There is a skurry across the _Ranger_‘s decks, as the men rush from the port to the starboard battery. “Stand by, Mr. Starbuck,” calls ont Captain Paul Jones, “to rake her as we cross her stern.” “Ay, ay, sir!” returns the master-gunner. “She shall have it for’ard and aft, as my old gran’am shells peas cods!” “Steady, Mr. Sargent!” and again Captain Paul Jones cautions the alert wheelman. “Keep her as she is!” The guns are swung, and depressed so as to tear the poor _Drake_ open from stern-post to cutwater at one discharge. The _Ranger_ gathers head; slowly she makes ready to cross her enemy’s stern so close that one might chuck a biscuit aboard. It is a moment fraught of life and death for the unhappy _Drake_. With her captain and first officer already dead, the situation proves beyond the second officer, on whom the responsibility of fighting or surrendering the ship devolves. His sullen British soul gives way; and he strikes his colors just in time to avoid that raking fire which would else have snuffed him off the face of the sea. “Out-fought, out-manoeuvred, and out-sailed!” exclaims Captain Paul Jones. Lieutenant Hall, flushed of combat, comes up. “We have beaten them, Captain!” exults Lieutenant Hall. “We’ve done more than that, Mr. Hall,” responds Captain Paul Jones. “We have defeated an aphorism, and made a precedent. For the first time in the history of the sea, a lighter ship, with a smaller crew and a weaker battery, has whipped an Englishman.” CHAPTER XIII--THE DUCHESS OF CHARTRES It is a notable gathering that assembles at Doctor Franklin’s house in Passy. Mr. Adams and his wife have just arrived, and the doctor presents them to Madame Brillon and Madame Houdetot, already there. “Mr. Adams is but recently come from America,” the doctor whispers. “He takes Mr. Dean’s place as a member of our commission.” Madame Houdetot talks with Mrs. Adams; and because of her bad English and the other’s bad French they get on badly. “Mr. Lee sends his compliments,” observes Mr. Adams, loftily, to Doctor Franklin, “and regrets that he cannot come. He heard, I understand, that Captain Paul Jones is to be here, and does not care to meet him.” “No?” responds the doctor, evincing scanty concern at the failure of Mr. Lee to come. “Now I do not wonder! I hear that Captain Jones thrashed Mr. Lee’s secretary in a tavern at Nantes, and our proud Mr. Lee, I suppose, resents it.” “Thrashed him!” exclaims Mr. Adams, in high tones; “Captain Jones seized a stick and beat him like a dog, applying to him the while such epithets as ‘liar!’ and ‘spy.’ Mr. Lee’s secretary has left France through fear of him.” The portly doctor lifts his hands at this; but underneath his deprecatory horror, hides a complacency, a satisfaction, as though the violence of Captain Jones will not leave him utterly unstrung.