Michala Woodruff

Photos from Pixel

The shattering vibration from the inside the Bonhomme Richard summoned my name. Even though my mind already estimated what happened. Cannons exploding, swiping away how many more lives of my men. The smell of smoke burned my nostrils.

“Captain!” One of my officers raced up to me. “Two of our largest cannons . . . .”–my heart twisted at each reporting word–“. . . several killed as of what we now know.” My jaw tightened. My shoulders squared all the more. “. . . still fighting, but we’re doomed and yet we have just begun! Please, Captain, I beg of you. To let no more die, we’re out matched! Let us retreat while we still are able.”

“And let yer deaths be for noth’in?” He did not know me every well to be an officer of my ship. “Close’n on the Serapis!” The British warship that obviously had an advantage in this fight. Yes, it was time to pay them a personal visit.

I explained each command to the Patriot crew of the Bonhomme Richard.

I cared less of what the enemy thought. Actually, it worked to our advantage.

Almost expecting water to soak my stockings, I was beginning to look up at the British. We were close to the Serapis. So close. Many would probably say too close.

My palm sweated in the grasp of my fifth pistol. Or was it my sixth? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that we kept fighting. Because giving up was not an option.

It had been around three hours into the fighting. I didn’t know when it would end. Or when it would actually begin.

The Countess of Scarborough flung a meaty cannonball to whiz through the thick atmosphere. My knees refused to buckle, but my understanding of explosives among the currents begged me to do something. I didn’t stop to think.

And yet I reminisced that day when my frozen fingers raised America’s first official flag on the Alfred. The stripes reminded me of the never-ending lines of courage that many pushed steadfast in. The stars used to remind me of who I fought for, but at that moment, the stars flashed in front of me.

“We surrender! Please, let us surrender!” As if I was underwater, my ears popped at the voice.

The explosion in the sky. The smoke that transformed into a foggy oxygen that only war exhaled.

“You, pirates, surrender?” A British accent called from above.

“Have you?” My fingers stretched.

“Captain Jones. Here, we thought you were dead.”  

“How could me be dead, when we haven’t even begun this battle?” I stood to my feet, more alive than I felt last night. “I have not begun to fight!”

“You expect too much out of your crewmen. The impossible, no doubt, out of your sinking Bonhomme Richard.” Named after Mr. Benjamin Franklin’s Poor Richard’s Almanac. Yes. This collection of wise sayings and weather predictions was the American version. Could you imagine if I named a Patriot warship after the British’ almanac, Poor Robin’s?

Though born Scottish, I committed my life to help the Americans gain their freedom. Though against the greatest navy in the world, the American’s perseverance inspired me. They created their own navy. Though the American navy usually just captured British merchant ships’ consignments, this sinking opportunity I never regretted.

“You expect too little and that’s whot you will gain.”

The British commander scoffed, “Look around you, Jones. Perseverance is worthless for you when you know the result is the same.”

“Let me know when yer ready to surrender, Captain. Otherwise, excuse me if I appear rude.” My boots pounded down the stairs into the second deck. 

“The third deck is filled up!” A sailor panted as wet as a fish.

“Tell the others to continue fighting with all ye got. Fight. Cause we have not even begun to show em what we’re made of.”

“We’re sinking.” The young sailor exhaustedly whispered as if I was an old fellow who probably lost his mind and certainly could not hear a mumble of the obvious.

“No. We’ve just begun to rise.” I decided to take the liberty to elaborate. “When ye expect much, ye gain much. Ye reap what ye sow. When ye fight with all your might for whot’s right, none can be against ya. This. This fight is for a purpose. This requires yer all, yer sweat and blood, yer tears and might. This fight is for whot’s right. Tell me whot’s that worth?” The sailor shifted. “Freedom isn’t free, but it’s worth everythin. That’s why we fight. That’s why we’re never done fighting. Whot’s this mean to ya? . . . Whot will it mean to America’s future? All must decide at some point, lad. And that’ll distinguish America.”

“Ready to surrender, Captain Jones?” The British commander greeted me once I ascended to the main deck.

He spoke too soon.

The smell of burnt wood that was probably around four acres high collapsed. The captain of the Serapis watched in horror as his mainmast sank into a useless state.

Not yet begun to fight!

Clenching to courage, the patriots determinedly persevered. We fought. Till the captain of the Serapis was finally convinced to surrender and the Countess of Scarborough absconded.

And even then . . . the Americans had not yet begun to fight. Because America is one nation under God.

In God we trust.   

I feel as though I left many details out of this report. Therefore, to conclude this memoir, I shall give one last point of the event.

We won. Lost the Bonhomme Richard. But won.

This is a writing by Michala Woodruff in the point-of-view of a true person [Captain John Paul Jones] in true events [late 1700s]. Please understand this is work is the author’s imagination of the true battle, regarding the resources learned in her history book. Note: writing contains real quotes from Captain John Paul Jones.

Thank you to all those who fought for the United States of America!
Whether that be centuries ago, in the future, or even today
Thank you!
Because of you, we can breathe open and free
Spreading our wings and reaching the stars