JEAN BART
Privateering was very much resorted to in France, from the middle of the
seventeenth century onwards; it was greatly encouraged by the State, and
frequently men-of-war were lent to private individuals or corporations,
who maintained them at their own cost, and of course pocketed the
proceeds of the prizes captured. Some of these were large and powerful
vessels, mounting fifty or sixty guns, and, having been built for
men-of-war, were far superior to most privateers, which were frequently
merchant vessels adapted for the purpose. Their crews were very
numerous, not infrequently outnumbering those of our 64-gun ships, and
it was not of much use for any vessel of less force than these to tackle
them.
One of these big privateers, in the year 1745, was engaged off the south
coast of Ireland with the 40-gun ship _Anglesea_, Captain Jacob Elton,
with a very sad and tragic result. The _Anglesea_, having put into
Kinsale to land some sick--her senior lieutenant being one--sailed again
on March 28th, being one of the vessels ordered to command the entrance
of the channel. On the following day, with a fresh breeze blowing, a
large sail was reported to windward. Captain Elton, for some reason,
assumed that this was his consort, the _Augusta_, of 64 guns; it was
just twelve o'clock, so he ordered his boatswain to pipe to dinner,
making no preparation for action. The stranger came down rapidly,
displaying no colours, apparently--which should have aroused Elton's
suspicion--and suddenly, when he was quite near, it was realised that
the ornament on her quarter was in the French style.
Then, all in a hurry, they beat to quarters, and the English captain, in
order to gain time for his preparations, made more sail, setting his
foresail; but the wind was strong, with a lumpy sea, and the increased
pressure of sail, as the gun's crews opened the lee ports, brought tons
of water in on to the lower deck, threatening to water-log the ship.
The enemy--which was the _Apollon_, 50 guns, fitted out as a
privateer--had it all her own way. Passing under the stern of the
_Anglesea_, she rounded to on her lee quarter, and delivered a heavy
fire. The guns were not cleared away, there was a lot of water below,
and in a minute or two sixty men were dead or wounded. The captain and
master were killed by the first broadside, and the command of the ship
thus devolved upon the second lieutenant, a young and inexperienced
officer. He was in a very tight place. The Frenchman being on the lee
quarter, he could not bear up and run, as he would have fallen on board
the enemy, which carried many more men, and his ship meanwhile was under
a heavy fire, which could not be returned, his men falling fast. After
consultation with the third lieutenant, he surrendered--and really it is
difficult to see what else he could have done. Possibly an older man, of
consummate skill and great experience, might have found a way of
handling his ship so as, at least, to gain some respite; on the other
hand, no such man would have had any business to find himself in this
predicament.
So the lieutenant--Baker Phillips by name--hauled down his colours, and
in due course was tried by court-martial for the loss of his ship. The
court "was unanimously of opinion that Captain Elton, deceased, did not
give timely directions for getting his ship clear or in a proper posture
of defence, nor did he afterwards behave like an officer or a seaman,
which was the cause of the ship being left to Lieutenant Phillips in
such distress and confusion. And that Lieutenant Baker Phillips, late
second lieutenant of the said ship, by not endeavouring to the utmost of
his power after Captain Elton's death to put the ship in order of
fighting, not encouraging the inferior officers and men to fight
courageously, and by yielding to the enemy, falls under part of the
tenth Article.[11] They do sentence him to death, to be shot by a
platoon of musqueteers on the forecastle; ... but ... having regard to
the distress and confusion the ship was in when he came to the command,
and being a young man and inexperienced, they beg leave to recommend him
to mercy."
That is to say, they felt bound, under the clause referred to in the
Articles of War, to sentence him to death, but obviously hoped that the
extreme penalty would not be inflicted under the circumstances--a very
proper view to take. The recommendation, however, was ignored--it will
be recollected that just at this period the British Navy was, for some
reason, passing through a very unsatisfactory phase; courage and energy
appeared often to be lacking--as in the instance of the treasure ships,
in the previous year, when George Walker was compelled to witness the
outrageous incapacity and supineness of the captains of the men-of-war.
