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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..828e7c7 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #53990 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53990) diff --git a/old/53990-0.txt b/old/53990-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6476981..0000000 --- a/old/53990-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6235 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story of Paul Jones, by Alfred Henry Lewis - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Story of Paul Jones - An Historical Romance - -Author: Alfred Henry Lewis - -Illustrator: Seymour M. Stone and Phillipps Ward - -Release Date: January 17, 2017 [EBook #53990] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF PAUL JONES *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - -THE STORY OF PAUL JONES - -An Historical Romance - -By Alfred Henry Lewis - -Illustrated by Seymour M. Stone and Phillipps Ward - -G. W. Dillingham Company, 1906 - -London - -[Illustration: 0006] - -[Illustration: 0007] - - - -THE STORY OF PAUL JONES - - - - -CHAPTER I--HIS BAPTISM OF THE SEA - - -This is in the long-ago, or, to be exact, in July, 1759. The new brig -_Friendship_, not a fortnight off the stocks, is lying in her home -harbor of Whitehaven, being fitted to her first suit of sails. Captain -Bennison is restlessly about her decks, overseeing those sea-tailors, -the sail-makers, as they go forward with their task, when Mr. Younger, -the owner, comes aboard. The latter gentleman is lowland Scotch, stout, -middle-aged, and his severe expanse of smooth-shaven upper-lip tells -of prudence, perseverance and Presbyterianism in even parts, as traits -dominant of his character. - -“Dick,” says Mr. Younger, addressing Captain Bennison, “ye’ll have a -gude brig; and mon! ye s’uld have a gude crew. There’ll be none of the -last in Whitehaven, for what ones the agents showed me were the mere -riff-raff of the sea. I’ll even go to Arbigland, and pick ye a crew -among the fisher people.” - -“Arbigland!” repeats Captain Bennison, with a glow of approval. “The -Arbigland men are the best sailor-folk that ever saw the Solway. Give -me an Arbigland crew, James, and I’ll find ye the Rappahannock with -the _Friendship_, within the month after she tears her anchor out o’ -Whitehaven mud.” - -And so Mr. Younger goes over to Arbigland. - -It is a blowing July afternoon. An off-shore breeze, now freshening to a -gale, tosses the Solway into choppy billows. Most of the inhabitants -of Arbigland are down at the mouth of the little tide-water creek, that -forms the harbor of the village, eagerly watching a small fishing yawl. -The latter craft is beating up in the teeth of the gale, striving for -the shelter of the creek. - -The crew of the yawl consists of but one, and him a lad of twelve. -His right hand holds the tiller; with the left he slacks or hauls the -sheets, and shifts the sail when he goes about. - -The yawl has just heeled over on the starboard tack, as Mr. Younger -pushes in among the villagers that crowd the little quay. - -“They’ll no make it!” exclaims a fisherman, alluding to the boy and -yawl; “they’ll be blawn oot t’ sea!” - -“Ay! they’ll make it sure enough,” declares another stoutly. “It’s -little Jack Paul who’s conning her, and he’d bring the yawl in against -a horrycane. She’s a gude boat, too--as quick on her feet as a dancing -maister; and, as for beating to wind’ard, she’ll lay a point closer to -the wind than a man has a right to ask of his lawful wedded wife. Ye’ll -see; little Jack’ll bring her in.” - -“Who is he?” asks Mr. Younger of the last speaker; “who’s yon boy?” - -“He’s son to John Paul, gardener to the laird Craik.” - -“Sitha! son to Gardener Paul, quo’ you!” breaks in an old fish-wife who, -with red arms folded beneath her coarse apron, stands watching the yawl -with the others. “Now to my mind, he looks mair like the laird than I -s’uld want my son to look, if I were wife to Gardener Paul.” - -“Shame for ye, Lucky!” cries the fisherman to whom she speaks. “Would ye -cast doots on the lad’s mither, and only because the lad in his favoring -makes ye think now and again on Maister Craik? Jeanny Paul, that was -Jeanny Macduff, is well kenned to be as carefu’ a wife as ever cooked -her man’s breakfast in Arbigland.” - -“Ye think so, Tam Bryce?” retorts the incorrigible Lucky. “Much ye s’uld -know of the wives of Arbigland, and you to sea eleven months o’ the -year! I tell ye, Jeanny came fro’ the Highlands; and it’ll be lang, I -trow, since gude in shape of man or woman came oot o’ the Highlands.” - -“Guide your tongue, Lucky!” remonstrates the other, in a low tone; -“guide your tongue, ye jade! Here comes Gardener Paul himsel’.’’ - -“I’ll no stay to meet him,” says Lucky, moving away. “Puir blinded fule! -not to see what all Arbigland, ay! and all Kirkbean Parish, too, for -that matter, has seen the twal years, that his boy Jack is no mair no -less than just the laird’s bairn when all’s said.” - -“Ye’ll no mind her, Maister Younger,” says Tom Bryce, pointing after -Lucky; “although, to be preceese, what the carline tells has in it mair -of truth than poetry.” - -“I was no thinking on the dame’s clack,” returns Mr. Younger, his eyes -still on the nearing yawl, “or whether yon lad’s a gardener’s bairn or -a gentleman’s by-blaw. What I will say, in the face of the sun, however, -is that he has in him the rudiments of as brisk a sailorman as ever -walked saut water.” - -“There’ll be none that’s better,” observes Tom Bryce, “going in and oot -o’ Solway Firth.” Then, eyeing the yawl: “He’ll win to the creek’s mouth -on the next reach to sta’board.” - -Gardener Paul joins Mr. Younger and the fisherman, Tom Bryce. - -“We were talking of your son,” says Mr. Younger to Gardener Paul. “What -say ye, mon; will ye apprentice him? I’ll send him with Dick Bennison, -in my new brig Friendship, to the Virginias and Jamaica.” - -John Paul, gardener to the laird, Robert Craik, is a dull man, notably -thick of wit, and slow. - -“The Virginias!” he repeats. “My son William has been there these -sixteen year. He’s head man for my kinsman Jones, on his plantation by -the Rappahannock. If Jack sails with Dick Bennison, he’ll meet William -that he’s never seen.” - -“He’ll see his brother for sure,” returns Mr. Younger. “The _Friendship_ -goes from Whitehaven to Urbana, and that’s not a dozen miles down the -Rappahannock from your cousin’s plantation.” - -The yawl has come safely into the creek’s mouth, and lies rocking at her -moorings as lightly as a gull. The lad leaps ashore, and is patted on -the back by the fisherman in praise of his seamanship. He smiles through -the salt water that drips from his face; for beating to windward is not -the driest point of sailing, and the lad is spray-soaked from head to -heel. - -“And may I go, father? - -“This is Mr. Younger, Jack,” says Gardener Paul, as the lad conies up. -“He wants ye to sail ‘prentice with Dick Bennison, in the new brig.’’ -The difference to show between Gardener Paul and little Jack Paul, -as the pair stand together on the quay, goes far to justify those -innuendoes of the scandalous Lucky. Gardener Paul’s heavy peasant face -possesses nothing to mark, on his part, any blood-nearness to the boy, -whose olive skin, large brown eyes, clean profile and dark hair like -silk, speak only of the patrician. - -“And may I go, father?” asks Jack, a flush breaking eagerly through the -tan on his cheek. - -[Illustration: 0019] - -“Ye might as weel, I think,” responds Gardener Paul judgmatically. -“Ye’re the born petrel; and for the matter of gardening, being my own -and Adam’s trade, I’ve kenned for lang ye’ll no mair touch spade or -mattock than handle coals of fire. So, as I was saying, ye might as weel -sail ‘prentice with Dick; and when ye meet your brother William, gi’ him -his father’s gude word. Ye’ll never have seen William, Jack, for he left -hame before ye were born; and so it’ll be a braw fore-gathering between -the twa of ye--being brothers that never met before.” - -And after this fashion the fisher-boy, John Panl, afterward Admiral Paul -Jones, is given his baptism of the sea. - - - - -CHAPTER II--IN THE BLACK TRADE - -The sun is struggling through the dust-coated, cobwebbed windows, and -lighting dimly yet sufficiently the dingy office of Shipowner Younger of -Whitehaven. That substantial man is sitting at his desk, eyes fixed upon -the bristle of upstanding masts which sprout, thick as forest pines on a -hillside, from the harbor basin below. The face of Shipowner Younger has -been given the seasoning of several years, since he went to Arbigland -that squall-torn afternoon, to pick up a crew for Dick Bennison. Also, -Shipowner Younger shines with a new expression of high yet retiring -complacency. The expression is one awful and fascinating to the clerk, -who sits at the far end of the room. Shipowner Younger has been elected -to Parliament, and his awful complacency is that elevation’s visible -sign. The knowledge of his master’s election offers the basis of much -of the clerk’s awe, and that stipendary almost charms himself into the -delusion that he sees a halo about the bald pate of Shipowner Younger. - -The latter brings the spellbound clerk from his trance of fascination, -by wheeling upon him. - -“Did ye send doon, mon,” he cries, “to my wharf, with word for young -Jack Paul to come?” - -The clerk says that he did. - -“Then ye can go seek your denner.” - -The clerk, acting on this permission, scrambles to his fascinated -feet. As he retires through the one door, young Jack Paul enters. The -brown-faced boy of the Arbigland yawl has grown to be a brisk young -sailor, taut and natty. He shakes the hand of Shipowner Younger, who -gives him two fingers in that manner of condescending reserve, which -he conceives to be due his dignity as a member of the House of Commons. -Having done so much for his dignity, Shipowner Younger relaxes. - -“Have a chair, lad!” he says. “Bring her here where we can chat.” - -The natty Jack Paul brings the clerk’s chair, as being the only one in -the room other than that occupied by Shipowner Younger. One sees the -thorough-paced sailor in the very motions of him; for his step is quick, -catlike and sure, and there is just the specter of a roll in his walk, -as though the heaving swell of the ocean still abides in his heels. When -he has placed the chair, so as to bring himself and Shipowner Younger -face to face, he says: - -“And now, sir, what are your commands’?” - -“I’ll have sent for ye, Jack,” begins Shipowner Younger, portentously -lengthening the while his shaven upper-lip--“I’ll have sent for ye, for -three several matters: To pay ye a compliment or twa; to gi’ ye a -gude lecture; an’ lastly to do a trifle of business wi’ ye, by way of -rounding off. For I hold,” goes on Shipowner Younger, in an admonishing -tone, “that conversations which don’t carry a trifle of business are no -mair than just the crackle of thorns under a pot. Ye’ll ken I’m rich, -Jack--ye’ll ken I can clink my gold, an’ count my gold, an’ keep my gold -wi’ the warmest mon in Whitehaven?” - -Young Jack Paul smiles, and nods his full agreement. - -“But ye’ll no ken,” goes on Shipowner Younger, with proud humility, the -pride being real and the humility imitated--“ye’ll no ken, I believe, -that I’m ‘lected to the Parleyment in Lunnon, lad?” Shipowner Younger -pauses to observe the effect of this announcement of his greatness. -Being satisfied, he goes on. “It’s a sacrifeece, no doot, but I s’all -make it. The King has need of my counsel; an’, God save him! he s’all -have it. For I’ve always said, lad, that a mon’s first debt is to the -King. But it’ll mean sore changes, Jack, sore changes will it mean; for -I’m to sell up my ships to the last ship’s gig of ‘em, the better to -leave me hand-free and head-free to serve the King.” - -Young Jack Paul is polite enough to arch his brows and draw a serious -face. Shipowner Younger is pleased at this, and, with a deprecatory wave -of his hand, as one who dismisses discussion of misfortunes which are -beyond the help of words, proceeds: - -“But enou’ of idle clavers; I’ll e’en get to what for I brought -you here.” Shipowner Younger leans far back in his big chair, and -contemplates young Jack Paul with a twinkle. “Now, lad,” he begins, -“when from ‘prentice ye are come to be first mate among my ships, I’m to -tell ye that from Dick Bennison who signed ye, to Ed’ard Denbigh whose -first officer ye now be, all the captains ye’ve sailed wi’ declare ye a -finished seaman. But”--here Shipowner Younger shakes his head as though -administering reproof--“they add that ye be ower handy wi’ your fists.” - -“Why, then,” breaks in young Jack Paul, “how else am I to keep my watch -in order! Besides, I hold it more humane to strike with your fist -than with a belaying pin. The captains, I’ll warrant, have told you I -thrashed none but ship’s bullies.” - -“They’ll have told me nothing of the kind,” returns Shipowner Younger. -“They said naught of bullies. What they did observe was that ye just -pounded the faces of the fo’c’sle hands in the strict line of duty. -Why, they said the whole ship’s crew loved ye like collie dogs! It seems -ye’ve a knack of thrashing yourself into their hearts.” - -Young Jack Paul’s eyes show pleasure and relief; he perceives he is not -being scolded. - -“And now,” says Shipowner Younger, donning the alert manner of your -true-born merchant approaching pounds, shillings and pence--“and now, -having put the compliments and the lecture astern, we’ll even get doon -to business. As I was tellin’, I’m about to retire from the ships. I’m -rich enou’; and, being called to gi’ counsel to the King, I want no -exter-aneous interests to distract me. The fair truth is, I’ve sold all -but the bark ye’re now wi’, the _John O’ Gaunt_, ye’ll ken; and that’s -to be sold to-day.” - -“You’ll sell our _John O’ Gaunt_, sir? Who is to own it?” - -“Ed’ard Denbigh, your captain, is to own five-sixths of her, for which -he’ll pay five thousand pounds; being dog-cheap”--here a deep sigh--“as -I’m a Christian! As for the remaining sixth, lad, why it’s to be yours. -Ye’ll sail oot o’ Whitehaven this v’yage in your own ship, partners wi’ -Ed’ard Denbigh.” - -“But, sir,” protests young Jack Paul, his voice startled into a tremor, -“with all thanks for your goodness, I’ve got no thousand pounds. You -know the wages of a mate.’’ - -“Ay! I ken the wages of a mate weel enou’; I’ve been payin’ ‘em for -thirty year come New Year’s day. But ye’ll no need money, Jack!”--the -dry, harsh tones grow soft with kindliness--“ye’ll no need money, mon, -and there’s the joke of it. For I’m to gi’ ye your one-sixth of the John -O’ Gaunt, wi’ never a shillin’ from your fingers, and so make a man and -a merchant of ye at a crack. Now, no words, lad! Ye’ve been faithful; -and I’ve no’ forgot that off Cape Clear one day ye saved me a ship. Ay! -ye’ll ken by now that Jamie Younger, for all he’s ‘lected to Parleyment -to tell the King his mind, is no so giddy wi’ his honors as to forget -folk who serve him. No words, I tell ye! There ye be, sailor and -shipowner baith, before ye’re twenty-one. An’ gude go wi’ ye!” - -The big-hearted Scotchman smothers the gratitude on the lips of young -Jack Paul, and hands him out the door. As the latter goes down the -stair, Shipowner Younger calls after him with a kind of anticipatory -crow of exultation: - -“And, lad! if ye get ever to Lunnon, come doon to Westminster, and see me -just passin’ the laws!” - -The _John O’ Gaunt_ lies off the Guinea coast. The last one of its -moaning, groaning, black cargo of slaves has come over the side from -the shore boats, and been conveyed below. The _John O’ Gaunt_ has been -chartered by a Bristol firm to carry three thousand slaves from the -Guineas to Kingston; it will require ten voyages, and this is the -beginning of the first. - -The three hundred unhappy blacks who make the cargo are between decks. -There they squat in four ranks, held by light wrist-chains to two great -iron cables which are stretched forward and aft. - -There are four squatting ranks of them; each rank sits face to face -with its fellow rank across the detaining cable. Thus will they sit -and suffer, cramped and choked and half-starved in that tropical hell -between decks, through those two-score days and nights which lie between -the _John O’ Gaunt_ and Kingston. - -Captain Denbigh keeps the deck until the anchors are up. The wind is -forward of the beam, and now, when its canvas is shaken out, the _John -O’ Gaunt_ begins to move through the water on the starboard tack. The -motion is slow and sulky, as though the ship were sick in its heart at -the vile traffic it has come to, and must be goaded by stiffest gales -before it consents to any show of speed. Captain Denbigh leaves the -order, “West by north!” with second mate Boggs, who has the watch on -deck; and, after glancing aloft at the sails and over the rail at the -weather, waddles below to drink “Prosperous voyage!” with his first mate -and fellow owner, young Jack Paul. - -He finds that youthful mariner gloomy and sad. - -The cabin where the two are berthed is roomy. At one end is a case of -bottles--brandy and rum, the property of Captain Denbigh. At the other -is a second lock-fast case, filled with books, the sailing companions of -first mate Jack Paul. There are text-books--French, Spanish, Latin and -Greek; for first mate Jack Paul is of a mind to learn languages during -his watch below. There are books on navigation and astronomy, as well -as volumes by De Foe and Richardson. Also, one sees the comedies of -Congreve, and the poems of Alexander Pope. To these latter, first mate -Jack Paul gives much attention; his inquiring nose is often between -their covers. He studies English elegancies of speech and manner in -Congreve, Pope and Richardson, while the crop-eared De Foe feeds his -fancy for adventure. - -As Captain Denbigh rolls into the cabin, first mate Jack Paul is not -thinking on books. He has upon his mind the poor black wretches between -decks, the muffled murmur of whose groans, together with the clanking -of their wrist-chains, penetrates the bulkhead which forms the forward -cabin wall. Captain Denbigh never heeds the silence and the sadness -of his junior officer and partner, but marches, feet spread wide and -sailorwise, to the locker which holds his bottles. Making careful -selection, he brings out one of rum and another of sherry. - -“You not likin’ rum,” explains Captain Denbigh, as he sets the sherry -within reach of first mate Jack Paul. - -First mate Jack Paul mechanically fills himself a moderate glass, while -Captain Denbigh does himself more generous credit with a brimmer from -the rum bottle. - -“Here’s to the good ship _John O’ Gaunt_,” cries Captain Denbigh, -tossing the rum down his capacious throat. “May it live to carry niggers -a hundred years!” - -There is no response to this sentiment; but Captain Denbigh doesn’t feel -at all slighted, and sits down comfortably to the floor-fast table, -the rum at his elbow. Being thus disposed, he glances at his moody -companion. - -There is much that is handsome in a rough, saltwater way about Captain -Denbigh. He is short, stout, with a brown pillar of a throat, and -shoulders as square as his yardarms. His thick hair is clubbed into a -cue; there are gold rings in his ears, and his gray eyes laugh as he -looks at you. - -“An’ now, mate Jack,” says Captain Denbigh, cheerfully, “with our three -hundred niggers stowed snug, an’ we out’ard bound for Jamaica, let you -an’ me have a bit of talk. Not as cap ‘in an’ mate, mind you, but as -owners. To begin with, then, you don’t like the black trade?” - -First mate Jack Paul looks up; the brown eyes show trouble and resolve. - -“Captain,” he says, “it goes against my soul!” Then, he continues -apologetically: “Not that I say aught against slavery, which I’ve heard -chaplains and parsons prove to be right and pious by Bible text. Ay! -I’ve heard them when I’ve been to church ashore, with my brother William -by the Rappahannock. My kinsman Jones owns slaves; and I can see, too, -that they have safer, happier lives with him than could fall to their -lot had they remained savages in the wild Guinea woods. But owning -slaves by the Rappahannock, where you can give them kindness and -make them happy, is one thing. This carrying the tortured creatures ---chained, and mad with grief!--to Jamaica is another.” - -Captain Denbigh refreshes himself with more rum. - -“It wards off the heat,” he vouchsafes, in extenuation of his partiality -for the rum. Having set himself right touching rum, he takes, up the -main question: “What can we do?” he asks. “You know we’re chartered for -ten v’yages?” - -“I’m no one to argue with my captain,” responds first mate Jack Paul. -“Still less do I talk of breaking charters. All I say is, it makes me -heart-sore.” - -“Let me see!” responds Captain Denbigh, searching for an idea. “Your -brother William tells me, the last time we takes in tobacco from the -Jones plantation, that old William Jones is as fond o’ you as o’ him?” - -“That is true. He wanted me to stay ashore with him and William, and -give up the sea.” - -“An’ why not, mate Jack?” - -First mate Jack Paul shrugs his shoulders, which, despite his youth, are -as broad and square as his captain’s. - -“Because I like the sea,” says he; “and shall always like the sea.” - -Captain Denbigh takes more rum; after which he sits knitting his -forehead into knots, in a very agony of cogitation. Finally he gives the -table a great bang, at which the rum bottle jumps in alarm. - -“I’ve hit it!” he cries. “I knowed I would if I’d only drink rum -enough. I never has a bright idea yet, I don’t get it from rum. Here, -now, mate Jack; I’ll just buy you out. You don’t like the black trade, -an’ you’ll like it less an’ less. It’s your readin’ books does it; that, -an not drinkin rum. Howsumever, I’ll buy you out. Then you can take a -merchant-ship; or--an’ you may call me no seaman if that ain’t what -I’d do you sits down comfortable with your brother an’ your old kinsman -Jones by the Rappahannock, an plays gentleman ashore.” - -While Captain Denbigh talks, the trouble fades from the face of first -mate Jack Paul. - -“What’s that?” he cries. “You’ll buy me out?” - -“Ay, lad! as sure as my name’s Ed’ard Denbigh. That is, if so be you can -sell, bein’ under age. I allows you can, howsumever; for you’re no one -to go back on a bargain.” Having thus adjusted to his liking the legal -doubt suggested, Captain Denbigh turns to the question of price. “Master -Younger puts your sixth at a thousand pounds. If so be you’ll say the -word, mate Jack, I’ll give you a thousand pounds.” - -Countenance brightened with a vast relief, first mate Jack Paul -stretches his hand across the table. Captain Denbigh, shifting his -glass to the left hand, grasps it. - -“Done!” says first mate Jack Paul. - -“An’ done to you, my hearty!” exclaims Captain Denbigh. “The money’ll -be yours, mate Jack, as soon as ever we sees Kingston light. An’ now for -another hooker of rum to bind the bargain.” - - - - -CHAPTER III--THE YELLOW JACK - -At Kingston, Captain Denbigh goes ashore with first mate Jack Paul, -and pays over in Bank of England paper those one thousand pounds which -represent that one-sixth interest in the _John O’Gaunt_. While the -pair are upon this bit of maritime business, the three hundred mournful -blacks are landed under the supervision of the second mate. Among the -virtues which a cargo of slaves possesses over a shipment of cotton or -sugar or rum, is the virtue of legs. This merit is made so much of by -the energetic second officer of the _John O’Gaunt_, that, within half -a day, the last of the three hundred blacks is landed on the Kingston -quay. Received and receipted for by a bilious Spaniard with an umbrella -hat, who is their consignee, the blacks are marched away to the -stockade which will confine them while awaiting distribution among the -plantations. Captain Denbigh puts to sea with the _John O’Gaunt_ in -ballast the same evening. A brisk seaman, and brisker man of business, -is Captain Denbigh, and no one to spend money and time ashore, when he -may be making the one and saving the other afloat. - -First mate Jack Paul, his fortune of one thousand pounds safe in the -strong-boxes of the Kingston bank, sallies forth to look for a ship. He -decides to go passenger, for the sake of seeing what it is like, and his -first thought is to visit his brother William by the Rappahannock. This -fraternal venture he forbears, when he discovers Kingston to be in the -clutch of that saffron terror the yellow fever. Little is being locally -said of the epidemic, for the town is fearful of frightening away its -commerce. The Kingston heart, like most human hearts, thinks more of its -own gold than of the lives of other men. Wherefore Kingston is sedulous -to hide the plague in its midst, lest word go abroad on blue water and -drive away the ships. - -First mate Jack Paul becomes aware of Kingston for the death-trap it is -before he is ashore two days. It is the suspicious multitude of funerals -thronging the sun-baked streets, that gives him word. And yet the -grewsome situation owns no peculiar threat for him, since he has sailed -these blistering latitudes so often and so much that he may call himself -immune. For him, the disastrous side is that, despite the Kingston -efforts at concealment, a plague-whisper drifted out to sea, and as a -cautious consequence the Kingston shipping has dwindled to be nothing. -This scarcity of ships vastly interferes with that chance of a passage -home. - -“The first craft, outward bound for England, shall do,” thinks first -mate Jack Paul. “As to William, I’ll defer my visit until I may go -ashore to him without bringing the yellow jack upon half Virginia.” - -While waiting for that home-bound ship, first mate Jack Paul goes upon a -pilgrimage of respect to the tomb of Admiral Benbow. That sea-wolf lies -buried in the parish chapel-yard in King Street. - -As first mate Jack Paul leaves the little burying-ground, he runs foul -of a polite adventure which, in its final expression, will have effect -upon his destiny. His aid is enlisted in favor of a lady in trouble. - -The troubled lady, fat, florid and forty, is being conveyed along King -Street in her _ketureen_, a sort of sedan chair on two wheels, drawn by -a half-broken English horse. The horse, excited by a funeral procession -of dancing, singing, shouting blacks, capsizes the _ketureen_, and the -fat, florid one is decanted upon the curb at the feet of first mate -Jack Paul. Alive to what is Christian in the way of duty, he raises the -florid, fat decanted one, and congratulates her upon having suffered no -harm. - -The _ketureen_ is restored to an even keel. The fat, florid one boards -it, though not before she invites first mate Jack Paul to dinner. -Being idle, lonesome, and hungry for English dishes, he accepts, -and accompanies the fat, florid one in the dual guise of guest and -bodyguard. - -Sir Holman Hardy, husband to the fat, florid one, is as fatly florid as -his spouse. Incidentally he is in command of what British soldiers are -stationed at Kingston. The fat, florid one presents first mate Jack Paul -to her Hector, tells the tale of the rescue, and thereupon the three go -in to dinner. Later, first mate Jack Paul and his host smoke in the -deep veranda, where, during the cool of the evening, Sir Holman drinks -sangaree, and first mate Jack Paul drinks Madeira. Also Sir Holman -inveighs against the Horse Guards for consigning him to such a pit of -Tophet as is Kingston. - -Between sangaree and maledictions levelled at the Horse Guards, Sir -Holman gives first mate Jack Paul word of a brig, the _King George’s -Packet_, out of China for Kingston with tea, which he looks for every -day. Discharging its tea, the _King George’s Packet_ will load with rum -for Whitehaven; and Sir Holman declares that first mate Jack Paul shall -sail therein, a passenger-guest, for home. Sir Holman is able to promise -this, since the fat, florid rescued one is the child of Shipowner Donald -of Donald, Currie & Beck, owners of the _King George’s Packet_. - -“Which makes me,” expounds Sir Holman, his nose in the sangaree, “a kind -of son-in-law to the brig itself.” - -He grumblingly intimates--he is far gone in sangaree at the time--that a -fleet of just such sea-trinkets as the _King George’s Packet_, so far -as he has experimented with the marital condition, constitutes the one -redeeming feature of wedlock. - -“And so,” concludes the excellent Sir Holman, “you’re to go home with -the rum, guest of the ship itself; and the thing I could weep over is -that I cannot send my kit aboard and sail with you.” - -Two days go by, and the _King George’s Packet_ is sighted off Port -Royal; twenty-four hours later its master, Captain Macadam---a Solway -man--is drinking Sir Holman’s sangaree. Making good his word, Sir Holman -sends for first mate Jack Paul, and that business of going passenger to -Whitehaven is adjusted. - -“True!” observes Captain Macadam, when he understands--“true, the -_George_ isn’t fitted up for passengers. But”--turning to first mate -Jack Paul--“you’ll no mind; bein’ a seaman yours eh?” - -“More than that, Captain,” breaks in Sir Holman, “since the port is -reeling full of yellow jack, some of your people might take it to sea -with them. Should aught go wrong, now, why here is your passenger, a -finished sailorman, to give you a lift.” - -Captain Macadam’s face has been tanned like leather. None the less, -as he hears the above the mahogany hue thereof lapses into a pasty, -piecrust color. Plainly that word yellow jack fills his soul with fear. -He mentions the wearisome fact to first mate Jack Paul, as he and that -young gentleman, after their cigars and sangaree with Sir Holman, are -making a midnight wake for the change house whereat they have bespoken -beds. - -“It’s no kindly,” complains Captain Macadam, “for Sir Holman to let me -run my brig blindfold into sic a snare. But then he has a fourth share -in the tea, and another in the rum; and so, for his profit like, he lets -me tak’ my chances. He’d stude better wi’ God on high I’m thinkin’, if -he’d let his profit gone by, and just had a pilot boat standin’ off and -on at Port Royal, to gi’ me the wink to go wide. I could ha’ taken the -tea to New York weel enou’. But bein’ I’m here,” concludes the disturbed -Captain, appealing to first mate Jack Paul, “what would ye advise?” - -“To get your tea ashore and your rum aboard as fast as you may.” - -“Ay! that’ll about be the weesdom of it!” - -Captain Macadam can talk of nothing but yellow jack all the way to the -change house. - -“It’s the first time I was ever in these watters,” he explains -apologetically, “and now I can smell fever in the air! Ay! the hond o’ -death is on these islands! Be ye no afeard, mon?” - -First mate Jack Paul says that he is not. Also he is a trifle irritated -at the alarm of the timorous Captain Macadam. - -“That’ll just be your youth now!” observes the timorous one. “Ye’re no -old enou’ to grasp the responsibeelities.” - -At four in the morning Captain Macadam comes into first mate Jack Paul’s -room at the change house. He is clad in his linen sleeping suit, and his -teeth are chattering a little. - -“It’s the bein’ ashore makes my teeth drum,” he vouchsafes. “But what -I wushed to ask ye, lad, is d’ye believe in fortunes? No? Weel, then, -neither do I; only I remembered like that lang syne a wierd warlock sort -o’ body tells me in the port o’ Leith, that I’m to meet my death in the -West Injies. It’s the first time, as I was tellin’ ye, that ever I comes -pokin’ my snout amang these islands; and losh! I believe that warlock -chiel was right. I’ve come for my death sure.” - -Captain Macadam promises his crew’ double grog and double wages, and -works night and day lightering his tea ashore, and getting his rum casks -into the _King George’s Packet_. Then he calls a pilot, and, with a -four-knot breeze behind him, worms his way along the narrow, corkscrew -channel, until he finds himself in open water. - -Then the pilot goes over the side, and Captain Macadam takes the brig. -He casts an anxious eye astern at Port Royal, four miles away. - -“I’ll no feel safe,” says he, “while yon Satan’s nest is under my -quarter. And afterward I’ll no feel safe neither. How many days, mon, is -a victeem to stand by and look for symptoms?” - -First mate Jack Paul, to whom the query is put, gives it as his opinion -that, if they have yellow fever aboard, it will make its appearance -within the week. - -“Weel that’s a mercy ony way!” says Captain Macadam with a sigh. - -There are, besides first mate Jack Paul, and the Captain with his two -officers, twelve seamen and the cook--seventeen souls in all--aboard -the _King George’s Packet_ as, north by east, it crawls away from Port -Royal. For four days the winds hold light but fair. Then come head -winds, and the brig finds itself making long tacks to and fro in -the Windward Passage, somewhere between Cape Mazie and the Mole St. -Nicholas. - -“D’ye see, mon!” cries Captain Macadam, whose fears have increased, -not diminished, since he last saw the Jamaica lights. “The vera weather -seeks to keep us in this trap! I’ll no be feelin’ ower weel neither, let -me tell ye!” - -First mate Jack Paul informs the alarmed Captain that to fear the fever -is to invite it. - -“I’m no afeard, mon,” returns Captain Macadam, with a groan, “I’m just -impressed.” - -The timidities of the Captain creep among the mates and crew; forward -and aft the feeling is one of terror. The _King George’s Packet_ becomes -a vessel of gloom. There are no songs, no whistling for a wind. Even -the cook’s fiddle is silent, and the galley grows as melancholy as the -forecastle. - -It is eight bells in the afternoon of the fourth day, when the man at -the wheel calls to Captain Macadam. He tosses his thumb astern. - -“Look there!” says he. - -Captain Macadam peers over the rail, and counts eleven huge sharks. The -monsters are following the brig. Also, they seem in an ugly mood, since -ever and anon they dash at one another ferociously. - -“It’ll be a sign!” whispers Captain Macadam. Then he counts them. -“There’ll be ‘leven o’ them,” says he; “and that means we’re ‘leven to -die!” After this he dives below, and takes to the bottle. - -Bleared of eye, shaken of hand, Captain Macadam on the fifth morning -finds first mate Jack Paul on the after deck. The eleven sharks are -still sculling sullenly along in the slow wake of the wind-bound brig. - -“Be they there yet?” asks Captain Macadam, looking over the stern with a -ghastly grin. Then answering his own query: “Ay! they’ll be there--the -‘leven of ‘em!” - -First mate Jack Paul, observing their daunting effect on the -over-harrowed nerves of Captain Macadam, is for having up his pistols to -take a shot at the sharks; but he is stayed by the other. - -“They’ll be sent,” says Captain Macadam; “it’ll no do to slay ‘em, mon! -But losh! ain’t a sherk a fearfu’ feesli?” Then, seeing his hand shake -on the brig’s rail: “It’s the rum. And that’s no gude omen, me takin’ to -the rum; for I’m not preeceesely what you’d ca’ a drinkin’ body.” - -Two hours later Captain Macadam issues from his cabin and seeks first -mate Jack Paul, where the latter is sitting in the shade of the main -sail. - -“Mon, look at me!” he cries. “D’ye no see? I tell ye, Death has found me -oot on the deep watters!” - -The single glance assures first mate Jack Paul that Captain Macadam is -right. His eyes are congested and ferrety; his face is flushed. Even -while first mate Jack Paul looks, he sees the skin turn yellow as a -lemon. He thumbs the sick man’s wrist; the pulse is thumping like a -trip-hammer. Also, the dry, fevered skin shows an abnormal temperature. - -“Your tongue!” says first mate Jack Paul; for he has a working knowledge -of yellow jack. - -It is but piling evidence upon evidence; the tongue is the color of -liver. Three hours later, the doomed man is delirious. Then the fever -gives way to a chill; presently he goes raving his way into eternity, -and the _King George’s Packet_ loses its Captain. - -First mate Jack Paul sews the dead skipper in a hammock with his own -fingers; since, mates, crew and cook, not another will bear a hand. -When the hammock sewing is over, the cook aids in bringing the corpse -on deck. As the body slips from the grating into the sea, a thirty-two -pound shot at the heels, the cook laughs overboard at the sharks, still -hanging, like hounds upon a scent, to the brig’s wake. - -“Ye’ll have to dive for the skipper, lads!” sings out the cook. - -Offended by this ribaldry, first mate Jack Paul is on the brink of -striking the cook down with a belaying pin. For his own nerves are -a-jangle, and that misplaced merriment rasps. It is the look in the -man’s face which stays his hand. - -“Ye’ll be right!” cries the cook, as though replying to something in the -eye of first mate Jack Paul. “Don’t I know it? It is I who’ll follow the -skipper! I’ll just go sew my own hammock, and have it ready, shot and -all.” - -As the cook starts for the galley, a maniac yell is heard from the -forecastle. At that, he pauses, sloping his ear to listen. - -“I’ll have company,” says he. - -First the cook; then the mates; then seven of the crew. One after the -other, they follow a thirty-two pound shot over the side; for after the -Captain’s death the sailors lose their horror of the plague-killed ones, -and sew them up and slip them into the sea as readily as though they are -bags of bran. The worst is that a fashion of dull panic takes them, and -they refuse their duty. There is no one to command, they say; and, since -there can be no commands, there can be no duty. With that they hang -moodily about the capstan, or sulk in their bunks below. - -First mate Jack Paul takes the wheel, rather than leave the _King -George’s Packet_ to con itself across the ocean. As he is standing -at the wheel trying to make a plan to save the brig and himself, he -observes a sailor blundering aft. The man dives below, and the next -moment, through the open skylights, first mate Jack Paul hears him -rummaging the Captain’s cabin. In a trice, he lashes the wheel, and -slips below on the heels of the sailor. As he surmises, the man is at -the rum. Without word spoken, he knocks the would-be rum guzzler over, -and then kicks him up the companion way to the deck. - -Pausing only to stick a couple of pistols in his belt, first mate Jack -Paul follows that kicked seaman with a taste for rum. He walks first to -the wheel. The wind is steady and light; for the moment the brig will -mind itself. Through some impulse he glances over the stern; the sharks -are gone. This gives him a thought; he will use the going of the sharks -to coax the men. - -The five are grouped about the capstan, the one who was struck is -bleeding like tragedy. First mate Jack Paul makes them a little speech. - -“There are no more to die,” says he. “The called-for eleven are dead, -and the sharks no longer follow us. That shows the ship free of menace; -we’re all to see England again. And now, mates”--there is that in the -tone which makes the five look up--“I’ve a bit of news. From now, until -its anchors are down in Whitehaven basin, I shall command this ship.” - -“You?” speaks up a big sailor. “You’re no but a boy!” - -“I’m man enough to sail the brig to England, and make you work like a -dog, you swab!” The look in the eye of first mate Jack Paul, makes the -capstan quintette uneasy. He goes on: “Come, my hearties, which shall -it be? Sudden death? or you to do your duty by brig and owners? For, as -sure as ever I saw the Solway, the first who doesn’t jump to my order, -I’ll plant a brace of bullets in his belly!” - -And so rebellion ceases; the five come off their gloomings and their -grumblings, and spring to their work of sailing the brig. It is labor -night and day, however, for all aboard; but the winds blow the fever -away, the gales favor them, one and all they seem to have worn out -the evil fortune which dogged them out of Kingston. The _King George’s -Packet_ comes safe, at the last of it, into Whitehaven---first mate Jack -Paul and his crew of five looking for the lack of sleep like dead folk -walking the decks. - -Donald, Currie & Beck pay a grateful salvage on brig and cargo to first -mate Jack Paul and the five, for bringing home the brig. This puts six -hundred pounds into the pockets of first mate Jack Paul, and one-fifth -as much into the pockets of each of the five. Then Donald, Currie & Beck -have first mate Jack Paul to dinner with the firm. - -“We’ve got a ship for ye,” says shipowner Donald, as the wine is being -passed. “Ye’re to be Captain.” - -“Captain!” repeats first mate Jack Paul. “A ship for me?” - -“Who else, then!” returns shipowner Donald. “Ay! it’s the _Crantully -Castle_, four hundred tons, out o’ Plymouth for Bombay. Ye’re to be -Captain; besides, ye’re to have a tenth in the cargo. And now if that -suits ye, gentlemen”--addressing shipowners Currie & Beck--“let the -firm of Donald, Currie & Beck fill up the glasses to the _Crantully -Castle_ and its new Captain, Jack Paul.” - - - - -CHAPTER IV--THE KILLING OF MUNGO - -Captain Jack Paul and his _Grantully Castle_ see friendly years -together. They go to India, to Spain, to the West Indies, to the -Mediterranean, to Africa. While Captain Jack Paul is busy with the -_Grantully Castle_, piling up pounds and shillings and pence for owners -Donald, Currie & Beck, he is also deep with the books, hammering at -French, Spanish and German. Ashore, he makes his way into what best -society he can find, being as eager to refine his manners as refine his -mind, holding the one as much an education as is the other. Finally he -is known in every ocean for the profundity of his learning, the -polish of his deportment, the power of his fists, and the powder-like -explosiveness of his temper. - -It is a cloudy October afternoon when Captain Jack Paul works the -_Grantully Castle_ out of Plymouth, shakes free his canvas, and fills -away on the starboard tack for Tobago. The crew is an evil lot, and a -spirit of mutiny stirs in the ship. Captain Jack Paul, who holds that -a good sailor is ever a good grumbler, can overlook a deal in favor of -this aphorism; and does. On the sixth day out, however, when his first -officer, Mr. Sands, staggers below with a sheath-knife through his -shoulder, it makes a case to which no commander can afford to seem -blind. - -“It was Mungo!” explains the wounded Mr. Sands. - -Captain Jack Paul goes on deck, and takes his stand by the main mast. - -“Pipe all hands aft, Mr. Cooper,” he says to the boatswain. - -The crew straggle aft. They offer a circling score of brutal faces; in -each the dominant expression is defiance. - -“The man Mungo!” says Captain Jack Paul. “Where is he?” - -At the word, a gigantic black slouches out from among his mates. Sloping -shoulders, barrel body, long, swinging arms like a gorilla’s, bandy -legs, huge hands and feet, head the size and shape of a cocoanut, small, -black serpent eyes, no soul unless a fiend’s soul, Mungo is at once -tyrant, pride and leader of the forecastle. Rumor declares that he has -sailed pirate in his time, and should be sun-drying in chains on the -gibbet at Corso Castle. - -As he stands before Captain Jack Paul, Mungo’s features are in a black -snarl of fury. It is in his heart to do murderously more for his captain -than he did for first officer Sands. He waits only the occasion before -making a spring. Captain Jack Paul looks him over with a grim stare as -he slouches before him. - -“Mr. Cooper,” says Captain Jack Paul after a moment, during which he -reads the black Mungo like a page of print, “fetch the irons!” - -The boatswain is back on deck with a pair of steel wristlets in briefest -space. He passes them to Captain Jack Paul. At this, Mungo glowers, -while the mutinous faces in the background put on a dull sullenness. -There are a brace of pistols in the belt of Captain Jack Paul, of which -the sullen dull ones do not like the look. Mungo, a black berserk, cares -little for the pistols, seeing he is in a white-hot rage, the hotter for -being held in present check. Captain Jack Paul, on his part, is in no -wise asleep; he notes the rolling, roving, bloodshot eye, like the eye -of a wild beast at bay, and is prepared. - -“Hold out your hands!” comes the curt command. - -Plainly it is the signal for which Mungo waited. With a growling roar, -bear-like in its guttural ferocity, he rushes upon Captain Jack Paul. -The roaring rush is of the suddenest, but the latter is on the alert. -Quick as is Mungo, Captain Jack Paul is quicker. Seizing a belaying-pin, -he brings it crashing down on the skull of the roaring, charging black. -The heavy, clublike pin is splintered; Mungo drops to the deck, a -shivering heap. The great hands close and open; the muscles clutch and -knot under the black skin; there is a choking gurgle. Then the mighty -limbs relax; the face tarns from black to a sickly tallow. Mouth agape, -eyes wide and staring, Mungo lies still. - -Captain Jack Paul surveys the prostrate black. Then he tosses the irons -to Boatswain Cooper. - -“They will not be needed, Mr. Bo’sen,” he says. “Pipe the crew for’ard!” - -The keen whistle sings; the mutinous ones scuttle forward, like fowls -that hear the high scream of some menacing hawk.. - -It is two bells in the evening; the port watch, in charge of the -knife-wounded Mr. Sands, has the deck. The dead Mungo, tight-clouted in -a hammock, lies stretched on a grating, ready for burial. - -Captain Jack Paul comes up from his cabin. In his hand he carries a -prayer-book. Also those two pistols are still in his belt. - -“Turn out the watch below!” is the word. - -The crew makes a silent half-circle about the dead Mungo. That -mutinous sullenness, recently the defiant expression of their faces, is -supplanted by a deprecatory look, composite of apology and fear. It -is as though they would convince Captain Jack Paul of their tame and -sheep-like frame of thought. The fate of Mungo has instructed them; for -one and all they are of that criminal, coward brood, best convinced by a -club and with whom death is the only conclusive argument. As they stand -uncovered about the rigid one in the clouted hammock, they realize in -full the villainy of mutiny, and abandon that ship-rebellion which has -been forecastle talk and plan since ever the Plymouth lights went out -astern. - -Captain Jack Paul reads a prayer, and the dead Mungo is surrendered to -the deep. As the body goes splashing into the sea, Captain Jack Paul -turns on the subdued ones. - -“Let me tell you this, my men!” says he. His tones have a cold, -threatening ring, like the clink of iron on arctic ice. “The first of -you who so much as lifts an eyebrow in refusal of an order shall go the -same voyage as the black. And so I tell you!” - -Captain Jack Paul brings the _Grantully Castle_ into Tobago, crew as it -might be a crew of lambs. Once his anchors are down, he signals for the -port admiral. Within half an hour the gig of that dignitary is -alongside. - -The Honorable Simpson, Judge Surrogate of the Vice-Admiralty Court of -Tobago, with the Honorable Young, Lieutenant-Governor of the colony, to -give him countenance, opens court in the after cabins of the _Grantully -Castle_. The crew are examined, man after man. They say little, lest -they themselves be caught in some law net, and landed high and dry -in the Tobago jail. First Officer Sands shows his wound and tells his -story. - -Throughout the inquiry Captain Jack Paul sits in silence, listening -and looking on. He puts no questions to either mate or crew. When First -Officer Sands is finished, the Honorable Simpson asks: - -“Captain, in the killing of the black, Mungo, are you in conscience -convinced that you used no more force than was necessary to preserve -discipline in your ship?” - -“May it please,” returns Captain Jack Paul, who has not been at his -books these years for nothing, and is fit to cope with a king’s counsel ---“may it please, I would say that it was necessary in the course of -duty to strike the mutineer Mungo. This was on the high seas. Whenever -it becomes necessary for a commanding officer to strike a seaman, it is -necessary to strike with a weapon. Also, the necessity to strike carries -with it the necessity to kill or disable the mutineer. I call your -attention to the fact that I had loaded pistols in my belt, and -could have shot the mutineer Mungo. I struck with a belaying-pin in -preference, because I hoped that I might subdue him without killing him. -The result proved otherwise. I trust your Honorable Court will take due -account that, although armed with pistols throwing ounce balls, weapons -surely fatal in my hands, I used a belaying-pin, which, though a -dangerous, is not necessarily a fatal weapon.” - -Upon this statement, the Honorable Simpson and the Honorable Young -confer. As the upcome of their conference, the Honorable Simpson -announces judgment, exonerating Captain Jack Paul. - -“The sailor Mungo, being at the time on the high seas, was in a state -of mutiny.” Thus runs the finding as set forth in the records of the -Vice-Admiralty Court of Tobago. “The sailor Mungo was mutinous under -circumstances which lodged plenary power in the hands of the master -of the vessel. Therefore, the homicide was justifiable, because it had -become the only means of maintaining the discipline required for the -safety of the ship.” - -The court rises, and Captain Jack Paul bows the Honorable Simpson and -the Honorable Young over the side. When they are clear, First Officer -Sands addresses Captain Jack Paul. - -“Are the crew to be set ashore, sir?” he asks. - -“What! Mr. Sands, would you discharge the best crew we’ve ever had?” - He continues as though replying to his first officer’s look of -astonishment. “I grant you they were a trifle uncurried at first. The -error of their ways, however, broke upon them with all clearness in the -going of Mungo. As matters now are, compared to the _Grantully Castle_, -a dove-cote is a merest theatre of violence and murderous blood. No, -Mr. Sands; we will keep our crew if you please. Should there be further -mutiny, why then there shall be further belaying-pins, I promise you.” - -The _Grantully Castle_ goes finally back to England, the most peaceful -creature of oak and cordage that ever breasted the Atlantic. Cargo -discharged, the ship is sent into winter overhaul. - -“As for you, sir,” remarks owner Donald, of Donald, Currie & Beck, -shoving the wine across to Captain Jack Paul, “ye’re just a maister -mariner of gold! Ye’ll no wait ashore for the _Grantully Castle_. We’ve -been buildin’ ye a new ship at our Portsmouth yards. She’s off the ways -a month, and s’uld be sparred and rigged and ready for the waves by now. -We’ve called her _The Two Friends_.” - - - - -CHAPTER V--THE SAILOR TURNS PLANTER - -The wooded April banks of the Rappahannock are flourishing in the new -green of an early Virginia spring. The bark _Two Friends_, Captain Jack -Paul, out of Whitehaven by way of Lisbon, Madeira, and Kingston, comes -picking her dull way up the river, and anchors midstream at the foot of -the William Jones plantation. Almost coincident with the splash of the -anchors, the _Two Friends_ has her gig in the water, and the next moment -Captain Jack Paul takes his place in the stern sheets. - -“Let fall!” comes the sharp command, as he seizes the tiller-ropes. - -The four sailors bend their strong backs, the four oars swing together -like clockwork, and the gig heads for the plantation landing where a -twenty-ton sloop, current-vexed, lies gnawing at her ropes. - -At twenty-six, Captain Jack Paul is the very flower of a quarter-deck -nobility. He has not the advantage of commanding height; but the lean, -curved nose, clean jaw, firmly-lined month, steady stare of the brown -eyes, coupled at the earliest smell of opposition with a frowning falcon -trick of brow like a threat, are as a commission to him, signed and -countersigned by nature, to be ever a leader of men. In figure he is -five feet seven inches, and the scales telling his weight consent to -one hundred and forty-five pounds. His hands and feet are as small as a -woman’s. By way of offset to this, his shoulders, broad and heavy, and -his deep chest arched like the deck of a whale-back, speak of anything -save the effeminate. In his movements there is a feline graceful -accuracy> with over all a resolute atmosphere of enterprise. To his men, -he is more than a captain; he is a god. Prudent at once and daring, he -shines a master of seamanship, and never the sailor serves with him who -would not name him a mariner without a flaw. He is born to inspire -faith in men. This is as it should be, by his own abstract picture of a -captain, which he will later furnish Doctor Franklin: - -“Your captain,” he will say, when thus informing that philosopher, “your -captain, Doctor, should have the blind confidence of his sailors. It is -his beginning, his foundation, wanting which he can be no true captain. -To his men your captain must he prophet, priest and king. His authority -when off-shore is necessarily absolute, and therefore the crew should -be as one man impressed that the captain, like the sovereign, can do no -wrong. If a captain fail in this, he cannot make up for it by severity, -austerity or cruelty. Use force, apply restraint, punish as he may, he -will always have a sullen crew and an unhappy ship.” - -The nose of the gig grates on the river’s bank, and Captain Jack Paul -leaps ashore. He is greeted by a tall, weather-beaten old man--grizzled -and gray. The form of the latter is erect, with a kind of ramrod -military stiffness. His dress is the rough garb of the Virginia overseer -in all respects save headgear. Instead of the soft wool hat, common of -his sort, the old man cocks over his watery left eye a Highland bonnet, -and this, with its hawk’s feather, fastened by a silver clasp, gives to -his costume a crag and heather aspect altogether Scotch. - -The gray old man, with a grinning background of negro slaves, waits for -the landing of Captain Jack Paul. As the latter springs ashore, the old -man throws up his hand in a military salute. - -“And how do we find Duncan Macbean!” cries Captain Jack Paul. “How also -is my brother! I trust you have still a bale or two of winter-cured -tobacco left that we may add to our cargo!” - -“As for the tobacco, Captain Paul,” returns old Duncan Macbean, “ye’re -a day or so behind the fair, since the maist of it sailed Englandward -a month hack, in the brig _Flora Belle_. As for your brother William of -whom ye ask, now I s’uld say ye were in gude time just to hear his dying -words.” - -“What’s that, Duncan Macbean!” exclaims Captain Jack Paul. “William -dying!” - -“Ay, dying! He lies nearer death than he’s been any time since he and I -marched with General Braddock and Colonel Washington, against the red -salvages of the Ohio. But you s’uld come and see him at once, you his -born brother, and no stand talking here.” - -“It’s lung fever, Jack,” whispers the sick man, as Captain Jack Paul -draws a chair to the side of the bed. “It’s deadly, too; I can feel it. -I’ll not get up again.” - -“Come, come, brother,” retorts Captain Jack Paul cheerfully, “you’re no -old man to talk of death--you, with your fewer than fifty years. I’ll -see you up and on your pins again before I leave.” - -[Illustration: 0071] - -“No, Jack, it’s death. And you’ve come in good time, too, since there’s -much to talk between us. You know how our cousin left me his heir, if I -would take his name of Jones?” - -“Assuredly I know.” - -“And so,” continues the dying man, “my name since his passing away has -been William Paul Jones. Now when it is my turn to go, I must tell you -that, by a clause of the old man’s will, he writes you in after me as -legatee. I’m to die, Jack; and you’re to have the plantation. Only you -must clap ‘Jones’ to your name, and be not John Paul, but John Paul -Jones, as you take over the estate.” - -“What’s this? I’m to heir the plantation after you?” - -“So declares the will. On condition, however, that you also take the -name of Jones. That should not be hard; ‘Jones’ is one of our family -names, and he that leaves you the land was our kinsman.” - -“Why, then,” cries Captain Jack Paul, “I wasn’t hesitating for that. -Paul is a good name, but so also is Jones. Only, I tell you, brother, I -hate to make my fortune by your death.” - -“That’s no common-sense, Jack. I die the easier knowing my going makes -way for your good luck. And the plantation’s a gem, Jack; never a cold -or sour acre in the whole three thousand, but all of it warm, sweet -land. There’re two thousand acres of woods; and I’d leave that stand.” - The dying man, being Scotch, would give advice on his deathbed. “The -thousand acres now under plow are enough.” Then, after a pause: “Ye’ll -be content ashore? You’re young yet; you’re not so wedded to the sea, I -think, but you’ll turn planter with good grace?” - -“No fear, William. I’ve had good fortune by the sea; but then I’ve met -ill fortune also. By and large, I shall be very well content to turn -planter.” - -“It’s gainful, Jack, being a planter is. Only keep Duncan Macbean by -you to manage, and he’ll turn you in one thousand golden guineas profit -every Christmas day, and you never to lift hand or give thought to the -winning of them.” - -“Is the plantation as gainful as that? Now I have but three thousand -guineas to call mine, after sailing these years.” - -“Ay! it’s gainful, Jack. If you will work, too, there’s that to keep -you busy. There’s the grist mill, the thirty slaves, the forty horses, -besides the cows and swine and sheep to look after; as well as the negro -quarters, the tobacco houses, the stables, and the great mansion itself -to keep up. They’ll all serve to fill in the time busily, if you -should like it that way. Only Jack, with the last of it, always leave -everything to Duncan Macbean. A rare and wary man is old Duncan, and -saving of money down to farthings.” - -“Whose sloop is that at the landing!” asks Captain Jack Paul, willing to -shift the subject. - -“Oh, yon sloop! She goes with the plantation; she’ll be yours anon, -brother. And there you are: When the sea calls to you, Jack, as she will -call, you take the sloop. Cato and Scipio are good sailors, well trained -to the coast clear away to Charleston.” - -And so William Paul Jones dies, and John Paul takes his place on the -plantation. His name is no longer John Paul, but John Paul Jones; and, -as his dying brother counselled, he keeps old Duncan Macbean to be the -manager. - -When his brother is dead, Captain Jack Paul joins his mate, Laurence -Edgar, on the deck of the _Two Friends_, swinging tide and tide on her -anchors. - -“Mate Edgar,” says Captain Jack Paul, “it is the last time I shall plank -this quarterdeck as captain. I’m to stay; and you’re to take the ship -home to Whitehaven. And now, since you’re the captain, and I’m no more -than a guest, suppose you order your cabin boy to get us a bottle of the -right Madeira, and we’ll drink fortune to the bark and her new master.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI--THE FIRST BLOW IN VIRGINIA - -It is a soundless, soft December evening. The quietly falling flakes -are cloaking in thin white the streets and roofs of Norfolk. Off shore, -a cable’s length, an English sloop of war, eighteen guns, lies tugging -at her anchors. In shore from the sloop of war rides the peaceful -twenty-ton sloop of Planter Paul Jones. The sailor-planter, loitering -homeward from a cruise to Charleston and the coast towns of the -Carolinas, is calling on friends in Norfolk. Both the war sloop and the -peace sloop seem almost deserted in the falling snow. Aside from the -harbor light burning high in the rigging, and an anchor watch of two -sailors muffled to the ears, the decks of neither craft show signs of -life. - -Norfolk’s public hall is candle-lighted to a pitch of unusual -brilliancy; the waxed floors are thronged with the beauty and gentility -of the Old Dominion, as the same find Norfolk expression. It is indeed -a mighty social occasion; for the local élite have seized upon the -officers of the sloop of war, and are giving a ball in their honor. The -honored ones attend to a man--which accounts for the deserted look of -their sloop--and their gold lace blazes bravely by the light of the -candles, and with tremendous gala effect. - -Planter Paul Jones is also among the guests. Since he is in town, -his coming to the ball becomes the thing most natural. Already he is -regarded as the Admirable Crichton, of tide-water Virginia, and the -function wanting his presence would go down to history as incomplete. - -Paul Jones, planter for two years, has made himself a foremost figure in -Virginia. Twenty-eight, cultured, travelled, gallant, brilliant, and a -bachelor, he is welcome in every drawing-room. Besides, is there not the -Jones plantation, with its mile of river front, its noble mansion house, -its tobacco teeming acres, its well-trained slaves, and all turning in -those yearly one thousand yellow guineas under the heedful managing -thumb of canny Duncan Macbean? Planter Paul Jones is a prince for -hospitality, too; and the high colonial dames, taking pity on his -wifeless state, preside at his table, or chaperone the water parties -which he gives on his great sloop. Also--still considering his -wifelessness--they seek to marry him to one of their colonial daughters. - -In this latter dulcet intrigue, the high colonial dames fail wholly. The -young planter-sailor is not a marrying man. There is in truth a blushing -story which lasts throughout a fortnight in which he is quoted as about -to yield. Rumor gives it confidently forth that the Jones mansion will -have a mistress, and its master carry altar-ward Betty Parke, the pretty -niece of Madam Martha Washington. But pretty Betty Parke, in the very -face of this roseate rumor, becomes Mrs. Tyler, and it will be one of -her descendants who, seventy-five years later, is chosen President--a -poor President, but still a President. Planter Paul Jones rides to the -wedding of pretty Betty Parke, and gives it his serene and satisfied -countenance. From which sign it is supposed that Dame Rumor mounts by -the wrong stirrup when she goes linking the name of pretty Betty Parke -with that of Planter Paul Jones; and no love-letter scrap, nor private -journal note, will ever rise from the grave to disparage the assumption. - -That Planter Paul Jones has thus lived for two years, and moved and had -his social being among the most beautiful of women, and escaped hand -free and heart free to tell the tale, is strange to the brink of -marvellous. It is the more strange since no one could be more than he -the knight of dames. And he can charm, too--as witness a letter which -two years farther on the unimpressionable Doctor Franklin will write to -Madam d’Haudetot: - -“No matter, my dear madam,” the cool philosopher will say, “what the -faults of Paul Jones may be, I must warn your ladyship that when face -to face with him neither man nor, so far as I learn, woman, can for a -moment resist the strange magnetism of his presence, the indescribable -charm of his manner; a commingling of the most compliant deference with -the most perfect self-esteem that I have ever seen in a man; and above -all the sweetness of his voice and the purity of his language.” - -Paul Jones is not alone the darling of colonial drawing-rooms, he is -also the admiration of the men. This is his description as given by one -who knew him afloat and ashore: - -“Though of slender build, his neck, arms and shoulders were those of a -heavy, powerful man. The strength of his arms and shoulders could hardly -be believed. And he had equal use of both hands, even to writing with -the left as well as with the right. He was a past master of the art of -boxing. To this he added a quickness of motion that cannot be described. -When roused he could strike more blows and cause more havoc in a second -than any other could strike or cause in a minute. Even when calm -and unruffled his gait and all his bodily motions were those of the -panther--noiseless, sleek, the perfection of grace.” - -The above, by way of portrait: When one adds to it that Planter Paul -Jones rides like a Prince Rupert, fences like a Crillon, gives blows -with his fist that would stagger Jack Slack, and is death itself with -either gun or pistol, it will be seen how he owns every quality that -should pedestal him as a paragon in the best circles of his day. - -It is towards the hour of midnight when Planter Paul Jones, attired like -a Brummel, stands in quiet converse with his friend Mr. Hurst. Their -talk runs on the state of sentiment in the colonies, and the chance of -trouble with the motherland. - -“Hostilities are certain, my dear Hurst,” says Planter Paul Jones. “I -hear it from Colonel Washington, Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Henry. They make -no secret of it in Williamsburg about the House of Burgesses.” - -“But the other colonies’?” - -“Mr. Morris of Philadelphia, as well as Mr. Pynckney of Charleston, -agrees with the gentlemen I’ve quoted. They say, sir, there will soon be -an outbreak in Boston.” - -“In Boston!” repeats Mr. Hurst doubtfully. - -“Have the Massachusetts men the courage, think you?” - -“Courage, ay! and the strength, my friend! Both Colonel Washington and -Mr. Jefferson assured me that, although slow to anger, they are true -sons of Cromwell’s Ironsides. - -“And what shall be our attitude?” - -“We must sustain them at all hazards, sir--sustain them to the death!” - -It is now that a knot of English officers drift up--a little flushed of -wine, are these guests of honor. They, too, have been talking, albeit -thickly, of a possible future full of trouble for the colonies. - -“I was observing,” says Lieutenant Parker, addressing Planter Paul Jones -and Mr. Hurst, “that the insolence of the Americans, which is more or -less in exhibition all the way from Boston to Savannah, will never get -beyond words. There will be no blows struck.” - -“And why are you so confident?” asks Planter Paul Jones, eye agate, -voice purringly soft. “Now I should say that, given provocation, the -colonies would strike a blow, and a heavy one.” - -“When do you sail?” interrupts Mr. Hurst, speaking to Lieutenant Parker. -Mr. Hurst would shift conversation to less perilous ground. As a mover -of the ball, he is in sort host to the officers, as well as to Planter -Paul Jones, and for the white credit of the town desires a peaceful -evening. “I hear,” he concludes, “that your sloop is for a cruise off -the French coast.” - -“She and the fleet she belongs to,” responds Lieutenant Parker, -utterance somewhat blurred, “will remain on this station while a word of -rebel talk continues.” - -“Now, instead of keeping you here,” breaks in Planter Paul Jones, -vivaciously, “to hector peaceful colonies, if I were your king I should -send you to wrest Cape Good Hope from the Dutch.” - -“Cape Good Hope from the Dutch?” - -“Or the Isles of France and Bourbon from the French--lying, as they -do, like lions in the pathway to our Indian possessions. If I were your -king, I say, those would be the tasks I’d set you.” - -“And why do you say ‘your king?’ Is he not also _your_ king?” - -“Why, sir, I might be pleasantly willing,” observes Planter Paul Jones -airily, “to give you my share in King George. In any event, I do not -propose that you shall examine into my allegiance. And I say again that, -if I were your king, sir, I’d find you better English work to do than an -irritating and foolish patrol of these coasts.” - -“You spoke of the Americans striking a blow,” says Lieutenant Parker, -who is gifted of that pertinacity of memory common to half-drunken men; -“you spoke but a moment back of the Americans striking a blow, and a -heavy one.” - -“Ay, sir! a blow--given provocation.” - -Lieutenant Parker wags his head with an air of sagacity both bibulous -and supercilious. He smiles victoriously, as a fortunate comparison bobs -up to his mind. - -“A blow!” he murmurs. Then, fixing Planter Paul Jones with an eye of -bleary scorn: “The Americans would be quickly lashed into their kennels -again. The more easily, if the courage of the American men, as I think’s -the case, is no more firmly founded than the chastity of the American -women.” - -[Illustration: 0006] - -Planter Paul Jones deals Lieutenant Parker a blow with his clenched -fist, the like of which was never before seen even in the violent port -of Norfolk. Lieutenant Parker’s nose is crushed flat with his face; he -falls like some pole-axed ox. His fellow-officers lift him to his feet, -bleeding, stunned beyond words. - -“You shall hear from us!” is the fierce cry from his comrades, as they -hurry the stricken Parker from the ballroom. - -“I shall be pleased to hear from any or all of you,” replies Planter -Paul Jones; “or from what other dogs in king’s coats shall question the -honor of American women.” Then, turning to Mr. Hurst: “You, sir, shall -act for me! Accept every challenge they send! Make it pistols, ten -paces, with Craney Island for the place; and fix the time to suit their -English convenience.” - - - - -CHAPTER VII--THE BLAST OF WAR - -Norfolk is never more at peace than on the day succeeding the ball. -There is no challenge, no duel. Planter Paul Jones waits to hear from -Lieutenant Parker; at first hopefully; in the end, when nothing comes, -with doubtful brow of grief. Is it that Lieutenant Parker will not -fight? Planter Paul Jones hears the suggestion from his friend Mr. Hurst -with polite scorn. Such heresy is beyond reach. - -“He _must_ fight,” urges Planter Paul Jones, desperately keeping alive -the fires of his hope. “He will fight, if for no other reason, then -because it is his trade. Lieutenant Parker is pugnacious by profession; -that of itself will make him toe the peg.” - -Planter Paul Jones is wrong. Lieutenant Parker never shows his beaten -face on American soil again. Nor does any bellicose gentleman appear for -Lieutenant Parker, or propose to take his place. - -This last omission gives Planter Paul Jones as sharp a pang as though -he has been slighted by some dearest friend. Having on his own part a -native lust for battle, it bewilders him when so excellent a foundation -for a duel falls into neglect, and no architect of combat steps forward -to build thereon. - -“It is not to be understood!” observes Planter Paul Jones dejectedly, -after the sloop of war, with Lieutenant Parker and those others of that -gold-lace coterie, has sailed away, “it’s not to be understood! Surely, -there must have been one gentleman among them who, free to do so, would -have called me to account.” Then, with solemn sadness: “I am convinced -that their admiral interfered.” - -Who shall say? The admiral is the paternal uncle of Lieutenant Parker of -the crushed and broken nose. - -The story will go later to England to the explanatory effect that no -fellow-officer would act for Lieutenant Parker. However, in doubt of -this, that last named imprudent person--wearing the marks of Planter -Paul Jones’ rebuke for many a day--is not dismissed the king’s service. -He will be in the fight off Fort Moultrie, where--unlike Sergeant Jasper -of the Americans--he in no wise is to distinguish himself. - -Planter Paul Jones, when every final chance of the trouble for which -he longs has departed with the departure of the war sloop, sorrowfully -steers the peace sloop back to his plantation by the Rappahannock; and -thereafter he does his best to forget an incident that--because of the -mysterious tameness of the English, under conditions which should have -brought them ferociously to the field--gives him an aching sense of -pain. He says to Mr. Hurst, when about to spread his small canvas and -sail away for home, “It is one of those experiences, sir, that shake a -man’s faith in his kind.” - -The colonial dames get hold of the tale, and - -Planter Paul Jones becomes all the more the petted darling of the -drawing-rooms. This of itself is a destiny most friendly to his taste; -for our Virginia Bayard lives not without his tender vanities. Bright -eyes are more beautiful than stars; and he can sigh, or whisper a -sonnet, or softly press a little hand. Also, having in his composition -an ardent dash of the peacock, he is capable, with fair ladies looking -on, of a decorous, albeit a resplendent strut. - -Four months, dating from the disaster to Lieutenant Parker’s nose, have -squeezed through the gates of a narrow present, and merged with those -other countless months which together make the past. It is a muggy April -morning, and New York City, panting with its metropolitan population -of forty thousand, is soaked to the bone. Little squalls of rain follow -each other in gusty procession. Between the squalls the sun shines -forth, and sets the world a-steam. After each of these intermittent -bursts of glory, the sun is again blotted ont by a black flurry of -clouds, and another shower sets in. - -It is in William Street that the reader comes across the lithe figure of -Planter Paul Jones. That restless tobacco grower, with his two aquatic -slaves, Scipio and Cato, in the little sloop, has been knocking about -the eastern shore for ducks. A sudden change of plan now brings him to -New York, with a final purpose of extending his voyage as far as Boston. -Planter Paul Jones is in a mood to know the Yankees better, and come -by some guess of his own as to how soon our Puritan bulldogs may be -expected to fly at the English throat. - -As he goes briskly northward along William Street, even through his -landsman’s garb there shows much that is marine. Also, he evinces a -sailor’s contempt for the dripping weather, plowing ahead through shine -and through shower as though in the catalogue of the disagreeable there -is no such word as a wetting. - -At the corner of John Street, Planter Paul Jones comes upon a lean, -prim personage. By his severe air the latter gentleman is evidently an -individual of consequence. The severe gentleman, with a prudent care for -his coat in direct contrast to the weather-carelessness of the other, -has taken refuge in the safe harborage of a doorway. From the dry -vantage thereof he cranes his neck in a tentative way, the better to -survey the heavens. Plainly he desires a guarantee, in favor of some -partial space of sunshine, before he again ventures abroad. - -As Planter Paul Jones comes up, both he and the severe gentleman gaze -at each other for one moment. Then their hands are caught in a warm -exchange of greetings: - -“Mr. Livingston, by my word!” cries Planter Paul Jones, shaking the -severe gentleman’s hand. - -“Paul Jones!” exclaims the severe gentleman, returning the handshake, -but with due regard to the pompous. - -“Now this is what I term fortunate!” says Planter Paul Jones, releasing -the other’s fingers. “I was on my way to your house to ask for letters -of introduction to Mr. Hancock and others in Boston.” - -“Boston! Surely you have heard the news?” - -“News? I’ve heard nothing. For six weeks I’ve been anywhere between -Barnegat and the inner Chesapeake in my sloop. I tied up at the foot of -Whitehall Street within the hour, and you’re the first I’ve spoken with -since I stepped ashore. What is this news that makes you stare at the -name of Boston?” - -“And you’ve not heard!” repeats Mr. Livingston. Then, with a look at -once somber and solemn: “Black news! Black news, indeed! I’m on my way -to Hanover Square to have it set in types, and scattered up and down the -town. Come; you shall go with me. I’ll talk as we walk along.” - -Mr. Livingston takes Planter Paul Jones by the arm. - -“Black news!” he resumes. “The Massachusetts men have attacked the -British at Lexington and Concord; my despatches, while necessarily -meager, declare that the British were disgracefully beaten, and lost, -killed and wounded, several hundred soldiers.” - -“And you call that black news?” interjects Planter Paul Jones, his eye -finely aflame. “To my mind now it is as good news as ever I hope to -hear.” - -“How can you say so! It fills me with measureless gloom. I cannot but -look ahead and wonder where it will end. And yet we should hope for the -best.” The speaker heaves a weary sigh. “Possibly the mother country may -learn from this experience how bitterly in earnest Americans are, and be -thereby led to mitigate the harshness of her attitude toward us.” - -Planter Paul Jones looks his emphatic disbelief. - -“There will be no softening of England’s attitude. Believe me, sir, -I’m not so long out of London, but what I’m clear as to the plans and -purposes of King George and his ministers. The Tories have deliberately -forced the present situation.” - -“Forced the situation! You amaze me!” - -“Sir, my name is not Paul Jones, if it be not the deliberate design of -King George and his advisers to bring about a clash between England and -these colonies.” - -“And to what end, pray?” - -“To give them an excuse for imposing martial law upon us. They will pour -a cataract of redcoats upon our shores. Musket in fist, cannon to back -them, they will disperse our legislatures, take away our charters of -self-government. That blood at Concord and Lexington gives them the -pretext for which they schemed. They can now call us ‘rebels;’ and, -calling us ‘rebels,’ they will try to reduce us--for all our white skins -and freeborn blood--to the slavish status of Hindostan.” - -Mr. Livingston stares, while this long speech is reeled off. - -“Do you mean to say,” he asks at last, “that we are the victims of a -Tory plot? Am I to understand that Concord and Lexington were aimed at -by the king?” - -“Precisely so; and for one I’m glad the issue’s made. We have now but -the one alternative. We may choose between abject slavery and war to the -hilts.” - -Mr. Livingston’s severely pompons face, as the iron truth begins to -overcome him, assumes an expression at once noble and high. - -“Why, then!” says he, “if such be the Tory design, war we shall have.” - Then, following a pause: “And what is to be your course in case of war?” - -“I shall take my part in it, never fear! This very day I shall write -to friends who will have seats in the Congress that meets next month in -Philadelphia, and ask them to wear my name in their minds. I am theirs -so soon as ever they have a plank afloat to put me on.” - -The pair, earnestly talking, reach Hanover Square, and pause in front of -“The Bible and Crown.” - -“Here we are,” says Mr. Livingston. “Now if you’ll but wait until I give -orders to Master Rivington, as to how he shall print and circulate my -despatches, I’ll have you up to the house, where we can further consider -this business over a bottle of wine.” - -“I beg that you will excuse me,” returns Planter Paul Jones. He has been -making plans of his own while they talked. “I trust you will pardon me; -but I shall have no more than time to write and post my letters, and get -away on the ebb tide. Three days from now I must be at my plantation by -the Rappahannock, putting all in order for the storm.” - -“Remember!” cries Mr. Livingston, as he and Planter Paul Jones shake -bands at parting, “my brother Philip will be in the coming Congress. -You have but to go to him, he is as much your friend as is either Mr. -Washington or Mr. Jefferson. I shall speak to Philip of you before the -day is out.” - -“Say to your brother,” returns Planter Paul Jones, “that I shall come to -him among the first.” - -The winds generously flatter the little sloop on her return voyage. -She came north slowly, reluctantly; now, with the wind aft and all but -blowing a gale, she flies southward like a bird. As Planter Paul Jones -boasted, within the three days after seeing the last of Sandy Hook, he -steps ashore on his own domain by the Rappahannock. - -Cato and Scipio grin in exultation. In a pardonable anxiety to open the -eyes of plodding fellow-slaves of the tobacco fields, they mendaciously -shorten the sailing time out of New York by forty-eight hours, and -declare that Planter Paul Jones brought the sloop home in a single day. - -“Potch um home, Marse Paul does, faster than a wil’ duck could -trabble!” is their story. Thereupon, the innocent tobacco blacks -marvel, openmouthed, at the far-travelled Cato, and Scipio of the many -experiences. - -Planter Paul Jones, on whom a war-fever is growing, plunges into -immediate conference with Duncan Macbean. - -“How much free money can we make?” he asks. - -The old Highlander scratches his grizzled locks. - -Then he thoughtfully considers the inside of his Glengarry bonnet, which -he takes from his head for that purpose. One would think, from his long -study of it, that he keeps his accounts in its linings. The inspection -being over, he puts it back on his head. - -“Now there s’uld be the matter of three thousand guineas in gold in -Williamsburg,” returns old Duncan Macbean; “besides a hunner or so -siller in the house. I can gi’ ye three thousand guineas, and never miss -the feel o’ them, gin that’ll be enou’.” - -“Three thousand guineas! What time I shall be in Philadelphia it should -keep a king! Have it set to my credit, Duncan, in Mr. Ross’ bank in -Chestnut Street in that town. I shall go there as soon as Congress -convenes.” - -“And will ye no be back home agen?” asks Duncan, his bronzed cheek a -trifle white. - -“If there’s war--and, take it from me, there will be--I shall not -return. I hope to sail in the first warship that flies the colors of the -Colonies.” - -Then, grasping old Duncan’s hand in a grip of steel: “You stay here and -run the plantation, old friend! Wherever I am, I shall know that all is -right ashore while you are here. For I can trust you.” - -“Ay! ye can trust me; no fear o’ that!” and the water stands in the old -eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII--THE PLANTER TURNS LIEUTENANT - -It was Mr. Adams who opposed you. The best place I could make was that -of lieutenant. Mr. Adams wouldn’t hear of you as a captain; and since, -with General Washington, Virginia and the Southern Colonies have been -given control of the Army, his claim of the Navy for Massachusetts and -the Northern Colonies finds general consent. Commodore Hopkins and -four of the five captains, beginning with Mr. Adams’ protégé Dudley -Saltonstall, go to New England. The most that I could make Mr. Adams -agree to, was that you should be set at the head of the list of -lieutenants.” - -“I am sorry, sir, that Mr. Adams holds a poor opinion of me.” This with -a sigh. “It was my dream to be a captain, and have a ship of my own. -However, I am here to serve the cause, rather than promote the personal -fortunes of Paul Jones. Let the list go as it is; the future doubtless -will bring all things straight. I am free to say, however, that from the -selections made by Mr. Adams, as you repeat them, I think he has -provided for more courts-martial than victories.” The two gentlemen in -talk are Mr. Hewes, member of the Colonial Congress from North Carolina, -and Planter Paul Jones. Mr. Hewes is old and worn and sick, and only his -granite resolution keeps him at the seat of government. - -“Mr. Hancock,” continues Mr. Hewes, “is also from Massachusetts, and as -chairman of our committee he gave Mr. Adams what aid he could. There’s -one honor you may have, however; I arranged for that. The issuance of -the commissions is with Mr. Hancock, and if you’ll accompany me to the -Hall you will be given yours at once. That will make you the first, if -not the highest, naval officer of the Colonies to be commissioned.” - -“On what ship am I to serve?” - -“The _Alfred_, Captain Saltonstall.” - -Raw and bleak sweep the December winds through the bare streets, as -the two go on their way to the Hall, where Congress holds its sittings. -Fortunately, as Lieutenant Paul Jones phrases it, the wind is “aft,” and -so Mr. Hewes, despite his weakness, makes better weather of it than one -would look for. - -“I’ll have a carriage home,” says he, panting a little, as the stiff -breeze steals his breath away. - -“I can’t,” breaks forth Lieutenant Paul Jones, after an interval of -silence--“I can’t for the life of me make out how I incurred the enmity -of Mr. Adams. I’ve never set foot in Boston, never clapped my eyes on -him before I came to this city last July.” - -Mr. Hewes smiles. “You sacrificed interest to epigram,” says he. -Lieutenant Paul Jones glares in wonder. “Let me explain,” goes on Mr. -Hewes, answering the look. “Do you recall meeting Mr. Adams at Colonel -Carroll’s house out near Schuylkill Falls?” - -“That was last October.” - -“Precisely! Mr. Adams’ memory is quite equal to last October. The more, -if the event remembered were a dig to his vanity.” - -“A dig to his vanity!” repeats Lieutenant Paul Jones in astonishment. “I -cannot now recall that I so much as spoke a word to the old polar bear.” - -“It wasn’t a word spoken _to_ him, but one spoken _of_ him. This is it: -Mr. Adams told an anecdote in French to little Betty Faulkner. Later you -must needs be witty, and whisper to Miss Betty a satirical word anent -Mr. Adams’ French.” - -“Why, then,” interjects Lieutenant Paul Jones, with a whimsical grin, -“I’ll tell you what I said. ‘It is fortunate,’ I observed to Miss Betty, -‘that Mr. Adams’ sentiments are not so English as is his French. If they -were, he would far and away be the greatest Tory in the world.’” - -“Just so!” chuckles Mr. Hewes. “And, doubtless, all very true. None the -less, my young friend, your brightness cost you a captaincy. The _mot_ -was too good to keep, and little Betty started it on a journey that -landed it, at a fourth telling, slap in the outraged ear of Mr. Adams -himself. Make you a captain? He would as soon think of making you rich.” - -The pair trudged on in silence, Mr. Hewes turning about in his mind -sundry matters of colonial policy, while Lieutenant Paul Jones solaces -himself by recalling how it is the even year to a day since that Norfolk -ball, when he smote upon the scandalous nose of Lieutenant Parker. - -“Now that I’m a lieutenant like himself,” runs the warlike cogitations -of Lieutenant Paul Jones, “I’d prodigiously enjoy meeting the scoundrel -afloat. I might teach his dullness a better opinion of us.” - -Lieutenant Paul Jones for months has been hard at work; one day in -conference with the Marine Committee, leading them by the light of -his ship-knowledge; the next busy with adz and oakum and calking iron, -repairing and renewing the tottering hulks which the agents of the -colonies have collected as the nucleus of the baby navy. Over this very -ship the _Alfred_, on which he is to sail lieutenant, he has toiled -as though it were intended as a present for his bride. He confidently -counted on being made its captain; now to sail as a subordinate, when -he looked to have command, is a bitter disappointment. Sail he will, -however, and that without murmur; for he is too much the patriot to hang -back, too strong a heart to sulk. Besides, he has the optimism of the -born war dog. - -“Given open war,” thinks he, “what more should one ask than a cutlass, -and the chance to use it? Once we’re aboard an enemy, it shall go hard, -but I carve a captaincy out of the situation.” - -Congress is not in session upon this particular day, and Mr. Hewes -leads Lieutenant Paul Jones straight to Chairman Hancock of the Marine -Committee. That eminent patriot is in his committee room. He is big, -florid, proud, and, like all the Massachusetts men since Concord and -Lexington, a bit puffed up. No presentation is needed; Mr. Hancock -and Lieutenant Paul Jones have been acquainted for months. The big -merchant-statesman beams pleasantly on the new lieutenant. Then he draws -Mr. Hewes into a far window. - -“I can’t see what’s got into Adams,” says Mr. Hancock, lowering his -voice to a whisper. “He burst in here a moment ago, and declared that he -meant to move, at the next session, a reconsideration of the appointment -of our young friend.” - -“And now where pinches the shoe?” - -“He says that Paul Jones isn’t two years out of England; that his -sympathies must needs lean toward King George.” - -“It will be news if the patriotism of Mr. Adams himself stands as near -the perpendicular as does that of Paul Jones!” - -“And next he urges that our friend is a man of no family.” - -“Now, did one ever hear such aristocratic bosh! The more, since our -cause is the cause of human rights, and our shout ‘Democracy!’ I shall -take occasion, when next I have the honor to meet Mr. Adams”--here the -eyes of the old North Carolinian begin to sparkle--“to mention this -subject of families, and remind him that it might worry the Herald’s -College excessively, if that seminary of pedigrees were called upon to -back-track his own.” - -“No, no, my dear sir!” and the merchant-statesman, full of lofty -mollifications, makes a soothing gesture with his hands. “For all -our sakes, say nothing to Mr. Adams! You recall what Doctor Franklin -remarked of him: ‘He is always honest, sometimes great, but often mad.’ -Let us suppose him merely mad; and so forgive him. We may do it the more -easily, since I told him that, even if his objections were valid, he -was miles too late, the question of that lieutenancy having been already -passed upon and settled. Let us forget Adams, and give Paul Jones his -commission.” - -As Lieutenant Paul Jones receives his commission from Mr. Hancock, the -latter remarks with a smile: - -“You have the first commission issued, Lieutenant Jones. If the simile -were permissible concerning anything that refers to the sea, I should -say now that, in making you a lieutenant, we lay the corner stone of the -American Navy.” - -[Illustration: 0101] - -Lieutenant Paul Jones bows his thanks, but speaks never a word. This -silence arises from the deep emotions that hold him in their strong -grip, not from churlishness. - -“And now,” observes Mr. Hewes, who is thinking only of heaping extra -honor on his young friend, “since we have a fully commissioned officer -to perform the ceremony, suppose we make memorable the day by going down -to the _Alfred_ and ‘breaking out’ its pennant. Thus, almost with the -breath in which we commission our first officer, we will have also -commissioned our first regular ship of war.” - -“Would it not be better,” interposes Mr. Hancock, thinking on the -possible angers of Mr. Adams, “to wait for the coming from Boston of -Captain Saltonstall?” - -Mr. Hewes thinks it would not. Since Mr. Hewes’ manner in thus thinking -is just a trifle iron-bound, not to say acrid, Mr. Hancock decides that, -after all, there may be more peril in waiting for Captain Saltonstall -than in going forward with Lieutenant Jones. Whereupon, Mr. Hewes, Mr. -Hancock and Lieutenant Jones depart for the _Alfred_, which lies at the -foot of Chestnut Street. In the main hall of Congress the three pick up -Colonel Carroll, Mad Anthony Wayne. Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Livingston, and -Mr. Morris. These gentlemen, regarding the event as the formal birth of -the new navy, decide to accompany the others in the rôle of witnesses. - -The flag is ready in the lockers of the _Alfred_--a pine tree, a -rattlesnake, with the words “_Don’t Tread on Me_.” Lieutenant Paul -Jones, as he shakes out the bunting, surveys the device with no favoring -eye. - -[Illustration: 0113] - -“I was ever,” observes Lieutenant Paul Jones, looking at Mr. Hewes but -speaking to all--“I was ever curious to know by whose queer fancy that -device was adopted. It is beyond me to fathom how a venomous serpent -could be regarded as the emblem of a brave and honest people fighting to -be free.” - -After delivering this opinion, which is tacitly agreed to by the others, -the flag is bent on the halyards, and “broken out.” Also, a ration of -grog is issued to the crew--so far as the _Alfred_ is blessed with a -crew--by way of fixing the momentous occasion in the forecastle mind. -The crew cheers; but whether the cheers are for the grog, or Lieutenant -Paul Jones who orders it, or the rattlesnake pine tree ensign that -causes the order, no one may say. - -Following the “breaking out,” the grog and the cheers, Mr. Hewes, Mr. -Hancock and their fellow-statesmen, retire--the day being over cold--to -the land, while Lieutenant Paul Jones, now and until the coming of -Captain Saltonstall in command of the _Alfred_, remains aboard to take -up his duty as a regularly commissioned officer in the regular navy of -the colonies. - - - - -CHAPTER IX--THE CRUISE OF THE “PROVIDENCE” - -Four ships--the _Alfred_, Captain Saltonstall, in the van, with -Commodore Hopkins in command of the squadron--sail away on a rainy -February day. They clear Cape Henlopen, and turn their untried prows -south by east half south. The fell purpose of Commodore Hopkins is to -harry the Bahamas. - -It will be nowhere written that Commodore Hopkins, in his designs upon -the Bahamas, in any degree succeeds. Eight weeks later, the four ships -come scudding into New London with the fear of death in their hearts. An -English sloop of war darted upon them, they say, off the eastern end of -Long Island, and they escaped by the paint on their planks. - -Lieutenant Paul Jones of the _Alfred_ is afire with anger and chagrin at -the miserable failure of the cruise, and goes furiously ashore, nursing -a purpose of charging both Commodore Hopkins and Captain Saltonstall -with every maritime offence, from sea-idiocy to cowardice. He is -cooled off by older and more prudent heads. Also, Commodore Hopkins is -summarily dismissed by Congress, while Captain Saltonstall takes refuge -behind the broad skirts of his patron Mr. Adams. Thus, that first -luckless cruise of the infant navy, conceived in ignorance and in -politics brought forth, achieves its dismal finale in investigations, -votes of censure, and dismissals, a situation which goes far to justify -those December prophecies of Lieutenant Paul Jones, that Mr. Adams, -by his selections for commodore and captains, arranged for more -courts-martial than victories. - -It has one excellent result, however; it teaches Congress to give -Lieutenant Paul Jones the sloop _Providence_, and send him to sea with -a command of his own. With him go his faithful blacks, Scipio and -Cato; also, as “port-fire,” a red Indian of the Narragansett tribe, one -Anthony Jeremiah of Martha’s Vineyard. - -The little sloop--about as big as a gentleman’s yacht, she is--clears on -a brilliant day in June. For weeks she ranges from Newfoundland to the -Bermudas--seas sown with English ships of war. Boatswain Jack Robinson -holds this converse with Polly his virtuous wife, when the _Providence_ -again gets its anchors down in friendly Yankee mud. - -“And what did you do, Jack?” demands wife Polly, now she has him safe -ashore. - -“I’ll tell you what he--that’s the captain--does, when first we puts to -sea. He’s only a leftenant--Leftenant Paul Jones; but he ought to be a -captain, and so, d’ye see, my girl, I’ll call him captain. What does the -captain do, says you, when once he’s afloat? As sure as you’re on my -knee, Polly, no sooner be we off soundings than he passes the word -for’ard for me to fetch him the cat-o’-nine-tails--me being bo’sen. Aft -I tumbles, cat and all, wondering who’s to have the dozen. - -“‘Chuck it overboard, Jack!’ says he, like that. - -“‘Chuck what, capt’n?’ says I, giving my forelock a tug. - -“‘Chuck the cat!’ says he. - -“‘The cat?’ says I, being as you might say taken a-back, and wondering -is it rum. - -“‘Ay! the cat!’ he says. Then, looking me over with an eye like a coal, -he goes on: ‘I can keep order aboard my ship without the cat. Because -why; because I’m the best man aboard her,’ he says; and there you be.” - -“And did the cat go overboard, Jack?” - -“Overboard of course, Polly. And being nicely fitted with little knobs -of lead on the nine tails of her, down to the bottom like a solid shot -goes she. And so, d’ye see, we goes cruising without the cat.” - -“Did you take no prizes?” - -“We sunk eight, and sent eight more into Boston with prize crews aboard. -Good picking, too, they was.” - -“And you had no battles then?” - -“No battles, Polly; and yet, at the close of the cruise, we’re all but -done for by a seventy-four gun frigate off Montauk. The captain twists us -out of the frigate’s mouth by sheer seamanship.” - -“Now how was that, Jack!” cries Polly, breathless and all ears. - -“We comes poking ‘round the point, d’ye see, and runs blind into her. -We beats to wind’ard; so does the frigate. And she lays as close to the -wind as we--and closer, Polly. Just as she thinks she has only to -reach out and snap us up, the captain--he has the wheel himself--wears -suddenly round under easy helm, and gets the wind free. This sort o’ -takes the frigate by surprise, and, instead of wearing, she starts to -box about. She’s standing as close-hauled as her trim will bear at the -time. So, as I says, as he wears ‘round, the frigate jams her helm down, -and luffs into the teeth of the gale. There’s a squall cat’s-pawing -to wind’ard that she ought to have seen, and would if she’d had our -captain. But she never notices. So, d’ye see, my girl, the frigate don’t -hold her luff, and next the squall takes her in the face. She loses her -steering way, gets took aback; and we showing a clean pair of heels, -with the wind free, on the sloop’s best point of sailing. And there you -be: We leaves the frigate to clear her sheets and reeve preventers at -her leisure--we snapping muskets at her from our taffer-rail, by way of -insult, Polly!” - -“Your captain’s too daring, Jack,” says Polly, who is a prudent woman. - -“That’s what I tells him, Polly. ‘Cap’n,’ says I, ‘discretion is the -better part of valor.’ At that he gives me a wink. ‘So it is, my mate,’ -says he, ‘and damned impudence is the better part of discretion. And -now,’ says he, ‘the frigate being all but hulldown astern, you may take -this wheel yourself, while I goes down to supper.’” - -When Lieutenant Paul Jones is again on dry land, he finds two pieces -of news awaiting him. One is a letter from Mr. Jefferson, enclosing his -commission as a captain fully fledged. The other is old Duncan Macbean -in person, and his sunken cheek and leaden eye tell of troubles on the -far-off Rappahannock. - -“It was Lord Dunmore,” says old Duncan, very pale, his voice a-quaver. -“He heard of you among the ships, and wanted revenge.” - -“And the villain took it!” - -“Ay, he took it like! He burned mansion, barn, flour-mill--every -building’s gone, and never stick nor stone to stand one a-top t’ither on -the whole plantation.” - -“What else?” - -“He killed sheep and swine and cattle, and drove away the horses; -there’s never the hoof left walking about the place. Nothing but the -stripped land is left ye.” - -“But the slaves?” - -“His lordship took them, too, to sell them in Jamaica.” - -Captain Paul Jones turns white as linen three times bleached. His eyes -are hard as jade. Then he tosses up his hands, with a motion of sorrow. - -“My poor blacks!” he cries. “The plantation was to them a home, not a -place of bondage. Now they are torn away, to die of pestilence or under -the lash, in the cane fields of Jamaica. The price of their poor bodies -is to swell the pockets of our noble English slave-trader. This may be -Lord Dunmore’s notion of civilized war. For all that I shall one day -exact a reckoning.” Then, resting his hand on old Duncan’s shoulder: -“However, we have seen worse campaigns, old friend! We’ll do well yet! -I’ve still one fortune--my sword; still one prospect--the prospect of -laying alongside the enemy.” - - - - -CHAPTER X--THE COUNSEL OF CADWALADER - -Philadelphia is experiencing a cool June, and in a sober, Quakerish way -shows grateful for it. The windows of General Washington’s apartments, -looking out into Chestnut Street, are raised to let in the weather and -the urbane sun, not too hot, not too cool, casts a slanting glance into -the room, as though moved of a solar curiosity concerning the mighty -one who inhabits them. The sun, doubtless, goes his way fully satisfied; -General Washington himself is there, in casual talk with the Marquis de -Lafayette. - -There is a marked difference between the General and the Marquis; -the former tall, powerful, indomitable--the type American; the latter -nervous, optimistic, full of romantic heroisms--the type French. The -General is speaking; his manner a model of the courteous and the suave. -For the young Marquis is a peer of France, the head of a party, and may -be held as carrying at his heels a third of French sentiment and French -influence. It is not what he brings, but what he leaves behind him, that -makes the young Marquis important. - -The talk between the General and the Marquis is running on Captain Paul -Jones. - -“It surprises me,” the General is saying, “it surprises me, my dear -Marquis, to learn that you know Captain Jones.” - -“We meet--Captaine Jones and I,” responds Lafayette, in a choppy, -fervent fashion of English, that carries something more than a mere -flavor of Paris, “we meet, my dear General, in Alexandria by the -Potomac, when I come North from the Carolina, where I disbark. Captaine -Jones he assist in Alexandria to find horses to bring me here.” - -“And you believe, as does he, that a best use that can be made of him is -to give him a ship, and send him to Europe?” - -“Certaine, General, certaine! Give him a good ship, and let him hawk -at England with it. It should be a quick, smart ship, that they may -not catch him. Give him such a vessel, General, and he will keep five -hundred English boats at home to guard the British coasts.” - -“You think, Marquis, that he would make a good impression in France?” - -“The best, General; the best! Captaine Jones has--what you call?--the -aplomb, yes, and the grace, the charm, the dash to captivate the fancy -of my countrymen--ever brave, the French, they love a brave man like -Captaine Jones! More, General, he speaks the French language, and that -is most important.” - -General Washington stalks up and down the polished, hardwood floor, -wearing a thoughtful face. As he turns to speak, he is interrupted by an -obsequious black attendant--one of those body slaves brought from Mount -Vernon. - -“Pardon, Gin’ral,” says the grizzled old darky, as he pokes his grinning -head in at the door; “Cap’n Jones presents his comp’ments, sare; an’ can -he come up?” - -General Washington makes a sign of assent, and the grizzled old servitor -smirks and smiles and bows himself backward into the hall. - -There are two pairs of feet heard climbing the stair; the elastic step -belongs to Captain Paul Jones, the more stolid is that of Mr. Morris, -who, using the familiarity of a closest friendship, walks in on General -Washington unannounced. - -“The Marquis was just saying,” observes General Washington to Captain -Paul Jones, when greetings are over and conversation, to employ a -nautical phrase, has settled to its lines, “that he met you in Virginia -as he came up.” - -“Yes, General; I had been having a look at my plantation, which Lord -Dunmore did me the honor to lay waste.” - -“Was the destruction great?” - -“The torch had been everywhere. The work could not have been more -complete had his Lordship been a professional incendiary.” Captain Paul -Jones shrugs his wide shoulders, as though dismissing a disagreeable -subject, one not to be helped by talk: “You received my letter, General? -I was so rash as to think you might aid me in getting the new frigate -_Trumbull_.” - -“Captain,” returns General Washington, “you will understand that my -connection with the army makes any interference on my part in naval -affairs a most delicate business. I must give my counsel in that quarter -cautiously. As for the _Trumbull_; it is, I fear, already claimed by Mr. -Adams for Captain Saltonstall.” - -“Captain Saltonstall!” cries Captain Paul Jones in a fervor of -bitterness. “General, hear me! I sailed lieutenant in the _Alfred_ with -Captain Saltonstall. I know him, and do not scruple to say that he is -an incompetent coward. Since he went ashore in New London after that -disgraceful cruise, he hasn’t shown his face aboard ship. He was ashamed -to do so. Only Mr. Adams could have protected him from the court-martial -he had earned. On my side--if I must plead my own cause--I’ve made two -cruises since then, one in the _Providence_, one in the _Alfred_. I’ve -taken twenty-four prizes; some of them by no means unimportant to the -American cause.” - -“Ah, yes!” interrupts General Washington, his steady face lighting up -a trifle; “you mean the _Mellish_ and the _Bideford_. I heard how -you captured the winter equipment meant for Howe’s army--ten thousand -uniforms, eleven hundred fur overcoats, eleven thousand blankets, -besides a battery or two of field guns and six hundred cavalry -equipments. You did us a timely service, Captain Jones. Many an American -soldier was the warmer last winter, because of the _Mellish_ and the -_Bideford_.” - -“I am glad,” says Captain Paul Jones, not without confusion, “to learn -that I so much pleased you. It gives me courage to hope that you -will come to my shoulder against Mr. Adams and his pet incompetent, -Saltonstall.” - -General Washington again dons his manner of grave inscrutability, and -falls to his habit of striding up and down, hands locked beneath the -buff-and-blue flaps of his coat. - -“Captain Jones,” he suddenly breaks forth, “you are a sailor: What do -you do afloat in case of a head wind!” - -“A head wind?” repeats Captain Paul Jones. “Why, sir, if it’s no more -than just a gale, I fall to tacking, sta’board and port. If it should be -aught of a hurricane, now, I’d set a storm stays’l, heave to, and wait -for weather.” - -“Quite so!” returns the General, soberly. “Well, Captain Jones, one -may find headwinds ashore as well as afloat. Now, in the matter of the -_Trumbull_, I should advise you to ‘heave to,’ as you say, ‘and wait for -weather.’ Mr. Adams insists on Captain Saltonstall; and it is not alone -inconvenient, it’s impossible, with the Marine Committee made up as it -is, to oppose him. Be patient, and you shall not in the end fare worse -than your deserts.” - -Captain Paul Jones wheels on Mr. Morris, who, with Lafayette, has kept -silence, while giving interested ear to the conversation. - -“You hear, Mr. Morris?” observes Captain Paul Jones, manner dogged and -aggressive. “As I warned you in my letter, I shall now prefer charges -against Captain Saltonstall--charge him with flat cowardice while in -command of the _Alfred_, and demand a court-martial. Under the -circumstances, I deem it my public duty so to do.” - -Mr. Morris makes a gesture of dissent and repressive protest. - -“My dear Captain,” expostulates Mr. Morris, his manner pleading, yet -full of authority; precisely the manner of one who deals with a -trained tiger which he is willing to coax, while firmly intending -to control--“my dear Captain, hear reason! Your charges would be -suppressed--pigeon-holed! The influence of Mr. Adams with the Marine -Committee is supreme. It could, let me tell you, accomplish much more -than merely silence your charges. It could go further, and force a -resolution of confidence in Captain Salton-stall.” - -“Then,” retorts Captain Paul Jones, inveterate as iron, “I’ve still a -shot in my locker. I shall publish his cowardice over my own name; -I shall placard every street corner; for I think the American -people entitled to know the sort of servant they have had in Captain -Saltonstall. They shall not risk a good ship and a brave crew, with a -coward in the dark; and so I tell you!” - -“Captain Jones,” observes General Washington, who, cool and unruffled, -is a contrast to the disturbed Mr. Morris, “Captain Jones, as a -gentleman, you realize what would be the result of a public charge of -cowardice against Captain Saltonstall?” - -“He would challenge you instantly!” breaks in Mr. Morris. - -“Precisely!” says Captain Paul Jones, with just the preliminary glimmer -of battle in his hard brown eyes. “As you say, sir, he would challenge -me. And having challenged me, I should take pleasure in doing my best to -kill him. I got a pair of Galway duelling pistols out of the _Bideford_; -they were coming to Lord Howe. If I can lure Captain Saltonstall to the -field, it shall go hard, but with one of those Irish sawhandles I rid -the American navy of him. Once I have him at ten paces, it will take -something more than the influence of Mr. Adams to bring him safely off.” - -Mr. Morris’ brow colors; General Washington takes the situation more -at ease. He even gives way briefly to a shadowy smile; for the great -patriot, while not so inflammable, is quite as combative as any Captain -Paul Jones of them all. - -“You have taken advice on this?” asks General Washington, following -a pause, during which everybody has had time to more or less digest -Captain Paul Jones’ unique plan for improving the American navy. “I do -not suppose you have gone to this decision without counsel?” - -“Sir; I am, as you know, both prudent and conservative--no one more -so. Certainly, I’ve taken counsel. I went to General Cadwalader; he -expresses himself as in hearty accord with me. Indeed, it is understood -between us that he shall act for me in any affair I may have with -Captain Saltonstall.” - -At the mention of General Cadwalader, General Washington smiles openly, -while Mr. Morris groans and throws up his hands. - -“Bless me! Cadwalader!” exclaims Mr. Morris, when he can command his -tongue. “The worst firebrand in the country! Cadwalader, forsooth! -who has ever had but one word of advice for every man--‘Fight!’” Then, -abruptly descending upon Captain Paul Jones with all the authority of -a father addressing a favorite but rebellious son: “Paul; listen! You -believe me your friend?” - -“Indubitably! I have no better friend.” - -“Then let me tell you, Paul: In the name of that friendship this thing -must end--absolutely end. If you’ve drawn up any accusation of cowardice -against Captain Saltonstall, you must burn it and forget the whole -affair. You must dismiss this subject from your mind. In Cadwalader you -have invited the wrong kind of advice. I now give you the right kind. -The General will tell you so; your friend, the Marquis, will tell you -so. And forasmuch as you value my friendship you must obey me.” - -Mr. Morris in his earnestness lays a paternal hand on the shoulder of -Captain Paul Jones, his manner a composite of coax and command. Before -the latter, who is visibly shaken by the friendly determination of Mr. -Morris, can frame reply, Lafayette--who has been scrupulous to maintain -a polite silence from first to last--interferes. - -“Our good friend, Mr. Morris,” interjects Lafayette, “has been so -generous as to refer to me. I could not have said a word without; since -what you discuss is private and personal to yourselves as Americans, and -of a character that forbids me, a Frenchman and an alien even though a -friend, voicing my views. However, since Mr. Morris has so complimented -me as to make his appeal in my name, I must--in all respect and -friendship for Captain Jones, whom I admire--unite my voice with his. -The more readily since I can take it upon myself to promise Captain -Jones that if he will cross to France, with a letter I shall give him -to my king, a fighting ship of frigate strength shall be his within the -month.” - -As he concludes, Lafayette, a blush reddening his cheek--for he is only -a boy--extends two hands to Captain Paul Jones as though, fearful of -having said too much, he would mutely apologize. Captain Paul Jones -seizes the hands with a warmth equal to the other’s; and the incident, -capping as it does the fatherly opposition of Mr. Morris, puts an end to -that beautiful plan, so full of dire promise for Captain Saltonstall, -which in their mutual belligerencies Captain Paul Jones and the fire-fed -Cadwalader have formulated. - -“Say that you will go to France, my friend!” urges the impulsive young -Frenchman; “say that you will go! I will exhaust Auvergne, and all of -France besides, but you shall have the promised ship.” - -At this, General Washington interferes. - -“Forbear, my dear Marquis!” says he. “Captain Jones shall go to France. -But he shall go with an American crew, in an American ship, flying the -American flag.” Then, to Captain Paul Jones: “Do me the honor, Captain, -to hold yourself in readiness to obey any summons I may send. Believe -me, I shall count myself as one without influence, if you do not hear -from me within the week.” - -Let us glance ahead two years for the final word of Captain Saltonstall. -Captain Paul Jones, with his hard-won prize, the crippled _Serapis_, -creeps into the Texel, and the earliest story wherewith the Dutch -regale him is how Captain Saltonstall, weak, forceless, incompetent, has -surrendered the new, thirty-two-gun frigate, _Warren_, to the English -in Penobscot Bay. Captain Paul Jones hears the disgraceful news with set -and angry face. - -“I have just learned the miserable fate of the _Warren_,” he writes to Mr. -Morris; “and hearing it I reproach myself. If I had obeyed the dictates -of my sense of duty on a Philadelphia day you will recall, instead of -yielding to the persuasions of the peacemakers, our flag might still be -flying on the _Warren!_” - - - - -CHAPTER XI--THE GOOD SHIP RANGER - -Four days of listless waiting go by, and Captain Paul Jones again finds -himself and Mr. Morris closeted with General Washington. - -“Captain Jones,” says the latter, speaking with a kindly gravity, “Mr. -Morris and I have so pushed your affairs with the Marine Committee that -to-morrow Congress will pass a double resolution, adopting a new flag, -the stars and stripes, and appointing you to command the _Ranger_.” - -“The Ranger!” exclaims Captain Paul Jones, beginning to glow. “Thanks, -General; a thousand thanks! And to you also, Mr. Morris, whom I shall -never forget! The Ranger! I know her! She is being sparred and rigged -at Portsmouth! New, three hundred tons; a beauty, too, they tell me! -Gentlemen, I am off at once to Portsmouth! I must see to stepping her -masts and mounting her batteries myself.” - -Captain Paul Jones, all eagerness, is on his feet, and even the wise, -age-cold Mr. Morris begins to catch his fire. - -“Right!” cries Mr. Morris; “you shall start to-morrow!” - -“Captain Jones,” interrupts the General, laying a large detaining hand -on the other’s arm, “you will go to Portsmouth and look after your ship. -Also, while your destination is France, you must wait for orders to -sail. I may have weighty despatches for the French King--news that will -shake Europe.” - -June is as cool in Portsmouth as it is in Philadelphia. Cooler; for the -New Hampshire breeze has in it the chill smell of those snows that lie -unmelted in the mountains. Captain Paul Jones comes unannounced, eyes -dancing like those of a child with a new toy, and seeks the wharf where -the __Ranger__ is being fitted to her spars. From a convenient coign he -looks the _Ranger_ over, and evinces a master’s appreciation. - -“Nose sharp! Plenty of dead-rise! Lean lines!” he murmurs. “With the -wind anywhere abaft the beam, she should race like a greyhound! All, -she’s a beauty, fit to warm the cockles of a sailor’s heart! See to the -sheer of her!--as delicate as the lines of a woman’s arm!” - -Up comes a sturdy figure with an air of command, an officer’s hat on his -head, a ship-carpenter’s adz in his hand. - -“This is Captain Jones?” - -“Captain Paul Jones, sir.” - -“Pardon me for not first giving my name. I’m Elijah Hall, who is to sail -second officer with you in yon _Ranger_.” - -Captain Paul Jones and Lieutenant Hall fall into instant and profound -confab of a deeply nautical complexion, a confab quite beyond a -landsman’s comprehension, wherein such phrases as “flush-decks,” “short -poop-deck,” “bilges,” “futtocks,” and “knees” abound, and are reeled -off as though their use gives our two ship-enthusiasts unbridled -satisfaction. At last Lieutenant Hall remarks, pointing to three long -sticks: - -“There’re her masts, sir. They were taken out of a four-hundred-ton -Indiaman, and are too long for a three-hundred-ton ship like the -_Ranger_. I was thinking I’d cut’em off four feet in the caps.” - -“That would be a sin!” exclaims Captain Paul Jones, voice almost -religious in its fervent zeal. “Three as fine pieces of pine as ever -came out of Norway, too! I’d be afraid to cut’em, Mr. Hall; it would -give the ship bad luck. I’ll tell you what! Fid them four feet lower in -the hounds; it will amount to the same thing, and at the same time save -the sticks.” - -Captain Paul Jones goes at the congenial task of fitting out the -_Ranger_ with his usual day-and-night energy. When he finds her -over-sparred, with her masts too long, he still refuses to cut them -down, but shortens yard and bowsprit, jib-boom and spankerboom. He -doesn’t like the Marine Committee’s armament of twenty six-pounders, and -proceeds to mount four six-pounders and fourteen long nines. - -“One nine-pounder is equal to two six-pounders,” says Captain Paul -Jones; “and, since it’s I who must put to sea in the _Ranger_, and not -the Marine Committee, nine-ponnders I’ll have, and say no more about -it.” - -The New Hampshire girls, on the Fourth of July, come down to the -_Ranger_, and present Captain Paul Jones a flag--red, white, and -blue--quilted of cloth ravished from their virgin petticoats. The -gallant mariner makes the New Hampshire girls a speech. - -[Illustration: 0143] - -“That flag,” cries he, “that flag and I, as captain of the _Ranger_, -were born on the same day. We are twins. We shall not be parted life or -death; we shall float together or sink together!” - -These brave words, in the long run, find amendment. The petticoat flag -of the pretty New Hampshire girls is the flag which, two years later, -flies from the _Richard’s_ indomitable peak when Captain Paul Jones -cuts down the gallant Pierson and his _Serapis_. After that fight off -Scarborough Head, Captain Paul Jones writes to the pretty New Hampshire -girls--for he ever remembers the ladies--recounting the last destiny of -their petticoat ensign. He is telling of the _Richard’s_ death throes, -as viewed from the blood-slippery decks of the conquered _Serapis_: - -“No one was now left aboard the Richard but my dead. To them I gave the -good old ship to be their coffin; in her they found a sublime sepulcher. -She rolled heavily in the swell, her gun-deck awash to the port-sills, -settled slowly by the head, and sank from sight. The ensign gaff, shot -away in the action, had been fished and put in place; and there your -flag was left flying when we abandoned her. As she went down by the -head, her taffrail rose for a moment; and so the last that mortal -eye ever saw of the gallant _Richard_ was your unconquered ensign. I -couldn’t strip it from the brave old ship in her last agony; nor could I -deny my dead on her decks, who had given their lives to keep it flying, -the glory of taking it with them. And so I parted with it; so they took -it for their winding sheet.” - -At last the _Ranger_ is ready for sea; and still those belated -despatches from General Washington for the French King do not come. One -cold October day a horseman, worn and haggard, rides into Portsmouth. -Stained, dust-caked, reeling in his saddle, he calls for Captain Paul -Jones. - -“Here,” responds that gentleman. “What would you have?” - -“I come from General Washington,” cries the man. “Burgoyne has -surrendered! Here are your despatches for France!” - -Captain Paul Jones takes the packet, stunned for the moment by the -mighty news. - -“And now for food and drink,” says the man faintly, as with difficulty -he slips to the ground. “One hundred and eighty miles have I rode in -thirty hours. It was the brave news kept me going; the thought of those -beaten English held me up like wine.” - -“One hundred and eighty miles!” cries Captain Paul Jones. “Thirty -hours!” - -The man points to his mount, where it stands with drooping head and -quivering flank. - -“That is the tenth I’ve had. Horse flesh and hard riding did it!” - -Ten minutes after the despatches are put in his hands, Captain Paul -Jones is aboard the _Ranger_. Then comes the tramp of forty feet about -the capstan. Twenty powerful breasts are pressed against the capstan -bars, and the _Ranger_ is walked up to its anchors, while aloft the -brisk top-men are shaking out the sails. - -“Anchor up and down, sir!” reports Boatswain Jack Robinson, who has left -his Polly at home, while he sails with the _Ranger_. - -“Anchor up and down!” repeats Captain Paul Jones. “Bring her home!” - -With a “Heave ho!” the _Ranger_‘s anchors are pulled out of Portsmouth -sands. Captain Paul Jones himself takes the wheel and pays off its head -before the breeze, already bellying the foresails. - -“Give her every stitch you have, Mr. Hall,” says Captain Paul Jones. “We -must be clear of the Isles of Shoals by daybreak.” - -“And then?” asks Lieutenant Hall. - -“East, by south, half east! And Mr. Hall, day and night, blow high, blow -low, spread every rag you’ve got. Burgoyne has surrendered. Either -I shall tear the sticks out of the _Ranger_, or spread that news in -France in thirty days.” - -“More haste, less speed!” murmurs the prudent Lieutenant Hall; and so, -having eased his mind like a true seaman, he goes forward heatedly to -spread sail. - -The top-heavy little _Ranger_, with her acre of canvas, heels over -until, with decks awash, she glides eastward like a ghost. - -“Pipe all hands aft, Mr. Bo’sen!” commands Captain Paul Jones. - -Boatswain Jack Robinson puts his whistle to his lips, and sends a shrill -call singing through the ship. The crew come scampering aft; all save -a contingent aloft, who race down by the backstays, claw under claw, -as might so many cats. Some of our old friends of the _Providence_ -are there--the aquatic Scipio and Cato, with the little red Indian -port-fire, Anthony Jeremiah. - -“My men,” cries Captain Paul Jones, “we’re off for France. We shall meet -nasty weather, for it’s the beginning of winter, and I shall steer the -northern course. It is to be a case of crack-on canvas, foul weather or -fair: and, since the ship is oversparred and cranky, we must mind her -day and night. To make all safe, the watch shall be lap-watched, so as -to keep plenty of hands on deck. This will double your work, but I shall -also double your grog. Now, my hearties, let every man among you do -his duty by flag and ship. Burgoyne has surrendered, and it’s for us to -carry the word to France.” - -“Shipmates,” observes Boatswain Jack Robinson, judgmatically, as the -hands go tumbling forward, “shipmates, the old _Ranger_ is a damned -comfortable ship. ‘Double watches, double work!’ says the skipper; but -also ‘Double grog!’ says he. Wherefore, I says again, the old _Ranger_ -is a damned comfortable ship.” - -Eight bells now, breakfast; and the Isles of Shoals are vanishing over -the _Ranger_‘s stern. Suddenly a boyish voice strikes up: - - “So now we had him hard and fast, - - Burgoyne laid down his arms at last, - - And that is why we brave the blast, - - To carry the news to France.” - -Captain Paul Jones pauses in his short quarterdeck walk, cocks his ear, -and listens. The hoarse crew take up the chorus: - - “Heigh ho! carry the news! - - Go carry the news to London, - - Tell old King George how he’s undone. - - Oh, ho! carry the news!” - -Boatswain Jack Robinson, observing Captain Paul Jones listening, becomes -explanatory. - -“Only a bit of a ditty, Cap’n; the same composed by Midshipman Hill, -d’ye see, in honor of this here cruise. A right good ballid, too, I -calls it; and amazin’ fine for a lad of twenty, who hardly knows a -reef-point from a gasket.” - -Vouchsafing this, Boatswain Jack Robinson rolls forward with walrus -gait, chanting as he goes in a voice tuned by storms and broken across -capstan bars, the hoarse refrain: - - “Oh, ho! carry the news!” - -And so the good ship _Ranger_ plows eastward on her course. Eighteen -hours out of twenty-four, Captain Paul Jones holds the deck. In the end -he has his reward. Just thirty days after the _Ranger_‘s anchors kissed -the Portsmouth sands good-by, they go splashing into the dull waters of -the Loire. - - - - -CHAPTER XII--HOW THE “RANGER” TOOK THE “DRAKE” - -Four months slip by; it is April, and the idle _Ranger_ rides in the -harbor of Brest. Morose, sore with inactivity, Captain Paul Jones seeks -out Doctor Franklin at the philosopher’s house in Passy. - -“This lying by rusts me,” Captain Paul Jones is saying as he and Doctor -Franklin have a turn in the garden. The latter likes the thin French -sunshine, and gets as much of it as he may. “Yes, it rusts me--fills me -with despair!” - -“What would you do, then?” asks Doctor Franklin, his coarse, shrewd face -quickening into interest. “Have you a cruise mapped out?” - -“Now I thought, if you’ve no objections, I’d just poke the _Ranger_‘s -nose into the Irish Sea, and take a look at Whitehaven. You know I was -born by the Solway, and the coast I speak of is an old acquaintance.” - -“I see no objection, Captain, save the smallness of your ship.” - -“That is easily answered; for I give you my word, Doctor, the little -_Ranger_ can sail round any English ship on the home station. I shall be -safe, no fear; for what I can’t whip I can run from.” - -“Have you spoken to my brother commissioners?” - -Doctor Franklin looks up, a grim, expectant twinkle in his gray eyes. -Captain Paul Jones cracks his fingers in angry impatience. - -“Forgive me, Doctor, if I’m frank to the frontiers of rudeness. Of what -avail to speak to Mr. Dean, who is asleep? Of what avail to speak to -Mr. Lee, who surrounds himself with British spies like that creature -Thornton, his private secretary? I ask you plain questions, Doctor, for -I know you to be a practical man.” - -The philosopher grins knowingly. - -“Please do not speak of British spies to Commissioner Lee, Captain -Jones. My task in France is enough difficult as it stands.” - -“And on that account, Doctor, and on that alone, I have so far refrained -from saying aught to Mr. Lee. But I tell you I misdoubt the man. His -fellow Thornton I know to be in daily communication with the English -admiralty! he clinks English gold in his pockets as the wage of his -treason. This, were there no one save myself to consider, I should say -in the face of Arthur Lee; ay! for that matter in the face of all the -Lees that ever hailed from Virginia. I tell you this, Doctor, for your -own guidance.” Then, following a pause: “Not that it sets politely with -my years to go cautioning one so much my superior in age, wisdom and -experience.” - -The philosopher glances up from the violets. - -“Possibly, Captain Jones, I have already given myself that caution. -However, concerning your proposed cruise: I shall leave all to -your judgment. Certainly, our warships, as you say, were meant for -battle-work, and not to waste their lives junketing about French ports.” - -“One thing, doctor,” observes Captain Paul Jones, at parting: “Tell your -fellow commissioners that I’ve cleared for the west coast of Ireland, -with a purpose to go north-about around the British islands. If you let -them hear I’m off for Whitehaven, I give you my honor that, with the -spy Thornton selling my blood to the English admiralty, I shall have the -whole British fleet at my heels before I reach St. George’s Channel.” - -Captain Paul Jones, in command of the _Ranger_, drops in at Whitehaven. -With twenty-nine of his lads he goes ashore of a dripping morning, pens -up the sleepy garrisons of the two forts, and spikes their guns. Then, -having spikes to spare, he makes useless a shore battery, while the -ballad-mongering Midshipman Hill, with six men, chases inland one -hundred coast guardsmen and militia. - -Captain Paul Jones, waxing industrious, attempts to burn the shipping -which crowds the tidal basin at Whitehaven. In these fire-lighting -efforts he succeeds to the extent of five ships; after which he rows -out to the _Ranger_. Thereupon the people and militia, who crowd the -terror-smitten hills round about, come down into their town again. - -Captain Paul Jones crosses now to the north shore of the Solway for -a morning call upon the Earl of Selkirk. He schemes to capture that -patrician, and trade him back to the English for certain good American -sailors whom they hold as prisoners. The plan falls through, since -the noble earl is not at home. In lieu, the _Ranger_‘s crew take unto -themselves the Selkirk plate, which Captain Paul Jones subsequently buys -from them, paying the ransom from his own purse, and returns with his -compliments gallantly expressed in a letter to the earl. - -From the Solway, the little _Ranger_ stands west by north across the -Irish Sea. Off Carrickfergus she finds the _Drake_, an English sloop -of war that is two long nines the better than the _Ranger_ in her -broadsides, and thirty-one men stronger in her crew. To save trouble, -the _Ranger_ is hove to off the mouth of Belfast Lough, and waits for -the _Drake_ to come out. This the English ship does slowly and with -difficulty, being on the wrong side of wind and tide. - -“The sun is no more than an hour high,” - -The Story of Paul Jones suggests Lieutenant Wallingford wistfully. -“Shouldn’t we go to meet them, sir?” - -Captain Paul Jones shakes his head. - -“We’ve better water here,” says he. “Besides, the moon will be big; -we’ll fight them by the light of the moon.” - -Slowly, reluctantly, the _Drake_ forges within hail. She is in doubt -about the _Ranger_. - -“What ship is that?” cries the _Drake_. - -Captain Paul Jones puts his speaking-trumpet to his lips. - -“The American ship _Ranger_,” he replies. “Come on; we’re waiting for -you.” - -Without further parley, broadside answers broadside and the battle is -on. - -Both ships head north, the _Ranger_ having the weather-gage. This last -gives Captain Paul Jones the nautical upperhand. In ship-fighting, the -weather-gage is equivalent to an underhold in wrestling. - -There is a swell on, and the two ships roll heavily. They shape their -course side by side, keeping within musket-reach of each other. The -breeze is on the starboard quarter, and a little faster than the ships. -By this good luck, the smoke of the broadsides is sent drifting ahead, -and the line of sight between the ships kept free. On they crawl, -broadside talking to broadside; only the Americans are smarter with -their guns, and fire three to the _Drake_‘s two. - -Twilight now invests the scene in gray, as the sun sinks behind the -close, dark Irish headlands to the west. Night, cloudless and serene, -comes down; the round, full moon shines out, and its mild rays mingle -and merge with the angry glare of the battle-lanterns. Captain Paul -Jones from his narrow quarterdeck watches the Drake through his night -glass. - -“Good! Very good!” he murmurs, as the _Drake_‘s foremast is splintered -by a round shot. Then, to the Salem man who has the wheel: “Bring us a -little closer, Mr. Sargent; a little closer in, if you please.” - -Captain Paul Jones again rivets his glass upon the _Drake_. An -exclamation escapes him. It comes upon him that his gunners are having -advantage of the roll of the ships, and time their broadsides so as to -catch the _Drake_ as, reeling to port, she brings up her starboard -side. By this plausible manouvre, those sagacious ones who train the -_Ranger_‘s guns are sending shot after shot through and through -the _Drake_, between wind and water, half of them indeed below the -water-line. Captain Paul Jones, through his glass, makes out the -black round shot-holes; they show as thick as cloves in the rind of a -Christmas ham. - -“Why!” he exclaims, “this doesn’t match my book! I must put a stopper on -such work.” - -Shutting up his glass, Captain Paul Jones leaps from the after -flush-deck down among his sailors. Drunk with blood, grimed of powder, -naked to the waist, the black glory of battle in their hearts, they -merrily work their guns. It is as he beheld from the after-deck. The -_Ranger_ rolls to port as the _Drake_, all dripping, is fetching up her -starboard side. - -“Fire!” cries the master-gunner, and “Fire!” runs the word along the -battery. - -The long nines respond with flame and bellow! - -Then they race crashingly inboard with the recoil, and are caught by the -breeching tackle. With that the smoky work is all to do over again. -The brawny sailor men--from Nantucket, from Martha’s Vineyard, from -Sag Harbor, from New London and Barnstable and Salem and Boston and -Portsmouth they are--shirtless and shoeless, barefoot and stripped to -the belts, ply sponge and rammer. Again each black-throated gun is ready -with a stomachful of solid shot. - -“Show ‘em your teeth, mates!” - -The guns rattle forward on their carriages. The quick port-tires -stand ready, blowing their matches. There is a brief pause, as the -master-gunner waits for that fatal downward roll to port which offers -and opens the _Drake_‘s starboard side almost to the keel. - -“Ah! I see, Mr. Starbuck,” begins Captain Paul Jones sweetly, addressing -the master-gunner. “Your effort is to hull the enemy.” - -“Fire!” cries the master-gunner, for just then the _Ranger_ is reeling -down to port, while the _Drake_ is coming up to starboard, and he must -not waste the opportunity. - -The long nines roar cheerfully, spouting fire and smoke. Then comes that -crashing inboard leap, to be caught up short by the tackle. Again the -sponges; again the rammers; with the busy shot-handlers working in -between. And all the while the little powder monkeys, lads of eleven and -twelve, go pattering to and fro, with cartridges from the magazines. - -“Why, yes, sir!” responds the master-gunner, now finding time to reply -to the comment of Captain Paul Jones; “as you says, we’re trying to hull -her, sir.” - -Captain Paul Jones makes out three new holes below the Brake’s -plankslieer, the hopeful harvest of that last broadside. - -“May I ask,” demands Captain Paul Jones, who as a mere first effect of -battle never fails of a rippling amiability, “may I ask, Mr. Starbuck, -your design in thus aiming below the water-line?” - -“Saving you presence, Captain, we designs to sink the bitch.” - -“Precisely! That is what I surmised! To a quick seaman like yourself, -Mr. Starbuck, a word will do. I don’t want her sunk, d’ye see! I want to -bring her into France as an object-lesson, and show the Frenchmen what -Americans can do. Under the circumstances, Mr. Starbnck, I shall be -obliged if you let her hull alone. It will take Mr. Hitchburn, our -carpenter, a week as it is “--this comes off reproachfully--“to stop the -holes you’ve already made. And so, Mr. Starbnck, from now on comb her -decks and cut her up in the spars as much as ever you like; but please -keep off her hull.” - -“Ay, ay, sir!” says the master-gunner, saluting. Then: “Pass the word -that we’re to leave her hull alone. Cap’n has set his heart on catching -her alive.” - -With that the plan of attack finds reversal, the _Ranger_ firing as she -comes up to port and when only a narrow streak of the Drake’s starboard -beam is visible above the waves. - -Captain Paul Jones remains among the sailors, canvassing in a gratified -way the results of this change. While thus engaged, port-fire Anthony -Jeremiah grins up at him, meanwhile blowing his match to keep it -lighted. - -“You enjoy yourself, I see, Jerry,” remarks Captain Paul Jones, who, -as observed, is never so affable as when guns are crashing, blood is -flowing, and splinters flying. - -“Me like to hear the big guns talk, Captain,” responds the Indian. “It -gives Jerry a good heart.” - -Captain Paul Jones again swings his glass on the Drake. He is just in -time to see her fore and main topsail-yards come down onto the caps by -the run. The last broadside does that. In an instant, he is running aft. - -“Down with your helm, Mr. Sargent!” he roars. “Pull her down for every -ounce that’s in you, man!” - -Quartermaster Sargent, thus encouraged, climbs the wheel like a -squirrel; the _Ranger_‘s topsails shiver; then, yielding to her helm, -she slowly luffs across the helpless stern of the Drake. - -“Aboard with those sta’board tacks!” shouts Captain Paul Jones. Then, -turning again to the wheelman: “Steady, Mr. Sargent; keep her full!” - -There is a skurry across the _Ranger_‘s decks, as the men rush from the -port to the starboard battery. - -“Stand by, Mr. Starbuck,” calls ont Captain Paul Jones, “to rake her as -we cross her stern.” - -“Ay, ay, sir!” returns the master-gunner. “She shall have it for’ard and -aft, as my old gran’am shells peas cods!” - -“Steady, Mr. Sargent!” and again Captain Paul Jones cautions the alert -wheelman. “Keep her as she is!” - -The guns are swung, and depressed so as to tear the poor _Drake_ open -from stern-post to cutwater at one discharge. The _Ranger_ gathers head; -slowly she makes ready to cross her enemy’s stern so close that one -might chuck a biscuit aboard. It is a moment fraught of life and death -for the unhappy _Drake_. - -With her captain and first officer already dead, the situation proves -beyond the second officer, on whom the responsibility of fighting or -surrendering the ship devolves. His sullen British soul gives way; and -he strikes his colors just in time to avoid that raking fire which would -else have snuffed him off the face of the sea. - -“Out-fought, out-manoeuvred, and out-sailed!” exclaims Captain Paul -Jones. - -Lieutenant Hall, flushed of combat, comes up. - -“We have beaten them, Captain!” exults Lieutenant Hall. - -“We’ve done more than that, Mr. Hall,” responds Captain Paul Jones. “We -have defeated an aphorism, and made a precedent. For the first time in -the history of the sea, a lighter ship, with a smaller crew and a weaker -battery, has whipped an Englishman.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIII--THE DUCHESS OF CHARTRES - -It is a notable gathering that assembles at Doctor Franklin’s house in -Passy. Mr. Adams and his wife have just arrived, and the doctor presents -them to Madame Brillon and Madame Houdetot, already there. - -“Mr. Adams is but recently come from America,” the doctor whispers. “He -takes Mr. Dean’s place as a member of our commission.” - -Madame Houdetot talks with Mrs. Adams; and because of her bad English -and the other’s bad French they get on badly. - -“Mr. Lee sends his compliments,” observes Mr. Adams, loftily, to Doctor -Franklin, “and regrets that he cannot come. He heard, I understand, that -Captain Paul Jones is to be here, and does not care to meet him.” - -“No?” responds the doctor, evincing scanty concern at the failure -of Mr. Lee to come. “Now I do not wonder! I hear that Captain Jones -thrashed Mr. Lee’s secretary in a tavern at Nantes, and our proud Mr. -Lee, I suppose, resents it.” - -“Thrashed him!” exclaims Mr. Adams, in high tones; “Captain Jones seized -a stick and beat him like a dog, applying to him the while such epithets -as ‘liar!’ and ‘spy.’ Mr. Lee’s secretary has left France through fear -of him.” - -The portly doctor lifts his hands at this; but underneath his -deprecatory horror, hides a complacency, a satisfaction, as though the -violence of Captain Jones will not leave him utterly unstrung. - -“He fights everybody,” says the good doctor, resignedly; “on land as -well as on sea. Nor can I teach him the difference between his own -personal enemies, and the enemies of his country.” - -“He seems a bit unruly,” observes the pompous Mr. Adams; “a bit unruly, -does this Captain Jones of yours. I’m told he sold the _Drake_, and what -other ships were captured on his recent cruise, in the most high-handed, -masterful way.” - -“What else was he to do? When a road becomes impassable, what is your -course? You push down a panel of fence and go cross-lots. Captain Jones -had two hundred prisoners to feed, besides his own brave crew of one -hundred and eighteen. We had no money to give him. Were they to starve? -I’m not surprised that he sold the ships.” - -“I’m surprised that the Frenchmen bought them,” returns Mr. Adams. -“Captain Jones could give no title.” - -Doctor Franklin’s keen eyes twinkle. - -“He could give possession, Mr. Adams. And let me tell you that in -France, as everywhere else, possession is nine parts of the law.” - -Madame Brillon draws Mr. Adams aside, while Doctor Franklin welcomes -the beautiful royal girl--the Duchess de Chartres; to whom he later -presents Mr. Adams and Mrs. Adams. Madame Houdetot leaves Mrs. Adams -with the girl-Duchess and talks aside with Doctor Franklin. - -“I did not know,” she whispers, with an eye on the girlish Duchess, -“that you received calls from royalty.” - -“The Duchess de Chartres has been with her great relative, the king, -upon the business of Captain Jones. She comes to meet the captain, whom -we every moment expect.” - -“She is in love with him!--madly in love with him!” says Madame -Houdetot. “All the world knows it.” - -The doctor, who at seventy-two is a distinguished gallant, smiles -sympathetically. - -“Did I not once tell you that Captain Jones, the invincible among men, -is the irresistible among women!” - -“Something of the sort, I think. But you have heard of the duchess and -your irresistible, invincible one, had you not?” - -“My dear madam, I am a diplomat,” replies the doctor, slyly. “And it is -an infraction of the laws of diplomacy to tell what you hear.” - -“They have been very tender at the duchess’s summer house near Brest.” - -“And the husband--the Duke de Chartres!” - -“A most excellent gentleman! A most admirable husband of most -unimpeachable domestic manners! Believe me, I cannot laud him too -highly! Every husband in Prance should copy him! He honors his wife, -and--stays aboard his ship, the _Saint Esprit_.” After a pause the -gossipy Madame Houdetot continues: “No doubt the duke considers his -wife’s rank. Is the great-granddaughter of the Grande Louis to be held -within those narrow lines that confine the feet of other women?” - -“Who is this Mr. Adams?” asks Madame Brillon, coming up. “Is he a great -man?” - -Doctor Franklin glances across where the austere Mr. Adams is stiffly -posing, with a final thought of impressing the sparkling Duchess de -Chartres. - -“Rather he is a _big_ man,” replies the philosopher. “Like some houses, -his foundations cover a deal of ground; but then he is only one story -high. If you could raise Mr. Adams another story, he would be a _great_ -man.” - -The good doctor goes over, and becomes polite to Mrs. Adams; for the -enlightenment of that lady of reserve and dignity, he expands on France -and the French character. Suddenly the door is thrown open, and all -unannounced a queer figure rushes in. She is clad in rumpled muslin and -soiled lutestring. Her hair is frizzed, her face painted, her cap awry, -and she is fair and fat and of middle years. This remarkable apparition -embraces Doctor Franklin, kisses him resoundingly, first on the left -cheek then on the right, crying: - -“My flame!--my love!--my Franklin!” - -The seasoned doctor receives this caressing broadside steadily, while -the desolated Mrs. Adams sits round-eyed and stony. - -“It is the eccentric Madame Helvetius,” explains Madame Brillon in a low -tone to Mrs. Adams. “They call her the ‘Rich Widow of Passy.’ She and -the good doctor are dearest friends.” - -“Eccentric!” Mrs. Adams perceives as much, and says so. - -Doctor Franklin returns to Mrs. Adams, whom he suspects of being hungry -for an explanation, while the buoyant Madame Helvetius, as one sure of -her impregnable position, wanders confidently about the room. - -“You should become acquainted with Madame Helvetius,” submits the doctor -pleasantly. “Wise, generous, afire for our cause--you would dote on -her.” - -Mrs. Adams icily fears not. - -“Believe me; you would!” insists the doctor. “True! her manners are of -her people and her region. They are not those of Puritan New England.” - -Mrs. Adams interrupts to say that she has never before heard so much -said in favor of Puritan New England. - -“And yet, my dear Mrs. Adams,” goes on the good doctor, as one -determined to conquer for Madame Helvetius the other’s favorable -opinion, “you would do wrong to apply a New England judgment to our -friend. Her exuberance is of the surface.” Then, quizzically: “A mere -manner, I assure you, and counts for no more than should what she is -doing now.” - -Mrs. Adams lifts her severe gaze at this to Madame Helvetius. That -amiable French woman is in rapt and closest converse with Mr. Adams, -hand on his shoulder, her widowed lips to his ear. Mr. Adams is standing -as one frozen, casting ever and anon a furtive glance, like an alarmed -sheep, at Mrs. Adams. For an arctic moment, Mrs. Adams is held by the -terrors of that spectacle; then she moves to her husband’s rescue. - -Madame Helvetius comes presently to Doctor Franklin. - -“What an iceberg!” she remarks, with a toss of the frizzed head towards -Mr. Adams. “Does he ever thaw!” Then, as her glance takes in Mrs. Adams: -“Poor man! He might be August, missing her. It is she who congeals him.” - -And now he, for whom they wait, is announced--Captain Paul Jones. He -has about him everything of the _salon_ and nothing of the sea. His -amiable yet polished good breeding wins on Mrs. Adams, and even the -repellant wintry Mr. Adams is rendered urbane. Captain Paul Jones -becomes the instant centre of the little assemblage. And yet, even -while he gives his words to the others, his glances rove softly to the -girl-Duchess, who stands apart, as might one who for a space--only for -a space--permits room to others. The girl-Duchess is polite; she grants -him what time is required to offer his greetings all around. Then, in -the most open, obvious way, as though none might criticise or gainsay -her conduct, she draws him into a secluded corner. They make a rare -study, these two; he deferential yet dominant, she proud but yielding. - -“Did you see the king?” he asks. - -“See him? Am I not, too, a Bourbon?” This comes off with fire. - -“Surely! Of course you saw him!” responds Captain Paul Jones, recalling -his manner to one of easy matter-of-fact. “Your royal highness will -pardon my inquiry.” - -The girl-Duchess objects petulantly to the “Royal Highness.” - -“From you I do not like it,” she says. “From you”--and here comes a -flood of softness, while her black eyes shine like strange jewels--“from -you, as you know, my friend, I would have only those titles that, -arm-encircled, heart to heart, a man gives to the one woman of his sou’s -hope.” - -Her voice sinks at the close, while her eyes leave his for the floor. -His presence is like a gale, and she bends before him as the willow -bends before the strong wind. Meanwhile, as instructive to Mr. Adams, -the loud Doctor is saying: - -“No, sir; you must have a wig. No one sees the king without a wig.” - -“We talked an hour--the king and I,” goes on the girl-Duchess, -recovering herself. “I read him your letter; he was vastly interested. -Then I told him how the _Ranger_ had been called to America. Also I drew -him pictures of what you had done; and how bravely you had fought, -not only your enemies, but his enemies and the enemies of France. And, -oh!”--here again the black eyes take on that perilous softness--“I can -be eloquent when I talk of you!” - -Captain Paul Jones looks tender things, as though he also might be -eloquent, let him but pick subject and audience. Altogether there is -much to support the gossip-loving Madame Houdetot, in what she has said -concerning that summer house at Brest. The voice of the good Doctor -again takes precedence. - -“Until then, it had been an axiom of naval Europe that no one on even -terms, guns and men and ship, could whip the British on the ocean.” - -The Doctor and Mr. Adams are discussing the _Ranger_ and the Drake, a -topic that has been rocking France. - -“Yes,” goes on the girl-Duchess, with a further dulcet flash of those -eyes, fed of fire and romance, “you are to have a ship. Here is the -king’s order to his Minister of Marine--the shuffler De Sartine. Now -there shall be no more shuffling.” She gives Captain Paul Jones the -orders. “The ship is the _Duras_, lying at l’Orient.” - -“The _Duras!_” exclaims Captain Paul Jones. “An ex-Indiaman!--a good -ship, too; she mounts forty guns.” Then, as his gaze rests on Doctor -Franklin, laying down diplomatic law and fact to Mr. Adams, who listens -with a preposterously conceited cock to his head: “What say you, my -friend--my best, my dearest friend! Let us re-name the _Duras_ for the -good Doctor. Shall we not call it the _Bon Homme Richard_?” - -The girl-Duchess looks her acquiescence as she would have looked it to -any proposal from so near and sweet and dear a quarter. Thus the -_Bon Homme Richard_ is born, and the _Duras_ disappears. The Doctor, -unconscious of the honor done him, is saying to Madame Helvetius, whose -fat arm is thrown across his philosophic shoulder: - -“With pleasure, madam! It is arranged; I shall dine at your house -to-morrow.” - -The girl-Duchess and Captain Paul Jones hear nothing of these prandial -arrangements for the morrow. They are again conversing; and, for all -they talk constantly, they say more with their eyes than with their -lips. - -“Lastly,” and here the words of the girl-Duchess grow distinct, “your -ship, they tell me, will need refitting. That will take money, my -friend; and so I hand you this letter to my banker, Gourlade, -instructing him to put ten thousand louis to your credit.” - -Captain Paul Jones puts the letter of credit aside. - -“You do not understand!” he says. “De Chaumont has----” - -“You _must_ take it!” interrupts the girl-Duchess, her eyes beginning -to swim. “You shall not put to sea, and risk your life, and the ship not -half prepared!” - -“I shall more easily risk my life a thousand times, than permit you to -give me money.” - -As Captain Paul Jones says this, a resentful red is burning on his brow. -Doctor Franklin breaks in from over the way, with: - -“You should not too much listen to Mr. Lee, sir. I tell you that the -French merchants have offered to send Captain Jones to sea as admiral -of an entire fleet of privateers, and he refused. Have my word, sir; the -last thing he thinks on is money.” - -The girl-Duchess is gazing reproachfully at Captain Paul Jones. At last -she speaks slowly and with a kind of sadness: - -“I do not give you money--do not offer it. What! money and--you! Never!” - Then proudly: “I give my money to the Cause.” After this high note is -struck, the flash dies down; the black eyes again go wavering to the -floor, while the voice retreats to the old soft whisper. “It is my heart ---only my heart that I give to you.” - -The strident, unmollified tones of Mr. Adams get possession of the -field. He is condemning the French press. - -“They declare, sir,” he is saying, “that I am not the celebrated Mr. -Adams; that I am a cipher, a fanatic and a bigot.” - -Doctor Franklin laughs. “What harm is there in the French papers, sir?” - he returns. “Give them no heed, sir, give them no heed!” - -Madame Brillon makes preparations to depart; Madame Houdetot, Mrs. -Adams and the rest adopt her example. And still the girl-Duchess holds -Captain Paul Jones to herself: - -“I am to have one evening--one before you go?” she pleads; and her tones -are a woman’s tones and deeply wistful; and are not in any respect the -tones of a Bourbon. - -“One evening? You shall have every evening--ay! and every day.” - -“Remember!” and as she makes ready to go the girl-Duchess takes firmer -command of her manner and her voice; “remember! You have promised to lay -an English frigate at my feet.” - -“That I shall do; or lay my bones away in the Atlantic!” - -The girl-Duchess shivers at this picture, and as though for reassurance -steals her slim hand into his. - -“Not that!” she pleads. His strong brown fingers close courageously on -the slender ones. “I cannot bear the thought! In victory or defeat, come -back!” Then, sighing rather than saying: “Come back to me--my untitled -knight of the sea!” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV--THE SAILING OF THE “RICHARD” - -Captain Paul Jones goes down to l’Orient to begin the overhaul and -refit of the _Richard_. The ship is twenty years old, and he finds it -shaken and worn by time and weather. It is not a good ship, not a -ship on which a prudent commander would care to stake his life and -reputation; but it is the best he can get, and Captain Paul Jones -accepts it, shrugging his shoulders. He has been so beaten upon by -disappointments, so carked and rusted by delays, since his old ship -_Ranger_ spread its sails for home, and left him as it were an exile -on French shores, that rather than further endure such heart-eating -experiences he is ready to embrace the desperate. As the work of -refitting progresses, Doctor Franklin comes over from Passy. - -“The ship is old, Doctor,” says Captain Paul Jones, as he and Doctor -Franklin canvass the situation. “That, however, is the least of my -troubles. What causes me most uneasiness is the crew. Out of a whole -muster of three hundred and seventy-five, no more than fifty are -Americans.” - -“Then you do not trust the French? Surely you don’t mean to say they are -not brave men?” - -“Brave enough--the French; but that is not the point. They are not good -water fighters. By nature they are too hysterical, too easily excited, -to both sail and fight a ship. Those English whom we go to meet are born -water dogs, stubborn and cool; and the only ones afloat who, man for -man, may match them are Americans.” - -“And of Americans you have but fifty?” - -“Only fifty.” Then, with a heartfelt oath: “I would give my left hand to -have back my old crew of the _Ranger_.” - -Captain Paul Jones begins pacing to and fro, his thoughts running -regretfully on the _Ranger_, and those stout hearts with whom he fought -the _Drake_. But the _Ranger_ and those stout, tarry ones are half a -world away; and in the end he returns perforce to the _Richard_, and -what poor tools in the way of crew are offered him by Fate. There is, -too, a matter of gravity which he desires to lay before the Doctor’s -older and more prudent judgment. For Captain Paul Jones, so unmanageable -by others, defers to the sagacious Doctor, and accepts his opinions and -follows his commands with closed eyes. - -“This Captain Pierre Landais, Doctor,” he begins, “who is to sail the -_Alliance_ in my company?” - -“Yes?” interrupts the Doctor. - -“You know him?--you have confidence in him?” - -The Doctor purses his lips, but says never a word. - -“Then I’ll tell you what I think!” cries Captain Paul Jones, who reads -distrust in the good Doctor’s pursed but silent lips; “I’ll tell you -what I think, and what I’ll do. Already I’ve had some dealings with this -Landais. The fellow is mad--vanity-mad. Jealous, insubordinate, he has -twice taken open occasion to disobey my orders. This I have stomached in -silence--being on French shores. I now warn you that as soon as I find -myself in blue water, at a first sign of rebellion against my authority, -I’ll clap the fellow in irons. By heaven! I’ll string him to his own -yard arm, sir; make a tassel of him for the winds to play with, if it -be required to preserve a discipline which his example has already done -much to break down.” - -Doctor Franklin meets this violent setting forth concerning the -recalcitrant Landais with a negative gesture of unmistakable emphasis. - -“You must do nothing of the kind, Paul!” he replies. “Captain Landais, -as you say, is doubtless mad--vanity-mad. But he is also French; and we -must do nothing to estrange from our cause French sympathy and French -assistance. I urge you to bear with Landais in silence, rather than -jeopardize us with King Louis.” - -Captain Paul Jones growlingly submits. “It will result disastrously, -Doctor,” he says. “We shall yet suffer for it, mark my word.” Then, -disgustedly: “I marvel that the Marine Committee in Philadelphia should -turn over to such a madman a brisk frigate like the _Alliance_. - -“Your friend, the Marquis de Lafayette, had something to do with it, I -think. You observe that on his present visit to France, it is Landais -with his _Alliance_ who brings him.” - -Captain Paul Jones says no more, but seems to accept Landais as he -accepts the _Richard_, desperately. His final comment shows the uneasy -complexion of his thought. - -“We shall do the best we can, Doctor,” he says. - -“Young as I am, I have lived long enough to know that one can’t have all -things ordered as he would.” - -Captain Paul Jones, now commodore, clears for the Irish coast on a -bright, clear day in June. Besides the _Richard_, he has with him the -_Alliance_, thirty-two guns, Captain Landais; the _Pallas_, twenty-eight -guns, Captain Cottineau; and the _Vengeance_, twelve guns, Captain -Ricon. Four days later he returns limping into l’Orient for repairs, -the _Richard_ having been fouled by the _Alliance_ through the criminal -carelessness or worse of Captain Landais. - -The breast of the young commodore is on fire with anger over the delay, -and the vicious clumsiness that caused it. He burns to destroy Landais, -as the mean reason of his troubles, but the thought of Doctor Franklin -restrains him. Also, as events unfold, that enforced return to l’Orient -proves of good fortune, and he forgets his chagrin in joy over the -flattering new turn in his affairs. Doctor Franklin has succeeded in -bringing about an exchange of prisoners, and barters to the British -admiralty one hundred and nineteen Englishmen, captured in the _Drake_ -and other prizes taken by the _Ranger_, for one hundred and nineteen -Americans held by King George. While Commodore Paul Jones is curing the -damage done the _Richard_ by the evil Landais, those exchanged Americans -are landed under a cartel in Nantes. He goes down to Nantes and enlists -one hundred and fifteen of them for the _Richard_. - -Before Commodore Paul Jones weighs anchor for a second start, he goes -over to Passy for a final word with Doctor Franklin. The pair walk in -the Doctor’s favorite garden, now a wilderness of foliage and flowers, -the Doctor serene, the boy commodore cloudy, taciturn and grim. His -resolution has set iron-hard to do or die; the cruise shall be a -glorious one or be his last. Doctor Franklin asks about his plans. - -“I shall make for the west coast of Ireland,” says he, “and go north -about the British islands. Wind and weather favoring, I may sack a town -or two by way of retaliation for what the foe has done to us. They will -find that I have not forgotten Lord Dunmore, and my ruined plantation by -the Rappahannock.” - -“The waters you will sail in are alive with British ships of war. With -your poor force it seems a desperate cruise.” - -“Desperate, yes; but, Doctor, we are in no shape to play cautious. We -are weak; therefore we must be reckless.” - -“It is a strange doctrine,” muses the Doctor. “And yet I will not say -but what it smells of judgment. I have faith in you, Paul; it teaches me -to hope that, when next I greet you, I shall greet a victor.” - -“Doctor,” returns Commodore Paul Jones, and his tones are grave with -meaning, “I shall not disappoint you. Nor do I care to conceal from you -my resolution. When I sail, I sail looking for battle; and I shall not -hesitate to engage an enemy superior to my force. The condition of our -cause is such that, to sustain it, we need a striking, ay! a startling -naval success, and I shall do all I know, fight all I know, to bring -it to pass. More; my mind is made up: If I fail, I fall; I shall return -victorious or I shall not return.” - -It is daybreak on a day in middle August when Commodore Paul Jones, with -the _Richard_ as flagship of the little squadron of four, puts the Isle -of Groaix astern, and points for the open ocean. His course is west -by north, so as to weather Cape Clear, and fetch the Irish coast close -aboard. With winds light and baffling, the squadron’s pace is slow; it -is nine days out of France before Cape Clear is sighted. Then it creeps -northward along the Irish coast, Commodore Paul Jones vigilant and -alert. He takes a prize or two, and one after the other sends into -French ports the British ships _Mayflower_ and _Fortune_. The young -commodore’s brow begins to clear; those prizes comfort him vastly. At -least the cruise shall not be registered as altogether fruitless. - -It is the last day of August; the Hebrides lie off the _Richard_‘s -starboard beam. A stiff gale from the northwest sets in, and the -squadron is driven east by north under storm staysails. This dovetails -with the desires of Commodore Paul Jones; wherefore he welcomes the -gale as friendly weather. Also, it gives him a chance to try out the -_Richard_, which shows lively with the wind abaft the beam, but dull -to the confines of despair when sailing on a wind. Close-hauled, the -_Richard_ makes more lee than headway. - -“Which means, Dick,” says Commodore Paul Jones judgmatically, to -Lieutenant Richard Dale--“which means, Dick, that we must have the -weather-gage before we lock horns with an enemy.” - -Off Cape Wraith, Commodore Paul Jones is so fortunate as to take two -further prizes. He turns them over to Captain Landais, with orders to -send them into Brest. The Frenchman, who only receives an order for the -purpose of breaking it, sends them into the port of Bergen, where the -Norwegians promptly turn them over to the English, on an argument that -they do not officially know of any government called the United States. - -Commodore Paul Jones works slowly and cautiously southward along the -east coast of Scotland. Off the Firth of Forth he decides to attack the -Port of Leith, and stands in for that fell purpose. An adverse gale, -seconded by off-shore currents, comes to the rescue of the threatened -Scotchmen; in the teeth of his best seamanship Commodore Paul Jones and -his squadron are driven out to sea. Thus the chance passes, and the sack -of Leith is abandoned. It is a sore setback to the hopes of Commodore -Paul Jones; but it lifts a load from the Scottish heart, to whom -the Stars and Stripes have brought visions of pillage and torch and -desolation. The news flies over England; beacons burn on each headland; -while every semaphore is telling that the dreaded Paul Jones is hawking -at the English coasts. The word causes a tremendous loss of British -sleep. - -Off Spurn Head our industrious young commodore sinks one collier and -chases another ashore. Being full of curiosity, he takes a peep into -the mouth of the Humber, and discovers a frightened fleet of British -merchant vessels. The merchantmen are in a flutter at the sight of the -_Richard_‘s dread topsails; the frigate that it conveying them has its -work cut out, to nurse them into anything like calmness. - -Following the look into the Humber, that sets so many timid merchantmen -to shivering, Commodore Paul Jones puts out to sea under doublereefs. -He plans to stand off and on throughout the night, and swoop on those -tremblers, like a hawk on a covey of quail, with the first gray streaks -of dawn. The frigate will doubtless fight, but the optimistic young -commodore reckons on making short work of that man-of-war. In the -middle watch the little brig _Vengeance_ runs under the _Richard_‘s lee, -bringing word of a nobler quarry. The Baltic timber fleet, fifty sail in -all, convoyed by the _Serapis_ and the _Countess of Scarboro_ has just -put into Bridlington Bay. - -At this good news, Commodore Paul Jones gives up his designs touching -the frightened covey of merchantmen in the Humber. He prefers the Baltic -timber ships with the _Serapis_, the difference between the one and -the other being the difference between deer and hare. He orders the -_Vengeance_ to stand out to sea, find the _Alliance_, and tell Captain -Landais to join him off Scarboro’ Head. - -“But do not,” says he to Captain Ricon, “give Captain Landais this notice -in the guise of an order. He would make a point of disobeying, and seize -on its reception as a pat occasion for insulting you.” - -While the _Vengeance_ stands eastward in search of the _Alliance_, -Commodore Paul Jones signals the __Pallas__ to follow, and turns his -bows for Scarboro’ Head, then forty miles away. - -The _Richard_, the little _Pallas_ close to its heels, cracks on canvas -throughout the night. The winds are mere puffs and catspaws; still, slow -as is their speed, daylight finds them within throwing distance of their -destination. They are the wrong-side of the weather, however, and the -whole day is wasted in beating inshore against the wind. Our young -commodore must do all the work; for the English merchantmen, as though -faint with fear at the sight of him, refuse to come out; while -the _Serapis_ and its consort stick close to them in their role of -guardships. The sun goes down, night descends, and as yet our young -commodore has not been able to get within reach of the foe; for at -beating to windward the _Richard_ is as dull as a Dutchman. - -When darkness comes, it unlooses a land breeze. With that the -merchantmen take heart of grace, and resolve to dare all and run for it. -They rush out of Bridlington Bay, wind free, like a flock of seagulls. -What is a fair wind for them is a headwind for the _Richard_ and -_Pallas_; with no one to molest them, the fifty timber ships show a -clean pair of heels. Commodore Paul Jones makes no effort to chase; it -would be seamanship thrown away. Besides, the _Serapis_ has laid its -sails aback, and is waiting to hear from him; while the _Countess -of Scarboro_ guarding the flanks of the fugitive timber ships, seems -eagerly willing to try conclusions with the _Pallas_. - -The temptation is too great; Commodore Paul Jones makes no least effort -to resist it. Signaling the _Pallas_ to close with and pull down the -smaller ship, with his own eye on the _Serapis_, he begins manoeuvring -for the upper hand. The sea is as smooth as glass; a great harvest moon -shoots up in the cloudless sky. As when the _Ranger_ fought the _Drake_, -it is to be a fight by the light of the moon. - -The _Richard_ tacks starboard and port, the _Serapis_ lying in wait. -Decks cleared, guns shotted and run out, magazines open, men stripped -and at their quarters, both ships are as ferociously ready as bulldogs. -Commodore Paul Jones scans the _Serapis_ through his glass. - -“How heavy is he, Commodore?” - -It is Dr. Brooke, surgeon of the _Richard_, who puts the question. He -has been laying out his instruments and bandages in the cockpit, in -readiness for a hard night’s work, and now pokes his nose on deck for a -last breath of fresh air. - -“Is that you, Doctor?” returns Commodore Paul Jones. The amiable tones -bespeak that bland urbanity which is his dominant characteristic on the -threshold of battle. “It’s the _Serapis_; a forty-four-gun ship of the -Rainbow class, six months off the stocks.” - -It should be observed that Commodore Paul Jones’ pet study is the -British navy, and he knows more about it--ships, guns, and men--than -does the king’s admiralty itself. - -“Forty-four guns! Rainbow class!” repeats the worthy doctor, who himself -is not without a working knowledge of ships and their comparative -strengths. “Then she’s a stronger ship, with heavier metal, than the -_Richard_?” - -“As three is to two, Doctor,” replies Commodore Paul Jones, shutting up -his glass and preparing for action. “None the less, we shall fight them -and beat them just the same.” - -Aboard the _Serapis_, Captain Pearson is holding his glass on the -_Richard_, not a cable’s length away. Suddenly the _Richard_ wears -and backs its topsail, thereby bringing its broadside to bear upon the -_Serapis_. - -“That was a clever manoeuvre!” remarks Captain Pearson, admiringly, -to Lieutenant Wright, who stands by his side. “It holds for him the -weather-gage, and makes it impossible for me to luff across his hawse, -without exposing my ship to be raked.” - -“Who is he?” asks Lieutenant Wright; for the _Serapis_ is just home -from Norway, and the word that set all England to lighting beacons and -doubling coast-guards has not reached it. - -“Who is he?” repeats Captain Pearson, soberly. “He is Paul Jones; and, -my word for it, Lieutenant, there is work ahead.” - - - - -CHAPTER XV--THE “RICHARD” AND THE “SERAPIS” - -The ships are slowly closing, watchful as wrestlers striving for holds, -the _Richard_ edging down with the wind, the _Serapis_ holding on. - -“What ship is that?” hails Captain Pearson. - -There is no reply. - -“What ship is that?” comes the second hail. - -The response is a storm of solid shot from the _Richard_‘s flaming -broadside. - -As the _Richard_ goes into action, Commodore Paul Jones swings his glass -along the eastern horizon. The _Pallas_ is going down the wind, in hot -pursuit of the _Countess of Scarboro_, yawing and firing its bow-chaser -as it runs; while far out to sea lies the traitor Landais, sulking or -skulking, it matters little which, his coward topsails just visible -against the moonlit sky-line. - -With the wind aft, the _Richard_ and the _Serapis_ head northwest, both -on the port tack. The moon makes the scene as light as day; the sea is -as evenly smooth as a ballroom floor. The _Richard_ goes over on the -starboard tack, the _Serapis_ holding as she is; the ships approach each -other, the _Richard_ keeping the weather-gage. For twenty minutes it is -broadside and broadside as fast as men may handle sponge and rammer. As -in the hour of the _Drake_ and _Ranger_, the Yankees show smarter with -their guns. - -When the battle begins, the _Richard_ has to its broadside three -eighteen-pounders, as against the _Serapis_’ ten. With the first fire, -two of the _Richard_‘s three explode, killing half the men that serve -them, and tearing open the main gun-deck immediately above. Lieutenant -Mayrant, who has command in the gunroom where the three eighteens -are mounted, reports the disaster to Commodore Paul Jones. The -latter receives the news beamingly, as though it were the enemies’ -eighteen-pounders, and not his own, that have been put out of action. - -“Then we have only the twelve-pounders and the long nines to fight -him with,” says Commodore Paul Jones. “It is now a thirty-two-gun ship -against a forty-four. We shall beat him; and the honor will be the -greater.” Then, observing Lieutenant Mayrant to be severely wounded -in the head, he becomes concerned for that young gentleman. “Better go -below to Brooks,” says he, “and have your wounds dressed.” - -“I must get square for Portsea jail first,” replies Lieutenant Mayrant, -who is of those exchanged ones enlisted at Nantes. - -Lieutenant Dale, forward with the twelve-pounders, comes aft to ask about -the exploded eight guns. - -“They were rotten when the Frenchmen sold them to us,” says Lieutenant -Dale bitterly. - -“Ay!” responds Commodore Paul Jones. “I’d give half the prize money I -shall get from yonder ship to have those Frenchmen here.” Meanwhile the -_Serapis_--not yet a prize--is fiercely belching flame and smoke, while -her shot tear the vitals out of the _Richard_. - -The ships have been fighting half an hour--rough broadside work; the -_Richard_ with its lighter metal has had the worst of the barter. They -have sailed, or rather drifted, a mile and a half, edging closer to one -another as they forge slowly to the north and west. - -The _Serapis_, being the livelier ship, has fore-reached on the -_Richard_, and Captain Pearson sees the chance to luff across the -latter’s bows. Having torn the _Richard_ open with a raking broadside, -Captain Pearson will then go clear around the Yankee, put the _Serapis_ -upon the starboard tack, and claim in his turn the weather-gage. It is -a brilliant thought, and Captain Pearson pulls down his helm to execute -it. Already he sees victory in his fingers. He is radiant; it will make -him a Knight Commander of the Bath. - -While Captain Pearson is manoeuvring for that title, the hot broadside -dispute proceeds with unflagging fury. Only the _Richard_ is beginning -to bleed and gasp; those ten eighteen-pounders of the _Serapis_ -overmaster its weaker batteries. Also, by this time they are doubly -weak; for more than half of the _Richard_‘s twelve-pounders have been -dismounted, and the balance are so jammed with wreckage and splinters -as to forbid them being worked. Lieutenant Dale reports the crippled -condition of the _Richard_‘s broadside to Commodore Paul Jones, where -the latter stands on the after-deck, in personal command of the French -marines, whose captain has crept below with a hurt knee. - -“We have but three effective twelve-pounders left,” says Lieutenant -Dale. - -“Three?” retorts Commodore Paul Jones, cheerfully. “Now, well-aimed and -low, Dick, much good damage may be worked with three twelve-pounders.” - -Lieutenant Dale wipes the blood and sweat and powder-stains from his -face, salutes, and goes back to his three guns; while Commodore Paul -Jones, alive to the enemy’s new manouvre, takes the wheel from the -quartermaster. - -To check the ambitious Pearson in his efforts to luff across his -forefoot, Commodore Paul Jones pays off the _Richard_‘s head a point. -The check is not alone successful, but under the influence of that -master hand, the _Richard_ all but gets the _Serapis_’ head into -chancery. - -Being defeated in his luff, Captain Pearson next discovers that his -brisk antagonist has put him in a dilemma. If he holds on, the _Richard_ -will run him down; he can already see the great, black cutwater rearing -itself on high, as though to crush him and cut him in two. If he pays -off the head of the _Serapis_, and avoids being run down, the _Richard_ -will still foul and grapple with him. Lieutenant Mayrant’s bandaged head -shows above the _Richard_‘s hammock nettings, as, with grappling irons -ready for throwing, he musters a party of boarders--cutlass and pistol -and pike--to have them in hand the moment the ships crash together. That -title of Knight Commander of the Bath, and the star and garter that -go with it, do not look so near at hand. Also, the _Serapis_, at this -closer range, begins to feel the musket-fire from the _Richard_‘s -tops. One after another, three seamen are shot down at the wheel of the -_Serapis_. - -In this desperate emergency, Captain Pearson, good sailorman that he is, -neither holds on nor pays off, but with everything thrown aback attempts -to box-haul his ship. It may take the sticks out by the roots, but -he must risk it. The chance is preferable to being either run down or -boarded. - -The _Serapis_ is a new ship, fresh from the yards, and her spars and -cordage stand the strain. Captain Pearson backs himself slowly out of -the trap. He grazes fate so closely that the _Richard_, answering some -sudden occult movement of the helm, runs its bowsprit over the larboard -quarter of the _Serapis_, into its mizzen rigging. - -“Stand by with those grappling irons!” shouts Commodore Paul Jones. - -Lieutenant Mayrant throws the grapples with a seaman’s accuracy; -they catch, as he means they shall, in the mizzen backstays of the -Englishman. But the ships have too much way on. The _Richard_ forges -ahead; the _Serapis_, every sail flattened, backs free; the lines -part. Before Lieutenant Mayrant can take his jolly boarders over the -_Richard_‘s bows, the ships have swung apart, and fifty feet of open -water yawn between them. - -The _Serapis_ falls to leeward; at the end of the next five minutes both -ships are back in their old positions, with their broadside guns--or -what are left of them--at that furious work of hammer and tongs. - -At this crashing business of broadsiding, the _Richard_ has no chance, -and Commodore Paul Jones--a smile on his dauntless lips, eyes bright and -glancing like those of a child with a new toy--stands well aware of it. -He must board the Englishman, or he is lost. As showing what Captain -Pearson’s eighteen-pounders can do, the _Richard_‘s starboard -battery--being the one in action--shows nine of its twelve-pounders -dismounted from their carriages; while, of the one hundred and -forty-three officers and men who belong with the main gun-deck battery -under Lieutenant Dale, eighty-seven lie dead and wounded. The gun-deck -itself, a-litter with dismounted guns and shot-smashed carriages and -tackle, is slippery with blood, and choked by a red clutter of dead and -wounded sailors. - -Commodore Paul Jones turns to his orderly, - -Jack Downes. “Present my compliments to Lieutenant Dale,” says lie, “and -ask him to step aft.” - -Bloody, powder-grimed, Lieutenant Dale responds. - -“Dick,” observes Commodore Paul Jones, “he’s too heavy for us. We must -close with him; we must get hold of him. Bring what men you have to the -spar-deck, and serve out the small arms for boarding.” - -The breeze veers to the west, and freshens up a bit. This helps the -_Richard_ sooner than it does the _Serapis_; Commodore Paul Jones, -having advantage of it, wears and makes directly for his enemy. This -move, like a stroke of genius, brings him within one hundred feet of -the _Serapis_, directly between it and the wind. It is his purpose -to blanket the enemy, and steal the breeze from him. He succeeds; the -_Serapis_ loses way. - -It is now the turn of Commodore Paul Jones to go across his enemy’s -forefoot, and retort upon the _Serapis_ that manouvre which Captain -Pearson attempted against the _Richard_. But with this difference: -Captain Pearson’s purpose was to rake; Commodore Paul Jones’ purpose is -to board; for he lias now no guns wherewith to rake. - -The _Serapis_ is held as though in irons, canvas a-flap, by the blanket -of the _Richard_‘s broad sails. Slowly yet surely, like the coming of -a doom, the _Richard_ forges across the other’s head. The design of -Commodore Paul Jones is to lay the _Serapis_ aboard, lash ship to ship, -and sweep the Englishman’s decks with his boarders. These, armed to the -teeth, as ready for the rush as so many hunting dogs, Lieutenant Mayrant -is holding in the waist. - -The _Richard_ is half its length across the bows of the _Serapis_--still -helpless, sails a-droop! Suddenly, by a twist of the helm, Commodore -Paul Jones broaches the _Richard_ to on the opposite tack, and doubles -down on his prey. It is the beginning of the end. The jib-boom of -the _Serapis_ runs in over the poop-deck of the _Richard_; a turn is -instantly taken on it with a small hawser by Lieutenant Dale, who makes -all fast to the _Richard_‘s mizzen-mast. The ships swing closer and -closer together; at last the two rasp broadside against broadside, the -_Richard_ still holding its way. As they grind along, the outboard -fluke of the _Serapis_’ starboard anchor catches in the Richard’s -mizzen-chains. First one, then another gives way; the third holds, and -the ships lie together bow and stern. Commodore Paul Jones is over -the side like a cat; the next moment he lashes the _Serapis_ to the -_Richard_, and the death-hug is at hand. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI--HOW THE BATTLE RAGED - -Commodore Paul Jones drops overboard his cocked hat. Orderly Jack -Downes rushes into the cabin and gets another. Returning, he offers it -to Commodore Paul Jones, who waves it away with a laugh. - -“Chuck it through the skylight, Jack,” he says; “I’ll fight this out in -my scalp.” Then, glancing forward at the sailors, naked to the waist: -“If it were not for the looks of the thing, I’d off coat and shirt, and -fight in the buff like yonder gallant hearties.” - -There is a sudden smashing of the _Richard_‘s bulwarks, a splintering of -spars; a sleet of shot, grape and solid and bar, tears through the ship! -In the wake of that hail of iron comes the thunder of the guns--loud -and close aboard! Commodore Paul Jones looks about in angry wonder; that -broadside was not from the _Serapis_! - -“It’s the _Alliance!_” cries Lieutenant Dale, rushing aft. “Landais is -firing on us!” - -Not half a cable-length away lies the Alliance, head to the wind, -topsails back, half hidden in a curling smother of powder-smoke. There -comes but the one broadside. Even as Commodore Paul Jones looks, the -traitor’s head pays slowly off; a moment later the sails belly and fill, -and the Alliance is running seaward before the wind. Commodore Paul -Jones grits out a curse. - -“Landais! Was ever another such a villain out of hell!” - -The villain Landais makes off. There is no time for maledictions; -besides, a court-martial will come later for that miscreant. Just now -Captain Pearson, with his _Serapis_, claims the attention of Commodore -Paul Jones. - -The tackle takes the strain; the lashings, and that fortunate starboard -anchor of the _Serapis_, hold the ships together. Captain Pearson sees -the peril, and the way to free himself. - -“Cut away that sta’board anchor!” he cries. Then, as a seaman armed with -a hatchet springs forward, he continues: “The ring-stopper, man! Cut the -shank-painter and the ring-stopper; let the anchor go!” - -Commodore Paul Jones snatches a firelock from one of the agitated French -marines. Steadying himself against a backstay, he raises the weapon to -his shoulder and fires. The ball goes crashing through the seaman’s head -as he raises his hatchet to cut free the anchor. Another leaps forward -and grasps the hatchet. Seizing a second firelock, Commodore Paul Jones -stretches him across the anchor’s shank, where he lies clutching and -groaning and bleeding his life away. As the second man goes down, those -nearest fall back. That fatal starboard anchor is a death-trap; they -want none of it! Commodore Paul Jones, alert as a wildcat and as bent -for blood, keeps grim watch, firelock in fist, at the backstay. - -“I turned those hitches with my own hands,” says he; “and I’ll shoot -down any Englishman who meddles with them.” - -The French marines, despite the hardy example of Commodore Paul Jones, -are in a panic. Their Captain Cammillard is wounded, and has retired -below. Now their two lieutenants are gone. Besides, of the more than one -hundred to go into the fight, no more than twenty-five remain. These, -nerve-shattered and deeming all as lost, are fallen into disorder and -dismay. The centuries have taught them to fear these sullen English. The -lesson has come down to them in the blood of their fathers who fought at -Crécy, Poitiers, Blenheim, Ramillies, and Malplaquet that these bulldog -islanders are unconquerable! Panic grasps them at the moment of all -moments when Commodore Paul Jones requires them most. - -Seeing them thus shaken and beaten in their hearts, Commodore Paul -Jones--who knows Frenchmen in their impulses as he knows his own face in -a glass--adopts the theatrical. He rushes into their midst, thundering: - -“Courage, my friends! What a day for France is this! We have these dogs -of English at our mercy! Courage but a little while, my friends, and the -day is ours! Oh, what a day for France!” As adding éclat to that day for -France, Commodore Paul Jones snatches a third firelock from the nearest -marine, and shoots down a third Briton who, hatchet upraised, is rushing -upon that detaining anchor. Following this exploit, he wheels again upon -those wavering marines, and by way of raising their spirits pours forth -in French such a cataract of curses upon all Englishmen and English -things that it fairly exhausts the imagination of his hearers to keep -abreast of it. - -Pierre Gerard, the little Breton sailor who, with Jack Downes, acts as -orderly to Commodore Paul Jones, is swept off his feet in admiration of -his young commander’s fire and profane fluency. Little Pierre takes fire -in his turn. - -“See!” he cries, addressing Jack Downes, who being from New Hampshire -understands never a word of Pierre’s French, albeit he takes it in, -open-mouthed, like spring water; “See! He springs among them like a -tiger among calves! Ah, they respond to him! Yes, in an instant he -arouses their courage! They look upon him--him, who has bravery without -end! Name of God! To see him is to become a hero!” - -It is as the excitable little Pierre recounts. The French marines, -lately so cowed, look upon Commodore Paul Jones to become heroes. With -shouts and cries they crowd about him valorously. He directs their fire -against the English, who man the long-nines in the open waist of the -_Serapis_. The fire of the recovered Frenchmen drives those English from -their guns. Thereupon the French go wild with a fierce joy, and are all -for boarding the _Serapis_. Commodore Paul Jones has as much trouble -restraining them from rushing forward as he had but a moment before to -keep them from falling back. - -Captain Pearson has never taken his eyes from that fatal starboard -anchor, holding him fast to the _Richard_. There it lies, his own -anchor--the key-stone to the arch of his ruin! If it take every English -life aboard the _Serapis_, it must be cut away! He orders four men -forward in a body, to cut shank-painter and ring-stopper. - -There comes an instant volley from the recovered French marines, led by -Commodore Paul Jones, who fires with them. Before that withering volley -the four hatchet-men fall in a crumpled, bloody heap. The fatal anchor -still holds; the ships grind side by side. - -Captain Pearson orders forward more men, and still more men, to cut away -that anchor, which is as an anchor of death, tying him broadside and -broadside to destruction. Fourteen men die, one across the other, under -the fire of Commodore Paul Jones and his French marines--each of -the latter being now a volcano of fiery valor! The last to perish is -Lieutenant Popplewill; he dies honorably at the hands of Commodore Paul -Jones himself, who sends a musket ball through the high heart of the -young dreadnought just as he reaches those fatal fastenings. - -While this labor of death and bloody slaughter goes on above, the -smashing work of the _Serapis_’ eighteen-pounders has not ceased between -decks. As the two ships come together, the lower-tier gun crews of the -_Serapis_ are shifted from the port to the starboard batteries. They -attempt to run out the guns, and are withstood by the port-lids, which -refuse to be triced up, the _Richard_ grinding them so hard and close as -to hold them fast. - -“What!” cries Lieutenant Wright, who has command of the _Serapis_’ -eighteen-pounders; “the ports won’t open? Open them with your -round-shot, then, my hearties! Fire!” - -And so the broadside of the _Serapis_ is fired through its own planks -and timbers, to open a way to the _Richard_. - -“There!” cries Lieutenant Wright exultantly, “that should give your guns -a chance to breathe, my bucks! Now show us how fast you can send your -iron aboard the Yankee!” - -The English broadside men respond with such goodwill that they literally -cut the _Richard_ in two between decks with their tempest of solid -eighteen-pound shot. - -While this smashing battery work goes forward, hammer and anvil, the -_Serapis_’ twelve-pounders are tearing and rending the _Richard_‘s -upper decks, piling them in ruins. Every twelve-pounder belonging to -the _Richard_ is rendered dumb. Only three long-nines remain in service. -These are mounted on the quarter-deck, under the eye of Commodore Paul -Jones. - -“Suppose, Mr. Lindthwait, you train them on the enemy’s mainmast!” he -observes to the midshipman, under whose command he places the three -long-nines. “Try for his mainmast, young man! It will be good gunnery -practise for you; and should you cut the stick in two, so much the -better.” - -Midshipman Lindthwait serves his trio of long nines with so much relish -and vivacious accuracy that he soon has the mainmast of the _Serapis_ -cut half away. Leaving him to his task, Commodore Paul Jones again takes -his French marines in hand, uplifts their souls with a fresh torrent of -anti-English vituperation, and keeps them to the business of clearing -the enemy’s deck. - -One of the nine-pound shot of the industrious Lindthwait, flying low, -strikes the main hatch of the _Serapis_, and slews the hatch cover to -one side. It leaves a triangular opening, eighteen inches on its longish -side, at one corner of the hatch. Commodore Paul Jones has his hawklike -eye on it instantly. He points it out to midshipman Fanning and gunner -Henry Gardner. - -“There’s your chance, my lads!” he cries. “Sharp’s the word now! Lay -aloft on the main topsail yard, with a bucketful of hand-grenades, -and see if you can’t chuck one into her belly. A few hand-grenades, -exploding among their eighteen-pounders below decks, would go far -towards showing these English the error of their ways.” - -Off skurry Midshipman Fanning and Gunner Gardner, with three sailors -close behind. A moment later they are racing up the shrouds like -monkeys, two ratlins at a time. Buckets of hand-grenades go with them, -while Lieutenant Stack rigs a whip to the maintop to send them up a -fresh supply. - -The five lie out on the main topsail yard, like a quintette of -squirrels, midshipman Fanning, a bright lad from New London, getting the -place of honor at the earring. The three sailors pass the hand-grenades, -gunner Gardner fires the fuse with his slow match, while midshipman -Fanning, perched at the farthest end of the yard, hurls them at that -eighteen-inch triangle, where the hatch cover of the _Serapis_ has been -shifted. - -Sixty feet below the hand-grenade quintette, Commodore Paul Jones is -again dealing out profane encouragement to his marines, for their ardor -sensibly slackens the moment he takes his eye off them. They do good -work, however--these Frenchmen! Under their fire the upper deck of the -_Serapis_ becomes a slaughter-pen. One after another, seven men are shot -down at the Englishman’s wheel. This does not affect the _Serapis_; -since, locked together in the death grapple, both ships are adrift, and -have paid no attention to their helms for twenty minutes. Still, it does -the Frenchmen good to shoot down those wheelmen. Also, it mortifies -the pride of the English; for to be unable to stay at one’s own wheel is -in its way a disgrace. - -While Commodore Paul Jones is uplifting his Frenchmen, and improving -their small-arm practice, orderly Jack Downes, who has been forward to -Lieutenant Dale with an order, comes rushing aft. - -“Lieutenant Dale, sir, reports six feet of water in our hold; and coming -in fast, sir!” - -Orderly Jack Downes touches his forelock, face as stolid aw a statue’s, -and not at all as though he has just reported the ship to be sinking. -Commodore Paul Jones smiles approval on stolid Jack Downes; he likes -coolness and self-command. Before he can speak, Lieutenant Mayrant comes -aft to say that the _Richard_ is on fire. - -“Catches from the enemy’s wadding,” says Lieutenant Mayrant. “For you -must understand, sir, that when the enemy’s eighteen-pounders are run -out, their muzzles pierce through the shot-holes in our sides--we lay -that close! As it is, they’ve set us all ablaze.” - -“But you’ve got the flames in hand?” Commodore Paul Jones puts the -question confidently. He is sure that Lieutenant Mayrant wouldn’t be by -his side at that moment unless the fire is under command. - -“Lieutenant Stack, with ten men to pass the buckets, sir, are attending -to it. It’s quite easy, the water in our hold being so deep. They have -but to dip it up and throw it on the fire.” - -“Good!” exclaimed Commodore Paul Jones. “Now that’s what I call making -one hand wash the other. We put out the flames that are eating us up -with the water that is sinking us.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII--THE SURRENDER OF THE “SERAPIS” - -Master-at-arms John Burbank looks over the _Richard_‘s side, and makes -a discovery. The ship has settled three feet below its trim. Thereupon -he loses his head, which was never a strong head, but somewhat thick, -and addled: - -“The ship is sinking!” he shouts; then, being a humanitarian, he tears -off the orlop-hatch, and calls to the two hundred prisoners shut up -below to save themselves. - -At the invitation of Humanitarian Burbank, the prisoners rush up. Fifty -of them have gained the deck when Commodore Paul Jones perceives them. -Pulling a pistol from his belt, he charges forward. - -“Who released these prisoners?” he demands. - -“The ship is sinking, sir,” replies Humanitarian Burbank. “I released -them to give them a chance for their lives.” - -Eye ablaze, Commodore Paul Jones snaps his pistol in the face of -Humanitarian Burbank. Fortunately for that philanthropist, the priming -has been shaken out; while the flint throws off a shower of sparks, the -pistol does not explode. Upon its failure to fire. Commodore Paul Jones -clubs the heavy weapon, and fells Humanitarian Burbank to the deck. The -latter comes to presently, to find himself disrated on the ship’s books, -and his addled pate more addled than before. As Humanitarian Burbank -falls to the deck, Commodore Paul Jones makes a dash for the prisoners, -who, two abreast, are pushing up from the deck below. - -“Under hatches with them!” he cries. - -This rouses Midshipman Potter, who brings up a half dozen cutlass -men, and those of the prisoners not yet on deck are held below. The -orlop-hatch is again fitted to its place, and Commodore Paul Jones -breathes freer. Two hundred prisoners loose about his decks is not what -he most desires. - -“Set them to the pumps, Dick,” he says, addressing Lieutenant Dale. -“Give them plenty of work.” Then, to the fifty prisoners who gained -the deck: “Now, my men, to the pumps, all of you! I’ll have no idlers -about!” - -The prisoners go to the pumps readily enough--all save a stubborn -merchant captain, whose ship was captured by the _Richard_ off the port -of Leith. - -“Don’t ye go a-nigh the pumps, mates!” sings out the stubborn one. “Let -the damned Yankee pirate sink!” - -“Obey the Commodore, sare!” pipes up little Pierre Gerard, presenting -a pistol at the head of the mutineer. “Obey the Commodore, or I shoot, -sare!” - -The stubborn Scotch captain does not understand little Pierre’s broken -English, but the pistol is easily construed. For reply, he makes a quick -grab at the weapon. Little Pierre, not to be caught napping, shoots -him promptly through the head. As the stubborn one drops lifeless, -the little Breton wheels on Commodore Paul Jones, lays his hand on his -heart, and makes an apologetic bow. - -“I shoot heem, sare, to relieve you of a disagreeable duty,” says little -Pierre. - -The other prisoners are not unimpressed by the fate of the stubborn one, -and set to work briskly, if not cheerfully, at the clanking pumps. - -As Commodore Paul Jones reaches the quarterdeck, following the incident -wherein Humanitarian Burbank performs, and the stubborn Scotch captain -dies, the ensign-gaff of the _Richard_ is shot away, and the virgin -petticoat flag of the pretty New Hampshire girls trails overboard. This -gives rise to a misunderstanding. Gunner Arthur Randall, missing the -ensign, and his hopes being somewhat low at the time, calls out to the -Englishman: - -“Cease firing! We’ve surrendered!” - -Captain Pearson, on the quarter-deck of the _Serapis_, hears the cry. -There could have come no more welcome news! Captain Pearson would have -heard gunner Randall if the latter had spoken in a whisper! Face aglow -with joy, Captain Pearson hails the _Richard_: - -“Do you surrender?” he demands. - -Commodore Paul Jones leaps to the rail of the _Richard_, and sustains -himself by one of the afterbraces. - -“Surrender?” he repeats, his brow dark with rage. “Surrender? I would -have you to know, sir, that we’ve just begun to fight!” - -Back to the deck springs Commodore Paul Jones, while the face of Captain -Pearson is stricken old and white. For the earliest time he realizes -the desperate heart of that unconquerable one who has him in a -death-grapple, and a premonition of his own defeat pierces his heart -like a dagger of ice. As Commodore Paul Jones regains the deck, he -observes Boatswain Jack Robinson who has waddled aft. The cloud of anger -fades from his brow, and he breaks into a loud laugh that is tenfold -worse than the cloud. - -“Eh, Jack, old trump! What say you to quitting?” he cries. - -“Why! as to surrenderin’, Commodore,” says Boatswain Jack Robinson, -refreshing himself with a huge chew of tobacco, “I’m for sinkin’ -alongside an’ seein’ ‘em damned first! Sink alongside, says I; an’ if -the grapplin’ tackle holds, we’ll take ‘em with us to Davy Jones, d’ye -see! An’ that’ll be a comfort!” - -“There’s the heart of oak!” returns Commodore Paul Jones, in vast -approval of Boatswain Jack Robinson’s turgid views; “and when we’re -next ashore in New London, old shipmate, I’ll tell Polly all about it. -Meanwhile, our ensign’s trailing astern. Set it aboard by the halyards, -fish and splice the gaff, and put it back in its place. Give the -Englishmen a sight of that red, white and blue flag, Jack; it takes the -fight out of ‘em.” - -“Ay, ay, sir!” responds Boatswain Jack Robinson, as he begins the task -of recovering and replacing the ensign. “That flag does seem to let the -whey out of a Britisher.” - -This is gratuitous slander on the parts of both Commodore Paul Jones and -Boatswain Jack Robinson; for those villified ones have been fighting -for hours, and are still at it with the quenchless valor of so many -mastiffs. - -There is that at hand, however, that will daunt their iron courage and -feed even their stout hearts to dismay. High up at the weather earring -of the _Richard_‘s main topsail yard, Midshipman Fanning has been -faithfully practicing with hand-grenades at that inviting triangular -hole, where the hatch-cover of the _Serapis_ was shot-slewed to one -side. It is not an easy mark, that black, three-cornered hole, and thus -far Midshipman Fanning has missed. It is now that success crowns his -work; a smoking, spitting hand-grenade goes cleanly through, and fetches -up on the _Serapis_‘s lower gun deck. The explosion instantly occurs; it -is as though the fuse were carefully timed for it. - -If this were all it would be bad enough, but worse comes with it. -There are scores of cartridges cumbering the deck to the rear of the -batteries; for the powder monkeys of the _Serapis_, earning their pay -and allowances, have been bringing powder from the magazines much faster -than the gunners can burn it in their eighteen-pounders. The exploding -hand-grenade sets off this powder. There is a blinding sheet of flame; a -report like smothered thunder; the deck of the _Serapis_ is all but torn -from its timbers! Fifty of the crew are killed or crippled, while -the slewed hatch-cover is blown overboard. No trouble now to hit that -yawning black hatchway. With such a target there can be no talk of -missing, and Midshipman Fanning and gunner Gardner, from their high -perch on the main topsail yard, fill the stomach of the _Serapis_ with -a bursting, death-dealing shower. And so the end comes tapping at the -door. - -Lieutenant Mayrant, with his boarding party, stands waiting the signal. -Commodore Paul Jones notes the devastation wrought by Midshipman -Fanning’s hand-grenades. - -“Boarders away!” he cries. - -Lieutenant Mayrant and his men go swarming over the hammock nettings -of the _Serapis_, the red Indian port-fire, Anthony Jeremiah, among the -foremost. - -As Lieutenant Mayrant reaches the deck of the _Serapis_, an English -sailor thrusts him through the thigh with a pike. Lieutenant Mayrant -shoots the pikeman though the heart. The latter falls dead, pike -rattling along the deck. - -“Remember Portsea jail, lads!” shouts Lieutenant Mayrant, as he strides -limpingly across the body of the dead pikeman. “Remember Port-sea jail!” - -Nine in ten of the boarding party are of those ones exchanged at Nantes. -With savage cries, they shout back, “Remember Portsea jail!” and the -work of their vengeance is begun. - -Commodore Paul Jones has his eyes on Lieutenant Mayrant and his -boarders. His attention is claimed by orderly Jack Downes, who plucks -him by the elbow. - -“Beg pardon, sir!” says orderly Jack Downes. “Captain Landais with the -_Alliance_.” - -Sure enough, the _Alliance_ for a second time has crept down upon them, -unnoticed in the heat and absorbing fury of the fray. The consort ship -is wearing across the _Richard_‘s bows. What will Landais do? Does he -come as friend or foe? The Frenchman has his answer ready, and pours -a broadside into the _Richard_ as he crosses. Then he sheers off, and -again heads for the open ocean. That coward broadside kills and wounds -Master’s Mate Caswell and seven men. Commodore Paul Jones is rigid with -rage and wonder. - -“The man is mad!” says Lieutenant Dale. - -“I cannot understand!” returns Commodore Paul Jones. “There is still his -crew! Why don’t they clap him in irons, or cut him down?” - -There is a shout from the deck of the _Serapis_. Captain Pearson, his -last hope gone, has struck his colors with his own hand. The shout is -from the wounded Lieutenant Mayrant, who hails Lieutenant Dale. - -“Stop the firing, sir,” cries Lieutenant May-rant, for the Richard’s -top-men are still blazing away merrily. “He has struck his flag. Come on -board, and take possession!” - -Lieutenant Dale leaps to the deck of the beaten _Serapis_. He sends -Captain Pearson aboard the _Richard_. Downcast, eye full of dejection, -Captain Pearson approaches Commodore Paul Jones. “With bowed head, -saying never a word, he tenders the conqueror his sheathed sword. -Commodore Paul Jones takes it and gives it to Midshipman Potter, who is -at his elbow. - -“I accept your sword, Captain,” says Commodore Paul Jones. “And I bear -testimony that you have worn it to the glory of the English navy.” - -Captain Pearson makes no response. Bowed of head, mute of lip, he stands -before Commodore Paul Jones, despair eating his heart. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII--DIPLOMACY AND THE DUTCH - -Commodore Paul Jones goes aboard the beaten _Serapis_. “Cut free that -sta’board anchor!” he cries. The piled dead and wounded are lifted -aside, and that fatal anchor, which for two hours of blood has been as -the backbone of battle, goes splashing into the ocean. The ships rock -apart; as they separate, Commodore Paul Jones takes a sharp survey of -the _Richard_. The survey brings little hope; his good ship that has -fought so well for him lies in the water four smothering feet below its -trim. - -“There are eight feet of water in the hold,” replies Lieutenant Dale, -whom he hails. “The pumps choke; there’s no chance to save the ship.” - -Then arises a sudden rending and tearing aboard the _Serapis_; there is -a great swish! and a snapping of cordage. It is the mainmast crashing to -port, a tangle of ropes and spars. - -“Beg pardon, sir,” says a voice at the elbow of Commodore Paul Jones. -“I’d have had it down an hour ago, but there was neither wind nor swell -to help me. I had to cut it in two shot by shot to drop it, sir.” - -Commodore Paul Jones breaks into a smile. “Ah, yes; I remember, Mr. -Lindthwait! I set you at that mainmast with the three long nines. I wish -now that I’d given you another target. However, you did extremely well. -It should teach you, too, my lad, that a nine is as good as an eighteen, -if you’ll only go close enough. That’s it; there’s the whole secret of -success in war. Be sure and go close enough, and you will conquer.” - -Midshipman Lindthwait salutes respectfully, and lays away that golden -rule of the battle art in his memory. - -The removal of the _Richard_‘s wounded is begun. The calm, windless sea -assists; at last no one is left aboard the shot-pierced _Richard_ but -the dead. - -Sixty lionhearts, who gave their lives for victory, are laid side by -side on the deck. The petticoat flag flies proudly from the ensign -gaff. Commodore Paul Jones, from the deck of the _Serapis_, watches the -_Richard_ to the last. The tears dim his sight, and he is driven more -than once to dash them away; for a sailor loves his ship as though it -were a woman. - -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.” - -The Dutch display a wish to argue the case with Sir Joseph, while -Commodore Paul Jones double-shots his guns and runs them out; for -much in the way of repairs has been effected aboard the _Serapis_, and -although it can’t sail it can fight. - -Sir Joseph, at the grinning insolence of the _Serapis_’ -broadsides--ports triced up and muzzles showing--almost falls in an -apoplectic fit. Purple as to face, he sends a second time to the Dutch, -to learn whether or no he is to have the _Serapis_ and the rebel and -pirate Paul Jones. - -For five days the Dutch drink beer, smoke pipes, and think the matter -over. Then they tell Sir Joseph that, while they don’t know what to call -Commodore Paul Jones, they have decided not to call him a pirate. Rebel, -he may be; but in that role of rebel King George and Sir Joseph must -catch him for themselves. The most the Dutch will do is order the -_Serapis_ to leave the Texel. At this the empurpled Sir Joseph becomes -more empurpled than ever. It is the best he can get, however; and -since, during the night, a fleet of British men of war, hearing of the -whereabouts of Commodore Paul Jones, have invested the mouth of the -Helder and are waiting for him to come out, he begins to be a trifle -comforted. If the Dutch will but drive the “rebel” from the port, -it should do nicely; the English fleet outside will snap him up at a -mouthful. - -Commodore Paul Jones refuses to be driven out. He sits stubbornly by his -anchors, decks cleared, guns shotted, boarding nettings up--an insult -to the purple Sir Joseph and a frowning defiance to the Dutch! The Dutch -and Sir Joseph look at him, and then at each other. They agree that -he is either the most exasperating of rebels, or the most insolent of -pirates, or the most impertinent of guests, according to their various -standpoints. - -Meanwhile, the French Ambassador is bestirring himself. He makes a -stealthy visit to Commodore Paul Jones. The French king has sent him, -post-haste, a commission as Captain in the French marine. The French -Ambassador tenders the commission. Upon accepting it, Commodore Paul -Jones can run up the French flag. The Dutch will respect the tri-color, -and there will come no more orders for the _Serapis_ to quit the Texel. - -Commodore Paul Jones declines the French commission. Neither will he -run up the French flag. “I am an officer of the American Navy,” says he, -“and the French tri-color no more belongs at my masthead than at General -Washington’s headquarters. I shall stand or fall by the Stars and -Stripes. Also, here at the Texel I stay, until I’m ready to leave; that -I say in the teeth of Dutchman and Englishman alike.” - -When this hardy note goes ashore, the Dutch look solemn, Sir Joseph -retires with the gout, while the English outside the mouth of the -Hel-der, stand oft and on, gnashing their iron teeth. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX--NOW FOR THE TRAITOR LANDAIS - -While the Dutch and Sir Joseph are debating as to whether Commodore -Paul Jones is a rebel, a pirate or a disagreeable guest, that gentleman -discovers Landais, with the Alliance, tucked away in a corner of the -Texel. Headwinds, and an overplus of English on the high seas, have -forced the miscreant into the Helder, and he finds himself as much -cooped up as does Commodore Paul Jones. Indeed the miserable Landais is -in a far more serious predicament; for, aside from the English -outside, waiting at the Helder’s mouth like terriers at a rat-hole, the -formidable Paul Jones is inside with him, and Landais fears the latter -as no Frenchman ever feared the English. - -The alarms of Landais are well grounded; Commodore Paul Jones opens -negotiations at once. He sends word to Landais to give command of the -_Alliance_ to Lieutenant Degge, and at once leave the ship. The word is -supplemented by the assurance that at the end of twenty-four hours he, -Commodore Paul Jones, shall come aboard the Alliance. Should he then -find Landais, he will be put in irons. - -“Why not arrest the scoundrel at once?” pleads Lieutenant Dale. - -“He is a Frenchman, Dick,” returns Commodore Paul Jones, “and I fear to -worry Doctor Franklin.” Then, assuming a look of cunning, vast and deep: -“Wait until my diplomacy unfolds itself. You will find that I have the -wisdom of the serpent.” - -Lieutenant Dale grunts disgustedly. He cares nothing for the wisdom of -the serpent, less for any spun-glass diplomacy. What he wants is the -Landais blood directly; and says as much. - -“Remember,” he goes on, “this murderer Landais killed Caswell with that -last felon broadside!” - -“I shall forget nothing,” returns Commodore Paul Jones. - -At the end of twenty-four hours, Commodore Paul Jones boards the -_Alliance_. He finds Lieutenant Degge in command; the craven Landais has -slipped ashore with all his belongings. Commodore Paul Jones is the -last man he cares to face. The latter tells Lieutenant Degge to clap the -irons on Landais, should he return, and signal the _Serapis_. - -“You must understand, sir,” responds Lieutenant Degge, “that my crew -is honeycombed with mutiny. Captain Landais brought about a conspiracy; -two-thirds of the ship’s company are in it.” - -“Make me out a list of the leaders, and muster them aft.” - -Lieutenant Degge gives Commodore Paul Jones the names of twenty. These -are called aft--lowering and sullen. Commodore Paul Jones orders them -transferred to the _Serapis_. - -“I’ll send you an even number to take their places,” he says to -Lieutenant Degge. “Meanwhile, my old sea-wolves will lick them into -patriotic shape. Should they fail, you may find some half dozen of the -ringleaders at least, dangling from my yardarms.” - -The caitiff Landais, driven from his ship, fumes and blusters. He tries -to see the French Ambassador, and is refused. Then he sends a challenge -to Commodore Paul Jones. - -Lieutenant Dale finds the latter mariner in his cabin, blandly -triumphant. - -“There,” he cries, tossing the Landais challenge over to Lieutenant -Dale--“there, Dick, read that! You will then see what I meant by -telling you to wait until my diplomacy had had time to unfold.” - -“But you don’t mean to fight the creature?” and Lieutenant Dale glances -up from his reading, horrified. - -“Fight him; and kill him, sir! Why not? Do you suppose for a moment that -poor Caswell is to go unavenged?” - -“But think what you do! You can’t fight this fellow! The man is to be -court-martialed.” - -“Ah, yes, Dick! But observe; I’ve as yet refrained from making formal -charges against him. So far as the books go, he rates as well as you or -I.” - -Commodore Paul Jones gets this off with inexpressible slyness, as one -who discloses the very heart of his cunning. - -“But my dear Commodore,” returns Lieutenant Dale, desperately, “the -thing is impossible! This Landais is not a gentleman! He is the -commonest of blacklegs.” - -“Dick! Dick!” remonstrates Commodore Paul Jones; “you do him an -injustice! Technically at least you wrong him. You should summon up more -fairness. Now, here is how I look at it:” Commodore Paul Jones grows -highly judgmatical. “I follow the law, which says that a man is supposed -to be innocent until he’s shown to be guilty. Influenced by this, which -to my mind breathes the very spirit of justice, I make it an unbreakable -rule, in matters of the duello, to regard every man as a gentleman -unless the contrary has been explicitly demonstrated. No, Dick”--this -solemnly--“Landais, whatever you or I may privately think, has still his -rights. I shall fight him, Dick.” - -Commodore Paul Jones sends Lieutenant May-rant ashore, as his -representative, to accept the Landais challenge. - -“I should have sent you, Dick,” he explains to Lieutenant Dale, who -inclines to the cloudy because he had been slighted; “but, to tell the -truth, I couldn’t trust you. Yes; you’d have cut in between us, and -fought him in my stead. And the fact is, if you must have it, I’ve set -my heart on killing the rogue myself.” - -Lieutenant Mayrant finds Landais, vaporing and blustering. - -“Pistols; ten paces,” says Lieutenant May-rant. “Time and place you may -settle for yourself.” - -“Pistols!” exclaims Landais, his face a muddy gray. Pistols and Paul -Jones mean death. With a gesture, as though dismissing an unpleasant -thought, he cries: “I shall not fight with pistols! They are not -recognized in Prance as the weapons of a gentleman!” - -“They are in America,” retorts Lieutenant Mayrant. “Neither shall you -palter or split hairs! Pistols it shall be; or I tell you frankly that -the officers of the _Serapis_, ay! the very foc’sel hands, will beat -you and drub you for a cowardly swab, wherever they come across you.” - -Landais does not respond directly to this. He walks up and down, -stomaching the hard words in silence. For he perceives, as through an -open window, that the hidden purpose of Lieutenant Mayrant is to pick -a quarrel with him. At last Landais makes it clear that under no -compulsion will he fight with pistols. Neither will he give the hopeful -Mayrant an opening to edge in a challenge for himself. After a fruitless -hour the latter, sad and depressed, returns aboard the _Serapis_. - -“Nothing could have been handled more delicately,” he reports to -Commodore Paul Jones; “but, do my best, sir, I couldn’t coax the rascal -to the field.” - -The next day Lieutenant Dale, making a flimsy excuse about wishing to -see the French secretary, goes ashore. He is using a crutch; for, like -Lieutenant Mayrant, he was wounded in the battle. He finds the crutch -inexpressibly convenient. Having hunted down Landais, whom he finds in a -change house, he uses it to belabor that personage, giving him the while -such descriptives as “dog!” “spy!” “liar!” “coward!” The heavy Dutchmen, -quaffing their beer, interfere to save Landais from the warlike -Lieutenant Dale. That night Landais starts post for Paris, to the mighty -disappointment of Commodore Paul Jones. - -“You told me you wanted to see the French secretary. It wasn’t fair -of you, Dick!” is all Commodore Paul Jones says, when he learns of the -doings of Lieutenant Dale and his crutch in the change house. - -“Well!” grumbles Lieutenant Dale defensively, “so I did want to see the -French secretary; although I’ve now forgotten what it was all about. The -sight of that dastard drove it from my head.” - -The French Ambassador again boards the _Serapis_. He bears orders from -De Sartine, the French Minister of Marine, and a letter from Doctor -Franklin, full of suggestions which have the force of orders. The -_Pallas_ is a French ship, and the _Scarboro_ captured by it, is a -French prize. The _Serapis_, prize to the _Richard_, also a French ship, -is by the same token a French prize. The French flag must be hoisted -on these ships, and the trio made over to the French Ambassador. The -_Alliance_, an American built ship, the King of France doesn’t claim. -He recommends, however, that it run up French colors, as a diplomatic -method of quieting Dutch excitement, which is slowly but surely rising. -Doctor Franklin’s letter sustains the French claim to the _Pallas_, the -_Scarboro_ and the _Serapis_. He leaves Commodore Paul Jones to settle -flags for the _Alliance_ as he may deem best. The Ambassador makes, in -this connection, a second tender of a Captain’s commission in the French -Navy. - -“No,” responds Commodore Paul Jones bitterly, “I shall not accept it. -King Louis shall have the _Serapis_, the _Pallas_ and the _Scarboro_ -since Doctor Franklin so orders. The _Alliance_ and I, however, shall -remain American.” - -Commodore Paul Jones gives the French Ambassador possession of the -_Serapis_. Also, he waxes sarcastic, and intimates that it is the only -way by which the French could have gotten the _Serapis_ into their -hands. This piece of wit does him no good, when later he asks it -back from De Sartine. Sullen and dogged, he prepares to go aboard the -Alliance, and orders the crew of the _Serapis_ to follow. - -Again the French Ambassador interferes. What French subjects are on -the musters of the Alliance and _Serapis_ must be left in his charge. -Commodore Paul Jones is to have none but Americans. - -At this some sixty Danes speak up. They may not be Americans, but at -least they are not French. Making this announcement, the gallant Scands -refuse the orders of the French Ambassador, and pack their kits for the -_Alliance_. These Danes are of the true viking litter, with yellow hair -and steel-gray eyes. Their action comes like balm to the sore heart of -Commodore Paul Jones. Later when he musters his reorganized crew aboard -the _Alliance_, and makes them a brief talk, he speaks of the desertion -of the French. He is interrupted by a youth--small and light and -delicate. The youth steps out from among the sailors, and with him come -four others. The youth bows half-way to the deck. - -“No,” he says--“no, Monsieur le Commodore, not all the French have -desert. I, Pierre Gerard, am still with you--I, and my four bold -comrades, who are brave men.” - -“They wants to stay, sir,” vouchsafes Boatswain Jack Robinson, coming -forward to the aid of little Pierre and his companions. “An’ so, d’ye -see, since I always likes to encourage zeal, I stows ‘em away in the -long boat till that frog-eatin’ Ambassador is over the side. An’ so, -here they be, game as pebbles, an’ a credit to the sta’board watch.” - -All his prisoners and wounded have been put ashore, under arrangements -with the Dutch and the gouty Sir Joseph. Aboard the _Alliance_, -Commodore Paul Jones finds himself at the head of four hundred and -twelve war-hardened wolves of the sea, American blood to a man, all save -the sixty vikings, and little Pierre with his four. - - - - -CHAPTER XX--AIMEE ADELE DE TELISON - -It is Christmas day. Out of the furious southwest blows a storm. The -English ships, guarding the mouth of the Helder, are driven from their -stations, and carried far out to sea. Tired of the Texel, with its -French and English and Dutch, Commodore Paul Jones, taking advantage -of the English scudding seaward before the gale, runs out with the -_Alliance_, and lays her nose for the English coast, in the very face of -the weather. - -Being Christmas day, when Commodore Paul Jones puts the Dutch coast -astern, there is plum duff and double grog aboard the _Alliance_. These, -and the blue water beneath their fore-foot, mightily cheer the hearts -of the crew. The exuberance takes shape in a way grateful to the soul -of Commodore Paul Jones. A missive, borne by the tarry hand of Boatswain -Jack Robinson, finds him during the larboard watch. As Boatswain -Robinson rolls aft, the whole crew follow him, a respectable distance in -the rear. - -“It’s a deppytation,” explains Boatswain Robinson, pulling his -forelock--“a deppytation of the entire ship’s company down to cooks an’ -cabin-boys, an’ be dammed to ‘em! They sets forth their views in a round -robin, which I hereby tenders.” - -Boatswain Robinson holds out a square of dingy bown paper. It is signed -by every member of the crew, beginning with the redoubtable Robinson. -Commodore Paul Jones reads the round robin, which is written in black -sprawling characters, while Lieutenant Dale who comes up holds a ship’s -lantern. Thus runs the document, the compilation whereof has exhausted -the forecastle. - -“We respectfully request you, sir, to lay us alongside any single-decked -English ship to be found in these seas, or any double-decked ship under -a fifty.” - -“My lads,” says Commodore Paul Jones, when he finished reading the round -robin, “this is what I like. Our ship is a thirty-six, our biggest gun a -twelve-pounder. You say ‘lay her alongside a fifty gun ship, with her -lower tier of eighteen-pounders. I promise that I’ll do my best. I’ll -cruise between St. George’s Channel and the Bay of Biscay two full -weeks, looking for what you ask. Still, I must tell you that, while I’ve -plenty of hope, I’ve little expectation. This is winter weather, lads, -and the chances of our finding a fight are slim. If we find one, -however, I shall, by way of compliment, take you over the Englishman’s -hammock nettings myself; for I hold you, man and boy, to be as stout a -crew as ever primed pistol or laid cutlass to grindstone, and one that -it’s an honor to lead. Mr. Bo’sen, pipe the men for’ard. Mr. Dale will -give orders for another ration of grog all’round. And so, shipmates, I -give you a Merry Christmas!” - -The _Alliance_ goes looking for a British fifty. But nothing comes of -it. Between wind and snow and biting weather, the ships have deserted -the open ocean, like wild fowl, for the friendly sheltering warmth of -the ports. When the two weeks are up, four weeks more are added to -the cruise by common consent. Stores, however, are running low, and -following six weeks futile looking about, Commodore Paul Jones stands in -for the Isle au Grroaix, and anchors in the harbor of l’Orient. - -It is February fourteenth, the day of sweet St. Valentine. Also, it is -among the coy and blushing possibilities, that sweet Saint Valentine has -been lying in wait for him; for our sailor, home from sea, finds in the -hands of his agent a pretty note, which in its sequence is to carry him -into the midst of much tenderness and flowery happiness. - -The note is from his good friend, the Marchioness de Marsan. The -Marchioness asks Commodore Paul Jones, when he is next in l’Orient and -can spare himself from his ship, to visit her at her palace. Weary with -the sea, sore from the loss of the _Serapis_, the summons falls in with -his tired humor. He leaves the _Alliance_ in charge of Lieutenant Dale, -and goes with what haste he may to his friend the Marchioness. That good -noblewoman kisses him on both cheeks. - -“It is for your victory!” she says. “France is a-quiver with it!” - -As Commodore Paul Jones is about to reply, a girl of twenty enters the -room. - -“Aimee de Telison, Commodore,” says the Marchioness, presenting him. -Then aside: “She is my ward--my godchild! Is she not beautiful?” - -“Beautiful! Skin pink and white! Teeth like pearls or rice! Damask lips, -eyes deep and lustrous and large! Hair a flood of red gold! In form a -little rounded goddess! Beautiful!” - -Thus run the thoughts of the sailor, as the sweetness and witchery of -the vision carries his senses along. - -“Aimee de Telison!” he repeats in a whisper. “Who is she?” - -The Marchioness hesitates; then she returns in the same guarded tones: - -“Who is she? She is the daughter of a King.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXI--ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA - -Presently the beautiful Aimee quits the room, and the good Marchioness -de Marsan tells her story. - -“There is surely no reason why you shouldn’t know, my dear Commodore,” - she says; “since all France knows. Aimee’s mother is of the de -Tiercelins--a noble house, but impoverished. As a girl the mother was -ravishingly lovely. This was in the days of Monsieur le Bel and -the Parc-aux-Cerfs. The old king saw Mademoiselle de Tiercelin; the -Pompadour did not object. Aimee was born; and presently her mother, -whom the king called his ‘de Bonneval,’ was put away with a pension. -The Bonneval’s father talked loudly, and was sent to the Bastile as a -‘Russian spy.’ One may say what one will in the Bastile; the walls are -thick and have no ears. The Pompadour looked after poor de Bonneval and -the little Aimee. She married the mother to a gentleman named Telison. -The Pompadour died; the king died; Aimee was sixteen. Her stepfather de -Telison, and her mother de Bonneval neglected her. They said ‘She is -a Bourbon. Let the Bourbons provide.’ So I, who am her godmother, took -Aimee. That was four years ago; and now it is as though she were my own -child in very fact--I love her so.” - -“But the present king?” - -“Thus far he has done nothing for Aimee. She goes to court; her position -is recognized; the king is kind. But you know the cold Savoy blood?