As the Ranger drew near to Whitehaven, the wind blew such a gale from the southwest, that it was impossible to land a boat.
“We must hold off until the breeze slackens!” cried bold Captain Jones. “This cannot last forever, and our opportunity will soon be here.”
Sure enough—the wind died out about midnight of April 22nd—and the Ranger beat up towards the town. When about five hundred yards from the shore, the vessel was hove to—two boats were lowered—and twenty-nine seamen, with third Lieutenant Wallingford, Midshipmen Arthur Green and Charles Hill, jumped into them. With Jones in command they hastened toward the coast.
The surprise was complete. Two small forts lay at the mouth of the harbor, but, as the seamen scrambled ashore, they were precipitately abandoned by the garrison of “coast-guards.” Captain Jones, Midshipman Green, and six men rushed shouting upon one of these, capturing it without an effort; the other was taken by Lieutenant Wallingford and eight sailors,—while four were left behind as a boat-guard. A few pistols spattered, a few muskets rang; but, when the stout sea-dogs reached the tidal basin, where the shipping lay, the townsfolk were thoroughly aroused. Burning cotton was thrown on board of the ships lying at anchor, but only one took fire. It was full daylight, and the insignificance of Jones’ force became evident to the townsfolk, who were rallying from all directions.
“Retreat to the ships,” shouted the Yankee Captain, “there is no time to lose!”
The landing party—small as it was—had become separated into two groups; one commanded by Jones, the other by Wallingford. Thinking that Wallingford’s party was, for the moment, more seriously menaced than his own, Jones attacked and dispersed—with his dozen men—a force of about one hundred of the local militia who were endeavoring to retake the lower fort, or battery, whose guns had been spiked by the Americans. The townsfolk and coast-guards had joined and were making a vigorous assault upon Wallingford. But shots flew thick and fast from the muskets of the followers of the daring Paul Jones—as they retreated to their own boats. The whole landing party—with the exception of one man—finally leaped safely into the boat, and were on board the Ranger before the sun was an hour over the horizon.
Jones was delighted.
“The actual results of this affair,” said he, “are of little moment, as we destroyed but one ship. The moral effect—however—is very great, as it has taught the English that the fancied security of their coasts is a Myth.”
In fact this little raid of the valiant John Paul made the Government take expensive measures for the defense of numerous ports hitherto relying for protection upon the vigilance and supposed omnipotence of the navy. It also doubled the rates of marine insurance; which was the most grievous damage of all.
“Now to attack a castle!” cried Jones, “and bag an Earl, too, if he is around!”