Many months later--when the Revolutionary War had ended--the good ship _General Washington_ lay in Plymouth Harbor on the south coast of England. Her commander--Captain Joshua Barney--gazed contentedly at the Stars and Stripes as they flew jauntily from the mizzen-mast, and then walked to the rail, as a group of British officers came over the side. But there was one among these guests who was not an officer. He was bent, old, weather-beaten; and his dress showed him to be a tiller and worker of the soil. It was the aged and faithful gardener of Lord Mount-Edgec.u.mbe.

"You remember me?" cried the genial American, grasping the honest servant by the hand.

The gardener's eyes were alight with pleasure.

"You are the feller who jumped over the hedge--many years ago--when the sea-dogs were hot upon your trail."

Joshua Barney chuckled.

"The same," said he. "And here is a purse of gold to reward my kind and worthy helpmeet."

So saying, he placed a heavy, chamois bag of glittering eagles into the trembling hands of the ancient retainer.

THE DERELICT

Unmoored, unmanned, unheeded on the deep-- Tossed by the restless billow and the breeze, It drifts o'er sultry leagues of tropic seas.

Where long Pacific surges swell and sweep, When pale-faced stars their silent watches keep, From their far rhythmic spheres, the Pleiades, In calm beat.i.tude and tranquil ease, Smile sweetly down upon its cradled sleep.

Erewhile, with anchor housed and sails unfurled, We saw the stout ship breast the open main, To round the stormy Cape, and span the World, In search of ventures which betoken gain.

To-day, somewhere, on some far sea we know Her battered hulk is heaving to and fro.

ROBERT SURCOUF

THE "SEA HOUND" FROM ST. MALO

(1773-1827)

"If you would be known never to have done anything, never do it."--EMERSON.

ROBERT SURCOUF

THE "SEA HOUND" FROM ST. MALO

(1773-1827)

_Parlez-vous Francais?_ Yes, Monsieur, I can speak like a native,--sure.

Then, take off your cap to the lilies of France, Throw it up high, and hasten the dance.

For "Bobbie" Surcouf has just come to town, _Tenez!_ He's worthy of wearing a crown.

It was a sweltering, hot day in July and the good ship _Aurora_ swung lazily in the torpid waters of the Indian Ocean. Her decks fairly sizzled in the sun, and her sails flopped like huge planks of wood.

She was becalmed on a sheet of molten bra.s.s.

"I can't stand this any longer," said a young fellow with black hair and swarthy skin. "I'm going overboard."

From his voice it was easy to see he was a Frenchman.

Hastily stripping himself, he went to the gangway, and standing upon the steps, took a header into the oily brine. He did not come up.

"Sacre nom de Dieu!" cried a sailor. "Young Surcouf be no risen. Ah!

He has been down ze long time. Ah! Let us lower ze boat and find heem."

"Voila! Voila!" cried another. "He ees drowned!"

_Plunkety, plunk, splash!_ went a boat over the side, and in a moment more, a half dozen sailors were eagerly looking into the deep, blue wash of the ocean.

"He no there. I will dive for heem," cried out the fellow who had first spoken, and, leaping from the boat, he disappeared from view.

In a few moments he re-appeared, drawing the body of the first diver with him. It was apparently helpless. The prostrate sailor was lifted to the deck; rubbed, worked over, scrubbed,--but no signs of life were there.

Meanwhile, a Portuguese Lieutenant, who was pacing the p.o.o.p, appeared to be much pleased at what took place.

"The fellow's dead! The beggar's done for,--sure. Overboard with the rascal! To the waves with the dead 'un!"

"Give us a few more moments," cried the sailors. "He will come to!"

But the Lieutenant smiled satirically.

"To the waves with the corpse! To the sharks with the man from St.

Malo!" cried he.

And all of this the senseless seaman heard--for--he was in a cataleptic fit, where he could hear, but could not move. The Portuguese Lieutenant and he were bitter enemies.

"Oh, I tell you, Boys, the fellow's dead!" again cried the Portuguese.

"Over with him!"

So saying, he seized the inert body with his hands; dragged it to the ship's side; and started to lift it to the rail.

Conscious of all that went on around him, the paralyzed Surcouf realized that, unless he could make some sign, he had only a few seconds to live. So, with a tremendous effort--he made a movement of his limbs. It was noticed.

"Voila! Voila!" cried a French sailor. "He ees alife. No! No! You cannot kill heem!"

Running forward, he grabbed the prostrate form of Robert Surcouf, pulled it back upon the deck, and--as the Portuguese Lieutenant went off cursing--he rubbed the cold hands of the half-senseless man. In a moment the supposed corpse had opened its eyes.

"Ah!" he whispered. "I had a close call. A thousand thanks to all!"

In five more moments he could stand upon the deck, and--believe me--he did not forget the Portuguese Lieutenant!

Robert Surcouf was born at St. Malo--just one hundred years after Du Guay-Trouin, to whom he was related. And like his famous relative he had been intended for the Church,--but he was always fighting; was insubordinate, and could not be made to study. In fact, he was what is known as a "holy terror."