Chapter 7

As he sat there, suddenly a paper was mysteriously shoved into his hand. He did not see from whence it came, and, as he scanned its contents, his face grew strangely pale.

"Beware of these fellows," he read. "They mean to kill you if you do not do what they wish. Beware!"

Jean Bart soon regained his composure.

"Come! Let us go to the dining-room up-stairs," said the friend who had first accosted him. "Come, my boys! We will there have far more quiet!"

All moved for the door.

Jean Bart moved, also, but before he went up-stairs, he loosened his sword-belt and cocked two pistols which he carried at his waist. He was not surprised when he saw them lock the stout door as they entered the room upon the second floor.

When they were all seated Jules Blanc arose. His face well exhibited his dislike for the successful privateersman, Jean Bart.

"Now, my friend," said he, facing the man from Dunkirk, "we have you here with a purpose. We wish you to know that we are determined that you shall no longer go to sea and spoil our own business for us. You have had enough success. We want you to withdraw and give some one else a chance."

Jean Bart smiled.

"We think that you should retire for we want some pickings for ourselves."

"And if I refuse?" queried Jean Bart.

Jules Blanc placed his hand instantly upon his sword-hilt.

"Then--there will be trouble!"

"Poof!" said Jean Bart.

As he spoke, all drew their rapiers.

"Again Poof!" said Jean Bart.

As he spoke, a thrust came from his right. He parried it, leaped upon a chair, and stood there smiling.

Crack! There was the sound of a pistol and a bullet whizzed by his ear.

Then there was a sudden and awful _Crash!_ The room was filled with dust.

When the startled sea-dogs looked about them Jean Bart no longer stood upon the table. He had disappeared through the window. And broken glass with splintered fastenings was all that remained of the once perfect glazing.

"He has gone," said Jules Blanc. "Fellow seamen, we are outdone."

But Jean Bart was a quarter of a mile away, laughing softly to himself, as he sped along the highway which led to quiet Dunkirk.

Things went well with him, also, for his employers--appreciating his past services--now gave him command of a larger ship than the _Palme_: the _Dauphin_, with thirty guns and two hundred eager and adventurous sailors from the northern coast of France.

Sailing forth from Dunkirk harbor, on June 18th, 1678, Jean Bart eagerly scanned the horizon with his glass. With him were two smaller privateers, so that he felt well able to cope with any adversary from Holland. His keen glance was soon to be rewarded, for when but two days from port he spied a sail upon the starboard bow. It was a Dutch frigate--the _Sherdam_--of forty guns and manned by many stout dogs of the sea. Her captain--Andre Ranc--was a keen fighter and a man of well-tried courage.

"Bear off to leeward!" signalled Jean Bart to his privateer companion. "Then we will get the stranger between us, fasten to her, and board her from either side."

The flag of the French privateer dipped back an answering, "All right!" and, as she was nearest to the Dutchman, she attacked at once.

"_Poom! Poom!_" went the Dutch cannon, like the beating of a churn in that land of canals and cheese-making. And _piff! piff!_ answered the little howitzers of the privateer.

But Jean Bart meant to have a quick fight, so he bore down to starboard, wore ship, and ran so close to the enemy, that his grappling irons soon held her fast. In a moment more his own vessel was hauled alongside.

Meanwhile the smaller French privateer had spanked over to larboard; had run up upon the opposite side of the lumbering Dutchman; and had also gripped her. A wild, nerve-wracking cheer went up, as--sword in hand--Jean Bart led his boarders over the side of the Dutch vessel.

Ranc was badly wounded but he led his men to a counter assault with courage born of desperation. Cutlasses crashed together, boarding-pikes smashed and hacked, and pistols growled and spattered in one discordant roar. Back went the Dutch sailors fighting savagely and bluntly with all the stubbornness of their natures, then back they pushed the followers of Jean Bart, while Ranc called to them:

"Drive these French curs into the sea!"

But now the other privateer had made fast, and her men came clambering over the rail, with cutlass, dirk, and pistols.

"We're outnumbered," Ranc shouted, his face showing extreme suffering. "Haul down the flag! Had Jean Bart been here alone I could have trounced him well."

Thus reluctantly and sadly the flag of the _Sherdam_ came down. But the French had paid well for their victory.

