THE BATTLE WITH THE SERAPIS.
About noon on the 23d of September, 1779, the lookouts on the Richard
became aware of the sails of a large ship which suddenly shot into
view around the headland. Before any action could be taken the first
vessel was followed by a second, a third, and others to the number of
six, all close hauled on the starboard tack, evidently intent upon
weathering the point. The English flags fluttering from their gaff
ends proclaimed a nationality, of which, indeed, there could be no
doubt. The course of the Richard was instantly changed. Dispatching a
boat under the command of Lieutenant Henry Lunt to capture the
brigantine, Jones, in high anticipation, headed the Richard for the
strangers, at the same time signaling the Alliance, the Pallas, and
the Vengeance to form line ahead on his ship--that is, get into the
wake of the Richard and follow in single file. The Alliance seems to
have been ahead and to windward of the Richard, the Pallas to windward
and abreast, and the Vengeance in the rear of the flagship.
It had not yet been developed whether the six ships, which, even as
they gazed upon them, were followed by others until forty sail were
counted, were vessels of war or a merchant fleet under convoy; but
with characteristic audacity Jones determined to approach them
sufficiently near to settle the question. He had expressed his
intention of going in harm's way, and for that purpose had asked a
swift ship. He could hardly have had a slower, more unwieldy,
unmanageable vessel under him than the Richard, but the fact had not
altered his intention in the slightest degree, so the course of the
Richard was laid for the ships sighted.
Captain Landais, however, was not actuated by the same motives as his
commander. He paid no attention, as usual, to the signal, but instead
ran off to the Pallas, to whose commander he communicated in a measure
some of his own indecision. In the hearing of the crews of both
vessels Landais called out to his fellow captain that if the fleet in
view were convoyed by a vessel of more than fifty guns they would have
nothing to do but run away, well knowing that in such a case the
Pallas, being the slowest sailer of the lot--slower even than the
Richard--would inevitably be taken. Therefore, with his two other
large vessels beating to and fro in a state of frightened uncertainty,
Jones with the Richard bore down alone upon the enemy. The Vengeance
remained far enough in the rear of the Richard to be safe out of
harm's way, and may be dismissed from our further consideration, as
she took no part whatever in the subsequent events.
Closer scrutiny had satisfied the American that the vessels in sight
were the longed-for Baltic merchant fleet which was convoyed by two
vessels of war, one of which appeared to be a small ship of the line
or a heavy frigate. In spite, therefore, of the suspicious maneuvers
of his consorts, Jones flung out a signal for a general chase, crossed
his light yards and swept toward the enemy. Meanwhile all was
consternation in the English fleet off the headland. A shore boat
which had been noticed pulling hard toward the English convoying
frigate now dashed alongside, and a man ascended to her deck.
Immediately thereafter signals were broken out at the masthead of the
frigate, attention being called to them by a gun fired to windward.
All the ships but one responded by tacking or wearing in different
directions in great apparent confusion, but all finally headed for the
harbor of Scarborough, where, under the guns of the castle, they hoped
to find a secure refuge. As they put about they let fly their
topgallant sheets and fired guns to spread the alarm.
Meanwhile the English ship, which proved to be the frigate Serapis,
also tacked and headed westward, taking a position between her convoy
and the approaching ships. Some distance to leeward of the frigate,
and farther out to sea, to the eastward, a smaller war vessel, in
obedience to orders, also assumed a similar position, and both waited
for the advancing foe. Early that morning Richard Pearson, the captain
of the Serapis, had been informed that Paul Jones was off the coast,
and he had been instructed to look out for him. The information had
been at once communicated to the convoy, to which cautionary orders
had been given, which had been in the main disregarded, as was the
invariable custom with convoys. The shore boat which the men on the
Richard had just observed speaking the Serapis contained the bailiff
of Scarborough Castle, who confirmed the previous rumors and
undoubtedly pointed out the approaching ships as Jones' squadron.
Pearson, as we have seen, had signaled his convoy, and the latter, now
apprised of their danger beyond all reasonable doubt by the sight of
the approaching ships, had at last obeyed his orders. Then he had
cleverly placed his two ships between the oncoming American squadron
to cover the retreat of his charges and to prevent the enemy from
swooping down upon them. His position was not only proper and
seamanlike, but it was in effect a bold challenge to his approaching
antagonist--a challenge he had no wish to disregard, which he eagerly
welcomed, in fact. In obedience to Jones' signal for a general chase,
the Richard and the Pallas were headed for their two enemies. As they
drew nearer the Pallas changed her course in accordance with Jones'
directions, and headed for the smaller English ship, the Countess of
Scarborough, a twenty-four gun, 6-pounder sloop of war, by no means an
equal match for the Pallas. The Vengeance followed at a safe distance
in the rear of the commodore, while Landais disregarded all signals
and pursued an erratic course of his own devising. Sometimes it
appeared that he was about to follow the Richard, sometimes the
Pallas, sometimes the flying merchantmen attracted his attention. It
was evident that the one thing he would not do would be to fight.
