The Love of Monsieur

by George Gibbs

Although the death of Billy Winch had caused much commotion aboard the vessel, the crew in the main were tractable and compliant. Upon his own great popularity, upon the reputation of Bras-de-Fer, and upon the large portion of the crew who were Frenchmen like himself, Jacquard relied to effect the necessary changes in the management of the vessel. The Frenchman’s bearing since he had come aboard had been such as to enhance rather than to remove the early impression that he had made, and but a spark was needed to amalgamate him with the ship’s company. That spark Jacquard dexterously applied. He called all hands aft, and with a stirring appeal to their imagination, one by one, recalled the feats of the chevalier—the fight in the open boat with the Austrian pirate, the defiance of the Spanish Admiral under the very guns of the Bona Ventura, the six duels upon the landing-place at Cronenburg, the wreck of the Sainte Barbe, and the mutiny and ignominious defeat of Jean Goujon upon the Dieu Merci. All of these things he painted with glowing colors, so that as he stepped forth on deck they hailed Bras-de-Fer with a glad acclaim. Then Bras-de-Fer told them what he hoped to do, and read them (amid huzzahs) the list of Spanish shipping.

When the matter of the captaincy had been duly settled beyond a doubt, with a grace which could not fail to gain approval, he unhesitatingly appointed Yan Gratz again the third in command, and this magnanimity did much to unite him to the small faction which stood aloof. The frank confidence he placed in the Hollander put them upon the terms of an understanding which Gratz accepted with as good a grace as he could bring to the occasion. A cask of rum was brought up on the deck and the incident ended in jubilation and health-giving, which in point of good-fellowship and favorable augury left nothing to be desired. At the end of a week Bras-de-Fer had given still more adequate proofs of his ability. With a shrewd eye he had discovered the natural leaders among the crew. These he placed in positions of authority. Then, appointing Cornbury master-at-arms, put the men upon their mettle at pike-play and the broadsword with such admirable results that the carousing and laxity engendered by the habits of Captain Billy Winch became less and less, until the rum-casks were no more brought up on deck, except upon rare and exceptional occasions. Of growls there were a few, and here and there a muttering apprised him of dissatisfaction among the free-drinkers. But he offered prizes from the first Spanish vessel captured for those most proficient in the manly arts, to appease their distaste for the sport, himself entering upon the games with a spirit and a poise which were irresistible. The unrestrained life had caught the fancy of Cornbury, too, and with nimble tongue and nimbler weapon he won his way with the rough blades as though he had entered upon this service by the same hawse-pipe as themselves. Once, when a not too complimentary remark had been passed upon his beard, which was grown long and of an ingenuous crimson, he took the offender by the nose and at the point of his sword forced him upon his knees to swear by all the saints that his life-long prayer had been that some exclusive dispensation of nature should one day turn his beard the very self-same color as the Irish captain’s; who then, in satisfaction of the cravings of that reluctant delinquent, forced him below to the paint closet, where he caused him to bedaub himself very liberally with a pigment of the same uncompromising hue—so liberally that not storm nor stress could avail for many weeks to wash clean the stigma. Indeed, so strikingly did the combative characteristics of his race manifest themselves in the performance of his new duties that but for Jacquard the aggressive Irishman had been almost continually embroiled. But as it was, Cornbury served his captain a useful purpose; and, though the ready tact of Bras-de-Fer averted serious difficulties, there were adventures aplenty for the master-at-arms—enough, at least, to satisfy the peculiar needs of his temperament.