These men were acquitted--Lieutenant Baker Phillips was not. Perhaps it
may be permitted to ask, would Captain Elton have been shot had he
survived the action? His lieutenant was made an example of, and there is
some story that a reprieve was refused on account of his Jacobite
tendencies; no evidence appears to be forthcoming in support of this
view. Another and very terrible tale in connection with the incident
relates that Phillips's wife, after a reprieve had been refused, went
in person to Queen Caroline and obtained one, with which she posted in
feverish haste to Portsmouth; but the unhappy young officer, desiring to
avoid the terrible pain of a final interview with her, had, in ignorance
of her mission to the queen, requested that the hour of his execution
might be hastened. When she arrived, he had already been shot. One can
only hope that this story is not true; it is too terrible to dwell upon.
Well, that is how the privateer _Apollon_ scored off us. Five-and-thirty
years later, in 1780, within a mile or two of the same spot, a still
more powerful vessel, similarly commissioned--to wit, the _Comte
d'Artois_, of 64 guns--was overcome and captured by the _Bienfaisant_,
64 guns, captain Macbride, after a smart action of over an hour. The
_Bienfaisant_ was countenanced, more than assisted, by the presence of
the _Charon_, 44 guns, which took little or no part in the action. The
French loss was 21 killed and 34 wounded, while the British lost 3
killed and 23 wounded.
It was one of these privately maintained king's ships which was selected
to convoy the young Pretender to Scotland in 1745; indeed, both the
_Elizabeth_, of 60 guns, and the _Dentelle_, a much smaller vessel, in
which the prince embarked, were of this class. The two vessels
encountered the British 60-gun ship _Lion_, off Ushant, and of course
there was a fight. The _Lion_ and _Elizabeth_, pretty equally matched,
and each commanded by a doughty fighter, blazed away at each other by
the space of four or five hours, when both had had enough. Captain
Brett, of the _Lion_, while regretting that he had not been able to
capture the _Elizabeth_, was pleasing himself with the reflection that
he had "spoiled her voyage"--and so he had, for she had 65 killed and
136 wounded, while her hull was fearfully battered, and she was
compelled to make for the nearest French port. Brett took but little
notice of the smaller craft, which, endeavouring at first to assist the
_Elizabeth_, was easily disposed of by the _Lion's_ stern chasers, and
hung about out of range until the big ships separated, when she
proceeded on her voyage to Scotland. Brett must have been rather annoyed
afterwards to think that he had not made a capture of the _Dentelle_;
but he had, in fact, spoiled their voyage very effectually, for the
_Elizabeth_ had on board all the stores and munitions for the campaign
in Scotland, and Charles Edward Stuart landed very empty-handed in
consequence.
One of the most prominent among French privateer captains is Jean Bart;
he is, in fact, perhaps somewhat unduly prominent, as it does not
appear, from authentic accounts, that he performed any more wonderful or
daring feats of seamanship and battle than some others. It may be that
the many unfounded, or at least unsupported tales of his
prowess--incredible tales, many of them--form the basis, to a large
extent, of his immense popularity; or, on the other hand, this very
popularity may have given rise to these exaggerated anecdotes. He was,
without doubt, a very fine seaman, and a determined and capable
commander, very worthy of the public esteem, and his reputation gains
nothing from wild inventions.
He was born in 1650, at Dunkirk, though his family is said to have been
of Dieppe origin. He came of privateering, semi-piratical stock, and at
the age of twelve he embarked as boy on board a Dunkirk smuggler, under
a brutal, but capable ruffian named Jerome Valbue; his father's old
boatswain, Antoine Sauret, accompanying him, apparently, as a kind of
"sea-daddy"--and it appears to have been just as well that he had some
one to stand between him and the skipper. After a four years'
apprenticeship, young Bart, always enthusiastic and eager to learn, had
acquired remarkable proficiency in seamanship and gunnery, and is said
to have won the prize for the best marksman at the annual competition on
the Dunes.
Thanks to Sauret's teaching and his own zeal, the lad was considered
competent, at the age of sixteen, to fill the post of mate on a
brigantine, the _Cochon Gras_, of which the redoubtable Valbue was
appointed commander.
Jean Bart and his elderly adviser, Sauret, were, however, destined soon
to find employ elsewhere, the occasion of their leaving the _Cochon
Gras_ being an exhibition of wanton cruelty on the part of their
captain. The fact of the two having protested rendered it advisable that
they should not remain.
M. Valbue, it appears, in common with many captains, both in the Navy
and elsewhere at that period, still affected to be bound, together with
his crew, by the Laws or Judgments of Oleron--a brutal code, dating
from the twelfth century.
