“Take him to the governor in the morning,” he
said to him as he called some of his comrades to
receive him.

“Thank you Monsieur,” said the guard, as Lafitte
turned away. “You are a good patriot. I
would all the citizens were like you. Will you
take wine?”

“No, Monsieur.”

“Who, shall I tell the governor, has taken this
prisoner?”

He wrote the word “Lafitte,” with a pencil
upon one of the bills, and folding it up, handed it to
him; and before the guard could decipher it, he had
disappeared below the leveé. Springing into his boat,
he waked the Irishman, who had fallen asleep, and
sought once more, through the chain of guard-boats,
the barge he had left secreted at the mouth of the
artificial inlet to the bayou. Then releasing his
Irish prisoner, with a warning to be less afraid of
alligators, and to keep better watch when on post,
he entered his own boat; and before the break of
day, was again concealed among the huts of the
fishermen, which he had left early on the preceding
evening.

eaf156v2.n1

[1] See Latour's Memoirs of Louisiana: Appendix, page xiv.

CHAPTER V.

[figure description] Page 122.[end figure description]

DECISION OF THE COUNCIL—ITS RECEPTION BY LAFITTE—HIS
DESTINATION—A STORM.

The decision of the council, convened by the Governor
of Louisiana, in the executive department of
the government house the following morning, for
the purpose of laying before it the letters of the
British officers, and consulting with them respecting
the offers of the outlaw, is recorded in the history
of that period.

After communicating the information contained
in the letters, and stating the manner in which they
had fallen into his hands, and his reasons for believing
them genuine, the governor submitted for their
consideration, two questions.

“Is it your opinion, gentlemen, that these letters
are genuine? and—is it proper, as governor of this
state, that I should hold intercourse, or enter into
any official correspondence with the Barritarian outlaw
and his associates?”

After a warm discussion, an answer was returned

[figure description] Page 123.[end figure description]

in the negative, and with but one exception, unanimously.

Major General Villeré stood alone in the affirmative.

This gentleman, as well as Governor Claiborne,
who, president of the council, was disqualified from
giving his opinion, was not only convinced of the
authenticity of the papers brought by Lafitte, but believed
he and his adherents might be so employed
at the present crisis, as greatly to contribute to the
safety of the state, and the annoyance of the enemy.

With this impolitic decision, which time showed
to be unjust and premature, the council broke up.
So far indeed, were they from placing confidence
in Lafitte, that they suggested to a naval officer
forming one of the council, whom we have before
introduced to the reader, who had been for several
days fitting out a flotilla destined for the island
of Barritaria—a descent upon which, having been
some months in contemplation—the propriety of
hastening his preparations for the expedition.

Proceeding from the council chamber to his vessel,
the commodore found he could immediately get
under weigh. The same evening, therefore, taking
with him a detachment of infantry, he gave the signal
for sailing, and moved down the river towards
the destined point of attack.

About noon, the Barritarian chief, ignorant of the
proceedings in which he was so deeply interested,
sent Théodore to the city, for the purpose of receiving
the reply of the governor.

“Well, Théodore, what news?” inquired he,
standing in the door of one of the rude fishermen's
huts, as the boat, which had conveyed the youth, appeared
in sight from the concealment of the narrow
banks of the creek, lined with tall grass and cypresses
which, stretching across from either side nearly
met over the water;“Saw you the governor?”

[figure description] Page 124.[end figure description]

“I did, monsieur, and a gentleman of noble presence
he is,” replied Théodore with animation; “he
spoke of you in such terms, that I could not but
like him.”

“But what said he?” interrogated the chief anxiously,
springing into the barge by the side of the
youth, “Heard you the decision of the council?”

“Here is a note for you, which he gave me.”

He seized it and read hurriedly—

“M. Lafitte must regret equally with myself, the
decision of the council. It is against your sincerity
and the genuineness of the letters. General Villeré
alone, was of my opinion, of which you are already
informed. Be patient, dear sir—take no rash steps.
I have unlimited confidence in you. I will consult
with the commanding general at the earliest convenience—
remain firm, and your wishes may yet
be achieved. You could not have shown your sincerity
better, than in apprehending the slave last
night. This seal of good faith shall be remembered,
and will materially advance your suit.”

“Is this the way my proffers are received?” said
Lafitte fiercely, with a deep execration, crushing the
note in his clenched hand, while his face grew livid
with passion and disappointment; “Is it thus I am
treated—my feelings trifled with—my word doubted—
myself scorned—despised! If they will not
have my aid, their invaders shall,” he shouted. “To
your oars, men—to your oars!” he said, turning to
his boat's crew. “We must see Barritaria to-night—
I have work for all of you.”

“And for me too, ugh?” said inquiringly, a tall, gray-headed
and dark-visaged Indian, arrayed in loose fisherman's
trowsers, his head and neck passed through
the aperture of a gaily-dyed Spanish ponto, coming

[figure description] Page 125.[end figure description]

forth from the hut, and standing as he spoke, supported
by a boat-hook, on the verge of the bank.

“Yes, Chitalusa, but not with me. You are
better here. I will soon find you other fish to
catch. Mark me Chitalusa,” said the pirate, hoarsely,
in the ear of the Indian—“before New-Year's
eve, you will find a red snake, with scales of steel,
and more dangerous than the green serpent of your
tribe, with ten thousand human feet beneath his
belly, winding up this bayou, past your hut.”

“Ugh! me un'stan',” said the Indian, his eyes
sparkling with pleasure, but whether malignant, or
a mere expression of delight, it was difficult to determine.

“Then wait here, under cover, till you see it, and
I will then find work for you, chief,” said Lafitte,
springing into the boat and seating himself in silence.

As the men plied their oars, and moved swiftly
down the bayou, the Indian, who was the last of
his name and race—with whom would expire the
proud appellation, centuries before recognised among
other tribes, as the synonyme for intelligence, civilization,
and courage—The Natchez! The injured,
persecuted, slaughtered, and unavenged Natchez—
the Grecians of the aboriginal nations of North
America! The eloquent language of a native poet,
with truth and feeling, might have flowed from the
lips of the old exile—exile, on the very lands over
which his fathers reigned kings—now doomed to
seek a precarious existence, among the Spanish
fishermen of the lakes, wilder, ruder even than himself:

[figure description] Page 126.[end figure description]

As the boat receded, he muttered, “Ugh! de
snake! Chitalusa know! me know to much.—
Him tink Indian bad as him. Me let he see me no
bad. Me let no red snake—Inglish snake, ugh!
come here! Me no will.”

