Renoux was silent for a moment, thinking. Finally, exhaling with exasperation, he spoke again. He didn't look at Hugh, though, but away from him.
"You know," he said quietly, "the world is filled with beasts, and man is one of them. We think because we can reason and build churches and schools and courtrooms that we are different, but we are not. In my life I have seen that the ones who sit in judgment are seldom different from those whom they would condemn." He looked up at Hugh. "The ocean is full of fishes and it is full of sharks. The strong eat the weak. That is the way it has always been and that is the way it will always be. The world of men is no different. The big fishes eat the little fishes. It is no accident that you and I both serve aboard this ship. We are more alike than you suppose."
The two men were silent again. Hugh drank the last of the brandy, placing the glass on the edge of Renoux's desk.
"I don't think so, Captain," he said.
Renoux glared at him.
"You really are a fool! Very well, then, go back to your work. If you decide that you want to do better for yourself, let me know!"
Chapter Eight
THE PIRATES were doing a booming trade. Two more ships fell before them. Hugh and Clint had now been pirates for nearly fifteen months.
Little by little, the grief had finally left him. Guilt still lingered and haunted him, but his temperament was on an even keel again. Still, Hugh Glass would never he quite the same man he was before the sinking of the Gallant. As long as he lived, he would never quite feel clean. Physically, he was as strong as ever. Never at sea for too long a time, the pirates lived well. They had no place they had to be, no schedules to keep, except for day to day maintenance that was required for keeping the Madalaine shipshape. Into this Hugh threw himself, knowing that the more he concentrated on his work, the less time he would have to give to those around him.
Clint had become quite popular with the pirates. Although he avoided taking part in their more unsavory practices, he had twice let himself get maneuvered into hare-knuckle boxing bouts in Campeche, fighting men from other ships. Clint won both bouts easily. Many of the men from the Madalaine made money off those fights, and if ever there was a community where money could buy friends, this was it.
Fifteen months. More than a year. An impossibly long time in an intolerable situation. Hugh still believed, as he always had, that as long as there was life, hope remained, but that hope grew dimmer and fainter and further away with every day that passed. As time went on, he became more than aware that his escape from piracy would come, most likely, from a pistol ball, or at the end of a sword, or with his neck in a hangman's noose.
Well, it's God's will, he thought. If there still was a God. Hugh wasn't sure just what he believed anymore, at least as far as religion was concerned.
***
It seemed that Campeche had been waiting for them. Something was in the air, and the excitement could be felt a mile off shore. Four ships lay in the channel between Galveston Island and the mainland. They were the Jupiter--Lafitte's own ship, the Success, the Tonnere, and the Ciel Blue. Hugh knew little enough about these ships. The master of the Success was a man named Gambio--Gamby, he was called. Gamby was rumored to be quite ruthless and ambitious, but that was all Hugh had heard.
As soon as they dropped anchor, preparations were made for Renoux and a party of six men to go ashore. Most of the rest of the crew would be allowed to go later, but first arrangements had to be made to off-load the cargo from the last ship they had scuttled.
Among those to go ashore in the first shore party were Clint and a young sailor named Willie Brandt. Brandt had grown up a pirate. Indeed, his father had been one of Lafitte's original Baratarians, from Grand Terre Isle in Barataria Bay, near New Orleans. Despite his origins, he and Clint had become good friends. He had a disarming way about him and made no bones about who or what he was.
"I be a pirate!" he told Clint. "I was born a pirate, an' I been a pirate me whole life. I takes me a pirate's liberties. A freer man never walked the earth or sailed the sea. When me time comes, let people say, "There was Willie Brandt. He lived an' died under the Jolly Roger, an' a happier man there never was!"
Clint couldn't help but like Willie. The two of them had been thrown together as watch-mates when Clint and Hugh had been separated. In a way it was a relief for Clint, after so many months with Hugh as his only friend. Where Hugh was older, Willie was around Clint's age. As Hugh was brooding, morose, and full of guilt, Willie was fun and full of devilishness. Willie reveled in being a pirate. In spite of the occasional violence (which he took as part of the job) he was essentially sweet natured, though he had been around enough to let no man tread on him.
The Madalaine dropped anchor about a half-mile out into the channel. The landing party rowed themselves ashore, pulling the boat high up on the beach, where they left it.
Taking two men to accompany him, Renoux set off for Maison Rouge--Lafitte's gaudy, crimson painted "palace". One man was left to stay with the boat. That left Clint, Willie, and another man, Camden, all free. Renoux told them to be back at the boat within two hours, and not to get too drunk. They immediately headed for Charlotte Travers' Bucket 0' Blood.
Campeche hadn't changed much. It was late in the day, and the smell of roasting meat mingled with the smoke from cooking fires, following the three men as they walked. Here and there a crude wooden shack had been built. Mostly, though, Campeche was still tents.
With five ships in port, Campeche was bustling. Excitement was everywhere. The slight dizziness that Clint felt from coming onto land after being so long at sea, seemed to add to it.
The Bucket 0' Blood was crowded with men--and women--that Clint had never seen before. Ordering three "flips", the men began to make their way around thc room. Men from every ship in the channel were there. Willie seemed to know all of them He stopped to talk to one of the few men that Clint knew, off the Ciel Blue, name Jacques Bouchard. Another man interrupted them.
"So I hear the Madalaine thinks she has a boxer!" the man said.
"Aye! That we do," Willie answered him. He glanced at Clint "A might good one.!
"Hah! Aboard the Success is a man named Simon Johnson. Now there is a man who can box!"
Willie winked at Clint.
"I've got four gold doubloons 'says our man can beat him!" Willie told the man.
And so it began. Clint watched the interest spread around the room. He watched with mixed feelings. Many men and women were betting on him. People he didn't know.
Many more, he noticed, were betting against him.
He knew nothing about the man they were setting him against. Simon Johnson might be a giant, or he might be a short, powerful man with arms like tree trunks. 11 would have been hard to say which he would prefer to go against. A giant would have the advantage of reach, but Clint had known short men who were just as powerful, maybe more so. Such men seemed almost impossible to hurt, while their own blows would put a mule to shame.
"You're not betting?"
Clint started at the question, then started again. The most incredibly beautiful woman was addressing him. She had big, soft brown eyes, dark hair--very long and curly, and a smile that absolutely dazzled him. Clint could only stare.
"You're not going to bet?" the woman repeated. She cocked her head to one side. Somehow, it made her even more beautiful.
"Um ...uh...no..." Clint stammered.
"Too bad," she told him. "I was hoping to make a bet with you. I hear Hastings is good. I hear he's very good!"
With a shrug, she turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Clint to wonder just what had happened to him.
A short while later, when they returned to meet Captain Renoux, Willie was all smiles. He had a good heat on. He had total confidence in Clint and had made many bets, all of which he expected to win.
Clint said little. The interchange with that extraordinary woman had been so brief, so fleeting. He had the feeling that he'd been presented with an in
credible opportunity, and had failed to act. What was it he had said to her? "Um...uh...no...?"
Good God.
***
When news of the boxing match reached Renoux, he immediately ordered Clint to remain on shore--and to remain sober. The captain of the Success was an old rival of Renoux's. Renoux was determined not to allow any advantage to him. Clint was to remain on shore and get his land legs.
"It is important that you win this fight," Renoux told him. "More than you know."
Willie Brandt was ordered to stay on shore with Clint, and to keep him out of trouble. The following day that order was rescinded and Hugh was given the job. Unconscious and reeking of rum, Willie was carried back to the Madalaine.
CHAPTER NINE
ESTELLE LEMIUX first met Jean Lafitte when she was thirteen. At fifteen, she secretly became the mistress of his number one captain, Dominic You. That relationship lasted for three years. At eighteen, she had gone back to Charlotte Travers, wiser in the ways of the world than most women, or men, ever get to be. Now, at twenty-two, she had a good deal of gold to go with that wisdom, but it would do her little good as long as she was stuck at Campeche.
One more favor, Charlotte had told her. One more favor, and then she would be given passage back to New Orleans. Estelle wondered if it could be true. Estelle needed it to be true.
Appraising herself in her buffet mirror, she thought of Charlotte. Charlotte had never been the beauty that Estelle was now, but when Estelle was eleven she had thought Charlotte to be the most beautiful woman in the world. Most of that beauty was gone now. There was a puffiness about Charlotte's features that told of the life she led, and a hardness had begun to creep into her looks that Estelle thought was less than attractive.
And it will be exactly the same for me, she thought, if I remain here.
She had to get back to civilization. If she could just get herself to a city again, Say, to St. Louis or even New York, she would have the means now to buy her way into society. Then, she had only to meet the right man and her future would be set.
Having grown up a whore to pirates, playing the part of the perfect, doting wife would be easy.
***
It was a nice change for both of them. Hugh, who had never seen Clint box, was actually looking forward to the event.
There was little enough for him to do. Clint knew far better than he how to prepare for the match, although with only three days to get ready, there wasn't much to be done except to rest. Too much exercise now would work against him. In the morning they ran on the beach, but only for a short distance, to get warmed up. Then the two men rigged a heavy canvas bag, filling it with sand and hanging it from the limb of a tree. On this Clint practiced his punches. When they learned that the time of the fight was moved from three days to five, both men were relieved.
By now the whole island had gotten involved. Betting was high on both sides, and it soon became evident that there was more to this even that either Clint or Hugh might have guessed.
For several years prior to receiving his own ship, Michele Renoux had sailed as first mate with Dominique You. You had been and would always be, Lafitte's favorite lieutenant. Shorter of stature than Lafitte, yet broad shouldered and strong, Dominique was incredibly good natured and loved to play practical jokes. His bravery, as well as his skill as an artillerist, were legendary. At the battle of New Orleans, Andrew Jackson said of Dominique's skill and daring, "If I were ordered to storm the gates of Hell, with Captain Dominique as my lieutenant, I would have no misgivings of the result!"
After that famous battle, with a full pardon, Dominique chose to retire and live a "respectable" life. Already well-liked by Lafitte, Michele Renoux was promoted to the rank of Captain, inheriting Dominique You's ship and crew.
He inherited an enemy as well.
Gambi--Captain Gambio--had been a rival of Dominique You since the day Dominique arrived at the island of Grand Terre in Barataria Bay. Indeed, Gambi had been in Barataria long before Jean and Pierre Lafitte were. When Jean Lafitte took control and organized the smuggling trade, Gambi went along, only because it meant better trafficking and more profits. Quarrelsome, easily the most treacherous and bloodthirsty of all Lafitte's captains, he was not disposed to taking orders from anyone. Once, he had tried to have Jean Lafitte killed, but that had ended with Jean killing the man who had been sent to do the job. Gambi remained a member of Lafitte's band because it offered the best way to dispose of the contraband he obtained, but he always resented Jean and anyone who was close to him. When Dominique was gone, Gambi passed that hatred on to Michele Renoux.
Gambi was the master of the Success.
That, then, was the reason that this fight was so important to Renoux. If Clint lost, it would mean a loss of face.
Personally, Hugh couldn't have cared less. He wanted Clint to win for no other reason than Clint Hastings was his friend.
***
It was early on the morning of the second day. Hugh was sitting on the beach, his feet ankle deep in the sand. For the first time in over a year, he felt good. There was a high fog, but it was warm and the air was still. He closed his eyes and listened to the waves break over the beach. In the distance, in town, someone was cooking bacon. The smell of it made him hungry.
He wiggled his toes, buried beneath the sand. It was good to be on land again.
