I told the first mate it was Baratarian Week here at Triple P and then confessed my desire to do a post about Pierre Laffite, the famous Jean’s older, scruffier, stouter brother (or half-brother). He looked at me and, with his usual sarcastic intonation, asked “Just who was Pierre Laffite?” Snappy comebacks aside, that really is a good question. While there are details we know and details we don’t, today and tomorrow I will try to piece together the enormous life of an often forgotten man who once defiantly referred to himself as “Laffite the pirate!” Or at least the high points, anyway.
Both of these posts rely heavily on William C. Davis’ biography and history ThePirates Laffite. Davis’ research is particularly good, even though not everyone agrees with it. All the same, given the alternatives, there’s not much here to quibble with. Especially when compared to other “biographies” of only Jean that mention Pierre in the off-handed way that a book about Marilyn Monroe might mention her housewife half-sister. Pierre was, in fact, a full partner and leader in all the Laffite operations. Today, though, he and his brother have virtually merged into one individual in the popular imagination.
Pierre Laffite was apparently born some time between 1770 and 1775 in a small village in Bordeaux, France in the area known as the Gironde. Pierre’s mother died in 1775, possibly giving birth to him, and his father remarried not long after. In 1780, or possibly 1782, this second wife would give birth to another son, Jean Laffite. Pierre Laffite pere was in the merchant business and it is relatively safe to say that business suffered – in fact probably collapsed – due to the Revolution. Perhaps because of this downturn in family fortunes, Pierre Laffite was in Sainte Domingue (the future Haiti) by 1802. When the wheels came off that cart with the slave revolution, Pierre – like so many other French whites and free people of color – became a refugee.
Records from March of 1803 indicate Pierre bought land with a house and outbuildings on it in New Orleans at Rues Royal and Dumaine. He paid a considerable sum according to the documents; 8,000 silver pesos. But Pierre was borrowing heavily from friends and merchants at this time. It seems, however, that by the time William C.C. Claiborne showed up to claim Louisiana for the U.S. in December, Pierre was in business for himself.
While the records are sketchy – as always in and around New Orleans – Pierre did a lot of travelling over the course of the next few years. There were frequent visits to Point Coupee and Baton Rouge as well as Donaldsonville and Napoleonville. By now Pierre is linked to a New Orleans quadroon named Marie Louise Villars or Villard and by 1805 she is certainly his established companion. “Mistress”, though a word used often by Davis and other writers to refer to such relationships, is incorrect. Louise (or, affectionately, Louison) was a free woman “of color” who had either one grandparent or one great-grandparent who was black. She was in a relationship with Pierre known as placage or placement (still a viable form of “marriage” in Haiti today) wherein all children would be given Pierre’s name and all property would be held in Louise’s name but no formal ceremony would (or could) bind the couple. Louise travelled with Pierre as well as keeping his house on Royal; they both lived for a period of months in Pensacola.
Exactly what “business” Pierre was in is debatable. Certainly the sale of slaves was involved. A notable lawsuit brought against Pierre by a woman named Marie Zabeth or Elizabeth points this out. Zabeth sued Pierre for selling her as a slave, stating that she was a free woman and had been sold against her will. Zabeth won the suit and Pierre was ordered to return her value to the buyer, which he did not do. Thus began a paper trail of documentation showing Pierre owed people money all over the south.
The establishment of relationships with sea captains in and around New Orleans was certainly part of Pierre’s pursuits so that by the time Jean Laffite, who himself was probably at sea, appears in the city around 1807 the groundwork is laid for a privateering port in Barataria Bay. The Laffite brothers were smart enough to see that running a smuggling operation was a much less hazardous occupation than commanding a privateer at sea. Probably using a good deal of Pierre’s business acumen and Jean’s good name in the sailing community, they set up at Grande Terre Island south of New Orleans. Here they relied on friends in the privateering business: Dominique Youx, Renato Beluche, Louis Aury and Vicente Gambi on the water and Jean Blanque and other merchants in the city. Word of mouth spread, and by 1810 the refugee brothers were running a very profitable operation with Jean keeping things in order on the island and Pierre doing business in the city.
A frightening setback came in the form of a stroke that debilitated Pierre almost entirely for some months in 1810. Jean stepped in and ran the brothers’ entire operation while Pierre, watched over by his growing family which now included two daughters, two sons (the eldest, Eugene, was Pierre’s by a previous relationship), and Louise’s younger sister, Catherine or Catiche, recuperated. Meanwhile, Renato Beluche and Dominique Youx had joined the Cartagenan Navy and Beluche was supplying Laffite with letters of marque from the city in Grand Columbia. Things were running smoothly when Pierre again stepped up to manage the brothers’ affairs in the city, although he would always be troubled with fits of trembling and right sided weakness including a droopy, nearly closed eye.
The U.S. government made things difficult, however, what with their insistence on tariffs and taxes. Since the brothers were providing goods – some of which were technically contraband due to import laws – at the lowest possible prices by dodging the revenue collectors, U.S. merchants in New Orleans began to protest. First Commodore David Porter and then his successors Shaw and Patterson started targeting the smuggling pirogues that crept through the bayous to and from the city. All this came to a head when a revenue inspector named Stout was shot and killed by smugglers in January of 1814. Someone in Stout’s party recognized Pierre Laffite and word got back to now Commodore Patterson and U.S. Governor Claiborne. An arrest warrant for murder was issued against both Pierre and Jean and the bell finally began to toll for the Baratarians.
In July the unthinkable occurred. Pierre was arrested and held at the Calabozo in a three by five foot cell chained at ankles and neck. His physical condition deteriorated while a grand jury empanelled and was led by an old Laffite enemy: Paul Lanusse. Jean frantically tried to free his brother but his own arrest was imminent if he entered New Orleans (no one – not even the U.S. military – dared to try to take him at Grande Terre). As summer turned to fall, Pierre’s misery increased and the War of 1812 came to Louisiana.
The British approached Jean Laffite at Grande Terre in September of 1814 asking for his help to invade New Orleans. Jean sidestepped their request but saw a way to free his brother in it: he would trade his loyalty to the U.S. for Pierre’s freedom. The ploy failed – no one but Governor Claiborne even believed Britain had approached Laffite – but Pierre was none the less mysteriously freed by “other prisoners” late in September. Pierre made it back to Grande Terre with the news that Commodore Patterson was planning to raid Barataria. While Pierre recovered from his ordeal, the brothers tried to do damage control by again writing Claiborne who took their correspondence to General Andrew Jackson himself. Jackson would have none of Barataria’s “hellish banditti” and Patterson, along with Colonel George Ross, destroyed Grande Terre and took several prominent Captains – Dominique Youx among them – prisoner on September 16th.
The dream, it seemed, was dead. Pierre and Jean were in hiding, probably in Donaldsonville or Napoleonville where they still had a large number of friends. The Baratarian “banditti” were in chains in the Calobozo or scattered throughout south eastern Louisiana and the British were ready to invade New Orleans. Jackson was dreadfully short on men and especially arms. As December of 1814 passed arduously by, it seemed that even the Treaty of Ghent, whose ridiculous clauses made ratification by Congress impossible, couldn’t save the fledgling U.S. from the might of Britain.
It’s overwhelming really, and that – in all fairness – is not the half of it. But that is enough for today. Tomorrow: the Battle of New Orleans, Galveston, Isla Mujeres, spies for Spain and the final chapter.
Header: Jean and Pierre Laffite with Dominique Youx c 1812
With the 196th anniversary of the Battle of New Orleans soon to be upon us, Triple P is celebrating Baratarian Week. We’ll spend the next few days poking around at some obscure and fascinating facts about my own personal Brethren. These were the pirates and privateers who availed themselves of the niceties provided by the Laffite brothers at Barataria Bay just south of New Orleans back in the early 19th century.
