Savage Surrender

by Natasha Peters

  As we drew alongside of her the men tossed up ropes with heavy weighted hooks to catch the bulwarks, and we swarmed up the blackened expanse of her hull to the decks. I was the last from our skiff to board the ship, except for a giant Haitian named Francois, who I imagined Dominique had ordered to help me up the ropes and keep me out of trouble when we reached the deck. Francois picked me up as easily as if I had been a sack of grain and carried me aloft.

  The scene on deck was noisy and confusing. Men were fighting hand to hand and the air was thick with powder smoke. Francois clapped a huge hand on my shoulder and pushed me down behind an unmanned cannon before leaping into the fray. I crouched in my sheltered corner for a few moments, gazing numbly at the fight that was taking place under my very eyes. The stench of sweat and blood reached my nostrils, and I felt sick with fear as I watched men shouting and bleeding, and killing each other. Whatever I had imagined, I was wrong, terribly wrong. I had made a horrible mistake in thinking that I ever wanted to be part of something like this.

  A man fell at my feet. He was bleeding profusely from a stomach wound, but he still had his pistol clutched in his hand, and when he saw me a wild look came into his pain-filled eyes and he lifted the weapon and pointed it at my face. Terrified, I brought the edge of my blade down on his outstretched arm, and I scampered away from my hiding place, dropping my sword as I ran.

  I hardly knew which way to turn. My heart was pounding so rapidly that I felt it was about to fly out of my chest, and I thought the din in my ears would drive me mad. How in God's name did one fight? Did one slash and shoot wantonly until the enemy was decimated? Did one choose a likely-looking enemy and kill him while his back was turned, or did one wait and face him—like a gentleman? But these English sailors were not navy men; they wore no uniform, no hard, flat hats. I looked at a pair of combatants and for the life of me I couldn't tell which man was a pirate and which was a British sailor. Did one join a duel already in progress, and try to win the fight for one's own side? Was there a protocol to be observed?

  Or did one just stand like a moron, pistols in hand, and wait for an opportunity to kill a man?

  I heard a noise behind me and I whirled around. A huge sailor was bearing down on me with his dagger drawn. Instinctively I dropped to my knees and fired upward at him. I watched horrified as he clutched his chest and dropped heavily at my feet. I heard a roaring in my ears and wondered if I would be sick. I fought back the impulse to kneel beside the man and see if I had killed him or if there were still something I could do to save him. What a fool I was. As usual I had refused to listen to those who knew best. I followed my impulses without thinking—would I never learn?—and now I would have given anything to be off this ship and far, far away. What was a pirate after all, if not a robber who kills when he is cornered, when his own safety is at stake?

  More than anything I wanted to escape the sights and sounds of the battle on the Mary Rose. I used my knowledge of the Charleston Belle to find my way below deck. I followed a dank passage until I came to a door which I thought might lead to the main cabin. I stopped just long enough to reload my pistols, then I pushed at the latch and kicked open the door.

  The captain of the Mary Rose looked up from his desk and hastily closed the lid on a small chest. We faced each other for a moment, and then I cleared my throat and found my voice.

  "Excuse me, Captain, but we missed you upstairs," I said smoothly, as I imagined Lafitte night have spoken to the man. My voice sounded painfully high-pitched and girlish.

  A pistol materialized in his hand. As he fired I fell sideways, bringing up my own pistol as quickly as I could. I closed my eyes and fired. The door behind me was splintered by his ball, and when I opened my eyes I saw with astonishment that my shot had knocked his weapon from his hand. He stood holding his wounded hand to his chest, staggering toward me slowly.

  "By God, boy," he said thickly, "you'll bloody well hang for this, I'll see to that."

  I raised my other pistol and pointed it at his head. "And I promise you, Captain, that my next shot will take your head off," I said in a trembling voice. And I meant it. I was desperate, terrified of being killed. The knowledge that I would have killed him, swiftly and mindlessly, shook me more than anything that had happened thus far. I motioned him to stand against the wall while I searched the top of his desk. I found another loaded pistol hidden under some charts. I shoved it into my belt along with my spent pistol, and then I backed away from the desk and pressed my back against the wall to the right of the door. From that position I could watch not only him but the door as well.

