Part 19
In an hour's time, the desired paper had been drawn up. The _Creole_ was headed for the Mauritius,--and, in eight days, the sad but wiser Commissioners were brooding over the smartness of Robert Surcouf when seated in their own snug little homes. "He is a rascal," said one. "He's a slick and wily cur."
So much reputation came to the young mariner--at this exploit--that he was soon offered the command of the _Emilie_: a privateer of one hundred and eighty tons and four guns. He accepted with glee, but when about to go to sea, the Governor refused him Letters of Marque.
"What shall I do?" asked the crest-fallen Robert, approaching the owners of the trim and able craft.
"Sail for the Seychelles (Islands off the east coast of Africa) for a cargo of turtles," said they. "If you fail to find these; fill up with corn, cotton and fruit. Fight shy of all English cruisers, and battle if you have to."
Surcouf bowed.
"I am not a regular privateer," he answered. "For I have no Letters of Marque. But I can defend myself if fired upon, and am an armed vessel in war-time. I may yet see some fighting."
He was not to be disappointed.
While at anchor at the Seychelles, two large and fat English men-of-war appeared in the offing. Surcouf had to run for it.
Steering in among the many little islets, which here abound, he navigated the dangerous channels and got safely off, his men crying,
"Voila! Here is a genius. We did well to ship with such a master!"
But the gallant Surcouf soon turned from privateer to pirate.
South of the Bay of Bengal, a cyclone struck the _Emilie_ and she was steered for Rangoon, where--
"The flying fishes play, An' the dawn comes up like thunder, Outer China across the Bay."
And here a British vessel steered for her: white-winged, saucy, vindictive-looking.
She came on valiantly, and, when within a hundred yards, pumped a shot across the bow of the drowsing _Emilie_. It meant "Show your colors."
Hoisting the red, white and blue of France, Surcouf replied with three scorching shots. One struck the Britisher amid-ships, and pumped a hole in her black boarding.
Like a timid girl, the Englishman veered off, hoisted her topsail, and tried to get away. She saw that she had caught a tartar.
The blood was up of the "Man from St. Malo." "I consider the shot across my bows as an attack," said he, and he slapped on every stitch of canvas, so that the _Emilie_ was soon abreast of the Britisher. _Boom!_ A broadside roared into her and she struck her colors. Bold Robert Surcouf had passed the Rubicon,--he had seen the English flag lowered to him, for the first time; and his heart swelled with patriotic pride, in spite of the fact that this was an act of piracy, for which he could be hanged to the yard-arm.
"On! On!" cried Surcouf. "More captures! More prizes!"
Three days later three vessels carrying rice fell into his hands,--one of which,--a pilot-brig--was appropriated in place of the _Emilie_, which had a foul, barnacled bottom and had lost her speed. The _Diana_, another rice-carrier--was also captured--and Robert Surcouf headed for the Mauritius: pleased and happy.
A few days later, as the vessels pottered along off the river Hooghly, the cry came:
"A large sail standing into Balasore Roads!"
In a moment Surcouf had clapped his glass to his keen and searching eye.
"An East Indiaman," said he. "And rich, I'll warrant. Ready about and make after her. She's too strong for us,--that I see--but we may outwit her."
The vessel, in fact, was the _Triton_, with six-and-twenty guns and a strong crew. Surcouf had but nineteen men aboard, including the surgeon and himself, and a few Lascars,--natives. The odds were heavily against him, but his nerve was as adamant.
"My own boat has been a pilot-brig. Up with the pilot flag!" he cried.
As the little piece of bunting fluttered in the breeze, the _Triton_ hove to, and waited for him, as unsuspecting as could be. Surcouf chuckled.
Nearer and nearer came his own vessel to the lolling Indiaman, and, as she rolled within hailing distance, the bold French sea-dog saw "_beaucoup de monde_"--a great crowd of people--upon the deck of the Englishman.
"My lads!" cried he, turning to his crew. "This _Triton_ is very strong. We are only nineteen. Shall we try to take her by surprise and thus acquire both gain and glory? Or, do you prefer to rot in a beastly English prison-ship?"
"Death or victory!" cried the Frenchmen.
Surcouf smiled.
"This ship shall either be our tomb, or the cradle of our glory," said he. "It is well!"
