously.
“He mus', he do noffin widout;” she replied determinedly.
The slave stood lamenting the loss of his anticipated
revenge, when she inquired if he saw the frigate
that dropped her anchor half an hour before, off
the pass. On his replying in the affirmative, she
said, “dare is a lady board dat ship, may serve de
purpose. As de ship was swung roun', I see her in
de window on de stern.”
The eyes of the slave lighted up at this intelligence.
“Wat frigate is dat Oula?”
“I don' know,” she replied; fearing if the slave
knew the lady to be the Castillian his master had
protected, he would decline the enterprise upon
which she was about sending him.
“No matter 'bout de ship,” she replied, “de lady
dare. De stern lie close to de rocks; you can go
out to de end ob de passage, and den swim under
de stern—climb up de rudder, or some way into de
window an' take her off before dey can catch you
in de dark. You hear dis—now wat you say?”
The slave, without replying, darted through the
door, and before the old woman could gain the outside,
to warn him to be cautious, his retreating form,
as he ran rapidly along the rocky ridge in the direction
of the frigate, was lost to her eye.
2. CHAPTER II.
“The dissimulation and cunning of those practising Obeah, is incredible.
The Africans have an opinion that insanity and supernatural
inspiration are combined, and commonly, knaves and lunatics are the
persons who play the parts of sorcerors or sorceresses. Instances are
on record where they have fallen victims to the revenge of votaries,
when their Obeah failed in its effects, or did injury.”
The West Indies.
THE SLAVE AND HIS CAPTIVE—HIS REVENGE—PURSUIT OF THE
STRANGE SAIL.
After the count left the frigate on his expedition
against the rendezvous of the pirates, the fair girl,
whose star of happiness seemed now in the ascendant,
and about to shine propitiously upon her future
life, re-assumed her reclining attitude by the
cabin window, which overlooked the sea in the
direction of her native land. For a few moments,
her thoughts were engaged upon her approaching
bridal; but gradually, they assumed the garb of
memory, and winging, like a wearied bird, over the
evening sea, reposed in the home of her childhood.
As she still gazed vacantly upon the fading horizon,
she was conscious that a dark object broke its
even line. It grew larger, and approached the frigate
rapidly before she was called from her half-conscious
abstraction by a change in its appearance;
when, fixing her look more keenly in the direction,
she saw it was a schooner just rounding to about a
mile beyond the frigate. Apparently, it had not as
yet, been observed from the deck, as all eyes were
just gained the foot of the cliff.
At the sight of the vessel, so nearly resembling
the one whose prisoner she had been, her capture
and its trying scenes came vividly before her mind,
and she turned her face from an object, connected
with such disagreeable associations. The approaching
ceremony again agitated her bosom; and as her
eye rested upon a mirror in the opposite pannel, she
parted with care her dark hair from her forehead,
arranged in more graceful folds her mantilla, and all
the woman beamed in her fine eyes as they met
the reflection of her lovely countenance and symmetrically
moulded figure.
“How long he stays!—he must have been gone
full an hour,” she said, unconsciously aloud. “The
virgin protect him from harm?”
“The count will soon return, ma'moiselle,” said a
small mulatto boy, who acted as steward of the
state rooms, now that they were occupied by their
fair inmate. She turned as he spoke,
“Is there danger, boy?”
“None, please you ma'moiselle—the men on
deck, say the rovers have left their rock, and that
there will be no fighting.”
“Sacra diable!” he suddenly shrieked, pointing
to the state-room window, at which appeared the
head of the slave. Constanza also turned, but only
to be grasped in his frightful arms. At first surprised,
and too much paralized with fear to scream,
Cudjoe prevented her from giving the alarm by
winding her mantilla about her mouth, and hastily
conveyed her through the window or port hole, from
which the gun, usually stationed there, had been
removed. Rapidly letting himself, with his burden,
down by the projections of the rudder, he dropped
with her into the sea, and raising her head
above water with one muscular arm, a few vigorous
shadow of the rocks behind a projecting point of
which, he disappeared.
Re-entering the hut after the abrupt departure of
the slave, Oula released the Spaniard from his place
of concealment, and informed him of her plan to
place the lady in his power.
“You are a very devil for happy thoughts,” he
said, with animation; but if the revengeful slave
gets her, I may thank you, and not Fetish, for the
prize. Have her this night I must, for I expect my
schooner.”
“Ha! there is the Julié now, by the holy
twelve!” he exclaimed, as his quick eye rested upon
the object which had attracted the attention of Constanza.
“Getzendanner will be putting a boat in for
me, and yet he must see the frigate unless she lays
too dark in the cliff's shadow. St. Peter, send fortune
with the slave! Will he bring her to the hut
if he succeeds, think you, Oula?” he suddenly and
sharply inquired, as a suspicion of change in the
negro's purpose flashed across his mind.
“Bring de lady?” she exclaimed in surprize,
“he know he finger rot off—he eye fall out—and
he hair turn to de live snake wid de fang, if he no
bring her—He no dare keep her way.”
Solaced by this assurance, he paced the little
green plat before the cabin, often casting his eyes
in the direction of the frigate. Nearly half an hour
elapsed after the departure of Cudjoe, when the
robes of the maiden borne in the arms of the slave
caught his eye.
