Finally good Mamma Surcouf sent him to the Seminary of St. Dinan, saying:

"Now, Robert, be a good boy and study hard thy lessons!"

And Robert said, "Oui, Madame!" But he would not work.

One day the master in arithmetic did not like the method in which young "Bobbie" answered him, and raising a cane, he ran towards the youthful scholar. But Robert had learned a kind of "Jiu-Jitsu"

practiced by the youths of France, and he tackled his irate master like an end-rush upon the foot-ball team, when he dives for a runner.

Both fell to the ground with a thud. And all the other boys yelled "Fine!" in unison.

Now was a fierce battle, but weight told, and "Bobbie" was soon underneath, with his teeth in the leg of his tutor. They scratched and rolled until "Bobbie" freed himself, and, running to the window, jumped outside--for he was on the ground floor--scaled the garden fence, and made off. Home was twenty miles away.

"I must get there, somehow," said young "Bobbie." "I can never go back. I will be spanked so that I cannot seat myself."

So little "Bob" trudged onward in the snow, for it was winter. It grew dark. It was bitterly cold, and he had no hat. At length--worn out with cold and hunger--he sank senseless to the roadside.

Luck pursues those destined for greatness.

Some fish-merchants happened that way, and, seeing the poor, helpless, little boy, they picked him up; placed him upon a tiny dog-cart; and carried him to St. Malo, where he had a severe attack of pneumonia.

But his good mother nursed him through, saying:

"Ta donc! He will never be a scholar. Ta donc! Young Robbie must go to sea!"

So when "Bobbie" was well he was shipped aboard the brig _Heron_, bound for Cadiz, Spain--and he was only just thirteen. But he threw up his cap crying,

"This is just what I've always wanted. Hurrah for the salty brine!"

At about twenty years of age we find him upon the good ship _Aurora_ from which his dive into the Indian Ocean came near being his last splash. And the Portuguese Lieutenant did not forget.

Upon the next visit of the cruiser _Aurora_ to the coast of Africa an epidemic of malarial fever struck the crew. Among those who succ.u.mbed to the disease was the Portuguese Lieutenant. He was dangerously ill.

The ship arrived at the island of Mauritius, and, Lieutenant Robert Surcouf was just going ash.o.r.e, when he received a message which said:

"Come and see me. I am very ill." It was from his enemy,--the Portuguese.

Surcouf did not like the idea, but after thinking the matter over, he went. But note this,--he had a pair of loaded pistols in his pocket.

Dead men--you know--tell no tales.

As he entered the sick man's cabin, a servant was there. The Portuguese made a sign to him to retire.

"I wish to speak to you with a sincere heart," said he, turning his face to young Surcouf. "Before I pa.s.s from this world I want to relieve my conscience, and ask your forgiveness for all the evil which I have wished you during our voyages together."

"I bear you no malice," said Surcouf. "Let by-gones be by-gones."

As he spoke a spasm seemed to contort the body of the dying man. One arm stretched out towards a pillow nearby, and Robert had a sudden, but excellent thought. Stepping forward, he seized the hand of his old enemy, lifted the pillow, and, then started back with an exclamation of astonishment.

"Ye G.o.ds!" cried he. "You would murder me!"

There, before him, were two c.o.c.ked and loaded pistols.

Leaping forward he grabbed the weapons, pointing one at the forehead of the rascally sailor.

"You miserable beast!" cried he. "I can now shoot you like a dog, or squash you like an insect; but I despise you too much. I will leave you to die like a coward."

"And," says a historian, "this is what the wretched man did,--blaspheming in despairing rage."

In October, 1794, Lieutenant Surcouf saw his first big battle, for, the English being at war with the French, two British men-of-war hovered off the island of Mauritius, blockading the port of St.

Thomas. They were the _Centurion_ of fifty-four guns, and the _Diomede_, also of fifty-four cannon, but with fewer tars. The French had four ships of war: the _Prudente_, forty guns; the _Cybele_, forty-four guns; the _Jean Bart_, twenty guns; and the _Courier_, fourteen guns. Surcouf was junior Lieutenant aboard the _Cybele_.

It was a beautiful, clear day, as the French vessels ploughed out to battle; their sails aquiver with the soft breeze; their pennons fluttering; guns flashing; and eager sailors crowding to the rails with cutla.s.ses newly sharpened and pistols in their sashes.

_Boom!_

The first gun spoke. The first sh.e.l.l spun across the bow of the British bull-dog _Diomede_, and the battle was on.

Have you ever seen a school of pollock chasing a school of smaller fry? Have you ever seen them jump and splash, and thud upon the surface of the water?

Well--that is the way that the sh.e.l.ls looked and sounded--as they plumped and slushed into the surface of the southern sea; and every now and then there was a _punk_, and a _crash_, and a _chug_, as a big, iron ball bit into the side of a man-of-war.

Around and around sailed the sparring a.s.sailants, each looking for a chance to board. _Crash! Roar! Crash!_ growled the broadsides. Shrill screams sounded from the wounded; the harsh voices of the officers echoed above the din of the conflict; and, the whining bugle squealed ominously between the roaring crush of grape and chain-shot.

But the French got nearer and nearer. Great gaps showed in the bulwarks of the _Diomede_; one mast was tottering. Beaten and outnumbered she stood out to sea, her sailors crowding into the rigging like monkeys, and spreading every st.i.tch of white canvas.

"She runs! Egad, she runs!" cried the Commander of the other British vessel. "Faith, I cannot stand off four Frenchmen alone. I must after her to save my scalp."

So--putting his helm hard over--he threw his vessel before the wind, and she spun off, pursued by bouncing sh.e.l.ls and shrieking grapnel.

"Voila!" cried the French. "Ze great battaile, eet belongs to us!" But there were many dead and wounded upon the decks of the proud French warships.

Soon after this smart, little affair the soldiers and sailors who had been in this fight were discharged,--and--looking about for employment, young Robert took the first position that presented itself: the command of the brig _Creole_,--engaged in the slave trade.

He made several successful voyages, but orders were issued to--

"Arrest the Slave Hunter and all his crew, When they arrive at the Mauritius."

One of those little birds which sometimes carry needed information, both on sea and land, whispered this ill news to the gallant, young sea-dog. So he steered for the isle of Bourbon, and there landed his human freight in a small bay. At daybreak he lay at anchor in the Harbor of St. Paul in that self-same island.

About eight in the morning a boat was seen approaching, and to the hail,--"Who goes there?" came the reply--

"Public Health Committee from St. Denis. We wish to come on board and to inspect your ship."

Surcouf was much annoyed.

"You can climb aboard," said he, stifling an exclamation of disgust.

"I am at your service."

In a few moments the commissioners were upon the deck, and, in a few moments more, they had discovered that the ship was a slaver.

Turning to the youthful captain, one of the committee said: