The brothers shared a look.
"They're around front?" said Jean.
Marie nodded.
Pierre gestured Jean to the side window.
"You might need that escape plan sooner than you think, brother," he said.
Opening the window, Pierre peeked outside to make sure the alleyway remained clear. Leaning in, he motioned to Jean to move. Jean leaned in and embraced his brother, who returned the same.
"Take care, Jean."
Releasing the embrace, Jean hopped out of the window, trying to stay outside of the view of the door. He saw that two men stood waiting for an audience. The first, a dark-skinned man, appeared to be dressed as an undertaker. The other, a young man in sailor's clothes. The sailor noticed him.
"Mr. Lefty?" he called.
Refusing to acknowledge them, Jean picked up the pace in the opposite direction.
"Are you Mr. Gene Lefty?" came a second cry. Footsteps echoed behind him.
Moving at a quick walk, Jean shook his head, refusing to look their way. The sound of their feet picked up behind him.
"Mr. Lefty!"
"Jean Lafitte!" he finally called back to them, unable to help himself.
Reaching the road intersecting the alleyway, Jean ran headlong into an approaching carriage. Jumping onboard, he grabbed the handle, stepping up onto the running. He pressed close to the hood, out of the view of the carriage driver.
Taking stock of his situation, Jean looked at the men running behind him. They ran up to two soldiers waiting with four horses, pointing out the fleeing privateer.
Jean knew he'd have to find a way to lose them. Looking at the passing streets, he could see they were headed southwest in the direction of the river.
As he looked around, Jean noticed he was being watched by the passengers in the compartment. Two women, young and old, rode in the presence of a male escort.
Smiling at the women, they greeted him with smiles of their own. Taking the older woman's hand, he pecked a kiss on the back of it. He then proceeded to do the same with the younger women. Finally, he tipped his hat to the mortified man.
Looking over his shoulder, the coach driver noticed his additional passenger.
"Hey, you!" he said to Jean. Jean looked around, then pointed at himself, a puzzled look on his face.
"Who else?" the driver continued. "You can't be there!"
The driver reached for his cane. Jean looked around for a promising dismount.
Taking a step back, Jean emerged quickly from an alley. Leaping between the flatboats, keelboats, and barges lined up in great numbers, much to the surprise of their occupants, Jean made it over the levee and onto the adjacent road.
Noticing a crowd gathered nearby, he grabbed the cane first from the luggage atop the coach. Reaching it up in the air, the cane caught on a a nearby terrace. Jean swung in an arc, landing at a trot towards the edge of the gathering crowd. Plunging into anonymity, he kept his head low.
As Jean made his way through the boisterous crowd, he continued to check over his shoulder for the pursuing men. He paid no attention to where he had ended up, the cause of the crowd's clamor, or the voice that rang out over the crowded square.
"My friends, neighbors…countrymen. We are at war!"
Above the crowd, Governor William Claiborne stood atop a rally platform. He addressed the people filling the Place d'Armes, the main public square of the city of New Orleans.
"We are at war with the British, at war with piracy, but most importantly, we are at war with ourselves!" He had to cry at the top of his lungs to be heard over the din of the crowd.
In front of St. Louis Cathedral, the boisterous crowd gathered to hear the news of the day, and the weekly address by the Governor. The crowd gathered for the speech exhibited two conflicting moods, stuffed shirt Americans finding themselves surrounded by the jovial majority French and Creole. The speeches, always about the same subjects, were never the true draw.
Claiborne held up his hands, trying to quiet the people down in order to speak.
"The city of New Orleans, over a century old but less than a decade in the union, the majority of its citizens French, Spanish, African, American in name only. Cut off from the rest of former colonies by frontier beyond the Mississippi, we think ourselves apart from our country."
"Last I checked, British to the North, Spanish to the East and West," a shout came.
"Une partie de? Plutôt à part!"
Laughter arose from the non-American majority of the crowd. This left Governor Claiborne flustered, as he believed he hadn't said anything even mildly amusing.
The Americans in the crowd nodded, their murmurs in agreement. The non-Americans did the same, but for different reasons. Embarrassed in reflection that the crowd made fun at his expense, he moved to drive his point home.
"But our location as the entrance to the interior and only city on the Gulf, makes us vital to the destiny of our growing nation. As first governor of this state, my duty is to shape the city's destiny. And thus, the nation."
Cheers came from the American spectators. Claiborne noted the enthusiasm was not shared by his newest citizens.
"My friends," the Governor continued, unabated. "The 1807 Embargo Act is to protect us. Protect us from becoming entangled in the depredations of the European killing fields. We must all suffer the blockade together."
By now the crowd had heard this speech multiple times before. The Embargo Act and trade wars bristled the Louisiana citizens, both the new arrivals from the former colonies, and the displaced in their involuntarily adopted country.
They gathered now only to see how the governor would spin his usual refrain today. Attempting to rouse the majority citizenship, barely amenable to the governor's policies to begin with, each speech contained even more salacious details. It made for an entertaining Sunday, but accomplished little.
"When some of our kind live large on the ill-begotten gains of the smugglers at Barataria, they enrich themselves at the expense of good, American citizens. If we empower them, the few prosper, while the rest of us starve and suffer in our patriotism."