To kick off, a little primer on good manners among the river bargeman and bayou pirogue handlers who hauled the city’s groceries and the Laffites’ prize goods. The waterways around New Orleans, which was a bustling, metropolitan city when New York was a village, were heavily trafficked from early in the city’s history. Barges came down the Mississippi from as far away as modern Ohio bringing every type of crop and livestock imaginable. Meanwhile, from Barataria through avenues like Bayous St. Denis, Rigolets and Perot and others, as Pierre Laffite put it to Andrew Jackson, “known only to ducks and the Laffite brothers”, goods taken by privateers funneled in to the city. There they were sold, tax and tariff free, to the utter dismay of the new American merchant class. This well established and even ancient habit of smuggling shocked and angered the U.S. government. But people like my ancestors just chuckled behind their hats or fans, and went right on buying from the Laffites. Where else was a lady to get silk stockings, after all?
On the water, no such qualms were had regardless of nationality. But a loose set of rules applied to how barges, which essentially only floated with the current, rowboats and pirogues interacted with one another. Here is a little list, by no means complete, from around 1810:
A rowboat going against the stream or tide should take the shore or bank closest to it when meeting a barge floating downstream.
A barge should, likewise and in the same situation but going with the stream, should take a course mid-river.
A pirogue in almost all situations, if under sail, has right of way. If using oars, the pirogue should behave like a rowboat.
A rowboat or barge overtaking another craft on the same course should keep clear. Likewise, the other craft should keep its own course.
In meeting another vessel bow to bow, a rowboat should keep to starboard (the right), as one would when walking, and pass any oncoming craft with said craft to larboard (the left).
A craft with a coxswain should give way to one without (in large part, this rule speaks to the limited maneuverability of a barge, which would generally have no coxswain, in comparison to a pirogue or rowboat).
So mind your craft on the river, mes amis, and stay sharp in the bayou. One more point might be made in this specific case: a gator always has right of way, and should be given a very wide berth indeed.
Header: The Jolly Floatmen by George Caleb Bingham c 1830
Dr. Maturin had no such inhibitions. When he came into the cabin that evening he waited until Jack had finished a charming little rondo and then he said, "And are we not to make haste and cut the Line tomorrow, so?"
"No," said Jack, smiling at him. "If this wind holds, and it is almost certain to mind its duty as a true trade wind. I hope to cross in a little more than twenty-nine degrees of west longitude on Sunday. So tomorrow you should be quite near your old friends the St Paul's rock."
"Is that right? What joy: I must tell poor Martin. Tell, what was the rondo you were playing?"
"Molter."
"Molter?"
"Yes. You know. Molter Vivace. You must have heard of Molter Vivace. Oh ha, ha, ha!" When at last he had had his laugh out, he wiped his eyes and wheezed. "It came to me in a flash, a brilliant illumination, like when you fire off blue lights. Lord, ain't I a rattle? I shall set up for a wit yet, and make my fortune. Molter Vivace... I must tell Sophie. I am writing her a letter, to be put aboard some homeward-bound merchantman, if we meet one off Brazil next week, which is probable. Molter Vivace, oh dear me."
"He that would make a pun would pick a pocket," said Stephen, "And that miserable quibble is not even a pun, but a vile clench. Who is this Molter?" he asked, picking up the neatly-written score.
"Johannes Melchior Molter, a German of the last age," said Jack. "Our parson at home thinks the world of him. I copied this piece, mislaid it, and found it ten minutes ago tucked behind our Corelli in C major. Shall we attempt the Corelli now, it being such a triumphal day?"
From: The Far Side of the World by Patrick O'Brian who died this day in the year 2000 ~ Rest In Peace Maestro
Our sever’d navy too; Have knit again and fleet, threatening most sea like ~ Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra
Generally, modern people think of a fleet as a group of ships sailing together. Simple enough. But in fact fleet originally had a different, if similar, meaning and evolved to mean more than one thing at sea.
Fleet comes from the Teutonic flieffen, meaning to float. Thus ships floating in a group or, by association, a bay or tidewater filled with sea water where ships can stay afloat. Also of Teutonic origin is fleet dyke, from vliet; an earthen or other dam which prevents the sea from overtaking the land. Fleet water, in turn, is the very water which inundates.
The word fleet became the general name for any blue water navy. A person referring to “the fleet” was understood to mean the Royal Navy when speaking in a British port, for instance. By extension, any number of ships sailing in company could be called a fleet be they merchant, navy or even pirate. Henry Morgan took large fleets on his raids of Porto Bello and Panama. In navies, squadrons and subdivisions would be designated for ease of command.
Fleeting became the act of tending to rope, tackle and shrouds so as to set them to the ship’s best advantage in any given wind. This was also indicated to keep rigging from looking unseamanlike for inspection or in the event of visitors to the ship. As the Brethren know, even the down-at-heel boatman is proud of his craft.
To fleet the messenger sounds rather like punishing someone for bringing bad news, but is all together about inanimate objects. The messenger is a large cable – sometimes astoundingly large depending on the size of the ship – used to haul up the ship’s anchor. Fleeting is done just before the final heave of the capstan which positions the anchor for catting. At that point, the eyes (spliced ends used to lash up the anchor) of the messenger must be shifted past the capstan for the heavy heave.
And, as we all know, a ship can be fleet; very fleet indeed if she’s well handled. Handle your ship well, mates. Far winds, following seas and all happiness in 2011. I look forward to sailing with you in this New Year.
It's New Years Eve, of course, and as a special gift to the Brethren I’d like to share my very favorite sword fight from any pirate movie ever made. That’s right! The battle between Basil Rathbone as the evil (and you will note, French) Le Vasseur and Errol Flynn as our hero (British, of course), Stephen Blood in Captain Blood. I love this scene from the much lionized movie for many different reasons but for one in particular: Basil Rathbone.
Yeah, you were expecting me to say ol’ Errol, weren’t you? Don’t get me wrong; I love Mr. Flynn. Rathbone, though, was probably the greatest fencing movie actor of his or arguably any age. Unlike Flynn, who is all muscle and athletic prowess with very little of style mixed in, Rathbone is a study in technical precision. Every thrust and parry, even on those ridiculously dangerous wet rocks in Laguna Beach, is surgery perfect. He’s a vision of Dumas’ D’Artagnon come to life as a pirate villain.
I frequently fall into imagining this sequence as a romanticized retelling of the infamous duel between Laurens de Graff (Flynn) and Nicholas Van Horn (Rathbone) and I even imagine a similar exchange of words as they duke it out on the sand. In fact, Rathbone notoriously gave Flynn lip during the filming of another famous movie wherein they dueled to the death over Olivia de Havilland: The Adventures of Robin Hood. While filming that duel, Flynn chuckled that he “always got the girl.” Rathbone pulled up short, saluted Flynn and said – doubtless in that steely monotone that only Vincent Price could do better – “Yes you do, but I could actually kill you.” And given his fencing skills, and the obvious points in both duels where he backs off and allows Flynn to get the better of him, it is quite clear that Rathbone wasn’t bragging. Or lying.
Best wishes for a happy and safe New Years Eve, Brethren. Enjoy!
(Note: When I went to the YouTube video of the complete duel, embedding was disabled so here, as a poor substitute, is the short AMC doc on the staging of the duel. Pull the movie out tonight as part of your celebration and enjoy the duel in its entirety if your appetite has been wetted. You’ll be glad you did.)
In very ancient times, the profession we now call prostitution was a sacred one. Representing the goddess of love, the priestesses offered themselves to worshipers as part of festivals and other rights of fertility. This kind of religious practiced morphed quickly when someone figured out there was money to be made in the skin trade. Of course, nothing different occurred in the temples, brothels and on the barges of Ancient Egypt. And yes, I did say barges.
Most people are at least familiar with the so called “flower boats” historically active in China. It was aboard one of these that the famed pirate Cheng I met his future wife in the late 18th century. The brothel girl, who would become known as Cheng I Sao, went on to rule her husband’s pirate kingdom and eventually retire to run her own flower boat complete with gambling, music, liquor and food and, of course, the usual entertainments.
Long before Mrs. Cheng claimed her small space on a six decked floating bordello, the Ancient Egyptians were making the Nile welcome for sailors and others who could pay.
The barges were originally something like holiday party boats. Decked out with fabrics and lotuses they sailed up or down the Nile heading for one religious festival after another. The ladies on board were at first priestesses doing their sacred duty but, as Egypt became more powerful and slaves began to be readily available from captive nations, these now less fortunate women became money making flesh for their masters. It is documented that by the 19th Dynasty women, particularly Israelites and Greeks, were a highly valued commodity for their potential economic return in brothels and on pleasure barges. This continued for several Dynasties. Zenon, the chamberlain of Ptolemy II’s palace and keeper of the Pharaoh’s business records, writing in the 3rd century BCE notes that women were on a par with oil, wine and grain as leading imports to Egypt from Israel.
By the reign of Alexander the Great’s descendants, the barges were strictly business and varied widely depending on clientele. There were the common papyrus boats that would pull up in rural areas after the harvest to service local men. Next on the scale were the more elaborate wooden barges that looked very much like monoremes and stayed on the water for the most part. These kept to the tourist trade and were also available for naval ships returning from or heading out to battle. Finally, there were the grand pleasure barges of royalty and the wealthy which were working the Nile delta well before Cleopatra put her famous floating diversion together.
Strabo, the Greek historian, is probably taking into account all three types of floating bordellos when he writes in the 4th century BCE:
… on the canal which runs from Alexandria to Canopus the traffic of ships journeying to and fro never ceases by day and night. Men and women dance, totally unembarrassed, with the utmost licentiousness which seems to make for riotous proceeding.
The relative freedom – even among slaves – of Egyptian women was part of the Greek outrage at such displays. Egyptian courtesans, if not their sisters of less aggrandized employ, bought and sold all manner of property, brought lawsuits and were sued in turn, and owned some of the finest homes in cities like Alexandria. Another Greek historian, Polybius, has his nose just as out of joint as Strabo did when he writes that the most elegant private homes in Egypt belonged to whores.
Allow me to end with the amusing tale of a working girl from a few hundred years before Strabo. Her name is listed in court records as Archidice and the story goes that she turned a man away because he did not have her fee, which the court implies may have been a bit steep. Understandably, the gentleman’s ego is bruised and he begins to gab to his friends that he dreamed of sleeping with the beautiful Archidice. Our girl will not stand for gossip, so she turned to the courts and files a lawsuit demanding her fee for this client’s imagined time with her. The judge, in a clever twist that doubtless did not set well with Archidice, informed the lady that she should settle up in dreams. The judge says, essentially, since the gentleman had you in a dream, you should go home and dream that you have been paid.
Proving once again that despite the millennia between us, our ancestors were very much like us.
December 25, 1643: William Mynors, Captain of the British East Indiaman Royal Mary, "discovers" and names Christmas Island off the north-east coast of modern Australia.
I told the first mate it was Baratarian Week here at Triple P and then confessed my desire to do a post about Pierre Laffite, the famous Jean’s older, scruffier, stouter brother (or half-brother). He looked at me and, with his usual sarcastic intonation, asked “Just who was Pierre Laffite?” Snappy comebacks aside, that really is a good question. While there are details we know and details we don’t, today and tomorrow I will try to piece together the enormous life of an often forgotten man who once defiantly referred to himself as “Laffite the pirate!” Or at least the high points, anyway.
