The career of this stubborn adventurer signally illustrates the idea that since all human affairs are subject to organic disorder, since they are created in and sustained by a sort of half-disciplined chaos, hence he who in great things seeks success must never wait for smooth water, which never was and never will be, but, with what straggling method he can, dash with all his derangements at his object, leaving the rest to Fortune.

Though nominally commander of the squadron, Paul was not so in effect.  Most of his captains conceitedly claimed independent commands.  One of them in the end proved a traitor outright; few of the rest were reliable.

As for the ships, that commanded by Paul in person will be a good example of the fleet.  She was an old Indiaman, clumsy and crank, smelling strongly of the savor of tea, cloves, and arrack, the cargoes of former voyages.  Even at that day she was, from her venerable grotesqueness, what a cocked hat is, at the present age, among ordinary beavers.  Her elephantine bulk was houdahed with a castellated poop like the leaning tower of Pisa.  Poor Israel, standing on the top of this poop, spy-glass at his eye, looked more an astronomer than a mariner, having to do, not with the mountains of the billows, but the mountains in the moon.  Galileo on Fiesole.  She was originally a single-decked ship, that is, carried her armament on one gun-deck; but cutting ports below, in her after part, Paul rammed out there six old eighteen-pounders, whose rusty muzzles peered just above the water-line, like a parcel of dirty mulattoes from a cellar-way.  Her name was the Duras, but, ere sailing, it was changed to that other appellation, whereby this sad old hulk became afterwards immortal.  Though it is not unknown, that a compliment to Doctor Franklin was involved in this change of titles, yet the secret history of the affair will now for the first time be disclosed.

It was evening in the road of Groix.  After a fagging day’s work, trying to conciliate the 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.”