Jean Lafiate Essay, Research Paper

In him inexplicably mix’d appear’d

Much to be lov’d and hated, sought and fear’d.

Opinion varying o’er his hidden lot,

In praise or railing ne’er his name forgot;

His silence form’d a theme for others’ prate;

They guess’d–they gaz’d–they fain would know his fate.

What had he been? what was he, thus unknown,

Who walk’d their world, his lineage only known?

A hater of his kind? yet some would say,

With them he could seem gay amidst the gay;

But own’d that smile, if oft observ’d and near,

Wan’d in its mirth and wither’d to a sneer;

That smile might reach his lip but pass’d not by,

None e’er could trace its laughter to his eye.

Yet there was softness too in his regard,

At times, a heart as not by nature hard,

But once perceiv’d, his spirit seem’d to chide

Such weakness as unworthy of its pride,

And steel’d itself, as scorning to redeem

One doubt from others’ half withheld esteem;

In self-inflicted penance of a breast

Which tenderness might once have wrung from rest;

In vigilance of grief that would compel

The soul to hate for having lov’d too well.

XVIII

There was in him a vital sign of all:

As if the worst had fall’n which could befall,

He stood a stranger in this breathing world,

An erring spirit from another hurl’d;

A thing of dark imaginings, that shap’d

By choice the perils he by chance escap’d;

But ’scap’d in vain, for in their memory yet

His mind would half exult and half regret.

With more capacity for love than earth

Bestows on most of mortal mould and birth,

His early dreams of good outstripp’d the truth,

And troubled manhood follow’d baffled youth;

With thought of years in phantom chase misspent,

And wasted powers for better purpose lent;

And fiery passions that had pour’d their wrath

In hurried desolation o’er his path,

And left the better feelings all at strife

In wild reflection o’er his stormy life;

But haughty still and loth himself to blame,

He call’d on Nature’s self to share the shame,

And charg’d all faults upon the fleshly form

She gave to clog the soul and feast the worm;

Till he at last confounded good and ill,

And half mistook for fate the acts of will.

Too high for common selfishness, he could

At times resign his own for others’ good,

But not in pity, not because he ought,

But in some strange perversity of thought,

That sway’d him onward with a secret pride

To do what few or none would do beside;

And this same impulse would, in tempting time,

Mislead his spirit equally in crime;

So much he soar’d beyond, or sunk beneath,

The men with whom he felt condemn’d to breathe,

And long’d by good or ill to separate

Himself from all who shared his mortal state.

His mind abhorring this had fix’d her throne

Far from the world, in regions of her own:

Thus coldly passing all that pass’d below,

His blood in temperate seeming now would flow:

Ah! happier if it ne’er with guilt had glow’d,

But ever in that icy smoothness flow’d!

‘T is true, with other men their path he walk’d,356 And like the rest in seeming did and talk’d,

Nor outrag’d Reason’s rules by flaw nor start,

His madness was not of the head, but heart;

And rarely wander’d in his speech, or drew

His thoughts so forth as to offend the view.

XIX

With all that chilling mystery of mien,

And seeming gladness to remain unseen,

He had (if ‘t were not nature’s boon) an art

Of fixing memory on another’s heart.

It was not love perchance, nor hate, nor aught

That words can image to express the thought;

