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Title: The Story of John Paul Jones
Author: Chelsea Curtis Fraser
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Famous Americans for Young Readers
THE STORY OF JOHN PAUL JONES
by
CHELSEA C. FRASER
Barse & Hopkins
New York Newark
N.Y. N.J.
Copyright, 1922
By Barse & Hopkins
Printed in the U. S. A.
[Illustration]
PREFACE
For a corking tale of the sea it would be hard to find in all fiction a
story to equal that of John Paul Jones, a figure of sober history. Yet
history was not so "sober" after all, in those days when piracy was an
actual fact, and even nations at times winked at privateering on the
high seas. Jones was born with a love of the salt spray in his nostrils.
He came to this country as a mere lad, but already a skilled sailor.
When the Revolution broke out, he obtained command of a ship, and was
the first to fly the Stars-and-Stripes in foreign waters. Then came his
deeds of daring against the British Navy, and his repeated victories
over tremendous odds. The fight between the _Bon Homme Richard_ and the
_Serapis_ is a classic. "Surrender?" he cried with most of his rigging
shot away, and his vessel sinking, "Why, I have just begun to fight!"
Belated honors were done to his memory, a few years ago, when his body
was brought home from a neglected grave in France, and reinterred at
Annapolis with all the honors in the gift of the nation. When the
readers young and old lay aside this thrilling story, they also will
understand why America honors his memory. He may be regarded as the
founder of the United States Navy. His flag, whether flying at the
masthead of some saucy little sloop-of-war or on a more formidable ship
of the line, never knew what it was to be hauled down in defeat. His
name has become a tradition among all sea fighters.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE STORM 9
II. THE LAND ACROSS THE SEA 21
III. THE YOUNG SAILOR 31
IV. THE YOUNG PLANTER 45
V. THE BIRTH OF THE UNITED STATES NAVY 55
VI. RAISING THE FIRST AMERICAN FLAG 63
VII. AN INGLORIOUS CRUISE 75
VIII. THE YOUNG CAPTAIN 84
IX. ABOARD THE "RANGER" 98
X. IN THE ENEMY'S OWN WATERS 110
XI. OUTWITTING THE "DRAKE" 125
XII. THE QUEER CONDUCT OF CAPTAIN LANDAIS 130
XIII. FIGHTING FRIEND AND FOE 150
XIV. DIPLOMACY AND SOCIETY 163
XV. AND THE LAST 172
ILLUSTRATIONS
John Paul Jones _Frontispiece_
_From a portrait by Chappel_
Fight between the _Serapis_ and the _Bon Homme Richard_ 150
_From a rare print_
Boarding the _Serapis_ 160
_From a rare print_
Paul Jones's Last Burial 178
_Midshipmen escorting the casket to its final resting place, in
Annapolis, April 24, 1906_
THE STORY OF JOHN PAUL JONES
I
THE STORM
In the summer of 1759, James Younger, a prosperous shipowning merchant
of Whitehaven, England, found himself short of sailors to man a new
vessel he had just secured. Said he to himself, "I know just where I
shall be likely to pick up such fellows as I need. To-morrow I shall go
to Arbigland."
Arbigland was a small fishing-village directly across the Solway Firth,
a sort of big bay which cuts a wedge into the borderline of Scotland and
England and reaches out into the blueness of the Irish Sea. From this
port fishing-boats in great numbers were wont to go forth in the early
morning of the day and return at sunset with their catch. Practically
every home was the hearth of a fisherman and his family--sturdy,
weather-beaten men who knew the whims of a boat and the tricks of the
sea better than they knew how to read and write; sturdy, hard-working
mothers who knew more about baking bread and rearing good children than
they did about social functions and social etiquette; sturdy lads and
lassies who lived in the open and knew more about entertaining
themselves with the rugged and wholesome interests of nature than they
did about ball-rooms, wine suppers, and "movies." From Arbigland Mr.
Younger had more than once before obtained excellent sailors, as had
indeed many another ship-merchant and short-handed captain.
Mr. Younger's hopes of securing good seamen in Arbigland were soon
fulfilled. He found no trouble in signing up nearly enough that very
evening, among them several officers. The following morning he completed
his list, but did not attempt an immediate return to Whitehaven on
account of bad weather. That day the winds increased and the sea became
constantly more and more violent. By mid-afternoon the waves were
running so high that the fishermen who had gone out came scurrying in,
glad to find a safe anchorage in the harbor.
Seeing a knot of idlers gathered on the waterfront, he joined them to
find out what they were looking at. Not until one of them had
painstakingly pointed out to him a small object, now in view on the
crest of a mountainous wave, now vanished from sight in the trough of
another, did he suspect that it could be a boat that had failed to get
in.
"It's Johnnie Paul and his little dory, I be sure," observed one of the
fishermen, who held a glass to his eyes. "It looks fair bad f'r the lad
this time, an' na mistake. It's gude his ain faither don't ken the boy's
peril."
"On'y twelve--a mere baby--an' him a-fightin' this nor'easter!" put in
another fisherman, with a sorrowful shake of his grizzled head. "T'bad
Johnnie's recklessness should 'a' got him in this fix. I'm afraid the
lad's love for the sea will spell his doom this blow. He's a muckle
bright lad, too."
"An' a born seaman. If a lad are ever born to the sea Johnnie Paul are
that chap," said another Scotsman in tarpaulin. "Mind ye, boys, we seen
him make port afore in stoorms a'most this bad. Mayhap he'll do it noo.
He's got the luck o' the devil in his small frame, that he has!"
Whether it was "the luck of the devil" or just plain unvarnished skill
which brought Johnnie Paul safely into port again that day will probably
never be known. But the chances are, if luck entered into the matter at
all, that good seamanship and intrepid daring performed the largest
share of the performance, for, as the minutes went on and the small boat
came bobbing nearer and nearer, it was evident to every one of those
assembled seafaring men that the youngster was handling his steed with
unusual cleverness. Virtually flying in the very face of disaster and
death, the lad clung coolly to the tiller, his eyes snapping with
excitement, his dark-brown hair tossing, while the vicious nor'easter
almost tore his reefed sail from its fastenings, drenched him to the
skin with its wild spray, and drove his cockleshell of a craft swiftly
forward.
Held spellbound by the struggle between boy and wave, thrilled at the
magnificence of the lad's courage and the adroitness of his movements
as his tiller-hand avoided yawning danger after yawning danger, Mr.
Younger found himself praying for the safety of the daring young
boatman, as he might have prayed for the deliverance of one of his own
children from such a threatened fate. And it was with a vast sense of
relief and thankfulness that, a little later, he saw Johnnie Paul guide
his frail vessel into the protected waters of the harbor and up to the
wharf, where she was securely made fast.
Indeed, Mr. Younger was one of the very first to shake the hand of the
dripping boy and congratulate him on his splendid performance. "If I
mistake not, one of these days you will be a great sailor, my lad," said
he, little knowing that he was predicting a truth.
Johnnie Paul blushed painfully. But quickly the snap and sparkle
returned to his hazel eyes. "Sir, it is what I should like to be--a
great sailor," he said.
Other words followed. "I shall see your father. Perhaps we can induce
him to let you join one of my vessels," observed the ship-owner from
Whitehaven. "You are very young, but old enough to become an apprentice
or ship's-boy."
Young John Paul ran home as fast as his legs could carry him, his heart
beating with joy. Oh, such luck! It seemed to him he had always wanted
to be a sailor--a real sailor, one who could tread a big vessel's deck,
climb her rigging, and go far out to sea past that misty blue line that
separated home waters from the mystery and adventure of the domain lying
leagues beyond.
Since he was a mere baby he recalled that he had always had a passion to
sail something, even so simple a thing as a leaf, the half of a walnut
shell, a bit of wood supporting a paper sail. And, in the beginning, the
duck-pond, a horse-trough, or a puddle of rainwater, had been his sea.
But he outgrew these limitations as he outgrew his kilts: more room must
be provided for his bounding spirits and expanding ambition. Then had
come first thoughts of the seashore; father's and mother's warnings that
the strong tides of the Solway were too dangerous to play with, had only
increased his desire to tussle with them. So he had run away, been
sternly chastised, had run away again--until at length, despairing of
restraining his son from the natural craving of his heart, John Paul
senior threw away his switch and left the youngster to the care of
Providence whenever his footsteps prompted him waterward.
As time went on, young John had grown into a sturdy lad whose chief
delight was to sail off in the fishermen's boats for a day's catch. What
he dreamed, what he planned, as he watched the far horizon, no one
knows, for he was not the kind of a boy to tell others of his inner
thoughts at that age. But that he did have frequent golden dreams we may
rest assured, since, between the times he was making himself useful in
casting and hauling in the nets, his older comrades often caught him in
abstracted study of distant spaces.
In those days Scottish schools were not what they are now. There were
very few of them then, and the instruction had not begun to reach the
thoroughness it has since attained. Less than a dozen children attended
the little school in Arbigland to which Johnnie Paul had been consigned
at the age of eight. It was so difficult to get a teacher that sometimes
for weeks at a time there was no one to hold forth in that office. These
occasions were very satisfying to our Johnnie Paul, for the truth is, he
much preferred paddling around the water to fingering over the pages of
his books. But he was not lazy, and during the short time he did spend
under the roof of a schoolhouse, he must have applied himself, for the
records show that at twelve years of age he could figure and read and
write very well indeed for that period.
The lad's mother had been Jean Macduff, the daughter of an Argyll
Highlander who had moved into the Lowlands, there to abandon his trade
of armorer and become a farmer near New Abbey. Jean Macduff later left
her home and came to Arbigland to accept a position as lady's-maid to a
Mrs. Craik whose husband was a prosperous land-owner possessing an
extensive estate and splendid buildings on top of the promontory hanging
above the shores of the Solway.
When quite a young man, John's father, a Lowlander, had also found
employment on the Craik estate as gardener, and later by reason of his
faithful work and popularity in the community, he had been made
game-warden. The young gardener and the young lady's-maid soon fell in
love with each other, were married, and in due course of time were
blessed with five children, of whom Johnnie was the youngest. He was
born in the year 1747. William, the brother, had gone to live with a
cousin, William Jones, a childless planter in Virginia, before John was
born. Willie had never been back since that day. He had been adopted by
the distant cousin, and might never return, John's parents said, but it
was hoped and expressed in letters that he would some of these days make
the long voyage back to old Scotland for a brief visit. How Johnnie did
yearn to see this big brother whose letters he loved to read but whom he
had never seen! Of late he had even dared to think of making a voyage
himself to American shores, there to seek out the long-absent one.
The Paul cottage, overgrown with creepers, and sheltered from the fierce
northeast winds by thick trees and shrubbery, stood so close to the
seashore that it was never free from the sound of lapping waters and
the boom of breakers. It was the boy's delight, before he went to sleep
of a night, and before he arose of a morning, to lie for some time and
listen to the music of the waves, his vivid fancy investing these voices
with the power of telling him strange tales of strange peoples and
strange places, far, far away.
When young John was not on the water, in school, or at home, he could
usually be found somewhere about Mr. Craik's estate. He was kindly
treated, and the playmate of the sons of the good laird's family. With
the democracy of boyhood he and the Craik lads enjoyed climbing
everything in the neighborhood, from the highest trees to the most
rugged cliffs, where lurked unexplored treasures in the shape of
sea-birds' eggs. They penetrated caves and caverns under the cliffs with
that sublime disregard of tides which is boyhood's happy prerogative.
They lingered at the hearths of Old Elspeth and Meg Merrilies, in the
valley below, drinking in tales of elf and goblin--too frightened to go
home in the dusk, until the servants of the big house finally hunted up
and retrieved them.
And now all this commonplace existence was to be traded off for the more
alluring one of a sailor's life--if only the stranger from Whitehaven
did not forget to keep his word and ask Johnnie Paul's father and mother
to permit him to go off to sea--and if that father and mother could be
prevailed upon to give their consent!
Young John had never covered the distance from the waterfront to his
humble home as quickly as he had that stormy afternoon following his
meeting with Mr. James Younger. There he shouted the news to his shocked
mother, and then, still in his wet garments, ran over to the Craik
estate and told his father and Mr. Craik himself.
Had not the latter interceded in his behalf at the last moment it is
doubtful if John Paul senior and his good wife would ever have allowed
Johnnie to go, when Mr. Younger called that evening and presented the
case to them. As it was, they finally agreed that their youngest son
should become an apprentice to the Whitehaven ship-owner.
Then John Paul was indeed a happy boy. He did not sleep a wink that
night. All through the long hours he lay listening to the lashing
waves. They had never sounded so sweet before.
II
THE LAND ACROSS THE SEA
"Gude-by, mither! Gude-by, faither! Gude-by, dear sisters!"
The big ship which had brought Mr. James Younger to Arbigland in quest
of sailors tugged restlessly at her anchor-chains in the river. Her
sails were being unfurled to the fresh breeze by her crew. The storm of
the day before had subsided during the night, and all was ready for the
departure.
Already a yawl-load of newly-engaged seamen had reached the vessel's
deck. And now, with a little bundle under his arm and the kisses of his
kinsfolk still warm on his cheek, young Johnnie Paul courageously tried
to keep back the lump that seemed bound to rise in his throat, and
stepped into the last ship's-boat with Mr. Younger himself. As the
oarsmen bent to their task and the boat left the dock farther and
farther behind, John waved his hand to the group on the shore. Beside
his own household Mr. Craik's family were gathered there to see him off,
also every man, woman, and child in the village. He knew them all. Every
one was sorry to see him go, and all wished the lad they loved
God-speed.
John had not fancied his eyes would blur this way when the final parting
should come. He had never been away from home before in all his twelve
years of life. It is no wonder that for a short time he had an impulse
to ask Mr. Younger to turn about and leave him behind.
But fortunately for the country in which American children live, this
Scotch lad steeled himself into seeing his bargain through, be it for
better or for worse. So he maintained a steadfast silence, gazed
straight ahead at the scurrying sailors aboard the big ship, which was
now quite close, and, quickly absorbed in their movements, soon
recovered his enthusiasm for the project upon which he had entered.
Landlubber though they might call him, he determined to show these tars
that he was no stranger to the ways, whims and tricks of water even if
he were unused to handling a big vessel.
Two hours later the high cliffs marking the site of Arbigland were all
that young John could see of the little fishing-village. They were well
out in the Solway, plowing their way toward Whitehaven, on the adjoining
English coast. The sea was still quite rough--rough enough to have made
any lad unused to the rolling motion of a boat prodigiously seasick. Not
so Johnnie Paul. To the disappointment of a number of the old salts who
expected to have sport with him in this way, John went about his new
duties as serenely as if he had been on land. Therefore they found no
opportunity to offer him the remedy they were wont to hand out to the
usual run of shipmaster's apprentices--
"Just a wee drap o' saut water,
And if a piece o' fat pork, after,
Tied in a string ye tak' an' swallow,
Ye'll find that muckle change will follow."
Nor did he have to listen to the suggestion, always gravely given, that
the sufferer should make his will, which did not seem amiss, so awful
are the pangs of that first hour when the novice is afraid he _will_
die--and the second, when he is afraid he will _not_!
All in all, the Scotch lad stood that first short voyage to Whitehaven
in fine shape. So bravely had he faced the jibes and rough play of the
sailors coming across the Solway, so well had he performed his duties,
that Mr. Younger's interest in him expanded. When they reached port he
had the boy take quarters with him at his own splendid home, where Mrs.
Younger treated him with as much consideration as if he were her own
son. Here John stayed for almost two weeks, while the new vessel on
which he was to sail was taking on her finishing touches and being fully
provisioned. In the meantime he was not idle, running errands for his
host and hostess, working in their garden, and making himself generally
useful.
Spare moments he put in thumbing his way through various volumes in the
splendid library of Mr. Younger. Indeed, so assiduously did he apply
himself to reading several books on naval history that, the day he left,
the ship-owner presented him with two such works, much to John's
gratification. With his own meager savings he purchased an oilcloth
wrapper for these treasures and stored them carefully away aboard the
_Friendship_, the new vessel.
Mr. Younger's line of ships were engaged largely in the American trade;
so when John learned that the _Friendship_ was going to make her maiden
voyage to Virginia, the very State in which his brother Willie was
located, his joy knew no bounds. Just before he stepped aboard for the
last time he mailed a letter to his mother, telling her of the happy
tidings, and as the big ship worked out into the Irish Sea, with her bow
pointed for the New Country across the Atlantic, he looked forward to
the trip with a rare eagerness.
His ship was commanded by Captain Benson. This skipper was a stern
disciplinarian, none too well liked by the crew. Yet he was kind to the
young apprentice, who found him just in every particular, and admired
his high-spirited nature, so much like his own.
The lad learned fast. With the sailors he was always a favorite. Before
the vessel reached American waters he could climb a mast or yardarm with
the most nimble of them, and was as fearless as the captain himself when
the waves were running high.
At last the green shores of America were sighted one morning by the
lookout at the masthead. Near sunset the _Friendship_ dropped anchor in
the quiet waters of the Rappahannock River, not far from the plantation
where Willie Paul lived with William Jones, the cousin who had adopted
him years ago.
Johnnie's heart beat like a trip-hammer as he made his way, after some
inquiries, up the winding drive which led toward a big white house. All
around stretched acres of fertile fields, now heavy with ripening grain
and tobacco. At the rear of the great house were numbers of smaller
buildings, about some of which he could see negro children playing.
Surely _all_ of this could not belong to the Jones estate! Why it was
bigger than the wonderful premises of the Craiks!--even bigger than all
of the fishing-village of Arbigland itself! The Scotch boy faltered. He
stopped. He must have made a mistake. Once more he swept his eyes around
at the huge fields, from one quarter of which came faintly rolling
toward him the sounds of a rollicking negro chorus.
Just then a tall figure--that of a young man--appeared on the portico of
the great house. This person gazed intently toward the lad, then
proceeded in his direction.
As the young man came closer, John saw that he was a splendid-looking
fellow. While slender he had a broad chest and square shoulders, and a
heavy mass of wavy auburn hair crowned his bare head, behind which it
was gathered in the manner of the period. Finer breeches, waistcoat,
stockings, gaiters, and shoes, the boy had never seen.
The young man's blue eyes looked down into John's pleasantly and
inquiringly. "Well, my lad," said he in perfect English, "can I serve
you in any manner?"
"Sir," replied John awkwardly, "I fear I ha' been trespassing a wee bit.
I ha' just come this day in a gude vessel, the _Friendship_, all the way
from Whitehaven, England, and I am bent on seeing my brither who has
lived some'r' in these parts this many a year."
"Your speech shows you to be Scotch. What is this brother's name?" asked
the planter quickly.
"Willie Paul it was, but now it be Willie Jones because----"
"Willie Jones! And you are...?"
"Johnnie Paul, sir."
"Johnnie," said the young man, seizing him by the shoulders and squaring
him around, as he peered earnestly down at the boy, "look fairly into my
face. Tell me--is there anything you see there which reminds you of
anybody you know?"
"On'y two things, sir. Ye ha'--asking pardon--the big ears o' my faither
an' the twinklin' blue eyes o' my mither."