At once a new thought flashed upon his mind,
and entering his hut, he armed himself with a rifle,
took his paddle from its beckets over the door,
launched his canoe, and jumping into it, paddled
rapidly in the direction opposite to that taken by
Lafitte, and towards the artificial outlet of the bayou,
into the Mississippi.

For several hours, the oarsmen rowed with that
heavy, regular movement of the sweeps, which is almost
mechanical to the thorough bred seamen.
No sound but the regular dipping of the four oars
and the low rattling as they played in the rowlocks,
the occasional splash of an alligator, as he
sought concealment beneath the surface of the water,
or the heavy flapping of the wings, and shrill
cry, of some disturbed heron or other water bird,
broke the silence of the wild region through which
they moved. The barge all at once emerged from
the narrow and gloomy pass which it had been
threading during the afternoon, into a broader sheet
of water, and at the same moment, the setting sun
shone bright upon the summit of “The Temple,”
which stood on an angle at the intersection of three
bayous, two of which led by various routes into the
bay of Barritaria; the third, was that which they
had just descended.

Lafitte sat in the stern of the boat, with his
arms folded and his head dropped despondingly upon
his breast, an attitude he insensibly fell into
after the first burst of passion, elicited by the result
of his application, had passed away.

His better resolves held again their influence
over him; his anger and resentment, by degrees

[figure description] Page 127.[end figure description]

subsided, and he had come to the determination to
exile himself, disband his followers, and depart
for ever from that country he was thought too base
to serve.

“I have won the confidence, and I believe the
respect, of one honourable man. This, at least,
will I endeavour to retain,” he said, abruptly addressing
Théodore. “He has said he will counsel with
the general in chief. I place my cause, then, in
the hands of a brave man. Suppose I see him myself?
Ha! that will do—I will! England,” he
cried, with energy, “thou hast not made me a renegade
yet! nor,” he added mentally, “will you,
Constanza, find me recreant to my pledged faith.
I will not let the prejudiced decisions of a few men,
thus turn me from the straight-forward path I have
chosen. Impulsive they call me.—Well, impulse
shall be bridled, and I will henceforward lead her—
not she, me.”

“Ship your oars, men!” he added aloud, as they
came to a little inlet, at the foot of a mound, just
large enough to contain the boat.

“The dripping oars rose simultaneously into the
air, and were then laid lengthways upon the thwarts.
Cudjoe sprang out, as the bows touched the bank,
and secured the boat to a tree. Lafitte, warning
his men not to go far away, accompanied by
Théodore, stepped on shore, and ascended one of
those mounds of shells thrown up by the Indians,
long before the earliest era of American history,
filled with human bones, and evidently designed,
either as religious, or funereal monuments. From
the prevalence of the former opinion, this congregation
of mounds where our party stopped, has
been denominated “The Temple.” On the highest
of them, according to the tradition of the country,
the idolatrous worshippers preserved burning, a
perpetual fire. Some attempts at one period, had

[figure description] Page 128.[end figure description]

been made to fortify it, traces of which still existed.

“If I was superstitious,” said Théodore, as,
emerging from the trees near the margin of the bayou,
they came in full view of the largest mound,
“I should believe that the sun—which it is said the
Indians worshipped—in reproof of our unbelief of his
divinity, and detestation to the truth of their religion,
has kindled a flame upon the summit of the Temple.”

Lafitte looked up, and saw that an appearance
like fire rested upon its top—the reflection of a lingering,
light red sunbeam shot from the lurid sun,
then angrily disappearing in the west.

“There is poetry, if not truth, in your language,
Théodore!” replied the chief, his spirit soothed by
the mild influence of the hour. “How beautiful
the theory of their religion! Worshippers of that
element, which is the purifier of all things! Next
to the invisible God—whom they knew not—in
their child-like ignorance, and with the touching
poetry, which seems to have been the soul of the
simple Indian's nature, they sought out that, alone,
of all His works, which most gloriously manifested
Himself to his created intelligences. They bowed
their faces to the earth, at his rising and setting,
and worshipped the bright sun, as their Creator,
Preserver, and God! Author of light and heat, of
time and seasons—visible, yet unapproachable!—
What more appropriate object could they have chosen
as the corner stone upon which to raise a superstructure
of natural religion? For it is our nature,
Théodore, to be religious! All men, and all
races of men, have always been worshippers, either
of truth or falsehood! Does not this choice alone
prove, that, if heathens, they approached nearer to
true religion, in their worship, than all other nations
ignorant of divine revelation? Does it not show
the dignity and refinement of the Indian's mind—

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the poetry of his heart—the purity of his imagination?
On their altars burned a perpetual fire!
What a beautiful representation of their divinity!
How infinitely is this pure emblem above the stocks
and stones of the civilized idolaters of old Greece
and Rome! How etherial and elevated the conceptions
of such a people! Yet we call them barbarians—
savages—brutes! If they are brutes, we
have made them so. The vices of the Europeans,
like a moral leprosy, have diseased their minds, and
blackened their hearts! If they are degraded, we
have debased them! If they are polluted, we have
laid our hand upon them!—Ha!” he said quickly,
“yonder sun-beam glows on that bush like fire. It
is a flame, indeed! Your idea, my Théodore, was
very beautiful! But were it not better and more
in unison with our fortunes, my boy! to regard it
as a beacon, lighting us to fame; a bright omen of
good!—Go up the mound, and see if you can discover
any thing moving in either bayou. I shall
give the men an hour's rest, and then start again.”

He stopped on a small mound they had just ascended,
and leaning against a cypress tree, crowning
its summit, he soon became wrapped in reflections
upon the presented crisis of his life and the probable
issue of his plans.

Presently, his eye was arrested by a white object,
dimly seen in the twilight, rolling along on the
ground near his feet. It was round, and at every
turn displayed the eyeless sockets and hideous grin
of a skull. He gazed upon it with surprise, but did
not move; and a fascination seemed to chain him to
the spot, and fasten his eyes upon the loathsome
object.

It came nearer and nearer, and now struck with
a hollow sound against his foot. He was about to
spring from the fearful contact, when the head and
claws of a crab were protruded from the cavities, as

[figure description] Page 130.[end figure description]

if to ascertain and remove the obstacle to its advancement.