The crew and passengers of the _Triton_ saw only a pilot-brig approaching, as these did habitually (to within twenty or thirty feet) in order to transfer the pilot. Suddenly a few uttered exclamations of surprise and dismay. The French colors rose to the mast of the sorrowful-looking pilot-boat, and with a flash and a roar, a heavy dose of canister and grape ploughed into the unsuspecting persons upon the deck of the Indiaman. Many sought shelter from the hail of iron.
A moment more, and the brig was alongside. A crunching: a splitting of timber as the privateer struck and ground into the bulwarks of the _Triton_, and, with a wild yell--Surcouf leaped upon the deck of his adversary--followed by his eighteen men, with cutlass, dirks and pistols.
There was but little resistance. The Captain of the _Triton_ seized a sword and made a vain attempt to stem the onslaught of the boarders, but he was immediately cut down. The rest were driven below, and the hatches clapped tight above them. In five minutes the affair was over, with five killed and six wounded upon the side of the English: one killed and one wounded among the French. Surcouf had made a master stroke. The _Triton_ was his own.
The many prisoners were placed on board the _Diana_ and allowed to make their way to Calcutta, but the _Triton_ was triumphantly steered to the Mauritius, where Surcouf received a tremendous ovation.
"Hurrah for Robert Surcouf: the sea-hound from St. Malo!" shrieked the townsfolk.
"Your captures are all condemned," said the Governor of the island, a few days after his triumphant arrival. "For you sailed and fought not under a Letter of Marque, so you are a pirate and not a privateer. Those who go a-pirating must pay the piper. Your prizes belong to the Government of France, and its representative. I hereby seize them."
Surcouf was nonplussed.
"We will take this matter to France, itself," cried he. "And we shall see whether or no all my exertions shall go for nought."
So the case was referred to the French courts, where Robert appeared in person to plead his cause. And the verdict was:
"The captures of Captain Robert Surcouf of St. Malo are all declared 'good prize' and belong to him and the owners of his vessel."
So the wild man from St. Malo was very happy, and he and his owners pocketed a good, round sum of money. But he really was a pirate and not a privateer. _Tenez!_ He had the money, at any rate, so why should he care?
The remaining days of Robert's life were full of battle, and, just a little love, for he returned to his native town during the progress of the law-suit--in order to see his family and his friends, and there became engaged to Mlle. Marie Blaize, who was as good as she was pretty. But the sea sang a song which ran:
"For men must work and women must weep, The home of a hero is on the deep."
which the stout sea-dog could not resist. So he left the charming demoiselle without being married, and 'tis said that she wept bitterly.
Now came his greatest exploit.
On October 7th, 1800, the hardy mariner--in command of the _Confiance_; a new vessel with one hundred and thirty souls aboard--was cruising off the Indian coast. He had a Letter of Marque this time, so all would go well with him if he took a prize. The opportunity soon came. A sail was sighted early that day, and Surcouf scanned her carefully through his glass.
"She's a rich prize," said he. "An Indiaman. All hands on deck. Make sail! Drinks all round for the men! Clear for action!"
He spoke this to himself, for he was aloft, and, climbing to the deck, ordered everybody aft to listen to a speech. When they had collected there, he said, with feeling:
"I suppose each one of you is more than equal to one Englishman? Very good--be armed and ready for boarding--and, as it is going to be hot work, I'll give you one hour for pillage. You can fight, and, behind me, you should be invincible! Strike, and strike hard; and you will be rich."
The _Kent_ had four hundred and thirty-seven souls aboard, says an old chronicler, for she had picked up a great part of the crew of the _Queen_: an East Indiaman which had been destroyed off the coast of Brazil. Her Captain's name was Rivington and he was a fellow of heroic courage.
As the _Confiance_ drew near, the crew of the Englishman gave her a fair broadside and pumped gun after gun into her hull. But the Frenchman held her fire, and bore in close, in order to grapple. Hoarse shouts sounded above the roar of the guns and the splitting of timber, as the two war-dogs closed for action. The crew of the _Kent_ were poorly armed and undisciplined: they had never fought together. With Surcouf it was far different. His sailors were veterans--they had boarded many a merchantman and privateer before--and, they were well used to this gallant pastime. Besides, each had a boarding-axe, a cutlass,--pistol and a dagger--to say nothing of a blunderbuss loaded with six bullets, pikes fifteen feet long, and enormous clubs--all of this with "drinks all round" and the promise of pillage. No wonder they could fight!
