Part 22

"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!"