Valbue, half drunk, had been relating some wonderful tale of the
miraculous intervention of a saintly bishop to save a fishing-boat, and
proceeded to emphasise his own belief and his contempt for heretics by
flinging his half-empty tin cider-mug at one Lanoix, a harmless Huguenot
seaman. (Huguenots are habitually represented by the ordinary British
writer as harmless, exemplary persons; a large number of them were, in
fact, bloodthirsty, cruel, and seditious ruffians, who richly deserved
all they got.)
Lanoix meekly but firmly pointed out that the Laws of Oleron ordained
that the captain was not to punish a seaman until his anger had cooled
down. (It reminds one rather of Midshipman Easy walking about with the
Articles of War under his arm, and admonishing his superior for using
strong language!)
Valbue's rejoinder was a blow with a handspike, which narrowly missed
braining the seaman. Antoine Sauret ventured to remonstrate, but was
warned that he was in danger of similar treatment: for the Laws of
Oleron allow the captain one blow, just as the law of England allows a
dog one bite--only the skipper was apparently permitted one crack at
each member of his crew. So Sauret said no more.
Lanoix, however, was as well up in the law as his captain, and, jumping
over the iron rail which separated the forecastle from the after part of
the vessel, reminded Valbue that if he followed him on to the forecastle
and repeated the blow he would put himself in the wrong, and he,
Lanoix, would have the right to retaliate.
Valbue immediately let loose a string of contemptuous and insulting
epithets, and, passing the barrier, struck Lanoix two violent blows on
the face.
Out came the seaman's knife, and in a second the captain's arm was badly
gashed; but the instinct of discipline induced the crew to rush to the
rescue, and they pinioned Lanoix--but not before he had killed one man,
stabbing him to the heart.
Valbue thereupon sent his cabin-boy down to bring up a copy of the Laws
of Oleron, Jean Bart, at the helm, looking on all this while with
disapproval and horror very plainly expressed in his countenance. When
the boy appeared with the book Sauret went aft and sat down by the
helmsman.
Thinking to place Sauret and his young companion in the wrong, Valbue
bade the former come forward and read out the law. He refused, pointing
out that Valbue had himself broken the law, and that Lanoix was entitled
to purgation of his offence by means of certain oaths and formulae.
However, the protests of Jean Bart and the brave old man were of no
avail. Ignoring their veto, and declaring that six out of eight of the
crew agreed that Lanoix had wounded his captain and slain one of his
shipmates, Valbue inflicted upon the unfortunate Huguenot the penalty
for the first offence, lashing his arm to a sharp sword fixed to the
windlass and then knocking him down, so that the flesh was stripped from
his arm; and finally, ordering the dead body of the other man to be
brought along, he caused Lanoix, sorely wounded but still alive, to be
bound to it, and both were thrown overboard--which is also strictly in
accordance with the Laws of Oleron, in the event of a seaman killing one
of his comrades at sea--as he who runs may read.
Jean Bart and the boatswain acquired from that moment a strong distaste
for the Laws of Oleron, and quitted the vessel upon arriving, the same
evening, at Calais.
Valbue, consistent with all his brutality, reported the circumstances,
as enjoined by the same code, to the authorities; and the incident, we
are told, led to the framing of the Maritime Code of France.
Bart and Sauret were highly commended for their plucky protest, and a
few days later the former was entrusted with the responsible task of
conveying some French noblemen, in a half-decked sailing-boat, to join
De Ruyter in the Dutch fleet, then lying off Harwich--so we are told in
the account given by Mr. C.B. Norman, in "The Corsairs of France"; but
Mr. Norman is very vague as to dates, and we can only conclude that this
was during the interval between the "four days' fight," from June 1st to
4th, 1666, and the subsequent decisive action on July 25th and 26th. It
is said that he distinguished himself in the "hard-fought
action"--between Albemarle and De Ruyter--on August 6th following; but
there is no record of any action on this date.
However, these matters are not of much importance, especially in the
case of Jean Bart, concerning whom, as has been stated, fables are
plentiful. It appears to be certain that he was some five years in the
Dutch service, his heart being all this time with France; and when, in
1672, war was declared between France and the States-General, he
immediately returned to Dunkirk, and entered upon his career as a
privateersman. Commencing as a subordinate, he was given his first
command in 1674--when he was four-and-twenty--a small vessel, mounting
two guns, with a crew of thirty-six.
