To
Rebbie and Fanny Graham

JOHN PAUL JONES FLUSHED WITH
PLEASURE

With
JOHN PAUL
JONES

by
John T. M^cIntyre
Author of
“Fighting King George” etc.

Illustrated
by
Clyde O. Deland

THE PENN
PUBLISHING
COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA
MCMVI

Copyright 1906 by The Penn Publishing Company

Contents

Illustrations

With John Paul Jones

CHAPTER I
HOW ETHAN CARLYLE BROUGHT THE NEWS OF
BURGOYNE’S SURRENDER

“Who is that man that is so much at the Wheelocks’ just now?” asked young Walter Stanton of his friend Philip Morgan.

“Some Tory friend, I suppose. I don’t like him; see the sneer upon his face as he looks at the members upon the steps of the State House.”

It was about noon on a day late in September in the year 1777. A group of young men and boys were lounging upon some benches in the shade of two big buttonwoods directly across from the quaint old State House at Philadelphia. The sun hung almost over the tower whose bell had boomed freedom to a nation only a little more than a year before; upon the stone steps of the building stood a number of grave-faced, earnest gentlemen, members of the first Continental Congress, talking of the weighty matters that were to be discussed in the approaching session.

The man who had attracted Walter Stanton’s attention was a person of striking appearance. He had thick, coal-black hair, a pale, keen face and a frame that showed strength and endurance. A boy of about nineteen stood at his side, and they were both talking in low tones and watching the patriot-legislators as they slowly assembled. Philip Morgan was right when he said that the stranger wore a sneer upon his face. That cold look of pitying contempt and the curl of the man’s lip could mean nothing else. A stir went through the crowd of lads as an erect, care-worn man passed slowly along, with bent head and an air of great abstraction, every hat came off with a sweep of respect.

“Who is that man?” asked the stranger of Walter.

“That,” answered the boy, “is Mr. Hancock, president of Congress.”

The stranger’s teeth gleamed in a mocking smile.

“Ah, yes, I have heard of him,” he said. “It was he that caused this war with England.”

Walter and Philip looked at each other; the boy at the man’s side nudged him in a manner that said as plainly as words: “Be careful of what you say.”

“It’s news to me,” spoke Walter Stanton, “to hear that Mr. John Hancock was the cause of the war.”

“We had always fancied that it was begun by that old madman, King George,” said Philip Morgan, who was a blunt spoken lad at best; and the man’s manner irritated him. The stranger bent his brows and a glint of anger came into his sharp, black eyes. He seemed upon the point of making a biting retort; but once more the boy at his side warned him to beware.

“Be careful, Danvers,” he whispered. “You’ll get into trouble. They are all Whigs here.”

Danvers hesitated a moment; then he turned to Philip with a cold smile that showed his strong white teeth.

“If it had not been for Major Pitcairn’s being called out that day with his men to seize this Mr. Hancock for treason to the crown, there would have been no fight at Lexington; and had that skirmish not taken place there would have been no rebellion.”

“Revolution is a better word, I think,” said Walter Stanton, quietly.

“Call it what you will,” answered the man sneeringly, “the fact remains the same.”

“And I don’t like your calling the fight at Lexington a skirmish,” spoke the blunt-tongued Philip, who had come to think of that first exchange of shots as a most glorious engagement. “It resulted in three hundred British troops being killed, and when Putnam and Arnold hurried up to take command of the minutemen, they walled General Gage up in Boston, for all his army and ships.”

“Putnam!” said the man in his mocking way. “What is he? An old farmer turned soldier; and Arnold is a swaggering, reckless ruffian.”

“Be quiet,” whispered Stephen Wheelock, as he dragged at the man’s sleeve, his face growing pale as he noted the resentful expressions of those about them. “Be quiet, I tell you!”

Danvers’ quick eye saw the effect of his words and he smiled coolly. It seemed as though he rather enjoyed the risk he ran in being so open in his words.

“Never fear,” said he, in a low tone to young Wheelock. “I only want to stir them up a bit. I’ll be careful not to go too far.”

“You’ll get my father into hot water, Danvers, if you don’t mind yourself,” warned Stephen, drawing the man aside. “The Whigs know that our family sympathize with the cause of the king; and it must not be known that we harbor agents of Lord North’s government.”

“Hush!” warned Danvers, in his turn. “They will know it soon enough, and you’ll have my neck in a halter, if you use such terms as that in this public place.”

“Give them no cause for suspicion, then,” said young Wheelock. “I’ve seen them aroused more than once, and it’s not a pleasant thing to look at, indeed.”

Philip Morgan’s ire was aroused by the words of Danvers, and he was talking loudly.

“Let the English say what they like,” cried he, “we have as good officers as they, and perhaps better. And we were faithful to the king, too, until he hired the Brunswickers and Hessians to come and fight against us. No free men could stand such a thing as that.”

“No, no,” chorused the boys upon the benches.

“That was the last straw,” said Walter Stanton. “If King George had not done that, the gentlemen across the way would never have written, passed and signed the Declaration of Independence, July a year ago.”

So interested were all the boys in the talk, which now became general, that they did not notice a horseman ride up, dismount and tie his nag to a post near at hand. He was a tall, spare, raw-boned man, with fiery red hair. He held himself with the rigid bearing of a man trained in the army; his face was resolute, indeed fierce looking; and an ugly sword slash had left a red scar across it that did not add to his appearance. He stood at his horse’s head listening, as Philip Morgan went on, addressing Danvers.

“You may sneer at Putnam if you like, sir, but he is a bold and able officer, and so is General Arnold. Why, Arnold’s invasion of Canada alone would stamp him as an uncommon man.”

“He had Richard Montgomery with him,” said Danvers, coldly, “and Montgomery got what little training he had as an officer in the British army. The best that one can say of him is that he was brave.”

At the name of the intrepid and lamented Montgomery, the fierce looking man with the scar upon his face had bent forward interestedly; but at the words of Danvers he stepped forward, his strong fingers twisting nervously.

“I knew General Montgomery,” said he to Danvers; “he was the cleverest officer I ever saw.”

Danvers turned and swept him with an insolent look.

“And, pray, sir, who are you?” he asked.

“Shamus O’Moore, once of the Inniskillens,” answered the newcomer, standing very erect and speaking in a harsh, high voice.

“Ah,” sneered Danvers, “an English dragoon.”

“No,” said the other with great promptness, “an Irish dragoon.”

“It is all the same,” spoke Danvers.

“Pardon me,” protested the other, still in the same tone, and never budging an inch in his ramrod like attitude. “There is no sameness about it at all. Faith, ye could never make an Englishman out of an Irishman in the world. They are like oil and water, and they won’t mix.”

“It’s the man they call Longsword,” whispered Walter Stanton to his chum, Philip Morgan.

“I know,” answered the latter. “I’ve seen him at Ethan Carlyle’s several times.”

“General Montgomery,” said the soldier-like O’Moore, “were an Irishman like meself and proud he were of it. He gave up his life for this struggling nation, sir, in the storming of Quebec; and it was no common life, I’ll have ye know. There was in him the makings of a general officer that would have astonished the world.”

“Oh, you fancy yourself a judge, I see,” said Danvers, icily.

“Man and boy, I’ve soldiered for thirty years,” said the other, “and I’ve had lots of time to pick up stray bits of knowledge by the wayside.”

As Danvers turned away to give his attention to young Wheelock, who was again plucking warningly at his sleeve, O’Moore noticed Walter Stanton and favored him instantly with a stiff, formal salute.

“Hello, O’Moore,” said Walter. “Where is Ethan?”

“Master Ethan will be here in a few moments,” returned O’Moore. “There he is beyant, speaking with Mr. Jefferson.”

The lads turned their eyes in the direction indicated, and saw a gentleman garbed in sober black standing in the footway some little distance off conversing excitedly with a clean built, handsome boy of seventeen, who was seated astride a powerful bay horse.

“Did you know that Ethan was secretary to Mr. Jefferson, now?” asked Walter, as they watched the two with interest.

“Yes,” answered Philip. “His father and Mr. Jefferson were great friends, O’Moore, were they not?”

“Indeed, yes, sir,” said the ex-dragoon. “And Mr. Jefferson visited him at New Orleans before the war came on.”

“They seem greatly interested in their talk,” observed Walter, still gazing toward the lad on the bay horse and the black clad statesman. “I never saw Mr. Jefferson so excited, and I’ve seen him many times and listened to his speeches.”

“And it’s no wonder, Master Stanton, that he do be excited now,” said Shamus. “Sure he’s listening to better news then he’s heard in many a long day. While taking a gallop on the north roads this morning, Master Ethan and meself came upon a courier from New York whose horse had stumbled, thrown him and broken his leg. We carried him to an inn where he’d be taken care of; and when he found out who Master Ethan were he handed over his despatches and bid us ride to the city wid them and give them to Mr. Hancock, the president of the Congress.”

“There is news from the north, then?” cried Walter, his eyes opening wider in expectation.

“Good news, too, you said, O’Moore,” said Philip Morgan. “Come, now, tell us what it is.”

The other boys had risen from their seats upon the benches, and all crowded eagerly about the grim looking dragoon.

“What’s the news?” they clamored. “Tell us the news.”

“Ye’ll hear it in another moment,” said O’Moore, a smile flickering on his lips. “Here comes Master Ethan now.”

The sober looking gentleman in black, had just waved the boy upon the horse delightedly away; the lad touched his mount with the spur and dashed down the street toward the state house. Mr. Hancock stood upon the low stone steps in the midst of a group of members engaged in earnest talk, when the bay was pulled up sharply, and the boy upon his back called in a voice that trembled with excitement:

“Mr. Hancock.”

That gentleman raised his brows in some little surprise at this; then his face wrinkled in a smile and he nodded his recognition.

“News from the north!” cried the boy as he swung a bulky saddle packet over his head.

The expression of every man present changed instantly; every voice was hushed, every face was strained and anxious. For weeks they had been swayed, pendulum-like, between hope and fear; and now the result was to be known.

“Burgoyne,” shouted the boy, as he swung himself exultantly from his horse, “has surrendered to General Gates at Saratoga.”

Then, amidst the clapping of hands and the shouts of the crowd that had gathered like magic, he strode across the walk, his spurs jingling on the flags, and handed the despatches to the president of the Continental Congress.

CHAPTER II
HOW A SPY LISTENED AT THE WINDOW

Shamus O’Moore took his young master’s horse and his own to a neighboring stable where they were in the habit of putting them up, and then returned to the state house. Ethan was busy with a huge portfolio of Mr. Jefferson’s papers in a small room at the south end; from the hall came the murmur of voices and now and then a steady flow of words which showed that some member was addressing the Congress.

“They do be after talking it over, Master Ethan,” said the ex-dragoon. “And it’s mighty glad they all are.”

“And no wonder,” said Ethan Carlyle, looking up from his work with a smile. “A victory now means a great deal. Defeat has followed defeat so closely, Shamus, that they, in spite of their hopeful front, began to despair of ever seeing success crown the American arms.”

“Well, they’ve got a murderin’ big slice of success this time,” said the Irish soldier, with great satisfaction. “And it’s pleased I am at that same; for every true son of Erin, Master Ethan, wants to see the Saxon beat.”

Ethan laughed, and there was a twinkle in his eye as he remarked:

“Why, if you dislike the British so, you old fire eater, how came you to be so taken with my poor dead father? He was an Englishman.”

The old dragoon scratched his head in a rather awkward fashion, and then made reply:

“Your father was the finest gentleman I ever saw, and it was no fault of his that he was an Englishman. Sure no man can choose the country he’s to first see the light in. But he showed his quality when he resigned from the English army and came to America. If he were alive and able to hold a sword and head a regiment to-day, he’d be in the thick of it for freedom and the new land, so he would.”

There came a dimness to the boy’s eyes and he patted the old trooper upon the back.

“You cared a very great deal for my father, didn’t you, Longsword?”

“I did,” said the other steadily, looking straight before him with unwinking eyes, “and I think as much of your father’s son, faith.”

“I know that, old friend. You’ve been with me through everything. You even gave up your hopes of meeting the British in battle to be with me here in Philadelphia.”

“It was a hard wrench,” spoke Shamus, a note of regret in his voice, “but the war is not over, Master Ethan, and I have hopes that we two will see service yet.”

There was some more talk of a like nature, and then Ethan went back to his work upon Mr. Jefferson’s papers, while the ex-dragoon went outside the south door and paced slowly up and down in the warm sunlight. Ethan’s father had been a British cavalry major who sold out and emigrated to Virginia. Upon a visit to New Orleans he met and married the daughter of a French merchant and engaged with the old man in his business. Clarette & Co. had many ships in the Gulf, and Ethan was practically raised on board of them, as his father was continually voyaging from one place to another in search of trade. In those days the Gulf and the Caribbean swarmed with buccaneers, and every merchantman was armed and strongly manned; the ships of Clarette & Co. were often called upon to defend themselves from these rovers, and some of Ethan’s most vivid recollections were of shot-swept decks and men leaping back from the cut of Shamus O’Moore’s mighty brass-hilted sword.

The Irish dragoon had been his father’s orderly in the English army, and had come to America with him; Major Carlyle was an Oxford man, and attended to his son’s education himself while at sea; but it was the grim, hard visaged Shamus that taught him how to develop his muscles to the hardness of steel, and how to use cutlass, sabre, pike, bayonet and small-sword. The Irishman had spent years in the study of arms; his sword-play had been the marvel of the British army when he served in the Inniskillens, and had earned for him the name of “Longsword.” Day by day this master of fence had drilled the boy in sword-play. But in spite of his aptness, Ethan never drew a word of praise from Longsword, who continued to labor with him, between decks, in the dog watches, relentlessly, remorselessly, mercilessly. The boy could close his eyes in his bunk, during his watch below, and still see the angular, powerful figure of the dragoon before him; he could see the light from the ports falling upon the scarlet scar that crossed his face, he could see the flashing of the heavy double-edged sword and the constant movement of the tireless arm. He never complained at the labor of the drill.

But one day as they were in the midst of a lesson that had lasted above an hour, Ethan in a sudden burst of impatience had refused to give way before the dragoon’s heavy attack; a desperate rally ensued, and to the astonishment of the watching sailors, the boy actually drove Shamus back before a storm of lightning-like blows. And then Longsword threw down his blade, uttered a wild Irish whoop that rang through the ship, sprang forward and clutched his pupil in a bear-like hug.

“At last!” he exulted. “Ye’ve done it at last. I’ve taught ye all I know, and I’ve only been waiting to have ye use it on meself to get the feel of it. There will be no more lessons, Master Ethan; all ye need is strength and weight, and then faith, even Shamus O’Moore will be careful how he stands forninst ye!”

These things were running through Ethan Carlyle’s head as he sorted over the papers of Mr. Jefferson. At last Congress adjourned, and the members streamed out of the building and down the quiet street. Then Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Hancock entered the room with quiet steps. The boy arose and bowed and then was about to go on with his work, when his employer said:

“Never mind that for a time, Ethan; there is something which we desire to say to you.”

“I’LL DO IT,” SAID ETHAN PROMPTLY

The lad looked at the great Virginian wonderingly; then as he and Mr. Hancock seated themselves at a table near a window, he crossed the room and stood beside them.

“Sit down,” said Mr. Hancock, pointing to a chair.

The boy did so, and then the president of the Congress went on.

“There is a service which you can render Congress and your country if you will.”

Ethan’s eyes lit up.

“Then consider it done, sir, if the power to render the service rests in me.”

Both the statesmen smiled; and Mr. Hancock proceeded.

“At this time there is at Portsmouth a new sloop-of-war being made ready for sea. She is called the Ranger, and is to sail under the mastership of Captain John Paul Jones.”

The boy drew in his breath and the grasp of his hands tightened upon the arms of the chair. The story of the wonderful cruises of this new sea-king in the Providence and Alfred was ringing through the land; he had spread such terror by his deeds upon blue water that British merchants feared to send their vessels to sea, and British frigates were scouring the Western waters in search of him like a pack of fierce, baffled hounds.

“The Ranger is to sail for France,” said Mr. Hancock, “and Captain Jones is to deliver an important document into the hands of Mr. Franklin, our commissioner in that country.”

Mr. Jefferson here laid a packet, sealed with great splotches of red wax, upon the table. As he did so there came a slight rustling among some thick bushes that grew beneath the window, and a dark, foreign looking face appeared, and a pair of burning black eyes looked into the room. So interested were the three at the table within that the man’s presence was unnoticed.

“We want you to proceed to Portsmouth and deliver this packet to Captain Jones,” spoke Mr. Jefferson.

“I’ll do it,” said Ethan promptly.

“And, further, you are to sail with him in his ship and accompany him to Paris.”

“Very well, sir,” answered the lad, quietly.

“As every person knows who is at all interested in the welfare of the country,” said the president of Congress, “our sole hope of success in this war lies in the possibility of securing the aid of France against our enemy. But France has seen us go down in defeat after defeat; she has feared that we are not strong enough to continue the fight, and so far has refused to ally herself with us. But this victory of General Gates will put a different face upon matters. If the news that we send here, and the secret instructions that accompany it, are placed in the hands of Mr. Franklin at Paris, the help of France and her fleets are almost assured us.”

The boy’s eyes gleamed as he watched the white fingers of Mr. Hancock tapping the red-sealed packet; and the dark, strange face peering in at the window was filled with an expression of triumph.

“Let the contents of these documents, however, come under the eyes of Lord North, or any other member of King George’s ministry, and all would be ruined. None but the very highest British officials would understand their meaning; but these would grasp it instantly, and a condition for which we have striven for months would at once be changed, and France would find it to her disadvantage to take sides with us.”

“All this means that the instructions are to be guarded carefully,” said Ethan.

“As you would guard your life,” said Mr. Jefferson, laying his hand upon his young secretary’s shoulder.

“As my life be it,” answered the boy with a resolute lift of the head.

“It will take some little time for you to reach Portsmouth,” said Mr. Hancock, “and Captain Jones must be all but ready to put to sea.”

“Then I go at once?”

“Yes; there is a schooner called the Island Queen which sails for Portsmouth at the next tide.”

“Which will be at ten to-night,” said Mr. Jefferson.

“I will be ready,” returned the boy as they arose to their feet, and Mr. Hancock handed him the packet.

“No one aboard the Ranger will know of this packet but yourself and the commander,” said the Virginian. “That is why we desire you to accompany the vessel; it will have another pair of eyes to watch over it.”

“There will be still another pair, if O’Moore is permitted to go with me,” said Ethan, anxiously.

“We had not thought of depriving you of the service of the faithful Longsword,” smiled Mr. Jefferson.

As the Virginian spoke, there came a terrific uproar from without, and Longsword’s voice was heard shouting:

“You thief of the world, to be listening at daysint people’s windows! Take that! and that! and that! ye bla’gard!”

And looking through the window they saw the grim dragoon tearing across the green behind the state house in pursuit of a dark, foreign looking man, while with every “and that,” he aimed a vigorous kick at him.

“Listening at the window!” cried Mr. Hancock.

“A spy!” echoed Mr. Jefferson. “He must be seized!”

Ethan, at these words, shot through the door and sprang away in pursuit; he cried out to Longsword, who at once strove to lay hands upon the man. But the fugitive was a fleeter runner than either of them; full speed toward the river he went, and in a little while was lost in the alleys and winding streets of that district.

CHAPTER III
HOW THE SHALLOP ATTACKED THE ISLAND QUEEN

The skipper of the schooner Island Queen paced his after deck and waited for the strength of the tide. There was a two masted fishing vessel tied up at the other side of the wharf; she was a clean looking craft of the type called shallop, and carried two good sized lug sails. Her captain stood upon the pier, talking to the commander of the schooner.

“You are not the only one that caught good luck at the last minute,” he was saying.

“Who else has got a share of it?” asked the other.

“I have. An hour after you’d told me that you’d got a couple of passengers for Portsmouth, a man came along and engaged my vessel for a run along the coast.”

“What’s he going to do with her?”

“I don’t know. But I’m going along; so I’ll be sure that all’s right.”

“Money’s tight in these days of war,” remarked the skipper of the schooner, “but,” with a shake of the head, “my boat only goes out with reg’lar cargoes and on reg’lar business. I don’t like these queer cruises. I’ve seen strange things happen on ’em.”

The captain of the shallop nodded his head and answered, soberly enough:

“You’re right, cap’en; but I don’t have no reg’lar cargoes, and fishing don’t pay any more, with British privateers always poking their noses into the lower bay. A man must support his family, you know.”

Ethan Carlyle and Longsword stood in the waist, leaning against the schooner’s rail and listening to this conversation. When the skipper of the shallop crossed the pier and climbed into his own vessel, Ethan said:

“Somehow or other I don’t like that.”

“And why not?” asked the Irish dragoon.

“It impresses me oddly. It may be that the possession of important papers has made me nervous, but I can’t help feeling that the sudden hiring of that fishing-boat over there has something to do with us.”

“It may be so,” spoke the trooper. “Sure that villain was not listening to what the gentlemen were saying to ye awhile ago for nothing, Master Ethan.”

“He was a strange looking fellow.”

“Yes; some kind of a brown man like they have in India, and far off places like that. But he was a rare good runner, though,” continued Longsword with high admiration, “and I could reach him no more wid me foot after we’d gone a score of yards.”

There was a brisk wind blowing down stream when the tide got its fully swing towards the sea; the skipper cast off his lines and worked the Island Queen out into the river; then the mainsail, foresail and a jib were set and the vessel headed away on her journey. As they were passing the flats below the city, Ethan, who was leaning over the stern rail with Longsword fancied that he saw a dark loom some distance toward the New Jersey shore.

“It looks like a vessel of some kind,” he said to Shamus.

“Your eyes are younger nor mine,” answered the trooper. “I can see nothing.”

“I’ve been watching that for some time,” said the mate of the schooner, who was at the wheel. “Looks to me like a two master of some sort; and she’s a smart sailer, too; much faster than the Queen.”

An hour passed, and the brisk wind carried the schooner well down the river; but off on her port side clung the creeping low-lying shadow that had attracted Ethan’s attention. The sky was thickly overcast with clouds, the moon was hidden, and darkness hung blackly over the face of the waters.

“That craft may be a smarter sailer than the schooner,” said Ethan to the mate, “but she’s not showing it. She’s been hanging there on that quarter all the way down.”

“That’s what I can’t understand,” said the mate. “I’m sure she could walk away from us were she so minded, but they are holding her in for some reason; they’ve got her out of the wind about half the time.”

No more was said about the shadowy craft for some time, until they were off Reedy Island; then the skipper came on deck at the mate’s request, and scanned the dark waters in search of her.

“Seems to me I do make out something,” he said, rather anxiously. “Been following us down the river, has she?”

“Yes; and she’s headed for us now,” said Ethan, whose eyes were keener than his elder’s. He gazed at the vessel which, sure enough, was now rapidly coming up with them; suddenly he grasped the arm of his companion. “Shamus,” he breathed, “I was right.”

“About what?” asked the Irish soldier.

“About the shallop. That’s the same vessel.”

The captain of the Island Queen turned upon the boy.

“Do you mean the shallop that lay in the dock next us?” asked he.

“I feel sure of it,” answered Ethan.

The captain breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh, then, it’s all well enough. You see her captain is a friend of mine, and I suppose he wants to speak to me.”

“I think,” said Ethan seriously, “that you’ll find that there is something more to it than that.”

“And I agree wid ye,” said Shamus O’Moore; and without another word he dived below.

“Your man seems sort of nervous,” laughed the captain.

“Not he,” smiled Ethan. “If you spoke of nerves to him, I hardly think he’d know what you were talking about.”

“He got below mighty sudden.”

“He’ll be back in a moment. And I fancy he’ll have his tools with him.”

The captain stared, but said nothing more to the lad. Scanning the waters toward the island he spoke to the mate at the wheel in low tones regarding the chart by which he was steering. They were still so engaged when the big lug sails of the shallop came plainly into view and a voice from her deck hailed hoarsely,

“Ahoy, the schooner!”

“Ahoy,” answered the schooner’s skipper promptly.

“Is that the Island Queen?”

“It is. What craft is that?”

“The Saucy Sue, shallop.”

“Oh, is that you, Captain Hutchins?”

There was silence for a moment, then the voice replied:

“Yes; lay to; I want to come aboard of you.”

“Very well,” and the schooner’s commander gave the order to his crew.

But Ethan stepped to his side quickly and said:

“Be careful of what you do.”

The captain laughed and answered, “Oh, I see that the Irishman is not the only person aboard the Queen that’s nervous. You’ve got a touch of that complaint yourself, my lad.”

“It’s not a question of nerves,” said Ethan quietly. “But it’s been my experience that one vessel does not hang in the wake of another for any good purpose.”

“Your experience,” cried the skipper good humoredly; “listen to that, Mr. Jarvis!”

The mate grinned and said:

“Sounds kind of curious to hear a boy talk like that to two old salts, don’t it?”

“What experience have you had on blue water, and with mysterious craft, sonny?” asked the Queen’s skipper, humorously.

“Enough to teach me not to do what you have done,” answered the boy. “Coasting is easy, steady going work enough here in these northern waters when there is no Englishman about; but I’ve sailed in ships that have cleared the decks for action at the beginning of a voyage, and kept them cleared except for the bodies of half breed pirates who boarded them.”

The skipper looked at the mate; in the light of the compass lantern it was to be seen that that worthy had lost his grin.

“Where was that, youngster?” asked he.

“In the Gulf and West Indian waters,” said Ethan. “My grandfather and my father composed the firm of Clarette & Co.”

The schooner was, by this time, rocking idly upon the waters of the bay; and the shallop was drawing nearer with each moment. There was no man who followed the sea in the western world who had not heard of the great firm of Clarette & Co., shipowners, now passed out of existence; and with a quiet smile Ethan noticed the increased respect with which the captain and mate of the schooner regarded him. Just then Longsword came stamping upon deck; he had his huge, double-edged blade belted about him; in his hands he carried Ethan’s sword and a couple of brace of heavy pistols.

“We are ready for them, asthore, no matter who they are,” cried he as he handed the boy his weapons, drew his heavy blade and whirled it about his head with a swishing sound that caused the seamen in his neighborhood to duck their heads instinctively.

“You two are taking a great deal of pains for nothing,” growled the captain. “I tell you there is no danger of any kind to be expected from that craft there. I’ve known her captain for years.”

“Her captain, yes,” said Ethan, evenly. “But you do not know the men who have engaged her from him, nor what their purpose is.”

“You are right,” said the captain, after a pause. “He told me only to-night that some people had chartered his vessel for a cruise of some kind. Do you reckon,” and he regarded Ethan closely, “that they are after you folks?”

“I’m not at all sure,” answered the lad, “but I am inclined to think that they are.”

“And come to look at the thing right between the eyes,” spoke the mate, “I don’t think that was Captain Hutchins or any of his people that hailed us. It was a strange voice to me.”

This seemed to settle the matter in the captain’s mind, and whirling about he gave quick, sharp orders to get the vessel into the wind. But he was too late. The Island Queen still hung, when the smart shallop drew alongside.

“Ahoy,” shouted a voice from the latter’s deck. “Take care there; you’ll be afoul of us.”

“Then sheer off,” yelled the schooner’s captain.

“But we want to speak to you.”

“Sheer off, I tell you,” bellowed the frightened captain of the schooner, “or I’ll run you down!”

“Lay that old tub to, or I’ll send a couple of musket shot into your hide,” shouted the voice threateningly.

“He’ll be aboard of us in a minute,” cried the captain.

“Have you any arms on board?” asked Ethan quietly, as he looked to the priming of his pistols and slipped his sword in and out of the scabbard to assure himself that it was free.

“A couple of cutlasses and pikes,” said the skipper; “and a brace of pistols in the cabin.”

“Then get them on deck if ye love me,” cried Longsword. “These are a couple of stout looking lads ye have here, and wid a few feet of cold steel in their fists they ought to do good work.”

As the sides of the two vessels ground together the weapons were produced. Ethan and the Irish dragoon stationed themselves in the waist, the mate took two men armed with long handled pikes into the bow, while the captain and three others were left to defend the after deck.

No sooner had they reached these positions overlooking the shallop than a grapple was thrown aboard and fastened the two craft together.

“Bad luck to him for an impudent villain,” growled Longsword, “but he goes about it in workmanlike style.”

“It’s not the first ship he’s cut out, whoever he is,” answered Ethan.

“Steady,” grumbled the low-pitched voice of the swordsman. “Here they come, me jewel!”

The waist was the point at which it was chosen to board the schooner. A sharp snapping of pistols that spat redly through the darkness preceded the rush. Then a dozen active figures swarmed up the sides of the Island Queen, cutlass and pistol in hand. But bold as they appeared to be it is doubtful if they would have made the attempt had they known what awaited them upon the schooner’s deck.

As they sprang upon the rail they were met with a sharp fusilade of pistol shots that sent two of their number headlong into the bay; then Ethan and the grim dragoon drew their blades and fell upon them.

The officers and crew of the Island Queen could never tell just what happened there in the schooner’s waist in the dim light of the lanterns. They saw a dreadful whirl of blows, two swords that looked like circles of flame, two straining, panting, laboring figures that seemed to carry death in their hands. Then the decks were cleared; the shallop drew off slowly, firing an occasional musket shot, while the cries of pain from her deck showed how fierce had been her crew’s repulse.

