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The day passed, though, without any adventures. Numerous white sails were seen, but the squadron, sailing well together, was not molested. Although not disposed to decline a fight, the value of the arms and ammunition on board to the Continental army made Commodore Hopkins quite willing to “let sleeping dogs lie.” But this was contrary to the temperament of Paul Jones. He realized instinctively his capacity for meeting extraordinary dangers with extraordinary resources of mind and courage, and he could not but despise the risks that other men shunned.

Toward night they entered the blue waters of Narragansett Bay. A young moon hung trembling in the heavens, the sky was cloudless, and the stars shone brilliantly.

Although Paul Jones, being first lieutenant, had no watch on deck, he remained above. About midnight the lookout on the quarter made out Block Island, and almost at the same moment a cry was heard from the Cabot, known as “the black brig,” of “Sail, ho!”

“What do you think it is, Mr. Jones?” asked Commodore Hopkins, with night glass in hand, examining the shadowy form of a ship under light canvas about half a mile off.