Commodore Paul Jones gives the French Ambassador possession of the _Serapis_. Also, he waxes sarcastic, and intimates that it is the only way by which the French could have gotten the _Serapis_ into their hands. This piece of wit does him no good, when later he asks it back from De Sartine. Sullen and dogged, he prepares to go aboard the Alliance, and orders the crew of the _Serapis_ to follow. Again the French Ambassador interferes. What French subjects are on the musters of the Alliance and _Serapis_ must be left in his charge. Commodore Paul Jones is to have none but Americans. At this some sixty Danes speak up. They may not be Americans, but at least they are not French. Making this announcement, the gallant Scands refuse the orders of the French Ambassador, and pack their kits for the _Alliance_. These Danes are of the true viking litter, with yellow hair and steel-gray eyes. Their action comes like balm to the sore heart of Commodore Paul Jones. Later when he musters his reorganized crew aboard the _Alliance_, and makes them a brief talk, he speaks of the desertion of the French. He is interrupted by a youth--small and light and delicate. The youth steps out from among the sailors, and with him come four others. The youth bows half-way to the deck. “No,” he says--“no, Monsieur le Commodore, not all the French have desert. I, Pierre Gerard, am still with you--I, and my four bold comrades, who are brave men.” “They wants to stay, sir,” vouchsafes Boatswain Jack Robinson, coming forward to the aid of little Pierre and his companions. “An’ so, d’ye see, since I always likes to encourage zeal, I stows ‘em away in the long boat till that frog-eatin’ Ambassador is over the side. An’ so, here they be, game as pebbles, an’ a credit to the sta’board watch.” All his prisoners and wounded have been put ashore, under arrangements with the Dutch and the gouty Sir Joseph. Aboard the _Alliance_, Commodore Paul Jones finds himself at the head of four hundred and twelve war-hardened wolves of the sea, American blood to a man, all save the sixty vikings, and little Pierre with his four. CHAPTER XX--AIMEE ADELE DE TELISON It is Christmas day. Out of the furious southwest blows a storm. The English ships, guarding the mouth of the Helder, are driven from their stations, and carried far out to sea. Tired of the Texel, with its French and English and Dutch, Commodore Paul Jones, taking advantage of the English scudding seaward before the gale, runs out with the _Alliance_, and lays her nose for the English coast, in the very face of the weather.