With a smile of derision at this humiliation of
his species, as he discovered the cause of this
strange locomotion, he raised the skull with its
inmate, and gazed on it for a moment, with a lip, in
which bitterness was mingled with contempt.

“And this is MAN! the image of God! the tenement
of immortal mind! Poor crab, thou knowest
not what kingly throne thou hast usurped! Well,
why not a crab as well as brain! The skull can walk
the earth full as well, and to as good a purpose!
And is this our end!” he added, “to become thus
at last!—a habitation for reptiles! And shall I too
come to this? Shall this head, which now throbs
with life,” and he raised his hand to his temples,
“which can think—plan—originate—at last be no
more than this?—so helpless as to be borne about
by such a creeping thing! Where is that conscious
something, which once supplied this crab's place?
Who has displaced it? Death! Death? and what
is death?—Methinks it were better to be like this
glaring ball, than to be as I am! Here,” he continued
placing his hand upon it, “here is no sense
of passing events; of joy or suffering; of treachery
or friendship; of despair or ambition; of praise or
insult. See—I can place my foot upon it, and it
rises not against me to avenge the insult! Happy,
happy nothingness! But is it nothingness? Although
the mind lives not in this glaring shell, which, without
tongue, discourses most eloquently to the living—
may it not exist somewhere? Here I see it not!
It is perceptible to no sense! Yet reason—hope—
fear, tell me it is not extinct. Heaven never made
man for such an end as this! There must be
deeper purpose than we can fathom—a cause remoter
than we can reach, why we were made!
Eternity! eternity!—thou art no bug-bear to frighten

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children with. I feel—would to God I felt it not!
that thou art a stern and fearful reality.

“Well, my boy, saw you aught?” he inquired
hastily, resuming his usual tone and manner as the
youth appeared.

“No, Monsieur—the night thickens so fast, that
it is impossible to see far down the bayous—I think
we shall have a storm.”

“There is no doubt of it, if the heavens speak
truly,” said Lafitte, gazing upon masses of black
clouds drifting low above their heads, increasing in
density and blackness every moment, and gathering
to a head with that rapidity, characteristic of storms
in that climate.

“Théodore, tell the men to spread the tarpaulin
over the boat for a shelter from the rain.”

The youth communicated the order, and was returning,
when a flash of lightning, accompanied by
a peal of thunder, loud and abrupt, like the near
explosion of artillery, gleamed like flame through the
woods, and rove to the roots the cypress against
which the chief leaned, with the skull still extended
in his hand, upon which—resuming his reflections as
the youth left him to execute his order, he still
mused—and laid him prostrate and as senseless as
the shell he held, upon the ground. With an exclamation
of surprise and terror, Théodore sprung
forward, and kneeling by his side, called loudly upon
the crew to aid in resuscitating him. They bore
him to the boat, and the youth, at the moment recollecting
the hut of a fisherman, situated about a
mile below the Temple, ordered the men to resume
their oars and pull to that place.

CHAPTER VI.

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FISHERMAN—ILLNESS—CANNONADING—APPROACH THE ISLAND—
[THE OUTLAW'S REPLY TO THE ENGLISH OFFICER.

With the head of his friend and benefactor upon
his lap, and in great agitation of mind, the youth
guided the boat through the bayou, his course lighted
by the lightning, which now became incessant.

“Ho, the boat!” shouted a voice from the bank,
as a flash of lightning showed them the fisherman's
cot, in a bend of the bayou.

“Grand Terre!” replied Théodore.

“Grand Terre it is,” answered the man; who
now came from behind the tree, with an English
musket in his hand, an old canvass cap on his head,
covered with signs of the cross, done in red and
black paint—a blue woollen shirt, and a pair of duck
trowsers, cut off at the knee, leaving the portion of
his legs below it bare. His head was gray and
bushy, and an opulence of grisly beard and whis-
kers encircled his tawny face, which was marked
with arched brows and lambent dark eyes—a sharp

[figure description] Page 133.[end figure description]

aquiline nose, small mouth, and thin lips, displaying
when parted, a row of even and very white
teeth, which seemed to bid defiance to the ravages
of time!

“Where is the Captain?” he inquired.

“Senseless, from a stroke of lightning!” replied
the youth; “we must claim your hospitality, Manuelillo.”

“Pobre capitan! with all my heart. Bring him
into the cot, hombres,” he said to the men. “Pobre
capitan—es mateo—no? Señor Théodore?”

“No! there is life, but he is insensible.”

In a short time, the chief was laid upon the rude
bed of dried grass and rushes, constituting the
couch of the fisherman, who, in addition to his piscal
profession, was also a privateersman or smuggler,
as interest prompted, or taste allured.

Slowly yielding to their exertions and skill, the
stagnant life once more received action, and he returned
to consciousness. In the morning, a fever
succeeded, which increased in violence during the
day. That night he became delirious, and wildly
raved like a maniac—calling on “Constanza,”
“D'Oyley,” “Henri,” “Gertrude,”—names often on
his burning lips, during his illness. For five days,
his fever and delirium continued, without abatement.
His disorder, then assumed a more favourable
character, and he began rapidly to convalesce.

On the seventh day, just before noon, he was
seated at the door of the hut, under the shade of a
tree, which grew in front, giving orders to his boatmen,
who were preparing the barge for departure
that evening, when a heavy cannonading reached
his ears, borne upon the south wind over the level
country, from the quarter of Barritaria, which was
about twenty miles distant.

“Do you hear that, sir?” said Théodore, from

[figure description] Page 134.[end figure description]

within the hut—who, during his illness, had watched
over him with untiring assiduity and tenderness.

“What means it, Manuel?” demanded the chief,
starting.

“I don't know, señor; there must be some fighting
between your vessels and the cruisers.”

“I suspect as much. Quick, with that boat,
men!” he added, with animation. “We must away
from this.”

With a strength unlooked for, he stepped into the
boat, after grasping warmly the hand of the old
fisherman, and thanking him for his attention and
kindness, and was soon swiftly moving on his way
to the island.

As he approached, the firing increased, and became
more distinct. Night set in before they
reached the mouth of the bayou, from which, as
they emerged into the bay, they could see far over
the water, a flame apparently rising from a burning
vessel. The cannonading had ceased several hours,
and it was now too dark to see across the bay, or
distinguish the outline of the island.

“There has been warm work, Théodore,” said
Lafitte. “I am afraid we have been attacked by
a superior force.”