“Back, back, you spoil de whole,” exclaimed
Oula, as the impatient Spaniard darted forward to
seize his prize.
Instead of the maiden's lovely form, he met the
herculean shoulders of the slave, whose long knife
or a groan, Martinez fell dead at his feet.
Resigning the maiden to the faithful Juana, who
followed immediately behind, Cudjoe sprung forward
with a cry of vindictive rage, and before Oula
could comprehend his motives, the reeking blade
passed through her withered bosom.
“Take dis hag ob hell!” he shouted, as he drew
forth the knife from her breast. “You make no
more fool ob Cudjoe, for de curs' Spaniard.”
“Grande diable! what debble dis?” he suddenly
yelled and groaned, as the son of the slain Obeah
leaped upon his neck, when he saw his mother fall,
and grappled his throat tightly with his fingers,
while he fixed his teeth deep into his flesh. The
struggle between them was but for a moment.
Finding it impossible to disengage his fingers, the
slave bent his arm backward, and passed his long
knife up through his body. The thrust was a skilful
one, and fatal to the boy, who released his
grasp, and fell back in the death struggle to the
ground.
In the meanwhile, Juana had borne Constanza
to the fire, in the hut, and was using every means
to restore circulation to the chilled limbs of the unconscious
girl.
The interview between the Spaniard and Oula,
had been overheard by Juana, from the rock above
the hut. After the escape of her mistress and the
count, and the departure of Lafitte and his men, in
pursuit—with the exception of Cudjoe, who, in the
hurry and confusion of getting underweigh, was
left behind, and with whom she was accustomed
occasionally to indulge in social African gossip on
ship-board—she had been left quite alone. This
solitude and anxiety on account of her mistress, led
her, at the approach of evening, to pay a visit to the
her safety.
After the hasty departure of the slave, to obey
the commands of Oula, she descended the rock overhanging
the hut, and rapidly following him, she
awaited his return, and then communicated to him
the information relative to the Spaniard and the lady.
Indignant at this treachery towards one whom he
regarded as his master's lady, and enraged that
the old woman should thus use him as the tool for
the Spaniard, he drew his knife, bounded forward,
and met Martinez with the fatal result we have just
mentioned.
When the slave entered the hut, after his bloody
revenge was completed, Juana informed him of the
expedition against the cave which she had seen
moving from its destination towards the rock above
the hut.
Constanza soon recovering, Juana led her forth
into the air, and told her that she would go round
with her to the cave, where the boats of her lover
then were, at the same time warning Cudjoe to endeavour
to get on board the schooner, and escape
from the French seamen. The slave looked seaward,
where she could just be discovered lying to,
and in a few seconds afterward, he saw a boat pulling
close to the shore. Supposing, from the language
of the Spaniard, that it was sent for him, and
that the schooner was the Julié, he bid Juana conduct
Constanza to the barges of the frigate, and hastily
leaving them, he approached the boat, which
now touched the beach.
“Boat ahoy!” he hailed, as he came near.
“Ha, Cudjoe! that's your sweet voice, in a thousand!”
replied one, in answer to his hail—“how
came you here?”
“The captain sail and leab me sleep in de cabe,”
he replied; “I must go to Barrita in de Julié.”
“You are right welcome, my beauty; but where's
Martinez?”
“He was jus' killed by de Frenchman, in shore.
I jus' 'scape wid my neck.”
“Frenchman? how?” exclaimed the man, in surprise.
“What do you mean?”
“No see dat frigate, dar? I tought you bol' nuff
to com' in right under her guns. See her! dere
she lay. You can hardly tell her masts from de
trees.”
The man looked for a moment steadily, and then
exclaimed—“By the joly St. Peter, you say truly.
Spring into the boat, Cudjoe. Shove off, men—
shove off, and give way like devils to your oars.—
We must be out of this, or we shall have hard quarters
between Monsieur's decks.”
In a few moments, they stood on the deck of
the schooner, which immediately filled and stood
seaward.—Her subsequent career is already known
to the reader.
Before Juana gained the cave, with her charge,
to effect which she had first to ascend the cliff, and
then descend by a perilous foot-way, to the platform
before it, the object of the count had been effected.
The gun had been pitched over into the basin, and
the arms and stores either destroyed or carried off.
When he gained the deck of his frigate, he was
met by the first lieutenant, who reported a sail in
the offing. “She has been lying to some time,
sir,” he added.
“Ha, I see her! she is now standing out,” said
the count, as he took his glass from his eye.
“Shall we get under way, sir?” inquired the lieutenant.
“Not yet, Monsieur,” replied he smiling. “We
have a festival below, which will require the presence
of my officers; and the men must make merry
to-night;” and winged with love, he hastened to meet
the prostrate form of the mulatto boy, who
was lying insensible by the door.
Glancing his eyes hastily around the apartment,
whilst his heart palpitated with a sudden foreboding
of evil, the loved form he sought, no where me this
eager gaze. Alarmed, he called her name, and
searched every recess of that and the adjoining state
rooms.
“My God! where can she be?” he exclaimed,
now highly excited; “Can she have fallen into the
water from this port? yet, it cannot be—Constanza!
my betrothed, my beloved! speak to me, if you are
near!” he cried, hoping, yet with trembling, that she
might still be concealed—playfully hiding from him
to try, as maidens will do, her lover's tenderness.
