Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 60, No. 369, July 1846

"Pirate?" repeated the soldier, who had again laid hold of his prisoner. "If you cut any more such capers, I'll take you to prison in a way that your bones will remember for a week to come. This young man says," added he to the officers, who just then came up, "that yonder fellow is a pirate."

"Obey your orders," was the sole reply of the general; and again the orderly pushed his prisoner onwards.

"And you?" said the militia general, turning to the foreigners – "Who may you be?"

One of the strangers, half of whose face was bound up with a black silk bandage, whilst of the other half, which was covered with a large plaster, only a grey eye was visible, now stepped forward, and bowed with an air of easy confidence.

"I believe I have the honour to address officers of militia, preparing for the approaching conflict. If, as I hope, you go down stream to-morrow, we shall have the pleasure of accompanying you."

"Very kind," replied the general.

"Not bashful," added the squire.

"We also are come," continued the stranger in the same free and easy tone, "to lay our humble offering upon the altar of the land of liberty, the happy asylum of the persecuted and oppressed. Who would not risk his best blood for the greatest of earth's blessings?"

"You are very liberal with your best blood," replied the general dryly. "How is it that, being already wounded, you come so far to seek fresh wounds in a foreign service?"

"Our wounds were received from a party of Osages who attacked us on the road, and paid dearly for their temerity. We are not quite strangers here; we have for many years had connexions in New Orleans, and some of the produce of our plantations will follow us in a few days."

"And this gentleman," said Colonel Parker, who, after staring for some time at one of the adventurers, now seized him by the collar, and in spite of his struggles dragged him forward: "does he also come to make an offering upon liberty's altar?"

With a blow of his hand he knocked off the man's cap, and with it a bandage covering part of his face.

"By jingo! dat our Pompey, what run from Massa John in New Orlean," tittered the colonel's black servant, who stood a little on one side with the horses.

"Pompey not know massa. Pompey free Mexican. Noding to massa," screamed the runaway slave.

"You'll soon learn to know me," said the colonel. "Orderly, take this man to jail, and clap irons on his neck and ankles."

"You will remain here," said the general in a tone of command to the spokesman of the party, who had looked on with an appearance of perfect indifference during the detection and arrest of his black confederate.

"It will be at your peril if you detain us," was the reply. "We are ordered to repair to headquarters as speedily as possible."

"The surgeon will examine you, and if you are really wounded, you will be at liberty to fix your temporary abode in the town. If not, the prison will be your lodging."

"Sir!" said the man with an assumption of haughtiness.

"Say no more about it," replied the general coldly – "the commander-in-chief shall be informed of your arrival, and you will wait his orders here."

The stranger stepped forward, as if he would have expostulated, but the general turned his back upon him, and walked away. A party of militia now took charge of the gang, and conducted them to the guard-house.

This scarred and ill-looking crew are Lafitte and the remnant of his band, come, according to a private understanding with General Jackson, to serve the American artillery against the British, (an historical fact.) Their bandages and plasters being found to cover real wounds, they are allowed to quarter themselves at the estaminet of the Garde Imperiale, kept by a Spaniard called Benito, once a member of Lafitte's band, but now settled in Louisiana, married, and, comparatively speaking, an honest man. Benito is greatly alarmed at the sight of his former captain and comrades, and still more so when they insist upon his aiding them that very night to rescue Pompey the negro, lest he should betray their real character to the militia officers. Lafitte promises to have the runaway slave conveyed across the Mississippi; but as this would require the absence, for at least three hours, of several of the pirates, who, although at liberty, are kept under a species of surveillance, the real intention is to make away with the unfortunate Pompey as soon as the boat is at a certain distance from land. The negro is confined in a large building used as a cotton store, built of boards, and in a dilapidated condition; the militia on guard leave their post to listen to the proceedings of a meeting then holding for the discussion of General Jackson's unconstitutional conduct, and, profiting by their absence, Benito and four of the pirates, Mexican Spaniards, contrive the escape of a prisoner whom they believe to be Pompey. In the darkness they mistake their man, and bring away Hodges, who is confined in the same building. This occurs at midnight. The meeting, which absorbs the attention of the militia, is not yet over, when the four pirates, Benito, and the rescued prisoner, arrive at the junction of the creek and the Mississippi, and, unmooring a boat, prepare to embark.

