they had recovered from the sunken La Floridana. It was filled with pieces of eight, which Drakov’s crew had meticulously cleaned so they would not look as if they had been under water.
“Drako,” said Lafitte, reprovingly, “there is no need of this.”
“I know, Jean, but please accept the gift. Think of it as a token payment from my men for their entertainment.”
“In that case, I must present you with a gift, as well,” Lafitte said. “What will you have? Another ship, perhaps? We have recently brought in a prize, a Spaniard. She is only a merchantman, nothing like your Valkyrie, of course, but-”
“One ship is enough for me, my friend,” said Drakov. “From you, I will accept only hospitality and nothing more.”
“Well, then I must do something for your men, at least. Land, you like Marie? She’s yours. I give her to you. Marie!”
Land was thunderstruck.
“Now, Jean-” Drakov began.
“No, no, it is all settled! I have spoken. Ah, Marie, meet your new master, Mr. Ned Land. I have made him a present of you.”
Marie looked aghast. Her eyes filled with tears.
Drakov came to the rescue. “Jean, please, you will cause me problems if you do this. This girl is not made for a life at sea. If you give her to Land, it will only make the rest of my crew jealous.”
“Then I will give each of them a woman,” said Lafitte. “I have hundreds. Well, perhaps not hundreds, but certainly enough for each to take his pick.”
“Just what I need,” said Drakov. “A woman for every man aboard my ship.”
Lafitte grimaced. “Yes, I suppose that would be a problem, wouldn’t it?”
“She seems quite close to you, Captain Lafitte,” said Land. “I wouldn’t wish to cause her to be unhappy.”
“Bah! Women attach themselves to men like barnacles. If a man gives them any regard, he’ll have a devil of a time scraping them off. Very well, then. I shall think of something else. Never mind, Marie. It appears Mr. Land prefers for you to stay with me.”
“Oh, thank you, Monsieur!” Marie said, standing on tiptoe to kiss Land upon the cheek.
“Go and thank him properly, at least,” Lafitte said. She took his hand and led the bewildered Land away.
“Are you as cavalier with everyone, Captain Lafitte?” said Verne, in a reproving tone. “Or only with your slaves?”
“Do I offend you, sir?” Lafitte said.
Drakov quickly intervened. “Mr. Verne, though something of an aristocrat in France, is nevertheless rather liberal in his ideas, Jean.”
“Is it liberal to believe that people should not be considered property?” said Verne.
“Ah, yes, the Negro question,” said Lafitte. “I perceive you subscribe to this anti-slavery idea, sir. I will tell you something, quite sincerely. In principle, I am not against it. However, allow me to point out that this idea, whatever its merits, is not a very popular one, certainly not at present, in this region. In the future, things may well change. I suspect they will. For now, it is the Negroes’ misfortune to be slaves. This does not mean I mistreat them. As you have seen, Marie was quite reluctant to leave me. What is more, the slaves I bring to Barataria and sell in places such as Donaldsonville and Memphis are not Negroes I have captured and taken from their homeland. Those I take from Spanish ships bound for Havana and South America have already been thoroughly subdued and domesticated. There would be little point, assuming a great idealism on my part, in returning them to Africa. Such a voyage would be prohibitive and they would not survive, in any case. Africa is not a civilized country and their own tribes would doubtless kill them. If I were to set them free, where would I take them? Where could they enjoy such freedom? How would they survive? Or would you rather I leave them with the Spaniards, who are, I assure you, far less benevolent masters than they will find here? What would you have me do?”
“Your points are well taken, Captain,” Verne said. “Nevertheless, and meaning no offense, I cannot help but feel pity toward young Marie.”
Lafitte shook his head. “You know very little of our ways, Mr. Verne. I do not say this in rebuke, you understand. Allow me to explain. Marie is what we call a griffe, the daughter of a white man and a quadroon woman. Here in New Orleans, we frequently have quadroon balls, lavish affairs attended by all eligible quadroon women and most of the young New Orleans gentlemen. A quadroon is not considered a Negro, Mr. Verne. However, neither is a quadroon considered white. Their position in society is strictly defined. For years, the young men of this city have gone to the Quadroon Ballroom, as is the custom, in search of mistresses. Do not make the mistake of thinking we have made them prostitutes or whores. They are not that. Their best chance for a good life is to find a white man who will act as their protector and their mothers prepare them for this from childhood. A quadroon girl usually becomes the mistress of a young gentleman of means, who keeps her in a comfortable home or an apartment, cares for her, frequently has children by her. She lives a good life, devoted to one man, who provides for her in a manner that allows her to live quite comfortably. Sometimes this association is terminated when the young man marries, sometimes it continues. Quadroon men-free men of color, as we call them here-are not as fortunate. Sometimes their fathers provide an education for them, but more frequently they become laborers or musicians. They often marry former mistresses of white men and lead normal, happy lives. If they are light enough in color, they might leave New Orleans and travel far away, passing as white.
“Marie would have been a free woman of color in New Orleans and she would easily have found a wealthy man to provide for her. However, until I intervened, her destiny was to be a Spanish slave. She was in chains when I found her, though she was kept chained in the captain’s cabin, rather than in the hold with the others, for reasons which seem quite obvious. She was born in Havana and she grew up a slave. The Spaniards did make a whore of her. She knew nothing else since the age of twelve. In New Orleans, she could have been free, only what would have been her opportunities? She had received no training in manners and social graces. She has no mother to take her to a quadroon ball. She had no home, no means of support. She would have fallen back on the only thing she knew and would have become a prostitute for certain. Nevertheless, I gave her that choice. It may not have been much of a choice, but it was all I could offer her. Freedom or being sold as a slave. She pleaded with me to keep her. She said she would serve me faithfully and keep me happy. Well, sir, I understood only too well what she meant. And I did not wish to put myself in the position of taking advantage of such a situation. That would have made me no different from the Spaniards.”
“Yet you keep her as a slave,” said Verne.
“I do,” Lafitte said, “so other men will respect her as my property. Yet, I have trained her, taught her, treated her well and never bedded her.”
“And offered her to Land,” said Verne.
“As was my right,” Lafitte said. “I offered her the choice of freedom or slavery.” He shrugged. “She chose slavery.”
Verne sighed and stared out at the setting sun. “You are a complicated man, Captain.”
Dominique Youx joined them once again to tell Lafitte the men were arriving for the council.
“You will excuse me for a short while,” Lafitte said, getting up. “Prior to your arrival, I called for a meeting of my captains. It is a matter of some importance. Please, the night is warm. Remain here for a while and I shall have supper brought to you. This should not take very long.”
They waited on the veranda, watching the captains of Barataria arrive, many coming with members of their crews who remained outside, and they gorged themselves on the delicious Creole cuisine. Ned did not reappear, prompting Andre to observe that Marie must be giving him a truly proper thanks. Verne looked shocked.
Downstairs, shouts were heard, then the sounds of furniture overturning. They heard a door slam and looking out over the railing of the veranda, they saw a heavyset, swarthy-looking man leaving in a huff to join some of the men gathered on the beach.
“That’s Gambi,” Drakov said. “It appears he has walked out of the meeting. This may mean trouble.”
The meeting broke up soon after that and Lafitte rejoined them, looking no different than before. Whatever had happened at the meeting seemed to have affected him little, if at all.
“We saw Gambi leaving in a rage,” said Drakov, trying to draw him out. “If he is being difficult, perhaps I should send word to my men to steer clear of him and his crew during our stay.”
