The Lady and the Pirate by Emerson Hough (best new books to read txt) 📕

“Does he know who you are—does he know who it was that took the Belle Helène?”

“I think not. But, very stupidly—being so anxious to see the original—I left a photograph of yourself on our old boat, the Sea Rover. Item, one cigarette case with my initials. Of course, Cal Davidson may guess the simple truth, or he may make a mystery of these things. It seems he prefers to make a mystery; and I am sure that suits me much better.”

“But knowing these things—knowing that his boat was lying right at the dock alongside of us—why did you stop?”

“I thought it was you, Helena, who suggested this little adventure at Luigi’s! And I promise you I am enjoying it very much. It seems so much like old times.”

“But that can’t ever be over again, Harry.”

“Naturally not. But often new times are quite as good as old ones. I can conceive of such a thing in our case. No, I shall use this privilege of your society to the limit, Helena, fearing I may not see you soon again, after once I have put you back in your hat box. You coaxed me to leave the boat, and I shall tell you when to return.”

“Why not now?”

“No, at twelve o’clock. Not earlier.”

“And you propose sitting here with me till then?”

“I could imagine no better pastime, were I condemned to die at sunrise. Tell me, do you wish me to call Mr. Davidson?”

“Of course I do not, since I gave you my word. Besides, I know that girl with him. It’s Sally Byington. Some call her good-looking, but I am sure I don’t know why.”

“Fie upon you! She is superb. In short, Helena, I am not sure but she is finer-looking than yourself!”

“Indeed!”

“Yes. Cal Davidson, whatever may be his taste in neckties or waistcoats, seems to me excellent in this other regard. Perhaps just a trifle flamboyant for Luigi’s, but certainly stunning.”

“Our relations are not such as to lead me to discuss our friends,” she rejoined haughtily. “And, as you say, our duck is getting cold. I adore these canvasbacks. I would like to come back to-morrow and have another.” She cut savagely into her fowl.

“Alas, Helena, to-morrow you will be far away. In time I hope to reconcile you to the simple life of piracy. Indeed, unless all plans go wrong, we may very likely have canvasbacks on the boat; although I can not promise you that John will be as good a chef as our friend here at Luigi’s. All good buccaneers use their fair captives well.”

“Indeed! And why do you not ask Sally Byington into your list of prisoners, since you fancy her so much.”

“Nay, say not so, Helena. I trust I am somewhat catholic in taste regarding ladies, as any gentleman should be, yet after all, I am gentler in my preferences. Quite aside from that, I find one fair captive quite enough to make me abundant trouble.”

At about this time Jean approached behind the screen, bearing a copy of a late edition of an evening paper, which fortunately he seemed not closely to have scanned. I took it quickly and placed it with the front page down.

“Monsieur no doubt has heard of the great sensation?” commented Jean.

“No, what is that, Jean?”

“The papers have been full of nothing else. It seems a band of cutthroat river pirates have stolen a gentleman’s yacht, and so far as can be told, have escaped with it down the river, perhaps entirely to the Gulf.”

“That, Jean,” said I, “is a most extraordinary thing. Are you sure of the facts?”

“Naturally—is it not all in the paper? This gentleman then has his yacht anchored at Natchez, and he goes ashore on important business. Comes then this band of river ruffians in the dark, and as though pirates of a hundred years ago, and led by Jean Lafitte himself, they capture the vessel!”

“Mon Dieu! Jean you do not say so?”

“But assuredly I say so; nor is that all, Monsieur. On board this yacht was a young and beautiful lady of great wealth and beauty, as well—the fiancée, so it is said, of this gentleman who owns the yacht. What is the action of these pirates in regard to this beautiful young lady and her aunt, who also is upon the yacht for the cruise? Do they place these ladies ashore? No, they imprison them upon the boat, and so, pouf! off for the gulf. Nor has any trace of them been found from that time till now. A rumor goes that the gentleman who owns the yacht is at this time in New Orleans, but as for that unfortunate young lady, where is she to-night? I demand that, Monsieur. Ah! And she is beautiful.”

“Now, is not this a most extraordinary tale you bring, Jean? Let us hope it is not true. Why, if it were true, that ruffian might escape and hide for days or weeks in the bayous around Barataria, even as Jean Lafitte did a hundred years ago.”

“Assuredly he might. Ah, I know it well, that country. But Jean Lafitte was no pirate, simply a merchant who did not pay duties. And he sold silks and laces cheap to the people hereabout—I could show you the very causeway they built across the marsh, to reach the place where he landed his boats at the heads of one of the great bays—it is not far from the plantation of Monsieur Edouard Manning, below New Iberia. Believe me, Monsieur, the country folk hunt yet for the buried treasure of Jean Lafitte; and sometimes they find it.”

