[Illustration]
TWELVE
NAVAL CAPTAINS
_Being a Record of Certain Americans
who made themselves Immortal_
BY
MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL
AUTHOR OF
"THE SPRIGHTLY ROMANCE OF MARSAC," "THE HISTORY
OF THE LADY BETTY STAIR," "CHILDREN OF
DESTINY," "THROCKMORTON,"
"LITTLE JARVIS," ETC.
_WITH PORTRAITS_
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1906
_Copyright, 1897_,
By Charles Scribner's Sons.
CONTENTS
Page
PAUL JONES 1
RICHARD DALE 28
THOMAS TRUXTUN 42
WILLIAM BAINBRIDGE 53
EDWARD PREBLE 83
STEPHEN DECATUR 102
RICHARD SOMERS 130
ISAAC HULL 145
CHARLES STEWART 167
OLIVER HAZARD PERRY 182
THOMAS MACDONOUGH 192
JAMES LAWRENCE 208
LIST OF PORTRAITS
Paul Jones _Frontispiece_
Richard Dale _Facing page_ 28
Thomas Truxtun " 42
William Bainbridge " 53
Edward Preble " 83
Stephen Decatur " 102
Richard Somers " 130
Isaac Hull " 145
Charles Stewart " 167
Oliver Hazard Perry " 182
Thomas Macdonough " 192
James Lawrence " 208
PAUL JONES
American history presents no more picturesque figure than Paul Jones,
and the mere recital of his life and its incidents is a thrilling
romance. A gardener's boy, he shipped before the mast at twelve
years of age, and afterward rose to be the ranking officer in the
American navy. His exploits by land and sea in various parts of the
world; his intimacy with some of the greatest men of the age, and his
friendships with reigning sovereigns of Europe; his character, of deep
sentiment, united with extraordinary genius and extreme daring,--place
him among those historical personages who are always of enchanting
interest to succeeding ages. Paul Jones himself foresaw and gloried
in this posthumous fame, for, with all his great qualities, he had
the natural vanity which so often accompanies the self-made man. He
lacked the perfect self-poise of Washington, who, having done immortal
things, blushed to have them spoken of, and did not deign to appeal
to posterity. Paul Jones was continually appealing to posterity. But
his vanity was that of an honest man, and he was often stung to
assertiveness by the malignities of his enemies. That these malignities
were false, and that he was a man of lofty ideals and admirable
character, is shown by the friends he made and kept. Dr. Franklin,
Thomas Jefferson, Robert Morris, and Lafayette lived upon terms of the
greatest intimacy with him; Washington esteemed him,--and the goodwill
of such men places any man in the category of the upright.
Nothing in the family and circumstances of Paul Jones indicated the
distinction of his later life. His father, John Paul, was a gardener,
at Arbigland, in Kirkcudbrightshire, Scotland, where Paul Jones was
born in 1747. He was named John Paul, for his father; but upon his
taking up his residence in Virginia, in his twenty-seventh year, he
added Jones to his name,--for some reason which is not now and never
has been understood,--and as Paul Jones he is known to history. The
Pauls were very humble people, and Paul Jones's childhood was like the
childhood of other poor men's sons. Boats were his favorite and only
playthings, and he showed from the beginning that he had the spirit of
command. He organized his playfellows into companies of make-believe
sailors, which he drilled sternly. The tide rushes into the Solway
Firth from the German ocean so tremendously that it often seems like
a tidal wave, and the boy Paul Jones had sometimes to run for his
life when he was wading out commanding his miniature ships and crews.
Close by his father's cottage is the sheltered bay of the Carsethorn,
where, in the old days, ships for Dumfries loaded and unloaded. Deep
water is so close to the shore that as the ships worked in and out
their yardarms seemed to be actually passing among the trees that cling
stubbornly to the rocky shore. It was the delight of the boy Paul
Jones to perch himself on the highest point of the promontory, and to
screech out his orders to the incoming and outgoing vessels; and the
shipmasters soon found that this bold boy was as good as a pilot any
day, and if they followed his directions they would always have water
enough under the keel.
The only school which Paul Jones ever attended was the parish school
at Kirkbean, and that only until he was twelve years old. But it was
characteristic of him, as man and boy, to learn with the greatest
eagerness; and the result is shown in his letters and language, which
are far superior to the average in those days. The habit of application
never left him, and he was a hard student all his life.
There were many mouths to feed in the little cottage at Arbigland,
and in Paul Jones's thirteenth year he was bound apprentice to a
ship-master. His first voyage was to Fredericksburg in Virginia, where
he had a brother, William Paul, living,--a respected citizen. His time
ashore was spent with this brother, and so well did he conduct himself
that when William Paul died some years later he left his estate to
this favorite younger brother. There were, however, many years of toil
before Paul Jones, and hardships and buffetings, and even injustices
that sank deep into his sensitive soul. It is said that he was at one
time on a slave-ship, the slave-trade being then legalized throughout
the world; but, hating the life, he quitted his ship, and the traffic
too. When he was about twenty years old, he found himself without
employment in Jamaica. He embarked as a passenger on the John,--a fine
brigantine, owned by a shipping firm in his native shire. On the voyage
home both the captain and the first mate died of yellow fever. The
young passenger--John Paul, as he was then called--took command of the
brigantine, and brought her safely to her port. The owners rewarded him
by making him captain and supercargo of the John. This shows that Paul
Jones was not only a capable seaman, worthy of command at twenty years
of age, but of integrity and steady habits as well.
