The Pyrate

by Michael Aye

  “Rooster, you talk like you’re scared.”

  “Not scared, Captain, too old to be scared. More like cautious, I’d say.”

  “I’d agree,” Taylor said, “now carry your cautious arse to the galley and fetch something for those girls to eat.”

  ***

  On shore, several of Raven’s crew were greeted by friends and past shipmates. Kegs of rum had been breached and more than one was well into his cups. Several of the sailors had teamed up with scantily clad women. The women were of various races, and while some of them looked mighty young, others looked old and well worn. A few of them were obviously of mixed race. One such vixen was hanging on to a big, black, fierce-looking fellow.

  Seeing Cooper, she squealed, “Look, Caesar, if he ain’t the devil, he’s the imp’s son.”

  Caesar turned, and seeing Cooper said, “That scar is enough to scare you but stay next to Caesar. I’ll watch out for you.”

  The girl took a step away from her companion. “I don’t know, the more I look the more I want to look. Damned if he doesn’t set me to breathing hard.”

  Popping the girl on the rump with his hand, Caesar cursed, “Maybe he is the devil. He done cast a spell on that ’un.”

  Spurlock and Diamond watched as the pretty little mulatto girl boldly walked up to Cooper and gave him a kiss. After the kiss, she took Cooper’s hand and led him toward a row of huts.

  “He’s got a way with women,” Spurlock commented.

  “Aye,” Diamond agreed, but his eyes were not on Cooper. “I ain’t so sure Black Caesar’s real happy about it.”

  “Well, if we have to we can make him happy,” Spurlock replied. “We’ll keep our wits about us just in case we are needed.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  He ain’t no proper pirate, no ways,” Rooster said, “not like Captain Taylor and Captain Youx.” He was trying to explain the difference between a real pirate and Black Caesar. “He ain’t even got a ship, just a bunch of boats. What they do is hide out among the Keys and when a likely prey comes along, nothing big mind you, they row out, jam a wedge into the rudder so it don’t work and the ship can’t be steered. They then cast out ropes with grappling hooks and use these to board the ship. Each of the buggars are heavily armed with several pistols, daggers, cutlasses, and such. If the captain or the crew puts up a fight, everybody gets dead for their troubles. Not civil like Captain Taylor, they ain’t. Course, he’s a gentleman. You saw that when he took your ship.”

  “What does he do with the ships?” Cooper asked.

  “Some he sells to the Dons, others he just sinks. He ain’t much of a deep water sailor. If he can’t see land he’s in trouble.”

  “What about prisoners?” Cooper inquired.

  “Some, like the girls, he’ll take to Haiti; that’s where he’s from. He was part of the slave riots not too long ago. Anyway, he’s got a few hellish contacts there so he can sell them outright to, and if they got rich families they ransom the girls off. Most of them though is sold, I expect.”

  “White girls?” Cooper asked, astonished at what he was hearing.

  “Color and race don’t make no never mind. If they’re pretty or rich, that’s all that counts. Of course, some gets used like a bunch of those back there on Marco Island. But you be careful around Black Caesar, Coop. I heard you took his woman. He ain’t likely to forget. He’s like a cottonmouth they have in the swamps about New Orleans. He’s black, mean, and don’t usually give you any warning before he strikes. You just get dead.”

  “Cooper!”

  Turning, Cooper saw he was being called by his friend, David MacArthur. Captain Taylor had shortened his friend’s handle to just Mac and everyone fell in line. But Cooper found it hard to think of his friend as anything other than David.

  David had a sextant in his hand. He’d been teaching Cooper the art of navigation. Once he was able to master the math, which had taken weeks, the rest seemed to be coming along a bit easier. It was time for the noontime sights. The Raven had been cruising along under easy sail. Topsails were reefed. Dominique Youx’s Tigre was off to larboard, and the three prizes sailed along behind Raven. They were two days out of Marco Island, well into the Gulf of Mexico. It was a hot and cloudless noon time. The deep blue of the sky overhead seemed to blend in with the blue sea. Grand Terre was where they were headed…to Barataria, the base of Jean LaFitte. Dominique Youx was one of LaFitte’s captains.

