CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
WHEN ANDREW JACKSON strode into a room, it suddenly became smaller. Drago respectfully rose along with the others. The man was pale and drawn. He’d heard the general was suffering from dysentery. Yet here he stood, a commanding presence with keen eyes and a confident jaw.
The city was in a damned panic. The townsfolk were boarding up windows and doors; wagons and debris now blocked almost every street and passageway.
Drago attended the meeting to plead Lafitte’s cause.
Lafitte needed a pardon.
Jackson had the ears of the White House.
The Americans needed men.
Lafitte employed close to a thousand Baratarian pirates.
It was all a matter of pride. Jackson refused to negotiate with a pirate.
Lafitte refused to beg.
The gray mood in Jackson’s temporary residence on Royal Street clouded the atmosphere. Five American gunships had been overrun by the British flotilla on Lake Borgne less than ten days ago.
The loss was catastrophic. Survivors had all been taken prisoner aboard the enemy ships. The Americans possessed no other vessels to defend access to New Orleans through Lake Ponchartrain. The only thing that saved them was the shallow depths. The warships were too deep in the draft. They now had to transport foot soldiers via another route, which thankfully involved a long thirty to forty mile march through marshes filled with razor-edged reeds, murky cypress swamps, using the bayous and their muddy banks.
Now, the Americans had an idea where the British might make landfall and no way of protecting the city from the water if the enemy brought in vessels with a shallower draft. So far, none had been spotted.
Drago’s stomach twitched. His window for a safe departure would close fast. He had to grudgingly admire Eva for her courage. She was loyal to her country. People with her spirit toiled for freedom once before.
And succeeded.
They were fierce and the raw necessity to triumph shoved away the fear of blood and death. The fire of righteousness burning in their hearts sharpened the blades of victory and justice.
The British would underestimate them as completely as he had.
The pirate in him wanted to sneak into the convent, snatch Eva from her cot, and tie her to his bed. He’d have already done it if he wasn’t loathe to stir her hatred. He might yet still. He would ask for forgiveness later.
Jackson’s steely scrutiny raked over the men at the table. Leaders from every militia, regiment, tribe, and nationality were represented. All had gathered to go to war for their country. He cleared his throat and the room went quiet. Flinty eyes pierced every man one by one. “A threat prepares to blast open the door to the West and cripple our great nation. By my count, we amassed nearly 3500 men, including the Kentucky rifleman and the Dragoons of Mississippi.” He nodded toward a thick-shouldered man dressed in buckskin from head to toe. “Mr. Logan, your report?”
Logan unfolded his arms. “Generals Coffee and Hinds mustered nearly a thousand riflemen and cavalry. They are all excellent marksman and are capable of navigating the wilderness with speed and precision. Unfortunately, there’s a great shortage of guns, flints, and ammunition.”
Jackson pressed his thin lips into a slashing line. “That seems to be the common issue. We are in urgent need of all three.”
Drago shifted in his chair. He hated what he was about to do because he hated the Baratarian pirate almost as much, but he had no alternative. New Orleans was a growing city, teaming with people of every color, class, and culture. As proud and enthusiastic as they were, without resources and a capable leader there wasn’t a chance in hell they would be able to battle fifteen thousand British soldiers.
Only one man in Louisiana had the men, the means and the power to offset those odds a bit. Small as it was.
“I have a suggestion, sir,” he said.
Jackson raised his bushy eyebrows. “Captain Drago Gamponetti, correct?”
At Drago’s nod, he continued, “I’ll hear it.”
Drago clasped his hands together on the table. “Understand sir, that under any other circumstances I would not consider this.” No bloody way did he want to be in the same room as Lafitte again if he could avoid it. If the need wasn’t so dire, in all honesty, he wouldn’t be introducing him.
Now, it was beyond dire. It was hopeless. The Americans would need to make a pact with the devil to give them any possibility of putting up a decent contest.
And he was about to introduce Jackson to Lucifer’s right-hand man.
“I know a man with a great many resources, a thousand men at his command, and large stores of ammunition and weapons.” He studied Jackson.
The general’s eyebrows jumped.
“However,” Drago chose his words carefully. It was prudent to apprise him of all the potential pitfalls and traps that may come with forming such an alliance while distancing himself as much as possible from his former colleague, lest Jackson place him in the same category and put him in jail. Which was still entirely plausible, considering his more recent activities. And his past ventures in Barataria Bay.
“This man is known for his dealings with pirates and slave traders, as well as playing loose with the law.”
General Jackson’s slash of a mouth quirked. “We are not in a situation that allows for us to be picky, Captain Gamponetti. I will turn away no man, whether he be free or slave, black, white or red, as long as he is prepared to do his patriotic duty to his country. In fact, I’ll be more than agreeable to write letters to the president requesting pardons for past crimes in exchange for such allegiances.”
It was Drago’s turn to bite back a smile. Of course, a pardon topped the pirate’s list of demands.
“Who is this man?” Governor Claiborne asked. “I know of only one in this area like you describe, and I hesitate to be seen in the same room with him. He’s crafty and savage, with absolutely no regard for the government or its rules.”
Drago gave the governor a tilt of his head. “You very accurately described Captain Jean Lafitte.”
“The Baritarian pirate?” Jackson asked.
“You have heard of him, then?” he asked. A rhetorical question. Jackson likely had his own intelligence.
The general leaned back in his chair. “Indeed. A most unsavory fellow, I’ve been told.” He tapped his finger on the table in thought. “However, in this instance, I would be a fool to refuse to speak with him.” He stared at the Claiborne until the man dropped his gaze to the table.
It was time to see whether the gamble was worth the risk. “I hope I haven’t overstepped my bounds by retrieving the man in case this topic arose. It’s my understanding that there is little time to spare or waste. Captain Lafitte is waiting outside.” Drago gestured to Manuel to open the door while Claiborne sputtered like a boiling soup pot lid.
Jean Lafitte swooped into the room like an Emperor. The air went still. Yes, he had that kind of effect on people. Drago almost contained a derisive snort.
“Gentlemen,” the pirate said, chin raised, voice firm. “Jean Lafitte, at your service.” He gave them a lavish bow.
General Jackson rose to his feet; the other men did not seem inclined to stand or show the pirate any respect at all. Jean snapped to attention and gave him a smart salute before extending his hand in greeting.
“Generale, I am honored.” He waved his fingers and two slaves entered the room carrying platters of cheese and fruit, freshly baked bread, and bottles of port. A third trailed and set a large basket on the table then began unwrapping crystal glasses from scraps of wool. Mouths dropped open, mute and dumbfounded.
Jackson sat and observed with narrowed steely eyes and a sagacious slant to his mouth. Clever man.
Jean Lafitte plucked a grape from a platter and waited until servants put a filled glass next to each man before he spoke. “My reconnaissance teams informed me there’s a vast number of his Majesty’s best foot soldiers weaving through the bayous.” He flicked his gaze to Drago then back to the general. “According to Capitaine Gamponetti, there is a great host of ships anchored on Lake Borgne. I also know there are more ready to sail up zee river past Fort St. Philip.”
“Please sit, Captain Lafitte.” General Jackson pointed to an empty chair across from Drago. “Captain Gamponetti informed me you may be able to assist us in acquiring arms. If we are going to defeat Pakenham, we are going to need men with stout hearts and sharp eyes in addition to guns and munitions.”
Lafitte sipped his port. “My stores are at your disposal Generale. I ask in return two simple things. Zee first being zee release of my brother Pierre from confinement. A second being full pardons for his indiscretions, as well as my own and those of my men.”
While the pirate spoke, Claiborne’s skin flushed into a furious red. Unable to remain composed any longer, he slammed his fist on the table. “That’s impossible! You, sir, are nothing more than a criminal. Pierre Lafitte, little better than a thief. I shall not sign my name to any document that releases you from the consequences of your actions.”
Jean regarded Claiborne with cool disdain. “Regardless, those are my terms.”
The governor jabbed a finger at him. “Your brother already managed to escape from his cell.”
Lafitte feigned astonishment. “Truly? When did this event occur?”
Claiborne lowered his brows and growled, “I’d bet my last dollar that you know damn well—”
“Gentlemen.” Jackson, fingers steepled in front of his chest. “The Committee of Defense already accepted Lafitte’s proposition, Claiborne. All that remains is your proclamation inviting the Baratarians to join the standard of the United States.”
Drago stifled a smirk. This was interesting. The general, it seemed, was savvier than he expected. The game of politics. Fascinating.
Claiborne had no choice but to immediately do as ordered. He scowled. “Such a proclamation is only valid if you act as patriots and help us win the upcoming battle.”
Lafitte tilted his head and smiled. “Agreed.”
Jackson picked up his port. “The governor will draft it, I shall enforce the conditions, and add my own. I need every able-bodied man, Captain Lafitte. Without weaponry, we are crippled. Without able bodies to use them, we are lost.”
