The Pyrate

by Michael Aye

  This was the path to LaFitte’s kingdom. It was also the path LaFitte’s barges, some one hundred feet long, made on their way to the Temple or New Orleans. Taylor’s group made it to the Temple by noon the next day. The public was there in droves. Everything you could think of was on sale. Canisters of Cuban cigars, snuffs, jewelry, dresses, parasols, cookwares, furniture, fine weapons, and slaves, of course. Cooper had noticed all the large pirogues and barges tied up on the crunchy sand and shell beach when they arrived. LaFitte, no doubt, provided a ferry service to the Temple and back. He also had a means of transporting goods and slaves for the buyers.

  A cheerful LaFitte walked about in a suit of green with a small sword at his side. His hat had feathers bristling to one side. He greeted one and all, the perfect host. He shook the hands of the men, passed out cigars, made humorous comments to the ladies and even had a mock sword fight with a lad about six years old.

  Servants were toting purchases for the buyers, children bounded about eating sugar cane, pralines, and taffies made by the pirate’s women. Most of the men loitered about the slave platform drinking free rum or wine. Glancing over their shoulders to see if their wives were looking, they inspected some young female slave suitable as a house servant or other like uses. Big, strong male slaves were sold. Prime field hands and they could also be used as breeders to improve the slave stock already owned.

  One of the auctioneers lifted a black’s breech cloth exposing his manhood. “Built like a stud horse, he is. You could offer his services for a hundred dollars a whack,” he claimed.

  Cooper suddenly felt bile rise up in his throat. He spit and said, “I’ve seen enough.” He walked away from the slave platform and saw Lucy, Linda, and Cindy Veigh.

  “Isn’t this just something?” Lucy cried excitement in her voice. “Cindy and Gus brought us over. Oh, there’s David. David MacArthur!” It was obvious where Lucy’s attentions were. Cooper bought Cindy and Linda a pecan praline.

  Cooper was about to ask if Sophia was there, when Cindy, guessing his thoughts, said, “No, she isn’t here.” Cooper’s heart sank. Would he ever see the girl again? Noticing Gus had a few boxes of his crooks, Cooper bought three of them. After a while, Taylor showed up and said he was ready to shove off.

  Cooper found Mac and Lucy behind a stand of oaks holding hands. The sight made him even more morose. He was glad for Mac, but doubted he would ever obtain the hand of Lucy Williams. Lord Williams would never approve of a pirate for a son-in-law. Saying their goodbyes, Mac promised he’d see Lucy in a few days. Getting into their pirogue, Cooper turned just in time to see Cindy give an envelope to Taylor, who quickly placed it in his coat pocket.

  Quang was the last to return. He was carrying a wrapped up package. He stowed it at his feet as they shoved off. Looking back at the sand and shell beach, Cooper noticed a fierce looking pirate looking their way. Catching Cooper’s eyes, the man cleared his throat and spit. He then walked back up the trail toward the stage where the slave auction was being held. Two days later, they arrived at Barataria.

  Tying up at a small dock, Captain Taylor said, “I’ll see how many of the crew are here. I want to meet on the ship tomorrow morning. You men take your plunder out to the ship and get squared away. If you see any of the mates, pass the word along. If the quartermaster is aboard, tell him to call upon me at Hotel Mayronne for supper.” Looking up at the sky, he absently muttered, “Mid afternoon. No wonder my guts grumbling. If you men desire one last really good meal before we set sail, come to the hotel tonight.” With that he turned and shuffled off.

  “Well, that puts paid to seeing Lucy again anytime soon,” Mac said.

  Feeling sad for his friend, Cooper said, “David, I was with the captain when he went to the lawyer, whose name is W. Edward Meeks, to set the ransom demands in motion. I heard him say it would take upwards a year for the documents to find their way to Antigua and a rendezvous set up. You know, we will be back in time for you to see Lucy before then.”

  Once aboard Raven Lee Turner, the quartermaster, was found. Cooper gave him the captain’s message and Turner put Quang in the mess with Cooper and Mac. As the men unpacked their possessions and placed them in their chest, Quang handed the package he’d bought at the Temple to Cooper.

  “You very good friend,” Quang said. “You make good warrior. Warrior need good blade.”