In this fashion, learning a discipline of gunnery, arms, and seamanship, and a little of discontent at the restraint besides, they crept south and across the broad Atlantic. Gales buffeted them and blew them from their course, but after many weeks they made northing enough to cross the path of the Spanish silver ships from South America. The first vessel they took was a galleon from Caracas. She was heavy with spices and silks, but had lost her convoy in the night, and was making for Porto Bello. A shot across her bows hove her to, and her guard of soldiers gave her up without a struggle. The Sally hove alongside, and here came the first test of the discipline of Bras-de-Fer. The fellows rushed aboard with drawn weapons, and, finding no resistance, were so enraged at the lack of opportunity to display their new prowess that they fell to striking lustily right and left, and driving the frightened Spaniards forward shrieking down into the hold. ’Twas rare sport for Cornbury, who went dancing forward, aiding the progress of the flying foe with the darting end of his backsword. Only the best efforts of Bras-de-Fer prevented the men from following the victims below, where darker deeds might have been done. Yan Gratz, who had made one voyage with an old pirato named Mansfelt, made so bold as to propose that the Spaniards be dropped overboard, that being the simplest solution of the difficulty. But Bras-de-Fer clapped the hatches over the prisoners with a decision which left little doubt in the minds of the crew as to his intentions. There was a flare of anger at this high-handed discipline, for they were free men of the sea, they said, and owed nothing to any one. Captain Billy Winch had been none too particular in this matter of detail. But, in spite of their curses, Bras-de-Fer brought the prisoners and the prize to port in safety.

It was the beginning of a series of small successes which filled the Sally’s store-rooms and brought three prizes for her into the harbor of Port Royal, Jamaica. There, quarrelsome, bedizened, and swaggering through the streets of the town, Bras-de-Fer and Cornbury saw many of these gentlemen of the sea, who owed allegiance to no man, company, or government. In the same trade as themselves, it might be, save only that with a less nice discrimination these gentry robbed broadly, while the Sally, in despite of her very crew, fought and took only from the enemies of the English King. It was there, too, that the Frenchman met the new English governor, and explained the freak of fortune by which he had come to command the Sally. The governor became most friendly, and (with a sly look of cupidity, which had but one meaning) gave information of the sailing of the San Isidro from Spain, bearing the new governor of Chagres, several bishops and priests, and gold and silver coin of inestimable value for the priests of the Church in the Spanish colonies of America.

Learning that the San Isidro would stop at the Havana, Bras-de-Fer filled his water-tanks and sailed boldly forth to intercept her. It was untried water to the Frenchman, and charted with so little adequacy that the booming of the surf upon the reefs sounded with a too portentous frequency upon the ears. But Jacquard had eyes and ears for everything, and they won their way to the Florida coast without mishap. There a herikano buffeted them out to sea, and it was with many misgivings that they won their way back to the channels of the Bahamas.

The storm had blown itself out, and the ocean shone translucent as an emerald. Low-hanging overhead, great patches of fleecy white, torn from a heaped-up cloud-bank over the low-lying islands of the eastern horizon, took their wild flight across the deep vault of sky in mad pursuit of their fellows who had gone before and were lost in a shimmer of purple, where the sea met the palm-grown spits of the western main. The cool, pink glow upon the Sally’s starboard beam filled the swell of the top-sails with a soft effulgence which partook of some of the coolness and freshness of the air that drove them. Far down upon the weather bow, first a blur, then a shadow which grew from gray to silver and gold, came the San Isidro. Jacquard sighted her, but it was Bras-de-Fer who proclaimed her identity. She was a fine new galleon, spick and span from the Tagus, with three tiers of guns, and masts of the tallest. Her bright new fore-topsail bore the arms of Spain, and the long pennons floating from her trucks and poles proclaimed the high condition of her passengers.

Bras-de-Fer cleared his ship for action and called his men aft.

“There, my fine fellows,” he cried, “is steel worthy of your metal. Let it not be said that Saucy Sally takes her sustenance from the weak and cowardly and flirts her helm to the powerful. Yonder is your prize. She has thrice your bulk and complement—three gun tiers and twenty score of men. So much the more honor! For in her hold are gold and silver bright and new minted from the Spanish treasury, and wines for fat priests, which shall run no less smoothly down your own proper throats. Yonder she is. Take her. Follow where I shall lead and she is yours for the asking.”

A roar of approval greeted him, and the manner in which the rascals sprang to their places showed that, if they growled at his discipline, they were ready enough for this opportunity.