And by it he was to be known for all time.
This was not the end of his career, by any means. He never again
fought for the infant Republic of the United States. But he became an
Admiral in the Russian Navy: battled valorously for the great Empress
Catherine against the Turks, and died in Paris, July 18th, 1792.
Buried at the French capital, his body was disinterred in the year
1905, and brought to the United States, to be entombed with military
honors, at Annapolis, Maryland.
Paul Jones loved brave men. The braver they were the more he loved
them. When he went ashore and happened to meet his old sailors--every
one of whom he knew and called by his first name--they seldom failed
to strip his pockets of the last shilling. He was generous to a fault
and faithful to his friends. His time, his purse, his influence were
always at the call of those who had served under him. A typical
sea-dog: a brave fighter,--
Then, why not give three times three for John Paul Jones?
Are you ready?
THE ESCAPE
'Tis of a gallant, Yankee ship that flew the Stripes and Stars,
And the whistling wind from the west-nor'-west blew through her
pitch-pine spars:
With her starboard tacks aboard, my Boys, she hung upon the gale;
On the Autumn night, that we passed the light, on the old Head of
Kinsale.
It was a clear and cloudless eve, and the wind blew steady and
strong,
As gayly, o'er the sparkling deep, our good ship bowled along;
With the foaming seas beneath her bow, the fiery waves she spread,
And, bending low her bosom of snow, she buried her lee cat-head.
There was no talk of short'ning sail, by him who walked the poop,
And, under the press of her pounding jib, the boom bent like a hoop!
And the groaning, moaning water-ways, told the strain that held the
tack,
But, he only laughed, as he glanced aloft, at the white and silvery
track.
The mid-tide met in the Channel waves that flow from shore to shore,
And the mist hung heavy upon the land, from Featherstone to Dunmore,
And that sterling light in Tusker Rock, where the old bell tolls
each hour,
And the beacon light, that shone so bright, was quenched on Waterford
tower.
What looms upon our starboard bow? What hangs upon the breeze?
'Tis time that our good ship hauled her wind, abreast the old
Saltees,
For, by her pond'rous press of sail, and by her consorts four,
We saw that our morning visitor, was a British Man-of-War.
Up spoke our noble Captain--then--as a shot ahead of us passed,--
"Haul snug your flowing courses! Lay your topsail to the mast!"
Those Englishmen gave three loud cheers, from the deck of their
covered ark,
And, we answered back by a solid broad-side, from the side of our
patriot barque.
"_Out booms! Out booms!_" our skipper cried, "_Out booms! and give
her sheet!_"
And the swiftest keel that e'er was launched, shot ahead of the
British fleet,
'Midst a thundering shower of shot,--and with stern-sails hoisting
away,
Down the North Race _Paul Jones_ did steer, just at the break of day.
--_Old Ballad._
CAPTAIN SILAS TALBOT
STAUNCH PRIVATEERSMAN OF NEW ENGLAND
(1751-1813)
"If you want ter learn how ter fight, why jest
fight."--_Dock-end Philosophy._
CAPTAIN SILAS TALBOT
STAUNCH PRIVATEERSMAN OF NEW ENGLAND
(1751-1813)
"Talk about your clipper ships, chipper ships, ripper ships,
Talk about your barquentines, with all their spars so fancy,
I'll just take a sloop-o'-war with Talbot, with Talbot,
An' whip 'em all into 'er chip, an' just to suit my fancy.
"So, heave away for Talbot, for Talbot, for Talbot,
So, heave away for Talbot, an' let th' Capting steer,
For, he's the boy to smack them, to crack them, to whack them,
For he's th' boy to ship with, if you want to privateer."
--_Ballads of Rhode Island._--1782.
A trading vessel, laden with wheat, from Cardigan in Wales, was lying
to in the English Channel. Nearby rolled a long-bodied American
Privateer, while a boat neared the trader, in the stern of which sat a
staunch, weather-beaten officer in a faded pea-jacket. It was the year
1813 and war was on between England and the United States.
When the blustering captain entered the cabin to survey his prize, he
spied a small box with a hole in the top, on which was inscribed the
words, "Missionary Box." He drew back, astonished.
"Pray, my bold seaman," said he, turning to the Welsh captain, "what
is this?"
"Oh," replied the honest, old sailor, heaving a sigh, "'tis all over
now."
"What?" asked the American privateersman.
"Why, the truth is," said the Welshman, "that I and my poor fellows
have been accustomed, every Monday morning, to drop a penny each into
that box for the purpose of sending out missionaries to preach the
Gospel to the heathen; but it's all over now."
The American seemed to be much abashed.
"Indeed," said he, "that is very good of you." And, pausing a few
moments, he looked abstractedly into the air, humming a tune beneath
his breath.
"Captain," said he, at length, "I'll not hurt a hair of your head, nor
touch your vessel."
So saying, he turned on his heel, took to his boat, and left the
Welshman to pursue its even course. And--as the privateer filled away
to starboard--a voice came from the deck of the helpless merchantman,
"God bless Captain Silas Talbot and his crew!"
But we do not know what the owners of the privateer said to the humane
skipper about this little affair when he returned to New York. They
might have uttered hard words about a Welshman who scored upon him by
means of a pious fraud. At any rate Silas Talbot had done a good deed.
This valorous privateer was born at Dighton, Massachusetts, on the
Sakonet River about the year 1752; beginning his career at sea as a
cabin-boy. At twenty-four he was a captain in the United States army
and fought in the Revolutionary war, for a time, on land. But--by
reason of his nautical training--he was placed in command of a
fireship at New York, and was soon promoted to be Major--but still
with duties upon the water and not the shore. While here, a soldier
came to him, one day, with his eyes alight in excitement.
"Major," said he, "there's a chance for a splendid little enterprise.
Just off the coast of Rhode Island, near Newport, lies a British
vessel, moored to a kedge. She mounts fifteen guns and around her is
stretched a stout netting to keep off a party of boarders. But we can
cut it and get through, I'll warrant. And the game is worth the
candle."
Young Talbot was delighted at the thought of a little expedition.
"I'll tell you how we'll cut through," said he. "We'll fix a small
anchor at the bowsprit of our sloop. Then, we'll ram her into the
netting at night, and--if our vessel can punch hard enough--we'll have
forty Americans upon the deck before you can say 'Jack Robinson.'"
The soldier laughed.
"Major Talbot," said he, "you are a true fighting man. I'll have a
crew for you within twenty-four hours and we'll take the good sloop
_Jasamine_, lying off of Hell Gate. Ahoy for the capture of the
Englishman!"
In two days' time, all was ready for the expedition. The sloop
_Jasamine_ slowly drifted into the harbor of New York, an anchor
spliced to her bowsprit, a crew of sturdy adventurers aboard; and,
filling away in a stout sou'wester, rolled down the coast in the
direction of Rhode Island. Reaching the vicinity of Newport, she lay
to behind a sheltering peninsula, waiting for the night to come, so
that she could drop down upon the Englishman under the cloak of
darkness.
Blackness settled upon the still and waveless water. With muffled oars
the sloop now glided towards the dark hull of the British gun-boat;
her men armed to the teeth, with fuses alight, and ready to touch off
the cannon at the slightest sign of discovery. All was still upon the
towering deck of the war-vessel and the little lights twinkled at her
bow.
But what was that?
Suddenly a voice came through the darkness.
"Who goes there?"
No answer came but the dip of the oars in unison.
"Who goes there? Answer, or I fire!"
Again the slow beat of the oars and nothing more.
_Crash!_
A musket spoke from the jutting bow in front of the sloop and a bullet
struck in the foremast of the staunch attacker, with a resounding
z-i-n-n-g!
"We're discovered," whispered Talbot. "Pull for your lives, men, and
punch her like a battering-ram. When we've cut through the netting,
let every fellow dash upon her decks, and fight for every inch you
can."
As he ceased speaking, the bow of the sloop struck the roping
stretched around the man-o'-warsman, and a ripping and tearing was
plainly heard above the crash of small arms, the shouts of men, and
the rumble of hawsers. Two cannon spoke from the side of the
Englishman, and, as their roar echoed across the still ocean, the
guns of the _Jasamine_ belched forth their answer.
[Illustration: "TALBOT, HIMSELF, AT THE HEAD OF HIS ENTIRE CREW, CAME
LEAPING ACROSS THE SIDE."]
The anchor attached to the bowsprit had done what was desired. It tore
a great hole in the stout netting, ripped open a breach sufficiently
wide for entrance to the deck, and, as the cannon grumbled and spat at
the sloop,--the bowsprit was black with jack-tars scrambling for an
opportunity to board the Britisher.
"Now, men," shouted Major Talbot, above the din. "Swing our craft
sideways! Let go the port guns, and then let every mother's son rush
the foe! And your cry must be, 'Death and no quarter!'"
As he ceased, the good _Jasamine_ was forced sideways into the
man-o'-warsman, and, propelled by the current, drifted against her
with tremendous force, crushing the remaining nets as she did so. A
few of the Americans were already on the deck in a terrific struggle
with the half-sleepy English seamen, but--in a moment--Talbot,
himself, at the head of his entire crew, came leaping across the side.
Now was a scene of carnage. The cutlasses of both Yankee tar and
British, were doing awful execution, and pistols were cracking like
hail upon the roof. Back, back, went the English before the vigorous
assault of the stormers, and, as the deck was now piled with the dead
and dying, the commander of the man-o'-warsman cried out,
"I surrender! Cease, you Yankee sea-dogs. You're too smart for me!"
So saying, he held up a handkerchief tied to his cutlass, and the
battle ceased.
The story of the fight of Silas Talbot's was now on every lip, and
all praised the daring and courage of this valorous Major, who was as
bold as a lion, and as courageous as any seaman who sailed upon the
sea.
Promotion came rapidly to the soldier-sailor. In 1779 he became a
colonel and was placed in command of the _Argo_, a sloop of about one
hundred tons, armed with twelve six-pounders, and carrying but sixty
men. 'Tis said that she looked like a "clumsy Albany trader," with one
great, rakish mast, an immense mainsail, and a lean boom. Her tiller
was very lengthy, she had high bulwarks and a wide stern--but, in
spite of her raw appearance, she could sail fast and could show a
clean pair of heels to most vessels of twice her size.
Shortly after taking charge of this privateer, word was brought that
Captain Hazard of the privateer _King George_ was off the coast of
Rhode Island.
"That's what I want," cried Captain Talbot, slapping his knee. "This
fellow Hazard is an American. He was born in Rhode Island, and,
instead of joining in our righteous cause against the Mother Country,
he has elected to fight against us. For the base purpose of plundering
his old neighbors and friends, he has fitted out the _King George_ and
has already done great damage on the coast. Let me but catch the old
fox and I'll give him a taste of American lead. I'll put a stop to the
depredations of this renegade."
The _King George_ had fourteen guns and eighty men, but this did not
worry staunch and nervy Silas Talbot. He started in pursuit of her, as
soon as he learned of her whereabouts, and, before many days, sighted
a sail just off the New York coast, which was hoped to be the vessel
of the renegade.
Mile after mile was passed. Hour by hour the _Argo_ ploughed after the
silvery sails, until, late in the afternoon, the stranger hovered near
a shallow harbor on the coast, and seemed to await the on-coming
privateer with full confidence.
The _Argo_ boomed along under a spanking sou'wester and, sailing near
the stranger, to the keen eyes of Talbot came the welcome sight of
_King George_ painted upon the stern of the rakish privateer.
"All hands man the guns," cried he. "We'll sink th' rascally Hazard
with all his crew, unless he strikes. She's got more men and guns, but
what care we for that. Take hold, my Hearties, and we'll soon make her
know her master."
The _King George_ seemed to welcome the coming fight; she luffed; lay
to; and her men could be seen standing ready at the polished cannon.
Now was one of the strangest battles of American sea history.
The _King George_ cruised along under a full spread of canvas, jibbed,
came about upon the port quarter of the stranger, and ran up to within
shooting distance, when a broadside was poured into the deck of the
rolling _Argo_. She replied with her own fourteen guns, and, before
they could be reloaded, the _King George_ struck her alongside; the
American seaman swarmed across the rail; and--if we are to believe a
historian of the period--"drove the crew of _King George_ from their
quarters, taking possession of her, without a man on either side being
killed." Hats off to the doughty Silas Talbot for this brave
adventure! Did you ever hear of such a fight with no man ever being
slaughtered?
Again rang the fame of Silas Talbot, but he was not to rest long upon
laurels won. The British privateer _Dragon_--of three hundred tons and
eighty men--was hovering near Providence, Rhode Island, hungry and
eager for unprotected merchantmen.
"I'll have to strike her," said Captain Talbot.
It was a beautiful day in June. As the _Dragon_ drowsed along
listlessly a dozen miles off the shore, her topsails barely filling in
the gentle southerly breeze, the watch suddenly stirred, and sang out
in no gentle tones,
"Sail ho, off the starboard! Looks like Captain Talbot of the _Argo_!"
The captain came bounding from his cabin, glass in hand.
"Sure enough," said he, scanning the white sails upon the horizon.
"It's Talbot and we're in for a tight affair. All hands prepare for
action!"
There was noise and confusion upon the deck of the privateer as the
guns were sponged, charges were rammed home, and all prepared for
battle. Meanwhile, the stranger came nearer, and rounding to within
striking distance, crashed a broadside into the slumbering _Dragon_,
who had not yet shown her fangs.
_Crackle! Crackle! Boom!_
The small arms from the Britisher began to spit at the advancing
privateer, and seven of her fourteen guns rang out a welcome to the
sailors of Rhode Island. The solid shot ploughed through the rigging,
cutting ropes and spars with knife-like precision.
"Round her to on the port quarter!" shouted Captain Talbot, "and get
near enough for boarding!"
But, as the _Argo_ swung near her antagonist, the _Dragon_ dropped
away--keeping just at pistol-shot distance.
"Run her down!" yelled the stout Rhode Islander, as he saw this
manoeuvre of his wily foe. Then he uttered an exclamation of disgust,
for, as he spoke, a bullet struck his speaking trumpet; knocking it to
the deck, and piercing it with a jagged hole.
"Never mind!" cried he, little disconcerted at the mishap. "Give it to
her, boys!"
Then he again uttered an exclamation, for a bounding cannon
ball--ricochetting from the deck--took off the end of his
coat-tail.[1]
[1] A true incident vouched for by two historians.
"I'll settle with you for that," yelled the old sea-dog, leaping to a
cannon, and, pointing it himself, he touched the fuse to the vent. A
puff of smoke, a roar, and a ball ploughed into the mainmast of the
rocking _Dragon_.
Talbot smiled with good humor.
"Play for that, my brave fellows," he called out, above the din of
battle. "Once get the mainmast overside, and we can board her."
With a cheer, his sailors redoubled their efforts to sink the
_Dragon_, and solid shot fairly rained into her hull, as the two
antagonists bobbed around the rolling ocean in this death grapple.
Thus they sparred and clashed for four and a half hours, when, with a
great splitting of sails and wreck of rigging, the mainmast of the
_Dragon_ trembled, wavered, and fell to leeward with a sickening thud.
"She's ours!" yelled Captain Talbot, through his dented speaking
trumpet.
