Category Archives: La Buse Cryptogram

While searching Gallica just now to try to see if Charles de la Ronciere had donated his personal papers to the Bibliotheque Nationale (TL;DR: I didn’t find anything, but maybe something is there), I noticed that it had a digital copy of (what was almost certainly) de la Ronciere’s last book, (1941) “Explorateurs et pionniers français“. I had a quick look: and was both surprised and delighted to find that it included (on pages 26-27) a section discussing his previous book.

Here’s my translation of these two interesting pages, followed by the original French (which doesn’t seem to be anywhere on the Internet). Enjoy!

My (free and easy) translation

The mysterious pirate: story of a hidden treasure in the Seychelles Islands.

“I would like to see a copy of The Clavicles of Solomon, to use its magical characters to help decipher a cryptogram left by a pirate.” This was the request made to the Bibliotheque Nationale by a reader from a distant region of Africa. She explained to me that, on a certain island in the Indian Ocean, in the Seychelles, one could see sculptures and rock engravings emerging from the waves during high tides, or from the ground when large trees fell, which corresponded to the signs in the cryptogram. Thus, a shape in the form of a monster’s eye appeared in this document; this same shape also appeared on M[auritius]. Near there, three bodies had been found, two of them with a gold ring on the left ear, pirate-style; the third was buried as if he had been stoned for having murdered his companions.

– “What language is the cryptogram in? I asked.

– It can be read in French.

– Do you have any idea of the name of the pirate who wrote it?

– None. Could you open an investigation into this?” asked the reader.

And so my investigation began. Was it plausible that a bandit would use a cryptogram? And was it admissible that he used a desert island as a ‘safe deposit box’? No doubt about it. In 1690, on his way to the Indian Ocean, a sea captain called Duquesne-Guitton on Ascension Island left inside a bottle – like a sort of Post Office – a list, in columns, of pounds, shillings and pence for one of his stashes (e.g. gold, 310 pounds, 10 shillings, 6 d): see the New French Dictionary of Father Charles Payot, on page 310, 10th line, 6th word.

It was also the habit of bandits to bury their loot in desert islands. The Golden Scarab by Edgar Poe is merely a fictionalized version, with a skull in a tree as a landmark, of the discovery made, in 1699, of the treasures buried on Gardiner Island by the pirate William Kidd, comprising bars of money, bags of gold and precious stones. Pirates buried their loot ten feet underground so that probes by spears and pertuisanes [?] could not detect it. Gold and precious stones were hidden by the sea; the money and what feared humidity were buried between two calabashes inside the desert island, in a very dry place. Remember this duality of the deposit. It will soon have considerable importance.

The history of French pirates in the Indian Ocean was far from banal!

A Provençal rogue by the name of Misson gained a singular fortune in the Comoros Islands. Wearing a gold-embroidered red coat of the royal princes, and a jewel-encrusted dagger on his belt, he had married the daughter of the Queen of Anjouan, with nails dyed red, eyebrows and eyelashes dyed blue. And with the help of the Anjouanese, he founded a republic of pirates. In the north of Madagascar, there is a deep bay to which a narrow neck gives access. On both sides of the Diégo-Suarez strait arose, under the direction of Misson, the strange city of Libertalia, where all the races formed one people, the Liberi. “Hsis High Excellence the conservative” is the title that Misson gave himself, as he directed its destinies, with the assistance of a Parliament, presided over by the defrocked Neapolitan priest Caraccioli. In this parliament, each group of voters, French, Portuguese, English, Dutch, Negroes or Arabs from the Comoros, appointed a delegate. The ships and sloops of the Libertalian Republic, commanded by the Englishman Thomas Tew, were armed half with blacks, half with whites. In 1705 and 1706, they stoked up trouble for our settlers on Bourbon Island (now known as Reunion). But this Babel of races shared the same the fate as the original Tower of Babel. The ships perished in a typhoon. Then, invading Libertalia at night, the Malagasy massacred the population. The republic of the bandits perished without leaving a trace.

