THEY CALL AT THE EARL OF SELKIRK’S, AND AFTERWARDS FIGHT THE
SHIP-OF-WAR DRAKE.
The Ranger now stood over the Solway Frith for the Scottish shore, and
at noon on the same day, Paul, with twelve men, including two officers
and Israel, landed on St. Mary’s Isle, one of the seats of the Earl of
Selkirk.
In three consecutive days this elemental warrior either entered the
harbors or landed on the shores of each of the Three Kingdoms.
The morning was fair and clear. St. Mary’s Isle lay shimmering in the
sun. The light crust of snow had melted, revealing the tender grass and
sweet buds of spring mantling the sides of the cliffs.
At once, upon advancing with his party towards the house, Paul augured
ill for his project from the loneliness of the spot. No being was seen.
But cocking his bonnet at a jaunty angle, he continued his way.
Stationing the men silently round about the house, fallowed by Israel,
he announced his presence at the porch.
A gray-headed domestic at length responded.
“Is the Earl within?”
“He is in Edinburgh, sir.”
“Ah—sure?—Is your lady within?”
“Yes, sir—who shall I say it is?”
“A gentleman who calls to pay his respects. Here, take my card.”
And he handed the man his name, as a private gentleman, superbly
engraved at Paris, on gilded paper.
Israel tarried in the hall while the old servant led Paul into a
parlor.
Presently the lady appeared.
“Charming Madame, I wish you a very good morning.”
“Who may it be, sir, that I have the happiness to see?” said the lady,
censoriously drawing herself up at the too frank gallantry of the
stranger.
“Madame, I sent you my card.”
“Which leaves me equally ignorant, sir,” said the lady, coldly,
twirling the gilded pasteboard.
“A courier dispatched to Whitehaven, charming Madame, might bring you
more particular tidings as to who has the honor of being your visitor.”
Not comprehending what this meant, and deeply displeased, if not
vaguely alarmed, at the characteristic manner of Paul, the lady, not
entirely unembarrassed, replied, that if the gentleman came to view the
isle, he was at liberty so to do. She would retire and send him a
guide.
“Countess of Selkirk,” said Paul, advancing a step, “I call to see the
Earl. On business of urgent importance, I call.”
“The Earl is in Edinburgh,” uneasily responded the lady, again about to
retire.
“Do you give me your honor as a lady that it is as you say?”
The lady looked at him in dubious resentment.
“Pardon, Madame, I would not lightly impugn a lady’s lightest word, but
I surmised that, possibly, you might suspect the object of my call, in
which case it would be the most excusable thing in the world for you to
seek to shelter from my knowledge the presence of the Earl on the
isle.”
“I do not dream what you mean by all this,” said the lady with a
decided alarm, yet even in her panic courageously maintaining her
dignity, as she retired, rather than retreated, nearer the door.
“Madame,” said Paul, hereupon waving his hand imploringly, and then
tenderly playing with his bonnet with the golden band, while an
expression poetically sad and sentimental stole over his tawny face;
“it cannot be too poignantly lamented that, in the profession of arms,
the officer of fine feelings and genuine sensibility should be
sometimes necessitated to public actions which his own private heart
cannot approve. This hard case is mine. The Earl, Madame, you say is
absent. I believe those words. Far be it from my soul, enchantress, to
ascribe a fault to syllables which have proceeded from so faultless a
source.”
This probably he said in reference to the lady’s mouth, which was
beautiful in the extreme.
He bowed very lowly, while the lady eyed him with conflicting and
troubled emotions, but as yet all in darkness as to his ultimate
meaning. But her more immediate alarm had subsided, seeing now that the
sailor-like extravagance of Paul’s homage was entirely unaccompanied
with any touch of intentional disrespect. Indeed, hyperbolical as were
his phrases, his gestures and whole carriage were most heedfully
deferential.
Paul continued: “The Earl, Madame, being absent, and he being the sole
object of my call, you cannot labor under the least apprehension, when
I now inform you, that I have the honor of being an officer in the
American Navy, who, having stopped at this isle to secure the person of
the Earl of Selkirk as a hostage for the American cause, am, by your
assurances, turned away from that intent; pleased, even in
disappointment, since that disappointment has served to prolong my
interview with the noble lady before me, as well as to leave her
domestic tranquillity unimpaired.”
“Can you really speak true?” said the lady in undismayed wonderment.
“Madame, through your window you will catch a little peep of the
American colonial ship-of-war, Ranger, which I have the honor to
command. With my best respects to your lord, and sincere regrets at not
finding him at home, permit me to salute your ladyship’s hand and
withdraw.”
But feigning not to notice this Parisian proposition, and artfully
entrenching her hand, without seeming to do so, the lady, in a
conciliatory tone, begged her visitor to partake of some refreshment
ere he departed, at the same time thanking him for his great civility.
But declining these hospitalities, Paul bowed thrice and quitted the
room.
In the hall he encountered Israel, standing all agape before a Highland
target of steel, with a claymore and foil crossed on top.
“Looks like a pewter platter and knife and fork, Captain Paul.”
“So they do, my lion; but come, curse it, the old cock has flown; fine
hen, though, left in the nest; no use; we must away empty-handed.”
“Why, ain’t Mr. Selkirk in?” demanded Israel in roguish concern.
“Mr. Selkirk? Alexander Selkirk, you mean. No, lad, he’s not on the
Isle of St. Mary’s; he’s away off, a hermit, on the Isle of Juan
Fernandez—the more’s the pity; come.”
In the porch they encountered the two officers. Paul briefly informed
them of the circumstances, saying, nothing remained but to depart
forthwith.
“With nothing at all for our pains?” murmured the two officers.
“What, pray, would you have?”
“Some pillage, to be sure—plate.”
“Shame. I thought we were three gentlemen.”
“So are the English officers in America; but they help themselves to
plate whenever they can get it from the private houses of the enemy.”
“Come, now, don’t be slanderous,” said Paul; “these officers you speak
of are but one or two out of twenty, mere burglars and light-fingered
gentry, using the king’s livery but as a disguise to their nefarious
trade. The rest are men of honor.”
“Captain Paul Jones,” responded the two, “we have not come on this
expedition in much expectation of regular pay; but we _did_ rely upon
honorable plunder.”
“Honorable plunder! That’s something new.”
But the officers were not to be turned aside. They were the most
efficient in the ship. Seeing them resolute, Paul, for fear of
incensing them, was at last, as a matter of policy, obliged to comply.
For himself, however, he resolved to have nothing to do with the
affair. Charging the officers not to allow the men to enter the house
on any pretence, and that no search must be made, and nothing must be
taken away, except what the lady should offer them upon making known
their demand, he beckoned to Israel and retired indignantly towards the
beach. Upon second thoughts, he dispatched Israel back, to enter the
house with the officers, as joint receiver of the plate, he being, of
course, the most reliable of the seamen.
The lady was not a little disconcerted on receiving the officers. With
cool determination they made known their purpose. There was no escape.
The lady retired. The butler came; and soon, several silver salvers,
and other articles of value, were silently deposited in the parlor in
the presence of the officers and Israel.
“Mister Butler,” said Israel, “let me go into the dairy and help to
carry the milk-pans.”
But, scowling upon this rusticity, or roguishness—he knew not which—the
butler, in high dudgeon at Israel’s republican familiarity, as well as
black as a thundercloud with the general insult offered to an
illustrious household by a party of armed thieves, as he viewed them,
declined any assistance. In a quarter of an hour the officers left the
house, carrying their booty.
At the porch they were met by a red-cheeked, spiteful-looking lass,
who, with her brave lady’s compliments, added two child’s rattles of
silver and coral to their load.
Now, one of the officers was a Frenchman, the other a Spaniard.
The Spaniard dashed his rattle indignantly to the ground. The Frenchman
took his very pleasantly, and kissed it, saying to the girl that he
would long preserve the coral, as a memento of her rosy cheeks.
When the party arrived on the beach, they found Captain Paul writing
with pencil on paper held up against the smooth tableted side of the
cliff. Next moment he seemed to be making his signature. With a
reproachful glance towards the two officers, he handed the slip to
Israel, bidding him hasten immediately with it to the house and place
it in Lady Selkirk’s own hands.