In his twenty-fourth year occurred an event which gave him great
anguish, and was probably the reason of his leaving his native land.
While in command of a vessel in Tobago, he had his carpenter, Maxwell,
flogged for some offence. This was the common mode of punishment in
those days. Maxwell complained to the Vice-Admiralty Court, and the
affair was investigated. The Court examined Maxwell, and dismissed his
charges against Paul Jones, as frivolous. It is noted, though, that
Paul Jones expressed sorrow for having had the man flogged. Maxwell
shipped on another vessel, but died a week or two afterward. This
put a much more serious aspect on the matter. There was some talk of
a prosecution for murder; but it was shown that Maxwell's death had
nothing to do with the flogging, and it was dropped. Nevertheless,
the effect upon a nature, at once arrogant and sensitive, like Paul
Jones's, was exquisitely painful. It is likely that this case was the
origin of the one weak point in Paul Jones's tremendous naval genius:
he was never a good disciplinarian, and he seems always to have
hesitated too long before administering punishments, and of course
severer punishments were needed thereby.
Upon his return to Scotland, he was coldly received by his friends and
neighbors. To Paul Jones's mind this coolness assumed the form of a
persecution. He left his native country with resentment in his heart
against it, although he kept up affectionate relations with his family.
Many years after, when he was one of the celebrities of his age, he
speaks in a letter of his grief at learning of his mother's death,
especially as he had found that several sums of money which he had
sent her had never reached her.
He came to Virginia in 1773, and took possession of the property left
him by his brother, which with his own savings gave him a competence.
Little is known of the particulars of his life from 1773 to 1775;
but late researches show that his friendship with Thomas Jefferson,
and with other persons of prominence in Virginia and North Carolina,
then began. Although his origin was humble, his manners, tastes, and
feelings led him naturally into the most distinguished society, and at
a very early period in his career he is found associated with persons
of note.
On the first outbreak of hostilities with the mother country Paul
Jones offered his services to the Continental Congress, and his name
headed the list of thirteen first lieutenants in the navy appointed
in December, 1775. Perhaps no man had stronger natural and personal
inclinations toward the revolutionary cause than Paul Jones. In his
native country he was poor, obscure, and perpetually barred out by his
low estate from those high places to which his vast ambition aspired.
In America, under a republican form of government, he was as good as
any man, provided only he were worthy; and the fixed rank of a naval
officer would give him standing in Europe among those very persons who
would otherwise have regarded him with contempt.
His commission was obtained through Mr. Joseph Hewes, a member of
Congress from North Carolina, and the celebrated Robert Morris, who was
then at the head of the Marine Committee of Congress. The influence of
Thomas Jefferson was also in his favor.
At this time his true career may be said to have begun. He was then
twenty-eight years old, of "a dashing and officer-like appearance,"
his complexion dark and weather-beaten, and his black eyes stern and
melancholy in expression. He had a slight hesitation in his speech
which disappeared under the influence of excitement. His manner with
sailors was said to be peculiarly winning, and he was, no doubt, highly
successful in dealing with those characters which can be gained by
kindness and indulgence; but with that part of mankind to whom severity
is a necessity, he does not seem to have been so well adapted, and the
evidences of a firm and consistent discipline are wanting. When he
came to command a ship of his own,--which he did very shortly,--he was
extremely polite to the midshipmen, frequently asking them to dine with
him in the cabin, but likely to blaze away at them if they were not
carefully and properly dressed for the occasion. One of his officers,
presuming upon Paul Jones's indulgence, ventured to be insolent, and
got himself kicked down the hatchway for it. It is said that when a
midshipman on the topgallant yard was inattentive to his duty as a
lookout, Paul Jones himself would gently let go the halyards, and the
unlucky midshipman would come down the yard on the run.
Paul Jones was extremely temperate in his habits, and was naturally
fond of order and decorum. He had fixed religious principles, and, like
Washington, he considered a chaplain a useful and even a necessary
officer. A letter of his is extant in which he says he would like a
chaplain on board who should be accommodated in the cabin, and always
have a seat at the cabin table, "the government thereof should be
entirely under his direction." He was a tireless student by night, his
days at sea being occupied, when cruising, by exercising his officers
and men in their duty.
His first orders, as an American naval officer, were as flag lieutenant
on the Alfred, of twenty-four guns, Commodore Hopkins's flagship.
On this ship Paul Jones claims to have hoisted with his own hands
the original flag of the Revolution--the pine-tree and rattlesnake
flag--the first time it was ever displayed. This may well be true, as
such an act is thoroughly in keeping with the romantic sentiment of
Paul Jones's character; and he says, "I think I feel the more for its
honour" on account of that circumstance.
