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A COLLOQUIAL SCENE—INTERIOR OF A BUCCANEER'S RENDEZVOUS—
SOLILOQUY, OR STRUGGLE BETWEEN HONOUR AND PASSIONS—AN
INTERRUPTION.

The morning broke upon the watches, and
found them still by the bedside of the wounded
officer. His wound had been rather a severe contusion,
with the side of the pirate's cutlass, than a
deep cut.

After passing the remainder of the night in
feverish slumber, he awoke, as the hand of the
maiden was gently parting the hair from his
brow.

“Is it you, sweet one?” he said, with a faint
smile---the whole scene of the preceding night coming,
at once, to his recollection! Have you been
watching by me through the long hours of the
night! How kind, Constanza! But speak!” he
added, suddenly rising, “tell me---where is my antagonist,
the buccaneer, who wounded me? Did I
not see you near me, when I fell? I have a half-consciousness
of being caught by you. Devoted

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Constanza! was it not so? and was I not borne,
by some one, back to this cave? Who was it?
was he wounded? or—' looking with anxious affection
into her face, “you, my dearest! were you
hurt?” he continued, with feverish rapidity, as
the various scenes he had passed through, came,
indistinctly, and unconnected, to his mind.

“Nay, nay, dear Alphonse! I cannot reply to
all your rapid questions. You must not rise so
soon—be quiet. There is no danger to you,
or me!”

“But I am better, dearest!” he said, playing
with a truant tress, which hung over her temples.
“I am better! my sleep has been refreshing.”

“But your wound?”

“It is but slight, although it must have been
given with a good-will at the time; a little patch
will make all sound as ever. But, my sweet Constanza,
do not be alarmed! Who was the pirate
that fought so fiercely? Ah!” he suddenly exclaimed,
as his eye rested upon the slight form of
young Théodore, who stood within the niche—
“whom have we here?”

“The youth, Théodore, of whom I spoke,” she
replied.

“Ah! I remember! Monsieur Théodore, pardon
me, young sir! I owe you better courtesy! You
have loaded me with a debt of gratitude.

“Speak of that at another time, Monsieur, your
health requires silence and repose,” replied the youth,
remarking the mixture of indecision and energy
in his manner and language, which he attributed
to the fever of his wound.

“Not so, my good youth. I must thank you
now. Yet, I know not how! You are a sailor,”
he continued, after a moment's thought; “will you
take a midshipman's berth on board the Sultan?'

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“I thank you, but I need no reward for performing
my duty, if I have deserved any. I have sufficiently
received it, by knowing that I have been
instrumental in adding to this kind lady's happiness.
A kind word from her lips is more than I dare
hope to ask!” he added, with a blushing brow.

“You are modest, for a protégé of Lafitte, fair
youth,” he replied, smilingly, “but this lady will not
only give you words of kindness, I think, but her
white hand to kiss! will you not, Constanza? and
this, as you hint, were honour enough, for belted
knight in days of Charlemagne.”

Constanza, with a sweet smile, presented her
hand to the youth, who, bending over it with an
air of devout respect, pressed his lips lightly to the
taper fingers.

At this instant a foot-fall was heard, echoing
through the chamber Constanza had occupied, and
she had hardly said—

“It is Lafitte,” when the outlaw appeared at the
breach in the stalactic drapery of the cave, and before
passing into the apartment, gazed silently for
a few seconds upon the group.

When Lafitte left the lovers, after the count had
fallen asleep, he traversed the long passage with a
rapid tread and an aching heart. He found the
terrace strewed with dead and dying; several of
his men leaning with an air of fatigue against the
sides of the cliff, or upon the cannon, which had
just been fired at the retreating Americans, who,
driven over the verge, sprung into the water, or slid
down the stays to the deck, with the loss of more
than half their number, besides two wounded
officers, one of whom they bore from the deck into
the boat, severely hurt. Then with rapidity they
pulled rapidly down the passage to their vessel.

“Ho, Carlos! below there!” he shouted.

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“Carlos es muerte!” said faintly a wounded pirate,
who rested on his cutlass.

“Ha! dead! Ho, the deck there—fire upon that
boat! Do you mean to let them man the brig again
and blockade us?---Fire!”

“No es possible, señor,” cried one from the schooner.
“Los Americans have spike all de gun.”

“Spiked the guns! Maldicho! how was that
done, Matéo?”

