“Look, Captain, she’s sinking!”
Sure enough, the accurate fire from the British privateer had so riddled the hull of the Frenchman, that she fast filled with water, and sank, stern first, her men escaping in their small boats.
“That’s one less, anyway,” mused Captain Walker.
The remaining four continued the fight, but the little privateer was too much for them. Around and around she veered, broadsiding with astonishing accuracy, and knocking the spars about like a foot-ball team kicking a ball. “Pow! Pow!” the guns roared, and the men cried, “Remember the oath of our captain! Let’s take ’em all!”
It began to look as if they would do it, too; for, now upon the starboard quarter appeared the white sails of a vessel, and, as she approached, a joyous cheer arose from the deck of theBoscawen, for it was theSheerness.
“Now we’ll get ’em! Now we’ll get ’em!” yelled the British sailors, and they plied their guns with renewed activity and care.
Down came the flag upon one of the Frenchmen, and—in a few moments—down came another. Then, as theSheernessrolled closer, two more ensigns fluttered to the deck. There was but one Frenchman left, and she made off, with the newcomer hot in pursuit.
“Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!” The sailors onboard theBoscawenwere fairly jumping for joy. “Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!” they yelled.
And well might they cheer, for had they not won one of the pluckiest sea-fights of all history? The enemy is said to have had one hundred and thirteen killed and drowned, while the casualties of theBoscawenamounted to but one killed and seven wounded. “And this,” says an old chronicler of the spirited affair, “was due to the fact that the British privateer had a bulwark of elm-planking, man-high, around her deck. It was so fashioned that there was a step on which the marines could mount and fire, and then come down in order to load. Furthermore, this elm-wood did not splinter; but kept out the bullets, and closed up around the holes made by shot.”
At any rate, it was a glorious victory, and when—a few hours later—theSheernesscame back with the other French vessel a prize, the total capture amounted to six vessels: homeward bound traders from Martinique, provided with letters of marque, and with about six guns each. Their crews were undoubtedly undisciplined and ill-used to shooting, else how could they have done so badly with theBoscawen?
The prizes were headed for the English coast and arrived at King’s Road, Bristol, in a few days, where a swarm of eager sight-seers crowded about the shattered craft.
“My! My!” said many. “This Walker is another Drake. He is a valiant soul!”
And so thought the British Admiralty, for they sent him a letter (upon his reporting to them) which read:
“We cannot too highly congratulate and commend you upon the seamanship and courage which you have displayed in the capture of these French vessels. Your daring and ability should always make your name one to be revered by those Britishers who follow the sea. May your future career upon the ocean but add to the laurels which you have already won!”
And were they not right?
Seldom has such a feat been accomplished, and seldom has one vessel come off victorious against such odds. If you love a game warrior, cheer for George Walker, for he deserves it. If you are an admirer of the fighting quality in a man, give three times three for the privateersman who had the nerve to sail into eight vessels,—and won out.
So much, indeed, did the British owners of the privateer vessels think of Captain Walker, that he was now placed in command of four ships, known as “The Royal Family of Privateers,” for each was named after some member of the English royal family. These were thePrincess Amelia, of twenty-four guns and one hundred and fifty men: thePrince Frederickof twenty-six guns and two hundred and sixty men: theDukeof twenty guns and two hundred and sixty men; and theKing George, of thirty-two guns and three hundred men. This last boat was commanded by Walker, himself; theDukeby Edward Dottin, a staunch sailor; thePrince Frederickby Hugh Bromedge; and thePrincess Ameliaby Robert Denham. The entire squadron carried nearly a thousand men and one hundred and two guns, so, you see, thatit could do quite a little damage to the enemies of Merrie England.
Sailing in May, 1746, the squadron soon met with hard luck, for thePrince Frederickran upon a rock in Bristol Channel, and had to be left behind; for she was badly punctured below the water-line. The three others sailed for the coast of France, and—a week later—had a startling little adventure.
A heavy fog lay over the sobbing water, and the three English sea-robbers were gliding along within easy gun-shot of each other, when it was evident that they were near some other vessels. Voices came out of the mist, lights flashed (for it was near the close of day), and the wash of water could be heard, as the waves beat against solid oak planking.
“Egad!” whispered Captain Walker to one of his lieutenants. “Listen, my boy, and tell me whether these voices are French, Spanish, or English.”
The lieutenant held a speaking-trumpet to his ear.
Theswish,swishof water came to the eager senses of the anxious privateersman. That was all!
Captain Walker passed the word around among his men to be absolutely silent, and, as he strained his hearing, in order to catch the faintest sound from the strangers, suddenly he heard the sentence,
“Pressy! Chantez une chanson. Je vais me coucher.” (Sing a song, Pressy. I am going to bed.)
In a second the gallant Walker knew that, as once before, he was in the midst of some French vessels.
“Caught!” he whispered. “And I believe that they’re men-of-warsmen! Now we’re in a pretty pickle!”
His officers scowled.
“I know that they’re men-o’-warsmen,” said one, “for, just now, the fog lifted for a second, and I could make out—by their lights—that they were large gun-ships.”
Captain Walker looked dejected.
“The deuce,” said he.
But he soon regained his composure.
“Put every light out on board,” he ordered. “These fellows see us, for I hear them bearing over our way.”
Sure enough, from the swashing of water and glimmer of lights in the fog, it could be seen that the great lumbering men-of-war were closing in upon the privateer. But the Frenchmen had a human eel to capture and he was equal to the occasion.
“Bring up a couple of casks from below!” cried Captain Walker. They were soon on deck.
“Now put a lantern in one and lash them together,” he continued. “We’ll alter our course and skip, while the Frenchies will follow this light.”
The ruse worked magnificently, and, when morning dawned and the bright sun burned off the fog, the French men-of-war found themselves hovering around a couple of old casks with a lantern tied to the top; while Captain Walker in theKing Georgewas scudding along the French coast, many miles away. At which the French captain remarked,
“Sapristi! L’oiseau s’est envolé.” (Egad! The bird has flown!)
Not long after this “The Royal Family of Privateers” took some valuable prizes, and, having chased a small, French merchantman into the bay of Safia, in Morocco, Captain Walker determined to capture her at night, by sending a party against her in the long-boats. A second lieutenant was put in charge of this venture, and, at dark three tenders, crowded with armed seamen and propelled by muffled oars, started after the prize. As they neared the merchantman a hail came through the blackness:
“Qui est la?” (Who is there?)
No answer was made to this, but the boats kept straight on.
Crash! Bang!
A gun roared in the faces of the privateers, and shots came falling around them like hail-stones,—but still they kept on.
AgainCrash! Crash! Crash!
The Frenchmen were plying their guns right willingly, but the English sailors could not be stopped, and they neared the vessel under vigorous sweeps of the oars. The lieutenant in command was badly wounded, and was forced to lie in the bottom of his boat, but—in a few moments—the tenders were alongside the merchantman, and the sailors, with a wild yell, were clambering to her deck. There was a fierce hand-to-hand struggle, but nothing would gainsay the rush of the British tars. In twenty minutes the fight was all over and the vessel was towed out ofthe bay, in triumph, next morning. As she was a smart, little craft she was turned into a privateer in place of thePrince Frederick(which had run aground) and was christened thePrince George.
The “Royal Family” continued upon its way, made many captures, and—after eight months—put into the harbor of Lisbon with prizes and prize-money amounting to £220,000 (about $1,100,000). So you can see that privateering was a very lucrative trade in those days, when successfully pursued. Not a single man had been killed aboard the little fleet, but many had been severely wounded. The ships were overhauled, refitted, and, being joined by thePrince Frederick, amounted to six in number, for the vessel captured in the harbor of Safia had been converted into a full-fledged privateer. Now was to be one of the most gruelling sea-fights in which George Walker ever engaged.
In the month of October the squadron was cruising off of Lagos Bay, on the coast of Portugal, when a large sail was sighted at about five in the morning. ThePrincess Ameliawas at anchor in the harbor of Lagos, so Captain Walker sent a small sloop (a recent capture) after her to tell her to “Hurry up and get under way,” while he gave signal to the other vessels to chase the stranger at once. All started after the foreigner, who stood to the northward and could be seen to be crowding on all possible canvas. There were four ships in this merry little chase, but two of them—theDukeand thePrince George—dropped out, after about an hour’s run. They either could notget up, or else their captains grew tired of the affair.
On, on, went the other privateers, and—at about noon—Walker drew near the fugitive, in theKing George. ThePrince Frederick, with her twenty-six guns, was still some distance away, but Walker kept after the stranger, although he now saw that she was a large vessel,—much more powerful than theKing George, with her thirty-two guns and three hundred men. He was rapidly nearing the big fellow, when it grew suddenly calm, so that neither could move.
At this moment an ejaculation of astonishment burst from the lips of some of the officers aboard the saucyKing George.
“She’s a seventy-four!” cried several. “We’re in a tight hole!”
Sure enough, the pursued hoisted her colors, ran out her guns, and showed herself to be a man-of-warsman carrying seventy-four cannon: over double the amount of armament aboard the pluckyKing George.
“I can’t make out whether she’s Spanish or Portuguese,” said Captain Walker, gazing carefully at her drooping flag.
The colors hung down in the dead calm, and it was impossible to tell whether they were Spanish or Portuguese; for the two ensigns—at that period—were very similar.
The sea-warriors drifted along, eyeing each other, for about an hour, when the stranger ran in her lower deck-guns and closed her port-holes.
“She’s a treasure ship,” cried a sailor. “And she won’t fight if she can avoid it!”
Walker turned to his officers and asked,
“Gentlemen, shall we fight her?”
“Aye! Aye!” came from all. “She’s afraid of us!”
