The Buccaneer Chief: A Romance of the Spanish Main

The double answer the Count expected was not long deferred; M. de Barmont's two old friends had not forgotten him, and hastened to employ their credit on his behalf.

The Duke d'Epernon especially, better situated through his title of Admiral to be useful to the young man, wrote that he would gladly undertake the duty of pushing him on in the world.

This took place at the beginning of 1631, when Ludovic de Barmont had reached his sixteenth year.

Being very tall, with a proud and haughty air, and endowed with rare vigour and great agility, the young man seemed older than he in reality was. It was with the liveliest joy that he learned how his wishes had been fulfilled, and that nothing prevented him from embracing a maritime career.

The Duke d'Epernon's letter requested the Count de Barmont to send his son as speedily as possible to Bordeaux, so that he might at once place him aboard a man-of-war, to commence his apprenticeship.

Two days after the receipt of this letter the young man tore himself with difficulty from the embraces of his mother, bade his father a respectful farewell, and took the road to Bordeaux, mounted on a good horse, and followed by a confidential valet.

The navy had for a long time been neglected in France; and left during the middle ages in the hands of private persons, as the government, following the example of the other continental powers, did not deign to try and secure a respectable position on the seas, much less a supremacy; thus we see during the reign of Francis I., who was, however, one of the warlike Kings of France, Ango, a ship broker of Dieppe, from whom the Portuguese had taken a vessel during a profound peace, authorized by the King, who was unable to procure him justice, to equip a fleet at his own expense. With this fleet Ango, we may remark incidentally, blockaded the port of Lisbon, and did not cease hostilities until he had forced the Portuguese to send to France ambassadors humbly to ask peace of the King.

The discovery of the New World, however, and the no less important one of the Cape of Good Hope, by giving navigation a greater activity and a more extended sphere, at the same time as they widened the limits of commerce, caused the necessity to be felt of creating a navy, intended to protect merchant vessels against the attacks of corsairs.

It was not till the reign of Louis XIII. that the idea of creating a navy began to be carried into execution. Cardinal de Richelieu, whose vast genius embraced everything, and whom the English fleets had caused several times to tremble during the long and wearying siege of Rochelle, passed several decrees relating to the navy, and founded a school of navigation, intended to educate those young gentlemen who desired to serve the King aboard his vessels.

It is to this great minister, then, that France is indebted for the first thought of a navy; this navy was destined to contend against the Spanish and Dutch fleets, and during the reign of Louis XIV., to acquire so great an importance, and momentarily hold in check the power of England.

It was this school of navigation created by Richelieu that the Viscount de Barmont entered, thanks to the influence of the Duke d'Epernon.

The old gentleman strictly kept the pledge he had given his former comrade in arms; he did not cease to protect the young man, which, however, was an easy task, for the latter displayed an extraordinary aptitude, and a talent very rare at that date in the profession he had embraced.

Hence, in 1641, he was already a captain in the navy, and had the command of a twenty-six gun frigate.

Unfortunately, neither the old Count de Barmont nor his wife was able to enjoy the success of their son or the new era opening for their house; they both died a few days apart from each other, leaving the young man an orphan at the age of two-and-twenty.

As a pious son, Ludovic, who really loved his parents, lamented and regretted them, especially his mother, who had always been so kind and tender to him; but, as he had been accustomed for so many years to live alone during his long voyages, and only to trust to himself, he did not feel the loss so painfully as he would have done had he never left the paternal roof.

Henceforth the sole representative of his house, he regarded life more seriously than he had hitherto done, and redoubled his efforts to restore to his name its almost eclipsed lustre, which, thanks to his exertions, was beginning to shine again with renewed brilliancy.

The Duke d'Epernon still lived, but a forgotten relic of an almost entirely departed generation – a sickly octogenarian, who had quarrelled long ago with Cardinal de Richelieu, his influence was null, and he could do nothing for the man he had so warmly protected a few years previously.

But the Count did not allow this to prey on his mind; the naval service was not envied by the nobility, good officers were rare, and he believed that if he cautiously avoided mixing himself up in any political intrigue, he might have a brilliant career.

An accident, impossible to foresee, was fated to destroy all his ambitious plans, and ruin his career forever.

This is how the affair occurred: – The Count de Barmont, at the time commanding the Erigone, twenty-six gun frigate, after a lengthened cruise in the Algerian waters to protect French merchant vessels against the Barbary pirates, steered for the states of Gibraltar, in order to reach the Atlantic, and return to Brest, whither he had orders to proceed at the end of his cruise; but just as he was about to pass through the Straits, he was caught by a squall, and after extraordinary efforts to continue his course, which almost cast him on to the coast of Africa, owing to the strength of the wind and the rough, chopping sea, he was obliged to stand off and on for several hours, and finally take refuge in the port of Algeciras, which was to windward of him, on the Spanish coast.

So soon as he had anchored, and made all snug, the commandant, who knew from experience that two or three days would elapse ere the wind veered, and allowed him to pass the Straits, ordered his boat, and went ashore.

Although the town of Algeciras is very old, it is very small, badly built, and scantily populated; at this period, more especially, it only formed, as it were, a poor market town. It was not till after the English had seized Gibraltar, situated on the other side of the bay, that the Spaniards comprehended the importance of Algeciras to them, and have converted it into a regular port.