--it -is stingy! However, that is now of little moment so far as Aimee is -concerned, for I am rich.” - -Commodore Paul Jones is established at the palace of the good Marsan. -Sailors are swift to love; the image of Aimee fits into his heart as -into a niche that was made for it. - -The second day he calls on the Duchess de Chartres--the beautiful -girl-Duchess. He wears a guilty feeling at the base of his conscience. -Fortunately his cheek is tanned by wind and weather, and the guilty -feeling does not show. - -The girl-Duchess is with her husband, the Duke de Chartres, who has quit -the sea for the shore, his man-of-war for his palace. The girl-Duchess -receives Commodore Paul Jones in something of a formal manner, which -is a relief to him. His manner is also formal, which is not a relief to -her. The Duke, who makes a specialty of democracy, greets him with bluff -cordiality as a brother sailor. He congratulates him on beating the -“English dogs,” whom he hates professionally. Commodore Paul Jones is -modest in his replies. For he is not thinking of the _Serapis_, but -on Aimee; and, with the eyes of the girl-Duchess upon him, that guilty -feeling overlays all else. - -The girl-Duchess watches him through halfshut lids. She almost guesses -the truth; for she knows of the good Marsan, and Aimee. Besides, she is -a woman, and clairvoyant in matters of the heart. - -After an hour with the Duke and the girl-Duchess, Commodore Paul Jones -goes back to the good Marchioness de Marsan and to Aimee. As an excuse -for his own idleness, he travels down to l’Orient and, albeit the -_Alliance_ is as fit as a fiddle, sets Lieutenant Dale, “Dick the -practical,” to overhauling the ship from truck to keel. Then he returns -to the good Marsan and Aimee. - -Now he spends sunny hours in the beautiful Aimee’s company, and his -love creeps and grows upon him like ivy on a wall. The conqueror is -conquered; the invincible is overthrown. As for Aimee, her blue eyes -become a deeper blue, her pink cheeks take on a warmer pink when he is -near. And the good Marsan sees it all, and does not interfere. For she -is versed in the world and its ways; and this is France; and after life -comes death. - -When the ardent sailor would be too ardent, Aimee represses him; the -barrier of her modesty is as a barrier of ice between them. Thereupon he -loves her the more, and refreshes his soul with Shakespeare: - - “Chaste as the icicle - - That’s curdled by the frost of purest snow, - - And hangs on Dian’s temple.” - -Commodore Paul Jones goes down to l’Orient again. Not so much to see -after the _Alliance_, as to pique his love and give it edge. For absence -makes the flame burn brighter, and Aimee bursts upon him with a new -charm when he has been away. - -For all his lovelorn case, however, he makes arrangements for his two -pets, Lieutenants May-rant and Fanning, to go privateering for the -French, and gives them nearly one hundred and fifty of his fiercest -sea-wolves to bear them company. - -“Why keep them rusting ashore,” says he, “like good blades in their -sheaths! No; let the lads sail forth with letters of marque, and make -their fortunes.” - -The _Serapis_ is held by the French as a king’s prize, and de Sartine -pays Commodore Paul Jones twelve thousand dollars as his share. There -are other thousands from other prizes, and, after a French sort, he -finds himself rich. - -When, following his visit to l’Orient, he returns to the good Marsan, -that estimable lady is discovered in a state of much excitement. The -Duchess de Chartres has “commanded” the presence of Commodore Paul Jones -at her palace. - -The prospect does not overcome him. He receives it with steadiness, -although privily a-quake because of that feeling of guilt. The good -Marsan’s excitement is supplanted by wonder to see him take his honors -so coolly. - -“Ah, these Americans!” she thinks. Then, out loud: “She is a Bourbon, -my Commodore! No one below the blood royal has ever received such a -summons.” - -In spite of the uplifted palms of the good Marsan, her “Commodore” - refuses to be impressed. He will go; since no one should decline the -“command” of royalty. But he will go calmly--hiding of course his sense -of guilt, and spreading the skirts of his conscience very wide to hide -it. - -Aimee hears that he is to go, and cannot avoid a little flutter of -alarm. She knows her beautiful kinswoman, the girl-Duchess--knows the -spell and the power of her. It gives the tender Aimee a dull ache of the -heart. A lone feeling of helplessness overwhelms her, as fears rise up -for her poor love that, in so short a space, has become the one -sweet thing in life. True, she herself is a Bourbon! But with the bar -sinister. How then shall she, obscure and poor and by the left hand, -hope to sustain herself in the heart of her lover against the wiles -and siren wooings of one who is at once the most legitimate, the most -beautiful, and the most wealthy woman in France! The tears gather in the -soft eyes. - -The good Marsan goes from the room; for she has a deal of sympathy and -good sense. Commodore Paul Jones, when now the two are alone, draws -Aimee to him, and dries those tears in ways that lovers know. For the -first time he folds her in his arms and kisses her lips. - -“Perhaps it is also the last time,” she thinks sadly. - -And the gallant lover, as though he reads her thoughts, kisses her -again, and vows by sword and ship to love her always. - -Commodore Paul Jones finds the Duchess de Chartres in spirits. She and -the Duke give him a suite of apartments that has heretofore been sacred -to Bourbon occupation alone. At this the sensation that rocks the Court -is profound. - -It even reaches the rabbit-faced king--weak rather than dull--at -Versailles, and gives him a shock. He draws down the uncertain corners -of his undecided mouth, says naught, and goes out under the trees to -feed his squirrels. He would be wiser were he to go out into the starved -highways and byways of his oppressed realm, and feed his subjects. Did -he do so, he might even yet avoid that revolution, which is slowly yet -terribly preparing itself in the ante-chamber of Time. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII--THE FÊTE OF THE DUCHESS DE CHARTRES - -The Duke and Duchess de Chartres give a grand banquet in honor of -Commodore Paul Jones. The Duchess asks Doctor Franklin, whom she -esteems, and calls “Monsieur le Sage” for his wisdom. Also, to please -the worthy doctor, she has Madame de Houdetot, and the rest of his Passy -friends, including the vivacious Madame Helvetius. - -“Only,” says the Duchess, who has weaknesses that favor washtubs--“only -I trust that our ‘Rich Widow of Passy’ will wear a fresh frock, if only -to give us something to, talk about.” - -The good Marsan and Aimee are among the guests. Indeed, it is to see -Aimee and Commodore Paul Jones together that has caused the Duchess -de Chartres to order the fête. She will bring the pair beneath her -eyes--the young Aimee, and the “Commodore,” who has become formal. She -will then know the best and worst of their hearts. - -The Duchess is right in this assumption; for you may no more hide love -than smoke. With half-watchfulness, she readily surprises their secret. -Still she is gay and light; for her heart is the heart of a Bourbon, and -the heart of your Bourbon is never a breakable. - -She seats Commodore Paul Jones on her right, which is the thing -expected. Aimee is on his other hand; which last excites his -suspicions--having that guilty feeling--while attracting the attention -of nobody else. Over across is the wise Franklin, who finds himself -vastly at home between the Houdetot and the rosy Helvetius, who is a -marvel of tidiness. - -The Duchess pays a deal of polite attention to Commodore Paul Jones. - -“I cannot think, my dear Commodore,” she cries, “how, with your ship -on fire, and sinking under your feet, you had courage to continue the -fight.” - -“Your royal highness forgets. To surrender would have meant a -postponement of the bliss of meeting you.” - -“Now, Bayard himself,” returns the Duchess, “could have said nothing so -knightly!” - -Aimee glows at this. In the face of her fears, she still likes to hear -her lover-hero praised. - -“There is a promise!” exclaims the Duchess. - -Commodore Paul Jones reddens through the tan. What is coming! There is -much of royal recklessness in the Duchess’ royal blood; she will now and -then say a bold thing. - -“You promised,” she goes on, “to lay an English frigate at my feet.” - -Commodore Paul Jones is relieved. More, he is pleased, since the Duchess -gives him a chance to be dramatic. He sends for his servant, who brings -him a slim morocco case. - -“Your royal highness,” he says, unbuckling the morocco case; “I shall -be better than my word. I lay at your feet, not a frigate truly, but a -forty-four gun ship of two decks. Here is the token of it--the sword of -as brave a sailor as ever sailed.” - -Commodore Paul Jones presents the Duchess with the vanquished sword of -Captain Pearson, which he has taken from the morocco case. The Duchess, -who has not foreseen this return to her sally, is deeply stirred. She -receives the sword, and presses the gold scabbard to her lips. - -“It is dear to me as the sword of a conquered Englishman!” she cries, -turning with swimming eyes upon the company. “It is doubly dear when it -comes from my Achilles of the ocean!” - -There is a buzz of admiration about the tables. Aimee herself is in a -dream of happiness; for she has alarms but no jealousies, and the glory -of her lover is her glory. - -Before the guests break up for departure, Doctor Franklin and Commodore -Paul Jones have a word together. - -“I have asked for it,” says the Doctor, “and de Sartine leads me to -think that, as soon as the ship is refitted, the king will give you the -_Serapis_.” - -Commodore Paul Jones brightens to a sparkle. - -“I could do wonders with so stout a ship,” he replies. - -“I think you may count on it,” goes on the Doctor. “Indeed, when I -remember in what manner the French came by the _Serapis_, I cannot see -how the king is to refuse.” - -“Should I get it, I’ll put Dick Dale in command of the _Alliance_. There -shall be no second Landais you may be sure!” - -“Speaking of the _Alliance_,” returns the Doctor, “I shall send it to -America as soon as the overhaul is finished, with certain munitions of -war I’ve collected.” - -Commodore Paul Jones’ pulse begins to beat uneasily. Antony does not -want to leave his Cleopatra. What the Doctor next says, sets him to -renewed ease. - -“Lieutenant Dale might better take the _Alliance_ across. You will be -needed here, if we are to coax the king into giving you the _Serapis_. -There will be time for the _Alliance_ to return before the _Serapis_ is -refitted.” - -Doctor Franklin tells how he has formally relieved Landais from -all command, and ordered him to report to the Marine Committee in -Philadelphia, on charges of cowardice and treason. Also, Commissioner -Arthur Lee has been called home; Congress has become suspicious of his -work. - -“The man’s a greater traitor than Landais!” cries Commodore Paul Jones -heatedly. - -“Without expressing myself on that point,” observes the Doctor, eye -a-twinkle, “the situation produced by Mr. Lee’s recall, makes another -reason why Dale should sail with the _Alliance_ and you stay here. Mr. -Lee, I understand, has decided to take passage home in the _Alliance_.” - -It is the next day; the Duchess summons Commodore Paul Jones to the -morning-room, where she sits alone in the spring sunshine. - -“Your love is like your ship, my friend,” she observes. “It goes -voyaging from heart to heart, as the other does from port to port. No, -not a word! I promise that you shall not break my heart. Come, I will -show you what makes me safe--safe even from that terrible heart-rover -and sea-rover, that buccaneer of the ocean and of love, the invincible -Paul Jones.” - -She smiles; but there is that about the smile which reminds one of -the hard glitter of a rapier. She rings a bell, says a low word, and -presently a little round-faced boy is brought in. He is the baby son of -the Duchess. Commodore Paul Jones has heard of the little boy; but this -is his earliest glimpse of him. - -He is a handsome child, and Commodore Paul Jones gazes upon him with -admiration. The boy is to grow up and, fifty years later, sit on the -French throne as the “Citizen King.” This, however, is a secret of the -future, and neither the mother nor Commodore Paul Jones, as they look on -the small, round face, is granted a least glint of it. Released by the -nurse, little Louis Philippe toddles across to Commodore Paul Jones, -pudgy hands outstretched. The latter catches him up and kisses him. At -this the eyes of the Duchess soften with mother-love. - -“See!” she remarks, and a sigh and a laugh struggle for precedence on -her lips--“See! he is like all of us. He loves you!” She becomes grave. -“There is my resource!” she goes on. “My friend, I will let you into -a secret. No man’s treason, not though he be the bewildering Paul -Jones”--this with a tinge of wicked emphasis--“can break a mother’s -heart. No; she takes refuge in her child, and finds his kisses sweeter -than a lover’s.” - -She takes the boy out of his hands, and kisses the little face again and -still again. Commodore Paul Jones says no word of protest, explanation -or defence. The Duchess is taking her revenge; he knows it, and thinks -her entitled to it. Moreover, he is beginning in his own heart to be -relieved, and the guilty feeling that gnaws his conscience is sensibly -dulled. - -The nurse returns and takes the boy. The Duchess gives the little face a -last kiss. Then her glance comes back to Commodore Paul Jones. - -“Yes, my friend,” she says; “love your red-haired Aimee, since you love -her; I can give you up; for even though you leave me, you leave me a -Bourbon. And yet I feel a small jealousy--just a little stab! For that -stab, my friend, you must pay. No one harms a Bourbon, and escapes -unpunished.” This is said half quizzically, half seriously. “Yes, I -shall have my revenge. I intend that you shall marry Aimee.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII--THE WEDDING WITHOUT BELLS - -Doctor Franklin journeys down to Lyons, on some secret errand of his -own; he will be gone a week. Commodore Paul Jones, at home with the good -Marsan, drunk with love, forgets the blue of the ocean in the blue of -Aimee’s eyes. One sun-filled afternoon he is disturbed by Lieutenant -Dale, who stalks in with a scowl on his usually steady face. - -“What is it, Dick?” asks Commodore Paul Jones, alive in a moment. - -“Something too deep for me, Commodore, or I shouldn’t be here with the -tangle. Commissioner Lee, with Landais, has taken the _Alliance_.” - -“What?” - -“It’s as I say. Lee declares that Doctor Franklin had no authority to -depose Landais. He, Lee, has restored him to command, and the pair have -possession of the ship.” - -“What did you do?” - -“I did nothing. I’m a sailor, and pretend to no knowledge of the limits -of Mr. Lee’s authority. Speaking for myself, I refused to serve with -Landais; and Lieutenants Stack, McCarty and Lunt, and Midshipman -Lindthwait did the same. We came ashore, and Bo’sen Jack Robinson at -the head of sixty of the crew came with us.” Commodore Paul Jones, -while Lieutenant Dale talks, is thinking. What is to be done! Manifestly -nothing. Doctor Franklin is out of reach. Without the Doctor’s authority -no one can meddle with Arthur Lee, who still has his powers as a -commissioner. Besides, there’s the _Serapis_; it is only a question -of weeks when he, Commodore Paul Jones, will be given its command. -Meanwhile, Lieutenant Dale and the others can disport themselves ashore, -as he does. Let Lee and Landais keep the _Alliance_, since they already -have it. - -“You’ve done right, Dick,” he says. “Stay ashore then, and keep the -lads together; we’ll wait for the _Serapis_. Also, King Louis has given -Doctor Franklin the _Ariel_, a ship-sloop the size of the old _Ranger_. -When I take the _Serapis_ to sea, Dick, you shall sail Captain of the -_Ariel_.” - -Lieutenant Dale goes his way, and Commodore Paul Jones returns to Aimee, -pleased in secret to think he may continue unhindered to sun himself -in her smiles. It grinds a bit to think of the “dog Landais,” and the -“traitor Arthur Lee,” in control of the _Alliance_. Still, all will come -right; for is he not to have the _Serapis_? And while he waits, there -is Aimee; and love is even sweeter than war. So he goes back to his -goddess, with her deep eyes and red-gold hair, and puts such caitiff -creatures as Lee and Landais outside his thoughts. It is for Congress to -deal with them. - -Commodore Paul Jones is not permitted to forget Lee and Landais. Within -the hour, he is again called from the side of Aimee by his friend Genet, -a noble upperling in the French foreign office. - -“I come to tell you,” says Genet, “that Captain Landais and Monsieur Lee -have got the _Alliance_.” - -“I know!” - -“They are to sail in three days.” - -“Lieutenant Dale has told me.” - -“He did not tell you that we have issued orders to Thevenard, who -commands the forts at the barrier, to sink the _Alliance_, should she -try to put to sea.” - -“Sink the _Alliance_!” Commodore Paul Jones is thunderstruck. “My dear -Genet, you jest.” - -“No jest, my friend. The orders have been given. Should the _Alliance_ -attempt to pass the harriers, Thevenard will fire on it with all his -hundreds of big guns, and snuff it out like a candle. It is by request -of your Doctor Franklin.” - -“Do you tell me that Doctor Franklin asks you to sink the _Alliance_?” - -“He has asked us--for he had some inkling of the designs of Lee and -Landais--to prevent them sailing away with the ship. We know of but one -way to do that. We must sink it, since we have no ship here to arrest -them. So we gave the orders to Thevenard. Those orders, however, we did -not impart to Doctor Franklin; and, in good truth, I tell them to you -now, not as a French official, but as a friend.” - -“This must be stopped!” cries Commodore Paul Jones, his habits of -decision and iron promptitude reassumed in a moment. “What! Sink two -hundred brave, good men, to punish a pair of traitors? Never!” - -Genet, who makes a cult of red tape, shrugs his shoulders and spreads -his hands. - -“It is too late,” he says. “There is Doctor Franklin’s request. I cannot -countermand the orders to Thevenard until he withdraws his request.” - -“I shall see Thevenard!” - -Two hundred and eighty miles in fifty-four hours! An unprecedented -thing! And yet Commodore Paul Jones does it, and rides into l’Orient -in time to prevail on General Thevenard, who is his friend and his -worshipper, to let the _Alliance_ pass free. The forts would else -have sunk the ship with their tons upon tons of metal. He saves the -_Alliance_ by a narrow margin of hours, and Lee and Landais shake out -their sails for America. - -“They go to disgrace and grief,” thinks Commodore Paul Jones, consoling -himself for their escape. Then he considers how he has saved the lives -of more than two hundred honest sailors, who have fought well for flag -and country, and is consoled in earnest. - -Commodore Paul Jones is surrounded by surprises. He is met on the road, -while returning to his Aimee, by a message from the Duchess de Chartres. - -“Come instantly to me!” it says. - -There is a look of mingled sorrow and resentment, with over all a hue -of humor, on the Duchess’ bright face when she welcomes Commodore Paul -Jones. - -“The Marchioness de Marsan and I have arranged it,” she says, and her -glance is wicked and amused. - -“Arranged what?” - -“Your marriage, my friend! I congratulate you! You and your red-haired, -blue-eyed one are to wed.” - -“With all my heart, then!” says he, turning wicked, too. Manlike, it -offends his vanity that one who has pretended to love him so deeply -should be now so ready to give him to another. “I could wish no fairer -fate.” - -“But the wedding must be secret.” - -“Secret! Believe me, I shall tell all France.” - -“And ruin the blue-eyed one! Hear me, my Commodore--once my beloved, -ever to be my friend! I have had a world of trouble in your affairs. -I arranged with the Marsan; but only by agreeing that the marriage be -buried in secrecy. You know much of the sea; little of the shore when -all’s said. Should the king hear of Aimee as your wife, he would drive -her from court.” - -“May I ask why!” and his cheek begins to burn angrily. - -“You forget that Aimee is a Bourbon,” returns the Duchess, with a -fashion of malicious satisfaction. He has deserted her for his Aimee; it -is her revenge to irritate his pride. “You are a valorous man, and the -king makes much of you. Besides, you beat the English, whom he fears -and hates. And yet he does not forget that you are a peasant--as I did. -Marry Aimee, my friend--. marry a Bourbon, even a Bourbon by the left -hand, and King Louis will bolt the doors of France in both your faces. -Indeed, the Bastile might be the end of it for your Aimee.” - -“I think your royal highness sees unnecessary ghosts,” he replies, with -a sneer. Just the same, that linking of the Bastile and Aimee alarms -him. “Without pausing to question the king’s powers touching Bastiles -and French doors, I may tell you he has already heard that I love Aimee. -Doctor Franklin, himself, told me.” - -“Love Aimee! Yes; love her as much and to what limit you will! The king -will never resent that. But do not let the whisper that you have married -Aimee reach the kingly ear. Can you not understand! Here, I will put it -in the abstract. A Princess may have a _liaison_ with a peasant, and in -the shadow of that dishonor she will remain forever a Princess. Should -the Princess, in some gust of virtue, be swept into a marriage with the -peasant, she becomes instantly a peasant. It is one of those strange -cases, my friend, where the word ‘wife’ is a stain and the word -‘mistress’ no stain at all.” - -It is midnight; two candles burn dimly on the altar of “Our Lady of -Loretto.” The great chapel is dark and vacant; the feeble light does -not reach the vaulted roof, and the groined arches disappear upward in a -thick blackness. - -At the altar stands a priest. Near the rail is gathered a group of four, -the Duchess de Chartres, the good Marchioness de Marsan, Aimee--heart -a-flutter, her pink cheeks hidden in a veil--and Commodore Paul Jones. -The priest draws the Duchess aside. - -“Your royal highness,” he whispers, pleadingly, “I am afraid.” - -“Afraid of whom, pray?” - -“The king, your royal highness.” - -The Duchess makes an angry motion with her hand, while her little -boot smites the stone floor and sends an echo through the room’s vast -emptiness. - -“Father Joseph, observe! You are my almoner. Through your hands I give -fifty thousand louis to the poor of Paris, and keep you in fatness -besides. It is I, not the king, whom you should fear.” - -And so, before the flickering altar candles, Commodore Paul Jones weds -Aimee Adele de Telison. In the book which the Duchess and the good -Marsan sign as witnesses, Father Joseph, with a pen that shakes a -little, records the nuptials of “Monsieur le Joignes and Mademoiselle -Adele de Bonneval.” For “de Bonneval” was the dead King’s name for -Aimee’s mother in the days of Monsieur le Bel and the Parc-aux-Cerfs. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV--THAT HONEYMOON SUB ROSA - -The Duchess kisses Aimee, and the good Marsan drives back to her -palace with the blissful ones through the black midnight Paris streets. -Commodore Paul Jones is in a trance of happiness. Aimee creeps into -his arms and whispers “Mon Paul,” and the surrender of the _Serapis_ is -forgotten, as a thing trivial and transient, in the surrender of this -girl with the glorious red-gold hair. - -Summer runs away into autumn, and the brown tints of October show in -the trees. The honeymoon has been one of secrecies and subterfuges, -and perhaps the tenderer and sweeter because _sub rosa_. Commodore Paul -Jones tears himself now and again from Aimee’s arms to urge the business -of the _Serapis_. He is seconded by Aimee, to whom his glory is as dear -as his love. - -Doctor Franklin tells the king that he should give Commodore Paul Jones -the ship, and is referred to de Sartine. The oily minister slips away -from the proposal, and the king sends Commodore Paul Jones a “Sword of -Honor” and the title of “Chevalier.” The impatient sailor bites his lip, -and gives the plaything sword to Aimee. - -“I asked for a ship, not a sword,” says he. “As for ‘Chevalier,’ since -I’m already a Commodore, it looks like promotion down-hill.” - -“The king,” explains Doctor Franklin, “does not, I fear, forgive your -refusal of his captain’s commission when you lay at the Texel.” - -“And I,” he returns, “continue to regard that offer of a commission as a -piece of royal impertinence.” - -Commodore Paul Jones determines to bring the king to a decision. He -walks in the royal gardens with his ally, Genet, and comes upon the king -feeding his interminable squirrels. The king--for democracy is becoming -a fashion--greets Commodore Paul Jones with outstretched hands. - -“But do not tell me,” concludes the king, “that you come for a ship.” - -“It is to ask for the _Serapis_, sire.” - -The poor king rubs his head, his vague lip twitches, while the unlocked -jaw multiplies the feebleness of his weak face. - -“Chevalier, I cannot,” he returns. In a tone of pathos, he continues: -“Congratulate yourself, my friend, that you are not a king. You would be -compelled to have ministers, and they would make a slave of you--as they -have of me.” - -“It is over,” says Commodore Paul Jones, to Doctor Franklin. “There is -no hope of the _Serapis_.” - -“Take the _Ariel_, then, and return to Philadelphia,” replies the -Doctor. “There is the _America_, seventy-four guns, building on the -Portsmouth stocks. I’ve written the Marine Committee to give you that.” - -Commodore Paul Jones holds Aimee close. He kisses her dear lips. “In the -spring I shall return, my love,” he promises. “Three little months, and -you are in my arms again.” - -Aimee whispers something, and then buries her face in his breast. The -blush she is trying to hide spreads and spreads until it covers the back -of the fair neck, and the red of it is lost in the roots of the red-gold -hair. - -“Good!” he cries in a burst of joy, holding her closer. “Good! Now I -shall have something to dream of and return to.” - -It is a raw, flawy February day when Commodore Paul Jones lands in -Philadelphia. Arthur Lee, with his poisonous mendacities, has preceded -him. He is called before the Marine Committee, to reply to a list of -questions, that in miserable effect amount to charges. Anger eating -his heart like fire, he answers the questions, and is then voted a -resolution of thanks and confidence. - -Knowing no other way, he seeks a quarrel with Arthur Lee, the fiery, -faithful Cadwalader at his elbow. Mad Anthony Wayne, acting for him, -meets Arthur Lee informally. The latter does not like the outlook. - -“Who is he?” exclaims Arthur Lee, inventing a defensive sneer. “Either -the son of a Scotch peasant or worse, and a man who has changed -his name. By what right does such a person demand satisfaction of a -gentleman!” - -“Permit me to suggest,” returns Mad Anthony, beginning to bristle, “that -I shall regard a refusal to fight, based on the ground you state, as -a personal affront to myself. More; let me tell you, sir, that he who -shall seek to bar Paul Jones from his plain rights, on an argument aimed -at his gentility, will get nothing by his pains but the name of coward.” - -“You think so!” responds Arthur Lee, his sneer somewhat in eclipse at -the stark directness of Mad Anthony. - -“I know so, sir. When you speak of Paul Jones, you speak of the -conqueror of the _Drake_ and the _Serapis_. Also, when you deal with me, -you deal with one who is the equal of any Lee of your family, sir.” - -Mad Anthony blows through his warlike nose ferociously, and Arthur Lee -is silent. Meanwhile, the excellent Cadwalader, ever painstaking in -matters of bloodshed, prepares a challenge, which he intends shall be a -model for succeeding ages, when studying the literature of the duello. - -It is at this pinch that the peace-loving Morris, helpless and a bit -desperate, brings the weight of General Washington to bear upon the -combative one. The “Father of his Country” succeeds where Mr. Morris -has failed, and silences all talk of a duel. As a reward for that -gentleman’s eleventh-hour docility, he prevails upon Congress to give -Commodore Paul Jones command of the half-built _America_, in accord with -the request of Doctor Franklin, already in its dilatory hands. - -Commodore Paul Jones goes to Portsmouth to oversee the launching and -the equipment of his new seventy-four. Disappointment dogs him; for Lord -Cornwallis surrenders, and Congress, in a fit of foolish generosity, -presents the America to France, as a slight expression of its thanks for -the part she played in the capture of that English nobleman. Commodore -Paul Jones sees his just-completed seventy-four, over which he has -toiled like a poet over his verse, and wherein he was to presently sail -away to conquer fresh honors for himself and his Aimee, hoist the French -flag and receive a French captain on its quarter-deck. Steadying himself -under the blow, with a grim philosophy which he has begun to cultivate, -he goes back to Philadelphia. He finds letters from France awaiting him; -one is from his Aimee, written in a tremulous, wavering hand. It must -have borne wonderful news, for in his reply he says: - -“Present my compliments to your sister. Tell her to exert her tenderest -care toward you and her sweet little godson. Also cover him with kisses -from me.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXV--CATHERINE OF RUSSIA - -Commodore Paul Jones, nervously irritable with the loss of the -_America_, asks leave of Congress to go as a volunteer with the French -fleet, which hopes to find and fight the English in the West Indies. -Congress consents, and he sails southward with Captain Vaudreuil, to -fight yellow fever, not English, and return much shaken in health. As a -solace and a recuperative, he sends divers cargoes of oil to Europe on a -speculation, and makes forty thousand dollars. All the time he is pining -to get back to Paris, his Aimee, the good Marsan, as well as Aimee’s -sister’s “sweet little godson,” that must “be covered with kisses.” He -is detained by his accounts with the government and his claims for prize -money. After heart-breaking delays, his affairs are adjusted; again he -finds himself outward bound for France. His Aimee meets him with kisses -sweet as heaven. He unlocks her white arms from his neck, and asks in a -whisper: - -“Where is he?” - -“He is dead!” she says, with a rush of tears. - -Then she carries him to a quiet cemetery, and, taking his hand, leads -him to a little grave, upon which the new grass has not grown two weeks. -There is a tiny headstone of pale granite, and on it the one word: - -“Paul.” - -His gaze is long and steadfast as he holds fast by his Aimee’s hand. -Then his tears are united with hers; they stand bowed above the little -grave. - -Commodore Paul Jones and his Aimee, while ever together, formally -conceal the tie that binds them. He has business with the king about -prize money; she has petitions before the king about the blood that -is common to her veins and his; and both the good Marsan and Doctor -Franklin say it is better that the king should not know. And so the king -goes feeding his squirrels and forgetting his people, in ignorance of -what took place on that midnight before the candle-lighted altar of Our -Lady of Loretto. But the wise old world is not so thick, and winks -and smiles and wags its wise old head; and whenever it passes a pretty -cottage in the Rue Vivienne it points and whispers tolerantly. For the -wise old world loves lovers; and because Aimee always officially resides -with the good Marsan when her “Paul” is in Paris, and actually -resides with that amiable gentlewoman when her “Paul” is in London, or -Copenhagen, or elsewhere on the complex business of those prize moneys, -no one finds fault. And so four years of love and truth and sweetness, -four beautiful years, throughout which the birds sing and the sun shines -always, come and go for Commodore Paul Jones and his Aimee; and every -noble door in France swings open at their approach. - -The prize money gets into a tangle, and Commodore Paul Jones consults -his friends, Mirabeau and the venerable Malesherbes. Then he visits -America, and is feted and feasted, while his Aimee--each year rounder -and plumper and more bewitching--with the red-gold hair growing ever -redder and more golden--stays in Paris by the side of the good Marsan, -and keeps a loving eye on the vine-clothed cottage in the Rue Vivienne. - -Nothing can exceed the honors wherewith Commodore Paul Jones is stormed -upon and pelted while in America. He is banqueted by the Morrises, the -Livingstons, the Hamiltons, the Jays, while--what is more to his heart’s -comfort--he is visited by Dale and Fanning and Mayrant and Lunt and -Stack and Potter and scores of his old sea wolves of the _Ranger_ and -_Richard_, who crowd round him to press his hand. In the end he drinks -a last cup of wine at the Livingston Manor House, rides down to the -foot of Cortlandt Street, and goes aboard the _Governor Clinton_, which, -anchors hove short, awaits him. It is his last glass in America, his -last glimpse of the shores for which he fought so valorously; November -sees him in the Straits of Dover, nineteen days, out from Sandy Hook. - -He goes to Paris, and the king has him to lunch at Versailles--a -nine-days’ social wonder, the like of which has not been witnessed by a -staring world since an elder Louis dined Jean Bart. The royal luncheon -over, Commodore Paul Jones again settles down to the dear smiles and the -love of his Aimee, while the aristocracy of France lionizes the one and -worships the other. - -One day Mr. Jefferson, now America’s Minister to Versailles, and greatly -the friend of our two love birds, walks in upon them in that little -vine-embowered cottage in the Rue Vivienne. He has big news. The Empress -Catherine asks Commodore Paul Jones to become an admiral in the Russian -navy. The Turks are troubling her; she wants him to sweep these turbaned -pests from the Black Sea. - -The cheek of Commodore Paul Jones flushes, his eye lights up. Between -love and war his heart was formed to swing like a pendulum. Now he has -loved for a season, he would like nothing better than another game -with those “iron dice of destiny,” _vide licet_ cannon balls; and where -should be found a fitter table than the Black Sea, or a more eligible -adversary than the Turk? Thus it befalls that his Aimee goes to court -with Madam Campan, the noble daughter of the noble Genet, and translates -English plays into French for the amusement of Versailles; while be, -hot of heart and high of head, as one who snuffeth the battle afar off, -makes a straight wake for St. Petersburg. - -Commodore Paul Jones meets the Empress Catherine in her Palace of -Czarsko-Selo. Outside the snow lies thick; for it is April, and winter -is ever reluctant to quit St. Petersburg. He is pricked of curiosity -concerning this Russian Empress, for whom he is to draw his sword. He -hopes--somewhat against hope, it is true, when he recalls her sixty -years--that she will prove beautiful. For he is so much the knight of -romance that he fights with more pleasure for a pretty face than for a -plain one. - -The Empress is before him; he can now put his hopes to the test. His -eyes fall upon a thick, gross figure--a woman the antithesis of romance. - -Her mouth is coarse, her nose high and hawkish, her forehead full, her -gaze hard and level, her whole face harsh--having been so often -burned and swept of passion. And yet he feels the power of this white, -fire-eyed savage, with her heart of a Phryne and her brain of a Henry -the Eighth. There is so much that is palpable and brutish about her, -however, that he stands off from her contact and remembers with regret -his delicate Aimee of the red-gold locks. - -Commodore Paul Jones has been too well trained as a courtier to let fall -the polite mask which he wears, and nothing could be more elaborately -suave than are the manners he assumes. The ferocious Catherine gets some -glimmer of his inward thought for all that. Every inch the Empress, she -is even more the woman. To the day of her death the unpardonable offence -in any male of her species is a failure to fall in love with her. She -receives some chilling touch of her new Admiral’s aversion, and it turns -her into angry ice. Still, if he will not sigh for her, he shall serve -her: so she says to herself. He remains in St. - -Petersburg a fortnight; the Empress sees him more than once. When they -are together, they talk of Potemkin, Suwarrow, the Turks, and the Black -Sea. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI--AN ADMIRAL OF RUSSIA - -Admiral Paul Jones travels to the mouth of the Dnieper and joins -Potemkin, who is a military fool. Suwarrow, old and cunning and -vigilant and war-wise, is another man. He goes aboard his flagship, the -_Vladimir_, of seventy guns. From the beginning he is befriended by the -grizzled Suwarrow and thwarted by the foppish Potemkin. This latter is -a discarded favorite of Catherine; and, since she is very loyal to a -favorite out of favor, he knows he may take liberties. Old Suwarrow, -over his brandy, tells Potemkin’s story to Admiral Paul Jones. - -“He kept the Empress’ smiles for a season,” explains Suwarrow; “when all -of a sudden, having seen Moimonoff, she fills Potemkin’s pockets with -gold and jewels, gives him a two-thousand-serf estate, and bids him -‘travel,’ as she bid twenty of his predecessors travel. ‘In what have I -offended?’ whines Potemkin. ‘In nothing,’ returns the Empress. ‘I liked -you yesterday; I don’t like you to-day; that is all. So you see, my -friend, that you can no longer stay in Petersburg, but must travel!’ -This was ten years ago,” continues old Suwarrow. “Potemkin comes down -here, and the Empress puts him in charge, and sustains him in all he -says and does. My dear Admiral, you must get along with Potemkin to get -along with her.” - -Admiral Paul Jones is by no means sure that he must get along with -Potemkin, and regrets that he quitted France, which holds his Aimee. -However, being aboard the _Vladimir_, and having to his signal twenty -ships, he resolves to strike one blow for the savage Catherine, if only -to see how a Russian fights and what battering a Turk can stand. It will -give him something to talk of, something by which he may compare the -English and French and Americans, when next at his ease, with Genet or -Jefferson or mayhap King Louis as a fellow conversationist. - -The chance comes; Admiral Jones engages the Turkish fleet off Kinburn -Head, and destroys it after sixteen hours’ fighting--sinking some, -burning others, breaking completely the power of the Crescent. The Turks -bear a loss of twenty-nine ships and more than three thousand sailors, -while Admiral Paul Jones loses but three small ships. Having advantage -of the victory, old Suwarrow brings his army across the Boug. At one -blow, Admiral Paul Jones unlocks the Liman and throws it open to the -victorious entrance of old Suwarrow. - -Oczakoff falls; Admiral Paul Jones, sick of the cowardice and duplicity -of Potemkin and his parasite Nassau-Siegen, relinquishes his command. He -bids old Suwarrow good-bye, and travels in a manner of lordly leisure, -not at all Russian, but particularly American, back to St. Petersburg -and the Empress. As he bids farewell to old Suwarrow, the latter detains -him: - -“Wait!” - -Then he takes from one of his camp chests a priceless cloak of sea-otter -and sable, lined with yellow silk, and an ermine jacket, white as snow, -set off with heavy gold frogs. - -“Take them, mon Paul,” says the old soldier, pressing them upon Admiral -Paul Jones. “They are too fine for me.” Here he looks complacently -at his threadbare gray coat and muddy boots. “No; were I to wear such -feathers, my soldiers, who are my children, wouldn’t know their old papa -Suwarrow.” - -The Empress receives Admiral Paul Jones in her palace of the Hermitage. -She is affable, condescending, appreciative, and assigns him to command -the naval forces in the Baltic. She makes him rich in gold; for, while -the Empress will so far humor Potemkin as to remove Admiral Paul Jones -out of his way, she will not fail of doubly rewarding that mariner for -the victory which Potemkin is now trying to steal. - -Admiral Paul Jones grows dissatisfied, however. The Russian nobility -intrigues against him, and de Segur, the French Minister, must come to -his rescue. They steal his letters from Aimee; and, not hearing from his -beloved, he becomes homesick. He tells the Empress that he must go; she -consents when he promises to continue drawing full pay as Admiral. That -agreed to, she allows him leave of absence for two years, and back he -goes to Paris and his Aimee’s arms. He calls on De Segur, the French -Minister, before he starts, and thanks him for his friendship. - -“But you will return?” says De Segur. - -“Never! I want no more of Russia and its Russians! What is this Court of -Catherine, but a place where vilest purposes are arrived at by agencies -most wretched, and artifices that should disgrace a dog? I am of an -honor unfit for such a place, as silk is unfit for mire. The very people -are without charity or a commonest humanity. They are like the wolves of -their own forests; should they discover one of their brothers, wounded -or stricken down, instead of offering aid, they would fall upon -him--rending and devouring him!” - -“Sixteen long months! Sixteen dreary months you have been gone!” says -Aimee, when they are again together at the cottage in the Rue Vivienne. - -“They are over, little one,” he replies, “over, never to return. Aside -from being separated from you, which is to be separated from the sun” - --here he caresses her red-gold hair--“they were the sixteen months most -miserable of my life.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII--THE HOUSE IN THE RUE TOURNON - -And now dawn many days of love and peace and plenty for Admiral Panl -Jones, days in the midst of friends, glad days made sumptuous by a -beautiful woman, who is a king’s daughter crowned with a wealth of -red-gold hair. He has his business, too, and embarks in speculation; -wherein he shows himself as much a sailor of finance as of the sea. The -imperial Catherine refuses to lose him; but pays to the last like an -Empress, bidding him prolong his vacation while he will. He grows rich. -He has twelve thousand pounds in the bank; while in America, Holland, -Denmark, Belgium and England his interests flourish. He sells his -plantation by the Rappahannock for twenty-five hundred dollars--less -than a dollar an acre; for he says that he has no more heart to own -slaves, and the plantation cannot be worked without them. - -The little happy cottage in the Rue Vivienne grows small; neither is it -magnificent enough for his Aimee, of whom each day he grows more proud -and fond. So he removes, bag and baggage, to a mansion in the Rue -Tournon. There the rooms are grand, ceilings tall, fireplaces hospitably -wide. - -The wide fireplaces will do for winter; just now he swings a hammock -in the back garden, which is thick-sown of trees and made pleasant by a -plushy green May carpet of grass. Here he lolls and reads and receives -his friends. For the careful Aimee counsels rest, and much staying at -home; because he is a long shot from a hale man, having been broken with -that fever in the West Indies, and in no wise restored by the mists and -the miasmas of the Dnieper marshes. - -Through the summer the back garden is filled with chairs, and the chairs -are filled by friends. In the autumn, and later when winter descends -with its frosts, the chairs and the incumbent friends gather in a -semicircle about the wide flame-filled crackling fireplaces. There -be times when the wine passes; and the freighted mahogany sideboards -discover that they have destinies beyond the ornamental. - -French politics bubbles and then boils; Paris is split by faction. -Mirabeau controls the Assembly; Lafayette has the army under his hand--a -weak, vacillating hand! These two are of the Moderates. - -Admiral Paul Jones, coolly neutral in what sentiments go shaking the -hour, has admirers in the parties. They come to him, and talk with him, -and drink his wines in the shade of the back garden, or by the opulent -fireplaces. Robespierre and Danton, as well as Mirabeau and Lafayette, -are there. Also, Bertrand Barère, who boasts that he is not French but -Iberian, one whose forbears came in with Hannibal. Later, Barère will -preach an open-air sermon on the “Life and Deeds of Admiral Paul Jones.” - Just now in the Assembly he makes ferocious speeches, garnished of -savage expletives culled from the language of the Basques. - -Warmest among friends of Admiral Paul Jones is the Thetford corset-maker -Tom Paine, with his encarmined nose and love of freedom. Also Gouverneur -Morris, who has succeeded Mr. Jefferson as America’s Minister in France, -comes often to the Rue Tournon. The pair are with him every day; and -because all three like politics, and no two of them share the same -views, dispute is deep. Aimee of the red-gold hair takes no part in -these discussions, but sits watching her “Paul” with eyes of adoration, -directing the servants, with a motion of the hand, to have a care that -the debaters do not voice their beliefs over empty glasses. - -Admiral Paul Jones, while a republican, gives his sympathies to the -king, in whom there is much weakness, but no evil. - -“They must not kill the king!” says he. - -“And why not?” demands Tom Paine, whose bosom distills bitterness, -and who holds there are no good kings save dead kings. “Has France no -Cromwell? We are both born Englishmen, Paul; our own people ere this -have killed a king.” - -“Tom,” cries Admiral Paul Jones, heatedly, - -“Cromwell and England should not be cited as precedents here. King Louis -is no Charles; and, as for Cromwell, there isn’t the raw material in all -France to make a Cromwell.” - -Gouverneur Morris says nothing, but sips his wine; remembering that, -as the minister of a foreign nation, he should bear no part in French -politics. - -The Parisian rabble insult the king, and Lafayette, in command of the -military about the Tuileries, sadly lacks decision. Then comes the “Day -of Daggers;” the poor king, advised by the irresolute Lafayette, yields -to the mob, and the assembled notables are disarmed. The anger of -Admiral Paul Jones is extreme. He breaks forth to his friend Tom Paine: - -“Up to this time I’ve been able to find reasons for the king’s -gentleness; but to-day’s action was not gentle, it was weak. I pity -the man--beset as he is by situations to which he is unequal. Lafayette -cannot long restrain the sinister forces that confront him. He has -neither the head nor the heart nor the hand for it. This is a time for -grapeshot. I only wish that I might be in command of those thirty -cannon parked about the palace, and have with me, even for a day, my old -war-dogs of the _Ranger_ and the _Richard_. Believe me, I should offer -the mob convincing reasons in support of conservatism and justice; I -should teach it forbearance at the muzzles of my guns.” - -“But the rabble might in its turn teach you,” retorts Tom Paine, with a -republican grin. - -“Bah!” he exclaims, snapping contemptuous fingers. “They of the mob are -but sheep masquerading as tigers. One whiff of grapeshot, and they would -disappear.” Then he continues, thoughtfully: “Their saddest trait -is their levity. They are ridiculous even in their patriotism. Their -emblems, representative of the grand sentiments they profess, are as -childish as the language in which they proclaim them is fantastic. There -is the red cap! Borrowed from the gutters, they make it the symbol of -sovereignty! As though a ship were better for being keel up.” - -Mirabeau, with his lion’s face, comes in. He is in a fury, and declares -that Lafayette is a practising hypocrite in his pretences of attachment -to the king. - -“Hypocrisy!” cries Mirabeau. “That, at least, is a lesson in the school -of liberty he never learned from Washington.” - -Others of the Moderates arrive, and join in the conversation. - -“You must understand, gentlemen,” observes Admiral Paul Jones warmly, -“that I, in my time, have fought eight years for liberty. But I did not -fight with the decrees of blood-mad Assemblies, or the plots of secret -clubs.” - -Those present smile tolerantly; for the mighty Paul is a person of many -privileges, the one man in France who may speak his mind. - -“You do not deeply respect the Assembly?” remarks Mirabeau, with a sour -smile. - -“The Assembly? What is it? A few who talk all the time, and a great many -who applaud or hiss! Everything about it is theatrical. It struggles for -epigram not principle, and the members would sooner say a smart thing -than save France.” - -Paris is turmoil and uproar and tumult. To keep his mind from that -strife which surrounds him, and into which he longs to plunge, Admiral -Paul Jones puts in hours with his secretary, Benoît-André, dictating -his journals. Also, business calls him to London, where he is much -celebrated by the Whigs. He hobnobs with Fox and Sheridan, while Walpole -carries him away to Strawberry Hill. He is with Walpole, when word -arrives that Mirabeau is dead. - -“What will be the effect in Paris’?” asks Walpole. - -“What will be the effect! It will unchain the worst elements. The -Assembly will now go to every red extreme. While Mirabeau lived, that -strange concourse of evil spirits had a master. He is gone; the animals -are without a keeper.” - -Admiral Paul Jones returns to Paris, and finds a letter from Mr. -Jefferson, now Secretary of State. Mr. Jefferson asks him to discover -how far Europe will co-operate to crush out piracy in the Mediterranean. -Also, he explains that President Washington will want the services -of Admiral Paul Jones when he sends an expedition against the Barbary -States. - -While he is reading Mr. Jefferson’s letter, a deputation from the -Assembly waits on him, and sets forth informally that it is the present -French purpose to reorganize the navy, and call him, Admiral Paul Jones, -to the command. - -“Would you accept?” asks the deputation. - -“It would be, gentlemen,” he returns, “the part of prudence, and I think -of modesty, to defer crossing that bridge till I come to it.” - -When the deputation goes away, he calls Benoît-André, and sits long into -the night dictating a treatise on reforming the French navy. He -points out how its present inefficiency arises from the fact that, for -centuries, it has been the feeding-ground of a voracious but incompetent -aristocracy, a mere asylum for impoverished second sons, and other noble -incapables. He sends a copy of his treatise to Walpole, who writes him a -letter. - -“My dear Admiral,” says he of Strawberry Hill; “let France go. Either -return home to America and rest upon your laurels, or come over to -England, where even those who do not love you admire you. You have -fought under two flags; isn’t that enough? I take your pamphlet to be -simply a bid for a commission in the new French navy, and, because I -love and admire you, I hope it will fail. It will be better so. Your -laurels, won off Flamboro’ Head, will else be turned to cypress, when, -as a French admiral, you become the target of British broadsides, with -none of your stout Yankee tars to stand by and man your guns.” - -The winter is at an end; the grass of spring is starting. Admiral Paul -Jones receives a letter from President Washington, who speaks of the -Barbary States, and asks him to give up his commission in the Russian -service. There have been two whose requests with him were ever -final--Franklin and Washington. He does not hesitate, but forwards his -resignation to Catherine. She will not accept, and puts forward old -Suwarrow. - -“Do not, my good brother,” writes the old soldier--“do not let any siren -entice you from the service of the Empress. Your Frenchmen are preparing -a stew of mischief that must soon keep all Western Europe busy to save -themselves. That will be Russia’s time. We shall then have a free hand -with the Turk. Our command of the Black Sea is safe. Since you were -there, we have built nine new ships of the line, and six stout frigates. -You shall have them all. Also, I can now protect you from Court -intrigues, which I could not do before. Courtiers, since Ismail, no -longer trouble me; I brush them away like flies. In a new Turkish -campaign, I would be Generalissimo by land and sea; you would be -responsible to no one but me--a situation which, I flatter myself, would -not be intolerable to you. Now, my good brother, the Empress has a copy -of this letter, and agrees with all I say. Make no entanglements in the -west; return to your old papa Suwarrow as soon as you can, and we shall -discuss plans.” - -Old Suwarrow’s missive fails of its hoped-for effect. Admiral Paul Jones -gets out President Washington’s letter and reads it again. Then he sends -a polite but peremptory resignation to Catherine, and ends forever with -the Russians. - -“But, mon Paul,” says Aimee, who looks over his shoulder, “what a -compliment! England, France, Russia, America--the whole world calls you! -And the answer to all”--here a kiss--“is that you shall stay with your -Aimee until she coaxes back your health.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII--LOVE AND THOSE LAST DAYS - -Aimee is right. Admiral Paul Jones, never his old sound self since that -last cruise in the West Indies, is ill. Gourgaud says it is his lungs, -and commands him to take care of himself. He obeys by sticking close to -the red-gold Aimee, and the pleasant house in the Rue Tournon, with -its fireplaces in the winter and its tree-shaded back garden in the -summer--summer, when the hammock is swung. - -Now a stream of visitors pours in upon him. Even the poor king, in the -midst of his troubles, sends to ask after the health of the “Chevalier -Jones.” At odd hours, when visitors do not overrun him, he dictates his -journals to Benoît-Andre, while Aimee gently swings his hammock with her -white hand. - -[Illustration: 0319] - -It is a hazy July day; the drone of pillaging bees, busy among the -flowers, fills the back garden in the Rue Tournon. It is one of Admiral -Paul Jones’ “good days;” a-swing in his hammock, he chats with Major -Beaupoil about a recent dinner at which he was the guest of Jacobin -honor. - -“It was at the Cafe Timon,” he says, “a favorite rendezvous of the -Jacobins. Believe me, Major, while I cannot speak in highest terms -of the Jacobins, I can of the Cafe Timon. One day I hope to take you -there.” - -Gouverneur Morris is announced. He tells Admiral Paul Jones of advices -from Mr. Jefferson, and that Mr. Pinckney has been selected Minister to -St. James. - -“What, to my mind,” concludes Mr. Morris, “is of most consequence, Mr. -Pinckney bears with him from President Washington your commission as -an Admiral in the American navy. You are to be ready, you note, to sail -against those Barbary robbers when the squadron arrives. - -“I shall not alone be ready,” he returns, “I shall be delighted.” He -springs from the hammock, and takes a quick turn up and down the -garden. The prospect of a brush with the swarthy freebooters of the -Mediterranean animates him mightily. - -Other visitors are announced. Barère, Lafayette, Carnot, Cambon, -Vergniaud, Marron, Collot, Billaud, Kersaint, Gensonne, Barbaroux and -Louvet one after the other arrive. Laughter and jest and conversation -become the order of the afternoon; for all are glad, and argue, from his -high spirits, the soon return to health of Admiral Paul Jones. There -has been no more cheerful hour in the Rue Tournon back garden. Corks are -drawn and glasses clink. - -The talk leaves politics for religion. “My church,” observes Admiral -Paul Jones--“my church has been the ocean, my preacher the North Star, -my choir the winds singing in the ship’s rigging.” - -“And your faith?” asks Major Beaupoil. - -“You may find it, my dear Major, in Pope’s Universal Prayer: - - ‘Teach me to feel another’s woe, - - To hide the faults I see; - - That mercy I to others show, - - Such mercy show to me.’ - -“There!” he concludes, “I call that stanza a complete boxing of the -religious compass.” - -Gourgaud looks in professionally, and is inclined to take a solemn view -of his patient’s health. He rebukes him for running about the garden -among his guests. - -“You should not have permitted it,” says Gourgaud, admonishing Aimee -with upraised finger. - -“But he refused to be restrained!” returns Aimee, ruefully. - -“Gourgaud!” the patient breaks forth cheerily, “you know the aphorism: -At forty every man is either a fool or a doctor. Now I am over forty; -and, as a fellow-practitioner, I promise you that our patient, Paul -Jones, is out of danger and on the mend.” Then, gayly: “Come, Gourgaud, -don’t croak! Take a glass of wine, man; you frighten Aimee with your -long looks.” Gourgaud takes his wine; but his looks are quite as long as -before. - -Abruptly and apropos of nothing, Admiral Paul Jones decides to make his -will. - -“Your will!” protests Gouverneur Morris, somewhat aghast. “But you -haven’t been in such health for months.” - -“Not on account of my health,” he explains, “but because of those -Barbary pirates.” - -Notaries are brought in by Benoît-André, and the will is drawn. The -gallant testator is for giving all to his Aimee. - -“The house you already have,” says he; “and also an annuity. Now I leave -you the rest; and Beaupoil shall be executor, with Morris as a witness. -There; it is arranged!” - -But it is not arranged. The red-gold Aimee points out that he has -certain nieces and nephews in Scotland and Virginia; they must not -be forgotten. He yields to amendments in behalf of those nieces and -nephews. Then the will is sealed and signed. - -“It has eased my mind,” he says, giving the document into the hands -of Major Beaupoil for safe-keeping--“it has eased my mind more than I -supposed possible.” Then, with a look at Aimee: “There will be enough, -_petite_, to take care of you, even though our friends here turn the -country bottom-side up. Luckily, too, the property is in England and -America and Holland, where values stand more steadily than they do in -France.” - -Aimee remembers the “Sword of Honor,” given by King Louis for that -victory over the _Serapis_. - -“You always declared it should go to your friend, Dale,” she says. - -“So I do still!” - -Aimee brings the sword. She presses the gilt scabbard to her lips; then -she puts it in the hands of her “Paul.” He half draws the blade, and -considers it with an eye of pride. - -“You see this sword?” he remarks to Gouverneur Morris, “Should I die, -carry it with my love to Dick Dale--my good old Dick, who did more than -any other man to help me win it!” - -It is nine o’clock; night has fallen. The many friends have gone their -homeward ways. The back parlor of the house in the Rue Tournon is -peaceful and still. - -Admiral Paul Jones sits in his cushioned easy-chair reading a volume of -Voltaire. Now and then he addresses to Aimee some comment of agreement -or disagreement with his lively author. Aimee offers no counter -comments, but smiles accord to everything; for her heart is lighter -and her bosom more tranquil than for many a day, as she basks in the -sunshine of new hopes for the restoration of her “Paul.” - -Some duty of the house calls Aimee. She leaves her Paul the lamplight -shining on the pages of the book, his loved face in the shadow. She -pauses at the door, her deep, soft eyes full of worship. - -Aimee is on the stair returning. An ominous sound reaches her ears! -Her heart grows cold; alarm seizes her by the throat, as though a hand -clutched her! She knows by some instinct that the end has come, and her -“Paul” lies dead or dying! She can neither move nor cry out! - -Presently she regains command of herself. With quaking limbs she mounts -the stair. The door of the back drawing-room stands open. The lamp still -burns, but its radiance no longer lights the pages of the philosopher of -Fernay. They fall across the motionless body of her “Paul.” He lies with -head and shoulder resting on a couch, which he was trying to reach when -stricken down. - -Aimee gazes for one horror-frozen moment. Then, with a wailing sob, as -from the depths of her soul, she throws her arms about him. She covers -the marble lips with kisses--those dauntless, defiant lips!--while her -thick hair, breaking from its combs, hides, as with a veil of red and -gold, the loved face from the prying lamp. - -Napoleon is reading those gloomy despatches which tell of Trafalgar. -Crushing the paper in his hand, he paces the floor, his pale, moody face -swept by gusty emotions of pain and anger and disappointment. - -“Berthier, how old was Paul Jones when he died?” - -“Forty-five, sire.” - -There comes a gloom-filled silence; the gray, brooding eyes seek the -floor in thought. Then the pacing to and fro is resumed, that hateful -despatch still clutched fast in the nervous fingers. - -“Berthier: Paul Jones did not fulfil his destiny.” - -THE END - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Story of Paul Jones, by Alfred Henry Lewis - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF PAUL JONES *** - -***** This file should be named 53990-0.txt or 53990-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/9/9/53990/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/53990-0.zip b/old/53990-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 3b47b0d..0000000 --- a/old/53990-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/53990-h.zip b/old/53990-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index b18951f..0000000 --- a/old/53990-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/53990-h/53990-h.htm b/old/53990-h/53990-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 726c691..0000000 --- a/old/53990-h/53990-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7817 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <title>The Story of Paul Jones, by Alfred Henry Lewis</title> - <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" /> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .50em; margin-bottom: .50em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} - .x-small {font-size: 75%;} - .small {font-size: 85%;} - .large {font-size: 115%;} - .x-large {font-size: 130%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story of Paul Jones, by Alfred Henry Lewis - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Story of Paul Jones - An Historical Romance - -Author: Alfred Henry Lewis - -Illustrator: Seymour M. Stone and Phillipps Ward - -Release Date: January 17, 2017 [EBook #53990] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF PAUL JONES *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - THE STORY OF PAUL JONES - </h1> - <h3> - An Historical Romance - </h3> - <h2> - By Alfred Henry Lewis - </h2> - <h3> - Illustrated by Seymour M. Stone and Phillipps Ward - </h3> - <h4> - G. W. Dillingham Company, 1906 - </h4> - <h4> - London - </h4> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0006.jpg" alt="0006 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0006.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0007.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE STORY OF PAUL JONES </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I—HIS BAPTISM OF THE SEA </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II—IN THE BLACK TRADE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III—THE YELLOW JACK </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV—THE KILLING OF MUNGO </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V—THE SAILOR TURNS PLANTER </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI—THE FIRST BLOW IN VIRGINIA </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII—THE BLAST OF WAR </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII—THE PLANTER TURNS LIEUTENANT - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX—THE CRUISE OF THE “PROVIDENCE” - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X—THE COUNSEL OF CADWALADER </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI—THE GOOD SHIP RANGER </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII—HOW THE “RANGER” TOOK THE - “DRAKE” </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII—THE DUCHESS OF CHARTRES </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV—THE SAILING OF THE “RICHARD” - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV—THE “RICHARD” AND THE “SERAPIS” - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI—HOW THE BATTLE RAGED </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII—THE SURRENDER OF THE “SERAPIS” - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII—DIPLOMACY AND THE DUTCH </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX—NOW FOR THE TRAITOR LANDAIS - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX—AIMEE ADELE DE TELISON </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI—ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII—THE FTE OF THE DUCHESS DE - CHARTRES </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII—THE WEDDING WITHOUT BELLS - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV—THAT HONEYMOON SUB ROSA </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV—CATHERINE OF RUSSIA </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI—AN ADMIRAL OF RUSSIA </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII—THE HOUSE IN THE RUE TOURNON - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII—LOVE AND THOSE LAST DAYS - </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /> <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> <br /> <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE STORY OF PAUL JONES - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I—HIS BAPTISM OF THE SEA - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>his is in the - long-ago, or, to be exact, in July, 1759. The new brig <i>Friendship</i>, - not a fortnight off the stocks, is lying in her home harbor of Whitehaven, - being fitted to her first suit of sails. Captain Bennison is restlessly - about her decks, overseeing those sea-tailors, the sail-makers, as they go - forward with their task, when Mr. Younger, the owner, comes aboard. The - latter gentleman is lowland Scotch, stout, middle-aged, and his severe - expanse of smooth-shaven upper-lip tells of prudence, perseverance and - Presbyterianism in even parts, as traits dominant of his character. - </p> - <p> - “Dick,” says Mr. Younger, addressing Captain Bennison, “ye’ll have a gude - brig; and mon! ye s’uld have a gude crew. There’ll be none of the last in - Whitehaven, for what ones the agents showed me were the mere riff-raff of - the sea. I’ll even go to Arbigland, and pick ye a crew among the fisher - people.” - </p> - <p> - “Arbigland!” repeats Captain Bennison, with a glow of approval. “The - Arbigland men are the best sailor-folk that ever saw the Solway. Give me - an Arbigland crew, James, and I’ll find ye the Rappahannock with the <i>Friendship</i>, - within the month after she tears her anchor out o’ Whitehaven mud.” - </p> - <p> - And so Mr. Younger goes over to Arbigland. - </p> - <p> - It is a blowing July afternoon. An off-shore breeze, now freshening to a - gale, tosses the Solway into choppy billows. Most of the inhabitants of - Arbigland are down at the mouth of the little tide-water creek, that forms - the harbor of the village, eagerly watching a small fishing yawl. The - latter craft is beating up in the teeth of the gale, striving for the - shelter of the creek. - </p> - <p> - The crew of the yawl consists of but one, and him a lad of twelve. His - right hand holds the tiller; with the left he slacks or hauls the sheets, - and shifts the sail when he goes about. - </p> - <p> - The yawl has just heeled over on the starboard tack, as Mr. Younger pushes - in among the villagers that crowd the little quay. - </p> - <p> - “They’ll no make it!” exclaims a fisherman, alluding to the boy and yawl; - “they’ll be blawn oot t’ sea!” - </p> - <p> - “Ay! they’ll make it sure enough,” declares another stoutly. “It’s little - Jack Paul who’s conning her, and he’d bring the yawl in against a - horrycane. She’s a gude boat, too—as quick on her feet as a dancing - maister; and, as for beating to wind’ard, she’ll lay a point closer to the - wind than a man has a right to ask of his lawful wedded wife. Ye’ll see; - little Jack’ll bring her in.” - </p> - <p> - “Who is he?” asks Mr. Younger of the last speaker; “who’s yon boy?” - </p> - <p> - “He’s son to John Paul, gardener to the laird Craik.” - </p> - <p> - “Sitha! son to Gardener Paul, quo’ you!” breaks in an old fish-wife who, - with red arms folded beneath her coarse apron, stands watching the yawl - with the others. “Now to my mind, he looks mair like the laird than I - s’uld want my son to look, if I were wife to Gardener Paul.” - </p> - <p> - “Shame for ye, Lucky!” cries the fisherman to whom she speaks. “Would ye - cast doots on the lad’s mither, and only because the lad in his favoring - makes ye think now and again on Maister Craik? Jeanny Paul, that was - Jeanny Macduff, is well kenned to be as carefu’ a wife as ever cooked her - man’s breakfast in Arbigland.” - </p> - <p> - “Ye think so, Tam Bryce?” retorts the incorrigible Lucky. “Much ye s’uld - know of the wives of Arbigland, and you to sea eleven months o’ the year! - I tell ye, Jeanny came fro’ the Highlands; and it’ll be lang, I trow, - since gude in shape of man or woman came oot o’ the Highlands.” - </p> - <p> - “Guide your tongue, Lucky!” remonstrates the other, in a low tone; “guide - your tongue, ye jade! Here comes Gardener Paul himsel’.‘’ - </p> - <p> - “I’ll no stay to meet him,” says Lucky, moving away. “Puir blinded fule! - not to see what all Arbigland, ay! and all Kirkbean Parish, too, for that - matter, has seen the twal years, that his boy Jack is no mair no less than - just the laird’s bairn when all’s said.” - </p> - <p> - “Ye’ll no mind her, Maister Younger,” says Tom Bryce, pointing after - Lucky; “although, to be preceese, what the carline tells has in it mair of - truth than poetry.” - </p> - <p> - “I was no thinking on the dame’s clack,” returns Mr. Younger, his eyes - still on the nearing yawl, “or whether yon lad’s a gardener’s bairn or a - gentleman’s by-blaw. What I will say, in the face of the sun, however, is - that he has in him the rudiments of as brisk a sailorman as ever walked - saut water.” - </p> - <p> - “There’ll be none that’s better,” observes Tom Bryce, “going in and oot o’ - Solway Firth.” Then, eyeing the yawl: “He’ll win to the creek’s mouth on - the next reach to sta’board.” - </p> - <p> - Gardener Paul joins Mr. Younger and the fisherman, Tom Bryce. - </p> - <p> - “We were talking of your son,” says Mr. Younger to Gardener Paul. “What - say ye, mon; will ye apprentice him? I’ll send him with Dick Bennison, in - my new brig Friendship, to the Virginias and Jamaica.” - </p> - <p> - John Paul, gardener to the laird, Robert Craik, is a dull man, notably - thick of wit, and slow. - </p> - <p> - “The Virginias!” he repeats. “My son William has been there these sixteen - year. He’s head man for my kinsman Jones, on his plantation by the - Rappahannock. If Jack sails with Dick Bennison, he’ll meet William that - he’s never seen.” - </p> - <p> - “He’ll see his brother for sure,” returns Mr. Younger. “The <i>Friendship</i> - goes from Whitehaven to Urbana, and that’s not a dozen miles down the - Rappahannock from your cousin’s plantation.” - </p> - <p> - The yawl has come safely into the creek’s mouth, and lies rocking at her - moorings as lightly as a gull. The lad leaps ashore, and is patted on the - back by the fisherman in praise of his seamanship. He smiles through the - salt water that drips from his face; for beating to windward is not the - driest point of sailing, and the lad is spray-soaked from head to heel. - </p> - <p> - “And may I go, father? - </p> - <p> - “This is Mr. Younger, Jack,” says Gardener Paul, as the lad conies up. “He - wants ye to sail ‘prentice with Dick Bennison, in the new brig.‘’ The - difference to show between Gardener Paul and little Jack Paul, as the pair - stand together on the quay, goes far to justify those innuendoes of the - scandalous Lucky. Gardener Paul’s heavy peasant face possesses nothing to - mark, on his part, any blood-nearness to the boy, whose olive skin, large - brown eyes, clean profile and dark hair like silk, speak only of the - patrician. - </p> - <p> - “And may I go, father?” asks Jack, a flush breaking eagerly through the - tan on his cheek. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0019.jpg" alt="0019 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0019.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “Ye might as weel, I think,” responds Gardener Paul judgmatically. “Ye’re - the born petrel; and for the matter of gardening, being my own and Adam’s - trade, I’ve kenned for lang ye’ll no mair touch spade or mattock than - handle coals of fire. So, as I was saying, ye might as weel sail ‘prentice - with Dick; and when ye meet your brother William, gi’ him his father’s - gude word. Ye’ll never have seen William, Jack, for he left hame before ye - were born; and so it’ll be a braw fore-gathering between the twa of ye—being - brothers that never met before.” - </p> - <p> - And after this fashion the fisher-boy, John Panl, afterward Admiral Paul - Jones, is given his baptism of the sea. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II—IN THE BLACK TRADE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he sun is - struggling through the dust-coated, cobwebbed windows, and lighting dimly - yet sufficiently the dingy office of Shipowner Younger of Whitehaven. That - substantial man is sitting at his desk, eyes fixed upon the bristle of - upstanding masts which sprout, thick as forest pines on a hillside, from - the harbor basin below. The face of Shipowner Younger has been given the - seasoning of several years, since he went to Arbigland that squall-torn - afternoon, to pick up a crew for Dick Bennison. Also, Shipowner Younger - shines with a new expression of high yet retiring complacency. The - expression is one awful and fascinating to the clerk, who sits at the far - end of the room. Shipowner Younger has been elected to Parliament, and his - awful complacency is that elevation’s visible sign. The knowledge of his - master’s election offers the basis of much of the clerk’s awe, and that - stipendary almost charms himself into the delusion that he sees a halo - about the bald pate of Shipowner Younger. - </p> - <p> - The latter brings the spellbound clerk from his trance of fascination, by - wheeling upon him. - </p> - <p> - “Did ye send doon, mon,” he cries, “to my wharf, with word for young Jack - Paul to come?” - </p> - <p> - The clerk says that he did. - </p> - <p> - “Then ye can go seek your denner.” - </p> - <p> - The clerk, acting on this permission, scrambles to his fascinated feet. As - he retires through the one door, young Jack Paul enters. The brown-faced - boy of the Arbigland yawl has grown to be a brisk young sailor, taut and - natty. He shakes the hand of Shipowner Younger, who gives him two fingers - in that manner of condescending reserve, which he conceives to be due his - dignity as a member of the House of Commons. Having done so much for his - dignity, Shipowner Younger relaxes. - </p> - <p> - “Have a chair, lad!” he says. “Bring her here where we can chat.” - </p> - <p> - The natty Jack Paul brings the clerk’s chair, as being the only one in the - room other than that occupied by Shipowner Younger. One sees the - thorough-paced sailor in the very motions of him; for his step is quick, - catlike and sure, and there is just the specter of a roll in his walk, as - though the heaving swell of the ocean still abides in his heels. When he - has placed the chair, so as to bring himself and Shipowner Younger face to - face, he says: - </p> - <p> - “And now, sir, what are your commands’?” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll have sent for ye, Jack,” begins Shipowner Younger, portentously - lengthening the while his shaven upper-lip—“I’ll have sent for ye, - for three several matters: To pay ye a compliment or twa; to gi’ ye a gude - lecture; an’ lastly to do a trifle of business wi’ ye, by way of rounding - off. For I hold,” goes on Shipowner Younger, in an admonishing tone, “that - conversations which don’t carry a trifle of business are no mair than just - the crackle of thorns under a pot. Ye’ll ken I’m rich, Jack—ye’ll - ken I can clink my gold, an’ count my gold, an’ keep my gold wi’ the - warmest mon in Whitehaven?” - </p> - <p> - Young Jack Paul smiles, and nods his full agreement. - </p> - <p> - “But ye’ll no ken,” goes on Shipowner Younger, with proud humility, the - pride being real and the humility imitated—“ye’ll no ken, I believe, - that I’m ‘lected to the Parleyment in Lunnon, lad?” Shipowner Younger - pauses to observe the effect of this announcement of his greatness. Being - satisfied, he goes on. “It’s a sacrifeece, no doot, but I s’all make it. - The King has need of my counsel; an’, God save him! he s’all have it. For - I’ve always said, lad, that a mon’s first debt is to the King. But it’ll - mean sore changes, Jack, sore changes will it mean; for I’m to sell up my - ships to the last ship’s gig of ‘em, the better to leave me hand-free and - head-free to serve the King.” - </p> - <p> - Young Jack Paul is polite enough to arch his brows and draw a serious - face. Shipowner Younger is pleased at this, and, with a deprecatory wave - of his hand, as one who dismisses discussion of misfortunes which are - beyond the help of words, proceeds: - </p> - <p> - “But enou’ of idle clavers; I’ll e’en get to what for I brought you here.” - Shipowner Younger leans far back in his big chair, and contemplates young - Jack Paul with a twinkle. “Now, lad,” he begins, “when from ‘prentice ye - are come to be first mate among my ships, I’m to tell ye that from Dick - Bennison who signed ye, to Ed’ard Denbigh whose first officer ye now be, - all the captains ye’ve sailed wi’ declare ye a finished seaman. But”—here - Shipowner Younger shakes his head as though administering reproof—“they - add that ye be ower handy wi’ your fists.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, then,” breaks in young Jack Paul, “how else am I to keep my watch in - order! Besides, I hold it more humane to strike with your fist than with a - belaying pin. The captains, I’ll warrant, have told you I thrashed none - but ship’s bullies.” - </p> - <p> - “They’ll have told me nothing of the kind,” returns Shipowner Younger. - “They said naught of bullies. What they did observe was that ye just - pounded the faces of the fo’c’sle hands in the strict line of duty. Why, - they said the whole ship’s crew loved ye like collie dogs! It seems ye’ve - a knack of thrashing yourself into their hearts.” - </p> - <p> - Young Jack Paul’s eyes show pleasure and relief; he perceives he is not - being scolded. - </p> - <p> - “And now,” says Shipowner Younger, donning the alert manner of your - true-born merchant approaching pounds, shillings and pence—“and now, - having put the compliments and the lecture astern, we’ll even get doon to - business. As I was tellin’, I’m about to retire from the ships. I’m rich - enou’; and, being called to gi’ counsel to the King, I want no - exter-aneous interests to distract me. The fair truth is, I’ve sold all - but the bark ye’re now wi’, the <i>John O’ Gaunt</i>, ye’ll ken; and - that’s to be sold to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “You’ll sell our <i>John O’ Gaunt</i>, sir? Who is to own it?” - </p> - <p> - “Ed’ard Denbigh, your captain, is to own five-sixths of her, for which - he’ll pay five thousand pounds; being dog-cheap”—here a deep sigh—“as - I’m a Christian! As for the remaining sixth, lad, why it’s to be yours. - Ye’ll sail oot o’ Whitehaven this v’yage in your own ship, partners wi’ - Ed’ard Denbigh.” - </p> - <p> - “But, sir,” protests young Jack Paul, his voice startled into a tremor, - “with all thanks for your goodness, I’ve got no thousand pounds. You know - the wages of a mate.‘’ - </p> - <p> - “Ay! I ken the wages of a mate weel enou’; I’ve been payin’ ‘em for thirty - year come New Year’s day. But ye’ll no need money, Jack!”—the dry, - harsh tones grow soft with kindliness—“ye’ll no need money, mon, and - there’s the joke of it. For I’m to gi’ ye your one-sixth of the John O’ - Gaunt, wi’ never a shillin’ from your fingers, and so make a man and a - merchant of ye at a crack. Now, no words, lad! Ye’ve been faithful; and - I’ve no’ forgot that off Cape Clear one day ye saved me a ship. Ay! ye’ll - ken by now that Jamie Younger, for all he’s ‘lected to Parleyment to tell - the King his mind, is no so giddy wi’ his honors as to forget folk who - serve him. No words, I tell ye! There ye be, sailor and shipowner baith, - before ye’re twenty-one. An’ gude go wi’ ye!” - </p> - <p> - The big-hearted Scotchman smothers the gratitude on the lips of young Jack - Paul, and hands him out the door. As the latter goes down the stair, - Shipowner Younger calls after him with a kind of anticipatory crow of - exultation: - </p> - <p> - “And, lad! if ye get ever to Lunnon, come doon to Westminster, and see me - just passin’ the laws!” - </p> - <p> - The <i>John O’ Gaunt</i> lies off the Guinea coast. The last one of its - moaning, groaning, black cargo of slaves has come over the side from the - shore boats, and been conveyed below. The <i>John O’ Gaunt</i> has been - chartered by a Bristol firm to carry three thousand slaves from the - Guineas to Kingston; it will require ten voyages, and this is the - beginning of the first. - </p> - <p> - The three hundred unhappy blacks who make the cargo are between decks. - There they squat in four ranks, held by light wrist-chains to two great - iron cables which are stretched forward and aft. - </p> - <p> - There are four squatting ranks of them; each rank sits face to face with - its fellow rank across the detaining cable. Thus will they sit and suffer, - cramped and choked and half-starved in that tropical hell between decks, - through those two-score days and nights which lie between the <i>John O’ - Gaunt</i> and Kingston. - </p> - <p> - Captain Denbigh keeps the deck until the anchors are up. The wind is - forward of the beam, and now, when its canvas is shaken out, the <i>John - O’ Gaunt</i> begins to move through the water on the starboard tack. The - motion is slow and sulky, as though the ship were sick in its heart at the - vile traffic it has come to, and must be goaded by stiffest gales before - it consents to any show of speed. Captain Denbigh leaves the order, “West - by north!” with second mate Boggs, who has the watch on deck; and, after - glancing aloft at the sails and over the rail at the weather, waddles - below to drink “Prosperous voyage!” with his first mate and fellow owner, - young Jack Paul. - </p> - <p> - He finds that youthful mariner gloomy and sad. - </p> - <p> - The cabin where the two are berthed is roomy. At one end is a case of - bottles—brandy and rum, the property of Captain Denbigh. At the - other is a second lock-fast case, filled with books, the sailing - companions of first mate Jack Paul. There are text-books—French, - Spanish, Latin and Greek; for first mate Jack Paul is of a mind to learn - languages during his watch below. There are books on navigation and - astronomy, as well as volumes by De Foe and Richardson. Also, one sees the - comedies of Congreve, and the poems of Alexander Pope. To these latter, - first mate Jack Paul gives much attention; his inquiring nose is often - between their covers. He studies English elegancies of speech and manner - in Congreve, Pope and Richardson, while the crop-eared De Foe feeds his - fancy for adventure. - </p> - <p> - As Captain Denbigh rolls into the cabin, first mate Jack Paul is not - thinking on books. He has upon his mind the poor black wretches between - decks, the muffled murmur of whose groans, together with the clanking of - their wrist-chains, penetrates the bulkhead which forms the forward cabin - wall. Captain Denbigh never heeds the silence and the sadness of his - junior officer and partner, but marches, feet spread wide and sailorwise, - to the locker which holds his bottles. Making careful selection, he brings - out one of rum and another of sherry. - </p> - <p> - “You not likin’ rum,” explains Captain Denbigh, as he sets the sherry - within reach of first mate Jack Paul. - </p> - <p> - First mate Jack Paul mechanically fills himself a moderate glass, while - Captain Denbigh does himself more generous credit with a brimmer from the - rum bottle. - </p> - <p> - “Here’s to the good ship <i>John O’ Gaunt</i>,” cries Captain Denbigh, - tossing the rum down his capacious throat. “May it live to carry niggers a - hundred years!” - </p> - <p> - There is no response to this sentiment; but Captain Denbigh doesn’t feel - at all slighted, and sits down comfortably to the floor-fast table, the - rum at his elbow. Being thus disposed, he glances at his moody companion. - </p> - <p> - There is much that is handsome in a rough, saltwater way about Captain - Denbigh. He is short, stout, with a brown pillar of a throat, and - shoulders as square as his yardarms. His thick hair is clubbed into a cue; - there are gold rings in his ears, and his gray eyes laugh as he looks at - you. - </p> - <p> - “An’ now, mate Jack,” says Captain Denbigh, cheerfully, “with our three - hundred niggers stowed snug, an’ we out’ard bound for Jamaica, let you an’ - me have a bit of talk. Not as cap ‘in an’ mate, mind you, but as owners. - To begin with, then, you don’t like the black trade?” - </p> - <p> - First mate Jack Paul looks up; the brown eyes show trouble and resolve. - </p> - <p> - “Captain,” he says, “it goes against my soul!” Then, he continues - apologetically: “Not that I say aught against slavery, which I’ve heard - chaplains and parsons prove to be right and pious by Bible text. Ay! I’ve - heard them when I’ve been to church ashore, with my brother William by the - Rappahannock. My kinsman Jones owns slaves; and I can see, too, that they - have safer, happier lives with him than could fall to their lot had they - remained savages in the wild Guinea woods. But owning slaves by the - Rappahannock, where you can give them kindness and make them happy, is one - thing. This carrying the tortured creatures —chained, and mad with - grief!—to Jamaica is another.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Denbigh refreshes himself with more rum. - </p> - <p> - “It wards off the heat,” he vouchsafes, in extenuation of his partiality - for the rum. Having set himself right touching rum, he takes, up the main - question: “What can we do?” he asks. “You know we’re chartered for ten - v’yages?” - </p> - <p> - “I’m no one to argue with my captain,” responds first mate Jack Paul. - “Still less do I talk of breaking charters. All I say is, it makes me - heart-sore.” - </p> - <p> - “Let me see!” responds Captain Denbigh, searching for an idea. “Your - brother William tells me, the last time we takes in tobacco from the Jones - plantation, that old William Jones is as fond o’ you as o’ him?” - </p> - <p> - “That is true. He wanted me to stay ashore with him and William, and give - up the sea.” - </p> - <p> - “An’ why not, mate Jack?” - </p> - <p> - First mate Jack Paul shrugs his shoulders, which, despite his youth, are - as broad and square as his captain’s. - </p> - <p> - “Because I like the sea,” says he; “and shall always like the sea.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Denbigh takes more rum; after which he sits knitting his forehead - into knots, in a very agony of cogitation. Finally he gives the table a - great bang, at which the rum bottle jumps in alarm. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve hit it!” he cries. “I knowed I would if I’d only drink rum enough. I - never has a bright idea yet, I don’t get it from rum. Here, now, mate - Jack; I’ll just buy you out. You don’t like the black trade, an’ you’ll - like it less an’ less. It’s your readin’ books does it; that, an not - drinkin rum. Howsumever, I’ll buy you out. Then you can take a - merchant-ship; or—an’ you may call me no seaman if that ain’t what - I’d do you sits down comfortable with your brother an’ your old kinsman - Jones by the Rappahannock, an plays gentleman ashore.” - </p> - <p> - While Captain Denbigh talks, the trouble fades from the face of first mate - Jack Paul. - </p> - <p> - “What’s that?” he cries. “You’ll buy me out?” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, lad! as sure as my name’s Ed’ard Denbigh. That is, if so be you can - sell, bein’ under age. I allows you can, howsumever; for you’re no one to - go back on a bargain.” Having thus adjusted to his liking the legal doubt - suggested, Captain Denbigh turns to the question of price. “Master Younger - puts your sixth at a thousand pounds. If so be you’ll say the word, mate - Jack, I’ll give you a thousand pounds.” - </p> - <p> - Countenance brightened with a vast relief, first mate Jack Paul stretches - his hand across the table. Captain Denbigh, shifting his glass to the left - hand, grasps it. - </p> - <p> - “Done!” says first mate Jack Paul. - </p> - <p> - “An’ done to you, my hearty!” exclaims Captain Denbigh. “The money’ll be - yours, mate Jack, as soon as ever we sees Kingston light. An’ now for - another hooker of rum to bind the bargain.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III—THE YELLOW JACK - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>t Kingston, - Captain Denbigh goes ashore with first mate Jack Paul, and pays over in - Bank of England paper those one thousand pounds which represent that - one-sixth interest in the <i>John O’Gaunt</i>. While the pair are upon - this bit of maritime business, the three hundred mournful blacks are - landed under the supervision of the second mate. Among the virtues which a - cargo of slaves possesses over a shipment of cotton or sugar or rum, is - the virtue of legs. This merit is made so much of by the energetic second - officer of the <i>John O’Gaunt</i>, that, within half a day, the last of - the three hundred blacks is landed on the Kingston quay. Received and - receipted for by a bilious Spaniard with an umbrella hat, who is their - consignee, the blacks are marched away to the stockade which will confine - them while awaiting distribution among the plantations. Captain Denbigh - puts to sea with the <i>John O’Gaunt</i> in ballast the same evening. A - brisk seaman, and brisker man of business, is Captain Denbigh, and no one - to spend money and time ashore, when he may be making the one and saving - the other afloat. - </p> - <p> - First mate Jack Paul, his fortune of one thousand pounds safe in the - strong-boxes of the Kingston bank, sallies forth to look for a ship. He - decides to go passenger, for the sake of seeing what it is like, and his - first thought is to visit his brother William by the Rappahannock. This - fraternal venture he forbears, when he discovers Kingston to be in the - clutch of that saffron terror the yellow fever. Little is being locally - said of the epidemic, for the town is fearful of frightening away its - commerce. The Kingston heart, like most human hearts, thinks more of its - own gold than of the lives of other men. Wherefore Kingston is sedulous to - hide the plague in its midst, lest word go abroad on blue water and drive - away the ships. - </p> - <p> - First mate Jack Paul becomes aware of Kingston for the death-trap it is - before he is ashore two days. It is the suspicious multitude of funerals - thronging the sun-baked streets, that gives him word. And yet the grewsome - situation owns no peculiar threat for him, since he has sailed these - blistering latitudes so often and so much that he may call himself immune. - For him, the disastrous side is that, despite the Kingston efforts at - concealment, a plague-whisper drifted out to sea, and as a cautious - consequence the Kingston shipping has dwindled to be nothing. This - scarcity of ships vastly interferes with that chance of a passage home. - </p> - <p> - “The first craft, outward bound for England, shall do,” thinks first mate - Jack Paul. “As to William, I’ll defer my visit until I may go ashore to - him without bringing the yellow jack upon half Virginia.” - </p> - <p> - While waiting for that home-bound ship, first mate Jack Paul goes upon a - pilgrimage of respect to the tomb of Admiral Benbow. That sea-wolf lies - buried in the parish chapel-yard in King Street. - </p> - <p> - As first mate Jack Paul leaves the little burying-ground, he runs foul of - a polite adventure which, in its final expression, will have effect upon - his destiny. His aid is enlisted in favor of a lady in trouble. - </p> - <p> - The troubled lady, fat, florid and forty, is being conveyed along King - Street in her <i>ketureen</i>, a sort of sedan chair on two wheels, drawn - by a half-broken English horse. The horse, excited by a funeral procession - of dancing, singing, shouting blacks, capsizes the <i>ketureen</i>, and - the fat, florid one is decanted upon the curb at the feet of first mate - Jack Paul. Alive to what is Christian in the way of duty, he raises the - florid, fat decanted one, and congratulates her upon having suffered no - harm. - </p> - <p> - The <i>ketureen</i> is restored to an even keel. The fat, florid one - boards it, though not before she invites first mate Jack Paul to dinner. - Being idle, lonesome, and hungry for English dishes, he accepts, and - accompanies the fat, florid one in the dual guise of guest and bodyguard. - </p> - <p> - Sir Holman Hardy, husband to the fat, florid one, is as fatly florid as - his spouse. Incidentally he is in command of what British soldiers are - stationed at Kingston. The fat, florid one presents first mate Jack Paul - to her Hector, tells the tale of the rescue, and thereupon the three go in - to dinner. Later, first mate Jack Paul and his host smoke in the deep - veranda, where, during the cool of the evening, Sir Holman drinks - sangaree, and first mate Jack Paul drinks Madeira. Also Sir Holman - inveighs against the Horse Guards for consigning him to such a pit of - Tophet as is Kingston. - </p> - <p> - Between sangaree and maledictions levelled at the Horse Guards, Sir Holman - gives first mate Jack Paul word of a brig, the <i>King George’s Packet</i>, - out of China for Kingston with tea, which he looks for every day. - Discharging its tea, the <i>King George’s Packet</i> will load with rum - for Whitehaven; and Sir Holman declares that first mate Jack Paul shall - sail therein, a passenger-guest, for home. Sir Holman is able to promise - this, since the fat, florid rescued one is the child of Shipowner Donald - of Donald, Currie & Beck, owners of the <i>King George’s Packet</i>. - </p> - <p> - “Which makes me,” expounds Sir Holman, his nose in the sangaree, “a kind - of son-in-law to the brig itself.” - </p> - <p> - He grumblingly intimates—he is far gone in sangaree at the time—that - a fleet of just such sea-trinkets as the <i>King George’s Packet</i>, so - far as he has experimented with the marital condition, constitutes the one - redeeming feature of wedlock. - </p> - <p> - “And so,” concludes the excellent Sir Holman, “you’re to go home with the - rum, guest of the ship itself; and the thing I could weep over is that I - cannot send my kit aboard and sail with you.” - </p> - <p> - Two days go by, and the <i>King George’s Packet</i> is sighted off Port - Royal; twenty-four hours later its master, Captain Macadam—-a Solway - man—is drinking Sir Holman’s sangaree. Making good his word, Sir - Holman sends for first mate Jack Paul, and that business of going - passenger to Whitehaven is adjusted. - </p> - <p> - “True!” observes Captain Macadam, when he understands—“true, the <i>George</i> - isn’t fitted up for passengers. But”—turning to first mate Jack Paul—“you’ll - no mind; bein’ a seaman yours eh?” - </p> - <p> - “More than that, Captain,” breaks in Sir Holman, “since the port is - reeling full of yellow jack, some of your people might take it to sea with - them. Should aught go wrong, now, why here is your passenger, a finished - sailorman, to give you a lift.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Macadam’s face has been tanned like leather. None the less, as he - hears the above the mahogany hue thereof lapses into a pasty, piecrust - color. Plainly that word yellow jack fills his soul with fear. He mentions - the wearisome fact to first mate Jack Paul, as he and that young - gentleman, after their cigars and sangaree with Sir Holman, are making a - midnight wake for the change house whereat they have bespoken beds. - </p> - <p> - “It’s no kindly,” complains Captain Macadam, “for Sir Holman to let me run - my brig blindfold into sic a snare. But then he has a fourth share in the - tea, and another in the rum; and so, for his profit like, he lets me tak’ - my chances. He’d stude better wi’ God on high I’m thinkin’, if he’d let - his profit gone by, and just had a pilot boat standin’ off and on at Port - Royal, to gi’ me the wink to go wide. I could ha’ taken the tea to New - York weel enou’. But bein’ I’m here,” concludes the disturbed Captain, - appealing to first mate Jack Paul, “what would ye advise?” - </p> - <p> - “To get your tea ashore and your rum aboard as fast as you may.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay! that’ll about be the weesdom of it!” - </p> - <p> - Captain Macadam can talk of nothing but yellow jack all the way to the - change house. - </p> - <p> - “It’s the first time I was ever in these watters,” he explains - apologetically, “and now I can smell fever in the air! Ay! the hond o’ - death is on these islands! Be ye no afeard, mon?” - </p> - <p> - First mate Jack Paul says that he is not. Also he is a trifle irritated at - the alarm of the timorous Captain Macadam. - </p> - <p> - “That’ll just be your youth now!” observes the timorous one. “Ye’re no old - enou’ to grasp the responsibeelities.” - </p> - <p> - At four in the morning Captain Macadam comes into first mate Jack Paul’s - room at the change house. He is clad in his linen sleeping suit, and his - teeth are chattering a little. - </p> - <p> - “It’s the bein’ ashore makes my teeth drum,” he vouchsafes. “But what I - wushed to ask ye, lad, is d’ye believe in fortunes? No? Weel, then, - neither do I; only I remembered like that lang syne a wierd warlock sort - o’ body tells me in the port o’ Leith, that I’m to meet my death in the - West Injies. It’s the first time, as I was tellin’ ye, that ever I comes - pokin’ my snout amang these islands; and losh! I believe that warlock - chiel was right. I’ve come for my death sure.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Macadam promises his crew’ double grog and double wages, and works - night and day lightering his tea ashore, and getting his rum casks into - the <i>King George’s Packet</i>. Then he calls a pilot, and, with a - four-knot breeze behind him, worms his way along the narrow, corkscrew - channel, until he finds himself in open water. - </p> - <p> - Then the pilot goes over the side, and Captain Macadam takes the brig. He - casts an anxious eye astern at Port Royal, four miles away. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll no feel safe,” says he, “while yon Satan’s nest is under my quarter. - And afterward I’ll no feel safe neither. How many days, mon, is a victeem - to stand by and look for symptoms?” - </p> - <p> - First mate Jack Paul, to whom the query is put, gives it as his opinion - that, if they have yellow fever aboard, it will make its appearance within - the week. - </p> - <p> - “Weel that’s a mercy ony way!” says Captain Macadam with a sigh. - </p> - <p> - There are, besides first mate Jack Paul, and the Captain with his two - officers, twelve seamen and the cook—seventeen souls in all—aboard - the <i>King George’s Packet</i> as, north by east, it crawls away from - Port Royal. For four days the winds hold light but fair. Then come head - winds, and the brig finds itself making long tacks to and fro in the - Windward Passage, somewhere between Cape Mazie and the Mole St. Nicholas. - </p> - <p> - “D’ye see, mon!” cries Captain Macadam, whose fears have increased, not - diminished, since he last saw the Jamaica lights. “The vera weather seeks - to keep us in this trap! I’ll no be feelin’ ower weel neither, let me tell - ye!” - </p> - <p> - First mate Jack Paul informs the alarmed Captain that to fear the fever is - to invite it. - </p> - <p> - “I’m no afeard, mon,” returns Captain Macadam, with a groan, “I’m just - impressed.” - </p> - <p> - The timidities of the Captain creep among the mates and crew; forward and - aft the feeling is one of terror. The <i>King George’s Packet</i> becomes - a vessel of gloom. There are no songs, no whistling for a wind. Even the - cook’s fiddle is silent, and the galley grows as melancholy as the - forecastle. - </p> - <p> - It is eight bells in the afternoon of the fourth day, when the man at the - wheel calls to Captain Macadam. He tosses his thumb astern. - </p> - <p> - “Look there!” says he. - </p> - <p> - Captain Macadam peers over the rail, and counts eleven huge sharks. The - monsters are following the brig. Also, they seem in an ugly mood, since - ever and anon they dash at one another ferociously. - </p> - <p> - “It’ll be a sign!” whispers Captain Macadam. Then he counts them. - “There’ll be ‘leven o’ them,” says he; “and that means we’re ‘leven to - die!” After this he dives below, and takes to the bottle. - </p> - <p> - Bleared of eye, shaken of hand, Captain Macadam on the fifth morning finds - first mate Jack Paul on the after deck. The eleven sharks are still - sculling sullenly along in the slow wake of the wind-bound brig. - </p> - <p> - “Be they there yet?” asks Captain Macadam, looking over the stern with a - ghastly grin. Then answering his own query: “Ay! they’ll be there—the - ‘leven of ‘em!” - </p> - <p> - First mate Jack Paul, observing their daunting effect on the over-harrowed - nerves of Captain Macadam, is for having up his pistols to take a shot at - the sharks; but he is stayed by the other. - </p> - <p> - “They’ll be sent,” says Captain Macadam; “it’ll no do to slay ‘em, mon! - But losh! ain’t a sherk a fearfu’ feesli?” Then, seeing his hand shake on - the brig’s rail: “It’s the rum. And that’s no gude omen, me takin’ to the - rum; for I’m not preeceesely what you’d ca’ a drinkin’ body.” - </p> - <p> - Two hours later Captain Macadam issues from his cabin and seeks first mate - Jack Paul, where the latter is sitting in the shade of the main sail. - </p> - <p> - “Mon, look at me!” he cries. “D’ye no see? I tell ye, Death has found me - oot on the deep watters!” - </p> - <p> - The single glance assures first mate Jack Paul that Captain Macadam is - right. His eyes are congested and ferrety; his face is flushed. Even while - first mate Jack Paul looks, he sees the skin turn yellow as a lemon. He - thumbs the sick man’s wrist; the pulse is thumping like a trip-hammer. - Also, the dry, fevered skin shows an abnormal temperature. - </p> - <p> - “Your tongue!” says first mate Jack Paul; for he has a working knowledge - of yellow jack. - </p> - <p> - It is but piling evidence upon evidence; the tongue is the color of liver. - Three hours later, the doomed man is delirious. Then the fever gives way - to a chill; presently he goes raving his way into eternity, and the <i>King - George’s Packet</i> loses its Captain. - </p> - <p> - First mate Jack Paul sews the dead skipper in a hammock with his own - fingers; since, mates, crew and cook, not another will bear a hand. When - the hammock sewing is over, the cook aids in bringing the corpse on deck. - As the body slips from the grating into the sea, a thirty-two pound shot - at the heels, the cook laughs overboard at the sharks, still hanging, like - hounds upon a scent, to the brig’s wake. - </p> - <p> - “Ye’ll have to dive for the skipper, lads!” sings out the cook. - </p> - <p> - Offended by this ribaldry, first mate Jack Paul is on the brink of - striking the cook down with a belaying pin. For his own nerves are - a-jangle, and that misplaced merriment rasps. It is the look in the man’s - face which stays his hand. - </p> - <p> - “Ye’ll be right!” cries the cook, as though replying to something in the - eye of first mate Jack Paul. “Don’t I know it? It is I who’ll follow the - skipper! I’ll just go sew my own hammock, and have it ready, shot and - all.” - </p> - <p> - As the cook starts for the galley, a maniac yell is heard from the - forecastle. At that, he pauses, sloping his ear to listen. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll have company,” says he. - </p> - <p> - First the cook; then the mates; then seven of the crew. One after the - other, they follow a thirty-two pound shot over the side; for after the - Captain’s death the sailors lose their horror of the plague-killed ones, - and sew them up and slip them into the sea as readily as though they are - bags of bran. The worst is that a fashion of dull panic takes them, and - they refuse their duty. There is no one to command, they say; and, since - there can be no commands, there can be no duty. With that they hang - moodily about the capstan, or sulk in their bunks below. - </p> - <p> - First mate Jack Paul takes the wheel, rather than leave the <i>King - George’s Packet</i> to con itself across the ocean. As he is standing at - the wheel trying to make a plan to save the brig and himself, he observes - a sailor blundering aft. The man dives below, and the next moment, through - the open skylights, first mate Jack Paul hears him rummaging the Captain’s - cabin. In a trice, he lashes the wheel, and slips below on the heels of - the sailor. As he surmises, the man is at the rum. Without word spoken, he - knocks the would-be rum guzzler over, and then kicks him up the companion - way to the deck. - </p> - <p> - Pausing only to stick a couple of pistols in his belt, first mate Jack - Paul follows that kicked seaman with a taste for rum. He walks first to - the wheel. The wind is steady and light; for the moment the brig will mind - itself. Through some impulse he glances over the stern; the sharks are - gone. This gives him a thought; he will use the going of the sharks to - coax the men. - </p> - <p> - The five are grouped about the capstan, the one who was struck is bleeding - like tragedy. First mate Jack Paul makes them a little speech. - </p> - <p> - “There are no more to die,” says he. “The called-for eleven are dead, and - the sharks no longer follow us. That shows the ship free of menace; we’re - all to see England again. And now, mates”—there is that in the tone - which makes the five look up—“I’ve a bit of news. From now, until - its anchors are down in Whitehaven basin, I shall command this ship.” - </p> - <p> - “You?” speaks up a big sailor. “You’re no but a boy!” - </p> - <p> - “I’m man enough to sail the brig to England, and make you work like a dog, - you swab!” The look in the eye of first mate Jack Paul, makes the capstan - quintette uneasy. He goes on: “Come, my hearties, which shall it be? - Sudden death? or you to do your duty by brig and owners? For, as sure as - ever I saw the Solway, the first who doesn’t jump to my order, I’ll plant - a brace of bullets in his belly!” - </p> - <p> - And so rebellion ceases; the five come off their gloomings and their - grumblings, and spring to their work of sailing the brig. It is labor - night and day, however, for all aboard; but the winds blow the fever away, - the gales favor them, one and all they seem to have worn out the evil - fortune which dogged them out of Kingston. The <i>King George’s Packet</i> - comes safe, at the last of it, into Whitehaven—-first mate Jack Paul - and his crew of five looking for the lack of sleep like dead folk walking - the decks. - </p> - <p> - Donald, Currie & Beck pay a grateful salvage on brig and cargo to - first mate Jack Paul and the five, for bringing home the brig. This puts - six hundred pounds into the pockets of first mate Jack Paul, and one-fifth - as much into the pockets of each of the five. Then Donald, Currie & - Beck have first mate Jack Paul to dinner with the firm. - </p> - <p> - “We’ve got a ship for ye,” says shipowner Donald, as the wine is being - passed. “Ye’re to be Captain.” - </p> - <p> - “Captain!” repeats first mate Jack Paul. “A ship for me?” - </p> - <p> - “Who else, then!” returns shipowner Donald. “Ay! it’s the <i>Crantully - Castle</i>, four hundred tons, out o’ Plymouth for Bombay. Ye’re to be - Captain; besides, ye’re to have a tenth in the cargo. And now if that - suits ye, gentlemen”—addressing shipowners Currie & Beck—“let - the firm of Donald, Currie & Beck fill up the glasses to the <i>Crantully - Castle</i> and its new Captain, Jack Paul.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV—THE KILLING OF MUNGO - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>aptain Jack Paul - and his <i>Grantully Castle</i> see friendly years together. They go to - India, to Spain, to the West Indies, to the Mediterranean, to Africa. - While Captain Jack Paul is busy with the <i>Grantully Castle</i>, piling - up pounds and shillings and pence for owners Donald, Currie & Beck, he - is also deep with the books, hammering at French, Spanish and German. - Ashore, he makes his way into what best society he can find, being as - eager to refine his manners as refine his mind, holding the one as much an - education as is the other. Finally he is known in every ocean for the - profundity of his learning, the polish of his deportment, the power of his - fists, and the powder-like explosiveness of his temper. - </p> - <p> - It is a cloudy October afternoon when Captain Jack Paul works the <i>Grantully - Castle</i> out of Plymouth, shakes free his canvas, and fills away on the - starboard tack for Tobago. The crew is an evil lot, and a spirit of mutiny - stirs in the ship. Captain Jack Paul, who holds that a good sailor is ever - a good grumbler, can overlook a deal in favor of this aphorism; and does. - On the sixth day out, however, when his first officer, Mr. Sands, staggers - below with a sheath-knife through his shoulder, it makes a case to which - no commander can afford to seem blind. - </p> - <p> - “It was Mungo!” explains the wounded Mr. Sands. - </p> - <p> - Captain Jack Paul goes on deck, and takes his stand by the main mast. - </p> - <p> - “Pipe all hands aft, Mr. Cooper,” he says to the boatswain. - </p> - <p> - The crew straggle aft. They offer a circling score of brutal faces; in - each the dominant expression is defiance. - </p> - <p> - “The man Mungo!” says Captain Jack Paul. “Where is he?” - </p> - <p> - At the word, a gigantic black slouches out from among his mates. Sloping - shoulders, barrel body, long, swinging arms like a gorilla’s, bandy legs, - huge hands and feet, head the size and shape of a cocoanut, small, black - serpent eyes, no soul unless a fiend’s soul, Mungo is at once tyrant, - pride and leader of the forecastle. Rumor declares that he has sailed - pirate in his time, and should be sun-drying in chains on the gibbet at - Corso Castle. - </p> - <p> - As he stands before Captain Jack Paul, Mungo’s features are in a black - snarl of fury. It is in his heart to do murderously more for his captain - than he did for first officer Sands. He waits only the occasion before - making a spring. Captain Jack Paul looks him over with a grim stare as he - slouches before him. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Cooper,” says Captain Jack Paul after a moment, during which he reads - the black Mungo like a page of print, “fetch the irons!” - </p> - <p> - The boatswain is back on deck with a pair of steel wristlets in briefest - space. He passes them to Captain Jack Paul. At this, Mungo glowers, while - the mutinous faces in the background put on a dull sullenness. There are a - brace of pistols in the belt of Captain Jack Paul, of which the sullen - dull ones do not like the look. Mungo, a black berserk, cares little for - the pistols, seeing he is in a white-hot rage, the hotter for being held - in present check. Captain Jack Paul, on his part, is in no wise asleep; he - notes the rolling, roving, bloodshot eye, like the eye of a wild beast at - bay, and is prepared. - </p> - <p> - “Hold out your hands!” comes the curt command. - </p> - <p> - Plainly it is the signal for which Mungo waited. With a growling roar, - bear-like in its guttural ferocity, he rushes upon Captain Jack Paul. The - roaring rush is of the suddenest, but the latter is on the alert. Quick as - is Mungo, Captain Jack Paul is quicker. Seizing a belaying-pin, he brings - it crashing down on the skull of the roaring, charging black. The heavy, - clublike pin is splintered; Mungo drops to the deck, a shivering heap. The - great hands close and open; the muscles clutch and knot under the black - skin; there is a choking gurgle. Then the mighty limbs relax; the face - tarns from black to a sickly tallow. Mouth agape, eyes wide and staring, - Mungo lies still. - </p> - <p> - Captain Jack Paul surveys the prostrate black. Then he tosses the irons to - Boatswain Cooper. - </p> - <p> - “They will not be needed, Mr. Bo’sen,” he says. “Pipe the crew for’ard!” - </p> - <p> - The keen whistle sings; the mutinous ones scuttle forward, like fowls that - hear the high scream of some menacing hawk.. - </p> - <p> - It is two bells in the evening; the port watch, in charge of the - knife-wounded Mr. Sands, has the deck. The dead Mungo, tight-clouted in a - hammock, lies stretched on a grating, ready for burial. - </p> - <p> - Captain Jack Paul comes up from his cabin. In his hand he carries a - prayer-book. Also those two pistols are still in his belt. - </p> - <p> - “Turn out the watch below!” is the word. - </p> - <p> - The crew makes a silent half-circle about the dead Mungo. That mutinous - sullenness, recently the defiant expression of their faces, is supplanted - by a deprecatory look, composite of apology and fear. It is as though they - would convince Captain Jack Paul of their tame and sheep-like frame of - thought. The fate of Mungo has instructed them; for one and all they are - of that criminal, coward brood, best convinced by a club and with whom - death is the only conclusive argument. As they stand uncovered about the - rigid one in the clouted hammock, they realize in full the villainy of - mutiny, and abandon that ship-rebellion which has been forecastle talk and - plan since ever the Plymouth lights went out astern. - </p> - <p> - Captain Jack Paul reads a prayer, and the dead Mungo is surrendered to the - deep. As the body goes splashing into the sea, Captain Jack Paul turns on - the subdued ones. - </p> - <p> - “Let me tell you this, my men!” says he. His tones have a cold, - threatening ring, like the clink of iron on arctic ice. “The first of you - who so much as lifts an eyebrow in refusal of an order shall go the same - voyage as the black. And so I tell you!” - </p> - <p> - Captain Jack Paul brings the <i>Grantully Castle</i> into Tobago, crew as - it might be a crew of lambs. Once his anchors are down, he signals for the - port admiral. Within half an hour the gig of that dignitary is alongside. - </p> - <p> - The Honorable Simpson, Judge Surrogate of the Vice-Admiralty Court of - Tobago, with the Honorable Young, Lieutenant-Governor of the colony, to - give him countenance, opens court in the after cabins of the <i>Grantully - Castle</i>. The crew are examined, man after man. They say little, lest - they themselves be caught in some law net, and landed high and dry in the - Tobago jail. First Officer Sands shows his wound and tells his story. - </p> - <p> - Throughout the inquiry Captain Jack Paul sits in silence, listening and - looking on. He puts no questions to either mate or crew. When First - Officer Sands is finished, the Honorable Simpson asks: - </p> - <p> - “Captain, in the killing of the black, Mungo, are you in conscience - convinced that you used no more force than was necessary to preserve - discipline in your ship?” - </p> - <p> - “May it please,” returns Captain Jack Paul, who has not been at his books - these years for nothing, and is fit to cope with a king’s counsel —“may - it please, I would say that it was necessary in the course of duty to - strike the mutineer Mungo. This was on the high seas. Whenever it becomes - necessary for a commanding officer to strike a seaman, it is necessary to - strike with a weapon. Also, the necessity to strike carries with it the - necessity to kill or disable the mutineer. I call your attention to the - fact that I had loaded pistols in my belt, and could have shot the - mutineer Mungo. I struck with a belaying-pin in preference, because I - hoped that I might subdue him without killing him. The result proved - otherwise. I trust your Honorable Court will take due account that, - although armed with pistols throwing ounce balls, weapons surely fatal in - my hands, I used a belaying-pin, which, though a dangerous, is not - necessarily a fatal weapon.” - </p> - <p> - Upon this statement, the Honorable Simpson and the Honorable Young confer. - As the upcome of their conference, the Honorable Simpson announces - judgment, exonerating Captain Jack Paul. - </p> - <p> - “The sailor Mungo, being at the time on the high seas, was in a state of - mutiny.” Thus runs the finding as set forth in the records of the - Vice-Admiralty Court of Tobago. “The sailor Mungo was mutinous under - circumstances which lodged plenary power in the hands of the master of the - vessel. Therefore, the homicide was justifiable, because it had become the - only means of maintaining the discipline required for the safety of the - ship.” - </p> - <p> - The court rises, and Captain Jack Paul bows the Honorable Simpson and the - Honorable Young over the side. When they are clear, First Officer Sands - addresses Captain Jack Paul. - </p> - <p> - “Are the crew to be set ashore, sir?” he asks. - </p> - <p> - “What! Mr. Sands, would you discharge the best crew we’ve ever had?” He - continues as though replying to his first officer’s look of astonishment. - “I grant you they were a trifle uncurried at first. The error of their - ways, however, broke upon them with all clearness in the going of Mungo. - As matters now are, compared to the <i>Grantully Castle</i>, a dove-cote - is a merest theatre of violence and murderous blood. No, Mr. Sands; we - will keep our crew if you please. Should there be further mutiny, why then - there shall be further belaying-pins, I promise you.” - </p> - <p> - The <i>Grantully Castle</i> goes finally back to England, the most - peaceful creature of oak and cordage that ever breasted the Atlantic. - Cargo discharged, the ship is sent into winter overhaul. - </p> - <p> - “As for you, sir,” remarks owner Donald, of Donald, Currie & Beck, - shoving the wine across to Captain Jack Paul, “ye’re just a maister - mariner of gold! Ye’ll no wait ashore for the <i>Grantully Castle</i>. - We’ve been buildin’ ye a new ship at our Portsmouth yards. She’s off the - ways a month, and s’uld be sparred and rigged and ready for the waves by - now. We’ve called her <i>The Two Friends</i>.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V—THE SAILOR TURNS PLANTER - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he wooded April - banks of the Rappahannock are flourishing in the new green of an early - Virginia spring. The bark <i>Two Friends</i>, Captain Jack Paul, out of - Whitehaven by way of Lisbon, Madeira, and Kingston, comes picking her dull - way up the river, and anchors midstream at the foot of the William Jones - plantation. Almost coincident with the splash of the anchors, the <i>Two - Friends</i> has her gig in the water, and the next moment Captain Jack - Paul takes his place in the stern sheets. - </p> - <p> - “Let fall!” comes the sharp command, as he seizes the tiller-ropes. - </p> - <p> - The four sailors bend their strong backs, the four oars swing together - like clockwork, and the gig heads for the plantation landing where a - twenty-ton sloop, current-vexed, lies gnawing at her ropes. - </p> - <p> - At twenty-six, Captain Jack Paul is the very flower of a quarter-deck - nobility. He has not the advantage of commanding height; but the lean, - curved nose, clean jaw, firmly-lined month, steady stare of the brown - eyes, coupled at the earliest smell of opposition with a frowning falcon - trick of brow like a threat, are as a commission to him, signed and - countersigned by nature, to be ever a leader of men. In figure he is five - feet seven inches, and the scales telling his weight consent to one - hundred and forty-five pounds. His hands and feet are as small as a - woman’s. By way of offset to this, his shoulders, broad and heavy, and his - deep chest arched like the deck of a whale-back, speak of anything save - the effeminate. In his movements there is a feline graceful accuracy> with - over all a resolute atmosphere of enterprise. To his men, he is more than - a captain; he is a god. Prudent at once and daring, he shines a master of - seamanship, and never the sailor serves with him who would not name him a - mariner without a flaw. He is born to inspire faith in men. This is as it - should be, by his own abstract picture of a captain, which he will later - furnish Doctor Franklin: - </p> - <p> - “Your captain,” he will say, when thus informing that philosopher, “your - captain, Doctor, should have the blind confidence of his sailors. It is - his beginning, his foundation, wanting which he can be no true captain. To - his men your captain must he prophet, priest and king. His authority when - off-shore is necessarily absolute, and therefore the crew should be as one - man impressed that the captain, like the sovereign, can do no wrong. If a - captain fail in this, he cannot make up for it by severity, austerity or - cruelty. Use force, apply restraint, punish as he may, he will always have - a sullen crew and an unhappy ship.” - </p> - <p> - The nose of the gig grates on the river’s bank, and Captain Jack Paul - leaps ashore. He is greeted by a tall, weather-beaten old man—grizzled - and gray. The form of the latter is erect, with a kind of ramrod military - stiffness. His dress is the rough garb of the Virginia overseer in all - respects save headgear. Instead of the soft wool hat, common of his sort, - the old man cocks over his watery left eye a Highland bonnet, and this, - with its hawk’s feather, fastened by a silver clasp, gives to his costume - a crag and heather aspect altogether Scotch. - </p> - <p> - The gray old man, with a grinning background of negro slaves, waits for - the landing of Captain Jack Paul. As the latter springs ashore, the old - man throws up his hand in a military salute. - </p> - <p> - “And how do we find Duncan Macbean!” cries Captain Jack Paul. “How also is - my brother! I trust you have still a bale or two of winter-cured tobacco - left that we may add to our cargo!” - </p> - <p> - “As for the tobacco, Captain Paul,” returns old Duncan Macbean, “ye’re a - day or so behind the fair, since the maist of it sailed Englandward a - month hack, in the brig <i>Flora Belle</i>. As for your brother William of - whom ye ask, now I s’uld say ye were in gude time just to hear his dying - words.” - </p> - <p> - “What’s that, Duncan Macbean!” exclaims Captain Jack Paul. “William - dying!” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, dying! He lies nearer death than he’s been any time since he and I - marched with General Braddock and Colonel Washington, against the red - salvages of the Ohio. But you s’uld come and see him at once, you his born - brother, and no stand talking here.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s lung fever, Jack,” whispers the sick man, as Captain Jack Paul draws - a chair to the side of the bed. “It’s deadly, too; I can feel it. I’ll not - get up again.” - </p> - <p> - “Come, come, brother,” retorts Captain Jack Paul cheerfully, “you’re no - old man to talk of death—you, with your fewer than fifty years. I’ll - see you up and on your pins again before I leave.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0071.jpg" alt="0071 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0071.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “No, Jack, it’s death. And you’ve come in good time, too, since there’s - much to talk between us. You know how our cousin left me his heir, if I - would take his name of Jones?” - </p> - <p> - “Assuredly I know.” - </p> - <p> - “And so,” continues the dying man, “my name since his passing away has - been William Paul Jones. Now when it is my turn to go, I must tell you - that, by a clause of the old man’s will, he writes you in after me as - legatee. I’m to die, Jack; and you’re to have the plantation. Only you - must clap ‘Jones’ to your name, and be not John Paul, but John Paul Jones, - as you take over the estate.” - </p> - <p> - “What’s this? I’m to heir the plantation after you?” - </p> - <p> - “So declares the will. On condition, however, that you also take the name - of Jones. That should not be hard; ‘Jones’ is one of our family names, and - he that leaves you the land was our kinsman.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, then,” cries Captain Jack Paul, “I wasn’t hesitating for that. Paul - is a good name, but so also is Jones. Only, I tell you, brother, I hate to - make my fortune by your death.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s no common-sense, Jack. I die the easier knowing my going makes way - for your good luck. And the plantation’s a gem, Jack; never a cold or sour - acre in the whole three thousand, but all of it warm, sweet land. There’re - two thousand acres of woods; and I’d leave that stand.” The dying man, - being Scotch, would give advice on his deathbed. “The thousand acres now - under plow are enough.” Then, after a pause: “Ye’ll be content ashore? - You’re young yet; you’re not so wedded to the sea, I think, but you’ll - turn planter with good grace?” - </p> - <p> - “No fear, William. I’ve had good fortune by the sea; but then I’ve met ill - fortune also. By and large, I shall be very well content to turn planter.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s gainful, Jack, being a planter is. Only keep Duncan Macbean by you - to manage, and he’ll turn you in one thousand golden guineas profit every - Christmas day, and you never to lift hand or give thought to the winning - of them.” - </p> - <p> - “Is the plantation as gainful as that? Now I have but three thousand - guineas to call mine, after sailing these years.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay! it’s gainful, Jack. If you will work, too, there’s that to keep you - busy. There’s the grist mill, the thirty slaves, the forty horses, besides - the cows and swine and sheep to look after; as well as the negro quarters, - the tobacco houses, the stables, and the great mansion itself to keep up. - They’ll all serve to fill in the time busily, if you should like it that - way. Only Jack, with the last of it, always leave everything to Duncan - Macbean. A rare and wary man is old Duncan, and saving of money down to - farthings.” - </p> - <p> - “Whose sloop is that at the landing!” asks Captain Jack Paul, willing to - shift the subject. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yon sloop! She goes with the plantation; she’ll be yours anon, - brother. And there you are: When the sea calls to you, Jack, as she will - call, you take the sloop. Cato and Scipio are good sailors, well trained - to the coast clear away to Charleston.” - </p> - <p> - And so William Paul Jones dies, and John Paul takes his place on the - plantation. His name is no longer John Paul, but John Paul Jones; and, as - his dying brother counselled, he keeps old Duncan Macbean to be the - manager. - </p> - <p> - When his brother is dead, Captain Jack Paul joins his mate, Laurence - Edgar, on the deck of the <i>Two Friends</i>, swinging tide and tide on - her anchors. - </p> - <p> - “Mate Edgar,” says Captain Jack Paul, “it is the last time I shall plank - this quarterdeck as captain. I’m to stay; and you’re to take the ship home - to Whitehaven. And now, since you’re the captain, and I’m no more than a - guest, suppose you order your cabin boy to get us a bottle of the right - Madeira, and we’ll drink fortune to the bark and her new master.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI—THE FIRST BLOW IN VIRGINIA - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t is a soundless, - soft December evening. The quietly falling flakes are cloaking in thin - white the streets and roofs of Norfolk. Off shore, a cable’s length, an - English sloop of war, eighteen guns, lies tugging at her anchors. In shore - from the sloop of war rides the peaceful twenty-ton sloop of Planter Paul - Jones. The sailor-planter, loitering homeward from a cruise to Charleston - and the coast towns of the Carolinas, is calling on friends in Norfolk. - Both the war sloop and the peace sloop seem almost deserted in the falling - snow. Aside from the harbor light burning high in the rigging, and an - anchor watch of two sailors muffled to the ears, the decks of neither - craft show signs of life. - </p> - <p> - Norfolk’s public hall is candle-lighted to a pitch of unusual brilliancy; - the waxed floors are thronged with the beauty and gentility of the Old - Dominion, as the same find Norfolk expression. It is indeed a mighty - social occasion; for the local lite have seized upon the officers of the - sloop of war, and are giving a ball in their honor. The honored ones - attend to a man—which accounts for the deserted look of their sloop—and - their gold lace blazes bravely by the light of the candles, and with - tremendous gala effect. - </p> - <p> - Planter Paul Jones is also among the guests. Since he is in town, his - coming to the ball becomes the thing most natural. Already he is regarded - as the Admirable Crichton, of tide-water Virginia, and the function - wanting his presence would go down to history as incomplete. - </p> - <p> - Paul Jones, planter for two years, has made himself a foremost figure in - Virginia. Twenty-eight, cultured, travelled, gallant, brilliant, and a - bachelor, he is welcome in every drawing-room. Besides, is there not the - Jones plantation, with its mile of river front, its noble mansion house, - its tobacco teeming acres, its well-trained slaves, and all turning in - those yearly one thousand yellow guineas under the heedful managing thumb - of canny Duncan Macbean? Planter Paul Jones is a prince for hospitality, - too; and the high colonial dames, taking pity on his wifeless state, - preside at his table, or chaperone the water parties which he gives on his - great sloop. Also—still considering his wifelessness—they seek - to marry him to one of their colonial daughters. - </p> - <p> - In this latter dulcet intrigue, the high colonial dames fail wholly. The - young planter-sailor is not a marrying man. There is in truth a blushing - story which lasts throughout a fortnight in which he is quoted as about to - yield. Rumor gives it confidently forth that the Jones mansion will have a - mistress, and its master carry altar-ward Betty Parke, the pretty niece of - Madam Martha Washington. But pretty Betty Parke, in the very face of this - roseate rumor, becomes Mrs. Tyler, and it will be one of her descendants - who, seventy-five years later, is chosen President—a poor President, - but still a President. Planter Paul Jones rides to the wedding of pretty - Betty Parke, and gives it his serene and satisfied countenance. From which - sign it is supposed that Dame Rumor mounts by the wrong stirrup when she - goes linking the name of pretty Betty Parke with that of Planter Paul - Jones; and no love-letter scrap, nor private journal note, will ever rise - from the grave to disparage the assumption. - </p> - <p> - That Planter Paul Jones has thus lived for two years, and moved and had - his social being among the most beautiful of women, and escaped hand free - and heart free to tell the tale, is strange to the brink of marvellous. It - is the more strange since no one could be more than he the knight of - dames. And he can charm, too—as witness a letter which two years - farther on the unimpressionable Doctor Franklin will write to Madam - d’Haudetot: - </p> - <p> - “No matter, my dear madam,” the cool philosopher will say, “what the - faults of Paul Jones may be, I must warn your ladyship that when face to - face with him neither man nor, so far as I learn, woman, can for a moment - resist the strange magnetism of his presence, the indescribable charm of - his manner; a commingling of the most compliant deference with the most - perfect self-esteem that I have ever seen in a man; and above all the - sweetness of his voice and the purity of his language.” - </p> - <p> - Paul Jones is not alone the darling of colonial drawing-rooms, he is also - the admiration of the men. This is his description as given by one who - knew him afloat and ashore: - </p> - <p> - “Though of slender build, his neck, arms and shoulders were those of a - heavy, powerful man. The strength of his arms and shoulders could hardly - be believed. And he had equal use of both hands, even to writing with the - left as well as with the right. He was a past master of the art of boxing. - To this he added a quickness of motion that cannot be described. When - roused he could strike more blows and cause more havoc in a second than - any other could strike or cause in a minute. Even when calm and unruffled - his gait and all his bodily motions were those of the panther—noiseless, - sleek, the perfection of grace.” - </p> - <p> - The above, by way of portrait: When one adds to it that Planter Paul Jones - rides like a Prince Rupert, fences like a Crillon, gives blows with his - fist that would stagger Jack Slack, and is death itself with either gun or - pistol, it will be seen how he owns every quality that should pedestal him - as a paragon in the best circles of his day. - </p> - <p> - It is towards the hour of midnight when Planter Paul Jones, attired like a - Brummel, stands in quiet converse with his friend Mr. Hurst. Their talk - runs on the state of sentiment in the colonies, and the chance of trouble - with the motherland. - </p> - <p> - “Hostilities are certain, my dear Hurst,” says Planter Paul Jones. “I hear - it from Colonel Washington, Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Henry. They make no - secret of it in Williamsburg about the House of Burgesses.” - </p> - <p> - “But the other colonies’?” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Morris of Philadelphia, as well as Mr. Pynckney of Charleston, agrees - with the gentlemen I’ve quoted. They say, sir, there will soon be an - outbreak in Boston.” - </p> - <p> - “In Boston!” repeats Mr. Hurst doubtfully. - </p> - <p> - “Have the Massachusetts men the courage, think you?” - </p> - <p> - “Courage, ay! and the strength, my friend! Both Colonel Washington and Mr. - Jefferson assured me that, although slow to anger, they are true sons of - Cromwell’s Ironsides. - </p> - <p> - “And what shall be our attitude?” - </p> - <p> - “We must sustain them at all hazards, sir—sustain them to the - death!” - </p> - <p> - It is now that a knot of English officers drift up—a little flushed - of wine, are these guests of honor. They, too, have been talking, albeit - thickly, of a possible future full of trouble for the colonies. - </p> - <p> - “I was observing,” says Lieutenant Parker, addressing Planter Paul Jones - and Mr. Hurst, “that the insolence of the Americans, which is more or less - in exhibition all the way from Boston to Savannah, will never get beyond - words. There will be no blows struck.” - </p> - <p> - “And why are you so confident?” asks Planter Paul Jones, eye agate, voice - purringly soft. “Now I should say that, given provocation, the colonies - would strike a blow, and a heavy one.” - </p> - <p> - “When do you sail?” interrupts Mr. Hurst, speaking to Lieutenant Parker. - Mr. Hurst would shift conversation to less perilous ground. As a mover of - the ball, he is in sort host to the officers, as well as to Planter Paul - Jones, and for the white credit of the town desires a peaceful evening. “I - hear,” he concludes, “that your sloop is for a cruise off the French - coast.” - </p> - <p> - “She and the fleet she belongs to,” responds Lieutenant Parker, utterance - somewhat blurred, “will remain on this station while a word of rebel talk - continues.” - </p> - <p> - “Now, instead of keeping you here,” breaks in Planter Paul Jones, - vivaciously, “to hector peaceful colonies, if I were your king I should - send you to wrest Cape Good Hope from the Dutch.” - </p> - <p> - “Cape Good Hope from the Dutch?” - </p> - <p> - “Or the Isles of France and Bourbon from the French—lying, as they - do, like lions in the pathway to our Indian possessions. If I were your - king, I say, those would be the tasks I’d set you.” - </p> - <p> - “And why do you say ‘your king?’ Is he not also <i>your</i> king?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, sir, I might be pleasantly willing,” observes Planter Paul Jones - airily, “to give you my share in King George. In any event, I do not - propose that you shall examine into my allegiance. And I say again that, - if I were your king, sir, I’d find you better English work to do than an - irritating and foolish patrol of these coasts.” - </p> - <p> - “You spoke of the Americans striking a blow,” says Lieutenant Parker, who - is gifted of that pertinacity of memory common to half-drunken men; “you - spoke but a moment back of the Americans striking a blow, and a heavy - one.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, sir! a blow—given provocation.” - </p> - <p> - Lieutenant Parker wags his head with an air of sagacity both bibulous and - supercilious. He smiles victoriously, as a fortunate comparison bobs up to - his mind. - </p> - <p> - “A blow!” he murmurs. Then, fixing Planter Paul Jones with an eye of - bleary scorn: “The Americans would be quickly lashed into their kennels - again. The more easily, if the courage of the American men, as I think’s - the case, is no more firmly founded than the chastity of the American - women.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0006.jpg" alt="0006 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0006.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - Planter Paul Jones deals Lieutenant Parker a blow with his clenched fist, - the like of which was never before seen even in the violent port of - Norfolk. Lieutenant Parker’s nose is crushed flat with his face; he falls - like some pole-axed ox. His fellow-officers lift him to his feet, - bleeding, stunned beyond words. - </p> - <p> - “You shall hear from us!” is the fierce cry from his comrades, as they - hurry the stricken Parker from the ballroom. - </p> - <p> - “I shall be pleased to hear from any or all of you,” replies Planter Paul - Jones; “or from what other dogs in king’s coats shall question the honor - of American women.” Then, turning to Mr. Hurst: “You, sir, shall act for - me! Accept every challenge they send! Make it pistols, ten paces, with - Craney Island for the place; and fix the time to suit their English - convenience.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VII—THE BLAST OF WAR - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>orfolk is never - more at peace than on the day succeeding the ball. There is no challenge, - no duel. Planter Paul Jones waits to hear from Lieutenant Parker; at first - hopefully; in the end, when nothing comes, with doubtful brow of grief. Is - it that Lieutenant Parker will not fight? Planter Paul Jones hears the - suggestion from his friend Mr. Hurst with polite scorn. Such heresy is - beyond reach. - </p> - <p> - “He <i>must</i> fight,” urges Planter Paul Jones, desperately keeping - alive the fires of his hope. “He will fight, if for no other reason, then - because it is his trade. Lieutenant Parker is pugnacious by profession; - that of itself will make him toe the peg.” - </p> - <p> - Planter Paul Jones is wrong. Lieutenant Parker never shows his beaten face - on American soil again. Nor does any bellicose gentleman appear for - Lieutenant Parker, or propose to take his place. - </p> - <p> - This last omission gives Planter Paul Jones as sharp a pang as though he - has been slighted by some dearest friend. Having on his own part a native - lust for battle, it bewilders him when so excellent a foundation for a - duel falls into neglect, and no architect of combat steps forward to build - thereon. - </p> - <p> - “It is not to be understood!” observes Planter Paul Jones dejectedly, - after the sloop of war, with Lieutenant Parker and those others of that - gold-lace coterie, has sailed away, “it’s not to be understood! Surely, - there must have been one gentleman among them who, free to do so, would - have called me to account.” Then, with solemn sadness: “I am convinced - that their admiral interfered.” - </p> - <p> - Who shall say? The admiral is the paternal uncle of Lieutenant Parker of - the crushed and broken nose. - </p> - <p> - The story will go later to England to the explanatory effect that no - fellow-officer would act for Lieutenant Parker. However, in doubt of this, - that last named imprudent person—wearing the marks of Planter Paul - Jones’ rebuke for many a day—is not dismissed the king’s service. He - will be in the fight off Fort Moultrie, where—unlike Sergeant Jasper - of the Americans—he in no wise is to distinguish himself. - </p> - <p> - Planter Paul Jones, when every final chance of the trouble for which he - longs has departed with the departure of the war sloop, sorrowfully steers - the peace sloop back to his plantation by the Rappahannock; and thereafter - he does his best to forget an incident that—because of the - mysterious tameness of the English, under conditions which should have - brought them ferociously to the field—gives him an aching sense of - pain. He says to Mr. Hurst, when about to spread his small canvas and sail - away for home, “It is one of those experiences, sir, that shake a man’s - faith in his kind.” - </p> - <p> - The colonial dames get hold of the tale, and - </p> - <p> - Planter Paul Jones becomes all the more the petted darling of the - drawing-rooms. This of itself is a destiny most friendly to his taste; for - our Virginia Bayard lives not without his tender vanities. Bright eyes are - more beautiful than stars; and he can sigh, or whisper a sonnet, or softly - press a little hand. Also, having in his composition an ardent dash of the - peacock, he is capable, with fair ladies looking on, of a decorous, albeit - a resplendent strut. - </p> - <p> - Four months, dating from the disaster to Lieutenant Parker’s nose, have - squeezed through the gates of a narrow present, and merged with those - other countless months which together make the past. It is a muggy April - morning, and New York City, panting with its metropolitan population of - forty thousand, is soaked to the bone. Little squalls of rain follow each - other in gusty procession. Between the squalls the sun shines forth, and - sets the world a-steam. After each of these intermittent bursts of glory, - the sun is again blotted ont by a black flurry of clouds, and another - shower sets in. - </p> - <p> - It is in William Street that the reader comes across the lithe figure of - Planter Paul Jones. That restless tobacco grower, with his two aquatic - slaves, Scipio and Cato, in the little sloop, has been knocking about the - eastern shore for ducks. A sudden change of plan now brings him to New - York, with a final purpose of extending his voyage as far as Boston. - Planter Paul Jones is in a mood to know the Yankees better, and come by - some guess of his own as to how soon our Puritan bulldogs may be expected - to fly at the English throat. - </p> - <p> - As he goes briskly northward along William Street, even through his - landsman’s garb there shows much that is marine. Also, he evinces a - sailor’s contempt for the dripping weather, plowing ahead through shine - and through shower as though in the catalogue of the disagreeable there is - no such word as a wetting. - </p> - <p> - At the corner of John Street, Planter Paul Jones comes upon a lean, prim - personage. By his severe air the latter gentleman is evidently an - individual of consequence. The severe gentleman, with a prudent care for - his coat in direct contrast to the weather-carelessness of the other, has - taken refuge in the safe harborage of a doorway. From the dry vantage - thereof he cranes his neck in a tentative way, the better to survey the - heavens. Plainly he desires a guarantee, in favor of some partial space of - sunshine, before he again ventures abroad. - </p> - <p> - As Planter Paul Jones comes up, both he and the severe gentleman gaze at - each other for one moment. Then their hands are caught in a warm exchange - of greetings: - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Livingston, by my word!” cries Planter Paul Jones, shaking the severe - gentleman’s hand. - </p> - <p> - “Paul Jones!” exclaims the severe gentleman, returning the handshake, but - with due regard to the pompous. - </p> - <p> - “Now this is what I term fortunate!” says Planter Paul Jones, releasing - the other’s fingers. “I was on my way to your house to ask for letters of - introduction to Mr. Hancock and others in Boston.” - </p> - <p> - “Boston! Surely you have heard the news?” - </p> - <p> - “News? I’ve heard nothing. For six weeks I’ve been anywhere between - Barnegat and the inner Chesapeake in my sloop. I tied up at the foot of - Whitehall Street within the hour, and you’re the first I’ve spoken with - since I stepped ashore. What is this news that makes you stare at the name - of Boston?” - </p> - <p> - “And you’ve not heard!” repeats Mr. Livingston. Then, with a look at once - somber and solemn: “Black news! Black news, indeed! I’m on my way to - Hanover Square to have it set in types, and scattered up and down the - town. Come; you shall go with me. I’ll talk as we walk along.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Livingston takes Planter Paul Jones by the arm. - </p> - <p> - “Black news!” he resumes. “The Massachusetts men have attacked the British - at Lexington and Concord; my despatches, while necessarily meager, declare - that the British were disgracefully beaten, and lost, killed and wounded, - several hundred soldiers.” - </p> - <p> - “And you call that black news?” interjects Planter Paul Jones, his eye - finely aflame. “To my mind now it is as good news as ever I hope to hear.” - </p> - <p> - “How can you say so! It fills me with measureless gloom. I cannot but look - ahead and wonder where it will end. And yet we should hope for the best.” - The speaker heaves a weary sigh. “Possibly the mother country may learn - from this experience how bitterly in earnest Americans are, and be thereby - led to mitigate the harshness of her attitude toward us.” - </p> - <p> - Planter Paul Jones looks his emphatic disbelief. - </p> - <p> - “There will be no softening of England’s attitude. Believe me, sir, I’m - not so long out of London, but what I’m clear as to the plans and purposes - of King George and his ministers. The Tories have deliberately forced the - present situation.” - </p> - <p> - “Forced the situation! You amaze me!” - </p> - <p> - “Sir, my name is not Paul Jones, if it be not the deliberate design of - King George and his advisers to bring about a clash between England and - these colonies.” - </p> - <p> - “And to what end, pray?” - </p> - <p> - “To give them an excuse for imposing martial law upon us. They will pour a - cataract of redcoats upon our shores. Musket in fist, cannon to back them, - they will disperse our legislatures, take away our charters of - self-government. That blood at Concord and Lexington gives them the - pretext for which they schemed. They can now call us ‘rebels;’ and, - calling us ‘rebels,’ they will try to reduce us—for all our white - skins and freeborn blood—to the slavish status of Hindostan.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Livingston stares, while this long speech is reeled off. - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean to say,” he asks at last, “that we are the victims of a Tory - plot? Am I to understand that Concord and Lexington were aimed at by the - king?” - </p> - <p> - “Precisely so; and for one I’m glad the issue’s made. We have now but the - one alternative. We may choose between abject slavery and war to the - hilts.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Livingston’s severely pompons face, as the iron truth begins to - overcome him, assumes an expression at once noble and high. - </p> - <p> - “Why, then!” says he, “if such be the Tory design, war we shall have.” - Then, following a pause: “And what is to be your course in case of war?” - </p> - <p> - “I shall take my part in it, never fear! This very day I shall write to - friends who will have seats in the Congress that meets next month in - Philadelphia, and ask them to wear my name in their minds. I am theirs so - soon as ever they have a plank afloat to put me on.” - </p> - <p> - The pair, earnestly talking, reach Hanover Square, and pause in front of - “The Bible and Crown.” - </p> - <p> - “Here we are,” says Mr. Livingston. “Now if you’ll but wait until I give - orders to Master Rivington, as to how he shall print and circulate my - despatches, I’ll have you up to the house, where we can further consider - this business over a bottle of wine.” - </p> - <p> - “I beg that you will excuse me,” returns Planter Paul Jones. He has been - making plans of his own while they talked. “I trust you will pardon me; - but I shall have no more than time to write and post my letters, and get - away on the ebb tide. Three days from now I must be at my plantation by - the Rappahannock, putting all in order for the storm.” - </p> - <p> - “Remember!” cries Mr. Livingston, as he and Planter Paul Jones shake bands - at parting, “my brother Philip will be in the coming Congress. You have - but to go to him, he is as much your friend as is either Mr. Washington or - Mr. Jefferson. I shall speak to Philip of you before the day is out.” - </p> - <p> - “Say to your brother,” returns Planter Paul Jones, “that I shall come to - him among the first.” - </p> - <p> - The winds generously flatter the little sloop on her return voyage. She - came north slowly, reluctantly; now, with the wind aft and all but blowing - a gale, she flies southward like a bird. As Planter Paul Jones boasted, - within the three days after seeing the last of Sandy Hook, he steps ashore - on his own domain by the Rappahannock. - </p> - <p> - Cato and Scipio grin in exultation. In a pardonable anxiety to open the - eyes of plodding fellow-slaves of the tobacco fields, they mendaciously - shorten the sailing time out of New York by forty-eight hours, and declare - that Planter Paul Jones brought the sloop home in a single day. - </p> - <p> - “Potch um home, Marse Paul does, faster than a wil’ duck could trabble!” - is their story. Thereupon, the innocent tobacco blacks marvel, - openmouthed, at the far-travelled Cato, and Scipio of the many - experiences. - </p> - <p> - Planter Paul Jones, on whom a war-fever is growing, plunges into immediate - conference with Duncan Macbean. - </p> - <p> - “How much free money can we make?” he asks. - </p> - <p> - The old Highlander scratches his grizzled locks. - </p> - <p> - Then he thoughtfully considers the inside of his Glengarry bonnet, which - he takes from his head for that purpose. One would think, from his long - study of it, that he keeps his accounts in its linings. The inspection - being over, he puts it back on his head. - </p> - <p> - “Now there s’uld be the matter of three thousand guineas in gold in - Williamsburg,” returns old Duncan Macbean; “besides a hunner or so siller - in the house. I can gi’ ye three thousand guineas, and never miss the feel - o’ them, gin that’ll be enou’.” - </p> - <p> - “Three thousand guineas! What time I shall be in Philadelphia it should - keep a king! Have it set to my credit, Duncan, in Mr. Ross’ bank in - Chestnut Street in that town. I shall go there as soon as Congress - convenes.” - </p> - <p> - “And will ye no be back home agen?” asks Duncan, his bronzed cheek a - trifle white. - </p> - <p> - “If there’s war—and, take it from me, there will be—I shall - not return. I hope to sail in the first warship that flies the colors of - the Colonies.” - </p> - <p> - Then, grasping old Duncan’s hand in a grip of steel: “You stay here and - run the plantation, old friend! Wherever I am, I shall know that all is - right ashore while you are here. For I can trust you.