The vessel, in fact, was a treasure ship which had been recently chased by some English men-of-war and had already landed her treasure, to the value of about one million sterling (about $5,000,000). A slight breeze sprang up, at about five in the afternoon, and the big ship kept on her course; the gameyKing Georgefollowing, while the white sails of thePrince Frederickwere far astern, as the breeze had not yet struck her. So they swashed along, the Englishmen anxious for a fight, and a chance to overhaul the supposed treasure which the stranger was carrying. At eight o’clock theKing Georgewas struck by a favorable puff of wind, and came quite close to the seventy-four. It was time for battle.
“What ship is that?” hailed Captain Walker, in the Portuguese tongue. He was cleared for action and his men were all lying down at their quarters. There was no answer to his challenge.
“What ship is that?” he asked again; this time in English.
A voice came back,—also in English,
“And what ship may you be?”
“TheKing George.”
Crash! B-oo-m!
A thundering broadside belched from the side ofthe seventy-four, dismounting two guns on the port side of theKing George, and bringing the main topsail yard crashing to the deck. It was now bright moonlight, and in its radiance the flag of the stranger was seen to blow straight out, disclosing her nationality to be Spanish. She was theGlorioso: a strong and powerful vessel, ably officered and ably manned. She towered above the littleKing Georgelike a church-spire, and her broadsides now sputtered with great regularity.
Crash! Crash! Crash!
The sprightly littleKing Georgekept after the big warship like a sword-fish chasing a whale. She drew so close that some burning wads from the Spanish guns set fire to her mainsail. Continually hoping that thePrince Frederickwould come up, the gallant Walker hammered away at theGloriosowith furious precision, and drove her so near the rocks off Cape Vincent that the castle guns began to play upon the two grappling warriors of the sea. The British sea-captain fought and commanded with “a calmness peculiar to himself” and his example secured order and discipline even in the thickest of the fight, when the mainsail was set on fire. He was magnificent in action.
So the unequal struggle kept on. By half-past ten theKing Georgehad been so severely damaged aloft that she could not have escaped if she had tried. All the braces were shot away; the foremast was quite disabled; and the mainmast was badly splintered. Battered, torn, and distressed she kept banging awayat the great, towering Spaniard; while the big fellow ceased her fire somewhat, and ever now and again let go a broadside, like the blow from the mouth of a huge whale. It sounded like,Chu-spow!
ACTION BETWEEN THE “GLORIOSO” AND THE “KING GEORGE” AND “PRINCE FREDERICK” UNDER GEORGE WALKER.
But hurrah! hurrah! ThePrince Frederickhad at last caught the breeze, and came bouncing by, her little pennons fluttering like so many silk stockings on a clothes-line.
“Are you all well?” shouted her commander, as he neared the splinteredKing George. “You look as if you’re sinking.”
Captain Walker came to the rail with the speaking-trumpet in his hand.
“One killed and fifteen wounded,” he answered. “Now sail after that Spanish villain and take her, in revenge for all the damage that she has done me. She’s a treasure ship.”
“All right,” Captain Dottin called back, and he kept on after theGlorioso, which was now rapidly drawing away.
By the bright moonlight it could be seen that theDukeand thePrince Georgewere also approaching. And, when they came close enough to the maimed and batteredKing George, her captain called to them, “to keep on after the Spaniard, and catch the rascal.” They continued on their way, and, at daybreak the three vessels could be seen, through the glass, as they closed in upon the Spanish game-cock from three sides. “She’ll be ours before nightfall,” said Captain Walker, chuckling.
The headmost ship, apparently theDukeunderCaptain Dottin, could now be seen to hotly engage theGlorioso, which greatly displeased the captain of the dismantledKing George.
“Dottin will fire away all of his cartridges,” said he, turning to a few of his officers, who clustered around him. “He will shoot them all off at too great a distance, and will afterwards be obliged to load with loose powder, by which some fatal accident is sure to occur. He’s a brave fellow, but a rash one!”
He had scarcely spoken, when a broadside rang out. Simultaneously, with the discharge of the guns, a pillar of smoke and flame shot high into the air.
“Good Heavens, theDukehas blown up!” cried Captain Walker. “Dottin and his brave followers have found a watery grave!”
“It is merely the smoke of a broadside,” one of the officers interrupted.
“No! No!” answered Walker, dejectedly. “It’s the last that will ever be seen of noble Dottin and his men!”
The smoke now cleared away and no ship was to be seen upon the surface of the water. TheGloriosowas still-belching both smoke and flame, and near her were three sails, indistinctly seen through a haze of smoke and fog. Could it not have been theDuke, after all? “Vain thought,” cried bold Walker, aloud. “Our bravest and best ship has gone to the bottom.”
This terrible incident had such an effect upon the seamen of theKing Georgethat Captain Walker called the officers aside into the companionway, and there made them a speech.
“My brave men,” said he, “you must keep up an air of cheerfulness before these fellows of ours, for, otherwise they will be backward in fighting, and will not have the courage which we desire. Go among them and show no sign that you are lacking in pleasantry.”
As he ceased speaking there was a series of sudden explosions, mingled with cries of alarm.
“Gad zooks! What’s happened!” cried all, rushing to the deck.
They found matters in a sorry state, for the crew was in a panic; some clinging outside the ship; some climbing out upon the bowsprit, all ready to jump overboard should the vessel blow up.
Captain Walker was astonished. “Why, men!” said he. “What means this confusion?”
It was easily explained, for the alarm had been caused by a seaman who stepped upon a number of loaded muskets, which had been covered by a sail. One was fired off accidentally, and this exploded some spare ammunition, set the sail on fire, and completely demoralized the crew; who still were thinking of the sad tragedy which they had just witnessed. Order was quickly restored, the blazing sail was torn down and bucketed, and the terrified sailors came back to their posts. When men have their nerves shattered, it is easy to startle them.
But how about theGlorioso?
The fair-fighting Spaniard was far out of sight, by now, still whanging away at her many enemies, and still proudly flaunting the flag of Arragon in the facesof the British war-dogs, who were snapping and snarling at her like a wolf pack. What became of her was not known for several days, when the poor, batteredKing Georgestaggered into a sheltering harbor, there to meet with theDukeherself, which was Dottin’s good ship,—the one which all had thought to have exploded and sunk.
“Hurray!” shouted many. “She’s afloat after all!”
Eager questioning brought out the fact that it had been the frigateDartmouthwhich had exploded; a vessel which had run near the fight in order to see the fun. Some loose powder had set fire to her magazine, and thus she had suffered the same fate as theFleuron, which, as you remember, had blown up, when at anchor in the harbor of Brest.It’s a wise ship that keeps away from a sea battle.
Only seventeen of the crew of this unfortunate craft had been picked up by the boats of thePrince Frederick; one of whom was an Irish lieutenant named O’Brien, who was hauled aboard Dottin’s vessel, clad only in a night shirt.
“Sirrah!” said he, bowing politely. “You must excuse the unfitness of my dress to come aboard a strange ship, but really I left my own in such a hurry that I had no time to stay for a change.” He had been blown out of a port-hole!
An additional vessel, theRussel, had aided in the capture of the powerfulGlorioso, so it had taken four privateers to down the proud Castilian: theDuke, thePrince George, thePrince Frederick, and theRussel.Certainly she had put up a magnificent battle and she had completely crippled the stout little craft sailed by Captain Walker, who was now filled with chagrin and mortification, when he found that the treasure (which he had been sure was in the hold) had been safely landed at Ferrol, before he had sighted this valorous man-of-warsman. It was a great blow both to him and to his men, and, upon arriving at Lisbon he was met by one of the owners of his own vessel, who severely reprimanded him for fighting with such a powerful boat.
“Captain Walker,” said he, “I fear that your fighting blood is superior to your prudence!”
But to this, the game old sea-dog replied, with considerable heat:
“Had the treasure been aboard theGlorioso, as I expected, my dear sir, your compliment would have been far different. Or had we let her escape from us with the treasure aboard, what would you have said then?”
To these sage reflections the owner did not reply.
The honesty and courage of this able seaman were never questioned, and the following incident bears good witness to the first quality. Upon one occasion he was sailing for Lisbon in a well-armed privateer, when a couple of East India trading ships offered him £1,000 ($5,000) if he would act as their guard and protect them from the enemy.
“Gentlemen,” said he to the captain of these vessels, “I shall never take a reward for what I consider it my duty to do without one. I consider it my boundenduty to conduct you both safely into port, for you are both British ships, and I am engaged to fight the enemies of our King.”
So he convoyed them safely into port and would not take even the smallest present, in recompense for his services.
As a fighter he had no superior. War is simply glorified sport and those who are best trained athletically can usually win upon the battle-field. Did not Wellington say, “The battle of Waterloo was won upon the foot-ball grounds of Eton and Harrow?” Which was another way of saying that the boys who had learned to stand punishment upon the athletic field, could take it manfully and well upon the field of battle.
Walker believed in athletic exercise and made his sailors continually practice both gunnery and work with the cutlass. They were always in training and always prepared. That is the reason why they won. As you know, if you want to win in athletics you have to train hard and practice daily. If you want to win at warfare you have to do likewise. The most athletic nation is the nation which will win in the long fight, providing that it has sufficient resources and money to carry out a war, once that it has placed its men in the field. It takes a great deal of money to fight a war, but it takes trained men also, and those who are the most fit will win every time.
The English are an athletic nation, an island nation, and great numbers of her people have had to follow the sea as a matter of course. Hence Englandhas always had a vast quantity of well-trained seamen at her beck and call. For this reason she has been more successful upon the ocean than many of her neighbors. Will she continue to be?
