The wind continued to freshen as the squadron, with its two prizes, made
for the open sea. Bad weather followed, and for ten days the Serapis,
with her make-shift masts, and the other ships, were tossed about the
angry North Sea. At last, though, the wind proved kind, and on the
morning of the 3d of October anchor was cast off the island of Texel.
The sight of a splendid British frigate with an American ensign flying
proudly over the Union Jack, and a twenty-gun sloop of war in the same
plight, was an inspiring sight to the few Americans and friends of the
cause of independence at the Texel. News of the victory had preceded the
arrival of the ships, and it was a matter of the keenest interest how
Holland, a neutral power, would receive these victorious enemies of
England, which literally ruled the seas. The fact is, the brave and
prudent Hollanders felt deeply sympathetic with the young republic of
the West in her fight against Holland’s ancient maritime enemy; but the
court and the court party were absolutely under British influence, and
it was not long in manifesting its animosity to the flag that Paul Jones
carried.
Scarcely were the ships at anchor before news came that a British line
of battle ship was waiting outside of the Texel. According to the rules
of war, the American ship should have remained long enough to have what
was necessary done for her in the cause of humanity. The British
ambassador, Sir Joseph Yorke, was highly incensed at the American ship
being accorded succor, and openly and bitterly spoke of Paul Jones as
“that pirate.” But the “pirate,” when he went up to Amsterdam a few days
after his arrival, received such an ovation from the enthusiastic
Americans and the brave Dutchmen as any man on earth might have been
proud of. Huzzas and waving handkerchiefs saluted him from the French
and Americans in Amsterdam, while the Dutchmen bowed low to him. When he
appeared upon the Exchange, wearing proudly his American uniform and his
Scotch bonnet, edged with gold, the crowds pressed around him so that he
was forced to retire into a room fronting the public square. The
plaudits of the crowd becoming uproarious, he was obliged to show
himself at the window and bow, after which he hastily retreated.
This reception very much affronted Sir Joseph Yorke, who, on the 9th of
October, wrote to the Dutch Government demanding that the American ships
“be stopped,” and declaring Paul Jones to be “a rebel and a pirate.”
Other measures than writing letters were used to “stop” him. The battle
ship watching off the Texel had been joined by eleven other ships of the
line and frigates. Eight were stationed at the north entrance to the
harbor, where they expected Paul Jones would come out, and four at the
south entrance. Here, on every fine day, they might be seen cruising
back and forth. Small squadrons were also on the lookout for him on the
east coasts of England and Scotland, the coast of Norway, the Irish
Channel, the west coast of Ireland, and in the Straits of Dover. In all,
there were forty-two British ships after Paul Jones, and two of them
were lost while on the watch for him.
Within the Texel he had powerful enemies in the British ambassador and
the royal court. In spite of both, though, by courage and firmness he
forced the Dutch authorities to grant him the asylum that the laws of
civilized warfare give to ships in distress. He demanded, and was given,
leave to establish a hospital under the American flag on shore for his
wounded, to dispose as he pleased of his five hundred prisoners, and to
have the drawbridges at the fort hauled up whenever he desired. Thus
menaced as Paul Jones was with dangers outside, he had still many to
encounter within the port. He had great trouble in getting the Serapis
refitted, and then he was told plainly by the French ambassador that he
must accept a French commission and fly the French flag if he desired to
hold on to the ship which was the noble spoil of his victory; otherwise
he must transfer his flag to the Alliance, a ship in every way inferior
to the Serapis. Landais, it may be said in passing, had been detached
from the ship and ordered to Paris to answer for his conduct. It was
bitter enough to the British ambassador to see the American colors
flying on an American ship—the Alliance—but it was intolerable to see it
over a beautiful British frigate like the Serapis; and he had influence
enough with the Dutch Government to have this intimation given the
French ambassador, who was obliged to notify Paul Jones.
The Bon Homme Richard had found an ocean grave, and grievous as this
blow was to Paul Jones, more grievous still was it to give up the lovely
Serapis, which, as he wrote Benjamin Franklin, was the finest ship of
her class he had ever seen. But he did not hesitate a moment. Never
during the battle for independence would he serve under any except the
American flag, or bear any but an American commission. So, with a sore
heart but an unflinching determination, he gave the Serapis up to his
French allies, and with Dale and his old company of the Bon Homme
Richard he transferred his flag to the Alliance. But day by day his
enemies grew stronger, and the Dutch yielded more and more to the angry
domination of the British. Every obstacle was put in his way to prevent
the refitting of his ship, while at the same time he was told that, if
he did not go to sea with the first fair wind, the Dutch fleet of
thirteen double-decked frigates would force him out. And that would be
to force him into the very jaws of destruction, so they thought, with
twelve British ships cruising in full sight.
But, menaced from within and without, the indomitable spirit of Paul
Jones only maintained itself the more undauntedly. As every morning
dawned the American colors were hoisted at the mizzen peak of the
Alliance, and flew steadily until the sunset gun was fired—and that in
the face of twenty-three Dutch and British ships, any one of which was
more than a match for the Alliance.
However the officials might treat him, the sympathy of the people was
with Paul Jones and his gallant companions. The Dutch naval officers
paid him marked respect and attention, although they were ready, at the
word of command, to fire into him. He had other consolations too. His
letters from Franklin were frequent and affectionate. One of them Paul
Jones handed Dale to read. It said: “For some days after the arrival of
your express nothing was talked of except your cool conduct and
persevering bravery during the terrible combat.” And Franklin had
sternly denounced Landais, who was now held in universal contempt.
The American cause was extremely popular among the masses in Holland,
and the sailors were always well treated on shore. Whenever Bill Green
could get leave, he usually spent it at a clean and orderly Dutch
tavern, where, surrounded by stolid Dutchmen gravely smoking their long
pipes, Bill would hold forth upon the glories of the fight with the
Serapis. About this time he picked up a new song, which he brought on
board the Alliance, written out in a fair and clerkly hand, with
innumerable flourishes.
“I s’pose,” remarked the boatswain, skeptically, “you’ll want us to
believe as you wrote that out with your own flipper?”
“Why, yes, I did,” answered Bill, somewhat sheepishly.
“Well, then,” continued the boatswain, “it’s a shame for you to be
nothin’ but a quartermaster. The purser hisself, he don’t write no such
handwritin’ as that. But pipe up the song, though.”
Bill, to avoid awkward discussions, piped up with unusual promptness,
and sang as follows:
“Heave the topmast from the board,
And our ship for action clear.
By the cannon and the sword
We will die or conquer here.
The foe, of twice our force, nears fast:
To your posts, my faithful tars!
Mind your rigging, guns, and spars,
And defend your Stripes and Stars
To the last.
“At the captain’s bold command
Flew each sailor to his gun,
And resolved he there would stand,
Though the odds were two to one,
To defend his flag and ship with his life.
High on every mast displayed,
‘God, Our Country, and Our Rights.’
E’en the bravest braver made,
For the strife.
“Fierce the storm of battle pours;
But unmoved as ocean’s rock
When the tempest round it roars,
Every seaman breasts the shock,
Boldly stepping where his brave messmates fall.
O’er his head, full oft and loud,
Like the vulture in a cloud,
As it cuts the twanging shroud,
Screams the ball.
“Before the siroc blast
From its caverns driven,
Drops the sheared and shivered mast,
By the bolt of battle riven,
And higher heaps the ruin of the deck.
As the sailor, bleeding, dies,
To his comrades lifts his eyes,
‘Let our flag still wave!’ he cries,
O’er the wreck.
“Long live the gallant crew,
Who survived that day of blood!
And may fortune soon renew
Equal battle on the flood!
Long live the glorious names of the brave!
O’er these martyrs of the deep
Oft the roving wind shall weep,
Crying ‘Sweetly may they sleep
’Neath the wave!’”
The attentions shown Paul Jones personally by the Dutch naval officers
were very displeasing to the British ambassador, and by intrigue he
succeeded in having Captain Rimersima, who had been very polite to the
Americans, superseded in favor of Vice-Admiral Reynst, as commander of
the Dutch fleet. This vice-admiral belonged to the court party, and was
notoriously unfriendly to Paul Jones. On the 12th of November he sent
Paul Jones a peremptory order to sail with the first fair wind. In spite
of every effort, the American ship was not yet in condition to keep the
sea. But, for this very reason, the vice-admiral constantly urged Paul
Jones to depart, and even threatened him in case he did not. At last, on
the 28th of November, a positive threat was made. The vice-admiral wrote
that, unless Paul Jones went out, the Dutch fleet would drive him out.
The wind at the time was contrary. Paul Jones received this message from
a junior Dutch officer on the quarter-deck of the Alliance, and replied,
in a loud, firm voice that not only all the men on the Alliance could
hear, but all the sailors in the Dutch man-of-war’s boat:
“The vice-admiral demands impossibilities,” he said. “Can any ship get
out of the road in such a wind as this?”
Then he called up an old Dutch pilot that he had kept on board for a
week past—Peter Maartens.
“Maartens,” said he, “will you undertake to carry this ship out?”
The pilot, a stolid old Dutchman with a great beard, looked at Paul
Jones very solemnly for a long time.
“Not if I keep sober,” he answered gravely; at which even the
vice-admiral’s junior officer was forced to smile.
“Then I will have that statement written out, and you shall sign it,”
promptly replied Paul Jones.
The paper was written and read to the pilot, who signed it in the
presence of the Dutch lieutenant. For ten days they were left
unmolested. Sir Joseph Yorke thought, however, that he had succeeded at
last in ruining Paul Jones, for, forced to put out as soon as the wind
permitted, there was a British squadron waiting for him at either
entrance to the harbor. It seemed as if Paul Jones was at last destined
to be caught. But Fortune favors the brave—and she had never yet
deserted this daring sailor. Everything had been done with the
insufficient means at hand to get the Alliance into good condition. Much
of her sailing qualities had been destroyed by the crazy Landais’s
method of ballasting. This was remedied, and the ship was in fairly good
order. As Paul Jones wrote to Franklin: “The enemy still keeps a
squadron cruising off here, but this will not prevent my attempts to
depart whenever the wind will permit. I hope we have recovered the trim
of the ship, which was entirely lost the last cruise; and I do not much
fear the enemy in the long and dark nights of this season. The ship is
well manned, and shall not be given away!”
How does the gallant spirit of Paul Jones ring in those last words!
About the middle of December the Dutch vice-admiral one day sent word to
Paul Jones, desiring him to come on board the Dutch flagship. To this
Paul Jones sent a polite but determined refusal. As the Dutch boat
pulled off, he said, laughing, to Dale:
“Does that puppet of kings think that an American commodore will obey
like a dog the orders of a Dutch admiral?”
Failing to get him on board, Vice-Admiral Reynst wrote him a peremptory
note, asking if the Alliance was to be considered a French or an
American vessel. If French, the captain’s commission was to be shown to
the Dutch vice-admiral, the French flag and pendant displayed, and a gun
fired to announce it. If American, the ship was to leave at the earliest
possible moment.
To this Paul Jones replied in these characteristic lines:
“Sir: I have no authority to hoist any colors on this ship except the
American, and whenever the pilot will take it upon himself to conduct
the ship to sea he shall have my best assistance.
Paul Jones,
“_Commanding the American Continental ship Alliance_.”