Danny luckily did not mention his expectation of becoming a quarter gunner to Paul Jones, who, as first lieutenant, had charge of the ship in the absence of her captain. But he did ask that he might be put on the books so he could get his prize money; which the young lieutenant promised to do, laughing in spite of himself at Danny’s serious expectation of a considerable fortune in prize money.
Captain Saltonstall was to command the Alfred, but he had not yet arrived, and upon Paul Jones rested the duty of preparing the ship for sea. From the day his foot first touched the deck his active spirit pervaded everything, and the officers under him, as well as the men, felt the force of his commanding energy. Besides working all day, he and the other officers stood watch and watch on deck throughout the wintry nights, to prevent desertions; and although every other ship in the squadron had her crew lessened by desertion, not a single man was lost from the Alfred.
“And I’m a-thinkin’, mates,” remarked Bill Green, in the confidence of the foks’l, “as how we’ve got a leftenant as is a seaman; I seen it by the cut o’ his jib; and if he was the cap’n o’ this ’ere ship, he’d lock yardarms with a Britisher if he had half a chance.”
One day, in the midst of the bustle of fitting the ship out, Commodore Hopkins, who was to command the little squadron, came on board the Alfred. He was formally received at the gangway by Paul Jones and shown over the ship by him.
The commodore was a big, burly man, who had spent the best part of his life at sea. He examined the ship carefully, and his silence, as Paul Jones explained what he had done and was doing with the means at his command, made the young lieutenant fear that it had not met with the commodore’s approval. But, secure in the consciousness that he had done his duty, Paul Jones could afford to do without the praise of his superiors. He was not, however, destined to this mortification. Standing on the quarter-deck, surrounded by the officers, Commodore Hopkins turned to Paul Jones, and said:
“Your activity has pleased me extremely, and my confidence in you is such, that if Captain Saltonstall should be unable to reach here by the time the ships can get away, I shall hoist my flag on this ship, and give you the command of her.”
A flush rose in Paul Jones’s dark face, and he bowed with the graceful courtesy that always distinguished him.
“Thank you, commodore,” he said, “and may I be pardoned for hoping that Captain Saltonstall may not arrive in time? And when your flag is hoisted on the Alfred, there will be, I trust, a flag of the United Colonies to fly at the peak, and I aspire to be the first man to raise that flag upon the ocean.”
Commodore Hopkins smiled.
“If the Congress is as slow as I expect it to be, it will be some time yet in adopting a flag; and there will not be time to have one made for the ship before we sail.”