The white Serapis and her consort were far, far ahead, going fast and

leaving a long white wake across the sea. They seemed to have kept the

breeze which had failed the small boat. Coming up from the southward

he could see the black shapes of the Richard and her attendant ships.

What would he have given to be upon the deck by the side of that

dauntless captain! But even could he approach the two ships, that

privilege would be denied him, for honor demanded that he present

himself upon the deck of the Serapis without delay. It might be that

it would be too late even then to save Coventry, but he would go and

do his best. When the boat lost way, he sat a moment in indecision. He

was so loath to awaken the tired girl, but it was necessary. Gently he

raised her head.

"Why, my dearest," she said, "was I asleep? What has happened? Oh!" it

came back to her, "you are going back to the Serapis." Then she looked

eagerly forward. The ships were far off now, several miles away; and

as the breeze still held with them, the distance was increasing with

every passing moment.

"We do not advance," she cried, a note of joy in her voice, as her ear

detected the flapping of the sail; "the wind has died out." She laughed

triumphantly, "We shall never reach them."

"And poor Coventry?" said O'Neill.

"I cannot help it," she answered simply. "I think only of you. Now if

I could go back alone and take his place and let you go free, I would

cheerfully do that."

"What advantage would that be to me?" he asked her.

"Well, there is little use in our discussing it any more," she

answered, "for you cannot reach either ship now before it is over. The

wind has gone over to them, and we are still."

"Ah, but I have another way of getting along."

"How is that?"

"I shall row," he said quietly. "Will you take the tiller?"

"No!" she replied defiantly, folding her arms. "I will not help you at

all!"

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" he murmured.

"I will not, I tell you!" she said. "Frankly, I do not wish to. What

is Edward, what are those ships, what is the whole wide world to me

beside your safety?"

"I must do it alone as best I can, then," said O'Neill, leaving her

side and going forward and unstepping the mast and thrusting out the

oars, which he handled with the skill of long practice and strong

arms. The difference of speed between the boat and the two ships was

now of course greater than before.

"Why fatigue yourself unnecessarily?" she said to him at last, after

he had been rowing for some time. "You gain nothing; 'tis useless."

"No matter," was his reply as he desperately tugged at the oars. "I

shall at least have the consciousness of knowing I did what I could."

But after pulling hard for an hour, he leaned over the handles of the

oars and turning his head looked forward. She was right; it was a

perfectly hopeless task. The nearest ships were now ten or a dozen

miles away, and going farther, when a flash of light pierced the

darkness on the horizon, followed some time after by the roar of a

heavy gun.

BOOK V

IN THE HELL OF BATTLE, ALL

CHAPTER XVIII

_The Boys in Command_

"The ship is clear, sir," said Lieutenant Richard Dale, saluting

smartly. He was a handsome, dashing young sailor, the picture of sea

gallantry, as he ran lightly up the ladder from the main-deck and

stopped before the little captain of the Bon Homme Richard, standing

on the weather side of the poop, keenly surveying the scene.

"Very good, sir," said the little man, nodding his head but not

turning toward his executive officer. "Look yonder," he added,

pointing ahead and toward the shore. "What do you make that, sir?"

"It cannot be the Alliance!" exclaimed Dale, in great surprise, as he

shaded his eyes and gazed intently in the direction of the setting sun

at a large war-ship which was edging in shore toward the harbor of

Scarborough, which apparently sheltered a numerous convoy of merchant

ships.

"'Tis indeed she!" replied Jones, sternly; "I have repeatedly

signalled to Captain Landais to follow in our wake,--to form line

ahead. If we get out of this thing safely--" He stopped, repressed his

feeling by a strong effort, compressing his lips passionately in a way

which promised trouble for Captain Landais and the Alliance, a new and

handsome frigate, the best of Jones's squadron. After a momentary

pause the commodore, a man of few words in time of action at least,

turned toward the stern of his ship.

"Look aft there, too," he added.

"That will be the Pallas, of course," said Dale, as his eye fell upon

a smaller ship which was following the Bon Homme Richard. "And the

Vengeance, sir?"

"There! Hull down on the horizon, fleeing like a coward," said Jones,

bitterly.

"And those two white fellows forward there," continued Dale, "reaching

out from the harbor--"

"Are the Serapis and the Scarborough," interrupted the captain, "if

the information sent us by O'Neill be correct."

"Would he were here!" exclaimed Dale.

"Yes, he is himself a host," said Jones, sadly. "We are fearfully

short-handed. O'Neill gone, and Henry and Cutting Lunt, our third and

fourth officers, both absent. The Frenchmen are an unknown quantity. I

have only you, Dale, and Stacey and Mease, and the boys, of course;

but I can depend upon you."

"Upon me--upon all of us," replied Dale, gallantly, "to the death

itself!"

"I know it," said the captain, smiling and laying his hand

affectionately upon the young man's shoulder. "They are very young,

though," he continued gravely, "for such desperate work as this

promises to be, but they are brave hearts and true. They will do their

best, I doubt not."

"With you to command them, sir, they'll not be found wanting, I am

sure," said the enthusiastic Dale, who was devotedly attached to his

great commander. There was a little pause.

"Messieurs," said Jones, turning toward a little group of French

officers who were standing on the lee side of the poop. At the

captain's word they stepped forward and saluted gracefully.

"Colonel de Weibert, you have served in the artillery, I believe?"

asked the captain of a fine-looking veteran. The Frenchman bowed.

"Will you assist Lieutenant Dale in working the battery on the

main-deck? It is an unusual place for a soldier, but we are very short

of experienced officers. You understand the handling of great guns. It

would be a great favor."

"Any place which enables him to fight the enemy is a good place for a

soldier, my captain. I am at Lieutenant Dale's service," replied the

gallant old soldier.

"You, vicomte, and gentlemen," said Jones, turning to De Chamillard,

who was attended by several subalterns, "will take charge of the

soldiers on the quarter-deck and forecastle. I desire a continuous

small-arm fire to play upon the decks and tops of the English ships."

"Sir captain," smilingly answered De Chamillard, a dapper, dainty

little man, as he in turn bowed profoundly, laying his hand on his

sword, "not a man shall escape my marine infantry; I answer for them

and for my friends here as well," he added indicating his gay-clad

lieutenants, who emulated the vicomte in the profundity of their

salutations.

"Remember, gentlemen," said Jones, his face lighting, "'tis

for the honor of America--and of France. Mr. Brooks," he said to an

alert young midshipman who was acting as his signal officer and aide,

"signal the Pallas to edge off to the east and engage the smaller ship

of the enemy. The big fellow is our game, messieurs. See! they are

forming line ahead and are waiting for us. Brave fellows!

Quartermaster," he cried, stepping to the break of the poop and

looking down at the old seaman and his mates stationed at the wheel,

"d'ye see those two ships?"

"Ay, ay, sir," answered the veteran tar, shading his eyes with his

hand and peering eagerly ahead; "I sees 'em, yer Honor."

"That's well. The one ahead, nearest the shore, is our mark. I intend

to round to on her port bow. Mind your course!"

"Very good, sir," answered the steersman, giving a knowing squint at

the lifting sails, and shifting the wheel a few spokes.

"Now, gentlemen," continued the captain, "to your stations all! But

stay--Mr. Brooks, direct the sailing-master, purser, and the junior

officers to come up on the quarter-deck."

In a short time the two older officers and a little band of youths

whose ages ranged from twelve to seventeen years stood before the

captain and saluted. His eyes fell tenderly upon the boys; so youthful

and immature were they to be charged with the heavy responsibilities

of the coming hour, which would have devolved upon the older men but

for their unfortunate absence.

"Young gentlemen," he said quietly, "accident has thrust you into

positions of great responsibility which otherwise you might not have

been called upon to fill for years. We are about to engage two

powerful ships of the enemy. The Richard is heavily overmatched in

everything except in the spirit and courage of her officers and men. I

am determined--nay, we are all determined, are we not?--that the flag

which floats above us shall never be struck. We may be sunk, but we

will not surrender. I shall try to do my part; you will, I doubt not,

do yours?"

"Ay, ay, sir."

"We will, sir."

"Count on us to the death, sir," broke forth from the impetuous youths

who clustered about the captain.

"Remember that we are fighting not only to uphold the honor of our

flag in the face of the most arrogant navy on the ocean, but to rescue

from a shameful death--if it be not unhappily too late--one of our

brother officers who would give his life to be here."

"O'Neill, O'Neill!" cried one and another, the brave Irishman being a

great favorite with all.

"I enjoin upon you the utmost vigilance and care. Supplement your

inexperience by redoubled effort. Be as brave as youths and as cool as

veterans. Give implicit obedience to the orders you receive from Mr.

Dale, Mr. Stacey, or from me, and exact the same compliance with your

orders from your men. They are a hard lot to handle; don't lose

control of them." He paused a moment, scanning the intent faces of the

lads close about him, and then continued: "Remember, too, we have more

than one foe to fight,--the prisoners below, the enemies yonder on the

sea, and disobedience in our own squadron. Who keeps guard over the

prisoners in the hold?"

"I, sir, with the master-at-arms," answered Payne, a resolute-looking

youth of fifteen. "I wanted to be on deck in the batteries, sir--"

"You could have no more important station, my lad," replied the

captain. "Keep them under hatches! Do not hesitate to shoot the first

man who makes a move to break out! They must not be allowed to gain

the deck. At all hazards, keep them down! I repeat it, sir, keep them

down! Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," gravely answered the boy, awed by the emphasis of the

captain's manner.

"You, Mr. Mayrant, with Mr. Mease the purser and Mr. Brooks, will

remain on deck with Mr. Stacey and me," continued the captain. "You,

Mr. McCollin, will take charge of the old eighteen-pounders on the

berth-deck. You, too, have a post of danger! Be careful of them! I

distrust them greatly, yet they must be tried."

"Ay, ay, sir. Thank you, sir," said the young midshipman, delighted at

being thus distinguished.

"Mr. Caswell," he added, turning to the largest and oldest, "you will

take charge of the forecastle. Mr. Fanning, I confide the maintop to

you. The rest of you will command the several divisions in the main

batteries and the other tops. Now, young gentlemen, before you go to

your stations, I would take you by the hand; and so," lifting his

cocked hat reverently, an example all present followed, "may God guard

the right!" There was a suspicious moisture in some of the eyes

looking upon the captain, but the midshipmen would have died rather

than permit an actual tear to be seen.

"Three cheers for Commodore Jones and the bully Richard!" at last

shouted Payne, breaking the insupportable silence. The little party,

somewhat forgetful of discipline for the moment, crowded around their

captain, shaking him by the hand, and turned away. They had come up to

the quarter-deck a rollicking set of boys; they returned from it a

group of grave-eyed men.

"What a splendid set of youngsters!" said Jones to himself, as he

watched them spring lightly toward their stations. Then he turned

toward the sailing-master: "Mr. Stacey, take the deck for a few

moments and hold on as we are. Ah!" he said, pausing with his foot on

the ladder as he saw the Pallas, a much swifter sailer than the

Richard, rushing by on the starboard side with every breath of canvas

drawing, heading for the smaller of the two English ships before them,

"there goes the Pallas. Cottineau, at least, is a brave man. I shall

remember him. Come, Dale." As he stepped down the ladder a hearty

cheer rang out from the passing frigate, which, without order, was

lustily returned from the Richard, and then the two officers walked

through the batteries.

The sun had set for some time, and night had long since fallen over

the sea. The lighthouse on Flamborough Head was sending out a great

beam of warning from that jutting point. Far on the horizon a silvery

brightness had spread itself in the heavens, bespeaking the harvest

moon, the burnished rim of which even before sunset had leaped into

being on the edge of the water. Lights twinkled here and there on the

English ships before them and crowned the hills of the distant town

and harbor. Battle lanterns were lighted between decks on the Richard,

the yellow flickering radiance from which was reflected from the

sinewy, half-naked, sweat-covered bodies of the stalwart men at their

quarters, as the captain walked through the crew.

It was a varied assemblage of about three hundred men which manned the

guns and filled the tops. The crew had been made up in France out of

such materials as came to hand. There were about seventy-five tried

and true American seamen, most of them veterans of many a hard fight

and bold adventure. These commanded the different guns and filled the

more important stations. There were, perhaps, one hundred and fifty

veteran French soldiers,--old artillerists,--some of whom had

volunteered at the guns; a few of the most expert marksmen among them

were stationed in the tops, but the greater portion was divided into

two large bodies drawn up on the quarter-deck and forecastle. The

balance of the crew had been gathered from the riff-raff of all

nations; perhaps a tougher, rougher, harder, more desperate body of

men never fought a ship; they had but one virtue,--they would fight.

Only a resolute hand and an indomitable will like that of Jones had

ever held the motley crowd in any kind of discipline. He had ruled the

Richard with an iron heart, and in spite of bitter murmurs had forced

the men to do his will. The ship had been a slumbering volcano of

incipient mutiny and latent rebellion; but in the presence of the

enemy, these men whose passion it was to fight forgot their personal

grievances, and mindful of the finished skill and superhuman courage

of their captain, looked favorably upon him and eagerly anticipated

the conflict. Rude jests and bits of sea pleasantry, usually permitted

in moments like these, flew up and down the line between the captain

and the ruffians under his command as he passed by them in rapid

review.

The watches had been piped to supper earlier than usual, and afterward

a double ration of grog had been served out. The men were in good

spirits, and good spirits in them! The captain carefully examined

every part of the ship. The young midshipmen who filled the unwonted

stations, evidently deeply impressed by their opportunities and

responsibilities, were pacing restlessly up and down, eagerly

scrutinizing every detail of their several commands. On the

berth-deck, standing before the hatch which led into the hold in which

over two hundred English prisoners were confined, the commodore found

young Payne, attended by the master-at-arms, two American seamen, and

three French soldiers, keeping guard.

"Ah! I am glad to see you at your station," said the captain, raising

his voice, as the young midshipman, full of pride, saluted him. "You

remember my orders, sir, which were to shoot the first man who shows

his head above the hatch?"

There was a hoarse murmur from the prisoners beneath the gratings

which covered the hatchway, at this speech of the captain's, which

was, as he had intended, clearly heard by them.

"Ay, ay, sir. I'll do it; never fear," answered the lad, in his boyish

treble.

"Remember, sir, that I regard your station as one of the most

important on the ship! Those men must not be allowed on deck!"

"They shall not be!" answered Payne, resolutely. "If the ship goes

down, they go with it!"

There was a harsh roar below; oaths, curses, imprecations, and cries

were blasted up from the deck beneath them.

"Silence there!" shouted Jones. "Remember!" he said to the midshipman

as he turned away.

"I shall not forget, sir," replied the boy, saluting proudly.

"Do what you can," said Jones, turning to McCollin,--"do what you can

with the old eighteens."

"They shall be fought as long as they exist, sir," answered the young

officer.

"I know that, sir," said Jones, glancing approvingly from him to the

little groups of half-naked men clustered about the guns, the sweat

streaming from their muscular bodies in the heat of the narrow,

confined quarters, "and you have the men with you who will back you

up."

A hoarse cheer which resounded throughout the dim recesses of the

berth-deck bespoke the hearty acquiescence of the men in their

captain's shrewd estimate of their qualities.

CHAPTER XIX

_'Tween Decks with the Men_

The captain, not ill pleased at this and other manifestations of

hearty spirit which had met him on every hand, mounted the ladders and

resumed his station on the high poop-deck of the frigate.

Anything less like a war vessel could hardly be imagined. The Bon

Homme Richard had been an old-fashioned, high-pooped East Indiaman

with a towering forecastle. This antiquated makeshift, formerly called

the Duc de Duras, had been turned over to Jones for a ship-of-war

through the grudging kindness of France. It was the best ship Franklin

and the other commissioners of the new American Republic could procure

for their greatest sea captain. Jones, out of compliment to Franklin,

author of the "Poor Richard" papers, had renamed her; the name was the

only thing new about her. She had been pierced for thirty-six guns,

twenty-eight twelve-pounders on the main-deck, and eight nine-pounders

on the quarter-deck and forecastle. In utter desperation at her entire

inadequacy, Jones had recourse to the dangerous experiment, not often

resorted to, of mounting six eighteen-pounders in ports pierced for

them on the berth-deck, and of course very near the water line. The

guns were all of an obsolete pattern and much worn by use, the

eighteen-pounders being especially bad; as dangerous, in fact, to

friends as foes. Bad as they were, they were all he could obtain, and,

with characteristic determination, Jones resolved to make the best of

them.

The ship herself was so old and rotten that she was not even fit for

an ordinary merchant cruise, much less prepared for the shocks of

battle. Through an unfortunate combination of circumstances, all of

her senior officers were absent except Dale, the first lieutenant,

Stacey, the sailing-master, and Mease, the purser. Among that half of

her crew who were soldiers, many had scarcely yet acquired their

"sea-legs," and some of them were actually seasick during the battle!

The Serapis, with which they were about to engage and to which they

were rapidly drawing near, was a brand-new, double-banked frigate,

mounting fifty guns on two covered and one uncovered decks, twenty

eighteen-pounders, twenty nines, and ten sixes. She was manned by

three hundred and fifty well-drilled able seamen and commanded by one

of the best officers in the English navy, who was ably seconded by a

full quota of capable and experienced subordinates.

Pearson had no more doubt of winning the victory than he had of the

rising of the sun next morning. Leaving one factor out of a comparison

of the opposing forces, his confidence was absolutely warranted. But

Jones had no more doubt of winning the victory than Pearson had.

Pearson knew his ship and his crew; Jones knew himself. He was the

unconscious factor which vitiated Pearson's conclusions. When a man

like the little Scotch-American captain makes up his mind to do a

thing, there is only one thing to prevent his doing it, and that is to

remove the man! Jones _intended_ to conquer. There never was a man who

had more of the spirit of absolute determination, of unconquerable,

unshakable, unbreakable pertinacity in continuing a conflict, than he.

He never knew when he was beaten; perhaps because he never was. There

was something in the sheer determined, persistent pugnacity of the man

which absolutely compelled success. He wrenched victory from

overwhelming odds, superior force, fortuitous chance,--everything.

The men understood this, too. There is nothing your real hard-bitten

dare-devil, your imprudent ruffian, likes so much as a man who is not

afraid of him and who will be his master. Your ruffian curses and

swears at your man, plots against him, rebels, mutinies, conspires,

and in the moment of action follows him like a devotee. The little man

standing at the break of the poop, cool, calm, thoughtful, with his

student face and somewhat poetic, dreamy smile, did not look like the

iron-handed, iron-willed, indomitable master of the motley ruffian

band which had been dumped upon his deck--which he certainly was. With

the dainty manner of a Frenchman, the courteous deference of a

gentleman of the oldest and best school, the calmness of an ancient

philosopher, there was in his appearance no outward evidence of the

tremendous qualities inherent in the man, save in the sparkling,

flashing, piercing eye which plunged through and through those upon

whom its glances were fastened, with the keenness of a sword-blade.

