an expedition such as I propose; to harry the coast and destroy the
commerce of the enemy. Their idea is to leave all of that to
privateers, of which I have already been offered a dozen commands.
Some of the ships they fit out as privateers are really respectable
frigates in size, and I have seen one, called the _Monsieur_, that
mounts thirty-eight or forty guns. But I do not wish to engage in
privateering. My object is not that of private gain, but to serve the
public in a way that may reflect credit on our infant navy and give
prestige to our country over the sea."
Noble sentiments--nobly expressed!
In spite of the gloomy outlook he at last secured a vessel from the
King himself, called the _Duras_, which he re-christened "_Le Bon
Homme Richard_"--"_The Good Richard_"--the name assumed by Dr.
Benjamin Franklin when writing his famous "Almanack," except that he
called him "Poor Richard." This was a well-merited compliment to the
great and good man, who was then Commissioner from the United States
to France, and a firm friend to the ardent John Paul. The vessel had
forty guns, "and," writes the Minister of Marine, "as you may find
too much difficulty in enlisting a sufficient number of Americans, the
King permits you to levy French volunteers, until you obtain a full
crew."
John Paul hastened to get her ready for a cruise. "I mounted
twenty-eight long twelve-pounders on the gun-deck," he says, "put
eight of the long nines on the quarter-deck, and discarded the
six-pounders of her old battery. This gave her a battery of forty-two
guns, throwing two hundred and fifty-eight pounds of metal in a single
broadside. She was the fair equivalent of a thirty-six gun frigate."
From February to June she was worked over; refitted; resparred. On
June 19th, 1779, the gallant John Paul Jones swung out into the
English Channel; he, himself, in command of the _Good Richard_, which
carried a crew of three hundred and seventy-five, not more than fifty
of whom were Americans. Four other vessels were with him: the
_Alliance_, a thirty-two gun frigate; the _Pallas_, a twenty-eight gun
frigate; the _Vengeance_, a twelve gun brig; and the _Cerf_, a cutter.
On the second day out the _Alliance_ fouled the _Richard_, causing so
much damage to both, that the squadron was compelled to return to port
for repairs, which--with other transactions--consumed six weeks. But
the accident was a lucky one, for numerous American sailors, who were
in English prisons, were shortly exchanged with English seamen in
French dungeons; and thus Paul Jones was able to man the _Good
Richard_ with one hundred and fourteen native Americans, who were
anxious to have a crack at those who had captured them but a short
time before.
Finally, with refitted ships and reorganized crews, Paul Jones was
ready to sail from the roadstead of Isle de Groaix, in the early part
of August, 1779, bound upon his cruise around the British Islands.
There were four ships in this squadron: the _Good Richard_; the
_Alliance_, under Pierre Landais (a depraved and dishonest Frenchman);
the _Pallas_, under Cottineau (an honest Frenchman); and the
_Vengeance_, a sloop-of-war. The prevailing winds were light and
baffling, so the squadron moved slowly.
War had been declared between France and England, and thus the English
Channel was thronged with privateers from both countries. The
_Richard_ and a French privateer, in company, re-captured a large ship
belonging to Holland, but bound from Barcelona to Dunkirk, France,
which had been taken some days before by an English vessel off Cape
Ortegal and ordered into Falmouth, England. England and Holland were
still at peace, at this time, but the English claimed the right to
intercept and send into their own port for examination, all neutral
vessels bound to French ports, as England and France were then at war.
Commodore Jones took the English prize-crew out of the Dutch ship, as
prisoners of war, and then ordered the ship into l'Orient in charge of
her own crew, but under the command of one of his midshipmen, until
she could come under the protection of a French port.
"Things are going well with us!" cried Captain Jones, rubbing his
hands gleefully.
He soon felt much happier. For, on the morning of August 23rd, when in
the vicinity of Cape Clear, the _Richard_ sent three boats, and
afterwards a fourth, to take a brig that was becalmed in the northwest
quarter--just out of gun-shot. It proved to be the _Fortune_, of
Bristol, bound from Newfoundland for her home-port with whale-oil,
salt fish, and barrel staves. Manned by a prize-crew of two warrant
officers and six men, she was sent to Nantes.
All were happy. All were looking forward to a good fight. It was to
come to them.
The little fleet of war-dogs sailed northward, and, on September 1st,
about ten o'clock in the morning, the northwest promontory of Scotland
was sighted. At the same instant, two large ships bore in sight on the
same quarter, and another vessel appeared to windward.
"Bear up! Bear up!" cried Jones.