At this moment a second boat became visible, gliding gently down the bayou towards the stream.

"Que diablo!" muttered the Mexicans. "What is that?"

The boat drew near; a man was in it.

"Who is that?" whispered the pirates, and then one of them sprang suddenly into the strange skiff, whence the clanking of chains was heard to proceed. The Mexican stared the unwelcome witness hard in the face.

"Ah, massa Miguel!" cried the new-comer with a grin: "Pompey not stop in jail. Pompey not love the ninetail."

"The devil!" exclaimed the Mexican – "it is Pompey. Who is the other then? We are seven instead of six. What does all this mean?"

"Santiago!" cried the pirates: "Who is he?" they whispered, surrounding the seventh, and, as it seemed, superfluous member of their society.

"No Spanish. Speak English," was the reply.

"Santa Virgen! How came you here?"

"You ought to know, since you brought me."

The men stepped back, and whispered to each other in Spanish. "Come, then!" said one of them at last.

"Not a step till I know who you are, and where you go."

"Fool! Who we are matters little to you, and where we go, as little. Any place is better for you than this. Stop here and I would not give a real for your neck."

"Leave him! Leave him!" muttered the others.

"Be off, and back again quickly," whispered the tavern-keeper, "or you are all lost."

"Stop!" cried the Englishman. "I will go with you."

The negro had already jumped into the Mexicans' boat, and, with the heedlessness of his race, had left his own adrift.

"Ingles!" said one of the pirates, "sit you here." And he showed him his place in the bow of the boat next to a young Mexican. "And Pompey in the middle, and now let's be off."

"Stop!" cried Hodges. "Had we not better divide ourselves between the two boats?"

"Ah, massa never rowed across the Sippi," tittered the lazy negro. "Massa not get over in six hours, and come to land at Point Coupé."

"Hush, Pompey," muttered his neighbour, and the boat, impelled by six pair of hands, darted swiftly out into the stream.

"Ah, Massa Manuel, let Pompey file off him chains," grumbled the black. "Pompey been in upper jail – been cunning," laughed he to himself; "took file and helped himself out. Massa Parker stare when he see Pompey gone."

"Hold your tongue, doctor," commanded a voice from the hinder part of the boat, "and let your chains be till you get across."

The negro shook his head discontentedly. "Massa Felipe wouldn't like to be in the collars," said he; but nevertheless he put away his file, and whilst with one hand he managed the oar, with the other he held the chain connecting the ankle irons with the collar, and which had been filed in too close to the latter. This collar consisted of a ring two inches broad, and as thick as a man's finger, encircling the neck, and from which three long hooks rose up over the crown of the head. With a sort of childish wonder he weighed the chain in his hand, staring at it the while, and then let it fall into the bottom of the boat, which now advanced towards the middle of the stream.

"Poor Lolli!" said the negro after a short silence – "she be sad not to see Pompey. She live in St John's, behind the cathedral."

"Pompey!" cried the Mexican who sat forward on the same bench with Hodges, "your cursed chain is rubbing the skin off my ankles."

"Sit still, Pompey," said the negro's neighbour. "I'll take it out of the way."

"Ah! massa hurt poor Pompey," cried the black to his next man, who had wound the chain round his feet, and now gave it so sudden a pull that the negro let go his oar and fell back in the boat. The young Englishman became suddenly attentive to what passed.

"What are you about?" cried he; "what are you doing to the poor negro?"

"Gor-a-mighty's sake, massa, not joke so with poor Pompey," groaned the negro. "Massa strangle poor nigger."

"It's nothing at all, Pompey; think of your fat Lolli behind the cathedral, and don't forget the way to Nacogdoches," said the man on the sternmost bench, who had taken the chain from his comrade, passed it through the neck-iron, and, violently pulling it, drew the unhappy negro up into a heap.

"Massa, Massa, Ma – !" gasped the negro, whose breath was leaving him.

The whole had been the work of a moment, and the stifled groans and sobs of the agonized slave were nearly drowned by the rush of the waters and splash of the oar-strokes.

"The devil!" cried the Englishman, "what is all this?"

At that moment the board on which he sat was lifted, his fellow-rower threw himself against him with all his force, and nearly succeeded in precipitating him into the stream. Hodges staggered, but managed to regain his balance, and turning quickly upon his treacherous neighbour, dealt him a blow with his fist that knocked him overboard.

"Buen viage á los infiernos!" cried the other Mexicans with a burst of hellish laughter, hearing the splash, but misapprehending its cause.

"Go to hell yourself!" shouted the Englishman, grasping his oar, and dealing the man in front of him a blow that stretched him by the side of the negro.

"Santa Virgen! who is that?" cried the two sternmost pirates.

"The Englishman!" exclaimed one of them, pressing forwards towards Hodges, but stumbling over the men at the bottom of the boat, which now rocked violently from the furious struggle going on within it.

"Ma – Ma – !" groaned the negro again, now seemingly in the death agony – His eyes stood out from their sockets, and glittered like stars in the darkness; his tongue hung from his mouth, swollen and convulsed.

"By the living God! if you don't unfasten the negro, I'll knock you all into the river."

"Maldito Ingles! Picaro gojo!"

"Let him go! Let him go! Holy Virgin!" yelled the three Mexicans, as one of them who had approached the Englishman was knocked bellowing into his place by a furious blow of the oar. "It's the devil himself!" cried the pirates, and one of them pushed the negro towards Hodges.

"Stand back!" cried the midshipman, "and take off his neck-iron. If you strangle him, you are all dead men."

One of the Mexicans laid hold of the negro, who was coiled up like a ball, and drew the chain out of the collar. The poor slave's limbs fell back, dead and powerless as pieces of wood. A gasping, rattling noise in his throat alone denoted that life was still in him.

"Stand back!" repeated Hodges, stooping down, and endeavouring, by vigorous friction with a blanket, to restore the negro to consciousness. During this life-and-death struggle, the boat, left at the mercy of the waters, had been borne swiftly away by the stream, and was now floating amongst a number of the enormous trees which the Mississippi carries down by thousands to the sea. The Mexicans resumed their places, and with their utmost strength began to pull up-stream. Not far from the frail skiff, beneath the mantle of fog covering the river, a huge tree-trunk was seen coming directly towards the boat – Hodges had barely time to bid the Mexicans be careful, when it shot by them. As it did so, a strange, unnatural cry saluted their ears, and straining his eyes through the darkness, the young Englishman saw a head and a hand appearing above one of the limbs of the forest giant.

"Misericordia!" cried the voice – "Socorro! Por Dios!"

It was the Mexican whom Hodges had knocked into the water, and who, by means of the tree, had saved himself from drowning.

"Turn the boat!" cried Hodges, "your countryman is still alive."

"Es verdad!" exclaimed the desperadoes, and the boat was turned – Meanwhile the negro had come gradually to himself, and now crouched down at the feet of his deliverer. He peered over the gunwale at the half-drowned Mexican.

"Gor-a-mighty, Massa!" cried he, seizing the Englishman's oar – "dat Miguel – trike him dead, Massa; Miguel very bad mans."

"Keep still, Pompey!" answered Hodges, pulling with might and main to the assistance of the Mexican. The boat shot alongside the floating tree, and the half-drowned wretch had just sufficient strength left to extend his hand, which the Englishman grasped.

"Take care, Massa! the pirates will kill us both," cried the negro.

At that moment the boat received a violent shock, a wave dashed over it, and threw the Mexican on the gunwale, across which he lay more dead than alive.

"Lay hold of him!" said Hodges to the negro.

"Ah, Pompey not such dam' fool – Pompey lub Massa too much. The others don't row. Look, Massa, they only wait to kill Massa."

"Hark ye!" cried Hodges to the Mexicans, at the same time giving the nearest to him a blow with his oar – "the first who leaves off rowing – you understand me?"

The boat rocked on the huge sheet of water, in the midst of the floating trees, menaced each moment with destruction from the latter, or with being swallowed up by the troubled and impetuous stream; the Mexicans cowered upon their benches – thirst of blood, and rage, suppressed only by fear, gleaming in their black, rolling eyes and ferocious countenances. The negro now twisted the boat rope round the body of the rescued man, who, still groaning and imploring mercy, was dragged on board.

"Ah, Massa! Miguel good swimmer; bath not hurt him, Massa," mumbled the restless black: "Massa not forget to take his oar with him out of the boat."

"And Pompey not forget to handle his own a little more diligently," was the reply of Hodges.

