saying:
"Now, Robert, be a good boy and study hard thy lessons!"
And Robert said, "Oui, Madame!" But he would not work.
One day the master in arithmetic did not like the method in which
young "Bobbie" answered him, and raising a cane, he ran towards the
youthful scholar. But Robert had learned a kind of "Jiu-Jitsu"
practiced by the youths of France, and he tackled his irate master
like an end-rush upon the foot-ball team, when he dives for a runner.
Both fell to the ground with a thud. And all the other boys yelled
"Fine!" in unison.
Now was a fierce battle, but weight told, and "Bobbie" was soon
underneath, with his teeth in the leg of his tutor. They scratched and
rolled until "Bobbie" freed himself, and, running to the window,
jumped outside--for he was on the ground floor--scaled the garden
fence, and made off. Home was twenty miles away.
"I must get there, somehow," said young "Bobbie." "I can never go
back. I will be spanked so that I cannot seat myself."
So little "Bob" trudged onward in the snow, for it was winter. It grew
dark. It was bitterly cold, and he had no hat. At length--worn out
with cold and hunger--he sank senseless to the roadside.
Luck pursues those destined for greatness.
Some fish-merchants happened that way, and, seeing the poor, helpless,
little boy, they picked him up; placed him upon a tiny dog-cart; and
carried him to St. Malo, where he had a severe attack of pneumonia.
But his good mother nursed him through, saying:
"Ta donc! He will never be a scholar. Ta donc! Young Robbie must go to
sea!"
So when "Bobbie" was well he was shipped aboard the brig _Heron_,
bound for Cadiz, Spain--and he was only just thirteen. But he threw up
his cap crying,
"This is just what I've always wanted. Hurrah for the salty brine!"
At about twenty years of age we find him upon the good ship _Aurora_
from which his dive into the Indian Ocean came near being his last
splash. And the Portuguese Lieutenant did not forget.
Upon the next visit of the cruiser _Aurora_ to the coast of Africa an
epidemic of malarial fever struck the crew. Among those who succumbed
to the disease was the Portuguese Lieutenant. He was dangerously ill.
The ship arrived at the island of Mauritius, and, Lieutenant Robert
Surcouf was just going ashore, when he received a message which said:
"Come and see me. I am very ill." It was from his enemy,--the
Portuguese.
Surcouf did not like the idea, but after thinking the matter over, he
went. But note this,--he had a pair of loaded pistols in his pocket.
Dead men--you know--tell no tales.
As he entered the sick man's cabin, a servant was there. The
Portuguese made a sign to him to retire.
"I wish to speak to you with a sincere heart," said he, turning his
face to young Surcouf. "Before I pass from this world I want to
relieve my conscience, and ask your forgiveness for all the evil which
I have wished you during our voyages together."
"I bear you no malice," said Surcouf. "Let by-gones be by-gones."
As he spoke a spasm seemed to contort the body of the dying man. One
arm stretched out towards a pillow nearby, and Robert had a sudden,
but excellent thought. Stepping forward, he seized the hand of his old
enemy, lifted the pillow, and, then started back with an exclamation
of astonishment.
"Ye Gods!" cried he. "You would murder me!"
There, before him, were two cocked and loaded pistols.
Leaping forward he grabbed the weapons, pointing one at the forehead
of the rascally sailor.
"You miserable beast!" cried he. "I can now shoot you like a dog, or
squash you like an insect; but I despise you too much. I will leave
you to die like a coward."
"And," says a historian, "this is what the wretched man
did,--blaspheming in despairing rage."
In October, 1794, Lieutenant Surcouf saw his first big battle, for,
the English being at war with the French, two British men-of-war
hovered off the island of Mauritius, blockading the port of St.
Thomas. They were the _Centurion_ of fifty-four guns, and the
_Diomede_, also of fifty-four cannon, but with fewer tars. The French
had four ships of war: the _Prudente_, forty guns; the _Cybele_,
forty-four guns; the _Jean Bart_, twenty guns; and the _Courier_,
fourteen guns. Surcouf was junior Lieutenant aboard the _Cybele_.
It was a beautiful, clear day, as the French vessels ploughed out to
battle; their sails aquiver with the soft breeze; their pennons
fluttering; guns flashing; and eager sailors crowding to the rails
with cutlasses newly sharpened and pistols in their sashes.
_Boom!_
The first gun spoke. The first shell spun across the bow of the
British bull-dog _Diomede_, and the battle was on.
Have you ever seen a school of pollock chasing a school of smaller
fry? Have you ever seen them jump and splash, and thud upon the
surface of the water?
