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.
"Board her!" shouted Du Guay-Trouin. "Board her!" and, bringing the
wheel close around, he swung the bow of the _Francois_ into the side
of the Englishman. But, as the sailors scampered to the bulwarks with
cutlass and with dirk, a sheet of flame burst from the port-holes of
the drifting _Nonsuch_. She was afire.
"Luff! Luff!" cried the keen-eyed French mariner, and the _Francois_
drew away as the red flames curled upward with a cruel hiss.
With a swift turn the helm again spun over, under the quick hand of Du
Guay-Trouin, and the _Francois_ was jibed about in order to run under
the port bow of the Englishman.
"Hold, Captain!" cried a French Lieutenant. "We, ourselves, are
afire!"
As he spoke--a direful cloud of vapor rolled from the starboard
quarter.
"Alack!" answered the now furious Renee. "This puts an end to the
fighting of this day, and we'd soon have had the second Britisher. All
hands below and bucket out this fire!"
So, as night fell upon the rolling ocean, the _Falcon_ lay drifting
helplessly, while the _Nonsuch_ and the _Francois_ were burning like
two beacons upon a jutting headland.
As day broke, the _Francois_ filled away (for the fire had been
extinguished after an hour's toil) and ranged within striking distance
of the _Nonsuch_. A broadside belched from her starboard guns and an
answering roar came back from the cannon of the Englishman. The fore
and main masts of the _Nonsuch_ trembled for a moment--then tottered
and fell--while the gallant Captain, struck in the chest by a flying
piece of shell, fell dying upon the deck. Du Guay-Trouin again
attempted to board, at this moment, but the third mast was shaking and
he was forced to sheer off lest the tangle of yards and rigging should
fall and crush his vessel. He hung within hailing distance of the
crippled sea-warrior, and, seeing that his antagonist was now
helpless, cried out through his trumpet:
"Run up the white flag, or I'll give you a broadside that will sink
you."
No answering hail came from the deck of the battered _Nonsuch_, but
the piece of a torn, white shirt was soon fluttering from the tangled
rigging of the foremast. Thus the gallant Renee had defeated two
warships of equal strength, and had captured vessels with a rich and
valuable cargo. Now, don't you think that this fellow was a doughty
sea rover? And, although the English made many excuses, the fact still
remains that a single privateer had conquered double her own force in
a fair and open fight upon the high seas.
The sturdy _Francois_ could just barely drift into St. Malo--so badly
crippled was she--but the rest came safely to port, in spite of a
hard gale which blew down the masts of two of the lumber boats. And
doughty Renee refitted the _Nonsuch_, transferred his flag to her,
called her the _Sans-Pareil_, and flung his flag defiantly from her
mast-head in spite of the fact that she was "made in England." All
France was agog over his exploit.
Now, know you, that doughty Renee was a "Blue;" a "Blue" being a man
of the people (the bourgeoisie) who were not of aristocratic birth.
And, as the French Royal Marine was the most exclusive body of
officers in the world, birth and station being necessary for
admittance therein, the titled office-holders threw up their hands
when Du Guay-Trouin's name was mentioned for a place of command,
saying,--
"Why, he's only a beastly Democrat. Pooh! Bah! We do not care to have
such a fellow among us." And they shrugged their shoulders.
The officers of the French Royal Marine wore red breeches, and, if by
chance a democrat were given a commission, he had to appear in blue
small-clothes throughout his entire career. Very few of the "Blues"
ever came to be an Admiral, for the odds were too great against them.
But Renee had done so bravely and well that a sword was sent him by
the King, who wrote,--
"Should you wish a commission in the Royal Navy, good sir, it shall be
yours."
And to this, Du Guay-Trouin replied,--
"I feel that I can do better where I am, Most Gracious Majesty. I
will remain a Privateer." For Du Guay-Trouin wished to accumulate
riches, as his forebears had done.
So, cruising down the coast of Ireland, he fell in with three East
Indiamen, whom he captured with ease, and, piloting them to St. Malo,
declared a dividend of two thousand pounds ($10,000) a share, to the
stockholders in his staunch vessel. And the value of the shares was
but one hundred pounds ($500) each. Would not the men of Wall Street
love such a fellow in these piping times of peace?
A month later we find him cruising in the Bay of Biscay, where--in the
dead of night--he ran into a great English fleet, roving about for just
such vessels as the _Sans-Pareil_ and eager for a broadside at the
French privateer. But young Renee--for he was now twenty-three--had not
lost his nerve. "There was no time," he wrote, "for hesitation. I had
two valuable prizes with me and ordered them to hoist Dutch colors and
to run away to leeward, saluting me with seven guns each as they went.
"Trusting to the goodness and soundness of the _Sans-Pareil_ I stood
towards the fleet, as boldly and as peaceably as if I had really been
one of their number, rejoining them after having spoken the Dutchmen.
Two capital ships and a thirty-six gun frigate had at first left the
fleet to overhaul me; but, on seeing what I was doing, the ships
returned to their stations; the frigate--impelled by her unlucky
fate--persisted in endeavoring to speak the two prizes, and I saw that
she was rapidly coming up with them.
"I had by this time joined the fleet, tranquil enough in appearance,
though inwardly I was fuming at the prospect of my two prizes being
taken by the frigate; and, as I perceived that my ship sailed much
better than those of the enemy who were near me, I kept away little by
little, at the same time forereaching on them. Suddenly, bearing up, I
ran down to place myself between the prizes and the frigate.