“You will excuse my saying this, I hope,” said Verne, “but I have some difficulty in comprehending what it is about a pirate that is in any way heroic.”
“I will concede your point to a degree,” said Drakov. “Most of them were barbarians, indeed. Men such as Francois Lolonois, Roche Brasiliano, Henry Morgan, Blackbeard, even women, such as Anne Bonny and Mary Read, were capable of unspeakable acts of cruelty. Yet, consider the cruelty of the times in which they lived. Few of their actions were more cruel than those practiced aboard Spanish and British ships. They were criminals, outcasts of society, but they were also free. They recognized no code of ethics other than their own, to which they rigidly adhered. They were dissatisfied with their world, so they made their own, upon the seas. I find heroism in that.”
“I find self-justification,” said Andre.
“You would, Miss Cross,” said Drakov. “Condemnation is only to be expected when one flaunts the laws and conventions of society. The alien is not to be tolerated. Yet what if society is wrong? What is the individual of principle to do, go along with the wrongs and conform, thereby being accepted by society? Or choose the more difficult path of idealism and resist the society he feels is wrong?”
“Who’s to say he’s right?” said Andre.
“A question such as that could lead to endless philosophical debate,” said Drakov. “Frankly, I am not in the mood. A free man is concerned with no one’s judgment other than his own. He makes his own decisions and lives by the consequences.”
“Interesting,” said Verne. “There was a novel published this year-or rather, in the year 1866, since I am there no longer-by a Russian named Dostoyevski, in which a very similar argument is raised, that the superior man is above the law. Have you read Crime and Punishment, Captain Drakov?”
“Try to remember to address me as Captain Drako while we are here. And in reply to your question, yes, of course I have read it. A fascinating novel; the story of a self-deluded young man. However, I dispute your statement concerning the similarity. It is one thing to believe, as did Dostoyevski’s protagonist, that a man of genius is above moral law. It is quite another to recognize the existence of non-subjective morality, base one’s principles upon it and perceive society as having violated that morality. In that sense, I am not an outcast of society due to my beliefs. I have never been a part of society. I was born in the 19th century and my education was completed in the 27th century. In neither century did I belong. I was an outsider from birth, by virtue of my birth. No one can view society quite so clearly as an outsider, Mr. Verne. No one is or has ever been more of an outsider than myself.”
The carriage drove down a narrow path, past small cottages with no more than one or two rooms and windows with heavy blinds made of strips of wood which were favored over glass for protection from the storms that lashed the gulf. Orange groves and large oleander bushes were everywher
e. Palm trees and vivid flowers gave the palmetto-thatched settlement a tropical flavor. It was a peaceful, lazy scene, one in which their conversation seemed incongruous.
Lafitte’s house was a mansion, located near the warehouses where the slaves were kept. His home was on a rise, overlooking the sea, its brick walls covered with plaster mixed together with crushed oyster shells. There were two floors, with iron bars on the windows and a veranda circling the house on the second floor, creating a shaded area beneath. As they drove up, Lafitte stood on the veranda, hands on hips, looking down at them with a wide smile upon his face.
He was a tall, slim man in his late twenties, with black hair and long sideburns. His teeth were very white and his eyes were very dark, very striking. He was an elegant, handsome man. He called out to them in French, in a clear, strong, mellifluous voice.
“Drako! You scoundrel! Where have you been keeping yourself? Come in, come in, bring your friends and have a drink or two or ten.”
The door was opened for them by a quadroon girl, one of the loveliest young women they had ever seen. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen years old. Her skin was light, almost golden-colored and her eyes were a deep, dark brown and very large. Her hair was a thick, luxuriant mass of dark curls. She curtsied as they entered.
Lafitte came down to greet them, dressed in a lightweight black suit and a black brocade vest with a white silk shirt. He moved gracefully and his carriage was that of a nobleman.
“Marie, some wine for our friends,” he said. He came up to Drakov and embraced him.
“You look well, Jean.”
“A year has not aged you at all,” Lafitte said. “It is a mystery to me how you stay at sea so long, yet never grow very tanned or appear weathered. But then, you are a man of many mysteries, no? Tell me, have you reconsidered my offer?”
“Ever respectfully, I must still decline,” said Drakov.
Lafitte shook his head. “Foolish man. You would prosper here in Barataria. Your ship would be the crown of our fleet.”
“You mean of your fleet, Jean,” said Drakov.
“I respect your independence. We will speak no more of it. For now, at any rate. You must introduce me to your friends.”
Drakov performed the introductions. When he got to Andre, Lafitte looked at her admiringly, then bent down to kiss her hand. “A woman corsair! My respects, Ma’mselle. Anyone who can hold her own with Drako’s crew of cutthroats is deserving of admiration. Wherever did your find her, Drako?”
“In Marseilles,” said Drakov.” Andre was in some slight legal difficulties at the time.”
“You must tell me all about it later,” Lafitte said. “Come, we will take our wine on the veranda, where we can enjoy the breeze.”
Marie brought their wine to them and silently departed. Land couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“It appears you have been captivated, Mr. Land,” said Lafitte.
“Your pardon, sir,” Land said, awkwardly, having been caught staring. “I meant no offense to your wife, sir.”
Lafitte laughed. “Wife? She is my slave. You want her? I will sell her to you. But you will pay dearly.”
Land was too flustered to reply.