"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 t.i.tled noses.

But--mark you this!

Several hundred years have pa.s.sed since those days, and Jean Bart's name is still remembered. Who remembers the names of any of these t.i.tled n.o.bles 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 sh.o.r.e."

--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, Renee," 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 Renee 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 Renee 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!"

But still little Renee hung his head.

Again came the amiable "Tut! Tut!" and the chuckling Luc Trouin wandered off into the garden to see how well the potatoes were growing.

But little Renee still hung his head.

And--in spite of the fact that little Renee went to the Divinity school at Rheims, he continued to hang his head. He hung his head for three years. Then, news was brought to him, one day, that the good Luc Trouin was dead, and, instead of holding his handkerchief to his eyes to wipe away the tears, as one would expect of him, little Renee burst into loud laughter.

"At last," cried he, "I can get away from the church and go to sea. At last my freedom has come!"

And it was not many hours before little Renee was scudding away from the school of Divinity, like a clipper-ship under a full spread of canvas, before a rousing sou'west breeze.

For at least two hundred years before the birth of bad, little Renee, the Trouin family had been well known and prosperous in the Breton seaport of St. Malo. For many years a Trouin had been consul at Malaga, Spain; and other members of the house had held excellent positions with the King, so little Renee had no reason to be ashamed of his forebears, in spite of the fact that his people were of the "bourgeoisie:" ship-owners, traders, smugglers, privateers, and merchants. And, as they were of the "bourgeoisie," they were somewhat looked down upon by the proud and haughty aristocrats who fawned about the weak and dissipated King.

Little Renee was the son of Luc Trouin and Marguerite Boscher but he was called Du Guay-Trouin, in later years, and the reason for this is plain. For--in accordance with the custom of the time--he was sent to be nursed by a foster mother who resided in the little village of Le Gue. So he was called Trouin du Gue; which shortly became Du Guay-Trouin.

"I've come home, mother," shouted little Renee, when he had plodded his weary way which lay between his temporary prison and the house of his parents. "I've come home, mother, and I'm going to sea!"

But his mother did not take any too kindly to this bold and valiant idea.

"You must study law," said she, with great firmness. And--in spite of the fact that little Renee begged and pleaded--he was forced to give up his idea of seafaring life for the dry drudgery and routine of a clerk at law. He was now about sixteen years of age.

"The law is dry and my spirits are high," youthful Renee is said to have carolled as he spent his first few hours at a lecture, "and whatever may be I'm going to sea."

At any rate, he soon got into trouble and engaged in three duels in his sixteenth year, in one of which his a.s.sailant gave him a serious wound. This was too much for even his stern mother to bear, so, summoning a family council, she gave forth the following opinion:

"Renee has failed as a student of Divinity. Renee has failed as a student of law. Renee has entirely too high spirits. Renee shall, therefore, be placed in one of the family ships and sent to sea."

And to this decree Renee is said to have cried: "At last! Hurray!" for he longed for action.