Captain Paul Jones and his lately estranged lieutenant pacing the deck
together. They were looked upon with pleasure by some who honored them
both, but next day a new whispering was set forward; there was need of
suspicion, since this new alliance might mean concerted betrayal, and
Paul Jones himself was not above being won over to the Tories, being but
an adventurer on his own account. Dickson was as busy as the devil in a
gale of wind. His own plots had so far come to naught; he had not set
these officers to hate each other, or forced them to compass each
other's downfall. On the contrary, they had never really been fast
friends until now.
The only thing was to rouse public opinion against them both. It were
easy enough: he had promised to meet again the man whom he had met in
the tavern the day before,--that messenger of Thornton, who had given
hints of great reward if any one would give certain information which
was already in Dickson's keeping. That night he shook his fist at the
two figures that paced the quarter-deck.
"One of you came out of pride and ambition," he muttered, "and the other
to please his lady! We men are here for our own rights, and to show
that the colonies mean business!"
*XXI*
*THE CAPTAIN GIVES AN ORDER*
"But see how they turn their backs and go out of the city, and how
merrily and joyfully they take the road to Paris."
The captain was dressed in his best uniform, fresh from its tailor's
wrappings, with all his bright lace and gilt buttons none the worse for
sea damp. With manners gay enough to match, he bade good-morning to
whoever appeared, and paced his twelve steps forward and back on the
quarter-deck like the lucky prince in a fairy story. Something had
happened to make a new pleasure; at any rate, Mr. Paul Jones was high
above any sense of displeasure, and well content with the warm
satisfaction of his own thoughts.
Presently this cheerful captain sent a ship's boy to command the
presence of Mr. Wallingford, and Mr. Wallingford came promptly in answer
to the summons. There was so evident a beginning of some high official
function that the lieutenant, not unfamiliar with such affairs, became
certain that the mayor and corporation of Nantes must be expected to
breakfast, and lent himself not unwillingly to the play.
"You will attend me to Paris, sir," announced the commander. "I shall
wait the delays of our Commissioners no longer. 'If you want a good
servant, go yourself,' as our wise adviser, Poor Richard, has well
counseled us. I mean to take him at his word. Can you be ready within
the hour, Mr. Wallingford? 'T is short notice for you, but I have plenty
left of my good Virginia money to serve us on our way. The boat awaits
us."
Wallingford made his salute, and hastened below; his heart beat fast
with pleasure, being a young heart, and the immediate world of France
much to its liking. The world of the Ranger appeared to grow smaller day
by day, and freedom is ever a welcome gift.
When the lieutenant reached his berth the captain's arrangements had
preceded him: there was a sailor already waiting with the leather
portmanteau which Wallingford had brought to sea. The old judge, his
father, had carried it on many an errand of peace and justice, and to
the son it brought a quick reminder of home and college journeys, and a
young man's happy anticipations. The sight of it seemed to change
everything, stained though this old enchanter's wallet might be with sea
water, and its brasses green with verdigris. The owner beheld it with
complete delight; as for the sailor, he misunderstood a sudden gesture,
and thought he was being blamed.
"Cap'n ordered it up, sir; never demeaned hisself to say what for,"
apologized Cooper.
"Take hold now and stow these things I give you," said the excited
lieutenant. "Trouble is, every man on board this ship tries to be
captain. Don't wrap those boots in my clean linen!"
"I ain't no proper servant; takes too much l'arnin'," protested Cooper
good-naturedly, seeing that the young squire was in a happy frame. "Our
folks was all content to be good farmers an' live warm on their own
land, till I took up with follerin' the sea. Lord give me help to get
safe home this time, an' I won't take the chances no more. A ship 's no
place for a Christian."
Wallingford's mind was stretched to the task of making sudden provision
for what might not be a short absence; he could hear the captain's
impatient tramp on the deck overhead.
"I expect old Madam, your lady mother, and my sister Susan was the last
ones to pack your gear for you?" ventured this friend of many years, in
a careful voice, and Wallingford gave him a pat on the shoulder for
answer.
"We 'll speed matters by this journey to Paris, if all goes well," he
replied kindly. "Keep the men patient; there are stirrers-up of trouble
aboard that can do the crew more harm than the captain, if they get
their way. You 'll soon understand everything. France cannot yet act
freely, and we must take long views."