Now the Governor turned towards his speech to the bane in his existence, the men who flaunted the law, living just outside his authority. Being their favorite topic, the crowds finally quieted down to hear.
"When the same individuals control the acquisition of prize goods, delivery to market, transport of the goods to an awaiting market, and then wholesale and retail sale, they illicitly profit in controlling every phase of the operation. You, the men and women of New Orleans, who patronize their wares, challenge the authority of these United States, and the unity which you now are part of."
Boos and catcalls filled the square. Though the governor did not directly make accusations, the crowd understood by association exactly who he referred to.
"My fellow Americans…"
A raucous laugh echoed. Claiborne gripped his teeth.
"I bring forward the story of young Master Crowley, an American merchantman, newly out of Salem, MA."
The crowd finally quieted. This part, the salacious stories he would tell, this was why they still came out in droves.
"Crowley, bowsman of the unfortunate SS Robin, taken not two days prior. He came to me, telling me his terrible story. Crew slaughtered by bloodthirsty pirates, no doubt under control of the black-hearted masters of Barataria. Returning from a voyage to the coast of Africa, just out of Havana. Every number murdered but him."
"Truly the work of those monsters Lafittes!" said an English-descended woman.
The mention of the name the Governor had tip-toed around reverberated through the crowd. Their boisterousness increased to another level.
"The Lafittes!" replied a Latin-tinged man. "Come off it, pouffiasse!"
He hurled at her more uncouth words in a romantic language. The shouting match expanded to the two jockeying sides. Yankee and native, each let loose their grievances against the other.
Claiborne tried to regain control, shouting over the crowd.
"These are hard times! I have received disturbing news of ships disappearing without a trace. On top of that, rumors of strange, otherworldly creatures seen on the waves and in the wilds of the Caribbean…"
"Hang the pirates!"
The shout interrupted the Governor's speech, setting the crowd off. Claiborne tried to regain control, but the crowd deigned not to hear him, more interested in flinging their own resolves.
"Hang Claiborne!"
"Glory to the Emperor!"
"I will see to it that every Baratarian pirate meets their due rewards!" cried Claiborne. His face glowed bright red, his voice hoarse as he shouted at the top of his lungs. "The next time I see the Lafittes, I will be sure to bring law and justice to the perpetrators! To make sure every freeboater is run off, rooted out of their swamps, where they…"
As he continued on his rant, Governor Claiborne saw the crowd parting, giving way to an interloper making his way through it. The same man he lambasted walked directly in front of him through the square, clad in his unmistakable vest and wide-brimmed feathered hat. His words trailed off.
"…can no longer hide…"
The crowd noticed the celebrity in their midst. How could they not? Most were his customers.
Jean Lafitte, oblivious to the accusations and promises of the Governor, remained occupied looking over his shoulder at some unseen pursuer. As the crowd parted, he found himself alone. Their attention focused on him.
"Jean Lafitte!"the Governor called from the stand.
Jean looked around him to see who called. Finally he alighted upon the Governor, a surprised look upon his face as if he happened on the tribunal speech by chance. Unaware or uncaring about the Governor's threats, he smiled, tipping his hat as if to an old acquaintance.
"Governor Claiborne. Bonne journée!" he called back.
The Governor looked as if he'd kissed an alligator.
"Have you heard of the American ship being attacked?" said Claiborne.
"I can't say that I have," came the reply.
"Would you know who the men were that subjected poor master John Jacob, and the good ship Robin to the depredations of piracy?"
The soldiers around the Governor's platform readied their weapons. The situation with the crowd, already tense, stood on the precipice. They all stood in anticipation of the alleged freebooter's response.
"By god's will, I do not," Jean said. "But if I see them, I shall be sure to point them in the wrong direction."
With a tip of his hat, Jean continued his path through the crowd. It parted around him, the people cheering his name. He strolled the length of the square, working the crowd as he moved.
On the platform, Governor Claiborne watched as Jean departed through the crowd, helpless to stop him. Turning to the man standing next to him, Claiborne appealed to a higher power.
"Grymes, are you going to let him walk out? Do something!"
The U.S. Attorney, John Randolph Grymes, shrugged his shoulder.
"Unfortunately, we have no proof if the man's story is telling the truth. Even if the ship was attacked by pirates, why was the ship coming from Africa? Probably slave trading, which is illegal. According to the law, of course."
Claiborne grasped the railing of the platform, his head hung low.
"He walks free, and they love him even more."
"None to worry though." The Attorney General held a sealed envelope in his hand. The Governor could see it contained the seal of the US Government. "His time will come soon enough."
Grymes could not help but notice the two men searching the crowd, moving in the same direction that Lafitte had left.
Once exiting the square, the crowd safely out of view, Jean dropped his amiable demeanor, moving again at a heightened pace down back alleys.
The sun hung low on the river as Jean cut back and forth past the former Rue de la Quai, now the Rue de la Levee, or Levee Street. The river cut through the street, with no cover of buildings around the levee.
This road, one of well-known ill-repute, slipped past gambling halls and liquor saloons, all open and in full swing. Hiding in a doorway, Jean looked across the street. He saw the sign of the next establishment.
Cafe de Refugies.
How apt, Jean thought.
From behind him, a hand grabbed his shoulder.