The Pyrate

by Michael Aye

  It was nothing more than the mechanism for a pistol but when you pulled the trigger it lit small shavings in the box and you had a fire.

  “Have you marketed that?” Cooper asked.

  “No, folks all over New Orleans got them. Gun maker on Charles Street makes them all the time.”

  The jug was passed around to the men and a tray with glasses and a bottle of sherry was brought out for Cindy and the girls.

  “How old are you?” Cindy asked Linda.

  “Seventeen,” Linda replied meekly.

  “Liar,” Lucy hissed. “You’re sixteen.”

  “Well,” Cindy said. “You may have one small glass but no more.”

  “Thank you, madam,” Linda replied. She wrinkled her nose and bobbed her head at her sister.

  Gus started plucking the strings on the guitar, only pausing to take a pull on the jug before passing it on. Cooper had never seen white men drink after or from the same container as a black man. However, neither Taylor nor his men seemed to mind so he didn’t hesitate when the jug came back to him. Besides, once you got a taste you couldn’t refuse another. Gus started playing a song. He had a good baritone voice.

  The night suddenly reached a height of pleasure for Cooper. Sophia moved out of her rocker and sat on the steps between him and Gus, joining in the singing. Love songs, tearful ballads, up-tempo sassy little songs, one after another. At one point, Sophia rested her hand on the step as she leaned back. Her hand touched Cooper’s and caused his heart to pound. Feeling his hand, Sophia turned her head and smiled. Cooper felt like he was floating on air.

  All too soon, Gus yawned and put the guitar down. “It’s time to turn in,” Cindy said smiling as she noticed Linda curled up in the rocking chair snoozing away.

  Shocking Cooper, Sophia asked, “Might Lucy and I walk down to the dock and back? I’m sure Cooper and Mr. MacArthur would be glad to escort us.”

  A hint of a smile came to Cindy’s face. “I’m sure they would. Alright, to the dock and back. If you’re not back in fifteen minutes I’ll send Gus after you.”

  “It might take a tad more time, should we see anything interesting,” Sophia said.

  Taking an exaggerated breath, Cindy appeared to give in, “Thirty minutes, but if you’re not back then Gus will come with his shotgun.” Her statement made Gus smile.

  He knew it was an empty threat. Miz Cindy likely had thirty minutes on her mind all the time. They would be back on time though, Gus was sure. If not, it’d be Cindy going to get them as he was ready for bed. The bourbon had made him very drowsy; in thirty minutes he’d be dead to the world.

  ***

  The trip to New Orleans took three days. Taylor had filled three pirogues with his chests of specie but took six of the boats. Two men in each of the other pirogues were guards, armed to the teeth. They had left Grand Terre at seven a.m. on the morning after returning from Grand Isle. Cooper had never wanted to stay in one place so bad in all his life.

  Once away from the house, he had boldly taken Sophia’s hand in his. She had not resisted and had even leaned in closer to him, at one point laying her head on his shoulder as they stood on the dock looking at the moon’s reflection on the water.

  Cooper whispered how beautiful she was and how she made his heart race. Sophia put her finger to his lip to hush him. “Enjoy the moment, my Cherie.” The sound of crickets and bullfrogs croaking could be heard.

  “How old are you?” Cooper asked.

  “Does it matter?” Sophia responded.

  “No, not to me, I just turned eighteen,” Cooper replied. “But I want to live till I’m eighty and have you with me every day.”

  As they parted in the hall back at Cindy’s house, he said, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Sophia did not answer but stood on her tiptoes and kissed Cooper a quick kiss on the lips and then hurried off. He laid awake most of the night, finally drifting off to sleep in the wee hours of the morning. Sophia did not come to breakfast. Cooper finally asked Cindy where she was. “She is not feeling well and wishes not to be disturbed.”

  As they left, Captain Taylor gave Cindy a small purse. At the dock, a hurt and dejected Cooper asked, “You pay Mrs. Veigh?”

  “No, she will not take any money, Coop. She has more than enough. The money is an allowance for the girls while they are with her.”

  “She lives well,” Cooper said.

  “She can, she is a rich woman. We recently became partners in a legitimate shipping business. I’m about ready to leave the sea. I’ve just been waiting for the right person to turn the Raven over too.”

