Commodore Paul Jones

by Cyrus Townsend Brady

As he received the proffered sword the American replied, with a magnanimity as great as his valor:

"Sir, you have fought like a hero, and I make no doubt that your sovereign will reward you in the most ample manner."

His countrymen have ever loved Paul Jones for the chivalrous nobility of this gracious answer. But he wasted no further time in discussion. There was too much to be done; not a moment could be lost. It was half after ten o'clock at night; the battle was over, but their tasks were not yet completed. Both ships were burning furiously. Their decks were filled with desperately wounded men, whose agonies demanded immediate attention. Their screams and groans rose above the sound of the crackling, roaring flames. With but half a single crew Jones had to man both ships, put out the fires, force the escaped English prisoners back into the hold, secure the additional prisoners, and care for the wounded on the Serapis. From the actions of the Alliance, too, there was no telling what Landais might take it into his head to do. He had fired twice upon them; he might do it again, and possibly it might be necessary for Jones to defend the flagship and her prize from a more determined attack by Landais than any to which they had yet been subjected.

He turned over the command of the Serapis to Dale, sending him, as usual, a generous contingent for a prize crew, and then, as a preliminary to further work, the lashings which had held the two vessels in their death grapple were cut asunder. The Richard slowly began to draw past her beaten antagonist. Dale immediately filled his head sail and shifted his helm to wear ship and carry out his orders. He was much surprised to find that the Serapis lay still and did not obey the helm. Fearing that the wheel ropes had been shot away, he sent a quartermaster to examine them, who reported that they were intact. At this moment the master of the Serapis, coming aft and observing Dale's surprise, informed him that the English ship was anchored, which was the first intimation of that fact the Americans had received. Dale ordered the cable cut, whereupon the ship paid off and began to shove through the water, which fortunately still continued calm. As he spoke, he rose from the binnacle upon which he had been seated, and immediately fell prone to the deck. He discovered at that moment, by his inability to stand, that he had been severely wounded in the leg by a splinter, a thing which he had not noticed in the heat of the action. As he lay upon the deck, Mr. Henry Lunt, the second lieutenant of the Richard, came on board the Serapis at this juncture. This officer had been dispatched in the afternoon to pursue the brigantine, and had caused his boat's crew to lay on their oars at a safe distance from the two ships during the whole of the desperate battle, because, as he states, he "thought it not prudent to go alongside in time of action." Mr. Lunt no doubt lived to regret the pusillanimous "prudence" of his conduct on this occasion, although, if that conduct be an index to his character, his services would not be of great value in the battle. Dale turned over the command of the Serapis to Lunt, and was assisted on board the Richard.

As the Richard cleared the Serapis, the tottering mainmast of that ship, which had been subjected to a continual battering from the 9-pounders and which had only been sustained by the interlocking yards, came crashing down, just above the deck, carrying with it the mizzen topmast, doing much damage as it fell, and adding an element of shipwreck to the other evidence of disaster. The frigate was also on fire, and the flames, unchecked in the confusion of the surrender, were gaining great headway. Moved by a sense of their common peril and necessity, the English crew joined with the Americans in clearing away the wreck and subduing the fire. They did not effect this without a hard struggle, but they finally succeeded in saving the ship and following the Richard.

The situation on that ship was precarious in the extreme. She was very low in the water and leaking like a sieve. She was still on fire in several places, and the flames were blazing more furiously than ever. There was not a minute's respite allowed her crew. Having conquered the English, they turned to fight the fire and water. The prisoners were forced to continue their exhausting toil at the pumps. Pressing every man of the crew into service, including the English officers, except those so badly wounded as to be incapable of anything, Jones and his men turned their attention to the fire. They had a hard struggle to get it under control. At one time the flames approached so near to the magazine that, fearful lest they should be blown up, Jones caused the powder to be removed and stowed upon the deck preparatory to throwing it overboard. For some time they despaired of saving the ship. Toward daybreak, however, they managed to extinguish the flames and were saved that danger. In the morning a careful inspection of the ship was made. A fearful situation was revealed. She had been torn to pieces. It was hardly safe for the officers and men to remain on the after part of the ship. Everything that supported the upper deck except a few stanchions had been torn away. Her rotten timbers had offered no resistance to the Serapis' searching shot. Jones writes:

"With respect to the situation of the Bon Homme Richard, the rudder was cut entirely off, the stern frame and the transoms were almost entirely cut away; the timbers, by the lower deck especially, from the mainmast to the stern, being greatly decayed with age, were mangled beyond my power of description, and a person must have been an eyewitness to form a just idea of the tremendous scene of carnage, wreck, and ruin that everywhere appeared. Humanity can not but recoil from the prospect of such finished horror, and lament that war should produce such fatal consequences."

It was evident that nothing less than a miracle could keep her afloat even in the calmest weather. With a perfectly natural feeling Jones determined to try it.

A large detail from the Pallas was set to work pumping her out. Every effort, meanwhile, was made to patch her up so that she could be brought into the harbor. The efforts were in vain. Owing to the decayed condition of her timbers, even the poor remnants of her frames that were left standing aft could not bear the slightest repairing. She settled lower and lower in the water, until, having been surveyed by the carpenters and various men of experience, including Captain de Cottineau, about five o'clock in the evening it was determined to abandon her. It was time. She threatened to sink at any moment--would surely have sunk, indeed, if the pumps had stopped. She was filled with helpless wounded and prisoners. They had to be taken off before she went down.

During the night everybody worked desperately transferring the wounded to the other ships, further details of men from the Pallas being told off to man the frigate and keep her afloat. Such was the haste with which they worked that they barely succeeded in trans-shipping the last of the wounded just before daybreak on the 25th. Although the sea fortunately continued smooth, the poor wounded suffered frightfully from the rough handling necessitated by the rapid transfer.