"You, sir, are engaged in illegal traffic. You must suffer for this, and must come with us at once to the city to answer an indictment drawn up against you."

Surcouf smiled benignly.

"I am at your service," said he, with a polite bow. "But do not go--I pray thee--until you have given me the great pleasure of partaking of the breakfast which my cook has hastily prepared."

The Committee-men smiled.

"You are very kind," said one. "We accept with pleasure."

The hasty efforts of the cook proved to be most attractive. And, as the Commissioners smacked their lips over the good Madeira wine, the mate of the _Creole_ dismissed the boat which had brought the stolid Commissioners to the side.

"The tender of our brig will take your people ash.o.r.e," said he to the c.o.xswain.

No sooner had this tender neared the sh.o.r.e, than the cable of the _Creole_ was slipped; she left her anchorage; and quickly drew out to sea in a fresh sou'westerly breeze.

The unaccustomed rallying soon warned the Commissioners that the vessel was no longer at anchor, and, rushing to the deck, they saw--with dismay--that a full half mile of foam-flecked ocean lay between them and the island.

"Ye G.o.ds!" cried one, turning to Surcouf. "What mean you by this, sir?"

The crafty Captain was smiling like the Cheshire cat.

"You are now in my power," said he--very slowly and deliberately. "I am going to take you to the coast of Africa among your friends--the negroes. You seem to prefer them to the whites, so why not, pray?

Meanwhile,--my kind sirs,--come below and take my orders."

The Commissioners were flabbergasted.

"Pirate!" cried one.

"Thief!" cried another.

"Scamp!" shouted the third.

But they went below,--mumbling many an imprecation upon the head of the crafty Robert Surcouf.

That night the wind freshened, the waves rose, and the good ship _Creole_ pitched and tossed upon them, like a leaf. The Committee-men were very ill, for they were landsmen, and Surcouf's smile expanded.

"Take us ash.o.r.e! Take us ash.o.r.e!" cried one. "We _must_ get upon land."

Surcouf even laughed. Everything was as he wished.

"I will land you upon one condition only," said he. "Destroy the indictment against me and my ship. Write a doc.u.ment to the effect that you have found no traces of slaves upon my staunch craft. Say that my boat was driven from her anchor by a tidal wave--and you can put your feet upon solid ground."

The three Commissioners scowled, but he had them. Besides they were sea-sick.

In an hour's time, the desired paper had been drawn up. The _Creole_ was headed for the Mauritius,--and, in eight days, the sad but wiser Commissioners were brooding over the smartness of Robert Surcouf when seated in their own snug little homes. "He is a rascal," said one.

"He's a slick and wily cur."

So much reputation came to the young mariner--at this exploit--that he was soon offered the command of the _Emilie_: a privateer of one hundred and eighty tons and four guns. He accepted with glee, but when about to go to sea, the Governor refused him Letters of Marque.

"What shall I do?" asked the crest-fallen Robert, approaching the owners of the trim and able craft.

"Sail for the Seych.e.l.les (Islands off the east coast of Africa) for a cargo of turtles," said they. "If you fail to find these; fill up with corn, cotton and fruit. Fight shy of all English cruisers, and battle if you have to."

Surcouf bowed.

"I am not a regular privateer," he answered. "For I have no Letters of Marque. But I can defend myself if fired upon, and am an armed vessel in war-time. I may yet see some fighting."

He was not to be disappointed.

While at anchor at the Seych.e.l.les, two large and fat English men-of-war appeared in the offing. Surcouf had to run for it.

Steering in among the many little islets, which here abound, he navigated the dangerous channels and got safely off, his men crying,

"Voila! Here is a genius. We did well to ship with such a master!"

But the gallant Surcouf soon turned from privateer to pirate.

South of the Bay of Bengal, a cyclone struck the _Emilie_ and she was steered for Rangoon, where--

"The flying fishes play, An' the dawn comes up like thunder, Outer China across the Bay."

And here a British vessel steered for her: white-winged, saucy, vindictive-looking.

She came on valiantly, and, when within a hundred yards, pumped a shot across the bow of the drowsing _Emilie_. It meant "Show your colors."

Hoisting the red, white and blue of France, Surcouf replied with three scorching shots. One struck the Britisher amid-ships, and pumped a hole in her black boarding.

Like a timid girl, the Englishman veered off, hoisted her topsail, and tried to get away. She saw that she had caught a tartar.

The blood was up of the "Man from St. Malo." "I consider the shot across my bows as an attack," said he, and he slapped on every st.i.tch of canvas, so that the _Emilie_ was soon abreast of the Britisher.

_Boom!_ A broadside roared into her and she struck her colors. Bold Robert Surcouf had pa.s.sed the Rubicon,--he had seen the English flag lowered to him, for the first time; and his heart swelled with patriotic pride, in spite of the fact that this was an act of piracy, for which he could be hanged to the yard-arm.

"On! On!" cried Surcouf. "More captures! More prizes!"

Three days later three vessels carrying rice fell into his hands,--one of which,--a pilot-brig--was appropriated in place of the _Emilie_, which had a foul, barnacled bottom and had lost her speed. The _Diana_, another rice-carrier--was also captured--and Robert Surcouf headed for the Mauritius: pleased and happy.

A few days later, as the vessels pottered along off the river Hooghly, the cry came:

"A large sail standing into Balasore Roads!"

In a moment Surcouf had clapped his gla.s.s to his keen and searching eye.

"An East Indiaman," said he. "And rich, I'll warrant. Ready about and make after her. She's too strong for us,--that I see--but we may outwit her."

The vessel, in fact, was the _Triton_, with six-and-twenty guns and a strong crew. Surcouf had but nineteen men aboard, including the surgeon and himself, and a few Lascars,--natives. The odds were heavily against him, but his nerve was as adamant.

"My own boat has been a pilot-brig. Up with the pilot flag!" he cried.

As the little piece of bunting fluttered in the breeze, the _Triton_ hove to, and waited for him, as unsuspecting as could be. Surcouf chuckled.