  Suddenly, a thought came to Cooper. Calling Taylor by his first name, he asked, “You think I’m that man, Eli?”

  “You could be, son, you could be.”

  ***

  As they neared New Orleans, Mac pointed out the river was higher than the land. This required a dike to keep the plantations from flooding. Tying up to the wharf, two free blacks earning a living with a mule and wagon were whistled up. One of the men recognized Taylor.

  “Morning, Cap’n. You headed to the bank?”

  Flipping a twenty dollar gold piece out, Taylor said, “We sure are.”

  The Bank of New Orleans was a big three story building on Saint Phillip Street. It had wrought iron balconies with the bank’s sign hanging from the center in front. Turning into the alley, the guards circled the wagon front and back.

  “Come with me, Coop,” Taylor ordered.

  Once in the bank, Taylor, who was now well dressed, was pleasantly greeted by a clerk, who quickly volunteered, “I’ll see if Mr. Latrobe is in,” knowing good and well that he was. Thomas Henry Latrobe did not make them wait. He ushered his guests into his office and over his shoulder ordered refreshments.

  After the men were in Latrobe’s private office, Taylor came right to the point. “I have roughly one hundred and fifty thousand in gold and silver coin in the alley. Perhaps you could send out some guards to relieve my men.” Latrobe didn’t blink an eye when the amount was mentioned, but Cooper found it hard to swallow.

  “While your clerks are confirming the sum,” Taylor continued, “I’d like to open an account for my young friend here with the sum of ten thousand dollars.” The hefty sum mentioned made Cooper feel faint. When the banker stepped out to set things in motion, Taylor whispered, “Only a thousand is yours, except in an emergency. You then can have a loan payable back with ten percent interest. In this town money talks, a thousand dollar account will get you a clerk. Ten thousand and my introduction will see you established. Don’t abuse it.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Outside the bank, Taylor gave Cooper and Mac one hundred dollars each. “An advancement,” he said. “Go see the sites of the city but stay out of trouble. I will have your chest sent over to the hotel. Be there at seven p.m., Hotel Provincial, Charles Street. It’s only two blocks from Bourbon Street.”

  Once the captain had gone beyond hearing, Mac said, “In a hurry to see his woman, I’d say and doesn’t want us in the way for the reunion.”

  What had he done to cause Sophia not to come down and see him off, Cooper wondered. As the friends walked the streets of New Orleans, they were constantly pointing out things to each other. However, Cooper couldn’t get Sophia from his mind.

  “I’ve never seen the equal,” Mac said, “not even in London, certainly not in Portsmouth or Plymouth.”

  Everywhere people were coming and going. Women of all races, some dressed very elegantly, while others were dressed to show off their wares…and what wares they had. The women carried themselves proudly, French, Spanish, German, and white. There was also the mixture of race, Creoles, Mulatto, Quadroons, and Octoroons.

  Rooster had given Cooper and Mac a quick lesson in these lovely ladies one night after departing Marco Island. Free women of color often became the mistress of a white man; they were not considered whores. They were usually put up in a nice residence and if the man was not married, he would live there with
her. The woman and any children were usually taken care of for life. The woman’s children were of lighter skin than the mother and with each successive generation the skin turned almost white, hair frequently straight, but they maintained some of the African facial features to make them very exotic.

  “Whatever their race,” Mac said, “they are beautiful wenches.”

  A cacophony of languages was also heard, French, Spanish, and a bastard version of both. Of all the different tongues spoken, American English seemed to be the least.

  Saloons, gambling houses and brothels all seemed to be doing a thriving business, as were the normal shops, hoteliers, gun shops, sword shops, and women’s boutiques. Dandified men all dressed in top hats, and lace shirts, elegant women in expensive gowns all crowded the streets with slaves ducking around them on some errand or another. Open carriages for the upper class who were too dignified to walk. Yes, New Orleans, the Crescent City, was a delightfully sinful and strange, but wonderful city.

  After the two had aimlessly strolled the city they began to get hungry. “It’s after two p.m.,” Mac said. “No wonder my stomach is growling.”

  “Aye, but I don’t want anything to spicy,” Cooper answered. “Look over there, a grocery store with the picture of a sandwich in the window.”

