Thursday, July 9, 2026

1778

 

__________

 

“The moment I heard of America, I loved her; the moment I knew she was fighting for freedom, I burnt with a desire of bleeding for her; and the moment I shall be able to serve her at any time, or in any part of the world, will be the happiest one of my life.”

 

Marquis de Lafayette

__________




 

 

January 1: Washington’s army has been camped at Valley Forge for two weeks. Conditions are miserable.  Time-Life adds a few notes.

 

The American commander warns Congress that short of supplies, the army “must inevitably be reduced to one or other of these three things. Starve, dissolve, or disperse….” Typhus killed hundreds.

 

General Nathanael Greene wrote, “God grant we may never be brought to such a wretched condition again!”

 

Of our soldiers: “the marvel is that they fought so bravely, endured so much, and complained so little.” (2/142)

 

NOTE TO TEACHERS: I wrote a good piece for my classes on Valley Forge, but left the next section out, in order to reduce length. It might come in handy in other ways.

 

As always, I put words I doubted most students would know in bold and we discussed those before reading.





 

ARE THE REDCOATS EVER COMING??? 

All that winter, the British and Hessians had a force of 19,000 men stationed in and around Philadelphia. Yet, they failed to strike at Washington’s position when his army was weakest. Indeed, it has been said that Lord William Howe, the British commander, was more interested in his mistress (described by witnesses as “a flashing blonde”) than going after rebel forces.

 

Occasionally, opposing patrols had minor scrapes, often while out looking for supplies. Captain Henry Lee and a half-dozen Americans once found themselves surrounded in a farmhouse. Outside 200 British troops blocked escape. Lee kept his head, ordering his men to move from window to window, shooting as if many more were inside. “Fire away, my good fellows!”  he shouted at one point. “Here comes the infantry!” he added loudly. “We will have them all, God d--- them!” Panicked by Lee’s clever bluff, the attackers scampered for safety.

 

Another day, John McCasland, a Pennsylvania rifleman, was part of a sixteen-man patrol when they surprised a Hessian force looking for food. In the yard of an American house, a lone German stood watch. Unaware, he could not know McCasland was preparing to fire from hiding. As the rifleman made ready, he balked at what seemed to him like murder. “I did not like to shoot a man down in cold blood,” McCasland later explained. So, aiming for the enemy’s hip, he dropped him with one shot. A dozen men inside gave up immediately, waving full bottles of rum from the windows like “flags of truce.”

 

A third incident was not so bloody. An American officer, riding out alone on some errand, spied several “Redcoats” along the edge of a large field. Racing back to camp, he sounded the alarm. U.S. forces marched to investigate. Ready to storm into battle, they discovered some farmer’s wife had hung her red petticoats (underwear) over a rail fence.

 

 Once more the enemy gave up without a shot.

 

*

 

AFTER THE WAR, Baron Von Steuben was granted a farm of 16,000 acres near Ft. Stanwix. New York. He died there in 1794 (97/175)

 

*

 

PAIGE SMITH notes that many women “raised money for the Continental Army by soliciting door to door, and others sewed shirts for the soldiers.” Often, they embroidered their initials on them.

 

A French officer was shown a room in Philadelphia with 2,200 shirts made for the troops. (45/66)

 

Van Loon notes of Washington and his men,

 

By this time they had suffered so much through the inefficiency and indifference of Congress, that the callousness of a few Pennsylvania farmers, who sold all their produce directly to the British (whose pockets were filled with golden sovereigns) and let their own countrymen starve (because they could not pay cash) was merely an unpleasant experience to be forgotten as soon as the actual fighting was resumed. (124/208-209)

 

He describes Franklin’s career: 

He invented a new sort of type. He experimented with the ink used on the press of his Pennsylvania Gazette. He taught himself Latin, Spanish, French and Italian. He helped found the American Philosophical Society. He was postmaster-general for the colonies and speeded up the mail service until New York had three Philadelphia deliveries every week. He was the first successful rebel against the Puritan Sabbath and spent his Sundays perusing his own studies instead of listening to the secondhand wisdom of someone else. He studied the cause of earthquakes, perfected the well-known Franklin stove and gave his native city an adequate system of street lighting. He received the Copley medal of the Royal Society in London for his new-fangled invention known as the Franklin-rod and since introduced into all parts of the world as the lightning-rod. Under the pseudonym of Richard Saunders he printed an annual little book which became known as Poor Richard’s Almanac and which was on every Christmas table in America during the latter half of the eighteenth century. He opened and operated the first public lending library. He was a member of the General Assembly of Pennsylvania for thirteen years. He was colonial agent in London for his own state, for Georgia, for New Jersey, and for Massachusetts. And when at home he used to cart the paper necessary for his many publications by his own hand from the warehouse to the print shop so that his neighbors might see but that he did not consider himself too good for this job and intended to remain plain old Ben Franklin,  the printer. (124/215-216)

 

How did Franklin coax the French into an alliance? 