The _Richard_ held over toward the first two ships until he saw that
it was the _Alliance_ and a prize she had taken about daylight,--a
vessel bound for Jamaica, from London.
"Now chase the other fellow!" he cried, turning the wheel with his own
hands, and soon the _Good Richard_ was bounding over the waves in hard
pursuit of the second sail. Slowly but surely she was overhauled.
Heavily armed, she did not surrender until after the exchange of
several shots, which the _Richard_ pumped into her, after running up
close enough to show her broadside.
A boat soon carried a number of seamen to take possession of her, and
she proved to be the British privateer, the _Union_, mounting
twenty-two six-pounders, and bound northward from London to Quebec, in
Canada, laden with a cargo of naval and military stores for the
British troops and flotillas on the Lakes. The _Union_ also carried a
valuable mail, including dispatches for Sir William Howe, in New York,
and Sir Guy Carleton, in Canada. "These were lost," writes John Paul
to good Doctor Franklin, at Paris, for the _Alliance_ imprudently
showed American colors, though English colors were still flying on the
_Bon Homme Richard_; "the enemy thereby being induced to throw his
papers of importance overboard before we could take possession of
him." The prizes were manned from the _Alliance_ and sent (by Landais)
into the seaport of Bergen, in Norway.
The squadron now beat down the east coast of Scotland, and, after
capturing five or six small prizes, rounded-to off the Firth of Forth.
"I intend to attack the port of Leith!" cried Jones, "as I understand
that it is defended only by a small guard-ship of twenty-two guns, and
an old fortification (old Leith Fort) garrisoned by a detachment of
Militia."
The wind was adverse, blowing off shore, with frequent heavy squalls,
but about noon of the 17th of September, the _Richard_ and the
_Pallas_ beat up within gun-shot of Leith Fort and were lowering away
their tenders in order to land, when a heavy Northwest gale sprang up,
compelling them to hoist their boats, and put to sea. The gale lasted
about twenty-four hours, but, on the morning of the 19th, the wind
took another turn, the sea grew calm, and Jones proposed to renew the
attack upon Leith. The Commander of the _Pallas_ made strong objection
to this. "I do not believe that we should stay here," cried he. "If we
persist in the attempt to remain on this station three days longer, we
shall have a squadron of heavy frigates, if not a ship of line, to
deal with. Convinced of this, I offer it as my judgment that we had
better work along the shore to-day and to-morrow, as far as Spurn
Head, and then, if we do not fall in with the Baltic merchant fleet,
stand off the coast and make the best of our way to Dunkirk."
Commodore Jones spent a few moments in reflection. "You are probably
right, Cottineau," said he. "I only wish that another man like you
were in command of the _Alliance_. However, we cannot help what is and
must make the best of it. Go aboard your ship and make sail to the
south-southwest. Speak the _Vengeance_ as you run down, and tell
Ricot--her commander--to rendezvous off Spurn Head. I will bring up
the rear with this ship. We may fall in with the Baltic fleet between
here and Scarboro', which is usually their first English port of
destination at this time of the year. Should you happen to sight the
_Alliance_, inform Captain Landais of our destination, but do not
communicate it to him as an order, because that would be likely to
expose you only to insult."
The two ships turned South, and the next three days were without
events of importance. At length they neared the harbor of Scarboro',
and, as they hovered about twelve miles off the land, they saw some
vessels making for the shore, and protecting a fleet of merchantmen.
"They're a heavy man-of-war--either a fifty-gun frigate, or a
fifty-four--with a large ship-of-war in company," cried one of his
Lieutenants, who had been watching them through a glass. "The Captain
of the larger one has cleverly manoeuvered to protect his merchant
ship."
Commodore Jones seemed to be much pleased.
"At last we'll have a little fight," cried he. "Bear hard for the
land, and get between the larger vessel and the shore!"
Captain Cottineau was signalled to and requested to go after the
sloop-of-war. About sundown the _Richard_ succeeded in weathering the
large frigate and manoeuvered between her and the land.
The ships neared each other very gradually, for the breeze was slight.
They were on opposite tacks and Commodore Jones readily made out the
force and rate of his antagonist. By the light of the dying day--for
it was about seven P. M.--he saw that she was a new forty-four; a
perfect beauty. It was the _Serapis_--Captain Richard Pearson
commanding--but six months off the stocks and on her first cruise as a
convoy to the Baltic fleet of merchantmen: consisting of about forty
vessels laden with timber and other naval stores for the use of the
British dockyards. Jones had hoped to have an opportunity to attack
this flotilla, but his plans had been frustrated by the vigilance and
skill of the commander of the men-of-war in convoy.
