At this he laid his hand on the young lieutenant’s shoulder, and Dale, glancing up, his own eyes full of tears, saw that Paul Jones’s eyes were moist.
“I know, sir, better than anybody, the trials, the disadvantages, the insults you have been subject to. But there is not a man on this ship who does not believe in you and know that, if we have no captured ship of war to bring back with us, it is fate—not want of enterprise. But, commodore, I have a strange presentiment. I feel yet that within twenty-four hours we shall have some glorious event upon our hands. Something tells me that we are at a turning point, and that Fortune, which favors the brave, has yet a glorious reward for you.”
“May you be right!” answered Paul Jones, with a melancholy smile.
CHAPTER X.
At daybreak on the morning of the memorable 23d of September Paul Jones appeared on the Bon Homme Richard’s deck. A short distance off lay the Pallas and the treacherous Alliance, which the Bon Homme Richard had chased during the latter part of the night, mistaking her for a British frigate.
All three ships were now off Flamborough Head. The day came clear and bright, with a gentle wind from the south. The delicate chill of the early dawn crept over the waters, and the eastern sky was aflame with yellow and pink and purple lights. A rosy mist enveloped the bold headland, and the waves that eagerly lapped it caught the crimson glow. The somber North Sea shimmered with a thousand hues, in the golden glory of the morning. Afar off, the castled height of Scarborough shone white in the radiant light, and the milky sails of fishing boats flecked the blue sea. There were no vessels in sight except the two French ships, for the name of Paul Jones kept the merchant fleets hugging the shore except under convoy. Something in the lovely scene inspired Paul Jones with renewed hope. As Dale went up and greeted him on the quarter-deck, Paul Jones said cheerfully: “Dale, I believe you are right. We have one more day before us, in which we may immortalize ourselves; therefore I take heart.”
The men were piped to breakfast at six o’clock, and just as they came on deck afterward a brigantine was observed, apparently hove to far to windward. Chase was given, and it was plain that she could not escape. About noon, however, as Paul Jones, with Dale by his side, was watching the pursuit of the brigantine, they happened to turn their eyes at the same moment toward the rocky promontory of Flamborough Head. Just weathering the headland, they saw a large, white ship, sailing beautifully, the wind filling her snowy canvas. There was nothing remarkable in her appearance, but something prophetic seemed to strike both Paul Jones and Dale. Their eyes met with a meaning look.
“Sir,” said Dale, “that ship—that ship—”
“Is the first ship of the Baltic fleet,” replied Paul Jones in a low, intense voice. “I feel it, I know it; and there must be more than one war-ship giving convoy to the fleet.”
The next moment, though, it became necessary to order a boat out to capture the brigantine, which was now at their mercy. Sixteen of the best hands on board the Bon Homme Richard were told off for this duty, and put under the command of Lieutenant Lunt.