The two men stepped out of the pirogue and continued their exploration of the cultivated area on foot. They spied on the main big house, along with the smaller cabins, outbuildings, pigsties, and poultry yards.
Spencer nodded enthusiastically to Peddie. “I think we’ve just found our new camp,” he whispered. “Beauty and booty!”
Tarot: THE STAR
Revelation: Hope, significance, and encouragement.
Under the laws of Louisiana, Sundays and holy days were days of rest for all residents. So, on Sundays, although required to attend Mass at the Catholic church, slaves were afterward free to move about the city as they pleased.
Some chose to hire themselves out for the day, because under the laws they were allowed to keep their savings. Middle-class whites and free people of color who did not own slaves but needed help with laundry, house cleaning, or maintenance were grateful for this source of labor, even if it was available only on Sundays. It was not unusual for a slave who chose to work on these days to save enough to buy his or her freedom. Many masters were amenable to such a transaction, as it allowed them to free a middle-aged slave and purchase a younger one.
Most slaves, though, chose to attend the weekly Sunday afternoon celebration in Place Congo.
And Sunday, December 18, one week before Christmas, was no different.
Several hundred black people, both free and slaves, gathered on the old parade ground located west of Rampart Street. Here, they anticipated participating in sensual dances that provided a sense of solidarity, as well as honoring and preserving their traditional African culture.
While awaiting the arrival of their queen, friends, family, and neighbors exchanged greetings and gossip at the provisional market or in small clusters throughout the grounds. Included in everyone’s discussions that day was speculation about the imminent British invasion. Once the ritual began, they would pray to their loas for the protection and safety of New Orleans. Most had already implored various Catholic saints at Mass in St. Louis Cathedral; now it was time to include their voodoo counterparts.
Hush.
Soundlessly, the crowd gathered into a unified oneness, a large spiral, each individual facing its center, expectant, reverent, and somber, knowing their queen had arrived.
The majestic-looking spiritual leader seemed to flow through her people as she silently proceeded to their nucleus, solemnly cradling the body of a sizable snake, as if presenting an offering. The queen’s large, almond-shaped cobalt eyes calmly acknowledged her people as she passed; her sensuous, blood-red lips were upturned. Her constituents bowed their heads.
As a free and affluent black, the queen wore a lustrous ivory silk tignon that set off her polished ebony face and enveloped most of her gleaming dark hair. Her large gold earrings and bracelets glistened in the sunlight, and, like her female congregants, she had on a loose dress. This garment made it practical for the ceremony’s twisting, turning, and twirling movements. It, too, was a creamy white and was embellished with ribbons, shells, and little bells, which jingled when she moved.
A small gathering of spectators was assembled on one side of the square. Some of the Creole women had on the newer-fashioned high-waisted, empire-silhouette chemises. Others had tightly laced themselves into corsets that, although uncomfortable, displayed their waistlines. All wore petticoats decorated with ruffles or lace; these could be seen when the outer gowns were lifted.
These women and their male companions did not intend to participate in this ritual. In fact, just a few months ago, they would have complained about the loud music and what they considered lewd dances and songs. Today, though, was different. Today, they recognized a singleness of purpose: blacks and whites, in their own ways, were praying for safety and protection. General Jackson was demanding unity; their survival depended upon it.
On the opposite side of the square, a black man squatted and held his single-headed drum between his knees. Another sat astride his percussion instrument, hunched, ready to slap his palms and fingers on its drumhead.
The queen came to a standstill. Soundless seconds passed. She elevated the snake and slowly raised her face toward the sky. More silent seconds. Suddenly, her head dropped down. The drums and rattles commenced, setting the women to trilling a single tone, which gained momentum.
At first, the queen’s feet and shoulders did not move but every other part of her body does. Then, as the blending of exuberant energy reached a crescendo, a spirit took control of her body. She swirled forward with extraordinary speed and agility. Her followers joined in the sacred dance. Her snake, symbolizing rebirth, the interconnection between heaven and earth, seemed to smile, swinging and swaying with the queen’s tempo.