Congress had assembled in the Delaware River a fleet of five small
vessels, and it was with ardent hopes that Paul Jones joined this
little squadron. In a very short while, though, he discovered that
Commodore Hopkins was very much disinclined to "go in harm's way," to
use one of Paul Jones's favorite expressions, and his wrath and disgust
flamed out without any concealment. The object of the cruise was to
capture a lot of stores, left unprotected by the British at the island
of New Providence. By Commodore Hopkins's blundering the governor of
the island had time to save most of the stores. The Commodore finding
himself among the keys and islands of the Bahamas, seems to have been
afraid to go away and afraid to stay where he was. Paul Jones, however,
taking a pilot up to the foretopmast head with him, piloted the Alfred
to a safe anchorage. To crown all, the five vessels ran across a little
British frigate, the Glasgow, off Newport, and after a smart cannonade
the Glasgow succeeded in slipping through Commodore Hopkins's fingers
and getting back to Newport.
Paul Jones's rage at this was furious, and it became impossible for
him to serve in the same ship with Commodore Hopkins, who was shortly
afterward censured by Congress, and within the year dismissed from
the navy. In the summer of 1776 Paul Jones was given the command of a
little sloop, the Providence, mounting only twelve four-pounders, but
a fairly smart and weatherly vessel. He improved her sailing qualities
so that she could log it faster than a great many better ships. With
this little sloop he was employed in conveying military stores from
New England to Washington's army on Long Island; and as the coast and
the sounds swarmed with the cruisers of Lord Howe's fleet, this was a
difficult and daring undertaking. But in difficulty and daring Paul
Jones always shone, and he succeeded so as to win the admiration and
personal regard of Washington, as well as the approval of Congress. In
the autumn he made a more extended cruise, during which he captured
several valuable prizes, and showed his courage and seamanship by
manoeuvring boldly before the Solebay frigate and then running away
from her. The Solebay thought she had bagged the Providence, when
the little sloop, suddenly weathering her, ran directly under her
broadside, where the guns could not be brought to bear, and went off
before the wind while the heavy frigate was coming about. On another
occasion he was chased by the Milford frigate. Finding the Providence
was fast enough to play with the Milford, Paul Jones kept just out of
reach of the heavy cannonade of the Milford; and every time the frigate
roared out her heavy guns, a marine, whom Paul Jones had stationed aft
on the Providence, banged away with his musket in reply. This amused
and delighted the men, and when Paul Jones was ready he ran away from
the frigate, leaving her still thundering away in his wake. These
little events had a good effect on his officers and men, showing them
that they had a man of dash and spirit for their captain. When his
cruise was up, he received full recognition of his services by being
appointed to command a splendid frigate then building in Holland for
the American government. Meanwhile he was ordered to take command of
the Ranger, a sloop-of-war, mounting eighteen light guns, then fitting
for sea at Portsmouth, New Hampshire. On the very day he was appointed
to her, June 14, 1777, Congress adopted the stars and stripes as the
national ensign, and Paul Jones always claimed that he was the first
man to hoist the new flag over a ship of war when he raised it on the
Ranger in Portsmouth harbor.
The Ranger was weakly armed and poorly fitted. Her cabin furnishings
were meagre enough, but there were two bookcases full of books provided
by the captain. The Ranger sailed from Portsmouth in November, 1777,
and after an uneventful voyage, arrived safely at Nantes in France
in December. Leaving his ship in charge of the first lieutenant,
Simpson, Paul Jones started for Paris to confer with the three
American Commissioners, Benjamin Franklin, Silas Deane, and Arthur
Lee. He bore a letter to them from the Marine Committee describing
him as "an active and brave commander in our service." On reaching
Paris, a sharp disappointment awaited him concerning the Holland
frigate. Great Britain, which was not then at war with either France
or Holland, although on the verge of it, had made complaints about
the frigate, and it had been passed over to the French government
to prevent its confiscation. Paul Jones had a partial compensation,
however, in winning the affectionate regard of Benjamin Franklin, and
the friendship that ever afterward subsisted between the impetuous
and sentimental Paul Jones and the calm and philosophic Franklin was
extremely beautiful.
Despairing of getting any better ship than the Ranger, Paul Jones set
himself to work to improve her sailing qualities; it is a striking fact
that he improved every ship he commanded, before he was through with
her.
Being ready to take the sea, he determined to secure a salute to his
flag from the splendid French fleet commanded by M. de La Motte Piquet.
He took the Ranger to Quiberon Bay, and at once sent a letter to the
French admiral, announcing his arrival, and another to the American
agent at L'Orient. Paul Jones's dealings with this agent are laughable,
as many of his transactions were. He began, as usual, with the most
formal politeness; but as soon as there was any hesitation shown in
complying with his requests, which it cannot be denied were perfectly
sensible, he would blaze out, and carry his point by the bayonet, as
it were. The agent did not understand the importance of the salute,
and although he dined on board the admiral's ship the day the request
was made, he failed to mention it to the admiral. This infuriated
Paul Jones, who wrote him a letter in which he said, "I can show a
commission as respectable as any the French admiral can produce," and
finally declared that unless the salute were allowed, he would leave
without entering the upper bay at all.
