How Dark the Night (15 page)

And make quite a nice profit too, Richard thought. Yet, oddly, as the Frenchman's grin broadened into a wide smile Richard found himself drawn to the man. Aloud he said, “Tell me, Monsieur Lafitte, how does Pierre manage to procure these items you sell? Does he pay for them? Or does he simply take them?”

A storm cloud passed over Lafitte's face. “I do not like your insinuation, monsieur,” he said, the tone of his voice matching the dark glint in his eyes. “I am telling you these things because I see in you a quality I admire. We are men of the world, you and I. But do not think that you can insult me. Again I warn you: be very careful with your choice of words. I will not be called a pirate by you or by anyone else.”

“Perhaps ‘smuggler' is a more accurate word?”

“
Assez!
” Lafitte banged his fist on the table, upsetting the glass of bourbon and sending it crashing onto the stone floor. “It is one and the same, monsieur!” he shouted. “I tell you, I am
not
a pirate! Men who
have dared call me that lie dead in their graves. I have challenged many to a duel, and as you can see for yourself, monsieur, I remain very much alive. Do you too wish to challenge me? If so, I shall oblige you, at your pleasure. My sole regret will be making your lovely wife a widow!”

Richard remained as stiff as a marlinspike. He did, however, moderate his tone. “I do not wish to test your skill with the pistol, monsieur,” he said. “I can clearly see that you are a man of many talents. But if you are not a pirate or a smuggler, then what are you?”

Lafitte leaned back in his chair. “I am a privateer,” he said firmly.

“Operating under whose letter of marque?”

“Guadeloupe's.”

“Guadaloupe? Then I suspect you are soon to be disappointed, monsieur. The British have Guadeloupe and Martinique under siege. If they take those islands—I should say,
when
they take those islands—they will revoke your letter.

“Yes, I quite agree,” Lafitte said casually.

“What will you do then?”

Lafitte offered a wisp of a smile. “
Then
I shall go elsewhere for a letter of marque.”

“But where? There are no other French colonies in the Indies.”

Lafitte selected another glass and splashed bourbon into it. “It is rumored that Spain's colonies in South America will soon gain their independence,” he said. “I have no doubt that they will issue letters of marque. In any case, Spain is an ally of France in the war against England. So, even as a colony of Spain, the government in Bogotá,
par exemple
, is most eager to issue letters of marque to men like me.”

“For a handsome price.”

Lafitte nodded. “
Naturellement
. But whatever that price is, I will pay it gladly. A letter of marque keeps my business legitimate,
non
?”

Richard blinked, realizing that under international law what Lafitte had just said was correct. In effect, a letter of marque legitimized piracy while in theory protecting its holder and his crew from punishment befitting pirates. As corrupt and contemptible as the system might be, it was a system long recognized by all civilized nations, and there was nothing he could do or say against it. He had one last card to play, and he chose his words carefully.

“I concede your point, monsieur,” he said. “However, privateering is considered a legal activity only when the country that issues the letter is at war with the country whose ships are taken. To the best of my
knowledge, the United States is not at war with either France or Spain—or with the government in Bogotá.”

To Richard's surprise, Lafitte laughed. “You have the balls to stand before me and talk of legalities?
Mon Dieu
, are you really so naïve? What have legalities to do with
anything
? British warships and French privateers alike have been seizing your merchant ships at a rate to outrage your government. But what does your government
do
about it? What does your president do? He does nothing.
Rien de tout
. One of life's lessons I have learned, monsieur, is that in dealing with one's enemies, real and presumed, fear is a potent weapon. My enemies fear me and the force of my will. Those who have the will to win
will
win. Everyone else suffers. Your president has not the will to win, so his people suffer. You and your family suffer. Regrettable?
Peut-être. Mais c'est la vie, monsieur, n'est-ce pas
?”