  Tearing the wrapping open, Cooper was aghast. He could not help but be amazed. It was a knife, no a dagger would be a better word. The handle was whalebone carved to look like a stallion horse. It was intricately carved; ears bent backwards, eyes open, nostrils flared and teeth bared, a war horse. The blade was twelve to thirteen inches long with just a hint of an ‘S’ curve. The blade was double edged and had a rib down the center to add strength. Where the handle fit the shaft was an oriental emblem inlaid in gold…a warrior’s knife indeed. A leather scabbard came with the weapon. Cooper unbuckled his belt and slid the scabbard over his belt.

  “Thank you, my friend. I am honored. But I have nothing to match to give in return.” Realizing this, Cooper started to unbuckle his belt to remove the gift.

  Seeing this, Quang said, “No! You good friend. You don’t turn up nose cause Quang not white.”

  Almost tearing up, Cooper said, “Aye, we are friends, until the death.”

  “Until the death,” Quang repeated.

  ***

  Hotel Mayronne was a white, wooden two story building set in the middle of Barataria’s business district. A large sign painted in red announced the hotel. When you walked in the hotel, a clerk sat at a large desk with a ledger and ink stand. Behind the desk was a shelf with cubicles. They were numbered one to sixteen. At either end of the desk, a set of curving stairs that reached the second floor rooms. To the left of the desk was a restaurant, which was said to have the island’s only chef. There were several cafés on the island, most of them open air establishments where you sat on built in benches and shutters were propped open.

  At Mayronne’s you sat down in style. To the right was a bar and tables for cards and games, gentlemen games. The hotel was not for the average pirate. It was for the captains and guests of Monsieur LaFitte. Planters, lawyers, and city officials were not uncommon. A huge Quadroon named Benard set by the entrance of the hotel to ensure riff raff didn’t enter. Benard was a fierce looking man with cream-colored skin, a bald head, a gold earring in his left ear and a tattoo on his bicep. The tattoo was of fighting snakes. As fearsome as Benard looked, it was the old-fashioned blunderbuss held across his lap that held rogues in check. He once fired the blunderbuss at a wooden crate to demonstrate the effectiveness of the weapon. All that remained of the crate was splinters for firewood. There had never again been a question in regards to what the weapon could do.

  The Mayronne was named after the owner of Grand Terre, Francois Mayronne. LaFitte leased the entire island from him but it was rumored that he was engaged in most of LaFitte’s smuggling activities. At seven p.m., Cooper, Mac, and Quang entered the hotel and turned left into the dining room. The captain, Lee Turner, Diamond, and Spurlock were sitting at a table with Jean LaFitte. A table was open next to theirs so the three sat down at it. A pretty little waitress was making her rounds and motioned she’d be right there.

  Across the room the pirate captains, Vincent Gambi and Louis ‘No-Nose’ Chighizola sat at one table while Renato Beluche sat with two very attractive women. Rooster had said Beluche was a cousin of Pierre and Jean LaFitte. At another table a man and his son sat. Cooper had met the man in New Orleans at the lawyer Meeks’ office arranging a land sale. His name was

  de Marigny and he was said to be the richest man in New Orleans. He certainly knew how to stretch his dollars if he traded with LaFitte, thought Cooper. When the waitress came around, the men ordered their meal. All three of the men wanted fried channel catfish, grits, and honey glazed biscuits. They were also served ice cold sweet tea with their meal. Strong drink was not served in the restaurant. It was tea, hot or cold,
lemonade, coffee made half and half with chicory, and a fruity wine called sangria that came with a slice of orange floating on the top. Dessert was a choice of crepes with orange marmalade, pecan pie, or beignets.

  Not too quietly, Gambi scrubbed his chair back on the wooden floor as he rose from his table. He haphazardly tossed his napkin on the table, the corner landing in a half finished bowl of gumbo. As he came around the table he leaned over and whispered to one of his men, who turned toward Cooper’s table. It was the rogue on the beach at the Temple.

  No-Nose Chighizola sat for a moment and then quickly rose and left the dining room, making eye contact with Captain Taylor and shaking his head as if to say, “I’m not involved,” as he walked by.