“It may be Massa Cap'um Pattyson,” said Cudjoe;
“he tinky catch Cudjoe, and make sailor ob
him, when in de boat, when you gone to see de gobernor.”

“What is that?” said Lafitte, quickly. “Press
you?”

“I now recollect,” answered Théodore, “as I
went for the governor's reply, it was rumoured in
the streets, that Commodore Patterson was completing
his crew by every exertion, and that he
was to sail the same evening, on some expedition.
It may have been Barritaria.”

“You are right Théodore, he has attacked our

[figure description] Page 135.[end figure description]

camp. Set the sail and spring to your oars, men;
we must know at once if our fears are true.”

Having set their sail, their speed increased, and
shooting rapidly away from the mouth of the bayou,
they steered across the bay. They were
within a league of the island, when a barge full of
men, was discovered a short distance ahead.

“Ship your oars; see to your arms, men!” said
Lafitte, shifting the helm so as to weather the boat.
We are now more likely to meet foes than friends
in these waters.”

As he spoke, the strange boat hailed, while the
click of several pistols was heard from her by the
pirate and his party, who answered that hostile preparation
with similar sounds of defiance.

“Ho! the boat ahoy!” hailed a voice in Spanish.

“It is Sebastiano,” said Théodore hastily, as he
recognized the voice of the person hailing.

“Camaradas!” replied Lafitte.

“Ah captain, is that you,” exclaimed a rough
voice with a strong French accent. “We thought
you had gone to pay off old scores in the other
world.”

“I have been on business, Belluche, connected
with our safety, and have been detained by illness.
But the news, the news! Lieutenant Belluche,” he
added with impatience as the boats came in contact.

“Bad enough, my good captain,” said Sebastiano,
interposing in reply, “bad enough for one day's
work, in proof of which, señor, I refer you to this
handful of men, who are all that remain of the
pretty Julié, who by the same token, is burned to
the water's edge. May the grande diable have the
burning of those who compelled me with my own
hand to set her on fire. But it was necessity, captain.
I can prove to you it was necessity.”

“Be brief, Sebastiano! What has happened?

[figure description] Page 136.[end figure description]

Who are the aggressors, Belluche? What means
the firing I have heard to-day? Be brief and tell
me!”

“This morning,” said the whilom captain of the
Lady of the Gulf, “between eight and nine, we
saw a fleet of small vessels and gun-boats standing
in for the island. Our squadron lay at anchor
within the pass, and on seeing the fleet I ordered
the Carthagenian flag to be hoisted on all the vessels.
As the strangers approached, I got under
weigh with the whole fleet, including prizes, which
made ten in number, and formed in order of battle,
in case the intentions of the fleet should be hostile.
As the evidences of their hostile character thickened,
I sent boats in various directions to the main
land to give the alarm, and ordered my men to light
fires along the coast, as signals to our friends ashore
that we were about to be attacked. The enemy
stood in, and formed into a line of battle near the
entrance of the harbour. Their force consisted of
six gun-vessels, a tender, mounting one six pounder
and full of men, and a launch, mounting one twelve
pound carronade, and a large schooner, called the
Carolina.

“On discovering these demonstrations of battle on
their part, and not being in the best condition to
withstand them, I hoisted a white flag at the fore
on board the Lady of the Gulf, an American flag at
the mainmast, and the Carthagenian flag, at the topping
lift. The enemy replied, with a white flag at
his main. I now took my boat, and went from vessel
to vessel to ascertain the disposition of the crews
for fighting, and none but Captain Getzendanner,
and Sebastiano and their men were for awaiting the
attack. I in vain tried to convince them of the expediency
of fighting to save our vessels.

“I then determined that the Lady of the Gulf
should not fall into the enemy's hands, and telling

[figure description] Page 137.[end figure description]

Captain Getzendanner what I intended to do, I returned
on board, and fixing a train in the hole, and
setting the rigging on fire, I took to the boats with
my crew. Getzendanner and Sebastiano did the
same, while the other cowardly paltroons deserted
their vessels and took to their oars, and pulled for
the main land. The enemy no sooner saw the
flame rising from the schooner, than he hauled down
the flag of truce, and made the signal for battle;
hoisting with it a broad white flag bearing the words,
`PARDON TO DESERTERS,' knowing that we had not
a few from the army and navy, among our villainous,
cowardly, runaway gang.

“The enemy run in and took possession of the
vessels, while a detachment landed upon the island,
and destroyed our buildings and fortifications. All
this I witnessed from the main land, where we had
retired. The enemy's fleet is now outside, including
our own, numbering in all seventeen sail.
They will probably get under weigh in the morning
for the Balize.”

“We,” concluded Sebastiano, who had waited
with much impatience for an opportunity to speak,
“have just returned from the island, where I have
been since they left, to have occular demonstration
of the true state of things, and an old woman might
as well hold good her pantry against a party of
half-starved recruits, as we could have held the old
island; and this admits of the clearest demonstration,
captain.”

Lafitte listened to this recital in silence; nor did
he speak for some moments after the commander
of the Lady of the Gulf had completed his account
of the attack upon the piratical hold, by the American
flotilla. This expedition was under the command
of that naval officer, whom we first introduced
to the reader, looking over a map with the commanding
general at his head quarters, a young and

[figure description] Page 138.[end figure description]

gallant man, whose ambition to signalize his command
and benefit his country by the destruction of
the buccaneering horde, who had so long infested
the south-western shores of Louisiana, had rendered
him, with the majority of the council called by the
governor, incredulous to the extraordinary proffers
of the pirate.

If blame in reference to this decision could be
attached to either party, Lafitte felt that it was
justly fastened upon himself.

“It is right,” he said, after reflecting for a
few moments upon the communication of his officer.
“It is but just—not them—not him—do I
censure, but myself—my past career of crime and
contempt of those healthy laws which govern
society. I blame them not. It would be stranger if
they should have believed me.” After a few moments
pause he added earnestly, “this shall not
change me; they shall yet know and believe, that
I acted from motives they must honour. They
shall learn that they have injured me by their decisions.
Injured! But let it pass—my country shall
have my arm and single cutlass, if no more! and
your's too, my boy?” he said to Théodore.

“Wherever you are, my benefactor, you will
find me by your side,” exclaimed the youth warmly.

“I knew it Théodore, I knew it,” replied Lafitte,
returning the enthusiastic grasp of his hand.

“Where, away now Belluche?”

“To the city, captain! We hear of fighting about
to go on there; we may perhaps find something to
do.”

“Sebastiano, Belluche, my worthy comrades and
friends, and you my brave men all! the Americans
have destroyed our fleet; but they have done only
justice. If I know all of you who are in that boat,
like myself, you are Americans by birth or adoption.
Fight not against your country, draw every cutlass in

[figure description] Page 139.[end figure description]

her defence; forgive her injuries, and fight for her.
The tyrant of England seeks to enslave her; meet
him foot to foot, blade to blade. Endeavour to atone
for your wrongs to your country by devotion to her
cause. Fighting is your trade—but fight now on
the right side. What say you my men? Sebastiano,
stand you for or against your country, in this struggle?”

“Viva Louisiana—viva la patria—viva Lafitte!”
shouted the men.

“That is as it should be my brave fellows, if you
are faithful in the cause you espouse you may yet
get government to wink at the past, and if any of you
choose to follow honest livelihoods, the way will
then be open before you. To the city, I will soon
follow, gather all our scattered force and persuade
them to adopt the same course. You will hear of
me on the third evening from this at the cabaret of
Pedro Torrio, on Rue Royale. I must now visit
the island. Where is Getzendanner?”

“He has taken the western bayou to the city, I
suspect,” replied Belluche,

“Tell him our plans if you meet with him, and
hold out to him pardon. He will acquiesce, I think,”
he said laughing, “for there is a fair frow in New
York, he would fain supply his lost rib with; but
she wont take him without a license from the President.
I depend on you both,” he added more seriously
“to collect our followers and unite them to
the American party.”

With a shout from the crews of each, the boats
separated, and in an hour afterward, Lafitte reached
the island and secured his boat in the narrow cove or
inlet from which he had unmoored it, under very different
circumstances, ten days before, on embarking
to lay before the governor the letters of the
British officers.

The next morning the chief who had remained

[figure description] Page 140.[end figure description]

all night in the boat, was awakened by a gun, which
on rising, and gaining a slight elevation on the
island, he discovered to be the signal for the enemy's
fleet, with his prizes, to get under weigh.

With calm and unchanging features, he watched
their departure, and as the last sail disappeared on
the horizon, he said turning to Théodore,

“I have only to wait to give the Englishman his
answer,” he said with a bitter smile, “and then return
to New Orleans, and there welcome my captured
fleet.”

“There is a sail south of us,” exclaimed Theodore.

“I see it,” replied the chief, “it may be the
English brig coming in for my reply, although I did
not expect her before evening.” The vessel which
attracted their observation, in the course of an hour
showed the square rig and armament of a brig of
war. Approaching within half a mile of the island,
she put off a boat, which pulled directly for the island.

“What answer shall you give them now, monsieur'?”
inquired Théodore doubtfully, watching the
face of the outlaw, and anxious to know if he would
accept the proposals of the British, now that he
had received such treatment from the American
government.

Lafitte made no reply but hastened to meet the
boat, which grounded, as Théodore spoke, upon the
beach.

“You are welcome to my fortress, gentlemen!
you have no doubt come for my answer,” he said
addressing the midshipman who commanded the
boat. “So your captain did not like to trust himself
on shore again. Well,” he added in a melancholy
voice, “he might have come now in all safety—
he would have little to fear. What says captain
Lockyer?”

[figure description] Page 141.[end figure description]

“He desired me to give you this sealed paper,
and await your answer respecting his proposed alliance
with you,” replied the youth, giving him a
pacquet addressed to him.

“You have not long to wait,” replied Lafitte, receiving
the pacquet; and taking a pencil from the
officer, he wrote upon the back,

“No terms with tyrants!”

And giving it back to him he sternly said, “There
is my answer!” Then turning and taking the arm
of Théodore, he walked away to his boat, which lay
on the opposite side of the island.

CHAPTER VII.

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THE BARRITARIANS—BATTLE OF THE SIEGE—LAFITTE AND THE
STRANGER.

The subsequent events, immediately preceding
the decisive battle of the eighth of January, having
no material connexion with our tale, we shall briefly
pass by. Lafitte returned to the city, and again offered
his services to his country, with those of as
many of his former adherents as he could assemble.

After the disastrous capture of the American gun-boats
by the British, the invasion of the state was
deemed inevitable, and in the perilous condition of
the country, it was thought good policy by those
entrusted with the public safety, to avail themselves
of the services of men accustomed to war, and
whose perfect knowledge of the coasts and the various
bayous leading from the sea to the capital,
might render their aid of great importance to the
enemy, who it was now generally known, had in
vain and with great offers, entreated them to repair
to their standard. Although the expediency of

[figure description] Page 143.[end figure description]

uniting them to the American standard, was general y
admitted, it was indispensably necessary that they
should receive pardon for all real or supposed
offences against the laws. This could only be
granted by the President of the United States.
Governor Claiborne, whose faith in the outlaw remained
unshaken, and who regretted the attack on
Barritaria, so far as it rendered, by breaking them
up, the forces of the outlaws less available to the
country, conferred on the subject with the major
general in command.

The result of this conference was very different
from that of the council convened by the governor,
and with the approbation of the commanding general,
he issued the following general order.

“The Governor of Louisiana, informed that many
individuals implicated in the offences heretofore
committed against the United States at Barritaria,
express a willingness at the present crisis to enrol
themselves and march against the enemy—

“He does hereby invite them to join the standard
of the United States, and is authorized to say, should
their conduct in the field meet the approbation of the
major general, that, that officer will unite with the
governor in a request to the President of the United
States, to extend to each and every individual, so
marching and acting, a free and full pardon.”

These general orders were placed in the hands
of Lafitte, who circulated them among his dispersed
followers, most of whom readily embraced the conditions
of pardon they held out. In a few days many
brave men and skilful artillerists, whose services
contributed greatly to the safety of the invaded
state, flocked to the standard of the United States,
and by their conduct, received the highest approbation
of the commanding general.

[figure description] Page 144.[end figure description]

In anticipation of our narrative, we will here mention,
that previous to their adjournment, the legislature
of the state, recommended the Barritarians as
proper objects for the clemency of the President,
who issued a proclamation upon the subject, bearing
date the sixth of February, eighteen hundred
and fifteen, and transmitted it, officially, to the governor
of Louisiana, by the secretary of state, granting
to them a full and entire pardon.

We will now return from this digression to Lafitte,
the individual whose personal acts are the subject
of our tale.