Even now Landais might have got among the merchantmen in the
fast-sailing _Alliance_, while Jones and Cottineau occupied the
attention of the two men-of-war; but the French officer did not have
sufficient courage to tackle them, and kept well beyond striking
distance.
The Captain of the _Serapis_ stood upon the deck, intently gazing at
the on-coming vessel.
"Gad Zooks!" he uttered. "From the size of her spars and her height
out of water I take her to be a French fifty of the time of the last
war. It's too dark for me to see whether she has any lower ports or
not." He raised his night glasses to his eyes, and, in the light of
the full moon which was now flooding the sea with a silvery haze, saw
that his opponent was intent upon a fight.
"It is probably Paul Jones," said he, lowering the glasses. "If
so--there's tight work ahead. What ship is that?" he cried out in loud
tones.
No answer came from the dark hull of the _Good Richard_, but, as she
swung nearer upon the rolling waves, suddenly a flash, a roar, and a
sheet of flame belched from her side. The battle was on!
It was a struggle which has been talked of for years. It was a battle
about which the world never seems to tire of reading. It was _the_
battle which has made the name of John Paul Jones nautically immortal.
The two warriors of the deep were on the same tack, headed northwest,
driven by a slight wind which veered to the westward. The sea was
smooth, the sky was clear, the full moon was rising--the conditions
for a night struggle were ideal.
_Crash! Crash! Crash!_
Broadside after broadside rolled and shrieked from ship to ship, as
the air was filled with flying bits of iron.
_Crash! Crash! Crash!_
Travelling very slowly, for the wind was little more than sufficient
to give them steering-way in the tide, the two antagonists drifted
along for twenty minutes, at cable length (600 to 900 feet--about the
distance of the 220 yard dash). But suddenly--_Boom!_ an explosion
sounded in the gun-room of the _Good Richard_. Two of her
eighteen-pounders had blown up back of the trunnions; many of the crew
lay dead and dying, the after part of the main gun-deck was shattered
like a reed: Senior Midshipman and Acting Lieutenant John Mayrant--who
had command of this battery--was severely wounded in the head by a
fragment of one of the exploded shells, and was scorched by the blast
of flame.
"Abandon your guns!" shouted First Lieutenant Dale, "and report with
your remaining men to the main-deck battery!"
"All right!" answered Mayrant, as he bound a white kerchief around
his bleeding head. "I'll be with you just as soon as I give them one
more shot."
This he endeavored to do, but not a gun could be touched off. "The old
sixteen-pounders that formed the battery of the lower gun-deck, did no
service whatever, except firing eight shots in all," writes John Paul
Jones. "Two out of three of them burst at the first fire, killing
almost all the men who were stationed to manage them."
The gunnery of the _Good Richard_ was excellent. Though her battery
was one-third lighter than that of the _Serapis_; though her gun-crews
were composed--to a great extent--of French volunteers, who had never
been at sea before--in quickness and rapidity of fire, the shells from
the American fell just as accurately as did those from the Britisher;
pointed and gauged by regular, trained English men-of-war seamen. The
roar of belching cannon was deafening. The superior weight and energy
of the British shot began to tell decisively against the sputtering
twelve-pounders of the _Richard_, in spite of the fact that they were
being served with quickness and precision. As the two battling
sea-monsters drifted slowly along, a pall of sulphurous smoke hung
over their black hulls, like a sheet of escaping steam. They were
drawing nearer and nearer to each other.
It was now about a quarter to eight. Wounded and dying littered the
decks of both Britisher and American, but the fight was to the death.
"Luff! Luff!" cried Captain Pearson, as the _Richard_ began to forge
near him. "Luff! Luff! and let fly with all guns at the water-line.
Sink the Yankee Pirate!"
But Paul Jones was intent upon grappling with his adversary. Quickly
jerking the tiller to one side, he shoved the _Richard_ into the wind
and endeavored to run her--bows on--into the side of his opponent. The
_Serapis_ paid off, her stern swung to, and, before she could gather
way, the _Richard_'s jib-boom shot over her larboard quarter and into
the mizzen rigging.
Jones was delighted.
"Throw out the grappling hooks!" cried he, in shrill tones. "Hold
tight to the Britisher and be prepared to board!"
In an instant, many clawing irons spun out into the mizzen stays of
the _Serapis_; but, though they caught, the lines holding them soon
parted. The _Serapis_ fell off and the _Richard_ lurched ahead.