Sure enough, the _Dragon_ had had enough. Her wings had been clipped,
and, in a moment more, a white flag flew from her rigging.
"The _Argo_ is sinking! The _Argo_ is sinking!" came a cry, at this
moment.
"Inspect the sides of our sloop," cried Talbot.
This was done, immediately, and it was found that there were numerous
shot-holes between wind and water, which were speedily plugged up.
Then, bearing down upon the crippled _Dragon_, she was boarded; a
prize-crew was put aboard; and the _Argo_ steered for home, her men
singing,
"Talk about your gay, old cocks,
Yankee, Doodle, Dandy,
'Si' Talbot he can heave the blocks,
And stick like pepp'mint candy.
"Yankee--Doodle--Shoot and kill,
Yankee--Doodle--Dandy,
Yankee--Doodle--Back an' fill,
Yankee--Doodle--Dandy."
Silas Talbot, in fact, had done extremely well, but, not content with
his laurels already won, he soon put out again upon the _Argo_, in
company with another privateer from Providence, Rhode Island, called
the _Saratoga_; which sailed under a Captain Munro. They were not off
the coast more than two days when they came across the _Dublin_; a
smart, English privateer-cutter of fourteen guns, coming out of Sandy
Hook. Instead of running away, she ploughed onward, and cleared for
action.
The _Argo_ and the _Saratoga_ ran in upon the windward quarter and
banged away with audacity. The fight lasted for an hour. Then--as the
_Argo_ tacked in closer in order to grapple and board--the _Saratoga_
was headed for the privateer. But--instead of coming in--she began to
run off in the wind.
"Hard a-weather! Hard up there with the helm!" cried Captain Munro.
"It is hard up!" cried the steersman.
"You lie, you blackguard!" cried Munro. "She goes away lasking! Hard
a-weather I say again!"
"It is hard a-weather, I say again, captain," cried the fellow at the
tiller.
"Captain Talbot thinks that I am running away when I want to join
him," cried Munro. "What the deuce is the matter anyway?"
"Why, I can tell you," cried a young Lieutenant. "You've got an iron
tiller in place of the wooden one, and she's loose in the rudder head,
so your boat won't steer correctly."
"Egad, you're right," said Munro, as he examined the top of the
tiller. "Now, jam her over and we'll catch this _Dublin_ of old
Ireland, or else I'm no sailor. We'll give her a broadside, too, when
we come up."
The _Argo_, meanwhile, was hammering the Englishman in good fashion,
and, as the _Saratoga_ pumped a broadside into her--raking her from
bow to stern--the _Dublin_ struck her colors.
"Two to one, is too much odds," cried the English captain, as a boat
neared the side of his vessel. "I could have licked either of you,
alone."
And, at this, both of the American privateersmen chuckled.
Old "Si" Talbot was soon in another fight. Three days later he chased
another sail, and coming up with her, found his antagonist to be the
_Betsy_: an English privateer of twelve guns and fifty-eight men,
commanded by an honest Scotchman.
The _Argo_ ranged up alongside and Talbot hailed the stranger. After a
bit of talk he hoisted the Stars and Stripes, crying,
"You must haul down those British colors, my friend!"
To which the Scot replied:
"Notwithstanding I find you an enemy, as I suspected, yet, sir, I
believe that I shall let them hang a little longer, with your
permission. So fire away, Flanagan!"
"And that I'll do," yelled Talbot. "Flanagan will be O'Toole and
O'Grady before the morning's over. For I'll beat you like an Irish
constable from Cork."
So it turned out. Before an hour was past, the _Betsy_ had struck, the
captain was killed, and all of his officers were wounded.
"Old Si"--you see--had had good luck. So well, indeed, had he fought,
that in 1780 he was put in command of a good-sized vessel, the
_General Washington_. In her he cruised about Sandy Hook in search of
spoil.
One hazy day in August, the watch sang out,
"Several sail astern, Sir! Looks like a whole squadron!"
Talbot seized the glass and gazed intently at the specks of white.
"Egad! It _is_ a squadron," said he, at length. "And they're after me.
Crowd on every stitch of canvas and we'll run for it."
So all sail was hoisted, and the _General Washington_ stood out to
sea.
But the sails of the pursuers grew strangely clear. They came closer,
ever closer, and Talbot paced the deck impatiently.
"Gad Zooks!" cried he, "I wish that I could fly like a bird."
He could not fly, and, in two hours' time the red flag on the foremast
of a British brig was clear to the eyes of the crew of the privateer.
When--an hour later--a solid shot spun across his bow, "Old Si" Talbot
hove to, and ran up the white flag. He was surrounded by six vessels
of the English and he felt, for once, that discretion was the better
part of valor.
* * * * *
"Old Si" was now thrown into a prison ship off Long Island and then
was taken to England aboard the _Yarmouth_. Imprisoned at Dartmoor, he
made four desperate attempts to escape. All failed.
In the summer of 1781 he was liberated; found his way home to Rhode
Island; and died "with his boots on" in New York, June 30th, 1813. The
old sea-dogs of his native state still cherish the memory of "Capting
Si;" singing a little song, which runs:
"He could take 'er brig or sloop, my boy,
An' fight her like 'er man.
He could steer 'er barque or barquentine,
An' make her act jest gran!
'Ole Si' wuz 'er rip-dazzler,
His flag wuz never struck,
Until 'er British squadroon,
Jest catched him in th' ruck.
"So drink 'er drop ter 'Ole Si,' Sky-high, Oh my!
Drink 'er glass ter 'Ole Si,' th' skipper from our kentry.
Give three cheers fer 'Ole Si,' Sky-high, Oh my!
Give three cheers fer 'Ole Si,' th' pride o' Newport's gentry."
[Illustration: From "The Army and Navy of the United States."
AMERICAN PRIVATEER CAPTURING TWO ENGLISH SHIPS.]
CAPTAIN "JOSH" BARNEY
THE IRREPRESSIBLE YANKEE
(1759-1818)
"Never strike your flag until you have to. And if you
have to, why let it come down easy-like, with one, last
gun,--fer luck."--_Maxims of 1812._
CAPTAIN "JOSH" BARNEY
THE IRREPRESSIBLE YANKEE
(1759-1818)
If you would hear of fighting brave,
Of war's alarms and prisons dark,
Then, listen to the tale I tell,
Of Yankee pluck--and cruising barque,
Which, battling on the rolling sea,
There fought and won,--Can such things be?
It was about eight o'clock in the evening. The moon was bright, and as
the privateer _Pomona_ swung along in the fresh breeze, her Captain,
Isaiah Robinson of New York, laid his hand softly upon the shoulder of
his first officer, Joshua Barney, saying,
"A ship off the lee-quarter, Barney, she's an Englishman, or else my
name's not Robinson."
Barney raised his glass.
"A British brig, and after us, too. She's a fast sailer and is
overhauling us. But we'll let her have a broadside from our twelve
guns and I believe that we can stop her."
The _Pomona_ carried thirty-five men. Laden with tobacco for Bordeaux,
France, she was headed for that sunny land,--but all ready for a
fight, if one should come to her. And for this she carried twelve
guns, as her first officer had said.
The British boat came nearer and nearer. Finally she was close enough
for a voice to be heard from her deck, and she ran up her colors. A
cry came from the black body,
"What ship is that?"
There was no reply, but the Stars and Stripes were soon floating from
the mainmast of the American.
"Haul down those colors!" came from the Britisher.
There was no answer, but the _Pomona_ swung around so that her port
guns could bear, and a clashing broadside plunged into the pursuer.
Down came her fore-topsail, the rigging cut and torn in many places,
and, as the American again showed her heels, the British captain cried
out,
"All sail aloft and catch the saucy and insolent privateer!"
Then commenced one of the most interesting running actions of American
naval history.