Book: Richard Carvel, Volume 8

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Mr. Richard Carvel refers here to the narrative of his experiences in the
War of the Revolution, which he had written in the year 1805 or 1806.
The insertion of that account would swell this book, already too long,
out of all proportion. Hence I take it upon myself, with apologies, to
compress it.

Not until October of that year, 1775, was the infant navy born. Mr.
Carvel was occupied in the interval in the acquirement of practical
seamanship and the theory of maritime warfare under the most competent of
instructors, John Paul Jones. An interesting side light is thrown upon
the character of that hero by the fact that, with all his supreme
confidence in his ability, he applied to Congress only for a first
lieutenancy. This was in deference to the older men before that body.
"I hoped," said he, "in that rank to gain much useful knowledge from
those of more experience than myself." His lack of assertion for once
cost him dear. He sailed on the New Providence expedition under
Commodore Hopkins as first lieutenant of the Alfred, thirty; and he soon
discovered that, instead of gaining information, he was obliged to inform
others. He trained the men so thoroughly in the use of the great guns
"that they went through the motions of broadsides and rounds exactly as
soldiers generally perform the manual exercise."

Captain Jones was not long in fixing the attention and earning the
gratitude of the nation, and of its Commander-in-Chief, General
Washington. While in command of the Providence, twelve four-pounders,
his successful elusions of the 'Cerberus', which hounded him, and his
escape from the 'Solebay', are too famous to be dwelt upon here.
Obtaining the Alfred, he captured and brought into Boston ten thousand
suits of uniform for Washington's shivering army. Then, by the bungling
of Congress, thirteen officers were promoted over his head. The
bitterness this act engendered in the soul of one whose thirst for
distinction was as great as Captain Jones's may be imagined. To his
everlasting credit be it recorded that he remained true to the country to
which he had dedicated his life and his talents. And it was not until
1781 that he got the justice due him.

That the rough and bluff captains of the American service should have
regarded a man of Paul Jones's type with suspicion is not surprising.
They resented his polish and accomplishments, and could not understand
his language. Perhaps it was for this reason, as well as a reward for
his brilliant services, that he was always given a separate command. In
the summer of 1777 he was singled out for the highest gift in the power
of the United States, nothing less than that of the magnificent frigate
'Indien', then building at Amsterdam. And he was ordered to France in
command of the 'Ranger', a new ship then fitting at Portsmouth. Captain
Jones was the admiration of all the young officers in the navy, and was
immediately flooded with requests to sail with him. One of his first
acts, after receiving his command, was to apply to the Marine Committee
for Mr. Carvel. The favour was granted.

My grandfather had earned much commendation from his superiors. He had
sailed two cruises as master's mate of the Cabot, and was then serving as
master of the Trumbull, Captain Saltonstall. This was shortly after that
frigate had captured the two British transports off New York.

Captain Jones has been at pains to mention in his letters the services
rendered him by Mr. Carvel in fitting out the Ranger. And my grandfather
gives a striking picture of the captain. At that time the privateers,
with the larger inducements of profit they offered, were getting all the
best seamen. John Paul had but to take two turns with a man across the
dock, and he would sign papers.

Captain Jones was the first to raise the new flag of the stars and
stripes over a man-o'-war. They got away on November 14, 1777, with a
fair crew and a poor lot of officers. Mr. Carvel had many a brush with
the mutinous first lieutenant Simpson. Family influence deterred the
captain from placing this man under arrest, and even Dr. Franklin found
trouble, some years after, in bringing about his dismissal from the
service. To add to the troubles, the Ranger proved crank and
slow-sailing; and she had only one barrel of rum aboard, which made
the men discontented.

Bringing the official news of Burgoyne's surrender, which was to cause
King Louis to acknowledge the independence of the United States, the
Ranger arrived at Nantes, December 2. Mr. Carvel accompanied Captain
Jones to Paris, where a serious blow awaited him. The American
Commissioners informed him that the Indien had been transferred to France
to prevent her confiscation. That winter John Paul spent striving in
vain for a better ship, and imbibing tactics from the French admirals.
Incidentally, he obtained a salute for the American flag. The cruise of
the Ranger in English waters the following spring was a striking
fulfilment, with an absurdly poor and inadequate force, of the plan set
forth by John Paul Jones in the Annapolis Coffee House. His descent upon
Whitehaven spread terror and consternation broadcast through England, and
he was branded as a pirate and a traitor. Mr. Carvel was fortunately not
of the landing party on St. Mary's Isle, which place he had last beheld
in John Paul's company, on the brigantine John, when entering
Kirkcudbright. The object of that expedition, as is well known, was to
obtain the person of the Earl of Selkirk, in order to bring about the
rescue of the unfortunate Americans suffering in British prisons. After
the celebrated capture of the sloop-of-war Drake, Paul Jones returned to
France a hero.

If Captain Jones was ambitious of personal glory, he may never, at least,
be accused of mercenary motives. The ragged crew of the Ranger was paid
in part out of his own pocket, and for a whole month he supported the
Drake's officers and men, no provision having been made for prisoners.
He was at large expense in fitting out the Ranger, and he bought back at
twice what it was worth the plate taken from St. Mary's Isle, getting but
a tardy recognition from the Earl of Selkirk for such a noble and
unheard-of action. And, I take pride in writing it, Mr. Carvel spent
much of what he had earned at Gordon's Pride in a like honourable manner.

Mr. Carvel's description of the hero's reception at Versailles is graphic
and very humorous. For all his republican principles John Paul never got
over his love of courts, and no man was ever a more thorough courtier.
He exchanged compliments with Queen Marie Antoinette, who was then in the
bloom of her beauty, and declared that she was a "good girl, and deserved
to be happy."

The unruly Simpson sailed for America in the Ranger in July, Captain
Jones being retained in France "for a particular enterprise." And
through the kindness of Dr. Franklin, Mr. Carvel remained with him. Then
followed another period of heartrending disappointment. The fine ship
the French government promised him was not forthcoming, though Captain
Jones wrote a volume of beautiful letters to every one of importance,
from her Royal Highness the Duchess of Chartres to his Most Christian
Majesty, Louis, King of France and Navarre. At length, when he was
sitting one day in unusual dejection and railing at the vanity of courts
and kings, Mr. Carvel approached him with a book in his hand.

"What have you there, Richard?" the captain demanded.

"Dr. Franklin's Maxims," replied my grandfather. They were great
favourites with him. The captain took the book and began mechanically
to turn over the pages. Suddenly he closed it with a bang, jumped up,
and put on his coat and hat. Mr. Carvel looked on in astonishment.

"Where are you going, sir?" says he.

"To Paris, sir," says the captain. "Dr. Franklin has taught me more
wisdom in a second than I had in all my life before. 'If you wish to
have any business faithfully and expeditiously performed, go and do it
yourself; otherwise, send.'"

As a result of that trip he got the Duras, which he renamed the 'Bon
homme Richard' in honour of Dr. Franklin. The Duras was an ancient
Indiaman with a high poop, which made my grandfather exclaim, when he saw
her, at the remarkable fulfilment of old Stanwix's prophecy. She was
perfectly rotten, and in the constructor's opinion not worth refitting.
Her lowest deck (too low for the purpose) was pierced aft with three
ports on a side, and six worn-out eighteen-pounders mounted there. Some
of them burst in the action, killing their people. The main battery, on
the deck above, was composed of twenty-eight twelve-pounders. On the
uncovered deck eight nine-pounders were mounted. Captain Jones again
showed his desire to serve the cause by taking such a ship, and not
waiting for something better.

In the meantime the American frigate 'Alliance' had brought Lafayette to
France, and was added to the little squadron that was to sail with the
'Bon homme Richard'. One of the most fatal mistakes Congress ever made
was to put Captain Pierre Landais in command of her, out of compliment to
the French allies. He was a man whose temper and vagaries had failed to
get him a command in his own navy. His insulting conduct and treachery
to Captain Jones are strongly attested to in Mr. Carvel's manuscript:
they were amply proved by the written statements of other officers.

The squadron sailed from L'Orient in June, but owing to a collision
between the Bon homme Richard and the Alliance it was forced to put back
into the Groix roads for repairs. Nails and rivets were with difficulty
got to hold in the sides of the old Indianian. On August 14th John Paul
Jones again set sail for English waters, with the following vessels:
Alliance, thirty-six; Pallas, thirty; Cerf, eighteen; Vengeance, twelve;
and two French privateers. Owing to the humiliating conditions imposed
upon him by the French Minister of Marine, Commodore Jones did not have
absolute command. In a gale on the 26th the two privateers and the Cerf
parted company, never to return. After the most outrageous conduct off
the coast of Ireland, Landais, in the 'Alliance', left the squadron on
September 6th, and did not reappear until the 23d, the day of the battle.

Mr. Carvel was the third lieutenant of the 'Bon homme Richard', tho' he
served as second in the action. Her first lieutenant (afterwards the
celebrated Commodore Richard Dale) was a magnificent man, one worthy in
every respect of the captain he served. When the hour of battle arrived,
these two and the sailing master, and a number of raw midshipmen, were
the only line-officers left, and two French officers of marines.

The rest had been lost in various ways. And the crew of the 'Bon homme
Richard' was as sorry a lot as ever trod a deck. Less than three score
of the seamen were American born; near four score were British, inclusive
of sixteen Irish; one hundred and thirty-seven were French soldiers, who
acted as marines; and the rest of the three hundred odd souls to fight
her were from all over the earth,--Malays and Maltese and Portuguese.
In the hold were more than one hundred and fifty English prisoners.

This was a vessel and a force, truly, with which to conquer a fifty-gun
ship of the latest type, and with a picked crew.

Mr. Carvel's chapter opens with Landais's sudden reappearance on the
morning of the day the battle was fought. He shows the resentment and
anger against the Frenchman felt by all on board, from cabin-boy to
commodore. But none went so far as to accuse the captain of the
'Alliance' of such supreme treachery as he was to show during the action.
Cowardice may have been in part responsible for his holding aloof from
the two duels in which the Richard and the Pallas engaged. But the fact
that he poured broadsides into the Richard, and into her off side, makes
it seem probable that his motive was to sink the commodore's ship, and so
get the credit of saving the day, to the detriment of the hero who won it
despite all disasters. To account for the cry that was raised when first
she attacked the Richard, it must be borne in mind that the crew of the
'Alliance' was largely composed of Englishmen. It was thought that these
had mutinied and taken her.




CHAPTER LII

HOW THE GARDENER'S SON FOUGHT THE "SERAPIS"

When I came on deck the next morning our yards were a-drip with a clammy
fog, and under it the sea was roughed by a southwest breeze. We were
standing to the northward before it. I remember reflecting as I paused
in the gangway that the day was Thursday, September the 23d, and that we
were near two months out of Groix with this tub of an Indiaman. In all
that time we had not so much as got a whiff of an English frigate, though
we had almost put a belt around the British Isles. Then straining my
eyes through the mist, I made out two white blurs of sails on our
starboard beam.

Honest Jack Pearce, one of the few good seamen we had aboard, was rubbing
down one of the nines beside me.

"Why, Jack," said I, "what have we there? Another prize?" For that
question had become a joke on board the 'Bon homme Richard' since the
prisoners had reached an hundred and fifty, and half our crew was gone to
man the ships.

"Bless your 'art, no, sir," said he. "'Tis that damned Frenchy Landais
in th' Alliance. She turns up with the Pallas at six bells o' the middle
watch."

"So he's back, is he?"

"Ay, he's back," he returned, with a grunt that was half a growl; "arter
three weeks breakin' o' liberty. I tell 'ee what, sir, them Frenchies is
treecherous devils, an' not to be trusted the len'th of a lead line. An'
they beant seamen eno' to keep a full an' by with all their 'takteek'.
Ez fer that Landais, I hearn him whinin' at the commodore in the round
house when we was off Clear, an' sayin' as how he would tell Sartin on us
when he gets back to Paree. An' jabberin to th'other Frenchmen as was
there that this here butter-cask was er King's ship, an' that the
commodore weren't no commodore nohow. They say as how Cap'n Jones be
bound up in a hard knot by some articles of agreement, an' daresn't
punish him. Be that so, Mr. Carvel?"

I said that it was.

"Shiver my bulkheads!" cried Jack, "I gave my oath to that same, sir.
For I knowed the commodore was the lad t' string 'em to the yard-arm an'
he had the say on it. Oh, the devil take the Frenchies," said Jack,
rolling his quid to show his pleasure of the topic, "they sits on their
bottoms in Brest and L'Oriong an' talks takteek wi' their han's and
mouths, and daresn't as much as show the noses o' their three-deckers in
th' Bay o' Biscay, while Cap'n Jones pokes his bowsprit into every port
in England with a hulk the rats have left. I've had my bellyful o'
Frenchies, Mr. Carvell save it be to fight 'em. An' I tell 'ee 'twould
give me the greatest joy in life t' leave loose 'Scolding Sairy' at that
there Landais. Th' gal ain't had a match on her this here cruise, an' t'
my mind she couldn't be christened better, sir."

I left him patting the gun with a tender affection.