The Captain had no other motive for landing at Algeciras, than the restlessness natural to sailors, which impels them to leave their vessel as soon as they have cast anchor.

Commercial relations were not established at that time, as they now are. The government had not yet fallen into the custom of sending to foreign ports residents ordered to watch over their countrymen, and protect their transactions – in a word, consulates had not yet been created: only those ships of war, which accident might lead to any port, now and then undertook to procure justice for those of their countrymen, whose interests had been encroached on.

After landing, and giving orders to his coxswain to come and fetch him at sunset, the Captain, merely followed by a sailor, of the name of Michael, to whom he was greatly attached, and who accompanied him everywhere, turned into the winding streets of Algeciras, curiously examining everything that offered itself to view.

This Michael, to whom we shall have several occasions to refer, was a tall fellow, with an intelligent face, about thirty years of age, and who had vowed an eternal devotion to his captain since the day when the latter had risked his life in saving his, by jumping into a boat during a terrible storm four years before, to help him when he had fallen into the sea while going up the shrouds to ease the mainsail.

Since that day Michael had never left the Count, and had always contrived to sail with him. Born in the vicinity of Pau, the country of Henri IV., he was like the king, his fellow countryman, gay, mocking, and even sceptical. An excellent sailor, endowed with tried bravery, and far from ordinary vigour, Michael offered in his person the perfect type of the Béarnaise Basque, a strong and rough, though loyal and faithful race.

Only one individual shared in Michael's heart the unbounded friendship he felt for his chief. This privileged being was a Breton sailor, gloomy and taciturn, who formed a complete antithesis to him, and whom, owing to his slowness, the crew had favoured with the characteristic name of Bowline, which he had accepted, and was so accustomed to answer to it, that he had almost forgotten the name he previously bore.

The service the Count had done Michael, the latter had rendered to Bowline: hence he was attached to the Breton through this very service, and while mocking and teasing him from morning till night, he had a sincere friendship for him.

The Breton understood Michael, and so far as his reserved and slightly demonstrative nature permitted, he testified on every occasion his gratitude to the Basque, by letting himself be completely directed and governed by him in all the actions of his life, without ever attempting to revolt against the frequent exorbitant demands of his mentor.

If we have dwelt so long on the character of these two men, it is because they are destined in the course of this work to play an important part; and the reader must be acquainted with them, in order to understand the facts we shall have to record.

The Count and his sailor continued to advance along the streets, the one reflecting and amusing himself the other remaining, through respect, a few paces in the rear, and desperately smoking a pipe, whose stem was so short that the bowl almost touched his lips.

While walking thus straight before them, the promenaders soon reached the end of the town, and turned into a lane bordered by aloes, which led, with a rather steep incline, to the top of a hill, whence could be enjoyed the entire panorama of the bay of Algeciras, which, we may remark in a parenthesis, is the finest in the world.

It was about two in the afternoon, the hottest moment of the day. The sun profusely poured down its torrid beams, which made the pebbles in the road sparkle like diamonds.

Hence everybody had gone within doors to enjoy the siesta, so that, since landing, the two sailors had not met a living creature; and if the Arabian Nights, which were not translated till a century later, had been known at the time, the Count, without any great effort of the imagination, might have believed himself transported to that city where all the inhabitants had been sent to sleep by a wicked impostor, so complete was the silence around him, while the landscape had the aspect of a desert. To complete the illusion, the breeze had fallen, there was not a breath of air, and the vast expanse of water stretched out at their feet was as motionless as if composed of ice.

The Count stopped, pensively gazing with an absent eye at his frigate, which at this distance was scarce as large as a skiff.

Michael smoked more than ever, and admired the country with straddling legs, and his arm behind his back, in that position so liked by sailors.

"Hilloh!" he said suddenly.

"What is the matter with you?" the Count asked him, as he turned round.

"Nothing the matter with me, Captain," he replied, "I am only looking at a lady who is coming up here at a gallop. What a fancy to go at that pace in such a heat as this."

"Where is she?" asked the Count.

"Why, there, Captain," he said, stretching out his hand to larboard.

The Count turned his eyes in the direction which Michael indicated to him.

"Why, that horse has bolted," he exclaimed, a moment later.

"Do you think so, Captain?" the sailor remarked, calmly.

"Zounds! I am certain of it. Look, now that she is nearer to us. The rider is clinging despairingly to the mane. The unhappy girl is lost!"

"Very possibly," Michael said, philosophically.

"Quick, quick, my lad!" the Captain shouted, as he rushed to the side where the horse was coming up. "We must save the lady, even if we perish!"

The sailor made no answer; he merely took the precaution of withdrawing his pipe from his mouth and placing it in his pocket, and then he set out at a run behind his captain.

The horse came on like a whirlwind. It was a barb of the purest Arab race, with a small head, and legs fine as spindles. It bounded furiously with all four legs on the narrow path it was following, with eyes full of flashes, and apparently snorting fire through its dilated nostrils. The lady on its back, half reclining on its neck, had seized its long mane with both hands, and, half insane with terror, as she felt herself lost, she uttered stifled cries at intervals.