Another tremendous round of cheers followed this. Paul Jones, with his eyes full of tears, shook hands silently with each of his officers, and then, with a profound bow to the men assembled, he stepped to the side. In an instant, as if by magic, every sailor sprang aloft, and in less time than it takes to tell it the yards were manned. Two fine French frigates that lay close by the Alliance also manned their yards, and thundered out a salute of thirteen guns to the commodore’s broad pennant, which was about to be hauled down. The Alliance responded with thirteen guns; and so, amid the applause and cheers of his men, the thunders of artillery, and all the honors that could be heaped upon him, Paul Jones left his ship.
Within an hour he was on the road to Paris, traveling by the _diligence_.
It was his intention to get to Paris as quietly as possible, and for that reason he wore plain citizen’s clothes, and wrapped himself in a large cloak; but Danny Dixon, swelling with the importance of the charge of his commander’s portmanteau, had no notion of letting the great man pass unknown through the world. Danny sat in the rumble along with a very smart and dapper little valet, who was accompanying his master, a French officer, to Paris. As Danny was not by any means as elegant as the Frenchman, he was subject to much contempt, all of which he bore with stoical good humor.
The May morning was fresh and beautiful, and as they dashed along the broad and level road they saw green fields on each side of them, and comfortable homesteads in sight, while occasionally a noble chateau reared its towers in proud seclusion, half hidden by great trees. The trees were just budding, and when the _diligence_ rolled occasionally over the moss-grown stone bridges the streams beneath ran over their pebbly beds with the laughing fullness of the spring. The air was deliciously soft and fresh, and as Paul Jones sat on the box seat, inhaling the beauty and glory around him, he felt a subtile joy and satisfaction in life. Presently he looked back to see how Danny was getting on. Danny, with the commodore’s portmanteau tightly clasped between his knees, was looking a picture of satisfaction.
“How do you like this?” asked Paul Jones, amused at the boy’s rapt look of enjoyment.