Patrick Henry and the Frigate’s Keel: And Other Stories of a Young Nation by Howard Fast

explained:
    â€œSuppose we go into circuit court, they sentence us to hang—how much water will your pardon hold? You get me a pardon from Washington, hey?”
    â€œWe burned Washington,” the captain mumbled.
    â€œWhat else, then?”
    The captain of the brig Sophie and the captain of Royal Colonial Marines looked at each other; then they nodded and played their trump card—or, at least, so the people of the Delta swear, history having apparently overlooked this somewhat minor detail on a broad canvas. Captain Lockyer leaned forward and whispered to Jean Laffite, yet not so softly but that Dominique You heard it:
    â€œGovernor of Louisiana—”
    â€œAh-yah!” Dominique cried, slapping his knee, and Jean Laffite told him angrily:
    â€œDamn you, shut up!”
    Then there was silence, quite a period of it; for as they point out, those who remember the tale, there is much you can offer a pirate and a thief, legality, money, honor, even a colored ribbon or two to pin on his breast, and all that is nothing but colored icing on the cake compared to the things men dream of. And what do men dream of but power, and what sort of power may compare to governorship of a province so large that no man really knew where it began and where it ended?
    That is the story they tell down there, word for word, explicitly, concerning the events of September 3, 1814, in the lair of the pirate, Jean Laffite. They will add to it other details, for instance, how Laffite wrestled with himself, with the glorious, juicy plum, how a girl, trying to persuade him, brought ghosts out of their graves, Benedict Arnold, Simon Girty, Wilkinson, Burr, Rogers, even a certain member of the exalted Adams clan, to prove that neither class nor family is exempt from the nice lure of betrayal.
    Now Dominique You wondered, “But are we Americans? We are French, but in Paris they would jail us. In New Orleans they would jail us, in Washington, too, they jail us. With some people you can make a deal, but go try and make a deal with the crazy Yankees.”
    â€œMaybe with freedom you don’t make deals,” Laffite said quietly.
    â€œFreedom! Go get your brother from jail first.”
    And two hours later, they were still at no decision. And two days later, still at none. They will tell you, down there, and make you understand, how not only the fate of Louisiana, but the whole unfolding fate of America, rested upon the decision of this pirate; and we will get to that part of it ourselves later. But they point out:
    â€œThis Laffite, he is dirty thief, no? So how you figure it? Maybe he love country, no? Sure as hell, he don’t love Washington!” You have to agree with that.
    The British officers left with the promise that in two weeks the pirate chief would make his decision. In two weeks he made it, and he sent a letter off, not to the commander of His Majesty’s brig Sophie , but to Governor Claiborne at New Orleans. And here is the letter, word for word:
    â€œMonSieur:
    â€œI address Myself to you with confidence for an object on which can depend the Safety of the State. I offer to return to this State many Citizens Who perhaps have lost to your eyes that sacred title. I offer Their Efforts for the Defense of the country. This point of Louisiana that I occupy is of Great Importance in the present Situation. I offer Myself to defend it. I am The Lost Sheep who desires to Return to the Flock.
    â€œIn case, Monsieur le Gouverneur, that your Reply should Not be favorable to my ardent wishes I declare to you that I leave immediately so Not to be held to have Cooperated with an invasion. This can not Fail to take place, and puts me entirely at the Judgement of my conscience.
    â€œI have the Honor to be, Monsieur le Gouverneur,
    â€œLaffite.”
    If we are to make a case of honor among thieves, we might as well go back, for the sake of our story, and investigate certain dishonor among so-called