“No se, señor! no es possible to tell. I hear de
click, click, five six time, when one sailor run over
de gun to de boat; and when I put de prime ob de
horn in de hole, dere was no hole dere, all fill up
with big rusty nail.”

“Spiked, ha! well, let them go—they will be
glad enough to get out of this and show the old
rock the stern of their brig,” said he, quietly.

After Lafitte, with much humanity, had attended
to the wounded, and given orders for the disposal
of the dead, who numbered seventeen of the
Americans, and more than twenty of the buccaneers,
he placed the watch for the remainder of the night,
and then, last of all, attended to his own wounds,
which, though not severe, were numerous. He entered
the cavern, and passing the spot which the
count had defended, and from which the bodies
had been removed, he traversed the passage for a
few yards, and then turned into one of those recesses
which the fugitives had supported;—niches,
which opened before him as he advanced, increasing
in height and breadth. Although perfectly
dark, he traversed this new avenue with an unfaltering
footstep, and like one familiar with its details.

About seventy paces from the main passage, he
came into a small vaulted apartment, lighted fitfully
by the flickering flame of an expiring fire,
which had been kindled near the centre against a

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fragment of rock which had fallen from the side of
the grotto, and rolled into the middle of the floor.
Several chests, such as seamen use to contain their
apparel, rude camp stools, a round polished table,
with a marble top, piles of cordage, rolls of canvass,
and heaps of old sails, with many other articles
necessary to the repair and preservation of vessels,
filled the sides of the apartment.

On a projecting shelf, at the extremity of the
cave, stood a costly pier-glass, the height of a man,
with radii diverging from a point near the centre,
as if a bullet had shattered it. One of the chests,
the lid of which was up, displayed a number of cutlasses
and pistols, and a pyramid of shot, adapted
to the calibre of the piece of ordnance at the mouth
of the cave, was piled at one end of it, and laid
against the wall, tied up like faggots, were several
bundles of pikes. In a distant niche, placed one
upon another, were several kegs, half seen indistinctly
in the obscurity, covered by a tarpaulin,
which had been hastily displaced, and branded
“poudre à canon.”

A long table, of that construction best adapted to
a ship's cabin, extended nearly across the cave,
about half way between the fire and the sides,
which were perfectly smooth and black, and no
where incrusted with stalactite.

An upturned bench lay near, and parallel with
the table, upon which stood, in bacchanalian confusion,
bottles of French wines, glasses, deep plates,
and tureens, with vessels for preparing coffee. It
was without a cloth, wet with spilled wine, and
strewed with fish bones, and fragments of bread
and meat.

Mattresses lay about the floor, and one or two
hammocks were swung across from side to side.
at the left hand of the shattered mirror was a recess,
terminating in a heavy door, apparently

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constructed of the plank of a ship, as circular apertures
once filled with spikes, and the traces of other adaptation
of the material than the present, sufficiently
indicated.

This part of the grotto was evidently appropriated
by the buccaneers as the armory, store-room, and
hall of feasting and carousing.

It was silent and deserted as the outlaw entered,
except by the ungainly figure of his slave, Cudjoe,
who lay with his naked feet to the fire, his head
closely wrapped in a soiled blanket, fast asleep, preferring
the embraces of Somnus to those of Mars,
from which he had escaped at the commencement
of the conflict.

Lafitte gazed upon the scene around him with a
bitter smile.

“And this,” he said, with a cloudy brow, after
standing a while in silence, “this is my abode! the
outlaw's home!—this my domestic hearth—this my
social board—for the plaudits of such as I command—
for the boast of a beast like this slave! Is
it for this I live! alas, I have lived in vain! all, all
in vain!” and he paced the cave with an agitated
step, while hatred for his present life, aspirations for
an honourable career, and love for the Castillian
maiden, filled his mind with conflicting emotions.

