When Jones had returned with the Ranger from his first successful cruise, he and his officers had been fêted and made much of by the French court. The gallant adventures in which he had participated lent a new charm to the fascinating personality of the son of the old marshal, whose entrée was already everything that could be desired; and his heart, accordingly, had been a target for repeated attacks upon the part of the bright-eyed and fascinating dames of France--but to no avail had they attempted its capture.
Something of the story of his devotion had been allowed to leak out, however, to account for his obduracy, and they finally understood why he was so unusually insensible to their charms. This romance naturally only added a piquancy to the feminine pursuit of which he was the object, although the ladies' sportive love chase proved, in the end, unavailing. He had resolved, O'Neill said, to show the world that unusual spectacle, a constant Irishman! This was to attempt the impossible, had been the quick reply, but, nevertheless, he had accomplished it.
Our Celtic mariner did not resign from the American service, however, not because he cared particularly for America, for democratic doctrines could never be acceptable to a follower of the young Stuart, the intimate associate of the young nobles of France; but, primarily, because he saw in it renewed opportunities to annoy and humiliate the stout Hanoverian whom he and his people hated, and from whom they had received much harm, and, secondly, because he was so much attracted by the strong personality of Paul Jones. So great had become his regard for this wonderful man that he had even waived considerations of rank in favor of an American, the gallant Richard Dale, and had consented to serve as second lieutenant instead of first, on the Richard, when that famous ship and her ill-assorted consorts started forth upon the memorable cruise.
The tacticians of the French Navy unfortunately were not given to consider downright hard fighting as the end and aim of naval enterprise. Their manœuvres were calculated to annoy and harass the enemy, but their first thought was not to destroy his ships, but to protect their own,--a fatal mistake in policy from which they have ever suffered.
This was not John Paul Jones' way. Whatever else he was, he was a fighter from the beginning to the end, and O'Neill found in him a congenial spirit. The love-lorn Irishman had tried several times to communicate with Lady Elizabeth by letter and messenger, but without success, for he received no reply to his letters, and his messengers had never returned. Therefore, when he found himself in such close proximity to her as on this, the evening of Tuesday, the 21st of September, 1779, he was utterly unable to resist the temptation at least to attempt to see her again.
Jones and the ships were not due at the rendezvous until the day after the next day, that would be Thursday morning. There would be ample time to rejoin them on the next day, Wednesday. O'Neill imagined himself perfectly safe; he had used no disguise except to wear the uniform of a French naval officer, and as France and England were nominally at peace, he persuaded himself that he was in no danger. It was a breach of military propriety, he admitted, of course, but nothing more,--this failure to return promptly to his ship,--and for that he was willing to suffer.
With the delightful casuistry of lovers he persuaded himself against his better judgment and failed to see his action in its true military significance. Trusting to audacity, mother wit, and Dan Cupid for protection, he went bravely on. In fact, he was taking his life in his hand. His love blinded him,--it is the chief function of the cherubic god; without that power most matches he attempts would fail. Meanwhile, with a beating heart--beating not from fear, but with anticipation--he rode slowly down the hill and into the town, where he left his horse at an inn, and made his way on foot, and supperless, such his eagerness, toward the castle.
He had no definite plan. There did not seem to be room for any. He had one consuming desire: to see, to speak to, to come in touch again with the beautiful girl who had been the object of his every thought, the end of his every desire, the spirit of every dream in which he had indulged since they had met. He had a thought--a hope--that she was still Elizabeth Howard. There was that in her promise, in her look, in her word, when she had said, "Come and see" on the strand, which gave him the hope that she would wait until he did come, be it one year or two; and with the sanguine spirit of his race he could not prepare himself for a disappointment.
The moon had risen as he walked quietly through the town and began to mount the hill. He did not know how to gain admittance to the castle when he approached it; and as ill luck would have it, as he was standing on the causeway looking toward the gate, he was approached by a squad of soldiers under the command of a sergeant, who were returning from an errand in the town. His meditations, as he stood gazing at the lights shining from the different windows, wondering behind which wall was ensconced the idol of his heart, were rudely interrupted by the grasp of a rough hand upon his shoulder and a harsh voice in his ear saying,--
"Well, sir, wot are you a-doin' 'ere at this hour o' the night? Entrance to the castle is forbid to every one except members of the garrison, or them wich has passes. No one is allowed on the causeway after sunset even. There's so many tales of raidin's an' hell's own doin's on the coast by that bloody ravagin' pirate Jones an' his bleedin' gang, that we're a'most in a state of siege. Give an account of yourself."