Richard's shoulders sagged. Feeling the wind knocked out of him, he sat down in one of the three chairs facing Lafitte. “If the offer still stands, monsieur,” he said, “I will join you in a glass of whiskey now.”

“
Bon
.” Lafitte took another glass from the sideboard behind him, filled it to the brim, and handed it to Richard. “
Sant
é,” he said before downing a hearty slug.

“
Santé
,” Richard said before downing one of his own.

“And so, Monsieur Lafitte,” Richard said after the bourbon had settled his nerves, “where do we go from here? Exactly what do you intend to do with us?”

Lafitte raised his eyebrows. “With
you
, monsieur? Nothing whatsoever. You and those in your ship's company are free to depart this island any time you wish.”

“Free to depart?” Richard said as calmly as he was able. “In my own vessel, I presume?”

Lafitte smiled. “You may presume whatever you wish,
mon ami
. I never wish to deny a man what he might presume.”

“Can we get to the point, monsieur?” Richard asked curtly before uttering the words he dreaded saying. “I believe that the business matter we are here to discuss concerns my ship. Am I correct?”

Lafitte clapped his hands in applause. “
Exactement
,” he said happily. “She is a Baltimore clipper! A sweet and very fast vessel.” He leaned in and spoke softly, as if offering a confidence. “You may be interested to know that Pierre and I have eighty ships. Those out there in the cove are just a few of them. The rest are away at sea. They are all fine ships, but we do not have a clipper in our fleet. That is, we did not have one until today.
And an armed one, at that.” He grinned. “The
capitaine
of my sloop did well by me,
non
? And he did well by himself and his crew. They will be handsomely rewarded, I can assure you. It is another of life's lessons, one that every successful businessman understands: to keep men loyal and working hard—those men you
choose
to keep loyal and working hard—you must pay them well for work well done. Unless I am mistaken, this is a lesson you yourself have learned.
C'est vrai, mon ami
?”

Richard's brain spun between relief, on the one hand, and outrage, on the other. How could he return home without his vessel? It was not just the ignominy of losing the newly minted crown jewel of the Cutler & Sons merchant fleet to a French pirate. As embarrassing and appalling as that loss was, he was powerless to prevent it. But how, without his vessel, would he get his family and crew home from Grande Terre? He put that question to Jean Lafitte.

“Ah,
mon ami
, you are in luck,” Lafitte replied magnanimously. “It happens that I have business in Saint Augustine. An important but rather impudent client there is angry with me over certain terms of sale. I must therefore go and help him understand my perception of things. So if you are willing—if you will accept my hospitality—I will take you in my brig to one of the islands off the coast of Savannah. I shall have to keep your crew under lock and key during the voyage, you understand, but you and Madame Cutler will be free to stroll the deck and to dine with me at your pleasure. You will all be treated well; you have my word on it.
Encore
, from Savannah it will be an easy matter for you to book passage to Boston.
C'est ça
? Are such terms acceptable to you?”

Richard exhaled slowly. “What choices do I have?”

“I regret to inform you,
Capitaine
Cutler,” Lafitte replied with a grin, “that you have
no
choices.”

For a brief instant Richard considered the possibility of spotting a U.S. Navy warship out on patrol off the coast of Georgia. He quickly dismissed that forlorn hope: the odds were ridiculously small. Even if they did happen upon one, how could he signal her to interfere with what would look like, with her guns rolled in and her gun ports camouflaged, an innocent merchant brig? And even if he did see a Navy ship and could signal her, that would again place his wife, nephew, and crew in serious jeopardy. Lafitte was correct. He had Richard checkmated.

“Such terms are acceptable,” Richard said, determined to make the best of this horrible turn of events.

“
Eh bien
,” Lafitte said with a broad grin. He raised his glass. “
À un bon voyage, mon ami
.”

