Chapter IX: Part 9

Finally good Mamma Surcouf sent him to the Seminary of St. Dinan, saying:

"Now, Robert, be a good boy and study hard thy lessons!"

And Robert said, "Oui, Madame!" But he would not work.

One day the master in arithmetic did not like the method in which young "Bobbie" answered him, and raising a cane, he ran towards the youthful scholar. But Robert had learned a kind of "Jiu-Jitsu" practiced by the youths of France, and he tackled his irate master like an end-rush upon the foot-ball team, when he dives for a runner. Both fell to the ground with a thud. And all the other boys yelled "Fine!" in unison.

Now was a fierce battle, but weight told, and "Bobbie" was soon underneath, with his teeth in the leg of his tutor. They scratched and rolled until "Bobbie" freed himself, and, running to the window, jumped outside--for he was on the ground floor--scaled the garden fence, and made off. Home was twenty miles away.

"I must get there, somehow," said young "Bobbie." "I can never go back. I will be spanked so that I cannot seat myself."

So little "Bob" trudged onward in the snow, for it was winter. It grew dark. It was bitterly cold, and he had no hat. At length--worn out with cold and hunger--he sank senseless to the roadside.

Luck pursues those destined for greatness.

Some fish-merchants happened that way, and, seeing the poor, helpless, little boy, they picked him up; placed him upon a tiny dog-cart; and carried him to St. Malo, where he had a severe attack of pneumonia. But his good mother nursed him through, saying:

"Ta donc! He will never be a scholar. Ta donc! Young Robbie must go to sea!"

So when "Bobbie" was well he was shipped aboard the brig _Heron_, bound for Cadiz, Spain--and he was only just thirteen. But he threw up his cap crying,

"This is just what I've always wanted. Hurrah for the salty brine!"

At about twenty years of age we find him upon the good ship _Aurora_ from which his dive into the Indian Ocean came near being his last splash. And the Portuguese Lieutenant did not forget.

Upon the next visit of the cruiser _Aurora_ to the coast of Africa an epidemic of malarial fever struck the crew. Among those who succumbed to the disease was the Portuguese Lieutenant. He was dangerously ill.

The ship arrived at the island of Mauritius, and, Lieutenant Robert Surcouf was just going ashore, when he received a message which said:

"Come and see me. I am very ill." It was from his enemy,--the Portuguese.

Surcouf did not like the idea, but after thinking the matter over, he went. But note this,--he had a pair of loaded pistols in his pocket. Dead men--you know--tell no tales.

As he entered the sick man's cabin, a servant was there. The Portuguese made a sign to him to retire.

"I wish to speak to you with a sincere heart," said he, turning his face to young Surcouf. "Before I pass from this world I want to relieve my conscience, and ask your forgiveness for all the evil which I have wished you during our voyages together."

"I bear you no malice," said Surcouf. "Let by-gones be by-gones."

As he spoke a spasm seemed to contort the body of the dying man. One arm stretched out towards a pillow nearby, and Robert had a sudden, but excellent thought. Stepping forward, he seized the hand of his old enemy, lifted the pillow, and, then started back with an exclamation of astonishment.

"Ye Gods!" cried he. "You would murder me!"

There, before him, were two cocked and loaded pistols.

Leaping forward he grabbed the weapons, pointing one at the forehead of the rascally sailor.

"You miserable beast!" cried he. "I can now shoot you like a dog, or squash you like an insect; but I despise you too much. I will leave you to die like a coward."

"And," says a historian, "this is what the wretched man did,--blaspheming in despairing rage."

In October, 1794, Lieutenant Surcouf saw his first big battle, for, the English being at war with the French, two British men-of-war hovered off the island of Mauritius, blockading the port of St. Thomas. They were the _Centurion_ of fifty-four guns, and the _Diomede_, also of fifty-four cannon, but with fewer tars. The French had four ships of war: the _Prudente_, forty guns; the _Cybele_, forty-four guns; the _Jean Bart_, twenty guns; and the _Courier_, fourteen guns. Surcouf was junior Lieutenant aboard the _Cybele_.

It was a beautiful, clear day, as the French vessels ploughed out to battle; their sails aquiver with the soft breeze; their pennons fluttering; guns flashing; and eager sailors crowding to the rails with cutlasses newly sharpened and pistols in their sashes.

_Boom!_

The first gun spoke. The first shell spun across the bow of the British bull-dog _Diomede_, and the battle was on.

Have you ever seen a school of pollock chasing a school of smaller fry? Have you ever seen them jump and splash, and thud upon the surface of the water?

Well--that is the way that the shells looked and sounded--as they plumped and slushed into the surface of the southern sea; and every now and then there was a _punk_, and a _crash_, and a _chug_, as a big, iron ball bit into the side of a man-of-war.

Around and around sailed the sparring assailants, each looking for a chance to board. _Crash! Roar! Crash!_ growled the broadsides. Shrill screams sounded from the wounded; the harsh voices of the officers echoed above the din of the conflict; and, the whining bugle squealed ominously between the roaring crush of grape and chain-shot.

But the French got nearer and nearer. Great gaps showed in the bulwarks of the _Diomede_; one mast was tottering. Beaten and outnumbered she stood out to sea, her sailors crowding into the rigging like monkeys, and spreading every stitch of white canvas.

"She runs! Egad, she runs!" cried the Commander of the other British vessel. "Faith, I cannot stand off four Frenchmen alone. I must after her to save my scalp."

So--putting his helm hard over--he threw his vessel before the wind, and she spun off, pursued by bouncing shells and shrieking grapnel.

