From an engraving by Guttenberg, after a drawing by Notté, in the collection of Mr. W. C. Crane.
But the day of all days in the career of John Paul Jones, the 23d of September, 1779, was now at hand. At noon, as the four vessels of the squadron were jogging along to the north, they saw with mingled feeling of consternation and hope a fleet that numbered forty-two ships come around Flamborough Head. If this was a war fleet the fate of the squadron under the American flag was sealed, and he who was called in British state papers “the pirate Jones, a rebel subject and criminal of the state,” would hang at Execution Dock. If it was a merchant fleet under an ordinary convoy the condition of affairs would be different—it would be a most exhilarating condition of affairs. There was a light breeze at the time, and the big fleet was well inshore. As Captain Jones, after a prolonged examination, concluded that he had merchantmen in a convoy of two frigates before him, he saw a small boat pull hastily off to the larger of the two frigates and a man mounted from it to her deck. A moment later three signal flags were fluttering from the maintruck of the frigate and a gun was fired to windward—a signal to the merchantmen to seek safety in flight.
In wild confusion the merchantmen obeyed, scattering hither and yon; but the frigates, one of which was the Serapis, Captain Pearson, of fifty guns, and the other the Countess of Scarborough, Captain Piercy, of twenty-two six-pounders, bravely bore down to meet the enemy, in spite of the fact that the Yankee fleet numbered four to their two. The captains of these two English ships were so far worthy foes of any naval commander that ever sailed.
Captain Jones now had what appeared an opportunity to not only capture two good warships of the enemy without a too severe fight, but, with good luck, some of the convoy. But once more the insubordination of Landais on the Alliance became manifest, and well-nigh fatally. He not only refused to obey the signal of the flagship to fall in line, but he sailed up near the Pallas and said to her captain:
“If it is a ship of more than fifty guns we have nothing to do but to run away.”
Fortunately, Captain Cottineau saw that more glory was to be obtained by fighting the enemy than in quarrelling with the flag officer, and he gallantly sailed to meet the smaller British frigate.
The Alliance was held aloof. The Vengeance was too far away to take part in the battle.
In the movements of the fighting ships that followed, the wind was so light that they merely drifted over the oil-smooth water. The sun sank out of sight behind the hills and daylight faded away into darkness so that even the lofty towers of canvas were seen only as the faintest shadows. But each side was hunting for the other, and eventually, in the profound silence of a night at sea, the Bonhomme Richard and the Serapis drew near each other. When but ten yards away from each other a voice from the Serapis demanded:
“What ship is that?”