THE heroes of our navy were not all Americans born. More than one of them came from British soil, but a footprint on the green fields of America soon turned them into true-blue Yankees. There was John Paul Jones, the gallant Scotchman. And there was John Barry, a bold son of green Erin. I have told you the story of Jones, the Scotchman, and now I must tell you that of Barry, the Irishman. John Barry was a merchant captain who was made commander of the _Lexington_ in 1776. The next year he was appointed to the _Effingham_, a new frigate building at Philadelphia. The British captured that city before the ship was ready for sea, and the _Effingham_, the _Washington_, and some other vessels were caught in a trap. They were taken up the river to Whitehill, above the city, and there they had to stay. Captain Barry, you may be sure, was not much pleased at this, for he was one of the men who love to be where fighting is going on. Soon orders came from the Navy Board to sink the _Effingham_. This made Barry's Irish blood very hot. I fancy he said some hard things about the members of the board, and swore he would do nothing of the kind. If the British wanted the American ships let them come and take them. He had guns enough to give them some sport and was disposed to try it. When the members of the Navy Board heard of what he said, they were very angry, and in the end he had to sink the ship and had to apologize for his strong language. But time proved that he was right and the Navy Board was wrong. By this time Captain Barry was tired enough of being penned up, and he made up his mind by hook or crook to get out of his cage. He was burning for a fight, and thought that if he could get down the river he might give the British a taste of his mettle. So, one dark night he set out with four boats and twenty-seven men. He rowed down the river past the ships in the stream and the soldiers on shore. Some of the soldiers saw his boats, and a few shots were fired, but they got safely past, and by daybreak were far down the broad Delaware. Barry kept on until he reached Port Penn, down near the bay, where the Americans had a small fort. Here there was a chance for the work he wanted, for across the river he saw a large schooner flying the British flag. It was the _Alert_, carrying ten guns, and with it were four transports laden with food for the army at Philadelphia. This was a fine opportunity for the bold Irish captain. It took courage to attack a strong English vessel with a few rowboats, but of courage Barry had a full supply. The sun was up, and it was broad day when the American tars set out on their daring enterprise. The _Alert_ had a wide-awake name, but it must have had a sleepy crew; for before the British knew there was anything wrong, Barry and his men had rowed across the stream and were clambering over the rail, cutlass and pistol in hand.