I dread the dark, tempestuous tides; I dread the farthest sh.o.r.e.

Tell me the secret of the waves; Say what my fate shall be,-- Quick! for the mighty winds are up, And will not wait for me.

_Hail and farewell, O voyager!_ _Thyself must read the waves;_ _What we have learned of sun and storm_ _Lies with us in our graves;_ _What we have learned of sun and storm_ _Is ours alone to know._ _The winds are blowing out to sea,_ _Take up thy life and go!_

LAFITTE

PRIVATEER, PIRATE, AND TERROR OF THE GULF OF MEXICO

(1780-1826)

"For it's fourteen men on a dead man's chest, Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum."

--STEVENSON.

LAFITTE

PRIVATEER, PIRATE, AND TERROR OF THE GULF OF MEXICO

(1780-1826)

"He was the mildest mannered man, That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat; With such true breeding of a gentleman, That you could ne'er discern his proper thought.

Pity he loved an adventurous life's variety, He was _so_ great a loss to good society."

--_Old Ballad._--1810.

"Captain, we can't live much longer unless we have food. We've got enough to last us for two weeks' time, and then--if we do not get fresh provisions--we'll have to eat the sails."

The fellow who spoke was a rough-looking sea-dog, with a yellow face--parched and wrinkled by many years of exposure--a square figure; a red handkerchief tied about his black hair; a sash about his waist in which was stuck a brace of evil-barrelled pistols. He looked grimly at the big-boned man before him.

"Yes. You are right, as usual, Gascon. We've got to strike a foreign sail before the week is out, and capture her. And I, Lafitte, must turn from privateer to pirate. May my good mother at St. Malo have mercy on my soul."

And, so saying, he turned to pace restlessly upon the sloping deck of the two-hundred-ton barque which boiled along under a spread of bellying canvas, and was guided by the keen eye of this youthful mariner. He came from the same little town in France which sheltered the good mother of Du Guay-Trouin, the great French "blue." His name was Jean Lafitte.

This sea-rover had been born in 1781, and had taken to the ocean at the age of thirteen, when most boys are going to boarding-school.

After several voyages in Europe, and to the coast of Africa, he was appointed mate of a French East Indiaman, bound to Madras in India.

But things did not go any too well with the st.u.r.dy ship; a heavy gale struck her off the Cape of Good Hope; she sprung her mainmast, and--flopping along like a huge sea-turtle--staggered into the port of St. Thomas in the island of Mauritius, off the east coast of Africa.

"Here," said young Lafitte to his Captain, "is where I leave you, for you are a bully, a braggart, and a knave."

And, so saying, he cut for sh.o.r.e in the jolly-boat, but--if the truth must be known--Lafitte and the Captain were too much alike to get on together. They both wished to "be boss." Like magnets do not attract, but repel.

Luck was with the young deserter. Several privateers were being fitted out at the safe port of St. Thomas and he was appointed Captain of one of them. Letters of Marque were granted by the Governor of the Mauritius.

"Ah ha!" cried the youthful adventurer. "Now I can run things to suit myself. And I'll grow rich."

This he speedily succeeded in doing, for, in the course of his cruise, he robbed several vessels which came in his path, and, stopping at the Seych.e.l.les (Islands off the eastern coast of Africa), took on a load of slaves for the port of St. Thomas. Thus he had descended--not only to piracy--but also to slave catching; the lowest depths to which a seaman could come down.

When four days out from the curiously named islands, a cry went up from the watch,

"Sail ho! Off the port bow! A British frigate, by much that's good, and she's after us with all speed!"

To which bold Lafitte answered, "Then, we must run for it!" But he hoisted every bit of canvas which he had about and headed for the Bay of Bengal. "And," said he, "if she does not catch us and we get away, we'll take an English merchantman and burn her." Then he laughed satirically.

The British frigate plodded along after the lighter vessel of Lafitte's until the Equator was reached, and then she disappeared,--disgruntled at not being able to catch the saucy tartar. But the privateersman headed for the blue Bay of Bengal; there fell in with an English armed schooner with a numerous crew; and--although he only had two guns and twenty-six men aboard his own vessel--he tackled the sailors from the chilly isle like a terrier shaking a rat. There was a stiff little fight upon the shimmering waves of the Indian Ocean. When night descended the Britisher had struck and nineteen blood-stained ruffians from the privateer took possession of the battered hulk, singing a song which ran:

"For it's fourteen men on a dead man's chest, Yo-Ho-Ho and a bottle of rum."

Lafitte was now feeling better; his men had been fed; he had good plunder; and he possessed two staunch, little craft.

"Let's bear away for India, my Hearties," cried he, "and we'll hit another Englishman and take her."

What he had said soon came to pa.s.s, for, when off the hazy, low-lying coast of Bengal, a rakish East Indiaman came lolling by, armed with twenty-six twelve-pounders and manned with one hundred and fifty men.

A bright boarding upon her stern-posts flaunted the truly Eastern name: the _PaG.o.da_.

The dull-witted Britishers had no suspicions of the weak, Puritan-looking, little two-'undred tonner of Lafitte's, as she glided in close; luffed; and bobbed about, as a voice came:

"Sa-a-y! Want a pilot fer the Ganges?"

There was no reply for a while. Then a voice shrilled back,

"Come up on th' port quarter. That's just what we've been lookin'

for."

The fat _PaG.o.da_ ploughed listlessly onward, as the unsuspicious-looking pilot plodded up on the port side; in fact, most of the crew were dozing comfortably under awnings on the deck, when a shot rang out. Another and another followed, and, with a wild, ear-splitting whoop, the followers of Lafitte clambered across the rail; dirks in their mouths; pistols in their right hands, and cutla.s.ses in their left.

Now was a short and bloodless fight. Taken completely by surprise, the Englishmen threw up their hands and gave in only too willingly. With smiles of satisfaction upon their faces, the seamen of the bad man from St. Malo soon hauled two kegs of spirits upon the decks, and held high revel upon the clean boarding of the rich and valuable prize. The _PaG.o.da_ was re-christened _The Pride of St. Malo_, and soon went off privateering upon her own hook; while Lafitte headed back for St.

Thomas: well-fed--even sleek with good living--and loaded down with the treasure which he had taken. "Ah-ha!" cried the black-haired navigator. "I am going to be King of the Indian waters."

Now came the most b.l.o.o.d.y and successful of his battles upon the broad highway of the gleaming, southern ocean.

Taking command of the _La Confidence_ of twenty-six guns and two hundred and fifty men, whom he found at the port of St. Thomas, he again headed for the coast of British India; keen in the expectation of striking a valuable prize. And his expectations were well fulfilled.

In October, 1807, the welcome cry of "Sail Ho!" sounded from the forward watch, when off the Sand Heads, and there upon the starboard bow was a spot of white, which proved to be a Queen's East Indiaman, with a crew of near four hundred. She carried forty guns.

There were double the number of cannon, there were double the number of men, but Lafitte cried out:

"I came out to fight and I'm going to do it, comrades! You see before you a vessel which is stronger than our own, but, with courage and nerve, we can beat her. I will run our own ship close to the enemy.

You must lie down behind the protecting sides of our vessel until we touch the stranger. Then--when I give the signal to board--let each man seize a cutla.s.s, a dirk, and two pistols, and strike down all that oppose him. We _must_ and _can_ win!"

These stirring words were greeted by a wild and hilarious cheer.

Now, running upon the port tack, the _La Confidence_ bore down upon the Britisher with the water boiling under her bows; while the stranger luffed, and prepared for action. Shrill cries sounded from her huge carca.s.s as her guns were loaded and trained upon the on-coming foe, while her masts began to swarm with sharpshooters eager to pick off the ravenous sea-dogs from the Mauritius.