The problem of the pirate who buried a fortune in the Seychelles Islands remained unsolved.

The small island of Sainte-Marie, just off the coast of Madagascar, was another pirate den. The virtuoso of the genre was a Calaisian, Olivier Le Vasseur, nicknamed La Buse. Among the ships he kidnapped was a Portuguese ship, coming from Goa, loaded with millions, which was bringing back to Portugal the viceroy of India and the archbishop of Goa. Diamonds were in abundance there, so much so that each of the bandits, of whom there were hundreds, received forty-two diamonds for their share. One thug, having received only one magnificent diamond, crushed it to have the same number of jewels as the others. This whole event took place in 1724. La Buse later dared to ask the governor of Bourbon Island (Reunion) for an amnesty, by returning some of the Archbishop of Goa’s sacred vases. His request was denied. Had he not kidnapped a ship from the Compagnie des Indes, to which Bourbon Island belonged? And in 1730 he atoned. Having been captured by a captain of the Compagnie, he was brought to Bourbon, then tried and hanged. Legend has it that when he went up to the gallows, he held out the cryptogram, saying: “To him who finds it.” La Buse, living on Sainte-Marie, no longer had the fruits of his plunders: he had therefore hidden them somewhere. And from 1724 to 1730, he had plenty of time to act. Back then, the Seychelles Islands were deserted: it was only in 1742 that Mahé de La Bourdonnais took possession of them.

Anyway, now listen to the rest of the story. My own investigation had led to my writing a book: “The Mysterious Filibuster: Story of a Hidden Treasure“. My friend Lenotre from the French Academy gave an excellent account of it in Le Temps, which by chance ended up being read in Cameroon by an islander from the Seychelles. The islander then sent his mother to me.

– “Could it have been that the treasure was found on our land? asked Mrs. D[…] She owns Silhouette Island in the Seychelles.

– No, Madam.

– I had, monsieur, another property on M[auritius], in Coëtivy. One day, a ship dropped anchor in the nearby cove…

– Anse des Forbans, I interrupted.

– The next day, it had disappeared. But instead of a sort of big pole-shaped rock, there was a big hole….

– Nine to ten feet deep.

– We could see at the bottom the traces left by two urns.

– Two water gourds, I interrupted again. And the bottom was very dry?

– Very dry.

– Well, madame, it was [probably] a pirate’s hiding place that was emptied, the kind of one that contained objects sensitive to humidity, such as silver or cashmeres, but what do I know?”

But then a conclusion was necessary. The habit of the bandits was to make two separate kinds of hiding places, where the gold and the precious stones would be buried close to the water’s edge: sculptures and rock engravings would be points of reference, although the coast has subsided since then and may well have buried these caches itself. May Madame S[avy] now detect their location, courtesy of the radiological dowsing of Abbot Mermet!

The original text

Le flibustier mystérieux : histoire d’un trésor caché aux îles Seychelles.

« Je voudrais voir les Clavicules de Salomon pour achever de déchiffrer, au moyen de ses caractères magiques, le cryptogramme laissé par un forban. » Telle était la demande formulée à la Bibliothèque Nationale par une lectrice venue d’une région lointaine de l’Afrique. Elle m’expliqua que, dans certaine île de l’Océan Indien, aux Seychelles, on voyait surgir du sein des flots, lors des grandes marées, ou du sol, lors de la chute de grands arbres, des sculptures at des gravures rupestres, qui correspondaient aux indications du cryptogramme. Ainsi, un œil du monstre était spécifié dans ce document ; et il existait dans l’île M… Près de là, on avait trouvé trois corps, deux d’entre eux ornés d’un anneau d’or à l’oreille gauche, selon l’habitude des forbans ; le dernier, enfoui, comme s’il avait été lapidé pour avoir assassiné ses compagnons.

« En quelle langue est le cryptogramme ? demandai-je.

                – Il se lit en français.

                – Avez-vous quelque idée du nom du forban qui l’a écrit ?

                – Aucune. Pourriez-vous ouvrir une enquête là-dessus ? » me demanda la lectrice.