  The rogue at the table turned his chair as he faced Cooper. “The air in here has turned foul with the stench of some British bastard.” Mac made to rise, but Cooper put his hand on his friend’s arm. Not getting the rise he intended, the man continued, “Are you Taylor’s little arse licking British puppy? I heard what you done to Finch. He was my friend. You hit him when he wasn’t looking. I wonder if you have the nutmegs to face a man.”

  “That’s enough, LaRoche,” Spurlock retorted.

  “Humph! Just as I thought no nutmegs,” LaRoche continued.

  Cooper had had enough, his words were not yelled but the coldness carried his words across the room. “It sickens me to have a killing before supper, it ruins a man’s appetite. It was a handsome meal I had ordered.”

  “Killing!” LaRoche threw back and rose so fast that his chair slammed to the floor with a loud bang.

  Through the swinging door Benard came and his stare brooked no lip. “Outside,” he ordered. “Carry it outside or die where you stand. We can repair the place from your accounts.”

  Knowing he meant it, LaRoche took a deep breath and challenged Cooper, “Will you meet me outside?”

  Realizing the man would grow angry with waiting, Cooper said, “After I eat. If you’re still waiting I will send you to hell with your friend.” LaRoche stormed outside.

  Jean-Paul had always taught Cooper an angry man makes mistakes. He would say, “Fight on your grounds, not his.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Taylor said from across the way.

  “Yes, I do. I have to establish myself or I will always be challenged,” Cooper replied.

  “We will see there’s no interference,” Diamond said.

  “Aye,” Spurlock agreed.

  Quang said, “You will win, I have no doubt. He’s big and strong but does not know what you have learned. You will win.”

  Cooper poked around at his food when it came. He had lost his appetite but wanted to make LaRoche wait. Finally, after twenty minutes he pushed back and stood up. He reached for his purse but LaFitte spoke up, “Tonight it’s my treat.”

  Taylor, Diamond, and Spurlock went out the door and down the steps first, followed by Cooper, Mac, and Quang. A man made to put his foot out to trip Cooper only to find Quang’s blade at his throat.

  “You may want to live long enough to see the fight,” Quang said in his broken English. The man gulped and shrunk back.

  Torches had been lit and a circle had been created as men rushed to see the fight. LaFitte walked down the steps and raised his hands. The crowd became quiet for the boss. “This is to be a fair fight,” he announced. “Any man who interferes will be shot instantly.” LaFitte’s words were law. Everyone knew that to step out of line meant death for certain. “A sash,” LaFitte called.

  A filthy, foul-breath man stepped forward to remove his sash. LaFitte held up his hand to stop the man and took a step back, turning his face from the man. “Whew! If your sash tastes like you smell, we will have two dead combatants before the fight starts.”

  The man initially looked hurt but smiled as the crowd roared in laughter. Wagers were made as LaFitte untied his sash. He turned to Cooper, “Each man puts an end of the sash in his mouth. That limits the distance you can separate and to a degree takes away the advantage of a man with longer arms and greater reach.”

  “Will the fight be till first blood or…to the death?” LaRoche threw out before LaFitte could finish his statement.

  Turning to Cooper, LaFitte looked as if to say do you agree? Cooper answered the unasked question, “As he wishes.” Putting the ends of the sash in their mouths, the men pulled their blades and began to circle each other.

  “I’ll have that pretty blade before you know it,” LaRoche hissed.

  “You sure will, but not the way you expect it,” Cooper retorted.

  The sash grew tight in Cooper’s mouth as LaRoche tossed his knife back and forth from hand to hand, trying to confuse Cooper; the hand being quicker than the eye. Realizing his foe’s ploy, Cooper moved his gaze away from the hand to LaRoche’s eyes. He was just in time as the man’s eyes widened as he struck. Cooper’s training with Jean-Paul kept him from a blade through the gut. He quickly sidestepped the attack and deflected LaRoche’s blade, he then countered with a backhand slash that caused a crimson line across his enemy’s chest, drawing first blood.

  “Is that all you have?” Cooper taunted LaRoche. “I surely thought you had more than that.”