The young man smiled. Those blue eyes twinkled more than ever. "Johnnie
Paul," cried he, "you are very observing; but apparently not enough so
to recognize me as your brother!"
The next moment his big arms had swept around the little sailor, and
Johnnie had never known such a happy moment. He was overjoyed to meet
finally this brother he had never seen before. Together the happy pair
went up the path and into the great house where the lad from far-away
shores was made the welcome guest of the plantation owner and
foster-father of Willie, William Jones himself.
Just two weeks the _Friendship_ lay in the river discharging her
consignment of farm implements, so much needed by the new settlers, for
a cargo of tobacco and cotton to be taken back to England. Young John's
services were not required aboard ship during this time, and it gave him
a fine chance to visit with his brother and gain some knowledge of
plantation life. He found that William Paul Jones had married since the
family in Scotland had heard from him last, and that he was now overseer
of his foster-father's estate, with a splendid future apparently
awaiting him.
The premises boasted of some of the finest horses in the country. It was
John's delight to mount one of these mettlesome animals and with his
brother or Mr. Jones go cantering down the shady Virginia roads in the
neighborhood, or, at slower pace, cover the grounds of the big
plantation. Of an evening they would call on neighbors, else neighbors
would partake of the hospitality of the Jones's. The boy took an
immediate liking to the generous, outspoken class of people he met. The
American boys especially pleased him. In their active, fearless play,
and love for adventure, they seemed a part of his own bold and hardy
Scotch spirit. Many a wrestling bout did he indulge in with the best of
them, and while he was sometimes thrown he had the satisfaction of
knowing that it never was by a chap younger than himself.
Mr. Jones took a strong fancy to the little Scotchman. Since Willie had
been adopted he had come to regard the elder brother with the strongest
of paternal affection, but now that he had grown up and married, the
foster-father found himself yearning once more for young companionship.
Just before Johnnie left, this kind-hearted planter offered to adopt him
also. But the lad's real love was for the sea. Much as he liked this
interesting, free life in Virginia, he did not feel that he could give
up his precious ships for it.
So off he sailed for Whitehaven.
III
THE YOUNG SAILOR
Life before the mast in 1759 was a hard routine, not calculated to make
a "sissy" or a mollycoddle out of any boy. Colleges and training-schools
for turning out ship's officers there were none; every single man who
attained such executive positions did so at the long and laborious
expense of time and actual service in positions lower down the ladder.
Johnnie Paul knew all the hard work that lay before him, before he had
been aboard the _Friendship_ a fortnight, for there were many old
veterans of the crew--failures themselves in the way of promotion--who
were only too glad to try to discourage the lad because they felt
irritated at their own lack of progress. One of the most persistent of
these was a black-browed, bewhiskered fellow named Tom Whiddon. Whiddon
was a jealous-minded sailor, given to sulky spells, and he seemed to
take pleasure in telling John at every opportunity that the life of a
sailor was a dog's life at the best, and that only men of money having a
"pull" with the owners could ever hope to get an officer's berth.
The Scotch lad listened to Tom Whiddon's growling complaints with
growing impatience, although politely enough at first. As the seaman
continued to harass him he asked him to desist, but this only caused a
coarse laugh from Whiddon and some of his associates who were
disgruntled at Captain Benson's apparent liking for the young
apprentice.
Finally came a day when the good ship lay becalmed. At such times a crew
usually has difficulty to while away the hours. Between the times when
they are "whistling for a wind" there is little to do except to talk,
tell yarns, do stunts, and play practical jokes on one another.
John had already found out to his sorrow, by reason of several other
becalmings on the trip from Whitehaven to America, that when there is a
boy aboard, that boy is likely to be the chief butt of such practical
jokes. As then it was so now. But as then he also now good-naturedly
laughed with them at the pranks they played at his expense. It was only
when Tom Whiddon, with a malicious grin on his face, publicly called him
the "cap'n's baby" that Johnnie's quick Scotch temper got the best of
him.
Like a flash he stood before the black-browed Whiddon, a belaying-pin in
one hand, his hazel eyes snapping fire, his cheeks burning at the
injustice of the remark.
"Say that again, Tom Whiddon, an' I'll knock ye flat on this deck!"
cried Johnnie.
There was a tenseness in his tones, an earnestness in his demeanor that
should have warned Whiddon. But the big bully saw only his own gigantic
proportions as compared with the small bundle of quivering flesh
confronting him. Stung by the lad's threat and the amused looks his
comrades cast in his direction, Whiddon blurted out:
"Hi say it ag'in--'cap'n's baby'! an' hif you don't----"
The sailor was about to say, "Hif you don't drop that belayin'-pin Hi'll
trounce you good an' proper, ye little snapper," when the boy's arm
whipped forward, the belaying-pin landed on Whiddon's thick skull and
he measured his length on the deck.
The crew had not looked for such summary action on the part of the
master's-boy no more than had the burly Whiddon himself. It had seemed
ridiculous to think such a small boy would go to such extremes in
upholding his honor and dignity. Now, as they gazed down aghast at their
fallen comrade, who moved not a muscle, they were almost as stunned as
he.
When they awoke, one or two of them sprang forward and seized the boy,
but a half-dozen others, including the first and second mates, pulled
them away.
"Leave the lad alone!" they demanded. "Whiddon got no more than he
deserved."
This seemed to be the consensus of opinion. The fellow was deservedly
unpopular. Not a hand was lifted for his relief until young John Paul
himself got some water, sprinkled it in his face, and brought him to.
This tenderness of heart was characteristic of the lad in later years.
It is said that when he became skipper of his own vessel, on more than
one occasion his hot temper caused him to cuff or kick one of his
officers for a breach of discipline, while his sympathetic nature
immediately afterward prompted him to invite the culprit to mess with
him in his cabin.
Merchant ships then plying for trade were not fitted out with the
refinements of a modern hotel, as might be said of many of them
nowadays; after a few days out even the captain's table could not boast
fresh provisions, and long voyages almost inevitably ended with scurvy
among the crew, due to lack of green vegetables and an overdose of
brine. Though the _menu_ lacked variety, the same could not be said of
the names of the dishes which were not only picturesque but in some
cases actually descriptive. For instance, there was "Salt Junk and
Pork," "Lobscouse," "Plum-duff," "Dog's Body," "Sea Pies," "Rice Tail,"
"Hurryhush," "Pea Coffee," and "Bellywash."
With our steam and wireless to-day it is hard to realize the complete
isolation which was formerly the seaman's lot. Empires might rise and
fall, and Jack be none the wiser until he touched at port, or spoke some
swifter craft within hail of the skipper's brazen-throated
speaking-trumpet. Often becalmed for days at a time, in the manner
previously referred to, with nothing to break the sameness of glassy
water and nebulous horizon, the most trifling incident furnished food
for conversation and attention.
Even when the ship was under headway, the incessant moaning and
whistling of wind through the rigging, the dull flapping of canvas at
every shift of the breeze, itself bore a sense of monotony which made
the crew long for the sight of a friendly sail or a bit of land. Once in
port, the captain, relieved of responsibility, had his own affairs to
occupy him ashore, as did most of his officers. His crew, divided
between land and craft alternately, were entertained aboard by scores of
natives with baskets of gewgaws to sell, and very often guzzled rum
ashore until they could scarcely zig-zag their way back to the yawl.
Despite its temptations, life at sea had a broadening influence for the
average young man of the time. He returned very much more the man of the
world, with harder muscles, and was far better able to take care of
himself than his stay-at-home brother. On his voyages he gathered a
store of extensive and varied information relating to the races and the
geography of the world, that he could never get out of books. True, his
associations and experiences made him a rough, blunt-spoken fellow as a
rule; but on the whole they made his heart more sympathetic for those in
trouble, more understanding of the big things in life.
Johnnie Paul was now an attractive lad, high-spirited, quick to anger at
injustice, open and honorable,--traits he seemed to have taken from the
Highland blood of his mother. To his father, the Lowlander, he probably
owed his restraining sense of strategy and caution. But for the latter
inheritance of character it is likely his bold spirit would often have
gotten him into trouble, and he could never have won the fights which he
did later on. While John's rough life, in association with common seamen
from the time that he was twelve years old, and his lack of previous
education, made difficult his becoming what he ardently wished to be--a
cultivated gentleman--he applied himself diligently to that end. During
the long years on the deep which followed, by hard study the boy
educated himself to a considerable degree, not only in seamanship and
navigation, but also in naval history and in the French and Spanish
languages. On a voyage his habit was to seek out a quiet spot, with his
books, at every lull in his tasks. On shore, instead of carousing with
his associates, he was given to hunting out the most distinguished or
best-informed person he could find; by chatting with him, he added to
his rapidly increasing fund of knowledge. His handwriting was always the
painful scrawl of a schoolboy, probably because being far more adept
with his tongue than with his spelling, he preferred to dictate most of
his letters, that their recipients should not suspect his limited
schooling, a matter about which he was always very sensitive.
For four years following his maiden voyage, John Paul was a member of
the crew of the _Friendship_. His voyages were mainly to and from the
West Indies. During this time he managed to call twice upon his brother
Willie in Virginia, and each time the people there grew to like him
better, and he to appreciate the attractions of the New Country. He also
had been to see his folks at Arbigland once or twice, on occasions when
his ship was laying-over at Whitehaven, and these were happy occasions
for all concerned, as we may suppose.
John's rise in the merchant service was rapid. When he was sixteen, a
sturdy youth with the nimbleness of a cat and almost the strength of a
man, Mr. Younger retired from business, and as a reward to the
capability and faithfulness of his charge, the ship-owner returned him
the indentures which made him his own master. In addition to this he
presented him to the captain of the _King George_ of Whitehaven, a
slaver, with recommendation that the lad be given an appointment as
first-mate.
It must be remembered that at this time the slave-trade was not regarded
as anything dishonorable. Numerous vessels were attracted to it as a
money-making venture, and openly plied back and forth between the home
of the black man and the island of Jamaica. Few sailors, few officers,
few of the people at large, thought it wrong to steal lusty young
negroes and negresses away from their parents and kinsmen and offer them
for sale to the Jamaican slave-dealers and plantation owners.
So young John Paul first engaged in the trade without any compunctions
of conscience. But it was not for long. At the end of two years he had
seen so many broken hearts among the blacks as a result of the forced
partings, had been an observer of so much unnecessary suffering because
of the cruelty of the rough fellows who handled the human freight, that
his heart sickened. In fact, so disgusted was he that he even sold out
the sixth interest which he had obtained in the ship, quitted it, and
boarded the _John O'Gaunt_, at Kingston, Jamaica, bound as a passenger
for Whitehaven.
On the trip home the captain, mate, and all but five of the crew of the
_John O'Gaunt_ died of yellow fever. Not a man was left, except John
Paul, who knew enough about navigation to bring the afflicted ship into
port. So the lad took charge. With neatness and dispatch he guided the
brig across the dangerous waters of the Atlantic and into her haven. Her
pleased owners rewarded him with a share of her cargo, and gratified him
even more by making him captain and supercargo of a new ship--the
_John_--which was engaged in the West Indian merchant trade.
Life on a merchantman is rough enough to-day; it was far rougher at that
time. To maintain discipline at sea required a strong hand and a tongue
none too gentle. Kind-hearted enough by nature, John had learned his
lessons by this time; he knew that indecision and softness had no place
in an efficient skipper's makeup before his men, and while good enough
to his crew at all times he insisted that they obey his commands with
respect and promptness.
During the third voyage of the _John_, when fever had greatly reduced
the crew and every man on board was more or less fretful and irritable,
Mungo Maxwell, a mulatto carpenter, became mutinous to such an extent
that the young commander deemed it advisable to have him flogged, not
only as fitting punishment, but as a salutary example for the
observation of the remainder of the crew. The chastisement duly took
place. It was not unusually severe, but it happened that, unknown to the
youth, the man was just coming down himself with the scourge. He took to
his bed, the fever gripped him, and he never arose again.
A few envious enemies of John immediately circulated reports that the
mulatto had been struck down and murdered by the young captain. He was
arrested by the governor of Tobago, in the vicinity of which the vessel
happened to be at the time, and taken before the tribunal of that place.
Since the body of the stricken carpenter had been immediately consigned
to the deep, following the custom in such deaths, it could not be
produced to substantiate John's claims of innocence, but witnesses in
his favor were plentiful enough to aid in his acquittal.
This incident, in spite of its outcome, worried the lad a great deal.
His pride was hurt. In a letter to his mother and sisters, he referred
frequently to it with remorse, and in those parts where he told of
people still throwing it up to him in a condemning manner, his language
was even bitter. Can we blame him?
A year later, in 1870, when he was twenty, John learned that William
Jones, foster-father of his brother, had died, bequeathing to Willie his
entire property of three thousand acres, the buildings, animals, slaves,
and a sloop. A clause of the will particularly personal was to the
effect that, should the adopted son die without children, the estate,
excepting an adequate provision for Willie's wife, was to go to his
youngest brother, our John Paul.
The next two years the young captain continued to guide the _Two
Friends_, of Kingston, Jamaica, of which he had taken command some four
years earlier. Numerous voyages were made to the Indian Ocean, and
cargoes of woolen and thread goods brought back. Twice trips were made
to Baltic ports.
Finally, in 1771, John obtained command of the _Betsy_, of London, a
ship trading with the West Indies. This venture made it possible for the
young man to save a considerable amount of money, a goodly share of
which he fondly anticipated sending home to his mother and sisters.
Just a year later, in 1772, business having called him in that vicinity,
he ran the _Betsy_ into the Rappahannock. He had not seen or heard from
Willie for over a year. This would be a splendid opportunity. How
surprised his brother would be!
At the door he was met by a servant who knew him at first sight. The
negro's eyes danced with delight, his mouth spread into a broad grin,
showing two rows of glistening white teeth. But the next moment he grew
very sober.
"Hush, Marse John," he said in the lowest of whispers. "Ah's suah sorry
t' tell yo', but Marse Willyum am berry, berry sick."
Going in quickly, the young sailor was grief-stricken to find his
brother lying at the point of death.
IV
THE YOUNG PLANTER
William Jones was, indeed, too ill to recognize his brother, and died in
that condition. John felt the blow keenly, the more so because he could
not have a last word with the kinsman he had seen so little of, and had
come to regard with such strong affection.
In accordance with the provisions of the will, the bulk of the estate
was now due to go to Johnnie Paul, provided the latter would accept
Jones as a surname. Our young sailor, after some deliberation, decided
to make the change, settle down, and become a Virginia planter. But he
could not satisfy himself with dropping the name of Paul. This was a
family heirloom which he felt he must preserve, especially now since he
was the only male member of his immediate family possessing it, his good
father having gone some months before. Therefore, he forthwith discarded
his Christian name of John--whose commonplaceness he had never
liked--and became known as Paul Jones. Under this half-assumed
appellation he did the really big things of his career which brought him
fame. Under it he shouldered responsibilities of which any true-hearted,
loyal American citizen might well be proud, although he was only the son
of a poor Scotch gardener, a young man without education, without a
country he could really claim as his own.
Paul Jones--as we shall now have to call him--found that he had
inherited "3000 acres of prime land, bordering for twelve furlongs on
the right bank of the Rappahannock, running back southward three miles,
1000 acres of which are cleared and under plough or grass, 2000 acres of
which are strong first-growth timber; a grist-mill with flour-cloth and
fans turned by water power; mansion, overseer's house, negro quarters,
stables, tobacco houses, threshing-floor, river-wharf, one sloop of
twenty tons, thirty negroes of all ages (eighteen adults), twenty horses
and colts, eighty neat cattle and calves, sundry sheep and swine; and
all necessary means of tilling the soil."
With the property came also old Duncan Macbean. This canny, tough old
Scotsman Willie Jones had saved from the tomahawks of the Indians at the
time of Braddock's rout. He had brought him home, nursed him until well
of his wounds, and then made him overseer of the plantation. In this
capacity Duncan had amply proved his efficiency. He had become greatly
attached to the place, and in his will the master had requested that he
be continued as overseer as long as he was physically and mentally
capable.
Paul Jones sent the _Betsy_ back to London under the command of his
first-mate, with word to her owners that, for the present at least, he
was relinquishing the attractions of the sea. He then settled down in
earnest to the new life that had opened up before him.
As in everything he undertook, he waded into the duties confronting him
with an interest keen and thorough. He was not afraid to ask questions
of those whose experience warranted them knowing more than he about his
new task, no matter how humble or high their stations. In this way he
learned the tricks of the planter with surprising rapidity. It was not
long before he saw the advisability of rotating his tobacco crops with
sowings of maize, that the fertility of his fields might not be
exhausted, and a number of neighboring planters who had never thought of
such a thing before, followed suit.
There was not a horse on the plantation, nor in the county which could
unseat him. So much was he liked by his slaves that they anticipated his
every wish, it seemed. In the early day, before the sun had become
intolerable, he rode over his broad acres at a leisurely pace, noting
the crops, the black workers, the pickaninnies at play,--everything.
Apparently nothing tending toward a betterment of the condition of his
help and the acres they tilled seemed to escape him. A gentle bit of
censure here, a pat on a woolly head there, a trinket in a child's
outstretched dusky hand, and he would turn his horse's head in another
direction.
The surrounding forests contained game in profusion; and the low sandy
marshes around Urbana abounded in great flocks of snipe and other
water-fowl. With old Duncan Macbean the young master often shouldered
the fine Lancaster rifle left by his brother, stuck a brace of pistols
in his belt, and spent a day in the wilds. No better shot than the old
Scotsman could be found in the whole country. Although an old Indian
wound had left him lame, this in no wise interfered with his wonderful
skill with either pistol or rifle. He could shoot from either hand or
either shoulder, from almost any position, and put a ball through a wild
turkey's head at a hundred yards.
Paul Jones could scarcely credit the evidence of his eyes when he first
saw old Duncan shoot, for he had never seen such accuracy before. An
intense desire came over him to master firearms with equal skill. He
imparted this wish to his overseer, and the consequence was that in the
course of the next two years the old veteran taught him to handle the
pistol and rifle with a deadliness which became the talk of the
countryside.
However, the ability to shoot was really more a matter of necessity than
an accomplishment in those days. Scattering bands of the Rappahannock
Indians often stole down stream to the holdings of the Scotch-Irish
planters along the tidewater shores, and when opportunity offered, ran
off portions of their live stock, or even sent a wicked arrow through an
unwary white man. In her scrolled coach, creaking and swaying on its
great hinges and leather straps, milady never took her airings down the
rough sandy roads without a guarding retinue of armed slaves and whites.
Nor did men themselves venture forth in the fastnesses without their
fingers playing about hammer and trigger, ever ready to throw up the
former at the slightest suspicious sight or sound, ready to pull the
latter when they became convinced that such a procedure was warranted.
Young Paul Jones enjoyed his new life to the utmost. The constant peril
from the redskins, the exciting brushes which he and old Duncan Macbean
had with some of them on different occasions, the thrilling hunts in the
forest, all went to satisfy his active, adventure-loving nature. On the
other hand, he had plenty of spare time in which to gratify his
ambitions for study, for becoming a man of power in his own section as
well as in the affairs of the new nation. He continued to study from
books, perfected his knowledge of the French and Spanish languages, and
even traveled over the Colonies quite extensively. He entertained
lavishly at home. His gallantry and courtesy made him very popular.
