The night of the 26th of December was dark, with a fresh, fair wind. The Alliance, in the midnight gloom, proudly unfurled at her mast-head the Stars and Stripes. Every inch of canvas was spread to catch the breeze. Flying closely along the Flemish banks, he was so fortunate as to elude the observation of the fleets watching for his capture. Before the morning dawned he was far away upon the broad expanse of the German Ocean, where fleets might cruise for weeks and not meet each other. There had been a very severe gale just before the departure of the Alliance, which blew so fiercely upon the shore, that the English squadron had been compelled to put to sea for safety. Doubtless to this event Commodore Jones was much indebted for his escape. This successful retreat of Commodore Jones from the overwhelming forces which surrounded him is regarded, by naval authorities, as one of the most successful of naval exploits. Keeping well to the windward of the enemy’s fleet, he traversed the North Sea, sailing through the narrow Straits of Dover, in full view of the British fleet in the Downs; passed the Isle of Wight, almost within hailing distance of the shore, though quite a fleet was at anchor at Spit-head; and, though he saw two-decked cruising ships of the enemy before him and behind him and on each side of him, he eluded them all, safely emerged from the British Channel and continued his course down the western coast of France. This was a voyage of not less than fifteen hundred miles. Sometime before leaving the Texel he had received a complimentary poetic epistle from a young lady at the Hague, who addressed him as King of the Sea. When fairly out upon the German Ocean, with leisure hours, he on the 1st of January, 1780, went into his cabin and wrote a poetic reply. He was not a poet. But it is very doubtful whether Lord Nelson, under the circumstances, could have done as well. As a specimen of his skill in versification I will give the last stanza. “But since, alas! the rage of war prevails, And cruel Britons desolate our land, For freedom still I spread my willing sails, My unsheathed sword my injured country shall command. Go on, bright maid; the muses all attend Genius like thine, and wish to be its friend. Trust me, although conveyed through this poor shift, My New Year’s thoughts are grateful for thy gift.” Commodore Jones was very desirous of not going empty-handed into port. It was not enough for him merely to elude his enemies. He was resolved, if possible, to take some prizes. He therefore ran down the Bay of Biscay and westerly along the coast of Spain, several hundred miles, in a region where it was very certain that the British men-of-war would not be searching for him.