"Wish 't I was to home now," mourned Cooper gloomily.
"Don't fear!" cried Wallingford gayly, though 't was but a pair of days
since he himself had feared everything, and carried a glum face for all
the crew to see. "Good-day, Cooper. If anything should happen to me,
you must carry back word!" he added, with boyish bravado.
"Lord bless you!" said Cooper. "I figur' me darin' to go nigh the gre't
house with any bad tidin's o' you! Marm Susan'd take an' scalp me, 's
if I 'd been the fust to blame." At which they laughed together, and
hurried to the deck.
"'T is high time!" blustered the captain; but once in the boat, he
became light-hearted and companionable. It was as if they had both left
all their troubles behind them.
"There 's Simpson and Sargent and that yellow-faced Dickson leaning over
the side to look after us and think how well they can spare us both,"
grumbled Paul Jones. "I can see them there, whether I turn my head or
not. I 've set them stints enough for a fortnight, and named this day
week for our return. Lay out! lay out!" cried the captain. "Give way,
my lads!" and settled himself in the boat.
The wind was fresh; the waves splashed into the gig as they toiled
steadily up the river. The walls of the old castle looked grim and
high, as they came under the city. In the cathedral abode the one thing
that was dear to Wallingford's heart in this strange place,--the stately
figure of Anne of Brittany, standing at her mother's feet by the great
Renaissance tomb. She wore a look like Mary Hamilton when she was most
serious, so calm and sweet across the brow. The young officer had
discovered this lovely queen, and her still lovelier likeness, on a dark
and downcast day, and had often been grateful since for the pleasure of
beholding her; he now sent a quick thought into the cathedral from the
depths of his fond heart.
The two travelers, in their bright uniforms, hurried up through the busy
town to a large inn, where the captain had ordered his post horses to be
ready. Bretons and Frenchmen both cheered them as they passed the market
place: the errand of the Ranger was well known, and much spending-money
had made most of her ship's company plenty of friends ashore. They took
their seats in the post chaise, not without disappointment on
Wallingford's part, who had counted upon riding a good French horse to
Paris instead of jolting upon stiff springs. There was more than one
day, however; the morning was fresh and bright, and there were too many
mercies beside to let a man groan over anything.
The thought now struck Wallingford, as if he were by far the elder man,
that they might well have worn their every-day clothes upon the journey,
but he had not the heart to speak. The captain wore such an innocent
look of enjoyment, and of frankly accepting the part of a proven hero
and unprotested great man.
"I must order a couple of suits of new uniform from one of their best
tailors," said Mr. Paul Jones, only half conscious of his listener. One
moment the hardened man of affairs and rough sea bully, at the next one
saw him thus; frank, compassionate of others, and amused by small
pleasures,--the sentimental philosopher who scattered largess of alms
like a royal prince all along the white French roads.
"I go north by Rennes and Vitre, and to Paris by Alencon. I am told the
roads are good, and the worst inns passable, while the best are the
best," said the little captain, dropping the last of his lofty manner of
the quarter-deck, and turning to his companion with a most frank air of
good-fellowship. "We can return by the Loire. I hear that we can come
by barge from Orleans to Nantes in four days, lying in the river inns by
night. I have no love for the road I was so sorry on last month, or the
inns that stood beside it."
The young men sat straight-backed and a little pompous in the post
chaise, with their best cocked hats bobbing and turning quickly toward
each other in the pleasures of conversation. Was this the same Paul
Jones who so vexed his ship with bawling voice and harsh behavior, this
quiet, gay-hearted man of the world, who seemed to play the princely
traveler even more easily than he crowded sail on the Ranger all across
the stormy seas,--the flail of whose speech left nobody untouched? He
was so delightful at that moment, so full of charming sympathy and
keenest observation, that all private grievances must have been
dissolved into the sweet French air and the blue heaven over their
heads.
"There were others of my officers who might well go to Paris, but I
wanted the right gentleman with me now," explained the captain with
frankness. "'T is above all a gentleman's place when court matters are
in hand. You have some acquaintance with their language, too, which is
vastly important. I blessed Heaven last time for every word I knew; 't
was most of it hard learnt in my early days, when I was a sailor before
the mast, and had but a single poor book to help me. No man can go much
in the world over here without his French. And you know Paris, too, Mr.
Wallingford, while I am almost a stranger in the streets. I cared not
where I was, in my late distresses, though I had longed to see the
sights of Paris all my life! My whole heart is in the journey now,
tiresome though we may find many a day's long leagues."
"'T is some years since I lived there for a month," said Wallingford
modestly; but a vision of all the pleasure and splendor of the great
city rose to his mind's eye.
"I have suffered unbelievable torture on that petty ship!" exclaimed
Paul Jones suddenly, waving his hand toward the harbor they were fast
leaving out of sight. "Now for the green fields of France and for the
High Commissioners at Paris! I wish to God my old auntie Jean MacDuff,
that was fain to be prood o' me, could see me with my two postilions on
the road, this day." And such was the gayety of the moment, and the
boyish pride of the little sailor, that his companion fairly loved him
for the wish, and began to think tenderly of his own dear love, and of
his mother waiting and watching by the riverside at home.
"'Vitre,'" he repeated presently, with fresh expectation,--"'t is a name
I know well, but I cannot call to mind the associations; of the town of
Rennes I do not remember to have heard."
"I wish that I could have fallen in with their great admiral, Bailli
Suffren," said the captain, leaning back in the post chaise, and heaving
a sigh of perfect content. "We know not where he sails the sea; but if
it chanced that he were now on his way to the fleet at Brest, or going
up to Paris from the sea, like ourselves, and we chanced to meet at an
inn, how I should beg the honor of his acquaintance! The King ought to
put a sailor like that beside him on his throne; as for Bailli Suffren,
he has served France as well as any man who ever lived. Look, there are
two poor sailors of another sort, fresh from their vessel, too! See how
wide they tread from balancing on the decks; they have been long at sea,
poor devils!" he grumbled, as the post chaise overtook a forlorn pair of
seamen, each carrying a loose bundle on his back. They were still young
men, but their faces looked disappointed and sad. Seeing that the
captain fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, Wallingford did the same, and
two bright louis d'or flew through the morning air and dropped at the
sailors' feet. They gave a shout of joy, and the two young lords in the
post chaise passed gayly on.
"They'll sit long at the next inn," said Captain Paul Jones. "They were
thin as those salt fish we shipped for the voyage, at Newcastle."
"A prime dun fish is a dainty not to be despised," urged Wallingford,
true to his local traditions.
"'T is either a dainty, or a cedar shingle well preserved in brine,
which is eatable by no man," pronounced the captain, speaking with the
authority of an epicure. "We must now deal with their best French
dishes while we stay in Paris. Mr. Franklin will no doubt advise us in
regard to their best inns. I was careless of the matter in my first
visit."
"'T was Poor Richard himself said, 'A fat kitchen makes a lean will,'"
laughed Wallingford, "but he is a great man for the proprieties."
*XXII*
*THE GREAT COMMISSIONER*
"The Philosopher showeth you the way."
The heads of the high Vitre houses nodded together above their narrow
streets, as if to gossip about two unexpected cocked hats that passed
below. This uniform of the Continental navy was new enough, but old
Vitre had seen many new and strange things since she herself was young.
The two officers had an air of proud command about them, and seemed to
expect the best rooms at the inn, and the best wines.
"'T was here the famous Marchioness de Sevigne dwelt!" exclaimed
Wallingford, with triumph. "My mother often read a book of her letters
to my father, on a winter evening. I thought them dull then, but I know
now 't was most pretty reading, with something of fresh charm on every
page. She had her castle here at Vitre; she was a very great lady,"
continued the lieutenant, explaining modestly. "She spoke much in her
letters about her orange trees, but I think that she was ill at ease, so
far from Paris."
"We could visit her to-night, if she were still in Vitre," said the
captain. "'T would pass our time most pleasantly, I dare say. But I
take it the poor lady is dead, since we have her memoirs. Yes, I mind
me of the letters, too; I saw them in a handsome binding once at
Arbigland, when I was a lad. The laird's lady, Mrs. Craik, read the
language; she had been much in France, like many of our Scottish
gentlefolk. Perhaps 't was her very castle that we observed as we came
near the town, with the quaint round tower that stood apart."
