As if both to change the subject a little, as well as put his visitor in better mood—though indeed it might have been but covertly to play with his enthusiasm—the man of wisdom now drew his chair confidentially nearer to the stranger’s, and putting one hand in a very friendly, conciliatory way upon his visitor’s knee, and rubbing it gently to and fro there, much as a lion-tamer might soothingly manipulate the aggravated king of beasts, said in a winning manner:—“Never mind at present, Captain, about the ‘_Indien_’ affair. Let that sleep a moment. See now, the Jersey privateers do us a great deal of mischief by intercepting our supplies. It has been mentioned to me, that if you had a small vessel—say, even your present ship, the ‘Amphitrite,’—then, by your singular bravery, you might render great service, by following those privateers where larger ships durst not venture their bottoms; or, if but supported by some frigates from Brest at a proper distance, might draw them out, so that the larger vessels could capture them.” “Decoy-duck to French frigates!—Very dignified office, truly!” hissed Paul in a fiery rage. “Doctor Franklin, whatever Paul Jones does for the cause of America, it must be done through unlimited orders: a separate, supreme command; no leader and no counsellor but himself. Have I not already by my services on the American coast shown that I am well worthy all this? Why then do you seek to degrade me below my previous level? I will mount, not sink. I live but for honor and glory. Give me, then, something honorable and glorious to do, and something famous to do it with. Give me the _Indien_” The man of wisdom slowly shook his head. “Everything is lost through this shillyshallying timidity, called prudence,” cried Paul Jones, starting to his feet; “to be effectual, war should be carried on like a monsoon, one changeless determination of every particle towards the one unalterable aim. But in vacillating councils, statesmen idle about like the cats’-paws in calms. My God, why was I not born a Czar!” “A Nor’wester, rather. Come, come, Captain,” added the sage, “sit down, we have a third person present, you see,” pointing towards Israel, who sat rapt at the volcanic spirit of the stranger. Paul slightly started, and turned inquiringly upon Israel, who, equally owing to Paul’s own earnestness of discourse and Israel’s motionless bearing, had thus far remained undiscovered. “Never fear, Captain,” said the sage, “this man is true blue, a secret courier, and an American born. He is an escaped prisoner of war.” “Ah, captured in a ship?” asked Paul eagerly; “what ship? None of mine! Paul Jones never was captured.” “No, sir, in the brigantine Washington, out of Boston,” replied Israel; “we were cruising to cut off supplies to the English.” “Did your shipmates talk much of me?” demanded Paul, with a look as of a parading Sioux demanding homage to his gewgaws; “what did they say of Paul Jones?”