His determined attitude had its effect. The French admiral agreed
to salute the Ranger, and to make sure that it was done in broad
daylight, so there could be no misunderstanding about it, Paul Jones
kept his ship in the lower bay until the next day. The French admiral
paid the American commander the compliment of having the guns manned
when the Ranger sailed through the double line of the French fleet,
and when the French guns roared out in honor of the American flag,
it meant that France was from that day openly, as she had been for
some time secretly, committed to an alliance with the struggling
colonies. Seeing that nothing was to be hoped for in the way of a
better ship, Paul Jones, like all truly great men, determined to do
the best he could with the means at hand. So, on an April evening in
1777, he picked up his anchor and steered the little Ranger straight
for the narrow seas of Great Britain, the Mistress of the Seas, and
the greatest naval power on earth. The boldness of this can scarcely
be overestimated. The French admirals, with fifty-five ships of the
line, hung on to their anchors, not caring to risk an encounter with
the fleets of England, manned by her mighty captains and heroic crews;
but Paul Jones, alone, in a weak vessel, lightly armed, took all the
chances of destruction, and bearded the lion in his den. He counted on
the slowness of communication in those days, and all of those other
circumstances in which fortune favors the brave,--and the result
justified him.
He cruised about for several days, burning and destroying many merchant
ships. He landed at St. Mary's Isle, in order to capture the Earl of
Selkirk, but the bird had flown. His men became mutinous, because,
contrary to the custom of the time, they were not allowed to loot the
place. Paul Jones was forced to allow them to carry off some silver
plate, which he afterward redeemed out of his own pocket, and returned
to Lady Selkirk. He also landed at Whitehaven, and fired the shipping
in the port, although he did not succeed in burning the vessels. But
the desire of his heart was to find a ship of war, not too strong for
him, with which he might fight it out, yardarm to yardarm. This he
found in the Drake, a sloop-of-war, carrying twenty guns, and lying
off Carrickfergus. Like the Ranger, she was a weak ship; but she
carried brave men and a fighting captain, and when, on the afternoon
of the 24th of April, the Ranger appeared off Carrickfergus, the
Drake promptly came out to meet her. The tide was adverse, and the
Drake worked out slowly, but her adversary gallantly waited for her in
mid-channel, with the American ensign at her mizzen peak, and a jack at
the fore. The Drake's hail, "What ship is that?" was answered by the
master, under Paul Jones's direction: "This is the American Continental
ship Ranger. We wait for you and beg you will come on. The sun is but
little more than an hour high, and it is time to begin."
The Drake promptly accepted this cool invitation, and the action began
with the greatest spirit. In an hour and four minutes the Drake struck,
after a brave defence. She had lost her captain and first lieutenant,
and thirty-eight men killed and wounded, and had made, as Paul Jones
said, "a good and gallant defence." The Ranger lost two men killed and
six wounded. On the 8th of May he arrived off Brest in the Ranger, with
the American ensign hoisted above the union jack on the Drake. The
French pilots vied with each other as to which should have the honor of
piloting the two vessels through the narrow channel known as Le Goulet,
and there was no question of a salute then,--every French ship in sight
saluted the plucky little American.
This daring expedition gave Paul Jones a great reputation in France.
The French government, by this time openly at war with England,
asked that Paul Jones remain in Europe to command a naval force to
be furnished by France; and he was justified in expecting a splendid
command. But the maladministration of affairs in Paris left him a
whole year, idle and fretting and wretched, as such bold spirits are,
under hope deferred, and at last he was forced to put up with an old
Indiaman, the Duc de Duras, larger, but not stronger than the Ranger.
He changed the name of this old ship to the Bon Homme Richard, out
of compliment to Dr. Franklin, whose "Poor Richard's Almanac" had
just then appeared. She was the flagship of a motley squadron of two
frigates besides the Bon Homme Richard; the Alliance, an American
frigate commanded by a French captain, Landais, who was suspected to
be crazy, and acted like a madman; the Pallas, commanded by another
French captain, Cottineau, a brave and skilful seaman; and a cutter and
a brig, neither of which was of consequence in the cruise.
A number of American prisoners having been exchanged and sent to
France, Paul Jones was enabled before he sailed to get about thirty
Americans for the Bon Homme Richard. Every officer on the quarterdeck
was a native American except Paul Jones himself and one midshipman; and
the first lieutenant was Richard Dale, one of the most gallant seamen
the American navy ever produced. He had lately escaped from Mill Prison
in England. Paul Jones justly appreciated his young lieutenant, then
only twenty-three years old, and the utmost confidence and attachment
subsisted between them.