Jean Bart was badly wounded in the leg; his face was burned by the discharge of a gun, which went off--almost in his eyes--just as he leaped on board the _Sherdam_. Six of his men were killed and thirty-one were wounded, while the little privateer that had fastened to the other flank of the huge _Sherdam_, was a total wreck. So well, indeed, had the Dutch fighters plied their cannon as she approached, that she was shattered almost beyond repair. With great difficulty she was finally towed to shore.

Of course all France again rang with the fame of Jean Bart, while the crafty sea-dogs who had endeavored to capture the slippery privateersman were furious with envious rage. But Jean Bart hummed a little tune to himself, which ran,

"You'll have to get up early if you want to catch Jean Bart, You'll have to get up early, and have a goodly start, For the early bird can catch the worm, if the worm is fast asleep, But not if it's a privateer, who can through a window leap."

This invincible corsair was also not idle, for in two weeks' time he was again at sea in the _Mars_ of thirty-two guns, and a fast sailer. Eagerly looking for prizes, he cruised far up the coast of Holland and was keenly hunting for either merchantman or frigate, when a small vessel neared him, upon which was flying a white flag.

"A truce!" cried Jean Bart. "The war must be over."

When the little boat drew nearer, a fat Dutchman called out something which sounded like, "Amsterdam yam Goslam!" which meant, "Peace has been declared," in Dutch.

So Jean Bart sailed back into the sheltering harbor of Dunkirk with tears of sorrow in his eyes, for he loved his exciting life.

"Helas!" said he. "It is all over!"

Thus, indeed, ended the career of Jean Bart as a privateer captain. In January, 1679, he was given the commission of lieutenant in the French navy, but, although he accepted, he was never happy in this service. From captain to lieutenant was a decided come down, and besides this, the aristocratic officers of the Crown made life very unpleasant for one who had entered their ranks from privateering.

"Bah!" said they. "He is only a commoner!" And they would turn up their titled noses.

But--mark you this!

Several hundred years have passed since those days, and Jean Bart's name is still remembered. Who remembers the names of any of these titled nobles who held commissions from his Majesty, the King of France?

I do not think that any of you do. Certainly I do not.

Therefore, there is a little lesson to be learned, and it is this:

Never sneer at the fellow who accomplishes things, if he be of humble birth. _His_ name may go down to history. _Yours_ probably will not.

So, the next time that you are tempted to do this, think it over. If you do, you will not say, "Pish,--the Commoner!" But you will say,

"Well done! The Hero!"

So, good-by, Jean Bart, and may France produce your like again, if she can!

"Keep these legends, gray with age, Saved from the crumbling wrecks of yore, When cheerful conquerors moored their barques Along the Saxon shore."

--THOMPSON.

DU GUAY-TROUIN

THE GREAT FRENCH "BLUE"

(1673-1736)

"Self trust is the essence of Heroism."--PLUTARCH.

DU GUAY-TROUIN

THE GREAT FRENCH "BLUE"

(1673-1736)

"He's only a scurvy Democrat, his blood is hardly blue, Oh, Sacre Nom de Dieu! Sapristi! Eet is true! Yet, he fights like the Maid of Orleans, with dirk and halberd, too, Oh, Sacre Nom de Dieu! Sapristi! Eet is true! Then--what'll you think, good gentlemen, you men of the kingly pack, Ye sons of Armand the Terrible, ye whelps of Catouriac, Shall _he_ gain the royal purple? Shall _he_ sit in the ranks with us? Shall _he_ quaff of our golden vintage, shall _he_ ride in the royal bus? Nay! Nay! For that would be te-r-r-ible! Nay! Nay! _That ill-born cuss?_ Par donc! but that is unbearable! 'Twould result in a shameful fuss! Pray, let him remain a Democrat--The cream of the fleet for us."

--_Song of the French Royal Marine._--1695.

"You _must_ be a churchman, Renee," said the good Luc Trouin, turning to his little son. "I have always had a great ambition to have a child of mine in the church, and I feel that you are in every way qualified for the position of a prelate."

But little Renee hung his head.

"Look up, boy," continued the amiable Frenchman. "I know that you are not now pleased with the idea, but--later on--after you have had more experience, I feel sure that you can thank Heaven that your good father started you in the right and proper direction."

Still, little Renee hung his head.

"Tut! Tut!" continued the old man. "You will leave, to-morrow, for the college at Rheims, and, after you have been there but a short time, I feel sure that you will like it. Tut! Tut!"

But still little Renee hung his head.

Again came the amiable "Tut! Tut!" and the chuckling Luc Trouin wandered off into the garden to see how well the potatoes were growing.

But little Renee still hung his head.

And--in spite of the fact that little Renee went to the Divinity school at Rheims, he continued to hang his head. He hung his head for three years. Then, news was brought to him, one day, that the good Luc Trouin was dead, and, instead of holding his handkerchief to his eyes to wipe away the tears, as one would expect of him, little Renee burst into loud laughter.

"At last," cried he, "I can get away from the church and go to sea. At last my freedom has come!"

And it was not many hours before little Renee was scudding away from the school of Divinity, like a clipper-ship under a full spread of canvas, before a rousing sou'west breeze.

For at least two hundred years before the birth of bad, little Renee, the Trouin family had been well known and prosperous in the Breton seaport of St. Malo. For many years a Trouin had been consul at Malaga, Spain; and other members of the house had held excellent positions with the King, so little Renee had no reason to be ashamed of his forebears, in spite of the fact that his people were of the "bourgeoisie:" ship-owners, traders, smugglers, privateers, and merchants. And, as they were of the "bourgeoisie," they were somewhat looked down upon by the proud and haughty aristocrats who fawned about the weak and dissipated King.

Little Renee was the son of Luc Trouin and Marguerite Boscher but he was called Du Guay-Trouin, in later years, and the reason for this is plain. For--in accordance with the custom of the time--he was sent to be nursed by a foster mother who resided in the little village of Le Gue. So he was called Trouin du Gue; which shortly became Du Guay-Trouin.

"I've come home, mother," shouted little Renee, when he had plodded his weary way which lay between his temporary prison and the house of his parents. "I've come home, mother, and I'm going to sea!"

But his mother did not take any too kindly to this bold and valiant idea.

"You must study law," said she, with great firmness. And--in spite of the fact that little Renee begged and pleaded--he was forced to give up his idea of seafaring life for the dry drudgery and routine of a clerk at law. He was now about sixteen years of age.

"The law is dry and my spirits are high," youthful Renee is said to have carolled as he spent his first few hours at a lecture, "and whatever may be I'm going to sea."

At any rate, he soon got into trouble and engaged in three duels in his sixteenth year, in one of which his assailant gave him a serious wound. This was too much for even his stern mother to bear, so, summoning a family council, she gave forth the following opinion:

"Renee has failed as a student of Divinity. Renee has failed as a student of law. Renee has entirely too high spirits. Renee shall, therefore, be placed in one of the family ships and sent to sea."

And to this decree Renee is said to have cried: "At last! Hurray!" for he longed for action.

In a very short time little Renee had a taste of that war and adventure which he craved, for a historian writes that:

"During the first three months of this cruise his courage was tried by a violent tempest, an imminent shipwreck, the boarding of an English ship, and the threatened destruction of his own vessel by fire. The following year, still as a volunteer, he displayed the greatest personal courage and won much fame in an engagement which his ship had with five merchant vessels."

"Ah ha," said little Renee, "this is indeed life. I am having a good time."

So well did those higher in command feel towards the youthful sailor, that, at the age of eighteen, he was actually put in charge of the ship _Danycan_ of fourteen guns,--for France was at war with England, Holland, and Spain, and to him who could strike a quick and well-aimed blow there were "nice pickings" to be had. And the reckless young sea-dog found some "nice pickings" in Ireland, for, he landed an armed party upon the coast of County Clare, where he pillaged a village, burned two ships at anchor, and escaped to his own vessel with considerable booty and family heirlooms of the peasants, who said, "Och, Begorra! We'll be afther that wild bhoy before many suns, and spank him for his unseemly whork."

But the French cried "Voila! Here, indeed, is a brave young Bourgeois," and promptly raised him to the command of the _Coetquen_ of eighteen guns, in which he soon went cruising, accompanied by a sister-ship, the _St. Aaron_.