In utter disgust, Jones withdrew his attention from him and
concentrated his mind upon the task before him. He was about to engage
with his worn-out old hulk, filled with condemned guns, a splendid
English frigate of the first class. A comparison of force is
interesting. Counting the main battery of the Richard as composed of
twelves and the spar-deck guns as nines, and including the six
18-pounders in the gun room as being all fought on one side, we get a
total of forty guns throwing three hundred and three pounds of shot to
the broadside; this is the extreme estimate. Counting one half of the
main battery as 9-pounders, we get two hundred and eighty-two pounds
to the broadside, and, considering the 18-pounders as being fought
only three on a side, we reduce the weight of the broadside to two
hundred and twenty-eight pounds. As it happened, as we shall see, the
18-pounders were abandoned after the first fire, so that the effective
weight of broadside during the action amounted to either one hundred
and ninety-five or one hundred and seventy-four pounds, depending on
the composition of the main battery. Even the maximum amount is small
enough by comparison.
The crew of the Richard had been reduced to about three hundred
officers and men, as near as can be ascertained. The desertion of the
barge, the loss of the boat under Cutting Lunt off the Irish coast,
the various details by which the several prizes had been manned, and
the absence of the boat sent that morning under the charge of Henry
Lunt, which had not, and did not come back until after the action, had
reduced the original number to these figures. A most serious feature
of the situation was the lack of capable sea officers. There were so
few of the latter on board the Richard originally that the absence of
the two mentioned seriously hampered her work. Dale himself was a
host. Those that remained, who, with the exception of the purser,
sailing master, and the officers of the French contingent, were young
and inexperienced, mostly midshipmen--boys, in fact--made up for their
deficiencies by their zeal and courage. The officers of the French
contingent proved themselves to be men of a high class, who could be
depended upon in desperate emergencies.
The Serapis was a brand-new, double-banked frigate, of about eight
hundred tons burden--that is, she carried guns on two covered and one
uncovered decks. This was an unusual arrangement, not subsequently
considered advantageous or desirable, but it certainly enabled her to
present a formidable battery within a rather short length; her
shortness, it was believed, would greatly enhance her handiness and
mobility, qualities highly desirable in a war vessel, especially in
the narrow seas. On the lower or main deck twenty 18-pounders were
mounted; on the gun deck proper, twenty 9-pounders; and on the spar
deck, ten 6-pounders, making a total of fifty guns, twenty-five in
broadside, throwing three hundred pounds' weight of shot at each
discharge as against the Richard's one hundred and seventy-four. She
was manned by about three hundred trained and disciplined English
seamen, forming a homogeneous, efficient crew, and well they proved
their quality. Richard Pearson, her captain, was a brave, competent,
and successful officer, who had enjoyed a distinguished career,
winning his rank by gallant and daring enterprises; no ordinary man,
indeed, but one from whom much was to be expected.
In making this comparison between the two ships it must not be
forgotten that while the difference in the number of guns--ten--was
not great, yet in their caliber and the consequent weight of broadside
the Richard was completely outclassed. Then, too, the penetrative
power of an 18-pound gun is vastly greater than that of a 12-pound
gun, a thing well understood by naval men, though scarcely appearing
of much moment on paper. Indeed, it was a maxim that a 12-pound
frigate could not successfully engage an 18-pounder, or an 18-pound
frigate cope with a 24-pound ship.[12]
In addition to this vast preponderance in actual fighting force, there
was another great advantage to the Serapis in the original composition
of her crew as compared with the heterogeneous crowd which Jones had
been compelled to hammer into shape. Worthily, indeed, did both bodies
of men demonstrate their courage and show the effect of their
training. There was a further superiority in the English ship in that
she was built for warlike purposes, and was not a converted and
hastily adapted merchant vessel. She was of much heavier construction,
with more massive frames, stouter sides, and heavier scantling. The
last advantage Pearson's ship possessed was in her superior mobility
and speed. She should have been able to choose and maintain her
distance, so that with her longer and heavier guns she could batter
the Richard to pieces at pleasure, herself being immune from the
latter's feebler attack.
In but one consideration was the Richard superior to the Serapis, and
that was in the personality of the man behind the men behind the guns!
Pearson was a very gallant officer. There was no blemish upon his
record, no question as to his capacity. In personal bravery he was not
inferior to any one. As a seaman he worthily upheld the high
reputation of the great navy to which he belonged; but as a man, as a
personality, he was not to be mentioned in the same breath with Jones.
This is no discredit to that particular Englishman, for the same
disadvantageous comparison to Jones would have to be made in the case
of almost any other man that sailed the sea. There was about the
little American such Homeric audacity, such cool-headed heroism, such
unbreakable determination, such unshakable resolution, that so long as
he lived it was impossible to conquer him. They might knock mast after
mast out of the Richard; they might silence gun after gun in her
batteries; man after man might be killed upon her decks; they might
smash the ship to pieces and sink her beneath his feet, but there was
no power on earth which could compel him to strike her flag.
Jones was the very incarnation of the indomitable _Ego_: a soul that
laughed at odds, that despised opposition, that knew but one thing
after the battle was joined--to strike and strike hard, until
opposition was battered down or the soul of the striker had fled. In
action he would be master--or dead. But his fighting was no baresark
fury; no blind, wild rage of struggle; no ungovernable lust for
battle; it was the apotheosis of cool-blooded calculation. He fought
with his head as well as with his heart, and he knew perfectly well
what he was about all the time. Pearson was highly trained matter of
first-rate composition; Jones was mind, and his superiority over
matter was inevitable. The hot-tempered spirit of the man which
involved him in so many difficulties, which made him quarrelsome,
contrary, and captious, gave place to a coolness and calmness as great
as his courage in the presence of danger, in the moment of action. By
his skill, his ability, his address, his persistence, his staying
power, his hardihood, Jones deserved that victory which his
determination absolutely wrested from overwhelming odds, disaster, and
defeat. The chief players in the grim game, therefore, were but ill
matched, and not all the superiority in the pawns upon the chessboard
could overcome the fearful odds under which the unconscious Pearson
labored. We pity Pearson; in Jones' hands he was as helpless as
Pontius Pilate.