“Go about after her,” yelled Shamus O’Moore, “we’ll board and take her, so we will!”

The officers and crew of the schooner had not struck a blow, and were very well satisfied to let matters remain as they were.

“She’s getting up sail,” said the skipper, peering through the darkness. “And we could never come up with her.”

This was true, as Ethan saw at once; under press of the two spreading lugs the shallop was already nothing but a shadow.

“Did you make out the faces of any of them?” asked Ethan, when the Island Queen was once more under way.

“I did not,” answered the trooper, as he cleaned the blade of his sword with the frayed end of a rope. “I were too busy cracking the heads of them. And when they went over the side they took all the hurted ones wid them.”

There was silence between them for a moment. Ethan was loading his pistols, the ex-dragoon rubbed industriously at his blade, and the seamen hurried about their duties. Then Shamus spoke once more.

“I didn’t see sorra the one of them, Master Ethan; but there is one thing I feel mortal sure of.”

“And what’s that, old Longsword?”

“That brown man was in that craft. He had a crooked kind of a knife and he were poking it at the ribs of me in the darkness. I didn’t see him; but just the same I felt that he was there.”

“I have no doubt,” said Ethan gravely enough, “but what you are right. And perhaps we’ll hear from him again.”

CHAPTER IV
SHOWS HOW THE RANGER SAILED FOR FRANCE

Because of a succession of contrary winds the schooner Island Queen did not enter Portsmouth harbor for almost two weeks after the time she left the Delaware Capes. As they ran up under light sail, the skipper pointed to a sloop-of-war riding at anchor, and with a strange looking flag flying at her peak.

“That’s the ship you are looking for, I think,” he said.

“Yes; she seems like a new vessel,” said Ethan Carlyle, gazing earnestly at the craft. “See, they are only bending her after sails.”

“She’s a foreigner,” spoke the mate of the schooner who stood by. “Look at the flag she’s flying.”

“I hadn’t noticed that,” said the captain staring at the striped emblem with its cluster of white stars in a blue field. “It can’t be the Ranger, after all, for she wouldn’t be flying those colors.”

Ethan looked at the flag and laughed softly, as did Shamus, who was at his side.

“Faith, then, captain, dear,” said Longsword with a droll twinkle in his eye, “it’s a queer thing indeed if ye don’t know the flag of your own country.”

“Of my own country!”

“To be sure, for I take ye to be an American.”

“You are correct in that,” said the skipper proudly. “But I’ve never seen that flag before.”

“No wonder,” said Ethan, “for I very much doubt if it ever flew above a ship’s deck before. It is the new flag of the United States, recently adopted. I saw the first one not so long ago. Indeed, I had the honor of carrying it from the home of mistress Betsy Ross, who made it, to the State House; and I remember that the members of the Congress and General Washington, who was in the capitol at the time, admired it very much.”

“Well, the design is an improvement over the old rattle-snake and pine-tree flags,” admitted the captain, after careful inspection. “It looks well when it ripples in the breeze, doesn’t it?”

The schooner had drawn near the war ship, and the mate hailed her.

“Ahoy! is that the American ship, Ranger?”

“It is,” came the prompt reply from the deck of the other vessel.

“We are going to send a boat to you.”

“Heave ahead, my hearty.”

A skiff was lowered over the schooner’s stern, and Ethan and Longsword were rowed to the war ship’s side and clambered to the deck.

“Well, sir,” demanded a harsh looking man in the dress of a lieutenant.

“I desire to see Captain Jones, if he is aboard,” said Ethan, quietly.

“The captain is very busy just now. I am Lieutenant Simpson, and will attend to any business that you may have.”

There was a studied affront in the man’s manner that angered Ethan; but he replied, still quietly:

“My business is with the commander of this ship in person, if you please.”

“You will state your business to me, or you go over the side,” rapped out the harsh faced lieutenant.

“I will do neither one nor the other. I am here upon a special errand of much importance, and if Captain Jones is in the ship I demand to see him.”

The lieutenant burst into a tirade of abuse, which made Longsword stiffen and glare menacingly with his hand upon his hilt. But just then there came a light, brisk step upon the deck and a calm voice asked,

“Mr. Simpson, what is all this ado about?”

The first officer of the Ranger colored a trifle, and turning, said:

“This boy was impudent.”

“Ah! In what way?”

“He—he asked to see you.”

A low laugh of amusement greeted this statement.

“Well, I must say that I see no great impudence in that.” The speaker turned to Ethan, and continued: “Do you wish to speak to me?”

“Are you Captain John Paul Jones?” asked the lad.

“I am.”

Ethan stared in surprise. The fame of this new and brilliant sea chief was so great that he had, somehow, expected to see a huge and formidable man with fierce, weather-beaten features and the bearing of a buccaneer. But instead he found before him a rather small, slightly-built young man with a brisk air, a pair of the keenest dark eyes in the world, and a pleasant, resolute face.

