The man points to his mount, where it stands with drooping head and quivering flank.
“That is the tenth I’ve had. Horse flesh and hard riding did it!”
Ten minutes after the despatches are put in his hands, Captain Paul Jones is aboard the Ranger. Then comes the tramp of forty feet about the capstan. Twenty powerful breasts are pressed against the capstan bars, and the Ranger is walked up to its anchors, while aloft the brisk top-men are shaking out the sails.
“Anchor up and down, sir!” reports Boatswain Jack Robinson, who has left his Polly at home, while he sails with the Ranger.
“Anchor up and down!” repeats Captain Paul Jones. “Bring her home!”
With a “Heave ho!” the Ranger’s anchors are pulled out of Portsmouth sands. Captain Paul Jones himself takes the wheel and pays off its head before the breeze, already bellying the foresails.
“Give her every stitch you have, Mr. Hall,” says Captain Paul Jones. “We must be clear of the Isles of Shoals by daybreak.”
“And then?” asks Lieutenant Hall.
“East, by south, half east! And Mr. Hall, day and night, blow high, blow low, spread every rag you’ve got. Burgoyne has surrendered. Either I shall tear the sticks out of the Ranger, or spread that news in France in thirty days.”
“More haste, less speed!” murmurs the prudent Lieutenant Hall; and so, having eased his mind like a true seaman, he goes forward heatedly to spread sail.