- end_line
- 4662
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:05.591Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 4630
- text
- disdainful tomahawk, towards the surrounding eminences, also covered
with the affrighted inhabitants.
When the assailants had rowed pretty well off, the English rushed in
great numbers to their forts, but only to find their cannon no better
than so much iron in the ore. At length, however, they began to fire,
having either brought down some ship’s guns, or else mounted the rusty
old dogs lying at the foot of the first fort.
In their eagerness they fired with no discretion. The shot fell short;
they did not the slightest damage.
Paul’s men laughed aloud, and fired their pistols in the air.
Not a splinter was made, not a drop of blood spilled throughout the
affair. The intentional harmlessness of the result, as to human life,
was only equalled by the desperate courage of the deed. It formed,
doubtless, one feature of the compassionate contempt of Paul towards
the town, that he took such paternal care of their lives and limbs.
Had it been possible to have landed a few hours earlier not a ship nor
a house could have escaped. But it was the lesson, not the loss, that
told. As it was, enough damage had been done to demonstrate—as Paul had
declared to the wise man of Paris—that the disasters caused by the
wanton fires and assaults on the American coasts, could be easily
brought home to the enemy’s doors. Though, indeed, if the retaliators
were headed by Paul Jones, the satisfaction would not be equal to the
insult, being abated by the magnanimity of a chivalrous, however
unprincipled a foe.
- title
- Chunk 2