Part 27

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, Rénee," 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 Rénee 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 Rénee 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!"