“Chuck it through the skylight, Jack,” he says; “I’ll fight this out in my scalp.” Then, glancing forward at the sailors, naked to the waist: “If it were not for the looks of the thing, I’d off coat and shirt, and fight in the buff like yonder gallant2 hearties3.”
There is a sudden smashing of the Richard’s bulwarks4, a splintering of spars; a sleet5 of shot, grape and solid and bar, tears through the ship! In the wake of that hail of iron comes the thunder of the guns—loud and close aboard! Commodore Paul Jones looks about in angry wonder; that broadside was not from the Serapis!
“It’s the Alliance!” cries Lieutenant6 Dale, rushing aft. “Landais is firing on us!”
Not half a cable-length away lies the Alliance, head to the wind, topsails back, half hidden in a curling smother7 of powder-smoke. There comes but the one broadside. Even as Commodore Paul Jones looks, the traitor’s head pays slowly off; a moment later the sails belly8 and fill, and the Alliance is running seaward before the wind. Commodore Paul Jones grits9 out a curse.
“Landais! Was ever another such a villain10 out of hell!”
The villain Landais makes off. There is no time for maledictions; besides, a court-martial will come later for that miscreant11. Just now Captain Pearson, with his Serapis, claims the attention of Commodore Paul Jones.
The tackle takes the strain; the lashings, and that fortunate starboard anchor of the Serapis, hold the ships together. Captain Pearson sees the peril12, and the way to free himself.
“Cut away that sta’board anchor!” he cries. Then, as a seaman13 armed with a hatchet14 springs forward, he continues: “The ring-stopper, man! Cut the shank-painter and the ring-stopper; let the anchor go!”
Commodore Paul Jones snatches a firelock from one of the agitated15 French marines. Steadying himself against a backstay, he raises the weapon to his shoulder and fires. The ball goes crashing through the seaman’s head as he raises his hatchet to cut free the anchor. Another leaps forward and grasps the hatchet. Seizing a second firelock, Commodore Paul Jones stretches him across the anchor’s shank, where he lies clutching and groaning17 and bleeding his life away. As the second man goes down, those nearest fall back. That fatal starboard anchor is a death-trap; they want none of it! Commodore Paul Jones, alert as a wildcat and as bent18 for blood, keeps grim watch, firelock in fist, at the backstay.
“I turned those hitches19 with my own hands,” says he; “and I’ll shoot down any Englishman who meddles20 with them.”
The French marines, despite the hardy21 example of Commodore Paul Jones, are in a panic. Their Captain Cammillard is wounded, and has retired22 below. Now their two lieutenants23 are gone. Besides, of the more than one hundred to go into the fight, no more than twenty-five remain. These, nerve-shattered and deeming all as lost, are fallen into disorder24 and dismay. The centuries have taught them to fear these sullen25 English. The lesson has come down to them in the blood of their fathers who fought at Crécy, Poitiers, Blenheim, Ramillies, and Malplaquet that these bulldog islanders are unconquerable! Panic grasps them at the moment of all moments when Commodore Paul Jones requires them most.
Seeing them thus shaken and beaten in their hearts, Commodore Paul Jones—who knows Frenchmen in their impulses as he knows his own face in a glass—adopts the theatrical26. He rushes into their midst, thundering:
“Courage, my friends! What a day for France is this! We have these dogs of English at our mercy! Courage but a little while, my friends, and the day is ours! Oh, what a day for France!” As adding éclat to that day for France, Commodore Paul Jones snatches a third firelock from the nearest marine16, and shoots down a third Briton who, hatchet upraised, is rushing upon that detaining anchor. Following this exploit, he wheels again upon those wavering marines, and by way of raising their spirits pours forth27 in French such a cataract28 of curses upon all Englishmen and English things that it fairly exhausts the imagination of his hearers to keep abreast29 of it.
Pierre Gerard, the little Breton sailor who, with Jack Downes, acts as orderly to Commodore Paul Jones, is swept off his feet in admiration30 of his young commander’s fire and profane31 fluency32. Little Pierre takes fire in his turn.
“See!” he cries, addressing Jack Downes, who being from New Hampshire understands never a word of Pierre’s French, albeit33 he takes it in, open-mouthed, like spring water; “See! He springs among them like a tiger among calves34! Ah, they respond to him! Yes, in an instant he arouses their courage! They look upon him—him, who has bravery without end! Name of God! To see him is to become a hero!”