                Et mon enquête commença. Était-il plausible qu’un forban usât d’un cryptogramme ? Et il était admissible qu’il prît pour coffre-fort une île déserte ? Aucun doute là-dessus. Dans le ventre d’une bouteille – qualifiée Bureau de la Poste – à l’île de l’Ascension, un capitaine de vaisseau, Duquesne-Guitton, en route pour l’océan Indien, laissait, en 1690, une liste, en colonnes, de livres sterling, de shillings et de pence à destination d’une de ses conserves. Or, 310 l. 10 s. 6 d. par exemple, devaient se lire ainsi : prenez le Dictionnaire nouveau français de Père Charles Payot, à la page 310, 10^e ligne, 6^e mot.

                C’était également l’habitude de forbans d’ensevelir leur butin dans des îles désertes. Le Scarabée d’or d’Edgar Poe n’est que l’histoire romancée, avec crâne dans un arbre comme repère, de la découverte faite, en 1699, des trésors enterrés dans l’île Gardiner par le pirate William Kidd, barres d’argent, sacs d’or et de pierreries. Les forbans ensevelissaient leur butin à 10 pieds du sol, afin que la sonde avec les lances et pertuisanes ne pût le déceler. L’or et les pierres précieuses étaient cachés au bord de la mer ; l’argent et ce qui craignait l’humidité étaient inhumés entre deux calebasses à l’intérieur de l’île déserte, dans un endroit très sec. Retenez bien cette dualité du dépôt. Elle aura tout à l’heure une importance considérable.

                L’histoire des forbans français de l’océan Indien n’avait rien de banal.

                Un forban provençal du nom de Misson avait eu, aux îles Comores, une singulière fortune. En habit rouge brodé d’or des princes royaux, le poignard incrusté des pierreries à la ceinture, il avait épousé la fille de la reine d’Anjouan, aux ongles teints en rouge, aux sourcils et aux cils teints de bleu. Et avec l’aide des Anjouanais, il avait fondé une république de forbans. Au nord de Madagascar, il est une baie profonde à laquelle donne accès un étroit goulet. Des deux côtés du goulet de Diégo-Suarez s’éleva, sous la direction de Misson, l’étrange cité de Libertalia, où toutes les races no formaient qu’un peuple, les Liberi. « Su Haute Excellent le conservateur », c’est le titre que se donnait Misson, en dirigeait les destinées, avec le concours d’un Parlement, présidé par le prêtre napolitain défroqué Caraccioli. Au Parlement, chaque décurie d’électeurs, Français, portugais, Anglais, Hollandais, Nègres ou Arabes des Comores, nommait un délégué. Vaisseaux et sloops de la république des Liberi, commandés par l’Anglais Thomas Tew, étaient armés moitié do Noirs, moitié de Blancs. Ils causèrent de l’iniquiétude, en 1705 et 1706, à nos colons de l’île Bourbon, l’île actuelle de la Réunion. Mais cette Babel de races eut le sort de la tour de Babel. Les vaisseaux périrent dans un typhon. Envahissant de nuit Libertalia, les Malgaches en massacrèrent la population, La république des forbans avait vécu sans laisser de traces.

                Le problème du flibustier qui aurait enseveli une fortune aux îles Seychelles, restait entier.

                La petite île Sainte-Marie, sur la côte de Madagascar, était un autre repaire de forbans. Le virtuose du genre tait un Calaisien, Olivier Le Vasseur, surnommé La Buse. Parmi les navires qu’il enleva se trouvait un vaisseau portugais, venant de Goa, chargé à millions, qui ramenait en Portugal de vice-roi de l’Indes et l’archevêque de Goa. Les diamants y étaient à foison, si bien que chacun des forbans, qui étaient des centaines, reçu quarante-deux diamants pour sa part. Une brute, n’en ayant touché qu’un, un diamant magnifique, le broya pour avoir le même nombre de joyaux que les autres. Le fait se passait en 1724. La Buse osa demander au gouverneur de l’île Bourbon (la Réunion) l’amnistie, en restituant quelques vases sacrés de l’archevêque de Goa. Il fut évincé. N’avait-il pas enlevé un navire de la Compagnie des Indes, dont relevait l’île Bourbon. Et en 1730, il expia. Cpturé par un capitaine de la Compagnie, il fut amené à Bourbon, jugé et pendu. Le légende veut qu’en montant au gibet, il aurait tendu le cryptogramme, en disant : « A celui qui trouvera. » la Buse, à Sainte-Marie, n’avait plus le fruit de ses rapines : il les avait donc cachées quelque part. Et de 1724 à 1730, il avait eu tout le temps d’agir. Les îles Seychelles étaient alors désertes. Ce n’est qu’en 1742 que Mahé de La Bourdonnais en prit possession.

                Écoutez la suite. De l’enquête à laquelle je m’étais livré, j’avais tiré un volume : le Flibustier mystérieux : histoire d’un trésor caché. Mon ami Lenotre, de l’Académie française, en fit, dans le Temps, un excellent compte rendu, qui tomba par hasard, au Cameroun, sous les yeux d’un insulaire des Seychelles. L’insulaire me dépêcha sa mère.

                – « Serait-ce chez nous que se trouve le trésor ? me demanda Mme D… Je possède, aux Seychelles, l’île Silhouette.

                – Non, madame.

                – J’avais, monsieur, une autre propriété dans l’île M…, à Coëtivy. Un jour, un navire jeta l’ancre dans l’anse voisine…

                – L’anse des Forbans, interrompis-je.

                – Le lendemain, il avait disparu. Mais à la place d’une sorte de grande perche, il y avait un grand trou….

                – De neuf à dix pieds de profondeur.

                – On voyait au fond la trace laissées par deux urnes.

                – Deux calebasses, interrompis-je encore. Et l’endroit était très sec ?

                – Très sec.

                – Eh bien, madame, c’est une cachette de forban qui a été vidée, celle qui contenait des objets craignent l’humidité, argent, cachemires, que sais-je ? »

                Mais alors s’imposait une conclusion, L’habitude des forbans étant de faire deux cachettes, l’or et les pierreries seraient biens ensevelis au bord de la mer : sculptures et gravures rupestres seraient bien des points de repère, encore que la côte se soit affaissée depuis lors et les ait souvent elles-mêmes ensevelies. Puisse madame S… déceler le gîte, grâce a la radiesthésie de l’abbé Mermet !

Though the political wrangling and in-fighting over the recently discovered pirate treasure has (to nobody’s surprise) continued in Mauritius and Rodrigues, more tangible details of the find have begun to creep out.

For one, the location of the cavern (‘grotto’) is now widely reported as being in the Vallée St François in the East of Rodrigues (though given that there are often queues of visitors driving up to have a look now, it’s hardly a secret). This is a valley dipping eastwards towards the sea between two radiating arms of the mountain that makes up the central part of the island. It runs down to the Auberge St Francois B&B on the plage de St François, which one website droolingly describes as having “Miles of fine sand, warm and transparent water, filao trees as far as the eye can see [… and] three of the top ten Rodrigues restaurants on Trip Advisor“.

So, when we read (in the Mauritian press) about the two hikers walking down a dried-up river bed (strong echoes of Bernardin Nageon de l’Estang there, you might say, hohum), I think this is basically the foot of the valley you can see running down the centre of the picture above (facing East).

Incidentally, one nearby cove beach is called “Trou d’Argent”, about which Lonely Planet helpfully notes: “Local legend has it that a pirate once hid his treasure here“. And there’s an identically named “Trou d’Argent” on Mauritius’ east coast. So perhaps nobody should have been shocked if pirate gold turns up in, errrm, a hole here. Or indeed there. No, wait… 🙂

A Private Notice Question (PNQ) to the local administration (which I saw reported here) also revealed some things I didn’t know:

• The two hikers reported their find to the (Mauritian) authorities on 15th and 22nd March 2019
• Their names are Roger de Spéville and Georges Désiré Némorin
• The find was reported to the Rodrigues authorities on 11th June 2019

Anyway, in other news reported in the last few days, the roof of the cavern had supposedly collapsed due to heavy flooding since last year (though I’m not sure that’s true). Another news report suggested that the ‘treasure’ may well have just been a mirage, a trick of the light.

And – in a strange update in the last day or so in l’Express – a photo taken in the last few days seems to imply that the cave may have been robbed out. Even former chief commissioner Johnson Roussety is one of those who now believe the treasure has been moved.

Moreover, Roussety is one of those who believe that the “hikers” were (contrary to their affidavit) actually treasure hunters, and has posted (undated) pictures on his Facebook feed showing a bearded person on the beach (presumably de Saint Francois) using a metal detector (though whether this is one of the two hikers he doesn’t say).

(Having said that, I should point out that almost all people who use metal detectors on beaches primarily use them to find jewellery and coins dropped in the sand by modern tourists, not to find pirate treasure. Just so y’know!)

So… while all the politicos have been shouting at each other, might the Lady have quietly vanished in the night? Or might the Lady never have been on the train in the first place? We now seem to have entered a properly Hitchcockian zone, where you would be unwise to trust that anything anyone tells you will leave you any wiser. (Apart from me, of course. 😉 )

PS: given that Rodrigues has beautiful beaches but a desperately struggling economy, why has nobody yet pointed out that the appearance of pirate treasure here is almost too good to be true? (Or indeed ‘to be Trou‘?) Any conspiracy theorist worth their salt should surely now be suggesting that the goat skull and treasure were only ever touristic stage props designed to bring footfall to the island’s beaches. Just a thought! 😉

Back in the 18th century when Île de France was owned by France, the French gave the island their laws. And when the British took it over (and renamed it ‘Mauritius’) at the start of the 19th century, they left (as I understand it, please correct me if I’m wrong) almost all existing laws intact.

Further: because of all the destructive treasure hunting activity that went on in Mauritius in the early 20th century (imagine large groups of overexcited treasure hunters with hundreds of sticks of dynamite, and you’re basically there), additional modern legislation has been passed forbidding treasure hunting: or, rather, making it almost impossible for anyone to benefit from deliberately going treasure hunting.

All which has the side effect of making the Republic of Mauritius – arguably one of the best places in the world to go treasure hunting, in terms of artifacts that are probably buried there (e.g. pirate treasure) – one of the worst places to benefit from being a treasure hunter. Because if you do find something that you went looking for, you then automatically lose the right to benefit from finding it. And so Mauritian treasure hunting lore is full of stories of people not just finding treasure, but also stealing that treasure away to sell via the black market.

In a very significant way, this has had (I think) the effect of criminalizing treasure hunting. Hence the only clear way you can honestly benefit from finding lost treasure in Mauritius is if you literally stumble upon it while doing something else. (Article 716 of the Mauritian Civil Code says that, in this case, 50% should go to the accidental discoverers, and 50% to the Mauritian state.)

What The Two Hikers Found

Back in August 2018, the ‘something else’ that two ecologists were busy doing (while definitely not looking for pirate treasure) was hiking around the island of Rodrigues. (Just so you know, this is according to the affidavit the two filed with Juristconsult Chambers, which L’Express had seen.)

The first thing they did was stumble upon three nearby rock faces with curious signs and marks, and took some photographs. However, when they (later on) enlarged those photos, it became quickly clear to them that the marks were not natural marks, but were instead man-made ones (made using a chisel). Hence they decided to return to take a closer look.

On their next hike to the same place, one of the two squeezed into the narrow gap between the three rock faces and took photographs of the cavity behind them. This time when enlarged, their new photographs revealed (drum roll, please) a rusty chest, decayed rope from a pulley setup, a metal rod that had fallen from the chest, and finally (leaving the best until last) a goat’s skull mounted on a shiny metal body, that might possibly even be gold.

