While the Dutch and Sir Joseph are debating as to whether Commodore Paul Jones is a rebel, a pirate or a disagreeable guest, that gentleman discovers Landais, with the Alliance, tucked away in a corner of the Texel. Headwinds, and an overplus of English on the high seas, have forced the miscreant into the Helder, and he finds himself as much cooped up as does Commodore Paul Jones. Indeed the miserable Landais is in a far more serious predicament; for, aside from the English outside, waiting at the Helder’s mouth like terriers at a rat-hole, the formidable Paul Jones is inside with him, and Landais fears the latter as no Frenchman ever feared the English.

The alarms of Landais are well grounded; Commodore Paul Jones opens negotiations at once. He sends word to Landais to give command of the Alliance to Lieutenant Degge, and at once leave the ship. The word is supplemented by the assurance that at the end of twenty-four hours he, Commodore Paul Jones, shall come aboard the Alliance. Should he then find Landais, he will be put in irons.

“Why not arrest the scoundrel at once?” pleads Lieutenant Dale.

“He is a Frenchman, Dick,” returns Commodore Paul Jones, “and I fear to worry Doctor Franklin.” Then, assuming a look of cunning, vast and deep: “Wait until my diplomacy unfolds itself. You will find that I have the wisdom of the serpent.”

Lieutenant Dale grunts disgustedly. He cares nothing for the wisdom of the serpent, less for any spun-glass diplomacy. What he wants is the Landais blood directly; and says as much.

“Remember,” he goes on, “this murderer Landais killed Caswell with that last felon broadside!”

“I shall forget nothing,” returns Commodore Paul Jones.

At the end of twenty-four hours, Commodore Paul Jones boards the Alliance. He finds Lieutenant Degge in command; the craven Landais has slipped ashore with all his belongings. Commodore Paul Jones is the last man he cares to face. The latter tells Lieutenant Degge to clap the irons on Landais, should he return, and signal the Serapis.

“You must understand, sir,” responds Lieutenant Degge, “that my crew is honeycombed with mutiny. Captain Landais brought about a conspiracy; two-thirds of the ship’s company are in it.”

“Make me out a list of the leaders, and muster them aft.”

Lieutenant Degge gives Commodore Paul Jones the names of twenty. These are called aft—lowering and sullen. Commodore Paul Jones orders them transferred to the Serapis.

“I’ll send you an even number to take their places,” he says to Lieutenant Degge. “Meanwhile, my old sea-wolves will lick them into patriotic shape. Should they fail, you may find some half dozen of the ringleaders at least, dangling from my yardarms.”

The caitiff Landais, driven from his ship, fumes and blusters. He tries to see the French Ambassador, and is refused. Then he sends a challenge to Commodore Paul Jones.

Lieutenant Dale finds the latter mariner in his cabin, blandly triumphant.

“There,” he cries, tossing the Landais challenge over to Lieutenant Dale—“there, Dick, read that! You will then see what I meant by telling you to wait until my diplomacy had had time to unfold.”

“But you don’t mean to fight the creature?” and Lieutenant Dale glances up from his reading, horrified.

“Fight him; and kill him, sir! Why not? Do you suppose for a moment that poor Caswell is to go unavenged?”

“But think what you do! You can’t fight this fellow! The man is to be court-martialed.”

“Ah, yes, Dick! But observe; I’ve as yet refrained from making formal charges against him. So far as the books go, he rates as well as you or I.”

Commodore Paul Jones gets this off with inexpressible slyness, as one who discloses the very heart of his cunning.

“But my dear Commodore,” returns Lieutenant Dale, desperately, “the thing is impossible! This Landais is not a gentleman! He is the commonest of blacklegs.”

“Dick! Dick!” remonstrates Commodore Paul Jones; “you do him an injustice! Technically at least you wrong him. You should summon up more fairness. Now, here is how I look at it:” Commodore Paul Jones grows highly judgmatical. “I follow the law, which says that a man is supposed to be innocent until he’s shown to be guilty. Influenced by this, which to my mind breathes the very spirit of justice, I make it an unbreakable rule, in matters of the duello, to regard every man as a gentleman unless the contrary has been explicitly demonstrated. No, Dick”—this solemnly—“Landais, whatever you or I may privately think, has still his rights. I shall fight him, Dick.”

Commodore Paul Jones sends Lieutenant May-rant ashore, as his representative, to accept the Landais challenge.

“I should have sent you, Dick,” he explains to Lieutenant Dale, who inclines to the cloudy because he had been slighted; “but, to tell the truth, I couldn’t trust you. Yes; you’d have cut in between us, and fought him in my stead. And the fact is, if you must have it, I’ve set my heart on killing the rogue myself.”

Lieutenant Mayrant finds Landais, vaporing and blustering.

“Pistols; ten paces,” says Lieutenant May-rant. “Time and place you may settle for yourself.”

“Pistols!” exclaims Landais, his face a mu............