Читать книгу Spirits of New Orleans - Kala Ambrose - Страница 11

CHAPTER 3

Tread Carefully When Walking Down the Haunted Pirates Alley

“New Orleans life is such a night life. The thing that comes up very often is that our day essentially doesn’t start until midnight or two in the morning.”

—Robert Asprin

LOCATED IN THE FRENCH QUARTER at St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square are alleyways that run along the left and right side of the cathedral. On the left side (or as directions are given in New Orleans, the uptown side) is Pirates Alley, which is a one-block cobblestone pedestrian walkway located between St. Louis Cathedral and the Cabildo building. The street is easily marked by one of the landmark New Orleans street signs and is one of the most-photographed street signs in New Orleans.

When walking down the street, you feel as though you might discover a hidden treasure or secret bounty—filled with precious gems and rarely seen antique items—spilling from one of the doors you pass by. During the day, it’s very busy with people passing through on their way to shops and cafés, with local artists lining the streets to showcase their wares and with performing musicians of all kinds, from solo artists on guitar or saxophone to three-piece bands.

The setting is very romantic and has become one of the most popular outdoor locations to get married in New Orleans, right here in the alley rather than inside St. Louis Cathedral. As you walk along Pirates Alley—filled with music, tourists, and artists—it’s difficult to imagine that this alley once led to the old Spanish jail where prisoners were marched down the street.

Corner of Pirates Alley

The area is every bit as busy today as it was during the days when General Andrew Jackson hurried through the streets under threat of war with the British. In 1813, Pierre Lafitte, brother of the legendary pirate Jean Lafitte, was arrested for the crimes of smuggling and piracy and was imprisoned in the Cabildo building, which is located across from this alleyway. Both brothers were equally culpable of the crimes, but most likely there was more direct evidence against Pierre since Jean handled the actual pirating from the ship and Pierre was in charge of dispersing these goods in the port of New Orleans.

This may sound like a very straightforward case. A crime was committed and the guilty party was placed in jail, but this is not a case of black-and-white/right-and-wrong reasoning. Pirating was always an interesting profession, and what many people don’t realize is that it was a very gray area legally, depending on the political climate of the time.

When war began between the American colonies and Britain in 1812, the American government offered legal papers to many pirates—Lafitte’s crew included—giving them the rights and direction to “raid” British ships, the technical term for pirating. The British government also extended this raiding offer to the pirates. This wasn’t the only time governments used pirates and gave them the freedom to do their business. On the Atlantic Coast of the United States, Blackbeard the Pirate and others were also many times given free reign to do likewise by various governments at war.

With this in mind, it’s easy to imagine that a man who built his business and lifestyle as a pirate would see the gray areas between countries and laws, as both countries would often offer him clemency, removal of criminal records, and legal documents granting him the legal right to do the work he did for years at a time. Once wars were over, the governments would then officially pull these rights and again publicly condemn them as criminals. Yet behind closed doors, clandestine meetings would still occur, where government officials would turn a blind eye to the pirate’s activities and provide favors in return for intelligence information against their enemies.

In the case of the arrest of Pierre Lafitte, he and his brother Jean were operating under the permission of the US government to pirate at this time. Somehow this information never seemed to pass far along the chain of command, as the U.S. Navy preferred not to recognize this status of the pirates, creating a double-edged challenge for the pirates, as the enemy of their enemy was never their friend. Complaints by some Navy officials led to laws stating that all contraband obtained by the pirates must be immediately handed over to the US government. Naval officials accused the pirates of keeping treasures and ordered the accused pirates to be arrested on sight. So on a double-cross by the government, both Lafitte brothers were arrested in November 1812. They immediately placed bail and were released until their trial. Not surprisingly, neither brother returned for the trial. In 1813, Pierre, working the risky position of fencing the stolen goods to customers in New Orleans, was an easier target and was captured and placed in jail.

During this time, British intelligence approached Jean Lafitte and asked him to come work for their side. With Jean’s brother back in jail, it would have been easy for Lafitte to take his revenge on the US government and help the British, with the agreement that when the British took over the port of New Orleans, his brother would be freed. To his credit, Jean Lafitte declined the British offer, reportedly based on the business decision that his pirating business ran better under the American government, which was still small in comparison and had fewer available resources to hinder his business.

Legend has it that the daring Jean Lafitte risked his own freedom by meeting with the governor of Louisiana in this very alleyway on a dark and stormy night to negotiate his brother’s freedom in return for the Lafitte brothers offering information and assistance against the British in the upcoming Battle of New Orleans. He explained to the governor that he had received a substantial offer from the British and offered his allegiance to Louisiana instead. The governor reportedly agreed that it would be best for the Lafittes to be friends of Louisiana rather than to work for the British, and it was arranged that Pierre would be allowed to “escape” from jail in the Cabildo so that no official could be publicly blamed.

The legend continues that Jean Lafitte later met another top-ranking official, General Andrew Jackson, in this alleyway for a similar clandestine meeting. Under the cover of darkness and on a foggy night, it is reported that Jackson offered full legal pardons to both brothers in exchange for their services against the British. The Lafitte brothers agreed and worked as spies, offering intelligence and operating as pirates for the US government. While an alleyway might seem like a strange place to meet, imagine being a wanted man and meeting government officials who are prone to going back on their promises in direct sight of the prison. It’s hard to imagine any criminal choosing this area as a preferred meeting site. Yet the legend prevails. The reasons are plentiful, including the sanctuary of the cathedral being only steps away, as well as the cover of darkness and many paths and alleys around the area to aid in an easy escape. Rumors also prevail that at the nearby apartments, there were many women captivated by the romantic and dashing Jean, and the women would provide lookout information and safe places to stow away in troubled times. Pirates were beloved by many people in ports, contrary to what the history books often claim. For many people, their personal businesses profited from the wares smuggled in by these men. During times of war, goods that were impossible to obtain legally were often hand-delivered by the pirates to paying clients. One only has to think of Rhett Butler in Gone with the Wind to see how dashing and romantic these men could appear as they delivered goods to those in need.

In the clear light of day, I strolled along Pirates Alley coming from the direction of Bourbon Street. At the end of the alley you arrive on Decatur Street, which leads you to a wonderful treat at Café du Monde. Here you can have a seat and sample world-famous beignets, which are best described as French-style doughnuts served warm and covered in powdered sugar, served up hot on a white plate with a cup of café au lait. Café du Monde provides a stunning view of Jackson Square, and the breezes coming off the Mississippi River make this one of the most enchanting areas in the city.

Café du Monde is one of my top 10 places to see and be seen, as the people-watching is incredible. Everything changes constantly here, as people move in and out of the café amid performing musicians and street artists. Across the street, horse-drawn carriages are lined up to take visitors on a tour of the French Quarter, and artists display canvases against the wrought iron fence surrounding Jackson Square. St. Louis Cathedral provides an easily recognizable landmark in the square, and it is surrounded by a lush garden.

Sitting here at Café du Monde creates a distinct moment in time. As I relax and savor the beignets, the coffee, and the music, I realize that I have become part of the scene and part of the history here, as does each person with his or her presence at this moment. The mood is complex and intriguing; it is every bit relaxing while also strangely energizing due to the music and the movement of people. One has a sense of being somewhere special and in the midst of life as it should be. People from every walk of life you can imagine are mixing together: bohemians, artists, professionals, travelers, children, seniors, along with a few writers thrown into the mix.

The scene is one of chaos blended into bliss, where each note of jazz played by rotating artists at the café carries the people along from day into evening. To my delight, I find that the energy of the music and the people moving in and out of the café are an exotic representation of this same movement, which is delightful. I am experiencing a moment of heaven on earth, where the spiritual planes open and the veil is so thin that those here on earth can easily bump into angels and spirits from the other side.

I’ve been to Café du Monde more times than I can count over my many visits to New Orleans. This time I’m here to experience something new—I’m waiting for twilight, the “tween” time. Mystical practitioners know that the one-hour time period during sunrise and sunset is the easiest time to slip through the veils and commune with spirits on the other side and those who remain here on the earth plane.

Café du Monde, where the author spent time eating beignets while waiting for sunset. Pontalba Apartments in the background.

I’m choosing this time to connect with the spirit world because during the day as I travel through Pirates Alley, it is so crowded and busy with people that it would be hard to discern who is a ghost and who is a local. So I wait, sipping my coffee and letting the spirit of New Orleans wash over me note by note.

Sunset soon falls, and the crowds begin to disperse. The café thins out, and the waiters take this opportunity to sweep up some of the mounds of powdered sugar that waft across tables and the floor. Jackson Square seems to sigh deeply with a long breath as vendors pack up their art to head home, and musicians pick up their instruments and move over to Bourbon Street to play on the streets to the nightly crowds. The café doesn’t close; it remains open 24 hours a day, seven days a week, as a beacon of light and warmth in the quarter. Come here at midnight or at 3 a.m. and the seats will be filled with those who are wrapping up their night from the bars and the bands, locals who are enjoying coffee after a late dinner, and others who prefer the night as their companion.

As the energy of the city shifts during sunset, it’s a prime time to walk again along the alley. This time as I walk along Pirates Alley, I am no longer fighting hordes of people with small children, strollers, and shopping bags. I am not bombarded by the sounds that humans make with hundreds of voices mixed in with musical notes played by the street musicians. Now, here in the quiet, it’s the night and me. In the dark with the streetlamps offering their gentle light, I open myself psychically and ask that should there be anyone here in spirit who wishes to communicate, they are welcome to do so now.

Admittedly, I do this with some trepidation. Jackson Square, though beautiful as it is today, was historically the site of public executions for many years in New Orleans. Execution sites are well known for restless spirits, and I’m not sure what type or how many spirits I may meet here in the still of the night when I put out the call.

Extending my hands outward, I raise my protective white light shield around me, which accomplishes two goals; it creates a layer of protection around my aura to ward off any forces that I don’t want to come too near and brightens my auric light, which will be noticed easily by those in the otherworldly planes. This is a good technique to use to attract attention and can be seen for miles by those in the supernatural world. This can attract beings from both sides who may have an interest in checking out a bright energy source, like moths to a flame.

Opening myself up to the experience, I wait to see who responds to my call. At first, all is quiet and still, which surprises me. I grow impatient and, after a minute or two, let down my guard, which is a mistake. Seconds later, a wave of energy washes over me, and I’m now seeing Pirates Alley as it was in the past. Something here wants me to see their life but isn’t willing to show themselves to me directly. I look around, hoping to see the figure that is engaging with me, but have no luck. The alley appears much darker and quieter at night now than it did in my time, though I can hear the shouting of two men in the far distance.

As I walk farther down the alley, I make out a shadowy figure in the distance. As I get closer, I see a woman sobbing, nearly bent over in grief, holding her arms around her waist as if to support her body from falling to the ground. Her head hangs low and tendrils of her hair have loosened and are falling on each side of her face. She’s cold and appears weary to her core. As I draw closer, she looks up at me with tears streaming down her face. She shouts at me angrily in loud bursts of French. Growing up in Louisiana, I picked up some of the French language, but it was a less proper form of Cajun French, which sounds quite different from the formal French flowing out of her at a rapid pace.

As a psychic, people often ask me how can I understand what ghosts and spirits are saying when they speak in a foreign language, as I only speak English. The best way I can describe this is that in the other planes of existence of the spirit world, language is a pattern of light and sound with its own formula of creation that is quite beautiful; the language is expressed telepathically rather than verbally.

As the young woman on Pirates Alley continued to scream at me in French, I took a deep breath and calmed myself down. I was intrigued by her language and had allowed myself to become both fascinated and captivated. I needed to take a step back and experience what she was expressing to me. As I did, I saw the image of the young man who was her lover. She was not married to this man, nor did her family approve of their relationship. She was from a family of higher standing and he was not French. Undeterred, the young lovers had continued to meet and had been securing funds to elope. The young woman had reached out to an uncle and aunt whom she had thought were sympathetic to her cause, as her uncle had married a woman who was not of the same social class. Trusting them, she had shared her plans about eloping. To her great surprise, her uncle was against the idea. He told her that while he had married his love, he also had the means to raise his wife up in social standing; as a woman, she would never be able to raise the social standing of her young lover and would surely be disowned and disinherited by her family should she proceed further with her plans.

The young woman left her uncle’s home angry, but with the belief that he would keep her secret safe. This proved to be an error in judgment on her part. After she left, her uncle’s wife went to her parents and betrayed her secret to them, hoping to raise her own standing within the family by delivering this news. The young woman’s father then devised a plan to stop this engagement at once and used his considerable resources to have the young man arrested on what were false pretenses.

She pleaded with her father day and night to have the young man released. She swore that if he did, she would never see him again, wishing only for his freedom. She would give up her desire to marry him if only her father would grant her this one wish. She offered to go to a convent or marry any man of her father’s choosing. However, her father refused to relent, and the young man stayed in jail. About a month later, she learned through sources that her lover had died in jail. It was unclear what had occurred. Some said it was natural causes; others said he had contracted a terrible fever and died of some disease, and others claimed he had tried to escape and was killed by guards.

She did not know which story was true, but she suspected that her father had something to do with her lover’s death since she had not given up her daily vigil of pleading with him to release him from jail. Through death, her father had complied with her wish of setting her lover free, but not in the way she had intended. She never knew what truly happened, as there was no burial announcement that she could find and no one could tell her what happened to his body. She continued to come to this area night after night, hoping that he had escaped and would find her at St. Louis Cathedral. This never came to pass, and she decided the only way to find him again would be to join him in the afterlife.

As she looked up at me with tears streaming down her face, I noticed that her eyes were glazed over and that her arms were wrapped tightly around her waist. She was experiencing severe abdominal pain from having taken some form of poison, which was working its way through her body. Her sobbing was from both physical and emotional pain, as she was experiencing what she remembered at the end of her life. Even now in her ghostly form, she still clung to this pain in the afterlife. I spoke softly to her and asked why she was here in the alley instead of in front of St. Louis Cathedral, where she had arranged to meet her young man. She told me that she could not stand near the front door of the cathedral because taking her own life was a sin.

As gently as I could, I explained to her that she did not have to remain here in pain and grief. She could move on to the other side and find her lover waiting for her there. She told me that only bad things waited for her on the other side because of what she had done, and she remained here hoping he would find her. I told her that she had been waiting long enough and that if she could move on, she would find him there on the other side. She replied that she had only been waiting for a short while, and she was sure he would find her soon.

This is often the case with ghosts; they are truly unaware of how much time has passed since their death. She had no idea of how many years had gone by while she remained in this half-life world of grief and despair. When I explained to her that she had been waiting for a very long time, she swore at me and said she did not believe me. I asked her then to look at me, to really look closely at me, and look at my clothing to see that I was speaking to her from another time. She slowly placed her gaze on me and swore in shock, seeing that I was a woman wearing pants. Gaining her trust and piqued interest, I invited her to look around at the shops, the lights, and the street to see how things had changed over time. The realization began to wash over her, and she broke free from her spell of grief in frozen time. What happened next is something that makes me weep with joy every time I think of it and as I write it here today.

As she stared in amazement of what I was showing her, a figure in the distance approached us slowly. The movement caught my eye, and as I turned my gaze to see who was approaching us, the young woman noticed I had stopped communicating with her and also turned to see what I was looking at in the alley.

