“‘What means that canvas, Skipper? It’s bearing down to port,
And it drives a blackish barquentine, with every topsail taut,
There’re guns upon her poop deck. There’re cannon near her bow,
And the bugler’s bloomin’ clarion, it shrills a how-de-row?’
The skipper took a peep at her, his face turned ashen pale,
His jaw began to tremble, and his knees began to fail,
As the flag of France swung to the breeze and fluttered without check,
‘Jean Bart!’ he gurgled weakly, and fainted on the deck.”
—Rhymes of The Dutch Channel Fleet.—1676.
THE good ship Cochon Gras boiled along off the coast of Normandy under a full spread of canvas, for the breeze was light, and was from the southward. A boy of sixteen stood at the helm. He was well bronzed by exposure to the elements; was sturdy and strong. His dark hair waved luxuriantly about a face in which keenness and shrewdness were easily to be seen. His name was Jean Bart and he had been born at Dunkirk in France.
The Captain of the Cochon Gras strode about upon the deck below. He was in an evil mood and his voice showed his ill feeling.
“Put the helm over!” he shouted to the steersman. “Don’t you see that your sails aren’t half full! Boy, will you never learn!”
Jean Bart obeyed.
“Very good, my Captain!” said he. “Very good, my Monsieur Valbué.”
And, at this, the captain scowled, for he was in a beastly temper.
“I am glad that you act quickly,” said he. “You know nothing. By acting quickly you will learn a thing or two. Tiens! Be speedy! Be very quick! Be like the Bishop of Oléron!”
He smiled and lurched against the rail.