BEL. Ha! ha! Petition away, my gallants! The man who from public disgrace has been able to build himself into a power, a whole country fears because it cannot subdue, need have no apprehension arising from petitions. Jean Durand of the French army was a very different man from Jean Lafitte, Emperor of Barataria. “If he should ever have cause to hate the Spanish!” he promised me. The cause must have been grievous—a woman, of course—the cause is always a woman, though Jean has said nothing to me about it. However, she has made him a good hater. For that much I am beholden to her.—But I must see Lafitte about the Creole. I have suspicions about that ship. He has been away so many months, the men are becoming unruly. I had thought to find him here looking up old Darblee about his protege, Dominique. (enter Baptiste.) Has Master Dominique returned, Baptiste?
BAP. No sah, not jess ’zactly. I’ze lookin’ into dis week fo’ ’im.
BEL. Still got that little habit of looking into things?
BAP. Yes sah, an’ dat minds me. Does you know, marser, if dem bloodhounds bite hard?
BEL. Pretty hard.
BAP. Is dey any chance fo’ a man to git ’way fum em?
BEL. They have been known to swim a stream and find the scent on the other side. Don’t be foolhardy, Baptiste.
BAP. Who me? I ain’t got no idee o’ runnin’ ’way. Naw, sah. I jess want to fin’ out fo’ a fren o’ mine.
BEL. Isn’t Mr Darblee a kind master?
BAP. Dey ain no better. Ef dat daid man dint hanker roun’ ’ere so continuous—