Well--that is the way that the shells looked and sounded--as they
plumped and slushed into the surface of the southern sea; and every
now and then there was a _punk_, and a _crash_, and a _chug_, as a
big, iron ball bit into the side of a man-of-war.
Around and around sailed the sparring assailants, each looking for a
chance to board. _Crash! Roar! Crash!_ growled the broadsides. Shrill
screams sounded from the wounded; the harsh voices of the officers
echoed above the din of the conflict; and, the whining bugle squealed
ominously between the roaring crush of grape and chain-shot.
But the French got nearer and nearer. Great gaps showed in the
bulwarks of the _Diomede_; one mast was tottering. Beaten and
outnumbered she stood out to sea, her sailors crowding into the
rigging like monkeys, and spreading every stitch of white canvas.
"She runs! Egad, she runs!" cried the Commander of the other British
vessel. "Faith, I cannot stand off four Frenchmen alone. I must after
her to save my scalp."
So--putting his helm hard over--he threw his vessel before the wind,
and she spun off, pursued by bouncing shells and shrieking grapnel.
"Voila!" cried the French. "Ze great battaile, eet belongs to us!" But
there were many dead and wounded upon the decks of the proud French
warships.
Soon after this smart, little affair the soldiers and sailors who had
been in this fight were discharged,--and--looking about for
employment, young Robert took the first position that presented
itself: the command of the brig _Creole_,--engaged in the slave trade.
He made several successful voyages, but orders were issued to--
"Arrest the Slave Hunter and all his crew,
When they arrive at the Mauritius."
One of those little birds which sometimes carry needed information,
both on sea and land, whispered this ill news to the gallant, young
sea-dog. So he steered for the isle of Bourbon, and there landed his
human freight in a small bay. At daybreak he lay at anchor in the
Harbor of St. Paul in that self-same island.
About eight in the morning a boat was seen approaching, and to the
hail,--"Who goes there?" came the reply--
"Public Health Committee from St. Denis. We wish to come on board and
to inspect your ship."
Surcouf was much annoyed.
"You can climb aboard," said he, stifling an exclamation of disgust.
"I am at your service."
In a few moments the commissioners were upon the deck, and, in a few
moments more, they had discovered that the ship was a slaver.
Turning to the youthful captain, one of the committee said:
"You, sir, are engaged in illegal traffic. You must suffer for this,
and must come with us at once to the city to answer an indictment
drawn up against you."
Surcouf smiled benignly.
"I am at your service," said he, with a polite bow. "But do not go--I
pray thee--until you have given me the great pleasure of partaking of
the breakfast which my cook has hastily prepared."
The Committee-men smiled.
"You are very kind," said one. "We accept with pleasure."
The hasty efforts of the cook proved to be most attractive. And, as
the Commissioners smacked their lips over the good Madeira wine, the
mate of the _Creole_ dismissed the boat which had brought the stolid
Commissioners to the side.
"The tender of our brig will take your people ashore," said he to the
coxswain.
No sooner had this tender neared the shore, than the cable of the
_Creole_ was slipped; she left her anchorage; and quickly drew out to
sea in a fresh sou'westerly breeze.
The unaccustomed rallying soon warned the Commissioners that the
vessel was no longer at anchor, and, rushing to the deck, they
saw--with dismay--that a full half mile of foam-flecked ocean lay
between them and the island.
"Ye Gods!" cried one, turning to Surcouf. "What mean you by this,
sir?"
The crafty Captain was smiling like the Cheshire cat.
"You are now in my power," said he--very slowly and deliberately. "I
am going to take you to the coast of Africa among your friends--the
negroes. You seem to prefer them to the whites, so why not, pray?
Meanwhile,--my kind sirs,--come below and take my orders."
The Commissioners were flabbergasted.
"Pirate!" cried one.
"Thief!" cried another.
"Scamp!" shouted the third.
But they went below,--mumbling many an imprecation upon the head of
the crafty Robert Surcouf.
That night the wind freshened, the waves rose, and the good ship
_Creole_ pitched and tossed upon them, like a leaf. The Committee-men
were very ill, for they were landsmen, and Surcouf's smile expanded.
"Take us ashore! Take us ashore!" cried one. "We _must_ get upon
land."
Surcouf even laughed. Everything was as he wished.
"I will land you upon one condition only," said he. "Destroy the
indictment against me and my ship. Write a document to the effect that
you have found no traces of slaves upon my staunch craft. Say that my
boat was driven from her anchor by a tidal wave--and you can put your
feet upon solid ground."