With a wild, ear-splitting whoop the wild men of the French privateer finally leaped over the rail--upon the deck of the Englishman--and there was fierce struggling for possession of her. At the head of his men, Rivington fought like a true Briton,--cutlass in hand, teeth clinched, eyes to the front. He was magnificent.
But what could one man do against many?
Back, back, the French forced the valiant lion, while his crew fell all about in tiers, and, at length, they drove him to the poop. He was bleeding from many a wound. He was fast sinking.
"Don't give up the ship!" he cried, casting his eye aloft at the red ensign of his country.
Then he fell upon his face, and the maddened followers of Surcouf swept over the decking like followers of Attila, the terrible Hun.
"Spare the women!" shouted the French Captain above the din--and roar of battle. "Pillage; but spare the women!"
It was well that he had spoken, for his cut-throats were wild with the heat of battle. In twenty minutes the _Kent_ was helpless; her crew were prisoners; and the saucy pennon of France fluttered where once had waved the proud ensign of Great Britain.
Surcouf was happy. Landing the English prisoners in an Arab vessel, he arrived at the Mauritius with his prize in November, and soon took his doughty _Confiance_ to the low shores of France, catching a Portuguese merchant en route, and anchoring at La Rochelle, on April 13th, 1801.
Rich, famous, respected; he now married the good Mlle. Marie Blaize, and became the owner of privateers and a respected citizen of the Fatherland. Fortune had favored this brave fellow.
As a prosperous ship-owner and ship-builder of his native village--"the Sea-Hound of St. Malo"--closed his adventurous life in the year 1827. And when he quietly passed away, the good housewives used to mutter:
"Look you! Here was a man who fought the English as well as they themselves could fight. He was a true son of William the Conqueror. Look you! This was a King of the Ocean!"
And the gulls wheeled over the grave of the doughty sea-warrior, shrieking,
"He-did-it! He-did-it! He-did-it!"
THE CRY FROM THE SHORE
Come down, ye greyhound mariners, Unto the wasting shore! The morning winds are up,--the Gods Bid me to dream no more. Come, tell me whither I must sail, What peril there may be, Before I take my life in hand And venture out to sea!
_We may not tell thee where to sail,_ _Nor what the dangers are;_ _Each sailor soundeth for himself,_ _Each hath a separate star;_ _Each sailor soundeth for himself,_ _And on the awful sea,_ _What we have learned is ours alone;_ _We may not tell it thee._
Come back, O ghostly mariners, Ye who have gone before! I dread the dark, tempestuous tides; I dread the farthest shore. Tell me the secret of the waves; Say what my fate shall be,-- Quick! for the mighty winds are up, And will not wait for me.
_Hail and farewell, O voyager!_ _Thyself must read the waves;_ _What we have learned of sun and storm_ _Lies with us in our graves;_ _What we have learned of sun and storm_ _Is ours alone to know._ _The winds are blowing out to sea,_ _Take up thy life and go!_
LAFITTE
PRIVATEER, PIRATE, AND TERROR OF THE GULF OF MEXICO
(1780-1826)
"For it's fourteen men on a dead man's chest, Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum."
--STEVENSON.
LAFITTE
PRIVATEER, PIRATE, AND TERROR OF THE GULF OF MEXICO
(1780-1826)
"He was the mildest mannered man, That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat; With such true breeding of a gentleman, That you could ne'er discern his proper thought. Pity he loved an adventurous life's variety, He was _so_ great a loss to good society."
--_Old Ballad._--1810.
"Captain, we can't live much longer unless we have food. We've got enough to last us for two weeks' time, and then--if we do not get fresh provisions--we'll have to eat the sails."
The fellow who spoke was a rough-looking sea-dog, with a yellow face--parched and wrinkled by many years of exposure--a square figure; a red handkerchief tied about his black hair; a sash about his waist in which was stuck a brace of evil-barrelled pistols. He looked grimly at the big-boned man before him.
"Yes. You are right, as usual, Gascon. We've got to strike a foreign sail before the week is out, and capture her. And I, Lafitte, must turn from privateer to pirate. May my good mother at St. Malo have mercy on my soul."