  Spurlock, Diamond, and several others including old Rooster couldn’t keep the excitement out of their voice when talking about Barataria.

  “LaFitte’s got a grand setup there. There is always a market for our plunder and good prices too. Might even sell the ships there,” Captain Taylor said.

  LaFitte and the captain had known each other for years, and while Taylor was not one of his captains, he provided a ready market for Taylor’s goods. LaFitte’s only rule, no American ships were to be attacked. Break that rule and he’d see you hanged. Of course, he was a businessman so ten percent of all sales were given to him. This, though, was far better than the twenty-five percent or more that others charged. In 1805, the United States Congress put an end to the slave trade. This did not mean it had ended, Captain Taylor said, it just made it illegal. The Congress passed an embargo act that would forbid trade with foreign countries. By smuggling in slaves and goods from the British, Spanish, and French, a huge profit could be made. Captain Taylor was part owner in a fleet of merchant ships and owned a hotel in New Orleans. One in which LaFitte was treated as royalty and it never cost him a cent. After all, he was the King of Barataria.

  ***

  The sun was sinking low and Raven’s crew had gathered forward. One seaman was playing a mouth harp, another seaman had a small accordion. Men sang sea shanties, told jokes and seemed a happy lot.

  “It’s the same,” Mac said, “be it on a man-o’-war, merchant ship, or…a pirate ship. Off duty sailors find pleasure where they can.”

  Cooper had noticed his friend had trouble calling the Raven what it was, a pirate ship. Sighing, Cooper could tell that even though David had made the jump, he still hadn’t resigned himself to being a pirate. Seeing Otis, Cooper called over to him. When the former servant walked over, Cooper asked, “Did you enjoy your night on Marco Island?”

  “Oh yes,” Otis replied, his English as refined as any lord or lady.

  “Well, tell us about it,” Cooper said, wanting to hear of Otis’ first evening as a man with no constraints upon him.

  “Well, sir,” Otis started, still using the etiquette that had been instilled in him since childhood. “I found the woman to be extremely open and sexually forward. I was most amazed that they enjoyed my manner of speech and politeness. In truth, I was amazed when I had not one but three of the ladies ready to check my manly prowess, at one time, mind you. I hope that I proved worthy of their attentions and was able to satisfy their curiosity.” Otis paused and pulled a fist full of cigars from a pocket. “Would you, gentlemen, care for a cigar? I smoked one on the island and found it to be of the utmost quality. It burns even, has somewhat of a sweet taste at first, and then turns into almost a spice like flavor with very little after taste. I’m told they were taken from a Spanish ship sailing from Havana.”

  After lighting up, Otis continued his narrative. “After our tryst, I was engaged by first one then another of the ere…ladies discussing the possibility of a long term arrangement. Two, in fact, said they had no problem if I chose both of them, that way I could choose one or the other depending upon my mood and should I desire a ménage à trios, it was also available. That’s when I realized these women were not really the sexually free spirits I initially took them to be. No, their sexual openness is nothing other than a means of survival using the only weapon at their disposal…their looks, bodies, and sexuality. I took time to look at our surroundings. Most of the women offering up themselves were young. Some, I’d not hasten to bet, were as young as the sisters on board this ship. The older women, some not
very old at all but looked tired and used up were manning the fires, cooking food and serving drinks. They all had a forlorn look on their face. It was a look of hopelessness if you will. Skin color, language, or race, it was all the same; the lot of them full of misery, just trying to survive.”

  “You seem to have a good grasp of the situation, Otis.”

  The three men turned to see Captain Taylor had approached. He obviously had been there some time to make the comment he had. “Tell me, Otis,” the captain said, “did you have the opportunity to talk with Black Caesar?”

  “I would hardly call it an enlightening conversation, sir, but yes we spoke.”

  “What did you think of the man?”

  Otis took a long draw on his cigar, causing the end to light up and glow in the fading light. After gathering his thoughts, Otis spoke, “I found him to be a brave man, full of raw courage, and certainly he has leadership skills to a point. You can see that by the men who follow him. But it ends there. He is extremely short-sighted and has no desire to rise from the squalor and depravity in which he exists. A man who has led and survived a slave revolt could surely do something more to enhance the plight of others of his race. Yet he raids ships, some with slaves and what does he do? For the most part he sells them into the same institution he escaped from. Captain Youx bought a hundred from him at five hundred dollars apiece. It seems he is more interested in providing himself with pleasures of the flesh than anything else. When I asked what he thought the future held, he said death. Death in battle or the hangman’s knot. Until then he intended to live life to the fullest. He then called me an uppity nigger and said I’d be better off as a slave, as I had no stomach to live life as a free man.”

  Captain Taylor, Cooper, and Mac all were silent. They had felt the passion in Otis as he spoke. Cooper knew Otis would fight for his life and those of his shipmates. However, he’d never be the killer that Black Caesar was.

  It was Captain Taylor who broke the silence. “In a way, Caesar was right, Otis. Not in the mean, vulgar way he phrased it, but the point is you are not cut out to be a pirate. You’re not a slave either. You are more educated than most people I know. Your speech is better than mine and is as good as Coop’s. You are not a pirate either. Not for a moment would I doubt your bravery, mind you. But, if you intend to stay at sea, you’d be better off as a captain’s servant or maybe even his secretary. You could make a good living in a hotel or counting house. Those are just a few choices. You need to think on it.”

  The captain had started to walk off then turned and came back to the trio. “New Orleans is a different town than any of you have ever seen. There are hundreds of free men of color in the city, none though that equals your level of education. Being a free man opens you up to challenges. I don’t mean opportunities, I mean duels. Black Caesar called you uppity. There’s more that will feel the same way. Men that use the duel as a sport, and men who are deadly with a pistol or blade. A slight, real or made up, intended or not, could very well end in a short life for you, my friend.”

  Otis started to speak but Taylor stopped him. “You might survive the first duel only to discover a long line of friends to challenge you for beating the first man. That goes for all of you. I can give Otis a paper saying he’s my slave. That will protect him. No man of integrity would bother another man’s property. It would be beneath him to fight a slave. In that way, Otis is lucky. Cooper, Mac, you’re both targets. Your accent alone may be enough. Always identify yourself as free men or brethren of the coast. If any of LaFitte’s men are around they will at least keep it fair. Fair meaning one on one, more than that…I cannot help. I took you off your ship to offer you a freedom. You can choose to be a part of my crew. If so, you will be asked to sign the ship’s articles. This cannot be revoked but by death. Should you choose to make a life for yourself, New Orleans is the place to do it. You, Cooper, saved my life, I owe you. Should you choose to stay in New Orleans, I will give you one thousand dollars. More than enough to get you started as long as you don’t piss it away in some gambler’s den or bordello. We will be in New Orleans three, maybe four weeks. I will show you the city so you can get a better feel for what you are choosing between. I’m going below. We will be in Barataria tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The cry of “land ho” created an excitement throughout the crew. Even old Rooster seemed to gain a little pep in his lame step.

  “We’ve an hour more before you can see land from the deck,” Captain Taylor said smiling. He, too, was ready to reach land and after making sure all was attended to, he could have a few weeks of downtime. First, however, the cargoes had to be unloaded and sold or placed on consignment with LaFitte. This included the hundred or more slaves divided among the prize ships. The girls had to be taken to a safe place until the ransom was collected. There were also the ships themselves that had to be sold. Good merchant ships that would bring in a good price, even putting them up at bargain prices. He needed to see his lawyer, and then there was Debbie. They had been apart too long. She had said when he’d set sail this last time that he didn’t need to take the risk any longer; unlike some of his fellow brethren of the coast captains. He had invested wisely in legitimate businesses and, in fact, was now a wealthy man. Still, he did feel that he’d found the right person to take over the Raven.

  He had several good men, good seamen, but not men who could think and act quickly and decisively if the situation called for it. Maybe that had changed. David MacArthur had proved himself a fine seaman and capable leader. But it was Cooper Cain, who had acted quickly and decisively when action was called for. Not even his most loyal hands had reacted. No, he walked his quarterdeck today because of Coop.

  “Captain.”

  “Aye, Rooster, what can I do for you today?”

  “The noon meal, Captain, will we eat as usual or delay it?”

  “Feed the sisters, Rooster. If opportunity presents itself, I will come down.”

  “Should we allow the girls on deck to see this new land, Cap’n?”

  The girls had been allowed on deck everyday at noon and just before lights out. They had always been in the presence of the captain and no one else, including their previous fellow passengers, Coop and Mac. Taylor did not want them on deck once they entered port, but he could see no harm in their seeing the land.

  “When land can be seen from the deck you can bring them up, Rooster. However, once we enter Barataria Bay, shoo the girls back into my cabin.”

  “Aye, Cap’n, no one the wiser of our lustful little ladies.”

  ***

  Three ships were anchored in the harbour at Barataria. All of them were three-masted vessels and looked as if they were ready to weigh anchor.

  “Those belong to three of LaFitte’s captains,” Rooster informed Cooper. “The biggest one there belongs to Vincent Gambi. He’s a hard man, gives LaFitte the most problems. The others belong to Nez Coupé and Renato Beluche. None are what I’d call good Christian men, but Gambi is the devil himself. I hope they are leaving port. Better for us that way.”

  The anchor was dropped in the bay not far from those already anchored. By doing this, Captain Taylor was allowing Domimique Youx the preferred anchorage closer to the dock. A boat was put over the side for Taylor to go ashore. Lee Turner, the quartermaster, was in charge of the ship while the captain was away. He would ensure the ship was taken care of before any hands were allowed ashore. They’d drink, gamble, and carouse with the women on Grand Terre, or Barataria as LaFitte called his stronghold, tonight.

  Tomorrow, the work of unloading the cargo would begin. Captain Taylor called to Cooper and Mac to accompany him ashore. As they approached the dock a smaller ship, a schooner, was tied up. Several boats, the likes of which, neither Cooper nor Mac had ever seen, were also tied up to the docks. Some were larger than others and one even had a small mast for a sail. But they all looked like hollowed out trees.

  “Those are called pirogues,” Taylor volunteered. “They are the m
ain form of travel hereabouts. It’s sixty miles from here to New Orleans. We’ll be going there in a few days. To get there you follow a path of canals through the swamps. The route is too shallow to go by anything much larger. The only other routes are through the gulf or up the Mississippi River. Even then, there’s treacherous sandbars. We could make it over the sandbars in the Raven if we crossed at high tide. Anything larger would be in trouble.”

  Gliding up to the dock, Mac stuck out his hand and grabbed a post, effectively stopping the boat. He nimbly vaulted up on the dock and tied the boat off. Taylor and Cooper climbed out and walked down the dock toward the shore. Cooper was not sure what he was expecting but this was not it.

  Barataria was a thriving, bustling community. It was nothing like the scattered huts at Marco Island. From the dock, fortifications were visible. They looked to be twenty to thirty feet high, with the black, menacing snouts of cannons sticking out. However, they were small compared to the big guns at the entrance to the harbour.

  Leaving the dock, Captain Taylor took a direct route to Jean LaFitte, the Boss’s house. To get there, the men passed through a business district that included a hotel, brothel, and stores for food, clothing, and a ship’s chandler.

  “That’s a gambling den,” Taylor said. “If you value your money and your life, stay out of it.”

  They passed a couple of taverns and a café along the way. Before they got to LaFitte’s house, they passed an area of warehouses, one right after another.

  “What’s that?” Mac asked, pointing to a house-like structure, but with a fence around it and armed guards walking the perimeter.

  “That’s called the slave barracoon. It’s where slaves are kept until they are sold.”

  “I’m not sure I hold with slaves,” Mac said.

  “Well, I don’t own any myself,” Taylor remarked, “but the economy here is built on slave labor. Even free blacks own them.”

  “Damn,” Mac snorted.