  It was on the first day of September that the Providence sighted a large ship, which was mistaken for an Indiaman, homeward bound. She proved to be the Solebay, frigate, with twenty guns mounted on one deck. On seeing the Providence, the Solebay made for her, and the sloop had to take to her heels. But the Solebay proved to be a magnificent sailer on the wind, and the Providence had evidently more than her match in speed. The Providence, small as she was, had cleared for action, for, as Paul Jones declared, “I will give her one round, if I go to the bottom for it.” The men highly approved of this sentiment, and the little four-pounders were run out to salute the flag the Providence carried—because her fire was little more than a salute. The day was warm and clear, and the breeze fresh. The little Providence was legging it briskly over the water, but the Solebay gained upon her every hour. The chase had begun about noon, and by four o’clock the frigate was within pistol shot. Paul Jones was on the horse block of his little vessel, and Bill Green was at the wheel. Danny Dixon had gravely prepared for action upon the sly hints given by his friend and patron, Bill. The boy had stripped to the waist, and, wrapping a handkerchief about his head, instead of his hat, was all ready to take his place at the head of the line of powder boys. As the frigate gained more and more on the little Providence, every heart sank except that of the dauntless captain. Paul Jones, however, remained calm, and even confident. “Look,” said he, “their guns in broadside are fast. They think they can take us by firing a bow chaser, but they are mistaken. What would be easier than to bear away before the wind under their broadside?” The Providence had all her light canvas set, and was flying like a bird from her pursuer; but the pursuer was nevertheless perceptibly gaining. “We will show our ensign as well as give her a volley,” cried Paul Jones gayly, and the next moment the American colors fluttered out. To their surprise, the Solebay now hoisted American colors too. “Lying, lying,” said Paul Jones, turning to his officers. “Would that we had such a vessel in our little navy! She is British, depend upon it. Her lines tell it too plainly.” The Solebay though imagining that she was weathering on the chase and sure to capture the saucy American, soon hauled down her American colors and ran up the Union Jack. The officers saw by the light in Paul Jones’s eyes that he still had a trump card to play. All this time he was walking the quarter-deck with his light and springy step, his face wearing a smile. Presently he called out himself to Bill Green, at the wheel: “Give her a good full, quartermaster.” “A good full, sir,” replied Bill in a sailor’s musical singsong. Paul Jones then ordered the square sails and then the studding sails set. “Hooray for Cap’n Paul Jones!” The next moment the helm was put up, and before the astonished people on the Solebay knew what was happening, the American sloop of war ran directly under her enemy’s broadside and went off dead before the wind. The keen eyes of Paul Jones had noticed that in the Solebay’s fancied certainty of capturing the American she had not even cast loose and manned her batteries in broadside, thinking a shot or two from her bow guns would bring the Providence to when she was overhauled. But the Providence had a captain the like of which the Solebay had never met before, and he could dare and do unlooked-for things. In vain the frigate came about in haste and confusion. Her prey was gone, and the Americans were cheering and jeering. “Boy,” said Bill Green in a hoarse whisper to Danny Dixon, who was passing near him: “I can’t do no cheerin’ at the wheel, so you cheer for me; and if you don’t pipe up as loud as the best of ’em I’ll tan your hide for you the wust you ever see, jest as soon as my relief comes.” Danny was disposed to cheer anyhow, but Bill Green’s promise of a licking in case he did not do his full duty in the matter, tended to encourage him. He took his stand by the foremast and a series of diabolical whoops and yells resounded. “Hooray!” bawled Danny. “Hooray for Cap’n Paul Jones! Hooray for the Providence! Hooray for Mr. Bill Green! Hooray for the powder monkeys on this ’ere ship!” and so on indefinitely. “What is that youngster yelling?” asked Paul Jones, laughing at the gravity and persistence with which Danny kept up his performance. One of the officers went up to him, and returned laughing too: “He says, sir, that Green, the quartermaster, told him to hurrah, and if he doesn’t keep it up he is afraid Green will give him the cat.” Everybody laughed, and they agreed the best plan was to let Danny and the quartermaster settle it between them. Danny hurrahed for a solid half hour, until Green’s relief came. The old sailor then went up to him, grinning. “You can shet that potato-trap o’ yourn now,” he said, “and I’ll take a turn myself,” whereupon Bill, inflating his lungs, roared out solemnly: “Three cheers for Cap’n Paul Jones!” “Hooray! hooray! hooray!” piped Danny Dixon’s shrill treble. Paul Jones’s daring exploit still further increased the respect that his officers and men felt, and they showed it in a hundred ways. Three weeks now passed, and the Providence steered to the northern seas. One day, off Cape Sable, in Nova Scotia, the weather being brilliantly clear, Bill Green and others of the men asked permission to catch for their mess some of the fish that abounded. As they had been on salt provisions for a long time, Paul Jones readily gave the desired permission, and the ship was hove to. A sharp lookout was kept, however, but nothing occurred to disturb the men in their amusement, until toward afternoon, when a sail was made out to windward of them. Instantly the fishing came to a stop, and the Providence, setting some of her light sails, waited for the stranger on an easy bowline. As the ship approached, Paul Jones plainly saw that she was no such sailer as the Solebay, and thought he could amuse himself with her. “That vessel, I take it,” he remarked to his first lieutenant, “is the Milford frigate. I have expected to fall in with her, and we can outfoot her, that is clear.” The Milford, however, began to chase. When she got within cannon shot Paul Jones doubled on her quarter; when, seeing he had the advantage of her in speed, he began to lead her a wild-goose chase. For eight hours the pursuit continued, the Providence keeping just out of range of the cannonade which the Milford kept up unceasingly, wasting in it enormous quantities of powder and shot. Paul Jones was much too astute to throw away any of his ammunition in a perfectly useless cannonade, but as he said, “I can not be so rude as to receive a salute without returning it.” Turning to his marine officer, he said: “Direct one of your men to load his musket, and as often as the Milford salutes our flag with her great guns, we will reply with a musket shot at least.” The officer, smiling, went after his man, and stationed him on the quarter-deck. The next time the slow-sailing frigate thundered out a tremendous volley, the marine, with his musket at his shoulder, stood ready for the word. The officer called out, “Fire!” and the marine banged away at the frigate amid the uproarious laughter and cheering of the American sailors. This was kept up for an hour or two, when, a good breeze springing up, the Providence set all her canvas and ran off, leaving the Milford completely in the lurch. They had another brush with the Milford before the cruise was up. Captain Jones had captured a fine ship, the Mellish, loaded with clothing, which was badly needed by the army of Washington. While convoying her, and with his ship filled with prisoners taken from other prizes, he ran across the Milford. The frigate immediately gave chase. As it was night, Captain Jones set lights at his topmast, and everywhere a light could be put, while the Mellish, with her valuable cargo, carried no lights at all, and slipped off in the darkness. When day broke, Captain Jones found that the Mellish was not in sight, while the Milford was crowding on sail to overhaul him. But the little Providence again showed a clean pair of heels, and some days afterward the Mellish was brought in, to the great rejoicing of the patriotic army. |
|