“I beg your pardon,” stammered the lad, after he had recovered from his surprise and realized that he had been staring. He drew out a paper which the president of Congress had given him, and handed it to the young commander of the Ranger. The latter broke the seal, and as he unfolded the sheet of stiff paper Ethan had a glimpse of the beautifully regular handwriting of Mr. Hancock. A glance was sufficient to show John Paul Jones the purport of the missive. He glanced at Ethan in some surprise and then said:

“Will you kindly come down to my cabin?”

Ethan descended after him, and when once they were within the cabin and the door closed, the commander of the Ranger continued:

“I was expecting the packet which you bring, but hardly expected so youthful a messenger.”

Ethan smiled. John Paul Jones was a gentleman who possessed the knack of manner that causes strangers to feel at their ease; and the boy replied:

“And I hardly expected to find the captain of this ship so young a man.”

“Age on the sea,” said John Paul Jones, humorously, “comes with experience and not with years.” He regarded Ethan closely for a moment, and proceeded shrewdly, “And for all your youth, you are not a stranger to blue water, I take it.”

“I made my first voyage at five,” answered Ethan, “and witnessed my first sea fight through an empty port-hole. At ten I swarmed up to the royal yards of my father’s ship with a musket as tall as myself and helped to beat off an Algerian corsair just off the African coast.”

Captain Jones held out his hand, which the boy promptly clasped.

“Good,” said the former. “I like that; and now sit down and tell me all that Mr. Hancock and Mr. Jefferson had to say about this business.”

They seated themselves at the cabin table and Ethan proceeded to relate all that the president of Congress and the great Virginian had told him. And all the while he watched the mobile face before him, and an undercurrent of thought examined the history of the sailor as he had heard it from Mr. Jefferson some months before.

John Paul Jones was born on July 6th, in the year 1747, in a cottage on the estate of Arbigland, in the county of Kirkcudbright, Scotland; and his parents had been very poor and humble people indeed. It was a stern, wild place; to the rear was a lofty and rugged mountain, to the front was the wide Solway, where as a child he could by daylight see the white sails of the ships, and by night hear the solemn strokes of their deep-toned bells. He came to love the sea with a great love; he played at being sailor when he scarce could toddle, and his favorite toys were the little ships which an elder brother would make for him.

He went to sea at the age of twelve, and at twenty was a captain in the Scottish merchantman, John, sailing out of Whitehaven. Coming to America to settle the estate of a brother who died in Virginia he had remained, and upon the breaking out of the war between the colonies and England he had entered the infant navy as first lieutenant of the Alfred.

When Ethan had finished he drew out the packet of papers sealed with the big splotches of red wax, and John Paul Jones locked it carefully away in a heavy, oaken chest.

“Mr. Hancock was right,” said he to Ethan. “Everything depends upon an alliance with France. With the help that her heavy fleets would render us, the troops that she could send now and then, and above all the embarrassment that a war between her and England would cause the latter country, we could gain a peace with perfect freedom and honor.”

They talked for some time, and then the conversation drifted upon the subject of the Ranger.

“Yes,” said her captain, “she is a new ship. It was at first thought to have her carry twenty-six guns; but I saw at once that she was too slight in structure to carry so heavy a battery, so I have mounted but eighteen six-pounders. And when I get her into a French port I’m going to make some changes that I think the trip across the Atlantic will show to be necessary.”

Ethan and Shamus secured lodgings in the town until such time as the ship would sail. Much trouble was experienced in shipping a crew. The seamen demanded advance money, and the commander was forced to pay it to them out of his own private funds, as Congress sent him none for the purpose. And indeed this was no new thing for this brave and generous officer to do, as Ethan subsequently discovered. The government was already in his debt to the amount of seven thousand dollars; and he had once fitted the brig Providence for sea, paying every copper of the expense.

It was in the month of October that the Ranger, everything being ready, finally dropped down the bay and squared away for France. Ethan and Longsword were provided with sleeping quarters with the younger officer of the ship and took their meals in the gun room. Mr. Simpson and Mr. Hall the first and second officers, were grumbling, discontented men, and before John Paul Jones was done with them they gave him much trouble. The third officer, Mr. Wallingford, was a pleasant, good humored young man with a fund of bright stories and much ability as a sailor.

From the first, Simpson did all he could to annoy Ethan; he had undertaken to do the same for Longsword, but the first petty act of malice in this direction brought such a long, steady, menacing stare from that grim faced trooper that the thing was not repeated.

“Mr. Simpson seems not to like me,” said Ethan, on the second day out, to Mr. Wallingford.

“You are apparently a friend to Captain Jones,” said the third lieutenant. “And as a man with half an eye can see, he hates the captain like poison.”

“And why?”

“Just because he’s the skipper, I suppose,” said Wallingford, with a shrug. “Simpson is one of those men who hate all those who are placed over them. He got his rank by influence, and fancies that the command should have been given him.”

“I wouldn’t like to sail under him,” said Ethan.

“It is rather a good thing that you don’t belong to the ship,” agreed Wallingford. “He’d make life a burden for you, if you did.”

“And not belonging to the ship I have a right to resent insult even from the first lieutenant,” said Ethan Carlyle. “And if Mr. Simpson continues as he has he’ll find that I know how.”