With rhythmic chants, the congregation whirled about in a circle, following their spiritual leader, gyrating with passion. The singing, dancing, and drumming continued, until the queen was certain that all invocations to the deities were made, all petitions were addressed, and appropriate animal sacrificial offerings were proffered.
Quiet again.
The ceremony concluded solemnly, and all of the people departed, trusting in a greater strength.
Whether that strength was the queen, a loa, the Christian God, or even General Jackson, faith and hope were abundant.
Tarot: THE TOWER
Revelation: Conflict; reaching the boiling point.
It was a crisp, lovely morning, and since Corporal Madden was not expected for another hour, Catherine and Suzanne were relaxing in the dining room, having coffee and beignets.
“How are you feeling, Suzanne? Perhaps you should rest more, stay home, not go to the convent so frequently.”
“I’m fine, Maman. And I look forward to those trips. I feel like I’m contributing to the cause, especially since René’s so busy with his training.”
“And have you and Sister Angelique worked out satisfactory work assignments?”
“For now. But we know it’s all subject to change, as Madame de Trahan keeps reminding us. That woman really gets on my nerves.”
“Madame de Trahan?”
“Oui. She makes me feel strange. She’s not threatening or anything, but when she thinks I’m not looking, I know she’s staring at me.”
“Probably because she’s older than you and is amazed that you’re so young and capable.”
“I’m sure that’s not the case; she just never smiles and seems to always be ready to say something to me. . . .”
“I have not noticed her staring at you or anyone. But perhaps she’s not accustomed to chatting with younger women—just with older females, like me,” Catherine said lightly.
Her daughter scowled at her. “That’s probably because every time you’re around her, you just seem to fawn over her! Is it because she’s a Creole aristocrat and her husband’s a wealthy plantation owner with scores of black slaves?”
Catherine took a few moments before answering. She wanted to appease her daughter without revealing past history, but Suzanne was making this difficult. Finally, she said, “I admire her, Suzanne, for taking on this job, especially in her condition.”
Suzanne was not mollified. “Well, how about me? And my condition?” she said petulantly.
“You know I’m very proud of you, Suzanne. And you also know that I’m quite vigilant in watching over you, especially in your condition! But Madame de Trahan is older than you and farther along in her pregnancy. Plus, I’ve agreed to help her when the time comes; that is why I am attentive to her.”
“Well, I still think there’s something odd about her watching me all the time; Millie’s noticed it, too.”
“Um, yes. About Millie . . .”
“What about her?”
“Well, I simply don’t think you should be a friend to a woman like that.”
“A woman like what, Maman?” Suzanne glared at Catherine, as if daring her to say something.
The look on Catherine’s face should have made words unnecessary, but Suzanne was feeling contentious and repe
ated, “A woman like what? One who volunteers to risk her life to take supplies to our troops?” Her voice grew louder as she leaned across the table.
“Yes, well . . .”
“A woman who will transport our injured back to the convent to be cared for?” And louder yet: “Just maybe one of them will be Miguel or René! Have you thought of that?” By now Suzanne could surely be heard in the street. “And you don’t think I should be her friend?”
Suzanne sank back into her chair and glowered at her mother. “I am honored to have her friendship!”
“Suzanne, dear, I don’t want to quarrel. But your friend Millie is a prostitute; she lives in a bordello!”
“I know that, Maman!” Suzanne thought a moment and smirked. “But she’s a white prostitute. You should be pleased about that.”
Controlling her temper, Catherine responded, “A harlot’s a harlot, even if she’s the Queen of England.”
“Millie can’t help it, Maman. She doesn’t want to, um, ‘do it.’ But it’s either that or starve. And you have to admit that she’s brave, Maman, and she’s also intelligent and considerate!” Suzanne paused a moment and then added, “Besides, René likes her, too, and so does Miguel!”
