paring to defend the city, they fitted out an expedition to attack Grande Terre.

Supposing that the force, led by Commodore Patterson and Colonel Ross, was approaching them as allies, the smugglers were taken completely by surprise and were easily defeated. Only a few of the Baratarians and the Lafitte brothers escaped and reached the mainland, and the treacherous officers returned triumphantly to New Orleans with a vast amount of booty.

It would not have been at all surprising, indeed only the natural thing, if after this dastardly act on the part of the governor the Lafittes had turned out and out pirates or had joined the enemy.

But even the governor's treachery could not destroy the former blacksmiths' patriotism. When, later, General Jackson was in command of the troops at New Orleans, Jean Lafitte came from his hiding place and once more proffered his services to the general. Evidently feeling it beneath him to have dealings with a smuggler,—if not a pirate,— General Jackson at first refused. But later, realizing how inadequate his forces were and how much he needed experienced fighters, the general summoned Lafitte and placed him in command of the river redoubts. Here a portion of the Baratarians were stationed, while others served the batteries on the city's levee, and throughout that historic and hard fought battle, the 'Lafittes and their men

showed such heroism and gallantry that their names were mentioned in general orders. In these General Jackson praised the Baratarians and their leaders unstintedly and recommended not only a full pardon for all but a substantial reward for their services as well. Thus the former outlaws and smugglers, the men dubbed "pirates" by the governor, were transformed to heroes and reestablished as worthy members of the community. But the Lafittes had had quite enough of Louisiana and only once again did they appear in their old haunts. This was at the great ball given by the officers of the army, a wonderful affair attended by the elite of the army, navy and city, and among the guests of honor was Jean Lafitte. During the reception the famous smuggler chieftain was introduced to General Coffe who, not quite catching the name, looked a bit coldly at the other. With a courteous bow and an engaging smile Lafitte stepped forward, extended his hand and exclaimed distinctly: "Lafitte, the pirate.”

The general instantly was all smiles; he grasped Lafitte's hand, shook it heartily and greeted the former smuggler most cordially. A few days after this incident the Lafittes vanished. No one knew where they went or what became of them. There were rumors of their having founded another smuggling colony near Galveston; there were tales of their having gone privateering under commissions

from a Latin American government, and gossip had it that they were in Yucatan. Nothing definite was known, however, and to this day popular belief has it that their lives and deaths are still mysteries. But a faded bit of paper from a Baltimore newspaper of 1823 solves the mystery of one of the Lafittes at least. It is little more than a paragraph in an inconspicuous part of the periodical, as if of no importance, and reads as follows:

LAFITTE, THE NOTED PIRATE, KILLED

A British sloop of war fell in with and captured a piratical vessel with a crew of sixty men, under command of the famous Lafitte. He hoisted the bloody flag and refused quarter and fought until nearly every man was killed or wounded-Lafitte being among the former.

So, it would appear that Lafitte died a pirate despite the fact that he was not one during his life in Louisiana. And it seems fitting that he died fighting against the former enemies of his country. But perhaps, after all, he was merely dubbed a pirate by the British, just as he had been branded as such by Governor Claiborne, and was really nothing more than a smuggler. But whether pirate or smuggler we cannot help admiring the French blacksmith who though following a dishonest and criminal trade was ever the gallant, magnanimous and patriotic gentleman.

Doubtless the Lafittes were the most famous smugglers who ever lived, and unquestionably they

carried on a contraband trade that exceeded anything of the sort ever attempted before or since. But they were by no means the most famous men who were smugglers, nor were they the only brave and gallant gentlemen who took a hand in the trade which is, as a rule, the profession of sneaking and far from admirable characters. Sir Francis Drake, was in his way a smuggler, though we think of him always as a great navigator, an admiral, a privateer and the forerunner of the buccaneers, while the Spaniards, with good reason, always did and always will consider him nothing more nor less than a villainous pirate.

When Drake set out on his adventures in company with Sir John Hawkins, it was for the purpose of taking slaves on the Guinea coast of Africa,-"partly by the sword and partly by other means"—as he quaintly puts it in his journal. Then having filled up with a cargo of miserable blacks, Hawkins and Drake sailed for the Spanish Main to dispose of their contraband, for under then existing Spanish laws, slaves, or in fact any other commodity carried in British ships, were contraband. But Drake, to use a modern expression, was no piker at smuggling. No sneaking contrabandista he, no man to run in under cover of darkness and surreptitiously land his cargo and dicker with those who had no compunctions regarding the purchase of smuggled goods. No indeed! When the

patriotic governor of Rio de la Hacha refused to allow the British vessels' contraband to be landed and peremptorilly ordered these daring and swashbuckling smugglers away, the two Englishmen turned their guns on the town, took the place by force of arms and informed His Excellency, and the citizens, that unless they forthwith purchased what the British had to offer, whether contraband or not, they would find their little city tumbling about their ears. It was, indeed, a unique proceeding, and in the minds of the Dons it at once elevated Drake and Hawkins from the ranks of smugglers, who were more or less openly encouraged and were regarded in quite a friendly fashion, to the ranks of bloodthirsty and hated pirates. Neither Drake nor Hawkins long engaged in this novel phase of the smuggling game, however. There was far more money to be made by helping themselves to the Dons' strong boxes than by accepting what the Spaniards chose to pay for contraband cargoes. So they abandoned their slavehunting forays, much to the relief of the Guinea coast no doubt-and had a merry time "singeing the King of Spains beard," as they called it, and accumulating wealth and winning great fame.

And the followers of Drake and Hawkins, the buccaneers, were indirectly brought into being by the restrictions placed upon importations and exportations of commodities by the Spaniards in the