"He has struck; stop firing! Come on board and take possession!"

yelled Mayrant, running to the rail.

Lieutenant Dale heard him, and, swinging himself on the side of the _Serapis_, made his way to the quarter-deck, where Captain Pearson was standing. "I have the honor, sir, to be the first Lieutenant of the vessel alongside," said he saluting. "It is the American Continental ship _Bon Homme Richard_, under command of Commodore Paul Jones. What vessel is this?"

"His Britannic Majesty's late man-of-war the _Serapis_, sir," was the sad response, "and I am Captain Richard Pearson."

"Pardon me, sir," said the American officer, "in the haste of the moment I forgot to inform you that my name is Richard Dale and I must request you to pa.s.s on board the vessel alongside."

Pearson nodded dejectedly.

As he did so, the first Lieutenant of the _Serapis_ came up from below, and, looking at Captain Pearson, asked,

"Has the enemy struck, sir?"

"No, sir! _I_ have struck!" was the sad reply.

"Then, I will go below and order our men to cease firing," continued the English Lieutenant.

But Lieutenant Dale interrupted.

"Pardon me, sir," said he, "I will attend to that; and, as for yourself, please accompany Captain Pearson on board the ship alongside."

With reluctant steps the two officers clambered aboard the battered _Good Richard_, where Commodore Jones received them with much courtesy.

Bowing low, Captain Pearson offered him his sword. His first Lieutenant did likewise.

"Captain Pearson," said the victorious John Paul, "you have fought heroically. You have worn this weapon to your own credit and to the honor of your service. I hope that your sovereign will suitably reward you."

The British commander was the image of chagrin and despair. He bowed again, and then walked slowly into the cabin, followed by his crest-fallen Lieutenant.

It was nearly midnight. The full moon above--in a cloudless sky--made it almost as light as day. Seven feet of water were in the hold of the _Richard_; she had sunk so much that many shot-holes were below the water-line and could not be plugged. Nearly sixty of her crew lay dead upon her decks; more than a hundred and twenty were desperately wounded. Every twelve-pounder of the starboard broadside was either dismounted, or disabled. The starboard side, which had been opposite the _Serapis_'s eighteen-pounders, was driven so far in, that, but for a few frames and stanchions which remained, the whole gun-deck would have fallen through. She was afire, and the flames licked upward with an eager hiss.

"Take the wounded aboard the _Serapis_!" commanded Captain Jones. "We must desert our good ship!"

In an hour's time all were upon the deck of the vanquished Britisher.

No one was left on the _Richard_ but the dead. The torn and tattered flag was still flying from the gaff, and, as the battered sea-warrior gradually settled in the long swell, the unconquered ensign fluttered defiantly in the slight breeze. At length the _Bon Homme Richard_ plunged downward by the head; her taffrail rose momentarily on high, and, with a hoa.r.s.e roar of eddying bubbles and sucking air, the conqueror disappeared from view. To her immortal dead was bequeathed the flag which they had so desperately defended.

So ended the great battle. Thus Paul Jones had made his name immortal.

And by it he was to be known for all time.

This was not the end of his career, by any means. He never again fought for the infant Republic of the United States. But he became an Admiral in the Russian Navy: battled valorously for the great Empress Catherine against the Turks, and died in Paris, July 18th, 1792.

Buried at the French capital, his body was disinterred in the year 1905, and brought to the United States, to be entombed with military honors, at Annapolis, Maryland.

Paul Jones loved brave men. The braver they were the more he loved them. When he went ash.o.r.e and happened to meet his old sailors--every one of whom he knew and called by his first name--they seldom failed to strip his pockets of the last shilling. He was generous to a fault and faithful to his friends. His time, his purse, his influence were always at the call of those who had served under him. A typical sea-dog: a brave fighter,--

Then, why not give three times three for John Paul Jones?

Are you ready?

THE ESCAPE

'Tis of a gallant, Yankee ship that flew the Stripes and Stars, And the whistling wind from the west-nor'-west blew through her pitch-pine spars: With her starboard tacks aboard, my Boys, she hung upon the gale; On the Autumn night, that we pa.s.sed the light, on the old Head of Kinsale.

It was a clear and cloudless eve, and the wind blew steady and strong, As gayly, o'er the sparkling deep, our good ship bowled along; With the foaming seas beneath her bow, the fiery waves she spread, And, bending low her bosom of snow, she buried her lee cat-head.

There was no talk of short'ning sail, by him who walked the p.o.o.p, And, under the press of her pounding jib, the boom bent like a hoop!

And the groaning, moaning water-ways, told the strain that held the tack, But, he only laughed, as he glanced aloft, at the white and silvery track.

The mid-tide met in the Channel waves that flow from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, And the mist hung heavy upon the land, from Featherstone to Dunmore, And that sterling light in Tusker Rock, where the old bell tolls each hour, And the beacon light, that shone so bright, was quenched on Waterford tower.

What looms upon our starboard bow? What hangs upon the breeze?

'Tis time that our good ship hauled her wind, abreast the old Saltees, For, by her pond'rous press of sail, and by her consorts four, We saw that our morning visitor, was a British Man-of-War.

Up spoke our n.o.ble Captain--then--as a shot ahead of us pa.s.sed,-- "Haul snug your flowing courses! Lay your topsail to the mast!"

Those Englishmen gave three loud cheers, from the deck of their covered ark, And, we answered back by a solid broad-side, from the side of our patriot barque.

"_Out booms! Out booms!_" our skipper cried, "_Out booms! and give her sheet!_"

And the swiftest keel that e'er was launched, shot ahead of the British fleet, 'Midst a thundering shower of shot,--and with stern-sails hoisting away, Down the North Race _Paul Jones_ did steer, just at the break of day.

--_Old Ballad._

CAPTAIN SILAS TALBOT

STAUNCH PRIVATEERSMAN OF NEW ENGLAND

(1751-1813)

"If you want ter learn how ter fight, why jest fight."--_Dock-end Philosophy._

CAPTAIN SILAS TALBOT

STAUNCH PRIVATEERSMAN OF NEW ENGLAND

(1751-1813)

"Talk about your clipper ships, chipper ships, ripper ships, Talk about your barquentines, with all their spars so fancy, I'll just take a sloop-o'-war with Talbot, with Talbot, An' whip 'em all into 'er chip, an' just to suit my fancy.