The figure grew closer, and with a gasp, the young woman softly asked, “Me’re?” The figure, now standing in front of us, smiled and held out her arms to her daughter. The young woman, still reeling from anger, shock, and grief, paused for a moment and then fell into her mother’s loving arms. Embracing her daughter, the mother looked over at me and sent me an energetic impulse, which I can only describe as a wave of gratitude. The young woman was crying again, this time in the safety of her mother’s arms, and the mother began to cry in relief, as only a mother can understand her eternal love for her child. At this point, I began to cry. As an empath, I felt the emotional intensity of this experience, as well as an understanding as a mother and a daughter myself.

Pulling her child away gently from her arms, she spoke lovingly to her daughter and said, “It’s time to go home.” The daughter looked at her in fear and asked if she truly could go home with her mother. Her mother—a beautiful, strong, and regal woman—wiped away her child’s tears, tucked the tendrils of loose hair behind her daughter’s ears, and told her indeed, she was sure that she could come home. Taking her daughter’s hand, the two set off down the alley and soon disappeared from my sight into a beautiful field of white light.

A mother’s love is eternal and knows no bounds; not even death and traveling through the spiritual planes can stop her for coming to rescue her child. My feeling about the situation was that the mother had tried many times before to reach out to her child over the years, but in the state of overwhelming grief that the young girl had stayed in, she was hidden in a dark gray plane of existence that made her difficult to locate by others in spirit. When they did locate her, it would be hard to communicate with her in such a state of grief and pain.

I had no clue where the young girl had actually died, or if her body had ever been found. She indicated that she had not passed on here in the alley and explained to me that she traveled here each night in the hopes of finding her lover. My best assumption in experiencing other cases like this is that if the young girl had been buried in the family vault, her mother would have been able to reach her there at some time. So it’s likely that the girl went out into the wilderness after taking the poison and died alone. This cannot be confirmed, though, as it is also possible that the young girl had been found and was buried elsewhere off of consecrated ground, as church doctrines did not allow for suicides to be buried on holy grounds. During my time with the young girl, I did not think that a discussion of this sort would best serve her in the brief time that I had to spend with her. Even if the mother had visited the grave that was located elsewhere, it is likely that the young girl would have hidden from her in the shame of the circumstances regarding her death.

In her moment of clarity when we spoke and she realized that time had indeed passed by for longer than she had imagined, her energy lifted from the grief, making her spirit easier to locate by her mother, whom I believed had long been searching for her daughter each night.

It’s unknown at this time if the young woman has been reunited with her long-lost love in the afterlife. I hope to bump into them one day when I’m on the other side, and if I do, I plan to treat them to a café au lait and some beignets together, as the Café du Monde is so delightful that there surely must be one open 24 hours a day in the heavens.

KALA’S TRAVEL TIPS

 I was weary after this experience and needed to ground back down to the earth plane again and replenish my energy, so there were no more ghostly explorations on this night. Pirates Alley, though, is very supernaturally active. I highly recommend that paranormal researchers visit it, especially for EVP recordings, due to the many executions that occurred nearby. I plan to check it out again on my next visit.

 If I haven’t made this clear already, a visit to Café du Monde is a must-do for too many reasons to mention. Visit at sunrise for breakfast to see the city as it shines in the morning, visit again in the evening to see how it relaxes at night, and visit again at noon to take in all the lively action!

 The shops around Pirates Alley still hold valuable treasures, including the works of great literary figures such as Nobel Laureate William Faulkner. The Faulkner House is located on 624 Pirates Alley and is a national landmark. Faulkner lived here in true New Orleans style, enjoying the music, the food, and the cocktails, and reportedly fell in love on the balcony here on the home. He also wrote here, and his books can be found on the ground floor at Faulkner House Books.

 Weather can play havoc in the area when looking to use photography for paranormal investigations. I’ve been at Pirates Alley when it’s a beautiful clear sunny day only to see it enveloped in fog only a few hours later that night.