Paul Jones, with every nerve strained, listened to the soundings, the sweet call ringing softly in the half darkness as the ship glided through the purple night. Sometimes she was in the full light of the moon, and then a shadow would descend upon the sea, and she would slip through it like a phantom ship. Two cables’ length off, the Columbus followed in her wake. Once the man sang out:
“And a quarter—past—three!”
Every soul on board gave a gasp—the water was getting shoal; and Paul Jones shouted quickly from the fore-topmast, “Starboard—starboard your helm!” The next sounding was four and a half fathoms, and at last, just as the moon emerged in splendor from a thin white cloud, the Alfred rounded the key, and the cable rattled out noisily as the anchor was dropped in six fathoms of water. Paul Jones felt as if a hand clutching his heart had been suddenly loosed. He had piloted the ship safely, and had anchored her; his commission was safe; and he was from that moment the best known junior officer in the squadron.
Next morning the marines were landed, a large quantity of arms and stores were captured and embarked, and the squadron set sail for home.
CHAPTER III.
The morning of the 9th of April dawned clear and lovely. The American squadron, on its return from New Providence, was making its way cautiously along the New England coast, and although every part of it was swarming with British vessels, it was determined to take the squadron into Long Island Sound by the way of Narragansett Bay.
Paul Jones went about his arduous duties as first lieutenant with his usual steady determination, but at heart he cherished a secret dissatisfaction. His bold and enterprising spirit was not adapted to submission. He could obey, but his destiny was to command. Commodore Hopkins was a brave man, but he was not above the average in either enterprise or intelligence. Several strategic mistakes that he made during the affair at New Providence had not escaped the searching eye of Paul Jones, and he felt a dread of encountering the British then, for fear that the American commodore would not be equal to so great an occasion. He knew that they would have to run the gauntlet of Commodore Wallace’s fleet off Newport, and his brave heart trembled at the idea that all of glory possible would not be reaped.
The day passed, though, without any adventures. Numerous white sails were seen, but the squadron, sailing well together, was not molested. Although not disposed to decline a fight, the value of the arms and ammunition on board to the Continental army made Commodore Hopkins quite willing to “let sleeping dogs lie.” But this was contrary to the temperament of Paul Jones. He realized instinctively his capacity for meeting extraordinary dangers with extraordinary resources of mind and courage, and he could not but despise the risks that other men shunned.
Toward night they entered the blue waters of Narragansett Bay. A young moon hung trembling in the heavens, the sky was cloudless, and the stars shone brilliantly.
Although Paul Jones, being first lieutenant, had no watch on deck, he remained above. About midnight the lookout on the quarter made out Block Island, and almost at the same moment a cry was heard from the Cabot, known as “the black brig,” of “Sail, ho!”