"Voila!" cried the French. "Ze great battaile, eet belongs to us!" But there were many dead and wounded upon the decks of the proud French warships.

Soon after this smart, little affair the soldiers and sailors who had been in this fight were discharged,--and--looking about for employment, young Robert took the first position that presented itself: the command of the brig _Creole_,--engaged in the slave trade. He made several successful voyages, but orders were issued to--

"Arrest the Slave Hunter and all his crew,
When they arrive at the Mauritius."

One of those little birds which sometimes carry needed information, both on sea and land, whispered this ill news to the gallant, young sea-dog. So he steered for the isle of Bourbon, and there landed his human freight in a small bay. At daybreak he lay at anchor in the Harbor of St. Paul in that self-same island.

About eight in the morning a boat was seen approaching, and to the hail,--"Who goes there?" came the reply--

"Public Health Committee from St. Denis. We wish to come on board and to inspect your ship."

Surcouf was much annoyed.

"You can climb aboard," said he, stifling an exclamation of disgust. "I am at your service."

In a few moments the commissioners were upon the deck, and, in a few moments more, they had discovered that the ship was a slaver.

Turning to the youthful captain, one of the committee said:

"You, sir, are engaged in illegal traffic. You must suffer for this, and must come with us at once to the city to answer an indictment drawn up against you."

Surcouf smiled benignly.

"I am at your service," said he, with a polite bow. "But do not go--I pray thee--until you have given me the great pleasure of partaking of the breakfast which my cook has hastily prepared."

The Committee-men smiled.

"You are very kind," said one. "We accept with pleasure."

The hasty efforts of the cook proved to be most attractive. And, as the Commissioners smacked their lips over the good Madeira wine, the mate of the _Creole_ dismissed the boat which had brought the stolid Commissioners to the side.

"The tender of our brig will take your people ashore," said he to the coxswain.

No sooner had this tender neared the shore, than the cable of the _Creole_ was slipped; she left her anchorage; and quickly drew out to sea in a fresh sou'westerly breeze.

The unaccustomed rallying soon warned the Commissioners that the vessel was no longer at anchor, and, rushing to the deck, they saw--with dismay--that a full half mile of foam-flecked ocean lay between them and the island.

"Ye Gods!" cried one, turning to Surcouf. "What mean you by this, sir?"

The crafty Captain was smiling like the Cheshire cat.

"You are now in my power," said he--very slowly and deliberately. "I am going to take you to the coast of Africa among your friends--the negroes. You seem to prefer them to the whites, so why not, pray? Meanwhile,--my kind sirs,--come below and take my orders."

The Commissioners were flabbergasted.

"Pirate!" cried one.

"Thief!" cried another.

"Scamp!" shouted the third.

But they went below,--mumbling many an imprecation upon the head of the crafty Robert Surcouf.

That night the wind freshened, the waves rose, and the good ship _Creole_ pitched and tossed upon them, like a leaf. The Committee-men were very ill, for they were landsmen, and Surcouf's smile expanded.

"Take us ashore! Take us ashore!" cried one. "We _must_ get upon land."

Surcouf even laughed. Everything was as he wished.

"I will land you upon one condition only," said he. "Destroy the indictment against me and my ship. Write a document to the effect that you have found no traces of slaves upon my staunch craft. Say that my boat was driven from her anchor by a tidal wave--and you can put your feet upon solid ground."

The three Commissioners scowled, but he had them. Besides they were sea-sick.

In an hour's time, the desired paper had been drawn up. The _Creole_ was headed for the Mauritius,--and, in eight days, the sad but wiser Commissioners were brooding over the smartness of Robert Surcouf when seated in their own snug little homes. "He is a rascal," said one. "He's a slick and wily cur."

So much reputation came to the young mariner--at this exploit--that he was soon offered the command of the _Emilie_: a privateer of one hundred and eighty tons and four guns. He accepted with glee, but when about to go to sea, the Governor refused him Letters of Marque.

"What shall I do?" asked the crest-fallen Robert, approaching the owners of the trim and able craft.

"Sail for the Seychelles (Islands off the east coast of Africa) for a cargo of turtles," said they. "If you fail to find these; fill up with corn, cotton and fruit. Fight shy of all English cruisers, and battle if you have to."

Surcouf bowed.

"I am not a regular privateer," he answered. "For I have no Letters of Marque. But I can defend myself if fired upon, and am an armed vessel in war-time. I may yet see some fighting."

He was not to be disappointed.

While at anchor at the Seychelles, two large and fat English men-of-war appeared in the offing. Surcouf had to run for it.

Steering in among the many little islets, which here abound, he navigated the dangerous channels and got safely off, his men crying,

"Voila! Here is a genius. We did well to ship with such a master!"

But the gallant Surcouf soon turned from privateer to pirate.

South of the Bay of Bengal, a cyclone struck the _Emilie_ and she was steered for Rangoon, where--

"The flying fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder,
Outer China across the Bay."

And here a British vessel steered for her: white-winged, saucy, vindictive-looking.

She came on valiantly, and, when within a hundred yards, pumped a shot across the bow of the drowsing _Emilie_. It meant "Show your colors."

Hoisting the red, white and blue of France, Surcouf replied with three scorching shots. One struck the Britisher amid-ships, and pumped a hole in her black boarding.

Like a timid girl, the Englishman veered off, hoisted her topsail, and tried to get away. She saw that she had caught a tartar.