But they who saw him did not see in vain,

And once beheld, would ask of him again

There are innumerable tales about pirates and buried treasure, varying from Peter Pan to Treasure Island, they are one of the staples of fantasy literature, and why wouldn t they be? There is something about gallant ships disappearing into the turbulent seas in search of treasure and adventure that is fascinating and exciting to the minds of readers. But there had to be a base to all these tales, there had to be real pirates to inspire the stories. One such man was Jean LaFitte, above is the first, and most famous, of a series of three poems written about him by Lord Byron. Although his formal title was debatable, he was called a buccaneer, a privateer, and a corsair, and most of all a pirate. True he was call a gentleman pirate and the Prince of Pirates but he was, none the less, just that-a pirate. There is very little known about Jean LaFitte, the man. Seldom are there two sources on the subject that are in agreement over the sometimes important aspects of his life. One area of his life that there is little, if any, dispute over is his appearance. He was said to be a tall, handsome, and gracious man with Gaelic features and a brilliance of teeth, Jack C. Ramsey Jr. is quoted as having said, When he walked the streets of the city, he exhibited an air of extremely gentlemanly self-confidence. Although most accounts portray him as a gentleman of obvious breeding, there is much confusion over where exactly this gentleman was from. Some stories say that he was the son of French aristocrats who were killed by guillotine, while others have evidence to support that his origins lie in St. Dominique. There are still other sources that claim he was a Spaniard. Some references state that he was a Frenchman, who fought in Napoleons army, while others support the theory that he was from the Caribbean Islands, a refugee of Spanish rule. There is also a work published during his life that suggests he was actually a native of the country he would so gallantly defend. The country being, of course, America. There is even debate about whether LaFitte was his original surname, as he was in the habit of spelling it more than one way. Maybe the only thing, other than his elegant appearance, that wasn t heavily debated was his age, according to most sources he was between twenty-four and twenty-six in 1803, placing his date of birth around 1778. LaFitte obviously had his own reasons for remaing a man of mystery, perhaps because he could now be truly a man of the sea, claiming no country as his own and letting no country claim him. Though he did openly agree with American ideals and defended them in war, he wasn t prepared to follow the laws that went with being an American citizen.

Though he wished to maintain his image as an extremely cultured gentleman; LaFitte had to make a living for himself. Although at one point he and a man who was alleged to be his brother owned a blacksmith shop, it was probably just a cover for what grew to be his primary source of income: smuggling and illegal transporting of slaves. To avoid being shut down by the law, LaFitte created what came to be called the back door to New Orleans . There was no man who knew more about the twisting inlets and dizzying swamps in which other men were lost. Four, five, even six times a week ships and barges loaded with slaves and spoils were shipped back and forth from New Orleans.

But LaFitte was the first to point out the imperfections of his own plan. Just as the city of New Orleans temperament was turbulent, so was the water that surrounded her, weather often prevented LaFitte s shipments from arriving on time. Leaving store shelves empty and harvests in jeopardy. To remedy this situation LaFitte created The Temple, which can perhaps best be described as an equivalent to the modern-day outlet market. He set up his business on an easily accessible cheniere, halfway between New Orleans and Barataria. LaFitte s hard work finally paid off and citizens of New Orleans came in stampedes. Unlike most market places of the period, LaFitte s sales were not socially exclusive. The rich ladies came with servants to carry their purchases, the poor scurried around with their treasures held close to their chests, often while the men stood around the slave platforms sharing imported Cuban cigars and, for once, conversing as equals, some times with LaFitte himself in their midst.

Little has been said as of yet about LaFitte s home, Barataria. LaFitte was master to all who resided there, all the seaman he had hired. He was, by most accounts, a fair and just ruler. He created a code of civil laws, mostly consisting of loyalty to fellow Baratarins and what he called laws all humanity must follow. And, of course, because of LaFitte s great respect for America, any man guilty of attack on an American ship would be hung. Geographically, The Kingdom of Barataria consisted of three islands: Cheniere Caminada, Grande Isle, and Grande Terre. The last was inhabited by LaFitte himself and the location of his home, a kingly structure that faced the sea. Since this was his main place of residence, it was the site of most of his entertaining, and entertain he did. His elegant manners and conversation skills gained him a place in the complex social world of New Orleans, and when he wasn t the entertainer himself, he could often be found at the most exclusive galas.

While he was well loved by the citizens, he was equally despised by the governor W. C. C. Claiborne, who was himself unpopular with the city s population. The rivalry between the two men was bitter, and though the support of the city s people was unanimously with LaFitte, the law was, as it had to be, on the side of Claiborne. But fearing rebellion from the ill-tempered Creole culture, Claiborne decided to ignore LaFitte s smuggling. In little more than ten years the whole of America would be thankful he was permitted to remain.

Within the next decade New Orleans would undergo drastic changes; it became, kicking, screaming, and fighting the whole way, as American as it would be. Claiborne established what would later become the University of New Orleans. For all his work to improve the city, Claiborne only became less popular as time wore on, and the popular LaFitte continued to be a perpetual thorn in his side. But soon the problem LaFitte brought seemed trivial, all of Claiborne s attention was absorbed in the threat of war with Britain which was spreading rapidly towards Louisiana.

