Where's Rixey of Hampton; Smith of Rexhill?

Who'd coasted and traded from London to Ryde, Huggins and Muggins, all seamen of worth, Who could jibe and could sail, sir, when combers were wide?

"_Fell o'er the sea-end with Raleigh. Last tide!_"

Well, seamen, when that day shall come near, When the salt sea is moved from its bed, Some will there be, who can give us the news, Of all that brave band, whom Adventure has led To

"_Fall o'er the sea-end with Raleigh, 'tis said!_"

"Such is the man, Whom neither shape nor danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray; Who, not content that worth stands fast, Looks forward, persevering to the last, From good to better, daily self-surpa.s.sed."

--_Ballads of the Day._

JEAN BART

THE SCOURGE OF THE DUTCH

(1650-1702)

As long as selfishness remains a Human Pa.s.sion,--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 p.o.o.p 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 st.u.r.dy 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 Valbue."

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 Oleron!"

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 Valbue.

"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 sh.o.r.e. 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. 'Voila!' cried the good bishop. 'Voila! 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: JEAN BART.]

"Fools," cried Captain Valbue. "Fools! Why, he strode into the sea, of course. Being a pure man of G.o.d 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 G.o.d. 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 Valbue had noticed it and Monsieur Valbue 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 Valbue, the Laws of Oleron, 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 Valbue was like a bubbling tea-pot. Seizing a hand-spike, he shot it out at the man who knew the law.

"The Laws of Oleron allow me just one blow," blubbered Captain Valbue.

"Just as the laws of England allow each dog one bite."

As luck would have it, he missed his shot.

Lanoix leaped over the iron rail which separated the forecastle from the after part of the vessel. Then he turned around.

"Follow me here, you coward!" he shouted to the captain, "and I will have the right to crack you through the middle. Consult the Laws of Oleron under which we sail and see if they do not back me up!"

"The laws be blowed!" yelled Monsieur Valbue, now beside himself with rage. And, leaping across the rail he struck the Huguenot two st.u.r.dy blows in the face.

Jean Bart, meanwhile, steered the ship: looked on; and said nothing.

R-i-i-p! There was a flash, a blow, and a cry of pain. A large, keen knife was clenched in the strong right hand of Lanoix, and the captain was running red, with a deep gash in his shoulder.

"Down with the Mutineer! Down with the dog!" came from the throats of the members of the crew who had cl.u.s.tered about the two enraged men, smiling at the little affair.

With a rush they were upon the Huguenot; had forced him to the deck; and wrested the knife from his hand. But, before it was wrenched from his fist, the blade had pierced the body of a seaman and had felled him to the boarding.