The blood was up of the "Man from St. Malo." "I consider the shot across my bows as an attack," said he, and he slapped on every stitch of canvas, so that the _Emilie_ was soon abreast of the Britisher. _Boom!_ A broadside roared into her and she struck her colors. Bold Robert Surcouf had passed the Rubicon,--he had seen the English flag lowered to him, for the first time; and his heart swelled with patriotic pride, in spite of the fact that this was an act of piracy, for which he could be hanged to the yard-arm.

"On! On!" cried Surcouf. "More captures! More prizes!"

Three days later three vessels carrying rice fell into his hands,--one of which,--a pilot-brig--was appropriated in place of the _Emilie_, which had a foul, barnacled bottom and had lost her speed. The _Diana_, another rice-carrier--was also captured--and Robert Surcouf headed for the Mauritius: pleased and happy.

A few days later, as the vessels pottered along off the river Hooghly, the cry came:

"A large sail standing into Balasore Roads!"

In a moment Surcouf had clapped his glass to his keen and searching eye.

"An East Indiaman," said he. "And rich, I'll warrant. Ready about and make after her. She's too strong for us,--that I see--but we may outwit her."

The vessel, in fact, was the _Triton_, with six-and-twenty guns and a strong crew. Surcouf had but nineteen men aboard, including the surgeon and himself, and a few Lascars,--natives. The odds were heavily against him, but his nerve was as adamant.

"My own boat has been a pilot-brig. Up with the pilot flag!" he cried.

As the little piece of bunting fluttered in the breeze, the _Triton_ hove to, and waited for him, as unsuspecting as could be. Surcouf chuckled.

Nearer and nearer came his own vessel to the lolling Indiaman, and, as she rolled within hailing distance, the bold French sea-dog saw "_beaucoup de monde_"--a great crowd of people--upon the deck of the Englishman.

"My lads!" cried he, turning to his crew. "This _Triton_ is very strong. We are only nineteen. Shall we try to take her by surprise and thus acquire both gain and glory? Or, do you prefer to rot in a beastly English prison-ship?"

"Death or victory!" cried the Frenchmen.

Surcouf smiled.

"This ship shall either be our tomb, or the cradle of our glory," said he. "It is well!"

The crew and passengers of the _Triton_ saw only a pilot-brig approaching, as these did habitually (to within twenty or thirty feet) in order to transfer the pilot. Suddenly a few uttered exclamations of surprise and dismay. The French colors rose to the mast of the sorrowful-looking pilot-boat, and with a flash and a roar, a heavy dose of canister and grape ploughed into the unsuspecting persons upon the deck of the Indiaman. Many sought shelter from the hail of iron.

A moment more, and the brig was alongside. A crunching: a splitting of timber as the privateer struck and ground into the bulwarks of the _Triton_, and, with a wild yell--Surcouf leaped upon the deck of his adversary--followed by his eighteen men, with cutlass, dirks and pistols.

There was but little resistance. The Captain of the _Triton_ seized a sword and made a vain attempt to stem the onslaught of the boarders, but he was immediately cut down. The rest were driven below, and the hatches clapped tight above them. In five minutes the affair was over, with five killed and six wounded upon the side of the English: one killed and one wounded among the French. Surcouf had made a master stroke. The _Triton_ was his own.

The many prisoners were placed on board the _Diana_ and allowed to make their way to Calcutta, but the _Triton_ was triumphantly steered to the Mauritius, where Surcouf received a tremendous ovation.

"Hurrah for Robert Surcouf: the sea-hound from St. Malo!" shrieked the townsfolk.

"Your captures are all condemned," said the Governor of the island, a few days after his triumphant arrival. "For you sailed and fought not under a Letter of Marque, so you are a pirate and not a privateer. Those who go a-pirating must pay the piper. Your prizes belong to the Government of France, and its representative. I hereby seize them."

Surcouf was nonplussed.

"We will take this matter to France, itself," cried he. "And we shall see whether or no all my exertions shall go for nought."

So the case was referred to the French courts, where Robert appeared in person to plead his cause. And the verdict was:

"The captures of Captain Robert Surcouf of St. Malo are all declared 'good prize' and belong to him and the owners of his vessel."

So the wild man from St. Malo was very happy, and he and his owners pocketed a good, round sum of money. But he really was a pirate and not a privateer. _Tenez!_ He had the money, at any rate, so why should he care?

The remaining days of Robert's life were full of battle, and, just a little love, for he returned to his native town during the progress of the law-suit--in order to see his family and his friends, and there became engaged to Mlle. Marie Blaize, who was as good as she was pretty. But the sea sang a song which ran:

"For men must work and women must weep,
The home of a hero is on the deep."

which the stout sea-dog could not resist. So he left the charming demoiselle without being married, and 'tis said that she wept bitterly.

Now came his greatest exploit.

On October 7th, 1800, the hardy mariner--in command of the _Confiance_; a new vessel with one hundred and thirty souls aboard--was cruising off the Indian coast. He had a Letter of Marque this time, so all would go well with him if he took a prize. The opportunity soon came. A sail was sighted early that day, and Surcouf scanned her carefully through his glass.

"She's a rich prize," said he. "An Indiaman. All hands on deck. Make sail! Drinks all round for the men! Clear for action!"

He spoke this to himself, for he was aloft, and, climbing to the deck, ordered everybody aft to listen to a speech. When they had collected there, he said, with feeling:

"I suppose each one of you is more than equal to one Englishman? Very good--be armed and ready for boarding--and, as it is going to be hot work, I'll give you one hour for pillage. You can fight, and, behind me, you should be invincible! Strike, and strike hard; and you will be rich."

The _Kent_ had four hundred and thirty-seven souls aboard, says an old chronicler, for she had picked up a great part of the crew of the _Queen_: an East Indiaman which had been destroyed off the coast of Brazil. Her Captain's name was Rivington and he was a fellow of heroic courage.

