Nearer and nearer the
two vessels drew on to each other.
"Hah," he said, "it is probably Paul Jones. If so there is hot work
ahead."
Again the Serapis sent a hail.
"What ship is that? Answer immediately, or I shall be obliged to
fire into you."
Paul Jones answered this time - with a broadside - and a terrible
battle began. The carnage was awful. The decks were soon cumbered
with dead and dying. The two ships were so near that the muzzles
of the guns almost touched each other. Both were soon riddled with
shot, and leaking so that the pumps could hardly keep pace with
rising water. Still the men fought on.
Jones was everywhere, firing guns himself, encouraging his men,
cheering them with his voice and his example. "The commodore had
but to look at a man to make him brave," said a Frenchman, who was
there. "Such was the power of one heart that knew no fear."
The sun went down over the green fields of England, and the great
red harvest moon came up. Still through the calm moonlit night the
guns thundered, and a heavy cloud of smoke hung over the sea. Two
of the rotten old guns on the Bonhomme Richard had burst at the
first charge, killing and wounding the gunners; others were soon
utterly useless. For a minute not one could be fired, and the
Captain of the Serapis thought that the Americans were beaten.
"Have you struck?" he shouted, through the smoke of the battle.
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