The scene on board was quiet and peaceful enough that morning. A knot of
midshipmen on the forecastle were discussing Landais's conduct, and
cursing the concordat which prevented our commodore from bringing him up
short. Mr. Stacey, the sailing-master, had the deck, and the coasting
pilot was conning; now and anon the boatswain's whistle piped for Garrett
or Quito or Fogg to lay aft to the mast, where the first lieutenant stood
talking to Colonel de Chamillard, of the French marines. The scavengers
were sweeping down, and part of the after guard was bending a new
bolt-rope on a storm staysail.

Then the--fore-topmast crosstrees reports a sail on the weather quarter,
the Richard is brought around on the wind, and away we go after a
brigantine, "flying like a snow laden with English bricks," as Midshipman
Coram jokingly remarks. A chase is not such a novelty with us that we
crane our necks to windward.

At noon, when I relieved Mr. Stacey of the deck, the sun had eaten up the
fog, and the shores of England stood out boldly. Spurn Head was looming
up across our bows, while that of Flamborough jutted into the sea behind
us. I had the starboard watch piped to dinner, and reported twelve
o'clock to the commodore. And had just got permission to "make it,"
according to a time-honoured custom at sea, when another "Sail, ho!" came
down from aloft.

"Where away?" called back Mr. Linthwaite, who was midshipman of the
forecastle.

"Starboard quarter, rounding Flamborough Head, sir. Looks like a
full-rigged ship, sir."

I sent the messenger into the great cabin to report. He was barely out
of sight before a second cry came from the masthead: "Another sail
rounding Flamborough, sir!"

The officers on deck hurried to the taffrail. I had my glass, but not a
dot was visible above the sea-line. The messenger was scarcely back
again when there came a third hail: "Two more rounding the head, sir!
Four in all, sir!"

Here was excitement indeed. Without waiting for instructions, I gave the
command:

"Up royal yards! Royal yardmen in the tops!"

We were already swaying out of the chains, when Lieutenant Dale appeared
and asked the coasting pilot what fleet it was. He answered that it was
the Baltic fleet, under convoy of the Countess of Scarborough, twenty
guns, and the Serapis, forty-four.

"Forty-four," repeated Mr. Dale, smiling; "that means fifty, as English
frigates are rated. We shall have our hands full this day, my lads,"
said he. "You have done well to get the royals on her, Mr. Carvel."

While he was yet speaking, three more sail were reported from aloft.
Then there was a hush on deck, and the commodore himself appeared. As he
reached the poop we saluted him and informed him of what had happened.

"The Baltic fleet," said he, promptly. "Call away the pilotboat with Mr.
Lunt to follow the brigantine, sir, and ease off before the wind. Signal
'General Chase' to the squadron, Mr. Mayrant."

The men had jumped to the weather braces before I gave the command, and
all the while more sail were counting from the crosstrees, until their
number had reached forty-one. The news spread over the ship; the
starboard watch trooped up with their dinners half eaten. Then a faint
booming of guns drifted down upon our ears.

"They've got sight of us, sir," shouted the lookout. "They be firing
guns to windward, an' letting fly their topgallant sheets."

At that the commodore hurried forward, the men falling back to the
bulwarks respectfully, and he mounted the fore-rigging as agile as any
topman, followed by his aide with a glass. From the masthead he sung out
to me to set our stu'nsails, and he remained aloft till near seven bells
of the watch. At that hour the merchantmen had all scuttled to safety
behind the head, and from the deck a great yellow King's frigate could be
plainly seen standing south to meet us, followed by her smaller consort.
Presently she hove to, and through our glasses we discerned a small boat
making for her side, and then a man clambering up her sea-ladder.

"That be the bailiff of Scarborough, sir," said the coasting pilot, "come
to tell her cap'n 'tis Paul Jones he has to fight."

At that moment the commodore lay down from aloft, and our hearts beat
high as he walked swiftly aft to the quarterdeck, where he paused for a
word with Mr. Dale. Meanwhile Mr. Mayrant hove out the signal for the
squadron to form line of battle.

"Recall the pilot-boat, Mr. Carvel," said the commodore, quietly. "Then
you may beat to quarters, and I will take the ship, sir."

"Ay, ay, sir." I raised my trumpet. "All hands clear ship for action!"

It makes me sigh now to think of the cheer which burst from that
tatterdemalion crew. Who were they to fight the bone and sinew of the
King's navy in a rotten ship of an age gone by? And who was he, that
stood so straight upon the quarter-deck, to instil this scum with love
and worship and fervour to blind them to such odds? But the bo'suns
piped and sang out the command in fog-horn voices, the drums beat the
long roll and the fifes whistled, and the decks became suddenly alive.
Breechings were loosed and gun-tackles unlashed, rammer and sponge laid
out, and pike and pistol and cutlass placed where they would be handy
when the time came to rush the enemy's decks. The powder-monkeys tumbled
over each other in their hurry to provide cartridges, and grape and
canister and doubleheaded shot were hoisted up from below. The trimmers
rigged the splinter nettings, got out spare spars and blocks and ropes
against those that were sure to be shot away, and rolled up casks of
water to put out the fires. Tubs were filled with sand, for blood is
slippery upon the boards. The French marines, their scarlet and white
very natty in contrast to most of our ragged wharf-rats at the guns, were
mustered on poop and forecastle, and some were sent aloft to the tops to
assist the tars there to sweep the British decks with handgrenade and
musket. And, lastly, the surgeon and his mates went below to cockpit and
steerage, to make ready for the grimmest work of all.

My own duties took me to the dark lower deck, a vile place indeed, and
reeking with the smell of tar and stale victuals. There I had charge of
the battery of old eighteens, while Mr. Dale commanded the twelves on the
middle deck. We loaded our guns with two shots apiece, though I had my
doubts about their standing such a charge, and then the men stripped
until they stood naked to the waist, waiting for the fight to begin. For
we could see nothing of what was going forward. I was pacing up and
down, for it was a task to quiet the nerves in that dingy place with the
gun-ports closed, when about three bells of the dog, Mr. Mease, the
purser, appeared on the ladder.

"Lunt has not come back with the pilot-boat, Carvel," said he. "I have
volunteered for a battery, and am assigned to this. You are to report to
the commodore."

I thanked him, and climbed quickly to the quarterdeck. The 'Bon homme
Richard' was lumbering like a leaden ship before the wind, swaying
ponderously, her topsails flapping and her heavy blocks whacking against
the yards. And there was the commodore, erect, and with fire in his eye,
giving sharp commands to the men at the wheel. I knew at once that no
trifle had disturbed him. He wore a brand-new uniform; a blue coat with
red lapels and yellow buttons, and slashed cuffs and stand-up collar, a
red waistcoat with tawny lace, blue breeches, white silk stockings, and a
cocked hat and a sword. Into his belt were stuck two brace of pistols.

It took some effort to realize, as I waited silently for his attention,
that this was the man of whose innermost life I had had so intimate a
view. Who had taken me to the humble cottage under Criffel, who had
poured into my ear his ambitions and his wrongs when we had sat together
in the dingy room of the Castle Yard sponging-house. Then some of those
ludicrous scenes on the road to London came up to me, for which the
sky-blue frock was responsible. And yet this commodore was not greatly
removed from him I had first beheld on the brigantine John. His
confidence in his future had not so much as wavered since that day. That
future was now not so far distant as the horizon, and he was ready to
meet it.

"You will take charge of the battery of nines on this deck, Mr. Carvel,"
said he, at length.

"Very good, sir," I replied, and was making my way down the poop ladder,
when I heard him calling me, in a low voice, by the old name: "Richard!"

I turned and followed him aft to the taffrail, where we were clear of the
French soldiers. The sun was hanging red over the Yorkshire Wolds, the
Head of Flamborough was in the blue shadow, and the clouds were like rose
leaves in the sky. The enemy had tacked and was standing west, with
ensign and jack and pennant flying, the level light washing his sails to
the whiteness of paper. 'Twas then I first remarked that the Alliance
had left her place in line and was sailing swiftly ahead toward the
Serapis. The commodore seemed to read my exclamation.

"Landais means to ruin me yet, by hook or crook," said he.

"But he can't intend to close with them," I replied. "He has not the
courage."

"God knows what he intends," said the commodore, bitterly. "It is no
good, at all events."

My heart bled for him. Some minutes passed that he did not speak, making
shift to raise his glass now and again, and I knew that he was gripped by
a strong emotion. "'Twas so he ever behaved when the stress was
greatest. Presently he lays down the glass on the signal-chest, fumbles
in his coat, and brings out the little gold brooch I had not set eyes on
since Dolly and he and I had stood together on the Betsy's deck.

"When you see her, Richard, tell her that I have kept it as sacred as her
memory," he said thickly. "She will recall what I spoke of you when she
gave it me. You have been leal and true to me indeed, and many a black
hour have you tided me over since this war' began. Do you know how she
may be directed to?" he concluded, with abruptness.

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