If she continues to breed men like George Walker there is little reason to doubt that she will always be a winner in sea fighting.
As for this famous mariner, little is known of his later life save that he was once imprisoned for debt, but this was no disgrace in those times and I am sure that he was soon liberated. He died September 20th, 1777, but where he was buried is not known, nor is there any record of his marriage. At any rate he has left the reputation of a brave and valiant seaman who was beloved by his men, feared by his enemies, and appreciated by his contemporaries.
“Britannia’s glory first from ships arose;To shipping still her power and wealth she owes.Let each experienced Briton then impart,His naval skill to perfect naval art.”
“Britannia’s glory first from ships arose;To shipping still her power and wealth she owes.Let each experienced Briton then impart,His naval skill to perfect naval art.”
Their silvered swords are red with rust,Their pluméd heads are bowed;Their haughty banner, trailed in dust,Is now their martial shroud.And plenteous funeral tears have washedThe red stains from each brow,And the proud forms, by battle gashed,Are free from anguish now.Yon marble minstrel’s voiceless stoneIn deathless song shall tell,When many a vanished age hath flown,The story how ye fell:Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter’s blight,Nor Time’s remorseless gloom,Shall dim one ray of glory’s lightThat gilds your deathless tomb.
Their silvered swords are red with rust,Their pluméd heads are bowed;Their haughty banner, trailed in dust,Is now their martial shroud.And plenteous funeral tears have washedThe red stains from each brow,And the proud forms, by battle gashed,Are free from anguish now.
Yon marble minstrel’s voiceless stoneIn deathless song shall tell,When many a vanished age hath flown,The story how ye fell:Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter’s blight,Nor Time’s remorseless gloom,Shall dim one ray of glory’s lightThat gilds your deathless tomb.
From “The Army and Navy of the United States.”
From “The Army and Navy of the United States.”
AMERICAN PRIVATEER TAKING POSSESSION OF A PRIZE.
“Every generation has its own war. To forget the disagreeable is a characteristic of the human mind.”—The Philosopher.
“Every generation has its own war. To forget the disagreeable is a characteristic of the human mind.”—The Philosopher.
JOHN PAUL JONESTHE FOUNDER OF THE AMERICAN NAVY(1747-1792)
“Why! Shiver my bones! It’s John Paul Jones!Johnny the Pirate! Johnny should swing!Johnny who hails from Old Scotlant y’ know,Johnny who’s tryin’ to fight our good King.Shiver my Timbers! We’ll catch the old fox!Clew up those top-sails! Ware o’ th’ shoals!Fire ’cross his bow-lines! Steer for th’ rocks!Ease away on the jib-boom; shoot as she rolls!“Oh! Johnny, my Johnny, you’re slick as can be,But, Johnny, My John, you’ll be nipped present-ly.”
“Why! Shiver my bones! It’s John Paul Jones!Johnny the Pirate! Johnny should swing!Johnny who hails from Old Scotlant y’ know,Johnny who’s tryin’ to fight our good King.Shiver my Timbers! We’ll catch the old fox!Clew up those top-sails! Ware o’ th’ shoals!Fire ’cross his bow-lines! Steer for th’ rocks!Ease away on the jib-boom; shoot as she rolls!
“Oh! Johnny, my Johnny, you’re slick as can be,But, Johnny, My John, you’ll be nipped present-ly.”
—Song of the English Privateers.—1794.
AFRENCH frigate lay in the silvery water off Norfolk, Virginia, and, as she swung quietly upon her anchor chains, a small sloop came bobbing alongside. A hail arose from her stern, where sat a man of about twenty-eight years; of medium stature, strongly built and swarthy. He was dressed in the gray clothing of a Virginian planter.
“Hallo,” he shouted in very good French. “May I come aboard?”
“Certainement! Certainement!” cried a French officer, as he neared the rail. “Welcome, Monsieur Jones!”
And, as the Virginian farmer scrambled upon the deck, he was greeted most effusively by a handsome nobleman. It was Louis Philippe Joseph, Duke de Chartres; known as “the Sailor Prince of France.” The Virginian was John Paul Jones, of “Whitehaven” upon the river Rappahannock.
“I bring you delicacies of the season from my garden,” said the planter, smiling. “Some for you, and some for the commander—the Commodore de Kersaint. I trust that you will accept them, with my kindest regards. Meanwhile, I beg that you will give me leave to inspect your vessel and obtain information in regard to her plan, construction of the hull, arrangement of the batteries, her spars, her rig and other technical particulars. For, know you, Gentlemen, that war has just commenced between Great Britain and her Colonies and the newly-formed Marine Department of the Government will require a knowledge of ships and their construction. Partly for this I have visited you.”
Kersaint’s face grew sober.
“Monsieur Jones,” said he, “I have just heard the news from Lexington and I am the senior officer upon this coast. France is at peace with England. The situation for me is a delicate one. I must refuse to allow you to sketch any plans of my vessel.”
But the young Duke de Chartres looked upon the matter in a different light.
“You shall have all the assistance from me that you wish,” he cried. “I do not fear the displeasure of England.”
So the Virginian planter was allowed to obtain the most complete data of the new frigate, even to copies of deck plans and sail spread, which he caused his carpenter to make. John Paul Jones was the guest of the Frenchman for two or three days.
“And now you will visit my plantation,” said he, when the time came for him to leave. “Is it not so? For there I can repay some of the kindnesses which you have shown me.”
“That we cannot do,” replied the French commander. “It would be most impolitic for us to accept entertainment ashore from persons known to be hostile to King George. But we thank you, exceedingly, for your kind offer.”
So John Paul Jones proceeded alone to his plantation, and the French warship sailed for Corunna, Spain, after firing one gun as a salute to the new-born nation.
The son of a Scotch gardener of Arbigland, Parish of Kirkbean, the youthful farmer had emigrated to America, where his brother owned the large plantation upon which he now resided. He found his kinsman dying of what was then called lung fever—in our time pneumonia—and, as he willed him his Virginian possessions, Jones was soon residing upon “3,000 acres of prime land, on the right bank of the Rappahannock; 1,000 acres cleared and under plough, or grass; with 2,000 acres of strong, first-growth timber.” He had a grist-mill; a mansion; overseer’s houses; negro quarters; stables; tobacco houses; threshing floors; thirty negroes of all ages; twentyhorses and colts; eighty neat cattle and calves; and many sheep and swine. Thus lived the future sea-captain; in peace, plenty, and seclusion, at the outbreak of the American Revolution.
John Paul Jones had gone to sea at the early age of twelve. As a master’s apprentice upon the stout brigFriendship, he had sailed from Scotland to the North American Colonies, the West Indies, and back again. He had kept to his seaman’s life, and—so improved in knowledge of his profession—that he became second mate; then first mate; then Captain. At twenty-one he had amassed a fortune of about one thousand guineas ($5,000) in gold,—then equal, in purchasing power, to three times this sum. Besides this he had studied French and Spanish assiduously, so that he could speak the first like a native. It was to be of great help to the ambitious mariner. And he had plenty of nerve, as the following incident bears full witness:
Upon one of his many voyages, the crew was reduced, by fever, to five or six hands. One of them was a huge mulatto named Munro—or “Mungo”—Maxwell. They became mutinous, and, as Captain Jones was the only officer who could keep the deck, it was found necessary to subdue the refractory seaman.
“Will you obey my orders?” cried Jones, picking up a belaying pin.
“You go sit down,” cried Maxwell. “I no like you.Pish!I could kill you with one crack.”
John Paul Jones did not answer, but walkingtowards the big black, he struck him just one blow with his pin. “Mungo” dropped to the deck and lay there. He never rose again.
Upon arriving at port, Captain Jones surrendered to the authorities, and asked for a trial. It was given him.
“Captain Paul,” asked the Judge, “are you, in conscience, satisfied that you used no more force than was necessary to preserve discipline on your ship?”
“May it please the most Honorable Court, Sir,” answered the doughty seaman, “it became imperative to strike the mutinous sailor, Maxwell. Whenever it becomes necessary for a commanding officer to hit a seaman, it is also necessary to strike with a weapon. I may say that the necessity to strike carries with it the necessity to kill, or to completely disable the mutineer. I had two brace of loaded pistols in my belt, and could easily have shot him. I struck with a belaying pin in preference, because I hoped that I might subdue him without killing him. But the result proved otherwise. I trust that the Honorable Court and the jury will take due account of the fact that, though amply provided with pistols throwing ounce balls, necessarily fatal weapons, I used a belaying pin, which, though dangerous, is not necessarily a fatal weapon.”
The judge smiled and Captain Paul was acquitted.
The famous Lord Nelson once said: “A naval officer, unlike a military commander, can have no fixed plans. He must always be ready forthechance. It may come to-morrow, or next week, or next year,or never; but he must bealways ready!” Nunquam non Paratus. (Never unprepared.)
Paul Jones kept a copy of this maxim in his head. He was always in training; always on thequi vive; always prepared. And—because he was always prepared—he accomplished what would seem to be the impossible.
Shortly placed in command of a sloop-of-war, theAlfred(one of the four vessels which constituted the American Navy), Lieutenant Jones assisted in an expedition against Fort Nassau, New Providence Island, in the Bahamas, which was a complete and absolute failure. On the way home, and when passing the end of Long Island, his boat was chased by the twenty-gun sloop-of-warGlasgow. The long shot kicked up a lot of spray around the fleet American vessel, but it was of no use. Jones got away and sailed into Newport Harbor, Rhode Island, with sails full of holes and stern-posts peppered with lead. But he was created a Captain; placed in command of theProvidence—sloop-of-war, fourteen guns and one hundred and seven men—and soon harried the seas in search of fighting and adventure. With him were two faithful negro boys—Cato and Scipio—who followed him through the many vicissitudes of the Revolutionary War.
The seas traversed by theProvidencewere full of English cruisers—superior in size to the saucy American—but inferior in alertness and resources of her commander and her crew. She captured sixteen vessels—of which eight were sent to port and eightwere destroyed at sea. Twice she was chased by British frigates, and, on one of these occasions, narrowly escaped capture.
As the little sloop was running into one of the many harbors of the coast, a fast-sailing frigate bore down upon her from the starboard quarter.
Whang!
Her bow-guns spoke and said “Heave to!”
But Captain Jones had heard this call before, and kept on upon his course.
“She’s got me,” said he. “But, as the breeze is fresh I may run away. Stand ready, Boys, and let go your tackle immediate, when I give the command!”
The helm was now put hard-up and theProvidencecrept into the wind. Closer and closer came the brig—now her bow-guns sputtered—and a shot ricochetted near the lean prow of theProvidence. But the sloop kept on.
Suddenly—just as the brig drew alongside—Paul Jones swung his rudder over, wore around in the wind, and ran dead to leeward.
“Watch her sniffle!” cried the gallant Captain, as the brigchug-chuggedon the dancing waves, and, endeavoring to box short about, came up into the wind. But fortune favored the American skipper. Just then a squall struck the Englishman; she lost steering way; and hung upon the waves like a huge rubber ball, while her Captain said things that cannot be printed.
When in this condition, Jones ran his boat within half gun-shot, gave her a dose of iron from one ofhis stern-guns, and—before the frigate could get squared away—was pounding off before the wind, which was the sloop’s best point of sailing.
“Well,” said the crafty John Paul, his face wreathed in smiles. “If the frigate had simply followed my manœuver of wearing around under easy helm and trimming her sails as the wind bore, I could not have distanced her much in the alteration of the course, and she must have come off the wind very nearly with me, and before I could get out of range.
“I do not take to myself too great credit for getting away. I did the best that I could, but there was more luck than sense to it. A good or bad puff of wind foils all kinds of skill one way or the other—and this time when I saw the little squall cat’s-pawing to windward—I thought that I would ware ship and see if the Britisher wouldn’t get taken aback. The old saying that ‘Discretion is the better part of valor’ may, I think, be changed to ‘Impudence is—or may be, sometimes—the better part of discretion.’”
Two kinds of news greeted the slippery sailor when he arrived in port. One was a letter from Thomas Jefferson, enclosing his commission as Captain in the Continental Navy, by Act of Congress. The other—an epistle from his agents in Virginia, informing him that, during the month of July previous, his plantation had been utterly ravaged by an expedition of British and Tories (Virginians who sided with England in the war) under Lord Dunmore. His buildings had all been burned; his wharf demolished; his livestock killed; and every one of his able-bodied slavesof both sexes had been carried off to Jamaica to be sold. The enemy had also destroyed his growing crops; cut down his fruit trees; in short, nothing was left of his once prosperous and valuable plantation but the bare ground.
“This is part of the fortunes of war,” said Jones. “I accept the extreme animosity displayed by Lord Dunmore as a compliment to the sincerity of my attachment to the cause of liberty.”
Bold words, well spoken by a bold man!
“But,” continued the able sailor, “I most sadly deplore the fate of my poor negroes. The plantation was to them a home, not a place of bondage. Their existence was a species of grown-up childhood, not slavery. Now they are torn away and carried off to die under the pestilence and lash of Jamaica cane-fields; and the price of their poor bodies will swell the pockets of English slave-traders. For this cruelty to those innocent, harmless people, I hope sometime, somehow, to find an opportunity to exact a reckoning.”
Again bold sentiments,—and the reckoning, too, was forthcoming.
“I have no fortune left but my sword, and no prospect except that of getting alongside of the enemy,” wrote the impoverished sea-captain to a Mr. Hewes.
This prospect also was to soon have ample fulfilment.
Ordered to take command of theAlfred, Captain Jones made a short cruise eastward, in 1776,accompanied by the staunch littleProvidence. The journey lasted only thirty-three days, but, during that time, seven ships of the enemy fell into the clutches of the two American vessels.
“Aha!” cried Captain Jones, as he rubbed his hands. “This looks more propitious for our cause. We have taken theMellishand theBiddeford. Let us break into them and see how much of the King’s treasure has been secured.”
And it was indeed good treasure!
TheMellishwas found to contain ten thousand complete uniforms, including cloaks, boots, socks and woollen shirts, for the winter supply of General Howe’s army; seven thousand pairs of blankets; one thousand four hundred tents; six hundred saddles and complete cavalry equipments; one million seven hundred thousand rounds of fixed ammunition (musket cartridges); a large quantity of medical stores; forty cases of surgical instruments; and forty-six soldiers who were recruits sent out to join the various British regiments then serving in the Colonies.