His men were wont to say that he could _look_ even a frigate into

striking her colors if given an opportunity! The hardest ruffian

cringed like a cur before him, and this when he was peaceful and

quiet. When he grew angry, which was rare, his passion was like

Washington's, blasting and appalling. He was perfectly quiet now,

however, and he stood by Dale's side at the break of the poop looking

over the bows of the ship toward the enemy.

As they swept forward through the peaceful sea, a fragrance of balm

and spicery and myrrh, which seemed to suggest the many voyages of the

old ship in the distant tropic latitudes, clung about the decks and

pervaded the gentle air already redolent with the sweet scent of

new-mown hay from the not distant shore. It was as calm and sweet an

autumn night as ever falls across the tired earth. The land breeze

blew softly across the decks; the bright radiance of the glorious moon

of harvest sparkled and wavered and flickered with sinuous, restless

brilliancy on the tossing water ahead. All the busy notes of

preparation had died away. There had come over the hearts of all, in

that moment before the approaching crisis, a little silence which

bespoke a recognition of the gravity of the impending conflict The

mellow-toned bell forward was striking the time; two, four, six, seven

bells in the second dog watch, half after seven o'clock. The minutes

were being rung away for some of the men upon the decks of the great

old ship; for many of them the bell would strike no more. Some who had

gazed carelessly upon the setting sun would not see it rise again.

Laughter ceased, jests failed, and some unwonted lips, while eyes were

heavenward turned, murmured the name of God in belated petition. Even

the most hardened and indifferent sailor felt the influence of the

hour and was still.

Off on the starboard bow, the Pallas was gallantly speeding toward her

distant foe. The Alliance, having paid no attention to repeated

signals, was still edging in toward the convoy. The Serapis with her

topsail to the mast, her men at quarters, ports open, lanterns

lighted, was grimly waiting. As Jones's eye fell upon the Alliance,

his lips were tightened; a black shadow swept across his face which

boded ill for Landais again. When Dale, standing by his side, ventured

to break his reverie by a bitter comment upon the defection of the

frigate, Jones remarked,--

"Never mind, sir. The fewer we are, the more honor we shall gain by

taking them."

But in the main the two officers kept silent watch together. Even the

chattering Frenchmen caught the contagion of the portentous moments

and stood in quiet ranks prepared and ready. It was no quarrel of

theirs, this in which they fought, but their old and ever present

hatred of England gave them inspiration enough for the conflict. The

breeze freshened slightly; and as the Richard drew nearer the Serapis,

the latter swung her ponderous main-yard and slowly filled away. The

two ships were sailing at right angles to each other, the Richard

slightly ahead of the Serapis, which was moving to cross her bow.

"Shall I go to the batteries now, captain?" asked the first

lieutenant.

"Yes, I think you would better," answered Jones, stretching out his

hand.

"Good-bye, sir," said the other, grasping it firmly.

"Good-bye; God bless you, Richard," said the older man, looking

gravely at his beloved subordinate.

"And you, sir," returned Dale, with an unusual accent of tender

affection; then he turned and ran rapidly to his station.

"Pass the word quickly," said Jones to young Brooks, "for the men to

deliver their fire promptly and together when the word is given. Not a

gun is to be discharged until the order. After that, as rapidly as

possible."

As the fleet-footed midshipman ran along the decks, a little murmur of

excitement arose. There was a shifting of positions; men sprang to

their stations; hoarse whispers came from the gun captains, as the

smouldering matches, or glowing loggerheads, were handed to them by

their subordinates.

"Silence fore and aft the decks!" came the clear voice of the captain.

The murmurs died away as young Brooks sprang up the ladder and

reported that everything was ready. The boy officers choked down

something that rose in their throats as they walked nervously up and

down their divisions. A fleeting thought they gave to home, mother,

hours of play, so far away. It was the first battle for many of them.

Down on the berth-deck in front of the hatchway, little Payne looked

to the priming of his pistols and whispered a word or two to his men,

who stood with their muskets pointing down through the gratings

covering the hatchway. He wished he had been up on deck with the rest,

fighting a great gun, or attached to the side of the captain; but the

captain had told him that the post of honor and importance was here,

and here he would stand. There, on the starboard side, his young

messmate and friend, McCollin, gave another careful inspection to his

three old eighteen-pounders, firmly resolved to give such an account

with them, if they did not burst, as would decide the action.

Caswell and Mayrant were in the forecastle to fight the two guns

there. Mr. Mease, the purser, as brave a man as ever stepped a deck,

though no sailor, had charge of the quarter-deck guns. Stacey, the

sailing-master, stood aft by the wheel to assist in working the ship.

Brooks and De Chamillard were on the poop near Jones. Fanning, with

his bullies in the maintop, was anxiously wishing that he, too, might

have a place in the centre of the conflict, the gun-deck, little

knowing what decisive moment was in store for him.

They were nearer now, well within gun-shot, yet there was no sound

from either ship. The tense expectancy of the moment was becoming

unbearable to the younger hands. What were the captains of the ships

about? Why didn't they fire? Away off on the horizon, flashes of light

and the deep boom of artillery reverberating across the water, told

that their consort had joined in battle with the Scarborough. Why were

they so slow? Suddenly, in the midst of the silence, broken only by

the soft sigh of the summer wind through the top-hamper, the splashing

of the bluff bows, as they forced themselves through the rippling

water, came the sound of a hail from the English ship, the words of

which were indistinguishable.

"I don't understand you," cried Jones, then he turned to the

quartermaster and said softly,--

"Over with the helm! Hard-a-starboard!" As the wheel was put over by

the skilful hands of the quartermaster and his mate, the great ship

swung slowly to port and rounded to off the port bow of the English

ship.

The Englishman hailed again.

"This is the United States ship Bon Homme Richard," shouted Paul Jones

in reply, at the top of his voice, springing up on the rail the while.

"Stand by!" A quiver and shiver went through the ship from her tops to

her very vitals. "Fire!"

Streams of light leaped out in the darkness; clouds of smoke rose at

once from the sides of the Richard only to be met and brushed away

by a broadside which had been delivered no less promptly from the

English ship. Groans and curses and yells and cheers rose from the

blood-stained decks upon which men writhed in the agony of ghastly

wounds, or lay contorted in hideous death where they had fallen, for

at close range both broadsides had done fearful execution.

The desperate men ran the huge guns in and out and loaded them with

frantic energy and kept up a continuous cannonade upon their foes. The

roar of the great guns drowned every other sound as the two ships

sailed side by side in bitter conflict, but the trained ear of the

American captain had detected another sound coincident with the first

broadside which told a tale of disaster. When the loggerheads had been

applied to the priming of two of the eighteens, they had exploded with

a terrific concussion, killing and wounding nearly every man of their

crews.

McCollin, who commanded the battery, was struck by a piece of iron and

received a dreadful wound. He remained at his post, however, clinging

tenaciously to a broken stanchion for a moment until he recovered

himself a little. As the frightened and appalled men shrank away from

the remaining gun of the battery, not yet discharged in view of the

dreadful explosion, he seized the hot iron from the dead hand of the

captain of number one gun, and setting his lips grimly staggered over

to the last cannon.

"Don't do it, sir!" hoarsely cried the old boatswain's mate who served

under him. "It'll blow up with ye, as the others ha' done!" There was

no reply. McCollin was beyond words. With set lips and grim face, in

silence he wavered on before the awestruck men. With tottering steps

he reached the gun and applied the iron. There was a blinding roar and

the gun whirled inboard in rapid recoil from the force of the

discharge.

"Load it again," said the gasping boy, striving to stop the blood with

his hand against his side. Before the men, who, inspired by such

heroism, had sprung eagerly forward, could reach the piece, an

eighteen-pound shot from the Serapis' lower deck struck it fair and

square on the trunnion and dismounted it. That battery was useless.

The explosion had made a gaping hole in the side of the Richard,

through which the red-lighted side of the Serapis but a short distance

away could be seen plainly; the deck above and below was badly

shattered by the blowing up of the guns.

"All the men alive of this division," said McCollin, thickly, "will

find places at the divisions on the gun-deck. We can do nothing more

here. Good-bye, Payne."

A few moments later a powder-blackened, blood-stained, white-faced,

desperate little figure appeared out of the smoke before the captain.

"McCollin, you here!" he cried sternly, "why are you not with your

battery, sir?"

"I have to report, sir," said the boy, grasping the rail with one hand

to keep from falling, while he saluted with the other, "that two of

the berth-deck guns blew up, sir, and the other was dismounted. Have

you any orders for me, sir?"

"Too bad!" cried Jones. "Orders!--but you are wounded!"

At this moment a round shot struck the lad fair in the chest. With his

hand still at salute he was whirled across the deck and thrown against

the taffrail, a broken mass of what had been humanity.

"Good Heaven!" exclaimed the captain, staring and almost losing his

iron nerve at this double shock,--the loss of the battery and the

death of the midshipman. "Poor lad! A hero!"

The ships were nearer now; the rifles of the Frenchmen were cracking

and the fire from the great guns was continuous. The Richard had drawn

well ahead; and fearful that the Serapis would cross his stern and

rake, Jones now shivered his headsails, threw his after-sails aback,

checked the way of his own ship, and the Serapis, firing madly into

the smoke, drew ahead of the Richard. Jones then put his helm up to

try to cross her stern and rake. The quick handling of the English

ship frustrated this plan. The bow of the Richard struck the port

quarter of the Serapis. The two ships hung together a moment, boarders

were called on both sides; but before they could be used, the two

ships drifted apart and formed a line ahead, with not a single gun

bearing on either ship. The roar of the guns gradually subsided and

even the crack of the small arms died away. The smoke drifted slowly

off to leeward.

CHAPTER XX

_The Indomitable Ego_

The battle had been maintained with the utmost fury for nearly three

quarters of an hour, and both ships had sustained severe injuries, the

Richard being in much the worse condition. The heavy shot from the

long eighteens of the Serapis had played havoc with her. Pearson

naturally thought that it was about time for Jones to surrender,

though the hour when Jones thought it time to surrender would never

strike. The sudden silence which had fallen upon the conflict was

broken by a voice from the British ship. In high interrogation it rang

over the waters in the moonlight.

"Have you struck?" was the question of the Serapis. From the shattered

Richard came Jones's immortal answer,--

"I have not yet begun to fight!"

A roar of wild exultation, a gigantic Homeric laugh, broke from the

throats of the crew of the Richard, as the reply of the captain was

passed from deck to deck, until the whole ship from truck to keelson

quivered with responsive joy. 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 ever! Beaten! The

fighting is but just begun! The preposterous possibility of surrender

cannot 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 has 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 has 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 was a

wasted one.

The helm was shifted to starboard, and the headsails shivered. The

Richard slowly swung off to port and gathered headway again. The

Serapis had lost an opportunity of tacking and raking. In order more

quickly to bring his guns to bear and perhaps to prevent a raking by

the enemy, Captain Pearson threw all aback; and the two ships, one

backing, and the other reaching ahead, slowly drew abreast each other,

the batteries speaking again as soon as the guns bore. The wind was

very light, and the motion of both ships was sluggish in the extreme,

so that they practically lay side by side, steerage way almost gone,

slowly drifting in for long minutes, until there came a sudden,

temporary breath of wind.

The position was most advantageous for the Serapis, as with her

heavier and more numerous guns she could deliberately knock the

Richard into a "cocked hat." She was much the speedier and handier

ship, and might reasonably hope to choose her own distance, and,

having selected a point of vantage, maintain it to the end. Pearson's

game was to fight at long range until he had sunk his enemy; no

difficult task that last,--she was half sinking now! But what the

Richard lacked in mobility and direction, she made up in her captain.

Jones did things instinctively; Pearson had to think about them.

Jones's only hope was in getting to close quarters and making use of

the disciplined French soldiery upon his decks.

They had done good service already in clearing the spar-deck of the

English. Therefore, as the Richard, gathering way, gradually forged

ahead, her helm was shifted to port and the vessel slowly swung across

the bow of the Serapis, which had just begun to fill away again, as

Pearson saw that he had nearly backed out of action. The bow of the

Serapis struck the starboard quarter of the Richard, the jib-boom

thrusting itself violently through the mizzen rigging. There was a

terrific crash at the moment of impact; and a second later the

English, cheering frantically, jumped upon the heel of the bowsprit

and clambered upon the rail of their ship.

They were led by a tall distinguished-looking officer, who attracted

double attention, as he wore the red uniform of the English army. As

their heads appeared over the rail, the powerful voice of Jones could

be heard shouting, "Boarders away!" Not waiting for the men who came

springing up on the quarter-deck in obedience to his summons, the

dauntless captain seized a pike from the rack and hurled it through

the air at the leader of the Englishmen. Good fortune guided his hand,

and the steel head of the lance struck fair in the bosom of the

soldier. The British wavered a moment as their officer fell, and

Jones discharged his pistols full among them. Then De Chamillard and

those of his marines left alive upon the deck, by a well-directed

point-blank volley, drove back the boarding party of the English.

The two ships were grinding against each other, and the wind on the

after-sail of the Serapis slowly forced her around until she swung

parallel to the Richard. The jib-boom snapped off short under the

strain, and her starboard anchor caught in the tangled rigging of the

American frigate; and Stacey, the sailing-master, sprang to lash the

ships together. Stacey snatched a rope from the raffle on the deck and

strove to overhaul it. It was tangled, and he found great difficulty

in clearing it. An impatient man at best, and now greatly excited, he

swore roundly as he tugged at the vexatious rope.

"Don't swear, Mr. Stacey," said Jones, calmly, coming to his

assistance "In another moment we may all be in eternity, but let us do

our duty."

With his own hands Jones passed the lashing.

On the gun-deck below, the batteries were being fought fiercely. The

two ships were lying side by side, one heading in, the other out, the

bow of one by the stern of the other, the starboard side of the

Serapis closely touching the starboard side of the Richard. In the

hope that the Richard would drift clear, Captain Pearson now dropped

his port anchor; in vain, no bull-dogs ever clung to foes with more

tenacity of grip than did those two ships in deadly grapple joined

together. The Richard and the Serapis were fast locked for good, and

the two ships swung to the tidal current, the wind being again almost

entirely killed. In that position they lay for the next two hours, or

until the battle was over.

As the Englishman had not hitherto engaged on the starboard side, the

port shutters had not been opened, and the close contact of the two

ships rendered it impossible to open them then. The Serapis' men were

therefore compelled to fire through them, blowing off the port-lids.

It was necessary for the men on both ships to extend the long handles

of the rammers and sponges of the guns through the ports into the

other ship in order to properly load their own cannon. Badinage of a

character easily to be imagined passed back and forth between the two

crews, though nothing interrupted the steady and persistent discharge

of the batteries. The battle below was literally a hand-to-hand

conflict with great guns, all the advantages in number and size being

with the English.

At this juncture a new note was added to the conflict. Jones, whose

eyes were everywhere in the battle, observed a black shadow come

darting athwart the two fighting ships, shutting off the moonlight It

was the Alliance.

"Ah!" he said to himself, "Landais has seen the folly of his

disobedience and has come to our assistance."

As the American ship, with her French captain and half-English crew,

loomed up between him and the bright moon, he thought of course that

she would range down upon the unengaged side of the Serapis, and with

a few broadsides compel her to strike at once. But no, the Alliance

under full sail stood on. Her men were at quarters, ports triced up,

lanterns lighted. She was passing the bow of the Serapis now. Why did

she not fire? The insane and treacherous Landais held steadily on

until he was standing squarely across the stern of the Richard. Now

she was drawing past them as well. A command rang out. Good God! What

was that?

Jones was well-nigh petrified with astonishment when at short range

the Alliance poured in a raking broadside, of which the Richard

received the brunt, though it was apparently discharged impartially at

the two ships. As Landais drew past the stern, the helm of the

Alliance was shifted. She swung parallel to the Richard, poured in

another broadside, circled the Richard forward, and raked her again!

The last discharge was a frightful one. The shot at close range swept

the crowded decks of the American ship, which seemed actually to

quiver and flinch at this treacherous blow. This broadside did much

damage, killing and wounding many on the forecastle, among them

Midshipman Caswell, mortally. Shrieks, groans, and cries of startled

surprise and dismay rose with increasing volume from the ship.

"The Alliance, the Alliance--"

"We are betrayed! We are betrayed!"

"The English have got the ship!" came from every side in wild

confusion.

"This is the Richard," shouted Jones at the top of his voice at the

first fire. "Hold your fire! Show the private signals there!" he cried

hastily to the faithful Brooks; but the Alliance paid no attention to

these and other warning cries. As the three broadsides were delivered

by the American frigate, the men, in their perfectly excusable terror

at this treacherous blow in the back, actually began to break from

their quarters and leave the guns. That was never to be thought of

under any circumstances.

"Back!" shouted Jones, promptly. "Back to your quarters, every

mother's son of you! Shoot the first man that flinches from the guns!"

Dale and De Weibert and the midshipman gallantly seconded his orders;

and the Alliance, sailing away toward the Pallas and delivering no

more shot upon them, the conflict was resumed. That the men could be

got to the guns again after this frightfully unsettling attack, was a

supreme testimony to the quality of their officers, and to their own

as well.

Indeed, upon the part of the Serapis the battle had never been

intermitted. The long eighteens of her main battery had simply

silenced and dismounted, knocked to pieces, and put out of action

nearly all the twelves on the main-deck of the Richard. The starboard

side of the American had been beaten in, and the port side beaten out

by the heavy fire at close range until the British were literally

firing through a hole; the shot hurtling through the air and falling

harmlessly in the water far on the farther side. The underpinning of

the upper decks of the ship was of course nearly knocked to pieces.

Why the decks did not fall in and the whole thing collapse was a

mystery.

There had been no fighting at all on the berth-deck since the bursting

of the three guns, but poor little Payne had hung grimly to his post.

One by one the men of the guarding squad had been picked off by stray

shot until there were none left but he and the master-at-arms. Several

shot from the British had entered below the water-line of the Richard,

and she was making water fast. There was nearly four feet of water in

the hold then, and it was rising. The prisoners below were in a wild

state of terror. Imprecations, curses, appeals, had come up through

the gratings over the hatchway, to which the young man had turned a

deaf year.

