street. Though only sixteen he had been right in his attempt to save
the life of poor Lanoix. Good for young Bart! Hats off to the sailor
lad of sixteen who was more merciful than the cruel Law of Oleron! And
this brutal set of rules was soon changed to the Maritime Code of
France, which gave seamen some right to defend themselves against the
attacks of rough and overbearing captains. Thus Jean Bart had started
the ball rolling in the right direction. Again hats off to the
doughty, young Frenchman!
Not long after this event the Dutch fell out with the English and
began a smart little war. Jean Bart hastened to the scene of action,
enrolled in the Dutch cause, and fought with them for five full years.
Then the Dutch began to make war upon the French (in 1672), but this
was too much for the patriotic sentiments of the youthful volunteer.
"Ah!" said he. "When my own people are attacked, I must hasten to
their assistance. The Dutch have paid me well 'tis true, but now I
scorn their gold. Vive la France!"
So saying, he returned to Dunkirk, speedily found employment, and went
to sea again--not in a man-of-war, but in a privateer. He was now
four-and-twenty; was wiry, tough, and well used to battling both with
men and with the elements. The boat he sailed in mounted only two guns
and had a crew of thirty-six. She was named after a famous personage
of Biblical history: _King David_, and she conducted herself as
skilfully as did that ancient monarch, for was not Jean Bart at the
helm?
Cruising out upon the treacherous waters of the North Sea, it was not
long before a vessel was sighted that was of such small tonnage that
Bart was not afraid to give chase. He slapped on all canvas, put his
helm hard over, and steered for the dancing bit of canvas. The _King
David_ was a swift sailer, and soon the bow-gun spoke from the deck of
the French privateer, sending a challenging shot whistling close to
the stern of the stranger, who flew the flag of the States General
(the Dutch Republic) with which the French were now at war.
The stranger did not relish the challenge, and came to in a hurry,
while her flag fluttered weakly to the deck.
"She's ours!" cried Jean Bart, gleefully. "And without a fight. Hurray
for the life of a privateer!"
Quickly ranging alongside, the stranger was seen to be a valuable
prize, laden with tea, spices, and cotton. She was manned by a small
crew and sent to port.
"Now off for other luck!" cried Jean Bart.
Luck was with him, too. In four months cruising in the English
Channel, near the Belgian coast, he captured six prizes; all without
any fighting. The Dutch trading vessels of those days must have been
without guns and poorly manned, for it should have been easy to stand
off a crew of but thirty-six, with only two cannon aboard. Jean
Bart--you may be sure--was well satisfied. He was now rich, quite
famous, and keen for further adventure.
So well did the owners of the privateer _King David_ think of him,
that they now put him in charge of a larger vessel named _La Royale_,
carrying about eighty men and ten guns.
"Go out and win!" cried the chief owner of this privateer. "Jean Bart,
you are followed by the best blood of France. Your men are all from
Dunkirk!"
And Jean Bart smiled.
"Watch me!" said he.
Cruising near the coast of Holland in company with a small French
gun-boat, he fell in with a man-of-war--the _Esperance_--carrying
twelve guns and about one hundred and twenty men.
"Now we'll have a real fight!" cried the youthful French commander as
he cleared decks for action. "Men, see to it that your swords are
sharpened for there may be some boarding!"
Then he signalled to the little French gun-boat to follow him and give
battle. This ally carried about a hundred men and six cannon.
"Poof! Poof!"
The heavy guns of the Dutchman were the first to speak and they barked
away like fat Newfoundland watch-dogs.
"Poof! Poof! B-o-o-m!"
Jean Bart reserved his fire until within about seventy-five yards and
then he gave the command,
"Fire away! Aim low! And try to hull her!"
A sheet of flame sprang from the ten guns of _La Royale_ and a
splitting of boards and crackling of splinters showed that the iron
missiles had punctured the stout sides of the _Esperance_.
"Pop! Pop! Crash!"
The other French vessel now threw her lead into the stern of the
defender of the flag of the States General and her mizzen-mast was
seen to rock like an unfastened May pole.
"Whow!"
The _Esperance_ was not slow in answering back and her twelve guns
spat like leopards in the brush. She filled away and bore towards the
land, but the French gun-boat saw this move and checkmated it.
Sailing across her bow, the Frenchman raked her fore and aft, while
the rub-a-dub-dub of Jean Bart's guns went drumming against her
starboard side. Crash! Crash! Crash! Her boards were split, her
mizzen-mast was swaying, and her rigging was near cut in two. Men were
falling fast and two of her guns had blown up and were rendered
useless.