The crew was made up of men of all nationalities, including a number
of Malays, and many of the fok'sle people did not understand the word
of command. With this singular squadron and unpromising ship and crew
Paul Jones set sail on the 15th of August, under orders to report at
the Texel early in October. Great things were expected of him, but
agonizing disappointment seemed to be in store for him. Landais, the
captain of the Alliance, was mutinous, and the whole squadron seemed
incapable of either acting together or acting separately. Twice Paul
Jones sailed up the Firth of Forth as far as Leith, the port of
Edinburgh, and the Edinburghers made preparations to withstand this
bold invader. Among the children who lay awake at night waiting for the
booming of Paul Jones's guns, was a lad of ten years of age,--Walter
Scott, who, when he was the great Sir Walter, often spoke of it. But
both times the wind blew Paul Jones out to sea again, so that nothing
was done in the way of a descent on Edinburgh. Many merchant ships
were taken, and the coasts of the three kingdoms were alarmed, but
so far no enemy in the shape of a warship had appeared. The time for
the cruise to be up was fast approaching, and it seemed likely to end
in a manner crushing to the hopes of Paul Jones, when, at noon on the
23d of September, 1779, the Bon Homme Richard being off Flamborough
Head, a single ship was seen rounding the headland. It was the first
of forty ships comprising the Baltic fleet of merchantmen, which Paul
Jones had expected and longed to intercept. A large black frigate and a
smaller vessel were convoying them; and as soon as the two warships had
placed themselves between the fleet and the Bon Homme Richard, all the
fighting ships backed their topsails and prepared for action.
At the instant of seeing the two British ships, Paul Jones showed
in his air and words the delight his warrior's soul felt at the
approaching conflict. His officers and crew displayed the utmost
willingness to engage, while on board the Serapis her company asked
nothing but to be laid alongside the saucy American.
The Serapis was a splendid new frigate,--"the finest ship of her class
I ever saw," Paul Jones afterward wrote Dr. Franklin,--and carried
fifty guns. It is estimated that her force, as compared to the poor
old Bon Homme Richard, was as two to one. She was commanded by Captain
Pearson, a brave and capable officer. At one o'clock the drummers beat
to quarters on both ships, but it was really seven o'clock before they
got near enough to begin the real business of fighting. Much of this
time the British and Americans were cheering and jeering at each other.
The Serapis people pretended they thought the Bon Homme Richard was
a merchant ship, which indeed she had been before she came into Paul
Jones's hands, and derisively asked the Americans what she was laden
with; to which the Americans promptly shouted back, "Round, grape, and
double-headed shot!"
At last, about seven o'clock in the evening, the cannonade began. At
the second broadside two of the battery of eighteen-pounders on the
"Bon Homme" burst, the rest cracked and could not be fired. These had
been the main dependence for fighting the ship. Most of the small
guns were dismounted, and in a little while Paul Jones had only three
nine-pounders to play against the heavy broadside of the Serapis. In
addition to this, the shot from the Serapis had made several enormous
holes in the crazy old hull of the Bon Homme Richard, and she was
leaking like a sieve, while she was afire in a dozen places at once.
The crews of the exploded guns had no guns to fight, but they had to
combat both fire and water, either of which seemed at any moment likely
to destroy the leaking and burning ship. They worked like heroes, led
by the gallant Dale, and encouraged by their intrepid commander, whose
only comment on the desperate state of the ship was, "Never mind, my
lads, we shall have a better ship to go home in."
Below, more than a hundred prisoners were ready to spring up, and
were only subdued by Dale's determined attitude, who forced them to
work at the pumps for their lives. The Serapis pounded her adversary
mercilessly, and literally tore the Bon Homme Richard to pieces between
decks. Most captains in this awful situation would have hauled down the
flag. Not so Paul Jones. Knowing that his only chance lay in grappling
with his enemy and having it out at close quarters, he managed to get
alongside the Serapis, and with his own hands made fast his bowsprit
to the Serapis' mizzen-mast, calling out cheerfully to his men, "Now,
my brave lads, we have her!" Stacy, his sailing-master, while helping
him, bungled with the hawser, and an oath burst from him. "Don't swear,
Mr. Stacy," quietly said Paul Jones, "in another moment we may be in
eternity; but let us do our duty."
The Alliance lay off out of gunshot and quite inactive most of the
time, but at this point she approached and sailed around the two
fighting ships, firing broadsides into her consort, which did dreadful
damage. After this, her captain, the crack-brained and treacherous
Landais, made off to windward and was seen no more.
The combat deepened, and apparently the Bon Homme Richard was destined
to go down fighting. At one moment the two ships got into a position
in which neither could fire an effective shot. As they lay, head and
stern, fast locked in a deadly embrace, and enveloped in smoke and
darkness as they repeatedly caught fire from each other, a terrible
stillness fell awhile, until from the bloody decks of the Serapis a
voice called out,--
"Have you struck?"
To this Paul Jones gave back the immortal answer, which will ever mark
him among the bravest of the brave,--
"We have not yet begun to fight!"
Soon the conflict was renewed. The Serapis' heavy guns poured into and
through the Bon Homme Richard's hull, but the topmen on the American
ship kept up such a hurricane of destruction on the Serapis' spar deck,
that Captain Pearson ordered every man below, while himself bravely
remaining. A topman on the Bon Homme Richard, taking a bucket of hand
grenades, lay out on the main yard, which was directly over the main
hatch of the Serapis, and, coolly fastening his bucket to the sheet
block, began to throw his grenades down the hatchway. Almost the first
one rolled down the hatch to the gun-deck, where it ignited a row of
cartridges left exposed by the carelessness of the powder boys. In an
instant came an explosion which seemed to shake the heavens and the
ocean.