For a time the negro obeyed the injunction, and then looked at the young Englishman, who appeared to listen attentively to some distant sound.

"Massa never fear, militiaman sleep well – only Sippi's noise. Pompey know the road, Massa Parker not catch him."

A quarter of an hour passed away, and the strength of the rowers began to diminish under their continued and laborious efforts.

"Massa soon see land – out of the current already," cried the negro.

Another quarter of an hour elapsed, and they reached the shore; Hodges jumped out of the boat, and was followed by the negro, still loaded with his fetters. The Mexicans sprang after them.

"Stop by your boat!" cried Hodges in a threatening tone. Instead of an answer, a knife, thrown by a sure and practised hand, struck him on the breast. The deerskin vest with which Canondah had equipped him, proved his protection. The weapon stuck in it, and remained hanging there.

"Vile assassins!" cried Hodges, who now broke off the flat part of his oar, and grasping the other half, was about to rush upon the bandits, when the negro threw his arms round him.

"Massa not be a fool! pirates have more knives, and be glad if he go near them. Kill him then easy."

"You are right, Pompey," said Hodges, half laughing, half angry, at the negro, who was showing his white teeth in an agony of fear and anxiety. "The dogs are not worth the killing."

For a moment the three assassins stood undecided; then yelling out a "Buen viage á los infiernos," got into their boat and speedily disappeared in the fog and darkness.

Hodges is pursued and recaptured, but Tokeah and Rosa, who, with their companions, are brought in by a party of militia, and the latter of whom is joyfully recognised and welcomed by the worthy Squire Copeland, clear him of the charge of spying, and he remains a prisoner of war. The troops take their departure for New Orleans, and the Indians are detained at the town, whence, however, Tokeah and El Sol depart in the night-time, and continue their journey. The old chief accomplishes his object, disinters his father's bones, and returns to fetch Rosa, and proceed with her to his new home in the country of the Comanches. Meanwhile the action of New Orleans has been fought, and he finds, to his grief and astonishment, that Lafitte, whose life he had spared in the expectation of his meeting punishment at the hands of the Americans, has actually been fighting in their ranks, and has received, as a reward for his services, a free pardon, coupled, however, with an injunction to quit the territory of the United States. Through an advertisement in an old newspaper, traces have been discovered of Rosa's father, who, as the reader is given to understand, is a Mexican of high rank. She had been stolen by a tribe of Indians with whom Tokeah was at war, and from whose hands he rescued her. Tokeah has an interview with General Jackson, who cautions him against the further indulgence of his inveterate hostility to the Americans, and permits him to depart. Rosa now goes to take leave of the old chief, who is as yet unaware that she is not to accompany him.

When Rosa, Squire Copeland, and Hodges entered the estaminet of the Garde Imperiale, they found the two chiefs and their followers seated in their usual manner upon the floor of the room, which had no other occupants. El Sol rose at their entrance, and, advancing a few steps, took Rosa's hand and conducted her to a chair. She did not sit down, but ran to the Miko and affectionately embraced him. The old chief gazed at her with a cold and inquiring look.

"Miko," said the squire, "Miss Rosa has come to take leave of you, and to thank you for the kindness you have shown her. You yourself shall fix the sum that will compensate you for your expenses on her account."

"Tokeah," replied the Indian, misunderstanding Major Copeland's words, and taking a leather bag from his wampum belt, "will willingly pay what the white chief claims for food and drink given to the White Rose."

"You are mistaken," replied the squire; "payment is due to you. Strictly speaking, the amount should be fixed by a jury, but you have only to ask, and any reasonable sum shall be paid at once."

"The white chief," said the Indian, "may take whatever he pleases."

"I tell you it is I, and not you, who have to pay," returned the squire.

"Has my daughter bid farewell to her foster-father?" said the Indian to Rosa, who had listened to this dialogue with some uneasiness. "Rosa must leave the wigwam of the white men; the Miko's path is a long one, and his spirit is weary of the palefaces."

"And must the Miko go?" said Rosa. "Oh! father of my Canondah! remain here; the white men will love thee as a brother."

The Indian looked at her with astonishment.

"What means the White Rose?" said he, – "the palefaces love Tokeah? Has the White Rose – ?" He paused, and surveyed her gloomily and suspiciously. "Tokeah," continued he, at last, "is very weary of the white men; he will be gone."

"Miko," said Rosa, timidly – for it was evident that the chief was still in error as to the motive of her visit – "Rosa has come to beg you to remain a while with the white men; but if you must go, she will" —

"The Miko is the father of his people," interrupted Tokeah; "they call him; he must go, and the Rose of the Oconees shall also be the Rose of the Comanches, the squaw of a great chief."

The young girl blushed, and stepped back.

"Miko," said she, "you are the beloved father of my dear Canondah; you saved my life and maintained me, and I thank you heartily; but, Miko, I cannot, I must not, do as you wish. I no longer belong to you, but to my father, my long-lost father."

"Rosa speaks truth – she belongs to her father," said the Miko, not yet undeceived; "my daughter's feet are weak, but she shall sit in a canoe till she reaches the wigwams of the Pawnees, and they have many horses."

"By G – !" cried the squire, "here is a mistake; the Indian thinks to take Rosa with him. My dear boy," continued he to Hodges, "run as quick as you can to Colonel Parker, and bring a party of men. Bayonets are the only things these savages respect. Rosa, say no more to him, he is getting wild."

A change had taken place in the Indian, although it was one which only a keen observer could detect. He began to have an inkling that Rosa was to be taken from him, and his gloomy inanimate physiognomy betrayed a restless agitation, which alarmed the major.

"The White Rose," resumed Tokeah, after a while, "is a dutiful daughter. She will cook her father's venison."

"That would I willingly do for the father of my Canondah," said the young girl; "but a higher duty calls me. Father of my Canondah! Rosa has come to take leave of thee."

The Indian listened attentively.

"Miko," continued the maiden, "the father who gave me life, is found. Rosa must hasten to him who for fourteen years has wept and sought her."

"Tokeah gave Rosa her life; he saved her from the tomahawk of Milimach; he paid with skins for the milk she drank."

"But Rosa has another father who is nearer to her, whom the Great Spirit bestowed upon her; to him must she go. I must leave you, Miko," said she, with increased firmness of manner.

Upon the countenance of the Indian all the bad passions of his nature were legible. The scales had at last fallen from his eyes; but even now his cold and terrible calmness did not desert him, although the violence of the storm raging within showed itself in the play of his features and the variation of his complexion.

"Miko," said the squire, who foresaw an approaching outburst of fury – "Miko, you heard the words of the great warrior of the palefaces?"

The Indian took no notice of the caution; his whole frame was agitated by a feverish trembling; his hand sought his scalping-knife; and he cast so terrible a look at Rosa, that the horrorstruck squire sprang to her side. To Major Copeland's astonishment, the young girl had regained all her courage, and there was even a certain dignity in her manner.

"Miko," said she, extending her arms, "I must leave you."

"What says my daughter?" demanded the Indian – who even yet seemed unable to believe his ears – his voice assuming so shrill and unnatural a tone, that the tavern-keeper and his wife rushed terrified into the room. "Tokeah is not her father? she will not follow the Miko?"

"She cannot," answered Rosa firmly.

"And Rosa," continued the Indian, in the same piercing accents, "will leave the Miko; will let him wander alone on his far and weary path?"

The words were scarcely uttered, when, by a sudden and unexpected movement, Tokeah sprang to his feet, caught Rosa in his arms, and with a like rapidity retreating to the side door of the room, came in such violent contact with it, that its glass panes were shivered into a thousand pieces.

"And does the white snake think," he exclaimed, with flashing eyes, "that the Miko is a fool?" He held the maiden in his left arm, whilst his right raised the glittering scalping-knife. "Does the white snake think," continued the raging Indian, with a shrill laugh of scorn, whilst the foam gathered round his mouth, "that the Miko fed and cherished her, and gave skins for her, that she might return to the white men, the venomous palefaces, whom he spits upon?" And he spat with loathing upon the ground.

"By the God who made you, hold! Hurt the child, and you are a dead man!" cried the squire, who seized a stool and endeavoured to force his way to Rosa, but was repulsed by the Comanches and Oconees.

"Therefore did the white snake accompany me!" yelled Tokeah. "Does my son know," cried he to El Sol, "that the White Rose has betrayed her father – betrayed him for the palefaces? Will the white snake follow her father?" screamed the frantic savage.