Prowling around the English channel, the skulking sea-hounds soon came across two small English men-of-war with five valuable merchantmen under their sheltering wings.

"All ready for the attack!" shouted Du Guay-Trouin. "We'll make mince-meat of those foreign hulks, in spite of the fact that they are protected by two men-of-war."

And, crowding on all sail, his own vessel and the _St. Aaron_ quickly bore down upon the Englishmen, who, seeing them approach, hove-to for action.

The engagement was short. After a few broadsides had been delivered, the English struck, the prizes were taken over, and all started for the coast of France. But suddenly a cry went up,

"Sail ho! Sail ho! off the starboard bow!"

"Ta Donc," cried the surprised Du Guay-Trouin. "It is a big man-of-warsman and a Britisher too. We must give up our prizes, I fear. Clap on all canvas and we'll hie us to shore."

So all sail was hoisted, and, steering for the shoals and rocks off Lundy Island--where he knew that the heavy Englishman could not follow--Du Guay-Trouin soon outdistanced and outwitted the _Centurion_: a line-of-battle ship and a formidable opponent. The rich prizes had to be left behind.

Honorable appointments crowded upon the daring, young sea-dog, after this affair, and we find him successively in command of the _Profond_, of thirty-two guns; the _Hercule_, of twenty-eight guns, and the _Diligente_ of thirty-six guns and two hundred and fifty sailors, which was a King's ship borrowed for privateering and run on shares,--the monarch to have a certain part of the winnings.

Like partners in business the _Diligente_ and _Hercule_ now went cruising, and it was not long before the two harpies swooped down upon their prey in the shape of two Dutch East Indiamen, armed with twenty-five guns each, and manned by rotund-bodied Dutchmen. There was rich treasure aboard, and, with eagerness and zeal, the Frenchmen slapped on all canvas in pursuit.

Now was a hot chase. Mile after mile was passed, and slowly but surely the Frenchmen gained upon the lumbering foe. Then suddenly,--

_Crash!_

A ball screamed above the head of Du Guay-Trouin, and a Dutchman hove-to for battle.

"Crawl in close," cried the valiant Frenchman, "and don't let go a broadside until you can hit 'em below the water line. Try to scuttle the Dutch lumber merchant!"

His men obeyed him willingly and soon there was a muffled roar as the first broadside spoke in the still air. Another and another followed, and the Dutchman trembled like an aspen leaf.

"Hah," shouted the enthusiastic Renee, "up goes the white flag!"

Sure enough, the vessel struck, and aboard of her was the Dutch commodore. But the _Hercule_ was beaten off by the second Dutchman, and, as the privateers boarded the captured vessel, the East Indiaman showed a clean pair of heels, under a cloud of bellying canvas.

Du Guay-Trouin was delighted. "On we go, Boys," he cried, "for we'll sail these waters until we strike another prize." And this is what soon happened.

On May the 12th, the _Diligente_ was cruising alone, when, suddenly six white dots appeared upon the horizon, and six British ships-of-the-line were soon closing in upon the venturous French navigator and his crew.

"Ye Gods," cried the doughty Frenchman, "we're in for it now, but we will give them a lively bout even though we'll get the worst of it."

And here is how he has described the battle:

"One of the English ships named _Adventure_ first overtook me, and we maintained a running fight for nearly four hours, before any other of their ships could come up....

"At length my two topmasts were shot away; on which the _Adventure_ ranged up alongside me, a short pistol-shot off, and hauled up her courses. Seeing her so near, it occurred to me to run foul of her and board her with my whole crew. Forthwith I ordered such of the officers as were near to send the people on deck, got ready the grapnels, and put the helm over.

"We were just on the point of hooking on to her, when unfortunately, one of my Lieutenants, looking out through a port and seeing the two ships so close together, took it into his head that there was some mistake, as he could not think that--under the circumstances--I had any intention of boarding; and so, of himself, ordered the helm to be reversed.

"I had no idea of what had been done, and was impatiently waiting for the two ships to clash together, ready to throw myself on board the enemy; but seeing that my ship did not obey her helm, I ran to the wheel, and found it had been changed without my order.

