Part 19

(1650-1702)

As long as selfishness remains a Human Passion,--Warfare will continue.

JEAN BART

THE SCOURGE OF THE DUTCH

(1650-1702)

"'What means that canvas, Skipper? It's bearing down to port, And it drives a blackish barquentine, with every topsail taut, There're guns upon her poop deck. There're cannon near her bow, And the bugler's bloomin' clarion, it shrills a how-de-row?' The skipper took a peep at her, his face turned ashen pale, His jaw began to tremble, and his knees began to fail, As the flag of France swung to the breeze and fluttered without check, 'Jean Bart!' he gurgled weakly, and fainted on the deck."

--Rhymes of The Dutch Channel Fleet.--1676.

The good ship Cochon Gras boiled along off the coast of Normandy under a full spread of canvas, for the breeze was light, and was from the southward. A boy of sixteen stood at the helm. He was well bronzed by exposure to the elements; was sturdy and strong. His dark hair waved luxuriantly about a face in which keenness and shrewdness were easily to be seen. His name was Jean Bart and he had been born at Dunkirk in France.

The Captain of the Cochon Gras strode about upon the deck below. He was in an evil mood and his voice showed his ill feeling.

"Put the helm over!" he shouted to the steersman. "Don't you see that your sails aren't half full! Boy, will you never learn!"

Jean Bart obeyed.

"Very good, my Captain!" said he. "Very good, my Monsieur Valbué."

And, at this, the captain scowled, for he was in a beastly temper.

"I am glad that you act quickly," said he. "You know nothing. By acting quickly you will learn a thing or two. Tiens! Be speedy! Be very quick! Be like the Bishop of Oléron!"

He smiled and lurched against the rail.

"Ah, this good prelate was a true seaman," said he. "He knew the tides like a mackerel. He knew as much as I do, myself, and that is saying a good deal."

Jean Bart chuckled at the vanity of Monsieur Valbué.

"The good Bishop was standing on the rocks upon a stormy evening," continued the captain, "when he saw some fisher boats making for the harbor. One of them was bearing too close to the shore. One of them was going to go upon the rocks. One of them was steered by a poor fellow who knew neither the reefs nor the shoals. 'Voilà!' cried the good bishop. 'Voilà! I will save this dull-witted sailor.' And, forthwith, what do you think that he did,--?"

A small knot of seamen had, by this time, collected around the talkative captain. They all shook their heads.

"Fools," cried Captain Valbué. "Fools! Why, he strode into the sea, of course. Being a pure man of God and a member of the true church, he walked upon the surface of the water. The boat coming in was manned by Huguenots, by unbelievers, mark you! By fellows who had neither the sense nor the grace to be members of the true church. They could not walk upon the water. Oh! No! But the good Bishop he walked as easily as a stormy petrel, for he was a man of God. And, as he reached the boat he made the sign of the cross, saying, 'Beware of the rocks which you sail down upon! Bear off to the left! When you see the red buoy, bear to the right, and then come home by keeping your bow pointed for the spire of the big church!' And they did so. They were saved by the good Bishop, whom I know well. As for me. I would have let the foolish Huguenots get their just deserts. It would have been one heretic less and good riddance."

At this one of the seamen was plainly angered.

"Piff!" said he. "Piff!" That was all. But Monsieur Valbué had noticed it and Monsieur Valbué grew angry in a moment. Seizing a half-empty cider mug, from which he had been drinking, he hurled it at the head of the fellow who had made the remark.

"You dog of a Huguenot!" he roared.

The seaman dodged, and the cider mug spun into the planks of a jolly boat. Then he stepped forward and said,

"Captain Valbué, the Laws of Oléron, under which we sail, say that you cannot and must not strike a seaman with any missile. I, Lanoix, will strike back if you hit me."

But Monsieur Valbué was like a bubbling tea-pot. Seizing a hand-spike, he shot it out at the man who knew the law.

"The Laws of Oléron allow me just one blow," blubbered Captain Valbué. "Just as the laws of England allow each dog one bite."

As luck would have it, he missed his shot.