There are other French privateersmen well worthy of notice, did space permit, foremost among whom is Thurot, who, single-handed, contrived to harass the English and Irish coasts for months; the brothers Fourmentin, the eldest of whom has the Rue du Baron Bucaille in Boulogne named after him, though his biographer informs us that he never called himself Bucaille, nor was he a baron—but somehow this title became attached to him.
M. Henri Malo, in "Les Corsaires," tells a story of him which is said to be traditional in his family, and is certainly entertaining; so it shall be transcribed as related.
"One evening, several privateer captains were dining together. There was a leg of mutton for dinner, and a discussion arose as to whether French mutton was superior or inferior to English. Fourmentin said the only way to decide the question was to have the two kinds on the table; they had French mutton, they only wanted a specimen of the English mutton—he would go and fetch it. Forthwith he proceeded to the harbour, and, according to his custom, summoned his crew by beating with a hammer on the bottom of a saucepan. Making sail, he landed in the middle of the night on the English coast, seized a customs station, and bound the officers, except six, whom he directed, pistol in hand, to conduct him to the nearest sheep-fold. Choosing the six finest sheep in the flock, he made the six customs officers shoulder them and take them on board his vessel. He gave his six involuntary porters a bottle of rum by way of reward for their trouble, and straightway made sail for France. He had left on the flood-tide—he returned on it, with the required sheep, which he and his colleagues were thus able to appreciate and compare with the others."
A very good family story, and probably quite as true as many another!
These Frenchmen of whom we have been discoursing were certainly fine seamen, and intrepid fighters; they had, no doubt, the faults common to privateers, but they were able and formidable foes, and left their mark in history.
On July 27th, 1801, capture was made of a remarkable vessel. There was no fighting, but the ship herself excited a good deal of interest at the time.
We learn from the captain's log of the British frigate Immortalité that, in the small hours of the morning, a large ship was observed, and sail was made in chase. At daylight the chase proved to be a four-masted vessel, fully rigged upon each mast—a common enough object nowadays, but then almost unique. This was the French privateer Invention, a ship built under the special supervision of the man who commanded her—M. Thibaut. She was brand-new, having sailed upon her first voyage only eight days previously, and had already eluded one of our frigates by superior speed. She was probably a very fast vessel, and might quite possibly have outsailed the Immortalité; but, very unhappily for Captain Thibaut, another British frigate, the Arethusa, Captain W. Wolley, appeared right in her path. Thus beset, Thibaut's case was hopeless, and so the Invention's very brief career as a privateer came to an end, the Immortalité—commanded by Captain Henry Hotham—taking possession at eight o'clock.
Captain Wolley, as senior officer, reported the circumstances to the Admiralty:
"She is called L'Invention, of Bordeaux, mounting 24 guns, with 207 men. She is of a most singular construction, having four masts, and they speak of her in high terms, though they say she is much under-masted. I directed Captain Hotham to take her into Plymouth. I should have ordered her up the river for their lordships' inspection, but I did not choose to deprive Captain Hotham of his men for so long a time."