In this vessel--the _King David_--Bart soon showed himself to be a bold
and capable captain; in four or five months he captured six prizes. No
fighting was entailed, it is true; but those who knew Jean Bart did not
doubt that he could fight, should the occasion arise; and his old friend
and "sea-daddy," Antoine Sauret, loafing and chatting with his cronies
in Dunkirk, did not allow his young friend's exploits to be forgotten.
Naturally, his next command was a larger vessel--a brigantine, named _La
Royale_, mounting ten guns, and his success continued unabated. He
cruised in company with two other Dunkirk men, and made many captures,
the most important being the _Esperance_, a States-General man-of-war,
carrying 12 guns, by which he appears to have won great renown--though
she was only overcome by the heavy odds against her, Bart having the
assistance of at least one of his allies. However, there is no small
merit in always contriving to outnumber the foe.
Having taken four months' leisure in order to get married, Jean Bart
once more put out, in July 1675, and met with immediate success; and,
capturing quite a number of fishing-vessels, he permitted the captains
to ransom them for a handsome sum--a much more convenient arrangement,
in many instances, than bringing a number of prizes into port; it was,
however, forbidden, as liable to lead to great abuses, and Bart was
deprived of half the proceeds and warned to be more careful in future--a
warning to which he did not pay much heed. Ransoming was subsequently
forbidden to British privateers, and other precautions against
semi-piracy were instituted, more or less copied from the French, who
were always in advance of us in their regulation of privateering.
So successful was Jean Bart in _La Royale_ that early in 1676 he was
given command of a much more important vessel--the _Palme_, of 24 guns,
with a crew of 150 men--a regular frigate of those times. Again he was
lucky in hunting in company, for he and his consorts were opposed to
eight armed whalers and three privateers, which they fought for three
hours, when Bart boarded and carried the largest, while his consorts
secured the whalers, the two other privateers finding it too hot to
remain.
Bart was by no means satisfied with these exploits. A genuine fighting
man, he longed to be matched singly against a man-of-war or a privateer
of fully his own force; and this wish was gratified on September 7th,
1676, when he fell in with a fleet of fishing-vessels, convoyed by the
_Neptune_, a vessel carrying 32 guns. Bart sailed into the convoy, and,
hoisting his colours, fired a gun for the enemy to bring to. Up went
the Dutch colours, with a broadside by way of emphasis; the Dutch
captain was a man of Jean Bart's stamp--a foeman worthy of his
steel--and they had a great fight.
For three hours, at close range, they battered each other, Bart all the
while trying to get a favourable position for boarding, but being
constantly frustrated by the good seamanship of the other. At length,
however, the _Neptune_ was so seriously damaged aloft that she was no
longer under full command; Bart, instantly and skilfully availing
himself of the chance, got his vessel lashed alongside, and headed the
boarding party, consisting of nearly all his crew. The Dutch captain,
grievously wounded, sat on one side, like desperate Andrew Barton, and
shouted to his men to lay on; but they were demoralised by the banging
they had had, and Bart and his boarders were not to be denied; in a few
minutes the affair was over, and the French flag replaced the Dutch. It
was a proud moment for Jean Bart, and a proud day when he sailed into
Dunkirk with the captured vessel in his wake, followed by the fleet of
fishing-boats which his victory had thrown into his hands.
The fame of this exploit soon spread abroad, and one fine day Jean Bart
received a gold chain from the king as a mark of appreciation of his
prowess; at the same time the authorities began to discuss the question
of keeping a list, or roll, of the best fighting privateer captains, in
order that they might be transferred to the Navy in case of need--not
necessarily an advantage to a keen privateersman, as he would occupy at
first a subordinate position, very irksome after the freedom of his
former life, in command of his ship.
Colbert, the Minister of State, was very eager about the matter, and
advocated giving the most efficient privateer commanders the rank of
commodore among their brethren, so that they could operate in squadrons,
and attack the enemy's men-of-war. He caused inquiries to be made at
Dunkirk and other ports as to the character and capability of the
leading privateersmen; and of course he received extremely favourable
reports of Jean Bart, who meanwhile was again at sea in the _Palme_,
doing great execution.
His employers soon displayed their appreciation of his services by
providing him with a yet larger ship--the _Dauphin_, of 30 guns, with a
crew numbering 200. In this vessel, a year later, he encountered another
Dutchman of the same sort as the captain of the _Neptune_.