By the simplest of expedient, by absolutely remaining himself.

 

The immensely bored courtiers of King Louis, accustomed to the dull formality and the affectations of their own little Versailles, suddenly found themselves face to face with a pleasant old man in a beaver cap and a coat of the vintage of the year 1730, who talked to them as if they had been his own grandchildren and who, if they were very good, might give them a hickory nut or an apple, “grown in his own garden.”

 

Thank heaven, here at last was something new.

 

France went wild about this philosopher from the backwoods.

 

In less than a month, everyone in the whole country knew the old man at least by sight. Peddlers carried his engraved portraits and plaster-cast busts from the Pyrenees to the Meuse. Every snuff-box and shaving-mug, in order to be up-to-date, must show the benign countenance of the “Apostle of Liberty.” Lovely ladies wore Franklin bracelets and rings. The populace at large went Franklin mad and only a man with the iron constitution of the old printer could hope to eat his way through the endless official banquets, luncheons and suppers that were arranged in honor of this most distinguished guest and live. (124/219-220)

 

 

Until Franklin began to work his magic, the French viewed Philadelphia as if “it was the last station before the planet Mars.” (124/225)

 

* 

JOHN QUINCY ADAMS says that it was a rule in school, from 1778 to 1786, that every hoop, sled, and boyhood possession should in some way bear thirteen marks, for the Thirteen Colonies. (226/172)

 

*

February 6: France recognizes the United States, and the two nations agree to a formal alliance. (According to Lancaster and Plumb, the French had been impressed not only by the American victory at Saratoga, but the “display of strength and moral at Germantown.”

 

* 

SIR HENRY CLINTON, who has taken over command from Lord Howe is ordered, on news that France has joined the war, to send 5,000 of his troops to the West Indies, for attacks on St. Lucia, and 3,000 more to St. Augustine. 

Clinton also decides to move his army out of Philadelphia, and head for New York City – opening up his strung out troops and wagon train to attack. Washington called a council of war, which he often did. (Hamilton compared these meetings to gaggles of midwives.) Gen. Charles Lee was “passionately opposed” to any strike at Clinton’s force. (48/204-206) 


June 28: The Battle of Monmouth again shows that the Continental Army can stand up to the best British and German professionals – but Charles Lee helps ruin American chances when he orders an untimely retreat. Washington’s army suffered 500 casualties, the enemy 600, and Clinton stole away in the darkness and kept on toward New York.



 

* 

July 5: Warfare in the Wyoming Valley of Pennsylvania takes a bloody turn. Ridpath describes events: 

[The Tory] major John Butler, commanding sixteen hundred loyalists, Canadians and Indians marched into the valley of Wyoming, Pennsylvania. The settlement was defenceless. On the approach of the of the Tories and savages, a few militia, old men and boys, rallied to protect their homes. A battle was fought, and the patriots without discipline or efficient command were routed. The fugitives fled into a rude fort which they had erected and which was soon crowded not only with the militia, but with the women and children of the settlement. Honorable terms were promised by Butler, and the garrison capitulated. On the 5th of July the gates were opened and the Canadians entered followed by the Indians. The latter and some of the former immediately began to plunder and kill. The passion of butchery rose with the work and nearly all the prisoners fell under the hatchet and the scalping knife.

 

* 

September 17: Article V of a treaty signed with the Delaware Indians states: 

The United States do engage to guarantee to the aforesaid nation of Delawares, and their heirs, all their territorial rights in the fullest and most ample manner as it hath been bound by former treaties, as long as they the said Delaware nation shall abide by and hold fast the chain of friendship now entered into. And it is further agreed on between the contracting parties should it for the future be found conducive for the mutual interest of both parties to invite any other tribes who have been friends to the interest of the United States, to join the present confederation, and to form a state whereof the Delaware nation shall be the head, and have a representation in Congress: Provided, nothing contained in this article to be considered as conclusive until it meets with the approbation of Congress. (125/131)

 

* 

September 23: General Washington served without pay during the war. Lafayette (Marie Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de La Fayette) did likewise. 

