Part 18

Dodging into a lane, he soon met a friend who had been told of his attempt, and who took him to the house of an old clergyman in Plymouth. In the morning, with two fellow-countrymen, who were also in hiding (for they had been captured as passengers in a merchant vessel), he secured a fishing-smack. "Josh" now covered his uniform. Putting on an old coat with a tarred rope tied around his waist, a pair of torn trousers, and a tarpaulin hat, the disguised Jack-tar ran the little vessel down the River Plym, just as day was dawning. The forts and men-of-war were safely passed, and the little shallop tossed upon the gleaming wavelets of the English channel.

We are told that his escape was not noticed for some time because "a slender youth who was capable of creeping through the window-bars at pleasure crawled into Barney's cell (in the Old Mill Prison) and answered for him." I doubt this, for--if you have ever seen the bars of a prison--it would take a Jack Spratt to get through them, and Jack Spratts are not common. At any rate someone answered to the daily roll-call for Joshua B., so that it was full two weeks before the authorities knew of his escape. Perhaps there was a ventriloquist in the jail.

The tiny boat in which the adventurous American hoped to reach the welcome shores of France, bobbed up and down, as she ambled towards the low-lying coast, under a gentle southerly breeze. But there was trouble in this self-same wind, for the white wings of a British privateer grew nearer and nearer, and a hail soon came:

"What's your name, and where are you bound?"

Barney and his partners in distress did not answer at all. They scowled as a boat was lowered from the side of their pursuer, and quickly splashed towards them. In not many moments, a swearing sea-captain swung himself upon their deck.

"Who are you, you lubbers?" said he. "Where' yer papers, and where' yer bound to?"

"I'm a British officer," replied the astute Joshua, opening his coat and disclosing the uniform of the service. "I am bound for France upon official business."

The Captain snickered.

"An' with two others in er' launch? Aw go tell that to th' marines!"

"It's God's truth. I'm in a state secret."

"Wall--be that as it may be--you must come aboard of my vessel and tell yer state secret to th' authorities in England. Meanwhile, I'll put a skipper of my own aboard yer vessel and we'll travel together--bein' friends."

Barney swore beneath his breath.

Thus the two boats beat towards the coast of Merrie England in company, and upon the day following, came to anchor in a small harbor, six miles from Plymouth. The captain of the privateer went ashore in order to report to Admiral Digby at Plymouth, while most of the crew also hastened to the beach in order to avoid the chance of being seized by the press-gang, which harried incoming vessels for recruits for His Majesty's service.

"Can't I go, too?" asked the cautious "Josh."

"No, you must remain on board until we come for you," said the captain, as he jumped into his boat en route for the shore. "Mister Officer, I want to search your record." Then he laughed brutishly.

But Barney's thinking cap was working like a mill race. There was a jolly-boat tied to the stern of the privateer, and, when all were safe ashore, he gently slipped into this, purposely skinning his leg as he did so. Then he sculled to the beach; where a group of idlers stood looking out to sea.

"Here," he cried, as he neared them. "Help me haul up this boat, will yer? She's awful heavy."

A custom's officer was among these loiterers and he was inquisitive.

"Who are you?" said he. "What regiment and where stationed, pray?"

"That I cannot answer, my friend," calmly replied the acute "Josh," pointing to the blood as it trickled through his stocking. "I am badly injured, you see, and must go away in order to get my leg tied up. Prithee, kind sir, can you tell me where the crew from my vessel have gone to?"

"They are at the Red Lion at the end of the village," replied the official of the law. "You are, indeed, badly hurt."

"Wall, I reckon," replied the American, and, stumbling up the beach, he was soon headed for the end of the little village.

But things were not to go too well with him. He found that he was obliged to pass the Red Lion, and he had almost succeeded in doing so unmolested, when one of the sailors who was loitering outside, cried out after him,

"Ho, friend! I would speak with you!"

"Josh" had to stop although sorely tempted to run for it.

"I've got some idee of shippin' in th' Navy," said the fellow, as he approached. "Now, friend, you can tell me somethin' of th' pay an' service, as you're an officer of th' army."

Barney's eyes shone with pleasure, as he saw that his disguise had deceived the fellow.

"Walk along with me towards Plymouth," said he, "and I'll explain everything to you. I have business there which will not wait and I must get on to it."

So they jogged along together, talking vigorously about the Navy, but, in the course of half an hour the jack-tar seemed to think better of his plan for entering "a service noted for its cruelty to seamen," and turned back, saying,

"Thank'ee my fine friend. Thank'ee. I'll stick to privateerin'. It's easier an' there's less cat-o'-nine-tails to it."

As soon as his burly form disappeared down the winding road, Barney began to grow anxious about his safety. Perhaps a guard would be sent after him? Perhaps--even now--men had discovered his absence and were hurrying to intercept him? So--with these thoughts upon his mind--he jumped over a stiff hedge into the grounds of Lord Mount-Edgecumbe.

"Egad! it's touch and go with me," said he, as he walked down one of the gravelled paths. "I'm in for it now for here comes the gardener."

Sure enough, towards him ambled a middle-aged fellow, smiling as he pushed along a wheel-barrow filled with bulbs.

Joshua walked up to him, extending his right hand.

"My friend," said he, "I am an officer escaping from some seamen who wish my life because of a duel in which I recently engaged over the hand of a fair lady. Here is a guinea. It is all that I possess. And--if you could but pilot me to the waterside and will not tell of my whereabouts--I will bless you to my dying day."

The good-humored man-of-the-soil smiled benignly.

"Prithee, but follow me," said he, "and we'll soon see that you pass by the way of the water gate. Your money is most welcome, sir, for my wife is just now ill and doctors must be paid, sir. That you know right well."

Barney breathed easier as they walked towards the sea; for out of the corner of his eye he saw a guard--sent to capture him--tramping along the other side of the hedge over which he had leaped.

"Good-bye and good luck!" cried the kind-hearted servant as he closed the private gate which led to the waterside. And, with a wave of the hand, the fleeing American was soon hastening to the winding river, over which he must cross in order to get on to Plymouth.

Luck was still with him. A butcher who was ferrying some beeves by water, took him in his boat, and, as night fell, the keen-witted privateersman crept through the back door of the old clergyman's house at Plymouth--from which he had started. For the time being, he was safe.

Strange to relate, the two friends of the fishing-smack adventure here joined him once more, for they, also, had run away from the crew of the privateer, and--as they sat around the supper-table--the town-crier went by the house, bawling in harsh and discordant tones:

"Five guineas reward for the capture of Joshua Barney; a rebel deserter from Mill Prison! Five guineas reward for this deserter! Five guineas! Five guineas!"

But Barney stuffed his napkin into his mouth in order to stop his laughter.

Three days later a clean-shaven, bright-cheeked, young dandy stepped into a post chaise, at midnight, and drove off to Exeter. At Plymouth gate the conveyance was stopped; a lantern was thrust into the black interior; and the keen eyes of the guard scanned the visages of those within:

"He's not here," growled the watchman, lowering the light. "Drive on!"

Thus Joshua Barney rolled on to home and freedom, while the stout-bodied soldier little guessed that the artful privateersman had slipped through his fingers like water through a sieve.

Two months later--in the autumn of 1781--Joshua Barney: fighter, privateer, liar and fugitive, walked down the quiet streets of Beverly, Massachusetts, and a little fish-monger's son whispered to his companions,

"Say, Boys! That feller is a Jim Dandy. He's been through more'n we'll ever see. Say! He's a regular Scorcher!"

* * * * *

Many months later--when the Revolutionary War had ended--the good ship _General Washington_ lay in Plymouth Harbor on the south coast of England. Her commander--Captain Joshua Barney--gazed contentedly at the Stars and Stripes as they flew jauntily from the mizzen-mast, and then walked to the rail, as a group of British officers came over the side. But there was one among these guests who was not an officer. He was bent, old, weather-beaten; and his dress showed him to be a tiller and worker of the soil. It was the aged and faithful gardener of Lord Mount-Edgecumbe.

"You remember me?" cried the genial American, grasping the honest servant by the hand.

The gardener's eyes were alight with pleasure.

"You are the feller who jumped over the hedge--many years ago--when the sea-dogs were hot upon your trail."

Joshua Barney chuckled.

"The same," said he. "And here is a purse of gold to reward my kind and worthy helpmeet."

So saying, he placed a heavy, chamois bag of glittering eagles into the trembling hands of the ancient retainer.

