As Lieutenant Mayrant reaches the deck of the Serapis, an English sailor thrusts him through the thigh with a pike. Lieutenant Mayrant shoots the pikeman though the heart. The latter falls dead, pike rattling along the deck.
“Remember Portsea jail, lads!” shouts Lieutenant Mayrant, as he strides limpingly across the body of the dead pikeman. “Remember Port-sea jail!”
Nine in ten of the boarding party are of those ones exchanged at Nantes. With savage cries, they shout back, “Remember Portsea jail!” and the work of their vengeance is begun.
Commodore Paul Jones has his eyes on Lieutenant Mayrant and his boarders. His attention is claimed by orderly Jack Downes, who plucks him by the elbow.
“Beg pardon, sir!” says orderly Jack Downes. “Captain Landais with the Alliance.”
Sure enough, the Alliance for a second time has crept down upon them, unnoticed in the heat and absorbing fury of the fray. The consort ship is wearing across the Richard’s bows. What will Landais do? Does he come as friend or foe? The Frenchman has his answer ready, and pours a broadside into the Richard as he crosses. Then he sheers off, and again heads for the open ocean. That coward broadside kills and wounds Master’s Mate Caswell and seven men. Commodore Paul Jones is rigid with rage and wonder.
“The man is mad!” says Lieutenant Dale.
“I cannot understand!” returns Commodore Paul Jones. “There is still his crew! Why don’t they clap him in irons, or cut him down?”
There is a shout from the deck of the Serapis. Captain Pearson, his last hope gone, has struck his colors with his own hand. The shout is from the wounded Lieutenant Mayrant, who hails Lieutenant Dale.
“Stop the firing, sir,” cries Lieutenant May-rant, for the Richard’s top-men are still blazing away merrily. “He has struck his flag. Come on board, and take possession!”