“Yet if here, what means this?” he added raising
the boy; “There is life here—he has fainted—speak
Antoine, open your eyes and look at me!”
The boy still remained insensible; but the count
by applying restoratives hastily taken from the toilet
of the maiden, soon restored his suspended faculties.
To his eager questions the boy told in reply
of the hideous visage that appeared at the port-hole,
enlarging upon his black face and white tusks.
Was it a man or a wild beast?” he interrogated.
“Oh! Monsieur, one man-devil—with such long
arms, and long white tusks like a boar!” he replied,
clinging to the person of the officer, and looking
fearfully around, as if expecting the appalling apparition
to start momentarily upon his sight.
The brow of the lover changed to the hue of
death; the blood left his lips, and faintly articulating
“Lafitte's slave!” he reeled, and would have
fallen to the floor, had not the boy caught him. Recovering
himself by a vigorous intellectual and physical
effort, he stood for an instant in thought, as if
resolving upon some mode of action.
All at once he spoke, in a voice hollow and
deep with emotion, and awful with gathering passion.
“Lafitte—thou seared and branded outlaw—cursed
of God and loathed of men—fit compeer of hell's
dark spirits—blaster of human happiness—destroyer
of innocence! Guilty thyself, thou wouldst make
all like thee! Scorner of purity, thou wouldst
unmake, and make it guilt. Like Satan, thou
sowest tares of sorrow among the seeds of peace
—thou seekest good to make it evil!—Renegade
of mankind!—Thou art a blot among thy race,
the living presence of that moral pestilence which
men and Holy Writ term sin! Oh, that my
words were daggers, and each one pierced thy
heart! then would I talk on, till the last trumpet
called thee from thy restless shroud to face me.
But, Lafitte! Lafitte!” he added, in a voice that
rung like a battle cry, “I will first face thee on
earth! As true as there is one living God, I will be
revenged on thee for this foul and grievous wrong!
“Ha! why do I stand here, idly wasting words?
he is not far off. I may pursue and take him within
the hour—and” he added, bounding to the deck,
“perhaps Constanza, ere it be—too late.”
His voice, as he issued his orders to get at once
under weigh, rung with an energy and sternness
the startled officers and seamen never knew before.
Having rapidly communicated the disappearance of
Constanza, he learned from the officer of the watch
that some of the men who had joined the shore expedition,
on returning, said they had seen a sail in
the offing. “But after having swept the whole horizon
with my glass,” he continued, “and discerning
nothing, I concluded they must have been deceived,
and therefore, did not report it. Now, I
think they were right.”
“That vessel was Lafitte's and Constanza is on
pursue, and if there is strength in wind or speed in
ships, overtake and capture her this night. Call the
men who saw her.”
The seamen being interrogated, indicated by the
compass the direction the sail bore from the frigate,
when they discovered it. Towards this point, leaving
her anchor behind, the ship, in less than three
minutes after the count had ascended to the deck,
began to move with great velocity, her tall masts
bending gracefully to one side, as if they would
kiss the leaping waves, the water surging before her
swelling bows, and gurgling with hoarse but lively
music around her rudder.
All that night, a night of intense agony to the
count, a bright watch was kept on every quarter;
yet the morning broke without discovering the object
of their pursuit. The horizon was unbroken
even by a cloud; a calm had fallen upon the
sea, and not a wave curled to the zephyrs, which
from time to time danced over its polished surface,
scarcely dimpling it.
For several days, within sight of the distant island,
the frigate lay becalmed, during which period,
the lover, unable to contend with the fever of his
burning thoughts, became delirious. The winds
rose and again died away! Storms ploughed the
face of the deep, and calms reigned upon the sea!
Yet he was unconscious of any change; day and
night he raved, and called on the name of his betrothed.
During this period the frigate cruised
along the coast, the officer in command not wishing
to take any step until he knew the mind of the
count.
On the twelfth day after the disappearance of
Constanza, he was so far recovered as to ascend to
the deck. His brow was pale, and his eye piercing
with an unwonted expression.
“Twelve days Montville—so long? There is no
hope—but there is revenge!” and his eyes flashed
as his voice swelled with emotion and passion. “Put
about for Barritaria!” he added quickly, rising and
walking the deck with much agitation. “My only
passion, my only purpose now shall be to meet that
man—the bane of my happiness! Destiny has bid
him cross my path, and destiny shall bid him die by
my hand.”
On the third morning, they arrived at the island
of Barritaria—prepared to destroy that strong hold
of the pirates, when, instead of a formidable fleet—
a strong fortress and extensive camp—they found
desolation. The day before, the buccaneers had
been dispersed, their vessels captured, and their
fort dismantled. Here and there wandered a straggler,
ragged and wounded—no boats were visible,
and the smoke of two or three vessels, and the
ruined camp of the pirates, told how recently and
completely the revenge of the count had been anticipated.
From a wounded pirate, whom they took prisoner,
he learned that Lafitte had been recently at Barritaria,
and had gone to New Orleans to join the American
forces in the defence of that city.
