he only natural sequel
to hostilities like these. It is, therefore, honor to him as a man, and
not reproach to him as an officer, that, to stay such carnage, Captain
Pearson, of the Serapis, with his own hands hauled down his colors. But
just as an officer from the Richard swung himself on board the Serapis,
and accosted the English captain, the first lieutenant of the Serapis
came up from below inquiring whether the Richard had struck, since her
fire had ceased.

So equal was the conflict that, even after the surrender, it could be,
and was, a question to one of the warriors engaged (who had not happened
to see the English flag hauled down) whether the Serapis had struck to
the Richard, or the Richard to the Serapis. Nay, while the Richard's
officer was still amicably conversing with the English captain, a
midshipman of the Richard, in act of following his superior on board the
surrendered vessel, was run through the thigh by a pike in the hand of
an ignorant boarder of the Serapis. While, equally ignorant, the
cannons below deck were still thundering away at the nominal conqueror
from the batteries of the nominally conquered ship.

But though the Serapis had submitted, there were two misanthropical foes
on board the Richard which would not so easily succumb--fire and water.
All night the victors were engaged in suppressing the flames. Not until
daylight were the flames got under; but though the pumps were kept
continually going, the water in the hold still gained. A few hours after
sunrise the Richard was deserted for the Serapis and the other vessels
of the squadron of Paul. About ten o'clock the Richard, gorged with
slaughter, wallowed heavily, gave a long roll, and blasted by tornadoes
of sulphur, slowly sunk, like Gomorrah, out of sight.

The loss of life in the two ships was about equal; one-half of the total
number of those engaged being either killed or wounded.

In view of this battle one may ask--What separates the enlightened man
from the savage? Is civilization a thing distinct, or is it an advanced
stage of barbarism?

CHAPTER XX.

THE SHUTTLE.

For a time back, across the otherwise blue-jean career of Israel, Paul
Jones flits and re-flits like a crimson thread. One more brief
intermingling of it, and to the plain old homespun we return.

The battle won, the squadron started for the Texel, where they arrived
in safety. Omitting all mention of intervening harassments, suffice it,
that afte