The morning of the eighth of January was ushered
in with the discharge of rockets, the sound of
cannon, and the cheers of the British soldiers advancing
to the attack. The Americans, behind the
breast-work, awaited, with calm intrepidity, their
approach. The enemy advanced in close column
of sixty men in front, shouldering their muskets and
carrying fascines and ladders. A storm of rockets
preceded them, and an incessant fire opened from
the battery, which commanded the advanced column.
The musketry and rifles from the Kentuckians
and Tenneseans, joined the fire of the artillery,
and in a few moments was heard along the line a
ceaseless, rolling fire, whose tremendous noise resembled
the continued reverberation of thunder.
One of these guns, a twenty-four pounder, placed
upon the breastwork, in the third embrasure from
the river, drew—from the fatal skill and activity with
which it was managed, even in the heat of battle—
the admiration of both Americans and British; and
became one of the points most dreaded by the advancing
foe.

Here was stationed Lafitte, and three of his lieutenants,
Belluche, Sebastiano, and Getzendanner,
already introduced to the reader, and a large band
of his men, who, during the continuance of the

[figure description] Page 145.[end figure description]

battle, fought with unparalleled bravery. The British
already, had been twice driven back in the utmost
confusion, with the loss of their commander in chief,
and two general officers.

In the first attack of the enemy, a column pushed
forward, between the leveé and river; and so
precipitate was their charge that the outposts were
forced to retire, closely pressed by the enemy. Before
the batteries could meet the charge, clearing
the ditch, they gained the redoubt through the embrasures,
leaping over the parapet, and overwhelming,
by their superior force, the small party stationed
there.

Lafitte, who was commanding, in conjunction
with his officers, at one of the guns, no sooner saw
the bold movement of the enemy, than, calling a
few of his best men by name, with Théodore by
his side, he sprung forward to the point of danger,
and clearing the breastwork of the entrenchment,
leaped, cutlass in hand, into the midst of the
enemy, followed by a score of his men, who in many
a hard-fought battle upon his own deck, had
been well tried.

Astonished at the intrepidity which could lead
men to leave their entrenchments and meet them
hand to hand, and pressed by the suddenness of the
charge, which was made with the recklessness,
skill, and rapidity of practised boarders bounding
upon the deck of an enemy's vessel, they began to
give way, while, one after another, two British officers
fell before the cutlass of the pirate, as they
were bravely encouraging their men by their inspiring
shouts, and fearless example. All the energies
of the British were now concentrated to scale
the breast-work, which one daring officer had already
mounted. While Lafitte and his followers,
seconding a gallant band of volunteer riflemen,

[figure description] Page 146.[end figure description]

formed a phalanx which they in vain assayed to
penetrate.

As the British column advanced to this attack, a
small boat, propelled by two seamen, and containing
a handsome man, in the dress of a British naval
officer, after ascending the river, unnoticed in
the confusion and uproar of battle, touched the bank
nearly opposite to the centre of the advancing column.
The officer sprung out amidst a shower of
balls, which fell harmlessly around him; then drawing
his sword, and loosening his pistols in his belt,
he hastened forward to the head of the column,
and side by side with a gallant Scotchman, leaped
into the redoubt.

Twice he mounted the breast-work, and was
hurled back to rise and again mount; his blue eye
emitting fire, and his sword flashing like a meteor
as he hewed his way through the opposing breasts
of the Americans.

At this moment, Lafitte bounded into the redoubt,
and turned the tide of battle. The stranger, whose
reckless daring and perseverance had, even in the
midst of battle, attracted the attention of those on
whose side he fought, was also pressed back with
the retreating column. Yet, with an obstinacy
which drew upon him the fire of the riflemen, and
the cutlasses of the pirates, he stood his ground
and fought with cool and determined courage.
Every blow of his weapon laid a buccaneer dead at
his feet.

The British, leaving their numerous dead, had retreated;
yet he stood alone, pressed on every side,
and heedless of danger. His object seemed to be
to press forward to the spot where stood the pirate
chief, who was separated from him by half a dozen
of his men. In vain they called upon him to surrender.
His brow was rigid, with desperate

[figure description] Page 147.[end figure description]

resolution; his eye burning with a fierce expression,
while his arm seemed endowed with the strength of
a Hercules.

“Take him prisoner, but harm him not!” said
Lafitte, struck with the daring of the man.

“Give back,” cried the stranger, speaking for the
first time. “Give way to my revenge! Pirate,
Lafitte! ravisher! murderer! I dare you to single
combat!—coward!” and his voice rung clear, amid
the din of war.

“Ha, is it so! stand back, men. Hold, Sebastiano!
leave him to me, if I am the game he seeks
so rashly!”

The men who had involuntarily given back at
the sound of the stranger's voice, now left a path
between him and their chief, and, before Lafitte,
surprised at his conduct—but in his checquered life,
not unused to adventure and danger in every shape—
could bring his weapon to the guard, he received
that of the stranger through his sword arm.

“Not that vile stream; but your heart's
blood,” shouted the officer. “Revenge! revenge!
I seek!”—and with a headlong impetuosity that
swallowed up every emotion but the present passion,
he played with fatal skill, his weapon about
the breast of his antagonist, who required all his coolness
and swordsmanship to save his life, for which
it became evident to his men he now only fought.
By a dexterous manœuvre, the stranger caught the
guard of the pirate's cutlass on his own sword, and
at the risk of his life, held it entangled for an instant,
till he drew and cocked a pistol, which he
levelled at his heart.

At that moment, Chitalusa, who, on leaving the
hut, sought in vain to obtain an interview with the
governor, to inform him of Lafitte's intentions, and
had now joined the army, sprung forward to seize

[figure description] Page 148.[end figure description]

the weapon, crying, “Chitalusa, tinkee you bad,
brother Lafitte! Chitalusa save your life now for
dat.”

His heroic atonement, for what he deemed his
unworthy suspicions, seeing that Lafitte was fighting
on the side of the Americans, was fatal. The
officer fired, and the ball passed through the tawny
breast of the simple minded Indian.

“Me tinkee de red snake de Inglish. Me tinkee
bad,” he murmured; and died, the victim of the outlaw's
change of purpose, on receiving the governor's
note, and of the figurative language in which
he had expressed it to the Indian.

The outlaw felt as if his own hand had slain him,
for his own ambiguous words had caused his death.

The combat now grew fiercer, and the pirates began
to murmur, and fear for the life of their leader,
handling their weapons, and looking upon the stranger
with eyes of malignity; anxious, notwithstanding
his prohibition, to save the life of their captain by
sacrificing that of his antagonist.