  "You're a fool, boy," the Captain said. "You'll never get out of this alive. I'll see you hang!"

  I tried to shrug casually, and I swallowed deeply. "It's as good a way to die as any," I said with an easy conviction that I did not believe. "But hold your tongue. If your hand is paining you, it grieves me. Shall I send for the ship's doctor? You can suck on it if you like. Surely a little scratch like that doesn't hurt a big man like you."

  He cursed me freely. By crouching down I could hold one of my empty pistols between my knees as I reloaded it while I kept the other pistol aimed at him. In a moment I had two of my own loaded pistols in my fists, and the one I had stolen from him in my belt. I prayed for something to happen soon. Surely I could not intimidate him for long. With every word I must be giving myself away as a green, scared kid. When he recovered from the shock of his wound he would make a move and I would have to shoot. I didn't want to kill him. Something in his tired, red face reminded me of Uncle Theo.

  One of his men burst into the cabin. He took in the situation at a glance. Pointing one of my pistols at the intruder, I kept the other on the Captain and barked, "Order this man to drop his weapons to the floor. If he does not he will die. You will both die."

  The Captain jerked his head at the man, who reluctantly did as I told him. What the Devil would I do if a third man came in, I wondered. I had three guns, but one of them was unfamiliar, and it would be easy for them to overpower me once my shots were spent. I might be quick on my feet and possess a truly deadly aim, but I had no illusions about my strength.

  Then I had a thought. I ordered the sailor to kick his weapons over towards me, and I gathered them behind me. Finally I ordered the captain and his man to lie face down on the floor. Cursing sullenly, they complied. But the next sound I heard was Dominique's familiar roar in the passageway. I nearly fainted with relief. He and a pack of his men rushed into the cabin and halted abruptly when they saw me with my two captives.

  "Now you've done it!" cried Dominique gleefully. "Taken the ship single-handed. Captain, you and your men are about to take a little trip in Louisiana skiffs. I hope you enjoy it."

  The Captain glowered at me as they led him out. "You'll pay for this, boy. You'll pay, you filthy little ruffian."

  "Don't go insulting our prize pupil," said Dominique, winking at me.

  "Your prize pupil will hang for a thief before he reaches manhood," the Captain snapped.

  The pirates grinned and took the two men away. Dominique walked over to the desk and lifted the lid of the chest. His eyebrows shot up.

  "He was doing something with that when I came in," I told him, moving closer. "What's in it?" I peered over his shoulder.

  "Gold," said Dominique reverently. I saw the warm yellow glint of the coins he cradled in his hand. "Gold sovereigns. Enough to buy Louisiana back from the United States, if we wanted to. I'll be damned." He dropped the coins back into the box and closed the lid. Then he put his arm around my shoulder and said, "Well, Mademoiselle Pirate, how did you like your baptism by fire, eh?"

  Suddenly, the awesomeness of what I had done struck me, and I began to tremble violently. I dropped my head onto Dominique's massive shoulder and burst into tears. "Oh, it was horrible, dreadful! I have never been so frightened in all my life! Why, I think I killed a man, Dominique. Me! I—I can't believe it, even now."

  "What did you expect," he said roughly, "c
hampagne and rose petals? Come on, dry your eyes. Pirates don't cry. This adventure isn't even half over. We still have to get this tub to Grand Terre, and for all I know those frigates could be right on top of us."

  When we were under way I looked back at the Captain and his crew floating disconsolately in the little skiffs that had carried us out to her just a few minutes ago. Those minutes had seemed like hours to me. I would never forget them as long as I lived.

  As we neared the pass we heard a burst of cannon fire.

  "Come on, men!" Dominique shouted. "Get movin' up there and let's get this ship turned about. Move! There's time enough for yarns and drink when we get her through this blasted pass." The men ran to obey, and Dominique peered through the thinning mist with his glass. "Jesus, those two bloody frigates, comin' after us like they had wings on. By the sails of Satan, there's another one! A warship!"

