The _Richard_ settles by the head; the stern is lifted clear of the water. Then, as though seized by some impulse, the _Richard_, bows first, dives for the bottom of the sea. The last that is seen, as the stout old ship goes down, is the virgin petticoat flag of the pretty Portsmouth girls. Commodore Paul Jones, bare of head, tears blinding his eyes, waves a last farewell. “Good-bye, my lads!” he cries. “And you, too, my _Richard_; good-bye!” The _Pallas_ comes up, breeze aft. The little ship throws its head into the wind, and Captain Cot-tineau hails Commodore Paul Jones. “I have the honor, sir,” says Captain Cottineau, “to report the enemy’s surrender of his ship.” Captain Cottineau points with his speaking-trumpet to the _Countess of Scarboro_ a furlong astern, the stars and stripes above the Union Jack. Commodore Paul Jones congratulates Captain Cottineau, and tells him to make sail for Dunkirk with his prize. Captain Cottineau, observing the helpless _Serapis_, its deck a jungle of cordage and broken timbers, replies that if Commodore Paul Jones doesn’t mind he’d sooner stand by. Commodore Paul Jones doesn’t mind, and so Captain Cottineau, with the _Pallas_ and the captured Scarboro stands by. The loyalty of Captain Cottineau flushes the bronzed cheek of Commodore Paul Jones. It is a change from the villain Landais! Ah, yes! Landais! The brow of Commodore Paul Jones turns black with anger; for a moment he forgot the scoundrel. He runs his glass along the horizon to seaward. There is no sign of the Alliance. Long ago the traitor Landais turned his recreant bows for France. An off-shore gale springs up; adrift and helpless, the _Serapis_ is carried seventy miles towards the coast of Norway. This is fortunate; it carries the ship outside the search of those twenty frigates and ships of the line, which are already furiously ransacking the English coast in quest of Commodore Paul Jones. The wind veers to the southwest, and blows a hurricane. The Serapis is all but thrown upon the coast of Denmark, and has work to keep afloat. With one hundred and six wounded, and the dead who went down with the _Richard_, Commodore Paul Jones is short of hands to work his ship. At the best, no more than one hundred and fifty are fit for duty. In the end the battered _Serapis_ makes the Texel, and a common sigh of relief goes up from those seven hundred and twelve souls--crew and wounded and prisoners--who are aboard the ship. And now Commodore Paul Jones must lay aside his sword for chicane, abandon his guns in favor of diplomacy. His anchors are hardly down in Dutch mud, before Sir Joseph Yorke, English Ambassador to Holland, demands the _Serapis_ from the Dutch authorities. Also, he declares that they must arrest Commodore Paul Jones “as a rebel and a pirate.”