"Surrender!" came a sharp hail from the lusty throat of Jean Bart,
and, as he spoke, a perfect hail of grape came from his French ally,
now creeping up to port for a chance to grapple and board.
"What can I do?" sighed the stout, Dutch commander, turning to one of
his lieutenants. "Boy, haul down our flag!"
So down came the emblem of the States General amidst ringing cheers
from the throats of the followers of Jean Bart. They had won a notable
victory.
When the _Esperance_ was towed and half-sailed into Dunkirk harbor,
old Antoine Sauret was there.
"Ah, my friends," said he, "I always told you that my boy, Jean Bart,
would make a great name for himself. Three times three for the great
privateer of Dunkirk!"
And all the bystanders joined in right willingly.
Not long after this event, our hero's ship was lying in the harbor of
Bergen in Sweden. The captain of an English vessel met him on shore,
and, after having a chat with him, remarked:
"I hear that you have quite a reputation for fighting your ship. I,
too, am a sea warrior and would like to have a little affair with you.
My own vessel is of about the same tonnage as yours, so that we could
meet upon even terms. Will you join me?"
"I would be delighted," answered the war-like Jean Bart. "If you wait
two days I will be ready for you and will fight you three miles off
the coast. Meanwhile I must lie here and take on some stores which are
much needed by both men and guns."
The Englishman smiled.
"You are a man after my own heart," said he. "Good-by until we meet in
battle."
Three days after this, Jean Bart sent a boy to the English vessel with
a note for the captain. It ran:
"I am ready to fight you to-morrow. Meet me three miles
beyond the breakwater and may the best man win. Until
then--good luck.
"Yours for battle,
"JEAN BART."
The boy came back bearing a return missive from the Englishman, who
wrote:
"MONSIEUR BART: I am delighted to learn that you want to
fight me, and will do so. You are indeed a brave man.
But--before we go for each other's throats--pray let us
breakfast together. Will you therefore take your morning
meal with me, to-morrow, in my own cabin, aboard my
ship? I shall expect you.
"Yours to count on,
"MIDDLETON."
"I do not want to accept, but I will," mused Captain Bart. "These
English fellows are far too polite."
So, next morning, he was rowed to the British vessel and was soon
breakfasting with his red-faced opponent.
After the meal the Frenchman lighted his pipe, took a few puffs, and
said:
"Monsieur, I have greatly enjoyed this peaceful repast. But it is now
time for me to go and sharpen my boarding-pike. I must bid you adieu."
The Englishman smiled.
"No," said he. "You cannot go. You are my prisoner!"
Jean Bart still smoked.
"You are too quick!" he answered, slowly. "There you are wrong. I am
not your prisoner, for I see a barrel of gunpowder on the deck, and,
if you do not release me immediately, I will blow up your ship!"
The Englishman turned pale.
"Watch me!" cried Jean Bart.
Leaping from his seat, he rushed to the deck, lighted a match from his
pipe, and held it directly over the mouth of a barrel of gunpowder,
from which someone had pried the head.
"Lay on! You cowards!" he yelled. "Lay on, and we'll all go to the
Land of the Hereafter together."
His cry was heard upon his own vessel, which--with sails up--lay
waiting for him.
In a moment her bow was turned towards the British ship which was
still at anchor, with sails unhoisted. In a moment she dropped down
alongside--and--in less time than it takes to tell--the Frenchmen had
brought her upon the port quarter, and were swarming across the deck
to rescue their bold captain.
Taken by surprise, the English put up a plucky fight, but they were no
match for the infuriated men of Dunkirk. They were soon overpowered.
The captain was taken prisoner, and the vessel was considered a
legitimate prize of war, because of the trick which Middleton had
attempted to play upon Jean Bart. When--in a few days--the prize was
sailed into Dunkirk harbor--the Englishman well wished that he had not
attempted to capture the most able privateersman of all France.
The fame of this exploit spread over the land, and gave rise to a
ditty, which ran:
"If you want to catch Jean Bart, sir,
A slippery, slimy chap,
Don't bait him with gunpowder,
For he's sure to miss the trap.
You must splice him down with chains, sir;
You must nail him to the deck.
Put a belt around his middle,
And a collar 'round his neck.
Even then you cannot hold him,
For he's certain to get through,
While his sailors sing a song, sir,
With a
Cock-
a-
doodle-
doo!"
In July, 1675, Jean Bart was married, but he did not remain long on
shore. Three weeks after this auspicious event he once more put to sea
and captured a number of Dutch fishing boats, which he allowed the
captains to ransom for large sums of money.