“You please me, Jean. Tell me more of that extraordinary person.”

“Extraordinary, you may call him, Monsieur. And he had a way with women, so it is said—even his captives came to admire him in time, so generous and bold was he.”

“A daredevil fellow I doubt not, Jean?”

“You may say that. But of great good and many kindnesses to all the folk in the lower parts of this state in times gone by. Now—say it not aloud, Monsieur—scarce a family in all Acadia but has map and key to some buried treasure of Jean Lafitte. Why, Monsieur, here in this very café, once worked a negro boy. He, being sick, I help him as a gentleman does those negro, to be sure, and he was of heart enough to thank me for that. So one day he came to me and told me a story of a treasure of a descendant of Lafitte. He himself, this negro, had helped his master to bury that same treasure.”

“And does he know the place now? Could he point it out?”

“Assuredly, and the master who buried it now is dead.”

“Then why does not the negro boy go and dig it up again, very naturally?”

“Ah, for the best reasons. That old Frenchman, descendant of Jean Lafitte, was no fool. What does he in this burial of treasure? Ah! He takes him a white parrot, a black cat and a live monkey, and these three, all of them, he buries on top of the treasure-box and covers all with earth and grass above the earth. And then above the grave he says such a malediction upon any who may disturb it as would alone frighten to the death any person coming there and braving such a curse. I suggested to the negro boy that he should show me the spot. Monsieur, he grew pale in terror. Not for a million pounds of solid gold would he go near that place, him.”

“That also is a most extraordinary story, Jean. Taken with this other fairy tale which you have told me to-night, you almost make me feel that we are back in the great old days which this country once saw. But alas!”

“As you say, Monsieur, alas!”

“Now as to that ruffian who stole the gentleman’s yacht,” I resumed. “Has he reflected? Has he indeed made his way to the Gulf? Why, he might even be hiding here in the city somewhere.”

“Ah, hardly that, and if so, he well may look out for the law.”

“I think a sherbet would be excellent for the lady now, Jean,” I ventured, whereat he departed. I turned over the paper and showed Helena her own portrait on the front page, four columns deep and set in such framing of blackfaced scare type as made me blush for my own sins.

“It is an adventure, Helena!” said I. “Had you not been far the most beautiful woman in this restaurant to-night, and had not Jean been all eyes for you, he otherwise would have looked at this paper rather than at you. Then he would have looked at us both and must have seen the truth.”

“It is an adventure,” said she slowly, her color heightening; and later, “You carried it off well, Harry.”

I bowed to her across the table. “Need was to act quickly, for even this vile newspaper cut is a likeness of you. One glance from Jean, which may come at any moment later, Helena, and your parole will be needless further.”

“I confess I wished to test you. It was wrong, foolish of me, Harry.”

“You have been tested no less, Helena, to-night. And I have found you a gentle high-born lady, as I had always known you to be. Noblesse oblige, my dear, and you have proved it so to-night. Any time from now until twelve you need no more than raise a finger—I might not even see you do so—and you might go free. Why do you not?”

“If the woodcock is as good as the canvasback,” was her somewhat irrelevant reply, “I shall call the evening a success, after all.”

But Helena scarcely more than tasted her bird, and pushed back after a time the broiled mushroom which Jean offered her gently.

“Does not your appetite remain?” I inquired. “Come, you must not break Jean’s heart doubly.”

She only pushed back her chair. “I am sorry,” said she, “but I want to go back to the boat.”

“Back to the boat! You astonish me. I thought escape from the Belle Helène was the one wish of your heart these days.”

“And so it is.”

“Then, Helena, why not escape here and now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I do not mean for you to break your parole—I know you too well for that. But give me additional parole, my dear girl. Give me your word. Say that one word. Then we can rise here and announce to Mr. Davidson and all the world and its newspapers that no crime has been done and only a honeymoon has been begun. Come, Helena, all the world loves a lover. All New Orleans will love us if you will raise your finger and say the word.”

I looked toward her. Her head was bent and tears were dropping from her eyes, tears faithfully concealed by her kerchief. But she said no word to me, and at her silence my own heart sank—sank until my courage was quite gone, until I felt the return of a cold brutality. Still I endeavored to be gentle with one who deserved naught of gentleness.

“Do not hurry, Helena,” I said. “We can return when you like. But the salad—and the coffee! And see, you have not touched your wine.”

“Take me back,” she said, her voice low. “I hate you. Till the end of the world I’ll hate you.”

“If I could believe that, Helena, it would matter nothing to me to go a mile farther on any voyage, a foot farther to shield myself or you.”

“Take me back,” she said to me again. “I want to go to Aunt Lucinda.”

“Jean,” said I, a moment later when he reappeared. “Mademoiselle wishes to see one more ice-box