In his trips away from home he met many prominent statesmen of the time,
and renewed friendships with others whom he had previously met. Among
the latter was Joseph Hewes, with whom he was unusually intimate. Other
noted men of his acquaintance were Thomas Jefferson, Philip Livingston,
George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, the Lees, and Robert and
Gouverneur Morris.
For some time the Colonists had been growing more and more restless
under the burdensome taxes and conditions imposed upon them by England,
the mother-country. The governors she appointed seemed to deal with the
people unjustly, even cruelly at times. Protests did no good. If one
official was removed a worse one was put in his place. So life in the
new land, instead of flourishing, became a burden.
Bitterness began to creep into the voices of the Colonists when they
talked of Great Britain. The man who thought conditions all right was
frowned upon by the majority and called a "Tory." He was told either to
keep his silence, or go back across the seas. The majority--the
"Whigs"--did not want such men howling for the king on the virgin ground
which they had come hundreds of miles to settle and keep free from the
fetters of aristocratic rulers and their smothering taxes.
In 1774, Paul Jones, then twenty-seven years of age, returning from
Edmonton, stopped over in Norfolk to visit some friends. Several British
ships lay at anchor in the harbor. The Colonists forgot their grievances
under the impulse of their natural hospitality. Wishing to show kindness
to the king's sailors rather than loyalty to his empire, the Americans
entertained the officers at an elaborate ball.
As customary at such functions wine was furnished. Instead of partaking
of this sparingly, most of the young English officers drank freely, and
became very insolent and abusive. Stepping up to one of the most
talkative of them--Lieutenant Parker, by name--Paul Jones demanded:
"Did I not overhear you say, sir, that in the case of a revolt in this
country England will easily suppress it?"
"Thash jus' what I said," replied Lieutenant Parker thickly. "Mean it
too, m'lad. But I might add that if the courage of your men ish no
finer'n the virtue of your women, you'll be licked before the fight's
one day old."
In an instant the fist of the young planter, as hard as an oak knot
beneath its laced cuff, swung out from his broad shoulder. The British
officer went down like a log.
At once there was an aggressive movement on the part of his comrades;
but the Americans, now thoroughly aroused to the defense of their
ideals, flocked around Paul Jones in such numbers that the king's men
fell back, picked up their helpless companion, and hurried aboard their
ships.
Expecting that, after the custom of the day, Lieutenant Parker might
challenge him to a duel, Paul Jones at once proceeded to make
arrangements with a friend, Mr. Granville Hurst, to represent him in the
event of any negotiations.
"Propose pistols at ten paces," said the young planter. "Advise the
gentleman I will meet him at Craney Island, at such time as he may
desire."
But this meeting never took place, for the very good reason that
Lieutenant Parker heard about Paul Jones's unerring use of a pistol; his
sloop departed at ebb tide for Charlestown, and, so far as he was
concerned personally, the incident seemed closed.
The Colonists, however, did not forget it in a hurry. Like wildfire the
news of the encounter spread. Colonial newspapers all gave considerable
space to it. Suddenly Paul Jones found himself the most-talked-of man in
Virginia. He was the hero of men, women, and children. Unofficially he
had struck the first blow of the threatening conflict with England.
V
THE BIRTH OF THE UNITED STATES NAVY
The following spring--that of 1775--Paul Jones decided to board his
sloop and make a little pleasure trip by sea to Boston. With his crew
and two favorite slaves, Cato and Scipio, he sailed down the river,
worked out into the Atlantic, and keeping close to the New Jersey
headlands, pointed north.
When he reached New York he dropped anchor, intending to meet some of
his friends in that city. One of the very first of these he encountered
was William Livingston. This patriot's face showed plenty of excitement.
"Paul, have you heard the news?" he asked.
"I have not been favored," replied Paul Jones. "I trust it is nothing
serious concerning your own family."
"I fear it _is_ serious; but it concerns my family no more than it
concerns any other family in the Colonies," was William Livingston's
answer. "Paul, my friend, the British have beaten us at Lexington!"
Paul Jones was gravely concerned. He plied his friend with many
questions. After a long discussion they parted. The young planter
immediately gave up his plans for visiting Boston; he wished to go home
and in the seclusion of the plantation calmly think over the matter and
decide what to do.
Within twenty-four hours after his arrival he sent to Thomas Jefferson
the following letter:
"It is, I think, to be taken for granted that there can be no more
temporizing. I am too recently from the mother country, and my
knowledge of the temper of the king, his ministers, and their
majority in the House of Commons, is too fresh to allow me to
believe that anything is, or possibly can be in store except either
war to the knife or total submission to complete slavery.
"... I cannot conceive of submission to complete slavery; therefore
only war is in sight. The Congress, therefore, must soon meet
again, and when it meets it must face the necessity of taking those
measures which it did not take last fall in its first session,
namely, provision for armament by land and sea.
"Such being clearly the position of affairs, I beg you to keep my
name in your memory when the Congress shall assemble again, and in
any provision that may be taken for a naval force, to call upon me
in any capacity which your knowledge of my seafaring experience and
your opinions of my qualifications may dictate."
One morning, a short time after this, Paul Jones received word that two
French frigates had come to anchor in Hampton Roads. With the
hospitality of the true sailor and true Virginia planter he loaded his
sloop with the best green vegetables the plantation afforded, and
started down the Rappahannock to welcome the newcomers.
The two frigates were in command of Captain De Kersaint, one of the
ablest officers in the French navy, who afterwards became an admiral.
The second in command was no less than the Duc De Chartres, eldest son
of the Duc D'Orléans, who had sent De Chartres to America on a "cruise
of instruction," to fit him for the hereditary post of Lord High Admiral
of France. He was Paul Jones's own age exactly, and with his charming
wife, the Duchesse De Chartres, he received the young planter with a
great cordiality. Their liking for Paul Jones increased as they chatted.
In fact, the Duke himself took such a violent fancy to their guest that
when the latter asked if he might be shown plans of the construction of
their splendid frigate. _La Terpischore_, with a view to offering
suggestions to the Colonists in building war craft, the French nobleman
readily assented. With royal prerogative he ordered his ship's carpenter
to make deck and sail drawings, hull details,--everything that could in
any way aid the young Scotchman in understanding the essential
constructive features of the vessel.
It was of inestimable advantage to Paul Jones to have had the
opportunity of inspecting at such close range, much less get drawings
of, one of the best and most modern ships of the French navy. It is not
strange that the American frigate _Alliance_, built some time later,
followed closely the same general lines as _La Terpischore_; that she
mounted the same battery--twenty-eight long 12-pounders on the gun deck,
and ten long 9-pounders above. Was this merely a coincidence? Or, on the
other hand, did the young Scotchman have a hand in the matter?
At a meeting of the Continental Congress on May 10, 1775, the Naval
Committee invited Paul Jones to lay before it such information and
advice as might seem to him useful in assisting the committee in
discharging its labors. Paul Jones felt strongly on the subject of
establishing a navy, and thought that the only way to start was to offer
prizes to the crews of privateersmen. In a letter to Joseph Hewes he
observed:
"If our enemies, with the best established and most formidable navy
in the universe, have found it expedient to assign all prizes to
the captors, how much more is such policy essential to our infant
fleet? But I need no argument to convince you of the necessity of
making the emoluments of our navy equal, if not superior, to
theirs."
In this appeal to Congress there was good common-sense. Paul Jones was
not actuated by a love of gain; he was in the struggle because he
thought it a righteous cause. Yet he knew that while he had the profits
of his plantation for the past two or three seasons--some 4000
pounds--to fall back upon when his Government allowances should fail to
meet expenses, the average Colonist did not. The wives and children of
the latter must be fed and clothed while he was away fighting. Unless
he could be promised ample revenue from prizes, Paul Jones knew that
Jack would fight half-heartedly and in the dumps, even though he loved
his country in every fiber of his being. His pitifully inadequate
Government allowance of eight dollars a month was surely no attraction.
On November 15, 1776, Congress improved this situation somewhat, but did
not meet Paul Jones's wishes in the matter, by resolving "that a bounty
of twenty dollars be paid to the commanders, officers, and men, of such
Continental ships or vessels of war as shall make a prize of any British
ships or vessels of war, for every cannon on board such a prize at the
time of such capture; and eight dollars per head for every man then on
board and belonging to such prize."
In addition to this General Washington approved the following
distribution of the prize: "That the captain or commander should receive
six shares; the first-lieutenant, five, the second-lieutenant and the
surgeon, four; the master, three; steward, two; mate, gunner,
gunner's-mate, boatswain, and sergeant, one and one-half shares; the
private, one share." Nothing was said about the poor cook. Undoubtedly
he ranked with the ordinary seaman when the time of distribution came.
To all intents and purposes an American, the truth remains that Paul
Jones was a Scotchman. His enthusiastic soul was wholly for the cause of
liberty in his new country, but the men who envied him and wanted the
offices for which his high capabilities fitted him so signally never let
him and others forget that he was an alien. This was, of course, quite
absurd; for what were they themselves? What had they been until a few
months ago? The fact is, Paul Jones had served under three masters,
until he was a far more competent officer than many of those in the
established navies of Europe, where influence and patronage often made
officers of men of long lineage and short experience.
Thus in the _Journal of Congress_, dated December 22, 1775, the name of
Paul Jones heads the list of first-lieutenants, instead of the list of
captains as it should. His friend Joseph Hewes, who championed the
candidates from the southern colonies, had done his best to make the
young planter a captain, but had failed at the antagonism of John Adams,
who represented the candidates from the northern colonies, which
demanded full control of naval affairs.
When affairs had at last been worked down to a point of action by sea,
the nucleus of the first navy of the new country consisted of the
_Alfred_, the _Columbus_, the _Andrew Doria_, the _Providence_, and the
_Cabot_. Five little ships to face the finely-appointed scores of
frigates and sloops-of-war in the service of the king!
VI
RAISING THE FIRST AMERICAN FLAG
That winter of 1776 was a cold one. Snow had lain heavy in the streets
of Philadelphia since frigid blasts had brought the first downfall in
December. In January, the Delaware River, like every other stream in the
country, was locked in the grip of ice, ice a foot or more in thickness.
It was only by the constant plying up and down stream of a couple of
sturdy whaling-ships, equipped with steel-jacketed bows, that an open
channel could be maintained in the Delaware for the passage of ordinary
wooden-hulled craft.
Along the waterfront of the city innumerable masts and spars made a
somber network against the dull blue of the winter sky. On board some of
the larger of the vessels, despite the cold, men were at work repairing
and overhauling. Well down the glittering sea of ice a group of five
ships swung at anchor in the channel. Their decks, too, were a scene of
action.
All of this was taken in with a few swift glances by a quick-stepping,
stalwart young man who came down to the wharf and paused to look about
him. He was a comely-looking fellow, with broad shoulders, and a face as
bronzed as a South Sea Islander's.
It was the young Scotchman and planter, Paul Jones. But his immaculate
linen had been discarded. In its place he appeared in the trim uniform
of a Continental marine lieutenant--blue coat with red-bound
button-holes, round-cuffed blue breeches, and black gaiters.
As he looked about for a boat to take him out to the five ships riding
at anchor, Paul Jones's eye fell on a tall, lithe young man who was just
in the act of tying the painter of a whaler's yawl to one of the wharf
timbers.
Paul Jones stepped briskly up to him. "Pardon me, my fine fellow," he
said, "but a guinea is yours if you will row me out to the larger of yon
vessels, the _Alfred_, where I am in urgent service."
The young man wheeled around, displaying features unmistakably those of
an Indian, but of an unusually intelligent composition. His coal-black
eyes swept over his questioner. "I, Wannashego, will take the white
sea-soldier," he replied in excellent English.
Without further ado, Paul Jones sprang nimbly down into the boat. Its
owner cast loose and followed.
As his companion pulled lustily away in the direction of the American
ships, Paul Jones sat studying the rower. When and where had this
redskin of the American forest picked up such splendid address? What
marvelous trick of fate had possessed him of such skill with the white
man's oars?
"You are an Indian, are you not?" inquired the lieutenant presently.
"An Indian of Narragansett tribe," was the proud reply.
"Where did you learn to handle a boat in this manner?"
"On whaling cruises, sir."
"You belong to one of these whaling-ships at the wharves, then?"
"Yes, sir; to _Walrus_. She lies upstream a bit, sir. Three years I have
been with her."
"How is it you came to leave your people, Wannashego?" asked Paul Jones
curiously.
"My father, Tassa-menna-tayka, a chief who loves the white people, he
sent me from near Martha's Vineyard to learn your ways and be like you,"
declared the young Indian. There was a short pause; he turned his head
for a moment to take his bearings, and then continued: "Sir, I ask if
yonder ships are to fight the great country across the sea?"
"They are, Wannashego."
"You goin' to fight on 'em?"
"I expect to."
"I like to fight on 'em, too," was the sententious rejoinder of the
young redskin.
"Do you mean that?" asked Paul Jones sharply. "If you do, Wannashego, I
think I can get Captain Saltonstall, of my ship, the _Alfred_, to ship
you, as we are short-handed."
"Mean it a heap," said the Indian. "I shoot good. Make two bangs--get
two Red-coats."
Paul Jones laughed. "I hope so. Well, Wannashego, I'll see what I can do
for you."
Shortly the boat's nose touched the accommodation-ladder over the
_Alfred's_ side. The young lieutenant held out the promised guinea to
Wannashego, but the Indian straightened up proudly. "I don't want
money," said he. "I like America country heap much. You fight for him,
so I help you beat our enemies, the Red-coats."
It was a crude expression of sentiment, but Paul Jones interpreted it
correctly, and was deeply affected by it. "Wannashego," he cried,
"return to your captain. If he will release you, and you still want to
fight the Red-coat soldiers of the sea, come to me on this ship
to-morrow and I will stir heaven and earth to make you a member of our
crew."
Captain Saltonstall was to command the ship, but he had not yet arrived.
So, for the present at least, upon Paul Jones rested the duty of
preparing her for sea. Under his leadership, arrangements went on
speedily and smoothly. The _Alfred_ bid fair to be in readiness before
some of her sister ships, it seemed.
Next morning, before the sun was an hour high, a yawl containing two men
was seen approaching. At first the lieutenant thought it might be
Captain Saltonstall himself, but his glass soon showed him his mistake.
It was the young Narragansett Indian, Wannashego, who evidently had
secured one of the sailors of his old ship to row him out to the
_Alfred_.
Paul Jones made him welcome, telling him that he was quite sure the
captain would make no objection when he should appear. Thus Wannashego,
the first and one of the very few full-blooded Indians to fight in the
first navy of this country, became a tentative member of the _Alfred's_
crew. He took hold of his duties happily and energetically, outdoing
many of his white companions.
As for the temporary commander, from the time the foot of Paul Jones
touched the deck of the vessel his active spirit pervaded everything,
and the officers under him, as well as the men, felt the force of his
executive power. Besides working all day, he and the other officers
stood watch and watch on deck throughout the wintry nights, to prevent
desertions; and although every other vessel in the squadron lost men in
this manner, not a single deserter got away from the _Alfred_.
"An' I'll bet a herrin' ag'in a p'tater, mates," remarked Bill Putters,
quartermaster, in the confidence of the forecastle, "that this Leftenant
Jones is a real seaman wot could handle this yere ol' gal better'n
Cap'n Saltonstall. I kin tell it by the cut o' his jib, the way he
squares away to tackle any job he undertakes."
"Bet so, too, Bill," supported the bos'n, Tom Wilkerson; "an' I'll go
you a cooky he's a fighter. He speaks to most of us so soft you might
think his voice was a tune from a fiddle; but, by Johnny! when Pete
Walker didn't do what he told him to, yes'dy, he thundered at him in a
way that made poor Pete's head rattle with the jar, an' Pete perty nigh
dislocated his spinal collum jumpin' to do what he wanted him to. _I'd_
like to see the leftenant in full charge. If we ever met up with any o'
them pets of the king you bet there would be some fur flyin'--an' it
wouldn't be ours as much as theirs, neether!"
One day, in the midst of the bustle of fitting out the ship, Commodore
Hopkins, who was to command the little squadron, came on board the
_Alfred_. He was formally received at the gangway by Paul Jones and
shown over the ship by him.
The commodore was a big, heavy-set man who had spent the best part of
his life at sea. He examined the vessel carefully, but made no
favorable comments, and the young lieutenant began to fear his work had
displeased the senior officer.
But it turned out otherwise. A little later, standing on the
quarter-deck, surrounded by the officers, Commodore Hopkins turned to
Paul Jones and said:
"Your work pleases me extremely, and my confidence in you, sir, is such
that if Captain Saltonstall should not appear by the time these ships
are due to sail, I shall hoist my flag on this ship and give you command
of her."
A flush of gratification arose in Paul Jones's dark face. He bowed with
the graceful courtesy that always distinguished him. "Thank you,
commodore," said he, "and may I be pardoned for expressing the hope that
Captain Saltonstall may not arrive in time! And when your flag is
hoisted on the _Alfred_, I trust there will be ready a flag of the
United Colonies to fly at the peak-halyards. I aspire to be the first
man to raise that flag upon the ocean!"
Commodore Hopkins smiled. "If the Congress is as slow as I expect it
will be, some time will elapse before it will have adopted a flag; and
there will not be time to have one made, much less, before we sail."
In this he was mistaken. The Congress had practically decided upon the
flag, and quite certain of its selection, Paul Jones from his own pocket
had already purchased the materials to make it. Bill Putters was an old
sail-maker, therefore handy with a needle, which it was his boast he
"could steer like a reg'lar tailor-man." To him the young lieutenant
entrusted the making of the first official flag of America they had
seen--a task which swelled old Bill up with a wonderful pride, as well
it might.
One stormy February day, when the channel had been freed from ice enough
for the little squadron to get out, the _Alfred_ was ready to lend her
spotless decks to the formality of the flag-raising. Captain Saltonstall
had arrived some days before. This disappointed Paul Jones. But he was
as ready to do his duty as first-lieutenant, as in the hoped-for higher
office.
The commodore's boat was seen approaching on the chill waters of the
river. The horizon was overcast. Dun clouds, driven by a strong wind,
scurried across the troubled sky. The boatswain's call, "All hands to
muster!" sounded through the ship. In a wonderfully short time, owing to
the careful drilling of Paul Jones, the three hundred sailors 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, swords at their
sides. Paul Jones headed this line.
When it was reported, "All hands up and aft!" Captain Saltonstall
emerged out of the cabin. At this Paul Jones, having previously arranged
it, called out, "Quartermaster!" and Bill Putters, perfectly groomed,
stepped from the ranks of the petty officers and saluted.
In his hand, carefully rolled up, Bill carried a small bundle. Unrolling
this he followed Paul Jones briskly aft to the flagstaff. He affixed the
flag to the halyards, along with the broad pennant of a commodore just
below, saw that the lines were free, and then stood at attention.