As the _Confiance_ drew near, the crew of the Englishman gave her a fair broadside and pumped gun after gun into her hull. But the Frenchman held her fire, and bore in close, in order to grapple. Hoarse shouts sounded above the roar of the guns and the splitting of timber, as the two war-dogs closed for action. The crew of the _Kent_ were poorly armed and undisciplined: they had never fought together. With Surcouf it was far different. His sailors were veterans--they had boarded many a merchantman and privateer before--and, they were well used to this gallant pastime. Besides, each had a boarding-axe, a cutlass,--pistol and a dagger--to say nothing of a blunderbuss loaded with six bullets, pikes fifteen feet long, and enormous clubs--all of this with "drinks all round" and the promise of pillage. No wonder they could fight!

With a wild, ear-splitting whoop the wild men of the French privateer finally leaped over the rail--upon the deck of the Englishman--and there was fierce struggling for possession of her. At the head of his men, Rivington fought like a true Briton,--cutlass in hand, teeth clinched, eyes to the front. He was magnificent.

But what could one man do against many?

Back, back, the French forced the valiant lion, while his crew fell all about in tiers, and, at length, they drove him to the poop. He was bleeding from many a wound. He was fast sinking.

"Don't give up the ship!" he cried, casting his eye aloft at the red ensign of his country.

Then he fell upon his face, and the maddened followers of Surcouf swept over the decking like followers of Attila, the terrible Hun.

"Spare the women!" shouted the French Captain above the din--and roar of battle. "Pillage; but spare the women!"

It was well that he had spoken, for his cut-throats were wild with the heat of battle. In twenty minutes the _Kent_ was helpless; her crew were prisoners; and the saucy pennon of France fluttered where once had waved the proud ensign of Great Britain.

Surcouf was happy. Landing the English prisoners in an Arab vessel, he arrived at the Mauritius with his prize in November, and soon took his doughty _Confiance_ to the low shores of France, catching a Portuguese merchant en route, and anchoring at La Rochelle, on April 13th, 1801.

Rich, famous, respected; he now married the good Mlle. Marie Blaize, and became the owner of privateers and a respected citizen of the Fatherland. Fortune had favored this brave fellow.

As a prosperous ship-owner and ship-builder of his native village--"the Sea-Hound of St. Malo"--closed his adventurous life in the year 1827. And when he quietly passed away, the good housewives used to mutter:

"Look you! Here was a man who fought the English as well as they themselves could fight. He was a true son of William the Conqueror. Look you! This was a King of the Ocean!"

And the gulls wheeled over the grave of the doughty sea-warrior, shrieking,

"He-did-it! He-did-it! He-did-it!"

THE CRY FROM THE SHORE

Come down, ye greyhound mariners,
Unto the wasting shore!
The morning winds are up,--the Gods
Bid me to dream no more.
Come, tell me whither I must sail,
What peril there may be,
Before I take my life in hand
And venture out to sea!

_We may not tell thee where to sail,_
_Nor what the dangers are;_
_Each sailor soundeth for himself,_
_Each hath a separate star;_
_Each sailor soundeth for himself,_
_And on the awful sea,_
_What we have learned is ours alone;_
_We may not tell it thee._

Come back, O ghostly mariners,
Ye who have gone before!
I dread the dark, tempestuous tides;
I dread the farthest shore.
Tell me the secret of the waves;
Say what my fate shall be,--
Quick! for the mighty winds are up,
And will not wait for me.

_Hail and farewell, O voyager!_
_Thyself must read the waves;_
_What we have learned of sun and storm_
_Lies with us in our graves;_
_What we have learned of sun and storm_
_Is ours alone to know._
_The winds are blowing out to sea,_
_Take up thy life and go!_

LAFITTE

PRIVATEER, PIRATE, AND TERROR OF THE GULF OF MEXICO

(1780-1826)

"For it's fourteen men on a dead man's chest,
Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum."

--STEVENSON.

LAFITTE

PRIVATEER, PIRATE, AND TERROR OF THE GULF OF MEXICO

(1780-1826)

"He was the mildest mannered man,
That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat;
With such true breeding of a gentleman,
That you could ne'er discern his proper thought.
Pity he loved an adventurous life's variety,
He was _so_ great a loss to good society."

--_Old Ballad._--1810.

"Captain, we can't live much longer unless we have food. We've got enough to last us for two weeks' time, and then--if we do not get fresh provisions--we'll have to eat the sails."

The fellow who spoke was a rough-looking sea-dog, with a yellow face--parched and wrinkled by many years of exposure--a square figure; a red handkerchief tied about his black hair; a sash about his waist in which was stuck a brace of evil-barrelled pistols. He looked grimly at the big-boned man before him.

"Yes. You are right, as usual, Gascon. We've got to strike a foreign sail before the week is out, and capture her. And I, Lafitte, must turn from privateer to pirate. May my good mother at St. Malo have mercy on my soul."

And, so saying, he turned to pace restlessly upon the sloping deck of the two-hundred-ton barque which boiled along under a spread of bellying canvas, and was guided by the keen eye of this youthful mariner. He came from the same little town in France which sheltered the good mother of Du Guay-Trouin, the great French "blue." His name was Jean Lafitte.

This sea-rover had been born in 1781, and had taken to the ocean at the age of thirteen, when most boys are going to boarding-school. After several voyages in Europe, and to the coast of Africa, he was appointed mate of a French East Indiaman, bound to Madras in India. But things did not go any too well with the sturdy ship; a heavy gale struck her off the Cape of Good Hope; she sprung her mainmast, and--flopping along like a huge sea-turtle--staggered into the port of St. Thomas in the island of Mauritius, off the east coast of Africa.

"Here," said young Lafitte to his Captain, "is where I leave you, for you are a bully, a braggart, and a knave."

And, so saying, he cut for shore in the jolly-boat, but--if the truth must be known--Lafitte and the Captain were too much alike to get on together. They both wished to "be boss." Like magnets do not attract, but repel.

Luck was with the young deserter. Several privateers were being fitted out at the safe port of St. Thomas and he was appointed Captain of one of them. Letters of Marque were granted by the Governor of the Mauritius.

"Ah ha!" cried the youthful adventurer. "Now I can run things to suit myself. And I'll grow rich."

This he speedily succeeded in doing, for, in the course of his cruise, he robbed several vessels which came in his path, and, stopping at the Seychelles (Islands off the eastern coast of Africa), took on a load of slaves for the port of St. Thomas. Thus he had descended--not only to piracy--but also to slave catching; the lowest depths to which a seaman could come down.

When four days out from the curiously named islands, a cry went up from the watch,

"Sail ho! Off the port bow! A British frigate, by much that's good, and she's after us with all speed!"

To which bold Lafitte answered, "Then, we must run for it!" But he hoisted every bit of canvas which he had about and headed for the Bay of Bengal. "And," said he, "if she does not catch us and we get away, we'll take an English merchantman and burn her." Then he laughed satirically.

The British frigate plodded along after the lighter vessel of Lafitte's until the Equator was reached, and then she disappeared,--disgruntled at not being able to catch the saucy tartar. But the privateersman headed for the blue Bay of Bengal; there fell in with an English armed schooner with a numerous crew; and--although he only had two guns and twenty-six men aboard his own vessel--he tackled the sailors from the chilly isle like a terrier shaking a rat. There was a stiff little fight upon the shimmering waves of the Indian Ocean. When night descended the Britisher had struck and nineteen blood-stained ruffians from the privateer took possession of the battered hulk, singing a song which ran:

"For it's fourteen men on a dead man's chest,
Yo-Ho-Ho and a bottle of rum."

Lafitte was now feeling better; his men had been fed; he had good plunder; and he possessed two staunch, little craft.

"Let's bear away for India, my Hearties," cried he, "and we'll hit another Englishman and take her."

What he had said soon came to pass, for, when off the hazy, low-lying coast of Bengal, a rakish East Indiaman came lolling by, armed with twenty-six twelve-pounders and manned with one hundred and fifty men. A bright boarding upon her stern-posts flaunted the truly Eastern name: the _Pagoda_.

The dull-witted Britishers had no suspicions of the weak, Puritan-looking, little two-'undred tonner of Lafitte's, as she glided in close; luffed; and bobbed about, as a voice came:

"Sa-a-y! Want a pilot fer the Ganges?"

There was no reply for a while. Then a voice shrilled back,

"Come up on th' port quarter. That's just what we've been lookin' for."

The fat _Pagoda_ ploughed listlessly onward, as the unsuspicious-looking pilot plodded up on the port side; in fact, most of the crew were dozing comfortably under awnings on the deck, when a shot rang out. Another and another followed, and, with a wild, ear-splitting whoop, the followers of Lafitte clambered across the rail; dirks in their mouths; pistols in their right hands, and cutlasses in their left.

Now was a short and bloodless fight. Taken completely by surprise, the Englishmen threw up their hands and gave in only too willingly. With smiles of satisfaction upon their faces, the seamen of the bad man from St. Malo soon hauled two kegs of spirits upon the decks, and held high revel upon the clean boarding of the rich and valuable prize. The _Pagoda_ was re-christened _The Pride of St. Malo_, and soon went off privateering upon her own hook; while Lafitte headed back for St. Thomas: well-fed--even sleek with good living--and loaded down with the treasure which he had taken. "Ah-ha!" cried the black-haired navigator. "I am going to be King of the Indian waters."

Now came the most bloody and successful of his battles upon the broad highway of the gleaming, southern ocean.

Taking command of the _La Confidence_ of twenty-six guns and two hundred and fifty men, whom he found at the port of St. Thomas, he again headed for the coast of British India; keen in the expectation of striking a valuable prize. And his expectations were well fulfilled.

In October, 1807, the welcome cry of "Sail Ho!" sounded from the forward watch, when off the Sand Heads, and there upon the starboard bow was a spot of white, which proved to be a Queen's East Indiaman, with a crew of near four hundred. She carried forty guns.

There were double the number of cannon, there were double the number of men, but Lafitte cried out:

"I came out to fight and I'm going to do it, comrades! You see before you a vessel which is stronger than our own, but, with courage and nerve, we can beat her. I will run our own ship close to the enemy. You must lie down behind the protecting sides of our vessel until we touch the stranger. Then--when I give the signal to board--let each man seize a cutlass, a dirk, and two pistols, and strike down all that oppose him. We _must_ and _can_ win!"

These stirring words were greeted by a wild and hilarious cheer.

Now, running upon the port tack, the _La Confidence_ bore down upon the Britisher with the water boiling under her bows; while the stranger luffed, and prepared for action. Shrill cries sounded from her huge carcass as her guns were loaded and trained upon the on-coming foe, while her masts began to swarm with sharpshooters eager to pick off the ravenous sea-dogs from the Mauritius.

Suddenly a terrific roar sounded above the rattle of ropes and creak of hawsers--and a broadside cut into the _La Confidence_ with keen accuracy.

"Lie flat upon the deck," cried Lafitte, "and dodge the iron boys if you can see 'em."

