It seemed as if the ships that came around Flamborough Head were of an endless fleet. But as soon as they caught sight of the black hull of the Bon Homme Richard to windward of them, waiting in grim expectancy, with the American ensign flying and preparations for action going on, they gave her a wide berth. They also raised the alarm by firing guns, letting fly their to’gallant sheets, tacking together, and making as close inshore as they dared.
Meanwhile, the Bon Homme Richard had cleared for action, sent down her royal yards, the crew were beat to quarters, and signals were made to the other ships to form the line of battle. The Pallas, under the brave Cottineau, obeyed the signals with alacrity. The Vengeance was ordered to bring back the boat with Lunt and his men in it, and to enter the men on the unengaged side of the Bon Homme Richard if the action should be begun, and then the Vengeance was to attack the convoy. She, however, disobeyed all of these orders, and never came into action at all. The Alliance disregarded all orders and signals, and reconnoitered cautiously. Captain Landais shouted to the Pallas as she passed, that if the man-of-war which they knew must convoy such a fleet proved to be the Serapis, all they would have to do would be to run away!
It was now long past noon, and still the end of the line of merchant ships had not been reached. At last, as the forty-first vessel rounded the point and took refuge inshore, a beautiful white frigate with a smart sloop of war following her appeared. The men on the Bon Homme Richard had seen a boat putting off from the shore for the frigate, and they surmised correctly that it was to inform the British frigate that the American ship was commanded by Paul Jones. Captain Pearson, of the Serapis, was a brave man, and was delighted at a chance of a fair and square fight with the American commodore. As Paul Jones had instantly recognized the Serapis and knew her commander, each captain was perfectly well aware whom he was fighting.
Captain Pearson first prudently and gallantly secured his convoy by clawing off the land so that he was outside his ships, and then tacking inshore so as to be between them and the Bon Homme Richard. The Bon Homme Richard was now coming down under every sail that would draw. The Serapis was unmistakably ready to fight, but she stood out to sea, with the view of drawing the American ship under the guns of Scarborough Castle. But Paul Jones was too astute for her, and determined to wear ship, so as to head the Serapis off. By that time Bill Green was at the wheel, and a good breeze was blowing, enabling the ship to manœuvre easily. Dale was officer of the deck, and gave the orders, under Paul Jones’s direction, to steer straight for the British frigate, that was waiting for the Bon Homme Richard under short fighting canvas.
The whole afternoon had passed in the previous manœuvres, and the early twilight of September had come before the Bon Homme Richard had shortened sail, and the two ships were slowly but determinedly approaching each other for the mortal encounter. The moon had not yet risen, but the stars were lighted in the deep-blue sky of night, and in the west a faint opaline glow still lingered. On the chalky cliffs a moving black mass showed, where thousands of people had assembled to see the fight, and far in the distance the frowning masses of Scarborough Castle loomed up, with myriad lights showing like sparks in the purple twilight. The strong, white flame from the lighthouse at Flamborough Head flashed like a lance of fire over the dark ocean. The silent manœuvres of the white-winged ships, the stillness only broken by the orders given and the “Ay, ay, sir!” of the sailors, which echoed beautifully over the water, made the ships seem almost like a phantom fleet. The battle lanterns were lighted, and every preparation was made for a fight to the death. The Bon Homme Richard was short-handed not only for men but for officers, and Richard Dale was the only sea lieutenant Paul Jones had in the unequal fight before him. The men were stripped to their shirts, except Bill Green and a few others, Bill alleging that “’Twarn’t wuth while to take off a man’s jacket till he got warmed up with fightin’!” Danny Dixon, as usual, had discarded his jacket early in the day, and had made every preparation for a hand-to-hand fight, although, as he was only a powder monkey, it was not likely that he would have any fighting at all to do.
It was Danny’s place, though, with another boy, to sprinkle sawdust along the decks to keep them from becoming slippery with blood. As he got to the wheel, where Bill Green stood, he threw the sawdust around liberally, and, although he dared not address the quartermaster, he remarked in a sly whisper to the other boy:
“Mr. Green, him and me is pertickler friends, so I’m a-goin’ to give him a extry handful o’ sawdust to soak up his blood, that’ll likely be a foot deep round about here.”
“Drat the boy!” growled Bill under his breath.
It was now about seven o’clock in the evening, and the ships were steadily closing. Paul Jones, night glass in hand, walked the quarter-deck. The Alliance and the Vengeance lay off two miles to windward, perfectly inactive, and apparently meant to be mere spectators of the great fight on hand. Their indifference and disobedience to the signals infuriated the officers and men of the Bon Homme Richard, but Paul Jones took it with the utmost coolness and composure.
“Let them do as they like,” he said; “the greater glory ours if we win without them.”