Meantime the commodore's boat had reached the ladder, and he came over
the side. Just as his foot touched the quarter-deck the flag with the
pennant, under Paul Jones's energetic hands, was hauled swiftly upward.
At the top the breeze caught it in all its fullness, flung it free to
the air, and the sun at that moment burst through the clouds which had
enveloped it, and bathed the emblem in all its fresh glory.
Every officer from the commodore down instantly removed his cap in
patriotic reverence. The drummer boys beat a double-ruffle. A tremendous
cheer burst from the sailors and marines.
This was not the present well-known Stars-and-Stripes, which was evolved
later, but the Pine-tree and Rattlesnake Flag with the motto, "Don't
Tread On Me!" As an emblem it was not at all artistic; but the men who
now saw it flung to the breeze for the first time thought only of the
sentiment it expressed, a sentiment still paramount in the heart of
every true-blooded American. And among those who so loudly cheered it
no man was more enthusiastic than the young Narragansett Indian,
Wannashego.
Commodore Hopkins advanced toward Lieutenant Paul Jones and said: "I
congratulate you, sir, upon your enterprise. This flag was only adopted
in Congress yesterday. You are the very first to fly it."
Within an hour the _Columbus_, the _Andrew Doria_, the _Cabot_, and the
_Providence_, led by the _Alfred_, were making out toward the open sea
under full spread of canvas, ready to meet whatsoever of the mighty foe
that might appear.
VII
AN INGLORIOUS CRUISE
The first enterprise determined upon was an expedition to the island of
New Providence, in the West Indies. As it had been learned that Fort
Nassau was well supplied with powder and shot--munitions of war sadly
wanting in the Colonies--it was thought a sudden descent might be
profitable.
The moment the English sighted the little squadron, a warning gun was
fired from the fort, and all haste made to remove and conceal as much of
the powder as possible. Delayed in getting into the harbor by a sandbar
at its mouth, further delayed by poor judgment on the part of Commodore
Hopkins, it was some time before the smaller vessels could work their
way in far enough to effect a landing of their marines.
Then it was only to find a small amount of arms and stores awaiting
them. Chagrined at his ill success, the commodore carried off the
governor of the island as a hostage.
Now all sail was set, and the American squadron made its way cautiously
along the New England coast. Although every part of these waters was
swarming with British vessels, it was determined to try to gain an
entrance into Long Island Sound by way of Narragansett Bay.
Paul Jones went about his arduous duties as first-lieutenant of the
_Alfred_ with his customary energy and determination. But at heart he
cherished a secret dissatisfaction. Coupled with his disappointment at
his own low official station was a growing impression that the senior
officer of the squadron, Commodore Hopkins himself, was incompetent. In
a number of instances during the Providence Island operation, the keen
eyes of the first-lieutenant had caught him in blunders. Although the
commodore might prove brave enough in an encounter, Paul Jones was sure
that he was not above the average in either enterprise or intelligence.
At the outset of the expedition the young officer was wild to meet the
enemy, regardless of numbers. Now, with a grave doubt gripping his
heart, he feared that they might meet Commodore Wallace's British fleet
off Newport.
But the day passed without adventure. Numerous white sails were seen in
the distance, none of which drew any nearer. Commodore Hopkins, being
well weighted down with the cannon and supplies captured at New
Providence, made no effort to investigate these far-off ships. "It is
well to let sleeping dogs lie," he said when Captain Saltonstall
proposed going after them.
Paul Jones's intrepid heart was sickened at such display of
indifference. With his capacity for meeting extraordinary dangers with
extraordinary resources of mind and courage, he could only despise the
risks that other men shunned.
The young Narragansett Indian, who had been appointed boatswain's mate
by Captain Saltonstall, was also clearly disgruntled at the commodore's
weak attitude. But beyond muttering impatiently under his breath when he
heard Commodore Hopkins's remarks about "sleeping dogs," and nudging
Paul Jones, with flashing black eyes, Wannashego was discreet enough to
say nothing. Intuitively the brave redskin knew that his Scotch friend
felt as he did.
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. Wannashego slipped noiselessly up to where Paul Jones
stood on the after-deck. The Indian youth pointed down to the gurgling
green swells as they swept aft along the _Alfred's_ hull. "These are the
waters of my people, the Narragansetts," he said softly. "They touch the
land of my old home and playgrounds."
"Wannashego, do you wish to go back to your people?" asked Paul Jones
curiously.
He shook his black-locked head. "No," he answered--"if I can fight
Red-coat sea soldiers soon. But if I have to run away when see 'em, like
this, I like to go back an' ketchum whale on whaler-ship ag'in." He
ended with an expressive grunt of disgust, and took himself off as
silently as he had appeared.
Shortly after this--about midnight--the lookout on the _Alfred's_
quarter made out Block Island. It seemed that his call had hardly died
away when a cry of "Sail ho!" was heard from the direction of the
_Cabot_.
With his night-glass to his eye Commodore Hopkins saw, about a half-mile
away, the shadowy form of a ship. Captain Saltonstall also took a look
at her. Several conjectures were raised as to her identity, and then the
glass was handed to the first-lieutenant.
"What do you think she is, Mr. Jones?" asked Commodore Hopkins. He had
more confidence in Paul Jones than he dared to confess, even to himself.
"I should say she was a British frigate, sir," was the lieutenant's
prompt reply. "She is too small for a ship-of-the-line, and she does not
carry sail enough for a merchantman under this breeze. It would seem to
me that she is merely cruising about on the lookout for somebody."
"That 'somebody' is probably ourselves," answered the commodore
uneasily, "if she's a British frigate as you think. She's likely out on
scout duty, and has a squadron of sister ships somewhere nearby."
Signal lanterns were raised to the foremasthead, asking the _Cabot_, as
the ship nearest the stranger, to engage the attention of the latter.
But before the captain of the _Cabot_ could comply it was seen that the
distant ship had come about and was making straight for the two American
vessels.
The decks of the _Alfred_ and _Cabot_ were immediately cleared for
action. No drums were beat, or other unnecessary noise made. The men
worked swiftly, went silently to their quarters; the batteries were
masked and lights placed behind, while ammunition was hurried up from
the magazine-room by the powder-monkeys, the youngest members of the
crew.
The stranger bore down upon them. Presently came a hail from her deck:
"Who are you, and whither are you bound?"
The _Cabot_ made answer: "This is the _Betsy_, from Plymouth. Who are
you?"
Every ear was strained to catch the answer. It came ringing over the
clear water through the still night air:
"His Majesty's ship _Glasgow_, of twenty-four guns!"
As the _Alfred's_ battery consisted of the same number of long
9-pounders on the gun deck and six 6-pounders on the quarter-deck it
was apparent that, if the stranger had not lied, her strength in guns
must be at least a match for the Britisher. In addition to this, the
American flag-ship had the support of the little _Cabot_, with her own
fourteen guns and crew of two hundred. Commodore Hopkins felt a great
relief when he noted this. The American crews thought they would make
short work of the enemy. But not so Paul Jones. He had already seen too
much incompetence displayed on that cruise to feel anything but serious
misgivings.
It was now two-thirty in the morning. The moon had gone down. Evidently
in the darkness that prevailed the _Glasgow_ was ignorant of the fact
that there were other American ships in the little squadron, else she
would have approached with greater caution. As it happened they did not
come up during the fray which ensued, and took practically no part at
all in it.
The _Cabot_ had now got very close to the lee bow of the enemy, and
suddenly poured a broadside into her. Instantly the British ship seemed
to wake up to her danger. She wore around with all haste, and ran off to
clear for action. In twenty minutes she bore down again, this time with
a grimness of purpose that there was no mistaking.
Paul Jones was in command of the gun deck. The _Alfred_ was so heavily
laden with war trophies that she was down in the water almost to her
portsills; but the sea was calm and her lowness in no wise prevented the
free use of both her batteries, which were used with the utmost
ferocity.
The fighting was kept up until daybreak. The _Glasgow_ was hulled a
number of times, her mainmast was deeply scarred, her sails and rigging
well riddled with shot. But she had disabled the little _Cabot_ at the
second broadside from her big guns, and had then concentrated her
attention on the _Alfred_ with such good marksmanship that the
wheelblock of the American was carried away and she came helplessly up
into the wind in such a position that the enemy poured in several
disastrous broadsides before her head could be regained. In this
maneuver such poor seamanship was displayed on the part of Commodore
Hopkins and Captain Saltonstall that Paul Jones fairly boiled within
himself; but he could only hold his peace at the time. Later on, in
letters to his friends, he gave full vent to his disgust at the way the
American ships were handled; for only one commanding officer--Captain
Biddle, of the _Andrew Doria_, who gave futile but heroic chase to the
_Glasgow_--did he have particular praise.
When, with the coming of morning, the British ship retired, she was
suffered to get away by Commodore Hopkins. He seemed to be glad that she
had not stayed to do them worse damage. The brave American seamen fumed
in the privacy of the fo'c'sl' on that voyage in. Old Bill Putters
cursed at every breath whenever he was out of an officer's sight.
The Government held two courts-martial following the _Glasgow_ affair.
As a result Captain Hazard, of the _Providence_, was dishonorably
dismissed from service, and numerous other officers censured, among them
Commodore Hopkins. Undoubtedly the latter would have met with dismissal
except for powerful political influences brought to bear in his behalf.
VIII
THE YOUNG CAPTAIN
Although there was a subtle estrangement between Commodore Hopkins and
Paul Jones, each respected the other's character. At the close of the
inglorious expedition which we have dealt with, the senior officer came
to the conclusion that it would be far less embarrassing to both
concerned were the first-lieutenant of the _Alfred_ placed on some ship
other than that occupied by the chief of the squadron himself.
Therefore, with more adroitness than he had displayed in meeting the
enemy, Commodore Hopkins managed to induce Congress to offer the
energetic Scotchman a berth as commander of the _Providence_, in the
place of the dismissed Captain Hazard. He also permitted him to take
with him a few of his favorite men, among this number Wannashego, the
young Indian. The latter's joy knew no bounds at this turn of events.
His stoical Indian nature prevented any marked display of his
satisfaction, but his demeanor could not wholly hide it from the
attention of his Scotch friend.
"Now," declared Wannashego, with shining eyes, "I sure we will see some
heap big fighting. If I stay on that other ship, _Alfred_, one day
longer I sure run away to the whaler-ship or my people. That _Alfred_ no
brave-ship; just squaw-ship--'fraid to fight!"
Paul Jones smiled in sympathy. He too had felt like a different man
since the announcement of the change. Now that he had full and absolute
control of an American ship himself, he determined he should show his
countrymen and the enemy what he could really do.
The _Providence_, his new ship, was a small sloop of fourteen guns and
about a hundred men. She was far from a pretentious vessel to look at,
but Paul Jones's sharp eyes detected in her certain lines which augured
for speed, and when he once got her out into the broad reaches of the
Atlantic he found that in this surmise of her sailing abilities he had
not been misled. For her size she was a remarkably good sailer.
For a time the _Providence_ was kept employed in transporting men and
supplies along the shores at the eastern entrance of Long Island Sound,
and as this was done in the face of numerous British ships which hovered
around like so many hornets, the reputation of the new commanding
officer soon began to grow.
On August 21 Paul Jones sailed on a six-weeks' cruise--a cruise which
historians have termed the first cruise of an American man-of-war. At
least it was the first to be noted by an enemy--the first that shed any
degree of glory on the flag of the new Republic, whose Declaration of
Independence had been signed less than seven weeks previously.
It was a venture worthy of the Vikings and their rude boats, for the
seas swarmed with English frigates outranking the little vessel in
everything except the alertness of her commander and the courage of her
crew. From Bermuda to the Banks of Newfoundland he boldly sailed,
defying the fastest ships of the enemy to catch him, and striking terror
to British merchantmen and fishermen.
During the first week of September the _Providence_ sighted a large ship
which she mistook for an Indiaman homeward bound. This stranger proved
to be the _Solebay_, British frigate of twenty guns. Too late the
_Providence_ discovered her error; there was no chance to withdraw in
dignity.
The _Solebay_ immediately made for the American, who took to her heels,
relying upon her good sailing qualities to escape, as she had on many
another such occasion. But the Britisher proved she was no mean sailer
herself. In fact, she began to overhaul her foe.
The day was warm and clear. A strong breeze was blowing from the
northeast. The little _Providence_ was legging it briskly over the
wind-tossed waters. But the _Solebay_ gained on her every hour.
The chase had started about noon. By four o'clock the frigate was almost
within gunshot. The heart of everybody except the commander was in the
lower regions of his jacket. Paul Jones was serene enough; his
confidence seemed not one whit lessened. Presently he displayed the
reason for his attitude.
"Look," said he to his chief officer, as he handed him a glass; "do you
not notice that his broadside guns are still unleashed? He thinks he
can take us by firing his bow-chaser. What foolishness! Nothing would be
easier than for us to bear away before the wind and run under his
broadside."
Nearly every ounce of canvas on the _Providence_ had been flung to the
breeze. Still the _Solebay_ drew closer.
"He should know who we are before we leave him," declared Paul Jones,
with a grim smile. He uttered a quick order. The next moment the
American colors fluttered out at the masthead.
To their surprise the _Solebay_ acknowledged the courtesy by also
running up the American emblem.
"He cannot deceive us by that," said Paul Jones. "His lines tell me as
plain as day he is British. But wait; I shall show him something in a
moment!"
He called out to the man at the wheel: "Give her a good full,
Quartermaster!"
"A good full, sir!" came back the instant acknowledgment.
Paul Jones then ordered the studding-sails set. The next moment the helm
was put about, and before the astonished crew on the _Solebay_ knew
what was happening, the American sloop ran directly under his broadside,
and went off dead before the wind.
The British frigate came about in haste and confusion. But by the time
she was under headway again, the American ship was far off, her
newly-trimmed studding-sails bellying to the breeze and gaining speed at
every leap and bound. Needless to say, the _Solebay_ was now out of the
running, a very crestfallen enemy. Such clever maneuvering her commander
had never witnessed before.
Three weeks later the _Providence_ was saucily threading northern
waters.
One day, off Cape Sable, Wannashego and several others of the sailors
asked permission to try to catch some of the splendid fish which
abounded in those cold waters. As they had been on salt provisions for a
long while, Paul Jones readily consented, and the ship was hoved to. The
men got out their lines, and soon began to haul in some fine specimens
of the finny tribe.
While they fished, a sharp lookout was kept for danger from the British.
It was well this was done, apparently, for presently a sail was made
out to windward of them. At once the fishing stopped, the _Providence_
set some of her light sails, and the anchor was hauled in.
As the stranger approached, Paul Jones convinced himself that she was no
such sailer as the _Solebay_, and making sure a little later that she
was a British warship he determined to amuse himself with her. He
communicated his plans to his officers, and patiently waited for the
frigate, which turned out to be His Majesty's ship, the _Milford_.
The young captain made no move until the British craft got almost within
range, whereupon he doubled on her quarter and sped away under
restrained speed on the new course. Mistaking the rate she was traveling
at to be her best, and cheered at the thought of over-taking her, the
English captain took up the chase with gusto. For seven or eight hours
the pursuit continued, all this time the _Providence_ cunningly keeping
just beyond gunshot of her enemy, yet seeming to exert herself to the
limit in maintaining her position.
Finally getting discouraged at his want of success, the Britisher began
firing. Turning to his chief marine officer, Paul Jones said: "Direct
one of your men to load his musket, and as often as yonder enemy salutes
our flag with her great guns, do you have your man reply with his
musket!"
A broad grin spread over the marine officer's face. He soon had his man
stationed on the quarter-deck, and the next time the frigate rounded to
and sent a futile broadside in the direction of the _Providence_, the
marine elevated his musket and banged away. Several times this
performance, a perfect burlesque in the quaintness of its humor, was
indulged in. And each time, as the comparatively mild report of the
musket followed the roar of the enemy's big guns, the American sailors
laughed uproariously and cheered.
"We have had our fun now, my men," said Paul Jones. "This fellow has
swallowed our bait gloriously; the time has come for us to stop
_fishing_ and go about our business."
He thereupon ordered more sail spread, and in a short time the
astonished _Milford_--which he would have attempted to capture had she
not clearly been a more powerful vessel--was left well behind. Although
he did not know it then, the Scotch captain was to meet this foe again
within the year.
Before he returned, this bold tiger of the sea succeeded in capturing
sixteen British vessels. He also made an attack on Canso, Nova Scotia,
thereby releasing several American prisoners; burned three vessels
belonging to the Cape Breton fishery; and in a descent on the Isle of
Madame destroyed several large fishing-smacks.
When at last Paul Jones reached his own shores again he left behind him
a terrorized enemy who since that cruise have ever called him a
buccaneer and pirate. Why England should regard this valiant
sea-fighter, who never needlessly shed a drop of blood, or took a
penny's-worth of spoils out of the larder of war, in this insulting
light, its countrymen have never satisfactorily explained. But we do
know that Lord Nelson himself was never a cleaner fighter; that the very
brilliancy and extreme daring of Paul Jones's exploits stunned his
enemy, and left them in a species of stupefaction.
Welcomed home with unusual acclaim, Paul Jones found that during his
absence two things had happened which vitally concerned him. One thing
was the ravaging of his plantation by the British. His fine buildings
now lay in ashes, he was told. His splendid heifers had gone to satisfy
the appetites of the raiding soldiers under Lord Dunmore. His slaves,
who had become to him "a species of grownup children," had been carried
off to die under the pestilential lash of cruel overseers in Jamaican
canefields, while the price of their poor bodies swelled the pockets of
English slave-dealers. To his great pleasure, however, he learned that
his own overseer, canny old Duncan Macbean, had gotten away and joined
General Morgan's riflemen, presumably there to wreak vengeance on the
Red-coats with John Paul's own trusty rifle.
This was indeed a hard blow to the young captain who, in commenting upon
it, wrote to Mr. Hewes: "It appears that I have no fortune left but my
sword, and no prospect except that of getting alongside the enemy."
The second bit of news was the belated notification that, while he was
away on his cruise, Congress, on October 10, 1776, had made him a
commissioned captain in the United States Navy. It might be expected
that such an announcement would be very gratifying to him, but not so.
Paul Jones received it with more bitterness of spirit than pleasure, for
he was only number eighteen in the list of appointees. This was an
injustice which he never forgot, and to which the sensitive fellow
referred all through his subsequent life. He thought he ought to have
been not lower than sixth in rank, because, by the law of the previous
year, there were only five captains ahead of him. In the meantime, too,
he had done good service, while the new captains ranking above him were
untried.
If Paul Jones had a failing it was that of desire for prestige. Rank was
to him a passion, not merely because it would enable him to be more
effective, but for its own sake. He liked all the signs of
display--titles, epaulets, medals, busts, marks of honor of all kinds.
"How near to the heart of every military or naval officer is rank, which
opens the door to glory!" he wrote. But, mind you, Paul Jones did not
have the "swelled head." He never once over-estimated his abilities,
inwardly or outwardly; and he desired fame because he knew he was
entitled to it. If the reward failed to come after he had qualified for
and performed the service, he felt cheated--just as the day-laborer
feels cheated when he does his task and is not paid his wage.
