“I am the scion of a wealthy French family, recently rescued from a pirate who was holding me for ransom,” Verne said. He seemed quite taken with the idea.
“How long will we be in Barataria?” said Finn.
“A few days, perhaps more,” said Drakov. “Why so anxious, Mr. Delaney? We have not even arrived yet. Enjoy yourself. There will be plenty of reason for anxiety later on.”
The archipelago which separated the waters of Barataria Bay from the Gulf of Mexico came into view late in the afternoon. The low-lying islands were pointed out by Drakov and he identified Grand Terre and Grand Island, the two large islands lying close together. To the west was the island Cheniere Caminada.
A warm, orange-scented breeze reached them and they could see the palm trees on the islands swaying gently. The heat was o
ppressive, even with the sea breeze. Lucas took off his coat. They dropped anchor in the security of the bay and took the boats in, pulling past skiffs belonging to shrimp fishermen, and houses, little more than cottages, erected upon piles. The air had a piscatory taint to it which at times overpowered the smell of oranges and oleander. A number of other ships were anchored nearby, ships belonging to the fleet of Jean Lafitte. Drakov pointed out Lafitte’s own ship, the Jupiter, a clipper-built schooner with a sleek, black-painted hull.
“It was built for speed,” said Drakov, “but my Valkyrie can outsail her. Lafitte has several times offered me vast sums of money for her.” He laughed. “He asked me to name my price. Gold, silver, women, anything. But I will not sell. A ship such as the Valkyrie in the hands of a man such as Jean Lafitte would wreak havoc in the waters of the Caribbean.”
“What about a ship such as the Nautilus in the hands of a man such as yourself?” said Verne.
Drakov raised his eyebrows. “Am I to take that as a rebuke, Mr. Verne?”
“It was only a question,” the author replied.
“To which you will soon receive an answer,” Drakov said. “First, however, we have business here.”
“Business?” Lucas said. “I thought it was recreation.”
“ I meant that our business here was recreation, nothing more,” Drakov said, innocently.
There was a carriage waiting for them. The man driving the carriage was small, with broad shoulders and light-brown hair bleached lighter still by the sun. He was deeply tanned and dressed in elegant, cream-colored trousers and a white shirt open at the neck. He wore a lightweight green frock coat and a vest of yellow brocade. He greeted Drakov warmly in French.
“Ah, Captain Drako! Jean spied your ship while coming in from his veranda and immediately dispatched me to meet you. I trust your voyages have been prosperous?”
“You shall soon see for yourself,” said Drakov. He turned to the others. “This is Captain Dominique Youx, Captain Lafitte’s chief lieutenant. Under letters of marque from Carthagena, he has become known as the most formidable privateer in the Indies.”
Youx flashed a wide, disarming smile. “One does one’s best, eh? Come, Jean awaits.”
They climbed into the carriage as Youx ascended to the driver’s seat and urged the horses to a gentle trot. Drakov leaned close to the others, speaking so Youx would not hear.
“It is not generally known, nor will it be known until many years after Youx’s death, that he is Lafitte’s brother, Alexander. An older brother whose adventures necessitated an alias.”
“I thought his brother was named Pierre,” said Finn.
“That is another brother,” Drakov said. “We may or may not see him. He spends much of his time in New Orleans. One side of his face has been affected by a stroke. Should we encounter him, try not to stare.”
“That lying little bastard,” Finn said. “In Paris, he told us Pierre was his only brother!”
Drakov shrugged. “Lafitte has always been secretive about his past. Future biographers will disagree on many facts concerning him. Even in his own journal, when he writes it long after his retirement, Jean will be somewhat elusive. I have a copy of it aboard the Nautilus. He is a pivotal figure in history. His island will eventually be overrun by an American naval force, yet he will nevertheless go to the aid of General Andrew Jackson and help repel the British invasion of New Orleans. For this, he will receive a pardon from President Madison, but no recompense for his losses. Undaunted, he will establish another corsairs’ base on Galveston, displacing a pirate named d’Avry, and go on as before. When he leaves Galveston, he will burn his colony and for years it will be believed that he has sailed off into the sunset, never to be seen or heard from again. In fact, he will take the name John Lafflin and settle in Charleston, South Carolina, where he will marry, father a son and pursue a career as a merchant and ship owner. In time, he will move to St. Louis, then to Europe, where he will meet two gentlemen named Marx and Engels, whose ideas will so appeal to him that he will finance the printing of the Communist Manifesto. He will bring copies of it back to America with him and even have one delivered to a congressman named Lincoln. He will die in Alton, Illinois, in the year 1854, having lived to the ripe old age of seventy-two.”
“What are you talking about back there?” said Youx.
“I was telling my friends about your chief,” said Drakov. “They are quite anxious to meet him.”
“We are almost there,” said Youx.
“Imagine,” said Verne, “to know a man while he lives, and yet to know the date of his death and all that will happen in his future!”
“I have, of course, had the courtesy not to reveal any of this to him,” said Drakov, in an amused tone. “I have no idea how he would take it.”
“You seem to think pretty highly of him,” Lucas said.
“He has become, in many ways, my role model, Mr. Priest,” said Drakov. “A hero in a world in which, even in this time, heroes are becoming a dying breed. Lafitte is the last of the swashbucklers, the final gasp of the golden age of piracy.”