  The pass was narrow, as Jean had said. As I looked over the side I could see land not ten feet away from the hull of the ship. I could have jumped to earth if I had wanted to. I saw the huge floating rafts of debris the men had constructed. The blunt prow of the Mary Rose nosed through them, pushing them gently aside. The men prayed that no spark would explode the powder charges hidden among the tangle of growth until we were well on our way down Bayou Laforce. Two sailors jumped into the water and helped push the rafts aside, watching closely for alligators. Then they swam after us and clambered up the ropes again.

  Just as we were almost through the narrowest part of the pass, I felt a crunch and the Mary Rose lurched and came to a halt. I was terrified. We could see the frigates now out on the river heading our way Just out of cannon fire range. Quickly all the men swarmed into the water. We had only touched lightly, and soon they had dug her loose and pried her free, and we were on the way again.

  The frigates were already beginning to fire at us by the time Dominique judged we were far enough away from the treacherous rafts. He himself stood behind the gun at the stern of the ship and fired. His first shot fell short of the rafts, and he swore vehemently while the men reloaded the cannon and he took aim again. Just as he was ready to fire, a ball from one of His Majesty's frigates landed right on one of the rafts. After an agonizing moment, it exploded, sending a shower of mud and branches into the air. Sparks from the explosion caught the dry grasses and twigs on the other rafts, and three more resounding explosions filled our ears.

  The men cheered wildly. We were now heading into deeper waters, and a brisk wind caught our sails and sent us speeding towards Barataria.

  "Well," said Dominique with a satisfied grin, "if we haven't changed the course of the river, at least we've bought ourselves a few hours of time."

  I smiled thankfully, found a corner sheltered from the harsh sun that had burned off most of the morning's mist, and went to sleep.

  With the heavy tail winds, we reached Grand Terre before nightfall. The men unloaded the cargo as quickly as possible, then took the ship out into the gulf, set fire to her, and sent her to the bottom. Her old timbers blazed for twenty minutes before they were swallowed up by the waters. By morning there was not a trace of the ship called the Mary Rose.

  We did no real celebrating that night. Instead, we prepared ourselves to repulse an attack. Dominique knew that the British would retaliate. They had to; the whole scheme had been so audaciously planned and so cleverly executed, and it had humiliated them badly. They would see Jean Lafitte's fine hand behind it all, and they would, as Jean had foreseen, come down on us hard. Dominique warned that the Americans might even join the British in a effort to wipe us out. Governor Claiborne was eager for a chance to destroy the Lafitte empire.

  The attack came two days later, at dawn. As soon as Dominique's lookout spotted the first sail on the horizon he sounded the alarm bell and the men rushed to their battle stations. The mansion and warehouses were set far back enough from the shore on the gulf side of the island that enemy fire would not penetrate unless their ships were well within striking distance of our own guns.

  Dominique manned his big gun on one of the fortifications on the southernmost tip of the island, and when two British warships and two frigates began to fire on the island he was ready to respond at once. He did better than he had with the rafts. His very first shot struck its mark, and one of the warships caught fire and had to retire from the fight. For every twenty shots of theirs that missed their target, one of Dominique's inflicted some damage on their ships.

  Then Pierre and a crew manned one of our own warships and prepared to give chase. In a matter of a few hours we had routed the enemy and put them to flight. Dominique told me later that it would take many more ships and men to raze Grand Terre than the British had available at that time.

  At least no American ships had joined the raid. Relations between the two countries were so tense that when the British lost a ship in American waters, the Americans would not readily leap to their defense. Feelings were running high against the British in most American ports in those days anyway, for the British industrial machine, being older and more sophisticated, could turn out goods and sell them in the United States at prices American manufacturers could not better.