Piloted by one of his men who was acquainted
with the inlets and bayous, communicating with
the Mississippi, he gave orders to his first lieutenant
to await his return, and proceeded at once up
to the city. On his approach the next morning, the
thunder of artillery filled his ears, and burning with
revenge, he urged his oarsmen to their strength.
Entering the Mississippi about two leagues below
the city, on the morning of the eighth of January,
by a different route from that taken on a former
occasion by Lafitte, he crossed to the opposite shore,
from which came the roar of cannon, the crash of
musketry, and shouts of combatants, while a dense
half a mile along the river.
“There, face to face, steel to steel, will I meet
him I seek, or—death,” he exclaimed.
Learning from a fisherman the disposition of the
two armies, and the point defended by the outlaw,
he crossed the river, and after pulling up against
the current for a third of a mile, he landed amidst
a shower of balls and joined in the battle.
After he had, as he thought, achieved his revenge,
in the fall of Lafitte, whose personal combat with him
has already been detailed, the count, himself severely
wounded, returned to his boat. In a few minutes
he grew faint from loss of blood, and was landed
by his crew at a negro's hut on the banks of the
river. Here he remained several days, confined to
a wretched couch, until his wound enabled him to
proceed.
As he was about to order his boatmen to prepare
for their departure, he heard the name of Lafitte
mentioned by the hospitable slave who was his host,
in conversation with some one outside of the hut.
“What of him?” he exclaimed.
“Dere him schooner, massa—gwine down de
ribber!”
“What, that light-rigged vessel?” he said, pointing
to a small, but beautiful armed schooner. “No
—no—he is slain.”
“He was wounded in the battle of the eighth,
with two of his lieutenants, Sebastiano and a Dutchman,
Getzendanner, I believe they call him,” said
a fisherman, coming forward; “but Lafitte is now
well, and has purchased that vessel, formerly his
own, and is going—they say, now he has received
his pardon—to spend his days in the West Indies,
or in France.”
“Ha—say you, Monsieur!—Was it not him then I
you certainly that he sails away in that schooner?”
he inquired, eagerly of the man, turning to look as
he spoke, at the vessel which, with swift and graceful
motion, with all sail set, moved down the river,
rapidly disappearing in the distance.
“I saw him standing upon the deck as she passed,”
replied the fisherman, decidedly.
“Then shall he not escape me,” cried the count;
and calling to his crew, he hastened to his boat, and
in a few minutes was on the way to his frigate, resolved,
if possible, to intercept the schooner at the
Balize.
The following day he reached his ship, and immediately,
with his heart steeled to the consumma
tion of his revenge, got under-weigh for the mouth
of the Mississippi.
3. CHAPTER III.
“The consequences of crime are not confined to the guilty individual.
Besides the public wrong, they are felt in a greater or less degree
by his friends. Parents suffer more from the crimes of men than
others. It ought to be the severest mental punishment, for a guilty
man, if not wholly depraved, to witness a wife's or a parent's wretchedness,
produced by his own acts.”
Letters on Political Economy.
A RAMBLE—SURPRISE—AT SEA—CONVERSATION—LAFON.
We will leave the count in pursuit of Lafitte,
now no longer “the outlaw.” He had recovered
his favourite vessel, “The Gertrude,” which had
been captured with the rest of the fleet; and with
a select crew, drawn from his former adherents,
set sail a few days after we left him in the convent,
for his rendezvous in the Gulf of Gonsaves, for the
purpose of carrying into effect the resolutions he
there made. To Constanza—whom we left at this
rendezvous, with the faithful Juana on her way to
the boats of her lover's frigate—we will now turn
the attention of our readers.
When the desolate and unhappy girl found the
frigate's boats had left the rock, her heart sunk within
her, and when the ship, shortly after, stood seaward,
under full sail, she at once surrendered herself
to hopeless wretchedness. Three weeks she
remained in the grotto, with a kind slave, her only
that circumstances permitted.
Her mind was daily tortured with fears of the
approach of some of the pirate's squadron, or of
Lafitte himself, whom, if again thrown into his
power, she feared above all. As yet she was ignorant
of the scenes he had passed through—
the great change in his destiny—the honourable
career he had commenced, and his pardon by
the administrator of the laws he had so long violated.
If she had known all this, and known that
love for her, united with a noble patriotism, influenced
him to take these steps, how different would
have been her feelings?—With what other emotions
than of fear, would she have anticipated his
approach?
The moon had shone tremblingly in the west,
like the fragment of a broken ring, had displayed
a broad and shining shield, and had nearly faded
again into the pale eastern skies, and yet Constanza
remained an inmate of the grotto.
Late in the afternoon, three days after we took
leave of the count, on his way to intercept the Gertrude
at the Balize, Constanza ascended the
cliff, above the terrace, to survey, as she had done
each long day of her imprisonment, the extensive
horizon spread out before her to the south and
west, hoping to discover the white sails of the frigate,
which contained all that bound her to existence.
As night gathered over the sea, she descended
the cliff, and walked towards the point where stood
the hut of the deceased Obeah. The waves kissed
her feet as she walked along the sandy shore.
The stars, heralded by the evening planet, one
by one began to appear, sprinkling a faint light
upon her brow; the night wind played wantonly
object, she walked thoughtfully forward, unheeding
her footsteps, which carried her unconsciously
to the extreme point of the rocky cape. Here
seating herself upon a rock, she leaned her head
upon her hand, and, gazing upon the sea, while
thoughts of her lover and her desolate and unprotected
situation, filled her mind, insensibly fell
asleep.
About midnight, a hand laid upon her forehead,
awoke her. Instinctively comprehending her situation,
she recollected where she was. A tall figure
stood by her side. With a scream of terror she
sprung to her feet, and would have fled; but he
detained her by her robes.
“Stay, Constanza, señora! stay—tell me why
you are here?”
“Is it Lafitte—the outlaw?” she exclaimed,
breathless with alarm.
“It is lady; but no more Lafitte the outlaw.”
“Oh señor, have pity, and do not use the power
you have,” she cried with nervous emotion. “I am
wretched, miserable indeed.”
“Lady,” he replied, moved by her pathetic appeal,
“Lady, there shall no danger come nigh
you while I can protect you. How you came once
more in my power, or here, is to me a mystery. I
thought you happy as the bride of—”
“No—oh! no. He returned here after we gained
his frigate, and your slave stole on board into
the port, and siezing me, prevented me from giving
the alarm, and brought me on shore to the hut of an
old negress. The frigate, on my being missed,
stood out to sea, probably after a schooner, which
they thought was yours, and on board of which
they no doubt thought I was, or they would have
searched the shore and cavern. Three weeks have
señor, is a relief to me.”
The chief listened with surprise to this rapid account
of her capture.
“Ha!” he exclaimed, the conduct of the count
on the field of battle, flashing upon his mind. “I
see it all. `Revenge,' was his war-cry—revenge
for his betrothed. He must have suspected my
agency in this, and pursued me to avenge his
wrongs. Thank God! I am herein guiltless. But
my slave! know you whose tool he was, or what
his purpose, señora?” he inquired quickly.
“I do, señor,” she replied,” and then related to
him the deception practised upon Cudjoe, of which
Juana had informed her, and his instant revenge.
“I knew that Martinez to be a second Hebérto
Velanquez in villainy;” he said. “Lady, I congratulate
you—Heaven surely watches over you
for good! My slave's vengeance was like himself.
Strange, when he arrived in the Julié at Barritaria,
a day or two after, he told me not of all this. But
perhaps he feared for his head.”
At this moment a voice startled the maiden, and
timid as the hunted fawn from the excitement she
had gone through, she raised a foot to fly.
“Stay lady, it is but my boatmen on the other
side of this rock. Passing up the channel to the
grotto in the schooner,” continued Lafitte, “I saw
your white robes even in this faint star-light, as you
were sleeping on the rocks. I immediately let
down my boat, and ordering the schooner to keep
on into the basin, I landed to ascertain who it was,
not dreaming—although my heart should have told
me”—he added tenderly, “that it was you.
“Now señora,” he said, addressing her earnestly,
“will you so far place confidence in me as voluntarily
to put yourself under my protection? I need
Let me take you, and this very hour I will sail to
your friends—nay, to the Count D'Oyley himself.
If you desire it, I will seek him in every port in the
Mexican seas. Confide in me lady, and allow me
to show you the strength of my love for you, while
I manifest its disinterestedness.”
In less than half an hour, Constanza and Juana,
whom she had left in the cave during her absence,
were once more occupants of the gorgeously furnished
state-room on board the Gertrude. Before
morning, Lafitte having also completed the business
for which he visited his rendezvous, was many
leagues from the grotto, his swift winged vessel almost
flying over the waves before a brisk wind,
in the direction of Havana, where he expected to
hear of, or fall in with, the French frigate Le Sultan.
From the moment his lovely passenger had entered
the cabin he had not seen or spoken with her.
Again her young protector Théodore became her
page, and Juana her faithful attendant.
From Théodore she learned, with surprise and
pleasure the scenes through which his benefactor
had passed since she last met him. With prayerful
gratitude she listened to the strange history of
the last few weeks he had passed at Barritaria and
in the besieged city, of his exploits upon the battlefield,
his pardon by the executive, and his resolution
to devote his life for the good of his fellow men, by
retiring to the monastery of heroic and benevolent
monks, on the summit of Mont St. Bernard.
“May the virgin and her son bless and prosper
him in his purposes!” she said, raising her eyes with
devotional gratitude to heaven, while all the woman
beamed in them, as she reflected how far she
had contributed to this change. And she sighed,
as his.
With perfect confidence in the sincerity of her
captor, she now became more composed, and a ray
of joy illumined her heart, when she looked forward
to the meeting with her betrothed lover.
“And where will you go my Théodore—when
your friend becomes a recluse?”
“Lady, I shall never leave him, where he goes, I
go! He is my only friend on earth. There is none
besides to care for the buccaneer boy,” he added,
with a melancholy air.
“Nay—nay—Théodore. The count D'Oyly, and
myself—esteem, and feel a deep interest in you.
Will you not be my brother, Théodore? Our home
shall be yours, we will supply your present benefactor.
The gloom and solitude of a monastery's
walls will not suit your young spirit.”
“Lady—urge me not—I will never leave him,”
he said firmly, while his heart overflowed with
thankfulness for the kind and affectionate interest
she manifested in his welfare.
