Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
miles long, three miles wide, five feet above sea level, a swell covered by scrub trees. The
wind never stopped blowing, leaving the island gloriously free of bugs. If you had gone in
1810,youwould have founda well-planned town in the middle ofa swamp: dirt streets lined
with thatch houses; mansions on stilts that seemed to float when the sea surged; clapboard
storefronts, markets, hotels for plantation owners; bordellos, taverns, a casino where men
sat 10 to a table; warehouses filled with merchandise—carpets, cotton, grain, gin; a scaffold
where slaves were auctioned. It was strangely temporary, makeshift and ramshackle, blown
together by the trade winds, a mirage, a trick of light, a driftwood empire, a parody of New
Orleans reflected in the black water.
Ships traveled to Grand Terre on a regular schedule. To people in New Orleans, it was a
vacation, a week at Sandals. The best house belonged to Lafitte. Built around 1808, it sat on
high ground overlooking the channel. It was Spanish-style, made of pulverized oyster shells,
the windows crossed by iron bars. From the veranda, dozing in his red hammock, Lafitte
could keep an eye on the incoming ships.
It was not long before the authorities—tax officials, shore patrol—decided Lafitte had to
be stopped. Though he would rule for a decade, Lafitte spent half those years in battle with
Governor Claiborne. At times, this struggle took on the spirit of a comic opera. You chase,
he runs, we laugh. Again and again, Claiborne sent ships to chase the pirates, but each time
the pirates vanished into the channels, only to reappear hoisting the black flag. Claiborne fi-
nally arrested Pierre on July 2, 1814. He locked him in the old colonial jail. Jean hired two
attorneys to defend his brother, but their arguments failed. And so Pierre simply escaped.
Vanished. Walked through the bars. The governor plastered the city with wanted posters.
It offered $500 to anyone who delivered Jean Lafitte to the sheriff of New Orleans. It was
signed, “By the order of William Claiborne.” It was posted at dinnertime. Before breakfast,
a second sign had been placed beside the first: “A One-Thousand-Dollar Reward is offered
anyonewhocandeliverGovernorClaibornetoCatIslandforTrial,”signedLafitte.Itwasthe
sort of gesture that turned the pirate into a cult figure. Crimes make a criminal; style makes
a criminal hero. Lafitte was nothing but style. He knew how to dress, how to carry himself.
History is not what's remembered, but what remains when everything else is forgotten: the
kidnappings and the killings, the slave trading, the smoke rising from the plundered coastal
towns.
Lafitte knew he could not win forever. He depended too much on luck. Even the king of
hearts knows the ace of spades is somewhere in that deck. He was looking for an escape, a
ladder to the street. He spotted it on September 3, 1814. That morning, HMS
Sophie
, a Brit-
ish warship, dropped anchor off Grand Terre. Lafitte rowed out in a canoe. He was greeted
by Nicholas Lockyer, captain of the
Sophie
. The men exchanged pleasantries before Lafitte,
unrecognized by the British, asked the captain the nature of his business.
“I have a message for Mr. Lafitte.”