This was a very convenient arrangement, for it saved him the trouble
of putting part of his own crew on board and sending the boats to
port. But the owners of _La Royale_, upon which he sailed, did not
care for his methods of procedure.
"You cannot do this in future!" said they. "And you must forfeit half
of what you took to us!"
Jean Bart obeyed, but he was very angry. It is even said that he
uttered "a round seaman's oath."
So successful was he, in fact, that he was given a much larger vessel
in 1676. This was a frigate--the _Palme_--with twenty-four guns and a
crew of one hundred and fifty men. Sailing into the North Sea with two
small French gun-boats, he soon fell in with three Dutch privateers
and eight armed whaling vessels. He attacked, and the battle raged for
three long, bloody hours.
When the smoke and the fumes of sulphur burned away, Bart had boarded
the largest privateer, while his two consorts had taken the eight
whalers. The other Dutch privateers found it too hot for their liking
and scudded for the coast, firing their stern-guns derisively as they
disappeared. It was a great victory, and again the French coast rung
with salvos for Jean Bart, while the old sea-dogs shrugged their
shoulders, saying:
"Ah! Ha! Did we not tell you that Dunkirk bred men of bone and marrow.
Ah! Ha!"
But Jean Bart was not happy.
"Would that I could meet a foe of my own force," he used to say.
"Either a man-of-war or a privateer, I don't care which. I want to try
it on with one of my own size and strength."
His wish was soon to be gratified.
On September 7th, 1676, he was pointing the _Palme_ towards the
Belgian coast-line, when he sighted a number of sail on the starboard
quarter. He headed for them; scanned the white dots through a glass,
and saw that this was a fishing fleet of small, unarmed luggers. But
a big, hulking Dutch frigate hovered in their rear, and thirty-two
guns pointed their brown muzzles menacingly from her open port-holes.
She was the _Neptune_ and she lazed along like a huge whale:
omnipotent and self-satisfied.
"Ah ha!" cried the delighted Jean Bart. "Now I have met an enemy that
is worthy of my steel. Up with the flag and sail into yonder Dutchman.
We have but twenty-four guns to her thirty-two, but are we to be awed
by this show of force? Be ready, my boys, to have the stiffest fight
in your careers!"
The Dutchman was equally well pleased when he saw who was coming for
him.
"Here is Jean Bart, the pirate and privateer," he cried. "For three
years I've been hoping to have a fight with him and now my chance has
come at last. I am fortunate, for I can pay him back for all the
damage that he has done to Dutch commerce. Shoot low, my hearties, and
do not fail to hull our enemy. Let your war-cry be: 'Down with Jean
Bart and his pirate crew!'"
"Hurrah!" shouted his men.
And an answering
"Hurray!" came from the _Palme_. These opponents were as eager to get
at each other as two prize-fighters of modern days.
_Crash!_ roared a broadside from the Dutch frigate as her flag went
aloft, and splash, splash, splash, went her shells around the sides of
the privateer.
"Sail in close!" yelled Jean Bart. "Hug her to leeward for awhile,
then cross her bows, rake her, get her wind, and board."
"Hurray!" shouted the men of Dunkirk, and a rattle, rattle, roar came
from the port guns of the _Palme_.
Around and around swung the sea gladiators and the little fishing
boats luffed and tittered on the waves like inquisitive sparrows.
"Bart cannot win!" said several of their skippers. "For he's
outweighted and outnumbered!"
But Bart was fighting like John Paul Jones.
Around and around went the two opponents, guns growling, men cheering,
sails slapping and ripping with the chain and solid shot. Again and
again Jean Bart endeavored to get a favorable position for boarding
and again and again he was forced to tack away by the quick manoeuvres
of the Dutchman.
"Fire into her rigging!" he now thundered. "Cripple those topsails and
I can bring my boat alongside."
"_Crash! Crash! Crash!_"
Volley after volley puffed from the side of the rolling _Palme_.
Volley after volley poured its lead and iron into the swaying rigging
of the Dutchman, and, with a great roaring, ripping, and smashing, the
mizzen topmast came toppling over the lee rail.
A lusty cheer sounded from the deck of the _Palme_.
"She's ours!" cried Jean Bart, smiling.
Instantly he spun over the wheel, luffed, and brought his boat upon
the starboard quarter of the Dutchman, who was now part helpless. It
took but a moment to run alongside, and, in a moment more, the
_Palme_ was lashed to the _Neptune_ in a deadly embrace. Smoke rolled
from the sides of both contestants and the roar of the guns drowned
the shrill cries of the wounded. The Dutchmen were now desperate and
their guns were spitting fire in rapid, successive volleys; but many
of them were silenced, as the great, brown side of the _Palme_ rubbed
its planking against the splintered railing of the shattered
_Neptune_.