At that moment an aged man, bent with the
weight of years, with a majestic face, although
deeply lined with the furrows of time, came to the
state-room door, and in a feeble voice, called to the
youth.
“Who is that old man, Théodore?” she inquired
with interest, while her eyes filled with tears as she
thought of her own venerable father. “It is old
Lafon, Señora. He was taken prisoner a few weeks
since by one of our cruisers, and having been at
times insane, he was compelled by the officer—Martinez,
I think—who captured him, to perform such
menial duties as were suitable to his age.”
“Was not this unfeeling, Théodore? Where was
your chief?”
“It was, lady. On account of his numerous duties,
captain Lafitte, who permitted no cruelties of
that kind, was ignorant of this degradation—for, miserable
as he now is, he appears to have seen happier
and brighter days—but when he heard of it, he
released him from his duties.” We stopped at Barritaria
after we left the Balize to take on board some
treasure concealed there, and found the old man on
the shore, nearly famished and torpid with exposure
to the cold and rain.
“We took him on board, intending to leave him
in Havana, where he has friends.”
“Is he insane, did you say, Théodore?” she inquired.
“He has been—but I think is not now.”
“Poor man; he is, no doubt, the victim of some
great affliction,” she said, with feeling. “Do you
know any thing of his past history?”
“I do not, Señora. He is studiously silent upon
that subject.”
“Is he now a menial?” she said, looking with
sympathy upon the aged man, who still stood with
one hand upon the lock of the door, and his body
half-protruded into the room; in which position he
had remained during their low-toned conversation,
waiting for Théodore.
“No, Señora. He is now passenger in the schooner,
and by kindness and attention to him, the captain
seeks to atone for the rigorous treatment he
has heretofore received. He also feels a strange
and unaccountable interest in him.”
“Go, Théodore; keep him not in waiting—he
speaks again!”
The youth left the apartment, to ascertain his
wishes, which were, to communicate, through him,
to Lafitte some instructions relating to his landing
at Havana; and then ascended to the deck, to ascertain
which, bowling before a favourable breeze, was
with within less than two day's sail of their port of
destination.
4. CHAPTER IV.
St. Julien. “If sincere penitence be atonement for an ill-spent
life, then has my guilty sire gone up to heaven.”
Martin. “The Holy Fathers preach another doctrine.”
St. Julien. “But which is which they can no two agree.”
Martin. 'Twere better then methinks, sir, to live healthy and honest
lives, and so through the blood of the Holy Cross, we'll have the
best assurance.”
AN AMERICAN SLOOP OF WAR—A CHASE—FIGHT OFF THE MORO
CASTLE—CLOSING SCENE—CONCLUSION.
“My eye, Bill, but that's a rare tit-bit in the offing,”
exclaimed a sailor straddled athwart the mainyard
of an American sloop of war, anchored near the
entrance of the harbour, ostensibly securing a gasket,
but in reality roving his one eye over the harbour
of Havana—its lofty castellated Moro—its
walls, towers, and cathedral domes—its fleet of
shipping—and its verdant scenery, luxuriant and
green even in the second month of winter.
“That she is!” returned his shipmate, further in
on the same yard, at the same time cocking his larboard
eye to windward, hitching up his loose trowsers,
and thrusting into his cheek a generous quid
tobacco, dropped from the top-gallant-yard by a
brother tar. “That she is, Sam; and she moves
in stays, like a Spanish girl in a jig, and that's as
fine as a fairy, to my fancy.”
“Lay to, there, my hearty. Blast my eyes, if I
If it's not a clipper we chased when I was in the
schooner last month, cruising off St. Domingo, you
may say, `stop grog'.”
“What! one o' your bloody pirates?” inquired
Sam, with an oath.
“Aye! and she run in shore, and lay along side
of a high rock, up which they mounted like so many
wild monkeys. We followed as fast—but they
beat us off, and sent to the bottom of the sea, twenty
as brave fellows as ever handled cutlass.”
“What is this,” observed languidly one of the
lieutenants on deck, interrupting a most luxurious
yawn; “that those fellows can feel an interest in,
this infernal hot weather? Take that glass, will
you Mr. Edwards, and make us wise in the matter.”
The young midshipman rose indolently from an
ensign on which he had ensconced himself to leeward
of the mizen mast, to avoid the extreme heat,
even on that winter day; for winter holds no empire
through all that lovely clime, and after two or
three unsuccessful attempts, at last brought the instrument
handed him by the officer, into conjunction
with his visual organ. He then gazed a moment
seaward, and his face, before expressionless,
now beamed with pleasure.
“By all that's lovely, that craft carries a pretty
foot. She glides over the water like a swan; and
yet there's hardly breeze enough to fan a lady's
cheek. Look at her, sir.”
The officer took the glass, and slightly raising
himself, so that he could see over the quarter, the
next moment convinced those around him, that his
features had not lost all their flexibility, and that his
muscles were not really dissolved by the heat, by
exclaiming still more eagerly than the midshipman,
“Beautiful! admirable!”
“Can you make out her colours?” inquired one
lying upon the deck, under the awning, without
raising his head, or moving from his indolent attitude.
“She carries the stars and stripes; yet she cannot
be an American. There is not a boat in the
navy to be compared to this craft for beauty and
velocity.”
