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- presented her, fresh from the stocks at Amsterdam, to the King of
France, and not to me. What does the King of France with such a
frigate? And what can I _not_ do with her? Give me back the “Indien,”
and in less than one month, you shall hear glorious or fatal news of
Paul Jones.”
“Come, come, Captain,” said Doctor Franklin, soothingly, “tell me now,
what would you do with her, if you had her?”
“I would teach the British that Paul Jones, though born in Britain, is
no subject to the British King, but an untrammelled citizen and sailor
of the universe; and I would teach them, too, that if they ruthlessly
ravage the American coasts, their own coasts are vulnerable as New
Holland’s. Give me the _Indien_, and I will rain down on wicked England
like fire on Sodom.”
These words of bravado were not spoken in the tone of a bravo, but a
prophet. Erect upon his chair, like an Iroquois, the speaker’s look was
like that of an unflickering torch.
His air seemed slightly to disturb the old sage’s philosophic repose,
who, while not seeking to disguise his admiration of the unmistakable
spirit of the man, seemed but illy to relish his apparent measureless
boasting.
As if both to change the subject a little, as well as put his visitor
in better mood—though indeed it might have been but covertly to play
with his enthusiasm—the man of wisdom now drew his chair confidentially
nearer to the stranger’s, and putting one hand in a very friendly,
conciliatory way upon his visitor’s knee, and rubbing it gently to and
fro there, much as a lion-tamer might soothingly manipulate the
aggravated king of beasts, said in a winning manner:—“Never mind at
present, Captain, about the ‘_Indien_’ affair. Let that sleep a moment.
See now, the Jersey privateers do us a great deal of mischief by
intercepting our supplies. It has been mentioned to me, that if you had
a small vessel—say, even your present ship, the ‘Amphitrite,’—then, by
your singular bravery, you might render great service, by following
those privateers where larger ships durst not venture their bottoms;
or, if but supported by some frigates from Brest at a proper distance,
might draw them out, so that the larger vessels could capture them.”
“Decoy-duck to French frigates!—Very dignified office, truly!” hissed
Paul in a fiery rage. “Doctor Franklin, whatever Paul Jones does for
the cause of America, it must be done through unlimited orders: a
separate, supreme command; no leader and no counsellor but himself.
Have I not already by my services on the American coast shown that I am
well worthy all this? Why then do you seek to degrade me below my
previous level? I will mount, not sink. I live but for honor and glory.
Give me, then, something honorable and glorious to do, and something
famous to do it with. Give me the _Indien_”
The man of wisdom slowly shook his head. “Everything is lost through
this shillyshallying timidity, called prudence,” cried Paul Jones,
starting to his feet; “to be effectual, war should be carried on like a
monsoon, one changeless determination of every particle towards the one
unalterable aim. But in vacillating councils, statesmen idle about like
the cats’-paws in calms. My God, why was I not born a Czar!”
“A Nor’wester, rather. Come, come, Captain,” added the sage, “sit down,
we have a third person present, you see,” pointing towards Israel, who
sat rapt at the volcanic spirit of the stranger.
Paul slightly started, and turned inquiringly upon Israel, who, equally
owing to Paul’s own earnestness of discourse and Israel’s motionless
bearing, had thus far remained undiscovered.
“Never fear, Captain,” said the sage, “this man is true blue, a secret
courier, and an American born. He is an escaped prisoner of war.”
“Ah, captured in a ship?” asked Paul eagerly; “what ship? None of mine!
Paul Jones never was captured.”
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