This is an excerpt from the novel Master
of the Sweet Trade, A Story of the Pirate Samuel Bellamy, Mariah Hallett, and
the Whydah by Elizabeth Moisan, iUniverse, Inc., New York, Bloomington,
2009.
This scene describes the initial meeting
of Sam Bellamy and Paul Williams with Olivier Levasseur:
“Paul!”
“Morning, Sam!” Paul came walking down
the sandy road, his arm around a soft, curvy barmaid. “What's the matter? You
look like hell! Remember Meg?” Meg untangled herself from Paul's embrace to
grab Sam's arm and smile flirtatiously at him. Paul grinned. “Friendly, isn't
she?”
“Levasseur is here,” Sam said, ignoring
Meg.
“What? You've seen him?”
“No, He dropped anchor durin' the night.
Not too far from us”
Sam nodded. “An; it's best to be getting'
back to sea whilst we still got a crew.”
“Run along now,” Paul said, removing Meg
from Sam's arm. “It's business.”
But Meg' saucy eye had already turned to
another. “Oh, aye, now here's a rare one! Look at them laces an' ribbons an'
frills an' such-like he done hisself up in, an' all t' make a lady swoon.” She
touched the deep neckline of her bodice. “Might fine t' be havin' the touch o'
them fancies near my skin. Mighty fine t' be havin' him there, too.”
The man who had caught her admiring gaze
walked along the wharf-side in the company of three others, making a stately
parade that attracted the attention of more than just the women of the town. He
advanced to Sam. With a perfumed flourish he removed his broad-brimmed,
fathered hat with a neatly gloved hand, and bowed deeply.
“Capitaine Samuel Bellamy, is it
not? It is my greatest pleasure to meet you at last! I,” he bowed again, “am
Olivier Levasseur!”
“Cap'n! Cap'n, sir!” The landlord of the
tavern came scurrying out into the bright sunshine, broom in one hand, and
bowed nervously to Levasseur. Flinging his free arm toward the building, he
gasped, “Cap'n, they was so many – stayed so late! We was – You – It were so –
I -” He stopped. With ingratiating politeness he bowed again, flashing a smile
of broken brown teeth. “We ain't quite ready for your kind visit, cap'n, sir.”
“It is of no matter. We are here now.”
Levassuer nodded at two of his men, who silently entered the tavern, each
carrying a crate.
With a cry of dismay, the anxious
proprietor dashed after them. Stopping short at his door, he turned and bowed
to Levassuer, to Sam and Paul, and to the small crowd that had gathered to
enjoy the scene. Flushing, he looked up at his tittering neighbors and bolted
inside.
Meg had been slowly circling Levassuer,
taking in every detail of his fine clothes and inhaling the spicy sweetness of
his cologne. As she touched his lacy jabot, the landlord burst through the door
again and rushed to her, grabbing her roughly by the wrist.
“Here, now! That's enough, you stupid
piece o' baggage!” he snapped, and headed back to the tavern, tugging her
behind him. At the door, when she turned to wave at Levasseur, the landlord
pulled her inside.
Levasseur turned to Sam and Paul. “You will
join me, s'il vous plait?” Without waiting for their answer, he entered
the tavern.
“Well, split my sides,” Sam remarked. “A
sport an' a entertainment all for one price.”
Paul looked straight ahead. “It's best
not to laugh.”
They stepped into the cool darkness of
the tavern. The landlord, still fussing about with his broom, cleared up the
last remnants from the night before. Meg fetched bread and cheese.
The table and bench where Levassuer sat
were covered with sailcloth. Knife in hand, he cut thick slices of the dark,
brown bread. On a nearby table, also covered with canvas, he had neatly placed
his hat, coat and one of his men unwrapped soft cloth from around four goblets,
and the other placed two bottles of wine on the table.
Levasseur looked up. “Ah! Welcome! Come
come, my friends! Please-!” He indicated the opposite bench. “I am on this
little island three or four times a year, and the landlord, he obliges, n'est
ce pas? You will now taste this wine from the Bordeaux region of my
country. I think you will like it!” As he poured the wine, his quartermaster
joined them. “You will meet Henri Eugene Benet. He is most interesting. Once,
he collects gold – the taxes – for the king. And then – voila tout! He
steals the gold for himself! It is a better life, non?”
As Paul, Levasseur, and Henri talked, Sam
considered all he'd heard about the pirate who sat across the table from him.
Sometimes during the twenty-odd years of his career, Levassuer had gotten the
nickname “La Buze” - the vulture – and he'd earned it. Could it be that
this vain, fashionable – and very clean – man was really as wild and merciless
as the stories told? Time, Sam decided, would tell.
“And now, mon ami,” Levasseur
said, turning to Sam and startling him out of his musings, “what are these
reports I hear of you, eh? One hears about Samuel Bellamy everywhere! First
Jennings, then Hornigold, and then – ah! Mon Dieu! A ship of his
gracious majesty, le roi de France!” He crossed himself. “It is
monumental! You must tell me all!”
He snapped his fingers, and as two more
bottles of wine were placed on the table, Sam and Paul told their story.
“So!” He laughed when they had finished,
“the little fish gobble bigger and bigger fish until they are the biggest fish
of all! Congratulations, mes amis. C'est bon.” He turned to Sam, “I,
too, once sailed with Hornigold. I did not like his ways, either, but then, I
did not want his command. Tell me, the big man, he is with Hornigold still?
“You mean Teach?” Paul asked. :He stayed with Hornigold after we split up.”
“Of this, I am surprised. He has no
limits, that black-bearded one. He will always do just as he pleases. Very
untidy.” with the repellent vision of Edward Teach's dirty, black beard in his
mind's eye, he adjusted his lace jabot and thoughtfully stroked his own
well-groomed beard.
“Come to my hearin',” Sam said, taking a
long look at Levasseur, “that you were once a priest.”
A look of delight brightened the
Frenchman's face. “Ah, but this is superb! I am overcome with honor that you
have heard my little story.” He bowed modestly.
“I haven't,” said Paul. “If monsieur
will pardon the observation, it seems hard to believe, given what one hears
about Capitaine 'La Buze'.”
“Oui, it does, does it not? Ah,
but we were all someone else, once, non?” Levassuer sighed dramatically,
and bowed his head. “Alas, I am but the second son. What does one do in such a
lowly place? My maman, she lay dying, and sitting with her is her uncle,
a bishop – a most unsavory an. But, to her, and to him, I make the promise to
enter the priesthood, so at the end, she is happy.” He leaned forward. “Then,
one week before my final vows – it is finished. This, I cannot do. I ask le
bon Dieu to explain to maman that I tried, but I hear no such call
from on high. She will not understand, but she is in paradise and will not be
angry.” He reflected sadly for a moment, then flashed a wide smile. “And so mes
ami, I am here! This life,” he picked up his leather gloves, “he fits me
like les gants de cuir, non? But now, we will sail together, eh?”
Draining his glass, he put on his hat and
coat. “Come, my friends. Aboard le Postillion, I have a wonderful wine
from the Champagne region of my country I think you will enjoy. We will drink
to our success!” He raised an eyebrow and glanced at Meg, who was smiling coyly
from behind the bar...
As they headed to the dock where the
jolly boats were tied up, Levasseur walked ahead, the feathers in his hat
stirring in the ocean breeze.
“I'm told,” Paul said quietly to Sam, “he
dresses like that all the time.”
“Tales of him rippin' an' cuttin' don't
jibe with his manner of dress, none,” Sam replied.
To be continued…