  The man who waited on them spoke in broken English. “He’s a Sicilian,” Mac volunteered. He’d sailed off the coast of Sicily and talked with several fishermen. “His name is Mr. Boscoli and he says the sandwich in the window is called a muffuletta. The bread is cut and stuffed with salami, ham, cheese, chopped olives, and with olive oil added.”

  “I don’t care what it is, I’m starving,” Cooper said. Taking a bag with the sandwiches and grabbing some bottled beer the men walked a block down the street and sat on a park bench under some huge oak trees. The air was a little nippy in the shade. A large church could be seen at the end of the park.

  “Do you know what day it is?” Cooper asked.

  “Damned if I do, Coop. Do we need to find out? Is it important?”

  “Not really, this is four days since we left Cindy’s house and instead of fading with time, Sophia seems to be more on my mind.”

  “We’ll take another trip over to the island,” Mac said. “Captain says we’ll be here a couple more weeks yet.”

  “Thanks, David, you really are a good friend, you know,” Cooper said.

  “Well, I am but that’s not all of it. I’d kind of like to see Lucy again.”

  Smiling, Cooper nudged his friend, “I didn’t know the wind blew that way.”

  Mac said, “I’m not sure it does, but she sure seemed nice the other night. Nice enough that I want to go back and see.”

  ***

  The Hotel Provincial was unlike the many hotels the friends had passed on their tour of the city in that it was a low-rise hotel that was somewhat a secluded affair. It was tucked under a group of giant old oak trees, and was about two blocks from what Cooper had decided was the most decadent street he’d ever walked down…Bourbon Street.

  “Damn,” Mac had sworn, “mutton everywhere I look.”

  Unlike the outward display on Bourbon Street, the Hotel Provincial seemed more of a romantic and intimate place. It was one of the more desirable hotels for newlyweds or well-to-do lovers. Not like the rowdy crowd they had seen at Hotel de la Marine. Walking inside the light was dim with only candle chandeliers to provide one light enough to see where they were going, but not so many candles burning to make it hot. Jalousie windows were cracked open, which allowed a cool breeze to flow through.

  A woman sitting at a small desk saw them enter and rose from her seat. Offering her hand, she said, “Monsieurs Cain and MacArthur.”

  Bowing from the waist, Cooper lightly touched the palm side of the lady’s fingers and kissed the air just above her hand. “Oui, madame.”

  When the woman turned to Mac, he mimicked Cooper but did speak. “Cooper said you have us at a disadvantage, my lady.”

  Pleased with the manners she’d not come to expect dealing with the captain’s usual guests, she replied, “Renee, Mademoiselle Renee.”

  “It is our pleasure, mademoiselle,” Cooper replied.

  “The captain and Madame Russell await you. If you would please follow me,” she said.

  Deborah Russell was a soft-spoken lady from Georgia with the slightest of accent. Once the captain had made the introductions, Debbie, as she insisted on being called, took Cooper’s hand and led the way into a small parlor. It was decorated by a woman but had an overstuffed brown leather chair that was for the captain. Beside the chair, a table stood with a rack of pipes, a tin of pipe tobacco, and a box that looked the right size for cigars. Behind the table was a decorative lantern that could be lit when the captain wanted to read. A man was pouring glasses full of a reddish liquid from a large bowl.

  Seeing his gaze, Debbie said, “Rum punch, Mr. Cain.”

  Cooper smiled, “It’s Cooper, Debbie, or as most of my friends call me, Coop.”

  When everyone had a cup of the tasty but heady punch, Debbie recommended stepping out into the courtyard. “It’s cool, there’s usually a fair breeze and if you want one of Eli’s smelly cigars, I don’t mind…out here. I can tolerate the pipe inside but if it’s a cigar, the courtyard is the place. Its mint leaves, then, if he wants a kiss.” This caused a chuckle from the men.

  As they sat down, not surprisingly, cigars were furnished, Gus’ cigars. After the men lit up, Debbie sat in a wrought iron loveseat next to her man. “Cooper, I want to thank you for saving my man. I told him he’s getting too old for this nonsense.”

  “Not long now, dear,” Taylor whispered.

  “Humph, you old sea dog. Next time it could be a blade or a storm,” Debbie said.

  “Or a jealous lover,” the captain interrupted.

  “Aye,” she said, with a wink.

  ***

  A note from Pierre LaFitte asked Captain Eli Taylor to please come to his blacksmith shop on Saint Phillips Street as soon as convenient. There was no clue as to the reason for such an urgent request. However, recognizing the handwriting, Taylor rounded up his guests and the trio made their way to the blacksmith shop.

  Pierre was sitting on a bench smoking a corncob pipe when Taylor, Cooper, and Mac showed up. Rising to shake the group’s hands, Pierre led the way to the back of the shop. Sitting on a barrel was the biggest man Cooper had ever seen.

  “Gentlemen,” Pierre said, “this is Quang. He is a good man and a good fighter, too good a fighter. He was hired to load a flatboat with cotton bales. He can carry a bale by himself. While carrying a bale, the foreman cursed Quang for a heathen Chinaman and told him to move along faster. That would have been alright had he not emphasized his words with the crack of a whip.” This caused Cooper to wince and touch the side of his face. “Aye, brings back memories does it not?” Pierre asked, seeing Cooper’s movement. “Then you can understand how it was and why Quang threw…aye, threw the cotton bale he was toting at the foreman, crushing his chest and killing the sod. Now the law is out for our poor friend. You are the only captain in the city right now, so I naturally called on you, my friend. He will make an excellent crewman.”

  “Aye,” Taylor said. “I will take him. We will be here another ten days…two weeks. If you will put him up until then I will pick him up on our trip to Barataria.”

  “Just send a note when you are ready to leave, my friend. He will be ready,” Pierre said.

  Feeling a kinship with the huge Chinaman, Cooper found himself coming by the shop daily. Before he knew it, Quang became Cooper’s fighting instructor. Not the gentlemanly art like Jean-Paul, but the no holds barred brawler with a few oriental moves thrown in.

  “Good, good,” Pierre exclaimed, clapping his hands. Cooper had just thrown Pierre’s biggest blacksmith. Quang was still the master, but Cooper proved to be a good student. In the beginning, he was frequently thrown flat on his back, with a barrel stave at his throat.

  Over th
e next week and a half, those times of Cooper being flat on his back became fewer. He was an excellent learner, and as such, he noticed how Quang would plant his left foot when he was about to throw his opponent. When the next bout came around, Cooper watched and when Quang planted his foot Cooper ducked, did a side step and slammed the barrel stave into the back of Quang’s knee. When the giant went down, Cooper thrust the stave at his friend’s neck. He’d won…he’d finally won a round.

  After three more days of rough and tumble practice, it came to an end. It was time to head back. Packing up the clothes he’d bought, and a new cutlass he had purchased, liking the way it fit his hand, and a set of good but used navigational instruments. He also purchased Falconer’s New Universal Dictionary of the Marine, and The Young Sea Officers Sheet Anchor by Darcy Lever. He bought a book on trigonometry, a must if he was to master navigation, Mac had sworn. With his bags packed full of the things he’d need to be successful at sea, Cooper announced his readiness to the captain. He was not expecting to see what he saw. Otis was sitting with the captain and Debbie in the courtyard.

  Seeing the surprise, Taylor spoke, “I sent for Otis. We need someone of his many talents here at the hotel. After talking with Debbie, Otis has decided to be Debbie’s next in line. I’m sure he can handle the job after a bit of hands on training.”

  Smiling, Cooper said, “It fits better than being a …”

  “A pirate,” Debbie finished the sentence for him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  At Pierre’s blacksmith shop, the group picked up Quang and was leaving when Mac noticed a handbill that was tacked on the door.

  “Could be it might still be going,” Taylor volunteered, noticing the interest in Cooper and Mac as they read the notice. The bayous and waterways that led to the Temple and Barataria beyond were an impenetrable mass of flora, fauna, and pest, unless you knew the way. More than one man had died trying to find the right waterway. Even if you knew the route, as did Captain Taylor, the murky waters were floored by quicksand and undertow. The bayou was walled by low hanging moss, cypress trees, and knots all along the waterway. Tall marsh grass could bring a traveler to a sudden halt. You didn’t dare get out of the pirogue, as the swamp was alive with eyes and all of them looking at you. Cottonmouths hung from low lying limbs and would strike before you even knew they were there. Alligators, lizards, mosquitoes, and rodents were also out there waiting to dine on human flesh. The bright rays of sun rarely made their way through the tree tops. The croaking of frogs would damn near drive a man crazy.