THE CRUISE OF THE ARIEL.
Early in the month of July Jones received the sword which had been
bestowed upon him by the king. He commented enthusiastically upon its
beauty and its value, saying that it had cost twenty-four hundred
dollars--a large sum for that day. The month was passed in preparing
the Ariel for departure, and in a vigorous correspondence with
Franklin and his friends, feminine and otherwise. On the 2d of August,
in a note to the Prime Minister, the Count de Vergennes, Jones
informed him that he was nearly ready to sail. The last of July
Franklin had sent him his final dispatches with the Count de Vauban,
who expected to sail with him, but for unexplained reasons Jones did
not take his departure until the 4th of September, when the Ariel was
warped out to the open roads of Groix. From the 4th of September to
the 7th of October he was detained, partly by contrary winds and
partly by a rumor, to which, perhaps, he should not have given
credence, that further dispatches were to be sent to him. On the 7th
of October, at two o'clock in the afternoon, he weighed anchor and put
to sea, convoying three merchant ships. The wind, being from the
north-northwest, blew fair for their departure, and the weather was
mild and pleasant.
The next morning the wind shifted and came in violent squalls from the
southward. The ship was not yet clear of the land. The island of Groix
lay about fifteen miles to the northeastward, and, as the weather
became very thick and the wind increased until it was blowing a
tremendous gale, they soon lost sight of the shore to the leeward. In
spite of their efforts, they were unable to make any headway against
the storm, and were accordingly carried down toward the Penmarque
Rocks, a series of sharp, low reefs, jagged needles of the sea,
terminating the southeastern extremity of the peninsula of Brittany,
among the most dangerous in the world. The ship was in that position
above all others dreaded by the mariner--drifting upon a lee shore in
a gale of wind. The Ariel had been put under close-reefed fore and
main sails, and her head laid to the northwest in the hope that she
might stretch along and clear the reefs; but the wind, increasing to a
perfect hurricane, in the language of Mackenzie, "smothered" the ship,
at last obliging Jones to furl the courses and prevented him from
showing even a storm staysail.
In the report of the officers it is stated that the storm had become
so violent that "the lee fore yardarm was frequently under water; the
lee gangway was laid entirely under water, and the lee side of the
waist was full." The water in the hold flowed into the cockpit,
notwithstanding the utmost efforts of the chain pumps. The ship was
very heavy laden, and lay deep in the water, dipping her yardarms with
every roll. As the tempest rose in violence it became impossible to
tell just where they were, as the murky darkness of the storm hid
every landmark. It was evident, however, from an inspection of the
compass that they were still drifting toward the shore. This fact was
confirmed by the rapid shoaling of the water, a fact Jones established
by personally taking successive casts with the hand lead. There was no
room to veer and get the ship headed the other way. If there had been,
the result would probably have been no different. In the face of such
a storm she would have continued to drift toward the reef. Their
progress to leeward was frightfully rapid. The ship was leaking badly,
and one of the chain pumps had become choked and refused to work.
Destruction seemed inevitable. In all his varied experiences Jones had
seen nothing like the storm. In his report he says that never before
did he fully conceive the awful majesty of a shipwreck. In their
distress, as a last resort, he determined to anchor.
A hasty consultation was had among the officers on the quarter-deck,
and this desperate resort was agreed upon. At eleven o'clock in the
morning the best bower anchor was let go with thirty fathoms of cable.
The effect was not perceptible. The ship was not brought to, and
continued to drift broadside on toward the land in the trough of the
sea. She dragged her anchor as if it had been a straw. Two other
cables were spliced on and veered out. Still she drove on. The
pressure of the gale upon the bare spars was tremendous. The wind
roared through the top-hamper with amazing velocity. The masts
quivered and buckled under the awful strain to which they were
subjected; the standing rigging to windward stood out as taut and
rigid as if it had been cut from bars of steel. As the frigate lay in
the trough of the sea the mighty waves tossed her about like a
cockboat. Broad sheets of foam swept over the deck, washing away
everything not tightly secured. To relieve the pressure and get the
ship to ride to her anchor, Jones now ordered the weather shrouds of
the foremast to be cut, and the wind instantly snapped off the mast
above the deck; with all its weight of spars and rigging it fell to
leeward and carried away the other bower anchor and a kedge anchor,
and smashed up the head badly.
This afforded some relief, for immediately after the anchor took hold
and the ship gradually swung head to the wind at last. Her drift
toward the rocks was not entirely checked, but while they were
hesitating as to what to do next, the mainmast, the heel of which had
been jerked out of its step by the violent motion of the ship, so that
it had been vibrating to and fro like a smitten reed, parted just
where it entered the main deck. The wind hurled the immense mass of
timber and cordage aft, where it fell across the decks, carrying with
it the mizzenmast, smashing the lee quarter gallery, and generally
wrecking the after part of the vessel. The ship was thus stripped of
her spars except the bowsprit, and they could do no more. If she did
not bring to her anchor and cease her drag toward the rocks, over
which the breakers could now be seen crashing with terrible force, and
with a roar heard above the mad noises of the tempest, they were lost.
They hastily cleared the wreck as they were able, letting it drift to
leeward, and waited with still hearts and bated breaths for the next
happening. No mere seamanship, no human skill could save them now.
They were in God's hands. Since their other anchor had been lost by
the fall of the foremast, if their present anchor gave way they were
helpless. Fortunately the stripped ship, relieved of the tremendous
pressure of the wind upon her top-hamper, at last rode to her anchor,
and her drift on the rocks was stopped. For the present they were
saved. They could do nothing now but wait and trust to the strength of
the iron fluke and the hempen cable. Fortunately, both held.
For two days and three nights the Ariel swung to that single anchor,
and passively endured the tremendous buffeting of wind and waves
within a short distance of the mighty reefs upon which, if she had
struck, every soul on board must have perished. For the greater part
of this time the motion of the mastless ship was so violent that the
most experienced seaman could not keep his legs upon the deck. On the
12th the gale had sufficiently moderated to permit the crew to erect
jury masts under which they could regain the harbor. The cable was
hove short, but the anchor could not be weighed, as it was probably
caught upon a rock. Indeed, nothing but a rock hold would have saved
them; so the cable was cut, and the battered Ariel limped back to
L'Orient, which she reached on the 13th of October. The gale was one
of the most severe with which that storm-bound coast had ever been
visited within the memory of man. The whole shore was strewed with
wrecks and the bodies of drowned men. The merchant ships of the convoy
were lost, with hundreds of other vessels. That the Ariel, in the most
dangerous position which could possibly have been imagined even,
escaped without loss of life was due to the Providence of God and the
brilliant seamanship of her captain. Long afterward Richard Dale wrote
thus of his commander's conduct in these trying circumstances:
"Never saw I such coolness and readiness in such frightful
circumstances as Paul Jones showed in the nights and days when we lay
off the Penmarques, expecting every moment to be our last; and the
danger was greater even than we were in when the Bon Homme Richard
fought the Serapis."
Two months were required to put the Ariel in shape for sea once more.
All the arms which she was carrying out for the use of the army had
been so damaged by water as to be useless. They were left behind and
their place supplied by other cargo. During this interval, when not
occupied in superintending the repairs to the ship, Jones amused
himself with his usual prolific correspondence. He had also a spirited
encounter with one Thomas Truxtun, afterward the distinguished naval
officer, at that time master of a privateer called the Independence.
Truxtun entered the harbor of L'Orient flying a pennant, the use of
which was restricted by act of Congress to regularly commissioned
vessels of war, except in the case of privateers cruising alone. A
sharp correspondence was carried on between Jones and Truxtun, who was
a mere boy at the time. Truxtun at first refused to haul down the
offending pennant, but was finally induced to do so by Richard Dale
and two heavily armed boats' crews from the Ariel. Jones was not to be
trifled with, and Truxtun received a good lesson in subordination and
obedience to law--always of value to a privateer.[36]
While the Ariel was being refitted, Jones, with his usual longing for
a first-class ship of war--a thing he never enjoyed during the whole
course of his life--through some influential friends made an attempt
to get the French Government to lend him the new and handsome frigate
Terpsichore, but his request, as usual, was not complied with. Just
before the Ariel sailed, Jones gave a grand entertainment on board of
her, to which he invited all his friends, which closed with an
exercise at general quarters, followed by a representation of battle,
which greatly alarmed his fair visitors.
On the 18th of December he took his departure once more. His last
letters to Madame d'Ormoy are very characteristic of Jones in his
capacity as a squire of dames, and well indicate his feelings at this
time:
"I can not leave France without expressing how much I feel myself
honoured and obliged by the generous attention that you have shown to
my reputation in your journal. I will ever have the most ardent desire
to merit the spontaneous praise of beauty and her pen; and it is
impossible to be more grateful than I am for the very polite
attentions I received at Paris and Versailles. My particular thanks
are due to you, madam, for the personal proofs I have received of your
esteem and friendship, and for the happiness you procured me in the
society of the charming countess, and other ladies and gentlemen of
your circle. But I have a favour to ask of you, madam, which I hope
you will grant me. You tell me in your letter that the inkstand I had
the honour to present to you, as a small token of my esteem, shall be
reserved for the purpose of writing what concerns me; now I wish you
to see my idea in a more expanded light, and would have you make use
of that inkstand to instruct mankind, and support the dignity and
rights of human nature."
In another letter to the same lady he says:
"It is impossible to be more sensible than I am of the obligation
conferred on me by your attentions and kind remembrance, joined to
that of the belle comtesse, your fair daughters, and the amiable
ladies and gentlemen of your society. I have returned without laurels
and, what is worse, without having been able to render service to the
glorious cause of liberty. I know not why Neptune was in such anger,
unless he thought it was an affront in me to repair on his ocean with
so insignificant a force. It is certain that till the night of the 8th
I did not fully conceive the awful majesty of tempest and shipwreck. I
can give you no just idea of the tremendous scene that Nature then
presented, which surpassed the reach even of poetic fancy and the
pencil. I believe no ship was ever before saved from an equal danger
off the point of the Penmarque rocks. I am extremely sorry that the
young English lady you mention should have imbibed the national hatred
against me. I have had proofs that many of the first and finest ladies
of that nation are my friends. Indeed, I can not imagine why any fair
lady should be my enemy, since, upon the large scale of universal
philanthropy, I feel, acknowledge, and bend before the sovereign power
of beauty. The English may hate me, but _I will force them to esteem
me too_."[37]
The voyage was uneventful. Jones chose the southern passage, which was
less frequented by ships than the more direct route; the value of his
cargo being so great and the force of his vessel so small, he did not
wish to run any risk of being captured on this cruise. When they had
reached a point about twelve hundred miles east of Florida and nine
hundred miles north of Barbadoes, in latitude 26° N., longitude 60°
W., they were chased by a sail, which appeared to be a large frigate.
Jones, for the reasons mentioned, endeavored by crowding sail on the
Ariel to escape--his reputation for courage and intrepidity was
sufficiently high to allow him to run away without any imputation
being warranted by this action--but the stranger had the heels of the
Ariel, and gradually overhauled her. Night came on before she came
within range, and Jones hoped to run away from her in the darkness;
but his efforts to elude his pursuer were unavailing, and when day
dawned she was still close at hand.
The wind fell during the morning, and the two ships maintained their
relative positions all day. Toward evening the breeze became stronger
again, and the stranger began to draw up on the Ariel. As she came
nearer, Jones discovered that she was not so formidable a vessel as he
had imagined, and he determined to effect her capture. Making a great
show of endeavoring to escape, therefore, he cleared ship for action,
sent his men to quarters, and permitted his pursuer to overhaul him.
She ranged alongside the lee beam just at nightfall. Both ships were
flying the English flag. Jones was ready for action, the other ship
was not. The quartermaster of the Ariel, whose duty it was to hoist
the flags, had unfortunately allowed one end of the halliards to
escape him. Jones had intended, as the stranger ranged alongside, to
haul down the English flag and substitute the American colors, then,
crossing the enemy's bows, pour in a broadside and capture her by
boarding; but this petty neglect, or trifling accident, on the part of
the quartermaster made it impossible to haul down the flag at the
appointed time, so the opportunity was lost and the project had to be
given over. Vessels of war, when maneuvering for position, frequently
sail under strange colors, but it is a point of honor, invariably
observed, which, so far as my knowledge goes, has not been disregarded
in civilized warfare--if that phrase be permissible--to fight under
one's own flag.
Having lost his opportunity from this unfortunate mischance, Jones
necessarily entered into a conversation with the other ship, while he
made preparations for further maneuvering. What is known in sea
parlance as "a regular gam" ensued. The conversation lasted for some
time, during which he discovered that their pursuer was the Triumph,
an American-built ship of twenty guns, Captain John Pindar, an equal
match for the Ariel. She was a British privateer, though Jones and his
men considered her a man-of-war. Pindar probably told them so to
increase his prestige. After learning all that he could about English
affairs in America from the garrulous captain of the privateer, who
must have been extraordinarily stupid, Jones directed him to lower a
boat and come on board with his commission to prove that he was really
an Englishman. Pindar refused to do this, and Jones, watch in hand,
said he would allow him just five minutes for reflection as to the
disastrous consequences of a refusal to comply with this request.
During this interval the Englishman endeavored to clear ship for
action, his men not having gone to quarters before--a great piece of
carelessness and neglect.
At the expiration of the appointed time, Pindar still proving
obdurate, Jones backed his ship on the weather quarter of the Triumph,
put his helm up, crossed her stern, and poured in a broadside which
raked her at short range and naturally did much execution. He then
ranged alongside the lee beam of the privateer, and for ten minutes
poured in a vigorous fire. The resistance of the enemy, at first
spirited, had grown more feeble, until at the end of that time Pindar
hauled down his flag and begged for quarter, saying when he
surrendered that half his crew were killed or wounded. The Ariel's men
left their stations and gave three cheers, but the erstwhile stupid
Pindar proved to be a more wily antagonist than they imagined. His
ship had gradually moved ahead of the Ariel during the contest, and
now, suddenly putting up his helm and throwing out his studding sails,
he ran off dead before the wind, with all his killed and wounded. The
unsuspecting and astonished Americans on the Ariel endeavored to
follow the man who had so cleverly eluded them, but their overloaded
ship was no match in sailing for the swift privateer, which soon made
good her escape in the night.
Jones was naturally much disgusted at the outcome of this engagement,
and in his journal he properly comments upon Pindar's action as
follows:
"The English captain may properly be called a knave, because, after he
surrendered his ship, begged for and obtained quarter, he basely ran
away, contrary to the laws of naval war and the practice of civilized
nations."
Jones stated that he never had seen a ship better fought by a crew
than the Ariel had been in this instance. However, the usual
conspiracy to rise and take the ship was discovered among the English
members of the crew later on. It was thwarted by his vigorous
measures, and on the 17th of February, 1781, the Ariel dropped anchor
in the harbor of Philadelphia, just three years, three months, and
sixteen days from the departure of the Ranger at Portsmouth.