This Country of Ours Part 49

The next instant the roar and rattle of the musketry crashed forth again. Both s.h.i.+ps were now on fire, and a great hole smashed in the side of the Bonhomme.

"For G.o.d's sake, strike, Captain," said one of his officers.

Jones looked at him silently for a minute. The he answered: "No,"

he cried, "I will sink. I will never strike."

The s.h.i.+ps were now side by side, and Jones gave orders to lash the Bonhomme Richard to the Serapis. He seized a rope himself and helped to do it. The carpenter beside him, finding the lines tangled rapped out a sailor's oath.

But Jones was calm as if nothing was happening.

"Don't swear, Mr. Stacy," he said. "We may soon all be in eternity.

Let us do our duty."

Lashed together now the two s.h.i.+ps swung on the waves in a death grapple. The guns on the Bonhomme Richard were nearly all silenced.

But a sailor climbed out on to the yards, and began to throw hand grenades into the Serapis. He threw one right into the hold, where it fell upon a heap of cartridges and exploded, killing about twenty men. That ended the battle. With his s.h.i.+p sinking and aflame, and the dead lying thick about him, the British captain struck his flag, and the Americans boarded the Serapis and took possession.

In silence and bitterness of heart Captain Pearson bowed and handed his sword to Jones. But Jones had only admiration for his gallant foe. He longed to say something to comfort him, but he looked so sad and dignified that he knew not what to say. At length he spoke.

"Captain Pearson," he said "you have fought like a hero. You have worn this sword to your credit, and to the honour of your service.

I hope your King will reward you suitably."

But Captain Pearson could not answer, his heart was still too sore.

Without a word he bowed again and turned away.

While this terrible fight had been going on the Pallas had engaged the Countess of Scarborough, and captured her, and now appeared, not much worse for the fight. But the Bonhomme Richard was an utter wreck, and was sinking fast. So as quickly as possible, the sailors, utterly weary as they were with fighting, began to move the wounded to the Serapis. The crew of the British s.h.i.+p, too, worked with a will, doing their best to save the enemies of the night before. At length all were safely carried aboard the Serapis, and only the dead were left on the gallant old Bonhomme Richard.

"To them," says Jones, in his journal, "I gave the good old s.h.i.+p for their coffin, and in it they found a sublime sepulchre. And the last mortal eyes ever saw of the Bonhomme Richard was the defiant waving of her unconquered and unstricken flag as she went down."

So this strange sea-duel was over. The victorious s.h.i.+p went down, and the victorious captain sailed away in his prize. But the Serapis, too, was little more than a wreck. Her main mast was shot away.

Her other masts and spars were badly damaged, and could carry but little sail, and it seemed doubtful if she would ever reach port.

But, after a perilous journey, the coasts of Holland were sighted, and the Serapis was duly anch.o.r.ed in the Texel.

With deeds like these the little American navy realised Jones'

desire. But beyond that they did little to bring the war to an end.

Far more was done by the privateers, which were fitted out by the hundred. They scoured the seas like greyhounds, attacking British merchantmen on every trade route, capturing and sinking as many as three hundred in one year. This kind of warfare paid so well, indeed that farming was almost given up in many states, the farmers having all gone off to make their fortunes by capturing British merchantmen.

As for Paul Jones he never had a chance again of showing his great prowess. When the war was over he entered the service of Russia, and became an admiral. He died in Paris in 1792, but for a long time it was not known where he was buried. His grave was discovered in 1905, and his body was brought to America by a squadron of the navy which was sent to France for the purpose, and reburied at Annapolis with the honour due to a hero.

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Chapter 61 - The Battle of Monmouth - The Story of Captain Molly

While the Americans were learning endurance in the hard school of Valley Forge the British were having a gay time in Philadelphia.

The grave old Quaker town rang with song and laughter as never before. b.a.l.l.s and parties, theatricals and races, followed each other in a constant round of gaiety. And amid this light-hearted jollity Howe seemed to forget all about the war.

Had he chosen he could easily have attacked Valley Forge, and crushed Was.h.i.+ngton's peris.h.i.+ng army out of existence. Or if he grudged to lose men in an attack, he might have surrounded the Americans, and starved them into submission. But he did neither. He was too comfortable in his winter quarters, and had no wish to go out in the snow to fight battles.