“Of course they do!” Catherine smirked. “They’re men. She’s young and alluring in that fille de joie way of hers, and . . . and . . .”
“Maman!”
Catherine stopped. She had lost her composure, and she struggled to calm herself.
“I’m sorry, Suzanne. That was wrong of me to say. Let’s both try to be tolerant of each other’s associates. Agreed?”
Suzanne just nodded grimly, got up, and stalked out of her mother’s house.
Tarot: THE EIGHT OF WANDS
Revelation: Haste, hope, and movement toward a goal.
December 21, 1814
Millie smiled as she recognized Peter’s gait coming up the steps quite quickly. Preparing herself in a welcoming (and captivating) manner on the bed, she was stunned when he barged through the door, flushed and breathless with news.
“Millie! It’s happening! Jackson accepted Lafitte’s offer! We’re going to fight the English!”
“Finally!” said Millie, patting the space she’d created for him next to her on the bed. “What made him change his mind?”
Peter did not take her hint. Still standing just inside her door, he continued his report animatedly. “Well, Jackson knows that his chances are thin without our help; he needs every man he can get. And we Baratarians have the cannons and the skilled artillerymen. But, most important, Jackson does not have enough flints for his volunteers’ muskets, and we have barrels of them.”
Millie noticed that Peter no longer considered himself English; he was absolutely Baratarian. A British Baratarian pirate. Quite an identity!
Peter went on, “Our skill with artillery is much greater than the Redcoats’. In other words, we have the will and the power to help. Jean Lafitte is with General Jackson right now at Pierre Maspero’s coffee house on Chartres Street. They’re planning a strategy to beat those Redcoats. Isn’t that fantastic?”
Then he stopped, seemed to really see her for the first time, and said, in a softer tone, “Gosh, Millie, you look beautiful.”
“Thank you, Pete! Why don’t you join me?” She gave him a wink and patted the vacant spot on the sheets again.
Peter hesitated, then walked over to the bed and bent down to give her a tender kiss on her cheek. “Love to, Millie, but I can’t stay. I’m to meet with Dominique Yu; we need to collect and deliver the weapons and ammunition to General Jackson. I’m off to fight the war!” And with that, he dashed out her door and down the stairs.
Tarot: THE PAGE OF PENTACLES
Revelation: Gathering energy and respect for new
ideas to fulfill needs.
Corporal Madden was ready to walk Catherine home after a long day.
“Come on, Scamp!” she called out. The boy reluctantly left one of the soldiers, who had been teaching him a card game, and slowly trailed his mistress and her escort.
Corporal Madden observed, “You seem to be fond of the boy.”
“Yes, I am,” replied Catherine. “He’s been with me a little over a year now. When I purchased him, I learned that he had just been orphaned. His parents both died, probably from dysentery or cholera, when being transported across the Atlantic. Poor lad. He actually witnessed their bodies being tossed overboard. He had some horrible nightmares about the crossing.”
“I can’t imagine.” The corporal shook his head. “Does he talk about the other details?”
“Not anymore. And his nightmares have ceased. But when he joined us, he was terrorized and confused and, of course, grief-stricken by the death of his parents. He did describe, after his capture, being crammed into a windowless and airless dungeon on Africa’s coast until he was sold to a European company. That’s probably where his parents became ill.”
“And the trip over here?”
“He estimates that it took about ten weeks. And he remembers women shrieking, and the groans of the dying, as well as the overpowering stink of sickness.”
“Terrible thing for a boy to go through.”
“Oui. But he’s plucky, and I have found him to be cheerful, as well as a good worker. He learns quickly, and I am training him in the art of healing. Like my maid, Hortense, he will be able to support himself when I give him his freedom.”
“Oh? As a healer?”
