The charm of life in Virginia appealed more and more strongly to the sailor. He liked the new country, the society of the young cities along the Atlantic Coast, and he spent less time on the high seas and more time fishing and hunting on his own land and in Chesapeake Bay. He might have settled quietly into such prosperous retirement had not the minute-men of Concord startled the new world into stirring action. John Paul Jones loved America and he loved ships. Consequently he was one of the very first to offer his services in building a new navy. Congress was glad to have him; he was known as a man of the greatest courage and of supreme nautical skill. On September 23, 1779, Paul Jones, on board the American ship _Bon Homme Richard_, met the British frigate _Serapis_ off the English coast. A battle of giants followed, for both ships were manned by brave crews and commanded by extraordinarily skilful officers. The short, black-haired, agile American commander saw his ship catch fire, stood on his quarter-deck while the blazing spars, sails, and rigging fell about him, while his men were mowed down by the terrific broadsides of the _Serapis_, and calmly directed the fire of shot at the enemy. Terribly as the _Bon Homme Richard_ suffered, the _Serapis_ was in still worse plight. Two thirds of her men were killed or wounded when Paul Jones gave the signal to board her. The Americans swarmed over the enemy’s bulwarks, and, armed with pistol and cutlass, cleared the deck. The captain of the _Serapis_ fought his ship to the last, but when he saw the Americans sweeping everything before them and already heading for the quarter-deck, he himself seized the ensign halyards and struck his flag. Both ships were in flames, and the smoke was so thick that it was some minutes before the men realized his surrender. There was little to choose between the two vessels; each was a floating mass of wreckage. A little later the English captain went on board the _Bon Homme Richard_ and tendered his sword to the young American. The latter looked hard at the English officer. “Captain Pearson?” he asked questioningly. The other bowed. “Ah, I thought so. I am John Paul Jones, once small John Paul of Arbigland in the Firth. Do you remember me?” Pearson looked at the smoke-grimed face, the keen black eyes, the fine figure. “I shouldn’t have known you. Yes, I remember now.” Paul Jones took the sword that was held out to him, and asked one of his midshipmen to escort the British captain to his cabin. He could not help smiling as a curious recollection came to him. He looked up at the masthead above him. There floated a flag bearing thirteen red and white stripes and a blue corner filled with stars. It was the very flag of his dream as a boy. Thus it was that the sturdy Scotch boy, full of the daring spirit of his Highland ancestors, became the great sea-fighter of a new country, and ultimately wrote his name in history as the Father of the American Navy. THE END