Neither had been able to bring her broadsides to bear.
"We can't beat her by broadsiding," cried Jones. "We've _got_ to
board!"
_Crash! Crash! Crash!_
Again the cannon made the splinters fly. Again the two game-cocks spat
at each other like angry cats, but, the fire from the _Richard_ was
far weaker than before.
Commodore Jones walked hastily to the gun-deck.
"Dick," said he to Lieutenant Dale, "this fellow's metal is too heavy
for us at this business. He is hammering us all to pieces. We must
close with him! We must get hold of him! Be prepared at any moment to
abandon this place and bring what men you have left on the
spar-deck--and give them the small arms for boarding when you come
up."
Lieutenant Dale saluted.
"All right!" cried he. "I'll be with you in a jiffy, Commodore."
As Jones walked hastily to the main deck--the Lieutenant ran to the
store-room and dealt out cutlasses, pistols and pikes, to the eager
men. The deck was red with blood.
The worst carnage of all was at "number two" gun of the forward,
starboard division. From the first broadside until the quarter-deck
was abandoned, nineteen different men were on this gun, and, at this
time, only one of the original crew remained. It was the little
Indian, Antony Jeremiah; or, as his mates called him, "Red Cherry."
"Let me join you," he cried, as he saw Mayrant's boarding party.
Seizing a cutlass and dirk, he stood beside the cluster of men, eager
and keen to have a chance at the enemy. A soul of fire was that of the
little savage--and now he had a splendid opportunity to indulge in the
natural blood-thirst of his race, for an Indian loves a good fight,
particularly when he is upon the winning side.
The vessels swung on slowly--the fire from the _Serapis_ still strong
and accurate; the sputtering volleys from the _Richard_ growing weaker
and weaker. Only three of the nine-pounders on the starboard
quarter-deck were serviceable; the entire gun-deck battery was silent
and abandoned.
"We have him," cheerfully cried Captain Pearson to one of his aides.
"But, hello"--he continued, "what sail is that?"
As he spoke the _Alliance_ came bounding across the waves, headed for
the two combatants, and looking as if she were to speedily close the
struggle.
"The fight is at an end," said Jones, jubilantly.
Imagine his astonishment, chagrin, and mortification! Instead of
pounding the English vessel, the French ally discharged a broadside
full into the stern of the _Richard_, ran off to the northward, close
hauled, and soon was beyond gun-shot.
"Coward!" shouted John Paul, shaking his fist at the retreating ally.
"I'll get even with you for this if it takes me twenty years!"
No wonder he was angered, for, with his main battery completely
silenced, his ship beginning to sink, nearly half his crew disabled,
his wheel shot away, and his consort firing into him, there remained
but one chance of victory for John Paul Jones: to foul the enemy and
board her.
Luckily a spare tiller had been fitted to the rudder stem of the
_Richard_ below the main tiller--before leaving port--because of the
fear that the wheel would be disabled. The foresight of the Commodore
had effected this; and now--by means of this extra steering-gear--the
battered warrior-ship was enabled to make one, last, desperate lunge
for victory. It was touch and go with John Paul Jones.
"I could distinctly hear his voice amid the crashing of musketry,"
says a seaman. "He was cheering on the French marines in their own
tongue, uttering such imprecations upon the enemy as I have never
before or since heard in French, or any other language. He exhorted
them to take good aim, pointed out the object of their fire, and
frequently took their loaded muskets from their hands in order to
shoot them himself. In fact, towards the very last, he had about him a
group of half a dozen marines who did nothing but load their firelocks
and hand them to the Commodore; who fired them from his own shoulder,
standing on the quarter-deck rail by the main topmast backstay."
Luck now came to the disabled _Richard_. A fortunate puff of wind
struck and filled her sails, shooting her alongside of the growling
_Serapis_, and to windward. The canvas of the Britisher flapped
uselessly against her spars. She was blanketed and lost steering-way.
In a moment the jib-boom of the English vessel ran over the poop-deck
of the American ship. It was seized, grappled by a turn of small
hawsers, and made fast to the mizzen-mast.
"She's ours!" cried John Paul Jones. "Seize that anchor and splice it
down hard!"
As he spoke, the fluke of the starboard anchor of the _Serapis_ hooked
in the mizzen chains. It was lashed fast, and the _Richard_ had been
saved.
_Rattle! Rattle! Crash!_ sounded the muskets of the French marines.
