November, 1812
The ship remained dead in the water, appearing to float on the fog, trapped in its icy gray limbo. Its occupants' view appeared obscured in every direction, except for the drift of spirits keeping their distance. Every so often tendrils of clouds grasped for the occupants, as to pull them off into the unknown.
No breeze attended to the sails, lying as listlessly as the Union Jack perched in its station of honor upon the stern. Standing on the focsle, a comely maiden peered into the nothingness.
"Are you looking for something, miss?" the ship's lieutenant approached. "Best to remain near with the ship's company. To go overboard in this fog would be a death sentence."
"I'm looking for a pirate," she said, matter-of-factually. "I decided to take the northern journey from Jamaica solely for that reason, and I'm sad to say I am disappointed. These are the waters of the Caribbean, are they not?"
The lieutenant laughed, knowing, almost condescending.
"We are in the Gulf of Mexico, not the Caribbean sea. Judging by our drift, south west of Pensacola, to our destination Mobile. At least I think we are. Damn fog." He looked around at the all-encompassing ether. "You need not worry about pirates here, Miss. Smashed one hundred years hence by the glory of our empire."
The maiden cast her eyes downward, distrodden. "I would have liked to meet a pirate. What happened to them?"
"They all became Americans," the Lieutenant joked.
The maiden did not join the lieutenant in his humors, resuming her vigil.
Off in the fog, a shape began to form. At first she believed it simply another playful spirit dancing with the ship. As it grew closer, the shape took form, heading straight towards them.
"Is that a man?"
The lieutenant smirked in jest, wondering at women's fantasies, when he saw the being casting for the ship. His face turned serious.
"Coxswain!"
The coxswain moved to the back of the boat with haste, taking his spot next to his lieutenant.
"Sir."
"Do you see that?"
For sure now, they saw a person approaching, as the man in the fog raised his arm and waved to the boat. They could hear him calling out, too far to be understood, but distinct enough to hear.
"Only man foolish to be out in this weather be the devil himself," said the coxswain.
Coming close enough into view, they could not believe the incongruous sight of the strange man floating by himself in a small rowboat.
"He appears to be…reading?"
The man stretched out on the rowboat as if on a pleasure cruise. Dressed like an aristocrat, he wore a dark blue jacket covering a tan vest and red neckerchief. Atop his head, a wide-brimmed hat angled upward until coming to a plateau, adorned at the top with a feather. With handsome dark face, dark and wavy hair, and a well-kept mustache, he could have been a lost Bourbon prince.
The man appeared ignorant of the world around him, lost in the book in front of his face.
"You there!" shouted the lieutenant.
"Allo! Hello there," they heard him cry out with a sight accent, "I am looking for a ship."
The cutter dwarfed the small pirogue, yet the man and his vessel stood firm, aligned with the bow, as if by his own forceful will the larger ship would stop.
A commotion arose through the ship as word of the strange man overboard passed, the company rushing to the front to take in the sight. Their boredom promising relief for a moment, watch standers left their stations unmanned.
The lieutenant called out back.
"Have you lost your ship? Shipwrecked of some sort?"
The man shook his head.
"One needs a ship in order to lose it. I'll start with you and yours, if you don't mind."
A battle cry arose from the fog, the cacophony filling the ghostly air like calls from beyond the grave. Ropes and ladders flew like tendrils from the sea, latching onto the vessel like a beast from the depths. The ultimate threat came not from the ethereal or beastly nature, but the corporal sight of armed men pouring over the sides from pirogues, lined up end-to-end along the sides of the ship.
First on board over the rail came a stout, bubbly man, dressed in the garb of the French revolutionary army. Medals on his lapel clinked together as he moved to the center of the deck. Showing neither malice nor fear, he took a small bow, and began to address the crew, stunned both by the turn of events and the strange personage of their new host.
"Monsieur and mademoiselles, fear not! My name is Dominique You. Lay down your weapons, and you will be treated with the respect and honor of the French nation! On my honor as a general in the army of the exalted Emperor."
