227. A Great Victory at King's Mountain.—After the Camden disaster the deep gloom continued till October, when Colonel Ferguson was sent with a force of British and Tories to the northwest to subdue the patriots in that region. Instantly there was a general uprising of the hunters and farmers of this wild and romantic region to defend their homes from the brutal enemy. These hardy mountaineers, ready to move at a moment's warning, came from every direction to a common meeting-place.

At King's Mountain, in North Carolina, where the British were entrenched, these American riflemen charged up the steep sides, surrounded the enemy, and cut them down till about half were killed and the rest fled in dismay. It was a brilliant victory, won by sheer hard fighting, and it brought supreme joy to the long-suffering patriots; for it proved to be decisive. It turned the tide of British rule in the south.

228. General Greene takes Command in the South.—A new Continental army was now to be sent from the north, and this time Washington had his choice of commanders. He sent one of his best and most trusted officers, General Greene, who had been a Rhode Island blacksmith. He knew how to fight; for he had served under the eye of Washington in many battles, and so had been well trained in military matters.

It was in December, 1780, that Greene took command of the so-called "southern army" at Charlotte, a little town in North Carolina. He had in all about two thousand men, but only eight hundred were fit for duty.

On the day Greene took command there were not three days' provisions in camp. He had no money. The people would not touch the Continental paper money. Ably, patiently, and brilliantly, this sagacious general at once set to work to effect his great purpose of driving the British armies from the south.

With Greene came another famous officer, General Daniel Morgan, the man who had marched with Arnold to Canada, and who commanded the infantry at Stillwater and Saratoga.

This was the man who, when he heard of Lexington, led his riflemen six hundred miles in twenty-one days, from Virginia, to join Washington in Cambridge.

Morgan was of gigantic stature, vast physical strength, and wonderful powers of endurance. In his youth he was a teamster. One day by order of a tyrannical British officer he was given five hundred lashes for some slight offense. He walked away saucy and defiant as before.

Of a gentle and unselfish nature, resolute, fearless in battle, a born fighter, Morgan was the ideal leader of the riflemen of the frontier. His force was smaller than Greene's, who had detached him to occupy a post in South Carolina.

229. How General Morgan defeated the British at Cowpens.—Cornwallis in January, 1781, sent Tarleton with eleven hundred troops to meet Morgan and dispose of him. They met at Cowpens, but Morgan, with a smaller army, reversed the order and disposed of Tarleton! He killed a large number, ten officers and more than one hundred men, took over five hundred prisoners, with all the artillery and stores.

It was at Cowpens that Colonel Washington, a distant relative of the Commander-in-Chief, wounded Tarleton in a hand-to-hand combat. Shortly afterwards this hated British officer said to a lady:—

"You seem to think very highly of Colonel Washington; and yet I have been told that he is so ignorant a fellow that he can hardly write his name."

"It may be so," quickly replied the lady; "but no man can testify better than yourself that he knows how to 'make his mark.'"

At another time the haughty Tarleton, boasting of his own deeds and speaking with disdain of the continental cavalry, said to a lady:—

"I have a very earnest desire to see your far-famed hero, Colonel Washington."

"Your wish, colonel, might have been gratified," she promptly replied, "had you dared to look behind you at the battle of Cowpens!"

230. Greene's Masterly Retreat.—How angry Cornwallis was at the ruin of his best army at Cowpens! He started to pursue Morgan and punish him. But the patriot general foresaw this, and not having soldiers enough, he got well ahead, and one day at dusk crossed the Catawba River. The advanced detachment of Cornwallis's army came up two hours later, and waited for morning. That night a heavy rain swelled the stream and checked the British advance. Morgan pushed on to the Yadkin and crossed, meeting Greene's army.

Determined that his little band should not be destroyed, since the fate of the war in the south depended upon it, and not being strong enough to meet Cornwallis with his well-equipped regiments in open battle, Greene now planned a retreat with as much method and care as he would have exercised in preparing for a battle.

The river Roanoke for a long distance runs near the boundary between Virginia and North Carolina. The upper portion of this stream is called the Dan. Greene now started for the fords of this river, seventy miles away, with Cornwallis close at his heels. The roads were deep with mud and almost impassable. The patriot soldiers, wretchedly clothed and nearly barefoot, struggled along, marking the road, as Greene wrote to Washington, with blood-stained tracks.