THE DERELICT

Unmoored, unmanned, unheeded on the deep-- Tossed by the restless billow and the breeze, It drifts o'er sultry leagues of tropic seas. Where long Pacific surges swell and sweep, When pale-faced stars their silent watches keep, From their far rhythmic spheres, the Pleiades, In calm beatitude and tranquil ease, Smile sweetly down upon its cradled sleep. Erewhile, with anchor housed and sails unfurled, We saw the stout ship breast the open main, To round the stormy Cape, and span the World, In search of ventures which betoken gain. To-day, somewhere, on some far sea we know Her battered hulk is heaving to and fro.

ROBERT SURCOUF

THE "SEA HOUND" FROM ST. MALO

(1773-1827)

"If you would be known never to have done anything, never do it."--EMERSON.

ROBERT SURCOUF

THE "SEA HOUND" FROM ST. MALO

(1773-1827)

_Parlez-vous Francais?_ Yes, Monsieur, I can speak like a native,--sure. Then, take off your cap to the lilies of France, Throw it up high, and hasten the dance. For "Bobbie" Surcouf has just come to town, _Tenez!_ He's worthy of wearing a crown.

It was a sweltering, hot day in July and the good ship _Aurora_ swung lazily in the torpid waters of the Indian Ocean. Her decks fairly sizzled in the sun, and her sails flopped like huge planks of wood. She was becalmed on a sheet of molten brass.

"I can't stand this any longer," said a young fellow with black hair and swarthy skin. "I'm going overboard."

From his voice it was easy to see he was a Frenchman.

Hastily stripping himself, he went to the gangway, and standing upon the steps, took a header into the oily brine. He did not come up.

"Sacre nom de Dieu!" cried a sailor. "Young Surcouf be no risen. Ah! He has been down ze long time. Ah! Let us lower ze boat and find heem."

"Voila! Voila!" cried another. "He ees drowned!"

_Plunkety, plunk, splash!_ went a boat over the side, and in a moment more, a half dozen sailors were eagerly looking into the deep, blue wash of the ocean.

"He no there. I will dive for heem," cried out the fellow who had first spoken, and, leaping from the boat, he disappeared from view.

In a few moments he re-appeared, drawing the body of the first diver with him. It was apparently helpless. The prostrate sailor was lifted to the deck; rubbed, worked over, scrubbed,--but no signs of life were there.

Meanwhile, a Portuguese Lieutenant, who was pacing the poop, appeared to be much pleased at what took place.

"The fellow's dead! The beggar's done for,--sure. Overboard with the rascal! To the waves with the dead 'un!"

"Give us a few more moments," cried the sailors. "He will come to!"

But the Lieutenant smiled satirically.

"To the waves with the corpse! To the sharks with the man from St. Malo!" cried he.

And all of this the senseless seaman heard--for--he was in a cataleptic fit, where he could hear, but could not move. The Portuguese Lieutenant and he were bitter enemies.

"Oh, I tell you, Boys, the fellow's dead!" again cried the Portuguese. "Over with him!"

So saying, he seized the inert body with his hands; dragged it to the ship's side; and started to lift it to the rail.

Conscious of all that went on around him, the paralyzed Surcouf realized that, unless he could make some sign, he had only a few seconds to live. So, with a tremendous effort--he made a movement of his limbs. It was noticed.

"Voila! Voila!" cried a French sailor. "He ees alife. No! No! You cannot kill heem!"

Running forward, he grabbed the prostrate form of Robert Surcouf, pulled it back upon the deck, and--as the Portuguese Lieutenant went off cursing--he rubbed the cold hands of the half-senseless man. In a moment the supposed corpse had opened its eyes.

"Ah!" he whispered. "I had a close call. A thousand thanks to all!"

In five more moments he could stand upon the deck, and--believe me--he did not forget the Portuguese Lieutenant!

Robert Surcouf was born at St. Malo--just one hundred years after Du Guay-Trouin, to whom he was related. And like his famous relative he had been intended for the Church,--but he was always fighting; was insubordinate, and could not be made to study. In fact, he was what is known as a "holy terror."

Finally good Mamma Surcouf sent him to the Seminary of St. Dinan, saying:

"Now, Robert, be a good boy and study hard thy lessons!"

And Robert said, "Oui, Madame!" But he would not work.

One day the master in arithmetic did not like the method in which young "Bobbie" answered him, and raising a cane, he ran towards the youthful scholar. But Robert had learned a kind of "Jiu-Jitsu" practiced by the youths of France, and he tackled his irate master like an end-rush upon the foot-ball team, when he dives for a runner. Both fell to the ground with a thud. And all the other boys yelled "Fine!" in unison.

Now was a fierce battle, but weight told, and "Bobbie" was soon underneath, with his teeth in the leg of his tutor. They scratched and rolled until "Bobbie" freed himself, and, running to the window, jumped outside--for he was on the ground floor--scaled the garden fence, and made off. Home was twenty miles away.

"I must get there, somehow," said young "Bobbie." "I can never go back. I will be spanked so that I cannot seat myself."

So little "Bob" trudged onward in the snow, for it was winter. It grew dark. It was bitterly cold, and he had no hat. At length--worn out with cold and hunger--he sank senseless to the roadside.

Luck pursues those destined for greatness.

Some fish-merchants happened that way, and, seeing the poor, helpless, little boy, they picked him up; placed him upon a tiny dog-cart; and carried him to St. Malo, where he had a severe attack of pneumonia. But his good mother nursed him through, saying:

"Ta donc! He will never be a scholar. Ta donc! Young Robbie must go to sea!"

So when "Bobbie" was well he was shipped aboard the brig _Heron_, bound for Cadiz, Spain--and he was only just thirteen. But he threw up his cap crying,

"This is just what I've always wanted. Hurrah for the salty brine!"

At about twenty years of age we find him upon the good ship _Aurora_ from which his dive into the Indian Ocean came near being his last splash. And the Portuguese Lieutenant did not forget.

Upon the next visit of the cruiser _Aurora_ to the coast of Africa an epidemic of malarial fever struck the crew. Among those who succumbed to the disease was the Portuguese Lieutenant. He was dangerously ill.

The ship arrived at the island of Mauritius, and, Lieutenant Robert Surcouf was just going ashore, when he received a message which said:

"Come and see me. I am very ill." It was from his enemy,--the Portuguese.

Surcouf did not like the idea, but after thinking the matter over, he went. But note this,--he had a pair of loaded pistols in his pocket. Dead men--you know--tell no tales.

As he entered the sick man's cabin, a servant was there. The Portuguese made a sign to him to retire.

"I wish to speak to you with a sincere heart," said he, turning his face to young Surcouf. "Before I pass from this world I want to relieve my conscience, and ask your forgiveness for all the evil which I have wished you during our voyages together."

"I bear you no malice," said Surcouf. "Let by-gones be by-gones."

As he spoke a spasm seemed to contort the body of the dying man. One arm stretched out towards a pillow nearby, and Robert had a sudden, but excellent thought. Stepping forward, he seized the hand of his old enemy, lifted the pillow, and, then started back with an exclamation of astonishment.

"Ye Gods!" cried he. "You would murder me!"

There, before him, were two cocked and loaded pistols.

Leaping forward he grabbed the weapons, pointing one at the forehead of the rascally sailor.

"You miserable beast!" cried he. "I can now shoot you like a dog, or squash you like an insect; but I despise you too much. I will leave you to die like a coward."

"And," says a historian, "this is what the wretched man did,--blaspheming in despairing rage."

In October, 1794, Lieutenant Surcouf saw his first big battle, for, the English being at war with the French, two British men-of-war hovered off the island of Mauritius, blockading the port of St. Thomas. They were the _Centurion_ of fifty-four guns, and the _Diomede_, also of fifty-four cannon, but with fewer tars. The French had four ships of war: the _Prudente_, forty guns; the _Cybele_, forty-four guns; the _Jean Bart_, twenty guns; and the _Courier_, fourteen guns. Surcouf was junior Lieutenant aboard the _Cybele_.

It was a beautiful, clear day, as the French vessels ploughed out to battle; their sails aquiver with the soft breeze; their pennons fluttering; guns flashing; and eager sailors crowding to the rails with cutlasses newly sharpened and pistols in their sashes.

_Boom!_

The first gun spoke. The first shell spun across the bow of the British bull-dog _Diomede_, and the battle was on.

Have you ever seen a school of pollock chasing a school of smaller fry? Have you ever seen them jump and splash, and thud upon the surface of the water?

Well--that is the way that the shells looked and sounded--as they plumped and slushed into the surface of the southern sea; and every now and then there was a _punk_, and a _crash_, and a _chug_, as a big, iron ball bit into the side of a man-of-war.

Around and around sailed the sparring assailants, each looking for a chance to board. _Crash! Roar! Crash!_ growled the broadsides. Shrill screams sounded from the wounded; the harsh voices of the officers echoed above the din of the conflict; and, the whining bugle squealed ominously between the roaring crush of grape and chain-shot.

But the French got nearer and nearer. Great gaps showed in the bulwarks of the _Diomede_; one mast was tottering. Beaten and outnumbered she stood out to sea, her sailors crowding into the rigging like monkeys, and spreading every stitch of white canvas.

"She runs! Egad, she runs!" cried the Commander of the other British vessel. "Faith, I cannot stand off four Frenchmen alone. I must after her to save my scalp."

So--putting his helm hard over--he threw his vessel before the wind, and she spun off, pursued by bouncing shells and shrieking grapnel.

"Voila!" cried the French. "Ze great battaile, eet belongs to us!" But there were many dead and wounded upon the decks of the proud French warships.

Soon after this smart, little affair the soldiers and sailors who had been in this fight were discharged,--and--looking about for employment, young Robert took the first position that presented itself: the command of the brig _Creole_,--engaged in the slave trade. He made several successful voyages, but orders were issued to--

"Arrest the Slave Hunter and all his crew, When they arrive at the Mauritius."

One of those little birds which sometimes carry needed information, both on sea and land, whispered this ill news to the gallant, young sea-dog. So he steered for the isle of Bourbon, and there landed his human freight in a small bay. At daybreak he lay at anchor in the Harbor of St. Paul in that self-same island.

About eight in the morning a boat was seen approaching, and to the hail,--"Who goes there?" came the reply--

"Public Health Committee from St. Denis. We wish to come on board and to inspect your ship."

Surcouf was much annoyed.

"You can climb aboard," said he, stifling an exclamation of disgust. "I am at your service."

In a few moments the commissioners were upon the deck, and, in a few moments more, they had discovered that the ship was a slaver.

Turning to the youthful captain, one of the committee said:

"You, sir, are engaged in illegal traffic. You must suffer for this, and must come with us at once to the city to answer an indictment drawn up against you."

Surcouf smiled benignly.

"I am at your service," said he, with a polite bow. "But do not go--I pray thee--until you have given me the great pleasure of partaking of the breakfast which my cook has hastily prepared."

The Committee-men smiled.

"You are very kind," said one. "We accept with pleasure."

The hasty efforts of the cook proved to be most attractive. And, as the Commissioners smacked their lips over the good Madeira wine, the mate of the _Creole_ dismissed the boat which had brought the stolid Commissioners to the side.

"The tender of our brig will take your people ashore," said he to the coxswain.

No sooner had this tender neared the shore, than the cable of the _Creole_ was slipped; she left her anchorage; and quickly drew out to sea in a fresh sou'westerly breeze.

The unaccustomed rallying soon warned the Commissioners that the vessel was no longer at anchor, and, rushing to the deck, they saw--with dismay--that a full half mile of foam-flecked ocean lay between them and the island.

"Ye Gods!" cried one, turning to Surcouf. "What mean you by this, sir?"

The crafty Captain was smiling like the Cheshire cat.

"You are now in my power," said he--very slowly and deliberately. "I am going to take you to the coast of Africa among your friends--the negroes. You seem to prefer them to the whites, so why not, pray? Meanwhile,--my kind sirs,--come below and take my orders."

The Commissioners were flabbergasted.

"Pirate!" cried one.

"Thief!" cried another.

"Scamp!" shouted the third.

But they went below,--mumbling many an imprecation upon the head of the crafty Robert Surcouf.

That night the wind freshened, the waves rose, and the good ship _Creole_ pitched and tossed upon them, like a leaf. The Committee-men were very ill, for they were landsmen, and Surcouf's smile expanded.

"Take us ashore! Take us ashore!" cried one. "We _must_ get upon land."

Surcouf even laughed. Everything was as he wished.

"I will land you upon one condition only," said he. "Destroy the indictment against me and my ship. Write a document to the effect that you have found no traces of slaves upon my staunch craft. Say that my boat was driven from her anchor by a tidal wave--and you can put your feet upon solid ground."

The three Commissioners scowled, but he had them. Besides they were sea-sick.