"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!