The larger prize—theBiddeford—carried one thousand seven hundred fur overcoats for the use of the Canadian troops; eleven thousand pairs of blankets, intended partly for the British troops in Canada, and partly for the Indians then in British pay along the northern frontier; one thousand small-bore guns of the type then known as the “Indian-trade smooth-bore,” with hatchets, knives, and boxes of flint in proportion, to arm the redskins. There were eight light six-pounder field guns and complete harness andother equipage for the two four-gun batteries of horse-artillery. Also some wines and table supplies for Sir Guy Carleton and a case of fine Galway duelling pistols for a British officer then serving in Canada.
“These I will appropriate as mine own portion,” cried Captain Jones. “And also a share of the wines, for I must have something to drink the health of mine enemy in.” And—so saying—he chuckled gleefully. It had been a rich haul.
But the Captain was not happy. His pet project was to cruise in European waters, and he wanted to get near the British coast with a ship—or better—a squadron of some force.
“Cruises along the American coast,” said he, “will annoy the enemy and result in capture of small ships and consorts from time to time. But who—forsooth—will hear of this in Europe? We will add nothing to our prestige as a new nation if we win victories upon this side of the ocean.”
All who heard him were much impressed by the vehement earnestness of his arguments.
“You have had so much success, Mr. Jones,” said they, “that we feel you will have still greater good fortune in future years.”
And Jones said to himself: “Oh, if I only could get the chance!”
It soon came, for on June the 14th, 1777, the Continental Congress passed the following resolution:
“Resolved:That Captain John Paul Jones be appointed to command the shipRanger” (a brand-newsloop-of-war which had just been launched at Portsmouth, N. H.).
This boat was designed to carry a battery of twenty long six-pounders and was planned expressly for speed. She was one hundred and sixteen feet long, twenty-eight feet in breadth, and her bottom was covered with copper: the first American ship to be thus protected. Captain Jones put fourteen long nine-pounders in her and only four six-pounders, but even then she was top-heavy.
In spite of the fact that it was not quite safe to carry full sail, if clearing to windward, close-hauled in squally weather; when running free—before the wind—she could course through the water like a jack-rabbit. In outward appearance she was a perfect beauty, and, as she was rather low in the water for her length, and her masts raked two or three degrees more than any other ship of the day, she was—on the whole—the sauciest craft afloat. Jones was delighted.
“I have the best crew I have ever seen,” said he. “I believe it is the best in the world. They are nearly all native Americans, and the proportion of able seamen to the total is much beyond the average. I’m going to make one or two short runs off the coast—a day or two at a time—to shake down the sails and find the best trim of the ship. Then away to the shores of England and France!”
He waited impatiently for orders to proceed across the blue Atlantic. On October the 18th, 1777, a courier raced frantically into Portsmouth, crying,
“Burgoyne has surrendered! Burgoyne has surrendered!” And Jones’ impatience to be off increased ten-fold.
There were no details of the American victory, for the courier had reached the sleepy New England town from the field of Stillwater, in about thirty hours, and it was one hundred and forty-seven miles—as the crow flies—or, about one hundred and seventy-five by the shortest road. He had stopped only long enough to saddle a fresh horse and shift his saddle, eating his meals in the stirrups, and never thinking of rest until he had shouted his tidings for three full days. The patriot country was wild with enthusiasm.
“I will spread the news in France in thirty days,” said Jones, when his dispatches were placed in his hands, about midnight of October the thirty-first. And, running by the whirling eddies of “Pull-and-be-damned” Point, he soon had theRangerclear of the low-lying Isle of Shoals: the sea cross and choppy, but the good ship bowling along before a fresh gale of wind.
“I had sailed with many Captains,” writes Elijah Hall, second Lieutenant of the staunch, little vessel, “but I never had seen a ship crowded as Captain Jones drove theRanger. The wind held northeasterly and fresh ’til we cleared Sable Island and began to draw on to the Banks. Then it came northeast and east-northeast with many snow squalls, and thick of nights.”
Imagine the situation of theRanger’s crew, witha top-heavy, cranky ship under their feet, and a Commander who day and night insisted on every rag she could stagger under, without laying clear down!
As it was, she came close to beam-ends more than once, and on one occasion righted only by letting-fly her sheets cut with hatchets. During all this trying work Captain Jones was his own navigating officer, keeping the deck eighteen or twenty hours out of the twenty-four; often serving extra grog to the men with his own hands; and, by his example, silencing all disposition to grumble. In the worst of it, the watch and watch was lap-watched, so that the men would be eight hours on to four off; but no one complained. It speaks well alike for commander and crew that not a man was punished or even severely reprimanded during the terrific voyage.
But Captain Jones made good his boast. He actually did land at Nantes—upon the coast of France—early in the morning of December second, 1777, thirty-two days out from Portsmouth. His crew were jubilant, and sang a song which ran: