Off the English coast at Flamborough Head, he sighted an English fleet. The flagship was the Serapis, in command of Captain Pearson. As the Bon Homme Richard approached the Serapis, Captain Pearson raised his glass and remarked: “That is probably Paul Jones. If so, there is work ahead.”
The salute affectionate between the vessels, after the formal hail, was a broadside. Then they fought, fought like fiends incarnate, clinched in each other’s arms, in the death grapple, fought without flinching and, be it said, to the glory of the American navy and the credit of the English. The Bon Homme was on fire and sinking. Captain Pearson, noting the situation, called, “Have you struck your colors?”
Above the smoke and din of the conflict, Jones’ voice answered, “I have just begun to fight, Sir.”
He then lashed his ship to the Serapis, and stood, himself, at the guns.
“Shall we be quitting, Jamie?” he said in banter to a Scotchman at his side.
“There is still a shot in the locker, Sir,” replied the Scot.
“I thought,” said Captain Pearson afterward, “Jones’ answer to me meant mere bravado. But I soon perceived that it was the defiance of a man desperate enough, if he could not conquer, to sink with his ship.”
The Bon Homme Richard’s sides were shot away; her prisoners loose; her decks strewn with the dead and dying; the Alliance, her companion ship, had turned traitor and fired into her. When the fight seemed well-nigh lost, a well-directed blow brought disaster to the Serapis, and she hauled down her colors. As Captain Pearson surrendered his sword, Commodore Jones remarked, “You have fought heroically, Sir. I trust your sovereign may suitably reward you.” To this Captain Pearson returned no answer.
The wonderful combat on the sea became the talk of all Europe. Paul Jones’ name was honored wherever spoken. Contrary to court etiquette, he was invited to occupy apartments in the palace of the Duke and Duchess de Chartres. While he was there, a banquet was tendered him. During the progress of the dining, he called an attendant to bring from his apartment a leather case. This when it was opened disclosed a sword. Turning to the duchess, the commodore asked if she recalled his promise to lay a frigate at her feet one day? “Your Royal Highness perceives,” he went on, “the impossibility of keeping my promise in kind. The English frigate proved to be a 44 on two decks; the best I can do toward keeping my word of two years ago, is to place in your hands the sword of the brave officer who commanded the English 44. I have the honor to surrender to the loveliest woman the sword surrendered to me by one of the bravest of men,—the sword of Captain Richard Pearson, of his Britannic Majesty’s late ship the Serapis.”