This was the turning-point. The men in the Bon Homme Richard's tops
climbed into those of the Serapis, the yards of the two ships being
interlocked, and swept her decks with fire and shot. Dazed by the
explosion, and helpless against the American sharpshooters, the
courageous men on the Serapis saw themselves conquered, and Captain
Pearson himself lowered the flag which had been nailed to the mast.
Lieutenant Dale, swinging himself on board the Serapis' deck, received
the captain's surrender; and thus ended one of the greatest single
ship fights on record. The slaughter on both ships was fearful, and
the Serapis' mainmast went by the board just as she was given up. But
the poor Bon Homme Richard was past help, and next morning she was
abandoned. At ten o'clock she was seen to be sinking. She gave a lurch
forward and went down, the last seen of her being an American flag left
flying by Paul Jones's orders at her mizzen peak, as she settled into
her ocean grave.
The Pallas, under Captain Cottineau, had captured the Countess of
Scarborough, which made a brave defence, and, in company with the
Serapis, sailed for the port of the Texel, which they reached in
safety. England scarcely felt the loss of one frigate and a sloop from
her tremendous fleets, but the wound to the pride of a great and noble
nation was severe. She caused the Dutch government to insist that
Paul Jones should immediately leave the Texel. This he refused to do,
as it was a neutral port, and he had a right to remain a reasonable
time. The Dutch government then threatened to drive him out, and had
thirteen double-decked frigates to enforce this threat, while twelve
English ships cruised outside waiting for him. But Paul Jones kept his
flag flying in the face of these twenty-five hostile ships, and firmly
refused to leave until he was ready. Through some complication with the
French government, he had the alternative forced upon him of hoisting a
French flag on the Serapis, or taking the inferior Alliance under the
American flag. Bitter as it was to give up the splendid Serapis, he
nobly preferred the weaker ship, under the American flag, and in the
Alliance, in the midst of a roaring gale on a black December night, he
escaped from the Texel, "with my best American ensign flying," as he
wrote Dr. Franklin.
The British government offered ten thousand guineas for him, dead or
alive, and forty-two British ships of the line and frigates scoured
the seas for him. Yet he escaped from them all, passed within sight of
the fleets at Spithead, ran through the English Channel, and reached
France in safety. He went to Paris, where he was praised, admired,
petted by the court, and especially honored by royalty. The King,
Louis XVI., gave him a magnificent sword, while the Queen, the lovely
and unfortunate Marie Antoinette, invited him in her box at the opera,
and treated him with charming affability. The first time he went to the
theatre in Paris, he found a laurel wreath suspended over his seat.
He rose quietly and moved away,--an act of modesty which was much
applauded by all.
Captain Pearson, on his return to England, received honors that caused
many persons to smile, although he had undoubtedly defended his ship
very determinedly. He was made a knight. When Paul Jones heard of this,
he remarked: "Well, he has deserved it; and if I have the good fortune
to fall in with him again, I will make him a lord."
Compliments were plenty for Paul Jones, too; but no ship was
forthcoming for him worthy of his fame, and at last, in 1780, he was
forced to return to America in the Ariel, a lightly armed vessel,
carrying stores for Washington's army.
His services were fully appreciated in the United States. General
Washington wrote him a letter of congratulation; Congress passed a
resolution of thanks in his honor, and gave him a gold medal; and the
French king made him a Knight of the Order of Military Merit. The
poverty of his country prevented him from getting a ship immediately,
and the virtual end of the war in 1781 gave him no further opportunity
of naval distinction.
He was employed in serving the naval interests of the country on this
side of the ocean until 1787, when he went to Europe on a mission for
the government. While there, he had brilliant offers made him to enter
the service of the Empress Catherine of Russia, and to take charge of
naval operations against the Turks. The nature of Paul Jones was such
that any enterprise of adventurous daring was irresistibly attractive
to him. At that time his firm friend Thomas Jefferson was minister to
France, and he advised Paul Jones to accept the offer. This he did,
relying, as he said, on Mr. Jefferson to justify him in so doing, and
retaining his American citizenship. He had an adventurous journey to
Russia, stopping for a while on public business at Copenhagen, where he
was much caressed by the King, Queen, and Court. He resumed his route
by sea, and at one time in a small boat in the Baltic Sea he forced the
sailors to proceed at the point of his pistol, when their hearts failed
them and they wished to turn back.
His connection with the Russian navy proved deeply unfortunate. He had
to deal with persons of small sense of honor, who cared little for
the principles of generous and civilized warfare. He was maligned and
abused, and although he succeeded in clearing himself, he left Russia
with disappointment and disgust. His health had begun to fail, and the
last two years of his life, from 1790 to 1792, were spent in Paris,
where he was often ill, and more often in great distress of mind over
the terrible scenes then occurring in France. He did not forget that
the King and Queen had been his friends, and showed them attentions
when it was extremely dangerous to do so. Lafayette, who had long been
his devoted friend, soothed his last days; and Gouverneur Morris, then
minister to France, paid him many kind attentions. He made his will,
naming Robert Morris as his executor, and then faced death with the
same cool courage as upon the bloody and burning deck of the Bon Homme
Richard.