His men obeyed, and, as the missiles pounded into the broad sides of their ship, the steersman ran her afoul of the Queen's East Indiaman. When he did so, many sailors swarmed into the rigging, and from the yards and tops threw bombs and grenades into the forecastle of the enemy, so that death and terror made the Britishers abandon the portion of their vessel near the mizzen-mast.

"Forty of the crew will now board," cried Lafitte. "And let every mother's son strike home!"

With pistols in their hands and daggers held between their teeth, the wild sea-rovers rollicked across the gunwales like a swarm of rats. Dancing up the deck of the Britisher they beat back all who opposed them, driving them below into the steerage. Shots rang out like spitting cats; dirks gleamed; and cutlasses did awful execution. But the Captain of the Indiaman was rallying his men about him on the poop, and, with a wild cheer, these precipitated themselves upon the victorious privateers.

"Board! Board!" cried Lafitte, at this propitious moment, and, cutlass in hand, he leaped from his own vessel upon the deck of the East Indiaman. His crew followed with a yelp of defiant hatred, and beat the Captain's party back again upon the poop, where they stood stolidly, cursing at the rough sea-riders from St. Thomas.

But Lafitte was a general not to be outdone by such a show of force. He ordered a gun to be loaded with grape-shot; had it pointed towards the place where the crowd was assembled; and cried--

"If you don't give in now, I'll exterminate all of you at one discharge of my piece."

It was the last blow. Seeing that it was useless to continue the unequal struggle, the British Captain held up his long cutlass, to which was bound a white handkerchief, and the great sea battle was over. Lafitte and his terrible crew had captured a boat of double the size of his own, and with twice his numbers.

Says an old chronicler of the period: "This exploit, hitherto unparalleled, resounded through India, and the name of Lafitte became the terror of English commerce in these latitudes. The British vessels now traversed the Indian Ocean under strong convoys, in order to beat off this harpy of South Africa."

"Egad," said Lafitte about this time, "these fellows are too smart for me. I'll have to look for other pickings. I'm off for France."

So he doubled the Cape of Good Hope, coasted up the Gulf of Guinea, and, in the Bight of Benin, took two valuable prizes loaded down with gold dust, ivory, and palm oil. With these he ran to St. Malo, where the people said:

"Tenez! Here is a brave fellow, but would you care to have his reputation, Monsieur?" And they shook their heads, shrugged their shoulders, and looked the other way when they saw him coming.

The privateersman, slaver, and pirate was not going to be long with them, however, for he soon fitted out a brigantine, mounted twenty guns on her, and with one hundred and fifty men, sailed for Guadaloupe, among the West Indies. He took several valuable prizes, but, during his absence upon a cruise, the island was captured by the British, so he started for a more congenial clime. He roved about for some months, to settle at last at Barrataria, near New Orleans, Louisiana. He was rich; he had amassed great quantities of booty; and he was a man of property. Lafitte, in fact, was a potentate.

"Now," said the privateer and pirate, "I will settle down and found a colony."

But can a man of action keep still?

It is true that Lafitte was not as bold and audacious as before, for he was now obliged to have dealings with merchants of the United States and the West Indies who frequently owed him large sums of money, and the cautious transactions necessary to found and to conduct a colony of pirates and smugglers in the very teeth of civilization, made the black-haired Frenchman cloak his real character under a veneer of supposed gentility. Hundreds of privateers, pirates, and smugglers gathered around the banner of this robber of the high seas.

But what is Barrataria?

Part of the coast of Louisiana is called by that name: that part lying between Bastien Bay on the east, and the mouth of the wide river, or bayou of La Fourche, on the west. Not far from the rolling, sun-baked Atlantic are the lakes of Barrataria, connecting with one another by several large bayous and a great number of branches. In one of these is the Island of Barrataria, while this sweet-sounding name is also given to a large basin which extends the entire length of the cypress swamps, from the Gulf of Mexico, to a point three miles above New Orleans. The waters from this lake slowly empty into the Gulf by two passages through the Bayou Barrataria, between which lies an island called Grand Terre: six miles in length, and three in breadth, running parallel with the coast. To the West of this is the great pass of Barrataria, where is about nine to ten feet of water: enough to float the ordinary pirate or privateersman's vessel. Within this pass--about two miles from the open sea--lies the only safe harbor upon the coast, and this is where the cut-throats, pirates, and smugglers gathered under Lafitte. They called themselves _Barratarians_, and they were a godless crew.

At a place called Grand Terre, the privateers would often make public sale of their cargoes and prizes by auction. And the most respectable inhabitants of the State were accustomed to journey there in order to purchase the goods which the _Barratarians_ had to offer. They would smile, and say,

"We are going to get some of the treasure of Captain Kidd."

But the Government of the United States did not take so kindly to the idea of a privateer and pirate colony within its borders. And--with malice aforethought--one Commodore Patterson was sent to disperse these marauders at Barrataria, who, confident of their strength and fighting ability, defiantly flaunted their flag in the faces of the officers of the Government. "We can lick the whole earth," chuckled the piratical followers of Lafitte.

Patterson was a good fighter. On June the eleventh he departed from New Orleans with seventy members of the 44th regiment of infantry. On the sixteenth he made for the Island of Barrataria, with some six gun-boats, a launch mounting one twelve pound carronade; the _Sea Horse_ (a tender carrying one six-pounder) and the schooner _Carolina_.

"We must fight, Boys," cried Lafitte to his ill-assorted mates. "Come, take to our schooners and show these officers that the followers of Lafitte can battle like Trojans."

A cheer greeted these noble sentiments.

"Lead on!" yelled his cut-throats. "Lead on and we'll sink these cocky soldiers as we've done to many an East Indiaman!"

So, about two o'clock in the afternoon, the privateers and pirates formed their vessels, ten in number (including their prizes) near the entrance of the harbor.

_Crash!_

A shell from the forward gun of the leading gun-boat spun across the bows of Lafitte's flagship and buried itself in the gray water with a dull sob.

Up went a huge white flag upon the foremost mast-head of the king pirate and these words could be plainly seen:

"Pardon for all Deserters."

"Ah, ha," chuckled Patterson. "The arch ruffian has heard that some of my men are ashore and this is the way he would hire them."

_Crash!_

Another shell ricochetted across the still surface of the harbor and sunk itself in the side of a piratical brig.

"Hello!" cried a Lieutenant, running up to the United States Commander. "They're giving up already. See! The beggars are hastening ashore in order to skip into the woods."

"I'm afraid so," answered the disappointed Commodore. "All my pains for nothing. The fellows are getting away."

Sure enough--afraid to remain and fight it out--the craven followers of Lafitte now turned their schooners to the shore--ran their bows into the sand, and, leaping overboard, made into the forest as fast as their legs could carry them. Thus--without firing a shot--the cowardly pirates of Barrataria "took to the bush."

"The enemy had mounted on their vessels, twenty pieces of cannon of different calibre," wrote Patterson, after this tame affair. "And, as I have since learnt, they had from eight hundred to one thousand men of all nations and colors. When I perceived the pirates forming their vessels into a line of battle I felt confident, from their fleet and very advantageous position, and their number of men, that they would have fought me. Their not doing so I regret; for had they, I should have been enabled more effectually to destroy or make prisoners of them and their leaders; but it is a subject of great satisfaction to me, to have effected the object of my enterprise, without the loss of a man. On the afternoon of the 23rd, I got under way with my whole squadron, in all seventeen vessels, but during the night one escaped and the next day I arrived at New Orleans with my entire command."

Thus ended the magnificent (?) attempt of the vainglorious Lafitte to stem the advance of the Government of the United States. In the parlance of the camp, "He was a fust-class quitter."

But he did not show himself to be a "quitter" in the battle of New Orleans.

The English and Americans, in fact, were soon at each other's throats in the ungentle game of war. At different times the British had sought to attack the pirates of Barrataria, in the hope of taking their prizes and armed vessels. On June 23rd, 1813, while two of Lafitte's privateers were lying to off of Cat Island, an English sloop-of-war came to anchor at the entrance of the pass, and sent out two boats in the endeavor to capture the rakish sea-robbers. But they were repulsed with severe and galling loss.

On the 2nd of September, 1814, an armed brig appeared on the coast, opposite the famous pass to the home of the rangers of the sea. She fired a gun at a smuggler, about to enter, and forced her to poke her nose into a sand-bar; she then jibed over and came to anchor at the entrance to the shallows.

"That vessel means business, sure," said one of the pirates to Lafitte. "She has spouted one gun, but now she's lyin' to. Better see what's up."

"You're right," answered the famous sea-rover. "We'll go off in a boat and look out for what's going to happen."

So, starting from the shore, he was soon on his way to the brig, from which a pinnace was lowered, in which could be seen two officers, one of whom had a flag of truce. The two boats rapidly neared each other.

"Where is Mr. Lafitte?" cried one of the Britishers, as the pinnace neared the shore. "I would speak with the Laird of Barrataria."

But Lafitte was not anxious to make himself known.

"He's ashore," said he. "But, if you have communications for him, these I can deliver."

"Pray, give him these packages, my good man," spoke the English tar, handing him a bundle of letters, tied up in tarpaulin.

Lafitte smiled.

"I would be delighted to do so," he replied. "But, pray come ashore and there I will return you your answer after I have seen the great Captain, who is camping about a league inland."

The Britishers readily assented, and both rowed towards the sandy beach, where a great number of pirates of Barrataria had collected.

As soon as the boats were in shallow water, Lafitte made himself known to the English, saying:

"Do not let my men know upon what business you come, for it will go ill with you. My followers know that war is now on between Great Britain and the United States, and, if they hear you are making overtures with me, they will wish to hang you."

It was as he had said. When the Englishmen landed, a great cry went up amongst the privateers, pirates and smugglers:

"Hang the spies! Kill the dirty dogs! To the yard-arm with the rascally Englishmen! Send the hounds to New Orleans and to jail!"

But Lafitte dissuaded the multitude from their intent and led the officers in safety to his dwelling, where he opened the package, finding a proclamation addressed to the inhabitants of Louisiana, by Col. Edward Nichalls--British commander of the land forces in this state--requesting them to come under the sheltering arm of the British Government. There were also two letters to himself, asking him to join and fight with the English.

"If you will but battle with us," said Captain Lockyer--one of the British officers--"we will give you command of a forty-four gun frigate, and will make you a Post Captain. You will also receive thirty thousand dollars,--payable at Pensacola."

Lafitte looked dubiously at him.

"I will give answer in a few days," he replied, with courtesy.

"You are a Frenchman," continued the British Captain. "You are not in the service of the United States, nor likely to be. Come--man--give us a reply at once."

Captain Lafitte was obdurate, for--strange as it may seem--he wished to inform the officers of the State Government of this project of the English. So he withdrew to his own hut.

As he did this, the pirates seized the British officers, dragged them to a cabin, and thrust them inside. A guard was stationed at the door, while cries went up from every quarter:

"To New Orleans with the scoundrels! A yard-arm for the butchers! A rope's end for the scurvy tars!"

