"Have you struck?" was the question of the Serapis. From the shattered Richard came Jones's immortal answer,--
"I have not yet begun to fight!"
A roar of wild exultation, a gigantic Homeric laugh, broke from the throats of the crew of the Richard, as the reply of the captain was passed from deck to deck, until the whole ship from truck to keelson quivered with responsive joy. It was a joke, the character of which those blood-stained ruffians could well appreciate; but the captain was in no mood for joking. He was serious, and in the simplicity of the answer lay its greatness. Strike! Not now, nor ever! Beaten! The fighting is but just begun! The preposterous possibility of surrender cannot even be considered. What manner of man this, with whom you battle in the moonlight, brave Pearson? An unfamiliar kind to you, and to most, such as has not been before, nor shall be again. Yet all the world shall see and understand at this time.
"I have not yet begun to fight!"
Surprising answer! On a ship shattered beyond repair, her best guns exploded and useless, her crew decimated, ringed about with dead and dying, the captain has not yet begun to fight! But there was no delay after the answer, no philosophizing, no heroics. The man of action was there. He meant business! Every moment when the guns were silent was a wasted one.
The helm was shifted to starboard, and the headsails shivered. The Richard slowly swung off to port and gathered headway again. The Serapis had lost an opportunity of tacking and raking. In order more quickly to bring his guns to bear and perhaps to prevent a raking by the enemy, Captain Pearson threw all aback; and the two ships, one backing, and the other reaching ahead, slowly drew abreast each other, the batteries speaking again as soon as the guns bore. The wind was very light, and the motion of both ships was sluggish in the extreme, so that they practically lay side by side, steerage way almost gone, slowly drifting in for long minutes, until there came a sudden, temporary breath of wind.
The position was most advantageous for the Serapis, as with her heavier and more numerous guns she could deliberately knock the Richard into a "cocked hat." She was much the speedier and handier ship, and might reasonably hope to choose her own distance, and, having selected a point of vantage, maintain it to the end. Pearson's game was to fight at long range until he had sunk his enemy; no difficult task that last,--she was half sinking now! But what the Richard lacked in mobility and direction, she made up in her captain. Jones did things instinctively; Pearson had to think about them. Jones's only hope was in getting to close quarters and making use of the disciplined French soldiery upon his decks.
They had done good service already in clearing the spar-deck of the English. Therefore, as the Richard, gathering way, gradually forged ahead, her helm was shifted to port and the vessel slowly swung across the bow of the Serapis, which had just begun to fill away again, as Pearson saw that he had nearly backed out of action. The bow of the Serapis struck the starboard quarter of the Richard, the jib-boom thrusting itself violently through the mizzen rigging. There was a terrific crash at the moment of impact; and a second later the English, cheering frantically, jumped upon the heel of the bowsprit and clambered upon the rail of their ship.
They were led by a tall distinguished-looking officer, who attracted double attention, as he wore the red uniform of the English army. As their heads appeared over the rail, the powerful voice of Jones could be heard shouting, "Boarders away!" Not waiting for the men who came springing up on the quarter-deck in obedience to his summons, the dauntless captain seized a pike from the rack and hurled it through the air at the leader of the Englishmen. Good fortune guided his hand, and the steel head of the lance struck fair in the bosom of the soldier. The British wavered a moment as their officer fell, and Jones discharged his pistols full among them. Then De Chamillard and those of his marines left alive upon the deck, by a well-directed point-blank volley, drove back the boarding party of the English.
The two ships were grinding against each other, and the wind on the after-sail of the Serapis slowly forced her around until she swung parallel to the Richard. The jib-boom snapped off short under the strain, and her starboard anchor caught in the tangled rigging of the American frigate; and Stacey, the sailing-master, sprang to lash the ships together. Stacey snatched a rope from the raffle on the deck and strove to overhaul it. It was tangled, and he found great difficulty in clearing it. An impatient man at best, and now greatly excited, he swore roundly as he tugged at the vexatious rope.