He turned back to his men. "Belouche!"
You addressed the sailor leading the boarding in its rout of the crew, a dark complexioned man also garbed in military garb, though this time of Spanish origin. Belouche turned to his caller.
"Go below and begin inventorying the goods for receipt."
Belouche returned the command with a half salute and a laugh.
"Ay, general," he said in a playful tone.
Grasping the galley door, Belouche opened the hatch to below. Releasing the door, he leap aside as a shot rang out. Bayonets thrust out of the door, inviting any who dared enter to gain a few new holes in the process.
"Back, pirate!" cried the sailors making a stand.
No one else stepped forward to undertake their challenge. Then, a tall, looming figure entered the doorway, eclipsing all light into the galley. Despite the cheval de frise threatening his approach, he descended the stairway with no hesitation in his pace, heavy footfalls echoing in the wood with every step.
Once below the deck illuminated by the lanterns, the defending force wilted at his gaunt and fierce face made all the more terrifying by the piece of leather covering his flat and noseless face.
The small force floundered, then backed away in sync with the man. Grunting, the remaining defenders understood his message, then laid down their arms.
Through all this, the young gentleman in the boat had floated next to the ship, waiting impatiently while listening to the commotion on deck.
"Hello?" he cried. "Still down here."
Finally, a rope came over the side to him. Grasping it tightly, he gave the rope a pull. With a yank, he went up and over the side. Landing hard, he fell to the deck. Quickly righting himself, he reached for his sword.
"Have at you! Taste my…steel…"
The young aristocrat found himself amid an orderly scene. On top deck, Dominique had rounded up the officers, chatting amiably and laughing with them, as if they were engaged in a friendly social call and had not just lost their. The other sailors, seeing their leadership's capitulation, assisted the boarders with prepping the longboats, filling them with food supplies and clothing garments.
Anything of value remained aboard the ship, the attacking crew orderly collecting the ship's valuables in the center of the deck. Belouche took notes on a ledger, watched over closely by the tall man with no nose.
Noticing that the the passengers clustered to the front of the ship stared at him, he decided to take advantage of the situation presented to him. Turning to the assembled passengers, he removed his hat, dipping it into a low bow.
"Ladies and gentlemen. My name is Jean Lafitte. These men are my companions, sons of every nation. Do not be alarmed. We are preparing the receipts for your wares. You will be able to make the claims when you arrive safely in the boats they are preparing."
Now that they could hear him closely, they noticed he spoke with a strong accent, clear to the passengers that the English language not his first. Whispers moved amongst them.
"Lafitte?" they said, whispers moving amongst them. "Does he mean the Lafittes? The pirate Lafitte!"
Jean took a small bow. One maiden stepped forward.
"Excuse me, sir?" the young woman spoke to the gentlemen. "Are you truly the Pirate Lafitte?"
Jean kneeled down to her level, holding her gaze with a smoldering look.
"If only," he said wistfully. "I am not a pirate. But I love pirates. So much so, I keep this close to my heart."
He removed a book from his coat pocket, showing the title to the comely lass. It read A General History of the Pyrates.
"I've had it since I was a boy on a ship like this one. Dull voyages enlivened with tales of exciting voyages, treasure hunts, meeting beautiful princesses, and fighting sea monsters." As he spoke, he held the woman's hand, staring into her eyes. Her breath quickening with his words. "Thumbing one's nose at the authority that tries to keep us in our place, and tells us what we can and cannot be."
"Excuse me," said the deposed lieutenant, chastened at the sight, the only member of the officers who remained defiant. "If you're not a pirate, then what are you, Mr. Gene Lafitte?"
The moment obstructed, Jean released the woman's hand.
"JEAN Lafitte. I am a Privateer."
"What country?"
"Cartagena."
The lieutenant pressed the matter.
"Then where are your papers?"
Jean made a show of rifling through his pockets. He pretended to think for a moment.
"I appear to have left them in my other ship."
Another laugh from the gathered crowd. The lieutenant, gauging the meter of the crowd, finally chose to be silent, but not without one final question.
"And you command these men?"
Jean looked caught off-guard. He looked around for someone to command. Nearby, a squat, brooding man with dark hair and mustache lifted bags of food, grumbling under his breath.
"Gambi!" said Lafitte. "Prenez une roue de bateau!"
"Perche l'esca mi parla?" Gambi yelled back in a new language before sulkily moving towards the helm and taking the ship's wheel. Jean hoped that the passengers didn't speak Italian. He tried to lighten the mood.
"Don't mess with that one. Short, ambitious, our Italian Napoleon. Correct, Gambi?"
Gambi responded with a diatribe. Jean laughed at the man's response, too eager a laugh, receipting a few cautionary laughs among the passengers. The approaching Dominique You and Belouche joined his laugh. Jean tried to keep up appearances.
"May I present, Renato Belouche, formerly of the Spanish Navy, though don't hold that against him. And General Dominique You, esteemed veteran of Napoleon's army."
Each tipped their hat in turn.
"And finally, Nez Pence."
Jean motioned to the tall, glaring man behind them.
"Nez Pence?" said the Lieutenant. "What does that mean?"
Jean waved his hand in front of his face, as if it was the most obvious thing.
"No nose."
"That's horrid," said the Lieutenant.
"How goes it Belouche?" Jean turned to the young Spanish officer. "We shall not delay these men desormais."
"Nearly done, Jean." Belouche spoke to him. Dominique elbowed him slightly, motioning towards Lafitte.
"I mean, Captain Lafitte, boss." Belouche emphasized the tone of the last word subversively.
When the last of the lifeboats launched, the passengers waved enthusiastically, excited at the story they would be able to tell, their enthusiasm causing them to momentarily forget their valuables departing into the fog.
After a few hours sail, the fog released its grip, the sky clear enough to take a reading. Jean stood next to Dominique, watching the old soldier chart the heavens.
"Passing south of East Bay, clear to the west. Damn good navigation, Jean. You're a credit to the Saint-Dominique merchant marine academy."
Jean did not take the compliment, his eyes below the horizon.
"Not credit enough for the crew to respect me. I put them on a prize in the middle of the Gulf based on a drunken rumor. Skill like that, I should be Captain."
Dominique lowered his sextant, patting Jean on the shoulder.
"Ah, Jean, it asks a lot to be the Captain. Getting a sailor enough drink to spill his beans is easy. Good navigation makes you a good navigator, no shame in that. But to be vote for a Captain is to be choose someone you trust to bring you fortune's favor."
"They voted me their president."
Dominique smiled, his wide disarming smile, his positive nature and paternal demeanor tempered with a hidden melancholy.
"For good reason. Logistics, negotiation, hob-knobbing with the altisonant classes. You won't see this lot waltzing with the Governor's daughter. They deal with the less…sophisticated matters. You and your brother have a good business going. If you ask me, sounds a lot better than rigging sails and reefing ships for life. "
The mention of his older brother reminded Jean of his place in the hierarchy.
"They trade on my name. Yet they call me, 'the little' Lafitte."
Dominique swatted his hand at the air, striking away the comment.
"And you trade their goods. You may rule the swamps of Barataria, but these men rule the seas. They've fought together, and killed one another. The Nile, Basque Roads, Trafalgar."
Dominque let the names of those battles linger before speaking again.
"Maybe right now, to them you're just the paymaster's brother. But once you've led these men through hell and back," he rubbed his campaign medals, "they'll follow you anywhere."
"They should follow me now. I'm making them money," said Jean.
"You can have all the money in the world," Dominique replied, "and not have respect."
Jean laughed.
"Then I will become very rich, and then I will buy a ship and sail away from everything, forever free."
Dominique clapped his hands together, arising from his melancholy.
"Captain Lafitte! Someday I'd like to sail under that man. But not because of his money."
A cry came from above.
"Sail! Sail off starboard!"
Jean's hopes raised at the thought of two prizes in one day. The next cry threw water on those ambitions.
"Gunboats!"