“They are in America,” retorts Lieutenant Mayrant. “Neither shall you palter or split hairs! Pistols it shall be; or I tell you frankly that the officers of the Serapis, ay! the very foc’sel hands, will beat you and drub you for a cowardly swab, wherever they come across you.”
Landais does not respond directly to this. He walks up and down, stomaching the hard words in silence. For he perceives, as through an open window, that the hidden purpose of Lieutenant Mayrant is to pick a quarrel with him. At last Landais makes it clear that under no compulsion will he fight with pistols. Neither will he give the hopeful Mayrant an opening to edge in a challenge for himself. After a fruitless hour the latter, sad and depressed, returns aboard the Serapis.
“Nothing could have been handled more delicately,” he reports to Commodore Paul Jones; “but, do my best, sir, I couldn’t coax the rascal to the field.”
The next day Lieutenant Dale, making a flimsy excuse about wishing to see the French secretary, goes ashore. He is using a crutch; for, like Lieutenant Mayrant, he was wounded in the battle. He finds the crutch inexpressibly convenient. Having hunted down Landais, whom he finds in a change house, he uses it to belabor that personage, giving him the while such descriptives as “dog!” “spy!” “liar!” “coward!” The heavy Dutchmen, quaffing their beer, interfere to save Landais from the warlike Lieutenant Dale. That night Landais starts post for Paris, to the mighty disappointment of Commodore Paul Jones.
“You told me you wanted to see the French secretary. It wasn’t fair of you, Dick!” is all Commodore Paul Jones says, when he learns of the doings of Lieutenant Dale and his crutch in the change house.
“Well!” grumbles Lieutenant Dale defensively, “so I did want to see the French secretary; although I’ve now forgotten what it was all about. The sight of that dastard drove it from my head.”
The French Ambassador again boards the Serapis. He bears orders from De Sartine, the French Minister of Marine, and a letter from Doctor Franklin, full of suggestions which have the force of orders. The Pallas is a French ship, and the Scarboro captured by it, is a French prize. The Serapis, prize to the Richard, also a French ship, is by the same token a French prize. The French flag must be hoisted on these ships, and the trio made over to the French Ambassador. The Alliance, an American built ship, the King of France doesn’t claim. He recommends, however, that it run up French colors, as a diplomatic method of quieting Dutch excitement, which is slowly but surely rising. Doctor Franklin’s letter sustains the French claim to the Pallas, the Scarboro and the Serapis. He leaves Commodore Paul Jones to settle flags for the Alliance as he may deem best. The Ambassador makes, in this connection, a second tender of a Captain’s commission in the French Navy.
“No,” responds Commodore Paul Jones bitterly, “I shall not accept it. King Louis shall have the Serapis, the Pallas and the Scarboro since Doctor Franklin so orders. The Alliance and I, however, shall remain American.”
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.