In hopes of landing a commission, the young Frenchman wrote to Henry Laurens, a congressman, “The moment I heard of America, I loved her; the moment I knew she was fighting for freedom, I burnt with a desire of bleeding for her; and the moment I shall be able to serve her at any time, or in any part of the world, will be the happiest one of my life.” 

After the French Revolution, with Lafayette in prison, his son, George Washington Lafayette, was “cherished and fathered at Mount Vernon as one of the family.” (109/69) 

 

NOTE TO TEACHERS: It might be interesting to ask students what their families did after the U.S. was attacked on 9/11 – that is, what share in defending the country they played. 

My own family played no role. 

At some point, I read of a man killed on his thirteenth combat tour in Iraq and Afghanistan. Is this the way it should be? 

Perhaps a better question to ask students today would be: “If the United States was attacked, and assuming you were old enough to serve, what would you do?” 

Not all students will realize you can enlist at age 17, with parental permission. Few will know how a draft works.

 

* 

November 11: Ridpath notes that a similar massacre occurred at Cherry Valley, New York. In this instance, Joseph Brandt and Walter Butler, son of John, led the invaders. “The people of Cherry Valley were driven from their homes without mercy. Women and children were tomahawked and scalped, and forty prisoners carried into captivity by the Indians.” (1219/221)   

Ridpath has a different way of describing what followed: 

To avenge these outrages, an expedition was organized and sent against the villages in the Onondaga Valley. The commanders were Colonels Gansevoort and Van Schaick. The Americans made their way unexpectedly into the Indian country. It chanced that a fog concealed the approach of the Whites until they were already in the Indian villages. Three of these were destroyed. A number of warriors were killed, and thirty-three taken prisoners. Most of the savage inhabitants fled away. The horses and cattle were slaughtered, and in six days the exhibition returned to Fort Schuyler without having lost a man. Thus in their turn the Red men were made to feel the terrors of lawless war. (1219/221)

 

NOTE TO TEACHERS: I might copy the section above and ask students for their reactions. How would a resident of the three villages burned by American troops describe what had occurred? 

It strikes me as quite telling that the American expedition did not lose a man. You wonder what kind of defense the natives could have mounted – and wonder if the prisoners were women and children – which Ridpath does not specify.

 

* 

“The redemption of America from barbarism.” 

In this depiction, a later artist captures Jane Wells, pleading for her life, as a “savage” prepares to tomahawk her. Wells was one of thirty non-combatants killed in Cherry Valley. The engraving is by Thomas Phillibrown, from an original painting by Alonzo Chappel. 




Ridpath continues: 

The year was marked by more than a score of thrilling episodes in which brave frontiersmen either perished in defense of their homes or exhibited extraordinary courage in successful efforts to beat back the savages. Among the more distinguished heroes of this. Were the Bradys and Wetzels, whose valorous deeds have served to perpetuate their names until the annals that describe the redemption of America from barbarism are no longer printed. The Bradys were singularly marked as victims of Indian savagery. Captain John Brady, a brave pioneer was assassinated by three Indians as he was riding along a highway. James, the son of John Brady, with three companions, was set upon by a company of Indians; his comrades deserted at the first signs of danger, but he stood his ground and disdaining all overtures for surrender, fought with his back to a tree until ten bullets from guns of his enemies extinguished his brave life.

 

An elder brother, named Samuel, swore to avenge the death of James and thereafter devoted many years to satisfying his vengeance, in which service he rose to the very pinnacle of fame as a scout of unexampled daring, who passed through perils greater and more numerous perhaps than beset any other pioneer.

 

Equally famous as the Bradys were the Wetzel brothers, whose dashing daring has been made the subject of many a thrilling tale of adventure with Indians. The father, John Wetzel, built a cabin in the Ohio Valley, but he had scarcely become settled and begun clearing some of his ground when one day while working in the woods he was pitilessly murdered by lurking savages. Though a man indisposed to strife himself he was father of five sons who became desperados in their unappeasable thirst for a bloody vengeance. The eldest of these, named Martin, was soon after made captive by a band of Indians to whose life he adapted himself in order the more effectually to satisfy his desire for vengeance. While thus living on apparently amiable terms with the tribe into which he was adopted he contrived to kill no less than twenty before his criminal intents were discovered, and by this time he had retreated and was a leader of the settlers. Each of the brothers in turn became a sleuth-hound upon the tracks of the Indians, slaying at every opportunity and ever demanding the blood of atonement for their father’s slaughter.

 

The youngest of the Wetzels was Lewis and he was the most implacable of the five. So great was his thirst for vengeance that when in 1787-88 efforts were made by General Harmar to make a treaty of peace with Indians, Lewis opposed such temporizing measures and with many other settlers preferred to have the war go on until the savages were exterminated. When, therefore, a council was called at Fort Harmar, Wetzel waylaid and shot an Indian who on the way to the treaty ground. This act created such intense indignation that General Harmar set a price upon Wetzel’s head, which incentive prompted a company of soldiers to set out upon his tracks and after a week’s pursuit they arrested him while he was sleeping in the house of a friend. Securing him with heavy manacles they carried the desperate Indian hunter back to the fort, where he was kept under a close guard for some weeks. At length relaxing somewhat his severity under specious promises of the prisoner General Harmar permitted Lewis to exercise about the fort, but always under strict surveillance of two or more guards and never without handcuffs upon his wrist. On one occasion, however, Wetzel seized the small opportunity offered for his escape and made his surprising dash for liberty. The guards were quick to detect his bold maneuver and each fired at the fugitive but without effect. Running like a deer Wetzel plunged into a thicket, baffled all pursuit and managed to cross the Ohio, where he met a friend who relieved him of his fetters and he returned to his old vocation of killing Indians. Subsequently he was again arrested, but the settlers rallied to his defence and threatened an insurrection if he was not released. Under this pressure the court granted a writ of habeas corpus and again he was free. He was the hero of many escapades thereafter which were by no means creditable to his reputation as an Indian fighter, but desperado as he was, Lewis Wetzel died a natural death at Wheeling in the summer of 1808. (1219/221-223)

 

1779


__________

 

“I have not yet begun to fight!”

 

John Paul Jones

__________



THE SONG “Amazing Grace” is written by an Anglican clergyman and slave trader who believes God will grant forgiveness for his sins.



The battle between Bonhomme Richard and HMS Serapis.


 


*

 

The owners would be compensated. 

ALEXANDER HAMILTON burned to lead men in battle, as did James Monroe. Hamilton suggested that if other routes were closed, Monroe might join Henry Laurens, who was, 

planning to raise a Negro regiment by offering freedom to slave volunteers. Although Henry Laurens’ father John had persuaded Congress to approve this scheme with the recommendation that the owners of the slaves be compensated, it was summarily rejected by the state legislature. (24/27)

 


*

 

February 23: George Rogers Clark and his force of 170 soldiers reach Vincennes, after an arduous winter march, as described by Lancaster and Plumb:

 

Men hung back, their horse voices croaking of inability or unwillingness to go farther. Clark merely took to the water once more, shouting “Follow me!” while Captain Joseph Bowman skirted the rear with 25 riflemen who had orders to shoot any stragglers. This seems to have been the worst part of the march, with water still shoulder-high. More and more men had to be towed in canoes. Those on their feet tripped and fell in deep water, then clung to a rotten log or sodden tree until stronger hands rescued them… (48/280)

 

 

For a time, Vincennes had been in American hands, captured by Clark, then retaken by the British, under Gov. Henry Hamilton, sometimes known as the “Hair-Buyer,” for his policy of paying native allies for enemy scalps.

 

Clark now sends Hamilton, who commands the fort at Vincennes, warning:

 

SIR: In order to save yourself from the impending storm that now threatens you, I order you immediately to surrender yourself with all your garrison, stores, etc., etc., for, if I am obliged to storm, you may depend on such treatment as is justly due a murderer. Beware of destroying stores of any kind, or any papers or letters that are in your possession, or hurting one house in town, for, by heavens! if you do there shall be no mercy shown you. G.R. Clark.

 

To Governor Hamilton. (91/74-75)

 

 

Clark later described the short, sharp fight that followed: 

 

. . . about eight o’clock gained the heights back of the town. …

 

Lieutenant Bailey was ordered, with fourteen men, to march and fire on the fort. The main body … took possession of the strongest part of the town. The firing now commenced on the fort. … Reinforcements were sent to the attack of the garrison. … We now found that the garrison had known nothing of us. …

 

Ammunition was scarce with us, as the most of our stores had been put on board of the galley … [Several gentlemen of Vincennes] had buried … their powder and ball. This was immediately produced, and we found ourselves well supplied.





 

 

*

 

February 25: The fort falls to the Americans. Hamilton is sent, a prisoner, to Virginia, where he is kept in chains.

 

General George Washington later urges that he be set free, and Hamilton returns to Canada, where he continues to serve at Lt. Governor.

 

As Plumb and Lancaster explain:

 

Except in exertion expended and territory covered, the campaign had been a small one, but it nailed down the whole Illinois territory for Virginia, and hence the United States, for the rest of the war.

 

…To George Rogers Clark goes most of the credit for those provisions in the Treaty of Paris that gave Kentucky and all the Old Northwest Territory to the United States. (48/284)

 


*

 

“Bridge of gold.”

 

Spring: Major John Andre is pondering ways he might approach top American commanders, across a “bridge of gold,” and turn them into assets of the Crown.

 

Benedict Arnold, now married to the beautiful Peggy Shippen, a Tory sympathizer, seems interested in crossing that bridge. (48/260)

 

*

 

June 21: Spain joins “the allies in hopes of getting back Gibraltar and her island possessions in the Mediterranean.” (124/231)

 

According to Van Loon, Washington also has the aid of old man Distance:

 

…no matter how hard the English tried, no matter how bravely they fought, they found themselves out marched and outdistanced on every field of battle. Thus far, in all their wars, they had been able to depend on their navy, but ships were of little use in the Allegheny Mountains and no men of war could safely hope to sail across the “drowned lands” of Illinois. Footwork was to be the decisive factor in this encounter and footwork, after two or three years, has a tendency to become somewhat monotonous and undermine the discipline of the best regulated troops. (124/231-232)

 

*

 

“I did not improve my time well.”

 

July 8: Mary Osgood Sumner begins a diary, including a “Black Leaf,” indicating her sins and mistakes, and a “White Leaf,” indicating her better moments. The year here is unclear, but she writes, under “Black,”

 

July 8. I left my staise on the bed.

       9. Misplaced Sister’s sash.

     10. Spoke in haste to my little Sister, spilt the cream on the floor in the closet.

     12. I left Sister Cynthia’s frock on the bed.


     16. I left the brush on the chair; was not diligent in learning at school.

     17. I left my fan on the bed.

     19. I got vexed because Sister was a-going to cut my frock.

     22. Part of this day I did not improve my time well.

     30. I was careless and lost my needle.

Aug. 5. I spilt some coffee on the table.

 

 

Entries in her “White Leaf” include:

 

July 8. I went and said my Catechism to-day. Came home and wrote down the questions and answers, then dressed and went to the dance, endeavoured to behave myself decent.

 

     12. I went to meeting and paid good attention to the sermon, came home and wrote down as much of it as I could remember.

 

     27. I did everything this morning same as usual, went to school and endeavored to be diligent; came home and washed the butter and assisted in getting coffee.

 

Aug. 1. I got some peaches for to stew after I was done washing up the things and got my work and was midlin Diligent.

 

      4. I did everything before breakfast and after breakfast got some peaches for Aunt Mell and then got my work and stuck pretty close to it and at night sat up with Sister and nursed her as good as I could.

 

      9. I endeavored to improve my time to-day in reading and attending to what Brother read and most of the evening I was singing. (167/169)

 


*

 

SUMMER: General Washington has ordered Gen. John Sullivan and others to march against the Iroquois nation.

 

The country of the Six Nations was to be invaded with “the total destruction … of their settlements and the capture of as many prisoners … as possible.” Prisoners of all ages and sexes were to be held as hostages, being “the only kind of security to be depended on” for the future good behavior of the Indians, in the commander in chief’s opinion.

 

Settlements, which Washington had marked down for destruction, were no huddles of wigwams. The tribes had actual towns studded with good houses, sometimes of stone with glazed windows, and the adjoining orchard tracts showed years of careful husbandry. Politically, the Six Nations had kept step with their architecture and cultivation. They had a sort of constitution and a code of law, the whole forming a pattern of life that might have survived peaceably with the ever-oncoming white settlers. Unfortunately, tribal life had lagged in development. The women – and only the women – tended the fine farms and orchards. Men were above such sordid tasks. War – which may be translated as indiscriminate bloody raiding – and hunting alone were worthy of masculine attention. Such a tribal frame of mind made peace a mere breathing spell between raids and forays, an unthinkable, unattainable end.

 

 

The first Iroquois village to go up in flames was the village of Chemung.

 

Here was something new for the troops, at least those from the eastern states. There were “between 30 & 40 Houses, some of them large and neatly finish’d; particularly a Chapel and Council House.” There was no resistance, and Chemung flamed up in a “glorious Bonfire and wide fields of grain and vegetables were ruin’d.” If this seemed a ghastly desolation, the troops could recall that out of such villages came Indians who had been burning and killing and torturing through the Mohawk Valley and the Susquehanna. …

 

Another town, deserted like Chemung, was surrounded and burned: “one of the Neatest of the Indian towns … with good Log houses with Stone Chimneys and glass windows.” …

 

[Soldiers laid waste to] fields whose richness showed every sign of husbandry as fine as anything the white man knew. Here were acres of “Cucombars, Squashes, Turnips, Pompions.” Cornfields showed ears an awesome two feet in length. Squaw-labor had ranged neat rows of “beans … Simblens [sometimes called pattypans or summer squash] watermelons and pumpkins such as cannot be equalled in Jersey.” It seems odd that in the midst of such lavishness the ration problem existed for any man, but Henry Dearborn one day “eat part of a fryed Rattle Snake… which would have tasted very well, had it not been Snake.”

 


The savagery of this type of border warfare was shown after Indians and Tories tried to ambush the American army. The ambush failed, and the Americans chased their foes into the woods. Lt. William Barton’s men found several dead Iroquois after the fight. As Barton admitted, he “skinned two of them from their hips down for boot legs; one pair for the Major [Daniel Piatt] the other for myself.” (48/285-286, 288-291)


 


*

 

September 23: John Paul Jones defeats the Serapis in battle and takes the battered prize into the harbor of Texel. The Dutch made

 

Jones into a national hero and wherever he and his strange crew had shown themselves (out of the two hundred and twenty-seven sailors under his command only seventy-nine were Americans) they had been received with loud expressions of popular approval. (124/228-229)

 

Around this same time, as Van Loon notes,

 

Gold transports from Holland, addressed directly to General George Washington, Esq. (and sent not to Congress), found their way across the ocean and upon several occasions prevented a recurrence of those outbreaks of near-mutiny [among the soldiers] which had become only too common during the last four years of Congressional neglect and indifference and which sometimes made Washington fear that he would have to fight the war for independence single-handed. (124/230)

 

*


23


 

“Thunders shook the mighty deep.”

 

The Youth’s History of the United States by Ellis, gives this description of Jones and his career: 

No history of the revolution would be complete without an account of the exploits of Paul Jones, one of the most daring sea rovers that ever lived. France had sent a squadron to America, as you have already learned, but it was a long time before it rendered any real service to the cause of independence. Meanwhile, privateers were fitted out all along our coast. Though unable to meet the regular men-of-war of the enemy, they struck many effectual blows. None of the privateersmen, however, could compare with John Paul Jones, who was a Scotchman by birth, and not quite thirty years of age when the Revolution broke out.

 

While only a boy he became a sailor in the merchant service and went to America. He visited an elderly brother, who had married and settled in Virginia, and soon formed such a liking for the new country that he adopted it as his own. Congress having determined to fit out a naval force, Jones was appointed first lieutenant of the Alfred, whereon he hoisted with his own hands the first national flag ever unfurled on an American ship.

 

There has been much question as to the identity of this flag. There died in the city of Trenton, New Jersey, a few years ago, Miss Sarah Smith Stafford, an old lady whose patriotism had made her known throughout the Union. Her mother witnessed the battle of Lexington, and her father, while serving under Paul Jones, was wounded during the battle with the Serapis. He lived, however, to be more than ninety years old.

 

This old lady had, among her numerous valuable relics, a flag which she insisted was the one that Paul Jones first raised on the Alfred and afterward on the Bon Homme Richard. The flag has been exhibited in different parts of the country, and possibly you may have seen it. If so, you have noticed that while it resembles our national banner, it has only twelve instead of thirteen stripes. Miss Stafford informed me that the flag was made by the lady members of the old Swedish church in Philadelphia, and was presented by them to Paul Jones. As he was rowed down the river to his ship, Jones stood up in the boat and waved the flag to and fro, amid the cheers of those on shore…

 

The foreign commerce of America was ruined by the ravages of the British cruisers, and capital and men sought reward in privateering. In the year 1777 nearly five hundred prizes were taken by American privateers. For his skill and courage Paul Jones was soon advanced to the rank of captain, and he sailed for Europe in 1778 resolved to retaliate in kind upon those who had ravaged the American coast.

 

     Jones cruised off Solway Firth, close to his birth-place. One night with thirty-one volunteers he rowed out in two boats to the coast of Scotland, and in the harbor of Whitehaven set fire to three vessels and spiked a large number of cannon in the guard-room of the fort. All England was alarmed when the following year he put to sea in the Bon Homme Richard, an old Indiaman given to him by the king of France. He now had the rank of commodore, and was accompanied by two consorts, the Alliance and Pallas. He first sailed to the Firth of Forth and threw Edinburgh and Leith into consternation. Afterward, when off Scarborough, he sighted the homeward-bound Baltic fleet of merchantmen escorted by the frigates Countess of Scarborough and Serapis, the latter a ship of fifty guns and the former of twenty-two.

 

Two-thirds of the men with Jones were prisoners of war [Americans, I believe], and his regular crews had been weakened in order to take charge of his many prizes, but he signaled to his consorts to join in pursuit, his own ship Richard crowding all sail. The latter carried forty-four guns, and the entire number of men in Jones’s fleet was about three hundred and seventy-five.

 

The sea fight that followed was one of the bloodiest ever known. The sun had set and the full moon was in the sky when the captain of the Serapis twice hailed Paul Jones, whose only answer was to open fire, to which the enemy instantly replied. The battle had hardly begun when two of the guns on the lower deck of the Bon Homme Richard burst. Several of the men were killed, the rest ran up to the main deck, the guns which they left not being worked again during the battle.

 

Jones was always fiercely in earnest and his wish was to fight at close quarters. After a little maneuvering he closed with Serapis, but finding he could not bring his guns to bear, let her fall off again. Captain Pearson of the latter shouted,

 

“Have you struck?”

 

“Struck!” called back Jones: “I haven’t begun to fight yet!”

 

As the Serapis swung round, her jib-boom caught in the mizzen-rigging of the Richard. Jones himself lashed the boom to his mast. The lurching of the vessels broke the hold, but one of the enemy’s anchors caught his quarter and held fast. Thenceforward, as may be said, the two foes fought locked in each other’s arms.

 

When the Serapis attempted to fire through from the starboard side, she found she could not open the ports because the Richard was too close; so the cannon were first discharged with the ports closed, the port-lids being blown away in order to open a passage. The main deck of the Richard was so high that the broadsides from the main deck of Serapis did not hurt any one, for you will remember that the Americans had deserted the lower deck of the Richard. The firing, however, did great damage to the ship.

 

The fighting went on for two hours. The Serapis and Richard delivered their terrible broadsides as often as the cannon could be loaded and discharged. The moon lit up the strange scene, and the smoke from the guns drifted off through the spars and rigging and settled into a cloud above. Their “thunders shook the mighty deep,” and never did men fight with greater bravery.

 

It was at this time that Paul Jones made the maddening discovery that his colleague Captain Landais, commanding the Alliance, was firing into him. Sometimes Landais would discharge his broadside at the Scarborough, and then deliberately aim at the Bon Homme Richard. Many of the Americans believed she had fallen into English hands.

 

Commodore Jones, however, had no time to inquire into the astounding behavior of his captain, but gave his whole attention to the Serapis, whose tars were fighting like heroes. In the rigging of the Richard were perched a number of sailors, who flung hand grenades upon the deck of the Serapis. One of the seamen made his way out to the end of the main-yard, carrying with him a bucket of the deadly missiles. These he carefully lighted and dropped down the hatchway of the Serapis. He was so cool that he hit the mark every time.

 

Unfortunately for the Serapis a row of eighteen-pound cartridges had been left on the deck by the powder-boys, and they now stretched the whole length of the ship. The American sailor up aloft dropped one of his flaming grenades into this row, and the explosion that instantly followed blew a score of men to pieces and severely burned others.

 

Captain Pearson again called out to Jones to know whether he had struck, but Jones, who was at the other end of his ship directing the fire of his nine-pounders, did not hear him. Then Pearson summoned his boarders and made a dash for the deck of the Richard, but Jones caught up a pike and, leading the charge, drove them back. A half hour later Pearson struck. His ship had been fired a dozen times, but it was the explosion caused by the hand-grenade dropped from the rigging of the Richard that decided the battle against him. It had silenced his main battery, and that was his chief reliance.

 

Amid the awful din and smoke and uproar, half the people on the Serapis believed it was the Richard that had surrendered. Pearson himself hauled down his flag. Half his men were disabled and the others were terrified by the murderous fire from the rigging of the Richard.

 

When morning broke the Richard was seen to be a complete wreck. She was still on fire, and the broadsides of the Serapis had riddled her as though she were made of card-board. She was fast sinking, and Jones had only time to remove his wounded and then his crew to the Serapis when his own vessel went to the bottom. Four-fifths of his men were killed or wounded. He took his prizes into Holland and turned them over to the French government. To save the Dutch from diplomatic trouble the commodore assumed command of the Alliance and put to sea. Landais sailed for home, and on his arrival was deposed from his command on the ground of insanity, and was afterward expelled from the navy.

 

The king of France, through his ambassador at the Hague, complimented Jones for his exploit, and presented him with a sword. The commodore’s victory enabled him to effect the release of the American prisoners in England, who were exchanged for the officers and seamen he had captured.

 

Jones was absent from home for about three years, during which time his exploits were numerous and of the most astonishing character. He was denounced as a pirate by the English, who became so alarmed by his achievements that many people did not feel safe even in London. Some of the timid ones looked out on the Thames, half expecting to see the terrible fellow lay their city under tribute. At one time he landed on the coast of Scotland, and, appearing at the residence of the Earl of Selkirk, captured a large amount of silver plate and booty. But he treated the earl’s household with great courtesy, and the plate that was seized at the time is now in the possession of the members of the Selkirk family.

 

NOTE TO TEACHERS: I felt the story of John Paul Jones offered a chance to look at the nature of courage and success – this time in battle. When Jones spotted enemy vessels in the distance.  He steered immediately for the largest British target, Serapis, a warship of 50 guns. 

Each year I tried to tell the story the same way, giving it a drama it deserved. At first the British pounded Jones. Serapis had heavier guns and more of them and hammered the American ship. Two of Jones’s largest guns blew up as soon as he fired them. So he had to order his biggest cannon to remain silent, and fought one-handed, as it were.  

Serapis poured in fire and Jones maneuvered closer – hoping to allow his men to board the enemy ship and take it that way. A shot carried away the American flag and Captain Pearson on Serapis called out for the American commander to surrender. Jones responded firmly: “I have not yet begun to fight.” 

Eventually, Jones rammed against the side of Pearson’s ship and grappling hooks and ropes were used to tie the ships together, until they were as “snug as two logs in a woodpile.”  

Jones’ move had been so sudden that he caught the British with some of their gun doors closed. Now they were so tight together the doors could not swing open. Pearson ordered his crews to shoot them off and keep pouring fire into the American vessel’s sides. The two ships were as close as cars in a parking lot. Sailors could stab at enemy gunners through the ports. The slaughter was fearsome. Cannonballs tore men apart, shattered guns and sent jagged metal fragments flying in all directions. Wooden planks were blown to bits, and whizzing splinters increased the terror. The dead lay in heaps and blood ran in streams across the decks. 

Bonhomme Richard was soon so full of holes that enemy fire passed in one side, out the other, and splashed in the ocean beyond. 


YEAH - I COULD NEVER DRAW.

 

How, then, does Jones win? That was the question I wanted to pose and wanted my students to consider. I explained that there were marines in the tops of the sails. Now one of the Americans saw an open hatch on the deck of the enemy ship. He lit his match, and heaved his bomb. I drew another dumb little picture to show what happened next. The bomb bounced once or twice on the deck and then fell through the opening, landing near a stack of gunpowder bags. The explosion tore the heart out of the British warship. Twenty enemy sailors were killed and many wounded by the explosion; then Jones and his three remaining guns began aiming at the main mast of Serapis and broke it off. 

Preston had no choice but to surrender. 

The details didn’t matter in any cosmic sense – but made for a good story. Captured prisoners, taken in earlier clashes, were forced to keep manning pumps below desks as Jones’ vessel kept up the fight and continued slowly sinking. An American sailor had begged Jones to surrender – till Jones hurled a pistol at his head and knocked him cold.  

What then matters about a sea battle long ago?  Do we test on dates: 1779? Or names of ships? Or should students recognize names?  In this case, with Jones’ name, I felt the answer was yes. 

What else? To me the answer was clear. THREE. That was the key. THREE.      

Jones had continued to fight when only three guns remained – and it was that perseverance that mattered. I wanted students to think. Were they like Jones? Or were they prone to quit in the face of difficulty? 

I was watching a seventh grade basketball practice one day, and saw a kid skid on the floor and burn his knee. A trickle of blood began (this was long before the fear of AIDS led to a rule change, and bleeding players had to come out). So, he came over to Coach H. and asked to be taken out.  

I told my classes that if they were playing, they should never want to come out. In basketball and soccer, especially, perpetual movement, running hard at all times, made a difference. Even if you weren’t the fastest or best player, I explained, you had to keep firing your “three guns.” You had to refuse to quit.

 

HOW MUCH DIFFERENCE DID ATTITUDE MAKE?  WAS IT LUCK – THE GRENADE TOSS – THAT WON THE BATTLE?