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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.