"How you must suffer from the cold!" said the general to a barefooted sentry.

"I do not complain," replied the soldier; "I know I should fare well if our general could procure supplies; and if, as you say, we fight in a few days, I shall take care to get some shoes."

It was a most masterly and gallant retreat. The men were kept in hand, and a serious encounter with the enemy was avoided.

One morning during the retreat, when everything seemed dark, Greene rode up to the door of a tavern. The host, a true friend, met him.

"What! alive, my dear general?"

"Yes; tired, hungry, alone, and penniless."

The hostess, Mrs. Elizabeth Steele, was of the stuff of which patriots are made. She gave the weary general a good breakfast, and while he was eating she put in his hands a bag filled with bright silver dollars, saying, "You need them, and I can do without them."

As the story goes, the gallant Greene, admiring the devotion of the noble woman, stepped to the mantel, over which hung a portrait of King George, turned it to the wall, and wrote upon the back, "Hide thy face, King George, and blush!"

Cornwallis pressed the patriots hard through forests and over streams, but he was baffled at every move. Reaching the river Dan, the American army was safely carried over by the boats which its sagacious commander had arranged for many days before.

Cornwallis came up in hot haste only to find that the deep and rapid river flowed between him and his foe. It would have been madness for him to cross the river. He sullenly withdrew his army to a point farther south.

231. Greene now begins to fight and shows Rare Generalship.—Having recruited and rested his men, Greene moved his army south of the Dan and began active operations. He followed sharply after Cornwallis, and in March brought him to battle at Guilford. The fight was severe, and the British general, though he gained the advantage, was so roughly handled that he retired towards Wilmington, the nearest point on the coast.

Greene now made a bold and hazardous move. Instead of preventing Cornwallis from advancing to the north, he left the British general to do as he pleased, faced about suddenly and boldly marched to South Carolina. His plan was to thrust himself between the main British army and its southern division and then attack the latter and their fortified posts.

Like a skillful general, having decided upon this daring change, Greene acted quickly. He marched with all speed for Camden, one hundred and sixty miles distant. His object was to break the British hold upon South Carolina.

A brighter day was now dawning, and the sunshine of hope was soon to appear. The adroit activities of Marion, Sumter, and Pickens, and the skill and vigor of Greene and Morgan were now bringing their harvest, and they gave the patriots new life and cheer.

At Hobkirks Hill, near Camden, Greene attacked the British. He was defeated, but it was a fruitless victory.

"We fight, get beat, rise, and fight again," wrote Greene to a friend.

One by one the strong posts of the enemy in South Carolina fell into our hands. The British hold on both the Carolinas was slowly but surely broken. The enemy wisely kept near the coast. The last battle of the long and stubborn struggle was fought at Eutaw Springs, S. C., in September, 1781. The contest was desperate on both sides; but the British, badly crippled, retreated in the night to Charleston.

232. Greene's Brilliant Campaign in the South.—Greene had with the scantiest of means done a great work in his southern campaign. He had driven Cornwallis to Virginia, to meet his fate at Yorktown. He had cleared both Carolinas of the British and restored them to the patriots.

In few if any campaigns carried on with small armies was ever so effective and brilliant work done as did General Greene with his little force of patriots. Most mortifying was it to the haughty British commanders to know that they had been out-generaled, out-marched, and in the long run, out-fought by a Yankee blacksmith.

The war in the south was now soon over. Savannah was captured in July, 1782; in December, 1783, the British left Charleston. It was a proud day for Greene and Morgan and Marion when they followed with their army on the heels of the departing foe. As the patriots marched in, happy thousands cheered, and floral wreaths flew from crowded windows.

The noble Greene lived only a few years after he had carried the Revolution to a triumph in the south. He died in 1786 from the effects of a sunstroke.

Among the great generals of the American Revolution, it is generally admitted that Greene ranked, in military genius, second only to Washington.

General Anthony Wayne, called "Mad Anthony" on account of his daring, who had fought by the side of Greene, and who watched by the death-bed of his comrade, wrote to a friend: "He was great as a soldier, great as a citizen, immaculate as a friend. The honors—the greatest honors of war—are due his remains. I have seen a great and good man die."