It is as the excitable little Pierre recounts. The French marines, lately so cowed, look upon Commodore Paul Jones to become heroes. With shouts and cries they crowd about him valorously. He directs their fire against the English, who man the long-nines in the open waist of the Serapis. The fire of the recovered Frenchmen drives those English from their guns. Thereupon the French go wild with a fierce joy, and are all for boarding the Serapis. Commodore Paul Jones has as much trouble restraining them from rushing forward as he had but a moment before to keep them from falling back.
Captain Pearson has never taken his eyes from that fatal starboard anchor, holding him fast to the Richard. There it lies, his own anchor—the key-stone to the arch of his ruin! If it take every English life aboard the Serapis, it must be cut away! He orders four men forward in a body, to cut shank-painter and ring-stopper.
There comes an instant volley from the recovered French marines, led by Commodore Paul Jones, who fires with them. Before that withering36 volley the four hatchet-men fall in a crumpled37, bloody38 heap. The fatal anchor still holds; the ships grind side by side.
Captain Pearson orders forward more men, and still more men, to cut away that anchor, which is as an anchor of death, tying him broadside and broadside to destruction. Fourteen men die, one across the other, under the fire of Commodore Paul Jones and his French marines—each of the latter being now a volcano of fiery39 valor35! The last to perish is Lieutenant Popplewill; he dies honorably at the hands of Commodore Paul Jones himself, who sends a musket40 ball through the high heart of the young dreadnought just as he reaches those fatal fastenings.
While this labor41 of death and bloody slaughter42 goes on above, the smashing work of the Serapis’ eighteen-pounders has not ceased between decks. As the two ships come together, the lower-tier gun crews of the Serapis are shifted from the port to the starboard batteries. They attempt to run out the guns, and are withstood by the port-lids, which refuse to be triced up, the Richard grinding them so hard and close as to hold them fast.
“What!” cries Lieutenant Wright, who has command of the Serapis’ eighteen-pounders; “the ports won’t open? Open them with your round-shot, then, my hearties! Fire!”
And so the broadside of the Serapis is fired through its own planks43 and timbers, to open a way to the Richard.
“There!” cries Lieutenant Wright exultantly44, “that should give your guns a chance to breathe, my bucks45! Now show us how fast you can send your iron aboard the Yankee!”
The English broadside men respond with such goodwill46 that they literally47 cut the Richard in two between decks with their tempest of solid eighteen-pound shot.
While this smashing battery work goes forward, hammer and anvil48, the Serapis’ twelve-pounders are tearing and rending49 the Richard’s upper decks, piling them in ruins. Every twelve-pounder belonging to the Richard is rendered dumb. Only three long-nines remain in service. These are mounted on the quarter-deck, under the eye of Commodore Paul Jones.
“Suppose, Mr. Lindthwait, you train them on the enemy’s mainmast!” he observes to the midshipman, under whose command he places the three long-nines. “Try for his mainmast, young man! It will be good gunnery practise for you; and should you cut the stick in two, so much the better.”
Midshipman Lindthwait serves his trio of long nines with so much relish50 and vivacious51 accuracy that he soon has the mainmast of the Serapis cut half away. Leaving him to his task, Commodore Paul Jones again takes his French marines in hand, uplifts their souls with a fresh torrent52 of anti-English vituperation, and keeps them to the business of clearing the enemy’s deck.
One of the nine-pound shot of the industrious53 Lindthwait, flying low, strikes the main hatch of the Serapis, and slews54 the hatch cover to one side. It leaves a triangular55 opening, eighteen inches on its longish side, at one corner of the hatch. Commodore Paul Jones has his hawklike56 eye on it instantly. He points it out to midshipman Fanning and gunner Henry Gardner.
“There’s your chance, my lads!” he cries. “Sharp’s the word now! Lay aloft on the main topsail yard, with a bucketful of hand-grenades, and see if you can’t chuck one into her belly. A few hand-grenades, exploding among their eighteen-pounders below decks, would go far towards showing these English the error of their ways.”
Off skurry Midshipman Fanning and Gunner Gardner, with three sailors close behind. A moment later they are racing57 up the shrouds58 like monkeys, two ratlins at a time. Buckets of hand-grenades go with them, while Lieutenant Stack rigs a whip to the maintop to send them up a fresh supply.
The five lie out on the main topsail yard, like a quintette of squirrels, midshipman Fanning, a bright lad from New London, getting the place of honor at the earring59. The three sailors pass the hand-grenades, gunner Gardner fires the fuse with his slow match, while midshipman Fanning, perched at the farthest end of the yard, hurls60 them at that eighteen-inch triangle, where the hatch cover of the Serapis has been shifted.
