In October 1794 a little squadron was despatched from Mauritius to attack a couple of English men-of-war which were practically blockading the island—these were the Centurion, of 54 guns, and the Diomede, of the same force but fewer men; and the French squadron consisted of the Prudente, 40 guns, the Cybèle, 44 guns, the Jean Bart, 20 guns, and the Courier, 14 guns. The Frenchmen attacked with great spirit, and the English vessels were practically driven off the station; partly owing, it was said, to the extreme caution displayed by Captain Matthew Smith, of the Diomede, for which he was subsequently called upon to answer before a court-martial.[14]
In this spirited action, on the French side, Robert Surcouf took part as a junior lieutenant on board the Cybèle. The casualties were heavy, but he escaped without a single scratch, and was commended for his courageous attitude. But soon afterwards he found himself at a loose end, the volunteers being discharged; so he presently accepted the command of the brig Creole, engaged in the slave trade, and made several successful voyages before the authorities realised that the traffic was, by a recent ordinance, illegal.
They gave orders to arrest Surcouf upon his arrival at Mauritius; he, however, having got wind of this intention, steered instead for the Isle of Bourbon, and there landed his cargo during the night, in a small bay about ten miles from St. Denis, the capital of the island. At daybreak he anchored in St. Paul's Bay, in the same island.
About eight o'clock he had a surprise visit from three representatives of the Public Health Committee, who desired to come on board. Surcouf, concealing his annoyance, gave permission, and of course they were not long in discovering undoubted indications of the purpose for which the brig had been employed. They drew up an indictment on the spot, and warned Surcouf that he would have to accompany them to answer to it.
"I am at your service, citizens," he replied politely; "but don't go until you have given me the pleasure of partaking of the breakfast which my cook has hastily prepared."
The invitation was accepted. The conscientious commissioners—"improvised negro-lovers, under the bloody Reign of Terror," as Robert Surcouf's namesake and biographer contemptuously styles them—were fond of good things, and the sea-air had sharpened their appetites. Surcouf had a short and earnest conversation with his mate before he conducted his guests below.
The cook's "hasty" efforts were marvellously attractive, and the wine was excellent—Surcouf was a bit of a gourmet himself, and liked to have things nicely done—so what need was there for being in a hurry?
Meanwhile, the mate had dismissed the state canoe of the commissioners, telling the coxswain that the brig's boat would take them on shore.
Then the cable was quietly slipped, and the Creole, under all sail, rapidly left the anchorage, and, opening the headland, lay over to a fresh south-west wind. The unaccustomed motion began to tell upon the landsmen. Surcouf invited them to go on deck, and there was the island, already separated from the vessel by a considerable tract of foam-flecked ocean—and Surcouf was in command! In reply to their threats and remonstrances he told them that he was going to take them across to Africa, among their friends the negroes, and meanwhile they could come below and receive his orders.
During the night the wind freshened considerably, and the morning found the commissioners very anxious to regain terra firma at any cost; Surcouf had it all his own way. The indictment was destroyed, and a very different document was drawn up, to the effect that they had found no traces on board the brig of her having carried negroes, and that she had been suddenly driven from her anchor by a tidal wave—with other circumstantial little touches, which amused Surcouf and did them no great harm. Eight days later he landed them at Mauritius.