As far as I can tell, this was as far as our two intrepid (and as-yet-not-named-in-public) Mauritian eco-hikers went: that is, they didn’t try to excavate the find (no, not even with dynamite, even if that has become something of a ridiculous Mauritian tradition).

For a bit of local colour, I found this 1:38-long video (that doesn’t, to be honest, show a great deal of interest, apart from blurry shots of the cavity, queues of people driving to visit the site, plus excited locals being interviewed) on MBC here:

What has become clear this week is that the site (in the East of Rodrigues) is very much as the two hikers described it, and that what they found there is indeed almost certainly pirate treasure, all of which the local administration now has soldiers guarding 24/7. Which is nice.

Treasure Finding (Not Treasure Hunting)

Because the two ecologists found their (probable) pirate treasure while hiking (i.e. they weren’t looking for it), this almost certainly counts, under Mauritian law, as a genuine treasure-finding scenario (as opposed to a treasure-hunting scenario).

But here’s where the whole story gets more than a tad political.

By way of background: though Rodrigues was taken over by the British at around the same time as Mauritius, it was made a district of the Republic of Mauritius in 1968 (when Mauritius gained independence); and was then made an ‘autonomously administered region’ within the Republic of Mauritius (though under Mauritian law) in 2002. So even though it’s still part of Mauritius, its politicians like to think of themselves as largely independent of Mauritius.

Hence you can probably guess how the three-way battle is now unfolding. On the one hand, you have the two ecologist hikers, for whom Lady Luck (and indeed Mauritian law) currently seems to be on their side. On the other hand you have the Mauritian central government who is (by way of its own law) the find’s other 50% beneficiary. And on the third hand (just to muck up the whole hand-based thing), you have pretty much everyone in Rodrigues’ autonomous administration, who feel that Mauritian law is clearly an ass, because Rodrigues should obviously benefit from this whole affair, even if the Mauritian treasure-finding legal computer says no.

And so many Rodrigues politicians are now desperately spinning round in circles trying to concoct quasi-legal ways by which ‘their’ pirate treasure can become less of a Mauritian cash cow and more of a Rodriguan regional asset. The word on everyone’s lips seems to be “patrimoine” (patrimony), though the specific details of how that can be mobilized remain rather more than a little challenging. For example, there is talk of applying to make the cave a UNESCO site of special historical significance, even if this perhaps seems a tad optimistic for what seems to be little more than an unexcavated rocky hole in the ground.

How will this whole affair now play out? Even though SAJ (better known as Rodrigues’ Ministre Mentor Sir Anerood Jugnauth) is keen to stress that the Law is King of this particular jungle, it would seem that there are plenty of legal eagles hovering above this piratical carcass, eager to pick the bones clean for themselves. Anyone who would happily bet on the ultimate outcome at this stage would, in my opinion, be fairly unwise.

Pirate Treasures of the Indian Ocean?

It should be no surprise that virtually every news report so far has name-checked Olivier Levasseur (AKA “La Buse“) and the mysterious cryptogram speculatively linked to him by Charles de la Roncière (and since then by several generations of gullible treasure hunters), all of which I’ve covered numerous times on Cipher Mysteries. (e.g. here, here, here, here, etc).

Some reports have further tried linking the story to Bernardin Nageon de l’Estang, with many claiming (about as incorrectly as can be) that Bernardin was some kind of royal pirate treasure collector (not even close, sorry, and where does that misinformation even come from?) *sigh* (Again, all of which I’ve covered too many times to even link here.)

But in fact, arguably the most genuinely interesting (and apparently unasked) question here is whether any of the curious marks that the two hikers found link up in any way with other stories of curious marks that the Indian Ocean pirate treasure literature abounds with. Most notably, Le Clézio’s “Voyage à Rodrigues” (why do I seem to be the only person commenting on this that mentions Le Clézio? How bizarre is that?) has plenty of specific interest here, but once La Buse gets mentioned, everyone’s minds seem to turn to mush, which is a shame and a half.

For me, there’s a huge amount of historical and research interest to be had here, but the reportage surrounding the story so far just isn’t cutting it yet. I normally like L’Express, but their plucky journalists only seem to have got their teeth into 10% of the (much bigger) story so far. Let’s hope things starts to pick up soon.

Of course, if anyone out there wants to fly me to Rodrigues (purely in the interests of historical research, you understand), I’m sure I could be reasonably accommodating. It really wouldn’t take me that long to pack my factor 50 and special pack of piña colada straws research laptop, I swear. 😉

“La Buse, l’or maudit des Pirates de l’océan Indien” is a two-part (i.e. 2 x 52 minutes) documentary with fictional re-enactments (you get the idea) made by Kapali Studios, and due for release around January 2019 (so no need to get too excited just yet).

If (like me) you’re a pirate museum trivia fan, you’ll be interested to hear that the film-makers did their talking heads interviews in the Musée de la Marine and the Musée Cognacq-Jay (both in Paris), as well as on “L’Étoile du Roy“, a 46m replica of an 18th century British sixth-rate frigate that is a well-known tourist attraction in Saint-Malo (it was previously used as HMS Indefatigable in the TV series “Hornblower”).

Of course, as a cipher historian who cannot for the life of me see any actual connection between La Buse and “his” cryptogram, there could be no place set for me at that particular table – for realistically, where would the mystery be without the cryptogram? But while I don’t hold out a lot of hope for cryptological accuracy here, I’m sure the production will look beautiful. 🙂

The Eye Candy Bit

There are some nice behind-the-scenes images on the Kapali Studios website which I thought it would be nice to share here:

There were some other images here:

There’s a big controversy at the moment about bloggers and vloggers who get paid to promote products but who do not declare it (or, perhaps more often, do declare it but in what can easily be perceived as misleading ways). For the record: though I have been given a small number of books to review here, arguably the biggest favour I’ve ever returned is that of tactical silence, i.e. not posting a review at all when I really couldn’t comfortably say a good thing about the book.

But all the same, I must confess that there’s a tiny evil homunculus deep inside my psyche that secretly yearns – much as Britten’s Ploughboy dreamt of – to sell off my Ayes and Nos to the highest bidder. Though I’d never actually do such a thing, when certain objects contrive to present themselves before me, I do find my homunculus jumping up and down like crazy…

La Buse Vanilla Rum

A few days back, I was delighted to stumble across a German drinks site offering a “La Buse” pirate-themed rum distilled in Réunion by J. Chatel S.A.R.L. [history here] (image from drinkology):

Here’s my translation of their effusively rum-soaked copy:

La Buse Vanilla Rum embodies rum’s typical character yet in a stylish way. A white rum from Réunion, it impresses with its clear line and simplicity: light and pleasantly sweet, it brings a summery feeling to your home. Indispensable for the bar and for the kitchen, it instantly refines desserts, cakes, drinks and cocktails. Drunk straight on the rocks, it refreshes the stomach and cools the head.

OK, I’m sold already. But the copywriter, clearly licking his or her lips in a very old-fashioned way, continues riffing on its ‘real vanilla’ USP:

La Buse Vanilla Rum has been flavored with real vanilla to make it unique. For gourmets, it is in great demand for use in high-end kitchens and is often used to add the ‘final touch’. Bright, clear and freshly fruity, it is particularly well-suited as a basis for great cocktails. The bottle is particularly elaborate and stylishly decorated, with a large picture of an old pirate reminiscent of the origins of rum: for old sailors and seasoned men would have lost all control at the sight of this noble drink. La Buse Vanilla Rum continues this tradition and would certainly have been a favorite drink of pirates and sailors. Anyone today who does not want to be able to drink tough sailors under the table would prefer not to drink it neat, because it is good and strong and heats the throat and stomach powerfully. And there’s no need to miss out on cold winter days, because a slug in your cup of black tea refines it splendidly.

Unfortunately…

However, before you get too excited, I should add that it seems that J. Chatel has stopped making this particular rum, which is a huge shame (particularly because I was going to order a case, in the interests of cipher research, of course). But I thought you’d like to see it anyway. 😉