“She is not an armed vessel?”
“Evidently; although she shows gun nor port.
She looks too saucy for a quakeress; her whole
bearing is warlike; and there is a frigate half a mile
to windward of her, I believe, in chase.”
By this time, the officers, yielding to curiosity,
abandoned, though reluctantly, their various comfortable
positions, and gathered themselves up, to
take a view of a vessel, that had induced even their
ease-loving first lieutenant to throw off his lethargy.
The object of general interest—a beautiful taunt-rigged
rakish schooner now advanced, steadily towards
the entrance of the harbour. The air was
scarcely in motion, yet the little vessel glided over
the water with the ease and rapidity of a bird on
the wing.
“By Heaven! that craft has been in mischief!”
exclaimed an officer, “or that frigate would not
spread such a cloud of studden-sails in chase.”
“He is no doubt a pirate,” said Edwards. “Shall
we give him a gun for running under our flag.”
“No, no! we will remain neutral. As true as
that schooner has lighter heels than any craft that
ever sailed the sea, she will escape her pursuer!”
exclaimed the lieutenant with animation.
“Unless taken between wind and water;” added
another officer. “See that!”
As he spoke a flame flashed from the bows of the
frigate, and a shot, followed by the report of a heavy
gun, recochetted over the waves, and carried away
the bowsprit of the schooner, which was about half
a mile from the frigate.
“My God! we shall be blown out of the water
by that hasty count!” exclaimed Lafitte, as the
shot struck his vessel—for on board the Gertrude
we now take our readers—“Hoist that white flag
at the peak,” he shouted.
The order was obeyed; and still the frigate bore
down upon them, and a second shot shivered her
foremast, killed several of the crew including his
mate Ricardo, and mortally wounding his favorite
slave Cudjoe.
The schooner was now wholly unmanageable,
and defeated in his exertions to get into the harbor,
Lafitte put her before the wind, which was now increasing,
and run her ashore, about a mile to the
eastward of the Moro.
The frigate continued in chase until the water
became too shallow for her draught, when she lay
to and put off two of her boats filled with men, the
smallest of which was commanded by the count in
person.
Lafitte, although determined not to fight unless
compelled to do so in self-defence, ordered his men
to their guns. Every officer was at his post. The
carronades were double shotted, and hand grenades,
boarding-pikes and cutlasses, strewed the deck.
He himself, was armed with a cutlass and brace of
pistols, and a shade of melancholly was cast over
his features, which, or the thoughts occasioning
it, he sought to dispel by giving a succession of rapid
and energetic orders to his men.
The count, who learned from the prisoner he had
taken at Barritaria, that this was Lafitte's vessel,
missing him at the Balize—stood in the stern of his
boat which swiftly approached the grounded schooner.
His face was pale and rigid with settled passion.
He grasped the hilt of his cutlass nervously,
and his eye glanced impatiently over the rapidly
lessening distance between him and his revenge.
He saw his rival standing calmly upon the quarter-deck,
surveying his approach with seeming indifference.
This added fuel to his rage, and he cheered
his oars-men on with almost frenzied energy.
“Count D'Oyley” said Lafitte aloud as the boat
came near the schooner; “she whom you seek is
safe, and in honor.”
“Thou liest! slave! villain!” shouted the count,
and at that moment, as the boat struck the side of
the schooner, he leaped, sword in hand, on to her
deck, followed by a score of his men.
“Now, or we shall be massacred, fire!” cried
Lafitte, in a voice that rung above the shouts of the
boarders, at the same time parrying a blow aimed at
his breast by the count; and the light vessel recoiled
shuddering in every joint, from the discharge of her
whole broadside.
The iron shower was fatally hurled. The larger
boat, which was within a few fathoms of the schooner,
was instantly sunk, and fifty men were left struggling
in the waves. The barge along side, shared
the same fate before half its crew had gained the
deck of the vessel.
A fierce and sanguinary contest now took place.
In vain Lafitte called to the count to desist—that
Constanza was on board and in safety.
“Liar in thy throat! villain!” with more rapid
and energetic blows of his cutlass, was alone the
reply he received from his infuriated antagonist.
Lafitte now fought like a tiger at bay upon the
quarter-deck of his schooner, his followers encircling
him, each hand to hand and steel to steel with
a boarder.
Two nobler looking men than the distinguished
combatants, have seldom trode the battle deck of a
ship of war. In courage, skill, and physical energies,
they seemed nearly equal, although the count
was of slighter make, and possessed greater delicacy
of features. Cutlass rung against cutlass, and
the loud clangor of their weapons was heard far
above the din and uproar of battle.
The combatants on both sides, as if actuated by
one impulse, simultaneously suspended the fight to
gaze upon their chief, as if victory depended alone
upon the issue of this single encounter.
They fought for some moments with nearly equal
success, mutually giving and receiving several slight
wounds, when a blow, intended by Lafitte who
fought in the defensive, to disarm his antagonist,
shivered his steel boarding-cap, which dropped to
the deck, while a profusion of rich auburn hair fell
down from his head, clustered with almost feminine
luxuriance around his neck. At the same instant,
the sword of the count passed through the breast of
his antagonist.
