The little Ariel, unable to show a single sail, staggered along, trembling and shuddering like a human thing in mortal terror and agony. The frightful buffeting of the waves had opened her seams, and water poured into her both from below and above. The shrieking of the wind through her cordage was like the howling of a thousand fiends. The guns broke loose from their fastenings, and rolled over the decks with a reverberation like the thunder which roared overhead. All night long this lasted, and no officer or man left his post that night or closed his eyes to sleep. The pumps were kept going, and every effort was made to bring the ship’s head to the wind, but in vain.
It seemed as if Paul Jones was everywhere during those appalling hours of the night, always calm, cool, and unruffled. “We are in the hands of the good God,” he said to his men, “and if we have to meet Death, we might as well meet him with a bold face as a sheepish one.”
As the guns rolled about the deck, adding a new horror and a new danger to that of rocks and waves and storm, Dale, who had the deck, turned to Paul Jones and said coolly:
“Commodore, what shall we do about these guns?”
“We can not afford to throw them overboard,” answered Paul Jones; “we may have to fight the British by the time this storm is over. The Nonesuch may not weather it, nor may we; this may be our last night of life, but if we should survive, and should meet the Nonesuch, both of us would make a shift to fight.”
Dale said no more. As the ship would lurch forward into a black abyss, while above her hissed a mountain of water, the phosphorescent glare would cast a pale and unearthly light upon the horrors that encompassed her. The officers regarded her as a doomed ship, but the men had an unshaken confidence in the seamanship of their commander. In after years Dale declared: “Never saw I such coolness and readiness in such frightful circumstances as Paul Jones showed in the nights and days when he lay off the Penmarques, expecting every moment to be our last, and the danger was greater even than that we were in on the Bon Homme Richard when we fought the Serapis.”
In the last extremity Paul Jones let go sea anchors in the open ocean. There the tortured ship rolled and pitched, her lower yardarms often buried in the water, and unable, even with the help of all the anchors, to get her head round to the wind. Toward three o’clock in the morning Paul Jones shouted out the order he was never known to give before—for he was averse to cutting away spars and throwing guns or stores overboard—“Make ready, Mr. Dale, to cut away the foremast!”
The boatswain’s whistle could not be heard amid the confusion and the uproar, but Dale called to Bill Green, and in a few minutes the sailors were hacking the stout foremast away. It fell over the side with a frightful crash, and was swallowed up instantly. The helm was then put hard-a-lee, and the ship came up to the wind. But the mainmast was pitched out of the step and reeled about like a drunken man. As the great spar pounded the lower deck every soul on board expected it to crash through the ship’s bottom. At last Paul Jones ordered that, too, to be cut away, but before this could be done the chain plates gave way and the mast broke short off at the gun deck, taking the mizzenmast with it. The mizzenmast carried away the quarter gallery, and the scene of wreck was dreadful. The Ariel, now a dismasted hulk, rolled helplessly in the trough of the sea. Nothing more could be done but to keep the pumps going and to await their fate.
Something of the indomitable spirit of Paul Jones seems to have inspired every man under him, for he afterward spoke of the steady, composed courage of his officers and men.
Two days and three nights did he spend in the midst of these horrors, and when, on the 12th of October, the gale abated so that jury masts could be rigged, the ship was almost a wreck. But it was not destined that Paul Jones should perish on the ocean, and so he, without the loss of a single man, made his way back to L’Orient. It was considered the worst storm of the century, and the shores of Europe were strewed with wrecks and dead bodies for days and weeks afterward.
So severe was the damage done the Ariel, that she was not able to leave port again for America until the 18th of December. As she carried a very valuable cargo of arms, besides important dispatches, and was weakly armed, Paul Jones was directed by Dr. Franklin, who was still the representative of America in France, to avoid rather than seek a conflict with the enemy. To a man of Paul Jones’s temperament these directions were almost impossible to follow. But fortunately for Dr. Franklin, and perhaps fortunately for Paul Jones’s enemies, he had no serious encounter until he was near the Island of Barbadoes. He had chosen the southern passage, because his enemies expected him to take the usual northern passage.