To the other dangers of the battle, fire now added its devastating

touch. In fact, both ships were aflame in several places. The burning

gun-wads had lodged in the chains and other inflammable positions, and

writhing, tossing, serpent-like torches threw their hot light over the

scene of terror. As the smoke drifted down the hatchway, the prisoners

in the hold could stand it no longer. There was a sudden rush below

toward the opening; the gratings were splintered and broken by the

thrust of a piece of timber; a head or two appeared in the clear;

hands clutched at the combings.

"Back!" shouted Payne, trying to steady his boyish voice.

"No! D--n your baby face!" shouted the first prisoner, furiously,

clutching desperately at the combing, while he was being lifted up in

the arms of the men below. "D'ye think we'll stay here and be drowned

like bloody rats in a hole!"

With white lips and a sinking heart the boy thrust his pistol full

into the man's face, and with a trembling finger pulled the trigger.

He did the like to the next man with a second pistol. To seize the

musket of a dead marine and point it at the third, was the work of a

second. Awed by this resolution and the promptitude of his action, the

other prisoners fell back for the time. The sweat stood out on the

forehead of the young midshipman. He had shot a man--two men--in cold

blood! It seemed like murder. But he had done his duty. The words of

the captain rang in his ear: "_Keep them down!_"

It was hot--hot as hell--on the berth-deck. The smoke poured in thick,

suffocating clouds between decks. The wavering reflections from the

flames on every side accentuated the horror. Bands of men flitted by

ghost-like, here and there, with buckets of water, striving to fight

the flames; lances of light leaped across the deck from the protruding

muzzles of the guns on the Serapis, piercing the gloomy darkness with

angry flashes. Bullets, grape, splinters of timber, solid shot, bits

of torn humanity, whistled past his head. He was wild, crazy; the

hugeness of the tragedy about him oppressed him direfully. There was a

weight in his bosom, a choking in his throat; the bitter, acrid taste

of the burned powder was in his mouth; the sickening smell of reeking

blood pervaded his being; he longed to throw down his weapon and fly,

anywhere, to get a respite from the infernal demand upon him. But he

was a sailor, the son of a race of fighters. He held on. The deep roar

of the guns above him told him that the battle was still going on.

Suddenly out of the smoke appeared the burly form of the carpenter,

wounded, blotched with red and gray, leaping forward, crying in

terror-stricken accents,--

"We're sinking! we're sinking! Four feet of water in the hold!"

The gunner and his mates, apparently equally terrified, came running

from the magazines as they caught the contagion of the moment. They

sprang to the gun-deck and thence to the spar-deck, repeating the

carpenter's cry, "We're sinking! we're sinking! Quarter! Quarter!"

"We must release the prisoners!" cried the master-at-arms, turning

toward the little officer.

"Not while I live!" said Payne, resolutely, all his courage coming

back to him in a moment.

"The ship is sinking; the battle is lost; make way!" returned the

burly master-at-arms, springing toward the hatchway.

"Back!" cried the midshipman, fiercely, pointing his musket at him;

the boy's blood was up now. "Here they stay, and here we stay! The

orders of the captain--"

He never finished his words; a grape-shot struck him fair in the

forehead. The master-at-arms tore open the hatch-cover.

"On deck!" he cried; "the ship is sinking!"

In panic terror, crowding and trampling upon each other like a mob of

wild beasts, the maddened prisoners scrambled up the hatchway, and,

yelling like animals, ran pell-mell for the gun-deck. The body of the

brave midshipman was spurned, crushed, and broken beneath their feet

as they ran.

CHAPTER XXI

_The Audacity of Despair_

On the spar-deck things had gone better. Though De Chamillard and his

marines had been driven from the poop by the fire of the English, the

men in the tops had more than evened that reverse. As the two ships

lay side by side, the interlocking yards made a convenient bridge from

one to the other, over which a bold man might pass. It happened that

some of the choicest spirits on the Richard were stationed in the

maintop. Fanning, who had been busily engaged with small arms, saw his

opportunity. As the little parties in the two tops exchanged volleys,

the midshipman threw his men on the yard; and as the smoke cleared

away, the astonished British saw the Americans rushing toward them.

The first and second men were shot down and fell to the deck of the

Serapis; the third, a gigantic man, by a desperate leap gained a

foothold in the top. Before he was cut down, Fanning and another had

joined him over the futtock shrouds; two men took the defenders in the

rear by way of the lubber's hole; the rest came swarming. The force of

their rush carried everything before it. The English, unable to stand

the irresistible onset, were shot down or thrown out of the top. No

quarter was asked or given. The Americans, having effected this

lodgement in the maintop of the Serapis, now turned their fire upon

the fore and mizzen tops, and enabled boarding parties from their own

ship to gain possession of all the upper works of the enemy.

It was at this moment that the gunner and the carpenter reached the

deck, crying that the ship was sinking and proffering surrender. The

gunner ran aft shrieking, "Quarter! Quarter!" intending to lower

the flag. Jones, who had been superintending the working of the

quarter-deck guns, which were without an officer since Mease, who had

been fighting heroically, had been severely wounded, of course heard

the noise, and turning about saw the gunner running for the flag.

Fortunately the flag had been shot away; and as the gunner was seeking

it, fumbling over the halliards in the darkness, Pearson, hearing the

cries, called out again,--

"Do you ask for quarter?"

Jones had taken two long leaps across the deck to the side of the

gunner. Seizing his discharged pistol, he brought the butt of it

heavily down upon the forehead of the man, cracking his skull and

silencing him forever.

"Never!" he shouted in reply to the Englishman.

"Then I will give none!" said Pearson,--an entirely superfluous

remark, by the way.

It was at this juncture that the "Alliance" was seen coming down again

as before. Jones had time but for one glance of apprehension when he

heard the noise of the leaping prisoners below. He sprang to the main

hatch.

"The prisoners have been released," cried De Weibert, meeting him; the

Frenchman had been toiling like a hero on the gun-deck. "The battery

is silenced, we have not a single gun to work, the ship is afire! We

must yield!" he exclaimed.

As the frightened men came crowding up the hatchways, Dale, who had

just fired the only remaining gun on the deck that was left fit for

action, took in the situation at once. He stayed the rush in the nick

of time by voice and action. He sprang into the midst of them,

threatening them, striking them, beating them down, driving them back

with his sword. It was a magnificent display of hardihood and courage,

presence of mind and resource.

"To the pumps!" he cried with prompt decision. "For your lives, men!

The English ship is sinking, and we'll go down with her unless you can

keep us afloat!" he shouted in thunder tones with superb audacity. The

battle lost was won again in that minute.

"Well done, Richard!" shouted Jones, leaping through the hatchway and

seconding the daring ruse of his noble lieutenant by his own mighty

voice and herculean efforts, crying masterfully, "Get to the pumps,

men! Lively! for God's sake! The ship is sinking under your feet! The

English ship is going!"

It was unparalleled assurance, but it won. The two officers actually

succeeded in forcing the English prisoners to man the pumps, where

they worked with a frantic energy born of their persistent daze of

terror. This left the regular crew of the ship free to fight the fires

and to do what they could with the remaining guns. As Jones sprang

back to the quarter-deck, the surgeon, covered with blood, and

appalled at the carnage, came running toward him, crying,--

"The ship is sinking, sir! The cock-pit is under water! I have no

place to stow the wounded. We must surrender!"

"Strike! Strike!" cried De Chamillard, who was wounded. "We can do no

more!"

"What, gentlemen!" cried Jones, "would you have me strike to a drop of

water and a bit of fire? Up, De Chamillard! Here, doctor, help me get

this gun over."

The surgeon hesitated, looked around again, and, not liking the

appearance of things about him, turned and ran below. Not to his

station, for that was under water. His mates had been killed. He

wandered up and down the decks, doing what he could--which was but

little--for the wounded where they lay. Assisted by two or three of

the seamen, with his own hands Jones dragged one of the nine-pounders

from the disengaged side of the deck across to the starboard side to

take the place of a dismounted one; and, while the heavy battery of

the Serapis continued its unavailing fire below, these three small

guns under his personal direction concentrated their fire upon the

mainmast of the Serapis.

The fortuitous position of the Americans in the enemy's tops enabled

them to pour a perfect rain of small-arm fire upon the spar-deck of

the Serapis with little possibility of effective return. Man after man

was shot down by the side of the intrepid Pearson, who, whatever his

other lack of qualifications, showed that he possessed magnificent

personal courage, until he remained practically alone upon the

deck,--alone, and as yet undaunted.

It is impossible to describe the scene. It is not within the power of

words to portray the situation, after over two hours of the most

frightful and determined combat. No two ships were ever in such

condition; no battle that was ever fought was like it. The decks were

covered with dead and dying; bands of men in different directions were

fighting the fires; the smoke in lowering clouds hung heavily over the

ships, for the wind had died and there was scarcely enough to blow it

away. The pale moonlight mingled with the red glare from the flames

and threw an added touch of lurid ghastliness trembling over the

smoke-wrapt sea. From below came the steady roar of the Serapis' guns,

from above the continuous crackling of the Richard's small arms. The

noises blended in a hideous diapason of destruction, which rose to an

offended Heaven in the horrid discord of an infernal region. The

prisoners, still under the influence of their terror, toiled at the

clanking pumps. The water gushed redly from the bleeding scuppers.

