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On a stormy February day, when the channel had been freed from ice enough for the little squadron to get out, the Alfred was made ready to receive her flag officer. Captain Saltonstall had arrived some days before, to Paul Jones’s intense disappointment. But he was as ready to do his duty as first lieutenant as he had been that hoped-for duty as acting captain.

The commodore’s boat was seen approaching on the wind tossed water. The horizon was overcast, and dun clouds scurried wildly across the troubled sky, with which the pale and wintry sun struggled vainly. The boatswain’s call, “All hands to muster!” sounded through the ship, and in a wonderfully short time, owing to the careful drilling of Paul Jones, the three hundred men and one hundred marines were drawn up on deck. The sailors, a fine-looking body of American seamen, were formed in ranks on the port side of the quarter-deck, while abaft of them stood the marine guard, under arms. On the starboard side were the petty officers, and on the quarter-deck proper were the commissioned officers in full uniform with their swords, and Paul Jones headed the line.