PAUL

JONES;

A ROMANCE.

BY ALLAN CUNNINGHAM,

AUTHOR OF

"SIR MARMADUKE MAXWELL," "TRADITIONAL TALES," &c.

PUBLISHED BY OLIVER & BOYD;

LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, & GREEN,

LONDON.

1826.

PAUL JONES.

CHAPTER I.

Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies.

BURNS.

To the kingdom of France, cloudless suns, odorous winds, flowers ever blooming, birds ever singing, grapes dropping wine, and a perpetual holiday of light and life, love and gladness, are by popular belief ascribed; while to my native island the same authority imputes a variable climate, shrouded in constant fogs, drenched in perpetual rains, with grapes yielding vinegar instead of wine, and to which the four winds of heaven, in place of wafting health and fragrance, come with human misery on their wings-depression of mind and the spirit of self-destruction. From the island of snow and fogs, the prize frigate of Paul Jones was now fast retiring. As the shores of England grew dim behind

VOL. III.

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him, the kingdom of France grew bright before; her cities, castles, palaces, and vineyards, crowded one by one into the growing landscape, and her mariners, unable to contain their joy, shouted, "France! lovely France!" and danced on the decks for gladness.

Paul smiled at their raptures, though he returned with diminished numbers, and had left the ship with which he conquered at the bottom of the sea. Still he returned victor,- -a name welcome to all nations, and more particularly to France, where he hoped to be received with applause equalling the classic triumphs of old. He stood on the deck of his frigate in the dress which he wore during the battle, his pistols black with powder, and his cutlass stained with blood.

Macgubb, after a fruitless attempt to wash the stains of the battle from his dress and hands, looked at himself from head to foot, and muttered, "Aweel, fancy's all! There's Tibbie Fowler, wha broke the hearts of three skippers, never to speak of the havoc she made among God's common mariners, Tibbie aye said, cleanliness was a sweet thing in either sow or sailor. But the dames of France think differently. They think it a brave sight to see a man kneeling at their apronstrings, with the foulness of seven unwashen murders on his hands. An enemy's blood on a seaman's jacket is an embroidery new in the French marine, and ony rags will be worship