The English tried to cut their anchor chains and get free, but all who
attempted to sever these hawsers were struck dead by the accurate
balls from the marksmen on the poop-deck and round-house of the
_Richard_.
"I demand your surrender!" shouted Pearson.
[Illustration: From an old print.
"THEY SWARMED INTO THE FORECASTLE AMIDST FIERCE CHEERS."]
"Surrender?" cried John Paul Jones. "Why, I am just beginning to
fight!"
Then he turned to John Mayrant, who stood ready to rush across the
hammock-nettings into the waist of the enemy's ship. Twenty-seven
sailors were nearby, each with a cutlass and two ship's pistols.
"Board 'em!" he cried.
Over the rail went the seamen--monkey-wise--over the rail, John
Mayrant leading with a dirk in his teeth, like a Bermuda pirate. They
swarmed into the forecastle amidst fierce cheers, the rattle of
musketry, and the hiss of flames. Just at the moment that John
Mayrant's feet struck the enemy's deck, a sailor thrust a
boarding-pike through the fleshy part of his right thigh. _Crack!_ a
pistol spat at him, and he fell prostrate.
"Remember Portsea jail! Remember Portsea jail!" cried the dauntless
raider, rushing down into the forecastle with his wild, yelping
sailors. Pearson stood there; crest-fallen--abashed.
Seizing the ensign-halyards of the _Serapis_, as the raging torrent of
seamen rolled towards him, the brave English sea-captain hauled the
flag of his ship to the deck.
The _Richard_ had won!
"He has struck; stop firing! Come on board and take possession!"
yelled Mayrant, running to the rail.
Lieutenant Dale heard him, and, swinging himself on the side of the
_Serapis_, made his way to the quarter-deck, where Captain Pearson was
standing. "I have the honor, sir, to be the first Lieutenant of the
vessel alongside," said he saluting. "It is the American Continental
ship _Bon Homme Richard_, under command of Commodore Paul Jones. What
vessel is this?"
"His Britannic Majesty's late man-of-war the _Serapis_, sir," was the
sad response, "and I am Captain Richard Pearson."
"Pardon me, sir," said the American officer, "in the haste of the
moment I forgot to inform you that my name is Richard Dale and I must
request you to pass on board the vessel alongside."
Pearson nodded dejectedly.
As he did so, the first Lieutenant of the _Serapis_ came up from
below, and, looking at Captain Pearson, asked,
"Has the enemy struck, sir?"
"No, sir! _I_ have struck!" was the sad reply.
"Then, I will go below and order our men to cease firing," continued
the English Lieutenant.
But Lieutenant Dale interrupted.
"Pardon me, sir," said he, "I will attend to that; and, as for
yourself, please accompany Captain Pearson on board the ship
alongside."
With reluctant steps the two officers clambered aboard the battered
_Good Richard_, where Commodore Jones received them with much
courtesy.
Bowing low, Captain Pearson offered him his sword. His first
Lieutenant did likewise.
"Captain Pearson," said the victorious John Paul, "you have fought
heroically. You have worn this weapon to your own credit and to the
honor of your service. I hope that your sovereign will suitably
reward you."
The British commander was the image of chagrin and despair. He bowed
again, and then walked slowly into the cabin, followed by his
crest-fallen Lieutenant.
It was nearly midnight. The full moon above--in a cloudless sky--made
it almost as light as day. Seven feet of water were in the hold of the
_Richard_; she had sunk so much that many shot-holes were below the
water-line and could not be plugged. Nearly sixty of her crew lay dead
upon her decks; more than a hundred and twenty were desperately
wounded. Every twelve-pounder of the starboard broadside was either
dismounted, or disabled. The starboard side, which had been opposite
the _Serapis_'s eighteen-pounders, was driven so far in, that, but for
a few frames and stanchions which remained, the whole gun-deck would
have fallen through. She was afire, and the flames licked upward with
an eager hiss.
"Take the wounded aboard the _Serapis_!" commanded Captain Jones. "We
must desert our good ship!"
In an hour's time all were upon the deck of the vanquished Britisher.
No one was left on the _Richard_ but the dead. The torn and tattered
flag was still flying from the gaff, and, as the battered sea-warrior
gradually settled in the long swell, the unconquered ensign fluttered
defiantly in the slight breeze. At length the _Bon Homme Richard_
plunged downward by the head; her taffrail rose momentarily on high,
and, with a hoarse roar of eddying bubbles and sucking air, the
conqueror disappeared from view. To her immortal dead was bequeathed
the flag which they had so desperately defended.
* * * * *