And, so saying, he turned to pace restlessly upon the sloping deck of the two-hundred-ton barque which boiled along under a spread of bellying canvas, and was guided by the keen eye of this youthful mariner. He came from the same little town in France which sheltered the good mother of Du Guay-Trouin, the great French "blue." His name was Jean Lafitte.
This sea-rover had been born in 1781, and had taken to the ocean at the age of thirteen, when most boys are going to boarding-school. After several voyages in Europe, and to the coast of Africa, he was appointed mate of a French East Indiaman, bound to Madras in India. But things did not go any too well with the sturdy ship; a heavy gale struck her off the Cape of Good Hope; she sprung her mainmast, and--flopping along like a huge sea-turtle--staggered into the port of St. Thomas in the island of Mauritius, off the east coast of Africa.
"Here," said young Lafitte to his Captain, "is where I leave you, for you are a bully, a braggart, and a knave."
And, so saying, he cut for shore in the jolly-boat, but--if the truth must be known--Lafitte and the Captain were too much alike to get on together. They both wished to "be boss." Like magnets do not attract, but repel.
Luck was with the young deserter. Several privateers were being fitted out at the safe port of St. Thomas and he was appointed Captain of one of them. Letters of Marque were granted by the Governor of the Mauritius.
"Ah ha!" cried the youthful adventurer. "Now I can run things to suit myself. And I'll grow rich."
This he speedily succeeded in doing, for, in the course of his cruise, he robbed several vessels which came in his path, and, stopping at the Seychelles (Islands off the eastern coast of Africa), took on a load of slaves for the port of St. Thomas. Thus he had descended--not only to piracy--but also to slave catching; the lowest depths to which a seaman could come down.
When four days out from the curiously named islands, a cry went up from the watch,
"Sail ho! Off the port bow! A British frigate, by much that's good, and she's after us with all speed!"
To which bold Lafitte answered, "Then, we must run for it!" But he hoisted every bit of canvas which he had about and headed for the Bay of Bengal. "And," said he, "if she does not catch us and we get away, we'll take an English merchantman and burn her." Then he laughed satirically.
The British frigate plodded along after the lighter vessel of Lafitte's until the Equator was reached, and then she disappeared,--disgruntled at not being able to catch the saucy tartar. But the privateersman headed for the blue Bay of Bengal; there fell in with an English armed schooner with a numerous crew; and--although he only had two guns and twenty-six men aboard his own vessel--he tackled the sailors from the chilly isle like a terrier shaking a rat. There was a stiff little fight upon the shimmering waves of the Indian Ocean. When night descended the Britisher had struck and nineteen blood-stained ruffians from the privateer took possession of the battered hulk, singing a song which ran:
"For it's fourteen men on a dead man's chest, Yo-Ho-Ho and a bottle of rum."
Lafitte was now feeling better; his men had been fed; he had good plunder; and he possessed two staunch, little craft.
"Let's bear away for India, my Hearties," cried he, "and we'll hit another Englishman and take her."
What he had said soon came to pass, for, when off the hazy, low-lying coast of Bengal, a rakish East Indiaman came lolling by, armed with twenty-six twelve-pounders and manned with one hundred and fifty men. A bright boarding upon her stern-posts flaunted the truly Eastern name: the _Pagoda_.
The dull-witted Britishers had no suspicions of the weak, Puritan-looking, little two-'undred tonner of Lafitte's, as she glided in close; luffed; and bobbed about, as a voice came:
"Sa-a-y! Want a pilot fer the Ganges?"
There was no reply for a while. Then a voice shrilled back,
"Come up on th' port quarter. That's just what we've been lookin' for."
The fat _Pagoda_ ploughed listlessly onward, as the unsuspicious-looking pilot plodded up on the port side; in fact, most of the crew were dozing comfortably under awnings on the deck, when a shot rang out. Another and another followed, and, with a wild, ear-splitting whoop, the followers of Lafitte clambered across the rail; dirks in their mouths; pistols in their right hands, and cutlasses in their left.