CHAPTER XVII.

THE STORY OF ARNOLD'S TREASON.

Financial matters were in a deplorable condition. Congress had no authority to raise money by taxation to carry on the war. Sometimes the colonies responded to the call for money from Congress; oftener they did not. There were paper promises enough issued by Congress and known as continental currency, but they had sadly fallen in value. Washington, it is said, once remarked that it took a wagon-load of it to buy a wagon-load of provisions. Samuel Adams tells us that he paid two thousand dollars for a hat and a suit of clothes.

A tradesman, to show his contempt for it, papered his shop with continental currency. The current phrase, "not worth a continental," has survived all these years as a reminder of the deplorable condition of our finances at this time. No wonder the famishing and half-frozen soldiers in Washington's army, when paid off in the flimsy stuff, were mutinous at times, and that the desertions averaged more than a hundred a month.

234. Arnold the Traitor.—In the midst of all the trials of this "year of disasters," the country was startled by the disclosure of a plot of the blackest treason. The recklessly brave but unscrupulous Arnold proved himself a traitor of the deepest dye.

Born in Connecticut, he was early known as "a bad boy." From earliest childhood he was disobedient, cruel, reckless, and profane, caring little or nothing for the good will of others. While he was apprentice to an apothecary he enlisted in the colonial army, but soon deserted. Afterwards he set up as druggist in New Haven, but wasted the money he earned and ended the business by becoming bankrupt.

235. His Brilliant Military Career.—When the startling news from Lexington thrilled all the country, Arnold raised a company of soldiers and was appointed captain. Soon he became colonel and aided Ethan Allen in the attack on Forts Ticonderoga and Crown Point. Next he was sent to assist General Montgomery in the assault on Quebec, where he proved himself a valiant soldier. He received a severe wound in the leg while gallantly leading his men. For these useful services, Congress made him a brigadier-general.

Soon after this, Congress bestowed upon five prominent brigadiers the distinguished rank of major-general, but Arnold was not one of them. He felt slighted and became very jealous. Washington wrote him a kindly letter, which partly appeased his wounded vanity.

During the Burgoyne campaign, as we have read, Arnold won special renown for his splendid bravery at the battle of Saratoga, where he was again wounded. For his signal valor in this battle he was now made a major-general. But even this probably failed to satisfy him; for there were still five others superior to him in rank.

236. The Beginning of his Wicked Career.—As his wounded leg needed rest, Arnold obtained from Washington, in the summer of 1778, the command of Philadelphia, lately evacuated by the British. During his nine months there his conduct was bad. His manners were haughty and insolent. He lived with costly extravagance far beyond his means, drove a fine coach and four, and gave splendid parties. His associates were largely among the Tories, and he married a Miss Shippen, a bitterly disloyal young woman. His intimate friends were now for the most part the enemies of his country.

Arnold's expensive habits of living soon brought him deeply in debt, and when the storekeepers urged payment of their bills, he contrived dishonest methods of obtaining money belonging to the government. Formal charges of misconduct were made; he was tried, found guilty, and sentenced to the very mild punishment of a public reproof by the Commander-in-Chief. This reprimand Washington performed as gently as possible, sparing his feelings by combining high praise for his past heroism with censure for his late misdeeds.

Arnold was angry. He had hoped to escape all censure. You may know how black a villain he was from the fact that, in his speech in court, defending himself, he spoke of his past services in battle and promised even more faithful devotion in future to his dear country, which he said he loved as his own life. It came out afterwards that even then he had been for months secretly exchanging letters with Sir Henry Clinton, and plotting how to betray his country! His letters were signed "Gustavus," and were secretly sent by his wife. The replies from Clinton purported to be from "John Anderson."

237. Secretly plans to betray his Country.—Arnold knew that of all things Clinton most longed to get possession of West Point; for it was the key of the river northward up to Lake Champlain, and it also controlled the crossing between New England and the Middle States. Arnold studied how to betray it, and by one bad act to satisfy both his revenge and his greed for money.

The first thing to do was to change the sullenness that had marked his behavior since the trial. He at once became cheerful, loudly patriotic, and so eager to help his dear country! Next he contrived to persuade some prominent officers to induce Washington to appoint him to the command of West Point. Not suspecting his treachery, Washington gave him the place. He took command in August, 1780.