On a warm afternoon in the latter part of January, as the Ariel was proceeding under a fair wind, a remarkably fast sailing frigate was observed approaching on the opposite tack. The Ariel was deep in the water with her heavy stores, and as Paul Jones appreciated the necessity for prudence, he rather wished to avoid speaking the stranger, as she was tolerably certain to be a British ship.
The officers were all on deck examining the frigate, when Paul Jones, who had his glass to his eye, turned to them and said, smiling:
“I am sorry to disappoint you, gentlemen, but I don’t think we can ‘see’ her. She is too heavy for us, and sails too well. It is not our own lives and fortunes that we would stake, but the arms for the soldiers of Washington, and that would be an irreparable loss if we were captured. So we must cut and run for it.”
The officers at once saw the wisdom of this, although they would have dearly liked a brush with the beautiful frigate. Dale, however, in turning around, caught sight of Bill Green, with Danny Dixon by his side, and both of them on the broad grin. Bill’s mouth was literally stretched from ear to ear.
“What is it, Green?” asked Dale, who was a great favorite with the veteran quartermaster, “what are you smiling at?”
“I ain’t a-smilin’, sir,” replied Bill, showing every tooth in his mouth in a perfectly phenomenal grin, while Danny openly “snickered” behind his hand.
“What are you doing then?” inquired Dale, smiling in spite of himself.
“Well, then, sir, since you axes me,” replied Bill, trying to look very solemn, and putting up his hand to conceal his laughter, “the cap’n says as he ain’t got no notion o’ fightin’ that ’ere craft. I reckon hethinkshe ain’t, but if Cap’n Paul Jones kin come within range o’ a British ship without takin’ a shot at her, why, sir, my name ain’t Bill Green, and I ain’t never see Cap’n Paul Jones. That’s all, sir.” At which Bill ended with a suppressed guffaw, and Dale himself winked knowingly.
“Be careful what you say of the captain,” said Dale, with another wink; “he’s got no notion of fighting. She’s too heavy for us, and you know the captain never tackles a ship that’s too heavy for him,” and Dale winked prodigiously at every word he uttered.
“That’s true, sir,” grinned Bill, “but if you’ll excuse a old fellow, Mr. Dale, I see you has on a new uniform, sir, and I’d be advisin’ of you to git out your old clo’es, because it jest might happen, sir, that the Britisher might fire at us; and then, axerdentally, sir, somebody might pull a lockstring, and the port might be open, sir, and the shot might hit the Britisher, and then, without the cap’n a-wantin’ it, as knowin’ as how the enemy was too heavy for him, he might have to fight agin his will. ’Tain’t ornlikely, sir, that somethin’ might come of it, and the cap’n mayhaveto fight, sir, though he mortially hates to.”
Dale passed on laughing, went below, and took Bill Green’s advice; he took off his new undress uniform, and put on another one rather the worse for wear. Just as he was finishing his toilet, Danny Dixon tapped at the door of his cabin.
“If you please, sir, the cap’n sends his compliments, and wants to see you on deck.”
In a few moments Dale was on deck. As he walked up to Paul Jones, the captain said:
“I looked about for you, and my boy told me you had gone below to shift.”
“Yes,” answered Dale, with a gleam in his eyes. “We know that you don’t care to tackle that ship; she’s too heavy for us, and you never like to fight except when you are on an equality; but all the same, as Bill Green says, ‘something may come of it,’ so I went below to take off my uniform, which is a little too good to wear upon such an occasion asmayarise.”
Paul Jones looked sternly at Dale for a moment, and then, in spite of himself, burst out laughing.
Nevertheless, the Ariel carried all sail to escape the ship, which was now evidently pursuing. As darkness came on the Ariel seemed to be gaining, and during the night watches the officers reported that she was completely out of sight. Just as the darkness melted into dawn, however, Paul Jones, who had been on deck several times during the night, appeared, and as the faint gray of the early light illumined the sky he pointed astern. There was the frigate, flying a British ensign, and not more than a mile away.
