It was on the first day of September that the Providence sighted a large
ship, which was mistaken for an Indiaman, homeward bound. She proved to
be the Solebay, frigate, with twenty guns mounted on one deck. On seeing
the Providence, the Solebay made for her, and the sloop had to take to
her heels. But the Solebay proved to be a magnificent sailer on the
wind, and the Providence had evidently more than her match in speed. The
Providence, small as she was, had cleared for action, for, as Paul Jones
declared, “I will give her one round, if I go to the bottom for it.” The
men highly approved of this sentiment, and the little four-pounders were
run out to salute the flag the Providence carried—because her fire was
little more than a salute.
The day was warm and clear, and the breeze fresh. The little Providence
was legging it briskly over the water, but the Solebay gained upon her
every hour. The chase had begun about noon, and by four o’clock the
frigate was within pistol shot. Paul Jones was on the horse block of his
little vessel, and Bill Green was at the wheel. Danny Dixon had gravely
prepared for action upon the sly hints given by his friend and patron,
Bill. The boy had stripped to the waist, and, wrapping a handkerchief
about his head, instead of his hat, was all ready to take his place at
the head of the line of powder boys.
As the frigate gained more and more on the little Providence, every
heart sank except that of the dauntless captain. Paul Jones, however,
remained calm, and even confident.
“Look,” said he, “their guns in broadside are fast. They think they can
take us by firing a bow chaser, but they are mistaken. What would be
easier than to bear away before the wind under their broadside?”
The Providence had all her light canvas set, and was flying like a bird
from her pursuer; but the pursuer was nevertheless perceptibly gaining.
“We will show our ensign as well as give her a volley,” cried Paul Jones
gayly, and the next moment the American colors fluttered out.
To their surprise, the Solebay now hoisted American colors too.
“Lying, lying,” said Paul Jones, turning to his officers. “Would that we
had such a vessel in our little navy! She is British, depend upon it.
Her lines tell it too plainly.”
The Solebay though imagining that she was weathering on the chase and
sure to capture the saucy American, soon hauled down her American colors
and ran up the Union Jack.
The officers saw by the light in Paul Jones’s eyes that he still had a
trump card to play. All this time he was walking the quarter-deck with
his light and springy step, his face wearing a smile. Presently he
called out himself to Bill Green, at the wheel:
“Give her a good full, quartermaster.”
“A good full, sir,” replied Bill in a sailor’s musical singsong.
Paul Jones then ordered the square sails and then the studding sails
set.
[Illustration: “_Hooray for Cap’n Paul Jones!_”]
The next moment the helm was put up, and before the astonished people on
the Solebay knew what was happening, the American sloop of war ran
directly under her enemy’s broadside and went off dead before the wind.
The keen eyes of Paul Jones had noticed that in the Solebay’s fancied
certainty of capturing the American she had not even cast loose and
manned her batteries in broadside, thinking a shot or two from her bow
guns would bring the Providence to when she was overhauled. But the
Providence had a captain the like of which the Solebay had never met
before, and he could dare and do unlooked-for things.
In vain the frigate came about in haste and confusion. Her prey was
gone, and the Americans were cheering and jeering.
“Boy,” said Bill Green in a hoarse whisper to Danny Dixon, who was
passing near him: “I can’t do no cheerin’ at the wheel, so you cheer for
me; and if you don’t pipe up as loud as the best of ’em I’ll tan your
hide for you the wust you ever see, jest as soon as my relief comes.”
Danny was disposed to cheer anyhow, but Bill Green’s promise of a
licking in case he did not do his full duty in the matter, tended to
encourage him. He took his stand by the foremast and a series of
diabolical whoops and yells resounded. “Hooray!” bawled Danny. “Hooray
for Cap’n Paul Jones! Hooray for the Providence! Hooray for Mr. Bill
Green! Hooray for the powder monkeys on this ’ere ship!” and so on
indefinitely.
“What is that youngster yelling?” asked Paul Jones, laughing at the
gravity and persistence with which Danny kept up his performance.
One of the officers went up to him, and returned laughing too:
“He says, sir, that Green, the quartermaster, told him to hurrah, and if
he doesn’t keep it up he is afraid Green will give him the cat.”
Everybody laughed, and they agreed the best plan was to let Danny and
the quartermaster settle it between them. Danny hurrahed for a solid
half hour, until Green’s relief came. The old sailor then went up to
him, grinning.
“You can shet that potato-trap o’ yourn now,” he said, “and I’ll take a
turn myself,” whereupon Bill, inflating his lungs, roared out solemnly:
“Three cheers for Cap’n Paul Jones!”
“Hooray! hooray! hooray!” piped Danny Dixon’s shrill treble.
Paul Jones’s daring exploit still further increased the respect that his
officers and men felt, and they showed it in a hundred ways.
Three weeks now passed, and the Providence steered to the northern seas.
One day, off Cape Sable, in Nova Scotia, the weather being brilliantly
clear, Bill Green and others of the men asked permission to catch for
their mess some of the fish that abounded. As they had been on salt
provisions for a long time, Paul Jones readily gave the desired
permission, and the ship was hove to. A sharp lookout was kept, however,
but nothing occurred to disturb the men in their amusement, until toward
afternoon, when a sail was made out to windward of them. Instantly the
fishing came to a stop, and the Providence, setting some of her light
sails, waited for the stranger on an easy bowline.
As the ship approached, Paul Jones plainly saw that she was no such
sailer as the Solebay, and thought he could amuse himself with her.
“That vessel, I take it,” he remarked to his first lieutenant, “is the
Milford frigate. I have expected to fall in with her, and we can outfoot
her, that is clear.”
The Milford, however, began to chase. When she got within cannon shot
Paul Jones doubled on her quarter; when, seeing he had the advantage of
her in speed, he began to lead her a wild-goose chase. For eight hours
the pursuit continued, the Providence keeping just out of range of the
cannonade which the Milford kept up unceasingly, wasting in it enormous
quantities of powder and shot. Paul Jones was much too astute to throw
away any of his ammunition in a perfectly useless cannonade, but as he
said, “I can not be so rude as to receive a salute without returning
it.” Turning to his marine officer, he said:
“Direct one of your men to load his musket, and as often as the Milford
salutes our flag with her great guns, we will reply with a musket shot
at least.”
The officer, smiling, went after his man, and stationed him on the
quarter-deck. The next time the slow-sailing frigate thundered out a
tremendous volley, the marine, with his musket at his shoulder, stood
ready for the word. The officer called out, “Fire!” and the marine
banged away at the frigate amid the uproarious laughter and cheering of
the American sailors. This was kept up for an hour or two, when, a good
breeze springing up, the Providence set all her canvas and ran off,
leaving the Milford completely in the lurch.
They had another brush with the Milford before the cruise was up.
Captain Jones had captured a fine ship, the Mellish, loaded with
clothing, which was badly needed by the army of Washington. While
convoying her, and with his ship filled with prisoners taken from other
prizes, he ran across the Milford. The frigate immediately gave chase.
As it was night, Captain Jones set lights at his topmast, and everywhere
a light could be put, while the Mellish, with her valuable cargo,
carried no lights at all, and slipped off in the darkness. When day
broke, Captain Jones found that the Mellish was not in sight, while the
Milford was crowding on sail to overhaul him. But the little Providence
again showed a clean pair of heels, and some days afterward the Mellish
was brought in, to the great rejoicing of the patriotic army.