  We lost a handful of men and one warehouse in the attack. Although the island was not in real danger, most of the women and children fled to a remote part on the north side for safety, but when the warehouse burst into flames and the men were too occupied to help put out the fire, some of the women returned to carry the buckets of water. I liked my second taste of battle no better than my first. The thunder of cannon fire, the smoke, the flames, and now the added hysterical screams of some of the women and the slaves trapped in their pens made me sick and distraught. I had no desire to fire a cannon, but I helped Lily behind our line of guns, carrying drinking water and food to the gunners, taking messages from Dominique to the others, and nursing the wounded.

  At the end of the day my face was black from soot and smoke and streaked with sweat. Every muscle ached, and I could have cried with exhaustion. I dragged myself to the house and soaked for an hour in Jean's great tub. Just as Dominique had said, I swore to myself that I was through with pirates and swords and guns. Would I change my mind again? Surely I was too revolted by the last few days to want to experience such violence ever again.

  Jean returned from New Orleans a week after the battle at Grand Terre. At twilight someone saw his pirogue coming towards the island through Barataria Bay, and by the time he landed, four hundred men with torches were waiting to greet him. They set up a loud cheer as he stepped ashore, then crowded around him, clamoring for news.

  As I stood at the back of the crowd watching him, my heart turned over. I had forgotten how handsome he was, how graceful, how free. I wondered momentarily if the outlaw was the only member of society who is really free. He might lose that freedom at any moment, perhaps pay for it with his life, but perhaps the risk was worth it. Jean Lafitte was his own man, doing what he wanted in spite of the consequences, and I loved him for it. I did not regret my association with him, nor the course I had chosen. Somehow, ironically, my journey to America on a slave ship had been my journey to freedom.

  Lafitte waved his hat at his men. "Well, mes amis," he said warmly, barely containing his excitement, "I am delighted to find you in fine spirits. Have you perhaps enjoyed some recent success that I have not heard about?" They roared approvingly. "You must let me tell you about the strange stories that came to my ears in New Orleans, friends. 'Tis rumored that an English merchant ship was plucked from under the very noses of two well-armed frigates and a warship." Cheers. "The crew is said to have taken an unprecedented opportunity to enjoy a lovely touring excursion in some bayou skiffs. No one can say that the Baratarians are not hospitable."

  The men danced and cheered, bragging about our victory over the British retaliation and describing the rich spoils from the Mary Rose.

  Jean lifted his voice. "A moment, just a moment, my friends. In the most interesting tale I heard, the British captain w
as captured and held at bay by a fierce young lad with flashing dark eyes, the merest stripling, whose voice had not even matured." There was much laughter at that. I hung back in the shadows. I knew Jean would be furious, but I had not expected him to chastise and embarrass me publicly. He went on. "The Captain, apparently, was not the only victim of this young Hercules. He is said to have slaughtered as many as eighteen British sailors, and the Captain himself has set a price on the lad's head. Twenty pounds, hard money, if he is brought in alive."

  The men whistled and stamped and shouted merrily. I cringed and stayed well away from them. Oh, it was humiliating, this display of his. If he wanted to scold me for what I had done, why didn't he do it privately? God knows it had been a shocking and gruesome experience, but at least I had come through it alive. Did he have to set them laughing at me? Couldn't he leave me even a shred of pride?

  Lafitte's face grew more serious. "Now, this offer of twenty pounds is not one to be taken lightly. And while I was visiting the parish jailhouse for a few days, due to a misunderstanding with the Governor, I gave a great deal of thought to the identity of this youth. I have to agree with the Captain that such a bloodthirsty youth should not be allowed to live among civilized men, but for the life of me I don't know who he was. I can only conclude that he was sent by the gods to aid our cause, and there we must let the matter rest."

  I couldn't listen to another word. I fled to the house, my cheeks flaming. He had every right to be furious. I had acted impulsively, meddled in his business without consulting him. I might have endangered the whole mission. I might have been captured and tortured, and forced against my will to tell everything I knew about Jean and his contacts. He must hate me; he would ask me to leave Grand Terre. Perhaps I should leave before he asked, but the thought nearly broke my heart.