"'T was the chapel of Madame," said the old French serving man on a
sudden, and in good English. "Messieurs will pardon me, but my
grandfather was long ago one of her head foresters."
The gentlemen turned and received this information with a politeness
equal to that with which it was given.
"'T is a fine country, France," said the little captain handsomely.
"Let us fill our glasses again to the glory of France and the success of
our expedition." Then, "Let us drink to old England too, Mr.
Wallingford, and that she may be brought to reason," he added
unexpectedly, when they had drunk the first toast. "There is no such
soldier-breeder as England; and as for her sailors, they are the
Northmen of old, born again for the glory of a later time."
The next day but two they came into the gate of Paris, and saw the dark
prison of the Bastille, the Tour St. Jacques, and the great cathedral of
Notre Dame. It was late afternoon, and Paris looked like a greater
Vitre, but with higher houses that also nodded together, and a busier
world of shops and palaces and churches. Wallingford returned with
older eyes to see much that had escaped him as a boy. And to Captain
Paul Jones there was a noble assurance in finding the capital city of
his adopted country's allies so rich and splendid; above all, so frankly
gay. There was none of the prim discretion of those English and
Scottish towns with which he was most familiar. Paris was in her prime,
and was wholly independent of trifles, like a fine lady who admitted
these two admiring strangers to the hospitality of her house, with the
unconcern of one whose dwelling was well furnished and well served. The
old French kings had gone away one by one, and left their palaces behind
them,--the long facades of the Louvre, and the pleasant courts of the
Palais Royal, and many another noble pile. Here in Paris, Mr. Benjamin
Franklin, the Bon Homme Richard, was bearing his difficult honors as
first citizen of a new republic, and living on good terms with the best
gentlemen of France. His house, which he had from Monsieur Le Ray de
Chaumont, was at the other end of Paris, at Passy, a village beyond the
suburbs of the great town; and next morning, the young men, well
mounted, rode thither with a groom behind them, and alighted at the
Commissioner's door.
Mr. Benjamin Franklin was in the midst of his morning affairs. He was
dressed in a suit of reddish-brown velvet, with white stockings, and had
laid his white hat beside him on a table which was covered with papers
and a few serious-looking books. It was a Tuesday, and he had been to
court with the rest of the diplomats, having lately been presented, with
the two American Commissioners, his fellows, to his majesty the King.
He rose with a courteous air of welcome, as the young men entered, and
looked sharply at them, and then at their uniforms with much indulgent
interest.
"You are the representatives of our navy. 'T is a very dignified dress;
I am glad to see it,--and to receive its wearers," he added, smiling,
while the officers bowed again gravely.
"I was in a poor enough undress at my first visit, and fresh from travel
in the worst of weather," said Paul Jones, lowering his voice at the sad
remembrance.
"Mr. Wallingford!" and the old Commissioner turned quickly toward the
younger guest. "I remember you as a lad in Portsmouth. As for my good
friend your honored father, he will be unforgettable to those who knew
him. You begin to wear his looks; they will increase, I think, as you
gather age. Sit ye down, gentlemen, sit ye down!" and he waved them to
two straight chairs which stood side by side at some distance down the
room, in the French fashion. Then he seated himself again behind his
table, and gave audience.
Captain Paul Jones was occupied for a moment in placing his heavy sword.
Wallingford was still looking eagerly toward their host.
"You are very good to remember me, sir," he said. "I counted it a great
honor that my father let me attend him that day, at Mr. Warner's dinner.
You will be pleased to know that the lightning conductors are still in
place on the house, and are much shown to strangers in these days as
being of your planning."
The philosopher smiled at his young friend's warmth; there was something
most homely and amiable mingled with his great dignity.
"And my friend Mr. John Langdon? I have deeply considered our
dispatches from him, and especially the letter from Robert Morris, which
agrees in the main with your own ideas, sir," and he bowed to Captain
Paul Jones. "And my friend Langdon?" he repeated, looking for his
answer to the lieutenant. "Mr. Langdon was very well, sir, though much
wearied with his cares, and sent his best remembrances and respects in
case I should be so honored as to see you. And also Mr. Nicholas
Gilman, of Exeter, who was with him, beside many Portsmouth gentlemen,
your old friends."
"Our men at home carry the heaviest burdens," said Mr. Franklin,
sighing, "yet I wish every day that I might be at home, as they are."
"My first lieutenant, Mr. Simpson, is the brother-in-law of Major
Langdon," said Captain Paul Jones, flushing like a boy as he spoke. He
could not help a somewhat uncomfortable sense of being on the
quarter-deck of a commander much greater than himself, and an uncertain
feeling about their relations that tried him very much, but he wore a
manly look and kept to his quietest manners. He had parted from the
Commissioner, at their last interview, in deep distress and a high
passion.
"You have found Lieutenant Simpson an excellent officer, no doubt, with
the large experience of a Portsmouth shipmaster," observed Mr. Franklin
blandly. He cast a shrewd look at the captain; but while his firm mouth
set itself a little more firmly, there was a humorous gleam of half
inquiry, half indulgence, in his wide-set eyes.
"You have spoken him, sir," acknowledged Captain Paul Jones, while with
equal self-possession and a touch of deference he waited for the
Commissioner to lead the conversation further, and thereby did not
displease Mr. Franklin, who had feared an interview of angry accusation
and indignant resentment. Wallingford, too, was conscious of great
pleasure in his captain's bearing.
There was a pause, and Mr. Franklin looked again at the captain, and
bowed slightly from his chair.
"You may say what you have come to say to me, Captain Paul Jones. You
can no doubt trust Mr. Wallingford, you see that I have for the moment
dismissed my secretary."
"I can trust Mr. Wallingford," answered the captain, holding himself
steady, but rising from the chair unconsciously, and taking a step
nearer to the table. His new cocked hat was crushed under his arm, and
Wallingford could see that the whole figure of the man was in a nervous
quiver.
"I can trust Mr. Wallingford," he repeated sternly, "but I am sorry that
I cannot say the same of Lieutenant Simpson. I have suffered too much
already at his hands through his endeavors to supplant me as commander
of the Ranger. He has descended to the poor means of disputing my
authority before my crew, and stimulating them in their rebellion and
surly feelings. A crew is easily prejudiced against its superiors. You
must be well aware, sir, how difficult a proper government may become at
sea; 't is a hard life at best for crew or captain, and its only safety
is in wise control and decent obedience."
"Do you desire to make formal complaint of your lieutenant? It is
hardly my province," said the Commissioner. The amused look had left
his eyes, and they were as firm now as if he were a great judge on the
bench.
"I respect your anxieties," he added next moment, when he saw that he
held the captain in check. "I am not unaware of your high aims, your
great disappointment, or your most difficult conditions of the present.
But these conditions and the varieties of human nature among so large a
ship's company were not unknown to you. The uncongenial man and the
self-seeking, unwilling assistant must always be borne with patience,
among our fellows. Besides, we pardon anything to those we love, and
forgive nothing to those we hate. You may go on, sir."
"The trouble has come in great measure from an open understanding, long
before we set sail out of Portsmouth, that I was to be given another
frigate immediately upon my arrival, and that Simpson was to take
command of the Ranger in my stead," said Paul Jones. "Now that all is
over in regard to the Indien, he can fret under the long delay no worse
than I, but shows his impatience of my orders at times and seasons when
it ill befits him, and most wrongs and debases me; he behaves, on the
slightest provocation, as if I had deeply injured him, and gives no
reason why. He is my senior in age, which has added much to the
difficulty between us. He loses no chance to hint that I am bent on
selfish ends; even, I believe, that my principles, my character, may be
questioned in this matter. My crew have become sensitive to the fear
that I cannot be trusted, owing to my Scottish birth and early life
spent upon British vessels,--as if they were any of them of a very
different blood and descent! There is a worse man on board than
Simpson, a man named Dickson, who, to further his own ends, furthers the
lieutenant's. He has insisted from the first that Mr. Wallingford is a
Tory spy, and that the Ranger should be in the hands of those who could
fill their pockets with prize money. He, and perhaps Simpson himself,
bewail their disappointment at discovering that a man-of-war is not the
same as a privateer. Their ignorance of statecraft and the laws of
naval science and duty seems to make them smile with derision at all
proper discipline as if at some pompous horseplay."