"I had it again jammed hard on; but perceived, with the keenest vexation, that the captain of the _Adventure_, having guessed by the expression of my face what I had meant to do, had let fall his courses, and was sheering off. We had been so near that my bowsprit had broken his taffrail; but the mistake of my Lieutenant made me lose the opportunity of one of the most surprising adventures ever heard tell of.

"In the determination I was in to perish or to capture this ship, which was much the fastest sailor of the squadron, it was more than probable that I should have succeeded, and should thus have taken back to France a much stronger ship than that which I abandoned. And, not to speak of the credit which would have attached to the execution of such a plan, it is quite certain that--being dismasted--there was absolutely no other way for me to escape from forces so superior."

But closer--always closer--crowded the British war-dogs, and the valorous French seamen became panic stricken. "We are outnumbered and outfought," cried many, and, deserting their guns, they fled below to the holds, in spite of the vigorous protests of Du Guay-Trouin.

"I was busy trying to put a stop to the panic," says he. "I had cut down one and pistolled another, when, to crown my misfortune, fire broke out in the gun-room. The fear of being blown up made it necessary for me to go below; but, having got the fire put out, I had a tub full of grenades brought me, and began throwing them down into the hold.

"By this means I compelled the deserters to come up and to man some of the lower deck guns; but, when I went up on the poop, I found, to my astonishment and vexation, that some cowardly rascal had taken advantage of my absence to haul down the colors.

"I ordered them to be hoisted again; but my officers represented that to do so would be simply giving up the remnant of my ship's company to be butchered by the English, who would give no quarter if the flag were hoisted again, after being struck for so long, and that further resistance was hopeless as the ship was dismasted."

"Never give in, for"--cried Du Guay-Trouin, whose democratic blood was now up, but he did not finish the sentence as a spent shot then knocked him senseless. And--as he fell--the white flag went aloft, for his officers had not his fighting spirit.

"Ah ha," laughed the English jack-tars. "We've got the French rascal at last, and we'll hold him too."

So little Renee was imprisoned in a nice, dark dungeon,--the kind which the English used to put their poor debtors in. But--like a true man of courage--little Renee escaped, took to a smuggler's skiff, and made off to the coast of France, where he arrived on the 18th of June, 1694, and was received right boisterously by the Trouin family.

"My son," spoke his aged mother, "you were indeed not intended for the law, for lawlessness seems to be your particular fancy."

So the delighted Trouins put him in charge of a splendid privateersman mounting forty-eight guns, sailing under the simple name of _Francois_, and, as she forged valiantly into the English channel, her skipper chanted an old French song, which ran,--

"Sons of St. Malo, hark to my lay, With a Heave! Ho! Blow the man down. For we'll capture a lugger ere close of the day, With a Heave! Ho! Blow the man down.

"She's filled with gold nuggets, her crew is asleep, Then board her, and take her, for dead men are cheap, We'll spike them and pike them, like so many sheep. With a Heave! Ho! Blow the man down."

It was not long before a sail was sighted, and, on the 12th day of January, 1695, the stout, little _Francois_ overhauled a solitary timber ship, loaded with huge trees, bound to England from the good town of Boston in New England. She was an easy capture, and, Du Guay-Trouin smiled with joy when her skipper said:

"Three other lumber ships are in the offing. But they are under convoy of the frigate _Nonsuch_ with forty-eight guns, and the _Falcon_ with thirty-eight cannon. Look out my bold sea-dog, there'll be trouble."

But the French mariner laughed.

"It's just what I'm searching for," said he, and forthwith he swung the stout _Francois_ in wide circles, with look-outs at every mast-head.

"Sail ho!" shouted the watch, next morn, and there, off the port bow, were the three merchantmen strung out in a line, with the two protecting gun-boats to windward.

Like a greyhound the _Francois_ swept down upon them, and with the audacity of despair, the privateersman of St. Malo ranged alongside of the _Falcon_ and opened fire. The engagement was short. In an hour's time the guns of the Englishman were silent and a white pennon fluttered from the mizzen-mast.

The _Nonsuch_, meanwhile, had been ranging to windward in a vain endeavor to bring her guns to bear upon the Frenchman without crippling her own mate, and--as the _Francois_ drifted away from the lurching _Falcon_--she bore down to within twenty yards, luffed, and spanked a rakish broadside into the privateer.