Now was a short and bloodless fight. Taken completely by surprise, the Englishmen threw up their hands and gave in only too willingly. With smiles of satisfaction upon their faces, the seamen of the bad man from St. Malo soon hauled two kegs of spirits upon the decks, and held high revel upon the clean boarding of the rich and valuable prize. The _Pagoda_ was re-christened _The Pride of St. Malo_, and soon went off privateering upon her own hook; while Lafitte headed back for St. Thomas: well-fed--even sleek with good living--and loaded down with the treasure which he had taken. "Ah-ha!" cried the black-haired navigator. "I am going to be King of the Indian waters."
Now came the most bloody and successful of his battles upon the broad highway of the gleaming, southern ocean.
Taking command of the _La Confidence_ of twenty-six guns and two hundred and fifty men, whom he found at the port of St. Thomas, he again headed for the coast of British India; keen in the expectation of striking a valuable prize. And his expectations were well fulfilled.
In October, 1807, the welcome cry of "Sail Ho!" sounded from the forward watch, when off the Sand Heads, and there upon the starboard bow was a spot of white, which proved to be a Queen's East Indiaman, with a crew of near four hundred. She carried forty guns.
There were double the number of cannon, there were double the number of men, but Lafitte cried out:
"I came out to fight and I'm going to do it, comrades! You see before you a vessel which is stronger than our own, but, with courage and nerve, we can beat her. I will run our own ship close to the enemy. You must lie down behind the protecting sides of our vessel until we touch the stranger. Then--when I give the signal to board--let each man seize a cutlass, a dirk, and two pistols, and strike down all that oppose him. We _must_ and _can_ win!"
These stirring words were greeted by a wild and hilarious cheer.
Now, running upon the port tack, the _La Confidence_ bore down upon the Britisher with the water boiling under her bows; while the stranger luffed, and prepared for action. Shrill cries sounded from her huge carcass as her guns were loaded and trained upon the on-coming foe, while her masts began to swarm with sharpshooters eager to pick off the ravenous sea-dogs from the Mauritius.
Suddenly a terrific roar sounded above the rattle of ropes and creak of hawsers--and a broadside cut into the _La Confidence_ with keen accuracy.
"Lie flat upon the deck," cried Lafitte, "and dodge the iron boys if you can see 'em."
His men obeyed, and, as the missiles pounded into the broad sides of their ship, the steersman ran her afoul of the Queen's East Indiaman. When he did so, many sailors swarmed into the rigging, and from the yards and tops threw bombs and grenades into the forecastle of the enemy, so that death and terror made the Britishers abandon the portion of their vessel near the mizzen-mast.
"Forty of the crew will now board," cried Lafitte. "And let every mother's son strike home!"
With pistols in their hands and daggers held between their teeth, the wild sea-rovers rollicked across the gunwales like a swarm of rats. Dancing up the deck of the Britisher they beat back all who opposed them, driving them below into the steerage. Shots rang out like spitting cats; dirks gleamed; and cutlasses did awful execution. But the Captain of the Indiaman was rallying his men about him on the poop, and, with a wild cheer, these precipitated themselves upon the victorious privateers.
"Board! Board!" cried Lafitte, at this propitious moment, and, cutlass in hand, he leaped from his own vessel upon the deck of the East Indiaman. His crew followed with a yelp of defiant hatred, and beat the Captain's party back again upon the poop, where they stood stolidly, cursing at the rough sea-riders from St. Thomas.
But Lafitte was a general not to be outdone by such a show of force. He ordered a gun to be loaded with grape-shot; had it pointed towards the place where the crowd was assembled; and cried--
"If you don't give in now, I'll exterminate all of you at one discharge of my piece."
It was the last blow. Seeing that it was useless to continue the unequal struggle, the British Captain held up his long cutlass, to which was bound a white handkerchief, and the great sea battle was over. Lafitte and his terrible crew had captured a boat of double the size of his own, and with twice his numbers.
Says an old chronicler of the period: "This exploit, hitherto unparalleled, resounded through India, and the name of Lafitte became the terror of English commerce in these latitudes. The British vessels now traversed the Indian Ocean under strong convoys, in order to beat off this harpy of South Africa."
"Egad," said Lafitte about this time, "these fellows are too smart for me. I'll have to look for other pickings. I'm off for France."
So he doubled the Cape of Good Hope, coasted up the Gulf of Guinea, and, in the Bight of Benin, took two valuable prizes loaded down with gold dust, ivory, and palm oil. With these he ran to St. Malo, where the people said: