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Molly Elliot Seawell.

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On a bright day in January, 1776, a lithe, handsome young man, wearing the uniform of a lieutenant in the Continental navy, stood on the dock at Philadelphia gazing keenly down the river. His eyes were peculiarly black and beautiful, and had an expression of command in them that is seldom absent from those of a man born to lead other men. His figure was slight, and he was not above medium height; but he was both graceful and muscular.

The river was frozen, except a tortuous channel cut through the ice and kept open with difficulty. Innumerable masts and spars made a network against the dull blue of the winter sky, and fringed the docks and wharves; while far down the glittering sea of ice lay a small squadron of five armed vessels, which was the beginning of the glorious navy of the United States.

This young lieutenant, Paul Jones by name, looked about for a boat to take him down the river to the squadron; and seeing a ragged, bright-eyed boy about twelve years old sitting in a rickety skiff from which a passenger had just been landed, he called the boy, and, jumping lightly into the boat, said: