“Now I thought, if you’ve no objections, I’d just poke the _Ranger_‘s nose into the Irish Sea, and take a look at Whitehaven. You know I was born by the Solway, and the coast I speak of is an old acquaintance.” “I see no objection, Captain, save the smallness of your ship.” “That is easily answered; for I give you my word, Doctor, the little _Ranger_ can sail round any English ship on the home station. I shall be safe, no fear; for what I can’t whip I can run from.” “Have you spoken to my brother commissioners?” Doctor Franklin looks up, a grim, expectant twinkle in his gray eyes. Captain Paul Jones cracks his fingers in angry impatience. “Forgive me, Doctor, if I’m frank to the frontiers of rudeness. Of what avail to speak to Mr. Dean, who is asleep? Of what avail to speak to Mr. Lee, who surrounds himself with British spies like that creature Thornton, his private secretary? I ask you plain questions, Doctor, for I know you to be a practical man.” The philosopher grins knowingly. “Please do not speak of British spies to Commissioner Lee, Captain Jones. My task in France is enough difficult as it stands.” “And on that account, Doctor, and on that alone, I have so far refrained from saying aught to Mr. Lee. But I tell you I misdoubt the man. His fellow Thornton I know to be in daily communication with the English admiralty! he clinks English gold in his pockets as the wage of his treason. This, were there no one save myself to consider, I should say in the face of Arthur Lee; ay! for that matter in the face of all the Lees that ever hailed from Virginia. I tell you this, Doctor, for your own guidance.” Then, following a pause: “Not that it sets politely with my years to go cautioning one so much my superior in age, wisdom and experience.” The philosopher glances up from the violets. “Possibly, Captain Jones, I have already given myself that caution. However, concerning your proposed cruise: I shall leave all to your judgment. Certainly, our warships, as you say, were meant for battle-work, and not to waste their lives junketing about French ports.” “One thing, doctor,” observes Captain Paul Jones, at parting: “Tell your fellow commissioners that I’ve cleared for the west coast of Ireland, with a purpose to go north-about around the British islands. If you let them hear I’m off for Whitehaven, I give you my honor that, with the spy Thornton selling my blood to the English admiralty, I shall have the whole British fleet at my heels before I reach St. George’s Channel.” Captain Paul Jones, in command of the _Ranger_, drops in at Whitehaven. With twenty-nine of his lads he goes ashore of a dripping morning, pens up the sleepy garrisons of the two forts, and spikes their guns. Then, having spikes to spare, he makes useless a shore battery, while the ballad-mongering Midshipman Hill, with six men, chases inland one hundred coast guardsmen and militia.