Where Pirates Still Drink: The Myth of Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop
If you’ve ever wandered through the French Quarter, chances are you’ve heard the tale—Jean Lafitte, the infamous pirate of Louisiana legend, once ran a blacksmith shop on Bourbon Street, using it as a front for his vast smuggling empire. Today, that same dimly lit building still stands, now known as Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop Bar, clinging to the claim that it’s not just Lafitte’s former headquarters, but also the oldest bar in New Orleans.
Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop photographed in 2004.
Located at 941 Bourbon Street, it’s little more than a weathered shack, just three blocks from the Mississippi River. But what it lacks in grandeur, it more than makes up for in stories. It’s a favorite haunt of both tourists and locals, a place where history and legend blur together over candlelit drinks.
After years of television appearances and speaking engagements about Lafitte folklore, I’ve lost count of how many times someone has excitedly told me, “Lafitte’s Bar was my favorite part of my trip to New Orleans!” The legend is alive and well, reinforced nightly by the city’s many historical tours that pause outside its doors, inviting visitors to step inside and share a drink with the ghosts of pirates long gone.
But were those pirates ever here at all?
New Orleans’ French Quarter.
Legend holds that this unassuming bar once operated as a blacksmith shop, a front for the infamous smuggling empire of Jean and Pierre Lafitte (who actually spelled their name “Laffite”)—two of the most notorious figures in New Orleans history. The brothers’ origins remain murky, though most accounts suggest they hailed from coastal France or modern-day Haiti. Like many French and Caribbean immigrants of their time, geopolitical tensions pushed them toward the city, where they arrived just as New Orleans transitioned from a French colony to an American city under the Louisiana Purchase.
But change brought restrictions. New American laws had tightened control over the importation of goods and enslaved people, strangling the city’s lucrative trade. The Lafittes—ever the opportunists—saw an opening.
Through a vast smuggling network, they worked with a fleet of seasoned privateers—regarded as pirates by U.S. authorities—to ambush Spanish merchant vessels in the Gulf of Mexico. Stolen goods, weapons, and enslaved people were ferried to Louisiana’s remote coastal islands, then smuggled inland through dense bayous by skiff and pirogue. Their operation grew so powerful that it threatened New Orleans’ official economy, with city officials fearing currency shortages and financial collapse under their shadow monopoly.
And according to legend, much of this empire was orchestrated from within the very walls of Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop. To the outside world, it was a simple workshop hammering out horseshoes and repairing iron tools. But behind closed doors? It was said to be a den of smugglers, privateers, and thieves—where stolen goods were moved, deals were struck, and a pirate-run black market flourished under the noses of the authorities.
But how much of this is true?
The idea of Jean and Pierre Lafitte as blacksmiths is so deeply ingrained in Southern folklore that no amount of debunking will ever fully sever the connection. It’s a story that has been repeated for over a century, reinforced by historians, novelists, and local tour guides alike. But where did it begin?
One of the earliest links comes from an 1802 article in Le Moniteur de Louisiane, which mentioned two men—“Hearico and Lafitte”—seeking work as blacksmiths and toolmakers. While some have speculated this could refer to Jean or Pierre, no definitive evidence supports this claim. In fact, several unrelated men named Lafitte were arriving in New Orleans around the same time, making it impossible to know if either of the infamous brothers had any connection to the listing.
Throughout the 19th century, scattered claims emerged. From 1849 to 1851, figures loosely associated with the Lafitte brothers, including John Grymes and Kilby Smith, speculated that they may have been blacksmiths. But these were passing remarks—never backed by proof.
The real cementing of the myth, however, can be traced to Louisiana historian Charles Gayarré. He took a particular liking to the idea that the Lafittes were smiths, weaving the claim into his book, The Story of Jean and Pierre Lafitte, The Pirate-Patriots. Many future historians and biographers relied on his work to reconstruct the Lafitte story, despite much of it later being disproven. The legend took on a life of its own.
In 1926, historian John O. Dyer took it a step further—publishing, with no supporting evidence, that the Lafittes operated a company out of the Bourbon Street building under the name Lafitte Frères (Lafitte Brothers). By this point, fact had long given way to folklore.
In reality, modern research suggests the Lafitte brothers were far more likely to have been merchants or young sailors than blacksmiths. And despite repeated attempts to link them to the 1802 toolmaker advertisement, no historical source has ever confirmed it referred to Jean or Pierre. Even in the late 19th century, some saw through the myth. In 1879, Galveston historian Charles Hayes pointed out that records existed of an unrelated blacksmith named Lafitte working in New Orleans during the same period.
So, while early documents do reference a “Lafitte” blacksmith, it was likely a completely different man. The confusion was compounded over time by speculation, misinterpretation, and the natural evolution of folklore. Decades of unsourced repetition turned a minor coincidence into an unshakable legend.
Lake Salvador, Louisiana, was once home to a pirate auction site known as The Temple.
Further research into the building itself dismantles the story even more. The Vieux Carré Survey, which studied the architectural history of the French Quarter, determined the structure was built between 1722 and 1731. However, no records suggest it was ever used as a forge or smithing shop. Additionally, property records from 1773 to 1833 show a clear, uninterrupted line of ownership—with no sign that the Lafittes were ever involved.
So, were the Lafitte brothers blacksmiths? Almost certainly not. But this is how folklore works—it bends history into something more satisfying. The people of New Orleans saw Jean and Pierre Lafitte not just as criminals but as folk heroes—Robin Hood-like figures who defied authority, supplied goods to a booming city, and lived among the working class. And what better way to reinforce that image than to place them in a blacksmith’s shop, hammering away like ordinary men?
However, folklore rarely flourishes without at least a sliver of truth behind it. Perhaps this building was never a forge, and the Lafittes never worked as blacksmiths. That doesn’t mean there isn’t pirate history hidden within its walls—or that the legend should be dismissed entirely.
Because one name in the building’s historical records keeps the door from shutting completely: Jean Baptiste Laporte.
Laporte’s grandson, Renato Beluche, was no ordinary man—he was a renowned privateer and close ally of the Lafitte brothers. In fact, it was Beluche who secured the letters of marque from Cartagena that launched Jean and Pierre Lafitte’s legendary smuggling empire. He would go on to serve as a favorite admiral of Simón Bolívar, helping to secure South America’s independence, and was honored with a hero’s burial in Venezuela.
It’s a small but intriguing connection—just enough to keep the embers of the legend alive.
After all, the brothers were never too far away. Historical documents also place their families in ownership of several other buildings on Bourbon Street. Just not the building tied to them by name.
So maybe Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop was never a blacksmith shop, and maybe the Lafittes never worked a forge. But that doesn’t mean the story isn’t trying to tell us something. New Orleans is a city built on mysteries, and its history is often tangled in whispers rather than records. Many of the buildings in the French Quarter hold secrets we will never fully uncover.
And perhaps—just perhaps—the spirits of New Orleans' pirates do still linger in the bar, even if it wasn’t the smuggler’s den it claims to be. After all, the pirates of this city made their own rules, appearing where they pleased, when they pleased.
Why would death be any different?
Photo supposedly showing the face of Jean Lafitte’s ghost behind a tree. Photo taken in 2013 on a property once inhabited by Jean Lafitte.
Christian B. Roper is an American explorer, professional treasure hunter, and researcher of folklore and unsolved mysteries. As the founder of The Subsea Society, he has led numerous research expeditions across North and Central America, with a deep focus on advancing research of maritime legends. His work has been featured in film and television programs on History Channel, Discovery+, Hulu, and others. With a passion for investigating the unknown, he continues to bridge the gap between historical fact and the unexplained.