“She is in my power once more,” he hoarsely
whispered; “have I not made sufficient sacrifice in
letting her once depart! Is my passion again to be
immolated upon the altar of self-denial! Yet I may
not use the power I possess. I love her—and only
to honourable love shall she be sued! But will she
listen!—Listen!—am I mad—listen with her hand
upon the brow, and kneeling beside the couch of
her betrothed husband! Success is now doubly
walled up against me. But if he die!—ah, if he
die!—as he may—as he must!” he added with a
ringing voice, and starting at the guilty thoughts

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which stirred his bosom; but suddenly checking
himself, he continued, in a lower tone—“No, no,
no!—I am sick of crime!—back, back, tempter—I
will win her fairly. Am I indeed so base as to wish
this maiden ill—to think of destroying so much
happiness, when I can make it bliss! If he should
not live—then! then, perhaps!—but no—oh, God,
no!--have I not stricken the blow--and will she
place her hand in his, red with her lover's blood?—
Will she give her heart to be healed by him who
broke it? But time, perhaps, might mitigate and
veil over the bitter memory of the past---and then,”
and his step became more elastic, and his brow
clear as he spoke, but as suddenly changed again.
“Alas! there is no hope for me!---she never—never
can love me!----her spirit is too pure to mingle with
mine. It is in vain for me to hope---yet I must
love her---love her---for ever! But I will school myself
to think of her without passion---worship her as
a lovely incarnation of the Virgin!”

For an hour he paced the grotto, struggling with
his passion, which, one moment gaining the ascendancy,
filled his mind with dark and guilty purposes;
but immediately yielding to the dictates of honour,
and the native generosity of his character, he would
picture forth scenes of happiness for her and her
lover in the vista of the future. His step was
irregular, his features worked convulsively, his brow
was bent with the violence of the struggle.

“I will---I will!” he at length said, suddenly
stopping. “She shall respect---if she cannot love
me---only with gratitude shall she remember Lafitte!
They shall both be free, and this very day
will I myself take them to Port-au-Prince. If I
cannot make my own happiness, I will not mar
theirs---nay, I will make it---I will teach my passion
this step;” and his voice became calmer as
he spoke. “As I now feel,” he continued, “I think

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I could place her hand within his, and bid Heaven
bless them. Yes, then I could seek an early death
on the battle-field, or in the seclusion of a monastery
atone for my past life by penance and prayer.
Penance and prayer!” he repeated, with an altered
voice, while a disdainful expression dwelt upon his
lip, as though he had given utterance to thoughts
of which he became at once ashamed. “Yes---
beads and rosaries! genuflexions and ablutions,
fasts and confessions! cowl and gown! truly these
would well become me! Yet, for all that, it may yet
be to what my coward heart will drive me. Nevertheless,
this lady shall go free, whatever shall be my
future fate.”

He then threw himself upon one of the rude
couches, and bringing the butt of his pistols round
to the ready grasp of his hand, he sought in the
oblivion of sleep, to forget himself.

Sleep! blessing both of the innocent and guilty!
With thy presence thou visitest like the rain, both
the just and the unjust. Angel of charity, messenger
from on high, sent down to shorten half the
weary pilgrimage of life! Sister of mercy---the
curse of Eden would have been unmingled without
thee. Thou hast shared with us the heavy load,
and cooled the sweating brow, and for us borne half
the burden and heat of the long day of existence!

He awoke at dawn refreshed, and with a calmer
breast. Low voices struck his ear, from beyond the
door within the recess. He listened a moment in
surprise, and then rising quickly he unlocked the
door, and entered the apartment once occupied by
Constanza.

The canopy and other preparations made by the
order and attention of Théodore for her comfort,
caught his eye—for all parts of the cave was now
visible by the daylight, let in from the crevices and
apertures in the roof His rapid glance also

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detected the breach made by the count, and he at once
understood the object of it; and as he was advancing
to examine it, the voices of the party in the
adjoining chamber became distinct.

“Ha! my captive lover is better it seems,” he
exclaimed as the words struck his ear. “But, he
has made a soldier's breach through this wall.
Constanza then was placed here by that prosy fool
Sebastiano; and thick-skulled, Dutch Getzendanner
must place his prisoner within ear-shot. It is
said there is no separating true lovers, and here is
most visible proof of it. What have we here, Cielos!
the maiden's sparkling crucifix, dropped in her
flight,” he suddenly added, eagerly seizing the
jewel which caught his eye; “This next my
heart forever!” he fervently exclaimed, pressing
it to his lips—“this shall be twice worshipped—I
devote it to heaven, and love,” and he hung it
around his neck by its chain, concealing the cross
in his bosom.

“Protégé of Lafitte!” he repeated with bitter
emphasis, as he overheard the words of D'Oyley.
“Monsieur Le Compte thinks there can come nothing
good out of Nazareth! Ha! how cavalierly
he gives away the lady's hand to the boy's lip—pity
that so fair a scene should be interrupted.”