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay! ye can trust me; no fear o’ that!” and the water stands in the old - eyes. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VIII—THE PLANTER TURNS LIEUTENANT - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was Mr. Adams - who opposed you. The best place I could make was that of lieutenant. Mr. - Adams wouldn’t hear of you as a captain; and since, with General - Washington, Virginia and the Southern Colonies have been given control of - the Army, his claim of the Navy for Massachusetts and the Northern - Colonies finds general consent. Commodore Hopkins and four of the five - captains, beginning with Mr. Adams’ protg Dudley Saltonstall, go to New - England. The most that I could make Mr. Adams agree to, was that you - should be set at the head of the list of lieutenants.” - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry, sir, that Mr. Adams holds a poor opinion of me.” This with a - sigh. “It was my dream to be a captain, and have a ship of my own. - However, I am here to serve the cause, rather than promote the personal - fortunes of Paul Jones. Let the list go as it is; the future doubtless - will bring all things straight. I am free to say, however, that from the - selections made by Mr. Adams, as you repeat them, I think he has provided - for more courts-martial than victories.” The two gentlemen in talk are Mr. - Hewes, member of the Colonial Congress from North Carolina, and Planter - Paul Jones. Mr. Hewes is old and worn and sick, and only his granite - resolution keeps him at the seat of government. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Hancock,” continues Mr. Hewes, “is also from Massachusetts, and as - chairman of our committee he gave Mr. Adams what aid he could. There’s one - honor you may have, however; I arranged for that. The issuance of the - commissions is with Mr. Hancock, and if you’ll accompany me to the Hall - you will be given yours at once. That will make you the first, if not the - highest, naval officer of the Colonies to be commissioned.” - </p> - <p> - “On what ship am I to serve?” - </p> - <p> - “The <i>Alfred</i>, Captain Saltonstall.” - </p> - <p> - Raw and bleak sweep the December winds through the bare streets, as the - two go on their way to the Hall, where Congress holds its sittings. - Fortunately, as Lieutenant Paul Jones phrases it, the wind is “aft,” and - so Mr. Hewes, despite his weakness, makes better weather of it than one - would look for. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll have a carriage home,” says he, panting a little, as the stiff - breeze steals his breath away. - </p> - <p> - “I can’t,” breaks forth Lieutenant Paul Jones, after an interval of - silence—“I can’t for the life of me make out how I incurred the - enmity of Mr. Adams. I’ve never set foot in Boston, never clapped my eyes - on him before I came to this city last July.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Hewes smiles. “You sacrificed interest to epigram,” says he. - Lieutenant Paul Jones glares in wonder. “Let me explain,” goes on Mr. - Hewes, answering the look. “Do you recall meeting Mr. Adams at Colonel - Carroll’s house out near Schuylkill Falls?” - </p> - <p> - “That was last October.” - </p> - <p> - “Precisely! Mr. Adams’ memory is quite equal to last October. The more, if - the event remembered were a dig to his vanity.” - </p> - <p> - “A dig to his vanity!” repeats Lieutenant Paul Jones in astonishment. “I - cannot now recall that I so much as spoke a word to the old polar bear.” - </p> - <p> - “It wasn’t a word spoken <i>to</i> him, but one spoken <i>of</i> him. This - is it: Mr. Adams told an anecdote in French to little Betty Faulkner. - Later you must needs be witty, and whisper to Miss Betty a satirical word - anent Mr. Adams’ French.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, then,” interjects Lieutenant Paul Jones, with a whimsical grin, - “I’ll tell you what I said. ‘It is fortunate,’ I observed to Miss Betty, - ‘that Mr. Adams’ sentiments are not so English as is his French. If they - were, he would far and away be the greatest Tory in the world.’” - </p> - <p> - “Just so!” chuckles Mr. Hewes. “And, doubtless, all very true. None the - less, my young friend, your brightness cost you a captaincy. The <i>mot</i> - was too good to keep, and little Betty started it on a journey that landed - it, at a fourth telling, slap in the outraged ear of Mr. Adams himself. - Make you a captain? He would as soon think of making you rich.” - </p> - <p> - The pair trudged on in silence, Mr. Hewes turning about in his mind sundry - matters of colonial policy, while Lieutenant Paul Jones solaces himself by - recalling how it is the even year to a day since that Norfolk ball, when - he smote upon the scandalous nose of Lieutenant Parker. - </p> - <p> - “Now that I’m a lieutenant like himself,” runs the warlike cogitations of - Lieutenant Paul Jones, “I’d prodigiously enjoy meeting the scoundrel - afloat. I might teach his dullness a better opinion of us.” - </p> - <p> - Lieutenant Paul Jones for months has been hard at work; one day in - conference with the Marine Committee, leading them by the light of his - ship-knowledge; the next busy with adz and oakum and calking iron, - repairing and renewing the tottering hulks which the agents of the - colonies have collected as the nucleus of the baby navy. Over this very - ship the <i>Alfred</i>, on which he is to sail lieutenant, he has toiled - as though it were intended as a present for his bride. He confidently - counted on being made its captain; now to sail as a subordinate, when he - looked to have command, is a bitter disappointment. Sail he will, however, - and that without murmur; for he is too much the patriot to hang back, too - strong a heart to sulk. Besides, he has the optimism of the born war dog. - </p> - <p> - “Given open war,” thinks he, “what more should one ask than a cutlass, and - the chance to use it? Once we’re aboard an enemy, it shall go hard, but I - carve a captaincy out of the situation.” - </p> - <p> - Congress is not in session upon this particular day, and Mr. Hewes leads - Lieutenant Paul Jones straight to Chairman Hancock of the Marine - Committee. That eminent patriot is in his committee room. He is big, - florid, proud, and, like all the Massachusetts men since Concord and - Lexington, a bit puffed up. No presentation is needed; Mr. Hancock and - Lieutenant Paul Jones have been acquainted for months. The big - merchant-statesman beams pleasantly on the new lieutenant. Then he draws - Mr. Hewes into a far window. - </p> - <p> - “I can’t see what’s got into Adams,” says Mr. Hancock, lowering his voice - to a whisper. “He burst in here a moment ago, and declared that he meant - to move, at the next session, a reconsideration of the appointment of our - young friend.” - </p> - <p> - “And now where pinches the shoe?” - </p> - <p> - “He says that Paul Jones isn’t two years out of England; that his - sympathies must needs lean toward King George.” - </p> - <p> - “It will be news if the patriotism of Mr. Adams himself stands as near the - perpendicular as does that of Paul Jones!” - </p> - <p> - “And next he urges that our friend is a man of no family.” - </p> - <p> - “Now, did one ever hear such aristocratic bosh! The more, since our cause - is the cause of human rights, and our shout ‘Democracy!’ I shall take - occasion, when next I have the honor to meet Mr. Adams”—here the - eyes of the old North Carolinian begin to sparkle—“to mention this - subject of families, and remind him that it might worry the Herald’s - College excessively, if that seminary of pedigrees were called upon to - back-track his own.” - </p> - <p> - “No, no, my dear sir!” and the merchant-statesman, full of lofty - mollifications, makes a soothing gesture with his hands. “For all our - sakes, say nothing to Mr. Adams! You recall what Doctor Franklin remarked - of him: ‘He is always honest, sometimes great, but often mad.’ Let us - suppose him merely mad; and so forgive him. We may do it the more easily, - since I told him that, even if his objections were valid, he was miles too - late, the question of that lieutenancy having been already passed upon and - settled. Let us forget Adams, and give Paul Jones his commission.” - </p> - <p> - As Lieutenant Paul Jones receives his commission from Mr. Hancock, the - latter remarks with a smile: - </p> - <p> - “You have the first commission issued, Lieutenant Jones. If the simile - were permissible concerning anything that refers to the sea, I should say - now that, in making you a lieutenant, we lay the corner stone of the - American Navy.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0101.jpg" alt="0101 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0101.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - Lieutenant Paul Jones bows his thanks, but speaks never a word. This - silence arises from the deep emotions that hold him in their strong grip, - not from churlishness. - </p> - <p> - “And now,” observes Mr. Hewes, who is thinking only of heaping extra honor - on his young friend, “since we have a fully commissioned officer to - perform the ceremony, suppose we make memorable the day by going down to - the <i>Alfred</i> and ‘breaking out’ its pennant. Thus, almost with the - breath in which we commission our first officer, we will have also - commissioned our first regular ship of war.” - </p> - <p> - “Would it not be better,” interposes Mr. Hancock, thinking on the possible - angers of Mr. Adams, “to wait for the coming from Boston of Captain - Saltonstall?” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Hewes thinks it would not. Since Mr. Hewes’ manner in thus thinking is - just a trifle iron-bound, not to say acrid, Mr. Hancock decides that, - after all, there may be more peril in waiting for Captain Saltonstall than - in going forward with Lieutenant Jones. Whereupon, Mr. Hewes, Mr. Hancock - and Lieutenant Jones depart for the <i>Alfred</i>, which lies at the foot - of Chestnut Street. In the main hall of Congress the three pick up Colonel - Carroll, Mad Anthony Wayne. Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Livingston, and Mr. Morris. - These gentlemen, regarding the event as the formal birth of the new navy, - decide to accompany the others in the rle of witnesses. - </p> - <p> - The flag is ready in the lockers of the <i>Alfred</i>—a pine tree, a - rattlesnake, with the words “<i>Don’t Tread on Me</i>.” Lieutenant Paul - Jones, as he shakes out the bunting, surveys the device with no favoring - eye. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0113.jpg" alt="0113 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0113.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “I was ever,” observes Lieutenant Paul Jones, looking at Mr. Hewes but - speaking to all—“I was ever curious to know by whose queer fancy - that device was adopted. It is beyond me to fathom how a venomous serpent - could be regarded as the emblem of a brave and honest people fighting to - be free.” - </p> - <p> - After delivering this opinion, which is tacitly agreed to by the others, - the flag is bent on the halyards, and “broken out.” Also, a ration of grog - is issued to the crew—so far as the <i>Alfred</i> is blessed with a - crew—by way of fixing the momentous occasion in the forecastle mind. - The crew cheers; but whether the cheers are for the grog, or Lieutenant - Paul Jones who orders it, or the rattlesnake pine tree ensign that causes - the order, no one may say. - </p> - <p> - Following the “breaking out,” the grog and the cheers, Mr. Hewes, Mr. - Hancock and their fellow-statesmen, retire—the day being over cold—to - the land, while Lieutenant Paul Jones, now and until the coming of Captain - Saltonstall in command of the <i>Alfred</i>, remains aboard to take up his - duty as a regularly commissioned officer in the regular navy of the - colonies. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IX—THE CRUISE OF THE “PROVIDENCE” - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>our ships—the - <i>Alfred</i>, Captain Saltonstall, in the van, with Commodore Hopkins in - command of the squadron—sail away on a rainy February day. They - clear Cape Henlopen, and turn their untried prows south by east half - south. The fell purpose of Commodore Hopkins is to harry the Bahamas. - </p> - <p> - It will be nowhere written that Commodore Hopkins, in his designs upon the - Bahamas, in any degree succeeds. Eight weeks later, the four ships come - scudding into New London with the fear of death in their hearts. An - English sloop of war darted upon them, they say, off the eastern end of - Long Island, and they escaped by the paint on their planks. - </p> - <p> - Lieutenant Paul Jones of the <i>Alfred</i> is afire with anger and chagrin - at the miserable failure of the cruise, and goes furiously ashore, nursing - a purpose of charging both Commodore Hopkins and Captain Saltonstall with - every maritime offence, from sea-idiocy to cowardice. He is cooled off by - older and more prudent heads. Also, Commodore Hopkins is summarily - dismissed by Congress, while Captain Saltonstall takes refuge behind the - broad skirts of his patron Mr. Adams. Thus, that first luckless cruise of - the infant navy, conceived in ignorance and in politics brought forth, - achieves its dismal finale in investigations, votes of censure, and - dismissals, a situation which goes far to justify those December - prophecies of Lieutenant Paul Jones, that Mr. Adams, by his selections for - commodore and captains, arranged for more courts-martial than victories. - </p> - <p> - It has one excellent result, however; it teaches Congress to give - Lieutenant Paul Jones the sloop <i>Providence</i>, and send him to sea - with a command of his own. With him go his faithful blacks, Scipio and - Cato; also, as “port-fire,” a red Indian of the Narragansett tribe, one - Anthony Jeremiah of Martha’s Vineyard. - </p> - <p> - The little sloop—about as big as a gentleman’s yacht, she is—clears - on a brilliant day in June. For weeks she ranges from Newfoundland to the - Bermudas—seas sown with English ships of war. Boatswain Jack - Robinson holds this converse with Polly his virtuous wife, when the <i>Providence</i> - again gets its anchors down in friendly Yankee mud. - </p> - <p> - “And what did you do, Jack?” demands wife Polly, now she has him safe - ashore. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll tell you what he—that’s the captain—does, when first we - puts to sea. He’s only a leftenant—Leftenant Paul Jones; but he - ought to be a captain, and so, d’ye see, my girl, I’ll call him captain. - What does the captain do, says you, when once he’s afloat? As sure as - you’re on my knee, Polly, no sooner be we off soundings than he passes the - word for’ard for me to fetch him the cat-o’-nine-tails—me being - bo’sen. Aft I tumbles, cat and all, wondering who’s to have the dozen. - </p> - <p> - “‘Chuck it overboard, Jack!’ says he, like that. - </p> - <p> - “‘Chuck what, capt’n?’ says I, giving my forelock a tug. - </p> - <p> - “‘Chuck the cat!’ says he. - </p> - <p> - “‘The cat?’ says I, being as you might say taken a-back, and wondering is - it rum. - </p> - <p> - “‘Ay! the cat!’ he says. Then, looking me over with an eye like a coal, he - goes on: ‘I can keep order aboard my ship without the cat. Because why; - because I’m the best man aboard her,’ he says; and there you be.” - </p> - <p> - “And did the cat go overboard, Jack?” - </p> - <p> - “Overboard of course, Polly. And being nicely fitted with little knobs of - lead on the nine tails of her, down to the bottom like a solid shot goes - she. And so, d’ye see, we goes cruising without the cat.” - </p> - <p> - “Did you take no prizes?” - </p> - <p> - “We sunk eight, and sent eight more into Boston with prize crews aboard. - Good picking, too, they was.” - </p> - <p> - “And you had no battles then?” - </p> - <p> - “No battles, Polly; and yet, at the close of the cruise, we’re all but - done for by a seventy-four gun frigate off Montauk. The captain twists us - out of the frigate’s mouth by sheer seamanship.” - </p> - <p> - “Now how was that, Jack!” cries Polly, breathless and all ears. - </p> - <p> - “We comes poking ‘round the point, d’ye see, and runs blind into her. We - beats to wind’ard; so does the frigate. And she lays as close to the wind - as we—and closer, Polly. Just as she thinks she has only to reach - out and snap us up, the captain—he has the wheel himself—wears - suddenly round under easy helm, and gets the wind free. This sort o’ takes - the frigate by surprise, and, instead of wearing, she starts to box about. - She’s standing as close-hauled as her trim will bear at the time. So, as I - says, as he wears ‘round, the frigate jams her helm down, and luffs into - the teeth of the gale. There’s a squall cat’s-pawing to wind’ard that she - ought to have seen, and would if she’d had our captain. But she never - notices. So, d’ye see, my girl, the frigate don’t hold her luff, and next - the squall takes her in the face. She loses her steering way, gets took - aback; and we showing a clean pair of heels, with the wind free, on the - sloop’s best point of sailing. And there you be: We leaves the frigate to - clear her sheets and reeve preventers at her leisure—we snapping - muskets at her from our taffer-rail, by way of insult, Polly!” - </p> - <p> - “Your captain’s too daring, Jack,” says Polly, who is a prudent woman. - </p> - <p> - “That’s what I tells him, Polly. ‘Cap’n,’ says I, ‘discretion is the - better part of valor.’ At that he gives me a wink. ‘So it is, my mate,’ - says he, ‘and damned impudence is the better part of discretion. And now,’ - says he, ‘the frigate being all but hulldown astern, you may take this - wheel yourself, while I goes down to supper.’” - </p> - <p> - When Lieutenant Paul Jones is again on dry land, he finds two pieces of - news awaiting him. One is a letter from Mr. Jefferson, enclosing his - commission as a captain fully fledged. The other is old Duncan Macbean in - person, and his sunken cheek and leaden eye tell of troubles on the - far-off Rappahannock. - </p> - <p> - “It was Lord Dunmore,” says old Duncan, very pale, his voice a-quaver. “He - heard of you among the ships, and wanted revenge.” - </p> - <p> - “And the villain took it!” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, he took it like! He burned mansion, barn, flour-mill—every - building’s gone, and never stick nor stone to stand one a-top t’ither on - the whole plantation.” - </p> - <p> - “What else?” - </p> - <p> - “He killed sheep and swine and cattle, and drove away the horses; there’s - never the hoof left walking about the place. Nothing but the stripped land - is left ye.” - </p> - <p> - “But the slaves?” - </p> - <p> - “His lordship took them, too, to sell them in Jamaica.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones turns white as linen three times bleached. His eyes are - hard as jade. Then he tosses up his hands, with a motion of sorrow. - </p> - <p> - “My poor blacks!” he cries. “The plantation was to them a home, not a - place of bondage. Now they are torn away, to die of pestilence or under - the lash, in the cane fields of Jamaica. The price of their poor bodies is - to swell the pockets of our noble English slave-trader. This may be Lord - Dunmore’s notion of civilized war. For all that I shall one day exact a - reckoning.” Then, resting his hand on old Duncan’s shoulder: “However, we - have seen worse campaigns, old friend! We’ll do well yet! I’ve still one - fortune—my sword; still one prospect—the prospect of laying - alongside the enemy.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER X—THE COUNSEL OF CADWALADER - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">P</span>hiladelphia is - experiencing a cool June, and in a sober, Quakerish way shows grateful for - it. The windows of General Washington’s apartments, looking out into - Chestnut Street, are raised to let in the weather and the urbane sun, not - too hot, not too cool, casts a slanting glance into the room, as though - moved of a solar curiosity concerning the mighty one who inhabits them. - The sun, doubtless, goes his way fully satisfied; General Washington - himself is there, in casual talk with the Marquis de Lafayette. - </p> - <p> - There is a marked difference between the General and the Marquis; the - former tall, powerful, indomitable—the type American; the latter - nervous, optimistic, full of romantic heroisms—the type French. The - General is speaking; his manner a model of the courteous and the suave. - For the young Marquis is a peer of France, the head of a party, and may be - held as carrying at his heels a third of French sentiment and French - influence. It is not what he brings, but what he leaves behind him, that - makes the young Marquis important. - </p> - <p> - The talk between the General and the Marquis is running on Captain Paul - Jones. - </p> - <p> - “It surprises me,” the General is saying, “it surprises me, my dear - Marquis, to learn that you know Captain Jones.” - </p> - <p> - “We meet—Captaine Jones and I,” responds Lafayette, in a choppy, - fervent fashion of English, that carries something more than a mere flavor - of Paris, “we meet, my dear General, in Alexandria by the Potomac, when I - come North from the Carolina, where I disbark. Captaine Jones he assist in - Alexandria to find horses to bring me here.” - </p> - <p> - “And you believe, as does he, that a best use that can be made of him is - to give him a ship, and send him to Europe?” - </p> - <p> - “Certaine, General, certaine! Give him a good ship, and let him hawk at - England with it. It should be a quick, smart ship, that they may not catch - him. Give him such a vessel, General, and he will keep five hundred - English boats at home to guard the British coasts.” - </p> - <p> - “You think, Marquis, that he would make a good impression in France?” - </p> - <p> - “The best, General; the best! Captaine Jones has—what you call?—the - aplomb, yes, and the grace, the charm, the dash to captivate the fancy of - my countrymen—ever brave, the French, they love a brave man like - Captaine Jones! More, General, he speaks the French language, and that is - most important.” - </p> - <p> - General Washington stalks up and down the polished, hardwood floor, - wearing a thoughtful face. As he turns to speak, he is interrupted by an - obsequious black attendant—one of those body slaves brought from - Mount Vernon. - </p> - <p> - “Pardon, Gin’ral,” says the grizzled old darky, as he pokes his grinning - head in at the door; “Cap’n Jones presents his comp’ments, sare; an’ can - he come up?” - </p> - <p> - General Washington makes a sign of assent, and the grizzled old servitor - smirks and smiles and bows himself backward into the hall. - </p> - <p> - There are two pairs of feet heard climbing the stair; the elastic step - belongs to Captain Paul Jones, the more stolid is that of Mr. Morris, who, - using the familiarity of a closest friendship, walks in on General - Washington unannounced. - </p> - <p> - “The Marquis was just saying,” observes General Washington to Captain Paul - Jones, when greetings are over and conversation, to employ a nautical - phrase, has settled to its lines, “that he met you in Virginia as he came - up.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, General; I had been having a look at my plantation, which Lord - Dunmore did me the honor to lay waste.” - </p> - <p> - “Was the destruction great?” - </p> - <p> - “The torch had been everywhere. The work could not have been more complete - had his Lordship been a professional incendiary.” Captain Paul Jones - shrugs his wide shoulders, as though dismissing a disagreeable subject, - one not to be helped by talk: “You received my letter, General? I was so - rash as to think you might aid me in getting the new frigate <i>Trumbull</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “Captain,” returns General Washington, “you will understand that my - connection with the army makes any interference on my part in naval - affairs a most delicate business. I must give my counsel in that quarter - cautiously. As for the <i>Trumbull</i>; it is, I fear, already claimed by - Mr. Adams for Captain Saltonstall.” - </p> - <p> - “Captain Saltonstall!” cries Captain Paul Jones in a fervor of bitterness. - “General, hear me! I sailed lieutenant in the <i>Alfred</i> with Captain - Saltonstall. I know him, and do not scruple to say that he is an - incompetent coward. Since he went ashore in New London after that - disgraceful cruise, he hasn’t shown his face aboard ship. He was ashamed - to do so. Only Mr. Adams could have protected him from the court-martial - he had earned. On my side—if I must plead my own cause—I’ve - made two cruises since then, one in the <i>Providence</i>, one in the <i>Alfred</i>. - I’ve taken twenty-four prizes; some of them by no means unimportant to the - American cause.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, yes!” interrupts General Washington, his steady face lighting up a - trifle; “you mean the <i>Mellish</i> and the <i>Bideford</i>. I heard how - you captured the winter equipment meant for Howe’s army—ten thousand - uniforms, eleven hundred fur overcoats, eleven thousand blankets, besides - a battery or two of field guns and six hundred cavalry equipments. You did - us a timely service, Captain Jones. Many an American soldier was the - warmer last winter, because of the <i>Mellish</i> and the <i>Bideford</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “I am glad,” says Captain Paul Jones, not without confusion, “to learn - that I so much pleased you. It gives me courage to hope that you will come - to my shoulder against Mr. Adams and his pet incompetent, Saltonstall.” - </p> - <p> - General Washington again dons his manner of grave inscrutability, and - falls to his habit of striding up and down, hands locked beneath the - buff-and-blue flaps of his coat. - </p> - <p> - “Captain Jones,” he suddenly breaks forth, “you are a sailor: What do you - do afloat in case of a head wind!” - </p> - <p> - “A head wind?” repeats Captain Paul Jones. “Why, sir, if it’s no more than - just a gale, I fall to tacking, sta’board and port. If it should be aught - of a hurricane, now, I’d set a storm stays’l, heave to, and wait for - weather.” - </p> - <p> - “Quite so!” returns the General, soberly. “Well, Captain Jones, one may - find headwinds ashore as well as afloat. Now, in the matter of the <i>Trumbull</i>, - I should advise you to ‘heave to,’ as you say, ‘and wait for weather.’ Mr. - Adams insists on Captain Saltonstall; and it is not alone inconvenient, - it’s impossible, with the Marine Committee made up as it is, to oppose - him. Be patient, and you shall not in the end fare worse than your - deserts.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones wheels on Mr. Morris, who, with Lafayette, has kept - silence, while giving interested ear to the conversation. - </p> - <p> - “You hear, Mr. Morris?” observes Captain Paul Jones, manner dogged and - aggressive. “As I warned you in my letter, I shall now prefer charges - against Captain Saltonstall—charge him with flat cowardice while in - command of the <i>Alfred</i>, and demand a court-martial. Under the - circumstances, I deem it my public duty so to do.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Morris makes a gesture of dissent and repressive protest. - </p> - <p> - “My dear Captain,” expostulates Mr. Morris, his manner pleading, yet full - of authority; precisely the manner of one who deals with a trained tiger - which he is willing to coax, while firmly intending to control—“my - dear Captain, hear reason! Your charges would be suppressed—pigeon-holed! - The influence of Mr. Adams with the Marine Committee is supreme. It could, - let me tell you, accomplish much more than merely silence your charges. It - could go further, and force a resolution of confidence in Captain - Salton-stall.” - </p> - <p> - “Then,” retorts Captain Paul Jones, inveterate as iron, “I’ve still a shot - in my locker. I shall publish his cowardice over my own name; I shall - placard every street corner; for I think the American people entitled to - know the sort of servant they have had in Captain Saltonstall. They shall - not risk a good ship and a brave crew, with a coward in the dark; and so I - tell you!” - </p> - <p> - “Captain Jones,” observes General Washington, who, cool and unruffled, is - a contrast to the disturbed Mr. Morris, “Captain Jones, as a gentleman, - you realize what would be the result of a public charge of cowardice - against Captain Saltonstall?” - </p> - <p> - “He would challenge you instantly!” breaks in Mr. Morris. - </p> - <p> - “Precisely!” says Captain Paul Jones, with just the preliminary glimmer of - battle in his hard brown eyes. “As you say, sir, he would challenge me. - And having challenged me, I should take pleasure in doing my best to kill - him. I got a pair of Galway duelling pistols out of the <i>Bideford</i>; - they were coming to Lord Howe. If I can lure Captain Saltonstall to the - field, it shall go hard, but with one of those Irish sawhandles I rid the - American navy of him. Once I have him at ten paces, it will take something - more than the influence of Mr. Adams to bring him safely off.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Morris’ brow colors; General Washington takes the situation more at - ease. He even gives way briefly to a shadowy smile; for the great patriot, - while not so inflammable, is quite as combative as any Captain Paul Jones - of them all. - </p> - <p> - “You have taken advice on this?” asks General Washington, following a - pause, during which everybody has had time to more or less digest Captain - Paul Jones’ unique plan for improving the American navy. “I do not suppose - you have gone to this decision without counsel?” - </p> - <p> - “Sir; I am, as you know, both prudent and conservative—no one more - so. Certainly, I’ve taken counsel. I went to General Cadwalader; he - expresses himself as in hearty accord with me. Indeed, it is understood - between us that he shall act for me in any affair I may have with Captain - Saltonstall.” - </p> - <p> - At the mention of General Cadwalader, General Washington smiles openly, - while Mr. Morris groans and throws up his hands. - </p> - <p> - “Bless me! Cadwalader!” exclaims Mr. Morris, when he can command his - tongue. “The worst firebrand in the country! Cadwalader, forsooth! who has - ever had but one word of advice for every man—‘Fight!’” Then, - abruptly descending upon Captain Paul Jones with all the authority of a - father addressing a favorite but rebellious son: “Paul; listen! You - believe me your friend?” - </p> - <p> - “Indubitably! I have no better friend.” - </p> - <p> - “Then let me tell you, Paul: In the name of that friendship this thing - must end—absolutely end. If you’ve drawn up any accusation of - cowardice against Captain Saltonstall, you must burn it and forget the - whole affair. You must dismiss this subject from your mind. In Cadwalader - you have invited the wrong kind of advice. I now give you the right kind. - The General will tell you so; your friend, the Marquis, will tell you so. - And forasmuch as you value my friendship you must obey me.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Morris in his earnestness lays a paternal hand on the shoulder of - Captain Paul Jones, his manner a composite of coax and command. Before the - latter, who is visibly shaken by the friendly determination of Mr. Morris, - can frame reply, Lafayette—who has been scrupulous to maintain a - polite silence from first to last—interferes. - </p> - <p> - “Our good friend, Mr. Morris,” interjects Lafayette, “has been so generous - as to refer to me. I could not have said a word without; since what you - discuss is private and personal to yourselves as Americans, and of a - character that forbids me, a Frenchman and an alien even though a friend, - voicing my views. However, since Mr. Morris has so complimented me as to - make his appeal in my name, I must—in all respect and friendship for - Captain Jones, whom I admire—unite my voice with his. The more - readily since I can take it upon myself to promise Captain Jones that if - he will cross to France, with a letter I shall give him to my king, a - fighting ship of frigate strength shall be his within the month.” - </p> - <p> - As he concludes, Lafayette, a blush reddening his cheek—for he is - only a boy—extends two hands to Captain Paul Jones as though, - fearful of having said too much, he would mutely apologize. Captain Paul - Jones seizes the hands with a warmth equal to the other’s; and the - incident, capping as it does the fatherly opposition of Mr. Morris, puts - an end to that beautiful plan, so full of dire promise for Captain - Saltonstall, which in their mutual belligerencies Captain Paul Jones and - the fire-fed Cadwalader have formulated. - </p> - <p> - “Say that you will go to France, my friend!” urges the impulsive young - Frenchman; “say that you will go! I will exhaust Auvergne, and all of - France besides, but you shall have the promised ship.” - </p> - <p> - At this, General Washington interferes. - </p> - <p> - “Forbear, my dear Marquis!” says he. “Captain Jones shall go to France. - But he shall go with an American crew, in an American ship, flying the - American flag.” Then, to Captain Paul Jones: “Do me the honor, Captain, to - hold yourself in readiness to obey any summons I may send. Believe me, I - shall count myself as one without influence, if you do not hear from me - within the week.” - </p> - <p> - Let us glance ahead two years for the final word of Captain Saltonstall. - Captain Paul Jones, with his hard-won prize, the crippled <i>Serapis</i>, - creeps into the Texel, and the earliest story wherewith the Dutch regale - him is how Captain Saltonstall, weak, forceless, incompetent, has - surrendered the new, thirty-two-gun frigate, <i>Warren</i>, to the English - in Penobscot Bay. Captain Paul Jones hears the disgraceful news with set - and angry face. - </p> - <p> - “I have just learned the miserable fate of the <i>Warren</i>,” he writes - to Mr. Morris; “and hearing it I reproach myself. If I had obeyed the - dictates of my sense of duty on a Philadelphia day you will recall, - instead of yielding to the persuasions of the peacemakers, our flag might - still be flying on the <i>Warren!</i>” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XI—THE GOOD SHIP RANGER - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>our days of - listless waiting go by, and Captain Paul Jones again finds himself and Mr. - Morris closeted with General Washington. - </p> - <p> - “Captain Jones,” says the latter, speaking with a kindly gravity, “Mr. - Morris and I have so pushed your affairs with the Marine Committee that - to-morrow Congress will pass a double resolution, adopting a new flag, the - stars and stripes, and appointing you to command the <i>Ranger</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “The Ranger!” exclaims Captain Paul Jones, beginning to glow. “Thanks, - General; a thousand thanks! And to you also, Mr. Morris, whom I shall - never forget! The Ranger! I know her! She is being sparred and rigged at - Portsmouth! New, three hundred tons; a beauty, too, they tell me! - Gentlemen, I am off at once to Portsmouth! I must see to stepping her - masts and mounting her batteries myself.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones, all eagerness, is on his feet, and even the wise, - age-cold Mr. Morris begins to catch his fire. - </p> - <p> - “Right!” cries Mr. Morris; “you shall start to-morrow!” - </p> - <p> - “Captain Jones,” interrupts the General, laying a large detaining hand on - the other’s arm, “you will go to Portsmouth and look after your ship. - Also, while your destination is France, you must wait for orders to sail. - I may have weighty despatches for the French King—news that will - shake Europe.” - </p> - <p> - June is as cool in Portsmouth as it is in Philadelphia. Cooler; for the - New Hampshire breeze has in it the chill smell of those snows that lie - unmelted in the mountains. Captain Paul Jones comes unannounced, eyes - dancing like those of a child with a new toy, and seeks the wharf where - the __Ranger__ is being fitted to her spars. From a convenient coign he - looks the <i>Ranger</i> over, and evinces a master’s appreciation. - </p> - <p> - “Nose sharp! Plenty of dead-rise! Lean lines!” he murmurs. “With the wind - anywhere abaft the beam, she should race like a greyhound! All, she’s a - beauty, fit to warm the cockles of a sailor’s heart! See to the sheer of - her!—as delicate as the lines of a woman’s arm!” - </p> - <p> - Up comes a sturdy figure with an air of command, an officer’s hat on his - head, a ship-carpenter’s adz in his hand. - </p> - <p> - “This is Captain Jones?” - </p> - <p> - “Captain Paul Jones, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Pardon me for not first giving my name. I’m Elijah Hall, who is to sail - second officer with you in yon <i>Ranger</i>.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones and Lieutenant Hall fall into instant and profound - confab of a deeply nautical complexion, a confab quite beyond a landsman’s - comprehension, wherein such phrases as “flush-decks,” “short poop-deck,” - “bilges,” “futtocks,” and “knees” abound, and are reeled off as though - their use gives our two ship-enthusiasts unbridled satisfaction. At last - Lieutenant Hall remarks, pointing to three long sticks: - </p> - <p> - “There’re her masts, sir. They were taken out of a four-hundred-ton - Indiaman, and are too long for a three-hundred-ton ship like the <i>Ranger</i>. - I was thinking I’d cut’em off four feet in the caps.” - </p> - <p> - “That would be a sin!” exclaims Captain Paul Jones, voice almost religious - in its fervent zeal. “Three as fine pieces of pine as ever came out of - Norway, too! I’d be afraid to cut’em, Mr. Hall; it would give the ship bad - luck. I’ll tell you what! Fid them four feet lower in the hounds; it will - amount to the same thing, and at the same time save the sticks.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones goes at the congenial task of fitting out the <i>Ranger</i> - with his usual day-and-night energy. When he finds her over-sparred, with - her masts too long, he still refuses to cut them down, but shortens yard - and bowsprit, jib-boom and spankerboom. He doesn’t like the Marine - Committee’s armament of twenty six-pounders, and proceeds to mount four - six-pounders and fourteen long nines. - </p> - <p> - “One nine-pounder is equal to two six-pounders,” says Captain Paul Jones; - “and, since it’s I who must put to sea in the <i>Ranger</i>, and not the - Marine Committee, nine-ponnders I’ll have, and say no more about it.” - </p> - <p> - The New Hampshire girls, on the Fourth of July, come down to the <i>Ranger</i>, - and present Captain Paul Jones a flag—red, white, and blue—quilted - of cloth ravished from their virgin petticoats. The gallant mariner makes - the New Hampshire girls a speech. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0143.jpg" alt="0143 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0143.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “That flag,” cries he, “that flag and I, as captain of the <i>Ranger</i>, - were born on the same day. We are twins. We shall not be parted life or - death; we shall float together or sink together!” - </p> - <p> - These brave words, in the long run, find amendment. The petticoat flag of - the pretty New Hampshire girls is the flag which, two years later, flies - from the <i>Richard’s</i> indomitable peak when Captain Paul Jones cuts - down the gallant Pierson and his <i>Serapis</i>. After that fight off - Scarborough Head, Captain Paul Jones writes to the pretty New Hampshire - girls—for he ever remembers the ladies—recounting the last - destiny of their petticoat ensign. He is telling of the <i>Richard’s</i> - death throes, as viewed from the blood-slippery decks of the conquered <i>Serapis</i>: - </p> - <p> - “No one was now left aboard the Richard but my dead. To them I gave the - good old ship to be their coffin; in her they found a sublime sepulcher. - She rolled heavily in the swell, her gun-deck awash to the port-sills, - settled slowly by the head, and sank from sight. The ensign gaff, shot - away in the action, had been fished and put in place; and there your flag - was left flying when we abandoned her. As she went down by the head, her - taffrail rose for a moment; and so the last that mortal eye ever saw of - the gallant <i>Richard</i> was your unconquered ensign. I couldn’t strip - it from the brave old ship in her last agony; nor could I deny my dead on - her decks, who had given their lives to keep it flying, the glory of - taking it with them. And so I parted with it; so they took it for their - winding sheet.” - </p> - <p> - At last the <i>Ranger</i> is ready for sea; and still those belated - despatches from General Washington for the French King do not come. One - cold October day a horseman, worn and haggard, rides into Portsmouth. - Stained, dust-caked, reeling in his saddle, he calls for Captain Paul - Jones. - </p> - <p> - “Here,” responds that gentleman. “What would you have?” - </p> - <p> - “I come from General Washington,” cries the man. “Burgoyne has - surrendered! Here are your despatches for France!” - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones takes the packet, stunned for the moment by the mighty - news. - </p> - <p> - “And now for food and drink,” says the man faintly, as with difficulty he - slips to the ground. “One hundred and eighty miles have I rode in thirty - hours. It was the brave news kept me going; the thought of those beaten - English held me up like wine.” - </p> - <p> - “One hundred and eighty miles!” cries Captain Paul Jones. “Thirty hours!” - </p> - <p> - The man points to his mount, where it stands with drooping head and - quivering flank. - </p> - <p> - “That is the tenth I’ve had. Horse flesh and hard riding did it!” - </p> - <p> - Ten minutes after the despatches are put in his hands, Captain Paul Jones - is aboard the <i>Ranger</i>. Then comes the tramp of forty feet about the - capstan. Twenty powerful breasts are pressed against the capstan bars, and - the <i>Ranger</i> is walked up to its anchors, while aloft the brisk - top-men are shaking out the sails. - </p> - <p> - “Anchor up and down, sir!” reports Boatswain Jack Robinson, who has left - his Polly at home, while he sails with the <i>Ranger</i>. - </p> - <p> - “Anchor up and down!” repeats Captain Paul Jones. “Bring her home!” - </p> - <p> - With a “Heave ho!” the <i>Ranger</i>’s anchors are pulled out of - Portsmouth sands. Captain Paul Jones himself takes the wheel and pays off - its head before the breeze, already bellying the foresails. - </p> - <p> - “Give her every stitch you have, Mr. Hall,” says Captain Paul Jones. “We - must be clear of the Isles of Shoals by daybreak.” - </p> - <p> - “And then?” asks Lieutenant Hall. - </p> - <p> - “East, by south, half east! And Mr. Hall, day and night, blow high, blow - low, spread every rag you’ve got. Burgoyne has surrendered. Either I shall - tear the sticks out of the <i>Ranger</i>, or spread that news in France in - thirty days.” - </p> - <p> - “More haste, less speed!” murmurs the prudent Lieutenant Hall; and so, - having eased his mind like a true seaman, he goes forward heatedly to - spread sail. - </p> - <p> - The top-heavy little <i>Ranger</i>, with her acre of canvas, heels over - until, with decks awash, she glides eastward like a ghost. - </p> - <p> - “Pipe all hands aft, Mr. Bo’sen!” commands Captain Paul Jones. - </p> - <p> - Boatswain Jack Robinson puts his whistle to his lips, and sends a shrill - call singing through the ship. The crew come scampering aft; all save a - contingent aloft, who race down by the backstays, claw under claw, as - might so many cats. Some of our old friends of the <i>Providence</i> are - there—the aquatic Scipio and Cato, with the little red Indian - port-fire, Anthony Jeremiah. - </p> - <p> - “My men,” cries Captain Paul Jones, “we’re off for France. We shall meet - nasty weather, for it’s the beginning of winter, and I shall steer the - northern course. It is to be a case of crack-on canvas, foul weather or - fair: and, since the ship is oversparred and cranky, we must mind her day - and night. To make all safe, the watch shall be lap-watched, so as to keep - plenty of hands on deck. This will double your work, but I shall also - double your grog. Now, my hearties, let every man among you do his duty by - flag and ship. Burgoyne has surrendered, and it’s for us to carry the word - to France.” - </p> - <p> - “Shipmates,” observes Boatswain Jack Robinson, judgmatically, as the hands - go tumbling forward, “shipmates, the old <i>Ranger</i> is a damned - comfortable ship. ‘Double watches, double work!’ says the skipper; but - also ‘Double grog!’ says he. Wherefore, I says again, the old <i>Ranger</i> - is a damned comfortable ship.” - </p> - <p> - Eight bells now, breakfast; and the Isles of Shoals are vanishing over the - <i>Ranger</i>’s stern. Suddenly a boyish voice strikes up: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent10"> - “So now we had him hard and fast, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Burgoyne laid down his arms at last, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And that is why we brave the blast, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - To carry the news to France.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones pauses in his short quarterdeck walk, cocks his ear, - and listens. The hoarse crew take up the chorus: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “Heigh ho! carry the news! - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Go carry the news to London, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Tell old King George how he’s undone. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Oh, ho! carry the news!” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Boatswain Jack Robinson, observing Captain Paul Jones listening, becomes - explanatory. - </p> - <p> - “Only a bit of a ditty, Cap’n; the same composed by Midshipman Hill, d’ye - see, in honor of this here cruise. A right good ballid, too, I calls it; - and amazin’ fine for a lad of twenty, who hardly knows a reef-point from a - gasket.” - </p> - <p> - Vouchsafing this, Boatswain Jack Robinson rolls forward with walrus gait, - chanting as he goes in a voice tuned by storms and broken across capstan - bars, the hoarse refrain: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “Oh, ho! carry the news!” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - And so the good ship <i>Ranger</i> plows eastward on her course. Eighteen - hours out of twenty-four, Captain Paul Jones holds the deck. In the end he - has his reward. Just thirty days after the <i>Ranger</i>’s anchors kissed - the Portsmouth sands good-by, they go splashing into the dull waters of - the Loire. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XII—HOW THE “RANGER” TOOK THE “DRAKE” - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>our months slip - by; it is April, and the idle <i>Ranger</i> rides in the harbor of Brest. - Morose, sore with inactivity, Captain Paul Jones seeks out Doctor Franklin - at the philosopher’s house in Passy. - </p> - <p> - “This lying by rusts me,” Captain Paul Jones is saying as he and Doctor - Franklin have a turn in the garden. The latter likes the thin French - sunshine, and gets as much of it as he may. “Yes, it rusts me—fills - me with despair!” - </p> - <p> - “What would you do, then?” asks Doctor Franklin, his coarse, shrewd face - quickening into interest. “Have you a cruise mapped out?” - </p> - <p> - “Now I thought, if you’ve no objections, I’d just poke the <i>Ranger</i>’s - nose into the Irish Sea, and take a look at Whitehaven. You know I was - born by the Solway, and the coast I speak of is an old acquaintance.” - </p> - <p> - “I see no objection, Captain, save the smallness of your ship.” - </p> - <p> - “That is easily answered; for I give you my word, Doctor, the little <i>Ranger</i> - can sail round any English ship on the home station. I shall be safe, no - fear; for what I can’t whip I can run from.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you spoken to my brother commissioners?” - </p> - <p> - Doctor Franklin looks up, a grim, expectant twinkle in his gray eyes. - Captain Paul Jones cracks his fingers in angry impatience. - </p> - <p> - “Forgive me, Doctor, if I’m frank to the frontiers of rudeness. Of what - avail to speak to Mr. Dean, who is asleep? Of what avail to speak to Mr. - Lee, who surrounds himself with British spies like that creature Thornton, - his private secretary? I ask you plain questions, Doctor, for I know you - to be a practical man.” - </p> - <p> - The philosopher grins knowingly. - </p> - <p> - “Please do not speak of British spies to Commissioner Lee, Captain Jones. - My task in France is enough difficult as it stands.” - </p> - <p> - “And on that account, Doctor, and on that alone, I have so far refrained - from saying aught to Mr. Lee. But I tell you I misdoubt the man. His - fellow Thornton I know to be in daily communication with the English - admiralty! he clinks English gold in his pockets as the wage of his - treason. This, were there no one save myself to consider, I should say in - the face of Arthur Lee; ay! for that matter in the face of all the Lees - that ever hailed from Virginia. I tell you this, Doctor, for your own - guidance.” Then, following a pause: “Not that it sets politely with my - years to go cautioning one so much my superior in age, wisdom and - experience.” - </p> - <p> - The philosopher glances up from the violets. - </p> - <p> - “Possibly, Captain Jones, I have already given myself that caution. - However, concerning your proposed cruise: I shall leave all to your - judgment. Certainly, our warships, as you say, were meant for battle-work, - and not to waste their lives junketing about French ports.” - </p> - <p> - “One thing, doctor,” observes Captain Paul Jones, at parting: “Tell your - fellow commissioners that I’ve cleared for the west coast of Ireland, with - a purpose to go north-about around the British islands. If you let them - hear I’m off for Whitehaven, I give you my honor that, with the spy - Thornton selling my blood to the English admiralty, I shall have the whole - British fleet at my heels before I reach St. George’s Channel.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones, in command of the <i>Ranger</i>, drops in at - Whitehaven. With twenty-nine of his lads he goes ashore of a dripping - morning, pens up the sleepy garrisons of the two forts, and spikes their - guns. Then, having spikes to spare, he makes useless a shore battery, - while the ballad-mongering Midshipman Hill, with six men, chases inland - one hundred coast guardsmen and militia. - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones, waxing industrious, attempts to burn the shipping - which crowds the tidal basin at Whitehaven. In these fire-lighting efforts - he succeeds to the extent of five ships; after which he rows out to the <i>Ranger</i>. - Thereupon the people and militia, who crowd the terror-smitten hills round - about, come down into their town again. - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones crosses now to the north shore of the Solway for a - morning call upon the Earl of Selkirk. He schemes to capture that - patrician, and trade him back to the English for certain good American - sailors whom they hold as prisoners. The plan falls through, since the - noble earl is not at home. In lieu, the <i>Ranger</i>’s crew take unto - themselves the Selkirk plate, which Captain Paul Jones subsequently buys - from them, paying the ransom from his own purse, and returns with his - compliments gallantly expressed in a letter to the earl. - </p> - <p> - From the Solway, the little <i>Ranger</i> stands west by north across the - Irish Sea. Off Carrickfergus she finds the <i>Drake</i>, an English sloop - of war that is two long nines the better than the <i>Ranger</i> in her - broadsides, and thirty-one men stronger in her crew. To save trouble, the - <i>Ranger</i> is hove to off the mouth of Belfast Lough, and waits for the - <i>Drake</i> to come out. This the English ship does slowly and with - difficulty, being on the wrong side of wind and tide. - </p> - <p> - “The sun is no more than an hour high,” - </p> - <p> - The Story of Paul Jones suggests Lieutenant Wallingford wistfully. - “Shouldn’t we go to meet them, sir?” - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones shakes his head. - </p> - <p> - “We’ve better water here,” says he. “Besides, the moon will be big; we’ll - fight them by the light of the moon.” - </p> - <p> - Slowly, reluctantly, the <i>Drake</i> forges within hail. She is in doubt - about the <i>Ranger</i>. - </p> - <p> - “What ship is that?” cries the <i>Drake</i>. - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones puts his speaking-trumpet to his lips. - </p> - <p> - “The American ship <i>Ranger</i>,” he replies. “Come on; we’re waiting for - you.” - </p> - <p> - Without further parley, broadside answers broadside and the battle is on. - </p> - <p> - Both ships head north, the <i>Ranger</i> having the weather-gage. This - last gives Captain Paul Jones the nautical upperhand. In ship-fighting, - the weather-gage is equivalent to an underhold in wrestling. - </p> - <p> - There is a swell on, and the two ships roll heavily. They shape their - course side by side, keeping within musket-reach of each other. The breeze - is on the starboard quarter, and a little faster than the ships. By this - good luck, the smoke of the broadsides is sent drifting ahead, and the - line of sight between the ships kept free. On they crawl, broadside - talking to broadside; only the Americans are smarter with their guns, and - fire three to the <i>Drake</i>’s two. - </p> - <p> - Twilight now invests the scene in gray, as the sun sinks behind the close, - dark Irish headlands to the west. Night, cloudless and serene, comes down; - the round, full moon shines out, and its mild rays mingle and merge with - the angry glare of the battle-lanterns. Captain Paul Jones from his narrow - quarterdeck watches the Drake through his night glass. - </p> - <p> - “Good! Very good!” he murmurs, as the <i>Drake</i>’s foremast is - splintered by a round shot. Then, to the Salem man who has the wheel: - “Bring us a little closer, Mr. Sargent; a little closer in, if you - please.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones again rivets his glass upon the <i>Drake</i>. An - exclamation escapes him. It comes upon him that his gunners are having - advantage of the roll of the ships, and time their broadsides so as to - catch the <i>Drake</i> as, reeling to port, she brings up her starboard - side. By this plausible manouvre, those sagacious ones who train the <i>Ranger</i>’s - guns are sending shot after shot through and through the <i>Drake</i>, - between wind and water, half of them indeed below the water-line. Captain - Paul Jones, through his glass, makes out the black round shot-holes; they - show as thick as cloves in the rind of a Christmas ham. - </p> - <p> - “Why!” he exclaims, “this doesn’t match my book! I must put a stopper on - such work.” - </p> - <p> - Shutting up his glass, Captain Paul Jones leaps from the after flush-deck - down among his sailors. Drunk with blood, grimed of powder, naked to the - waist, the black glory of battle in their hearts, they merrily work their - guns. It is as he beheld from the after-deck. The <i>Ranger</i> rolls to - port as the <i>Drake</i>, all dripping, is fetching up her starboard side. - </p> - <p> - “Fire!” cries the master-gunner, and “Fire!” runs the word along the - battery. - </p> - <p> - The long nines respond with flame and bellow! - </p> - <p> - Then they race crashingly inboard with the recoil, and are caught by the - breeching tackle. With that the smoky work is all to do over again. The - brawny sailor men—from Nantucket, from Martha’s Vineyard, from Sag - Harbor, from New London and Barnstable and Salem and Boston and Portsmouth - they are—shirtless and shoeless, barefoot and stripped to the belts, - ply sponge and rammer. Again each black-throated gun is ready with a - stomachful of solid shot. - </p> - <p> - “Show ‘em your teeth, mates!” - </p> - <p> - The guns rattle forward on their carriages. The quick port-tires stand - ready, blowing their matches. There is a brief pause, as the master-gunner - waits for that fatal downward roll to port which offers and opens the <i>Drake</i>’s - starboard side almost to the keel. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! I see, Mr. Starbuck,” begins Captain Paul Jones sweetly, addressing - the master-gunner. “Your effort is to hull the enemy.” - </p> - <p> - “Fire!” cries the master-gunner, for just then the <i>Ranger</i> is - reeling down to port, while the <i>Drake</i> is coming up to starboard, - and he must not waste the opportunity. - </p> - <p> - The long nines roar cheerfully, spouting fire and smoke. Then comes that - crashing inboard leap, to be caught up short by the tackle. Again the - sponges; again the rammers; with the busy shot-handlers working in - between. And all the while the little powder monkeys, lads of eleven and - twelve, go pattering to and fro, with cartridges from the magazines. - </p> - <p> - “Why, yes, sir!” responds the master-gunner, now finding time to reply to - the comment of Captain Paul Jones; “as you says, we’re trying to hull her, - sir.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones makes out three new holes below the Brake’s - plankslieer, the hopeful harvest of that last broadside. - </p> - <p> - “May I ask,” demands Captain Paul Jones, who as a mere first effect of - battle never fails of a rippling amiability, “may I ask, Mr. Starbuck, - your design in thus aiming below the water-line?” - </p> - <p> - “Saving you presence, Captain, we designs to sink the bitch.” - </p> - <p> - “Precisely! That is what I surmised! To a quick seaman like yourself, Mr. - Starbuck, a word will do. I don’t want her sunk, d’ye see! I want to bring - her into France as an object-lesson, and show the Frenchmen what Americans - can do. Under the circumstances, Mr. Starbnck, I shall be obliged if you - let her hull alone. It will take Mr. Hitchburn, our carpenter, a week as - it is “—this comes off reproachfully—“to stop the holes you’ve - already made. And so, Mr. Starbnck, from now on comb her decks and cut her - up in the spars as much as ever you like; but please keep off her hull.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, ay, sir!” says the master-gunner, saluting. Then: “Pass the word that - we’re to leave her hull alone. Cap’n has set his heart on catching her - alive.” - </p> - <p> - With that the plan of attack finds reversal, the <i>Ranger</i> firing as - she comes up to port and when only a narrow streak of the Drake’s - starboard beam is visible above the waves. - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones remains among the sailors, canvassing in a gratified - way the results of this change. While thus engaged, port-fire Anthony - Jeremiah grins up at him, meanwhile blowing his match to keep it lighted. - </p> - <p> - “You enjoy yourself, I see, Jerry,” remarks Captain Paul Jones, who, as - observed, is never so affable as when guns are crashing, blood is flowing, - and splinters flying. - </p> - <p> - “Me like to hear the big guns talk, Captain,” responds the Indian. “It - gives Jerry a good heart.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones again swings his glass on the Drake. He is just in time - to see her fore and main topsail-yards come down onto the caps by the run. - The last broadside does that. In an instant, he is running aft. - </p> - <p> - “Down with your helm, Mr. Sargent!” he roars. “Pull her down for every - ounce that’s in you, man!” - </p> - <p> - Quartermaster Sargent, thus encouraged, climbs the wheel like a squirrel; - the <i>Ranger</i>’s topsails shiver; then, yielding to her helm, she - slowly luffs across the helpless stern of the Drake. - </p> - <p> - “Aboard with those sta’board tacks!” shouts Captain Paul Jones. Then, - turning again to the wheelman: “Steady, Mr. Sargent; keep her full!” - </p> - <p> - There is a skurry across the <i>Ranger</i>’s decks, as the men rush from - the port to the starboard battery. - </p> - <p> - “Stand by, Mr. Starbuck,” calls ont Captain Paul Jones, “to rake her as we - cross her stern.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, ay, sir!” returns the master-gunner. “She shall have it for’ard and - aft, as my old gran’am shells peas cods!” - </p> - <p> - “Steady, Mr. Sargent!” and again Captain Paul Jones cautions the alert - wheelman. “Keep her as she is!” - </p> - <p> - The guns are swung, and depressed so as to tear the poor <i>Drake</i> open - from stern-post to cutwater at one discharge. The <i>Ranger</i> gathers - head; slowly she makes ready to cross her enemy’s stern so close that one - might chuck a biscuit aboard. It is a moment fraught of life and death for - the unhappy <i>Drake</i>. - </p> - <p> - With her captain and first officer already dead, the situation proves - beyond the second officer, on whom the responsibility of fighting or - surrendering the ship devolves. His sullen British soul gives way; and he - strikes his colors just in time to avoid that raking fire which would else - have snuffed him off the face of the sea. - </p> - <p> - “Out-fought, out-manoeuvred, and out-sailed!” exclaims Captain Paul Jones. - </p> - <p> - Lieutenant Hall, flushed of combat, comes up. - </p> - <p> - “We have beaten them, Captain!” exults Lieutenant Hall. - </p> - <p> - “We’ve done more than that, Mr. Hall,” responds Captain Paul Jones. “We - have defeated an aphorism, and made a precedent. For the first time in the - history of the sea, a lighter ship, with a smaller crew and a weaker - battery, has whipped an Englishman.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIII—THE DUCHESS OF CHARTRES - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t is a notable - gathering that assembles at Doctor Franklin’s house in Passy. Mr. Adams - and his wife have just arrived, and the doctor presents them to Madame - Brillon and Madame Houdetot, already there. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Adams is but recently come from America,” the doctor whispers. “He - takes Mr. Dean’s place as a member of our commission.” - </p> - <p> - Madame Houdetot talks with Mrs. Adams; and because of her bad English and - the other’s bad French they get on badly. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Lee sends his compliments,” observes Mr. Adams, loftily, to Doctor - Franklin, “and regrets that he cannot come. He heard, I understand, that - Captain Paul Jones is to be here, and does not care to meet him.” - </p> - <p> - “No?” responds the doctor, evincing scanty concern at the failure of Mr. - Lee to come. “Now I do not wonder! I hear that Captain Jones thrashed Mr. - Lee’s secretary in a tavern at Nantes, and our proud Mr. Lee, I suppose, - resents it.” - </p> - <p> - “Thrashed him!” exclaims Mr. Adams, in high tones; “Captain Jones seized a - stick and beat him like a dog, applying to him the while such epithets as - ‘liar!’ and ‘spy.’ Mr. Lee’s secretary has left France through fear of - him.” - </p> - <p> - The portly doctor lifts his hands at this; but underneath his deprecatory - horror, hides a complacency, a satisfaction, as though the violence of - Captain Jones will not leave him utterly unstrung. - </p> - <p> - “He fights everybody,” says the good doctor, resignedly; “on land as well - as on sea. Nor can I teach him the difference between his own personal - enemies, and the enemies of his country.” - </p> - <p> - “He seems a bit unruly,” observes the pompous Mr. Adams; “a bit unruly, - does this Captain Jones of yours. I’m told he sold the <i>Drake</i>, and - what other ships were captured on his recent cruise, in the most - high-handed, masterful way.” - </p> - <p> - “What else was he to do? When a road becomes impassable, what is your - course? You push down a panel of fence and go cross-lots. Captain Jones - had two hundred prisoners to feed, besides his own brave crew of one - hundred and eighteen. We had no money to give him. Were they to starve? - I’m not surprised that he sold the ships.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m surprised that the Frenchmen bought them,” returns Mr. Adams. - “Captain Jones could give no title.” - </p> - <p> - Doctor Franklin’s keen eyes twinkle. - </p> - <p> - “He could give possession, Mr. Adams. And let me tell you that in France, - as everywhere else, possession is nine parts of the law.” - </p> - <p> - Madame Brillon draws Mr. Adams aside, while Doctor Franklin welcomes the - beautiful royal girl—the Duchess de Chartres; to whom he later - presents Mr. Adams and Mrs. Adams. Madame Houdetot leaves Mrs. Adams with - the girl-Duchess and talks aside with Doctor Franklin. - </p> - <p> - “I did not know,” she whispers, with an eye on the girlish Duchess, “that - you received calls from royalty.” - </p> - <p> - “The Duchess de Chartres has been with her great relative, the king, upon - the business of Captain Jones. She comes to meet the captain, whom we - every moment expect.” - </p> - <p> - “She is in love with him!—madly in love with him!” says Madame - Houdetot. “All the world knows it.” - </p> - <p> - The doctor, who at seventy-two is a distinguished gallant, smiles - sympathetically. - </p> - <p> - “Did I not once tell you that Captain Jones, the invincible among men, is - the irresistible among women!” - </p> - <p> - “Something of the sort, I think. But you have heard of the duchess and - your irresistible, invincible one, had you not?” - </p> - <p> - “My dear madam, I am a diplomat,” replies the doctor, slyly. “And it is an - infraction of the laws of diplomacy to tell what you hear.” - </p> - <p> - “They have been very tender at the duchess’s summer house near Brest.” - </p> - <p> - “And the husband—the Duke de Chartres!” - </p> - <p> - “A most excellent gentleman! A most admirable husband of most - unimpeachable domestic manners! Believe me, I cannot laud him too highly! - Every husband in Prance should copy him! He honors his wife, and—stays - aboard his ship, the <i>Saint Esprit</i>.” After a pause the gossipy - Madame Houdetot continues: “No doubt the duke considers his wife’s rank. - Is the great-granddaughter of the Grande Louis to be held within those - narrow lines that confine the feet of other women?” - </p> - <p> - “Who is this Mr. Adams?” asks Madame Brillon, coming up. “Is he a great - man?” - </p> - <p> - Doctor Franklin glances across where the austere Mr. Adams is stiffly - posing, with a final thought of impressing the sparkling Duchess de - Chartres. - </p> - <p> - “Rather he is a <i>big</i> man,” replies the philosopher. “Like some - houses, his foundations cover a deal of ground; but then he is only one - story high. If you could raise Mr. Adams another story, he would be a <i>great</i> - man.” - </p> - <p> - The good doctor goes over, and becomes polite to Mrs. Adams; for the - enlightenment of that lady of reserve and dignity, he expands on France - and the French character. Suddenly the door is thrown open, and all - unannounced a queer figure rushes in. She is clad in rumpled muslin and - soiled lutestring. Her hair is frizzed, her face painted, her cap awry, - and she is fair and fat and of middle years. This remarkable apparition - embraces Doctor Franklin, kisses him resoundingly, first on the left cheek - then on the right, crying: - </p> - <p> - “My flame!—my love!—my Franklin!” - </p> - <p> - The seasoned doctor receives this caressing broadside steadily, while the - desolated Mrs. Adams sits round-eyed and stony. - </p> - <p> - “It is the eccentric Madame Helvetius,” explains Madame Brillon in a low - tone to Mrs. Adams. “They call her the ‘Rich Widow of Passy.’ She and the - good doctor are dearest friends.” - </p> - <p> - “Eccentric!” Mrs. Adams perceives as much, and says so. - </p> - <p> - Doctor Franklin returns to Mrs. Adams, whom he suspects of being hungry - for an explanation, while the buoyant Madame Helvetius, as one sure of her - impregnable position, wanders confidently about the room. - </p> - <p> - “You should become acquainted with Madame Helvetius,” submits the doctor - pleasantly. “Wise, generous, afire for our cause—you would dote on - her.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Adams icily fears not. - </p> - <p> - “Believe me; you would!” insists the doctor. “True! her manners are of her - people and her region. They are not those of Puritan New England.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Adams interrupts to say that she has never before heard so much said - in favor of Puritan New England. - </p> - <p> - “And yet, my dear Mrs. Adams,” goes on the good doctor, as one determined - to conquer for Madame Helvetius the other’s favorable opinion, “you would - do wrong to apply a New England judgment to our friend. Her exuberance is - of the surface.” Then, quizzically: “A mere manner, I assure you, and - counts for no more than should what she is doing now.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Adams lifts her severe gaze at this to Madame Helvetius. That amiable - French woman is in rapt and closest converse with Mr. Adams, hand on his - shoulder, her widowed lips to his ear. Mr. Adams is standing as one - frozen, casting ever and anon a furtive glance, like an alarmed sheep, at - Mrs. Adams. For an arctic moment, Mrs. Adams is held by the terrors of - that spectacle; then she moves to her husband’s rescue. - </p> - <p> - Madame Helvetius comes presently to Doctor Franklin. - </p> - <p> - “What an iceberg!” she remarks, with a toss of the frizzed head towards - Mr. Adams. “Does he ever thaw!” Then, as her glance takes in Mrs. Adams: - “Poor man! He might be August, missing her. It is she who congeals him.” - </p> - <p> - And now he, for whom they wait, is announced—Captain Paul Jones. He - has about him everything of the <i>salon</i> and nothing of the sea. His - amiable yet polished good breeding wins on Mrs. Adams, and even the - repellant wintry Mr. Adams is rendered urbane. Captain Paul Jones becomes - the instant centre of the little assemblage. And yet, even while he gives - his words to the others, his glances rove softly to the girl-Duchess, who - stands apart, as might one who for a space—only for a space—permits - room to others. The girl-Duchess is polite; she grants him what time is - required to offer his greetings all around. Then, in the most open, - obvious way, as though none might criticise or gainsay her conduct, she - draws him into a secluded corner. They make a rare study, these two; he - deferential yet dominant, she proud but yielding. - </p> - <p> - “Did you see the king?” he asks. - </p> - <p> - “See him? Am I not, too, a Bourbon?” This comes off with fire. - </p> - <p> - “Surely! Of course you saw him!” responds Captain Paul Jones, recalling - his manner to one of easy matter-of-fact. “Your royal highness will pardon - my inquiry.” - </p> - <p> - The girl-Duchess objects petulantly to the “Royal Highness.” - </p> - <p> - “From you I do not like it,” she says. “From you”—and here comes a - flood of softness, while her black eyes shine like strange jewels—“from - you, as you know, my friend, I would have only those titles that, - arm-encircled, heart to heart, a man gives to the one woman of his sou’s - hope.” - </p> - <p> - Her voice sinks at the close, while her eyes leave his for the floor. His - presence is like a gale, and she bends before him as the willow bends - before the strong wind. Meanwhile, as instructive to Mr. Adams, the loud - Doctor is saying: - </p> - <p> - “No, sir; you must have a wig. No one sees the king without a wig.” - </p> - <p> - “We talked an hour—the king and I,” goes on the girl-Duchess, - recovering herself. “I read him your letter; he was vastly interested. - Then I told him how the <i>Ranger</i> had been called to America. Also I - drew him pictures of what you had done; and how bravely you had fought, - not only your enemies, but his enemies and the enemies of France. And, - oh!”—here again the black eyes take on that perilous softness—“I - can be eloquent when I talk of you!” - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones looks tender things, as though he also might be - eloquent, let him but pick subject and audience. Altogether there is much - to support the gossip-loving Madame Houdetot, in what she has said - concerning that summer house at Brest. The voice of the good Doctor again - takes precedence. - </p> - <p> - “Until then, it had been an axiom of naval Europe that no one on even - terms, guns and men and ship, could whip the British on the ocean.” - </p> - <p> - The Doctor and Mr. Adams are discussing the <i>Ranger</i> and the Drake, a - topic that has been rocking France. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” goes on the girl-Duchess, with a further dulcet flash of those - eyes, fed of fire and romance, “you are to have a ship. Here is the king’s - order to his Minister of Marine—the shuffler De Sartine. Now there - shall be no more shuffling.” She gives Captain Paul Jones the orders. “The - ship is the <i>Duras</i>, lying at l’Orient.” - </p> - <p> - “The <i>Duras!</i>” exclaims Captain Paul Jones. “An ex-Indiaman!