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- 2026-01-30T20:48:05.591Z
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- 5139
- text
- shall we call her?”
“Well, Captain Paul, don’t you like Doctor Franklin? Hasn’t he been the
prime man to get this fleet together? Let’s call her the Doctor
Franklin.”
“Oh, no, that will too publicly declare him just at present; and Poor
Richard wants to be a little shady in this business.”
“Poor Richard!—call her Poor Richard, then,” cried Israel, suddenly
struck by the idea.
“’Gad, you have it,” answered Paul, springing to his feet, as all trace
of his former despondency left him;—“Poor Richard shall be the name, in
honor to the saying, that ‘God helps them that help themselves,’ as
Poor Richard says.”
Now this was the way the craft came to be called the _Bon Homme
Richard_; for it being deemed advisable to have a French rendering of
the new title, it assumed the above form.
A few days after, the force sailed. Ere long, they captured several
vessels; but the captains of the squadron proving refractory, events
took so deplorable a turn, that Paul, for the present, was obliged to
return to Groix. Luckily, however, at this junction a cartel arrived
from England with upwards of a hundred exchanged American seamen, who
almost to a man enlisted under the flag of Paul.
Upon the resailing of the force, the old troubles broke out afresh.
Most of her consorts insubordinately separated from the Bon Homme
Richard. At length Paul found himself in violent storms beating off the
rugged southeastern coast of Scotland, with only two accompanying
ships. But neither the mutiny of his fleet, nor the chaos of the
elements, made him falter in his purpose. Nay, at this crisis, he
projected the most daring of all his descents.
The Cheviot Hills were in sight. Sundry vessels had been described
bound in for the Firth of Forth, on whose south shore, well up the
Firth, stands Leith, the port of Edinburgh, distant but a mile or two
from that capital. He resolved to dash at Leith, and lay it under
contribution or in ashes. He called the captains of his two remaining
consorts on board his own ship to arrange details. Those worthies had
much of fastidious remark to make against the plan. After losing much
time in trying to bring to a conclusion their sage deliberations, Paul,
by addressing their cupidity, achieved that which all appeals to their
gallantry could not accomplish. He proclaimed the grand prize of the
Leith lottery at no less a figure than £200,000, that being named as
the ransom. Enough: the three ships enter the Firth, boldly and freely,
as if carrying Quakers to a Peace-Congress.
Along both startled shores the panic of their approach spread like the
cholera. The three suspicious crafts had so long lain off and on, that
none doubted they were led by the audacious viking, Paul Jones. At five
o’clock, on the following morning, they were distinctly seen from the
capital of Scotland, quietly sailing up the bay. Batteries were hastily
thrown up at Leith, arms were obtained from the castle at Edinburgh,
alarm fires were kindled in all directions. Yet with such tranquillity
of effrontery did Paul conduct his ships, concealing as much as
possible their warlike character, that more than once his vessels were
mistaken for merchantmen, and hailed by passing ships as such.
In the afternoon, Israel, at his station on the tower of Pisa, reported
a boat with five men coming off to the Richard from the coast of Fife.
“They have hot oat-cakes for us,” said Paul; “let ’em come. To
encourage them, show them the English ensign, Israel, my lad.”
Soon the boat was alongside.
“Well, my good fellows, what can I do for you this afternoon?” said
Paul, leaning over the side with a patronizing air.
“Why, captain, we come from the Laird of Crokarky, who wants some
powder and ball for his money.”
“What would you with powder and ball, pray?”
- title
- Chunk 2