Chapter THE NINTH

_In Which His Excellency Proposes; the Legislature Disposes; and Pierre Dominique Becomes the Guest of the State_

I

It was now early December, and the social season of the Creoles’ _Petit Paris_ was at its height. Indeed, everything conspired to make that year the most eventful, socially speaking, of any that had gone before it, unless one excepts the equally notable season when that most fascinating person, Mr. Aaron Burr, had been the guest of honor at a hundred fêtes.

But this season had indeed opened auspiciously and many were the matchmaking Creole mammas who planned for their daughters intricate campaigns of offense and defense, with all the skill and finesse of seasoned generals, against all and sundry eligible bachelors. And equally numerous were the aforesaid eligible gallants, out for conquests and wary for possible matrimonial traps.

When the new political régime had first been entered upon there had been a rather abrupt cessation of social happenings of any brilliance, but when the Creoles—which appellation, by the way, is correctly used only when speaking of American-born persons of full and unmixed European ancestry, without any admixture of Indian or of negro blood—when the Creoles gradually began to admit the disliked _Américains_ to their exclusive social circles, the social activities of New Orleans began to take on a new impetus. It was not long before locality distinctions began to fade. Governor Claiborne, himself, had done much to destroy these distinctions by marrying two separate times into Creole families.

To add to the brilliance of this present season, the Legislature of the state of Louisiana was holding its yearly session in New Orleans, and the presence of its members, who were representative of the most prominent and cultured families in the state, helped to add to the general social gayety. In most cases their families had accompanied them from their respective districts, primarily to take part in the annual social whirl.

This was the New Orleans of old—the real New Orleans. A city essentially French in customs and breeding, European in culture and social atmosphere. Louisiana, like its sister states of the South, with its representative population descended directly from the European upper classes, was really European in its outlook upon everything—on world affairs, in its literature, in its fashions. As Virginians were in the main of Cavalier stock, so Louisianians were remnants of the _ancien régime_ of France. Individually and collectively did these Southern States represent the cream of American aristocracy and culture.

And these gentlemen of the State Legislature, in turn, were representative of the best families in the state, living examples of the real definition of “Creole”; wealthy, cultured, haughty; true “blue-bloods” ... persons truly to the manner born.

These were the friends and compeers of the Lafittes.

And on this eventful December day these were the men who sat in the legislative chamber when Governor Claiborne delivered his notable address.

William Claiborne, clean-shaven, hawk-nosed, and with an air that seemed to challenge the world at large, was on the speaker’s rostrum, addressing the silent assemblage. It was very seldom indeed that the Governor of Louisiana addressed in person either house of the Legislature, and not a few of the members thereof felt surprise to see him there.

After the rather unnecessary formal introduction by the Speaker, His Excellency plunged directly into his subject. That it was of importance was attested by the close attention paid his discourse by every member of that dignified body.

The great room, stately in its proportions and blazing with the light of many lamps, provided a picturesque setting. Not a sound was to be heard except the voice of the speaker, rising, falling, clear, lucid, and coldly concise, and with an undercurrent of righteous indignation:

“And, gentlemen,” His Excellency was saying as he harangued them, “it behooves us, as the official guardians of the welfare of this great state and territory, to see that the citizens who placed us in office—in this position of honor and trust that we occupy—should be served, and served to the best of our ability.

“Obviously, gentlemen, it is our duty to unselfishly sacrifice both ourselves and our personal interests for the best interests of the people as a whole—our constituency. And in this particular case I say that, as Governor of Louisiana, in my official capacity and as a conscientious citizen, I honestly believe that the wisest, the most logical thing to do is to wipe out this atrocious practice of smuggling, this unparalleled menace to the commonwealth!” He glanced pugnaciously over to that part of the room known as the “Left,” where sat the acknowledged supporters of the privateers.

“This practice has enriched the worst element of our population. In innumerable instances it has debauched magistrates and police officers!” There was a well-defined stir in the assemblage.

“It is a stigma upon the state and an infringement upon the rights of our legitimate merchants! Obnoxious to the prosperity of every honest citizen....

“As you all know, business in shipping circles of this city of New Orleans is practically at a standstill. Legitimate commerce has been crippled. The very prosperity of the entire Mississippi Valley is at stake. Not only that, but the United States customs in New Orleans is practically a farce!

