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- 2026-01-30T20:48:05.591Z
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- text
- “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?”
“Oh! haven’t you heard that that bloody pirate, Paul Jones, is
somewhere hanging round the coasts?”
“Aye, indeed, but he won’t hurt you. He’s only going round among the
nations, with his old hat, taking up contributions. So, away with ye;
ye don’t want any powder and ball to give him. He wants contributions
of silver, not lead. Prepare yourselves with silver, I say.”
“Nay, captain, the Laird ordered us not to return without powder and
ball. See, here is the price. It may be the taking of the bloody
pirate, if you let us have what we want.”
“Well, pass ’em over a keg,” said Paul, laughing, but modifying his
order by a sly whisper to Israel: “Oh, put up your price, it’s a gift
to ye.”
“But ball, captain; what’s the use of powder without ball?” roared one
of the fellows from the boat’s bow, as the keg was lowered in. “We want
ball.”
“Bless my soul, you bawl loud enough as it is. Away with ye, with what
you have. Look to your keg, and hark ye, if ye catch that villain, Paul
Jones, give him no quarter.”
“But, captain, here,” shouted one of the boatmen, “there’s a mistake.
This is a keg of pickles, not powder. Look,” and poking into the
bung-hole, he dragged out a green cucumber dripping with brine. “Take
this back, and give us the powder.”
“Pooh,” said Paul, “the powder is at the bottom, pickled powder, best
way to keep it. Away with ye, now, and after that bloody embezzler,
Paul Jones.”
This was Sunday. The ships held on. During the afternoon, a long tack
of the Richard brought her close towards the shores of Fife, near the
thriving little port of Kirkaldy.
“There’s a great crowd on the beach. Captain Paul,” said Israel,
looking through his glass. “There seems to be an old woman standing on
a fish-barrel there, a sort of selling things at auction to the people,
but I can’t be certain yet.”
“Let me see,” said Paul, taking the glass as they came nigher. “Sure
enough, it’s an old lady—an old quack-doctress, seems to me, in a black
gown, too. I must hail her.”
Ordering the ship to be kept on towards the port, he shortened sail
within easy distance, so as to glide slowly by, and seizing the
trumpet, thus spoke:
“Old lady, ahoy! What are you talking about? What’s your text?”
“The righteous shall rejoice when he seeth the vengeance. He shall wash
his feet in the blood of the wicked.”
“Ah, what a lack of charity. Now hear mine:—God helpeth them that help
themselves, as Poor Richard says.”
“Reprobate pirate, a gale shall yet come to drive thee in wrecks from
our waters.”
“The strong wind of your hate fills my sails well. Adieu,” waving his
bonnet—“tell us the rest at Leith.”
Next morning the ships were almost within cannon-shot of the town. The
men to be landed were in the boats. Israel had the tiller of the
foremost one, waiting for his commander to enter, when just as Paul’s
foot was on the gangway, a sudden squall struck all three ships,
dashing the boats against them, and causing indescribable confusion.
The squall ended in a violent gale. Getting his men on board with all
dispatch, Paul essayed his best to withstand the fury of the wind, but
it blew adversely, and with redoubled power. A ship at a distance went
down beneath it. The disappointed invader was obliged to turn before
the gale, and renounce his project.
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