On November 4, 1776, Paul Jones was placed in command of the _Alfred_,
the ship on which he had made his first cruise as a first-lieutenant
some nine months earlier. In company with the _Providence_, now under
the command of Captain Hacker, he made a cruise of about a month,
captured seven merchant ships, several of which carried valuable
supplies to the British army, and again cleverly avoided the superior
enemy frigates. While making for port they encountered armed transports,
the _Mellish_ and the _Bideford_, both of which had been separated from
their convoy, the _Milford_, in a terrific gale. Although larger and
heavier ships in every way, the Americans attacked and captured them.
Shortly afterward the _Milford_, accompanied by a British
letter-of-marque, put in an appearance, and gave chase. Once more Paul
Jones was too clever for the British frigate. He outsailed and
outmaneuvered her, getting away with all his prizes except the smaller
of the transports, which had fallen astern.
After his return, in early December, from the cruise in the _Alfred_,
Paul Jones served on the Board of Advice to the Marine Committee, and
was very useful in many ways. He urged strongly the necessity of making
a cruise in European waters for the sake of moral persuasion, and
offered to lead such an expedition. His energy and dashing character
made a strong impression on Lafayette, who was then in the country, and
who heartily supported the project. He wrote a letter to General
Washington, strongly recommending that Paul Jones be made head of such
an expedition.
About the same time the young captain had an interview with Washington,
in which he appealed against what he considered another injustice. The
_Trumbull_--one of the fine new American frigates just completed and
built in New Amsterdam in accordance with Paul Jones's own plans--had
been placed under the command of Captain Saltonstall, whom the Scotchman
considered incompetent.
Paul Jones did not get the _Trumbull_ after all; but the interview was
not without its effect. A little later the Marine Committee ordered him
to enlist seamen for his suggested European cruise. And on June 14,
1777, Congress appointed him to the command of the sloop-of-war
_Ranger_, of eighteen guns.
IX
ABOARD THE "RANGER"
When Paul Jones was ordered to Portsmouth to command the new
sloop-of-war _Ranger_, Congress allowed him to take with him a few of
his favorite petty officers. Of course among this number was Wannashego,
the young Narragansett. The bold Scotch captain had formed a strong
liking for Wannashego, whom he had found not only an able boatswain's
mate and an impetuous fighter, but one most devoted to his own
interests. Indeed, the young Indian fairly worshiped the decking his
splendid officer trod. They had served together ever since their first
meeting, going from the _Alfred_ to the _Providence_, then back to the
_Alfred_ again. And now they were once more to be together--this time in
a long and probably stirring voyage across the big sea, right into the
very home-waters of the enemy himself! No wonder the heart of Wannashego
stirred with happy expectation.
Another old shipmate to accompany Paul Jones on the new expedition, but
one hitherto unmentioned, was Nathaniel Fanning, now a third-lieutenant.
From this friend, a very keen observer of our hero at all times, as well
as a man of more than ordinary intelligence, we get the following
interesting description of Paul Jones:
"He was about middle height, so slender as to be wiry, so lithe as to be
compared to a panther, so quick in his movements that we sailors often
spoke of him as 'swifter than chain-lightning.' His face was as brown as
an Indian's. His eyes under ordinary conditions were a steel-gray; but
in moments of excitement you would swear they were as black as coal and
emitting sparks. Though he was not at all big, his neck, arms, and
shoulders were those of a heavy-set man, with a chest that did you good
to see. The strength of his arms and shoulders could hardly be believed;
and he had equal use of both hands, even to writing with the left as
well as with the right. He was a past-master in the art of boxing;
though there were many hard nuts to crack in the various crews he
commanded, I never knew him to come out second best. When aroused, he
could strike blows and do more damage in a second than any man I ever
saw could do in a minute. He always fought as if that was what he was
made for; it was only when he was perfectly at peace that he seemed
uneasy and restless.
"He was never petulant toward those under him. Even in cases of failure
to carry out his orders, or meet his expectations, he would be lenient.
But if he detected you in any act that was wilful or malicious, he would
assail you like a tiger. He was not a quarrelsome man; but he was the
easiest person in the world for a quarrelsome man to pick a quarrel
with. Good men all liked him; sneaks and tyrants hated him bitterly."
We may add that all records go to show that Paul Jones was as much a
father to his crew as he was a commander. He interested the sailors in
the smallest details of their work, gave them lessons in rope-splicing,
or reproved a young chap for his "lubberly walk" with a personal
demonstration of the correct swagger to be kept in mind by Jack afloat.
At the same time, with all this kindness of heart, he did not let a
single man take advantage of his goodness. "I tell you, my men," he said
on one occasion, "when I become convinced that a sailor of mine must be
given the 'cat' I will not leave it to be done by the uncertain arm of
others; but I will do it _myself_--and so confounded quick that it will
make your heads swim!"
On the very same day--June 14, 1777--that Paul Jones was appointed
commander of the _Ranger_, Congress selected the permanent flag of the
United States--the good old Stars-and-Stripes which we still have. Up to
this time nobody had really been satisfied with the "Rattlesnake"
emblem; Paul Jones particularly objected to it. Now Mrs. Betsey Ross, of
Philadelphia, was busy at work making the first new flag from a rough
pencil sketch furnished her by General Washington.
When Paul Jones heard of the adoption of the new emblem, and saw plans
for it, he was greatly pleased. He took out his own pencil, quickly
copied the plans, and stuck the paper in his pocket.
As soon as possible he proceeded to Portsmouth, and immediately entered
upon the task of outfitting the _Ranger_ for sea. He found the ship to
be a fine-looking craft, built expressly for speed, with a length six
feet greater than the regular 20-gun vessel of the day. But he thought
her spars too heavy, and ordered his shipwright to "fid them about four
feet lower in the hounds," which was done. He also had fourteen long
9-pounders and four 6-pounders put in place of the regular twenty
6-pound guns intended, and made other changes looking toward her
seaworthiness. He was very proud of her coppered hull, shining like
burnished gold--the first hull thus covered in the new country.
As the work of outfitting went on, he had the goodwill and interest of
the entire colonial town. Busy though he was he did not neglect the
social side of life here any more than he had elsewhere when on land;
for Paul Jones loved elegance and display, intercourse with the fair
sex; and his splendid bearing, immaculate dress, magnetic personality,
keen wit--to say nothing of his record of daring deeds--made him
extremely popular in all gatherings, particularly where hoop-skirts
abounded. Many a good dame in America did her utmost to marry the
gallant young captain off to her own daughter or another admiring
damsel. But it was no use; Paul Jones, while always professing the
greatest respect and kindliest interest in his feminine associates,
never allowed them to turn his well-balanced head.
Thus in his social activities there in Portsmouth, the captain of the
_Ranger_ escorted bevies of charming and vivacious damsels and their
mamas and papas aboard the ship and explained her many wonders, and
discoursed on what she probably would do to the English. Then one day he
whispered mysteriously to some of them, and forthwith these pretty
Colonial girls spoke to others. The consequence was, that soon afterward
there was a merry gathering at the home of one of the maids. A "quilting
bee" they termed it; but there, fashioned amid chat and laughter, amid
sober thought and spirit of service to country, slender fingers cut and
sewed together the silken portions of a beautiful American flag--the
first one of stars and stripes that anybody in that locality had yet
seen. From time to time these fair workers looked for guidance to a
pencilled sketch furnished them by their chosen knight. Treasured
wedding and court dresses of some of their mothers furnished rare
patches of blue, and lengths of red and white, and these grew into
beautiful five-pointed stars and graceful stripes under the girls'
careful handiwork.
During this time Paul Jones was putting the finishing touches to the
_Ranger_ and impatiently awaiting the dispatches he was to carry from
his Government to the American Commission in France. At midnight of the
31st of October these official documents were delivered to him by a
courier who had covered one hundred and forty miles, eating and sleeping
in his saddle. Among the papers was the news of the surrender of
Burgoyne.
Nothing now prevented Paul Jones from making sail on his long cruise.
The _Ranger_ was in readiness, the wind good. But before making sail
there was one ceremony he must not forget.
The new flag--his gift from the patriotic Portsmouth girls--must be
unfurled to the breeze. And they must see it! By horse he sent
Wannashego galloping to the homes of each of the five young
seamstresses. In an hour they appeared, eager and excited, despite the
fact that most of the good people of the town were fast asleep.
With simple ceremony but eloquent suggestion the splendid banner, under
the impulse of Paul Jones's own hands, went up to the _Ranger's_ peak.
As it spread out to the breeze under the star-lit sky, the Scotch
captain said, with a deep feeling none could help noticing: "That flag
and I are twins. Born the same hour from the same womb of destiny, we
cannot be parted in life or in death. So long as we can float we shall
float together. If we must sink, we shall go down as one!"
To the courier who had brought the dispatches, Paul Jones now turned. He
handed him the receipt for the papers, and on its back he wrote: "I
shall spread this news in France within thirty days."
When the shore people had taken their departure, cheered by the crew of
the _Ranger_ and leaving their own good wishes behind, Captain Jones
immediately got under way. He took a northerly course, thereby hoping
to avoid most of the enemy's cruisers, so that his dispatches could be
delivered as soon as possible.
He left no record except the _Ranger's_ log; but Mr. Hall, who was the
ship's carpenter, gives some details of the trip which are far from
uninteresting:
"I had sailed with many captains in all sorts of voyages, but I had
never seen a ship crowded the way Captain Jones crowded the _Ranger_. He
held to his northerly route, though the wind was adverse, hanging all
the time between north-northeast and east-northeast. It veered slightly
at times, but you could count on it being forward of the beam on a true
course, and often it was near dead ahead. Imagine, then, the situation
of the ship's crew, with a top-heavy and cranky craft under their feet,
and a commander who day and night insisted on every rag she could
stagger under without laying clear down!
"As it was, she came close to beam ends more than once, and on one
occasion she righted only by us letting the fly-sheets go with hatchets.
During all this trying time Captain Jones was his own navigating
officer, keeping the deck eighteen or twenty hours out of every
twenty-four, often serving extra grog to the drenched men with his own
hands, and by his example silencing all disposition to grumble. In the
worst of it the watch was lap-watched. This brought the men eight hours
on and four off. There was no better way to arrange it; but for all that
a good many of them began to growl. These fellows had all been shipped
from Portsmouth, induced to enlist by unwise glowing accounts of the
Government of the rich prize-money that would probably be made on the
trip. Now, when they found the captain avoiding the enemy rather than
seeking him out, and were subjected to such a terrific bit of sailing,
they became dissatisfied.
"At first Captain Jones was mighty angry, but as soon as he satisfied
himself that the Government had really been in error, he acted
splendidly by the men. He told them that he would personally guarantee
them a fair revenue from prizes later on; more than that, from his own
pocket he advanced them 147 guineas, to make up the difference in wages
thus far allowed them by Congress but which the Marine Committee had
been unable to make good on account of the poverty of the States. They
quieted down then, apparently satisfied, cheering their commander well.
But Lieutenant Simpson, who had really instigated the mutiny, did not
escape so easily. Wannashego, an Indian boatswain's mate, had caught
Simpson stirring the men up to trouble, reported it to Captain Jones,
and the latter had the officer put in irons for the rest of the voyage."
As Mr. Hall says in this account, the weather was bad and the voyage
tempestuous. But nevertheless there were times when the tired men sought
recreation in story and song, as seamen always will do, and often over
the dashing waters the following refrain, composed by Midshipman Charley
Bell, went echoing:
"So now we had him hard and fast,
Burgoyne laid down his arms at last,
And that is why we brave the blast
To carry the news to London!
Heigh-ho! car-r-y the news;
Go carry the news to London!
Yes car-r-y, car-r-y,
Carry the news to London!"
During the last two days' run the _Ranger_ took two merchantmen loaded
with wines and dried fruit and bound for London. Paul Jones put
prize-crews aboard, sending one on to Brest and keeping the other with
him. West of Ushant they spoke a Dutch East Indiaman, whereupon the
Scotch captain informed the Dutch commander of the surrender of Burgoyne
and dryly asked him to "kindly repeat the news, with my compliments, to
any British captain met."
A little later, on the 2d of December, the saucy _Ranger_ and her prize
dropped anchor in the Loire, below Nantes, France.
X
IN THE ENEMY'S OWN WATERS
One of the first things which Paul Jones did on landing on French soil
was to seek out Dr. Benjamin Franklin, who, with Silas Deane and Arthur
Lee, were his country's foreign commissioners. He found these diplomats
domiciled in the fine home of Monsieur De Chaumont, a wealthy Frenchman
with strong sympathies for the Colonists.
It was the first meeting of Paul Jones and Benjamin Franklin--a meeting
marked with much gratification on the part of each. It was also the
beginning of a personal friendship long-lasting and very helpful to the
Scotch adventurer. Before its conclusion the caller learned, with some
chagrin, that he was not the first to bring news across the sea of the
surrender of General Burgoyne; that Mr. John Austen, of Boston, had
sailed in a French merchantman a day or two earlier, and by reason of
the shorter course, had arrived somewhat ahead of him. However, Austen's
news was mere hearsay, lacking the details and authenticity of Captain
Jones's dispatches.
It had been the intention of the American commissioners to give Paul
Jones the _Indien_--a fine frigate building secretly at Amsterdam--on
his arrival. But this proved to be one more of his disappointments, for
the British minister to the Netherlands had recently discovered the
destination of the vessel, and had made such protests of a breach of
neutrality that the commissioners had been forced to sell the ship to
France.
To his previous acquaintance with the Duc and Duchesse De Chartres there
is no doubt that Paul Jones owed his introduction at this time into
French society. The Duchesse herself had been, before her marriage, the
richest heiress in France. While her husband was a spendthrift, and a
man of lax morals generally, she was highly respected in all
communities. This noble family lived in a charming chateau, with even
more charming gardens, on the outskirts of Paris, and as soon as they
heard of the arrival of the already famous Scotch captain they sent him
an urgent invitation to call.
This he did. An enjoyable meeting resulted, and he was royally
entertained. Later, at a ball given in his honor and attended by the
élite of the social world, he met a beautiful young lady named Aimée de
Telusson, the adopted daughter of King Louis XV. Mademoiselle De
Telusson, after the king died, had been supported by a pension from the
monarch's court, and had lived with her protectoress, Madame De Marsan,
under the patronage of several great ladies, of whom the Duchesse De
Chartres was one.
Paul Jones was greatly fascinated with the fair Aimée, a feeling which
she seemed to reciprocate. As they became better and better acquainted
she fairly idolized him, and on his part he thought her the most perfect
specimen of womanhood he had ever seen. Although he must have known that
she was very much in love with him, this gallant seaman who was admired
by all the people of France, never declared his own love to her.
Dr. Franklin wished to keep Paul Jones in European waters, there to
harass the British shipping. On the other hand Lee, who for some reason
entertained a jealousy and dislike for the Scotchman, was bent on
getting him back in American waters as soon as he could. Silas Deane,
the third commissioner, was a nonentity, with little voice in the
matter. However, Dr. Franklin had his way; he thundered forth his orders
that Paul Jones was to stay on that side of the sea--and Paul Jones
stayed. To say that he was grateful to the stout-hearted, venerable
statesman is saying no more than the truth.
After some delay Dr. Franklin advised him that arrangements had been
completed by the commission for him to convoy a number of American
merchant vessels from Nantes into Quiberon Bay, where a large French
fleet, under Admiral La Motte Picquet, lay waiting with the intention of
sailing for America. Such protection by French warships a week earlier
would have been a distinct breach of neutrality, but now the
much-talked-of "Treaty of Alliance" had been made between France and
America, and henceforth France could not only openly sympathize with the
new Republic but could take up arms in her behalf.
Of course Paul Jones was glad at this turn of events. He was pleased for
his country's sake; pleased for his own sake, because the situation
promised easier working out of his plans.
But it seemed that his troubles were not yet entirely over. When he
reached the anchorage of the _Ranger_ he found the crew in a sad
disruption. It appeared that the profligate Simpson, who had been freed
from his irons upon the ship reaching port, had been working the men
into a mutiny by declaring he had heard that their captain had left them
in the lurch. Except for the confidence expressed in Paul Jones by the
majority of his officers and some of the sailors, among whom of course
was Wannashego, it is doubtful if the commander would have found very
many of his crew left upon his arrival. As it stood, the malcontents
were still arguing with the loyal when he put in an appearance.
Upon learning the cause of the trouble his Scotch ire was so thoroughly
aroused against Simpson that it is hard to guess what he would have done
to him, had the miscreant not made a plausible excuse for securing what
he termed his "misinformation" and uttered voluble apologies for his
part in the affair.
As soon as order could be obtained, the commander began to refit for the
new enterprise. The craft's masts were re-shortened and other defects of
structure remedied in an effort to put her on a better keel. Then in
company with a tender, the brig _Independence_, the American
sloop-of-war set sail. A little later, flying the Stars-and-Stripes at
her masthead, she anchored off the bay at Quiberon.
Without delay Paul Jones sent a small boat off to the French admiral,
desiring to know, if he saluted the admiral's ship, whether her
commander would return the salute.
When the reply came back it was in the affirmative. Thereupon Paul Jones
brought the _Ranger_ into the bay. She hove to, and the next moment her
guns thundered thirteen times. Promptly the courtesy was returned by
nine guns from the admiral's ship, it being the French custom to fire
four guns less than a saluting Republic. It was too dark to bring in the
_Independence_ for her share in the proceeding, but the next morning
this little vessel sailed proudly between two parallel lines of the
fine French fleet, flying her American flag, and in answer to her own
guns there was returned another recognition of America as a nation.
Returning to Nantes, Paul Jones sent Dr. Franklin a joyous letter,
telling him about the honor paid the American flag for the first time by
another country.
The _Ranger_ was held in port following this until April 10, 1778. In
the interval her commander had the good fortune to be much in the
company of the Duc and Duchesse De Chartres and the charming
Mademoiselle Aimée De Telusson. The day previous to the date of sailing
of his vessel, the Duchesse paid him the compliment of giving a dinner
in his honor. At this many distinguished families were present, as well
as prominent army and navy officers. During the course of festivities,
the Madame graciously presented her popular guest with a richly-jewelled
watch which she said had belonged to her grandfather, Louis XIV.
Paul Jones bowed, and replied with fine gallantry: "May it please your
Royal Highness, if fortune should favor me at sea I will some day lay
an English frigate at your dainty feet!"
The next morning the _Ranger_ put out to sea again. With the salt spray
dashing in his nostrils, with every fiber of his adventure-loving soul
thrilling once more in expectation of a brush with the enemy, Paul Jones
forgot the tameness of politics and the foibles of social functions.
With gusto he took a brigantine in the Irish Sea on the 14th, and sank
her. Then proceeding into St. George's Channel he ran onto the _Lord
Chatham_, a British merchant ship bound from London to Dublin. This
vessel was valuable enough to keep as a prize, so the Scotch captain
manned her with a prize crew and had them take her to Brest.
Paul Jones now headed farther northward along the coast of England. In
his mind he was formulating an exceedingly daring plan, none less than a
sudden descent upon Whitehaven, the seaport he knew so well as a boy and
from which he had made his first voyage to America. If he could dash
into Whitehaven, destroy most of the immense shipping which was always
harbored there, and thereby effect an exchange of prisoners in Europe,
he thought the risk would well be worth while.
But when he arrived in the vicinity of his old headquarters, the winds
were so contrary to his purpose that he gave up the project for the time
being. For the next few days he cruised along the southern coast of
Scotland on the lookout for other enemy prizes. Nothing of great moment
occurred, and with better weather conditions than had previously
prevailed, he made up his mind again to try an attack on Whitehaven.
The hills were covered with snow when the _Ranger_ came within sight of
them. In the harbor of the town of some fifty thousand inhabitants were
collected almost three hundred merchant-ships and fishing-smacks. The
captain had carefully let down the portlids to conceal his guns, and
adopted whatever other means he could devise for concealing the nature
of his ship.
Paul Jones determined to wait for night to perform his operations. He
would need the screen of darkness. When that hour had come he ordered
every man mustered on deck. Then he announced his plan to them and
finished by saying tersely: "I call for thirty volunteers to assist me
in this task of reprisal for the numerous burnings the British have put
upon us in America. No man need engage in this enterprise unless he
wishes to. But those who share with me its dangers shall also share with
me its glories."
It seemed as if every man on deck shouted, "Aye, sir!" As might be
expected Wannashego, the young Narragansett, was among the first.
Paul Jones smiled with satisfaction. "With so many volunteers I see I
shall have to choose my thirty men from among you. The strongest and
most active are the ones I want."
He then proceeded to make his selections. When he was done he noticed
that he had forgotten the faithful Indian youth. "I shall make it
thirty-one, on second thought," he said promptly, and at once called
upon the happy Wannashego to step forth with the other volunteers.
It was a little after midnight when, with his men in two boats, Paul
Jones left the _Ranger_. It was so far in to the piers that it was
almost dawn when they finally arrived at one of the outer ones. All
haste must be made or the light of the approaching day would disclose
their movements and prevent their success.
Paul Jones ordered one boat, under the direction of Mr. Hill and
Lieutenant Wallingford, to proceed on the north side of the harbor and
set fire to the shipping there, while with the second party the
commander went to the other side, to perform a similar work.
Two grim-looking forts rose up in the darkness, one facing each section
of harbor. In order to render the guns in these harmless, Paul Jones and
Wannashego were now set ashore, and while they began stealthily and
swiftly to approach the first forts, their crew started off to set fire
to the shipping on the south.
The Scotch captain and young Indian had a very delicate task facing
them. Before they could spike the cannon the sentinels must be secured.
Stealing along in the shadows of the great walls of the first fort, they
discovered that all of the guardsmen were unsuspiciously enjoying a game
of cards in the guard-house itself. As quick as lightning Paul Jones
and Wannashego sprang forward and barred the door, making the men
prisoners. Then, without loss of time, the two Americans began scaling
the walls of the fort. When the cannon here had been successfully
spiked, they hurried to the second fort, a quarter of a mile distant,
and in the same manner confined the sentinels there and spiked the guns.
This was surely a daring exploit for two to perform, when the alarm
might be sounded any moment and the whole town swoop down upon them.
After the task had been performed, Paul Jones naturally expected to see
the fires which his parties were to start. To his great disappointment
no welcome flare showed itself in either direction. In the dim light of
early dawn--that alarming dawn, so little desired--the captain hurried
forward, only to discover that the party under Mr. Hill and Mr.
Wallingford were in considerable confusion. The fires they had ignited
had refused to burn, and their candles had gone out as well. It was the
same situation with the other party; their candles also had gone out,
and there seemed no way to relight them.
Although the day was coming on apace and danger of discovery grew with
it, the dauntless Scotch commander would not give up his project until
every expedient had been exhausted. Placing sentinels to guard against a
surprise, he sent Wannashego and a few men to the nearest house. The
inmates were forced to deliver lights for the candles. With the aid of
these a fire was soon started in the steerage of a large ship, which was
in the midst of a hundred or more others. To make sure that this blaze
would not burn out, a barrel of tar was placed upon it. In a short time
flames were springing up out of all hatchways in the vessel.
Now the inhabitants of the town began to appear in hundreds. Individuals
ran angrily toward the burning ship, bent on extinguishing the flames
before they should communicate to the adjoining vessels.
"They must not be permitted to put out this fire now or our plans are
ruined completely!" cried Paul Jones. With the words he sprang between
the ship and the foremost of those running up, drew two pistols from his
belt, and leveled them at the angry faces.
"One step nearer and some of you will be dead men!" cried the Scotch
captain. "Back with you as fast as you came, else by the eternal day and
night you shall feel this lead!"
"Why, it's Paul Jones!" called somebody in the throng, who recognized
him.
Instantly the crowd fell back in fright. Not a man among them but who
had heard of the things this daredevil had already done to the ships of
their countrymen.
Paul Jones smiled grimly, as the people continued to retreat before his
menacing pistols. Nor did he once leave his post until the ship back of
him was a mass of flames and the whole shipping in the neighborhood
hopelessly afire from it. Then he stepped coolly down into one of his
boats, which had been brought up, and in company with the other, without
the loss of a single man, he went back to the _Ranger_.
If the attempt had been made an hour earlier it is impossible to
estimate the damage the Americans might have done, but dawn saved the
town of Whitehaven, also half of the shipping. Paul Jones was
disappointed because his plans had in a measure miscarried. But he had
accomplished much for his country just the same. The excitement along
the coast was intense. Every English port, nervous and trembling, was on
the watch for the bold invader. No Englishman felt safe so long as Paul
Jones roamed the sea at will. Much less did British captains feel
secure.
XI
OUTWITTING THE "DRAKE"
As the _Ranger_ once more spread her sails and stood out to sea, Paul
Jones turned to his first-lieutenant and said:
"Mr. Wallingford, have her head pointed across the Firth. There lays my
old home-town of Arbigland which I have seen but once since I was twelve
years old----"
"Pardon me, sir," interrupted the first officer; "surely you do not
think of attacking your own birthplace?"
"Indeed not," was the sharp and somewhat impatient rejoinder. "Though it
belongs to the enemy, that would be the act of a man without heart and
conscience. Please hear me out. Not far from my home there lives in the
same county of Kirkcudbright a most important personage to British
interests. This is the Earl of Selkirk. In lieu of the only partial
success of our descent upon Whitehaven I propose to even up matters
this very day by calling upon the good earl and taking him hostage."
This was a daring conception, and Lieutenant Wallingford gasped. The
_Ranger_ was held to her new course, straight north across the Firth of
Solway. When the ship came in view of the northern coast, her commander
stood watching the high cliffs about Arbigland with a strange mixture of
feelings. We shall never know exactly what thoughts stirred him, as he
was a man not given to referring to his deeper sensations, but we may
well infer that, in the short space of time he stood there studying the
familiar landmarks of his care-free and happy boyhood, he lived over
again the days of that period, climbed again the crags after sea-birds'
eggs, sailed again his toy boats in the quiet coves.
St. Mary's Isle, a beautifully wooded promontory in the river Dee, was
where the Earl of Selkirk lived in luxurious but quiet style. This was
about a mile up the coast from Arbigland, and although Paul Jones had
never met the Scotch nobleman or any of his family, he knew the location
of the Selkirk broad acres as well as he knew the best fishing grounds
in the Firth.
He landed on St. Mary's Isle with one boat and twelve men. Pointing out
the path to take, and warning his men to commit no violence other than
that which might be required in securing the earl himself, the captain
awaited their return. In a short time they were back again, bringing a
considerable quantity of silver plate, but without the earl, who they
declared was not at home.
Paul Jones was very angry because his sailors had taken the silver
plate. He used every argument except force in trying to get them to
return it at once. When he saw that they were bent upon keeping the
spoil, he said no more, but departed with them, for he knew well that
the rules of war made confiscation perfectly legal.
Later on he wrote the Countess of Selkirk a long letter of apology and
explanation, stating that he would exert every endeavor to return the
plate to her. This he did, and succeeded, although in so doing it was
necessary for him to go down into his own pocket for £150 in order to
buy it back.
Paul Jones next turned his attention to an effort to capture the British
man-of-war _Drake_, a vessel of twenty guns--two guns stronger than his
own ship. This, too, was a bold undertaking, particularly in view of the
fact that the _Drake_ was known to carry a larger crew and was in her
own waters. But the intrepid sea-king was not to be deterred. He had
encountered this same vessel once before, several days before the attack
on Whitehaven, when he was standing off Carrickfergus, and when she was
anchored in the bay. During the night he had run in and tried to work
into a position where he could board her quickly, surprise her crew, and
overwhelm them before they could offer serious enough resistance to get
aid from the big gray fortification which frowned down over the harbor
from the massive heights above. But, owing to the strong wind which had
prevailed at the time, the plan was frustrated; and the _Ranger_ had
quietly withdrawn to sea again without her foe knowing what a narrow
escape she had met with.
Then Paul Jones had assuaged the disappointment of himself and his men
with the remark: "Never mind, my brave fellows; that British sloop
shall be ours yet, mark my words. When we are through with Whitehaven we
shall look her up again."
And now the doughty captain meant to fulfil his promise!
On the morning of the 24th of April the _Ranger_ was once more off
Carrickfergus. The bay, the castled crag, the picturesque town, and the
handsome British sloop-of-war, all stood out brilliantly in the clear
sunlight.
But this time the American vessel was not destined to get in close to
her enemy without suspicion. The very night before, word had been
brought of the attack on Whitehaven, and as a consequence the entire
populace of Carrickfergus was ready to look askance at the coming of
every strange ship. As the _Ranger_ appeared in the offing, therefore,
she was immediately observed by the British aboard the _Drake_, and the
American sailors could hear the creaking of the foe-ship's capstan and
the hoarse rattle of the chains as her anchor was tripped in readiness
for an emergency.
The _Ranger_ now went completely about, her stern toward the shore. This
was the best way possible to hide her identity, for it was seen that a
boat was putting off from the English sloop and pulling toward them,
apparently bent upon investigation. When the boat had approached within
hailing distance of the American, one of its inmates--a British
officer--stood up and cried: "What ship is that?"
Paul Jones, standing at his sailing-master's elbow, quietly prompted him
in his answers.
"The _Saltandpepperforbritish_" replied Mr. Stacy so rapidly that all
the words were a meaningless jumble to the Englishmen, who, however,
caught the word "British" with some feeling of ease. Drawing a little
closer, the officer repeated his question: "What ship is that? We cannot
make out your answer."
"We've had fair winds, but glad to get in here," answered Mr. Stacy,
pretending to have misunderstood the question.
There was an impatient remark from the British officer at this. He said
something to his men. The boat of the enemy then drew up considerably
nearer. By this time the craft was directly under the _Ranger's_
quarter.
"I ask you for the third and last time, what ship is that?" hailed the
British officer.
"And I answer again and for the last time, she is the _Lord Dunmore_,
bound from Plymouth to London," called Mr. Stacy in an apparently
exasperated voice. Then, again prompted by his captain, he went on:
"Have you heard anything of that American cruiser which has been
prowling about capturing merchant ships and frightening our coast people
half out of their wits?"
"Yes," was the reply of the officer, now completely off his guard. "We
would give a thousand pounds to meet her."
"If you will come aboard, our captain says he will give you further
particulars about this impudent American," continued Mr. Stacy. "We
think this news will aid you in finding him."
Unsuspiciously the British boat now came up, and a ladder was lowered
over the port side. Just then one of the _Ranger's_ own boats was
dropped from the davits; it was quickly filled with men, and as the
British officer clambered on deck and faced Paul Jones the American
sailors made prisoners of his crew.
"What is the meaning of this?" cried the British officer. "Who are you,
sir?"
"Captain Paul Jones," came the quick answer. "This is the American
sloop-of-war _Ranger_, about which we promised you information. If you
require further details, it is only proper for me to state that you are
a prisoner of war on that ship at this moment!"
The officer uttered an exclamation of anger. But his chagrin was not
greater than that of the other men aboard the boat when they were
brought aboard and all sent below.
This whole proceeding had been witnessed from the _Drake_ in a more or
less hazy manner, but yet in a way to give the British aboard that
vessel a fair idea of the catastrophe which had attended the efforts of
their compatriots to learn the identity of the stranger. She immediately
sent out alarm signals, and in a few minutes smoking bonfires along the
entire headlands were relaying the startling intelligence to inland
points.
In a little while the _Drake_, accompanied by five small vessels filled
with townspeople curious to witness what they thought would be a battle,
began to work out. She came very slowly, owing to an unfavorable tide.
It was plain to be seen that her "dander was up;" that she meant to
look into the plight of her boat's crew without further delay.
The _Ranger_ now threw off every effort at disguise. Her portlids were
run up, her guns run out, and everything put in trim for a hard fight.
As the enemy came nearer and weathered the point, the _Ranger_ cunningly
and almost imperceptibly worked herself farther out into the channel
where she would have more sea room for the engagement and be farther
away from the guns of the fort. Thus led on, the _Drake_ followed,
slowly narrowing up the space between.
Now the British ship ran up her colors. At the same instant up went the
Stars-and-Stripes aboard the American. Having come within hailing
distance, the British commander, Captain Burden, called out: "Who are
you?"
"The Continental ship _Ranger_," cried back Mr. Stacy, at word from Paul
Jones. "Come on, we are waiting for you!"
Scarcely were the words spoken when the _Ranger's_ helm was ported, and
bringing her broadside to bear on the advancing ship, she roared out the
first volley. The enemy at once returned the compliment. While her fire
was spirited, somehow it lacked effectiveness, which is probably
attributable to the distress and confusion caused on board of her by the
stunning effect of the American's shooting. In a letter to Joseph Hewes,
Paul Jones thus refers to the manner in which his men handled
themselves: "We have seen that our men fight with courage on our own
coasts. But no one has ever seen them fight on our coast as they fought
here, almost in hail of the enemy's shore. Every shot told, and they
gave the _Drake_ three broadsides for two right along...."
On board the _Ranger_, Paul Jones walked the quarter-deck unharmed, amid
a constant shower of musketry and the shriek of cannon-ball. Captain
Burden, of the _Drake_, showed an equal disregard for danger, but within
thirty minutes after the beginning of the fight he was mortally wounded
by a musket shot in the head. Paul Jones was unaware of this fact until,
during the hottest of the firing, his friend Wannashego glided quickly
up to where he stood and announced the news.
"I am sorry for him, for he has shown himself to be a brave man; but it
is the way of war," said the commander. "Did you see him shot,
Wannashego?"
In his dusky hands the Indian youth held a musket whose barrel was hot
to the touch and from which a tiny thread of smoke still curled. "I sure
see British captain fall," he said with flashing eyes, as he patted his
gun. "I take good aim at him. It is the first chance for me. Bang! They
pick him up and carry him away."
With the words Wannashego hurried off, reloading his weapon as he ran.
Paul Jones was thunderstruck. After a moment he muttered, "Poor Burden,
your very importance in this conflict has caught the eagle eye of that
young redskin and spelled your doom!"
The fighting continued fiercely. Twice was the ensign of the _Drake_
shot away, and twice the gallant British tars rehoisted it. The enemy's
fore and main topsail yards were completely riddled, the main topgallant
mast and mizzen gaff hung up and down the spar, her jib dragged over her
lee into the water, and her mainsails were a sieve of holes.
Never had Paul Jones seen men fight more tigerishly or with better aim
than his were now doing. As the two ships were going off the wind, which
was light, they both rolled considerably and together; in other words,
when the _Ranger_ went down to port the _Drake_ came up to starboard.
Quite early in the action, the Scotch captain had noticed that his
quarter-gunners had caught the _Drake's_ period of roll and were timing
to fire as their muzzles went down and the enemy's came up. By this
practice they were hulling the British ship prodigiously below her
water-line and everywhere below her rail.
"What are you firing in that fashion for?" demanded Paul Jones of
Midshipman Starbuck.
"To sink the British galoots, sir!"
"That is not my object," said the captain sharply. "Cease this
destruction of the ship, and conduct yourselves so as to capture her
instead."
The alert fellows instantly changed their tactics, and soon had the
_Drake_ an unmanageable log on the water, with her crew crying for
quarter. When, after the desperate fighting of a little more than an
hour, an accounting was taken it was found that the _Ranger_ had
suffered very little from the inaccurate fire of the British. True, she
had lost two lives, among these Lieutenant Wallingford, and had six
wounded; but her opponent had lost her commander and nineteen others
killed, with twenty-eight officers and men wounded. The only officer
remaining to strike her flag had been her second-lieutenant.
With a towline fastened to her prize, the _Ranger_ now passed out of the
lough and up St. George's Channel. About midnight she hove to, and there
under the starlight the dead heroes of the conflict were sewn up in
canvas and consigned to the deep with a fitting burial service.
With a valuable prize and more than one hundred and forty prisoners of
war to look after, Paul Jones was now forced to give up his intention of
cruising around Scotland. After taking a vessel off Malin Head he became
further handicapped, and determined to make for Brest without additional
delay.
And now came that long-dreamed-of and hoped-for hour when he was to
enter a French port bringing a ship superior to his own--one belonging
to the finest navy afloat, a feat which had never before happened in the
history of naval warfare. As he sailed through the outer roads of Brest
he was met by an escort of French warships, whose crews cheered lustily
when they learned the identity of his prize.
It was past midnight when the _Ranger_ let go anchor. Everything then
seemed quiet, but like wildfire the news of the daring captain's return
spread over the town. When daylight broke the quays were swarming with
people, and the harbor was dotted with boats bearing passengers, all of
whom were eager to catch a glimpse of the vanquished _Drake_ and her
conqueror.
XII
THE QUEER CONDUCT OF CAPTAIN LANDAIS
The next morning Captain Paul Jones woke up to find himself
famous--almost overwhelmed with the praise and attentions of the naval
officers of Brest as well as of all France. The Duc De Chartres was the
first to come aboard, brimming with congratulations, and for the two
days the _Ranger_ lay in the harbor her decks thronged with officers of
the French fleet and citizens who were eager to rejoice with the
conqueror.
Then the other side of the picture began to show; the stern realities of
France's disturbed political condition had to be faced. The _Ranger_,
with her splendid prize, had gone to the deckyard for repairs, and the
problem of feeding and clothing the three hundred men constituting his
own crew and that of the _Drake_ had to be met by Paul Jones. The
Congress still owed him £1500 which he had advanced out of his own
pocket for paying the crews of his former ships, the _Providence_ and
the _Alfred_, and this outlay had depleted his funds to such an extent
that he had very little money left, so little that he now saw he would
have to draw upon the commissioners a draft for 24,000 livres, which
Congress had given him. To his annoyance the three commissioners
promptly dishonored his draft. As a result, the merchant with whom he
had contracted to refit the _Ranger_ and the _Drake_, as well as to
supply his crew and prisoners with provisions, declined to extend
further credit.
