Savage Surrender

by Natasha Peters

  Jean's men doted on me and spoiled me shamelessly. I learned to like their rough bawdy talk, and when they told their tales of life on the sea and exotic ports and thrilling battles I clung desperately to every word. My thirst for excitement was becoming almost unbearable. I almost felt that I was one of the men, and when they said that they couldn't imagine Grand Terre without me, I felt that I had earned the right to fight with them.

  Jean, too, seemed to enjoy my company. He went to New Orleans less frequently, and often he sent Pierre to do business in his place. Occasionally he entertained businessmen and other guests from town. I presided over his table as hostess, charming one and all with my manners and wit, before withdrawing discreetly after the meal and leaving them to their business discussions. Most evenings, however, Jean and I dined alone. He didn't mix freely with his men, although he knew them all by name and knew the names of their women and children as well. His position, he felt, required him to live apart. He had built his fabulous mansion not only as a luxurious and elegant refuge for the objects of art and refinement that he enjoyed, but also as a symbol of power and leadership to his men. They needed to stand in awe of him if they were to obey him, and the magnificent temple built of ill-gotten wealth reinforced his image. Even in his absence it stood to remind them of his absolute leadership.

  In spite of Jean's unfailingly reserved manner, he did not lack a sense of humor, and during the many hours we spent together we cemented a wonderful platonic friendship. I sensed that I filled a void in his life. He had his women, I was sure, to satisfy his physical needs, and a wealth of other friends. But my natural taste and intelligence coupled with my education and a cultural exposure that rose far above even the most cultivated New Orleanians, satisfied a need in Jean Lafitte that seemed stronger than his physical ones. We talked about everything: art, beauty, philosophy, religion, medicine, even women in history and the life of a courtesan.

  But we never discussed my being a pirate. I never even broached the subject, for I knew he would laugh at me. Fencing in a ballroom with a friend was one thing, but pitting one's strength to the death against seasoned fighting men was entirely different. He would never permit it, never. And because I knew he would never give in, I avoided the subject and told myself that I would find my own way in my own time, without his knowledge or permission.

  One night Jean called a meeting of what he called his War Council, which included Pierre and Dominique, Réné Beluche, Cut Nose Chighizola and Vincent Gambie. They did not dine with us, but Jean excused himself immediately after dinner and went to the library, where they were waiting. I waited until everyone was closeted inside, then I tiptoed out to the veranda and crouched near the open French window. I could hear Jean telling them about a British merchant ship, the Mary Rose, which was expected to dock at Kingston, Jamaica, in a few days' time en route to New Orleans. I knew my hour had come.

  "Relations with England are getting tense," Jean was saying. "If those idiots in Washington declare war that will put an end to merchant shipping for a long time."

  "There will always be Spanish ships," Gambie put in.

  "War with Britain means seas bristling with warships and frigates, and blockades at all the major ports. One of America's quarrels with England is free sea lanes and the right to control her own shipping. England will be more than happy to assert her strength in that respect and starve us all out."

  "So we must go after the Mary Rose," said Pierre, "as a kind of farewell gesture."

  Jean said, "We are going to capture the Mary Rose, make no mistake about that, but it won't be easy. I have received word that she is heavily armed with up to twenty thirty-pounders, and perhaps more."

  "A goddamn shooting gallery," grumbled Chighizola.

  "And as if that wasn't enough," Jean went on, "she'll be escorted from Kingston to New Orleans by two of His Majesty's fine frigates, also heavily armed. It would seem that someone is afraid of someone else, would it not? Anyway, they've given us a pleasant little problem. Armed like that the Mary Rose is almost untouchable."

  "Why don't we tackle her before she reaches Kingston?" Dominique suggested.

  "And miss out on all that sugar and molasses and indigo?"

  "They'll slaughter us," said Gambie grimly.

  "Well, perhaps not—if we descend on them after they've started up the Mississippi to New Orleans," said Jean. I could hear the crackle of parchment as he unrolled his map of the Delta region.

  "Get them on the river? That's damned crazy, Jean! The Governor will come down on you so hard—why, for a tenth of the provocation, he'd blow this island clear to Haiti!" As usual, Pierre believed in Jean's schemes only after they were carried out.

  Jean spoke somewhat like a wounded innocent. "Come down on me? But I shall have nothing to do with this operation. In fact, I shall be in New Orleans, attending William Claiborne's very own Inaugural Ball. Everyone will see me there, and I shall be nauseatingly conspicuous the entire week. Yes, I shall bring Governor Claiborne the greetings and congratulations of the Baratarians in person."

  "Oh, God, let's hear this crazy plan."

  "Look here," said Jean. I heard a bumping of chairs as they crowded around the map. "The Mary Rose and her two bodyguards will have clear sailing after they enter the mouth of the Mississippi until they get to this point here. Now we arrange a little diversion—shots from the trees to occupy the Mary Rose, and one or two swift boats to act as gadflies and draw off the two frigates. Now we approach our target in skiffs."

  "Skiffs!" cried Cut Nose. "Who ever heard of boarding a ship from skiffs?"

  "Nobody, I trust, Cut Nose. The attack surprises them, of course, and even supposing they man their guns while we're swarming up the sides, they'll still—"

  "They'll fire right over our heads!" shouted Dominique excitedly.

  "Exactly. Now, once the escort is distracted and we board the Mary Rose, we take her upriver about a mile and a half to where the Mississippi joins Bayou Laforce."

  "Bayou Laforce! But it's all silted up, Jean."

  "It's too shallow."

  "There's no channel, and besides, it's too narrow. And it's blocked up with trees."

  "We'll clear the trees—temporarily. And there is a channel, isn't there, Dominique? We took one of the ships up there last week. It's narrow, just barely wide enough for our purposes, but there's a current and the channel is sufficiently deep. We can send a squad to clear the pass ahead of time, and camouflage it with some rafts covered with weeds and moss. So we can take the Mary Rose up-river, squeeze through the pass, and then double back towards the gulf and voilà, up to Grand Terre."

  "But what's to stop those frigates from giving chase down Bayou Laforce?" Gambie demanded. "The Mary Rose is an old tub, and with all those guns and cargo, too—why, we'll never get away from them."

  "The pass is narrow," said Jean patiently, "and as I said, we are only going to clear her temporarily. The banks on either side are full of old logs, stumps, and debris, all very precariously placed. A strong powder charge would dislodge everything and close the pass again, certainly long enough for us to get safely back to Grand Terre."

  "We can load our camouflage rafts with the powder charges," Dominique said excitedly, "and then fire at them once we get through—"

  "It will never work," said Cut Nose.

  "Oh, I think it will work," said Jean softly. "Of course, if you don't want a share of this, Chighizola, just say so. We'll need all the men we can get, but we can do without you if you're not interested."

  "Don't get excited, Jean," said Cut Nose hastily. "But there won't be anybody left to get shares if we're all blown up."

  "You leave that to me," said Dominique. "Powder's my department."

  "Cut Nose," said Jean quietly, "and you, too, Vincent, listen well. This is going to be a reasonably bloodless operation. When Dominique takes command of the Mary Rose he will set her captain and crew adrift on the Mississippi on the same skiffs we use to board her. The authorities are g
oing to come down on us hard after this one, and we don't need charges of unnecessary murder added to our other sins."

  When the meeting broke up and the men were leaving, I waylaid Dominique. "Listen," I hissed, "you've got to take me with you."

  "Are you crazy, wench? Jean will have my skin. He'll peel it off and fly it from the topmast of the Tigre, and—"

  "Oh, be quiet and listen, Dominique," I said. "You know as well as I do that this is the chance I've been waiting for. Don't you understand, I want to be one of you, really one of you. I've got to do it. And part of it's for him, for Jean. I want to do something no other woman has done so that he'll be proud of me. Please, Dominique."

  "He'll flay you alive," growled Dominique. "A battle's no place for a women, you crazy wench. You've got to stay here, where it's safe."

  "I'm sick of being safe," I said. "And Jean won't have to know until it's all over. If I get killed I have only myself to blame, right? I'm ready, Dominique. You know I am. After all these months of learning to fight, I've got to do it for real. Just thinking about danger makes me feel more alive."

  He shook his head. "It's not right. It's not right for a girl to feel that way about killing."

  "I'm not a girl anymore, Dominique. I'm a woman and I know what I want. It's right, I know it is. You'll see."

  I wished him good night and went into the library. Jean was rolling up his maps.

  "Did you have a nice meeting, Jean?"

  He looked at me quizzically. "Yes, the meeting was satisfactory; our plans are progressing as smoothly as could be hoped. It's a shame that a mind like mine had to turn to crime, don't you think, Elise? I could have been—President!"

  I laughed. "It's not too late. If you keep getting richer you can buy the Presidency."

  "I can think of better ways to spend my money," he said. "Tell me, how would you like to accompany me to the Governor's ball?"

  I looked at my shoes and said slowly, "Oh, Jean, it's so sweet of you to ask me. But I don't think I'm ready to meet people yet. I'd rather not, if you don't mind."

  He frowned. "No, I don't mind, Elise, but I do think it's time you came out of your shell. Barataria is no place for a girl like you. You need lights and music and intimate girlfriends and cultured suitors, people who will pet and admire you. You need things to bring out the best of your womanhood. If you continue running like a tomboy with this pack of ruffians, you may forget you're a woman at all."

  I said meekly, "I'm sorry, Jean."

  "You're not sorry at all," he grumbled. "I shouldn't be surprised if you do it just to torment me."

  "Oh, how can you say that? You have no idea how I feel about anything. All you care about is yourself and how elegant and perfect you are." Lafitte turned a shade paler, and I was overcome with remorse at this outburst. "I'm sorry, Jean. I promise, I'll go to New Orleans with you anytime you want, but not this time, all right?"

  He had already recovered his composure. "Elise, I think the heat of the Louisiana sun has curdled your brains. You would have a wonderful time in New Orleans society. It's sure to be great fun. But you can do as you please of course."

  "Well, there will be more fun another time. Good night, Jean."

  "Good night, Elise," he said thoughtfully.

  A week later Jean went to New Orleans, after dispatching parties of men to clear the pass and conceal it again. I dogged Dominique with a grim determination, hounding him until he finally agreed to let me go along with Pierre on either the Tigre or the Polidor, the two ships that were to draw the frigates away from the Mary Rose. I wanted to go with the boarding party on the skiffs, but he refused to hear of it. We argued about it for days, and finally I pretended to give in. I promised to stay with the Tigre, which was dangerous enough.

  Jean's spies brought word that the Mary Rose and her escort were only a few days away from the mouth of the river. Preparations intensified, and I felt my excitement mounting. I practiced constantly with my sword and my pistols. I felt ready—ready for anything.

  At last the time was right. When the Mary Rose entered the mouth of the Mississippi, we had men staked out to watch her, and they reported on every mile of her progress towards New Orleans. Grand Terre hummed with activity. The grand scale of Jean Lafitte's scheme required the services of every available man. But no women. Dominique was in charge of the raiding parties, and Pierre and Vincent Gambie were to lead the diversionary maneuvers of the Tigre and the Polidor respectively. Dominique and I finally persuaded Pierre to take me along on the Tigre. But at the very last moment I told Pierre with a frightened look on my face that I wasn't feeling too well and had changed my mind and could not accompany him after all. He was greatly relieved.

  Instead I surreptitiously joined Dominique's band of raiders. He didn't notice me among the groups of men who pushed off in a half dozen skiffs. I wore boy's dress and hid my short billowing curls under a bandana. The men in my skiff thought it was a great joke, and they didn't breathe a word of my presence to Dominique.

  We traveled for two days to reach the river. I sat in the bottom of my skiff like some privileged Cleopatra while my mates took turns poling us through the dense swamps. I breathed in the heavy, pungent smell of the bayous and gazed at the canopy of browns and grays over my head as we glided over the still brackish waters under ancient cypress trees festooned with Spanish moss.

  On the evening of the first day we camped on a small island in the heart of the bayou. Dominique passed among the men while we were eating fresh fish and roasted fowl, washed down with wine from flasks the men had brought. When he saw me crouched in front of a campfire calmly dissecting a broiled fish the jokes died on his lips and he gaped. His face reddened and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

  "You! You! Hell's fire, you crazy, schemin' wench, I—I oughta flay you alive!" He sputtered and choked and fumed. "As if I hadn't already put my head in the noose by making Pierre take you on. He chewed me up one side and down the other for letting you get away with that much!"

  "Oh, I fixed it with Pierre," I said, spitting out a fish bone. "I told him I changed my mind. I think he was actually glad about it, Dominique. My feelings were hurt."

  "I'll bet they were," Dominique growled.

  "Don't worry, Dominique," I said reassuringly. "I'll behave myself. I'll just board the Mary Rose with the rest of you and stay out of trouble until the ship is ours."

  "Out of trouble! What do you think this is, girl, some kind of scuffle in an alley behind a tavern? You can't stay out of trouble on a ship, you're in it, there's no other place to be. I've got a notion to gag you and tie you to a tree right here until we come back. Might teach you some sense. Damn women! Damn all meddlesome females!"

  The other men were watching this exchange with great amusement. "Oh, come on, Dominique," one of them said. "Elise will bring us luck!"

  "It's not luck we need," he retorted, "but cool heads and keen eyes."

  "I do have a cool head and keen eyes," I insisted. "And I dare you to prove otherwise."

  We glared at each other until I broke the tension with a little laugh. "Poor Dominique, you trained me, after all. Don't you have any faith in yourself as a teacher?"

  "By the good God, you're a hellion, wench," he said, shaking his head. "What are you bastards laughing at? Get yourselves to sleep. We have a long way to go tomorrow."

  I watched him stalk off to his own campfire and I sighed heavily. I had won another skirmish, and now I was set for the big battle that lay ahead. All I had to do was keep my head and concentrate, I told myself. The rest would take care of itself. But already I could feel the fear in my stomach, and I wondered if I shouldn't have gone to New Orleans with Jean.

  We traveled all the next day and camped on the west bank of the Mississippi that night. On the morning of the attack we awoke to find the river shrouded in heavy fog. Dominique was jubilant, for if the Mary Rose arrived before the fog lifted we could almost certainly approach it unseen. Our forces split up and regrouped on both sides
of the river, south of the Bayou Laforce pass, to await the arrival of our prey. Dominique grumbled constantly about having to wet-nurse an infant pirate, but he kept me close to his side. He cursed when the darkness lifted and the sun threatened to burn off the fog.

  I was shivering, with dampness or with fear I was not sure. "I don't know what's the matter with me," I told Dominique. "I feel like I'm on fire some of the time, or else I can barely keep my teeth from chattering. I'm about ready to explode, I'm so tense."

  "It's the danger," he said. "It's like a drug, makes you hot and cold at the same time. You can start slow, but you get so you need more and more, and then you have to live like that all the time. Too many men like that, not happy unless they're about to get killed. It's terrible. No way to live."

  "Jean's not like that, is he?"

  "Oh, he is. We all are. And now you're gettin' it, too. It's a craziness, that love of danger. You go through it and wonder how you ever got out of it alive, and you swear to yourself never again. But after a while the old itch comes back, like a scratchin' in the bowels. And off you go again." He grunted. "Jean is going to murder you for disobeying him."

  "Disobeying! He never told me I couldn't be a pirate. He never even mentioned it."

  "And neither did you, eh, wench?"

  I stifled a laugh.

  Then we heard it through the fog, the unmistakable creak and groan of a ship under sail, the thud of billowing sails, the scattered voices from her decks that came to us in snatches over the water. We heard the crackle of gunfire, and an answering burst of cannon fire. As the Mary Rose drew abreast of us Dominique gave a signal and we pushed our skiffs off from shore and glided noiselessly towards her with our weapons ready. Not a man of us didn't give hearty thanks for the mist that shrouded us. Apparently the volley of shots aroused some excitement on the big ship, for sounds of frenzied running and shouting reached our ears.