The note was as follows:
“Madame:
“After so courteous a reception, I am disturbed to make you no better
return than you have just experienced from the actions of certain
persons under my command.—actions, lady, which my profession of arms
obliges me not only to brook, but, in a measure, to countenance. From
the bottom of my heart, my dear lady, I deplore this most melancholy
necessity of my delicate position. However unhandsome the desire of
these men, some complaisance seemed due them from me, for their general
good conduct and bravery on former occasions. I had but an instant to
consider. I trust, that in unavoidably gratifying them, I have
inflicted less injury on your ladyship’s property than I have on my own
bleeding sensibilities. But my heart will not allow me to say more.
Permit me to assure you, dear lady, that when the plate is sold, I
shall, at all hazards, become the purchaser, and will be proud to
restore it to you, by such conveyance as you may hereafter see fit to
appoint.
“From hence I go, Madame, to engage, to-morrow morning, his Majesty’s
ship, Drake, of twenty guns, now lying at Carrickfergus. I should meet
the enemy with more than wonted resolution, could I flatter myself
that, through this unhandsome conduct on the part of my officers, I lie
not under the disesteem of the sweet lady of the Isle of St. Mary’s.
But unconquerable as Mars should I be, could but dare to dream, that in
some green retreat of her charming domain, the Countess of Selkirk
offers up a charitable prayer for, my dear lady countess, one, who
coming to take a captive, himself has been captivated.
“Your ladyship’s adoring enemy,
“JOHN PAUL JONES.”
How the lady received this super-ardent note, history does not relate.
But history has not omitted to record, that after the return of the
Ranger to France, through the assiduous efforts of Paul in buying up
the booty, piece by piece, from the clutches of those among whom it had
been divided, and not without a pecuniary private loss to himself,
equal to the total value of the plunder, the plate was punctually
restored, even to the silver heads of two pepper-boxes; and, not only
this, but the Earl, hearing all the particulars, magnanimously wrote
Paul a letter, expressing thanks for his politeness. In the opinion of
the noble Earl, Paul was a man of honor. It were rash to differ in
opinion with such high-born authority.
Upon returning to the ship, she was instantly pointed over towards the
Irish coast. Next morning Carrickfergus was in sight. Paul would have
gone straight in; but Israel, reconnoitring with his glass, informed
him that a large ship, probably the Drake, was just coming out.
“What think you, Israel, do they know who we are? Let me have the
glass.”
“They are dropping a boat now, sir,” replied Israel, removing the glass
from his eye, and handing it to Paul.
“So they are—so they are. They don’t know us. I’ll decoy that boat
alongside. Quick—they are coming for us—take the helm now yourself, my
lion, and keep the ship’s stern steadily presented towards the
advancing boat. Don’t let them have the least peep at our broadside.”
The boat came on, an officer in its bow all the time eyeing the Ranger
through a glass. Presently the boat was within hail.
“Ship ahoy! Who are you?”
“Oh, come alongside,” answered Paul through his trumpet, in a rapid
off-hand tone, as though he were a gruff sort of friend, impatient at
being suspected for a foe.
In a few moments the officer of the boat stepped into the Ranger’s
gangway. Cocking his bonnet gallantly, Paul advanced towards him,
making a very polite bow, saying: “Good morning, sir, good morning;
delighted to see you. That’s a pretty sword you have; pray, let me look
at it.”
“I see,” said the officer, glancing at the ship’s armament, and turning
pale, “I am your prisoner.”
“No—my guest,” responded Paul, winningly. “Pray, let me relieve you of
your—your—cane.”
Thus humorously he received the officer’s delivered sword.
“Now tell me, sir, if you please,” he continued, “what brings out his
Majesty’s ship Drake this fine morning? Going a little airing?”
“She comes out in search of you, but when I left her side half an hour
since she did not know that the ship off the harbor was the one she
sought.”
“You had news from Whitehaven, I suppose, last night, eh?”
“Aye: express; saying that certain incendiaries had landed there early
that morning.”
