Chapter 18 - Page 2

hostile jealousy of his officers, and provide, in the
face of endless obstacles (for he had to dance attendance on scores of
intriguing factors and brokers ashore), the requisite stores for the
fleet, Paul sat in his cabin in a half-despondent reverie, while Israel,
cross-legged at his commander's feet, was patching up some old signals.

"Captain Paul, I don't like our ship's name.--Duras? What's that
mean?--Duras? Being cribbed up in a ship named Duras! a sort of makes
one feel as if he were in durance vile."

"Gad, I never thought of that before, my lion. Duras--Durance vile. I
suppose it's superstition, but I'll change Come, Yellow-mane, what shall
we call her?"

"Well, Captain Paul, don't you like Doctor Franklin? Hasn't he been the
prime man to get this fleet together? Let's call her the Doctor
Franklin."

"Oh, no, that will too publicly declare him just at present; and Poor
Richard wants to be a little shady in this business."

"Poor Richard!--call her Poor Richard, then," cried Israel, suddenly
struck by the idea.

"'Gad, you have it," answered Paul, springing to his feet, as all trace
of his former despondency left him;--"Poor Richard shall be the name, in
honor to the saying, that 'God helps them that help themselves,' as Poor
Richard says."

Now this was the way the craft came to be called the _Bon Homme
Richard_; for it being deemed advisable to have a French rendering of
the new title, it assumed the above form.

A few days after, the force sailed. Ere long, they captured several
vessels; but the captains of the squadron proving refractory, events
took so deplorable a turn, that Paul, for the present, was obliged to
return to Groix. Luckily, however, at this junction a cartel arrived
from England with upwards of a hundred exchanged American seamen, who
almost to a man enlisted under the flag of Paul.

Upon the resailing of the force, the old troubles broke out afresh. Most
of her consorts insubordinately separated from the Bon Homme Richard. At
length Paul found himself in violent storms beating off the rugged
southeastern coast of Scotland, with only two accompanying ships. But
neither the mutiny of his fleet, nor the chaos of the elements, made him
falter in his purpose. Nay, at this crisis, he projected the most daring
of all his descents.

The Cheviot Hills were in sight. Sundry vessels had been described bound
in for the Firth of Forth, on whose south shore, well up the Firth,
stands Leith, the port of Edinburgh, distant but a mile or two from that
capital. He resolved to dash at Leith, and lay it under contribution or
in ashes. He called the captains of his two remaining