Captain Pearson, of the Serapis, waited until his convoy was beyond danger, when he tacked inshore.  Fearing he would get away, Jones ran in between him and the land.  It was now growing dark, and it was hard for the American commander to follow the movements of his enemy.  But the latter was not fleeing, and, although dimly visible to each other, the two antagonists began cautiously approaching, both on the alert for any advantage that might present itself.  Nothing but the rippling of water made by the vessels broke the profound, expectant hush that rested upon both.

Suddenly from the gloom came the voice of the captain of the Serapis: 

“What ship is that?”

Jones wished to get nearer before opening fire and replied: 

“I do not understand you; speak louder.”

“What ship is that?” repeated the other in a louder voice through his trumpet.  “Answer or I shall fire into you.”

Jones made no reply, knowing that it was useless, but continued to edge near his antagonist.  A minute later both ships discharged a broadside at the same moment, the gloom being lit up by spouts of crimson flame, while the thunder “shook the mighty deep” and the sulphurous smoke rolled slowly upward and drifted through the rigging.  Then again came a minute or so of impressive stillness, while the crews of both looked around to learn the results of the awful tempest of round shot, grape and canister of which they had been the targets.

Sad work, indeed, had been done, for from each vessel rose the cries of the wounded and dying—­cries that inspired their companions to revenge and caused them to hasten the reloading and firing of the cannon.  But unfortunately the Bonhomme Richard suffered from her own guns as well as from those of the enemy.  On the lower gun deck was an improvised battery of six 18-pounders, two of which burst, killing most of the men at work there and tearing away the deck above them.  The remainder of the men refused to serve the other guns, and thus the Bonhomme Richard was deprived of the services of her heaviest battery, in addition to the serious loss in dead and wounded.

Captain Jones forged ahead, crossing his enemy’s bow, while the latter came up on his port quarter.  They were within a biscuit’s toss of each other, wrapped in dense smoke, lit up by the jets of flame which were continuous.  Mingled with the terrific booming was the spiteful rattle of musketry from the tops and yells and cries of the wounded.  The decks of the Bonhomme Richard were slippery with blood, which increased until the men, as they ran to and fro, splashed in it, like children playing in a mud puddle, and it was the same on the Serapis.  It found its outlet through the scuppers and crimsoned the deep blue of the ocean.

[Illustration:  FIGHT BETWEEN “BONHOMME RICHARD” AND “SERAPIS.”]