The English were clever in their war strategy, they soon found what they thought would be Louisiana s weakness: Barataria. They went straight to LaFitte and proposed a plan in which all the men and ships under his command would fight for the British army. Following their service they would receive a generous reward, and Barataria would remain intact. Not only did LaFitte deny Britain s proposal, putting his home on the line, he wrote a letter containing his own proposal to a man that had been, up to now, a bitter enemy. He offered assistance to the American cause in any way, shape, or form. In answer to his generous offer, Claiborne did what the British had already threatened: destroyed Barataria, and made prisoners of men who had, until then, thought of American ships as an allied force. LaFitte, who had never attacked an American ship, without words or thoughts, was barley able to escape the attack.

Days later most of the community had reassembled on Last Island, which had always been the designated meeting place in case the need of evacuation arose. All the respect the common Baratarian had for America had been turned into to hatred. A country they were prepared to give their lives to defend had betrayed them by this awful deed. They were ready to join the British against America, and more importantly Claiborne. In all likelihood they would have if it hadn t been for their tremendous love and respect for LaFitte who still stood by America. Even when his offer to General Jackson, who was now in charge, was scoffed at, LaFitte wouldn t relent in his support. He saw what he knew Jackson would soon realize: the Americans were dangerously low on the very supplies that he was offering. In what was to be his final appeal, LaFitte spoke these simple but eloquent words to the legendary general, You want flints? I have 7,500 flints available at the snap of my fingers. You want powder? I have kegs-full. You want rifles? Axes? Men? They re yours. I have a thousand fighting men, eighty of which are now rotting in the Caboodle. Jackson, he paused, I and my followers want to fight for America, but as free men, not as indentured servants. For a pardon for me and my Baratarians, we will help you send the enemy to hell. That is my promise.

Needless to say LaFitte s offer was accepted and it has been said the two men went from bitter enemies to friends. Little more than three months after America s brutal attack, LaFitte s men were once again ready to go to arms for America. On December 23rd the Battle of New Orleans began. Despite LaFitte’s help and the massive outpouring of volunteers, the Americans were vastly outnumbered. Yet as soon as combat began any doubts the government had about the Baratarians disappeared, they were fearless and skilled. At one point the British managed to come within 50 feet of the Americans only to be forced into a death charge. After an hour of this torture a once gallant and successful British army turned and ran in fear.

If he had been loved by the citizens of New Orleans before, LaFitte was now idolized. All tension between he and Claiborne had come to a halt, and all the Baratarians had been granted citizenship, with all criminal charges against them exonerated. But, a seaman at heart, LaFitte began to get restless with the tame, respectable life he now led, he wished to return to the sea. When eight of the ships taken from him during America s attack were up for auction he hastened to buy them back. He began making trips down to Barataria. But LaFitte had forgotten to take into account the very public life he now lived. People began to questions LaFitte s motives, in fact, most of high society turned their backs on him. Ugly rumors began to circulate around his heroic actions: had he fought for America in the Battle of New Orleans in order to get his ships and booty back? When the rumors got back to LaFitte he was devastated. And things were only to get worse from here. The government was in need of funds, so it held an auction selling many of the wares taken from LaFitte’s home. Friends of a wealthy woman who had gone to France years earlier and never returned, recognized a rare set of jewelry the woman had owned. At first LaFitte was mystified, never had he attacked an American ship. Any Baratarian could testify that to LaFitte this was bible, he would hang even his most trusted officer for this crime. Then it hit him, 13 years ago he had done just that. He had hung the lieutenant but hadn t disposed of the spoil.

He loved America; he had pledged to it his honor, his life, and the life of his men. He left the shores of Louisiana a saddened man, betrayed by the only country it can be proved he ever fought for. There is nothing known of LaFitte s final years. There are so many legends and lies that even if the truth is among them it would be impossible to find it. Citizens of Barataria hold onto the legend that is LaFitte, perhaps he is buried in an unmarked grave on Grande Terre, or maybe he was returned to the sea, a man without a country.