The three Commissioners scowled, but he had them. Besides they were
sea-sick.
In an hour's time, the desired paper had been drawn up. The _Creole_
was headed for the Mauritius,--and, in eight days, the sad but wiser
Commissioners were brooding over the smartness of Robert Surcouf when
seated in their own snug little homes. "He is a rascal," said one.
"He's a slick and wily cur."
So much reputation came to the young mariner--at this exploit--that he
was soon offered the command of the _Emilie_: a privateer of one
hundred and eighty tons and four guns. He accepted with glee, but when
about to go to sea, the Governor refused him Letters of Marque.
"What shall I do?" asked the crest-fallen Robert, approaching the
owners of the trim and able craft.
"Sail for the Seychelles (Islands off the east coast of Africa) for a
cargo of turtles," said they. "If you fail to find these; fill up with
corn, cotton and fruit. Fight shy of all English cruisers, and battle
if you have to."
Surcouf bowed.
"I am not a regular privateer," he answered. "For I have no Letters of
Marque. But I can defend myself if fired upon, and am an armed vessel
in war-time. I may yet see some fighting."
He was not to be disappointed.
While at anchor at the Seychelles, two large and fat English
men-of-war appeared in the offing. Surcouf had to run for it.
Steering in among the many little islets, which here abound, he
navigated the dangerous channels and got safely off, his men crying,
"Voila! Here is a genius. We did well to ship with such a master!"
But the gallant Surcouf soon turned from privateer to pirate.
South of the Bay of Bengal, a cyclone struck the _Emilie_ and she was
steered for Rangoon, where--
"The flying fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder,
Outer China across the Bay."
And here a British vessel steered for her: white-winged, saucy,
vindictive-looking.
She came on valiantly, and, when within a hundred yards, pumped a shot
across the bow of the drowsing _Emilie_. It meant "Show your colors."
Hoisting the red, white and blue of France, Surcouf replied with three
scorching shots. One struck the Britisher amid-ships, and pumped a
hole in her black boarding.
Like a timid girl, the Englishman veered off, hoisted her topsail, and
tried to get away. She saw that she had caught a tartar.
The blood was up of the "Man from St. Malo." "I consider the shot
across my bows as an attack," said he, and he slapped on every stitch
of canvas, so that the _Emilie_ was soon abreast of the Britisher.
_Boom!_ A broadside roared into her and she struck her colors. Bold
Robert Surcouf had passed the Rubicon,--he had seen the English flag
lowered to him, for the first time; and his heart swelled with
patriotic pride, in spite of the fact that this was an act of piracy,
for which he could be hanged to the yard-arm.
"On! On!" cried Surcouf. "More captures! More prizes!"
Three days later three vessels carrying rice fell into his hands,--one
of which,--a pilot-brig--was appropriated in place of the _Emilie_,
which had a foul, barnacled bottom and had lost her speed. The
_Diana_, another rice-carrier--was also captured--and Robert Surcouf
headed for the Mauritius: pleased and happy.
A few days later, as the vessels pottered along off the river Hooghly,
the cry came:
"A large sail standing into Balasore Roads!"
In a moment Surcouf had clapped his glass to his keen and searching
eye.
"An East Indiaman," said he. "And rich, I'll warrant. Ready about and
make after her. She's too strong for us,--that I see--but we may
outwit her."
The vessel, in fact, was the _Triton_, with six-and-twenty guns and a
strong crew. Surcouf had but nineteen men aboard, including the
surgeon and himself, and a few Lascars,--natives. The odds were
heavily against him, but his nerve was as adamant.
"My own boat has been a pilot-brig. Up with the pilot flag!" he cried.
As the little piece of bunting fluttered in the breeze, the _Triton_
hove to, and waited for him, as unsuspecting as could be. Surcouf
chuckled.
Nearer and nearer came his own vessel to the lolling Indiaman, and, as
she rolled within hailing distance, the bold French sea-dog saw
"_beaucoup de monde_"--a great crowd of people--upon the deck of the
Englishman.
"My lads!" cried he, turning to his crew. "This _Triton_ is very
strong. We are only nineteen. Shall we try to take her by surprise and
thus acquire both gain and glory? Or, do you prefer to rot in a
beastly English prison-ship?"
"Death or victory!" cried the Frenchmen.
Surcouf smiled.
"This ship shall either be our tomb, or the cradle of our glory," said
he. "It is well!"
