CHAPTER XIII PAUL JONES, THE NAVAL HERO OF THE REVOLUTION WE are justly proud of our great war-ships, with their strong steel sides and their mighty guns, each of which can hurl a cannon-ball miles and miles away. And such balls! Why, one of them is as heavy as a dozen of you tied together, and can bore a hole through a plate of solid steel as thick as your bodies.

Such ships and such guns as these had not been dreamed of in the days of the Revolution. Then there were only small wooden vessels, moved by sails instead of steam, and a cannon-ball that weighed twenty-four pounds was thought very heavy. Six and twelve-pound balls were common. And to hit a ship a mile away! It was not to be thought of. I tell you, in those days ships had to fight nearly side by side and men to fight face to face. To be a mile away was as good as being a hundred miles.

But for all this there was some hard fighting done at sea in the Revolutionary War, in spite of the small ships and little guns. They fought closer together, that was all. Boast as we may about the wonderful work done by our ships at Santiago and Manila in the Spanish War, we have better right to be proud of the deeds of our great naval hero of the Revolutionary War, with his rotten old ship and poor little guns, but with his stout heart behind them all.

This hero was the sturdy John Paul Jones, one of the boldest and bravest men that ever stood on a ship's deck. And his great sea fight has never been surpassed in all the history of naval war. I cannot tell you the story of the Revolution without telling about the great ocean victory of the bold-hearted Paul Jones.

Ships poor enough were those we had to fight with. A little fleet of seven or eight small vessels, whose heaviest guns threw only nine-pound balls, and the most of them only six-pound. You could have thrown these yourself with one hand, though not so far. These were all we had at first to fight more than seventy British ships, with guns that threw eighteen-pound balls, and some still heavier. Do you not think it looked like a one-sided fight?

But the Americans had one great advantage. They had not many merchant ships and not much to lose upon the seas. On the other hand, the ocean swarmed with the merchant ships of England, and with the store ships bringing supplies of guns and powder and food to the armies on shore. Here were splendid prizes for our gallant seamen, and out of every port sailed bold privateers, or war-ships sent out by their owners, and not by the government, sweeping the seas and bringing in many a richly-laden craft.

Some of the best fighting of the war was done by these privateers. While they were hunting for merchant ships they often came across war-ships, and you can be sure they did not always run away. No, indeed; they were usually ready to fight, and during the war no less than sixteen war-vessels were captured by our ocean rovers. On the other hand, the British privateers did not capture a single American war-ship. As for merchant vessels, our privateers brought them in by the dozens. One fleet of sixty vessels set out from Ireland for the West Indies, and out of these thirty-five were gobbled up by our privateers, and their rich stores brought into American ports. During the whole war the privateers took more than seven hundred prizes. I might go on to tell you of some of their hard fights, but I think you would rather read the story of Paul Jones, the boldest and bravest of them all, the terror of the seas to the British fleet.

Paul Jones, you should know, was born in Scotland. But he made America his home. And as he was known to be a good sailor, he was appointed first lieutenant of the "Alfred," the flagship of our small fleet. He had the honor to be the first man to raise a flag on an American man-of-war, and that is something to be proud of. This took place on the "Delaware," at Philadelphia, about Christmas, 1775.

It was an important event for the fleet was just being sent out. At a given signal Lieutenant Jones grasped the halliards, and hauled up to the mizzen topmast a great flag of yellow silk. As it unfurled to the breeze cannon roared and crowds on the shore lustily cheered. In the centre of the flag was seen the figure of a green pine tree, and under this a rattlesnake lay coiled, with the warning motto, "Don't tread on me!"

This was the famous rattlesnake flag. Another flag was raised on which were thirteen stripes, in turns red and white, and in the corner the British union jack. We then had the stripes but not the stars. They were to come after the Declaration of Independence and the union of the states.

In August, 1776, Congress made Paul Jones captain of the brig "Providence," and he soon showed what kind of a man he was. He came across a fleet of five vessels, and made up his mind to capture the largest of them, which he thought to be a fine merchant ship. He got pretty close up before he learned his mistake. It was the British frigate "Solebay," strong enough to make mince-meat of his little brig. There was nothing for it but to run, and Captain Jones made haste to get away, followed by the "Solebay." But the Briton gained on the American, and after a four-hours' run the frigate was less than a hundred yards away. It might at any minute sink the daring little "Providence" by a broadside.

But Paul Jones was not the man to be caught. Suddenly the helm of the brig was put hard up, as sailors say, and the little craft turned and dashed across the frigate's bow. As it did so the flag of the republic was spread to the breeze, and a broadside from the brig's guns swept the frigate's deck. Then, with all sail set, away dashed the "Providence" before the breeze. As soon as the British got back their senses they fired all their guns at the brig. But not a ball hit her, and with the best of the wind she soon left the "Solebay" far behind.

And now I must tell the story of Paul Jones' greatest fight. In its way it was the greatest sea-fight ever known. It was fought with a fleet in which Jones sailed from a French port, for Congress had found what a hero they had in their Scotch sailor, and now they made him commodore of a fleet.

The flagship of this fleet was a rotten old log of a ship, which had sailed in the East India merchant service till its timbers were in a state of dry rot. It was a shapeless tub of a vessel, better fitted to lie in port and keep rabbits in than to send out as a battle-ship. Paul Jones named it the "Bon Homme Richard," which, in English means "Poor Richard." This was a name used by Benjamin Franklin for his almanac.

It was not until the summer of 1779 that Jones was able to set sail. His ship had thirty-six guns, such as they were, and he had with him three other ships under French officers—the "Alliance," the "Pallas," and the "Vengeance." Among his crew were a hundred American sailors, who had just been set free from English prisons. And his master's mate, Richard Dale, a man of his own sort, had just escaped from prison in England.

Away they went, east and west, north and south, around the British isles, seeking for the men-of-war which should have swarmed in those seas, but finding only merchant vessels, a number of which were captured and their crews kept as prisoners. But the gallant commodore soon got tired of this. He had come out to fight, and he wanted to find something worth fighting. At length, on September 23d, he came in view of a large fleet of merchant ships, forty-two in all, under the charge of two frigates, the "Serapis," of forty-two guns, and the "Countess of Scarborough," of twenty-two smaller guns.

Commodore Jones left the smaller vessel for his consorts to deal with, and dashed away for the "Serapis" as fast as the tub-like "Bon Homme Richard" could go. The British ship was much stronger than his in number and weight of guns, but he cared very little for that. The "Serapis" had ten 18-pound cannon in each battery, and the "Bon Homme Richard" only three. And these were such sorry excuses for cannon that two of them burst at the first fire, killing and wounding the most of their crews. After that Jones did all his fighting with 12 and 8-pound guns; that is, with guns which fired balls of these weights.

It was night when the battle began. Soon the 18-pounders of the "Serapis" were playing havoc with the sides of the "Bon Homme Richard." Many of the balls went clear through her and plunged into the sea beyond. Some struck her below the water level, and soon the rotten old craft was "leaking like a basket."

It began to look desperate for Jones and his ship. He could not half reply to the heavy fire of the English guns, and great chasms were made in the ship's side, where the 18-pound balls tore out the timbers between the port holes.

Captain Pearson of the "Serapis" looked at his staggering and leaking enemy, and thought it about time for the battle to end.

"Have you surrendered?" he shouted across the water to Commodore Jones.

"I have not yet begun to fight," was the famous answer of the brave Paul Jones.

Surrender, indeed! I doubt if that word was in Paul Jones' dictionary. He would rather have let his vessel sink. The ships now drifted together, and by Jones' order the jib-boom of the "Serapis" was lashed to his mizzen-mast. This brought the ships so close side by side that the English gunners could not open their ports, and had to fire through them and blow them off. And the gunners on both sides had to thrust the handles of their rammers through the enemy's port holes, in order to load their guns.

Affairs were now desperate. The "Bon Homme Richard" was on fire in several places. Water was pouring into her through a dozen rents. It seemed as if she must sink or burn. Almost any man except Paul Jones would have given up the fight. I know I should, and I fancy most of you would have done the same. But there was no give up in that man's soul.

One would think that nothing could have been worse, but worse still was to come. In this crisis the "Alliance," one of Jones' small fleet, came up and fired two broadsides into the wounded flagship, killing a number of her crew. Whether this was done on purpose or by mistake is not known. The French captain did not like Commodore Jones, and most men think he played the traitor.

And another bad thing took place. There were two or three hundred English prisoners on the "Bon Homme Richard," taken from her prizes. One of the American officers, thinking that all was over, set these men free, and they came swarming up. At the same time one of the crew tried to haul down the flag and he cried to the British for quarter. Paul Jones knocked him down by flinging a pistol at his head. He might sink or burn—but give up the ship? never!

The tide of chance now began to turn. Richard Dale, the master's mate, told the English prisoners that the vessel was sinking, and set them at work pumping and fighting the fire to save their lives. And one of the marines, who was fighting on the yard-arms, dropped a hand grenade into an open hatch of the "Serapis." It set fire to a heap of gun cartridges that lay below, and these exploded, killing twenty of the gunners and wounding many more, while the ship was set on fire. This ended the fight. The fire of the marines from the mast-tops had cleared the decks of the "Serapis" of men. Commodore Jones aided in this with the 9-pounders on his deck, loading and firing them himself. Captain Pearson stood alone, and when he heard the roar of the explosion he could bear the strain no longer. He ran and pulled down the flag, which had been nailed to the mast.

"Cease firing," said Paul Jones.

The "Serapis" was his. Well and nobly had it been won.

Never had there been a victory gained in such straits. The "Bon Homme Richard" was fast settling down into the sea. Pump as they would, they could never save her. Inch by inch she sank deeper. Jones and his gallant crew boarded the "Serapis," and at nine o'clock the next morning the noble old craft sank beneath the ocean waves, laden with honor, and with her victorious flag still flying. The "Serapis" was brought safely into port.

Captain Pearson had fought bravely, and the British ministry made him a knight for his courage.

"If I had a chance to fight him again I would make him a lord," said brave Paul Jones.

Never before or since has a victory been won under such desperate circumstances as those of Paul Jones, with his sinking and burning ship, his bursting guns, his escaped prisoners, and his treacherous consort. It was a victory to put his name forever on the annals of fame.

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