238. Arnold and André meet, and plot Treason.—Now Arnold's plot began to ripen. But Clinton wanted to be very sure of what he was doing. He concluded to send a trusty officer to meet Arnold and settle the plan beyond doubt. So he selected the Adjutant General of his army, a brilliant young officer, Major John André, who knew all about it thus far, for he was the "John Anderson" who had, under Clinton's directions, answered the "Gustavus" letters.

On the morning that he started, André had a parting lunch with his fellow officers, with wine-drinking and song-singing—a right jolly time! Ah! if he could only have foreseen! André was an estimable young man, brave, educated, accomplished, a poet, an artist, and brought up in the best society of England.

André went up the Hudson in the sloop-of-war Vulture. After the moon went down, and it was dark enough for such a deed, a boat came silently from the west shore near Haverstraw, and took back from the vessel a tall young man wrapped in a black cloak. Arnold met him on the bank and led him into a thicket of fir trees. There, like two ugly spirits of evil, they crouched in the darkness, and talked over the details of the dastardly deed.

Arnold, eager for British gold, haggled for a higher price. They plotted the utter ruin of the patriot cause, till, at the earliest streak of dawn, boom! boom! sounded some cannon! The traitor was frightened! One of our shore batteries was firing a few shots at the Vulture, so that she had to drop down stream a few miles. André therefore could not return directly to the Vulture, but was obliged to remain hidden all that day.

The plans had all been arranged. Clinton was to send up a fleet with soldiers to West Point, and Arnold was meanwhile to have removed most of his troops from the fort on some pretense, so that Clinton's force could easily capture it. Arnold gave André some papers to carry to Clinton, maps of the fort, with instructions how to approach and take it.

Sir Henry had warned André not to receive any papers from Arnold nor to put on any disguise. André for some reason did not obey these orders. He may have suspected that, after all, some trap was planned to deceive the British, and thought best to carry back papers in Arnold's own handwriting. At all events, it was a fatal mistake for poor André.

239. Capture of André.—- André wore long riding-boots. Between his stockings and the soles of his feet he put these papers. He took also a pass from Arnold to carry him through the guards. The Vulture having dropped down the river, André crossed over and set out on horseback to go back to New York on the east side.

All went well until he reached the vicinity of Tarrytown. At this time the region was infested with "cowboys" and "skinners," who under the pretense of keeping up a partisan warfare for their respective sides used to steal whatever they could find.

On this morning several men from the American army had been sent out to look after the "cowboys." As André rode along, three of this party sprang from the bushes, leveled their muskets at him, and ordered him to halt. They were young men, and their names were John Paulding, David Williams, and Isaac Van Wart. One of them happened to have on the coat of a Hessian soldier whom he had captured. This may have misled André and prompted him to make a blunder.

"Gentlemen," said André, "I hope you belong to our side."

"Which side?" asked Van Wart.

"The lower party," answered André. "I am a British officer on urgent duty, and hope you will not detain me."

Then the three patriots ordered him off his horse. André saw his mistake. He showed them Arnold's pass, but they insisted on searching him. They examined his saddle, took off his coat and vest, but finding nothing wrong, were about to let him go, when Paulding said:—

"Boys, I am not satisfied; his boots must come off."

André objected: "his boots were very tight—he must not be detained—you'll suffer yet for what you are doing."

But off came the boots, and out came the fatal papers!

"Boys, this fine fellow is a spy!" exclaimed Paulding.

André offered his captors his splendid gold watch, his horse, and a thousand dollars in money, if they would only let him off. The three common soldiers proved true to themselves and to their great cause and refused a bribe. Believing their captive to be a spy, they took him to their commander, Colonel Jameson.

240. The Arch Traitor makes his Escape.—This officer made the blunder of sending a messenger to Arnold with a letter saying a certain John Anderson had been arrested! The horseman found the arch traitor at breakfast with several of his prominent officers as his guests. His beautiful young wife was presiding with charming grace at the table.

Arnold, concealing his terror, left the table, kissed his sleeping babe, told his fainting wife he might never see her again, seized a horse, galloped to the river, sprang into a boat, and urged the oarsmen by their love of money and rum to row him to the Vulture. When the boat reached the vessel, the traitor was so mean as to hand over the poor oarsmen as prisoners. But the British captain generously sent them back.

Washington arrived at Arnold's house a few hours after he had escaped, and when the papers in Arnold's handwriting were shown him, his hand shook; he was overwhelmed with amazement and sorrow.

Turning to Lafayette, with tears running down his cheeks, and choking with grief, he cried out:—

"Arnold is a traitor, and has fled to the British! Whom can we trust now?"

It was only for a moment. The next instant Washington had recovered his iron self-control.

241. What became of Arnold.—Washington contrived an ingenious plan to capture Arnold, but it failed. The traitor got his reward; he was made a major-general in the British army and received thirty thousand dollars for his villany. But the gold turned to ashes in his hands. Everybody despised him. Men pointed the finger of scorn at him, saying, "There goes Arnold the traitor."

A member of Parliament, in the midst of a speech saw Arnold in the gallery, and, pausing, said, "Mr. Speaker, I will not go on while that traitor is in the house."

Washington had, all the years before, been Arnold's steadfast friend. He admired one who could fight with such energy, and who never knew fear. After the treason it is said that Washington could never mention the traitor's name without a shudder.

"What do you think of the doings of that diabolical dog?" wrote Colonel Williams, the gallant southern fighter, to General Morgan.

"Curse on his folly and perfidy!" said the noble-hearted General Greene. "How mortifying to think that he is a New Englander!"

242. André's Sad Fate.—The three faithful men who captured André were highly honored. Each received a silver medal from Congress, with a life pension of two hundred dollars a year. Their graves are marked by worthy monuments.

But poor André! what became of him? He was tried within a week by a court-martial of fourteen generals and condemned to death as a spy.

"We cannot save him," said the kindly old veteran, Baron Steuben. "Oh that we had the traitor who has dragged this gallant young officer to death, so that he might suffer in his stead!" André wrote a full and frank letter to Washington, urging that he was not really a spy. All Americans felt deep pity for him because of his youth, his virtues, his many accomplishments, his belief that he was serving his country, and because he had been the victim of a villain.

But Americans could not forget that the British, four years before, had captured a brave young American officer, Captain Nathan Hale, and hanged him as a spy without any manifestation of pity or sympathy.

The officer who commanded the escort that brought André across the Hudson to the main army was a college classmate of Hale. As the young officers rode along on horseback, mention was made of Hale's sad fate.

"Surely," said André, "you do not think his case and mine alike!"

"They are precisely alike," answered the officer, "and similar will be your fate."

Washington, who shed tears when he signed the death warrant, would gladly have saved André's life; but the stern rules of war and the good of the American cause left no room for mercy. His execution was put off one day, it is said, in hope that Arnold might be captured and made to suffer in his stead.

André bravely faced the awful event, and on the morning of the day of his death conversed freely and even cheerfully. He was disturbed only about the mode of his death; he begged to be shot as a soldier, and not hanged as a spy; but the grim custom and rules of war forbade.

243. Arnold dies in Disgrace.—Arnold lived in London for more than twenty years after his foul treason. No doubt they were years of bitter remorse and self-reproach. His wife proved herself a devoted woman. Arnold's children and grandchildren all felt keenly the disgrace that rested upon the family.

As the traitor came to his final sickness, his mind seemed to recall the days when he fought for his country with distinction. He thought of the steadfast friendship that Washington once cherished for him. After Saratoga, this friend had presented him with epaulettes and a sword-knot, and put them on with his own hand. The old uniform in which he had fought his battles, and which he wore on the day he escaped to the Vulture, had been carefully kept during all these years of disgrace.

Just before his death the desolate old man called for these sad reminders and put them on again.

"Let me die," said he, "in this old uniform in which I fought so many battles for my country. May God forgive me for ever putting on any other!"

Thus perished the man who, with the exception of Washington and Greene, prior to his infamous deed, had done perhaps more efficient service for the cause of our independence than any other American general.

Think of the contrast between the deep infamy of an Arnold and the patriotic grit and unselfishness of those ragged, half-starved Pennsylvania soldiers who rose in mutiny during the next winter. Mad Anthony Wayne had led some of these men at the storming of Stony Point, and he was dearly beloved by them all; yet they would not obey even him.

As Wayne was speaking to them, two men, who had been sent by General Clinton to tamper with the mutineers and offer a bounty and high pay if they would enlist in the British army, were detected. The soldiers in their wrath turned these emissaries over to their general, and they were hanged as spies.

"Tell General Clinton," said these men who had not received a cent of pay to send home to their families for over a year, "that we are not Benedict Arnolds."

CHAPTER XVIII.

JOHN PAUL JONES: OUR FIRST GREAT NAVAL HERO.

In the first years of the war the colonies began to build a number of warships, but these were of little account compared with the navy of England. Such few vessels as we already had were hastily fitted up for naval service and armed with small cannon. These had to make up for their want of size by the boldness of their crews and the quickness of their movement.

Privateering was then very common. This means that a vessel owned or officered by private persons has a commission from the government to go out and attack the enemy's vessels. Without this authority it would have been regarded as a pirate.

245. John Paul Jones begins his Remarkable Career.—The feeble colonies had then not only few vessels, but few officers to command them. There was one officer, however, John Paul Jones, who soon became widely famous as a naval commander of extraordinary courage and superb audacity. He was born in Scotland. When a boy of only twelve years he began to go to sea. In time he visited his elder brother, a farmer in Virginia. During the next few years he made a number of voyages to the West Indies, and became rich by his skill in trading.

When the war of the Revolution began, this energetic young Scotch sailor determined to take an active part in it. He entered the navy in 1775, when twenty-eight years old, and became lieutenant of the sloop-of-war Alfred.

On this vessel Paul Jones hoisted to the masthead the first American flag ever displayed over an American warship. It was a yellow silk flag showing a pine tree, with a rattlesnake coiled at its root as if about to strike, and the motto, "Don't tread on me." Our present flag, with its beautiful stripes and glowing stars, was adopted by Congress two years later.

The Alfred was the flagship of a little fleet of seven vessels. They soon captured two British vessels from the Bahamas, then went to Nassau, the capital of the islands, took the governor prisoner, and carried away nearly a hundred cannon with a large quantity of military supplies. On the way home they seized two more British vessels. On a later cruise, of forty-seven days, Jones took sixteen prizes.

246. John Paul Jones performs Daring Deeds on the English Coast.—Afterwards Paul Jones went to France, and sailing from Brest in his ship the Ranger, he swept the seas all around England, taking or destroying every hostile ship he met. He was so audacious as to sail into British ports, wrecking and pillaging everywhere. He entered the harbor of Whitehaven, England, surprised the forts, spiked the guns, and burned some ships at the docks. English commerce was crippled, insurance rates rose to a fabulous price, and merchants met with enormous losses.

The English were so alarmed that they sent out the well-armed sloop-of-war Drake to capture Jones and bring him in a prisoner. But the daring hero turned the game just the other way. He met the British craft in the Irish Sea, and after a severe battle of over an hour he captured her with more than two hundred prisoners and took the prize to Brest. All this pleased the French wonderfully, for they had had war with England.

In fact all Europe rang with the praises of John Paul Jones.

247. Jones's Interview with Franklin; secures Help from France.—The American Commissioners in Paris, of whom Franklin was the leader, promised Jones a much larger ship; but they could not get the money to pay for it, and Jones was very impatient to be off to sea again. He went to the harbor of Lorient, on the west coast of France, to choose a ship. Week after week he waited for an order from Paris to buy the vessel, but none came.

One day, while in a restaurant, the young officer took up a copy of Poor Richard's Almanac, a very unique little annual, really the work of Franklin. Reading the bright sayings scattered over every page, he came upon this maxim: "If you would have your business done, go; if not, send!"

The truth of the homely saying came to his mind like a flash. He sprang to his feet.

"That was written for me," he said. "Here I am, sending to Paris, when I ought to go!"

He started at once. He appealed to the Minister of Marine, and then to King Louis himself. He pleaded his way to success. The king immediately gave him a forty-gun ship at Lorient. He went back and took command. The first thing Paul Jones did was to paint out the old name and give for a new one the French equivalent of Dr. Franklin's almanac name, Bon Homme Richard ("Poor Richard," or "Goodman Richard"); for he gave the credit of his sudden success to Franklin's wise maxim.

248. The Battle between the Bon Homme Richard and the Serapis.—Our daring mariner soon sailed out with six other vessels, all flying the beautiful new American flag. The crew on the Richard numbered nearly four hundred men, a medley of sailors from almost every nation in Europe, and even including some Malays. He sailed up between England and Ireland, taking a number of prizes, then around the north of Scotland and down on the east coast of England.

Here, in the evening of a clear September day in 1779, his little fleet met, off Flamborough, the new British ship of forty-four guns, commanded by Captain Pearson. The Serapis, though a larger and better ship than the old Richard, tried to escape, but the Richard chased her and brought her to. It was just at twilight, and so near the land that crowds of people thronged the shores to see the contest.

As darkness settled down, the ships drew nearer. Just then the full moon rose slowly over the sea, and right in the range of its broad field of light were the dark shapes of the two hostile vessels.

Now they draw closer. On each ship rests a stillness like that of death. The men stand at their guns silent and thoughtful. The thousands on shore hold their breath. Silently up goes the British flag on the mainmast of the Serapis, and over the Richard waves the new banner of the "stars and stripes."

"Ship ahoy!" shouted Captain Jones through his speaking trumpet.

"Aye, aye!" was the reply from the English vessel.

"What's your name?" came ringing over the water.

"His majesty's ship Serapis! What's yours?"

"Bon Homme Richard!" replied the gallant Jones; "haul down your flag!"

The Englishman's answer was the flash and boom of a cannon shot that whizzed through the rigging of the Richard. Then raged the lightning and thunder of battle. Fast and furious was the roar of the big guns, now from this ship, now from that.

They drift nearer together; now their rigging is entangled; now they touch! Now the struggling crews fight hand to hand. Right and left the conflict rages, with pikes and pistols and cutlasses.

Jones is now here, now there, seeing all, controlling all, and mixing with the bravest, now training some gun, now pulling at some rope or cheering some lagging sailor lad. His strong will and sturdy pluck give new life to his men. They cheer as their shot begin to tell. The air is filled with the crash of cannon, the rattle of pistols, the orders of officers, the yells of the crews, and the groans of the dying.

The American flag is obscured with smoke, so that Captain Pearson, not seeing it, shouts, "Are you ready to surrender?"

Instantly comes Jones's defiant reply, "Surrender! I've not yet begun to fight!"

Then Jones lashed the ships together, while the cannon balls tore through the vessels, cut the masts, and scattered the wounded and dead all around. The Richard is leaking badly, but the fight still rages. Marines in the rigging bring down the enemy with incessant shots, and hurl grenades that fire the Serapis.

The flames spread; both ships are on fire! but still the big guns roar. Both vessels have been on fire three times, but the pumps are at work and the battle still rages. The scene is one of appalling, indescribable grandeur. Finally, at about ten o'clock, Captain Pearson sees there is no hope against such a foe as this, and so strikes his flag. When the haughty English captain gave up his sword to the brave Yankee sailor, he said: "I cannot but feel much mortification at the idea of surrendering my sword to a man who has fought me with a rope round his neck."

The gallant Jones received the Englishman's sword, and at once returned it, saying, "You have fought bravely, sir, and I hope your king will give you a better ship."

Thus ended one of the most desperate sea fights recorded in naval history. The Bon Homme Richard was a complete wreck and was fast sinking. Accordingly Jones took all on board the Serapis, which of course was then under his command, and in a few hours the American vessel went down in the deep sea, carrying with her the bodies of her dead. The victorious commander took the Serapis, with all his prisoners, into a Holland port.

249. Effect of this Grand Naval Victory; After-Life of Paul Jones.—This famous victory was a severe blow to England's naval prestige. The moral effect upon the nations of Europe of such a victory within sight of the English coast was something remarkable.

Franklin praised Jones, and Washington wrote him a warm letter of thanks. The French king invited him to his palace, and presented him with a superb gold-mounted sword. The empress of Russia gave him an honorary ribbon, and the king of Denmark awarded him a pension.

In America this victory brought universal joy, and Congress bestowed on the victor a large gold medal. The brave Captain Pearson was afterwards knighted by his king. On hearing of it, Jones said, "He deserves it; and if I fall in with him again I'll make a lord of him."

After a few years' further service in our navy, Paul Jones was offered a position of honor in the Russian navy. He accepted it and soon won a brilliant victory in the Black Sea over the Turks, who were frightened at his remarkable bravery.

Afterwards, when living in Paris, Jones became broken down in health. No wonder, for he had fought twenty-four naval battles! When he was taken sick, the queen sent her physician, to attend him. He died in Paris in 1792, at the early age of forty-five, thirteen years after his memorable victory. No one knows the place of his burial. At the public funeral a vast concourse filled the streets of the French capital.

General sorrow was shown throughout the United States at the death of John Paul Jones, the great ocean hero of the Revolution—indeed, the first heroic character in our country's naval history.

CHAPTER XIX.

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN: HIS HIGHLY USEFUL CAREER.

Most men who have attempted to write their own lives have made a sad failure of it. This busy man of the world, with no education save that which he was able to get in the "odds and ends" of time, told the story of his own life in a way that has commanded the interest and admiration of multitudes of readers for over a hundred years.

251. Franklin's Early Life; his Genius for Useful Inventions.—Benjamin Franklin, the fifteenth of a family of seventeen children, was born in Boston in 1706. His father was a poor man, who could afford his youngest boy only about two years of schooling. When he was ten, the lad left school to assist his father at his trade of making soap and tallow candles.

Nothing else pleased the boy so much as a book. He had access at this time to very few, and most of these were dull, but he read them eagerly. He read and re-read Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress until he knew it by heart. He disliked his father's trade and longed to do something more agreeable. He even thought of running away to sea as one of his brothers had done.

252. Learns the Printer's Trade; how he learned to write Good English.—Finally the boy was bound out as an apprentice to his older brother James, to learn the printer's trade. This was more to the boy's liking, for it gave him a better chance to read. For three years young Franklin worked hard to master the business. In a short time he could set type as well as any of the Boston printers. He went on errands to the bookstores, and, making friends with the clerks, he was often able to borrow books to read. He would carry them home, sit up most of the night reading, and return them on the next morning.

In his story of his own life, Franklin gives a most interesting account of his finding an odd volume of Addison's Spectator, and how charmed he was with the style. He would read one of Addison's essays with great care, close the book, and then write it out in his own words. This was carefully compared with the original, and corrected and re-corrected until he had improved upon his first effort.

This and other similar exercises were long continued, and they gave the ambitious boy the command of a singularly clear and interesting style.

253. Writes for his Brother's Newspaper.—For three years the young printer worked steadily at his trade, without a moment of leisure except such as he took from his sleep or from his meals. He often sat up late and rose early, that he might have more time for study.

His brother James, for whom he worked, so prospered in his business that he began to print in 1721 a weekly newspaper. It was young Benjamin's duty to set the type and strike off the edition of a few hundred papers, and then carry the little sheet to the houses of the subscribers.

The boy read his brother's paper and soon had confidence enough in himself to write articles for it. He did not dare to let his brother know it, but slipped them under the door at night. They were printed and eagerly read for some time before their authorship was known.

254. Goes to Philadelphia; First Appearance in that City.—Young Franklin and his brother did not, however, get along well together. They quarreled, and the young printer at last sold some of his books and set sail for New York on a sloop. Unable to find work there, he was advised to go to Philadelphia. After many hardships and mishaps, he stepped ashore at the Quaker City one Sunday morning with one silver dollar and about a shilling in copper in his pocket.

Franklin was at this time a sturdy youth of seventeen. He was dressed in the peculiar fashion of the times. He wore knee breeches of buckskin, also a huge coat, the pockets of which bulged out with his spare shirts and stockings. He hastened to the first baker's shop and asked for threepenny worth of bread. The baker handed him three long rolls. He took one under each arm, and ate the third as he walked along the streets.

A young girl happened to see him as he passed her father's house, and she laughed aloud at the young man's comical appearance. The girl's name was Deborah Read, and she afterwards became the wife of Franklin. Hungry and tired, he ate his rolls, then walked down to the river for a drink of water, and at last went into a Quaker meeting and soon fell sound asleep.