* * * * *
The man's whole life preludes1 the single deed
That shall decide if his inheritance
Be with the sifted2 few of matchless breed."
In midwinter something happened that lifted every true heart on board. There had been dull and dreary3 weeks on board the Ranger4, with plots for desertion among the crew, and a general look of surliness and reproach on all faces. The captain was eagerly impatient in sending his messengers to Nantes when the Paris post might be expected, and was ever disappointed at their return. The discipline of the ship became more strict than before, now that there was little else to command or insist upon. The officers grew tired of one another's company, and kept to their own quarters, or passed each other without speaking. It was easy, indeed, to be displeased5 with such a situation, and to fret6 at such an apparently7 needless loss of time, even if there were nothing else to fret about.
At last there was some comfort in leaving Nantes, and making even so short a voyage as to the neighboring Breton port of L'Orient, where the Ranger was overhauled8 and refitted for sea; yet even here the men grumbled9 at their temporary discomforts10, and above all regretted Nantes, where they could amuse themselves better ashore11. It was a hard, stormy winter, but there were plenty of rich English ships almost within hand's reach. Nobody could well understand why they had done nothing, while such easy prey12 came and went in those waters, from Bordeaux and the coast of Spain, even from Nantes itself.
On a certain Friday orders were given to set sail, and the Ranger made her way along the coast to Quiberon, and anchored there at sunset, before the bay's entrance, facing the great curve of the shores. She had much shipping13 for company: farther in there lay a fine show of French frigates14 with a convoy15, and four ships of the line. The captain scanned these through his glass, and welcomed a great opportunity: he had come upon a division of the French navy, and one of the frigates flew the flag of a rear admiral, La Motte Piqué.
The wind had not fallen at sundown. All night the Ranger tossed about and tugged16 at her anchor chains, as if she were impatient to continue her adventures, like the men between her sides. All the next day she rode uneasily, and clapped her sailcloth and thrummed her rigging in the squally winter blast, until the sea grew quieter toward sundown. Then Captain Paul Jones sent a boat to the King's fleet to carry a letter.
The boat was long gone. The distance was little, but difficult in such a sea, yet some of the boats of the country came out in hope of trading with the Ranger's men. The poor peasants would venture anything, and a strange-looking, swarthy little man who got aboard nobody knew how, suddenly approached the captain where he stood, ablaze17 with impatience18, on the quarter. At his first word Paul Jones burst with startling readiness into Spanish invective19, and then, with a look of pity at the man's poverty of dress in that icy weather, took a bit of gold from his pocket. "Barcelona?" said he. "I have had good days in Barcelona, myself," and bade the Spaniard begone. Then he called him back and asked a few questions, and, summoning a quartermaster, gave orders that he should take the sailor's poor gear, and give him a warm coat and cap from the slop chests.
"He has lost his ship, and got stranded20 here," said the captain, with compassion21, and then turned again to watch for the boat. "You may roll the coat and cap into a bundle; they are quaint-fashioned things," he added carelessly, as the quartermaster went away. The bay was now alive with small Breton traders, and at a short distance away there was a droll22 little potato fleet making hopefully for the Ranger. The headmost boat, however, was the Ranger's own, with an answer to the captain's letter. He gave an anxious sigh and laid down his glass. He had sent to say frankly23 to the rear admiral that he flew the new American flag, and that no foreign power had yet saluted24 it, and to ask if his own salute25 to the Royal Navy of France would be properly returned. It was already in the last fluster26 of the February wind, and the sea was going down; there was no time to be lost. He broke the great seal of his answer with a trembling hand, and at the first glance pressed the letter to his breast.
The French frigates were a little apart from their convoy, and rolled sullenly27 in a solemn company, their tall masts swaying like time-keepers against the pale winter sky. The low land lay behind them, its line broken here and there by strange mounds28, and by ancient altars of the druids, like clumsy, heavy-legged beasts standing29 against the winter sunset. The captain gave orders to hoist30 the anchor, nobody knew why, and to spread the sails, when it was no time to put to sea. He stood like a king until all was done, and then passed the word for his gunners to be ready, and steered31 straight in toward the French fleet.
They all understood now. The little Ranger ran slowly between the frowning ships, looking as warlike as they; her men swarmed32 like bees into the rigging; her colors ran up to salute the flag of his most Christian33 Majesty34 of France, and she fired one by one her salute of thirteen guns.
There was a moment of suspense35. The wind was very light now; the powder smoke drifted away, and the flapping sails sounded loud overhead. Would the admiral answer, or would he treat this bold challenge like a handkerchief waved at him from a pleasure boat? Some of the officers on the Ranger looked incredulous, but Paul Jones still held his letter in his hand. There was a puff36 of white smoke, and the great guns of the French flagship began to shake the air,—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine; and then were still, save for their echoes from the low hills about Carnac and the great druid mount of St. Michael.
"Gardner, you may tell the men that this was the salute of the King of France to our Republic, and the first high honor to our colors," said the captain proudly to his steersman. But they were all huzzaing now along the Ranger's decks,—that little ship whose name shall never be forgotten while her country lives.
"We hardly know what this day means, gentlemen," he said soberly to his officers, who came about him. "I believe we are at the christening of the greatest nation that was ever born into the world."
The captain lifted his hat, and stood looking up at the Flag.
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1
preludes
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| n.开端( prelude的名词复数 )；序幕；序曲；短篇作品 | |
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2
sifted
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| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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3
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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ranger
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| n.国家公园管理员，护林员；骑兵巡逻队员 | |
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5
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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6
fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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7
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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8
overhauled
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| v.彻底检查( overhaul的过去式和过去分词 )；大修；赶上；超越 | |
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9
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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10
discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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12
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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13
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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14
frigates
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| n.快速军舰( frigate的名词复数 ) | |
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15
convoy
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| vt.护送，护卫，护航；n.护送；护送队 | |
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16
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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18
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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19
invective
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| n.痛骂，恶意抨击 | |
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20
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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21
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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22
droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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23
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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24
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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25
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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26
fluster
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| adj.慌乱，狼狈，混乱，激动 | |
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27
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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28
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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29
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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30
hoist
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| n.升高，起重机，推动；v.升起，升高，举起 | |
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31
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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32
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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33
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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34
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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35
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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36
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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