The crew of the Richard, having had supper and grog, had long since
gone to their stations to the music of the same grim call of the beat
to quarters which had rolled upon the decks of every warship of every
nation which had joined battle for perhaps two hundred years. Jones
was a great believer in drill and gun practice. His experience on his
first cruise in the Alfred, if nothing else, had taught him that, and
upon this ill-found ship with its motley crew probably a more thorough
regimen of control and discipline existed than could be found in any
other ship afloat. Frequent target practice was had, too, and the
result proved the value of the exercise. Had this not been the case
the approaching battle might have had a different termination.
The great guns had been cast loose and provided; having been run in
and loaded, they were run out and a turn taken with the training
tackles to hold them steady. The magazines had been opened, and the
gunner and his mates stationed inside the wetted woolen screen, which
minimized the danger of fire, to hand out charges of powder to the
lads called powder boys, or powder "monkeys," who, with their canvas
carrying boxes, were clustered about the hatches. The gun captains saw
that the guns were properly primed, and they looked carefully after
the slow matches used to discharge the pieces, keeping them lighted
and freely burning. In the iron racks provided were laid rows of round
shot, with here and there a stand of grape. Arm chests were opened and
cutlasses and pistols distributed, and the racks filled with boarding
pikes. Many of the officers discarded their hats and put on round
steel boarding caps with dropped cheek pieces. Swords were buckled on
and the priming of pistols carefully looked to. The men in many cases
stripped off their shirts and jackets, laid aside caps and shoes, and
slipped into their stations half naked, with only a pair of trousers
and their arms upon them. Division tubs filled with water were placed
conveniently at hand, and the decks were well sanded to prevent them
from becoming slippery with blood when the action began. The pumps
were overhauled and put in good condition, and hose led along the
decks in case of fire. The carpenter and his mates, well provided with
shot plugs to stop up possible holes, were stationed in the more
vulnerable parts of the ship. The boats were wrapped with canvas to
prevent splintering under heavy shot, and heavy nettings triced up
fore and aft as a protection against boarders. Preventer braces were
rove from the more important yardarms, the heavier yards were slung
with chains, and the principal rigging, including the backstays,
stoppered to minimize the danger in case they should be carried away
by shot. Grapnels, strong iron hooks securely fastened to the ends of
stout ropes or slender iron chains, were swung from every yardarm, and
laid along the bulwarks in case it became possible or desirable to
lash the ships together. Everything which would impede the working of
the guns or hinder the fighting of the men was either stowed below or
thrown overboard. Around the masts and at the braces the sail trimmers
were clustered, some of them armed with boarding axes or hatchets,
handy for cutting away wreckage. Aft on the quarter-deck and forward
on the forecastle large bodies of French marines were drawn up, musket
in hand.
The broad, old-fashioned tops of the Richard were filled with seamen
and marines, armed with muskets and having buckets full of small
grenades close at hand. Among these seamen were many of the more agile
and daring among the topmen--who from their stations in making and
taking in sail were designated as "light yardmen"--while the marines
stationed in the tops were selected for their skill as marksmen. The
main body of the crew was distributed at the battery of great guns on
the main deck, which were in charge of Richard Dale and a French
lieutenant colonel of infantry, named de Weibert. In the gloomy
recesses of the gun room, close to the water line, a little group of
men was told off to fight the heavy 18-pounders. Around the hatches
leading to the hold was stationed another body of seamen and marines
with the master at arms, all armed to the teeth, to guard the English
prisoners, whose number is variously stated from two to three hundred.
The relieving tackles to use in steering the ship in case the wheel
was carried away occupied the attention of another group.
Far below the water line in the dark depths of the ship--a bloody
place familiarly known as the cockpit--the surgeon and his mates
unconcernedly spread out the foreboding array of ghastly instruments
and appliances of the rude surgery of the rude period, in anticipation
of the demands certain to be made upon them. At the break of the poop
a veteran quartermaster and several assistants stood grasping the
great wheel of the ship with sturdy fingers. Little groups of men were
congregated on the quarter-deck and forecastle and in the gangways to
man the 9-pounders, which were to play so important a part in the
action. Jones himself, a quiet, composed little figure of slender
proportions, paced steadily to and fro athwart the ship, now eagerly
peering ahead as the shades of night descended, now casting a solemn
glance aloft at the swelling canvas softly rounded out into huge
curves in the gentle breeze. Ever and anon he threw a keen glance back
toward the Alliance. When his gaze fell upon her, the compression of
his lips and the fierceness of his look boded ill for Landais when he
had time to deal with him.
