# The Story of John Paul Jones/Chapter 6

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CHAPTER VI A TERRIBLE SEA FIGHT
When Paul Jones first went over to France from the Colonies, he took with him the splendid news that the English Burgoyne had surrendered his British Regulars to Gen. Gates, which caused great rejoicing in Paris, because the French people were not feeling very friendly toward the English at that time. They began to see that the Colonies meant business, and they thought that possibly they might be willing to help them a little more if they were politely ​asked. The French king was having a great laugh to see the fine British army handing its swords to a few patriotic farmers, and he thought that if he could just stand in the background and help a little, without being seen, it would be a very generous and noble act, and help the fun along immensely. Of course, Capt. Jones knew this, so as soon as he arrived in Brest, he appealed to the French king for a squadron to help in the good cause of Colonial liberty. But he had a year of anxious waiting before any response came to his efforts. Then the king and his ministers, after putting him off a dozen times, gave him a fleet in which to go after the English. It was a strange collection of boats—boats that had been cast off as useless, with crews and officers that ought to have been cast off as useless, too. One of these, a worn out old boat that should have been sawed up for kindling wood, was called called the “Bon Homme Richard,” but “Poor Richard” is ​the name that Benjamin Franklin gave her, and this name fitted her about the best of all. She had had several names. Jones used her as his flagship, and her name has come down in history, for she took part in the greatest naval battle that was ever fought between two single vessels on the high seas.
The officers were all French, but the fleet sailed under the American flag. The “Richard” had a strange crew of three hundred and seventy-five sailors of several different countries, and she carried forty-two guns. Each captain wanted to command the whole fleet, and all were jealous of the famous American. Many of them deserted until Paul Jones, who was now a commodore, had only three vessels besides his own.
They sailed from France in the middle of August, 1779, and cruised along the Yorkshire coast. After taking a few prizes, as usual, the Commodore was preparing to end his voyage in Holland, when something happened which ​sent his name ringing over all the world, and made the British empire stand aghast.
Just as the September sun was setting, after a long and sultry afternoon, the Commodore, standing on the deck of the “Richard,” with his spyglass, noticed a few specks far off over the water. Larger and larger they grew, and nearer and nearer they came, until he saw plainly that they were the great Baltic fleet of merchant vessels escorted by two noble men-of-war. Surely this merchant fleet was safe under the protection of such an escort. Surely no harm could come to it, as it made its way slowly and majestically seaward.
Paul Jones knew that if any battle was to take place, it would be without the help of his other vessels, for their cowardly commanders were not to be depended upon. So he watched the movements of the stately procession as it neared the poor, old battered “Richard,” and sent its ripples rolling toward her hulk. But the same man ​who had trodden the deck of the “Ranger” watched her passing with a keen eye. His look was intense. So, the line of boats passed by in the gathering darkness.
Suddenly an order went forth from the “Richard.” It was an order to give chase. The French officers thought the Commodore insane. Two of them did not obey. The British vessels immediately prepared to defend the merchant-men. The fight which followed happened in the dark. The “Richard” was within musket-shot of the “Serapis”— the larger of the two British men-of-war. The wind was slack, and the two vessels came in contact. The rigging became entangled, and the gallant Paul Jones, leading his men with waving sword, tried to board the British man-of-war. A terrible fight with pistols and swords followed, and he was repulsed by Capt. Pearson, the commander of the “Serapis.”
“Have your colors struck?” called the English captain.
​“I have not begun to fight yet,” replied John Paul Jones.
From deck to deck of the entangled vessels the combatants madly rushed, fighting like demons. Soon the “Richard” began to sink; slowly she was filling with water. Most of her guns were silenced, but one or two of those in her tower still sent deadly volleys down upon the foe. At half past nine, the moon rose in the quiet sky, upon a fearful scene. The “Richard” was on fire. In the midst of smoke, and smothered flame, and the roar of great guns, men as furious as wounded tigers were struggling hand to hand. At that moment, a cry went up that the “Richard” was sinking. A frightened gunner started to pull down the American flag, but was thrust aside by Paul Jones.
“Do you want quarter for your sinking ship?” asked the English captain.
“Never,” replied Paul Jones, and as the bat​tered old craft burned and sank, the brave fight went on.
And the fight was won; won by Paul Jones, the daring and intrepid commander. Slowly the flames crept up the rigging of the “Serapis,” and by their glow, and by the full light of the moon, Paul Jones saw that his shots had almost cut Pierson’s mainmast in two. The moonlight and the sudden bursts of flame showed the Commodore that the English sailors were getting few, and that all was confusion on the larger craft. He hurled another shot upon it, and the tall mast reeled and fell like a dead man. The “Serapis” had been frightfully damaged. The English captain saw his peril, and striking his flag, surrendered to Paul Jones. As Pierson handed his sword to the gallant American, Commodore Jones handed it back, saying:
​Pierson’s king did reward him by making him a baronet. When Paul Jones heard of this, he said:
“He deserved it, and if I meet him again I’ll make a lord of him.”
But however grateful and appreciative King George the Third might have been to the captain who fought so loyally in the Royal cause, the victory of Paul Jones that night in those British waters was a humiliation to the English government, from which, even among her glories and triumphs, she has never quite recovered. It was an hour for Britannia to discontinue her little song about ruling the waves, and to bow her head in shame. For an old wooden tub had sailed into her waters and hurled defiance at her invincible navy. She might soothe her beaten captain tenderly, but she could not get her vessel back, and worse than this the French king was laughing in a most uproarious manner across the channel.