This state of affairs put our hero in a very embarrassing position, and
nettled him intensely. Had it not been for the fine friendship of such
Frenchmen as the Duc De Chartres, Comte D'Orvillers, and M. Chaumont,
through whose benevolence he was for a time able to feed and clothe his
people, heal his wounded, and continue the refitting of his vessels, it
is hard to tell what he would have done.
In the crude, undisciplined condition of the United States Navy in that
day the crews could not seem to comprehend the idea that it was
necessary to obey every order of the commander of a ship without raising
a question. Almost at the instant of the engagement between the
_Ranger_ and the _Drake_, Lieutenant Simpson, the trouble-maker of the
past, had used his influence in stirring up some of the crew to a state
bordering on insubordination, telling them that being Americans fighting
for liberty they had a right to fight the enemy in any way they chose,
regardless of a commander's program. Paul Jones had stopped this
threatened uprising by confining Simpson below. On reaching port he had
transferred him to the _Admiral_, a ship where the French put men of his
type.
After Simpson had been imprisoned, an American agent named Hezekiah
Ford, who disliked the Scotch captain, got up a petition condemning Paul
Jones and praising the conduct of Simpson in the sea fight. By smooth
arguments to the effect that they would never get their prize money
unless Lieutenant Simpson were made captain in place of Paul Jones, Ford
induced seventy-eight of the _Ranger's_ crew to sign this petition. The
result was, that the rascally lieutenant was freed at his court-martial,
and sailed away a little later for America, as master of the refitted
_Ranger_.
When Paul Jones heard of the doings of Hezekiah Ford, he was terribly
incensed. Tucking three pistols in his belt, he betook himself to the
inn where Ford stopped. Without pausing long enough to draw even one of
his pistols, he knocked Ford down with a lightning-like blow of his
fist, seized the coachman's whip and thrashed the scoundrel until he
cried for mercy. Big, long-limbed, weighing half as much again as Paul
Jones, he offered no resistance--just curled up and blubbered like the
coward he was, while the onlookers cheered the Scotchman with keen
delight. Six months later, following other discoveries of his duplicity,
Ford was denounced as a spy and traitor by the governor of Virginia, and
Congress dishonorably dismissed him from the service after he had fled
to London with valuable papers.
Before the _Ranger_ sailed under the captaincy of Mr. Simpson, Paul
Jones had met the expenses of her crew with the utmost difficulty. The
credit obtained from his French friends did not meet all the heavy
obligations, and after a while, in order to keep his men from starving,
he was forced to sell the _Drake_ at auction to a French ship-broker.
This act was strictly against the rules and regulations of his country,
but in the dire need of his crew and prisoners he felt that extreme
measures must be adopted to raise the funds which he could get in no
other manner. With this money he managed to pay off all indebtedness,
and so it was with a clear conscience, if a bitter heart, that he saw
the sly Simpson finally make off with his own ship, and many of his
crew, leaving him alone in a foreign land.
War had now broken out between England and France, and Paul Jones was
detained in Europe at the request of the French Minister of Marine. This
official, De Sartine, wished an important command to be assigned to the
famous conqueror of the _Drake_. The difficulties in the way, however,
were great. The American commissioners had few resources, in addition to
which one of them--Lee--was hostile to the Scotchman; and the French had
more native officers clamoring for the better ships than they had such
vessels.
Thus, about all that could be offered was the command of small warships
or privateers, offers which the proud Jones promptly rejected. To M.
Chaumont he wrote, in this connection, a letter containing the
following extracts: "I wish to have no connection with any ship that
does not sail fast, for I intend to go _in harm's way_. Therefore buy a
frigate with sails fast, and that is sufficiently large to carry
twenty-six or twenty-eight guns on her deck. I would rather be shot
ashore than go to sea in the armed prizes I have described."
He continued his heckling correspondence with the greatest energy,
alternately cajoling, proposing, complaining, begging to be sent on some
important enterprise. He wrote innumerable letters to De Sartine,
Franklin, De Chartres, De Chaumont, and many others, and finally to the
king himself, who granted him an interview. More as a result of this
conference with Louis XV than from other sources, he was finally
rewarded by being put in command of a small squadron.
At first he was highly delighted with the appointment, but as time wore
on and he saw what a poor assortment of ships and crews he had, he was
vastly disappointed. But having accepted the command, with true heroic
purpose he made up his mind to carry it through to the best of his
ability.
The expense of fitting out the expedition was the king's, while the flag
and the commissions of the officers were American. The object of the
French government was to get Paul Jones to operate against the coasts
and shipping of England under the American flag, as the courtesy of
warfare forbade France, as an ally, to ravage the coasts of Great
Britain before the enemy herself had struck a blow at French interests.
As stated, Paul Jones had a motley array of ships--those which were left
over after the French officers had had their pick. The flag-ship, the
_Bon Homme Richard_, was a worn-out old East Indiaman, which he refitted
and armed with six 18-pounders, twenty-eight 12-pounders, and eight
9-pounders--a battery of forty-two guns. The crew consisted of 375 men
of many nationalities, among which were not more than one hundred and
fifty Americans, including Wannashego, who had faithfully stuck to his
leader during all his trials in Brest. The _Alliance_, the only American
ship, was a good frigate rating as a large thirty-two or medium
thirty-six. She was commanded by a jealous-minded, half-mad Frenchman
named Landais, who was in the American service. The _Pallas_, thirty-two
guns; the _Vengeance_, twelve guns; and the little _Cerf_, of eight
guns, were all officered and manned by Frenchmen.
Bad as were conditions of ship and crew, however, there was one other
feature of the organization which proved a greater handicap to the
Scotch commodore. This was the famous _concordat_, an agreement between
the various commanders of the ships which Paul Jones was compelled to
sign before his commission would be approved by the French minister of
the navy. While its terms related largely to the distribution of prize
money, it also contained clauses which weakened his authority, and gave
his captains a chance to wink at it if they chose.
The little squadron, accompanied by two French privateers, sailed
finally from L'Orient on August 14, 1779, on what was planned to be a
fifty-days' cruise. Thanks to the Duchesse De Chartres's gift of ten
thousand louis d'or, Paul Jones had been able to fit out his flag-ship
in a much better condition than the king's fund would have permitted.
On the 18th the privateer _Monsieur_, which was not bound by the
_concordat_, took a prize which the captain of that vessel proceeded to
relieve of all valuables and then ordered into port. The commodore
opposed this, and sent the prize to L'Orient. This so angered the
_Monsieur's_ captain that he parted company with the squadron.
But the episode was only the beginning of Paul Jones's troubles with
insubordination of officers. While attempting to capture a brigantine,
some of his English sailors deserted in two of his small boats. These
could not be overhauled, and Landais insolently upbraided the commodore
for their loss, declaring that thereafter he would act entirely upon his
own responsibility (which indeed he had been doing right along!). The
_Cerf_ and the other privateer then pretended to go off to look for the
escaped former English prisoners, and they too failed to appear again.
Paul Jones was now left with only the _Bon Homme Richard_, the _Pallas_,
the _Vengeance_, and the _Alliance_. It would have been better, as later
events showed, if the latter ship had decamped with the _Cerf_ and the
privateers; for Captain Landais impudently ignored all of Paul Jones's
signals. He even had the audacity to leave the squadron for several days
at a time, as the cruise continued, returning when the whim seized him.
When other prizes were taken he was bold enough to send two of these
into Bergen, Norway, where they were sold to the English, a procedure
entirely against the wishes of the commodore, and one which was a source
of trouble between Denmark and the United States for many years after
the war.
Paul Jones was also compelled to humor the other French captains.
Several times he changed his course or modified his operations in
compliance with their demands. Had he enjoyed an absolute command he
would have carried out his pet scheme of laying Leith and Edinburgh
under contribution, but he was so afraid that such a venture would
miscarry, owing to the uncertain behavior of his men, that he gave it
up.
With his old flag-ship, his ragged squadron, and his unruly officers,
Paul Jones then cruised along the Yorkshire coast, and succeeded in
capturing a number of vessels. Finally, as he was preparing to end his
disappointing voyage at The Texel, Holland, in accordance with Dr.
Franklin's orders, chance threw in his way the opportunity for making
the cruise a brilliant success.
And, Jones-like, this opportunity he seized eagerly. He saw in a flash
that it was his one moment for restoring his waning power to its former
pinnacle.
XIII
FIGHTING FRIEND AND FOE
It was on the 23d of September, when the squadron was chasing a small
ship off Flamborough Head, that a number of distant sails were seen
rounding the point. A long, steady look through his glass convinced
Commodore Jones that he could not be mistaken: that this was the Baltic
fleet of merchantmen which he had heard were in that vicinity, and which
he had hoped he might meet before he reached The Texel.
Without delay Paul Jones hoisted the signal for a general chase. Captain
Landais, however, ignored the signal, and sailed on by himself. So angry
was Paul Jones at this cool display of indifference--or cowardice, if
that it were,--that he stamped his foot on the deck, and shouted his
feelings through his speaking-trumpet, but it availed nothing; the
insolent Landais kept right on going.
When the merchant ships saw Paul Jones's squadron bearing down upon
them, they ran in under the lee of the shore, and, protected by two
British frigates which immediately got in between them and their foe,
made off down the coast at their best speed. These English frigates were
the _Serapis_, a brand-new ship of forty-four guns, and the _Countess of
Scarborough_, twenty guns.
[Illustration: FIGHT BETWEEN THE SERAPIS AND THE BON HOMME RICHARD]
The afternoon sun was well down in the heavens by this time. In the far
distance, her sails glinting white and rosy in the path of the sun, and
constantly growing smaller, was the fleeing _Alliance_. And not far
behind her, in pursuit, sped the little _Vengeance_, whose captain Paul
Jones had told to try to persuade the half-mad Landais to return to his
duty.
This turn of affairs left two ships facing each other on each side.
Commodore Jones ordered Captain Cottineau, of the _Pallas_, to look
after the _Countess of Scarborough_, while he himself took care of the
_Serapis_. He never lost his head; with that "cool, determined bravery,"
of which Benjamin Franklin spoke, and with "that presence of mind which
never deserted him," recorded by Fanning, he made up his mind to make
the best of a seemingly hopeless situation, and engage an enemy ship
which he knew to be the superior of his own in almost every respect.
He now crowded on all possible sail, until the _Bon Homme Richard_ had
come within pistol shot of the _Serapis_. It was then seven o'clock and
the moon was just rising in a clear blue sky. Off some distance, the
_Countess_ had begun to run away, and the little _Pallas_ was making
after her fiercely. Paul Jones was thus left practically alone to meet
his big antagonist of the bristling guns and well-trained,
perfectly-disciplined crew.
As the _Bon Homme Richard_ approached him, Captain Pearson, of the
_Serapis_, hailed; but there was no reply. "I don't like this fellow's
looks, for all he is apparently less powerful than ourselves," observed
the British commander to his first officer. Uneasily he used his
night-glass again. "I wonder if it can be the blood-thirsty pirate, Paul
Jones," he added a moment later. Then he ordered his sailing-master to
hail again.
"This is His Majesty's ship _Serapis_, forty-four guns. What ship is
that?"
Still no answer.
Once more the hail came over the water, sharper, more peremptorily.
"This is His Maj----"
By this time Paul Jones had the _Bon Homme Richard_ where he wanted her;
he gave a low signal to Richard Dale, who commanded the _Richard's_
gun-deck, and Lieutenant Dale cried, "Blow your matches, boys!" At his
words the gunners touched a tiny flame to the touch-hole of each big gun
on the port side, and a heavy broadside was poured into the enemy ship.
But the British captain was not far behind. Before the echoes had died
out his own guns spat fire with a roar, and great clouds of smoke
drifted up and began to envelope the combatants. Following this the
discharges came fast and furious, both the American and British crews
working their guns with the utmost vigor.
From the beginning the fight seemed to go against the _Bon Homme
Richard_. There was hardly any stage of the three and a half hours'
desperate combat at which Paul Jones would not have been excused in
lowering his flag--had he not been the prodigious fighter he was. Hardly
had the battle well begun when two of the rust-pitted old 18-pounders
exploded, killing the men working them and rendering the whole battery
useless for the rest of the action.
Perceiving this, and anxious to take advantage of the loss of defense on
the lower gun-deck resulting, Captain Pearson attempted again to pass
the bow of the _Richard_ and rake her. On the other hand, Commodore
Jones's whole effort was to close with the enemy and board him, for he
knew now that it was only a question of time, if he did not succeed,
before his old shell of a vessel would be sunk.
After the broadsiding had continued with unremitting fury for almost an
hour, Captain Pearson made another effort to get across the _Richard's_
bow. But he miscalculated, and the two vessels were brought so close
together that the _Richard_ ran into her enemy's weather quarter. Paul
Jones was quick to make his first attempt to board, but the ships swung
apart before the operation could be completed, and those who had reached
the _Serapis's_ rail had to leap back to save themselves from capture.
The _Bon Homme Richard_ was now in a sad condition. Little of her
starboard battery was left, and of the 140 odd officers and men
stationed at the main gun-deck battery at the beginning, over eighty had
been killed or wounded. Numerous holes low in the hull, made by the big
balls of the _Serapis's_ 18-pound guns, were letting in water at an
alarming rate. Time and time again did the ship's carpenter and his mate
stop these up, only to have new holes splinter through with a sickening
sound.
It is no wonder that Captain Pearson, knowing his enemy was in great
distress, thought that, when the crew of the other ship had failed to
board him, Commodore Jones would be ready to surrender.
"Has your ship struck?" he called through his trumpet.
And then Paul Jones made his famous reply:
"I have not yet begun to fight!"
After the ships had swung apart they continued to fire broadsides into
each other. With the starboard battery of the _Richard_ practically out
of commission, however, it is easy to see that she worked at a great
disadvantage in this sort of dueling. Had not a lucky wind favored her
at this stage, it is likely she could not have floated much longer.
This enabled her to blanket her enemy, which compelled the _Serapis_ to
lose all headway. By more adroit handling of his vessel, waterlogged
though she was, Paul Jones once more brought the ships alongside, bow to
bow and stern to stern.
"Now, my fine fellows, lash us together!" cried the commodore; and with
his own hands he helped his men to do the job, while the muskets of the
British sailors rattled a storm of lead among them.
At this critical time, when Paul Jones was bending every nerve to
grapple with the _Serapis_, the renegade _Alliance_ suddenly made her
appearance. The hearts of the gallant commander and his brave lads beat
gladly at this sight. "Now," thought they, "Landais has come back to
help us!"
Judge of their dismay when, as soon as he could get within range, the
mad French captain turned his broadsides not into the British frigate
but into the already sorely-afflicted _Bon Homme Richard_! She staggered
under the fresh onslaught, the vicious bite of him who should have given
aid. The American sailors cursed the treacherous Landais, and shook
their fists at him. If they could have caught him they would have rended
him limb from limb, so violent was their rage. In the midst of the
maledictions, the culprit turned about and made away again, with the
strange fickleness of purpose that had all along characterised his
movements.
As soon as the _Serapis_ and the _Richard_ were well lashed together,
Paul Jones drew practically all his crew from below to the upper deck
and the tops, leaving only a small force to man the three small pieces
on the quarter-deck. From this upper position they now commenced
sweeping the decks of the enemy with their muskets. The crew of the
_Serapis_, on the other hand, were forced to take refuge on their lower
decks, from which point they continued to fire their great guns into the
already riddled hull and lower decks of the _Richard_.
Several times Captain Pearson made desperate attempts to cut the
lashings loose, but at each of these efforts the fire of the American
ship's muskets was so accurate and withering that British seamen fell
one upon another. Not a single British Jack reached the coveted goal,
if we may except one bold fellow who was just opening his heavy
Sheffield knife to sever the key-rope when an unerring bullet from the
watchful Wannashego cut short his life. In another instance, the young
Indian saw a British sailor drawing a bead on Paul Jones, who stood all
unconscious of his peril. There was a report--but it was the report of
Wannashego's reliable gun instead, and the British marine tumbled from
the rigging where he was concealed.
Soon all the officers of the French marines had been killed or wounded,
and Paul Jones was forced to take charge of them. His voice cheered them
on in their own tongue; he exhorted them to take good aim, and when he
saw a fellow firing ineffectively, he would often take his musket from
his hand and show him, by coolly bringing down one of the foe, how he
should manipulate it. In fact, toward the last the commodore stood on
the quarter-deck rail by the main topmast backstay, and as he gave
orders and encouragement, received loaded muskets from his marines, and
fired them with deadly precision. His indomitable spirit penetrated
every quaking soul, infusing it with new hope and new courage. As one
French sailor said afterward: "Everyone who saw his example or heard his
voice became as much a hero as Paul Jones himself."
By this time both vessels were on fire in several places. Half the men
on both ships had been killed or disabled. The leaks in the _Richard's_
hold had multiplied, she was much deeper in the sea; while the mainmast
of the _Serapis_ hung in splinters and threatened to go by the board at
any moment.
Now, to the surprise of everybody, the cowardly Landais, with the
_Alliance_, once more put in an appearance. This time he fired several
broadsides into both combatants, seeming to take as much delight in
hitting one as the other. As before, the man who surely could not have
been sane, put his helm over and sailed away--very luckily for the last
time.
While he was making off, a gunner on the _Richard_, thinking the ship
was sinking, called loudly for quarter. No sooner were the words out of
his mouth than Paul Jones sprang forward and felled him with the butt
end of his pistol.
"Do you want quarter?" called Captain Pearson.
"No," roared Paul Jones; "you are the one to ask that!" And he purposely
sent a pistol shot whistling close to the British captain's ears.
As if to make matters worse at this trying moment, the master-at-arms on
the _Richard_, also thinking the ship sinking, opened the hatches and
released nearly two hundred British prisoners, taken from prizes, who
began to swarm on deck in the greatest confusion!
It was a moment to try the resourcefulness of the quickest intellect.
Paul Jones hesitated just a moment, then he thundered at the prisoners
to man the pumps or he would fill them full of lead. They obeyed like
dumb-driven sheep. As the water in the hold of the sinking ship began to
pour over her bulwarks into the sea again, the men on the _Richard_
resumed the battle with new vigor.
Paul Jones had given orders to drop hand-grenades from the rigging down
into the hold of the _Serapis_, through her main hatchway, which was
open. By this same means the enemy had been set afire at various times
before. Now, at an opportune moment, a hand-grenade fell among a pile
of cartridges strung out on the deck of the _Serapis_. A terrific
explosion occurred, killing many of her men.
It was an opportunity too good to let go. With a shout, the dashing John
Mayrant, cleared the bulwarks of the enemy ship at the head of a yelling
throng of Americans and French, and the next moment a terrific
hand-to-hand struggle with cutlass and pistol was being waged.
[Illustration: BOARDING THE SERAPIS
_From a rare print_]
Seeing his men falling back, Captain Pearson knew that he was a defeated
man, and struck his colors to save those of his crew still alive.
The capture of the British frigate came none too soon, for the old
shot-torn _Bon Homme Richard_ was settling fast. By the combined efforts
of crew and prisoners, the fire in both ships was extinguished. Then all
bent their efforts to removing the wounded and prisoners from the
_Richard_ to the _Serapis_, together with ammunition and other
valuables.