“Señora, buenos dias tenga vm. Monsieur Compte,
I trust you are much better. Théodore, welcome
back again!” and as he entered the chamber, he
grasped the hand of the boy with a smile of pleasure—
bowed coldly to the count, who was sitting
on his couch of bamboo-rushes in the niche, and
with an air of profound respect, bent low to the
maiden.

“Pardon this intrusion, Señora, I knew not of
this passage between the rooms, it being made since
my last visit to our rendezvous, probably for greater
facilities of intercourse,” and he smiled meaningly,

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“and hearing voices, I came to learn from whence
they proceeded.”

“Monsieur,” he continued “I am happy to see
you so far recovered from your wounds. You are
at liberty to depart, when you are well enough to be
removed.”

“I thank you, Monsieur Lafitte,” replied the count,
courteously, “My wound was but trifling. I am
able to move; but, monsieur, permit me to say, how
profoundly I feel your kindness extended to this
lady!”

“Enough, count, I followed my own feelings. It
is not for you to thank me,”—said he sternly—
“speak of your departure.”

“If I am at liberty, as you say, I would leave at
once. Have you any news of my schooner? you
have I presume heard the particulars of my capture?”

“Yes, Monsieur, in a few words from Gaspàr---
of your vessel, I have not heard. I will take you
to Port au Prince, in my schooner as soon as she
undergoes some repairs. She will be ready by the
morning.”

“Thank you, Monsieur; and this lady?”

“Shall accompany you, sir!” he replied in a deep
voice, that drew the eye of the count upon his face,
which reflected the agitation of his mind, produced
by the question, and the associations which it
called up.

“Sacre!” exclaimed the count, suspicious of the
cause of Lafitte's emotion, suddenly flashing across
his mind.

“Are you in pain, Alphonse?” inquired Constanza,
with a changing cheek, as she remarked
his exciting manner.

“No! yes! great!” and he laid his hand upon
his breast.

Lafitte smiled scornfully, and he glanced at the

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officer with an expression of dislike. After a few
moments, vexed at the silence of Constanza, who
had not raised her eyes from her lover's face, since
he entered, he left the cave accompanied by Theodore,
whom he took with him, to ascertain more
particularly than he had learned from Gaspàr,
the details of their capture, and the events succeeding
it.

While the pirate chief neglected nothing that
could contribute to the comfort of Constanza, and
the count, he refrained from visiting them during
the day, resolved to have no farther communication
with the lovely Castillian, lest his resoluton should
forsake him—and under the influence of passion,
increased by the presence of the maiden, he should
throw off all his honourable resolves for her happiness---the
consequences of which he dare not contemplate.

The struggle in hiw own mind was prolonged,
and severe. At one moment he was ready to rush
into her presence, throw himself at her feet, and
plead his deep, unconquerable love—at another
moment he would feed upon the reflection, that she
was in his power, and he resolved that he would
not let her go. Again the wild idea of challenging
the count to single combat, or the more guilty
one of exposing him in his wounded state to die,
would by turns fire his bosom. The exclamation
of the count, which he had attributed to sudden
pain, repeatedly occurred to him, and he curled his
lip contemptuously as he said mentally,

“He is jealous of me. The proud Frenchman
fears Lafitte may take a fancy to have so fair a prot
égée; hatred for him could almost tempt me to detain
this lovely flower, did I not love her so well as I
too truly do—did I not know that her happiness,
which alone I seek, is bound up in him. Dios! he
has a noble presence, and is a man a lady might

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well love—yet I love her too well for this,” he
added with feeling. “The jealous count should
rather thank my love for the lady's safety, than
show his jealousy. If I loved her not, as I never
loved woman—Ha, a footstep! Who goes there?
It is but fancy, or but a bat,” he said as a slight
noise, which he thought a footstep, at the extremity
of the passage struck his ear. “But alas,” he continued—
“Gertrude—I have loved thee, thou art not
forgotten. Well he shall have her”—he hastily
added, and God help me, he shall have her from my
hand---and I will have the approval of my conscience,
for at least one disinterested act. To-morrow
they go! and as he spoke he swung himself
from the terrace on to the rigging of his vessel, and
descending to the deck, forwarded by his presence,
the repairs and preparations for sailing early on the
morning of the coming day.

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