A wild exclamation, not of pain, but of surprise
and horror escaped from Lafitte, and springing
backward, he stood staring with dilated nostrils, a
heaving breast, from which a stream of blood flowed
to the deck, and eyes almost starting from their
sockets, upon his foeman.
“Art thou of this world? speak!” he cried in
accents of terror, while his form seemed agitated
with super-human emotion.
The count remained in an attitude of defence,
displaying by the derangement of his hair, a scar
with astonishment, gazing upon his foe, who
moved not a muscle, or betraying any sign of life,
except in the deep sepulchral tones, with which
he conjured him `to speak!'
The count slightly changing his position, an exclamation
of joy escaped the venerable Lafon, and
tottering forward, he fell into his outstretched arms.
“Henri, my son—my only son!”
“My father!” and they were clasped in each
other's arms.
Their close embrace was interrupted by a deep
groan and the heavy fall of Lafitte to the deck.
“Henri! It is indeed my brother!” exclaimed
the wounded man, raising his head—“for—forgive
me, Henri, before I die!” and he fell back again to
the deck.
At the sound of his name, the count started, gazed
earnestly upon his pale features for an instant,
and all the brother yearned in his bosom.
With a heart bursting with the intensity of his
feelings, he silently kneeled beside his brother.
“Achille!”
“Henri!”
They could utter no more, but wept together in
a silent embrace; the count laying his head upon
his brother's bosom, whose arms encircled him with
fraternal love, while the aged parent kneeling beside
them, with his uplifted hands, blessed them.
Suddenly a loud scream pierced their ears—and
starting up, the count beheld Constanza making her
way with a wild air towards him, followed by Theodore,
who had, till now, detained her in the state-room,
lest in her excitement of mind, she should mingle
among the combatants. The voice of her lover
reached her ears in the silence that followed the
discovery of the brothers, and she flew to the deck.
“Oh, my Alphonze! my only love! we will
part no more!” she exclaimed, throwing herself
into his arms.
The count affectionately embraced her; but his
face betrayed the whilst, unusual emotion, and his
eye sought his brother's.
“Take her! fold her in your arms, Henri! she
is yours—pure as an angel!” he replied, comprehending
the meaning of his glance. “Here, Constanza,
let me take your hand—yours, Henri”—and
he joined them together:—“May God bless and
make you truly happy!” he continued, while his
voice grew more feeble.
“My father! my venerable father! I am ashamed
to look you in the face! forgive your repentant son!
I am dying, father!
The aged man kneeled by his son, and blessed
him! and wept over him! in silence.
“My brother—Henri!” continued the dying man:
“I have wronged you; but I have suffered! Oh!
how deeply! How true, that crime brings its own
punishment! Forgive! forgive me, Henri! Think
not you have slain me—mine is the blame. I armed
your hand against my life!
“Constanza! forgive! I have loved you in death!
Farewell,” he added, after a moment's silence, while
they all kneeled around him. “Farewell, my father—brother—Constanza—farewell!
Théodore!”
he said, affectingly taking the hand of the youth—
“Théodore, my orphan boy, farewell! May God
bless and protect you, my child! Henri! be a
brother to him.”
The count pressed his hand in silence.
“Now, once more—adieu, for—for ever! May God
forgive!”—and, with this prayer on his lips, he expired
in the arms of his father and brother.
CONCLUSION.
One autumn twilight, five years after the peace
was ratified between the two belligerent powers
—Europe, and the North United States—a group
might have been observed by one, sailing up
to the capital of Louisiana, gathered on the portico
of an elegant villa, situated on the banks of the
Mississippi, a few miles below the city. This
group consisted of six. In a large armed chair, sat
an old gentleman, with a dignified air, and a bland
smile, dancing upon his knee a lovely child, just
completing her third summer, with sparkling black
eyes, and silken hair of the same rich hue, while
an old slave, seated at his feet, was amusing herself
with the antics of the delighted girl.
Near the steps of the portico, stood a gentleman
of middle age, with a lofty forehead, slightly disfigured
by a scar, a mild blue eye, and manly features,
who was directing the attention of a beautiful
female, leaning on his arm, to the manœuvres
of a small vessel of war then doubling one of the
majestic curves of the river.
The lady, united in her face and person the dignity
of the matron with the loveliness of the maiden.
The sweet face of the cherub upon its grandsire's
knee, was but the reflection of her image in
miniature!
Leaning against one of the columns of the portico,
stood a noble looking and very handsome young
man, in a hunting-dress. A gun rested carelessly
upon one arm, and a majestic dog, venerahle with
age, whom he occasionally addressed as Léon,
stood upon his hind legs, with his fore paws upon
his breast.
Leaving this brief outline of the happiness and
their various adventures, we will take leave of the
reader with a few words of explanation.
Henri, on reaching France, fell heir to the title
and estates of the nobleman whose name Alphonze,
the Count D'Oyley, he assumed. Lafon was a
name given to their aged captive, by the buccaneers,
from his resemblance to one of their number, who
bore that name. Gertrude has long since been
translated to a better world. Achille, after exiling
himself from his native land, assumed the name of
Lafitte, by which and no other, he was known to
his adherents, and to the world:
“He left a corsair's name to other times,
Link'd with one virtue and a thousand crimes.”
| Lafitte | |