The crew and passengers of the _Triton_ saw only a pilot-brig
approaching, as these did habitually (to within twenty or thirty feet)
in order to transfer the pilot. Suddenly a few uttered exclamations of
surprise and dismay. The French colors rose to the mast of the
sorrowful-looking pilot-boat, and with a flash and a roar, a heavy
dose of canister and grape ploughed into the unsuspecting persons upon
the deck of the Indiaman. Many sought shelter from the hail of iron.
A moment more, and the brig was alongside. A crunching: a splitting of
timber as the privateer struck and ground into the bulwarks of the
_Triton_, and, with a wild yell--Surcouf leaped upon the deck of his
adversary--followed by his eighteen men, with cutlass, dirks and
pistols.
There was but little resistance. The Captain of the _Triton_ seized a
sword and made a vain attempt to stem the onslaught of the boarders,
but he was immediately cut down. The rest were driven below, and the
hatches clapped tight above them. In five minutes the affair was over,
with five killed and six wounded upon the side of the English: one
killed and one wounded among the French. Surcouf had made a master
stroke. The _Triton_ was his own.
The many prisoners were placed on board the _Diana_ and allowed to
make their way to Calcutta, but the _Triton_ was triumphantly steered
to the Mauritius, where Surcouf received a tremendous ovation.
"Hurrah for Robert Surcouf: the sea-hound from St. Malo!" shrieked the
townsfolk.
"Your captures are all condemned," said the Governor of the island, a
few days after his triumphant arrival. "For you sailed and fought not
under a Letter of Marque, so you are a pirate and not a privateer.
Those who go a-pirating must pay the piper. Your prizes belong to the
Government of France, and its representative. I hereby seize them."
Surcouf was nonplussed.
"We will take this matter to France, itself," cried he. "And we shall
see whether or no all my exertions shall go for nought."
So the case was referred to the French courts, where Robert appeared
in person to plead his cause. And the verdict was:
"The captures of Captain Robert Surcouf of St. Malo are all declared
'good prize' and belong to him and the owners of his vessel."
So the wild man from St. Malo was very happy, and he and his owners
pocketed a good, round sum of money. But he really was a pirate and
not a privateer. _Tenez!_ He had the money, at any rate, so why should
he care?
The remaining days of Robert's life were full of battle, and, just a
little love, for he returned to his native town during the progress of
the law-suit--in order to see his family and his friends, and there
became engaged to Mlle. Marie Blaize, who was as good as she was
pretty. But the sea sang a song which ran:
"For men must work and women must weep,
The home of a hero is on the deep."
which the stout sea-dog could not resist. So he left the charming
demoiselle without being married, and 'tis said that she wept
bitterly.
Now came his greatest exploit.
On October 7th, 1800, the hardy mariner--in command of the _Confiance_;
a new vessel with one hundred and thirty souls aboard--was cruising
off the Indian coast. He had a Letter of Marque this time, so all
would go well with him if he took a prize. The opportunity soon came.
A sail was sighted early that day, and Surcouf scanned her carefully
through his glass.
[Illustration: "SURCOUF SCANNED HER CAREFULLY THROUGH HIS GLASS."]
"She's a rich prize," said he. "An Indiaman. All hands on deck.
Make sail! Drinks all round for the men! Clear for action!"
He spoke this to himself, for he was aloft, and, climbing to the deck,
ordered everybody aft to listen to a speech. When they had collected
there, he said, with feeling:
"I suppose each one of you is more than equal to one Englishman? Very
good--be armed and ready for boarding--and, as it is going to be hot
work, I'll give you one hour for pillage. You can fight, and, behind
me, you should be invincible! Strike, and strike hard; and you will be
rich."
The _Kent_ had four hundred and thirty-seven souls aboard, says an old
chronicler, for she had picked up a great part of the crew of the
_Queen_: an East Indiaman which had been destroyed off the coast of
Brazil. Her Captain's name was Rivington and he was a fellow of heroic
courage.
As the _Confiance_ drew near, the crew of the Englishman gave her a
fair broadside and pumped gun after gun into her hull. But the
Frenchman held her fire, and bore in close, in order to grapple.
Hoarse shouts sounded above the roar of the guns and the splitting of
timber, as the two war-dogs closed for action. The crew of the _Kent_
were poorly armed and undisciplined: they had never fought together.
With Surcouf it was far different. His sailors were veterans--they had
boarded many a merchantman and privateer before--and, they were well
used to this gallant pastime. Besides, each had a boarding-axe, a
cutlass,--pistol and a dagger--to say nothing of a blunderbuss loaded
with six bullets, pikes fifteen feet long, and enormous clubs--all of
this with "drinks all round" and the promise of pillage. No wonder
they could fight!