All the rest of that night the heroic old craft kept afloat, with the
Stars-and-Stripes--the same flag the Colonial maids of Portsmouth had
given Paul Jones upon his departure in the _Ranger_--flying proudly at
her peak. Then, as if waiting for daylight to illuminate her last action
before man, she slowly sank just as the sun came up across the waters in
the east. The very last vestige anybody saw of her was her flag, still
flying--unstruck!
* * * * *
When, two years later, Paul Jones returned to America, he met Miss Mary
Langdon, who had been one of the girls to make this ensign. "I wished
above all things to bring this flag to America," said he; "but, Miss
Mary, I could not bear to strip the old ship in her last agony, nor
could I deny to my dead on her decks, who had given their lives to keep
it flying, the glory of taking it with them."
"You have done exactly right, commodore," exclaimed she. "That flag is
just where we all wish it to be--flying at the bottom of the sea over
the only ship that ever went down in victory!"
XIV
DIPLOMACY AND SOCIETY
The desperate battle fought in the bright moonlight was witnessed by
many persons in Scarborough and on the Flamborough Head. These English
people immediately spread the alarming tidings throughout the enemy
country by lighting immense signal fires on the cliffs. Although it was
not definitely known what ship had taken the formidable _Serapis_,
nearly everybody rightly guessed that it had been captained by the
"terrible Paul Jones." The British along the sea coast all the way from
Cape Clear to Hull were in a great fright, and for days to come looked
for the appearance of the "blood-thirsty buccaneer" in their particular
locality.
With his two new prizes--for the _Pallas_ had succeeded in capturing the
_Countess of Scarborough_ after a short engagement--the commodore now
set off for The Texel, where he arrived October 3. He was none too soon
in getting into port, either. Very shortly after his arrival an English
squadron, consisting of sixty-four ships-of-the-line and three heavy
frigates, which had been looking for him, hove into view.
The scape-goat Landais, with the _Alliance_, was already in The Texel
when the American-French squadron arrived. Paul Jones at once took steps
for the care of the wounded and prisoners, and then sent special
messengers to Dr. Franklin with news of the great victory and a report
of Landais's scandalous behavior, demanding that he be court-martialed.
An important problem now to be solved was how to induce the Dutch
authorities to allow Paul Jones and his battered ships to remain long
enough in a neutral port to make necessary repairs to carry them to
France. Indeed, Sir Joseph Yorke, British minister in Holland, lost no
time in demanding that the Dutch government turn over to England "the
pirate and criminal, Paul Jones, and every ship under his command." An
enormous amount of correspondence then passed between the diplomats of
the three countries concerned; conferences were held; even Paul Jones
himself took a most active hand in presenting his arguments in favor of
the step he had taken. The people of Holland were secretly in sympathy
with the revolting colonies; but the wealthy Dutch ship-owners were
gaining a rich harvest from the commerce with England at this time, and
they made their weighty power felt in settling the question. These men
thought the ships should be held by Holland until after the war.
However, the other contingent argued them down, and the States-General
at last sent England the verdict of his country, which was to the effect
that Holland would _not_ deliver over the vessels to England, but would
insist that they depart from Holland waters at the first favorable
weather.
In the meantime, kind-hearted Dutch maids thronged the decks of the
_Serapis_, _Alliance_, _Pallas_ and _Scarborough_. They brought with
them gifts of food and clothing for the strong and healthy, as well as
an abundance of delicacies for the sick and wounded. More than one
rosy-cheeked, fair-haired girl acted as nurse, and it is no wonder that
under such jolly, tender care the ailing ones made rapid improvement.
As he watched his ships nearing the finish of their repairs, Paul
Jones's heart became more anxious, and often he looked seaward where the
British ships were grimly patrolling to prevent his escape when the
Dutch authorities should order him out at the first favorable wind. He
hoped intensely that this sort of wind would not come before he had
everything aboard in readiness and his plans for evading the enemy well
formed.
On the 13th of December the French minister of marine, De Sartine,
demanded that he should fly the French flag, which naturally commanded
greater respect from Holland than the American ensign. In vain he
expostulated to this gentleman and to Dr. Franklin, his friend in Paris;
the latter stated he thought it the best thing to do. Therefore, Paul
Jones made the change, but with great reluctance. It grieved him deeply
to see the flag of another country, other than that under which the
_Serapis_ had had to bow down to, fluttering at her masthead.
Close upon the heels of this disappointment came another to tear the
heartstrings of the irritated Scotchman. This was an order for him to
relinquish supervision of all his ships except the _Alliance_, which he
was to command as an ordinary captain. The _Serapis_ he must turn over
to Captain Cottineau, who, it was said, would look after the fortunes of
this vessel, as well as the _Pallas_ and the _Vengeance_ and the
_Scarborough_, in the future. Commodore Jones sent vehement
protestations at this humiliating change to the French government and
the American commissioners, but in vain; no other arrangement could well
be made, wrote Dr. Franklin. So our hero bowed in submission, although
when he went aboard the _Alliance_ as her captain he defiantly pulled
down the French flag at her peak and ran up the Stars-and-Stripes.
The incessant jangling and wrangling with the diplomats of three
countries in addition to his own, had made Paul Jones very sore at
heart. Therefore, he was very glad when, on Christmas Day, 1779, the
weather underwent a change which promised him a chance to get away from
The Texel. That morning he awoke to find such a gale blowing that most
of the patrolling English frigates were driven off the coast. All that
day and the next it howled so furiously that he dared not venture to
steal out himself; but early on the morning of the 27th he made a dash
in the _Alliance_, boldly shaping his course for the Straits of Dover.
As daring as ever, he sailed down the English Channel, passing close to
the Channel Fleet of the enemy. They gave chase, but he outmaneuvred
them, and finally put in at Corunna, Spain, for repairs. On February 10,
1780, he sailed into L'Orient.
The following year was passed mainly in France, where Paul Jones applied
himself energetically to trying to collect prize money for his men and
himself, and trying to secure an important command. He wrote rather more
than his usual large number of letters,--to Franklin, the Duchesse De
Chartres, Robert Morris, Arthur Lee, Dr. Bancroft, and many others,--in
an endeavor to carry out some of his pet plans for the betterment of war
operations. In spite of his hard efforts to collect this prize money,
there were many annoying delays caused by technicalities, and his crew
as a whole grew impatient and rebellious. This feeling was increased
when the traitor, Landais, suddenly appeared among them, and abetted by
Arthur Lee, stirred up the men with many lies.
Wannashego carried this state of affairs to Paul Jones as soon as he
became convinced of the peril of the situation, but even while he was in
quest of his friend, Landais and Lee went aboard and took possession of
the ship. When, on his arrival, Paul Jones found what had transpired he
was so angry that he could hardly contain himself. He came very near to
shooting both the conspirators; but as usual when in a temper he calmed
down with surprising quickness, and departed. The next day the
_Alliance_, under the command of Landais, sailed for America, with Lee
aboard. Paul Jones made no effort to prevent it. "Let them go," he said
to Wannashego; "I am well rid of such a pair of precious scoundrels. As
for the ship, she is not worth fighting over."
So Landais sailed away with the _Alliance_, but to his own
ruin--something the astute Scotchman had foreseen. On the voyage
Landais's eccentricity caused his friend Lee to put him under arrest,
and on arrival in America a court of inquiry found him unfit for
command, and he never burdened the service again.
Paul Jones had arrived in Paris this time in a blaze of fame. He was
lionized by society, congratulated by royalty, was the idol of women
high and low. He was bidden by the Duc and Duchesse De Chartres to be
their guest at the Palais Royal, and occupied one of the splendid
apartments of that historic dwelling during his stay in Paris. As soon
as the Duchesse had received the commodore's letter acquainting her with
his victory over the _Serapis_--in these words: "The enemy surrendered
at thirty-five minutes past 10:00 p. m. by your watch, which I consult
only to fix the moment of victory"--she prepared to give a great ball in
his honor.
And now that Paul Jones was present in person, the charming Duchesse
could not seem to do enough to attest her regard for him. She gave a
wonderful banquet, with him as the chief guest. As the evening waned he
asked her if she remembered his promise to lay an English frigate at her
dainty feet. On hearing her assent, he turned to an attendant, who had
been holding the sword surrendered by Captain Pearson, and taking this
he dropped gracefully on one knee and presented it to the beautiful
Duchesse with these words: "While I am unable to lay so large a thing as
a frigate at the feet of your Royal Highness, I nevertheless am able to
surrender to the loveliest of women the sword surrendered by one of the
bravest of men on such a frigate."
Of course the petite Aimée De Telusson was present at this meeting, and
to her, as usual, Paul Jones gallantly paid the most marked attention.
His gayety was contagious. His wit was the wonder of all those
assembled. With one and all he was a favorite, this son of a poor Scotch
gardener.
XV
AND THE LAST
For some time Benjamin Franklin, knowing the need of supplies for
Washington's army, had been soliciting Paul Jones to take command of the
_Ariel_ and transport such goods from France to America. But the Scotch
commodore, dissatisfied with the humbleness of a command on such a small
sloop, had held off stubbornly, hoping that in the meantime a ship of
greater caliber and importance would be presented to him. Honors
bestowed upon him by the King of France, wherein he had been presented
with the Royal Order of Military Merit and a beautiful gold sword,
seemed to have increased his native unbounded ambitions and to have
almost spoiled him for anything but the most exalted of offices.
But on October 8, 1780, he finally sailed away in the _Ariel_, having a
goodly number of his old crew with him, including his valiant young
Indian friend Wannashego, who was now eager to see his home country and
people, from whom he had been away just one month short of three years.
The young Narragansett's muscles were like steel bands now, and not a
member of the _Ariel's_ crew could throw him. This had been amply
attested in the wrestling bouts which took place on the eve of the
ship's departure from L'Orient, when Commodore Jones had given an
elaborate farewell party. On this occasion the little _Ariel_ had been
bewitchingly decorated from stern to bow, the finest people of France
had been in attendance, and a wonderful mimic sham battle had been
shown, a replica of that terrible fight between the _Bon Homme Richard_
and the _Serapis_.
The little _Ariel_ arrived in Philadelphia the 18th of February, 1781,
and there her commander took affectionate leave of Wannashego. For five
years the young Narragansett Indian had fought at Paul Jones's side,
never once flinching, and therefore he seemed more like a younger
brother than a friend. At this time the Scotchman himself was
thirty-three years old.
Upon his arrival the commodore called on many of his friends, and then
proposed having an investigation of the doings of his enemy, Arthur Lee.
But his friends dissuaded him from this. With the whole country ringing
his praises, as had been the case when he left France, it was easy for
him to forgive his enemies. Congress passed resolutions in which they
complimented him for his victories and service to the States, and a most
appreciative letter was written him by the great George Washington
himself.
It now seemed to Paul Jones a favorable time to improve his rank--an
object he never lost sight of!--and on May 28 he sent a memorial to
Congress reiterating his claims to stand above the captains who had been
unjustly put ahead of him. He failed, probably on account of the
political influence of the aforesaid captains; but he was rewarded with
the command of the _America_, a fine new 74-gun ship-of-the-line then
building at Portsmouth. He at once went to Portsmouth, and worked for
weeks getting her ready for sea--only to have her turned over to the
King of France!
With undaunted energy he now attempted to get hold of the _South
Carolina_, formerly the _Indien_. But the plan failed, and he remained
without a vessel. Unable to rest, although his health had for some time
been failing, he was given consent to go off with the French fleet under
Marquis De Vaudreuil, "in pursuit of military marine knowledge," as he
termed his object. Then, in the summer of 1783, came an attack of fever.
On his recovery, he was appointed by Congress as agent to collect all
moneys due from the sale of prizes taken in European waters under his
command. In this work he showed unusual business tact and ability.
When the war closed, he began a profitable business in illuminating
oils, and continued his activities in securing prize money until all
accounts had been settled. Then Paul Jones set off for Copenhagen to
collect indemnity from the Danish government for the prizes the mad
Landais had delivered to Bergen, and which that country had turned over
to England before the declaration of hostilities between the two. He
arrived in January, 1788, and was magnificently entertained by the
court, being given a pension of 1500 crowns a year "for respect shown
to the Danish flag" while he commanded in the European seas. The
negotiations for indemnity were suspended and transferred, with his
agreement, to Paris.
When Paul Jones was in Paris, the Russian ambassador to France made a
proposition to him, through Mr. Jefferson, to take a position in the
Russian navy. Russia was then at war with Turkey, and the clever Simolin
so impressed the Scotch captain with the great deeds he might do for
the benefit of the Russian empire and the distress of the Turks, that
he at once began to maneuver for the highest command possible. He
demurred at the rank of captain-commandant, a rank equal to that of
brigadier-general in the present United States army--and maintained that
nothing less than that of rear-admiral was fitting. This was allowed.
Our hero left Copenhagen on his ill-fated Russian mission, April 11, and
made a flying and perilous trip to St. Petersburg. The Baltic was filled
with ice blocks, but at the muzzle of his pistols the intrepid Scotchman
forced two frightened and unwilling boatmen to row him across the
turbulent stream. On April 23 he was presented to the Empress, and she
conferred upon him the coveted rank of rear-admiral, to the profound
disgust of many of the English officers in the service of Russia, who
looked upon the newcomer as a red-handed and infamous pirate.
With many a jealous eye on him, Paul Jones departed from St. Petersburg
on May 7, to take command of the Russian squadron in the Black Sea. But
even while he was leaving envy and hate behind him, he was going forward
into feeling even more bitter. His fortune put him in co-command with an
arrogant adventurer, the Prince of Nassau, who at once became extremely
jealous of the American. Nassau advised him to allow Prince Potemkin, in
charge of the fleet, to take the credit for any success which might
result from an engagement, and to hold his tongue--two things which Paul
Jones's nature would not allow him to do.
It is not advisable to enter into the details of this campaign, but
enough may be given to explain some of the difficulties the man from
across the sea encountered. Following some unimportant engagements,
Captain Pacha, whose fleet lay before Oczakow, protecting that
Turk-infested town from the Russian ships, attempted to attack the
Russian fleet. But one of his ships ran aground, and the others anchored
in much confusion. Paul Jones then made such a fierce attack that the
Turkish ships cut anchor and fled, with him in pursuit. He signaled
Nassau to join him, but the latter paid no attention, and continued to
fire inhumanely into two others of the enemy which were aground and
ablaze. Paul Jones then continued on after the fleeing Turkish ships,
many of which he captured or ran aground. Later on, the cowardly Nassau
came up and proceeded to rake the helpless enemy fore and aft, killing
most of their crews while they pleaded for quarter.
Paul Jones was so disgusted and incensed at this conduct that he
publicly upbraided Prince Nassau, gaining his further ill-will, and
bringing down upon his head a rebuke from the crafty Prince Potemkin. To
add to his anger, when the Empress made her awards of bravery for this
battle, Nassau received the warmest praise and a valuable estate,
while Paul received only the mediocre award of the Order of St. Anne.
A little later the despotic Potemkin had made up his mind that he could
not get along with the independent and fiery American seaman, and
secured an order which sent him into the northern seas. This was
practically a dismissal for Paul Jones, who returned to St. Petersburg
in virtual disgrace. By this time, too, Empress Catherine had had her
ears so filled with the lies of his enemies, who seemed to take delight
in besmirching his character and causing him every annoyance possible,
even to the extent of intercepting his mail, that she was sincerely
anxious to get rid of the man whom she had only a little while before
admired so greatly. She did not dare to do this openly, however, owing
to his powerful influence in France, which she feared; so promised him
an important command in the Baltic seas, a command which she secretly
made up her mind should never come his way.
Patiently Paul Jones waited in his humble lodgings in St. Petersburg for
this commission. Days rolled by. Weeks rolled by. Months began to
multiply. While he waited, he was falsely accused, in March, 1789, of
an atrocious crime, and forbidden to approach the palace of the Empress.
But for the French ambassador, M. De Ségur, who had a strong influence
with the Empress, and who proved that Paul Jones was the victim of a
plot, it is hard to tell how he would have come out of this difficulty.
As it was, Catherine once more received him graciously, with profuse
apologies.
But Paul Jones's health, largely owing to the indignities heaped upon
him in Russia, was now fast failing; he asked for two years' leave of
absence, and it was granted. His services to that country were
considerable, yet they have never to this day been recognized. As an
instance of the ridiculous reports circulated about him, we will state
that he was said to have murdered his nephew--a person who had never
existed! Can we wonder that the sensitive soul of this brave man was
shattered after his harrowing experiences? Can we wonder that his
iron-clad constitution, which should have held life in him not less than
four-score years, began to go to pieces when he was still a young man?
On August 18, 1789, Paul Jones left St. Petersburg, never to return, and
never again to fight a battle for any nation. He was only forty-two
years old, but though still brave in spirit, so undermined in physical
strength that he remained in Paris and became a spectator rather than an
actor in the great French Revolution, then taking place.
Acquainted with men of all nationalities and in the highest and most
influential positions, Paul Jones, now that he could do little else,
settled down to entertaining his friends and being entertained himself.
Always he seemed happiest when with the charming Aimée De Telusson, who
to the very end of his last hours remained ever with him, a faithful and
devoted nurse. Had he continued to live in health and strength there is
little doubt but that he would have taken this beautiful, unselfish, and
loving girl, the daughter of a king, to be his wife, for of all his many
warm women friends, with her he was ever the most tender and
considerate.
A stranger to illness, a conqueror of troubles which had seemed far more
formidable to him, Paul Jones never doubted his recovery. Even when the
doctors shook their heads and said his left lung was entirely gone and
the other affected, he smiled and did not give up. His wonderful Scotch
constitution held out amazingly. A number of times it looked as if he
would win his battle with Death, for he would rise from his bed and seem
his old energetic self again.
But gradually his strength was sapped. On the afternoon of the 18th of
July, 1792, when forty-five years old, he consigned himself to the
inevitable, and, assisted by Gouverneur Morris, drew up his will. A few
hours afterward, while he lay in bed, his great spirit quietly departed.
[Illustration: PAUL JONES'S LAST BURIAL
_Midshipman escorting the casket to its final resting place, in
Annapolis, April 24th, 1906_]
In 1905, the American Embassy in Paris exhumed the body of America's
glorious hero, after it had lain hidden for one hundred and thirteen
years in the abandoned Cemetery of St. Louis. Under escort of one of our
finest naval squadrons the body was brought to the United States and
buried with much ceremony in Arlington, the National Cemetery at
Washington.
* * * * *
_FAMOUS AMERICANS FOR YOUNG READERS_
_Titles Ready_
GEORGE WASHINGTON By Joseph Walker
JOHN PAUL JONES By C. C. Fraser
THOMAS JEFFERSON By Gene Stone
ABRAHAM LINCOLN By J. Walker McSpadden
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN By Clare Tree Major
DAVID CROCKETT By Jane Corby
ROBERT FULTON By I. N. McFee
THOMAS A. EDISON By I. N. McFee
HARRIET B. STOWE By R. B. MacArthur
MARY LYON By H. O. Stengel
_Other Titles in Preparation_
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