"Bring up the Laws of Oleron," cried Captain Valbue, when the Huguenot had been secured. "Bring up the Laws of Oleron from my cabin, and let us see whether or no I was right, when I struck this prating Lanoix!"

The cabin-boy dove below and was soon again upon the deck.

"The law shall be read," cried the captain. "Out with it!"

Now, aboard the vessel was one Antoine Sauret--a good, old boatswain--a friend of the father of Jean Bart, and a courageous man.

"The law shows you to be in the wrong," said he.

"Yes," cried Jean Bart from the wheel, which he had not left. "You were, and are, in the wrong." Monsieur Valbue glowered at them.

"I am the law," said he. "Is this not my vessel?"

"But the right is on his side," interrupted the good Antoine Sauret.

"You wait and see what I do to this cur of a Huguenot," snarled Captain Valbue. "And no more talk from either you or Jean Bart. Hear!

Six out of eight of the crew agree that this Lanoix has wounded me and has slain one of his ship-mates--without proper provocation--I will now fix him."

And this he did in the most approved manner.

Lashing his victim's arm to a sharp sword tied to the windla.s.s, he knocked the unfortunate Lanoix upon the deck with a hand-spike. Then, tying him--still alive--to the dead sailor whom the Huguenot had killed when the crew rushed upon him,--he cried out:

"Throw 'em both to the fishes!"

They were seized.

"One! Two! Three! Heave Away!" sounded from the throats of the Frenchmen.

Lanoix and the dead sailor spun out above the blue water. A splash. A gurgle of white foam, and the Atlantic closed above them.

Seamen--you witness--were brutes, in these merry days of privateering.

But hear the sequel of the gruesome story!

Jean Bart and the good boatswain Sauret had, from that moment, no high opinion of the Laws of Oleron. So, when the vessel touched at Calais, upon the coast of France, they walked up to the captain, saying:

"Sir. We wish to leave you! We cannot sail any longer beneath your orders."

The brutal Valbue scowled.

"Go!" said he. "And good riddance."

But when the circ.u.mstances of the death of the two men were reported to the authorities, the captain was tried.

"The Law of Oleron," said the Judge to him, "acquits you, for the Huguenot sailor was in the wrong to draw his knife, when you struck him only with your fists. But it is a bad law and must be changed."

Here he turned to young Jean Bart and the good Sauret.

"As for you two," said he, "I most highly commend you for protesting against the brutality of this captain. Would that all the sailors of France were as good as both of you. If they were, there would be less trouble aboard ship. Again I commend you!"

So--feeling very happy, indeed--young Jean Bart went out into the street. Though only sixteen he had been right in his attempt to save the life of poor Lanoix. Good for young Bart! Hats off to the sailor lad of sixteen who was more merciful than the cruel Law of Oleron! And this brutal set of rules was soon changed to the Maritime Code of France, which gave seamen some right to defend themselves against the attacks of rough and overbearing captains. Thus Jean Bart had started the ball rolling in the right direction. Again hats off to the doughty, young Frenchman!

Not long after this event the Dutch fell out with the English and began a smart little war. Jean Bart hastened to the scene of action, enrolled in the Dutch cause, and fought with them for five full years.

Then the Dutch began to make war upon the French (in 1672), but this was too much for the patriotic sentiments of the youthful volunteer.

"Ah!" said he. "When my own people are attacked, I must hasten to their a.s.sistance. The Dutch have paid me well 'tis true, but now I scorn their gold. Vive la France!"

So saying, he returned to Dunkirk, speedily found employment, and went to sea again--not in a man-of-war, but in a privateer. He was now four-and-twenty; was wiry, tough, and well used to battling both with men and with the elements. The boat he sailed in mounted only two guns and had a crew of thirty-six. She was named after a famous personage of Biblical history: _King David_, and she conducted herself as skilfully as did that ancient monarch, for was not Jean Bart at the helm?

Cruising out upon the treacherous waters of the North Sea, it was not long before a vessel was sighted that was of such small tonnage that Bart was not afraid to give chase. He slapped on all canvas, put his helm hard over, and steered for the dancing bit of canvas. The _King David_ was a swift sailer, and soon the bow-gun spoke from the deck of the French privateer, sending a challenging shot whistling close to the stern of the stranger, who flew the flag of the States General (the Dutch Republic) with which the French were now at war.

The stranger did not relish the challenge, and came to in a hurry, while her flag fluttered weakly to the deck.

"She's ours!" cried Jean Bart, gleefully. "And without a fight. Hurray for the life of a privateer!"

Quickly ranging alongside, the stranger was seen to be a valuable prize, laden with tea, spices, and cotton. She was manned by a small crew and sent to port.

"Now off for other luck!" cried Jean Bart.

Luck was with him, too. In four months cruising in the English Channel, near the Belgian coast, he captured six prizes; all without any fighting. The Dutch trading vessels of those days must have been without guns and poorly manned, for it should have been easy to stand off a crew of but thirty-six, with only two cannon aboard. Jean Bart--you may be sure--was well satisfied. He was now rich, quite famous, and keen for further adventure.

So well did the owners of the privateer _King David_ think of him, that they now put him in charge of a larger vessel named _La Royale_, carrying about eighty men and ten guns.

"Go out and win!" cried the chief owner of this privateer. "Jean Bart, you are followed by the best blood of France. Your men are all from Dunkirk!"

And Jean Bart smiled.

"Watch me!" said he.

Cruising near the coast of Holland in company with a small French gun-boat, he fell in with a man-of-war--the _Esperance_--carrying twelve guns and about one hundred and twenty men.

"Now we'll have a real fight!" cried the youthful French commander as he cleared decks for action. "Men, see to it that your swords are sharpened for there may be some boarding!"

Then he signalled to the little French gun-boat to follow him and give battle. This ally carried about a hundred men and six cannon.

"Poof! Poof!"

The heavy guns of the Dutchman were the first to speak and they barked away like fat Newfoundland watch-dogs.

"Poof! Poof! B-o-o-m!"

Jean Bart reserved his fire until within about seventy-five yards and then he gave the command,

"Fire away! Aim low! And try to hull her!"

A sheet of flame sprang from the ten guns of _La Royale_ and a splitting of boards and crackling of splinters showed that the iron missiles had punctured the stout sides of the _Esperance_.

"Pop! Pop! Crash!"