Those in power in England had long been dissatisfied with Howe's way of conducting the war. Time and again he had seemed to lose his chance of crus.h.i.+ng the rebellion and now this idle and gay winter in Philadelphia seemed the last straw. Such bitter things indeed were said of him that he resigned his commission, and went home, and the supreme command was given to General Clinton.

Now that France had joined with America, Britain was in a very different position than before. She could no longer afford to send out large armies such as Howe had been given to subdue the colonies.

For she had to keep troops at home to protect Great Britain from invasion.

She had to send s.h.i.+ps and men all over the word, to repel the attacks of the French on her scattered colonies and possessions.

Clinton therefore was left with only an army of about ten thousand.

And with this force he was expected to conquer the country which Howe had been unable to conquer with thirty thousand.

Clinton knew that his task was a hard one. He saw that the taking of Philadelphia had been a mistake, and that from a military point of view it was worthless. So he decided at once to abandon Philadelphia, and take his army back to New York. And on the morning of the 18th of June the British marched out. A few days later Congress returned, and the city settled back to its quiet old life once more.

It was no easy task for Clinton to cross New Jersey in grilling summer weather, with a small force, an enormous baggage train, and Was.h.i.+ngton hanging threateningly about is path, hara.s.sing him at every step. That he did accomplish it brought him no little renown as a soldier.

For some time, following the advice of his officers, Was.h.i.+ngton did not make a general attack on the British. But near the town of Monmouth he saw his chance, and determined to give battle.

General Lee had by this time been exchanged, and was now again with Was.h.i.+ngton's army as second in command, and for this battle Was.h.i.+ngton gave him command of an advance party of six thousand men. With him were Anthony Wayne and Lafayette.

On the morning of the battle Lee's division was in a very good position. It seemed as if the British might be surrounded with ease, but when Wayne and Lafayette were about to attack Lee stopped them.

"You do not know British soldiers," he said to Lafayette. "We are certain to be driven back. We must be cautious."

"That may be so, General," replied Lafayette, "but British soldiers have been beaten, and may be so again. At any rate, I should like to try."

But for answer, Lee ordered his men to retreat.

At this Lafayette was both angry and astonished, and he hurriedly sent a message to Was.h.i.+ngton, telling him that his presence was urgently needed.

The soldiers did not in the least know from what they were retreating, and they soon fell into disorder. Then suddenly Was.h.i.+ngton appeared among them. He was white to the lips with wrath.

"I desire to know, " he said, in a terrible voice, turning to Lee, "I desire to know, sir, what is the reason--whence arises this disorder and confusion?"

Lee trembled before the awful anger of his chief. He tried to make excuses. Then Was.h.i.+ngton's fury knew no bounds. He poured forth a torrent of wrath upon Lee till, as one of his officers who heard him said, "the very leaves shook on the trees." Then halting the retreating troops, he formed them for battle once more. Later in the day meeting Lee he sent him to the rear.

Soon the battle was raging fiercely. Some of the hottest fighting took place round the American artillery, which was commanded by General Knox. The guns were doing deadly work, yet moving about coolly amidst the din and smoke of battle, there might be seen a saucy young Irish girl, with a mop of red hair, a freckled face, and flas.h.i.+ng eyes. She was the wife of one of the gunners, and so devoted was she to her husband that she followed him even to battle, helping him constantly with his gun. His comrades looked upon her almost as one of the regiment, and called her Captain Molly, and she wore an artilleryman's coat over her short red skirt, so that she might look like a soldier.

Captain Molly was returning from a spring nearby with a bucket full of water, when her husband, who was just about to fire, was killed by a shot from the enemy. The officer in command, having no one to take his place, ordered the gun to be removed.

Molly saw her husband fall, heard the command given, and she dropped her bucket and sprang to the gun.

"Bedad no," she cried. "I'll fire the gun myself, and avenge my man's death."

It was not the first time that Molly had fired a gun. She was with her husband at Fort Clinton, when it was taken by the British. As the enemy scaled the walls the Americans retreated. Her husband dropped his lighted match and fled with the rest. But Captain Molly was in no such haste. She picked up the match, fired the gun, and then ran after the others. Hers was the last gun fired on the American side that day.

Now all the long day of Monmouth she kept her gun in action, firing so skillfully and bravely, that all around were filled with admiration, and news of her deeds was carried through the army.

Even Was.h.i.+ngton heard of them.