Without drumbeat, or any noise whatever, the Ariel was cleared for action. She was not sailing her best, owing to her deeply laden condition, and Paul Jones ordered everything thrown overboard that could impede her sailing and fighting qualities. This so much improved the sailing of the ship that she now stretched her legs in earnest. Everybody on board felt perfectly certain that the captain meant to fight, but as the frigate was now plainly pursuing the American sloop of war, Paul Jones wished to test the sailing and manœuvring of his ship under her lighter conditions before engaging. This conduct evidently puzzled the frigate, and the state of uncertainty was further increased by the Ariel hoisting British colors, but occasionally firing a stern chaser as she ran away. At last, toward night, Paul Jones, having made all his preparations, the Ariel hauled up her mainsail, took in her royal yards, and waited for her enemy. She had not yet hoisted her American colors, but her batteries were lighted up and her ports open.
“Why, Green,” said Dale, passing him, as Danny Dixon appeared with a string of battle lanterns ready to be lighted, “it looks as if we were going to have a brush, after all.”
“It do, sir,” answered Bill solemnly. “The cap’n mortially hated it, and it do seem funny he couldn’t help it when the ship was gittin’ over the water so much faster than she was in the beginnin’. It puzzles me, it do,” he added, shaking his head waggishly.
The two ships were now within hail. It was Paul Jones’s intention to send up the American ensign as soon as the enemy had got near enough to recognize it in the fast gathering gloom, but the sailor who had hoisted the British ensign had not taken care to make fast the other end of the halyards, so as to draw it down rapidly, and there was some difficulty in getting the British colors down and the American colors up. This enabled the British ship to range up close under the lee quarter of the Ariel.
The short tropical twilight was fast deepening into night, but a brilliant moon trembled in the heavens, and the dark-blue dome was flecked with stars. The two ships lay close to each other, like phantom ships upon the water, but the light from their lanterns and batteries glowed redly.
In the midst of a deathlike silence Lieutenant Lunt’s voice rang out the questions given him in a whisper by Paul Jones, who stood near him.
“Ship ahoy! What ship is that?” asked Lunt.
“His Majesty’s ship Triumph,” replied the British captain.
“Of how many guns?” asked Lunt.
Everybody awaited the answer to this in breathless silence. There was a long pause, and Lunt repeated his question.
The answer came back purposely unintelligible. Officers and men cast significant glances around. That meant the British ship was ready to fight if the stranger should prove an enemy.
“What is the name of your captain?” was next asked.
“Captain John Pindar.”
“Any news from the rebels?” asked Lunt.
This threw the British captain off his guard, particularly as the sailor had not yet been able to get the British colors down, and they were still flying. Captain Pindar came to the rail of the Triumph and gave a long account of affairs in America, which were progressing badly for the British. After all the information possible had been obtained, most of which was highly satisfactory to the Americans, Paul Jones himself called out:
“Put out your boat and come on board, bringing your commission, so that I can see whether you are really in the British navy or not.”
At this Captain Pindar’s suspicions were excited, and it was some moments before he replied:
“You have not told me who you are, and, besides, my boat is leaky.”
Just then the British colors came down and the American ensign was hoisted.
“Look at my ensign,” cried Paul Jones, “and consider the danger of refusing.”
To this the British captain pluckily replied:
“I will answer for twenty guns on my ship, and I and every one of my people are Englishmen.”
“I will give you five minutes to make up your mind to come on board,” said Paul Jones, “and if you do not, at the end of that time I shall fire into you.”
Then, all at once, the people on the Triumph waked up to their danger. The five minutes were spent in hurried preparation by them, but on the Ariel every man was at his station, and not one moved or spoke.
The five minutes being up, the Ariel backed her topsails, ran close under the stern of the Triumph, and let fly her broadside. The men in the tops also gave a volley. The British, unprepared, fired ineffectively and without order. The Triumph was so obviously at the mercy of the Ariel that within ten minutes her colors were hauled down and a cry for quarter resounded. Instantly the order to cease firing was given, and the Americans gave three cheers. But while they were yet cheering they observed that the British ship had shaken out her sails and was drawing ahead. The smoke of the two or three broadsides fired hid her for a moment, and when it drifted off the Triumph was observed to be some distance off on the weather quarter of the Ariel, and tacking.
