and helpless Bon Homme Richard seemed in extremity, the master-at-arms
let loose more than a hundred prisoners, who came crowding up into the
magazine passage. Dale, running below, with his pistol cocked, faced
the mob, and, under Paul Jones's orders, set them to work at the pumps.
He then returned to the deck, and so carried away was he with the ardor
of battle that when, with his invariable fortune, a shot struck him in
the leg, he was quite unconscious of it. As soon as Captain Pearson
hauled down his flag, Dale claimed his right to go aboard the Serapis
and receive her surrender. The mainyard of the Serapis hung cock-a-bill
over the Bon Homme Richard's poop. A line hung from the torn rigging,
and Dale, seizing it, swung himself over, and landed alone on the
Serapis' deck. The Serapis' officers and people did not all know
the colors had been struck, and there was some fighting on the deck
afterward. The Serapis' first lieutenant ran up just as Captain Pearson
surrendered, and cried out, "Has she struck?" meaning the Bon Homme
Richard. Captain Pearson remained silent, and Dale replied, "No, sir,
the Serapis has struck."
The lieutenant, ignoring Dale, repeated his question to the captain,
who shook his head. The lieutenant after a moment asked that he might
go below and stop the firing that had not altogether ceased; but Dale,
who was not taking any chances of losing the ship, politely refused,
and at once passed the captain and his first lieutenant aboard the Bon
Homme Richard.
As soon as the Americans had possession of the Serapis, Dale sat down
on the binnacle, overcome with exhaustion, after nearly ten hours of
manoeuvring and fighting, two hours of the time the ships having been
lashed together. He gave an order, and, rising to see it executed,
measured his length on the deck. Then for the first time he knew that
he was wounded. He managed to keep the deck, however, and his wound
proved to be trifling.
In all the accounts of the compliments showered upon Paul Jones and his
officers at the Texel and afterward at Paris, Dale seems to have kept
modestly in the background. His worth, however, was not overlooked,
and his testimony that Captain Landais of the Alliance had acted
treacherously toward the Bon Homme Richard during the fight with the
Serapis was of weight in securing Landais' dishonorable discharge from
the continental navy.
While Paul Jones was enjoying the charms and splendors of Paris, Dale,
who had little taste for such things, was "keeping ship" so well that
the captain's absence was not felt. Like Paul Jones, he ardently longed
to put to sea in a fine ship; but both were doomed to disappointment
when the Ariel was the best to be had. In her he sailed, with Paul
Jones, for America, in 1781. Off the French coast they met with a storm
so terrific that Dale always declared he considered they were in more
danger than at any time during the fight with the Serapis. In speaking
of Paul Jones's coolness in such desperate straits, when every moment
they seemed about to go to the bottom, Dale said: "Never saw I such
coolness in such dreadful circumstances as I saw in Paul Jones then."
To the amazement of all, they escaped with their lives, although the
Ariel was so crippled that they had to return to port, and it was many
weeks before they could sail again.
On reaching America, Paul Jones desired Dale to accompany him to
Portsmouth, New Hampshire, where the government directed him to
superintend the building of a fine frigate then on the stocks. But
Dale preferred active service, and joined the Trumbull frigate, going
through with his usual experience, a hot fight with a British ship and
a severe wound. This time he varied the performance by being captured
for the fifth time. He was soon exchanged, however, and the war ended
shortly after.
The navy of the United States ceased practically to exist at the close
of the Revolution, and Dale went into the China trade. He made a modest
fortune, came ashore, and married a beautiful girl, the ward of his old
commander Captain Barry. In 1794 the navy was reorganized, and Dale was
the first captain who got afloat under the United States flag. He made
several cruises, and in 1801 was made commodore of a fine squadron sent
to the Mediterranean. His flagship was the President, and it was a sad
coincidence that upon this very ship, in the war of 1812, his son, a
gallant young midshipman, received his death wound.
The fine appearance of the American ships and the smartness of their
officers and crews were generally admired, and Dale himself made
friends and admirers by his manly and modest bearing. He spelled no
better than ever, but his seamanship was beyond reproach. Once, on
coming out of Port Mahon, the President struck upon a rock, and was in
imminent danger of pounding herself to death. Commodore Dale was below
when she struck. He instantly came on deck, assumed command, and by his
coolness, nerve, and judgment, saved the ship. He had her temporarily
repaired, under his own directions, at Port Mahon, but went to Toulon
to have her put in dry dock. When the water was pumped out, and her
hull exposed, the French naval officers were lost in admiration at the
ingenious way in which, with crude appliances and materials, Dale had
contrived to repair the damage.
The great Nelson, while observing the manoeuvring of this fine
squadron under Commodore Dale, remarked: "Those American ships can, if
they wish, make trouble for the British navy."
Dale returned home, expecting to spend the rest of his active life in
the navy. But in those days it seems to have been a common practice to
treat the most distinguished and deserving officers without the least
consideration of their rights or feelings. This happened to Commodore
Dale. An affront being offered him by the head of the navy, he promptly
resigned. He had two gallant sons who remained in the navy, however;
and one of these, his namesake, lost his life while gallantly fighting
in the war of 1812. Dale retired to Philadelphia, and spent the rest
of his days in honorable retirement. His old friend Captain Barry had
come into possession of the splendid gold sword given Paul Jones by the
King of France, and which Paul Jones's relatives had given to Robert
Morris, and from him Captain Barry got it. On Captain Barry's death he
left this sword, most worthily and appropriately, to Dale, the great
captain's first lieutenant.
Dale never lost his interest in sailors and all who live by the sea.
He was a deeply religious man, and organized a mariners' church, which
he urged all sailors to attend. Every Sunday afternoon for thirty
years he went to this humble little chapel, and, besides joining in
the service, would go about among the sailors who were present, gently
inquiring into their wants, and never failing to do a kindness for
them when possible. It is said that no man was ever heard to speak a
word against him. He died peacefully, after a short illness, in 1826.
The United States named for him a fine sloop of war, which, like Dale
himself, saw much service and had many vicissitudes. She is still in
existence, and when, a few years ago, her timbers were examined, they
were found as sound and whole, in spite of all her years of service, as
they ought to be in a ship named for a man like Richard Dale. In her
main gangway a memorial plate is placed, recalling Commodore Dale's
services in the fight between the Bon Homme Richard and the Serapis,
and quoting the never-to-be-forgotten words of Paul Jones, when he was
asked, in his almost helpless ship, if he had struck,--"I have not yet
begun to fight."
THOMAS TRUXTUN
In the old days the American sailors were great singers, and naval
songs, rude in construction but vivid with patriotic fire, were
immensely popular. When they were trolled forth on the fok'sle, nearly
every sailor could join in, and the effect was as inspiring as Dibdin's
songs were to the British navy about the same time. Among the first and
favorite of these songs was "Truxtun's Victory," beginning,--
"Come, all ye Yankee sailors, with swords and pikes advance;
'T is time to try your courage and humble haughty France."
There was a good deal of poetic license regarding facts as well as
forms, and the poet, in describing Truxtun's victory on L'Insurgente, a
crack French frigate, represents
"The blood did from their scuppers run;
Their captain cried, 'I am undone!'"
Instead of crying that he was undone, the French captain made a gallant
defence; and if his metal had been heavier, it might have been
"Barreault's Victory," instead of "Truxtun's Victory."
[Illustration: Medal awarded to Thomas Truxtun]
Thomas Truxtun was born in New York in 1755, but, losing his father
early, was taken to Jamaica by a relative and brought up. He had but
little chance of a school education, and went to sea early. He was
but twenty years old when the Revolution broke out, and was then in
command of a merchant vessel. Unfortunately it cannot be recounted
that Truxtun entered the American navy then. Instead he chose serving
in a privateer. But it must be remembered that the whole naval force
of the colonies was very feeble, and so slight was the expectation
that it could prevail against the mighty fleets of England that
only a few small ships were officered, and there was no more room
for would-be officers. Truxtun, however, did excellent service in
privateers,--usually not very honorable ships in themselves, as they
prey only on the commerce of an enemy; yet in the Revolution many
privateers boldly engaged with armed ships. Naturally the naval men
held privateers in contempt, and a letter of the great Paul Jones
is extant which shows that he and young Captain Truxtun had a sharp
quarrel over the rights of privateers. Congress had passed an act
forbidding a privateer to hoist a pennant in the presence of a naval
ship, without first getting the consent of the naval ship's commander.
Truxtun, an impetuous young man of twenty-five, in command of the ship
Independence from Philadelphia, arrived at L'Orient in France in 1780.
At the same time the Ariel, under command of Paul Jones, was lying
in the port. What followed Paul Jones himself describes in a letter
addressed to "Mr. Thomas Truxtun, master of the ship Independence."
"You passed, some time ago, with the merchant ship called the
Independence belonging to Philadelphia, close under the stern of
the continental ship Ariel, under my command in the Road of Groix;
and you then showed no mark of respect to the Continental flag of
commission, but went on with a long Pendant flying, and without
lowering any sail or colour, or crew showing any mark of politeness.
In the port of L'Orient you were not satisfied with a long Pendant,
but you hoisted a kind of Broad one; and until yesterday you have worn
it at your moorings in presence of the Continental ship Ariel. This
was flying in the Face of a positive resolution of Congress. When
your vessel was yesterday under sail, she was steered in my presence
very near the Ariel in passing down to Port Louis. I then sent a Boat
with an officer to request yourself or your representative to take
down the Pendant. The officer returned and reported to me that my
boat's crew had been menaced by your people, and that your mate said
he had Orders to treat me with Contempt, and disobey any order or
request to haul down the Pendant. When I found this, I sent Lieut.
Dale back with two Boats armed, and with another polite message, and
such orders as I will answer for having given. The Pendant was then
hauled Down as he approached. I cannot answer your letter of this
date more particularly, as there are in it several words that I do
not understand and cannot find in the dictionary. I shall receive no
more letters from you on the subject. It is not me you have offended.
You have offended the United States of America. I am, sir, your most
humble servant,
"J. Paul Jones."
By this letter it will be seen that Captain Truxtun, like Richard Dale,
was better at fighting than writing; and it will also be noted that
when Paul Jones's blood was up, he sent Dale to call Captain Truxtun to
account, and as soon as Dale took the matter in hand, "the Pendant was
then hauled down."
Truxtun had an adventurous time of it during the Revolution, and made
a name for himself as a man of enterprise and a fine seaman. His after
achievements make it a source of keen regret that such a man should
have been engaged in such a calling as privateering, when, like Paul
Jones and Richard Dale, he might have assisted his country much better
on a regular ship of war.
He remained in the merchant service after the war was over; but when
the United States began to create a navy in 1784, Truxtun was given a
captain's commission. Trouble had been brewing with France for some
time, and in 1797 the government determined to build several frigates
in case of war, and this year saw the launching of the two noble ships,
the Constitution and the Constellation, which were both destined to win
immortal fame. Truxtun was appointed to command the Constellation, and
also to superintend the building. She was laid down at Baltimore in the
summer of 1797, and few ships ever took the water more quickly than the
glorious Constellation. She had a very remarkable launch on the 7th
of September, 1797. Nearly all her guns and stores were on board, and
seven days after she kissed the water she was ready to sail. She had
been coppered in ten hours. The Constellation was a beautiful frigate,
very fast and weatherly, and carrying thirty-eight guns. She was finely
officered and manned, and Captain Truxtun sailed on his first cruise
with every advantage in his favor,--a ship that could both fight and
run, and a company worthy of the ship. He cruised for some time without
meeting with any extraordinary adventures; but the next year four other
smaller vessels were put under his command, and the squadron went to
the West Indies. This was directly in harm's way, as the West India
islands were full of French ships of war, and France and the United
States were on the eve of a quasi-war, so that Captain Truxtun sailed
with the hope of getting a whack at a Frenchman, and this came about
in February, 1799. As the old song has it,
"'T was in the month of February, off Montserrat we lay,
When there we spied the Insurgente--"
This was considered to be the fastest frigate in the world, and was
commanded by a crack French captain, Barreault. She carried forty
twelve-pounders in her batteries, and the Constellation carried
thirty-eight twenty-four pounders, making the Constellation much the
stronger ship; yet Captain Truxtun showed, in the fight which followed,
that he could have whipped a heavier ship than L'Insurgente, which made
a very smart fight too. Captain Barreault knew that the Constellation
was the heavier, but he did not on that account refuse the battle, but
showed a manly willingness to fight.
The Constellation sighted L'Insurgente in the forenoon of February 9,
1799, and immediately made for her. As soon as she got near enough,
the French ship hoisted American colors, in order to draw her on and
give the French ship time to find out something about the stranger.
Captain Truxtun then showed the private signal, which Captain Barreault
was unable to answer. L'Insurgente then threw off every disguise, and,
setting the French ensign, ran off and fired a gun to windward, which
meant, in sailor language, that he was ready for a yardarm to yardarm
fight. Captain Truxtun set an American ensign at every masthead and
came on, the Frenchman waiting on an easy bowline, for his enemy. The
Americans, both officers and men, showed the most cheerful ardor to
engage, and the two ships went at it with equal spirit. When within
hailing distance the Frenchman hailed; but disregarding this, Captain
Truxtun came on until he was abeam of his adversary. Then he let fly
his broadside, and the Frenchman answered him promptly. Captain Truxtun
discovered that he had no fool to play with in Captain Barreault, and
for an hour the Frenchman gave the Constellation all she could do. But
by that time the superior metal of the Constellation began to tell.
The Frenchman aimed at the spars and rigging, and the foretopmast
of the Constellation was badly wounded. The officer in the foretop
was Midshipman David Porter, afterward the celebrated captain, and,
seeing that the foretopmast was likely to fall, with all the men in
the hamper, he hailed the deck to report the damage. So furious was
the cannonade, though, that his voice could not be heard. He therefore
gave orders on his own account to cut away the stoppers and lower the
topsail yard, and by his promptness the spar as well as the men in
the top were saved. The Americans aimed at the hull, and in an hour
L'Insurgente was riddled like a sieve. The Constellation then shot
ahead, and, luffing across the Frenchman's bows, was ready with every
gun to rake him, when Captain Barreault, seeing his hopeless condition,
struck his colors.
The captured frigate was sent into St. Kitts with only two midshipmen,
Porter and Rodgers, and eleven men, to keep one hundred and seventy
three Frenchmen below the hatches. This they did, besides managing the
ship in a hard gale, and took her in triumph to St. Kitts within four
days.
The next year Captain Truxtun had a chance to show what he could do
against a stronger ship than his own, and on the 1st of February,
1800, being off Guadeloupe, he sighted La Vengeance, one of the great
French frigates, mounting fifty-two guns. The Constellation immediately
set her ensign and gave chase, but La Vengeance, having on board a
large number of officers of rank and soldiers which she was carrying
to France, would rather not have fought, and so took to her heels.
The chase continued from the morning of the 1st of February until
late in the afternoon of the 2d, and it was eight o'clock at night
before they finally came to close quarters. When La Vengeance found
the Constellation was bent on a fight, she entered into it with all
the bravery of the French character. The officers and soldiers she was
carrying as passengers went to quarters with the regular crew, and
she came on in grand style, giving her first broadside as soon as
the Constellation was within range. Captain Truxtun, without firing a
gun, drew within pistol shot of his enemy, both crews cheering as the
two gallant enemies neared each other. When within pistol shot, the
Constellation barked out every gun in broadside, and the fight began in
good earnest. Both ships were running free, and during the whole fight,
which lasted five hours, the cannonade continued. The crowded condition
of the Frenchman's decks made the slaughter dreadful, but she did not
take her punishment without giving it back with spirit. The moon had
risen in tropic splendor, and a good breeze was blowing, so that both
ships could manoeuvre, and the bright light enabled them to see what
they were doing. Toward midnight, though, it was plain that the French
ship was getting the worst of it. However, she showed no signs of
surrender, and her guns that could still be worked pounded the mainmast
of the Constellation until it was soon seen that it must fall. At this
point occurred what is probably the noblest act of young courage in
all naval history. The officer of the maintop was a little midshipman,
James Jarvis, who was only thirteen years old. When it was seen that
nothing could save the mainmast, the topmen leaped and clambered down,
and an old sailor begged the little midshipman to save himself. To
this young Jarvis answered calmly, "As an officer I cannot leave my
station, and if the mast goes, I must go with it." In a few moments the
great mast fell with a fearful crash, and this dauntless boy came down
with it. He was the only officer on the Constellation killed.
This accident rendered the Constellation helpless for a time, and
La Vengeance, having still spars enough left to get away, made off,
without firing another gun, and was soon lost in the darkness that
followed the setting of the moon. Her loss of men was frightful, while
that of the Constellation was comparatively small.
When Captain Truxtun reached home after this brilliant engagement, he
was received with acclamations, Congress gave him a gold medal and its
thanks, and passed a solemn resolution in honor of young Jarvis, "who
gloriously preferred certain death to the abandonment of his post."
This is, perhaps, an unprecedented honor for a boy of thirteen, but it
cannot be denied that the little midshipman, who deliberately gave his
life rather than desert his post, well earned it.
The London merchants of Lloyd's coffee-house sent Captain Truxtun a
splendid service of plate worth six hundred guineas, and some years
afterward the United States named a smart sloop of war after him, the
Truxtun. Captain Truxtun served but a short while in the navy after
this. In 1802 he was ordered, as Commodore, to command a squadron,
and, finding he was to have no captain on his flag-ship, declined the
honor. His letter was misunderstood by the authorities of the Navy
Department to mean a resignation from the navy, and was, as such,
accepted. Commodore Truxtun, too proud to withdraw it, chose rather
to withdraw from the navy,--a course which must ever be regretted. He
chose Philadelphia as his home, and became a prominent and important
citizen. He was for some time Sheriff of the city. In 1823 his death
occurred, and he left behind him an honorable name as a man, and a
brilliant reputation as a seaman.
WILLIAM BAINBRIDGE
Commodore Bainbridge was born at Princeton, New Jersey, in 1774. His
family were of good standing, and willing as well as able to give the
boy a liberal education; but an inborn love of adventure possessed him,
and he begged to be allowed to go to sea. At that time, 1789-90, the
navy of the Revolution had ceased to exist, while the navy of a later
date was not created, and the only way to gratify the boy was to send
him to sea in a merchant vessel. He first shipped in his sixteenth
year, and his good habits and natural genius for the sea gave him the
place of first officer of a ship when he was eighteen. During a voyage
to Holland a mutiny occurred on board his vessel, which was quelled
chiefly by the vigor and determination of young Bainbridge. The owners
rewarded his services by giving him the command of the ship when he
was barely nineteen. At this time he was a singularly handsome young
man. He was six feet high, his figure elegant, and his countenance as
frank and open as it was comely. His manners were cordial, and his
disposition impetuous; but although he sometimes fell into hasty and
passionate language, no man was more ready to make amends. Like Paul
Jones, he stammered slightly, but, also like him, he spoke smoothly
enough when there was occasion for it, and no one ever heard him halt
in his speech when an order aboard ship was to be given.
[Illustration: William Bainbridge]
Bainbridge remained in command of merchant ships until the
reorganization of the navy in 1798. During those years a singular and
unsatisfactory state of affairs existed for American ships on the
ocean. Without a single ship of war to protect them, they were liable
to be overhauled by British warships, which claimed the right to
search, by French warships, which practically fought and captured them,
while a large trade with the North of Europe and the East was harassed
by the corsairs of the Barbary coast. With regard to these last, a
truly disgraceful condition prevailed. The Dey of Algiers actually
demanded and received tribute from the United States government for not
molesting its trading-vessels! It is true that other nations of Europe
submitted to the same sort of blackmail; but their reasons, although
not sufficient, were better than those of the Americans. New in the art
of forming a great republic, and unduly fearful of the dangers of a
fixed naval force as well as of a standing army, the government of the
United States tried to do without a navy; but it paid for its mistake
many times over, both in national honor and in money. The European
nations also paid money to the Barbary pirates, and allowed their ships
to be used in various ways, at the request of these haughty despots;
but it was with a desire to secure their political alliances in the
universal wars that scourged Europe at that day, and not from inability
to protect their own carrying ships.