In the evening of the 18th of July, 1792, after calmly making his
preparation, the end came. The National Assembly of France paid honor
to his remains, and in the United States the news of his death was
received with profound sorrow. Some years after, the Congress sent the
St. Lawrence frigate to Europe, to bring back the body of Paul Jones
to the United States; but it was found that, according to the French
custom, it had been destroyed by quicklime long before.
Few men have been more warmly attacked and defended than Paul Jones;
but in the light of history and of research it is altogether certain
that he was a man of extraordinary genius and courage, of noble
aspirations, and sincerely devoted to his adopted country; and at all
times and places he made good his proud declaration: "I have ever
looked out for the honor of the American flag."
The eulogy passed upon him by Benjamin Franklin was brief, but it
embodied many volumes of praise. It was this: "For Captain Paul Jones
ever loved close fighting."
RICHARD DALE
If an example were needed of the superiority of character and courage
over intellect, no more fitting person could be named than Commodore
Richard Dale,--"that truth-telling and truth-loving officer," as
Fenimore Cooper calls him. Nothing is more beautiful than the reverence
which Cooper, a man of real genius, had for Richard Dale, whose
talents, though good, were not brilliant; and in this Cooper shows
to lesser minds that intellect should ever pay tribute to character.
Dale had nothing more than good, sound sense, but by the courage and
constancy of his nature, by his justice, gentleness, and probity,
he attained a standing of which a great intellect might have been
proud. He was Paul Jones's first lieutenant during two years of daring
adventure, and, like Cooper, Paul Jones, the man of genius, loved and
admired Dale, the man of excellence. The affection between the two
was deep, and in Dale's old age he spoke of his old commander, then
no more, affectionately as "Paul,"--a strong testimony in the great
captain's favor.
[Illustration: Ri^d Dale ]
Dale was born near Norfolk, in Virginia, in 1756. His parents were
respectable persons, but not very well off, and Dale appears to
have had but few advantages of education in his boyhood. He was, by
nature, a daring and reckless speller, and the ingenuity and simplicity
with which he could twist the letters of the alphabet into forms
never before seen, was truly comical. In a letter to Paul Jones,
describing some work he was doing on the bowsprit, he says, "the
boulsprit was something Dificoult in Giting out." But no doubt the
bowsprit was smartly handled, and got out all right. And when "tow
french voluntairs" deserted, Dale says he "made haist" to send the
"golly-boat" after them, and certainly got them, if it were possible
to do so. But in spite of his spelling, he was educated in all the
courtesies of life, his manners were polished, his person was handsome,
and he was a daring and capable seaman. Paul Jones said he always found
Dale ready and willing to execute the most hazardous duty; and this
willingness to do his duty was the distinguishing characteristic of his
whole life.
When he was twelve years of age, he entered the merchant service and
made a voyage with an uncle of his, a sea-captain. Then began his
career of hard knocks; and few men who sail blue water ever had more.
He began by falling down the hold of his ship, and breaking most of his
bones except those of his back and neck; then followed experiences of
being knocked overboard and battling in the sea an hour before being
picked up; of being struck by lightning and remaining unconscious for
hours. From the time he joined the navy of the colonies, he never was
in action without being either wounded or captured and sometimes both.
Three times was he badly wounded, five times was he taken prisoner; yet
he managed to be in active service during a great part of the war, and
at last died peacefully in his bed, at a good old age.
Almost as soon as war was declared, Dale, then a fine young fellow of
nineteen, enlisted in the feeble naval forces of the colonies; and
the very first time he smelled powder, in 1776, he was captured by
the British and taken to Norfolk. There he was put on board a prison
ship, where he found among the officers an old friend of his, a young
Virginian, Bridges Gutteridge. Gutteridge was a royalist, and, being
a plausible fellow, he used his friendship with Dale to persuade him
that he was wrong in being in rebellion. Dale, who was young and
inexperienced, was beguiled by his friend into turning royalist too,
and actually enlisted upon a small British vessel. The first action in
which he was engaged--a fight with American pilot boats--Dale met his
usual fate, and was severely wounded. He was carried back to Norfolk,
and in the long days of illness and convalescence he began to see his
conduct in its true light, and bitterly repented of having fought
against his country. He went to work upon his friend Gutteridge, and
succeeded in converting him, after once having been converted by him,
into a patriot. Dale then quietly bided his time to get back into the
American navy, and, as he said, "I made up my mind if I got into the
way of bullets it should never again be the bullets of my own country."
It is indicative of the simple honesty of the man, that he never
attempted to belittle or disguise this early lapse of his, and always
expressed the deepest sorrow for it, alleging what a nature less fine
would never have admitted, "I knew no better at the time."