  The taunting did the trick. LaRoche charged like an angry bull. Again, Cooper sidestepped and tripped LaRoche. What Cooper didn’t do was let go of the sash between his teeth. LaRoche’s weight pulled Cooper to the ground with him. LaRoche swung his knife backwards impaling the blade in Cooper’s deltoid muscle. Sensing victory, LaRoche swung around again but Cooper was not there. The pain made Cooper react quickly, so he was up on his feet. He had an open target to LaRoche’s back so he lashed out making a cut from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. LaRoche was fast…fast and nimble he spun around on his heels and faced Cooper. Again it was instinct and reflexes that saved Cooper as he batted the blade aside and was able to deliver a nick to LaRoche’s cheek.

  The crowd was hollering, bets were being made and odds were changing. No one had expected the British kid to last more than LaRoche’s first attack. Not only had he lasted but except for the wound on the ground, a lucky wound, it was LaRoche, not Cooper, who was getting carved up. LaRoche was supposed to be a sure bet. He’d carved up several men foolish enough or drunk enough to accept his challenge. Now it was LaRoche bleeding from several wounds.

  He might have gotten the most nicks in, Cooper knew; but LaRoche had inflicted the most severe wound. His shoulder hurt…hurt like a burning hell, much like the riding crop across the face. Blood ran down Cooper’s arm to his hand and dripped on the ground. He’d held back from fighting his uncle. There was no restraint now. LaRoche suddenly became the target of all of Cooper’s anger and pain. Not an uncontrollable anger but a controlled, deliberate anger. LaRoche’s face suddenly changed and it was Phillip standing across from him, sash in his mouth.

  “You’ve had your time,” Cooper hissed between clenched teeth, “now it’s my turn to play.”

  It was all LaRoche could do to parry the first couple of advances. Fear filled his eyes as Cooper laughed a loud laugh. “You said to the death so be it.” Using every trick he’d learned by a master swordsman, Cooper attacked. His blade moving so fast LaRoche couldn’t keep up. LaRoche felt a sharp burning pain as the warhorse blade made a circular motion around his wrist, severing veins, arteries, and tendons; his blade fell to the ground from useless fingers. As he looked up, he saw the face of death. Had it been this way with his victims? Had he caused them to realize their last breath was upon them, that their time had come? Did he look to them like the blonde haired demon with a scarred face looked to him?

  “Oh God!” LaRoche cried. Looking up toward the moon filled sky; he sunk to his knees just as Cooper made a final swing severing the man’s throat with blood spewing from severed arteries.

  The crowd was quiet. No one had ever seen such a display as Cooper Cain had just put on. Nor were they likely to again. Who would be so foolish? Cooper was heaving as his friends walked up. He was trying
to get his breathing under control. Someone handed him a tankard filled with rum. Looking up, Cooper saw that is was the rich planter that had given him the drink. The rum was a strong heady rum. It helped to get rid of the nausea and bile that filled his throat.

  “He asked for it,” he muttered. “He said to the death.”

  “Aye, he did at that,” Spurlock said, “and he got his wish.”

  “Now he’s in Hades, no doubt,” LaFitte spoke. “Let’s get our victor to my house and let the surgeon see to his wounds. It’s the ill humours that come after the fight that you have to worry about.”

  Cooper was feeling faint from blood loss and only halfway remembered being carried to LaFitte’s house where warm hands and cool cloths were applied to his body.

  CHAPTER TEN

  It was an uncommonly cold morning for the south. It felt like the contrary winds that whipped across Barataria Bay were full of ice. Captain Taylor had thought to weigh anchor and sail with the tide. However, having no schedule to keep, he looked at the sullen sky with its dark, heavy clouds and quietly declared they’d put off setting sail until the weather moderated.

  “A captain with some common sense,” David “Mac” MacArthur swore. That would be a rare finding in the navy he was used to.

  In the days that had passed since Cooper had killed LaRoche, he seem to become more withdrawn while his acceptance with the Raven’s crew had been totally given, with little reserve and few exceptions. The man had proved his mettle. He had faced what most felt was certain death and done it with the dignity of a gentleman. His skill with a blade was tested and not found to be wanting. Now the blackhearts knew to step gently around “killer Cain”. Not a name he was called to his face. It had demonstrated to everyone that Captain Eli Taylor was justified in bringing the boy aboard a man’s ship.