“I prophesy, gentlemen, that if stringent steps are not immediately taken to put a stop to this rank piracy, this flagrant public lawbreaking, the honor and safety of our fair state will be so far jeopardized as to cause the national authorities to step in, perhaps use martial law! Think of the disgrace of such a proceeding!”

His Excellency paused a moment to mop his perspiring forehead, his auditors still attentive, but impassive as stone images. He went on:

“But you gentlemen of this honorable assembly know the details of these various crimes as well as I, so I will no longer take up your time. It is necessary to act at once. That is why I have come here. And I shall speak plainly.

“I hereby request that an appropriation be made by the Legislature of Louisiana, by the use of which a force of armed men may be collected and properly provided for. With these I propose to break up this unspeakable buccaneering business. Gentlemen, I ask you for funds to destroy that pirates’ nest infesting the bay of Barataria, that we may vindicate the honor of Louisiana. Gentlemen, the welfare of the state is in your hands!”

* * * * *

Two hours later, at the gubernatorial mansion, Claiborne received his reply from the Legislature. It was as brief and to the point as his address.

The members of the Legislature begged to inform His Excellency that there were no funds available, at present, for the purpose he required.

The cautious legislators had declined to take action, partly for the reason that they were unwilling to interfere with an enterprise that, illegitimate or not, was unquestionably developing the resources of lower Louisiana and incidentally was enriching their constituents; and, partly, because many of them, themselves, were connected with the Baratarians in various ways.

But the Governor could not know this, nor appreciate it if he did. In any event, the refusal in no whit served to abate His Excellency’s choler. Claiborne stared at the reply for a long while and then turned to his secretary, a pimply-faced youth with a nascent mustache, who sat at a small desk, paring his finger nails, his face apparently a vacuous blank.

“Milford!” he called, imperiously.

Milford suddenly came to life.

“Yes, Your Excellency!”

“Those damned idiots down in the Legislature have refused me the appropriation!”

“Really, Your Excellency!”

“Those driveling dolts! ... those demented fools! ... those smuggling dogs! They’re smugglers, every one of them, I can swear, Milford!”

“Quite so, Your Excellency.” Milford surreptitiously studied his thumb nail. It was a bit ragged, he thought.

“Damn you!” cried Claiborne. “Shut up!”

Milford cleared his throat uneasily, but his master had already forgotten him.

“No doubt they’re every one of them in the pay of that damned Lafitte!” fussed the Governor.

Milford nodded assent, owlishly.

“Was ever man so ill served before—was ever an Executive so ignored?”

Milford, however, was imperturbable. He did not say so, but he could not see where it was a Legislature’s duty to serve its governor, although he wisely refrained from expressing his opinion. It is the better part of discretion to keep such opinions to oneself, when one has to earn one’s bread and butter, and especially when one hopelessly loves one’s master’s daughter. At thought of the blond, ascetic-looking Margaret Claiborne he gulped.

Finally the Governor quieted down and stared again at the fatal letter from the Legislature, thinking deeply in the interval.

Suddenly he sprang to his feet.

Milford also jumped, although he was already on his feet.

“Milford,” he commanded, “send for Judge Cabell at once—at once, do you hear? But wait, I have a note to send to the courthouse. Wait a moment until I write it.”

Milford gulped and then glanced at his thumbnail.

It was still a bit ragged.

II

Pierre Dominique, his eyes moodily fixed on the glistening shoulders of his dusky blacksmith’s as they busily moved around in the firelight, swung his sword-cane idly. Apparently all was not well with Pierre. The truth was that Virginia Grymes, the evening before, had refused his proffered heart and hand.

François de Moulin, true friend that he was, sympathetically commiserated with him.

“Don’ worree, _mon ami_, zere are many ozzer demoiselles who weel nod repulse Pierre. Try you’ luck wiz Gabrielle, or Céleste Angélique.” He gracefully twisted the ends of his mustache, eying Pierre mischievously. Lafitte, catching the look, reddened.

“What do you know about—Angélique?” he demanded.

De Moulin laughed and clapped him on the back.

“_Comme c’est drole!_ I know all, _mon galant_, all! Abou’ ze flow’rs, an’ _billets_, an’ zat histo’ical serenade und’—”

“Shut up!”

“—ze balc’ny. An’ how all change’ when _la belle_ Virginia come—”

Pierre shrugged his shoulders in exasperation.

“If Angélique had not grown so stout—so fleshy; but what can a man do? One can’t be expected to bind one’s affections fast to one woman all the time. That were to make love as irksome as marriage! And, as the poet says, ‘_Tempora mutantur, et nos mutamur in illis_’!”

The Creole made a grimace.

“A plague on you’ Latin! Why drag in a poet? _Ventre-saint-gris!_ How een-consist’nt eez man! Heah you say zat love eez as irksome as marriage. And a moment ago you were on ze verge of despair becoz _la belle_ Virginia refuse’ you! An’ eet ees betteh so. You do nod love heh, Pierre. Fah from eet. You are een love wiz ze game of love! You, oldeh zan Jean, are nod as wise as he. You know w’at I b’lieve, Pierre? I b’lieve zat _la belle_ Virginia loves M’sieu Jean! _Voilà!_”

Pierre stared at him with open disbelief.

“Jean? You are mad, François, stark, staring mad! Why, she dislikes him—nay, hates him. I cannot help but see it.”

De Moulin laughed.

“Ah, Pierre, you ’ave much to learn. When a woman show hate foah a man—show scorn—she eez interest’ in him. When she ees indifferent—_dame_! Zat is an altogezzer different mattaire. She never can love him—unless her indifference melts. Bud woman ees as changeable as ze weazzer. No, I shall enlighten you no furzzer. I geev you ze _petit pois_ to plant—ze little idea. Eet may grow—but, _le bon Dieu!_ ... what have we here?”

As he spoke, a constable, accompanied by a file of soldiers, entered the smithy. Without parley, he advanced toward Pierre.

“Mister Peer Lafitte?” he asked.

Pierre nodded dumbly.

“I’m sory, sor, but yez’ll have to come with me.”

“I presume you are arresting me?” asked Pierre, in surprise.

“That I am, sor,” replied the constable.

“But why have you arrested M’sieu Lafitte?” demanded the Creole authoritatively of the constable. “What eez ze charge?”

The constable touched his cap and displayed a warrant. De Moulin read it attentively.

“What is it for?” asked Pierre.

De Moulin looked at him in exasperation.

“Eet ees—you are accused of being an accessaree to piracy!”

Pierre Dominique considered for a moment. They looked at each other.

“Let us go, then, and get the particulars.”

“And I will go your bail!” cried François, gayly slipping his arm through Pierre’s. “_Allons, mes gendarmes, à la calabosa!_”

And so, arm in arm, to the city prison, known by the euphonious title of the “calaboose,” they marched, accompanied by the constable and his deputies.

At the station-house, however, they met with an unexpected difficulty.

The charges against Pierre, it seemed, were only as an accessory to piracy, but when the Creole asked to be told the amount of bail necessary to temporarily release Pierre from custody the police captain gave them a disconcerting reply.

“By order of His Excellency the Governor himself,” he said, “the prisoner must remain in custody until the day of trial and is allowed no bail whatsoever.”

At this they were both taken back. De Moulin was furious.

“W’at you mean by zat?” he cried, “zat eez not law! I will give any amount you say!”

Smiling, the police captain informed him somewhat lengthily as to the intricacies of the law, but the Creole refused to listen. Imbued with hatred as he and his class were against the new government, this example of their tyranny, as he deemed it, only incensed him the more.

“_Sacré diable!_ Ees zis a free government—a free law?” he cried.

The man at the desk said nothing.

“Hah, eet ees of no use to argue wiz you—you are but a servant.” The police captain winced angrily at this. “I shall go to your superior—ze Governor—ze President heemself!”

The prisoner intervened.

“Go nowhere, François—but to Jean! Let him know of this!” said Pierre.

François de Moulin stared at him for a moment, and then, wringing his hand, left the room hurriedly, without a backward glance.

“This way, sor, if ye plaze,” said O’Rourke, the constable, to Lafitte, and together they disappeared through the door leading to the cells.