It was indeed running the gauntlet, for Commodore Jones, with a frigate of but thirty-four guns, and in poor sailing trim, to escape from the Texel, and run down the German Ocean, through the English Channel and the Straits of Dover, to some French port, when the whole available force of the British navy was on the lookout for him, with twelve men-of-war cruising before the mouth of the harbor. It would seem that, under those circumstances, escape were impossible.
Just before sailing, the French minister, M. de la Sartine, offered Commodore Jones, through the Duke de Vauguyon, a commission as captain of a privateersman, which several gentleman of wealth had fitted out, in the best possible manner, to enrich themselves by preying upon British commerce. This assumption that Commodore Jones was a mere adventurer, guided by the love of money, he regarded as an insult. In indignant terms he rejected the offer. Under date of December 13th, he wrote to the duke, as follows:
“My Lord: Perhaps there are many men in the world, who would esteem as an honor the commission that I have this day refused. My rank, from the beginning, knew no superior in the marine of America. How then must I be humbled were I to receive a letter of marque. It is a matter of the highest astonishment to me that, after so many compliments and fair professions, the court should offer the present insult to my understanding, and suppose me capable of disgracing my present commission. I confess that I never merited all the praise bestowed on my past conduct; but I also feel that I have far less merited such a reward.”
The letter containing these sentiments he enclosed in one to Dr. Franklin, that it might be presented by him to the duke, if it met his approval. In his letter he still more forcibly gave expression to his wounded feelings. The heroic man added:
“We hear that the enemy still keeps a squadron cruising off here. But this shall not prevent my attempts to depart, whenever the wind will permit. I hope we have recovered the trim of this ship, which was entirely lost during the last cruise; and I do not much fear the enemy in the long and dark nights of this season. The ship is well-manned, and shall not be given away. I need not tell you, that I will do my utmost to take prisoners and prizes, in my way from hence.”
The great victory Commodore Jones had achieved gave him singular renown. The ladies, especially, were charmed by his chivalry. He received constant attentions from the most eminent in rank. The palace and the castle opened their doors to welcome him. He had the most urgent invitations to visit Amsterdam and to enjoy the hospitalities of the court. But all these flattering attentions he avoided as much as possible. One great passion absorbed his soul. All his energies were consecrated to the sublime mission of emancipating the United States, and ennobling their flag.
“Duty,” he said, “must take the precedence of pleasure. I must wait a more favorable opportunity to kiss the hands of the fair.”
The Alliance had a picked crew of four hundred and twenty-seven men. Nearly all these were Americans. Many of them had been liberated from British prisons by the energies of Commodore Jones. He impressed upon both officers and crew his determination that he should never shrink from an engagement with any English ship which did not mount more than fifty guns.
The night of the 26th of December was dark, with a fresh, fair wind. The Alliance, in the midnight gloom, proudly unfurled at her mast-head the Stars and Stripes. Every inch of canvas was spread to catch the breeze. Flying closely along the Flemish banks, he was so fortunate as to elude the observation of the fleets watching for his capture. Before the morning dawned he was far away upon the broad expanse of the German Ocean, where fleets might cruise for weeks and not meet each other. There had been a very severe gale just before the departure of the Alliance, which blew so fiercely upon the shore, that the English squadron had been compelled to put to sea for safety. Doubtless to this event Commodore Jones was much indebted for his escape.
This successful retreat of Commodore Jones from the overwhelming forces which surrounded him is regarded, by naval authorities, as one of the most successful of naval exploits. Keeping well to the windward of the enemy’s fleet, he traversed the North Sea, sailing through the narrow Straits of Dover, in full view of the British fleet in the Downs; passed the Isle of Wight, almost within hailing distance of the shore, though quite a fleet was at anchor at Spit-head; and, though he saw two-decked cruising ships of the enemy before him and behind him and on each side of him, he eluded them all, safely emerged from the British Channel and continued his course down the western coast of France. This was a voyage of not less than fifteen hundred miles.