Paul Jones instantly suspected the treachery of the Triumph’s captain, because it is a part of the code of morals in war that a surrender should be in good faith, particularly when quarter has been asked for and given. The Ariel immediately set her mainsail and made after the fleeing ship. But it was in vain. The Triumph had too long a lead, and, the night suddenly becoming dark, she was lost to sight. Although Paul Jones had conquered, his prey had escaped.
The Americans were indignant, but indignation could do no good. They then resumed their course toward America, and on the 18th of February, 1781, the Ariel cast anchor in the harbor of Philadelphia. Paul Jones had been absent from America three years, three months, and eighteen days. In that time he had struck terror upon the coasts of England, Scotland, and Ireland; he had defied the might of England, had vanquished every enemy with which he had fought, and had made himself one of the heroes of the sea, whose name will live as long as ships traverse the ocean.
The reception of Paul Jones by the Congress at Philadelphia was one suitable to his great services. On the 27th of February, Congress passed a resolution reciting that “The Congress entertains a high sense of the distinguished bravery and military conduct of Paul Jones, Esq., captain in the navy of the United States, and particularly in his victory over the British frigate Serapis, on the coast of England, which was attended with circumstances so brilliant as to excite general applause and admiration.
“That the Minister Plenipotentiary of these United States at the Court of Versailles communicate to His Most Christian Majesty the high satisfaction Congress has received from the conduct and gallant behavior of Captain Paul Jones, which have merited the attention and approbation of His Most Christian Majesty, and that His Majesty’s offer of adorning Captain Jones with the cross of the Order of Military Merit is highly acceptable to Congress.”
Paul Jones.(Drawn from a Portrait.)
Paul Jones.(Drawn from a Portrait.)
On the 28th of March, Congress passed another resolution severely censuring Captain Landais, who had then been court-martialed and dismissed the navy, and saying of Paul Jones, after enumerating his actions: “Ever since Captain Paul Jones first became an officer in the service of these States he hath shown an unremitted attention in planning and executing enterprises calculated to promote the essential interests of our glorious cause. That in Europe, although his expedition through the Irish Channel in the Ranger did not fully accomplish his purpose, yet he made the enemy feel that it is in the power of a small squadron, under a brave and enterprising commander, to retaliate the conflagrations of our defenseless towns. That, returning from Europe, he brought with him the esteem of the greatest and best friends of America, and hath received from the illustrious monarch of France that reward of warlike virtue which his subjects receive by a long series of faithful services or uncommon merit. That the conduct of Paul Jones merits particular attention and some distinguished mark of approbation from the United States, in Congress assembled.”
On the 14th of April the distinguished mark of approbation was granted, in the form of the thanks of Congress, as follows:
“That the thanks of the United States, in Congress assembled, be given to Captain Paul Jones, for the zeal, prudence, and intrepidity with which he has supported the honor of the American flag; for his bold and successful enterprises to redeem from captivity the citizens of the States who had fallen under the power of the enemy; and, in general, for the good conduct and eminent services by which he has added luster to his character and to the American arms.
“That the thanks of the United States, in Congress assembled, be also given to the officers and men who have faithfully served under him from time to time, for their steady affection to the cause of their country and the bravery and perseverance they have manifested therein.”
Following this, there were numerous letters from eminent patriots, and a truly affectionate one from Lafayette, ending with: “As to the pleasure of taking you by the hand, my dear Paul Jones, you know my affectionate sentiments and my very great regard for you, so that I need not add anything on that subject.”
Greatest of all, came a letter from Washington himself, which said:
“Delicacy forbids me to mentionthat particular one, which has attracted the admiration of all the world.... That you may long enjoy the reputation you have so justly acquired, is the sincere wish of,“Sir, your most obedient servant,“Geo. Washington.”
