"Jean!"
The arm belonged to Dominique You. A wide-eyed grin on his red face, a bottle of wine in his hand.
"Tout va bien?"
Regaining his nerve, Jean realized he stood on one foot pressed up against the wall, fists held out feebly. Realizing he was in the presence of a friend, Jean also realized he had coincidentally made his way to his destination.
They stood in the fine entrance of the Hotel de la Marine. Named after the same building on the Place de la Concorde in Paris, now the home of the French Naval Ministry, the restaurant's ode to the occupants of its namesake lay in its interior decoration calling forth the legends and lore of the sea. As such, it was the de facto gathering place for sailors, including and especially, the Lafitte band.
"No one came here asking for me?" said Jean.
"Only the grand General, Humbert. He's been wanting to meet you." You wrapped his arm around Jean, pulling him inside.
Upon entering, Lafitte saw his men already deep in their cups. Beluche and Gambi led the boisterous revelry. Their cheers reverberating through the dining establishment, to the annoyance of some of the American sailors present.
General Humbert held court at the main table. The former General of the French Imperial Army spoke with powerful voice, sparkling eye, and brisk action.
"Dominique! Another friend?"
Dominque led Jean by the arm to the table.
"Jean," said Dominique, "may I have the pleasure to introduce General Jean Joseph Amable Humbert, newly arrived from the Fatherland. Scourge of the Spanish, glorious expedition to Ireland, heights of Landau and Castlebar."
The General held out his hand. Composing himself, Jean shook his hand.
"General You speaks highly of you in his stories on cruise," he said.
"General You, eh?" said Humbert. "Quite a promotion for my old artillerist."
Dominique looked down at the table, clutching for his medals. Seeing his friend's embarrassment, Jean changed the subject.
"How goes the war effort, great General?"
A look of apprehension came on Humbert's face. The General continued, Jean noting his enthusiasm waning.
"As I have heard, the last word from the front, the army has taken Moscow."
Humbert stood, raising up his glass.
"No doubt the Tsar will capitulate, and our enlightened republican virtues will now spread across the continent."
Cheers erupted across the table, garnering more glares from the Americans.
"A toast!" cried You. "Pour la Grande Armee!"
As they raised their glasses, Jean couldn't help but smile at the strange multi-ethnic crew. Humbert and You in their French uniforms, Beluche Spanish, Nez Pence an ordinary sailor's garb. All gathered in a knockoff bar in a seedy corner on the edge of the frontier.
"Viva le Emporer!" came a cry from the crowd. Jean saw another table raise their glasses. Jean noted they were probably fellow ex-patriots. He also noticed Humbert reluctantly raise his glass in return. Jean took a seat next to the man.
"What will you do on this continent now, General?" said Jean.
Humbert finished a long swig of his glass. Jean surmised it probably wasn't his first. His swaying gave him away.
"I am a soldier," the thick locks man began. "I know of no other life, nor would I want one. I have been in correspondence with Juan Gomila and Jose Dubois."
Beluche wrapped the table with his hand.
"Here here," he rambled. "The General will be leading the liberators of Mexico against the vile Spain monarchy in no time."
"Weren't you raised by the Spanish navy?" said Gambi mockingly.
"I was raised on Chalmette, Vincenzo." He accentuated the name, receiving a grunt from his target. "Before France, this colony was Spanish. They taught me how to sail. And I have used that skill to repay them by being the scourge of Spanish ships, and Spanish ladies."
Beluche raised his glass to Jean, bringing on another round of cheers.
"With a skim off the top for our benefactors."
"I have known the depredations of Spain before," said Jean, returning the toast. "To your honor and success. A ton honneur, et tar iussite!
Beluche now forcefully thrust his cup high, splashing a bit of wine.
"Viva la libertad!"
The gathered group raised their glasses, spilling wine upon the table. Some more than others. Jean noticed the General appeared quite gone. The guest of honor moved his chair closer to Jean. Moving close enough to betray even a Frenchman's sense of personal space, the General placed his hand on Jean's knee.
"Perhaps I could interest you in joining us?"
Jean smiled politely, removing the hand. He returned the offer.
"I am flattered, but I have to say no."
Realizing the implication of his motions even through the haze of his mind, Humbert laughed. He raised his hands in a surrender motion.
"Oh no, non, I meant the revolutions. Fame and fortune to be had in the west."
The General leaned in again. Jean could smell the wine on his breath.
"Though it does require some…liquidity to get going," Humbert spoke, dropping his voice to a whisper. "Would you be able to put a word in with your brother?"
Jean stared at the man for a moment, unable to fathom the request. Finally, comprehension struck him. He realized the General was hitting him up for money.
Looking around, Jean saw his men were more interested in their cups. A wrong word could lead to dire misunderstanding. He'd have to play this correctly, so as not to harm You.
"My brother would say, no profit in revolution," Jean replied.
The General's merriment quickly dissipated. A sneer appeared on his face.
"So miserly!" came the reply. "I admit I am suspicious, your hatred of Spain. I had heard you were born in Espagne. Perhaps the American's suspicions…"
"What of it?" Jean snapped back.
Humbert paused for a moment. He swirled his wine in his cup, its contents haphazardly spilling all over the floor.
"The inquisition isn't fond of the Sepharic strand of the Levant."
"I am not from Spain," Jean said, acid in his voice. "I am French. Though I don't care about your Emperor's wars, I still say; curse the Spanish, and good riddance to the Spanish king. "
Jean knew he needed to head off these ramblings. Enough rumors flew about him already. He knew he needed to submit.
"I will ask."
"Good boy," the General said patronizingly. "Since we are on the subject, where are you actually from, Jean?"
Jean didn't think the General actually cared.
"Bourdeaux. Although my brother and I took to the sea before the Empire."
"Ah, yes, his majesty the emperor," Humbert said sarcastically. "I repelled the British at Quiberon when he was still scrubbing cannon for refusing to serve at Vendée."
Jean thought about letting the man continue, and provide him just enough rope to hang himself with. His plans were interrupted by two sailors coming straight across to the party. From the looks on their faces, their intentions were trouble.
"Look what we have here," said the first man, a brogue in his voice. "The cast-offs of the inferior nations."
This quieted the revelry. The rest of the tavern quieted as well, its occupants taking perverse interest in the standoff.
"You are English?" Jean asked at the accent.
"Irish. We whipped your so-called General under Cornwallis at Ballinamuche."
"And you?" Jean addressed the other man.
"American," the man replied. "I don't know nothing about Ireland. But I heard he was kicked out of the Army for stealing."
The man raised his arms and his voice so the rest of the crowd could hear.
"The crook of Saint-Domingue! Too busy lining his pockets and his bed with your so-called Emperor's married sister to stop the slave uprising. Now we're dealing with too many mouths to feed."
The table stood up. You, Beluche, Gambi, and Nez Pence reached for whatever weapons they could grab. Jean raised his hands.
"Gentlemen! The General is our guest of honor." He waved his hand over the table. "You can join us, or you can leave."
"Jean Lafitte, the Gentleman pirate," said the American. "The honor of France. Except I was heard you ain't even born in France. Bit of the Ladino in yah."
Several sailors stood up, gathering behind the two interlopers. The two crews faced off. Each side waited for their leader to say the word.
Not willing to strike first, the American tried to goad Lafitte into making the first move.
"I heard a rumor about you," he said. "They say you were born in 1776."
"Why," chimed in the Irishman, "that would make you Yankee Doodle himself!"
The two men laughed. They began to sing.
"Yankee doodle went to town, a-riding on a pony…"
The several sailors in their group joined them in the refrain, laughing and making mocking gestures.
"Stuck a feather in his cap, and called it macaroni!"
The Irishman reached up and attempted to pull the feather from Jean's hat. Jean swatted his hand away. The sailors ceased their carousing. The tense silence returned.
Jean knew that everyone was looking to see what he did next. His men were itching to fight, grasping their weapons on their hilts. Their lust was returned by their counterparts.
Instead, Jean did something unexpected. He climbed upon a chair, removed his hat, and held it to his breast. Raising his voice, he began to sing as loud as he could, for the whole establishment to hear.
"Allons enfants de la Patrie, le jour de gloire est arrive!"
Upon hearing the opening bars of La Marseillaise, the rest of the patrons stood. The sounds of a hundred chairs scratching across the floor came first, then the feet of their occupants upon the floor. Joining in, their voices resounded off the walls of the establishment. The loudest voices being Dominique and Humbert.
Discovering themselves vastly outnumbered, the sailors backed down quickly. By the time the song ended, they moved to the exit and were halfway down Levee song. Finishing their song, Jean looked around at the room.
"Yes, I am a pirate!" he cried. "Born one hundred years too late. It's quite an occupational hazard, my occupation being no longer around."
Resounding laughter moved through the tavern, defusing the situation. Its occupants took back to their seats and their cups, and merriment restarted. All except for one.
Jean noticed that the General's eyes began to water. His looks changed to panic. He sprang to his feet, beginning to shout.
"What am I doing here among pirates and outlaws? Why are these men here?"
The mood of Lafitte's crew, once cheering on the General, now turned against him. Dominique tried to calm the General, but he continued to shout.
"I will have my say! I will not remain here with these outlaws and murderers!"
Jean rose. Taking the General in his arms, Jean found himself comforting the man he moments before couldn't stand.
"What do I do?" said Humbert, head pressed to Jean's breast.
"I just need one more battle, Jean. Just one victory. One to sweep it all away."
"It is all right," said Lafitte. "This is too undignified for you."
Jean transferred the General to the care of his old artillerist.
"Dominique, make sure he gets home safely."
"Ay Jean," nodded Dominique.
With the General's departure, Jean addressed the crowd.
"The General has too much cheer for his fifty-seven years. I fear for the Spanish. Another round!"
Another cheer saw the general mood return, aided on by a new round of claret.