—a - good ship, too; she mounts forty guns.” Then, as his gaze rests on Doctor - Franklin, laying down diplomatic law and fact to Mr. Adams, who listens - with a preposterously conceited cock to his head: “What say you, my friend—my - best, my dearest friend! Let us re-name the <i>Duras</i> for the good - Doctor. Shall we not call it the <i>Bon Homme Richard</i>?” - </p> - <p> - The girl-Duchess looks her acquiescence as she would have looked it to any - proposal from so near and sweet and dear a quarter. Thus the <i>Bon Homme - Richard</i> is born, and the <i>Duras</i> disappears. The Doctor, - unconscious of the honor done him, is saying to Madame Helvetius, whose - fat arm is thrown across his philosophic shoulder: - </p> - <p> - “With pleasure, madam! It is arranged; I shall dine at your house - to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - The girl-Duchess and Captain Paul Jones hear nothing of these prandial - arrangements for the morrow. They are again conversing; and, for all they - talk constantly, they say more with their eyes than with their lips. - </p> - <p> - “Lastly,” and here the words of the girl-Duchess grow distinct, “your - ship, they tell me, will need refitting. That will take money, my friend; - and so I hand you this letter to my banker, Gourlade, instructing him to - put ten thousand louis to your credit.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones puts the letter of credit aside. - </p> - <p> - “You do not understand!” he says. “De Chaumont has——” - </p> - <p> - “You <i>must</i> take it!” interrupts the girl-Duchess, her eyes beginning - to swim. “You shall not put to sea, and risk your life, and the ship not - half prepared!” - </p> - <p> - “I shall more easily risk my life a thousand times, than permit you to - give me money.” - </p> - <p> - As Captain Paul Jones says this, a resentful red is burning on his brow. - Doctor Franklin breaks in from over the way, with: - </p> - <p> - “You should not too much listen to Mr. Lee, sir. I tell you that the - French merchants have offered to send Captain Jones to sea as admiral of - an entire fleet of privateers, and he refused. Have my word, sir; the last - thing he thinks on is money.” - </p> - <p> - The girl-Duchess is gazing reproachfully at Captain Paul Jones. At last - she speaks slowly and with a kind of sadness: - </p> - <p> - “I do not give you money—do not offer it. What! money and—you! - Never!” Then proudly: “I give my money to the Cause.” After this high note - is struck, the flash dies down; the black eyes again go wavering to the - floor, while the voice retreats to the old soft whisper. “It is my heart - —only my heart that I give to you.” - </p> - <p> - The strident, unmollified tones of Mr. Adams get possession of the field. - He is condemning the French press. - </p> - <p> - “They declare, sir,” he is saying, “that I am not the celebrated Mr. - Adams; that I am a cipher, a fanatic and a bigot.” - </p> - <p> - Doctor Franklin laughs. “What harm is there in the French papers, sir?” he - returns. “Give them no heed, sir, give them no heed!” - </p> - <p> - Madame Brillon makes preparations to depart; Madame Houdetot, Mrs. Adams - and the rest adopt her example. And still the girl-Duchess holds Captain - Paul Jones to herself: - </p> - <p> - “I am to have one evening—one before you go?” she pleads; and her - tones are a woman’s tones and deeply wistful; and are not in any respect - the tones of a Bourbon. - </p> - <p> - “One evening? You shall have every evening—ay! and every day.” - </p> - <p> - “Remember!” and as she makes ready to go the girl-Duchess takes firmer - command of her manner and her voice; “remember! You have promised to lay - an English frigate at my feet.” - </p> - <p> - “That I shall do; or lay my bones away in the Atlantic!” - </p> - <p> - The girl-Duchess shivers at this picture, and as though for reassurance - steals her slim hand into his. - </p> - <p> - “Not that!” she pleads. His strong brown fingers close courageously on the - slender ones. “I cannot bear the thought! In victory or defeat, come - back!” Then, sighing rather than saying: “Come back to me—my - untitled knight of the sea!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIV—THE SAILING OF THE “RICHARD” - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>aptain Paul Jones - goes down to l’Orient to begin the overhaul and refit of the <i>Richard</i>. - The ship is twenty years old, and he finds it shaken and worn by time and - weather. It is not a good ship, not a ship on which a prudent commander - would care to stake his life and reputation; but it is the best he can - get, and Captain Paul Jones accepts it, shrugging his shoulders. He has - been so beaten upon by disappointments, so carked and rusted by delays, - since his old ship <i>Ranger</i> spread its sails for home, and left him - as it were an exile on French shores, that rather than further endure such - heart-eating experiences he is ready to embrace the desperate. As the work - of refitting progresses, Doctor Franklin comes over from Passy. - </p> - <p> - “The ship is old, Doctor,” says Captain Paul Jones, as he and Doctor - Franklin canvass the situation. “That, however, is the least of my - troubles. What causes me most uneasiness is the crew. Out of a whole - muster of three hundred and seventy-five, no more than fifty are - Americans.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you do not trust the French? Surely you don’t mean to say they are - not brave men?” - </p> - <p> - “Brave enough—the French; but that is not the point. They are not - good water fighters. By nature they are too hysterical, too easily - excited, to both sail and fight a ship. Those English whom we go to meet - are born water dogs, stubborn and cool; and the only ones afloat who, man - for man, may match them are Americans.” - </p> - <p> - “And of Americans you have but fifty?” - </p> - <p> - “Only fifty.” Then, with a heartfelt oath: “I would give my left hand to - have back my old crew of the <i>Ranger</i>.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones begins pacing to and fro, his thoughts running - regretfully on the <i>Ranger</i>, and those stout hearts with whom he - fought the <i>Drake</i>. But the <i>Ranger</i> and those stout, tarry ones - are half a world away; and in the end he returns perforce to the <i>Richard</i>, - and what poor tools in the way of crew are offered him by Fate. There is, - too, a matter of gravity which he desires to lay before the Doctor’s older - and more prudent judgment. For Captain Paul Jones, so unmanageable by - others, defers to the sagacious Doctor, and accepts his opinions and - follows his commands with closed eyes. - </p> - <p> - “This Captain Pierre Landais, Doctor,” he begins, “who is to sail the <i>Alliance</i> - in my company?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes?” interrupts the Doctor. - </p> - <p> - “You know him?—you have confidence in him?” - </p> - <p> - The Doctor purses his lips, but says never a word. - </p> - <p> - “Then I’ll tell you what I think!” cries Captain Paul Jones, who reads - distrust in the good Doctor’s pursed but silent lips; “I’ll tell you what - I think, and what I’ll do. Already I’ve had some dealings with this - Landais. The fellow is mad—vanity-mad. Jealous, insubordinate, he - has twice taken open occasion to disobey my orders. This I have stomached - in silence—being on French shores. I now warn you that as soon as I - find myself in blue water, at a first sign of rebellion against my - authority, I’ll clap the fellow in irons. By heaven! I’ll string him to - his own yard arm, sir; make a tassel of him for the winds to play with, if - it be required to preserve a discipline which his example has already done - much to break down.” - </p> - <p> - Doctor Franklin meets this violent setting forth concerning the - recalcitrant Landais with a negative gesture of unmistakable emphasis. - </p> - <p> - “You must do nothing of the kind, Paul!” he replies. “Captain Landais, as - you say, is doubtless mad—vanity-mad. But he is also French; and we - must do nothing to estrange from our cause French sympathy and French - assistance. I urge you to bear with Landais in silence, rather than - jeopardize us with King Louis.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones growlingly submits. “It will result disastrously, - Doctor,” he says. “We shall yet suffer for it, mark my word.” Then, - disgustedly: “I marvel that the Marine Committee in Philadelphia should - turn over to such a madman a brisk frigate like the <i>Alliance</i>. - </p> - <p> - “Your friend, the Marquis de Lafayette, had something to do with it, I - think. You observe that on his present visit to France, it is Landais with - his <i>Alliance</i> who brings him.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones says no more, but seems to accept Landais as he accepts - the <i>Richard</i>, desperately. His final comment shows the uneasy - complexion of his thought. - </p> - <p> - “We shall do the best we can, Doctor,” he says. - </p> - <p> - “Young as I am, I have lived long enough to know that one can’t have all - things ordered as he would.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Paul Jones, now commodore, clears for the Irish coast on a bright, - clear day in June. Besides the <i>Richard</i>, he has with him the <i>Alliance</i>, - thirty-two guns, Captain Landais; the <i>Pallas</i>, twenty-eight guns, - Captain Cottineau; and the <i>Vengeance</i>, twelve guns, Captain Ricon. - Four days later he returns limping into l’Orient for repairs, the <i>Richard</i> - having been fouled by the <i>Alliance</i> through the criminal - carelessness or worse of Captain Landais. - </p> - <p> - The breast of the young commodore is on fire with anger over the delay, - and the vicious clumsiness that caused it. He burns to destroy Landais, as - the mean reason of his troubles, but the thought of Doctor Franklin - restrains him. Also, as events unfold, that enforced return to l’Orient - proves of good fortune, and he forgets his chagrin in joy over the - flattering new turn in his affairs. Doctor Franklin has succeeded in - bringing about an exchange of prisoners, and barters to the British - admiralty one hundred and nineteen Englishmen, captured in the <i>Drake</i> - and other prizes taken by the <i>Ranger</i>, for one hundred and nineteen - Americans held by King George. While Commodore Paul Jones is curing the - damage done the <i>Richard</i> by the evil Landais, those exchanged - Americans are landed under a cartel in Nantes. He goes down to Nantes and - enlists one hundred and fifteen of them for the <i>Richard</i>. - </p> - <p> - Before Commodore Paul Jones weighs anchor for a second start, he goes over - to Passy for a final word with Doctor Franklin. The pair walk in the - Doctor’s favorite garden, now a wilderness of foliage and flowers, the - Doctor serene, the boy commodore cloudy, taciturn and grim. His resolution - has set iron-hard to do or die; the cruise shall be a glorious one or be - his last. Doctor Franklin asks about his plans. - </p> - <p> - “I shall make for the west coast of Ireland,” says he, “and go north about - the British islands. Wind and weather favoring, I may sack a town or two - by way of retaliation for what the foe has done to us. They will find that - I have not forgotten Lord Dunmore, and my ruined plantation by the - Rappahannock.” - </p> - <p> - “The waters you will sail in are alive with British ships of war. With - your poor force it seems a desperate cruise.” - </p> - <p> - “Desperate, yes; but, Doctor, we are in no shape to play cautious. We are - weak; therefore we must be reckless.” - </p> - <p> - “It is a strange doctrine,” muses the Doctor. “And yet I will not say but - what it smells of judgment. I have faith in you, Paul; it teaches me to - hope that, when next I greet you, I shall greet a victor.” - </p> - <p> - “Doctor,” returns Commodore Paul Jones, and his tones are grave with - meaning, “I shall not disappoint you. Nor do I care to conceal from you my - resolution. When I sail, I sail looking for battle; and I shall not - hesitate to engage an enemy superior to my force. The condition of our - cause is such that, to sustain it, we need a striking, ay! a startling - naval success, and I shall do all I know, fight all I know, to bring it to - pass. More; my mind is made up: If I fail, I fall; I shall return - victorious or I shall not return.” - </p> - <p> - It is daybreak on a day in middle August when Commodore Paul Jones, with - the <i>Richard</i> as flagship of the little squadron of four, puts the - Isle of Groaix astern, and points for the open ocean. His course is west - by north, so as to weather Cape Clear, and fetch the Irish coast close - aboard. With winds light and baffling, the squadron’s pace is slow; it is - nine days out of France before Cape Clear is sighted. Then it creeps - northward along the Irish coast, Commodore Paul Jones vigilant and alert. - He takes a prize or two, and one after the other sends into French ports - the British ships <i>Mayflower</i> and <i>Fortune</i>. The young - commodore’s brow begins to clear; those prizes comfort him vastly. At - least the cruise shall not be registered as altogether fruitless. - </p> - <p> - It is the last day of August; the Hebrides lie off the <i>Richard</i>’s - starboard beam. A stiff gale from the northwest sets in, and the squadron - is driven east by north under storm staysails. This dovetails with the - desires of Commodore Paul Jones; wherefore he welcomes the gale as - friendly weather. Also, it gives him a chance to try out the <i>Richard</i>, - which shows lively with the wind abaft the beam, but dull to the confines - of despair when sailing on a wind. Close-hauled, the <i>Richard</i> makes - more lee than headway. - </p> - <p> - “Which means, Dick,” says Commodore Paul Jones judgmatically, to - Lieutenant Richard Dale—“which means, Dick, that we must have the - weather-gage before we lock horns with an enemy.” - </p> - <p> - Off Cape Wraith, Commodore Paul Jones is so fortunate as to take two - further prizes. He turns them over to Captain Landais, with orders to send - them into Brest. The Frenchman, who only receives an order for the purpose - of breaking it, sends them into the port of Bergen, where the Norwegians - promptly turn them over to the English, on an argument that they do not - officially know of any government called the United States. - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones works slowly and cautiously southward along the east - coast of Scotland. Off the Firth of Forth he decides to attack the Port of - Leith, and stands in for that fell purpose. An adverse gale, seconded by - off-shore currents, comes to the rescue of the threatened Scotchmen; in - the teeth of his best seamanship Commodore Paul Jones and his squadron are - driven out to sea. Thus the chance passes, and the sack of Leith is - abandoned. It is a sore setback to the hopes of Commodore Paul Jones; but - it lifts a load from the Scottish heart, to whom the Stars and Stripes - have brought visions of pillage and torch and desolation. The news flies - over England; beacons burn on each headland; while every semaphore is - telling that the dreaded Paul Jones is hawking at the English coasts. The - word causes a tremendous loss of British sleep. - </p> - <p> - Off Spurn Head our industrious young commodore sinks one collier and - chases another ashore. Being full of curiosity, he takes a peep into the - mouth of the Humber, and discovers a frightened fleet of British merchant - vessels. The merchantmen are in a flutter at the sight of the <i>Richard</i>’s - dread topsails; the frigate that it conveying them has its work cut out, - to nurse them into anything like calmness. - </p> - <p> - Following the look into the Humber, that sets so many timid merchantmen to - shivering, Commodore Paul Jones puts out to sea under doublereefs. He - plans to stand off and on throughout the night, and swoop on those - tremblers, like a hawk on a covey of quail, with the first gray streaks of - dawn. The frigate will doubtless fight, but the optimistic young commodore - reckons on making short work of that man-of-war. In the middle watch the - little brig <i>Vengeance</i> runs under the <i>Richard</i>’s lee, bringing - word of a nobler quarry. The Baltic timber fleet, fifty sail in all, - convoyed by the <i>Serapis</i> and the <i>Countess of Scarboro</i> has - just put into Bridlington Bay. - </p> - <p> - At this good news, Commodore Paul Jones gives up his designs touching the - frightened covey of merchantmen in the Humber. He prefers the Baltic - timber ships with the <i>Serapis</i>, the difference between the one and - the other being the difference between deer and hare. He orders the <i>Vengeance</i> - to stand out to sea, find the <i>Alliance</i>, and tell Captain Landais to - join him off Scarboro’ Head. - </p> - <p> - “But do not,” says he to Captain Ricon, “give Captain Landais this notice - in the guise of an order. He would make a point of disobeying, and seize - on its reception as a pat occasion for insulting you.” - </p> - <p> - While the <i>Vengeance</i> stands eastward in search of the <i>Alliance</i>, - Commodore Paul Jones signals the __Pallas__ to follow, and turns his bows - for Scarboro’ Head, then forty miles away. - </p> - <p> - The <i>Richard</i>, the little <i>Pallas</i> close to its heels, cracks on - canvas throughout the night. The winds are mere puffs and catspaws; still, - slow as is their speed, daylight finds them within throwing distance of - their destination. They are the wrong-side of the weather, however, and - the whole day is wasted in beating inshore against the wind. Our young - commodore must do all the work; for the English merchantmen, as though - faint with fear at the sight of him, refuse to come out; while the <i>Serapis</i> - and its consort stick close to them in their role of guardships. The sun - goes down, night descends, and as yet our young commodore has not been - able to get within reach of the foe; for at beating to windward the <i>Richard</i> - is as dull as a Dutchman. - </p> - <p> - When darkness comes, it unlooses a land breeze. With that the merchantmen - take heart of grace, and resolve to dare all and run for it. They rush out - of Bridlington Bay, wind free, like a flock of seagulls. What is a fair - wind for them is a headwind for the <i>Richard</i> and <i>Pallas</i>; with - no one to molest them, the fifty timber ships show a clean pair of heels. - Commodore Paul Jones makes no effort to chase; it would be seamanship - thrown away. Besides, the <i>Serapis</i> has laid its sails aback, and is - waiting to hear from him; while the <i>Countess of Scarboro</i> guarding - the flanks of the fugitive timber ships, seems eagerly willing to try - conclusions with the <i>Pallas</i>. - </p> - <p> - The temptation is too great; Commodore Paul Jones makes no least effort to - resist it. Signaling the <i>Pallas</i> to close with and pull down the - smaller ship, with his own eye on the <i>Serapis</i>, he begins - manoeuvring for the upper hand. The sea is as smooth as glass; a great - harvest moon shoots up in the cloudless sky. As when the <i>Ranger</i> - fought the <i>Drake</i>, it is to be a fight by the light of the moon. - </p> - <p> - The <i>Richard</i> tacks starboard and port, the <i>Serapis</i> lying in - wait. Decks cleared, guns shotted and run out, magazines open, men - stripped and at their quarters, both ships are as ferociously ready as - bulldogs. Commodore Paul Jones scans the <i>Serapis</i> through his glass. - </p> - <p> - “How heavy is he, Commodore?” - </p> - <p> - It is Dr. Brooke, surgeon of the <i>Richard</i>, who puts the question. He - has been laying out his instruments and bandages in the cockpit, in - readiness for a hard night’s work, and now pokes his nose on deck for a - last breath of fresh air. - </p> - <p> - “Is that you, Doctor?” returns Commodore Paul Jones. The amiable tones - bespeak that bland urbanity which is his dominant characteristic on the - threshold of battle. “It’s the <i>Serapis</i>; a forty-four-gun ship of - the Rainbow class, six months off the stocks.” - </p> - <p> - It should be observed that Commodore Paul Jones’ pet study is the British - navy, and he knows more about it—ships, guns, and men—than - does the king’s admiralty itself. - </p> - <p> - “Forty-four guns! Rainbow class!” repeats the worthy doctor, who himself - is not without a working knowledge of ships and their comparative - strengths. “Then she’s a stronger ship, with heavier metal, than the <i>Richard</i>?” - </p> - <p> - “As three is to two, Doctor,” replies Commodore Paul Jones, shutting up - his glass and preparing for action. “None the less, we shall fight them - and beat them just the same.” - </p> - <p> - Aboard the <i>Serapis</i>, Captain Pearson is holding his glass on the <i>Richard</i>, - not a cable’s length away. Suddenly the <i>Richard</i> wears and backs its - topsail, thereby bringing its broadside to bear upon the <i>Serapis</i>. - </p> - <p> - “That was a clever manoeuvre!” remarks Captain Pearson, admiringly, to - Lieutenant Wright, who stands by his side. “It holds for him the - weather-gage, and makes it impossible for me to luff across his hawse, - without exposing my ship to be raked.” - </p> - <p> - “Who is he?” asks Lieutenant Wright; for the <i>Serapis</i> is just home - from Norway, and the word that set all England to lighting beacons and - doubling coast-guards has not reached it. - </p> - <p> - “Who is he?” repeats Captain Pearson, soberly. “He is Paul Jones; and, my - word for it, Lieutenant, there is work ahead.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XV—THE “RICHARD” AND THE “SERAPIS” - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he ships are - slowly closing, watchful as wrestlers striving for holds, the <i>Richard</i> - edging down with the wind, the <i>Serapis</i> holding on. - </p> - <p> - “What ship is that?” hails Captain Pearson. - </p> - <p> - There is no reply. - </p> - <p> - “What ship is that?” comes the second hail. - </p> - <p> - The response is a storm of solid shot from the <i>Richard</i>’s flaming - broadside. - </p> - <p> - As the <i>Richard</i> goes into action, Commodore Paul Jones swings his - glass along the eastern horizon. The <i>Pallas</i> is going down the wind, - in hot pursuit of the <i>Countess of Scarboro</i>, yawing and firing its - bow-chaser as it runs; while far out to sea lies the traitor Landais, - sulking or skulking, it matters little which, his coward topsails just - visible against the moonlit sky-line. - </p> - <p> - With the wind aft, the <i>Richard</i> and the <i>Serapis</i> head - northwest, both on the port tack. The moon makes the scene as light as - day; the sea is as evenly smooth as a ballroom floor. The <i>Richard</i> - goes over on the starboard tack, the <i>Serapis</i> holding as she is; the - ships approach each other, the <i>Richard</i> keeping the weather-gage. - For twenty minutes it is broadside and broadside as fast as men may handle - sponge and rammer. As in the hour of the <i>Drake</i> and <i>Ranger</i>, - the Yankees show smarter with their guns. - </p> - <p> - When the battle begins, the <i>Richard</i> has to its broadside three - eighteen-pounders, as against the <i>Serapis</i>’ ten. With the first - fire, two of the <i>Richard</i>’s three explode, killing half the men that - serve them, and tearing open the main gun-deck immediately above. - Lieutenant Mayrant, who has command in the gunroom where the three - eighteens are mounted, reports the disaster to Commodore Paul Jones. The - latter receives the news beamingly, as though it were the enemies’ - eighteen-pounders, and not his own, that have been put out of action. - </p> - <p> - “Then we have only the twelve-pounders and the long nines to fight him - with,” says Commodore Paul Jones. “It is now a thirty-two-gun ship against - a forty-four. We shall beat him; and the honor will be the greater.” Then, - observing Lieutenant Mayrant to be severely wounded in the head, he - becomes concerned for that young gentleman. “Better go below to Brooks,” - says he, “and have your wounds dressed.” - </p> - <p> - “I must get square for Portsea jail first,” replies Lieutenant Mayrant, - who is of those exchanged ones enlisted at Nantes. - </p> - <p> - Lieutenant Dale, forward with the twelve-pounders, comes aft to ask about - the exploded eight guns. - </p> - <p> - “They were rotten when the Frenchmen sold them to us,” says Lieutenant - Dale bitterly. - </p> - <p> - “Ay!” responds Commodore Paul Jones. “I’d give half the prize money I - shall get from yonder ship to have those Frenchmen here.” Meanwhile the <i>Serapis</i>—not - yet a prize—is fiercely belching flame and smoke, while her shot - tear the vitals out of the <i>Richard</i>. - </p> - <p> - The ships have been fighting half an hour—rough broadside work; the - <i>Richard</i> with its lighter metal has had the worst of the barter. - They have sailed, or rather drifted, a mile and a half, edging closer to - one another as they forge slowly to the north and west. - </p> - <p> - The <i>Serapis</i>, being the livelier ship, has fore-reached on the <i>Richard</i>, - and Captain Pearson sees the chance to luff across the latter’s bows. - Having torn the <i>Richard</i> open with a raking broadside, Captain - Pearson will then go clear around the Yankee, put the <i>Serapis</i> upon - the starboard tack, and claim in his turn the weather-gage. It is a - brilliant thought, and Captain Pearson pulls down his helm to execute it. - Already he sees victory in his fingers. He is radiant; it will make him a - Knight Commander of the Bath. - </p> - <p> - While Captain Pearson is manoeuvring for that title, the hot broadside - dispute proceeds with unflagging fury. Only the <i>Richard</i> is - beginning to bleed and gasp; those ten eighteen-pounders of the <i>Serapis</i> - overmaster its weaker batteries. Also, by this time they are doubly weak; - for more than half of the <i>Richard</i>’s twelve-pounders have been - dismounted, and the balance are so jammed with wreckage and splinters as - to forbid them being worked. Lieutenant Dale reports the crippled - condition of the <i>Richard</i>’s broadside to Commodore Paul Jones, where - the latter stands on the after-deck, in personal command of the French - marines, whose captain has crept below with a hurt knee. - </p> - <p> - “We have but three effective twelve-pounders left,” says Lieutenant Dale. - </p> - <p> - “Three?” retorts Commodore Paul Jones, cheerfully. “Now, well-aimed and - low, Dick, much good damage may be worked with three twelve-pounders.” - </p> - <p> - Lieutenant Dale wipes the blood and sweat and powder-stains from his face, - salutes, and goes back to his three guns; while Commodore Paul Jones, - alive to the enemy’s new manouvre, takes the wheel from the quartermaster. - </p> - <p> - To check the ambitious Pearson in his efforts to luff across his forefoot, - Commodore Paul Jones pays off the <i>Richard</i>’s head a point. The check - is not alone successful, but under the influence of that master hand, the - <i>Richard</i> all but gets the <i>Serapis</i>’ head into chancery. - </p> - <p> - Being defeated in his luff, Captain Pearson next discovers that his brisk - antagonist has put him in a dilemma. If he holds on, the <i>Richard</i> - will run him down; he can already see the great, black cutwater rearing - itself on high, as though to crush him and cut him in two. If he pays off - the head of the <i>Serapis</i>, and avoids being run down, the <i>Richard</i> - will still foul and grapple with him. Lieutenant Mayrant’s bandaged head - shows above the <i>Richard</i>’s hammock nettings, as, with grappling - irons ready for throwing, he musters a party of boarders—cutlass and - pistol and pike—to have them in hand the moment the ships crash - together. That title of Knight Commander of the Bath, and the star and - garter that go with it, do not look so near at hand. Also, the <i>Serapis</i>, - at this closer range, begins to feel the musket-fire from the <i>Richard</i>’s - tops. One after another, three seamen are shot down at the wheel of the <i>Serapis</i>. - </p> - <p> - In this desperate emergency, Captain Pearson, good sailorman that he is, - neither holds on nor pays off, but with everything thrown aback attempts - to box-haul his ship. It may take the sticks out by the roots, but he must - risk it. The chance is preferable to being either run down or boarded. - </p> - <p> - The <i>Serapis</i> is a new ship, fresh from the yards, and her spars and - cordage stand the strain. Captain Pearson backs himself slowly out of the - trap. He grazes fate so closely that the <i>Richard</i>, answering some - sudden occult movement of the helm, runs its bowsprit over the larboard - quarter of the <i>Serapis</i>, into its mizzen rigging. - </p> - <p> - “Stand by with those grappling irons!” shouts Commodore Paul Jones. - </p> - <p> - Lieutenant Mayrant throws the grapples with a seaman’s accuracy; they - catch, as he means they shall, in the mizzen backstays of the Englishman. - But the ships have too much way on. The <i>Richard</i> forges ahead; the - <i>Serapis</i>, every sail flattened, backs free; the lines part. Before - Lieutenant Mayrant can take his jolly boarders over the <i>Richard</i>’s - bows, the ships have swung apart, and fifty feet of open water yawn - between them. - </p> - <p> - The <i>Serapis</i> falls to leeward; at the end of the next five minutes - both ships are back in their old positions, with their broadside guns—or - what are left of them—at that furious work of hammer and tongs. - </p> - <p> - At this crashing business of broadsiding, the <i>Richard</i> has no - chance, and Commodore Paul Jones—a smile on his dauntless lips, eyes - bright and glancing like those of a child with a new toy—stands well - aware of it. He must board the Englishman, or he is lost. As showing what - Captain Pearson’s eighteen-pounders can do, the <i>Richard</i>’s starboard - battery—being the one in action—shows nine of its - twelve-pounders dismounted from their carriages; while, of the one hundred - and forty-three officers and men who belong with the main gun-deck battery - under Lieutenant Dale, eighty-seven lie dead and wounded. The gun-deck - itself, a-litter with dismounted guns and shot-smashed carriages and - tackle, is slippery with blood, and choked by a red clutter of dead and - wounded sailors. - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones turns to his orderly, - </p> - <p> - Jack Downes. “Present my compliments to Lieutenant Dale,” says lie, “and - ask him to step aft.” - </p> - <p> - Bloody, powder-grimed, Lieutenant Dale responds. - </p> - <p> - “Dick,” observes Commodore Paul Jones, “he’s too heavy for us. We must - close with him; we must get hold of him. Bring what men you have to the - spar-deck, and serve out the small arms for boarding.” - </p> - <p> - The breeze veers to the west, and freshens up a bit. This helps the <i>Richard</i> - sooner than it does the <i>Serapis</i>; Commodore Paul Jones, having - advantage of it, wears and makes directly for his enemy. This move, like a - stroke of genius, brings him within one hundred feet of the <i>Serapis</i>, - directly between it and the wind. It is his purpose to blanket the enemy, - and steal the breeze from him. He succeeds; the <i>Serapis</i> loses way. - </p> - <p> - It is now the turn of Commodore Paul Jones to go across his enemy’s - forefoot, and retort upon the <i>Serapis</i> that manouvre which Captain - Pearson attempted against the <i>Richard</i>. But with this difference: - Captain Pearson’s purpose was to rake; Commodore Paul Jones’ purpose is to - board; for he lias now no guns wherewith to rake. - </p> - <p> - The <i>Serapis</i> is held as though in irons, canvas a-flap, by the - blanket of the <i>Richard</i>’s broad sails. Slowly yet surely, like the - coming of a doom, the <i>Richard</i> forges across the other’s head. The - design of Commodore Paul Jones is to lay the <i>Serapis</i> aboard, lash - ship to ship, and sweep the Englishman’s decks with his boarders. These, - armed to the teeth, as ready for the rush as so many hunting dogs, - Lieutenant Mayrant is holding in the waist. - </p> - <p> - The <i>Richard</i> is half its length across the bows of the <i>Serapis</i>—still - helpless, sails a-droop! Suddenly, by a twist of the helm, Commodore Paul - Jones broaches the <i>Richard</i> to on the opposite tack, and doubles - down on his prey. It is the beginning of the end. The jib-boom of the <i>Serapis</i> - runs in over the poop-deck of the <i>Richard</i>; a turn is instantly - taken on it with a small hawser by Lieutenant Dale, who makes all fast to - the <i>Richard</i>’s mizzen-mast. The ships swing closer and closer - together; at last the two rasp broadside against broadside, the <i>Richard</i> - still holding its way. As they grind along, the outboard fluke of the <i>Serapis</i>’ - starboard anchor catches in the Richard’s mizzen-chains. First one, then - another gives way; the third holds, and the ships lie together bow and - stern. Commodore Paul Jones is over the side like a cat; the next moment - he lashes the <i>Serapis</i> to the <i>Richard</i>, and the death-hug is - at hand. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVI—HOW THE BATTLE RAGED - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>ommodore Paul - Jones drops overboard his cocked hat. Orderly Jack Downes rushes into the - cabin and gets another. Returning, he offers it to Commodore Paul Jones, - who waves it away with a laugh. - </p> - <p> - “Chuck it through the skylight, Jack,” he says; “I’ll fight this out in my - scalp.” Then, glancing forward at the sailors, naked to the waist: “If it - were not for the looks of the thing, I’d off coat and shirt, and fight in - the buff like yonder gallant hearties.” - </p> - <p> - There is a sudden smashing of the <i>Richard</i>’s bulwarks, a splintering - of spars; a sleet of shot, grape and solid and bar, tears through the - ship! In the wake of that hail of iron comes the thunder of the guns—loud - and close aboard! Commodore Paul Jones looks about in angry wonder; that - broadside was not from the <i>Serapis</i>! - </p> - <p> - “It’s the <i>Alliance!</i>” cries Lieutenant Dale, rushing aft. “Landais - is firing on us!” - </p> - <p> - Not half a cable-length away lies the Alliance, head to the wind, topsails - back, half hidden in a curling smother of powder-smoke. There comes but - the one broadside. Even as Commodore Paul Jones looks, the traitor’s head - pays slowly off; a moment later the sails belly and fill, and the Alliance - is running seaward before the wind. Commodore Paul Jones grits out a - curse. - </p> - <p> - “Landais! Was ever another such a villain out of hell!” - </p> - <p> - The villain Landais makes off. There is no time for maledictions; besides, - a court-martial will come later for that miscreant. Just now Captain - Pearson, with his <i>Serapis</i>, claims the attention of Commodore Paul - Jones. - </p> - <p> - The tackle takes the strain; the lashings, and that fortunate starboard - anchor of the <i>Serapis</i>, hold the ships together. Captain Pearson - sees the peril, and the way to free himself. - </p> - <p> - “Cut away that sta’board anchor!” he cries. Then, as a seaman armed with a - hatchet springs forward, he continues: “The ring-stopper, man! Cut the - shank-painter and the ring-stopper; let the anchor go!” - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones snatches a firelock from one of the agitated French - marines. Steadying himself against a backstay, he raises the weapon to his - shoulder and fires. The ball goes crashing through the seaman’s head as he - raises his hatchet to cut free the anchor. Another leaps forward and - grasps the hatchet. Seizing a second firelock, Commodore Paul Jones - stretches him across the anchor’s shank, where he lies clutching and - groaning and bleeding his life away. As the second man goes down, those - nearest fall back. That fatal starboard anchor is a death-trap; they want - none of it! Commodore Paul Jones, alert as a wildcat and as bent for - blood, keeps grim watch, firelock in fist, at the backstay. - </p> - <p> - “I turned those hitches with my own hands,” says he; “and I’ll shoot down - any Englishman who meddles with them.” - </p> - <p> - The French marines, despite the hardy example of Commodore Paul Jones, are - in a panic. Their Captain Cammillard is wounded, and has retired below. - Now their two lieutenants are gone. Besides, of the more than one hundred - to go into the fight, no more than twenty-five remain. These, - nerve-shattered and deeming all as lost, are fallen into disorder and - dismay. The centuries have taught them to fear these sullen English. The - lesson has come down to them in the blood of their fathers who fought at - Crcy, Poitiers, Blenheim, Ramillies, and Malplaquet that these bulldog - islanders are unconquerable! Panic grasps them at the moment of all - moments when Commodore Paul Jones requires them most. - </p> - <p> - Seeing them thus shaken and beaten in their hearts, Commodore Paul Jones—who - knows Frenchmen in their impulses as he knows his own face in a glass—adopts - the theatrical. He rushes into their midst, thundering: - </p> - <p> - “Courage, my friends! What a day for France is this! We have these dogs of - English at our mercy! Courage but a little while, my friends, and the day - is ours! Oh, what a day for France!” As adding clat to that day for - France, Commodore Paul Jones snatches a third firelock from the nearest - marine, and shoots down a third Briton who, hatchet upraised, is rushing - upon that detaining anchor. Following this exploit, he wheels again upon - those wavering marines, and by way of raising their spirits pours forth in - French such a cataract of curses upon all Englishmen and English things - that it fairly exhausts the imagination of his hearers to keep abreast of - it. - </p> - <p> - Pierre Gerard, the little Breton sailor who, with Jack Downes, acts as - orderly to Commodore Paul Jones, is swept off his feet in admiration of - his young commander’s fire and profane fluency. Little Pierre takes fire - in his turn. - </p> - <p> - “See!” he cries, addressing Jack Downes, who being from New Hampshire - understands never a word of Pierre’s French, albeit he takes it in, - open-mouthed, like spring water; “See! He springs among them like a tiger - among calves! Ah, they respond to him! Yes, in an instant he arouses their - courage! They look upon him—him, who has bravery without end! Name - of God! To see him is to become a hero!” - </p> - <p> - It is as the excitable little Pierre recounts. The French marines, lately - so cowed, look upon Commodore Paul Jones to become heroes. With shouts and - cries they crowd about him valorously. He directs their fire against the - English, who man the long-nines in the open waist of the <i>Serapis</i>. - The fire of the recovered Frenchmen drives those English from their guns. - Thereupon the French go wild with a fierce joy, and are all for boarding - the <i>Serapis</i>. Commodore Paul Jones has as much trouble restraining - them from rushing forward as he had but a moment before to keep them from - falling back. - </p> - <p> - Captain Pearson has never taken his eyes from that fatal starboard anchor, - holding him fast to the <i>Richard</i>. There it lies, his own anchor—the - key-stone to the arch of his ruin! If it take every English life aboard - the <i>Serapis</i>, it must be cut away! He orders four men forward in a - body, to cut shank-painter and ring-stopper. - </p> - <p> - There comes an instant volley from the recovered French marines, led by - Commodore Paul Jones, who fires with them. Before that withering volley - the four hatchet-men fall in a crumpled, bloody heap. The fatal anchor - still holds; the ships grind side by side. - </p> - <p> - Captain Pearson orders forward more men, and still more men, to cut away - that anchor, which is as an anchor of death, tying him broadside and - broadside to destruction. Fourteen men die, one across the other, under - the fire of Commodore Paul Jones and his French marines—each of the - latter being now a volcano of fiery valor! The last to perish is - Lieutenant Popplewill; he dies honorably at the hands of Commodore Paul - Jones himself, who sends a musket ball through the high heart of the young - dreadnought just as he reaches those fatal fastenings. - </p> - <p> - While this labor of death and bloody slaughter goes on above, the smashing - work of the <i>Serapis</i>’ eighteen-pounders has not ceased between - decks. As the two ships come together, the lower-tier gun crews of the <i>Serapis</i> - are shifted from the port to the starboard batteries. They attempt to run - out the guns, and are withstood by the port-lids, which refuse to be - triced up, the <i>Richard</i> grinding them so hard and close as to hold - them fast. - </p> - <p> - “What!” cries Lieutenant Wright, who has command of the <i>Serapis</i>’ - eighteen-pounders; “the ports won’t open? Open them with your round-shot, - then, my hearties! Fire!” - </p> - <p> - And so the broadside of the <i>Serapis</i> is fired through its own planks - and timbers, to open a way to the <i>Richard</i>. - </p> - <p> - “There!” cries Lieutenant Wright exultantly, “that should give your guns a - chance to breathe, my bucks! Now show us how fast you can send your iron - aboard the Yankee!” - </p> - <p> - The English broadside men respond with such goodwill that they literally - cut the <i>Richard</i> in two between decks with their tempest of solid - eighteen-pound shot. - </p> - <p> - While this smashing battery work goes forward, hammer and anvil, the <i>Serapis</i>’ - twelve-pounders are tearing and rending the <i>Richard</i>’s upper decks, - piling them in ruins. Every twelve-pounder belonging to the <i>Richard</i> - is rendered dumb. Only three long-nines remain in service. These are - mounted on the quarter-deck, under the eye of Commodore Paul Jones. - </p> - <p> - “Suppose, Mr. Lindthwait, you train them on the enemy’s mainmast!” he - observes to the midshipman, under whose command he places the three - long-nines. “Try for his mainmast, young man! It will be good gunnery - practise for you; and should you cut the stick in two, so much the - better.” - </p> - <p> - Midshipman Lindthwait serves his trio of long nines with so much relish - and vivacious accuracy that he soon has the mainmast of the <i>Serapis</i> - cut half away. Leaving him to his task, Commodore Paul Jones again takes - his French marines in hand, uplifts their souls with a fresh torrent of - anti-English vituperation, and keeps them to the business of clearing the - enemy’s deck. - </p> - <p> - One of the nine-pound shot of the industrious Lindthwait, flying low, - strikes the main hatch of the <i>Serapis</i>, and slews the hatch cover to - one side. It leaves a triangular opening, eighteen inches on its longish - side, at one corner of the hatch. Commodore Paul Jones has his hawklike - eye on it instantly. He points it out to midshipman Fanning and gunner - Henry Gardner. - </p> - <p> - “There’s your chance, my lads!” he cries. “Sharp’s the word now! Lay aloft - on the main topsail yard, with a bucketful of hand-grenades, and see if - you can’t chuck one into her belly. A few hand-grenades, exploding among - their eighteen-pounders below decks, would go far towards showing these - English the error of their ways.” - </p> - <p> - Off skurry Midshipman Fanning and Gunner Gardner, with three sailors close - behind. A moment later they are racing up the shrouds like monkeys, two - ratlins at a time. Buckets of hand-grenades go with them, while Lieutenant - Stack rigs a whip to the maintop to send them up a fresh supply. - </p> - <p> - The five lie out on the main topsail yard, like a quintette of squirrels, - midshipman Fanning, a bright lad from New London, getting the place of - honor at the earring. The three sailors pass the hand-grenades, gunner - Gardner fires the fuse with his slow match, while midshipman Fanning, - perched at the farthest end of the yard, hurls them at that eighteen-inch - triangle, where the hatch cover of the <i>Serapis</i> has been shifted. - </p> - <p> - Sixty feet below the hand-grenade quintette, Commodore Paul Jones is again - dealing out profane encouragement to his marines, for their ardor sensibly - slackens the moment he takes his eye off them. They do good work, however—these - Frenchmen! Under their fire the upper deck of the <i>Serapis</i> becomes a - slaughter-pen. One after another, seven men are shot down at the - Englishman’s wheel. This does not affect the <i>Serapis</i>; since, locked - together in the death grapple, both ships are adrift, and have paid no - attention to their helms for twenty minutes. Still, it does the Frenchmen - good to shoot down those wheelmen. Also, it mortifies the pride of the - English; for to be unable to stay at one’s own wheel is in its way a - disgrace. - </p> - <p> - While Commodore Paul Jones is uplifting his Frenchmen, and improving their - small-arm practice, orderly Jack Downes, who has been forward to - Lieutenant Dale with an order, comes rushing aft. - </p> - <p> - “Lieutenant Dale, sir, reports six feet of water in our hold; and coming - in fast, sir!” - </p> - <p> - Orderly Jack Downes touches his forelock, face as stolid aw a statue’s, - and not at all as though he has just reported the ship to be sinking. - Commodore Paul Jones smiles approval on stolid Jack Downes; he likes - coolness and self-command. Before he can speak, Lieutenant Mayrant comes - aft to say that the <i>Richard</i> is on fire. - </p> - <p> - “Catches from the enemy’s wadding,” says Lieutenant Mayrant. “For you must - understand, sir, that when the enemy’s eighteen-pounders are run out, - their muzzles pierce through the shot-holes in our sides—we lay that - close! As it is, they’ve set us all ablaze.” - </p> - <p> - “But you’ve got the flames in hand?” Commodore Paul Jones puts the - question confidently. He is sure that Lieutenant Mayrant wouldn’t be by - his side at that moment unless the fire is under command. - </p> - <p> - “Lieutenant Stack, with ten men to pass the buckets, sir, are attending to - it. It’s quite easy, the water in our hold being so deep. They have but to - dip it up and throw it on the fire.” - </p> - <p> - “Good!” exclaimed Commodore Paul Jones. “Now that’s what I call making one - hand wash the other. We put out the flames that are eating us up with the - water that is sinking us.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVII—THE SURRENDER OF THE “SERAPIS” - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>aster-at-arms John - Burbank looks over the <i>Richard</i>’s side, and makes a discovery. The - ship has settled three feet below its trim. Thereupon he loses his head, - which was never a strong head, but somewhat thick, and addled: - </p> - <p> - “The ship is sinking!” he shouts; then, being a humanitarian, he tears off - the orlop-hatch, and calls to the two hundred prisoners shut up below to - save themselves. - </p> - <p> - At the invitation of Humanitarian Burbank, the prisoners rush up. Fifty of - them have gained the deck when Commodore Paul Jones perceives them. - Pulling a pistol from his belt, he charges forward. - </p> - <p> - “Who released these prisoners?” he demands. - </p> - <p> - “The ship is sinking, sir,” replies Humanitarian Burbank. “I released them - to give them a chance for their lives.” - </p> - <p> - Eye ablaze, Commodore Paul Jones snaps his pistol in the face of - Humanitarian Burbank. Fortunately for that philanthropist, the priming has - been shaken out; while the flint throws off a shower of sparks, the pistol - does not explode. Upon its failure to fire. Commodore Paul Jones clubs the - heavy weapon, and fells Humanitarian Burbank to the deck. The latter comes - to presently, to find himself disrated on the ship’s books, and his addled - pate more addled than before. As Humanitarian Burbank falls to the deck, - Commodore Paul Jones makes a dash for the prisoners, who, two abreast, are - pushing up from the deck below. - </p> - <p> - “Under hatches with them!” he cries. - </p> - <p> - This rouses Midshipman Potter, who brings up a half dozen cutlass men, and - those of the prisoners not yet on deck are held below. The orlop-hatch is - again fitted to its place, and Commodore Paul Jones breathes freer. Two - hundred prisoners loose about his decks is not what he most desires. - </p> - <p> - “Set them to the pumps, Dick,” he says, addressing Lieutenant Dale. “Give - them plenty of work.” Then, to the fifty prisoners who gained the deck: - “Now, my men, to the pumps, all of you! I’ll have no idlers about!” - </p> - <p> - The prisoners go to the pumps readily enough—all save a stubborn - merchant captain, whose ship was captured by the <i>Richard</i> off the - port of Leith. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t ye go a-nigh the pumps, mates!” sings out the stubborn one. “Let - the damned Yankee pirate sink!” - </p> - <p> - “Obey the Commodore, sare!” pipes up little Pierre Gerard, presenting a - pistol at the head of the mutineer. “Obey the Commodore, or I shoot, - sare!” - </p> - <p> - The stubborn Scotch captain does not understand little Pierre’s broken - English, but the pistol is easily construed. For reply, he makes a quick - grab at the weapon. Little Pierre, not to be caught napping, shoots him - promptly through the head. As the stubborn one drops lifeless, the little - Breton wheels on Commodore Paul Jones, lays his hand on his heart, and - makes an apologetic bow. - </p> - <p> - “I shoot heem, sare, to relieve you of a disagreeable duty,” says little - Pierre. - </p> - <p> - The other prisoners are not unimpressed by the fate of the stubborn one, - and set to work briskly, if not cheerfully, at the clanking pumps. - </p> - <p> - As Commodore Paul Jones reaches the quarterdeck, following the incident - wherein Humanitarian Burbank performs, and the stubborn Scotch captain - dies, the ensign-gaff of the <i>Richard</i> is shot away, and the virgin - petticoat flag of the pretty New Hampshire girls trails overboard. This - gives rise to a misunderstanding. Gunner Arthur Randall, missing the - ensign, and his hopes being somewhat low at the time, calls out to the - Englishman: - </p> - <p> - “Cease firing! We’ve surrendered!” - </p> - <p> - Captain Pearson, on the quarter-deck of the <i>Serapis</i>, hears the cry. - There could have come no more welcome news! Captain Pearson would have - heard gunner Randall if the latter had spoken in a whisper! Face aglow - with joy, Captain Pearson hails the <i>Richard</i>: - </p> - <p> - “Do you surrender?” he demands. - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones leaps to the rail of the <i>Richard</i>, and sustains - himself by one of the afterbraces. - </p> - <p> - “Surrender?” he repeats, his brow dark with rage. “Surrender? I would have - you to know, sir, that we’ve just begun to fight!” - </p> - <p> - Back to the deck springs Commodore Paul Jones, while the face of Captain - Pearson is stricken old and white. For the earliest time he realizes the - desperate heart of that unconquerable one who has him in a death-grapple, - and a premonition of his own defeat pierces his heart like a dagger of - ice. As Commodore Paul Jones regains the deck, he observes Boatswain Jack - Robinson who has waddled aft. The cloud of anger fades from his brow, and - he breaks into a loud laugh that is tenfold worse than the cloud. - </p> - <p> - “Eh, Jack, old trump! What say you to quitting?” he cries. - </p> - <p> - “Why! as to surrenderin’, Commodore,” says Boatswain Jack Robinson, - refreshing himself with a huge chew of tobacco, “I’m for sinkin’ alongside - an’ seein’ ‘em damned first! Sink alongside, says I; an’ if the grapplin’ - tackle holds, we’ll take ‘em with us to Davy Jones, d’ye see! An’ that’ll - be a comfort!” - </p> - <p> - “There’s the heart of oak!” returns Commodore Paul Jones, in vast approval - of Boatswain Jack Robinson’s turgid views; “and when we’re next ashore in - New London, old shipmate, I’ll tell Polly all about it. Meanwhile, our - ensign’s trailing astern. Set it aboard by the halyards, fish and splice - the gaff, and put it back in its place. Give the Englishmen a sight of - that red, white and blue flag, Jack; it takes the fight out of ‘em.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, ay, sir!” responds Boatswain Jack Robinson, as he begins the task of - recovering and replacing the ensign. “That flag does seem to let the whey - out of a Britisher.” - </p> - <p> - This is gratuitous slander on the parts of both Commodore Paul Jones and - Boatswain Jack Robinson; for those villified ones have been fighting for - hours, and are still at it with the quenchless valor of so many mastiffs. - </p> - <p> - There is that at hand, however, that will daunt their iron courage and - feed even their stout hearts to dismay. High up at the weather earring of - the <i>Richard</i>’s main topsail yard, Midshipman Fanning has been - faithfully practicing with hand-grenades at that inviting triangular hole, - where the hatch-cover of the <i>Serapis</i> was shot-slewed to one side. - It is not an easy mark, that black, three-cornered hole, and thus far - Midshipman Fanning has missed. It is now that success crowns his work; a - smoking, spitting hand-grenade goes cleanly through, and fetches up on the - <i>Serapis</i>’s lower gun deck. The explosion instantly occurs; it is as - though the fuse were carefully timed for it. - </p> - <p> - If this were all it would be bad enough, but worse comes with it. There - are scores of cartridges cumbering the deck to the rear of the batteries; - for the powder monkeys of the <i>Serapis</i>, earning their pay and - allowances, have been bringing powder from the magazines much faster than - the gunners can burn it in their eighteen-pounders. The exploding - hand-grenade sets off this powder. There is a blinding sheet of flame; a - report like smothered thunder; the deck of the <i>Serapis</i> is all but - torn from its timbers! Fifty of the crew are killed or crippled, while the - slewed hatch-cover is blown overboard. No trouble now to hit that yawning - black hatchway. With such a target there can be no talk of missing, and - Midshipman Fanning and gunner Gardner, from their high perch on the main - topsail yard, fill the stomach of the <i>Serapis</i> with a bursting, - death-dealing shower. And so the end comes tapping at the door. - </p> - <p> - Lieutenant Mayrant, with his boarding party, stands waiting the signal. - Commodore Paul Jones notes the devastation wrought by Midshipman Fanning’s - hand-grenades. - </p> - <p> - “Boarders away!” he cries. - </p> - <p> - Lieutenant Mayrant and his men go swarming over the hammock nettings of - the <i>Serapis</i>, the red Indian port-fire, Anthony Jeremiah, among the - foremost. - </p> - <p> - As Lieutenant Mayrant reaches the deck of the <i>Serapis</i>, an English - sailor thrusts him through the thigh with a pike. Lieutenant Mayrant - shoots the pikeman though the heart. The latter falls dead, pike rattling - along the deck. - </p> - <p> - “Remember Portsea jail, lads!” shouts Lieutenant Mayrant, as he strides - limpingly across the body of the dead pikeman. “Remember Port-sea jail!” - </p> - <p> - Nine in ten of the boarding party are of those ones exchanged at Nantes. - With savage cries, they shout back, “Remember Portsea jail!” and the work - of their vengeance is begun. - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones has his eyes on Lieutenant Mayrant and his boarders. - His attention is claimed by orderly Jack Downes, who plucks him by the - elbow. - </p> - <p> - “Beg pardon, sir!” says orderly Jack Downes. “Captain Landais with the <i>Alliance</i>.” - </p> - <p> - Sure enough, the <i>Alliance</i> for a second time has crept down upon - them, unnoticed in the heat and absorbing fury of the fray. The consort - ship is wearing across the <i>Richard</i>’s bows. What will Landais do? - Does he come as friend or foe? The Frenchman has his answer ready, and - pours a broadside into the <i>Richard</i> as he crosses. Then he sheers - off, and again heads for the open ocean. That coward broadside kills and - wounds Master’s Mate Caswell and seven men. Commodore Paul Jones is rigid - with rage and wonder. - </p> - <p> - “The man is mad!” says Lieutenant Dale. - </p> - <p> - “I cannot understand!” returns Commodore Paul Jones. “There is still his - crew! Why don’t they clap him in irons, or cut him down?” - </p> - <p> - There is a shout from the deck of the <i>Serapis</i>. Captain Pearson, his - last hope gone, has struck his colors with his own hand. The shout is from - the wounded Lieutenant Mayrant, who hails Lieutenant Dale. - </p> - <p> - “Stop the firing, sir,” cries Lieutenant May-rant, for the Richard’s - top-men are still blazing away merrily. “He has struck his flag. Come on - board, and take possession!” - </p> - <p> - Lieutenant Dale leaps to the deck of the beaten <i>Serapis</i>. He sends - Captain Pearson aboard the <i>Richard</i>. Downcast, eye full of - dejection, Captain Pearson approaches Commodore Paul Jones. “With bowed - head, saying never a word, he tenders the conqueror his sheathed sword. - Commodore Paul Jones takes it and gives it to Midshipman Potter, who is at - his elbow. - </p> - <p> - “I accept your sword, Captain,” says Commodore Paul Jones. “And I bear - testimony that you have worn it to the glory of the English navy.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Pearson makes no response. Bowed of head, mute of lip, he stands - before Commodore Paul Jones, despair eating his heart. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVIII—DIPLOMACY AND THE DUTCH - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>ommodore Paul - Jones goes aboard the beaten <i>Serapis</i>. “Cut free that sta’board - anchor!” he cries. The piled dead and wounded are lifted aside, and that - fatal anchor, which for two hours of blood has been as the backbone of - battle, goes splashing into the ocean. The ships rock apart; as they - separate, Commodore Paul Jones takes a sharp survey of the <i>Richard</i>. - The survey brings little hope; his good ship that has fought so well for - him lies in the water four smothering feet below its trim. - </p> - <p> - “There are eight feet of water in the hold,” replies Lieutenant Dale, whom - he hails. “The pumps choke; there’s no chance to save the ship.” - </p> - <p> - Then arises a sudden rending and tearing aboard the <i>Serapis</i>; there - is a great swish! and a snapping of cordage. It is the mainmast crashing - to port, a tangle of ropes and spars. - </p> - <p> - “Beg pardon, sir,” says a voice at the elbow of Commodore Paul Jones. “I’d - have had it down an hour ago, but there was neither wind nor swell to help - me. I had to cut it in two shot by shot to drop it, sir.” - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones breaks into a smile. “Ah, yes; I remember, Mr. - Lindthwait! I set you at that mainmast with the three long nines. I wish - now that I’d given you another target. However, you did extremely well. It - should teach you, too, my lad, that a nine is as good as an eighteen, if - you’ll only go close enough. That’s it; there’s the whole secret of - success in war. Be sure and go close enough, and you will conquer.” - </p> - <p> - Midshipman Lindthwait salutes respectfully, and lays away that golden rule - of the battle art in his memory. - </p> - <p> - The removal of the <i>Richard</i>’s wounded is begun. The calm, windless - sea assists; at last no one is left aboard the shot-pierced <i>Richard</i> - but the dead. - </p> - <p> - Sixty lionhearts, who gave their lives for victory, are laid side by side - on the deck. The petticoat flag flies proudly from the ensign gaff. - Commodore Paul Jones, from the deck of the <i>Serapis</i>, watches the <i>Richard</i> - to the last. The tears dim his sight, and he is driven more than once to - dash them away; for a sailor loves his ship as though it were a woman. - </p> - <p> - The <i>Richard</i> settles by the head; the stern is lifted clear of the - water. Then, as though seized by some impulse, the <i>Richard</i>, 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. - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye, my lads!” he cries. “And you, too, my <i>Richard</i>; - good-bye!” - </p> - <p> - The <i>Pallas</i> comes up, breeze aft. The little ship throws its head - into the wind, and Captain Cot-tineau hails Commodore Paul Jones. - </p> - <p> - “I have the honor, sir,” says Captain Cottineau, “to report the enemy’s - surrender of his ship.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Cottineau points with his speaking-trumpet to the <i>Countess of - Scarboro</i> a furlong astern, the stars and stripes above the Union Jack. - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones congratulates Captain Cottineau, and tells him to - make sail for Dunkirk with his prize. Captain Cottineau, observing the - helpless <i>Serapis</i>, 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 <i>Pallas</i> - 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. - </p> - <p> - An off-shore gale springs up; adrift and helpless, the <i>Serapis</i> 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. - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Richard</i>, - 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 - <i>Serapis</i> 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. - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Serapis</i> - from the Dutch authorities. Also, he declares that they must arrest - Commodore Paul Jones “as a rebel and a pirate.” - </p> - <p> - The Dutch display a wish to argue the case with Sir Joseph, while - Commodore Paul Jones double-shots his guns and runs them out; for much in - the way of repairs has been effected aboard the <i>Serapis</i>, and - although it can’t sail it can fight. - </p> - <p> - Sir Joseph, at the grinning insolence of the <i>Serapis</i>’ broadsides—ports - triced up and muzzles showing—almost falls in an apoplectic fit. - Purple as to face, he sends a second time to the Dutch, to learn whether - or no he is to have the <i>Serapis</i> and the rebel and pirate Paul - Jones. - </p> - <p> - For five days the Dutch drink beer, smoke pipes, and think the matter - over. Then they tell Sir Joseph that, while they don’t know what to call - Commodore Paul Jones, they have decided not to call him a pirate. Rebel, - he may be; but in that role of rebel King George and Sir Joseph must catch - him for themselves. The most the Dutch will do is order the <i>Serapis</i> - to leave the Texel. At this the empurpled Sir Joseph becomes more - empurpled than ever. It is the best he can get, however; and since, during - the night, a fleet of British men of war, hearing of the whereabouts of - Commodore Paul Jones, have invested the mouth of the Helder and are - waiting for him to come out, he begins to be a trifle comforted. If the - Dutch will but drive the “rebel” from the port, it should do nicely; the - English fleet outside will snap him up at a mouthful. - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones refuses to be driven out. He sits stubbornly by his - anchors, decks cleared, guns shotted, boarding nettings up—an insult - to the purple Sir Joseph and a frowning defiance to the Dutch! The Dutch - and Sir Joseph look at him, and then at each other. They agree that he is - either the most exasperating of rebels, or the most insolent of pirates, - or the most impertinent of guests, according to their various standpoints. - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile, the French Ambassador is bestirring himself. He makes a - stealthy visit to Commodore Paul Jones. The French king has sent him, - post-haste, a commission as Captain in the French marine. The French - Ambassador tenders the commission. Upon accepting it, Commodore Paul Jones - can run up the French flag. The Dutch will respect the tri-color, and - there will come no more orders for the <i>Serapis</i> to quit the Texel. - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones declines the French commission. Neither will he run - up the French flag. “I am an officer of the American Navy,” says he, “and - the French tri-color no more belongs at my masthead than at General - Washington’s headquarters. I shall stand or fall by the Stars and Stripes. - Also, here at the Texel I stay, until I’m ready to leave; that I say in - the teeth of Dutchman and Englishman alike.” - </p> - <p> - When this hardy note goes ashore, the Dutch look solemn, Sir Joseph - retires with the gout, while the English outside the mouth of the Hel-der, - stand oft and on, gnashing their iron teeth. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIX—NOW FOR THE TRAITOR LANDAIS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hile the Dutch and - Sir Joseph are debating as to whether Commodore Paul Jones is a rebel, a - pirate or a disagreeable guest, that gentleman discovers Landais, with the - Alliance, tucked away in a corner of the Texel. Headwinds, and an overplus - of English on the high seas, have forced the miscreant into the Helder, - and he finds himself as much cooped up as does Commodore Paul Jones. - Indeed the miserable Landais is in a far more serious predicament; for, - aside from the English outside, waiting at the Helder’s mouth like - terriers at a rat-hole, the formidable Paul Jones is inside with him, and - Landais fears the latter as no Frenchman ever feared the English. - </p> - <p> - The alarms of Landais are well grounded; Commodore Paul Jones opens - negotiations at once. He sends word to Landais to give command of the <i>Alliance</i> - to Lieutenant Degge, and at once leave the ship. The word is supplemented - by the assurance that at the end of twenty-four hours he, Commodore Paul - Jones, shall come aboard the Alliance. Should he then find Landais, he - will be put in irons. - </p> - <p> - “Why not arrest the scoundrel at once?” pleads Lieutenant Dale. - </p> - <p> - “He is a Frenchman, Dick,” returns Commodore Paul Jones, “and I fear to - worry Doctor Franklin.” Then, assuming a look of cunning, vast and deep: - “Wait until my diplomacy unfolds itself. You will find that I have the - wisdom of the serpent.” - </p> - <p> - Lieutenant Dale grunts disgustedly. He cares nothing for the wisdom of the - serpent, less for any spun-glass diplomacy. What he wants is the Landais - blood directly; and says as much. - </p> - <p> - “Remember,” he goes on, “this murderer Landais killed Caswell with that - last felon broadside!” - </p> - <p> - “I shall forget nothing,” returns Commodore Paul Jones. - </p> - <p> - At the end of twenty-four hours, Commodore Paul Jones boards the <i>Alliance</i>. - He finds Lieutenant Degge in command; the craven Landais has slipped - ashore with all his belongings. Commodore Paul Jones is the last man he - cares to face. The latter tells Lieutenant Degge to clap the irons on - Landais, should he return, and signal the <i>Serapis</i>. - </p> - <p> - “You must understand, sir,” responds Lieutenant Degge, “that my crew is - honeycombed with mutiny. Captain Landais brought about a conspiracy; - two-thirds of the ship’s company are in it.” - </p> - <p> - “Make me out a list of the leaders, and muster them aft.” - </p> - <p> - Lieutenant Degge gives Commodore Paul Jones the names of twenty. These are - called aft—lowering and sullen. Commodore Paul Jones orders them - transferred to the <i>Serapis</i>. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll send you an even number to take their places,” he says to Lieutenant - Degge. “Meanwhile, my old sea-wolves will lick them into patriotic shape. - Should they fail, you may find some half dozen of the ringleaders at - least, dangling from my yardarms.” - </p> - <p> - The caitiff Landais, driven from his ship, fumes and blusters. He tries to - see the French Ambassador, and is refused. Then he sends a challenge to - Commodore Paul Jones. - </p> - <p> - Lieutenant Dale finds the latter mariner in his cabin, blandly triumphant. - </p> - <p> - “There,” he cries, tossing the Landais challenge over to Lieutenant Dale—“there, - Dick, read that! You will then see what I meant by telling you to wait - until my diplomacy had had time to unfold.” - </p> - <p> - “But you don’t mean to fight the creature?” and Lieutenant Dale glances up - from his reading, horrified. - </p> - <p> - “Fight him; and kill him, sir! Why not? Do you suppose for a moment that - poor Caswell is to go unavenged?” - </p> - <p> - “But think what you do! You can’t fight this fellow! The man is to be - court-martialed.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, yes, Dick! But observe; I’ve as yet refrained from making formal - charges against him. So far as the books go, he rates as well as you or - I.” - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones gets this off with inexpressible slyness, as one who - discloses the very heart of his cunning. - </p> - <p> - “But my dear Commodore,” returns Lieutenant Dale, desperately, “the thing - is impossible! This Landais is not a gentleman! He is the commonest of - blacklegs.” - </p> - <p> - “Dick! Dick!” remonstrates Commodore Paul Jones; “you do him an injustice! - Technically at least you wrong him. You should summon up more fairness. - Now, here is how I look at it:” Commodore Paul Jones grows highly - judgmatical. “I follow the law, which says that a man is supposed to be - innocent until he’s shown to be guilty. Influenced by this, which to my - mind breathes the very spirit of justice, I make it an unbreakable rule, - in matters of the duello, to regard every man as a gentleman unless the - contrary has been explicitly demonstrated. No, Dick”—this solemnly—“Landais, - whatever you or I may privately think, has still his rights. I shall fight - him, Dick.” - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones sends Lieutenant May-rant ashore, as his - representative, to accept the Landais challenge. - </p> - <p> - “I should have sent you, Dick,” he explains to Lieutenant Dale, who - inclines to the cloudy because he had been slighted; “but, to tell the - truth, I couldn’t trust you. Yes; you’d have cut in between us, and fought - him in my stead. And the fact is, if you must have it, I’ve set my heart - on killing the rogue myself.” - </p> - <p> - Lieutenant Mayrant finds Landais, vaporing and blustering. - </p> - <p> - “Pistols; ten paces,” says Lieutenant May-rant. “Time and place you may - settle for yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “Pistols!” exclaims Landais, his face a muddy gray. Pistols and Paul Jones - mean death. With a gesture, as though dismissing an unpleasant thought, he - cries: “I shall not fight with pistols! They are not recognized in Prance - as the weapons of a gentleman!” - </p> - <p> - “They are in America,” retorts Lieutenant Mayrant. “Neither shall you - palter or split hairs! Pistols it shall be; or I tell you frankly that the - officers of the <i>Serapis</i>, ay! the very foc’sel hands, will beat you - and drub you for a cowardly swab, wherever they come across you.” - </p> - <p> - Landais does not respond directly to this. He walks up and down, - stomaching the hard words in silence. For he perceives, as through an open - window, that the hidden purpose of Lieutenant Mayrant is to pick a quarrel - with him. At last Landais makes it clear that under no compulsion will he - fight with pistols. Neither will he give the hopeful Mayrant an opening to - edge in a challenge for himself. After a fruitless hour the latter, sad - and depressed, returns aboard the <i>Serapis</i>. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing could have been handled more delicately,” he reports to Commodore - Paul Jones; “but, do my best, sir, I couldn’t coax the rascal to the - field.” - </p> - <p> - The next day Lieutenant Dale, making a flimsy excuse about wishing to see - the French secretary, goes ashore. He is using a crutch; for, like - Lieutenant Mayrant, he was wounded in the battle. He finds the crutch - inexpressibly convenient. Having hunted down Landais, whom he finds in a - change house, he uses it to belabor that personage, giving him the while - such descriptives as “dog!” “spy!” “liar!” “coward!” The heavy Dutchmen, - quaffing their beer, interfere to save Landais from the warlike Lieutenant - Dale. That night Landais starts post for Paris, to the mighty - disappointment of Commodore Paul Jones. - </p> - <p> - “You told me you wanted to see the French secretary. It wasn’t fair of - you, Dick!” is all Commodore Paul Jones says, when he learns of the doings - of Lieutenant Dale and his crutch in the change house. - </p> - <p> - “Well!” grumbles Lieutenant Dale defensively, “so I did want to see the - French secretary; although I’ve now forgotten what it was all about. The - sight of that dastard drove it from my head.” - </p> - <p> - The French Ambassador again boards the <i>Serapis</i>. He bears orders - from De Sartine, the French Minister of Marine, and a letter from Doctor - Franklin, full of suggestions which have the force of orders. The <i>Pallas</i> - is a French ship, and the <i>Scarboro</i> captured by it, is a French - prize. The <i>Serapis</i>, prize to the <i>Richard</i>, also a French - ship, is by the same token a French prize. The French flag must be hoisted - on these ships, and the trio made over to the French Ambassador. The <i>Alliance</i>, - an American built ship, the King of France doesn’t claim. He recommends, - however, that it run up French colors, as a diplomatic method of quieting - Dutch excitement, which is slowly but surely rising. Doctor Franklin’s - letter sustains the French claim to the <i>Pallas</i>, the <i>Scarboro</i> - and the <i>Serapis</i>. He leaves Commodore Paul Jones to settle flags for - the <i>Alliance</i> as he may deem best. The Ambassador makes, in this - connection, a second tender of a Captain’s commission in the French Navy. - </p> - <p> - “No,” responds Commodore Paul Jones bitterly, “I shall not accept it. King - Louis shall have the <i>Serapis</i>, the <i>Pallas</i> and the <i>Scarboro</i> - since Doctor Franklin so orders. The <i>Alliance</i> and I, however, shall - remain American.” - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones gives the French Ambassador possession of the <i>Serapis</i>. - Also, he waxes sarcastic, and intimates that it is the only way by which - the French could have gotten the <i>Serapis</i> into their hands. This - piece of wit does him no good, when later he asks it back from De Sartine. - Sullen and dogged, he prepares to go aboard the Alliance, and orders the - crew of the <i>Serapis</i> to follow. - </p> - <p> - Again the French Ambassador interferes. What French subjects are on the - musters of the Alliance and <i>Serapis</i> must be left in his charge. - Commodore Paul Jones is to have none but Americans. - </p> - <p> - At this some sixty Danes speak up. They may not be Americans, but at least - they are not French. Making this announcement, the gallant Scands refuse - the orders of the French Ambassador, and pack their kits for the <i>Alliance</i>. - These Danes are of the true viking litter, with yellow hair and steel-gray - eyes. Their action comes like balm to the sore heart of Commodore Paul - Jones. Later when he musters his reorganized crew aboard the <i>Alliance</i>, - and makes them a brief talk, he speaks of the desertion of the French. He - is interrupted by a youth—small and light and delicate. The youth - steps out from among the sailors, and with him come four others. The youth - bows half-way to the deck. - </p> - <p> - “No,” he says—“no, Monsieur le Commodore, not all the French have - desert. I, Pierre Gerard, am still with you—I, and my four bold - comrades, who are brave men.” - </p> - <p> - “They wants to stay, sir,” vouchsafes Boatswain Jack Robinson, coming - forward to the aid of little Pierre and his companions. “An’ so, d’ye see, - since I always likes to encourage zeal, I stows ‘em away in the long boat - till that frog-eatin’ Ambassador is over the side. An’ so, here they be, - game as pebbles, an’ a credit to the sta’board watch.” - </p> - <p> - All his prisoners and wounded have been put ashore, under arrangements - with the Dutch and the gouty Sir Joseph. Aboard the <i>Alliance</i>, - Commodore Paul Jones finds himself at the head of four hundred and twelve - war-hardened wolves of the sea, American blood to a man, all save the - sixty vikings, and little Pierre with his four. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XX—AIMEE ADELE DE TELISON - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t is Christmas - day. Out of the furious southwest blows a storm. The English ships, - guarding the mouth of the Helder, are driven from their stations, and - carried far out to sea. Tired of the Texel, with its French and English - and Dutch, Commodore Paul Jones, taking advantage of the English scudding - seaward before the gale, runs out with the <i>Alliance</i>, and lays her - nose for the English coast, in the very face of the weather. - </p> - <p> - Being Christmas day, when Commodore Paul Jones puts the Dutch coast - astern, there is plum duff and double grog aboard the <i>Alliance</i>. - These, and the blue water beneath their fore-foot, mightily cheer the - hearts of the crew. The exuberance takes shape in a way grateful to the - soul of Commodore Paul Jones. A missive, borne by the tarry hand of - Boatswain Jack Robinson, finds him during the larboard watch. As Boatswain - Robinson rolls aft, the whole crew follow him, a respectable distance in - the rear. - </p> - <p> - “It’s a deppytation,” explains Boatswain Robinson, pulling his forelock—“a - deppytation of the entire ship’s company down to cooks an’ cabin-boys, an’ - be dammed to ‘em! They sets forth their views in a round robin, which I - hereby tenders.” - </p> - <p> - Boatswain Robinson holds out a square of dingy bown paper. It is signed by - every member of the crew, beginning with the redoubtable Robinson. - Commodore Paul Jones reads the round robin, which is written in black - sprawling characters, while Lieutenant Dale who comes up holds a ship’s - lantern. Thus runs the document, the compilation whereof has exhausted the - forecastle. - </p> - <p> - “We respectfully request you, sir, to lay us alongside any single-decked - English ship to be found in these seas, or any double-decked ship under a - fifty.” - </p> - <p> - “My lads,” says Commodore Paul Jones, when he finished reading the round - robin, “this is what I like. Our ship is a thirty-six, our biggest gun a - twelve-pounder. You say ‘lay her alongside a fifty gun ship, with her - lower tier of eighteen-pounders. I promise that I’ll do my best. I’ll - cruise between St. George’s Channel and the Bay of Biscay two full weeks, - looking for what you ask. Still, I must tell you that, while I’ve plenty - of hope, I’ve little expectation. This is winter weather, lads, and the - chances of our finding a fight are slim. If we find one, however, I shall, - by way of compliment, take you over the Englishman’s hammock nettings - myself; for I hold you, man and boy, to be as stout a crew as ever primed - pistol or laid cutlass to grindstone, and one that it’s an honor to lead. - Mr. Bo’sen, pipe the men for’ard. Mr. Dale will give orders for another - ration of grog all’round. And so, shipmates, I give you a Merry - Christmas!” - </p> - <p> - The <i>Alliance</i> goes looking for a British fifty. But nothing comes of - it. Between wind and snow and biting weather, the ships have deserted the - open ocean, like wild fowl, for the friendly sheltering warmth of the - ports. When the two weeks are up, four weeks more are added to the cruise - by common consent. Stores, however, are running low, and following six - weeks futile looking about, Commodore Paul Jones stands in for the Isle au - Grroaix, and anchors in the harbor of l’Orient. - </p> - <p> - It is February fourteenth, the day of sweet St. Valentine. Also, it is - among the coy and blushing possibilities, that sweet Saint Valentine has - been lying in wait for him; for our sailor, home from sea, finds in the - hands of his agent a pretty note, which in its sequence is to carry him - into the midst of much tenderness and flowery happiness. - </p> - <p> - The note is from his good friend, the Marchioness de Marsan. The - Marchioness asks Commodore Paul Jones, when he is next in l’Orient and can - spare himself from his ship, to visit her at her palace. Weary with the - sea, sore from the loss of the <i>Serapis</i>, the summons falls in with - his tired humor. He leaves the <i>Alliance</i> in charge of Lieutenant - Dale, and goes with what haste he may to his friend the Marchioness. That - good noblewoman kisses him on both cheeks. - </p> - <p> - “It is for your victory!” she says. “France is a-quiver with it!” - </p> - <p> - As Commodore Paul Jones is about to reply, a girl of twenty enters the - room. - </p> - <p> - “Aimee de Telison, Commodore,” says the Marchioness, presenting him. Then - aside: “She is my ward—my godchild! Is she not beautiful?” - </p> - <p> - “Beautiful! Skin pink and white! Teeth like pearls or rice! Damask lips, - eyes deep and lustrous and large! Hair a flood of red gold! In form a - little rounded goddess! Beautiful!” - </p> - <p> - Thus run the thoughts of the sailor, as the sweetness and witchery of the - vision carries his senses along. - </p> - <p> - “Aimee de Telison!” he repeats in a whisper. “Who is she?” - </p> - <p> - The Marchioness hesitates; then she returns in the same guarded tones: - </p> - <p> - “Who is she? She is the daughter of a King.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXI—ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">P</span>resently the - beautiful Aimee quits the room, and the good Marchioness de Marsan tells - her story. - </p> - <p> - “There is surely no reason why you shouldn’t know, my dear Commodore,” she - says; “since all France knows. Aimee’s mother is of the de Tiercelins—a - noble house, but impoverished. As a girl the mother was ravishingly - lovely. This was in the days of Monsieur le Bel and the Parc-aux-Cerfs. - The old king saw Mademoiselle de Tiercelin; the Pompadour did not object. - Aimee was born; and presently her mother, whom the king called his ‘de - Bonneval,’ was put away with a pension. The Bonneval’s father talked - loudly, and was sent to the Bastile as a ‘Russian spy.’ One may say what - one will in the Bastile; the walls are thick and have no ears. The - Pompadour looked after poor de Bonneval and the little Aimee. She married - the mother to a gentleman named Telison. The Pompadour died; the king - died; Aimee was sixteen. Her stepfather de Telison, and her mother de - Bonneval neglected her. They said ‘She is a Bourbon. Let the Bourbons - provide.’ So I, who am her godmother, took Aimee. That was four years ago; - and now it is as though she were my own child in very fact—I love - her so.” - </p> - <p> - “But the present king?” - </p> - <p> - “Thus far he has done nothing for Aimee. She goes to court; her position - is recognized; the king is kind. But you know the cold Savoy blood?—it - is stingy! However, that is now of little moment so far as Aimee is - concerned, for I am rich.” - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones is established at the palace of the good Marsan. - Sailors are swift to love; the image of Aimee fits into his heart as into - a niche that was made for it. - </p> - <p> - The second day he calls on the Duchess de Chartres—the beautiful - girl-Duchess. He wears a guilty feeling at the base of his conscience. - Fortunately his cheek is tanned by wind and weather, and the guilty - feeling does not show. - </p> - <p> - The girl-Duchess is with her husband, the Duke de Chartres, who has quit - the sea for the shore, his man-of-war for his palace. The girl-Duchess - receives Commodore Paul Jones in something of a formal manner, which is a - relief to him. His manner is also formal, which is not a relief to her. - The Duke, who makes a specialty of democracy, greets him with bluff - cordiality as a brother sailor. He congratulates him on beating the - “English dogs,” whom he hates professionally. Commodore Paul Jones is - modest in his replies. For he is not thinking of the <i>Serapis</i>, but - on Aimee; and, with the eyes of the girl-Duchess upon him, that guilty - feeling overlays all else. - </p> - <p> - The girl-Duchess watches him through halfshut lids. She almost guesses the - truth; for she knows of the good Marsan, and Aimee. Besides, she is a - woman, and clairvoyant in matters of the heart. - </p> - <p> - After an hour with the Duke and the girl-Duchess, Commodore Paul Jones - goes back to the good Marchioness de Marsan and to Aimee. As an excuse for - his own idleness, he travels down to l’Orient and, albeit the <i>Alliance</i> - is as fit as a fiddle, sets Lieutenant Dale, “Dick the practical,” to - overhauling the ship from truck to keel. Then he returns to the good - Marsan and Aimee. - </p> - <p> - Now he spends sunny hours in the beautiful Aimee’s company, and his love - creeps and grows upon him like ivy on a wall. The conqueror is conquered; - the invincible is overthrown. As for Aimee, her blue eyes become a deeper - blue, her pink cheeks take on a warmer pink when he is near. And the good - Marsan sees it all, and does not interfere. For she is versed in the world - and its ways; and this is France; and after life comes death. - </p> - <p> - When the ardent sailor would be too ardent, Aimee represses him; the - barrier of her modesty is as a barrier of ice between them. Thereupon he - loves her the more, and refreshes his soul with Shakespeare: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “Chaste as the icicle - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - That’s curdled by the frost of purest snow, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - And hangs on Dian’s temple.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones goes down to l’Orient again. Not so much to see after - the <i>Alliance</i>, as to pique his love and give it edge. For absence - makes the flame burn brighter, and Aimee bursts upon him with a new charm - when he has been away. - </p> - <p> - For all his lovelorn case, however, he makes arrangements for his two - pets, Lieutenants May-rant and Fanning, to go privateering for the French, - and gives them nearly one hundred and fifty of his fiercest sea-wolves to - bear them company. - </p> - <p> - “Why keep them rusting ashore,” says he, “like good blades in their - sheaths! No; let the lads sail forth with letters of marque, and make - their fortunes.” - </p> - <p> - The <i>Serapis</i> is held by the French as a king’s prize, and de Sartine - pays Commodore Paul Jones twelve thousand dollars as his share. There are - other thousands from other prizes, and, after a French sort, he finds - himself rich. - </p> - <p> - When, following his visit to l’Orient, he returns to the good Marsan, that - estimable lady is discovered in a state of much excitement. The Duchess de - Chartres has “commanded” the presence of Commodore Paul Jones at her - palace. - </p> - <p> - The prospect does not overcome him. He receives it with steadiness, - although privily a-quake because of that feeling of guilt. The good - Marsan’s excitement is supplanted by wonder to see him take his honors so - coolly. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, these Americans!” she thinks. Then, out loud: “She is a Bourbon, my - Commodore! No one below the blood royal has ever received such a summons.” - </p> - <p> - In spite of the uplifted palms of the good Marsan, her “Commodore” refuses - to be impressed. He will go; since no one should decline the “command” of - royalty. But he will go calmly—hiding of course his sense of guilt, - and spreading the skirts of his conscience very wide to hide it. - </p> - <p> - Aimee hears that he is to go, and cannot avoid a little flutter of alarm. - She knows her beautiful kinswoman, the girl-Duchess—knows the spell - and the power of her. It gives the tender Aimee a dull ache of the heart. - A lone feeling of helplessness overwhelms her, as fears rise up for her - poor love that, in so short a space, has become the one sweet thing in - life. True, she herself is a Bourbon! But with the bar sinister. How then - shall she, obscure and poor and by the left hand, hope to sustain herself - in the heart of her lover against the wiles and siren wooings of one who - is at once the most legitimate, the most beautiful, and the most wealthy - woman in France! The tears gather in the soft eyes. - </p> - <p> - The good Marsan goes from the room; for she has a deal of sympathy and - good sense. Commodore Paul Jones, when now the two are alone, draws Aimee - to him, and dries those tears in ways that lovers know. For the first time - he folds her in his arms and kisses her lips. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps it is also the last time,” she thinks sadly. - </p> - <p> - And the gallant lover, as though he reads her thoughts, kisses her again, - and vows by sword and ship to love her always. - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones finds the Duchess de Chartres in spirits. She and the - Duke give him a suite of apartments that has heretofore been sacred to - Bourbon occupation alone. At this the sensation that rocks the Court is - profound. - </p> - <p> - It even reaches the rabbit-faced king—weak rather than dull—at - Versailles, and gives him a shock. He draws down the uncertain corners of - his undecided mouth, says naught, and goes out under the trees to feed his - squirrels. He would be wiser were he to go out into the starved highways - and byways of his oppressed realm, and feed his subjects. Did he do so, he - might even yet avoid that revolution, which is slowly yet terribly - preparing itself in the ante-chamber of Time. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXII—THE FTE OF THE DUCHESS DE CHARTRES - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he Duke and - Duchess de Chartres give a grand banquet in honor of Commodore Paul Jones. - The Duchess asks Doctor Franklin, whom she esteems, and calls “Monsieur le - Sage” for his wisdom. Also, to please the worthy doctor, she has Madame de - Houdetot, and the rest of his Passy friends, including the vivacious - Madame Helvetius. - </p> - <p> - “Only,” says the Duchess, who has weaknesses that favor washtubs—“only - I trust that our ‘Rich Widow of Passy’ will wear a fresh frock, if only to - give us something to, talk about.” - </p> - <p> - The good Marsan and Aimee are among the guests. Indeed, it is to see Aimee - and Commodore Paul Jones together that has caused the Duchess de Chartres - to order the fte. She will bring the pair beneath her eyes—the - young Aimee, and the “Commodore,” who has become formal. She will then - know the best and worst of their hearts. - </p> - <p> - The Duchess is right in this assumption; for you may no more hide love - than smoke. With half-watchfulness, she readily surprises their secret. - Still she is gay and light; for her heart is the heart of a Bourbon, and - the heart of your Bourbon is never a breakable. - </p> - <p> - She seats Commodore Paul Jones on her right, which is the thing expected. - Aimee is on his other hand; which last excites his suspicions—having - that guilty feeling—while attracting the attention of nobody else. - Over across is the wise Franklin, who finds himself vastly at home between - the Houdetot and the rosy Helvetius, who is a marvel of tidiness. - </p> - <p> - The Duchess pays a deal of polite attention to Commodore Paul Jones. - </p> - <p> - “I cannot think, my dear Commodore,” she cries, “how, with your ship on - fire, and sinking under your feet, you had courage to continue the fight.” - </p> - <p> - “Your royal highness forgets. To surrender would have meant a postponement - of the bliss of meeting you.” - </p> - <p> - “Now, Bayard himself,” returns the Duchess, “could have said nothing so - knightly!” - </p> - <p> - Aimee glows at this. In the face of her fears, she still likes to hear her - lover-hero praised. - </p> - <p> - “There is a promise!” exclaims the Duchess. - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones reddens through the tan. What is coming! There is - much of royal recklessness in the Duchess’ royal blood; she will now and - then say a bold thing. - </p> - <p> - “You promised,” she goes on, “to lay an English frigate at my feet.” - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones is relieved. More, he is pleased, since the Duchess - gives him a chance to be dramatic. He sends for his servant, who brings - him a slim morocco case. - </p> - <p> - “Your royal highness,” he says, unbuckling the morocco case; “I shall be - better than my word. I lay at your feet, not a frigate truly, but a - forty-four gun ship of two decks. Here is the token of it—the sword - of as brave a sailor as ever sailed.” - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones presents the Duchess with the vanquished sword of - Captain Pearson, which he has taken from the morocco case. The Duchess, - who has not foreseen this return to her sally, is deeply stirred. She - receives the sword, and presses the gold scabbard to her lips. - </p> - <p> - “It is dear to me as the sword of a conquered Englishman!” she cries, - turning with swimming eyes upon the company. “It is doubly dear when it - comes from my Achilles of the ocean!” - </p> - <p> - There is a buzz of admiration about the tables. Aimee herself is in a - dream of happiness; for she has alarms but no jealousies, and the glory of - her lover is her glory. - </p> - <p> - Before the guests break up for departure, Doctor Franklin and Commodore - Paul Jones have a word together. - </p> - <p> - “I have asked for it,” says the Doctor, “and de Sartine leads me to think - that, as soon as the ship is refitted, the king will give you the <i>Serapis</i>.” - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones brightens to a sparkle. - </p> - <p> - “I could do wonders with so stout a ship,” he replies. - </p> - <p> - “I think you may count on it,” goes on the Doctor. “Indeed, when I - remember in what manner the French came by the <i>Serapis</i>, I cannot - see how the king is to refuse.” - </p> - <p> - “Should I get it, I’ll put Dick Dale in command of the <i>Alliance</i>. - There shall be no second Landais you may be sure!” - </p> - <p> - “Speaking of the <i>Alliance</i>,” returns the Doctor, “I shall send it to - America as soon as the overhaul is finished, with certain munitions of war - I’ve collected.” - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones’ pulse begins to beat uneasily. Antony does not want - to leave his Cleopatra. What the Doctor next says, sets him to renewed - ease. - </p> - <p> - “Lieutenant Dale might better take the <i>Alliance</i> across. You will be - needed here, if we are to coax the king into giving you the <i>Serapis</i>. - There will be time for the <i>Alliance</i> to return before the <i>Serapis</i> - is refitted.” - </p> - <p> - Doctor Franklin tells how he has formally relieved Landais from all - command, and ordered him to report to the Marine Committee in - Philadelphia, on charges of cowardice and treason. Also, Commissioner - Arthur Lee has been called home; Congress has become suspicious of his - work. - </p> - <p> - “The man’s a greater traitor than Landais!” cries Commodore Paul Jones - heatedly. - </p> - <p> - “Without expressing myself on that point,” observes the Doctor, eye - a-twinkle, “the situation produced by Mr. Lee’s recall, makes another - reason why Dale should sail with the <i>Alliance</i> and you stay here. - Mr. Lee, I understand, has decided to take passage home in the <i>Alliance</i>.” - </p> - <p> - It is the next day; the Duchess summons Commodore Paul Jones to the - morning-room, where she sits alone in the spring sunshine. - </p> - <p> - “Your love is like your ship, my friend,” she observes. “It goes voyaging - from heart to heart, as the other does from port to port. No, not a word! - I promise that you shall not break my heart. Come, I will show you what - makes me safe—safe even from that terrible heart-rover and - sea-rover, that buccaneer of the ocean and of love, the invincible Paul - Jones.” - </p> - <p> - She smiles; but there is that about the smile which reminds one of the - hard glitter of a rapier. She rings a bell, says a low word, and presently - a little round-faced boy is brought in. He is the baby son of the Duchess. - Commodore Paul Jones has heard of the little boy; but this is his earliest - glimpse of him. - </p> - <p> - He is a handsome child, and Commodore Paul Jones gazes upon him with - admiration. The boy is to grow up and, fifty years later, sit on the - French throne as the “Citizen King.” This, however, is a secret of the - future, and neither the mother nor Commodore Paul Jones, as they look on - the small, round face, is granted a least glint of it. Released by the - nurse, little Louis Philippe toddles across to Commodore Paul Jones, pudgy - hands outstretched. The latter catches him up and kisses him. At this the - eyes of the Duchess soften with mother-love. - </p> - <p> - “See!” she remarks, and a sigh and a laugh struggle for precedence on her - lips—“See! he is like all of us. He loves you!” She becomes grave. - “There is my resource!” she goes on. “My friend, I will let you into a - secret. No man’s treason, not though he be the bewildering Paul Jones”—this - with a tinge of wicked emphasis—“can break a mother’s heart. No; she - takes refuge in her child, and finds his kisses sweeter than a lover’s.” - </p> - <p> - She takes the boy out of his hands, and kisses the little face again and - still again. Commodore Paul Jones says no word of protest, explanation or - defence. The Duchess is taking her revenge; he knows it, and thinks her - entitled to it. Moreover, he is beginning in his own heart to be relieved, - and the guilty feeling that gnaws his conscience is sensibly dulled. - </p> - <p> - The nurse returns and takes the boy. The Duchess gives the little face a - last kiss. Then her glance comes back to Commodore Paul Jones. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, my friend,” she says; “love your red-haired Aimee, since you love - her; I can give you up; for even though you leave me, you leave me a - Bourbon. And yet I feel a small jealousy—just a little stab! For - that stab, my friend, you must pay. No one harms a Bourbon, and escapes - unpunished.” This is said half quizzically, half seriously. “Yes, I shall - have my revenge. I intend that you shall marry Aimee.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIII—THE WEDDING WITHOUT BELLS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>octor Franklin - journeys down to Lyons, on some secret errand of his own; he will be gone - a week. Commodore Paul Jones, at home with the good Marsan, drunk with - love, forgets the blue of the ocean in the blue of Aimee’s eyes. One - sun-filled afternoon he is disturbed by Lieutenant Dale, who stalks in - with a scowl on his usually steady face. - </p> - <p> - “What is it, Dick?” asks Commodore Paul Jones, alive in a moment. - </p> - <p> - “Something too deep for me, Commodore, or I shouldn’t be here with the - tangle. Commissioner Lee, with Landais, has taken the <i>Alliance</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “What?” - </p> - <p> - “It’s as I say. Lee declares that Doctor Franklin had no authority to - depose Landais. He, Lee, has restored him to command, and the pair have - possession of the ship.” - </p> - <p> - “What did you do?” - </p> - <p> - “I did nothing. I’m a sailor, and pretend to no knowledge of the limits of - Mr. Lee’s authority. Speaking for myself, I refused to serve with Landais; - and Lieutenants Stack, McCarty and Lunt, and Midshipman Lindthwait did the - same. We came ashore, and Bo’sen Jack Robinson at the head of sixty of the - crew came with us.” Commodore Paul Jones, while Lieutenant Dale talks, is - thinking. What is to be done! Manifestly nothing. Doctor Franklin is out - of reach. Without the Doctor’s authority no one can meddle with Arthur - Lee, who still has his powers as a commissioner. Besides, there’s the <i>Serapis</i>; - it is only a question of weeks when he, Commodore Paul Jones, will be - given its command. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Dale and the others can disport - themselves ashore, as he does. Let Lee and Landais keep the <i>Alliance</i>, - since they already have it. - </p> - <p> - “You’ve done right, Dick,” he says. “Stay ashore then, and keep the lads - together; we’ll wait for the <i>Serapis</i>. Also, King Louis has given - Doctor Franklin the <i>Ariel</i>, a ship-sloop the size of the old <i>Ranger</i>. - When I take the <i>Serapis</i> to sea, Dick, you shall sail Captain of the - <i>Ariel</i>.” - </p> - <p> - Lieutenant Dale goes his way, and Commodore Paul Jones returns to Aimee, - pleased in secret to think he may continue unhindered to sun himself in - her smiles. It grinds a bit to think of the “dog Landais,” and the - “traitor Arthur Lee,” in control of the <i>Alliance</i>. Still, all will - come right; for is he not to have the <i>Serapis</i>? And while he waits, - there is Aimee; and love is even sweeter than war. So he goes back to his - goddess, with her deep eyes and red-gold hair, and puts such caitiff - creatures as Lee and Landais outside his thoughts. It is for Congress to - deal with them. - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones is not permitted to forget Lee and Landais. Within - the hour, he is again called from the side of Aimee by his friend Genet, a - noble upperling in the French foreign office. - </p> - <p> - “I come to tell you,” says Genet, “that Captain Landais and Monsieur Lee - have got the <i>Alliance</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “I know!” - </p> - <p> - “They are to sail in three days.” - </p> - <p> - “Lieutenant Dale has told me.” - </p> - <p> - “He did not tell you that we have issued orders to Thevenard, who commands - the forts at the barrier, to sink the <i>Alliance</i>, should she try to - put to sea.” - </p> - <p> - “Sink the <i>Alliance</i>!” Commodore Paul Jones is thunderstruck. “My - dear Genet, you jest.” - </p> - <p> - “No jest, my friend. The orders have been given. Should the <i>Alliance</i> - attempt to pass the harriers, Thevenard will fire on it with all his - hundreds of big guns, and snuff it out like a candle. It is by request of - your Doctor Franklin.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you tell me that Doctor Franklin asks you to sink the <i>Alliance</i>?” - </p> - <p> - “He has asked us—for he had some inkling of the designs of Lee and - Landais—to prevent them sailing away with the ship. We know of but - one way to do that. We must sink it, since we have no ship here to arrest - them. So we gave the orders to Thevenard. Those orders, however, we did - not impart to Doctor Franklin; and, in good truth, I tell them to you now, - not as a French official, but as a friend.” - </p> - <p> - “This must be stopped!” cries Commodore Paul Jones, his habits of decision - and iron promptitude reassumed in a moment. “What! Sink two hundred brave, - good men, to punish a pair of traitors? Never!” - </p> - <p> - Genet, who makes a cult of red tape, shrugs his shoulders and spreads his - hands. - </p> - <p> - “It is too late,” he says. “There is Doctor Franklin’s request. I cannot - countermand the orders to Thevenard until he withdraws his request.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall see Thevenard!” - </p> - <p> - Two hundred and eighty miles in fifty-four hours! An unprecedented thing! - And yet Commodore Paul Jones does it, and rides into l’Orient in time to - prevail on General Thevenard, who is his friend and his worshipper, to let - the <i>Alliance</i> pass free. The forts would else have sunk the ship - with their tons upon tons of metal. He saves the <i>Alliance</i> by a - narrow margin of hours, and Lee and Landais shake out their sails for - America. - </p> - <p> - “They go to disgrace and grief,” thinks Commodore Paul Jones, consoling - himself for their escape. Then he considers how he has saved the lives of - more than two hundred honest sailors, who have fought well for flag and - country, and is consoled in earnest. - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones is surrounded by surprises. He is met on the road, - while returning to his Aimee, by a message from the Duchess de Chartres. - </p> - <p> - “Come instantly to me!” it says. - </p> - <p> - There is a look of mingled sorrow and resentment, with over all a hue of - humor, on the Duchess’ bright face when she welcomes Commodore Paul Jones. - </p> - <p> - “The Marchioness de Marsan and I have arranged it,” she says, and her - glance is wicked and amused. - </p> - <p> - “Arranged what?” - </p> - <p> - “Your marriage, my friend! I congratulate you! You and your red-haired, - blue-eyed one are to wed.” - </p> - <p> - “With all my heart, then!” says he, turning wicked, too. Manlike, it - offends his vanity that one who has pretended to love him so deeply should - be now so ready to give him to another. “I could wish no fairer fate.” - </p> - <p> - “But the wedding must be secret.” - </p> - <p> - “Secret! Believe me, I shall tell all France.” - </p> - <p> - “And ruin the blue-eyed one! Hear me, my Commodore—once my beloved, - ever to be my friend! I have had a world of trouble in your affairs. I - arranged with the Marsan; but only by agreeing that the marriage be buried - in secrecy. You know much of the sea; little of the shore when all’s said. - Should the king hear of Aimee as your wife, he would drive her from - court.” - </p> - <p> - “May I ask why!” and his cheek begins to burn angrily. - </p> - <p> - “You forget that Aimee is a Bourbon,” returns the Duchess, with a fashion - of malicious satisfaction. He has deserted her for his Aimee; it is her - revenge to irritate his pride. “You are a valorous man, and the king makes - much of you. Besides, you beat the English, whom he fears and hates. And - yet he does not forget that you are a peasant—as I did. Marry Aimee, - my friend—. marry a Bourbon, even a Bourbon by the left hand, and - King Louis will bolt the doors of France in both your faces. Indeed, the - Bastile might be the end of it for your Aimee.” - </p> - <p> - “I think your royal highness sees unnecessary ghosts,” he replies, with a - sneer. Just the same, that linking of the Bastile and Aimee alarms him. - “Without pausing to question the king’s powers touching Bastiles and - French doors, I may tell you he has already heard that I love Aimee. - Doctor Franklin, himself, told me.” - </p> - <p> - “Love Aimee! Yes; love her as much and to what limit you will! The king - will never resent that. But do not let the whisper that you have married - Aimee reach the kingly ear. Can you not understand! Here, I will put it in - the abstract. A Princess may have a <i>liaison</i> with a peasant, and in - the shadow of that dishonor she will remain forever a Princess. Should the - Princess, in some gust of virtue, be swept into a marriage with the - peasant, she becomes instantly a peasant. It is one of those strange - cases, my friend, where the word ‘wife’ is a stain and the word ‘mistress’ - no stain at all.” - </p> - <p> - It is midnight; two candles burn dimly on the altar of “Our Lady of - Loretto.” The great chapel is dark and vacant; the feeble light does not - reach the vaulted roof, and the groined arches disappear upward in a thick - blackness. - </p> - <p> - At the altar stands a priest. Near the rail is gathered a group of four, - the Duchess de Chartres, the good Marchioness de Marsan, Aimee—heart - a-flutter, her pink cheeks hidden in a veil—and Commodore Paul - Jones. The priest draws the Duchess aside. - </p> - <p> - “Your royal highness,” he whispers, pleadingly, “I am afraid.” - </p> - <p> - “Afraid of whom, pray?” - </p> - <p> - “The king, your royal highness.” - </p> - <p> - The Duchess makes an angry motion with her hand, while her little boot - smites the stone floor and sends an echo through the room’s vast - emptiness. - </p> - <p> - “Father Joseph, observe! You are my almoner. Through your hands I give - fifty thousand louis to the poor of Paris, and keep you in fatness - besides. It is I, not the king, whom you should fear.” - </p> - <p> - And so, before the flickering altar candles, Commodore Paul Jones weds - Aimee Adele de Telison. In the book which the Duchess and the good Marsan - sign as witnesses, Father Joseph, with a pen that shakes a little, records - the nuptials of “Monsieur le Joignes and Mademoiselle Adele de Bonneval.” - For “de Bonneval” was the dead King’s name for Aimee’s mother in the days - of Monsieur le Bel and the Parc-aux-Cerfs. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIV—THAT HONEYMOON SUB ROSA - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he Duchess kisses - Aimee, and the good Marsan drives back to her palace with the blissful - ones through the black midnight Paris streets. Commodore Paul Jones is in - a trance of happiness. Aimee creeps into his arms and whispers “Mon Paul,” - and the surrender of the <i>Serapis</i> is forgotten, as a thing trivial - and transient, in the surrender of this girl with the glorious red-gold - hair. - </p> - <p> - Summer runs away into autumn, and the brown tints of October show in the - trees. The honeymoon has been one of secrecies and subterfuges, and - perhaps the tenderer and sweeter because <i>sub rosa</i>. Commodore Paul - Jones tears himself now and again from Aimee’s arms to urge the business - of the <i>Serapis</i>. He is seconded by Aimee, to whom his glory is as - dear as his love. - </p> - <p> - Doctor Franklin tells the king that he should give Commodore Paul Jones - the ship, and is referred to de Sartine. The oily minister slips away from - the proposal, and the king sends Commodore Paul Jones a “Sword of Honor” - and the title of “Chevalier.” The impatient sailor bites his lip, and - gives the plaything sword to Aimee. - </p> - <p> - “I asked for a ship, not a sword,” says he. “As for ‘Chevalier,’ since I’m - already a Commodore, it looks like promotion down-hill.” - </p> - <p> - “The king,” explains Doctor Franklin, “does not, I fear, forgive your - refusal of his captain’s commission when you lay at the Texel.” - </p> - <p> - “And I,” he returns, “continue to regard that offer of a commission as a - piece of royal impertinence.” - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones determines to bring the king to a decision. He walks - in the royal gardens with his ally, Genet, and comes upon the king feeding - his interminable squirrels. The king—for democracy is becoming a - fashion—greets Commodore Paul Jones with outstretched hands. - </p> - <p> - “But do not tell me,” concludes the king, “that you come for a ship.” - </p> - <p> - “It is to ask for the <i>Serapis</i>, sire.” - </p> - <p> - The poor king rubs his head, his vague lip twitches, while the unlocked - jaw multiplies the feebleness of his weak face. - </p> - <p> - “Chevalier, I cannot,” he returns. In a tone of pathos, he continues: - “Congratulate yourself, my friend, that you are not a king. You would be - compelled to have ministers, and they would make a slave of you—as - they have of me.” - </p> - <p> - “It is over,” says Commodore Paul Jones, to Doctor Franklin. “There is no - hope of the <i>Serapis</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “Take the <i>Ariel</i>, then, and return to Philadelphia,” replies the - Doctor. “There is the <i>America</i>, seventy-four guns, building on the - Portsmouth stocks. I’ve written the Marine Committee to give you that.” - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones holds Aimee close. He kisses her dear lips. “In the - spring I shall return, my love,” he promises. “Three little months, and - you are in my arms again.” - </p> - <p> - Aimee whispers something, and then buries her face in his breast. The - blush she is trying to hide spreads and spreads until it covers the back - of the fair neck, and the red of it is lost in the roots of the red-gold - hair. - </p> - <p> - “Good!” he cries in a burst of joy, holding her closer. “Good! Now I shall - have something to dream of and return to.” - </p> - <p> - It is a raw, flawy February day when Commodore Paul Jones lands in - Philadelphia. Arthur Lee, with his poisonous mendacities, has preceded - him. He is called before the Marine Committee, to reply to a list of - questions, that in miserable effect amount to charges. Anger eating his - heart like fire, he answers the questions, and is then voted a resolution - of thanks and confidence. - </p> - <p> - Knowing no other way, he seeks a quarrel with Arthur Lee, the fiery, - faithful Cadwalader at his elbow. Mad Anthony Wayne, acting for him, meets - Arthur Lee informally. The latter does not like the outlook. - </p> - <p> - “Who is he?” exclaims Arthur Lee, inventing a defensive sneer. “Either the - son of a Scotch peasant or worse, and a man who has changed his name. By - what right does such a person demand satisfaction of a gentleman!” - </p> - <p> - “Permit me to suggest,” returns Mad Anthony, beginning to bristle, “that I - shall regard a refusal to fight, based on the ground you state, as a - personal affront to myself. More; let me tell you, sir, that he who shall - seek to bar Paul Jones from his plain rights, on an argument aimed at his - gentility, will get nothing by his pains but the name of coward.” - </p> - <p> - “You think so!” responds Arthur Lee, his sneer somewhat in eclipse at the - stark directness of Mad Anthony. - </p> - <p> - “I know so, sir. When you speak of Paul Jones, you speak of the conqueror - of the <i>Drake</i> and the <i>Serapis</i>. Also, when you deal with me, - you deal with one who is the equal of any Lee of your family, sir.” - </p> - <p> - Mad Anthony blows through his warlike nose ferociously, and Arthur Lee is - silent. Meanwhile, the excellent Cadwalader, ever painstaking in matters - of bloodshed, prepares a challenge, which he intends shall be a model for - succeeding ages, when studying the literature of the duello. - </p> - <p> - It is at this pinch that the peace-loving Morris, helpless and a bit - desperate, brings the weight of General Washington to bear upon the - combative one. The “Father of his Country” succeeds where Mr. Morris has - failed, and silences all talk of a duel. As a reward for that gentleman’s - eleventh-hour docility, he prevails upon Congress to give Commodore Paul - Jones command of the half-built <i>America</i>, in accord with the request - of Doctor Franklin, already in its dilatory hands. - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones goes to Portsmouth to oversee the launching and the - equipment of his new seventy-four. Disappointment dogs him; for Lord - Cornwallis surrenders, and Congress, in a fit of foolish generosity, - presents the America to France, as a slight expression of its thanks for - the part she played in the capture of that English nobleman. Commodore - Paul Jones sees his just-completed seventy-four, over which he has toiled - like a poet over his verse, and wherein he was to presently sail away to - conquer fresh honors for himself and his Aimee, hoist the French flag and - receive a French captain on its quarter-deck. Steadying himself under the - blow, with a grim philosophy which he has begun to cultivate, he goes back - to Philadelphia. He finds letters from France awaiting him; one is from - his Aimee, written in a tremulous, wavering hand. It must have borne - wonderful news, for in his reply he says: - </p> - <p> - “Present my compliments to your sister. Tell her to exert her tenderest - care toward you and her sweet little godson. Also cover him with kisses - from me.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXV—CATHERINE OF RUSSIA - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>ommodore Paul - Jones, nervously irritable with the loss of the <i>America</i>, asks leave - of Congress to go as a volunteer with the French fleet, which hopes to - find and fight the English in the West Indies. Congress consents, and he - sails southward with Captain Vaudreuil, to fight yellow fever, not - English, and return much shaken in health. As a solace and a recuperative, - he sends divers cargoes of oil to Europe on a speculation, and makes forty - thousand dollars. All the time he is pining to get back to Paris, his - Aimee, the good Marsan, as well as Aimee’s sister’s “sweet little godson,” - that must “be covered with kisses.” He is detained by his accounts with - the government and his claims for prize money. After heart-breaking - delays, his affairs are adjusted; again he finds himself outward bound for - France. His Aimee meets him with kisses sweet as heaven. He unlocks her - white arms from his neck, and asks in a whisper: - </p> - <p> - “Where is he?” - </p> - <p> - “He is dead!” she says, with a rush of tears. - </p> - <p> - Then she carries him to a quiet cemetery, and, taking his hand, leads him - to a little grave, upon which the new grass has not grown two weeks. There - is a tiny headstone of pale granite, and on it the one word: - </p> - <p> - “Paul.” - </p> - <p> - His gaze is long and steadfast as he holds fast by his Aimee’s hand. Then - his tears are united with hers; they stand bowed above the little grave. - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones and his Aimee, while ever together, formally conceal - the tie that binds them. He has business with the king about prize money; - she has petitions before the king about the blood that is common to her - veins and his; and both the good Marsan and Doctor Franklin say it is - better that the king should not know. And so the king goes feeding his - squirrels and forgetting his people, in ignorance of what took place on - that midnight before the candle-lighted altar of Our Lady of Loretto. But - the wise old world is not so thick, and winks and smiles and wags its wise - old head; and whenever it passes a pretty cottage in the Rue Vivienne it - points and whispers tolerantly. For the wise old world loves lovers; and - because Aimee always officially resides with the good Marsan when her - “Paul” is in Paris, and actually resides with that amiable gentlewoman - when her “Paul” is in London, or Copenhagen, or elsewhere on the complex - business of those prize moneys, no one finds fault. And so four years of - love and truth and sweetness, four beautiful years, throughout which the - birds sing and the sun shines always, come and go for Commodore Paul Jones - and his Aimee; and every noble door in France swings open at their - approach. - </p> - <p> - The prize money gets into a tangle, and Commodore Paul Jones consults his - friends, Mirabeau and the venerable Malesherbes. Then he visits America, - and is feted and feasted, while his Aimee—each year rounder and - plumper and more bewitching—with the red-gold hair growing ever - redder and more golden—stays in Paris by the side of the good - Marsan, and keeps a loving eye on the vine-clothed cottage in the Rue - Vivienne. - </p> - <p> - Nothing can exceed the honors wherewith Commodore Paul Jones is stormed - upon and pelted while in America. He is banqueted by the Morrises, the - Livingstons, the Hamiltons, the Jays, while—what is more to his - heart’s comfort—he is visited by Dale and Fanning and Mayrant and - Lunt and Stack and Potter and scores of his old sea wolves of the <i>Ranger</i> - and <i>Richard</i>, who crowd round him to press his hand. In the end he - drinks a last cup of wine at the Livingston Manor House, rides down to the - foot of Cortlandt Street, and goes aboard the <i>Governor Clinton</i>, - which, anchors hove short, awaits him. It is his last glass in America, - his last glimpse of the shores for which he fought so valorously; November - sees him in the Straits of Dover, nineteen days, out from Sandy Hook. - </p> - <p> - He goes to Paris, and the king has him to lunch at Versailles—a - nine-days’ social wonder, the like of which has not been witnessed by a - staring world since an elder Louis dined Jean Bart. The royal luncheon - over, Commodore Paul Jones again settles down to the dear smiles and the - love of his Aimee, while the aristocracy of France lionizes the one and - worships the other. - </p> - <p> - One day Mr. Jefferson, now America’s Minister to Versailles, and greatly - the friend of our two love birds, walks in upon them in that little - vine-embowered cottage in the Rue Vivienne. He has big news. The Empress - Catherine asks Commodore Paul Jones to become an admiral in the Russian - navy. The Turks are troubling her; she wants him to sweep these turbaned - pests from the Black Sea. - </p> - <p> - The cheek of Commodore Paul Jones flushes, his eye lights up. Between love - and war his heart was formed to swing like a pendulum. Now he has loved - for a season, he would like nothing better than another game with those - “iron dice of destiny,” <i>vide licet</i> cannon balls; and where should - be found a fitter table than the Black Sea, or a more eligible adversary - than the Turk? Thus it befalls that his Aimee goes to court with Madam - Campan, the noble daughter of the noble Genet, and translates English - plays into French for the amusement of Versailles; while be, hot of heart - and high of head, as one who snuffeth the battle afar off, makes a - straight wake for St. Petersburg. - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones meets the Empress Catherine in her Palace of - Czarsko-Selo. Outside the snow lies thick; for it is April, and winter is - ever reluctant to quit St. Petersburg. He is pricked of curiosity - concerning this Russian Empress, for whom he is to draw his sword. He - hopes—somewhat against hope, it is true, when he recalls her sixty - years—that she will prove beautiful. For he is so much the knight of - romance that he fights with more pleasure for a pretty face than for a - plain one. - </p> - <p> - The Empress is before him; he can now put his hopes to the test. His eyes - fall upon a thick, gross figure—a woman the antithesis of romance. - </p> - <p> - Her mouth is coarse, her nose high and hawkish, her forehead full, her - gaze hard and level, her whole face harsh—having been so often - burned and swept of passion. And yet he feels the power of this white, - fire-eyed savage, with her heart of a Phryne and her brain of a Henry the - Eighth. There is so much that is palpable and brutish about her, however, - that he stands off from her contact and remembers with regret his delicate - Aimee of the red-gold locks. - </p> - <p> - Commodore Paul Jones has been too well trained as a courtier to let fall - the polite mask which he wears, and nothing could be more elaborately - suave than are the manners he assumes. The ferocious Catherine gets some - glimmer of his inward thought for all that. Every inch the Empress, she is - even more the woman. To the day of her death the unpardonable offence in - any male of her species is a failure to fall in love with her. She - receives some chilling touch of her new Admiral’s aversion, and it turns - her into angry ice. Still, if he will not sigh for her, he shall serve - her: so she says to herself. He remains in St. - </p> - <p> - Petersburg a fortnight; the Empress sees him more than once. When they are - together, they talk of Potemkin, Suwarrow, the Turks, and the Black Sea. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVI—AN ADMIRAL OF RUSSIA - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>dmiral Paul Jones - travels to the mouth of the Dnieper and joins Potemkin, who is a military - fool. Suwarrow, old and cunning and vigilant and war-wise, is another man. - He goes aboard his flagship, the <i>Vladimir</i>, of seventy guns. From - the beginning he is befriended by the grizzled Suwarrow and thwarted by - the foppish Potemkin. This latter is a discarded favorite of Catherine; - and, since she is very loyal to a favorite out of favor, he knows he may - take liberties. Old Suwarrow, over his brandy, tells Potemkin’s story to - Admiral Paul Jones. - </p> - <p> - “He kept the Empress’ smiles for a season,” explains Suwarrow; “when all - of a sudden, having seen Moimonoff, she fills Potemkin’s pockets with gold - and jewels, gives him a two-thousand-serf estate, and bids him ‘travel,’ - as she bid twenty of his predecessors travel. ‘In what have I offended?’ - whines Potemkin. ‘In nothing,’ returns the Empress. ‘I liked you - yesterday; I don’t like you to-day; that is all. So you see, my friend, - that you can no longer stay in Petersburg, but must travel!’ This was ten - years ago,” continues old Suwarrow. “Potemkin comes down here, and the - Empress puts him in charge, and sustains him in all he says and does. My - dear Admiral, you must get along with Potemkin to get along with her.” - </p> - <p> - Admiral Paul Jones is by no means sure that he must get along with - Potemkin, and regrets that he quitted France, which holds his Aimee. - However, being aboard the <i>Vladimir</i>, and having to his signal twenty - ships, he resolves to strike one blow for the savage Catherine, if only to - see how a Russian fights and what battering a Turk can stand. It will give - him something to talk of, something by which he may compare the English - and French and Americans, when next at his ease, with Genet or Jefferson - or mayhap King Louis as a fellow conversationist. - </p> - <p> - The chance comes; Admiral Jones engages the Turkish fleet off Kinburn - Head, and destroys it after sixteen hours’ fighting—sinking some, - burning others, breaking completely the power of the Crescent. The Turks - bear a loss of twenty-nine ships and more than three thousand sailors, - while Admiral Paul Jones loses but three small ships. Having advantage of - the victory, old Suwarrow brings his army across the Boug. At one blow, - Admiral Paul Jones unlocks the Liman and throws it open to the victorious - entrance of old Suwarrow. - </p> - <p> - Oczakoff falls; Admiral Paul Jones, sick of the cowardice and duplicity of - Potemkin and his parasite Nassau-Siegen, relinquishes his command. He bids - old Suwarrow good-bye, and travels in a manner of lordly leisure, not at - all Russian, but particularly American, back to St. Petersburg and the - Empress. As he bids farewell to old Suwarrow, the latter detains him: - </p> - <p> - “Wait!” - </p> - <p> - Then he takes from one of his camp chests a priceless cloak of sea-otter - and sable, lined with yellow silk, and an ermine jacket, white as snow, - set off with heavy gold frogs. - </p> - <p> - “Take them, mon Paul,” says the old soldier, pressing them upon Admiral - Paul Jones. “They are too fine for me.” Here he looks complacently at his - threadbare gray coat and muddy boots. “No; were I to wear such feathers, - my soldiers, who are my children, wouldn’t know their old papa Suwarrow.” - </p> - <p> - The Empress receives Admiral Paul Jones in her palace of the Hermitage. - She is affable, condescending, appreciative, and assigns him to command - the naval forces in the Baltic. She makes him rich in gold; for, while the - Empress will so far humor Potemkin as to remove Admiral Paul Jones out of - his way, she will not fail of doubly rewarding that mariner for the - victory which Potemkin is now trying to steal. - </p> - <p> - Admiral Paul Jones grows dissatisfied, however. The Russian nobility - intrigues against him, and de Segur, the French Minister, must come to his - rescue. They steal his letters from Aimee; and, not hearing from his - beloved, he becomes homesick. He tells the Empress that he must go; she - consents when he promises to continue drawing full pay as Admiral. That - agreed to, she allows him leave of absence for two years, and back he goes - to Paris and his Aimee’s arms. He calls on De Segur, the French Minister, - before he starts, and thanks him for his friendship. - </p> - <p> - “But you will return?” says De Segur. - </p> - <p> - “Never! I want no more of Russia and its Russians! What is this Court of - Catherine, but a place where vilest purposes are arrived at by agencies - most wretched, and artifices that should disgrace a dog? I am of an honor - unfit for such a place, as silk is unfit for mire. The very people are - without charity or a commonest humanity. They are like the wolves of their - own forests; should they discover one of their brothers, wounded or - stricken down, instead of offering aid, they would fall upon him—rending - and devouring him!” - </p> - <p> - “Sixteen long months! Sixteen dreary months you have been gone!” says - Aimee, when they are again together at the cottage in the Rue Vivienne. - </p> - <p> - “They are over, little one,” he replies, “over, never to return. Aside - from being separated from you, which is to be separated from the sun” - —here he caresses her red-gold hair—“they were the sixteen - months most miserable of my life.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVII—THE HOUSE IN THE RUE TOURNON - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>nd now dawn many - days of love and peace and plenty for Admiral Panl Jones, days in the - midst of friends, glad days made sumptuous by a beautiful woman, who is a - king’s daughter crowned with a wealth of red-gold hair. He has his - business, too, and embarks in speculation; wherein he shows himself as - much a sailor of finance as of the sea. The imperial Catherine refuses to - lose him; but pays to the last like an Empress, bidding him prolong his - vacation while he will. He grows rich. He has twelve thousand pounds in - the bank; while in America, Holland, Denmark, Belgium and England his - interests flourish. He sells his plantation by the Rappahannock for - twenty-five hundred dollars—less than a dollar an acre; for he says - that he has no more heart to own slaves, and the plantation cannot be - worked without them. - </p> - <p> - The little happy cottage in the Rue Vivienne grows small; neither is it - magnificent enough for his Aimee, of whom each day he grows more proud and - fond. So he removes, bag and baggage, to a mansion in the Rue Tournon. - There the rooms are grand, ceilings tall, fireplaces hospitably wide. - </p> - <p> - The wide fireplaces will do for winter; just now he swings a hammock in - the back garden, which is thick-sown of trees and made pleasant by a - plushy green May carpet of grass. Here he lolls and reads and receives his - friends. For the careful Aimee counsels rest, and much staying at home; - because he is a long shot from a hale man, having been broken with that - fever in the West Indies, and in no wise restored by the mists and the - miasmas of the Dnieper marshes. - </p> - <p> - Through the summer the back garden is filled with chairs, and the chairs - are filled by friends. In the autumn, and later when winter descends with - its frosts, the chairs and the incumbent friends gather in a semicircle - about the wide flame-filled crackling fireplaces. There be times when the - wine passes; and the freighted mahogany sideboards discover that they have - destinies beyond the ornamental. - </p> - <p> - French politics bubbles and then boils; Paris is split by faction. - Mirabeau controls the Assembly; Lafayette has the army under his hand—a - weak, vacillating hand! These two are of the Moderates. - </p> - <p> - Admiral Paul Jones, coolly neutral in what sentiments go shaking the hour, - has admirers in the parties. They come to him, and talk with him, and - drink his wines in the shade of the back garden, or by the opulent - fireplaces. Robespierre and Danton, as well as Mirabeau and Lafayette, are - there. Also, Bertrand Barre, who boasts that he is not French but - Iberian, one whose forbears came in with Hannibal. Later, Barre will - preach an open-air sermon on the “Life and Deeds of Admiral Paul Jones.” - Just now in the Assembly he makes ferocious speeches, garnished of savage - expletives culled from the language of the Basques. - </p> - <p> - Warmest among friends of Admiral Paul Jones is the Thetford corset-maker - Tom Paine, with his encarmined nose and love of freedom. Also Gouverneur - Morris, who has succeeded Mr. Jefferson as America’s Minister in France, - comes often to the Rue Tournon. The pair are with him every day; and - because all three like politics, and no two of them share the same views, - dispute is deep. Aimee of the red-gold hair takes no part in these - discussions, but sits watching her “Paul” with eyes of adoration, - directing the servants, with a motion of the hand, to have a care that the - debaters do not voice their beliefs over empty glasses. - </p> - <p> - Admiral Paul Jones, while a republican, gives his sympathies to the king, - in whom there is much weakness, but no evil. - </p> - <p> - “They must not kill the king!” says he. - </p> - <p> - “And why not?” demands Tom Paine, whose bosom distills bitterness, and who - holds there are no good kings save dead kings. “Has France no Cromwell? We - are both born Englishmen, Paul; our own people ere this have killed a - king.” - </p> - <p> - “Tom,” cries Admiral Paul Jones, heatedly, - </p> - <p> - “Cromwell and England should not be cited as precedents here. King Louis - is no Charles; and, as for Cromwell, there isn’t the raw material in all - France to make a Cromwell.” - </p> - <p> - Gouverneur Morris says nothing, but sips his wine; remembering that, as - the minister of a foreign nation, he should bear no part in French - politics. - </p> - <p> - The Parisian rabble insult the king, and Lafayette, in command of the - military about the Tuileries, sadly lacks decision. Then comes the “Day of - Daggers;” the poor king, advised by the irresolute Lafayette, yields to - the mob, and the assembled notables are disarmed. The anger of Admiral - Paul Jones is extreme. He breaks forth to his friend Tom Paine: - </p> - <p> - “Up to this time I’ve been able to find reasons for the king’s gentleness; - but to-day’s action was not gentle, it was weak. I pity the man—beset - as he is by situations to which he is unequal. Lafayette cannot long - restrain the sinister forces that confront him. He has neither the head - nor the heart nor the hand for it. This is a time for grapeshot. I only - wish that I might be in command of those thirty cannon parked about the - palace, and have with me, even for a day, my old war-dogs of the <i>Ranger</i> - and the <i>Richard</i>. Believe me, I should offer the mob convincing - reasons in support of conservatism and justice; I should teach it - forbearance at the muzzles of my guns.” - </p> - <p> - “But the rabble might in its turn teach you,” retorts Tom Paine, with a - republican grin. - </p> - <p> - “Bah!” he exclaims, snapping contemptuous fingers. “They of the mob are - but sheep masquerading as tigers. One whiff of grapeshot, and they would - disappear.” Then he continues, thoughtfully: “Their saddest trait is their - levity. They are ridiculous even in their patriotism. Their emblems, - representative of the grand sentiments they profess, are as childish as - the language in which they proclaim them is fantastic. There is the red - cap! Borrowed from the gutters, they make it the symbol of sovereignty! As - though a ship were better for being keel up.” - </p> - <p> - Mirabeau, with his lion’s face, comes in. He is in a fury, and declares - that Lafayette is a practising hypocrite in his pretences of attachment to - the king. - </p> - <p> - “Hypocrisy!” cries Mirabeau. “That, at least, is a lesson in the school of - liberty he never learned from Washington.” - </p> - <p> - Others of the Moderates arrive, and join in the conversation. - </p> - <p> - “You must understand, gentlemen,” observes Admiral Paul Jones warmly, - “that I, in my time, have fought eight years for liberty. But I did not - fight with the decrees of blood-mad Assemblies, or the plots of secret - clubs.” - </p> - <p> - Those present smile tolerantly; for the mighty Paul is a person of many - privileges, the one man in France who may speak his mind. - </p> - <p> - “You do not deeply respect the Assembly?” remarks Mirabeau, with a sour - smile. - </p> - <p> - “The Assembly? What is it? A few who talk all the time, and a great many - who applaud or hiss! Everything about it is theatrical. It struggles for - epigram not principle, and the members would sooner say a smart thing than - save France.” - </p> - <p> - Paris is turmoil and uproar and tumult. To keep his mind from that strife - which surrounds him, and into which he longs to plunge, Admiral Paul Jones - puts in hours with his secretary, Benot-Andr, dictating his journals. - Also, business calls him to London, where he is much celebrated by the - Whigs. He hobnobs with Fox and Sheridan, while Walpole carries him away to - Strawberry Hill. He is with Walpole, when word arrives that Mirabeau is - dead. - </p> - <p> - “What will be the effect in Paris’?” asks Walpole. - </p> - <p> - “What will be the effect! It will unchain the worst elements. The Assembly - will now go to every red extreme. While Mirabeau lived, that strange - concourse of evil spirits had a master. He is gone; the animals are - without a keeper.” - </p> - <p> - Admiral Paul Jones returns to Paris, and finds a letter from Mr. - Jefferson, now Secretary of State. Mr. Jefferson asks him to discover how - far Europe will co-operate to crush out piracy in the Mediterranean. Also, - he explains that President Washington will want the services of Admiral - Paul Jones when he sends an expedition against the Barbary States. - </p> - <p> - While he is reading Mr. Jefferson’s letter, a deputation from the Assembly - waits on him, and sets forth informally that it is the present French - purpose to reorganize the navy, and call him, Admiral Paul Jones, to the - command. - </p> - <p> - “Would you accept?” asks the deputation. - </p> - <p> - “It would be, gentlemen,” he returns, “the part of prudence, and I think - of modesty, to defer crossing that bridge till I come to it.” - </p> - <p> - When the deputation goes away, he calls Benot-Andr, and sits long into - the night dictating a treatise on reforming the French navy. He points out - how its present inefficiency arises from the fact that, for centuries, it - has been the feeding-ground of a voracious but incompetent aristocracy, a - mere asylum for impoverished second sons, and other noble incapables. He - sends a copy of his treatise to Walpole, who writes him a letter. - </p> - <p> - “My dear Admiral,” says he of Strawberry Hill; “let France go. Either - return home to America and rest upon your laurels, or come over to - England, where even those who do not love you admire you. You have fought - under two flags; isn’t that enough? I take your pamphlet to be simply a - bid for a commission in the new French navy, and, because I love and - admire you, I hope it will fail. It will be better so. Your laurels, won - off Flamboro’ Head, will else be turned to cypress, when, as a French - admiral, you become the target of British broadsides, with none of your - stout Yankee tars to stand by and man your guns.” - </p> - <p> - The winter is at an end; the grass of spring is starting. Admiral Paul - Jones receives a letter from President Washington, who speaks of the - Barbary States, and asks him to give up his commission in the Russian - service. There have been two whose requests with him were ever final—Franklin - and Washington. He does not hesitate, but forwards his resignation to - Catherine. She will not accept, and puts forward old Suwarrow. - </p> - <p> - “Do not, my good brother,” writes the old soldier—“do not let any - siren entice you from the service of the Empress. Your Frenchmen are - preparing a stew of mischief that must soon keep all Western Europe busy - to save themselves. That will be Russia’s time. We shall then have a free - hand with the Turk. Our command of the Black Sea is safe. Since you were - there, we have built nine new ships of the line, and six stout frigates. - You shall have them all. Also, I can now protect you from Court intrigues, - which I could not do before. Courtiers, since Ismail, no longer trouble - me; I brush them away like flies. In a new Turkish campaign, I would be - Generalissimo by land and sea; you would be responsible to no one but me—a - situation which, I flatter myself, would not be intolerable to you. Now, - my good brother, the Empress has a copy of this letter, and agrees with - all I say. Make no entanglements in the west; return to your old papa - Suwarrow as soon as you can, and we shall discuss plans.” - </p> - <p> - Old Suwarrow’s missive fails of its hoped-for effect. Admiral Paul Jones - gets out President Washington’s letter and reads it again. Then he sends a - polite but peremptory resignation to Catherine, and ends forever with the - Russians. - </p> - <p> - “But, mon Paul,” says Aimee, who looks over his shoulder, “what a - compliment! England, France, Russia, America—the whole world calls - you! And the answer to all”—here a kiss—“is that you shall - stay with your Aimee until she coaxes back your health.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVIII—LOVE AND THOSE LAST DAYS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>imee is right. - Admiral Paul Jones, never his old sound self since that last cruise in the - West Indies, is ill. Gourgaud says it is his lungs, and commands him to - take care of himself. He obeys by sticking close to the red-gold Aimee, - and the pleasant house in the Rue Tournon, with its fireplaces in the - winter and its tree-shaded back garden in the summer—summer, when - the hammock is swung. - </p> - <p> - Now a stream of visitors pours in upon him. Even the poor king, in the - midst of his troubles, sends to ask after the health of the “Chevalier - Jones.” At odd hours, when visitors do not overrun him, he dictates his - journals to Benot-Andre, while Aimee gently swings his hammock with her - white hand. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0009" id="linkimage-0009"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0319.jpg" alt="0319 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0319.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - It is a hazy July day; the drone of pillaging bees, busy among the - flowers, fills the back garden in the Rue Tournon. It is one of Admiral - Paul Jones’ “good days;” a-swing in his hammock, he chats with Major - Beaupoil about a recent dinner at which he was the guest of Jacobin honor. - </p> - <p> - “It was at the Cafe Timon,” he says, “a favorite rendezvous of the - Jacobins. Believe me, Major, while I cannot speak in highest terms of the - Jacobins, I can of the Cafe Timon. One day I hope to take you there.” - </p> - <p> - Gouverneur Morris is announced. He tells Admiral Paul Jones of advices - from Mr. Jefferson, and that Mr. Pinckney has been selected Minister to - St. James. - </p> - <p> - “What, to my mind,” concludes Mr. Morris, “is of most consequence, Mr. - Pinckney bears with him from President Washington your commission as an - Admiral in the American navy. You are to be ready, you note, to sail - against those Barbary robbers when the squadron arrives. - </p> - <p> - “I shall not alone be ready,” he returns, “I shall be delighted.” He - springs from the hammock, and takes a quick turn up and down the garden. - The prospect of a brush with the swarthy freebooters of the Mediterranean - animates him mightily. - </p> - <p> - Other visitors are announced. Barre, Lafayette, Carnot, Cambon, - Vergniaud, Marron, Collot, Billaud, Kersaint, Gensonne, Barbaroux and - Louvet one after the other arrive. Laughter and jest and conversation - become the order of the afternoon; for all are glad, and argue, from his - high spirits, the soon return to health of Admiral Paul Jones. There has - been no more cheerful hour in the Rue Tournon back garden. Corks are drawn - and glasses clink. - </p> - <p> - The talk leaves politics for religion. “My church,” observes Admiral Paul - Jones—“my church has been the ocean, my preacher the North Star, my - choir the winds singing in the ship’s rigging.” - </p> - <p> - “And your faith?” asks Major Beaupoil. - </p> - <p> - “You may find it, my dear Major, in Pope’s Universal Prayer: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - ‘Teach me to feel another’s woe, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - To hide the faults I see; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - That mercy I to others show, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Such mercy show to me.’ - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “There!” he concludes, “I call that stanza a complete boxing of the - religious compass.” - </p> - <p> - Gourgaud looks in professionally, and is inclined to take a solemn view of - his patient’s health. He rebukes him for running about the garden among - his guests. - </p> - <p> - “You should not have permitted it,” says Gourgaud, admonishing Aimee with - upraised finger. - </p> - <p> - “But he refused to be restrained!” returns Aimee, ruefully. - </p> - <p> - “Gourgaud!” the patient breaks forth cheerily, “you know the aphorism: At - forty every man is either a fool or a doctor. Now I am over forty; and, as - a fellow-practitioner, I promise you that our patient, Paul Jones, is out - of danger and on the mend.” Then, gayly: “Come, Gourgaud, don’t croak! - Take a glass of wine, man; you frighten Aimee with your long looks.” - Gourgaud takes his wine; but his looks are quite as long as before. - </p> - <p> - Abruptly and apropos of nothing, Admiral Paul Jones decides to make his - will. - </p> - <p> - “Your will!” protests Gouverneur Morris, somewhat aghast. “But you haven’t - been in such health for months.” - </p> - <p> - “Not on account of my health,” he explains, “but because of those Barbary - pirates.” - </p> - <p> - Notaries are brought in by Benot-Andr, and the will is drawn. The - gallant testator is for giving all to his Aimee. - </p> - <p> - “The house you already have,” says he; “and also an annuity. Now I leave - you the rest; and Beaupoil shall be executor, with Morris as a witness. - There; it is arranged!” - </p> - <p> - But it is not arranged. The red-gold Aimee points out that he has certain - nieces and nephews in Scotland and Virginia; they must not be forgotten. - He yields to amendments in behalf of those nieces and nephews. Then the - will is sealed and signed. - </p> - <p> - “It has eased my mind,” he says, giving the document into the hands of - Major Beaupoil for safe-keeping—“it has eased my mind more than I - supposed possible.” Then, with a look at Aimee: “There will be enough, <i>petite</i>, - to take care of you, even though our friends here turn the country - bottom-side up. Luckily, too, the property is in England and America and - Holland, where values stand more steadily than they do in France.” - </p> - <p> - Aimee remembers the “Sword of Honor,” given by King Louis for that victory - over the <i>Serapis</i>. - </p> - <p> - “You always declared it should go to your friend, Dale,” she says. - </p> - <p> - “So I do still!” - </p> - <p> - Aimee brings the sword. She presses the gilt scabbard to her lips; then - she puts it in the hands of her “Paul.” He half draws the blade, and - considers it with an eye of pride. - </p> - <p> - “You see this sword?” he remarks to Gouverneur Morris, “Should I die, - carry it with my love to Dick Dale—my good old Dick, who did more - than any other man to help me win it!” - </p> - <p> - It is nine o’clock; night has fallen. The many friends have gone their - homeward ways. The back parlor of the house in the Rue Tournon is peaceful - and still. - </p> - <p> - Admiral Paul Jones sits in his cushioned easy-chair reading a volume of - Voltaire. Now and then he addresses to Aimee some comment of agreement or - disagreement with his lively author. Aimee offers no counter comments, but - smiles accord to everything; for her heart is lighter and her bosom more - tranquil than for many a day, as she basks in the sunshine of new hopes - for the restoration of her “Paul.” - </p> - <p> - Some duty of the house calls Aimee. She leaves her Paul the lamplight - shining on the pages of the book, his loved face in the shadow. She pauses - at the door, her deep, soft eyes full of worship. - </p> - <p> - Aimee is on the stair returning. An ominous sound reaches her ears! Her - heart grows cold; alarm seizes her by the throat, as though a hand - clutched her! She knows by some instinct that the end has come, and her - “Paul” lies dead or dying! She can neither move nor cry out! - </p> - <p> - Presently she regains command of herself. With quaking limbs she mounts - the stair. The door of the back drawing-room stands open. The lamp still - burns, but its radiance no longer lights the pages of the philosopher of - Fernay. They fall across the motionless body of her “Paul.” He lies with - head and shoulder resting on a couch, which he was trying to reach when - stricken down. - </p> - <p> - Aimee gazes for one horror-frozen moment. Then, with a wailing sob, as - from the depths of her soul, she throws her arms about him. She covers the - marble lips with kisses—those dauntless, defiant lips!—while - her thick hair, breaking from its combs, hides, as with a veil of red and - gold, the loved face from the prying lamp. - </p> - <p> - Napoleon is reading those gloomy despatches which tell of Trafalgar. - Crushing the paper in his hand, he paces the floor, his pale, moody face - swept by gusty emotions of pain and anger and disappointment. - </p> - <p> - “Berthier, how old was Paul Jones when he died?” - </p> - <p> - “Forty-five, sire.” - </p> - <p> - There comes a gloom-filled silence; the gray, brooding eyes seek the floor - in thought. Then the pacing to and fro is resumed, that hateful despatch - still clutched fast in the nervous fingers. - </p> - <p> - “Berthier: Paul Jones did not fulfil his destiny.” - </p> - <h3> - THE END - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Story of Paul Jones, by Alfred Henry Lewis - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF PAUL JONES *** - -***** This file should be named 53990-h.htm or 53990-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/9/9/53990/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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