As the vessels were securely bound together, Jean Bart seized a
boarding-pike, a brace of pistols, and, giving the helm to a sailor,
leaped into the waist of his ship.
"Board! Board!" he shouted.
A wild yelp greeted these welcome sounds. As he vaulted over the rail
of his own ship to the deck of the stranger, a motley crew of
half-wild sea-savages swarmed behind him. They had cutlasses and
boarding-pikes, and their faces were blackened with powder. Their eyes
were reddened with sulphurous fumes and their clothes torn with
splintered planking. They rolled over the gunwales like a huge wave of
irresistible fire: pistols spitting, pikes gleaming, cutlasses
glistening in the rays of the sun.
The captain of the _Neptune_ lay near his own wheel, grievously
wounded.
"Lay on, men!" he shouted. "Don't let this French privateer beat us.
We will be disgraced."
But his sailors were no match for the onrush of these fiends from
Dunkirk. They fell back like foam before a sea squall.
"Then down with our flag," cried the captain of the Dutchman. "But,
ye gods, how it hurts me to give the order."
A sailor seized the halyards and pulled the ensign to the deck, and,
as it fell upon the reddened planking, a wild, frenzied cheer came
from the French privateers.
"Jean Bart, forever! France forever! Jean Bart forever!" they cried.
"Up with the French flag!" yelled Jean Bart, laughing like a boy. "Up
with the white lilies of France."
And, as a spare ensign ran aloft, the little fishing luggers scudded
for the shore.
"After them, men!" cried Captain Bart. "Our work is not yet over. We
must have the lambs as well as the old wolf."
So, sail was soon clapped on the _Palme_, she headed for the fleeing
boats, and, with a few well directed shots, hove them to. Then they
were told to follow behind and head for France, which they did--but,
oh! how it did hurt!
It was a proud moment for Jean Bart, and his eyes danced with pleasure
when he sailed into Dunkirk with the captured _Neptune_ and the fleet
of fishing boats.
"Voila!" cried the townspeople. "Jean Bart is a true hero. Voila! He
shall have the freedom of the city. Voila!"
The fame of this gallant exploit soon spread abroad and the king
showed some desire to see this courageous privateersman.
"I would have him at court," said he to his minister Colbert. "For I
would reward him."
When news of this was brought to the privateersman he was naturally
delighted, and, travelling to Versailles, was ushered into the
presence of his Majesty.
"Here is a gold chain for you," said the king. "I trust that you will
keep it in recognition of my appreciation of your gallant conduct. I
would be glad, indeed, to have you in the Royal Service. Would you not
take a commission?"
"You overwhelm me," answered the valiant sea-fighter, blushing.
"I--I--I--am quite disconcerted. But--if it would please your Majesty,
I believe that I would prefer to remain a simple privateer. It is a
free life and it suits my roving nature."
The king chuckled.
"So be it," said he. "But my good sir, keep yourself in readiness for
a commission. I may need you in the Royal Marine!"
"Very good, Sire!" said Jean Bart, and, bowing low, he withdrew.
But he did not get away without an adventure,--quite as exciting as
any he had had aboard the rocking decks of one of his privateer ships.
The fame of Jean Bart had stirred up a number of enemies, for, when a
man is successful in life, are there not always a hundred unsuccessful
fellows who stand about and scoff?
Among these were a few followers of the sea who had determined to
make way with this too fortunate privateer. One--Jules Blanc by
name--even decided upon murder, if Jean Bart would not agree to leave
the privateering business to himself and his companions.
As the sailor from Dunkirk left the presence of the king he was
accosted by one of his old acquaintances.
"Ha, Jean Bart," said he. "Come with me to the Inn. Have a glass with
me, my boy, for I see that the king has richly rewarded you. You
deserve it, for you have done well, and you must be tired from your
journey. Come, let us dine together?"
Suspecting nothing, the gallant privateer followed his companion quite
willingly, and, when he arrived at the Inn, was not surprised to find
several other seamen from Dunkirk and the neighboring seaports of
France. They greeted him warmly.
"To your health!" cried they, raising their glasses of wine. "To the
health of the bravest privateer in all of France."
Jean Bart was delighted. He smiled like a child, seated himself at
their table, and began to drink with these jovial men of the sea.
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!"
[Illustration: "JEAN BART LED HIS BOARDERS OVER THE SIDE OF THE DUTCH
VESSEL."]
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.