I could live on land, he thought. I could leave the sea, and still be happy.
The thought startled him. In the twenty-six years he had been at sea, it had never occurred to Hugh to return to land.
Opening his eyes, he was startled again to see a woman walking past him. The woman was exceptionally beautiful and was dressed provocatively in a long, flimsy white dress that, Hugh thought, would be more appropriate for evening.
Trouble, he thought to himself. This woman is trouble.
He watched her walk down the beach. Beautiful women were not an uncommon sight in Campeche. Something about this one was different. In Campeche, women were slaves, either outright or almost, or they were wives and were kept on a very short leash. This woman was none of those. There was an air of independence about her that was out of place here. Hugh would have bet money that she belonged to no one.
He watched her disappear down the beach.
***
Clint was running hard along the beach. Naked to the waist and barefoot, he ran at the water's edge. Sweat poured from him. His breath came in great, rasping gulps. He felt clean.
He was surprised at the enjoyment he was getting from this--from all of it. The excitement, the buildup, the exercise, the preferential treatment-everything about the fight made him feel good. More than anything, though, it was the anticipation of the fight itself that excited him. Clint had never lost a fight, and the thought of losing really was not real for him. The idea existed for him, but only in an abstract way, like imagining some catastrophic event. Actually, Clint had been witness to a few catastrophic events, but he had still never lost a fight.
He stopped running and walked for awhile. Five days was not enough time to do any major physical conditioning, and if he pushed it too hard he was likely to do himself more harm than good. Better to take it easy and get lots of rest.
He wondered about his opponent. Simon Johnson was a free man of color who served under Gambi, who was said to be the most murderous of all Lafitte's captains. He was said to be tall, nearly a giant. And like Clint, Johnson had never lost a fight. Well, at the very least, the two of them should give the others a good show.
Far down the beach he could see someone walking in his direction. A woman. As she grew closer, Clint suddenly stopped walking.
It was the woman from the Bucket 0' Blood, the one who had spoken to him and then disappeared. If anything, she was even more beautiful than he remembered.
And here he was, about to meet her again, shirtless, covered with sweat and smelling like a horse. Clint looked at the water. He had an impulse to run and dive in, wash himself off, and them come
back to this same spot to wait for her. It was too late for that. The woman was too close.
He watched her approach. When she was ten feet away she greeted him. "Hello," she said. She stopped just before him and gave him a shy smile. "I'm Estelle."
"H-Hello," he stammered. "I'm Clint Hastings."
"I know who you are, Clint," she told him. Her voice had a throatiness to it that he liked, somehow. Looking out at the water, she said, "I was thinking of going for a swim. Would you like to join me, Clint?"
"Yes," he managed to answer. "I think that would do me good."
"Wonderful!" She turned from him and, without another word, began to strip, right there in front of him. In a moment she was wearing nothing but pantelettes, which came to just below her knees, and a corset. Then, smiling at him over her shoulder, she ran down the beach and into the water. Feeling suddenly intoxicated, Clint watched her go, then followed. In his mind he could hear Willie Brandt's voice: "I be a pirate. I was born a pirate an' I been a pirate me whole life. I takes me a pirate's liberties..."
As he entered the water, Clint made up his mind that he would have this woman today, right there, before they left the beach.
And he did.
***
The smell of frying bacon had been drifting down from town for quite some time, causing Hugh's stomach to growl at him. He decided that Clint had been off running long enough. It was time to collect him and go get some breakfast.
He started walking down the beach. About an eighth of a mile away, the woman in white was coming back toward him. Far beyond her, Hugh could see Clint sitting in the sand, looking out to sea and occasionally glancing at her as she moved away from him.
As she passed by Hugh she looked up at him and smiled. Her hair was wet. She was incredibly beautiful, even more so than he had first thought. Something about the way she smiled puzzled him. Like a canary, he thought, that just ate the cat.
Hugh Glass - Bruce Bradley Page 4