Why has he come to see Monsieur General? Only to show him a letter from the English Admiralty, brought by the General's old friend, Captain Percy, late of H. R. H. Ship _Hermes_, offering him, Jean Lafitte, a captain's commission in the royal navy, thirty thousand dollars in English gold, and the privilege of looting. New Orleans, if he will but aid in the city's capture. Now he, Jean Lafitte, scorning these base attempts upon his honor, desires to offer his own and the services of his buccaneers to the General in repulsing those villain English, whom he looks upon with loathing as Greeks bearing gifts. “Only,” concludes Jean Lafitte, his black rat eyes taking on a sly expression, “my two best captains, Dominique and Bluche, together with most of their crews, are locked up in the New Orleans calaboose.” The General considers a moment, looking the while deep into the rat eyes of Jean Lafitte. The scrutiny is satisfactory; there is nothing there save an anxiety to get his men out of jail. This the General is pleased to regard as creditable to Jean Lafitte. He comes back to the question in hand. “Dominique and Bluche,” he repeats. “Can they fight?” “They can do anything with a cannon, Monsieur General, which your sharpshooters do with their squirrel rifles.” The General has the caged Dominique and Bluche brought before him. They are hardy, daring, brown men of the sea, with bushy hair, curling beards, gold rings in their ears, crimson handkerchiefs about their heads, gay shirts, sashes of silk, short voluminous trousers, like Breton fisherman, and loose sea boots--altogether of the brine briny are Dominique and Bluche. One glance convinces the General. The order is issued, and the two pirates with their followers take their places as artillerists where the wary Coffee may keep an eye on them. The English fleet arrives and anchors off the Louisiana coast. Loaded scuppers-deep with soldiers and sailors and marines, the lighter craft enter Lake Borgne. They sight the six cockleshells of Lieutenant Jones, and make for them. Lieutenant Jones, with his cockleshells, slowly and carefully retreats. He retreats so carefully that one after another the English boats, to the round number of a score, run aground on divers mud banks, where they stick, looking exceeding foolish. When the last pursuing boat is fast on the mud banks, Lieutenant Jones anchors his six cockleshells where the English may only get at him in small boats, and awaits results.