“What?—what sort of men were they, did you say?” said Paul, shaking his
bonnet fiercely to one side of his head, and coming close to the
officer. “Pardon me,” he added derisively, “I had forgot you are my
_guest_. Israel, see the unfortunate gentleman below, and his men
forward.”
The Drake was now seen slowly coming out under a light air, attended by
five small pleasure-vessels, decorated with flags and streamers, and
full of gaily-dressed people, whom motives similar to those which drew
visitors to the circus, had induced to embark on their adventurous
trip. But they little dreamed how nigh the desperate enemy was.
“Drop the captured boat astern,” said Paul; “see what effect that will
have on those merry voyagers.”
No sooner was the empty boat descried by the pleasure-vessels than
forthwith, surmising the truth, they with all diligence turned about
and re-entered the harbor. Shortly after, alarm-smokes were seen
extending along both sides of the channel.
“They smoke us at last, Captain Paul,” said Israel.
“There will be more smoke yet before the day is done,” replied Paul,
gravely.
The wind was right under the land, the tide unfavorable. The Drake
worked out very slowly.
Meantime, like some fiery-heated duellist calling on urgent business at
frosty daybreak, and long kept waiting at the door by the dilatoriness
of his antagonist, shrinking at the idea of getting up to be cut to
pieces in the cold—the Ranger, with a better breeze, impatiently tacked
to and fro in the channel. At last, when the English vessel had fairly
weathered the point, Paul, ranging ahead, courteously led her forth, as
a beau might a belle in a ballroom, to mid-channel, and then suffered
her to come within hail.
“She is hoisting her colors now, sir,” said Israel.
“Give her the stars and stripes, then, my lad.”
Joyfully running to the locker, Israel attached the flag to the
halyards. The wind freshened. He stood elevated. The bright flag blew
around him, a glorified shroud, enveloping him in its red ribbons and
spangles, like up-springing tongues, and sparkles of flame.
As the colors rose to their final perch, and streamed in the air, Paul
eyed them exultingly.
“I first hoisted that flag on an American ship, and was the first among
men to get it saluted. If I perish this night, the name of Paul Jones
shall live. Hark! they hail us.”
“What ship are you?”
“Your enemy. Come on! What wants the fellow of more prefaces and
introductions?”
The sun was now calmly setting over the green land of Ireland. The sky
was serene, the sea smooth, the wind just sufficient to waft the two
vessels steadily and gently. After the first firing and a little
manoeuvring, the two ships glided on freely, side by side; in that mild
air Exchanging their deadly broadsides, like two friendly horsemen
walking their steeds along a plain, chatting as they go. After an hour
of this running fight, the conversation ended. The Drake struck. How
changed from the big craft of sixty short minutes before! She seemed
now, above deck, like a piece of wild western woodland into which
choppers had been. Her masts and yards prostrate, and hanging in
jack-straws; several of her sails ballooning out, as they dragged in
the sea, like great lopped tops of foliage. The black hull and
shattered stumps of masts, galled and riddled, looked as if gigantic
woodpeckers had been tapping them.
The Drake was the larger ship; more cannon; more men. Her loss in
killed and wounded was far the greater. Her brave captain and
lieutenant were mortally wounded.
The former died as the prize was boarded, the latter two days after.
It was twilight, the weather still severe. No cannonade, naught that
mad man can do, molests the stoical imperturbability of Nature, when
Nature chooses to be still. This weather, holding on through the
following day, greatly facilitated the refitting of the ships. That
done, the two vessels, sailing round the north of Ireland, steered
towards Brest. They were repeatedly chased by English cruisers, but
safely reached their anchorage in the French waters.
“A pretty fair four weeks’ yachting, gentlemen,” said Paul Jones, as
the Ranger swung to her cable, while some French officers boarded her.
“I bring two travellers with me, gentlemen,” he continued. “Allow me to
introduce you to my particular friend Israel Potter, late of North
America, and also to his Britannic Majesty’s ship Drake, late of
Carrickfergus, Ireland.”
This cruise made loud fame for Paul, especially at the court of France,
whose king sent Paul, a sword and a medal. But poor Israel, who also
had conquered a craft, and all unaided too—what had he?