Sailing in company with two smaller privateers, on June 18th, 1678, a
Dutch frigate was sighted. The smallest privateer happened to be nearest
to the enemy, who immediately attacked, hoping to carry her before her
consorts could arrive. The Frenchman, however, handled his craft so
judiciously as to keep his big antagonist in play until Bart came up.
The two larger vessels--the Dutchman was the _Sherdam_, Captain Ranc--at
once got into action, while Bart's smaller consort stood off, awaiting a
chance. Seeing his opportunity, Bart signalled to her to bear down, and
between them they got the Dutchman in such a position that he could not
avoid being boarded. A crowd of men from both French vessels was
speedily on his deck; but they had no kind of a walk-over; Ranc, though
severely wounded, rallied his men again and again, and it was not until
two-thirds of his crew were disabled or killed that he at length
surrendered.
Bart was wounded in the leg, and badly burnt by the discharge of a gun,
almost in his face, as he leaped on board; six of his men were killed
and thirty-one wounded, while as for the saucy _Dauphin_, her career was
at an end. So well had the Dutchmen plied their guns that her hull was
shattered beyond repair, and it was with extreme difficulty that she was
brought into harbour.
Bart, of course, had another ship at his disposal immediately--such an
invincible corsair was not allowed to be idle--and he was at sea again
in a fortnight, in the _Mars_, of 32 guns; a few weeks later, however,
the war came to an end, and he returned to Dunkirk to have a spell on
shore.
And here the career of Jean Bart as a privateer captain comes to an end;
in January 1679 he was given a commission as lieutenant in the navy.
This was not very much to his taste; besides the comedown from captain
to lieutenant, the aristocrats who predominated among French naval
officers regarded a privateersman, thus pitchforked in among them, with
a very supercilious air, and made things decidedly unpleasant for him.
However, Jean Bart pulled through this all right, and eventually had
opportunity of displaying his capacity in the royal ships.
There are, as has been remarked, a number of romantic tales extant about
Jean Bart; most of them are quite incredible, and for the others there
is no reliable authority. One may be given here as a sample.
At Bergen, in the year 1691, it is said that Bart made the acquaintance
of the captain of a large English vessel, who expressed a keen desire to
meet him outside. Bart said if he would wait a few days his wish should
be gratified, and sent word one day that he would sail on the morrow.
The Englishman politely invited him to breakfast before they sailed to
have it out, and Bart, after a little hesitation, accepted. After
breakfast he lit his pipe, and soon remarked that it was time to go.
"No," said the Englishman, "you are my prisoner!" "I am not your
prisoner," replied Bart, "I will blow up your ship!" Rushing out of the
cabin, with a lighted match, he ran to where stood a barrel of gunpowder
which had most opportunely been hoisted up from the magazine--a cask
with the head out, we must imagine, and the powder exposed. Here, of
course, he had it all his own way; the Englishmen were afraid to touch
him, lest he should put the match to the powder--and the crews of the
French ships, having heard his shout of defiance, rallied on board the
English vessel in numbers, cut down many of the crew, captured the ship,
and carried her into Dunkirk.
It must be to this absurd story that M. Henri Malo alludes in "Les
Corsaires," where he writes, in derision of privateering romances:
"Privateers! We read in these accounts the names of heroes of
romance--Jean Bart, smoking his pipe, mark you, on a barrel of
gunpowder; Robert Surcouf, popularised in operetta."
Jean Bart deserves better than to be lampooned in this fashion; and,
though he rose to distinction in the Navy, and there has almost always
been a French man-of-war named after him, it is chiefly as the
indomitable corsair that his memory is cherished in Dunkirk.
[Footnote 11: The tenth Article of War, at that time, read as follows:
"Every flag-officer, captain, and commander in the fleet who, upon
signal or order of fight, or sight of any ship or ships which it may be
his duty to engage, or who upon likelihood of engagement shall not make
the necessary preparations for fight, and shall not in his own person,
and according to his place, encourage the inferior officers and men to
fight courageously, shall suffer death, or such other punishment as from
the nature and degree of the offence a court-martial shall deem him to
deserve; and if any person in the fleet shall treacherously or cowardly
yield, or cry for quarter, every person so offending and being convicted
thereof by the sentence of a court-martial, shall suffer death."]
[Illustration: RENE DUGUAY-TROUIN, A FAMOUS FRENCH PRIVATEER CAPTAIN]