Order, tactics, discipline, had been forgotten. Men glared with

blood-shot eyes, set their teeth beneath foam-flaked lips, and fought

where they stood,--fought in frenzy against whatever came to hand,

whether it was the English ship, or the roaring flames, or the

rushing waters. They recked nothing of consequences. In their frantic

battle-lust they beat upon the sides of the other ship with their bare

hands and bloody knuckles, and knew not what they did. Their breath

came quick and short; the red of battle was before their vision; they

had but one thought. Slay! Kill! One would have said that the brute

instinct was uppermost in every heart. But in scenes of this kind it

is not the greatest brute that wins, but the greatest soul; and the

one man who still preserved his calmness in this orgy of war was the

man to win the battle--Jones.

The Alliance had repeated her previous performance, but the men had

been worked to such a pitch that they never heeded her; many of them

did not know of it. Both ships were thoroughly beaten. It was only a

question as to which would realize it first, who would first

surrender. Nay, there was no question whatever of Jones' surrender

under any circumstances whatsoever. Pearson would give up under some

conditions, and those had at last arrived. That was the essential

difference between the two men; it was radical.

CHAPTER XXII

_Sinking, but Triumphant_

And now happened the incident which finally decided the battle. By

Jones's orders, quantities of hand grenades, a small, highly

combustible, and explosive shell, about the size of a large apple, had

been placed in the tops. After the battle in mid-air by which the

Americans had gained possession, he shouted out that they be used in

accordance with his instructions. Fanning sent a man with a bucket of

grenades out on the extreme end of the main-yard-arm. Wrapping his

legs around the yard, he sat down, and leaning against the lift,

deliberately threw his bomb-shells, one by one, down the open main

hatchway of the Serapis. The powder boys of the latter ship had been

bringing charges of powder for the various guns from the magazine; and

as many of the guns had been put out of action by the American fire,

the supply had been greater than the demand. A large pile had been

carelessly allowed to accumulate upon the deck. One of the grenades

carromed against the hatch combing, and fell into the centre of the

charges.

There was a detonating crash, so loud, so terrific, that it actually

seemed to blow even the roar of the battle into eternity. Twenty or

thirty men were killed or badly wounded, many of them torn to atoms,

by the explosion, and the rest of the men on the Englishman's deck

were dazed and driven from their stations by the concussion. The

clothes of many were actually ripped from their bodies, so that they

stood naked and wondering, though they were otherwise unhurt. A long

moment of ghastly silence succeeded this accident on the Serapis. Men

everywhere paused with bated breath to wait the issue. The Serapis,

dragging the Richard, reeled and rocked under the shock. It was a last

catastrophe which broke the strength of Pearson's endurance and ended

his resistance. He could fight no more. Was it the devil himself who

commanded the other ship? The English captain sprang aft to the

mizzenmast. A great English standard had been nailed to the timber of

the spar. With his own hands he tore it down. The battle was over! At

the same moment the mainmast of the Serapis undermined, and, eaten

away in its heart by the gnawing attack of the quarter-deck guns of

the Richard, came crashing down, a hopeless ruin, carrying some of the

Americans into eternity as it fell.

"_They have struck their flag!_" cried Jones, who had sprung upon the

rail at the moment of the explosion and had witnessed Pearson's

action. "Cease firing!"

His voice rang through the ship with such a note of proud triumph as

has rarely been heard within the fought over confines of the narrow

seas.

"They have struck; the ship is ours!" ran from man to man among the

Americans. Wild cheers broke into the night in an ever-increasing

volume of sound.

"Send Mr. Dale to me," said Jones to young Brooks as the flag came

down. The midshipman had been wounded, but still kept his station.

As Dale came running toward his captain, Jones cried,--

"Muster a boarding party and take charge of the prize; the fight is

over!"

But no, the battle was not over. A few moments before, an English ship

captain among the prisoners had succeeded in escaping through the

rents in the shattered sides of the two ships and had told the plight

of the Richard to the first lieutenant of the Serapis. With this

information the men on the gun-deck had been rallied, and led by their

officers had returned to their quarters and had resumed the battle.

They, too, were heroes. Mayrant, who ran aft from the forecastle as he

saw Pearson strike his flag, jumped on the rail by Jones's orders and

followed Dale upon the deck of the English ship. Such was the

confusion of the moment that as Mayrant leaped on the deck he was

actually run through the thigh by a pike in the hand of a wounded

British sailor. Pearson was standing alone as if dazed, on the

quarter-deck of his ship, holding one clenched hand against his

breast, with the other grasping his trailing flag. In his face was

that look of defeat and despair which is the saddest aspect of baffled

impotent humanity.

"Have you struck, sir?" cried Dale, stopping before the English

captain.

"Yes," was the grim reply; his voice was a broken whisper indicating

in the tones his mental agony.

"I am come to take possession."

"Very good, sir," said Pearson, bitterly, as before, and dropping the

flag; then he reached for his sword.

Just at this moment, Pascoe, the first lieutenant of the Serapis, came

bounding up the hatchway from the deck below.

"A few more broadsides, sir, and they are ours," he cried impetuously.

"They are in a sinking--

"The ship has struck, sir, and you are my prisoner," interrupted Dale,

quickly, seeing the necessity of promptitude.

"Struck! This ship! Your prisoner!" cried the astonished Englishman.

"Yes, sir. Your sword!" demanded Dale. The man hesitated.

"Disarm him!" cried the American. Two or three of the boarding parties

closed around them.

"Sir," asked the lieutenant, turning to his captain, "is it true that

we have struck?"

"Yes, sir," answered Pearson, hoarsely.

"My God!" cried Pascoe. There was a momentary silence.

"I have nothing more to say, sir," he added. "I will go below and call

off the men," said the lieutenant, turning away.

"No, sir!" interrupted Dale. "You will accompany your captain on board

our ship at once. Pass the word to cease firing. The ship has struck."

As the English captain and his first lieutenant stepped over the rail

upon the high poop of the Richard, the roar of the guns died away,

this time for good. Seizing a dangling rope they swung themselves

inboard, and found themselves face to face with a little man in a

tattered uniform, hatless, covered with dust and smoke, powder-stained

and grimy with the soil of the battle. Blood spattering from a

wound in his forehead had coagulated upon his cheek. He was a

hideous-looking spectacle. The red firelight played luridly upon him.

Nothing but the piercing black eyes which burned and gleamed out of

his face in the darkness bespoke the high humanity of the man.

"Is it--"

"Captain John Paul Jones, at your service, gentlemen."

"My sword," said Pearson, tendering it to him formally. "I regret," he

added ungraciously, "at being compelled to strike to a man who has

fought with a halter around his neck."

"Sir," said Jones, with a magnanimity as great as his valor, "you have

fought like a hero, and I make no doubt that your sovereign will

reward you in the most ample manner. Mr. Brooks, escort these

gentlemen to my cabin."

And which was the gentleman then?

The two ships were now cut adrift, Dale remaining on the Serapis to

take command. He had sat down a moment for rest, and as he attempted

to rise to his feet he fell to the deck, discovering only in that way

that he had been severely wounded,--a thing which had escaped his

notice in the heat of the action.

By the most heroic efforts of the prize crew on the Serapis and the

remaining men on the Richard, the English prisoners were driven back

into the hold, the flames subdued, and some semblance of order

restored. Cottineau had captured the Pallas after an hour of good hard

fighting, and the victory was entirely with the Americans. But it had

been purchased at a fearful cost. There is no battle on land or sea in

the world's history where the percentage of loss was greater than the

battle between the Serapis and the Richard.

About seventy per cent on the Serapis and over fifty per cent on the

Richard had been killed or wounded, and the Bon Homme Richard was in a

sinking condition. She had been literally beaten to pieces. It was not

safe to remain upon her decks. Consequently the prisoners and the

wounded, groaning and crying in anguish, were removed to the Serapis.

In the early morning of the day following, the brave ship which had

earned undying immortality in her worn-out old age, because for three

brief hours John Paul Jones and his men had battled upon her decks,

sank forever beneath the sea. The great battle-flag under which she

had fought had been reset, and fluttered above her as she went down.

The refitting of the prizes for the returning voyage was at once

begun. To anticipate events, it is recorded that Captain Landais, the

jealous and false-hearted Frenchman who had so treacherously

man[oe]uvred the Alliance, was subsequently court-martialled and

dismissed from the service. He should have been hanged from her

highest yard-arm.

BOOK VI

THE HAND OF GOD

CHAPTER XXIII

_On Board the Serapis again_

"The battle is on," said O'Neill, in the small boat, to Elizabeth,

"and I am not there. Oh, God, give us a little breeze!" he cried. In

anticipation he swung the oars inboard, stepped the mast once more,

letting the sail hang, and then resumed his place by her side.

"God is good to me," she said at last. "He will not let you be there

to be killed. You have had trouble enough, and have run enough risks.

He wishes to keep you for me." He shook his head.

"My place is there; my duty is on yonder deck. Would that I had

returned to the ship without going up to the castle!"

"Why, then," she said reproachfully, "you would not have seen me!"

"I know," he replied, "but then I would be in my rightful place,

fighting where I should be; Coventry would be honored in doing his

duty; the admiral would be happy; your marriage would take place--

"And you," she cried, womanlike, placing him in the balance, as

opposed to all the rest,--"would you have been happy?"

"Happiness has nothing to do with that," he answered impatiently; "it

is a question of duty. I have been a fool."

"Has the fool been rewarded in accordance with his folly?" she asked

him. "Nay, look at me before you reply," she cried imperiously,

turning his head until his eyes looked into her own. In the face of

that girl, in the limpid light of her magic glance, in that mystic

night, there was but one answer to be made.

"I say no more," he replied, kissing her softly. "You are right. I

have you. You are worth it all. I will try to be a philosopher about

all the rest."