Lafitte was furious when he learned of this, and, after haranguing the crowd, had the Britishers released.

"If you treat men under a flag of truce as prisoners," he cried, "you break one of the first rules of warfare. You will get the same treatment if you, yourselves, are captured, and you will lose the opportunity of discovering what are the projects of the British upon Louisiana."

His men saw the good sense of these words of advice, and acted accordingly.

Early the next morning the officers were escorted to their pinnace with many apologies from Lafitte, who now wrote a letter to Captain Lockyer, which shows him to have been a man of considerable cultivation, and not a mere "rough and tumble" pirate--without education or refinement. He said:

"BARRATARIA, 4th Sept., 1814.

"TO CAPTAIN LOCKYER,

"SIR:--The confusion which prevailed in our camp
yesterday and this morning, and of which you have a
complete knowledge, has prevented me from answering in a
precise manner to the object of your mission; nor even
at this moment can I give you all the satisfaction that
you desire. However, if you could grant me a fortnight,
I would be entirely at your disposal at the end of that
time.

"This delay is indispensable to enable me to put my
affairs in order. You may communicate with me by sending
a boat to the Eastern point of the pass, where I will be
found. You have inspired me with more confidence than
the Admiral--your superior officer--could have done,
himself. With you alone I wish to deal, and from you,
also, I will claim in due time, the reward of the
services which I may render you.

"Your very respectful servant,

"J. LAFITTE."

His object in writing this letter--you see--was, by appearing to accede to the proposals, to give time to communicate the affair to the officers of the State Government of Louisiana and to receive from them instructions how to act, under circumstances so critical and important to his own country: that is, the country of his adoption.

He, therefore, addressed the following epistle to the Governor of Louisiana. Do you think that you, yourself, could write as well as did this pirate?

"BARRATARIA, Sept. 4th, 1814.

"TO GOVERNOR CLAIBORNE:

"SIR:--In the firm persuasion that the choice made of
you to fill the office of first magistrate of this
State, was dictated by the esteem of your fellow
citizens, and was conferred on merit, I confidently
address you on an affair on which may depend the safety
of this country.

"I offer to you to restore to this State several
citizens, who perhaps, in your eyes, have lost that
sacred title. I offer you them, however, such as you
could wish to find them, ready to exert their utmost
efforts in the defence of the country.

"This point of Louisiana, which I occupy, is of great
importance in the present crisis. I tender my services
to defend it; and the only reward I ask is that a stop
be put to the proscription against me and my adherents,
by an act of oblivion, for all that has been done
heretofore.

"I am the stray sheep wishing to return to the fold.

"If you are thoroughly acquainted with the nature of my
offences, I should appear to you much less guilty, and
still worthy to discharge the duties of a good citizen.
I have never sailed under any flag but the republic of
Carthagena, and my vessels were perfectly regular in
that respect.

"If I could have brought my lawful prizes into the ports
of this State, I should not have employed illicit means
that have caused me to be proscribed (hounded by the
State authorities).

"I decline to say more upon this subject until I have
your Excellency's answer, which I am persuaded can be
dictated only by wisdom. Should your answer not be
favorable to my ardent desire, I declare to you that I
will instantly leave the country, to avoid the
imputation of having cooperated towards an invasion on
this point, which cannot fail to take place, and to rest
secure in the acquittal of my conscience.

"I have the honor to be,

"Your Excellency's Most Humble Servant,

"J. LAFITTE."

Now how is that for a swashbuckling privateer? Anyone would be proud of such a letter and it does honor to the judgment of this sand-spit king, giving clear evidence of a strange but sincere attachment to the American cause. Hurrah for the Frenchman!

This missive, in fact, made such an impression upon the Governor that he had an interview with Lafitte, who was ushered into his presence only to find General Andrew Jackson (Old Hickory) closeted with the chief executive.

"My dear sir," said the effusive Governor. "Your praiseworthy wishes shall be laid before the council of the State, and I will confer with my august friend, here present, upon this important affair, and send you an answer."

Bowing low, the courteous privateersman withdrew.

"Farewell," cried Old Hickory after his retreating form. "When we meet again I trust that it will be in the ranks of the American Army."

And in two days' time appeared the following proclamation:

"The Governor of Louisiana, informed that many individuals implicated in the offences hitherto committed against the United States at Barrataria, express a willingness at the present crisis to enroll themselves and march against the enemy.

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

When Lafitte saw these words, he fairly yelled with delight, and it is said that he jumped into the air, cracking his heels three times together before he struck the ground.

The orders were circulated among his followers and most of them readily embraced the pardon which they held out. Thus--in a few days--many brave men and skillful artillerists flocked to the red-white-and-blue standard of the United States. And when--a few months afterwards--Old Hickory and his men were crouched behind a line of cotton bales, awaiting the attack of a British army (heroes, in fact, of Sargossa), there, upon the left flank, was the sand-spit King and his evil crew. Lafitte's eyes were sparkling like an electric bulb, and the language of his followers does not bear repetition.

It was the morning of January eighth. The British were about to attack the American Army defending New Orleans, which--under the leadership of stout Andrew Jackson--now crouched behind the earthworks and cotton bales, some miles from the city. Rockets shot into the air with a sizzling snap. The roar of cannon shook the thin palmettos, and wild British cheers came from the lusty throats of the British veterans of Spain, as they advanced to the assault in close order--sixty men in front--with fascines and ladders for scaling the defences. Now a veritable storm of rockets hissed and sizzed into the American lines, while a light battery of artillery pom-pomed and growled upon the left flank. All was silence in the dun-colored embankments.