From the vignettes

To understand what the vignettes are, please refer to my first article, "Peter Cornelius Hoof and Me," and to my book interview.

The prison was dirty and unkempt. So was he. He had been there for two months. His main thought the entire time was gratitude that he'd had the foresight to send his daughter away before he was arrested. He had sent her with his best friend and former Quarter Master De Lorme. His wish was that she be raised in France, where she would be educated and live a comfortable life with no taint of her father's piratical crimes. He had sent her with De Lorme on a French ship with a supply of money and references. He was sure his family would take her in and help De Lorme see that his wishes were fulfilled.

So far his jailers and the authorities had no idea that he even had a daughter, much less that she wasn't on the island. They would not find out from him.

So he was surprised when one his jailers, the one he considered to be the uglier, but kindlier, man, came up to the door of his cage to announce that he had a visitor.

Standing slowly and a bit unsteadily from lack of activity and a poor diet of tainted bread and water, he tried to brush off some of the dirt and straw that had become a part of his hair and clothing during his confinement.

Two months of living in dirt with no chance to wash had left him unshaven and his clothes in tatters. His previous visitors had been government representatives whose revulsion of his smell and his appearance he had enjoyed to no end.

But he had been a clean and stylish man before his arrest, and suddenly the thought of seeing someone other than a pompous government flunky left him feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Who is it?” he inquired as he brushed himself off.

“Who am I to know?” the guard replied. “It's not for me to know and not for you to question,” he barked as he unlocked the door of the cage. He slammed it closed behind them.

Realizing that this “kindlier” jailer had at least had the grace not to gut punch him or slug him in the mouth for the act of asking even the simplest question, he resolved to go along.

“Get moving,” he ordered, gesturing for him to walk to the left, towards the main room of the jail. Not much cleaner than the cells, there at least was a table and a lantern.

“No, not there,” the guard growled impatiently at him when he moved towards the table, “in there.” He pointed at a room off to the left that he had barely noticed before. He had always assumed it was just another cage. Now he could see the silhouette of a robed and hooded figure. He went towards it. He heard the door close behind him.

The figure lifted it's hood. It was De Lorme. His face was bruised andis cheeks were sunken. Matthieu barely choked out, “What...?” when a small figure darted out from behind De Lorme and threw itself at him, wrapping its arms around him. His daughter. His daughter who was supposed to be on her way to France, and safety. He felt his breath leave him. He fell to his knees.

“Oceane!” He cried, burying himself in her long brown hair. He threw his arms around her, and his eyes burned with tears. It was a moment before he could speak.

“What are you doing here?” he finally managed to choke out.

“We brought him back,” a strange voice spoke from the shadows. Suddenly several men stepped out from the far sides of the room.

“We had no choice,” De Lorme said. “They attacked our ship when we were barely three days out.”

“Clever of you to hide her for so long,” one of the strange men spoke, with a bit of a laugh in his voice. “But the ruse is over. She will be taken to a place where her every move will be monitored. Her days of freedom are over, and you have lost.”

Matthieu could do nothing but hold Oceane, on his knees in total defeat.