“That’s my hope! Some time ago, there was a slave named James Derham, owned over time by three different doctors in Philadelphia. Then he was sold to Dr. Robert Love, a surgeon here in New Orleans, who needed an assistant. James learned from all of his doctor owners. He was able to purchase his freedom and practiced medicine here for both white and Negro patients.”
“Is he still alive and practicing?”
“Unfortunately, after you Yankees purchased Louisiana, because he had not attended medical school, he was not allowed to continue his practice and left the city. My dream is for Scamp to succeed in Dr. Derham’s place.”
“Scamp is very fortunate to have you as a mentor. I think you’re a wizard, Madame Caresse! I have already seen the general’s health improve, and I believe it is due to your healing skills.” The corporal looked at Catherine with admiration.
“I am happy to be of service, Corporal Madden!”
As they walked past the cathedral, he commented, “Other situations seem to be improving also.”
“Oh? What are you referring to, Corporal?”
“The good citizens of New Orleans seem to be a little more accepting of us Yankees these days.”
Catherine chuckled and said, “You’re right! We’re fortunate to be part of the United States. If we had remained part of France, we would, with Napoleon’s defeat, have become an English colony, like Canada—and I would not be allowed to practice my profession, or, even if I was a man, allowed to vote.”
“I couldn’t agree more! That’s what our War of Independence was all about! Yet, although we all have the same goals, I still detect some aloofness toward the Yankees. Why?”
Catherine thought a moment. She did not want to offend the soldier, yet to deny that there were differences would be to insult his intelligence.
She took a deep breath and said, “When the Yankees first arrived in New Orleans, it appeared to us that they were, um . . . well, they acted like conquerors. They were impatient, and their manners were atrocious. We called them the quick-walking and talking Yankees.”
“Most of that is true,” Corporal Madden said, with a broad smile. “On the other hand, we were told that all you people are haughty and indolent and that you’re only interested in dancing and fencing; plus, you don’t speak English!”
“And very few of the Yankees could speak French, and fewer tried to learn. We, however, were expected to know their language and were treated with suspicion when we spoke French in their presence. Now we are becoming bilingual, mostly out of necessity!�
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“Yes,” agreed Rufus, “a good example is Mr. Jean Lafitte. I’ve heard that he speaks four languages.”
“Indeed, he does have his admirable qualities,” agreed Catherine.
“Oh? I really don’t know much about him—just that he has a reputation of being quite a, um, rascal, shall we say?”
“Rascal—oui! But also an astute businessman, as well as generous to his ‘employees.’ If a Baratarian loses an arm or leg, Lafitte will give him extra money. If the pirate—or, should I say, privateer—is killed, his family receives financial help.”
“Very commendable. And smart, too!”
“Oui, Lafitte’s men are as devoted to him as yours are to General Jackson.”
“And now the privateers are considered heroes”—the corporal smiled—“along with our backcountry volunteers.”
“Oui!”
“So tell me, what are some other Yankee traits that set us apart from you? And are we fitting in a little bit more since we got here?”
“Hmm, well, I must say that the volunteers from Tennessee and Kentucky are now much more at ease with us, and polite,” she said.
“Uh-huh!” said Rufus. “That’s good. But can you explain?”
“Well, like you said, your soldiers are a disparate group,” agreed Catherine, nodding her head. “When your people came,” she continued, “some of their behaviors shocked us.”
“Like what?”
“They bathe in the Mississippi without any clothes on! We find this very upsetting.”
“They are bathing, after all,” the corporal responded. “Really, Madame Caresse, aren’t you normally naked when you take baths?” He looked at her with a playful smile.
“Correct,” said Catherine, taking his mischievousness in stride. “But we find it more suitable to bathe in private. The same goes for relieving oneself in public; that, too, is not acceptable!”
“Hmm, yes; our officers have gotten quite a few complaints about that. I’m afraid that many of our men are from rural places, where the social graces are quite different from yours. But they have been ordered to be more selective when choosing a relief station.”
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