With a wild, ear-splitting whoop the wild men of the French privateer
finally leaped over the rail--upon the deck of the Englishman--and
there was fierce struggling for possession of her. At the head of his
men, Rivington fought like a true Briton,--cutlass in hand, teeth
clinched, eyes to the front. He was magnificent.
But what could one man do against many?
Back, back, the French forced the valiant lion, while his crew fell
all about in tiers, and, at length, they drove him to the poop. He was
bleeding from many a wound. He was fast sinking.
"Don't give up the ship!" he cried, casting his eye aloft at the red
ensign of his country.
Then he fell upon his face, and the maddened followers of Surcouf
swept over the decking like followers of Attila, the terrible Hun.
"Spare the women!" shouted the French Captain above the din--and roar
of battle. "Pillage; but spare the women!"
It was well that he had spoken, for his cut-throats were wild with the
heat of battle. In twenty minutes the _Kent_ was helpless; her crew
were prisoners; and the saucy pennon of France fluttered where once
had waved the proud ensign of Great Britain.
Surcouf was happy. Landing the English prisoners in an Arab vessel, he
arrived at the Mauritius with his prize in November, and soon took his
doughty _Confiance_ to the low shores of France, catching a
Portuguese merchant en route, and anchoring at La Rochelle, on April
13th, 1801.
Rich, famous, respected; he now married the good Mlle. Marie Blaize,
and became the owner of privateers and a respected citizen of the
Fatherland. Fortune had favored this brave fellow.
As a prosperous ship-owner and ship-builder of his native
village--"the Sea-Hound of St. Malo"--closed his adventurous life in
the year 1827. And when he quietly passed away, the good housewives
used to mutter:
"Look you! Here was a man who fought the English as well as they
themselves could fight. He was a true son of William the Conqueror.
Look you! This was a King of the Ocean!"
And the gulls wheeled over the grave of the doughty sea-warrior,
shrieking,
"He-did-it! He-did-it! He-did-it!"
THE CRY FROM THE SHORE
Come down, ye greyhound mariners,
Unto the wasting shore!
The morning winds are up,--the Gods
Bid me to dream no more.
Come, tell me whither I must sail,
What peril there may be,
Before I take my life in hand
And venture out to sea!
_We may not tell thee where to sail,_
_Nor what the dangers are;_
_Each sailor soundeth for himself,_
_Each hath a separate star;_
_Each sailor soundeth for himself,_
_And on the awful sea,_
_What we have learned is ours alone;_
_We may not tell it thee._
Come back, O ghostly mariners,
Ye who have gone before!
I dread the dark, tempestuous tides;
I dread the farthest shore.
Tell me the secret of the waves;
Say what my fate shall be,--
Quick! for the mighty winds are up,
And will not wait for me.
_Hail and farewell, O voyager!_
_Thyself must read the waves;_
_What we have learned of sun and storm_
_Lies with us in our graves;_
_What we have learned of sun and storm_
_Is ours alone to know._
_The winds are blowing out to sea,_
_Take up thy life and go!_
LAFITTE
PRIVATEER, PIRATE, AND TERROR OF THE GULF OF MEXICO
(1780-1826)
"For it's fourteen men on a dead man's chest,
Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum."
--STEVENSON.
LAFITTE
PRIVATEER, PIRATE, AND TERROR OF THE GULF OF MEXICO
(1780-1826)
"He was the mildest mannered man,
That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat;
With such true breeding of a gentleman,
That you could ne'er discern his proper thought.
Pity he loved an adventurous life's variety,
He was _so_ great a loss to good society."
--_Old Ballad._--1810.
"Captain, we can't live much longer unless we have food. We've got
enough to last us for two weeks' time, and then--if we do not get
fresh provisions--we'll have to eat the sails."
The fellow who spoke was a rough-looking sea-dog, with a yellow
face--parched and wrinkled by many years of exposure--a square figure;
a red handkerchief tied about his black hair; a sash about his waist
in which was stuck a brace of evil-barrelled pistols. He looked grimly
at the big-boned man before him.
"Yes. You are right, as usual, Gascon. We've got to strike a foreign
sail before the week is out, and capture her. And I, Lafitte, must
turn from privateer to pirate. May my good mother at St. Malo have
mercy on my soul."
And, so saying, he turned to pace restlessly upon the sloping deck of
the two-hundred-ton barque which boiled along under a spread of
bellying canvas, and was guided by the keen eye of this youthful
mariner. He came from the same little town in France which sheltered
the good mother of Du Guay-Trouin, the great French "blue." His name
was Jean Lafitte.