Six

Savannah, Georgia, and Hingham, Massachusetts

Summer 1806

F
ROM A DISTANCE
, the vast flat marshlands along the Georgia coastline seemed very much like those that dominated the Louisiana coast. Here, though, nestled a short way up the Savannah River and within easy sail for a hired sloop, was a city of substance—indeed, the first colonial capital of Georgia and its first state capital. Off to the east of Savannah was yet another beacon of civilization: a lighthouse erected on what the sloop's master identified as Tybee Island. Tybee Light, originally constructed in 1736, was the first lighthouse to grace America's southern waters. It had been destroyed by fire and rebuilt twice, the sloop's captain told Richard, and today rose one hundred feet above its base. Richard and the others sailing with him across the eighty-five miles separating Sea Island from Savannah had found the gradual emergence of Tybee Light on the northern horizon a most welcome sight.

Richard had no difficulty booking passage northward once he made it known along the waterfront that he was a U.S. Navy captain seeking passage to the naval base at Portsmouth, Virginia. After he had submitted a written report to naval authorities at the Gosport Shipyard, to be forwarded up the Potomac to the Navy Department in Washington, the company would continue on to Boston. Although he realized there was little the Navy would or could do about Jean Lafitte—and in truth, the cruise from Grand Terre to the Sea Islands had tempered his and Katherine's initial impressions of the man—he felt it his duty to more clearly define the threat to American commerce in the Gulf of Mexico. Plus, it
was just possible that Navy secretary Robert Smith might be in Portsmouth, which would suit Richard's purposes all the better.

As it turned out, the seizure of
Dove
on Grand Terre and subsequent layovers in Georgia and Virginia delayed their arrival in Boston to a hot and breezy morning in early July—a full month behind schedule. Those waiting for them to return home from Barbados had felt every hour of that extra month, their anxiety at the outset gradually deepening into despair each day that a Baltimore clipper failed to materialize to those watching high on a widow's walk or some other tall structure. When the master of a Cutler & Sons packet boat dispatched by George Hunt on Long Wharf announced to the Cutler family in Hingham that a U.S. Navy sloop of war carrying Richard and Katherine Cutler, their nephew, and
Dove
's captain and crew had arrived in Boston from Portsmouth, word spread quickly about town that the prodigals would be sailing for Hingham later that same day.

By mid-afternoon a sizable crowd had gathered near the quays at Crow Point. The safe return of
Dove
's passengers and crew was reason enough for many Hingham residents to be there; but what truly swelled the crowd were the rumors concerning the circumstances of their delay. Imagine! Pirates and cutthroats boarding a Cutler & Sons vessel and seizing it! The terror—the unspeakable brutality—of it all! Imagine Katherine Cutler—that dear, frail woman—falling into the hands of the most vile and unprincipled men sailing the seas! Well! People came streaming in toward the quays from every direction and pushed in closer for a better view.

Diana Cutler and Peter Sprague stood in the vanguard of that crowd, in company with Agreen and Lizzy Crabtree, Adele Cutler, Carol Bennett, and two other Cutler family members recently arrived. Excited chatter filled the air as eager eyes scanned the waters of West Gut between Peddock's Island and Hough's Neck for telltale glints of white sail and jib on a single-masted packet boat.

“There!” someone shouted, pointing. “That looks like the one!”

“Thar she blows, my friends!” Agreen shouted out a moment later. His vision was sharp, and his knowledge of Cutler & Sons packet boats thorough.

Spontaneous cheers broke out. Diana beamed at Peter. When she wrapped her arm around his waist and leaned against him, Peter put his hand on her shoulder and drew her in tight. Agreen was bolder. With a whoop of joy, he placed his hands on Lizzy's hips and lifted her high into the air, grinning as he held her above his head.

“Agee!” she shrieked. “Put me down this instant! What will people think?”

“They'll think that I love you,” he shouted out for all to hear, and all loved hearing it. Cheers erupted as he lowered her gradually, bringing her lips ever closer to his, ending in a public kiss for which she would excoriate him later but which she could not resist now. Another round of cheers broke out as he set his wife on solid ground.