Lafitte swept his hand in the direction of the river. “This minute, a force of eight hundred highly skilled Baratarians await your orders, Generale. My gunners are the best you’ll find anywhere. They will run your armaments with order and precision.” His cool stare shifted to the Kentucky sharpshooter. Lafitte shot him a bland smile, suggesting there wasn’t much in the way of friendship there either.
Drago sought to even out the temperature of the pool of pride they all seemed to be soaking in. “Mr. Logan, the Choctaw are expert marksman and trackers.” At Logan’s raised brow, he continued. “They are excellent scouts and can find secure niches for your sharpshooters and marksmen. I suggest you instruct your snipers to shoot first at the men on horseback. They will be the highest officers of rank in the field. Redcoat foot soldiers tend to behave like startled goats when deprived of command.”
Muted shouts of alarm interrupted the conversation. A sharp rap on the door followed. “Enter!” Jackson barked.
The door flung open and a young man, perhaps in his late teens or early twenties, stumbled into the room, muddy and out of breath. “The British have landed, and they captured Villeré plantation!”
“How do you know this?” Jackson demanded, rising to his feet.
Lafitte leaned toward the general. “This is Gabriel Villeré, son of the owner.”
The young man grabbed the hat from his head then stared at the table of food and licked his lips. “I jumped from an upper bedroom window without being seen. I came straight here to warn you.”
An aide stepped forward and laid a map in front of the general. “Show me where they are,” Jackson said.
“Here.” The man pointed to a spot. “Villeré is here, eight miles southeast of the city.”
“That would mean that they traveled up the waterways, which,” Jackson ground his teeth and glared at the young man, overshadowing him with both fortitude and height. “I had ordered blocked.”
Villeré paled and clenched his hat until his knuckles whitened. “Yessir, General, but we couldn’t finish in time.”
Scowling, Bernard Sauvage finally spoke. “Didn’t finish? It could have been done in two days. You’ve had over a week, Mr. Villeré.”
Jackson’s nostrils flared. “Sergeant, take this man into custody until we can determine his intentions.”
Claiborne stood, face red with anger. “If we find that Villeré received bribes from the enemy to leave the bayou open, you’ll be charged with treason.”
“I...I...” the man stuttered, his eyes wide. “My father is still a captive!” He lifted his shoulders; his cheeks took on an indignant flush. “Father told them your army boasts over twelve thousand, so the commander decided to wait for reinforcements before marching on the city.” He straightened in indignation. “If my family supported the intentions of the British, then the redcoats would have pounded on your door rather than me.”
An uneasy quiet descended upon the room. Perhaps it just now sunk in. The enemy was about to pounce like a mighty lion, and the town little more than a mouse cowering between its claws.
General Jackson expelled a lungful of air and braced his hands on the table. “Mr. Lafitte I accept your provisos. Both Claiborne and I will use our influence in the Council of State to make sure your personal wishes be acceded to. I trust the next time we meet, you will be in the ranks of the American army.”
Jackson pounded the table. He looked each man in the eye, his eyes bright with zeal and determination. “By the eternal, the British will not sleep on our soil tonight!” He addressed the aid. “Send word to Wagner to muster the men. Alert the USS Carolina to make ready. She’s going to attack their camp from the Mississippi, while we engage using Indian warfare tactics under the shelter of darkness, thereby taking them by surprise. Their troops are tired from the forty mile journey through the bayous.” A thin smile sharpened his features. “Our soldiers are fresh and ready. We strike tonight.”
Drago looked on the scene with both excitement and trepidation. The plan was either brilliant or insane. Here was his opportunity to break free. He’d follow the schooner, using her for cover.
He grumbled a curse. Eva’s velvety-blue eyes, rich with passion and patriotic fervor permeated his mind. He’d rather die for Eva than live without her.
Hell and damnation.
Drago stood. “General Jackson?”
The officer paused at the doorway and turned his attention to Drago.
“I offer the services of my ship and crew. I can take enough men to load and fire the guns. We can trail the Carolina and assist. The rest can help with the armaments. They are highly skilled with weapons of every sort.”
Manuel’s chest expanded.
Drago ignored the satisfied gleam in his cousin’s eyes and continued, “I’m also aware that the British require sugarcane fascines to traverse the soggy terrain. I would like to take a handful of men to find and destroy them. That should help to hamper their progression toward the city, if only a little.”
He was going to regret this. But he’d be damned in fire and brimstone before he turned tail while Eva and the Sauvage family fought for their lives and homeland.
Manuel growled his approval. “We fight!”
The general gave them a satisfied nod and something that resembled a stoic smile before he departed.
By this time tomorrow, they’d be setting fascines aflame, or dead.
In either case, there was fire in his future.