On September 7th, 1676, he was pointing the Palme towards the Belgian coast-line, when he sighted a number of sail on the starboard quarter. He headed for them; scanned the white dots through a glass, and saw that this was a fishing fleet of small, unarmed luggers. But a big, hulking Dutch frigate hovered in their rear, and thirty-two guns pointed their brown muzzles menacingly from her open port-holes. She was the Neptune and she lazed along like a huge whale: omnipotent and self-satisfied.
“Ah ha!” cried the delighted Jean Bart. “Now I have met an enemy that is worthy of my steel. Up with the flag and sail into yonder Dutchman. We have but twenty-four guns to her thirty-two, but are we to be awed by this show of force? Be ready, my boys, to have the stiffest fight in your careers!”
The Dutchman was equally well pleased when he saw who was coming for him.
“Here is Jean Bart, the pirate and privateer,” he cried. “For three years I’ve been hoping to have a fight with him and now my chance has come at last. I am fortunate, for I can pay him back for all the damage that he has done to Dutch commerce. Shoot low, my hearties, and do not fail to hull our enemy. Let your war-cry be: ‘Down with Jean Bart and his pirate crew!’”
“Hurrah!” shouted his men.
And an answering
“Hurray!” came from the Palme. These opponents were as eager to get at each other as two prize-fighters of modern days.
Crash! roared a broadside from the Dutch frigate as her flag went aloft, and splash, splash, splash, went her shells around the sides of the privateer.
“Sail in close!” yelled Jean Bart. “Hug her to leeward for awhile, then cross her bows, rake her, get her wind, and board.”
“Hurray!” shouted the men of Dunkirk, and a rattle, rattle, roar came from the port guns of the Palme.