Upon the official examination of his report, Paul Jones proudly answered, in response to an interrogatory, “I have never borne or acted under any other commission than that of the Congress of America.” His accounts also showed that he had not up to that time received a penny either as pay or subsistence.
Upon a beautiful spring day, the French minister, M. de Luzerne, gave a grandfêteat Philadelphia, for the purpose of investing Paul Jones with the cross of the Order of Military Merit, sent him by the King of France. All the Congress was invited, and all of the army and navy officers then in Philadelphia were present in full uniform, besides the leading citizens of Philadelphia, and entertainment was especially provided for the sailors who had served under Paul Jones, as well as the officers. The guests assembled in the afternoon, and at four o’clock precisely M. de Luzerne and Paul Jones walked together to the center of the lawn, under a grove of noble trees. The scene was brilliant and beautiful, the white dresses of the women and the bright Continental uniforms of the men showing bravely against the green turf. On a tall flagstaff floated together the Stars and Stripes and theFleur-de-lisof France. Conspicuously massed together were the brave blue jackets who had served under Paul Jones and his officers, in full uniform, with the ever-loved Dale at their head. A military band played inspiring airs as M. de Luzerne and Paul Jones advanced to the center of the great circle. Paul Jones, wearing the full uniform of an American captain and his gold-hilted sword, and carrying in his hand his blue-and-gold cap, was a picture of manliness and modesty. His face was pale, but his eyes were gleaming. He had fought for glory, and glory had been lavished upon him. The French ambassador, in a loud voice, spoke:
“Patriots: His Most Christian Majesty, whom I have the honor to serve, desiring to show his affection for the cause of America, and for the gallant and shining conduct of Captain Paul Jones, has directed me, as a knight of the Order of Military Merit, to confer upon Captain Paul Jones the cross of this noble order. This has never before been given to any man not a citizen of France. But were it not for Paul Jones’s devotion to America, well might France claim him as her son, so well has he served her cause and that of her allies.” Then, turning to Paul Jones, he held up a splendid jeweled cross, and said:
“Therefore, I, in the name of my master, the king, do now invest you with this cross; and may you live long to wear this glorious emblem!” A roar of cheers broke forth and resounded through the still and lovely air. The “hoorays” of the blue jackets, led by handsome Bill Green, were heard over all the rest, and Danny Dixon, the picture of a sailor, in his smart and handsome uniform, suddenly began to dance a hornpipe in the excess of his delight.
A mist came before Paul Jones’s eyes. The affection, the respect, and the admiration of the people he had tried to serve was inexpressibly sweet to him, and as he caught sight of “Old Glory,” that floated proudly in the golden sunset light, he could say to his own heart, “I promised to attend that flag with veneration, and I have done it to the best of my power, and without fear or reproach.” Next him stood Dale, his best beloved friend and lieutenant. Paul Jones laid his hand on Dale’s shoulder, and together they watched the inspiring scene.
“My captain,” said Dale, after a moment, “I have a feeling here”—he touched his breast—“which tells me that when the day of conflict is over, and our country takes her stand as the greatest republic upon the earth, you will be ranked first among those who maintained her honor on the seas; and the name of Paul Jones will be linked with so much glory that every American sea officer will envy those who can say with pride, as I do, ‘I served under Paul Jones!’”
THE END.
[1]This was the first flag of the Revolution—a pine tree with a rattlesnake under it, bearing the bold motto, “Don’t tread on me.”[2]The songs in this story are not original.[3]Meaning his appointment to command the American ships in foreign waters.[4]This incident is historically true.[5]Cooper mentions the peculiar tenderness of Dale’s tone, when, in his latter days, he spoke of his old captain as “Paul.”
[1]This was the first flag of the Revolution—a pine tree with a rattlesnake under it, bearing the bold motto, “Don’t tread on me.”
[2]The songs in this story are not original.
[3]Meaning his appointment to command the American ships in foreign waters.
[4]This incident is historically true.
[5]Cooper mentions the peculiar tenderness of Dale’s tone, when, in his latter days, he spoke of his old captain as “Paul.”