What must have been his thoughts in this momentous hour! One likes to
dwell upon him there and then; so alone and so undaunted on that old
deck in that gray twilight, resolutely proceeding to battle with a
ship which, now that it was in plain view, his practised eye easily
determined surpassed his own in every particular. At such a moment,
when every faculty of his mind naturally would be needed to fight his
own vessel, suggestions of treachery and disobedience and an utter
inability to tell what his cowardly and soon-to-be-proved traitorous
subordinate would do, made his situation indeed unbearable. But he
dismissed all these things from his mind. Confident in the justice of
his cause--in the approval of Heaven for that cause--and full of trust
in his own ability and personality, he put these things out of his
head and swept on. He was a figure to inspire confidence on the deck
of any ship. The men, who had perhaps as vivid an appreciation of
their situation and all its dangers as he had himself, looked to their
captain and took confidence in the quiet poise of the lithe figure at
the break of the poop, balancing itself so easily to the lumbering
roll of the great ship. The young midshipmen, his personal aides,
slightly withdrawn from close contact with him, respected his silence
as he paced to and fro.
Presently another graceful active figure, belonging to the first
lieutenant of the ship, came running from below, walked rapidly along
the deck, sprang up the ladder, and stopped before the little captain,
whom he overtowered to a degree. He saluted gravely, and announced
that the Richard was clear, the men at quarters, and the ship was
ready for action. After a few moments of conversation Jones and Dale
descended to the lower deck and walked through the ship. A hearty word
of appreciation and encouragement here and there, as occasion
suggested, heartened and stimulated the reckless crew, until they had
almost risen to the captain's level. Presently he returned to the deck
alone. A few final directions, one last glance of approval at the
Pallas closing in on the Scarborough, one last regret, one last flush
of indignation as he looked toward the Alliance--a moment, and the
battle would be joined.
It was about seven o'clock in the evening. The harvest moon had long
since risen in the eastern sky, and was flooding the pallid sea with
its glorious radiance. On the western horizon the broad, bright beacon
of Flamborough Head was sending out its bright ray of yellow light
over the trembling water. With a night glass, clusters of people could
be seen upon the shore and upon the ships anchored under the guns of
Scarborough Castle, towering grim and black against the horizon. Ahead
was the white Serapis, calmly confident, lying broadside on, port
shutters triced up, lights streaming from every opening. She lay with
her topsails to the mast, gallantly waiting. Upon her, too, like
preparations for combat had been made. Along her decks the same
beating call to battle had rolled. Men who spake the same language,
who read the same Bible, who but a few years since had loved the same
flag, who had vied with each other in loyalty to a common king, now
made ready to hurl death and destruction at each other. Presently
sharp words of command rang out; there was a sudden bustle on the deck
of the English ship. The braces were manned, the yards swung, and the
Serapis slowly gathered way and gently forged ahead. Then all was
still once more on the serene English ship.
As the Richard drew nearer to the Serapis a deep silence settled over
the American ship. Even over the roughest and rudest among her crew
crept a feeling of awe at the terrible possibilities of the next few
moments. The magnitude of their task as they came nearer became more
apparent. Forced laughter died away; coarse words remained unspoken;
lips foreign to prayer formed words of belated and broken petition.
Thoughts went back to home: to sunny fields and vine-clad cottages in
France; to frontier huts in verdant clearings in America; to rude
houses in seaboard towns where the surf of the western ocean broke in
wild thunder upon the rocky shore. Pictures of wives, of children, of
mothers, of sweethearts, rose before the misted vision. Here and there
a younger man choked down a sob. The rude jests with which men
sometimes strive to disguise emotion fell unnoticed, or were sternly
reprehended by the older and more thoughtful. The fitful conversation
died away, and the silence was broken only by the soft sigh of the
wind through the top hamper, the gentle flap of the lighter sails as
the pitch of the ship threw the canvas back and forth, the soft splash
of the bluff bows through the water, the straining of the timbers, the
creak of the cordage through the blocks. Candle-filled battle lanterns
in long rows throughout the ship shed a dim radiance over the bodies
of the stalwart, half-naked, barefooted men. Here and there a brighter
flash told of moonlight reflected from some gleaming sword.
And the ships drew nearer--nearer. In a moment the dogs of war would
be loose. Presently a sound broke the silence, a hail from the English
ship. A man leaped up on her rail and a cry came faintly up through a
hollowed hand against the gentle breeze:
"What ship is that?"
The Richard had been kept skillfully end on to the Serapis, and the
commander of the latter ship had still some lingering doubts as to her
nationality. Measuring the distance between the two ships, Jones
quickly motioned to the watchful quartermaster beneath him. With eager
hands the men began, spoke by spoke, to shift the helm to starboard.
As the American ship began to swing to port it would be but a moment
before her broadside would be revealed and concealment at an end. That
precious moment, however, Jones would have. He sprang on the taffrail
to starboard, and, catching hold of the backstay, leaned far out and
called loudly:
"I do not understand you."
The Richard was swinging still more now. The English caught a glimpse
of a lighted port forward. From it a huge gun thrust its muzzle out
into the night. Quick and sharp came the hail once more:
"What ship is that? Answer at once or I fire!"
With what breathless silence the two ships listened for the reply!
The helm was hard over now, the quartermasters holding it down with
grim determination, sweat pouring from their foreheads, the ship
swinging broadside in to, and a little forward of, the Englishman.
Bending over toward the quarter-deck, in a clear voice heard
throughout his ship, Jones called out a sharp word of command. Even as
he spoke a line of fire lanced out into the night, followed by the
roar of one of the 12-pounders. It was an answer not to be mistaken.
Immediately the whole broadside of the Richard was let go.
Simultaneously the iron throats on the Serapis belched forth their
rain of hell and destruction, and the great battle was on! It was
perhaps a quarter after seven. Side by side the two ships, covered
with blinding smoke, sailed in the still night, broadside answering
broadside, the roar of the great guns sounding in one horrible
continuous note vibrating over the ocean. The thunderous diapason was
punctuated by the sharp staccato rattle of the small arms.
The Richard, having more way on her, forged slightly ahead of the
Serapis, which had so lately filled away that she had scarcely yet
begun to move. Jones, watchful of his opportunity, swung the head of
his ship in toward the English frigate, hoping to cross her bows and
rake her; but the careful Pearson, presently feeling the wind,
gathered way and with his superior speed easily regained his distance.
The game was being played as he would have it, and the bolts from his
long eighteens were making havoc of the Richard. Jones now determined
to back his topsails, check the speed of his own ship, allow the
Serapis to forge ahead, and then fill away again, and rush the Richard
alongside the English frigate so that he could board and make use of
his preponderant force of soldiery. Accordingly, the way of his
frigate was checked and the Serapis drew slightly ahead, receiving the
fire of the Richard's battery as she passed, and maintaining her own
fire in the smoke and darkness for some moments, until Pearson
discovered that he had passed ahead of the Richard. The way of his
ship was immediately checked. The conflict had been maintained with
incredible fierceness for more than three quarters of an hour.
As soon as Jones had gained sufficient distance, he smartly filled
away again and headed the clumsy Richard at the Serapis; but the slow
old vessel was not equal to the demands of her commander. The Richard
only succeeded in striking the Serapis on the port quarter very far
aft. To have attempted boarding from such a position would have been
madness. There are only two positions from which a ship can be boarded
advantageously. In one case, when two ships are laid side by side, by
massing the crew at some point of the long line of defense
necessitated by the relative position of the vessels, it may be
possible to break through and effect a lodgment on the enemy's deck.
The other case is when the ship desirous of boarding succeeds in
crossing the bows of her enemy so that the latter vessel is subjected
to a raking fire from the battery of the attacking ship, which beats
down opposition and sweeps everything before it, thus affording a
chance for favorable attack. Neither of these opportunities was
presented at this time.
Jones, nevertheless, mustered his boarders on the forecastle at this
moment, heading them himself, but the English appeared in such force
at the point of contact that the attempt was of necessity abandoned.
The two ships hung together a moment, then separated, and, the Serapis
going ahead, the Richard backing off, they formed a line ahead, the
bow of the Richard following the stern of the Serapis. There was not a
single great gun which bore on either ship. The roar of the battle
died away, and even the crackle of the small arms ceased for a space.
At this moment Pearson hailed the Richard. Having been subjected to
the battering of his superior force for so long a time, Pearson
concluded that it was time for the Richard to surrender. He was right
in theory--in practice it was different. His own ship had suffered
severely in the yardarm to yardarm fight, and he realized that the
loss upon the Richard must have been proportionately greater. Even the
most unskilled seaman had learned by this time the difference in the
power of the two vessels. Therefore, taking advantage of the momentary
cessation of the battle, he sprang up on the rail of the Serapis in
the moonlight and called out:
"Have you struck?"
And to this interrogation Paul Jones returned that heroic answer,
which since his day has been the watchword of the American sailor:
"_I have not yet begun to fight!_" he cried with gay audacity.
The ringing tones of his voice carried his answer not only to the ears
of the English captain, but threw it far up into the high tops where
the eager seamen had so busily plied their small arms. The men on the
gun deck heard it with joy. It even penetrated to the gloomy recesses
of the gun room, which had been the scene of such misfortune and
disaster as would have determined the career of any other ship. The
wounded caught the splendid inspiration which was back of the glorious
declaration, and under the influence of it stifled their groans,
forgot their wounds, and strove to fight on. It told the dying that
their lives were not to be given in vain. Nay, those mighty words had
a carrying power which lifted them above the noise of the conflict,
which sent them ringing over the narrow seas, until they reverberated
in the Houses of Parliament on the one side and the Court of
Versailles on the other. They had a force which threw them across the
thousand leagues of ocean until they were heard in every patriot camp,
and repeated from the deck of every American ship, until they became a
part of the common heritage of the nation as eternal as are its
Stripes and Stars! The dauntless phrase of that dauntless man:
"_I have not yet begun to fight!_"
It was no new message. The British had heard it as they tramped again
and again up the bullet-swept slopes of Bunker Hill; Washington rang
it in the ears of the Hessians on the snowy Christmas morning at
Trenton; the hoof beats of Arnold's horse kept time to it in the wild
charge at Saratoga; it cracked with the whip of the old wagoner Morgan
at the Cowpens; the Maryland troops drove it home in the hearts of
their enemies with Greene at Guilford Courthouse, and the drums of
France and England beat it into Cornwallis' ears when the end came at
Yorktown. There, that night in that darkness, in that still moment of
battle, Paul Jones declared the determination of a great people. His
was the expression of an inspiration on the part of a new nation. From
this man came a statement of an unshakable determination at whatever
cost to be free! A new Declaration of Independence, this famous word
of warning to the British king. Give up the contest now, O monarch! A
greater majesty than thine is there!
I imagine a roar of wild exultation quivering from truck to keelson,
a gigantic Homeric laugh rising from the dry throats of the rough men
as yet unharmed on the Richard as they caught the significance of
their captain's reply. "It was a joke, the character of which those
blood-stained ruffians could well appreciate; but the captain was in
no mood for joking. He was serious, and in the simplicity of the
answer lay its greatness. Strike! Not now, nor never! Beaten! The
fighting is but just begun! The preposterous possibility of surrender
can not even be considered. What manner of man this, with whom you
battle in the moonlight, brave Pearson! An unfamiliar kind to you and
to most; such as hath not been before, nor shall be again. Yet all the
world shall see and understand at this time.
"'_I have not yet begun to fight!_'
"Surprising answer! On a ship shattered beyond repair, her best guns
exploded and useless, her crew decimated, ringed about with dead and
dying, the captain had not yet begun to fight! But there was no delay
after the answer, no philosophizing, no heroics. The man of action was
there. He meant business. Every moment when the guns were silent
wasted one."[13]
The Richard was in a dreadful condition, especially below. At the
first fire two of the 18-pounders in the gun room had exploded,
killing most of the officers and men of their crews, blowing out the
side of the ship, shattering the stanchions, blowing up the deck above
them, and inflicting injuries of so serious a character that they
virtually settled the fate of the ship. The other guns there were
immediately abandoned, and the men left alive in the division, who
were not required to guard the prisoners, were sent to the gun deck to
report to Dale and de Weibert. The battery which had been the main
dependence of Jones had proved worse than useless. Indeed, it had done
more harm than had the guns of the Serapis. I know of no action
between two ships in which a similar, or even a less frightful,
happening did not cause the ship suffering it to surrender at once.
The two ships hung in line for a moment, then Jones put his helm hard
a-starboard again and swung off to port, perhaps hoping to rake the
Serapis; but the English captain, anticipating his maneuver, backed
his own topsails, and the two ships passed by each other once more,
the batteries reopening their fire at close range. The combat at once
recommenced with the most heroic determination. Fortunately, however,
the captain of the Serapis miscalculated either the speed at which his
own ship backed or the speed with which the Richard drew ahead, for,
before Pearson filled away again, Jones had drawn so far ahead that by
consummate seamanship and quick, desperate work he managed to swing
the Richard across the path of the Serapis, an astonishing feat for
the slower and more unwieldy American frigate. It was his one
opportunity and he embraced it--one was enough for Jones. Pearson had
just succeeded in checking the stern board of his own ship, and was
going ahead slowly, when the bow of his frigate ran aboard the
starboard quarter of the American, thrusting her jib boom through the
mizzen rigging far across the quarter-deck of the Richard. Pouring a
raking fire upon the English frigate from his starboard battery,
Jones, with his own hand, sprang to lash the two ships together. The
sailing master, Mr. Stacy, leaped to assist him. As the officer strove
to overhaul the gear lying in a tangled mass upon the deck, he broke
into the natural oath of a sailor at the delay.
"Don't swear, Mr. Stacy," Jones is reported to have said quietly,
although he was working with feverish energy to the same end--"in
another moment we may all be in the presence of our Maker--but let us
do our duty."
The lashing was soon passed, and passed well. The American boarders
were called away again, but they could do nothing in the face of the
sharp fire of the English repelling force. Meanwhile, the pressure of
the wind upon the after-sails of the Serapis had broken off her
bowsprit and forced her stern around until she lay broadside to the
American ship. A spare anchor on the Serapis caught in the mizzen
chains of the Richard, and with it and the grapnels which were hastily
flung the two ships were firmly bound together, the bow of one ship by
the stern of the other, heading in different ways, their starboard
sides touching. Pearson at once dropped his port anchor, hoping that,
his ship being anchored and the Richard under way, the American would
drag clear, when his superiority in gun power would enable him to
continue the process of knocking her to pieces at long range; but,
fortunately for the Richard, the wind had gradually decreased until it
was now nearly killed, or so light that it did not prevent the ships
from swinging to the Serapis' anchor with the tidal current then
setting strongly to the northward.
[Illustration: Plan: Showing maneuvers of Bon Homme Richard and
Serapis, September 23, 1779; showing also course and conduct of
Alliance. After a drawing by Captain A. T. Mahan, U. S. N., by
permission of Charles Scribner's Sons.]
It was some time after eight o'clock now, and the battle at once
recommenced with the utmost fury. As the Serapis had not hitherto been
engaged on the starboard side,[14] it was necessary for her men to
blow off the port lids of their own ship at the first discharge of her
battery. They were so close together that the conflict resolved itself
into a hand-to-hand encounter with great guns. As Dale said, the
sponges and rammers had to be extended through the ports of the enemy
in order to serve the guns. Though the American batteries were fought
with the utmost resolution, they were, of course, no match whatever
for those of the English ship, which had two tiers of heavier guns to
oppose to one of the American. Below decks, therefore, the Americans
were at a fearful disadvantage. Above, however, the number of soldiers
and marines, constantly re-enforced by a stream of men sent from below
as their guns were put out of action, gave them a compensating factor,
and by degrees the concentrated fire of the Americans cleared the deck
of the Serapis. The two ships lying side by side, slowly grinding
together in the gentle sea, the yardarms were interlaced and the
American topmen, again outnumbering their English antagonists, ran
along the yards, and a dizzy fight in midair ensued, as the result of
which, after suffering severe loss, the Americans gained possession of
the British maintop. Turning their fire forward and aft, aided by
attacking parties from the fore and crossjack yards, they finally
cleared the English entirely out of the upper works of their ship.
From this lofty point of vantage they poured such a rain of fire
upon the Serapis that Pearson was left practically alone on the
quarter-deck. To a chivalrous admiration for his courage he is said to
owe his immunity. He, too, should have his meed of praise for the
undaunted heroism with which he stood alone on the bullet-swept,
blood-stained planks, maintained his position, and fought his ship.
Now, to go back a little. Shortly after the two ships were lashed
together, the Alliance, apparently having recovered from her
hesitation, came sweeping toward the combatants, and deliberately
poured a broadside into the Richard, which did not a little damage and
killed several men. In spite of all signals, Landais repeated his
treacherous performance, but before the Richard's men could fairly
realize the astonishing situation he sailed away from them and ran
over before the wind toward the Pallas, which had been for some time
hotly engaged with the Countess of Scarborough, where he is said to
have done the same thing.[15] This strange action of the Alliance had
but little effect upon the battle at this time, which was continued
with unremitting fury.
One by one the small guns on the main deck of the Richard were
silenced. The crews were swept away, guns were dismounted, carriages
broken and shattered, and finally the whole side of the Richard from
the mainmast aft was beaten in; so much so, that during the latter
part of the action the shot of the Serapis passed completely through
the Richard, and, meeting no opposition, fell harmlessly into the sea
far on the other side. In the excitement the English never thought of
depressing their guns and tearing the bottom out of the Richard. As it
was, transoms were beaten out, stern frames were cut to pieces, and a
few stanchions alone supported the decks above. Why they did not
collapse and fall into the hull beneath it, with the guns and men on
them, is a mystery. In addition to all this, the ship was on fire
repeatedly, and men were continually called away from their stations
to fight the flames.
Dale and de Weibert had just fired their last shots from the remaining
guns of the main battery which were serviceable when a new
complication was added to the scene. The men guarding the prisoners
had been gradually picked off by the shot of the enemy. The Richard
was leaking rapidly, and when the carpenter sounded the well a little
after nine o'clock, late in the action, he discovered several feet of
water in it. In great alarm he shrieked out that they were sinking.
The few remaining men in the gun room ran for the hatchways. The
master at arms, thinking that all was over, unlocked the hatches and
released the prisoners, crying out at the same time, "On deck,
everybody; the ship is sinking!" The Englishmen in panic terror
scrambled up through the narrow hatchways, and fought desperately with
each other in their wild hurry to reach the deck, where the carpenter
had preceded them, still shouting that the ship was sinking, and now
crying loudly, "Quarter! Quarter!"
As the carpenter ran aft, shouting his message of fear and alarm, he
was followed by some of the forward officers, who, catching the
contagion of his terror, repeated his words. Reaching the poop deck,
the carpenter fumbled in the darkness for the halliards to haul down
the flag, calling out to Jones that all was lost, the ship sinking,
and that he must surrender. Other officers and men joined in the cry.
It was another critical moment. Pearson, hearing the commotion, again
hailed, asking if the Richard had struck. Jones, unable to stop the
outcry of the terrified carpenter, smashed his skull with the butt of
his pistol, and answered the second request of Pearson with, as he
says, a most determined negative. We can imagine it. By his presence
of mind in silencing the carpenter, and a supreme exertion of his
indomitable will power, Jones soon succeeded in checking the incipient
panic on the spar deck. At this period of the fight some accounts say
that Pearson called his boarders from below and attempted to board.
The advance was met by Jones at the head of a few men, pike in hand,
with such firmness that it was not pressed home, and the men returned
to their stations at the guns and resumed the fight.
Meanwhile, Richard Dale, seconded by his midshipmen, with rare and
never-to-be-undervalued presence of mind, had stopped the oncoming
rush of frightened English prisoners, who now greatly outnumbered the
broken crew of the Richard. He sprang among them, beating them down,
driving them back, menacing them with the point of the sword, at the
same time telling them that the English ship was sinking, and that
they were in the same condition, and unless they went to the pumps
immediately all hands would be inevitably lost. The audacity of this
statement was worthy of Jones himself. It was a rare action on the
part of a boy of twenty-three years of age. Such a young man under
present conditions in the United States Navy probably would be filling
the responsible station of a naval cadet afloat![16] Instantly
divining this new peril, the commodore himself sprang to the hatchway
and seconded Dale's effort. Incredible as it seems, the two men
actually forced the panic-stricken, bewildered, and terrified English
prisoners to man the pumps, thus relieving a number of the crew of the
Richard; and the singular spectacle was presented of an American ship
kept afloat by the efforts of Englishmen, and thus enabled to continue
an almost hopeless combat. Dale, with imperturbable audacity, remained
below in command of them.
The Richard was a wreck. She had been fought to a standstill. Her
battery was silenced, her decks were filled with released prisoners,
she was making water fast, she was on fire in two or three places;
numbers of her crew had been killed and wounded, the water had
overflowed the cockpit, and the frightened surgeon had been driven to
the deck, where, in conjunction with some of the French officers, he
counseled surrender.
"What!" cried Paul Jones, smiling at the surgeon, "What, doctor! Would
you have me strike to a drop of water? Help me to get this gun over!"
But the doctor, liking the looks of things on deck even less than
below, ran down the hatchway, and, his station untenable, wandered to
and fro and ministered to the wounded on every side as best he could.
Meanwhile Jones had taken the place of the purser, Mr. Mease,
commanding the upper battery, who had been severely wounded and forced
to leave his station. The commodore was personally directing the fire
of the upper deck guns left serviceable on the Richard, the two
9-pounders on the quarter-deck. With great exertion another gun was
dragged over from the port side, Jones lending a hand with the rest,
and the fire of the three was concentrated upon the mainmast of the
Serapis.
About this time, between half after nine and ten o'clock, a huge black
shadow came darting between the moonlight and the two frigates
grinding against each other. It was the Alliance once more entering
the fray. After running away from the Richard toward the Scarborough
and the Pallas, she hovered about until she found that the former had
capitulated after a gallant defense against the overwhelming
superiority of the French ship. Then Landais headed once more for the
Richard and the Serapis. To reach them, he was forced to make two
tacks. As he approached, a burning anxiety filled the minds of Jones
and the officers who were left on deck with him, as to what Landais
would do. They were soon enlightened.
Sailing across the bow of the Serapis, the Alliance drew past the
stern of the Richard, and when she had reached a position slightly on
the quarter of the latter ship, she poured in a broadside. There could
be no misapprehension on the part of Landais as to which ship he was
firing into. The Richard was a black ship with a high poop, and the
Serapis was painted a creamy white with much lower stern. The moon was
filling the sky with brilliant light. Things were as plain as if it
were daytime. In addition to all this, Jones had caused the private
night signals to be hung upon the port side of the Richard. Shouts and
cries warned the Alliance that she was firing upon her own people.
These were disregarded. It was the opinion of the Americans that the
English had taken the ship and were endeavoring to compass the
destruction of the Richard. They could not otherwise explain the
astonishing action. Sailing slowly along the starboard side of the
Richard, the Alliance poured in another broadside. Then she circled
the bows of the American ship, and from some distance away raked her
with a discharge of grape which killed and wounded many, including
Midshipman Caswell, in charge of the forecastle. It was just before
ten o'clock when this happened. Some of the shot from these several
broadsides may have reached the Serapis and possibly have done some
damage, but the brunt of the severe attack fell upon the Richard. Her
men, in the face of this awful stab in the back from a friend,
naturally flinched from their guns and ran from their stations.
All seemed hopeless; but Jones was still left, and while he was alive
he would fight. He and his officers drove the men back to their guns,
and as the Alliance sailed away, for the time being, they forgot her.
The fight went on!
It is greatly to the credit of the men that under such circumstances
they could be induced to continue the contest. But the men had
actually grown reckless of consequences: filled with the lust of
battle, the brute in them was uppermost. They fought where they stood,
with what they had. When the American guns were silenced, the seamen
struck at their British foes over their silent muzzles with ramrods
and sponges. Some endeavored to subdue the flames which broke out on
every side. Others joined the English prisoners at the pumps. Many ran
to the upper deck to replace the decimated crews of the 9-pounders.
Some seized the muskets of the dead French soldiers and poured in a
small-arm fire. They had grown careless of the fire, indifferent to
the progress of the battle, ignorant of the results of the action.
There was but one spirit among them, one idea possessed them--to fight
and to fight on. Both crews had done their best; both had fought as
men rarely had fought before; the battle was still undecided. The
issue lay between Jones and Pearson. What was it to be?
Things on the Richard were hopeless, but things on the Serapis had not
gone much better. She, too, was on fire--in no less than twelve places
at once. The fearful musketry fire from the quarter-deck and
forecastle of the Richard, and from the tops, had practically cleared
her decks of all but Pearson. By Jones' orders the men in the American
tops had made a free use of their hand grenades. A daring sailor, sent
by Midshipman Fanning from the maintop, ran out upon the main yardarm,
which hung over the after hatch of the Serapis, and began to throw
grenades down the hatchway. On the lower deck of that ship a large
pile of powder cartridges had been allowed to accumulate, for which,
on account of the silencing of a large number of guns, there had been
no demand. With reckless improvidence, in their haste, the powder boys
continued to pile up these unused charges on the deck of the ship
between the batteries. Nobody cautioned them, perhaps nobody noticed
them in the heat of the action. At last a hand grenade struck the
hatch combing, bounded aft, and fell into the midst of the pile of
cartridges. There was a detonating crash, a terrific explosion, which
absolutely silenced the roar of the battle for a moment. The two ships
rolled and rocked from the shock of it. When the smoke cleared away,
the decks were filled with dead and dying. Some twenty-eight men were
killed or desperately wounded by the discharge; many others on the
decks were stunned, blinded, and thrown in every direction by the
concussion. Clothes were ripped from them, and many of them were
severely burned. Lieutenant Stanhope, in charge of that gun division,
his clothing on fire, actually leaped into the sea to get relief from
his agony. Afterward, though frightfully burned, he regained his
station and fought on.
It was this last shock that determined Pearson to surrender. He had
beaten his antagonist a half dozen times, but his antagonist did not
seem to realize it. In the face of such implacable determination his
own nerve gave way. He was surrounded by dead and dying, no human soul
apparently fit for duty on his decks but himself, the roar of his own
guns silenced by this terrific explosion. He had fought through many
desperate battles--never one like this. The other American frigate
might come back. His consort had been captured. His nerve was broken.
He turned and walked aft to the flagstaff raking from the taffrail. To
this staff, with his own hand before the action, he had nailed the
English flag.[17] With the same hand he seized the drooping folds of
bunting, and with a breaking heart tore it from the staff.