Sixty feet below the hand-grenade quintette, Commodore Paul Jones is again dealing61 out profane encouragement to his marines, for their ardor62 sensibly slackens the moment he takes his eye off them. They do good work, however—these Frenchmen! Under their fire the upper deck of the Serapis becomes a slaughter-pen. One after another, seven men are shot down at the Englishman’s wheel. This does not affect the Serapis; since, locked together in the death grapple, both ships are adrift, and have paid no attention to their helms for twenty minutes. Still, it does the Frenchmen good to shoot down those wheelmen. Also, it mortifies63 the pride of the English; for to be unable to stay at one’s own wheel is in its way a disgrace.
While Commodore Paul Jones is uplifting his Frenchmen, and improving their small-arm practice, orderly Jack Downes, who has been forward to Lieutenant Dale with an order, comes rushing aft.
“Lieutenant Dale, sir, reports six feet of water in our hold; and coming in fast, sir!”
Orderly Jack Downes touches his forelock, face as stolid64 aw a statue’s, and not at all as though he has just reported the ship to be sinking. Commodore Paul Jones smiles approval on stolid Jack Downes; he likes coolness and self-command. Before he can speak, Lieutenant Mayrant comes aft to say that the Richard is on fire.
“Catches from the enemy’s wadding,” says Lieutenant Mayrant. “For you must understand, sir, that when the enemy’s eighteen-pounders are run out, their muzzles65 pierce through the shot-holes in our sides—we lay that close! As it is, they’ve set us all ablaze66.”
“But you’ve got the flames in hand?” Commodore Paul Jones puts the question confidently. He is sure that Lieutenant Mayrant wouldn’t be by his side at that moment unless the fire is under command.
“Lieutenant Stack, with ten men to pass the buckets, sir, are attending to it. It’s quite easy, the water in our hold being so deep. They have but to dip it up and throw it on the fire.”
“Good!” exclaimed Commodore Paul Jones. “Now that’s what I call making one hand wash the other. We put out the flames that are eating us up with the water that is sinking us.”
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1
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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3
hearties
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| 亲切的( hearty的名词复数 )； 热诚的； 健壮的； 精神饱满的 | |
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4
bulwarks
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| n.堡垒( bulwark的名词复数 )；保障；支柱；舷墙 | |
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sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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7
smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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grits
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| n.粗磨粉；粗面粉；粗燕麦粉；粗玉米粉；细石子，砂粒等( grit的名词复数 )；勇气和毅力v.以沙砾覆盖（某物），撒沙砾于( grit的第三人称单数 )；咬紧牙关 | |
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10
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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miscreant
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| n.恶棍 | |
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12
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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17
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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18
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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hitches
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| 暂时的困难或问题( hitch的名词复数 )； 意外障碍； 急拉； 绳套 | |
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meddles
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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21
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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23
lieutenants
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| n.陆军中尉( lieutenant的名词复数 )；副职官员；空军；仅低于…官阶的官员 | |
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24
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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25
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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26
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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cataract
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| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
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abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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30
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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31
profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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fluency
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| n.流畅，雄辩，善辩 | |
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33
albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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34
calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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35
valor
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| n.勇气，英勇 | |
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36
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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37
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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38
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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39
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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40
musket
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| n.滑膛枪 | |
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41
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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42
slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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43
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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44
exultantly
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| adv.狂欢地，欢欣鼓舞地 | |
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45
bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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46
goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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47
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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48
anvil
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| n.铁钻 | |
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49
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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50
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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51
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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52
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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53
industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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54
slews
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| n.许多，大量( slew的名词复数 )v.螫伤，刺伤( sting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
triangular
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| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
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56
hawklike
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57
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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58
shrouds
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| n.裹尸布( shroud的名词复数 )；寿衣；遮蔽物；覆盖物v.隐瞒( shroud的第三人称单数 )；保密 | |
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59
earring
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| n.耳环，耳饰 | |
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60
hurls
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的第三人称单数 )；大声叫骂 | |
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61
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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62
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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63
mortifies
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| v.使受辱( mortify的第三人称单数 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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64
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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65
muzzles
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| 枪口( muzzle的名词复数 )； （防止动物咬人的）口套； （四足动物的）鼻口部； （狗）等凸出的鼻子和口 | |
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66
ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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