As soon as he was recovered, he managed to get aboard a merchant ship;
to go to sea was the first step toward returning to the continental
navy, which was the desire of his heart. He was captured as usual. But
this time it was just the very sort of a capture that Dale desired,
his ship being taken by the Lexington, a smart little cruiser under
the command of Captain Barry, a brave officer, with whom Dale's life
was afterward much connected. Dale lost not a moment in enlisting as
midshipman on the Lexington, and the first time she backed her topsails
at a British vessel she was captured, and Dale was a prisoner for the
third time.
An officer and a prize crew were thrown on the Lexington, and her
captor, the Pearl, frigate, directed the prize to follow her. In the
night the Americans rose on their captors, and retook the brig,
carrying her into Baltimore. Soon after that, Dale was exchanged, and
in January, 1777, he found himself again on the Lexington, as master's
mate. In March, the brig sailed for France, under Captain Henry
Johnson, and cruised boldly in European waters.
One night, in September, 1777, Captain Johnson found himself close
under the quarter of a well-armed British cutter. The two gallant
little vessels opened fire with great spirit, and the Americans were
getting decidedly the better of it, when their shot gave out. Dale
and the other officers collected every scrap of iron about the ship
that could be found or wrenched from its place to fire in the place of
shot, but the unequal fight could not last long; the brig was given up
after several of her officers and men had been killed, and Dale was a
prisoner for the fourth time before he was twenty-one years old.
In most of these revolutionary encounters the ships engaged were of
trifling force, but the attack and defence were gallant and spirited in
the highest degree, by both the Americans and the British, and no ship
was given away on either side.
The Lexington's officers and men were carried to England and thrown
into Mill Prison, where they underwent the agonies of famine and
privation. Dale always spoke of those dreadful days with horror, and
told of being driven by hunger to kill a stray dog, which he, with the
other prisoners, cooked and ate.
The story of their sufferings got abroad and excited the indignation
of many persons in England, who were jealous of the honor of their
country. They raised sixteen thousand pounds for American prisoners
in England, and relieved all their material wants. But the Americans
longed for liberty, and Dale and a few others determined to have it.
They found a place under the prison walls through which a hole could be
dug, and they began the almost impossible task of scooping out enough
earth that they might crawl through to the other side. They could work
only while exercising in the prison yard, and had to put the dirt
in their pockets as they scooped it up. Nevertheless, after working
for weeks at it, on a dark night in February, 1778, Captain Johnson,
Dale, and several of the Lexington's crew crawled through, and found
themselves free at last of the prison walls.
It is strange that men who could accomplish this should have been so
unwise as to stay together, but for a week the whole party wandered
about the country at night, half starved and half clothed, in the worst
of wintry weather. At last they concluded to separate, and Dale and a
young midshipman cast their lots together. Their character was soon
suspected by people they asked for food and shelter, and pursuers
were put upon them. They doubled on their tracks and got to London.
They were still hunted for, and the house in which they were concealed
was raided. Dale and his friend escaped into a shed close by, and lay
concealed under straw for hours, until the pursuing party had left.
They then slipped down to the docks, and were entered as hands on a
vessel for Scotland. But Dale's usual ill-fortune followed him. The
British navy, wanting able seamen, sent a press gang to the Scotch
vessel, and Dale and his friend, unluckily attracting notice by their
stalwart appearance, were impressed. In a little while they were found
out to be American officers, and were sent back to Mill Prison. Forty
days in the black hole of the prison followed. When this was over, Dale
earned another forty days in it by singing rebel songs. He continued
to sing his songs, though, while in the black hole. After a whole
year in prison he made his escape under circumstances which he never
revealed to the day of his death, except that he had on a complete suit
of British uniform. How he got it remains a mystery, and from that day
until his death, forty-seven years afterward, Dale kept the dangerous
secret of the person who risked so much for him. It is supposed that he
was provided liberally with money, and even with a passport, for he got
out of England quickly and went to France. Here, at L'Orient, he found
Paul Jones, then fitting out the Bon Homme Richard, in which both the
commander and Dale were to win immortality.
Dale was then an active, handsome young fellow of twenty-three, and
had seen more hard service than many officers of the highest rank. At
the first glance Paul Jones saw his steadiness, coolness, and splendid
qualities as a sea officer, and soon made him first lieutenant on
the Bon Homme Richard. A deep attachment sprang up between these two
kindred souls, and it is enough for Dale's reputation to know that he
was a man after Paul Jones's own heart.
In the summer of 1779 the Bon Homme Richard, old, crazy, and weakly
armed, but carrying as much valor as any ship afloat, started upon her
daring cruise in the narrow seas of Great Britain. Every day showed
Paul Jones more and more the admirable character of his young first
lieutenant, and in all the hazardous enterprises of that bold cruise
Dale was the man who was always Paul Jones's right arm of strength. On
the 23d of September, 1779, was fought the celebrated battle between
the Bon Homme Richard and the Serapis. Dale was not only the first, but
the only sea lieutenant on board, and proved himself altogether worthy
to serve under the great captain who took the Serapis. He commanded the
main deck, and, although his wretched and defective guns soon became
disabled, his activity did not cease for a moment.