Meanwhile the intermittent reports had been succeeded by a steady roar

of artillery which reverberated and rolled along the surface of the

water. The Scarborough, some distance from the Serapis and the Richard

to the northwest, was apparently hotly engaged with the Pallas; while

the Alliance seemed to be sailing back and forth between the two

groups of combatants, pouring in a random fire upon friend and foe

alike. Great clouds of smoke, punctured by vivid flashes of light,

overhung the ships.

Back on the heights above the town the people swarmed. O'Neill could

picture the old admiral walking up and down the terrace, glass in

hand, while he surveyed the battle. There seemed to be little

man[oe]uvring going on between the ships, except on the part of the

Alliance, and the combat seemed to be a yard-arm to yard-arm fight.

Once or twice the roar of the battle died away temporarily, and the

smoke blowing off to leeward disclosed the two ships side by side.

Sometimes great wreaths of flame, which told that one or the other

ship had been set on fire, would leap up into the air.

The feelings of the young officer can be imagined. Adrift in that

little boat, watching the awful combat, not even the presence of the

woman he loved could compensate him for his absence, in spite of his

attempted philosophy. The fever of the conflict possessed him. His

breath came hard; the sweat stood on his forehead. He prayed as never

before for a breeze to take him to the fight. He murmured incoherent

words which told to the tender listener something of the terrible

struggle which raged within his bosom. So the long hours wore away.

Toward eleven o'clock they heard a terrific explosion, and then the

roar of the battle slackened, and finally died away. When the smoke

drifted off, the two ships were lying side by side. Further off,

almost hull down, were the Scarborough and the Pallas, who had ceased

their fight some time before. The battle was over. Who had won? It was

a question he could not answer.

But it was late, and the breeze so long wished for now sprung up once

more, and the little boat gathered way and began to slip through the

water again. The sky had become overcast; it grew very dark; the wind

freshened steadily, and finally blew so strong that it required all

the skill and address of which O'Neill was possessed to keep his

unsteady little craft from capsizing. Finally he was forced to drop

the sail and take to the oars to keep afloat at all. About two o'clock

in the morning a squall of rain came down, and they lost sight of the

ships. Toward morning the wind moderated again, and they were enabled

to set sail once more. But the ocean was covered with a dense mist;

they were in the thick of it, and could see nothing. As nearly as he

could judge without the aid of a compass, O'Neill headed the boat

toward the place where they had last made out the two ships.

"We ought to pick them up in a few moments now," he said to the

cowering, frightened, exhausted girl crouching down in the stern

sheets in her wet, sodden garments, which clung to her shivering

figure. The night had been too much for her; her physical strength had

almost given way, though nothing could abate the affection he saw

shining still in her tired eyes. "Therefore, in a few moments we shall

know our fate."

"How is that?" she said, rousing herself a little.

"If Commodore Jones has been captured," he answered, "I have but to

give myself up and redeem Coventry and--you know the rest."

"Yes," she replied wearily and listlessly; "let it come. We have

fought a good fight, you and I; we can do no more; and the other

alternative?"

"Why, in that case," he said, "we shall be there, under our own flag;

he, too, will be saved, and the rest of our troubles are over."

"What think you of the prospect?" she asked, brightening a little.

"It is difficult to say. The Serapis and the Scarborough should easily

be more than a match for our whole squadron. The Richard is almost

worthless as a fighting ship, as I said. Landais, who commands the

Alliance, is insane. I can't prophesy what Cottineau will do with the

Pallas. We have but one advantage."

"And is that a great one?"

"The greatest; it may have decided the battle in our favor."

"What is that, then?" she asked.

"It is not 'what,' but 'who,'" he answered, smiling.

"Who, then?"

"John Paul Jones himself! He alone is worth a thousand."

The light from the rising sun, assisted by the fitful wind, began to

dispel the mists of the morning.

"See!" cried the girl, pointing. "There, right ahead of us! Are not

those the sails of a ship? What ship?"

Wraithlike, as she pointed at a rift in the mist, and wreathed in

clouds of vapor, there appeared, for a second, the light canvas of a

great ship. Following her outstretched finger, he caught a fleeting

glimpse of it, but saw nothing to reassure him as to the result of the

battle; the sight struck terror to his heart. Such canvas as that was

never set above the decks of the Richard. As he looked the mist closed

around them again; the ship had vanished.

"Ah, 'tis gone, but I am certain I saw it. Which was it?" she

continued, hastily rousing herself at the prospect of decision. "'Tis

a ship, is it not? But which one?"

"The mist is thinning again. 'Twill clear away in a moment," he

answered evasively. "We shall see more distinctly then; she was making

toward us, I think." He could not bear to dash her hopes with the

assurance that it was not the Richard, though he had resigned himself

to death in consequence of his glimpse at once. It was useless to try

to fly; the mist was rising in every direction, and before they could

have gone a hundred yards they would be visible to the ship in front

of them, now shoving her huge bulk through the thinning clouds of

vapor which enshrouded her. The next moment it rolled away. The

sunlight flooded the heavens in transformation; the breeze tossed the

sea into a thousand white-capped waves. It was morning. Some one on

the ship saw the little boat with its two occupants at once; an

officer leaped to the rail.

"Boat ahoy!" rang out over the water. The great white frigate, deep

sunken, as if deeply laden, was moving sluggishly through the water,

and was almost upon them.

"The ship!" screamed the girl, wildly.

"It is the Serapis!" answered O'Neill, in a hollow voice.

"Ah!" she said, sinking back exhausted. "After all, it is over. I

shall never survive you."

"Boat ahoy, there!" again cried the officer, standing on the rail,

pistol in hand. "Answer my hail, or I fire. Who are you?"

"I am your prisoner, escaped last night from that ship," cried

O'Neill. "I wish to deliver myself up."

"Come alongside, then," said the officer, turning inboard and giving a

sharp command. The way of the ship was checked; she was thrown up into

the wind, and as her broadside slowly swung opposite O'Neill, he saw

that her mainmast was gone and that she was frightfully cut up, and

bore evidence of having participated in a tremendous action. Away off

to the northeast a little cluster of ships were seen on the horizon,

too far off to distinguish them. There was no sign of the Richard that

he could see. In a few seconds the boat was brought alongside the

gangway. Elizabeth clambered up the ladder with his assistance, and

they stepped upon the decks. A frightful scene presented itself.

Upon one side amidships, dead men, half-naked, covered with coagulated

blood, were literally piled up in a great heap. The deck itself was

covered with grime and blood; and a handful of men, most of them

wounded in some way, were distributed about the ship, endeavoring to

effect some restoration to order. Guns here and there were dismounted;

ropes cut in every direction were lying entangled in wild confusion

about the fife-rails and masts. The broken mainmast thrust its jagged

end a few feet into the air, above the deck; the rest of it was gone.

Spars everywhere were shattered, and great rifts appeared in the

flapping canvas. The rail and bulwarks were broken and smashed on

every side. There was not a single boat left swinging at the davits.

Splintered woodwork showed where numberless shots had taken effect,

and charred pieces of timber on every hand added heartbreaking

evidence of conflagration's devastating touch. From the depths beneath

the deck came low groans and murmurs of pain, accentuated by the sharp

shriek of some deeper sufferer, or the delirious raving of some

fevered patient. Elizabeth shrank back appalled.

"How horrible!" she murmured. "Take me away; I cannot stand it!" He

caught her in his arms; a little more, and she would have fainted.

"Good heavens!" he said. "In all my battles I never saw such a ship!

What a frightful scene! They didn't get off without a fight," he added

slowly. An officer, with head bound up in a handkerchief and his arm

in a sling, was approaching them.

"Sir," said O'Neill, saluting the while, "I am the officer who escaped

last night. I deliver myself up to-- Why, it's Stacey!" he cried, in

great surprise, recognizing a brother officer of the Richard. "What do

you here, man?"

"'Fore Gad, it's O'Neill!" cried the other. "Glad are we to see you,

man. But this lady--this is no place for her."

"She goes with me," said O'Neill, briefly. "But you?"

"This is where I belong."

"And they have captured you, I suppose?"

"No; the ship is ours."

"And the old Richard?" cried O'Neill.

"Abandoned and sunk after the surrender," answered the young officer.

"She was cut to pieces by the Serapis's fire, but we have this ship."

"Thank God!" answered O'Neill, fervently. "And Captain Jones?"

"Aft there on the quarter-deck."

"Come, Elizabeth," he cried, seizing her by the arm; and, he assisting

her, they made their way with difficulty, in the confusion, to the

quarter-deck.

"Ah, O'Neill, thank God I see you alive again!" said Jones, springing

forward, his face beaming. "We got there in time, then, I see."

"Yes, sir, thanks to this lady," answered O'Neill, pointing to

Elizabeth.

"Madam, you are fit for a sailor's bride," said the little captain.

"'Tis high praise, sir, from Captain Jones, I protest," she answered,

rallying herself in the relief of assured safety.

"Would God that I had been with you in this battle!" cried O'Neill,

gloomily.

"We missed you. I wished often for you," answered the captain. "The

poor old Richard was torn to pieces under our feet. We could not stay

on her longer, so we had to come here."

"And I not there! I suppose that I have forfeited everything forever

for going up to the castle. Shall you break me, sir?"

"Nothing, nothing, shall be done, my poor boy," answered the captain,

kindly. "You have been punished enough by not having been with us in

the greatest battle ever fought on the sea. But it seems to me you

have not entirely lost the game. You, too, have a prize in tow. How go

your love affairs?" he whispered.

"Well, indeed, sir; the Lady Elizabeth is here, as you see. We are to

be married at once, sir."

"You may have the chaplain of the Serapis for that purpose."

"Yes, sir. When he last officiated for me, he was reading my funeral

service," replied O'Neill, smiling.

"Some people would say it's much the same thing," laughed the captain;

"but we know better. Ah well, that's over now, thank God; and this

lady--Madam," he said, turning to her, "I bade you welcome to a ship

once before. It is a different ship now, but the welcome is just the

same."

"Know you aught of Major Edward Coventry, Captain Jones?" cried

Elizabeth. This time it was she who remembered.

"Why, he lies on the deck yonder, dying. He wouldn't let me take him

below. Do you know--but I forgot, he was your friend."

"Take me to him!" she cried hastily, and in a moment she was kneeling

by his side. They had made him as comfortable as possible with

cushions and boat cloaks, but his hours were numbered. His head was

thrown back, his face ghastly pale. Blood stained the linen of his

shirt about his breast. His eyes were closed; the end was at hand.

"Poor fellow!" said O'Neill, in great sorrow, "he died for me;" and

then he briefly recounted the circumstances of their escape to the

astonished captain.

"Do you know how he was wounded, sir?" he asked.

"It was my own hand that struck the blow," answered Jones. "Would it

had been otherwise! There was a moment in the action when they sprang

to board. He leaped upon the rail, cutlass in hand; he was a fair and

easy mark; I met them with a pike, which I buried in his bosom. He

fell back smiling. I remember that I thought it strange to see him

smiling at that time, even in the heat of the battle--too bad--too

bad!" he said.

"Oh, Edward!" cried the girl, tears streaming down her face, "I never

thought to see you thus! I never meant to bring you to this! If you

could but speak to me--to say that you forgave me for it all! If I

could have your blessing before--" The man stirred a little and opened

his eyes. He looked about him vacantly, but consciousness began to

dawn again, and with the dawn came recognition. It was the face of

Elizabeth bending over him. She was the woman whom he loved. There,

back of her, was O'Neill. He began to comprehend.

"Elizabeth," he murmured, "my death--not in vain--then."

"Forgive me--forgive me," she cried brokenly. "Oh, forgive me! I did

love you!"

"Yes," he said, faintly smiling; "but--not like--"

He glanced at O'Neill. "You, too!" he murmured; "make--her--happy."

His mind wandered a little. "Father," he cried suddenly, "don't look

at me in that way! I did it because I loved her; her happiness before

mine."

"Oh, doctor, can nothing be done; is there no hope?" cried O'Neill to

the attending surgeon.

"Nothing, sir. 'Twill not be long now," answered the surgeon, shaking

his head.

CHAPTER XXIV

_Not Guilty, my Lord_

"There's a boat comin' alongside, sir," said a midshipman to Captain

Jones, "flying an admiral's flag."

"Ah, that will be our friend Lord Westbrooke," he said, turning toward

the gangway. "Show him to me if he comes on board." Elizabeth knelt by

the side of the dying man, who had sunk into silence again, and bathed

his head with her handkerchief, while the doctor applied some simple

restorative. In a moment the stately form of the old admiral stepped

through the gangway, and he looked about him in astonishment.

"God bless me, what a fight! I knew that rebel was a desperate man,

but I never imagined anything like this! Captain Pearson?" said he,

imperiously. "Where is he?"

"Here, my Lord," said Pearson, mournfully, coming out of the cabin,

where he had withdrawn a little.

"I congratulate you, sir, on--"

"Stop, sir!" cried the captain, in great agony. "You do not

understand. This ship--we were not successful."

"What!" cried the admiral. "Is not this the Serapis?"

"Ay, but she belongs--"

"To the Navy of the United States, sir," said a calm voice at his

elbow, which made him start; "and she is now commanded by Captain John

Paul Jones, at your service. I shall be glad to supply you with a

yard-arm, if you have need of one, my Lord--"

"Good God!" said the old man, turning to Jones. "And the Richard?"

"We sunk her, sir," answered Pearson, "but it was useless."

"You have done well, Captain Pearson," said the admiral. "Here is

evidence of the fight you made. Never fear; you shall receive reward.

'Twas a defeat as noble as a capture."

"Ay," said Captain Jones, "I can bear witness to the desperate nature

of the resistance. 'Twas such as I have never met before in twenty

battles on the sea."

"Pearson--my--my--son--" said the admiral, huskily. "How did he bear

himself in the fight?"

"Well and nobly, sir, as I can testify," added Pearson.

"I, too," said Jones,--"I saw him. 'Twas he who led your boarders,

Captain Pearson, when they tried to sweep our decks."

"And is he well?" said the old admiral, striving to school himself

into composure. "That charge, you know, Pearson; I think we need not

press it now?" he added.

"No, not now, nor ever, sir," said Pearson, mournfully. "Compose

yourself, my dear admiral; he--"

"I am a veteran," said the admiral. "I have looked death in the face

for fifty years. Speak plainly. You would say that he is dead."

"Not yet, sir," answered Jones, gently.

"Where is he? Take me to him!"

"He lies aft there on the quarter-deck, sir."

The little group around the dying man made way for the old admiral. He

knelt down on the deck opposite Elizabeth, not heeding the others, and

gazed long and earnestly in the face of the dying officer.

"The last of his line," he murmured, "and he is gone!" A single tear

trickled down the weather-beaten cheek, and splashed upon the face of

the young man. "Will he live to know me, think you?" said the admiral,

simply, to the surgeon.

"I think so, yes," replied the physician. As if he had heard the

question, Coventry opened his eyes; there was recognition in them.

"Father," he murmured faintly.

"My boy--my boy," said the admiral, bowing his head, and striving,

manlike, but in vain, to conceal his emotion.

"You told me--not to see you--again; I tried to obey," said Coventry,

faintly. "The charge--

"It is withdrawn; I dismiss it. You have done nobly, Captain Pearson

says, and fought like a hero. You are forgiven. I commend you," said

the old man, catching his other hand.

"Ah, so," said Coventry, smiling wearily. "Now I must go."

"Not yet!" cried the admiral.

"I--my Lord--" said the young man, wandering again, "may it please the

court--may it please the court--" He struggled for breath. "Lift me

up," he said.

"'Twill be his end," said the doctor, lifting a warning finger.

"Lift me up," cried the dying man, more strongly than before. The

admiral nodded. The young Irishman lifted him a little.

"Higher!" he cried. O'Neill lifted him to a sitting position.

"Not guilty, my Lord!" said the young man, resolutely, in a loud,

clear voice, throwing his arms out before him, and still smiling. The

blood gushed from his lips; and when they laid him back, his plea was

heard in that higher court before which the rich and the poor must all

finally appear, before which the admiral and the sailor equally must

plead.

"_The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of

the Lord_," said the chaplain of the Serapis, reverently. The men

stood around him in a silence broken only by the woman's sobs.

"He has died like a hero, sir," said Jones at last, removing his hat,

"and I venture to say that no one of his gallant race, in all the

years of their history, has ever made a better end."

"Ah," said the admiral, rising, and mournfully regarding the little

group, Elizabeth praying by the side of his son, O'Neill still

supporting his head, "I made my plans, I tempted this honorable

gentleman to do a shameful thing; he refused, and it has all come back

upon me. I've wrought my own undoing, gentlemen. The hand of God has

worked His will, not mine. I am punished; I am overruled. He has

written this old man childless. I go down to my grave alone--forever

alone!"

"Not so," answered O'Neill, rising. "You have Elizabeth. Let me,

too--"

"Peace, sir!" said the old man, waving him back. "The young cling

together,--think of each other,--there is nothing left for the old.

Our ways lie apart. I bear you in no unkindness, I wish you well.

Elizabeth, I had hoped to call you daughter. 'Twas my own pride

defeated the wish. May you be happy with this honest gentleman! He

deserves you even as did this, my son."

"My father--my father--" cried the girl, catching his hand.

The old man shook his head; his lips trembled. Gray-faced and broken,

all his years upon him, he turned away unsteadily, as if to go to his

barge.

"Stop, sir!" cried Pearson. "You forget we are not in possession of

the ship. We are prisoners," he whispered.

"Ah, yes," said the admiral, "I had forgotten it. Well, it matters

little to me. Captain Jones," he continued, turning to the little

Scotsman, and proffering his sword, with a painful gesture, "I am your

prisoner, it seems."

"Sir," said the little captain, and twenty generations of gentle blood

could not have done it better, "allow me to match the act of an

American sailor against the word of an English officer. You are free,

my Lord. Your boat awaits you. If I can do aught--"

"Be it so," said the admiral, simply. "Let me have my boy, and we will

go away together, and I shall remember you differently in the future.

If in England you ever need a friend, remember this moment, and call

upon me. Farewell."

And two hung over the taffrail and watched the white sails of the

little boat bearing away to the verdant shore, where the old castle

still shone in the sunlight. Two, sad yet exultant. Their troubles

were over now. They had lost everything else, but had gained each

other in the losing.

"We ought to be very good to each other," said the sweet voice of the

woman, "to make up to God all that He has preserved us from."

"Ay," said O'Neill, "and to give due value to the sacrifice of him who

loved you, even as I do myself."

End of Project Gutenberg's The Grip of Honor, by Cyrus Townsend Brady