Levasseur in Pirate Fiction

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…