Théodore, had stood by the side of Lafitte, with
his sword drawn, often involuntarily crossing the
blade of the stranger, simultaneously with him, as
some more skilful pass threatened his life. His
eye, which all the time was fixed with an inquiring
gaze, upon his features, suddenly lighted up with
peculiar intelligence.

“Hold señor! there is some error!” he said rapidly
to Lafitte, and whispered in his ear.

The point of Lafitte's sword dropped, as he exclaimed,
“Thank God! I hurt him not!”

The stranger, without knowing the cause which
produced it, and in his eagerness, heedless of the
defenceless state in which Lafitte had exposed his
person by the action, plunged his sword into his
side, and would have run him quite through the

[figure description] Page 149.[end figure description]

body, had not Théodore dexterously caught the
weapon upon the guard of his own.

Lafitte, murmuring—“this for Constanza's sake!”
fell backward into the arms of Théodore and his
men.

His adherents, absorbed by the danger of their
chief, gave all their attention for the moment to
him. When, the next instant, they turned to revenge
him, they saw the mysterious stranger, who
had retired the moment he saw his object—the death
of Lafitte—apparently accomplished, mingling with
the retreating column of the British.

Lafitte was borne within the entrenchment by
his men, who found it useless to pursue his late antagonist.
But as they reascended the breastwork,
Théodore looked back with a searching eye, while
foreboding apprehensions filled his anxious mind,
and saw the late mysterious antagonist of his chief,
distinguished by his naval attire, step into the boat
which had conveyed him to the scene of action,
and amidst the hurricane of iron hail storming
around him, harmlessly, as if he bore a charmed
life, and with great speed, move rapidly down the
river.

With the true spirit of Christianity, the doors of
the churches and convents of the invaded city were
thrown open to the wounded soldiers, not only of
the defending army, but of the invading foe. To the
convent des Ursulines, one of these temporary hospitals
in the heart of the city, Lafitte was borne by
the attentive Théodore and some of his followers.

“Who have you there, my children?” inquired
an aged priest with silvery hair flowing over the
collar of his black robe, as the faithful buccaneers
bore the litter on which lay their leader, into the
paved hall of the convent, and placed it against the
wall. “He is a man of noble presence. I trust
not one in high command.”

[figure description] Page 150.[end figure description]

“It is of no importance father,” said another
of the priests coming forward, in whom Théodore
recognized the padre Arnaud whom he had seen at
Barritaria, the odour of whose sanctity had not
availed to save Sebastiano's schooner, whose passenger
he once had been, from being finally blown
into the air. “It is enough that he is wounded and
that his situation demands our charity.”

“You say well, my son; call the physician, and
we will have his wounds forthwith examined. Heaven
grant he is not in danger!” he said, looking upward
devotionally: “It were sad to die without
confession and absolution—but Heaven is merciful.”

The father Arnaud, immediately on his entrance,
recognized Lafitte, who had once sent for him from
Havana, to confess and give general absolution to
such of his men, who were Roman Catholics. The
father thought if he was recognized as the outlaw
whose name had struck terror throughout the Mexican
seas, he might not, among the simple-minded
sisterhood and fraternity, receive the attention due
to every human being, in such a situation. He
therefore, with true benevoleuce of heart, sought to
conceal the real character of the invalid, and hastened
to bring to him medical aid.

His wound was probed, and dressed by the surgeon,
who declared his case by no means dangerous,
and said that the loss of blood, had rendered it only
apparently so; adding, that sleep, quiet and attention,
would in a few days restore him to health. Recommending
him to the care of Théodore and one or
two aged nuns, who were bending over him with
commiseration expressed in their calm faces, he
left him with professional abruptness, to attend to
a wounded soldier, just brought in from the field.

CHAPTER VIII.

[figure description] Page 151.[end figure description]

A SURPRISE—AN INTERVIEW BETWEEN A NUN AND THE CHIEF.

On the third evening, the wound of the chief
closed, and he was rapidly convalescing; having
received permission from the surgeon to leave the
convent the succeeding day.

The eve of that day, the halls and corridors of the
convent were deserted. Silence reigned undisturbed,
save by the light step of a nun in her vigils
around the couch of an invalid, the deep breathing
of some sufferer, and the sighing of the winds
among the foliage of the evergreens, waving their
branches without. At the extremity of the hall, stood
the couch of the chief, above which a narrow window
opened upon the court yard adjoining the edifice.
The cool night wind blew in, refreshingly,
upon his temples, and the rich melody of a distant
mocking-bird, which loves to wake the echoes of
night, fell soothingly, as he listened to its varied
notes, upon his attentive ear.

Théodore had just deserted his couch, and stepped
forth to enjoy the cool air of the night. Under
these soothing influences, the wounded chief insensibly
slept; but his slumbers were soon disturbed by

[figure description] Page 152.[end figure description]

a scarcely heard foot-fall at the extremity of the
passage. He opened his eyes, and by the dim
light of a lamp suspended in the centre of the ceiling
of the corridor, he discovered near him, the tall
and graceful form of one of the nuns, who had often
bent above him in his feverish moments, and whose
presence exerted a strange power over his thoughts,
and even the very throbbings of his heart, which
became irregular and wild when she was near.

He felt there was a mystery around her, in some
way connected with himself; but how, or why, after
long hours given to thought and imagination, he
could not conjecture. Her voice he had never yet
heard, but her slight fingers placed upon his pulse
or throbbing temples, would strangely thrill the blood
in his veins. But all his speculations respecting
her were futile—and at last, wearied with pursuing
the vague associations, her presence, air and manner
called up, he would close his eyes, articulating—
“Strange! strange! very strange!” and fall
into disturbed sleep, in which visions of his boyhood
and its scenes of love and strife, passed with wonderful
distinctness before him; yet still, in all his
dreams, the form of the nun was mysteriously mingled
with other characters, which memory, with her
dreamy wand called up from the abyss of the past.

Giving no evidence of being conscious of her presence,
with his eyes closed, he waited with palpitating
heart, the approach of his midnight visitant. She
came within a few feet of him and stopped; while
shading her brow with her hand, from the light of
the lamp above her, she gazed fixedly at the apparent
sleeper, as though to be assured that he
slept.

Her figure, as she bent forward in an attitude of
natural grace, displayed faultless proportions. She
was a little above the middle height of women, and
her brow, as she drew aside her black veil, which,

[figure description] Page 153.[end figure description]

with a long robe of the same funereal hue encircled
her person, was calm and pale—paler, perhaps,
from the strong contrast of her transparent skin,
with the black mantilla she wore about her head.
Her marble-like features rivalled in Grecian accuracy
of outline, the most perfect models that ever
passed from the chisel of Praxitiles: the colour of
her eye was of a deep blue—not the cold blue of
northern skies, but the warm azure of sunny Italy.
There was in them, a shade of melancholy, cast
also over her whole face. Piety and devotion were
written upon her seraphic countenance, from which
care and sorrow, not illness, had faded the roses
and richness of youth.

Yet she was not a youthful maiden! Perhaps
seven and twenty summers and winters, had passed,
with their changes and vicissitudes, over her head.
Her general manner and air was that of humble resignation
to some great and deep-settled sorrow.
No one could gaze upon her without interest; no
one without respect. Among her sister nuns she
was regarded as but a little lower than a saint in
Heaven; by the devotees of her church, her blessing
and prayers were sought next to that of their
tutelar divinities. Among the sisterhood, she was
was called the holy St. Marie. Her real name,
for which she had assumed this religious one, had
been concealed from all but the superior, during the
twelve or thirteen years she had been an inmate of
the convent.

Apparently satisfied that her patient slept, she
approached him, and uttering a short ejaculation,
while she raised her fine eyes heavenward, she
laid a finger lightly upon his temple.

“He is better! thank thee Heaven, and sweet
Mary, mother! His sleep is calm, and he is much—
much better!” and as she spoke low, her voice,
although saddened in its tones, was silvery.

[figure description] Page 154.[end figure description]

Its effect upon the chief, was extraordinary; and
although he raised not his eyes, nor moved, his heart
beat wildly, and the veins upon his temple leaped
to her touch. Yet, with a strong effort, anxious to
know more of his mysterious visiter, and wondering
at the strange effect of her voice upon him, he
remained apparently asleep. Still retaining her
hand upon his temple, she continued:—“His sleep
is yet unquiet. Our blessed Saviour grant him life
for repentance!” she said fervently.

“She knows me!” thought he. “Strange
that she should take such interest in me, then.—
Those silvery accents! where have I heard them
before? Why do they move me so? I must solve
this mystery.”

“I thank thee, sweet Mother of Heaven, for this
favour!” she continued; “I may yet be the instrument
in thy hands for good to this wanderer! Forgive
me, Holy Mary—I thought I had bid adieu to
all worldly emotion—and yet I should have betrayed
my feelings to all around me in the hall, when I
recognized his features, so like his father's, had I
not hastened to my cell to give vent to my feelings
in tears. Sinful! sinful, I have been! Resentment
and pity have been s'ruggling the past hour within
this bosom, that should be dead to all earthly excitement.
Pity me, Heaven! I will err no more!
But, oh! what a history of buried recollections has
the sight of him revived! I thought I had shut out
the world for ever; but no, no! with him before
me, I live again in it! Its scenes are present with
me; and when I gaze on this working brow—these
features, which many years have changed, but
whose familiar expression still lives—how can I be
all at once the calm, impassioned nun! I sin whilst I
speak! I know I am sinning! but pity my weakness,
Mary! Thou hast been human, and a woman! and
thou canst sympathize—but oh! censure not!

[figure description] Page 155.[end figure description]

Indulge me in this moment of human failing, and I
will then give back my whole heart and soul to
thee!”

And as she spoke, she lifted her angelic countenance
upward, clasped the cross she wore, and
pressed it to her lips. At this moment, Lafitte
opened his eyes, and, while every word she uttered,
glowed in his bosom like a pleasant memory of half-forgotten
things—of mingled bliss and woe—for the
first time he had a glimpse at her features—

“Great God! Gertrude!” he exclaimed, springing
from the couch and clasping her uplifted hands
in his own—“Gertrude! speak—Is it you?—my
cousin?”

“It is, Achille! Gertrude—and none other!” she
said, while the rich blood mounted to her pale
cheeks, at the sudden movement and ardent manner
of her cousin.

“Can I believe?” he said, gazing fondly, while he
still held her hands. “Yet, still it must be—and
why here—in this garb? were you not the bride
of—?”

“Of Heaven alone, cousin!” she said, interrupting
his impetuous interrogations.

“Where then is—but how came you here?—I
know—alas I know it all—all!” he added bitterly, striking
his forehead with his clenched hand, and falling
back upon the pillow, as she covered her pale face
with her hands in tearful silence: “I know all! This
hand has made you thus!” and burying his face in
the curtain of his couch, his chest heaved, and he
sobbed audibly and with great agitation.

Gertrude was deeply affected by his emotion.

The discovery of her cousin among the wounded,
had broken up a life of repose, which she had chosen
after the crime and flight of her cousin. Even
when giving preference to his brother, who had won
her by those gentle means, which, rather than

[figure description] Page 156.[end figure description]

passionate appeals—when the female heart is the prize—
assures victory, there existed in her bosom, a partiality
for, or rather friendly feeling towards Achille,
his own impetuosity of character rendered him incapable
of profiting by. He desired to be loved at
once, and for himself, scorning to seek, by assiduous
attention, smiles and favours which could not
become his own at the mere expression of his wish
to possess them.

In love, as well as in other pursuits which engage
men, it is labour which must ever conquer.
To the contempt by the one, and the adoption by
the other, of this maxim, in relation to a young heart
as yet neutral in its partialities, is to be, perhaps,
attributed the success of Henri, and the failure of
his brother.

“Calm your emotion, cousin; I forgive you all
that through heaven you have caused me to suffer!”
she said, taking his unresisting hand.

Lafitte spoke not, and for a few moments, he
seemed to be suffering under the acutest mental
torments.

“You have—indeed you have my forgiveness!”
she repeated with earnestness; “but it is not to me
you must look for forgiveness, Achille. It is not
me you have injured or sinned against!”

“My brother! my poor—poor brother!” he groaned.

“Not Henri alone. Heaven,” she said with fervour,
“awaits your contrition and repentance,
Achille!”

“Heaven!” he repeated, as though he knew not
that he spoke aloud. “I know it. I do repent and
sue its mercy! But my brother! my innocent murdered
brother?” he interrogated, rising and grasping
her arm.

“Nay, Achille, you are not so guilty in act as
you imagine! Henri survived the wound.”

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