“Sure, then,” snapped the other, “if I carried the guns aboard of me that the Drake do, as she lies there in Belfast Lough, you would not be so ready to come near me, perhaps.” “The Drake?” questioned Captain Jones, with interest. “You mean, I suppose, the British ship-of-war of that name?” “I do,” returned the fisherman. “And she is a fine vessel, for she carries twenty guns and a hundred and fifty men.” The commander of the Ranger turned to his first officer, briskly. “I think, Mr. Simpson,” said he, “that we’ll change our course for Belfast Lough and see what can be done with that vessel.” “We are not out to engage warships,” growled Simpson, sullenly. “We are out to engage anything that promises to injure the enemy,” said the captain sharply. “You will please pass my order along.” The lieutenant did as requested. It is noted of this insubordinate officer that he seemed to regard the voyage of the Ranger more as an enterprise for private gain than anything else; a rich merchantman pleased him greatly; but he had little or no stomach for a fight with a vessel that carried any weight of metal. More sail was made upon the ship when she was brought into her new course; in the mouth of the Lough she beat to and fro until night, then she ran into the harbor. The Drake lay well up in the harbor, and it was Captain Jones’ intention to lay the Ranger alongside her and board. “When I give the word,” said he to the boatswain, who was in charge of a group of men on the forecastle deck, “let go the bow anchors.” Cutlasses, boarding-pikes and pistols were distributed, and the crew stood ready. With a magnificent display of seamanship John Paul Jones brought the Ranger up and laid her athwart the Drake. “Let go the anchor,” he commanded in a low voice. There was a scuffling and stumbling among the seamen in the bow; the anchor-chain rattled, then stopped; the American sloop-of-war drifted down past the lee quarter of the Englishman; at this point the anchor fell with a loud plunge, and the Ranger lay directly under the broadside of the Drake. There was a stir among the watch upon the British ship’s deck. “Ahoy, there, you blundering lubber!” yelled a voice. “What are you about?” “No harm done,” answered Captain Jones, promptly. “Anchor-chain fouled.” Then in a low tone he added: “Cut that cable and let the anchor go.” Ethan Carlyle seized an axe from the rack, and with a deft, sure blow severed the thick line; the Ranger drifted slowly out of her dangerous position; as another attempt of the same sort could not be risked, sail was clapped upon her and she raced out of the Lough like a hunted hare. “It’s a rare good thing she took us for a clumsy merchantman,” commented Ethan to Captain Jones, as they stood together upon the deck. “She could have raked us from stem to stern as we lay there, and we could not have brought a single gun to bear on her.”