A handsome eighteenth-century sea warfare captain, a very prolific and experienced, but argumentative and quick-tempered individual, sails into history by fighting and winning seemingly insurmountable naval battles without a warship…
11 p.m. Heavily salted air served to break up a biting, persistent frost that threatened to cling to every exposed surface. The bitter chill and moisture foretold of a coming notorious English summer – the likes of which had not been experienced for years – a soggy, insufferable season only about a month away.
As midnight neared, two small boats lowered from a larger ship, a 308-foot, 313-long ton, sloop-of-war, carrying no fewer than eighteen 6-pounder guns – all of which silent but set at the ready to address possibly harrowing contingencies.
A disembarked thirty-person party looked toward their mission, fully prepared to conduct a historical land raid that had not occurred in seven centuries – daring to sneak past numerous ported trade vessels and a half-dozen, much larger, better-armed gunboats anchored not far away to deter any aggressive or exploitive foreign assets.
Aboard the two jolly boats, fifteen sailors apiece carefully loaded their pistols and sheathed their sharpened cutlasses, led by a pair of lieutenants and a recently promoted captain – one lieutenant a native Swede, the other a first-generation Massachusettsan, and the senior officer a somewhat infamous character. The commissioned commanders would navigate the waters for more than three hours to reach the harbor, struggling to overcome the tide rolling away from the coast, which left scores of enemy ships stranded in the shallows and tautly bound to giant piers.
Those vulnerable vessels were just one set of the intended targets, the others, two forts, and an earl, whose capture would serve as collateral to force the release of prisoners of war. It was a colossal undertaking and a plan so bold, no one dared attempt it, particularly given the perceived limitations of the infiltrators, who were no less than 3,500 nautical miles from their home port.
And though the dark of night did much to conceal their creeping presence, it did very little to alleviate their instinctive fears or calm their uneasy nerves. After all, they were headed straight for practically impenetrable structures, housing ample supplies of fierce arms, within quick reach of experienced, sleeping combatants who would wake at a moment’s notice and be ready to retaliate with overwhelming superiority.
Since winning by attrition wasn’t viable by any measure, this risky strategy became a necessary gamble – one that would pay off in several substantial ways if successful. Such guerilla tactics not only offered the element of surprise but would also undermine any sense of treasured security the civilian population had come to enjoy and expect.
The thirty-person incursion force was only a handful among the many remaining aboard the subversive craft that brought them across the Atlantic. Many times more refused any part in the operation and balanced on the edge of outright mutiny against the captain, a thirty-year-old immigrant who had already gained a notorious reputation for his rule-following rigidity and unmerciful discipline.
Moreover, the foul weather had complicated the last portion of their passage, making it difficult to maintain course. Now, the men had to recuperate from a previously failed attempt, which sought to attack the first guns of the lunette battery, located on a rocky shore, protected that night by seas too rough to approach.
In fact, the volunteers wouldn’t make it to their alternative targets until nearly dawn. The combination of tide, the ubiquity of enemy crafts, and freezing temperature all threatened to thwart their next attempt. But, they managed to persist and eventually, reached the port.
As first light broke over the hills behind Whitehaven, one party, led by the senior officer, quietly approached a fort positioned on the south, just as the sun began to rise.
“Now, men, take heed,” the captain whispered. “Remaining undetected is of utmost importance. We’ll disembark right over there, move quickly but silently, and scale the walls by climbing up on each others’ shoulders. Once in the fort, we’ll move straight to the guardhouse. After the sentries are secure, we’ll spike their 32-pound cannons. Then, break away and set the shipping ablaze in the southern part of the harbor!”
Although the men had come with the captain and his subordinate officer, Swedish left Lieutenant Meijer, the sailors already had a number of reservations. Exhausted by the long journey and faced with certain death if caught, they concocted a secret plan to abandon their captain and leave him behind. But, when they saw their leader walk ashore and stand confidently on the battlements, it gave them the courage to follow through. Among them was Midshipman Joe Green, a mariner who had firsthand, extensive experience in battle since the war broke out almost three years to the day.
Green and Meijer joined their captain and soon after, the rest of the party followed, careful not to make a single out-of-place noise that would alert the watchmen. The party successfully climbed over the wall and immediately burst into the guardhouse, taking the soldiers inside by surprise without any bloodshed whatsoever.
With the garrison surrender and the fort secured, the captain and Midshipman Green moved quickly to spike the 32-pound cannons so they could not reach his retreating sloop-of-war when the saboteurs pulled their escape. But, much to the commanding officer’s surprise, when he and his rebels returned to the harbor, there were no enemy ships set afire.
“What’s this? Why aren’t those ships engulfed in flames, Lieutenant Meijer?”
“I have no idea, Captain! Lieutenant Wallingford and Midshipman Ben Hill must have a reason as to why they did not carry out the plan.”
What Lieutenant Meijer nor the captain knew at the moment was the second long jolly boat suffered a setback, its only lantern had gone out due to the strong winds and the spray of the sea coming over the deck. With the only source of fire extinguished and their primary ship so far away, the secondary crew set out into the town through the Old Quay slip to find a torch, lantern, or anything to start a fire.
“Lieutenant Meijer!”
“Yes, Captain!”
“Have Midshipman Green locate the rest of our men. You, Lieutenant, come with me. We’ll burn the entire, bloody fleet!”
Green did as ordered and within a short time, returned with the other crew, who could see the newest ship built in the target port of Whitehaven, The Thompson, ablaze. Its coal and tar cargo served savagely as highly-combustible fuel.
“Now then, Lieutenant Wallingford, your job is done!”
“Thank you, Captain!”
“I see you and your men were unable to find anything to ignite these enemy vessels. But, it does appear that your party did manage to locate the local pub! You reek of alcohol!”
“Captain, I can explain!”
“I’m sure you have a very interesting explanation, Lieutenant Wallingford. Still, I am uninterested in hearing it. Let’s take muster and get back to our sloop as quickly as possible!”
“Right away, Captain!”
As they began to count and board their jolly long boats to row back out to their ship, Lieutenant Wallingford notified the captain that one of his crew, David Freeman, was unaccounted for. Freeman snuck away during the confusion to warn the townspeople about the fire, which would certainly spread, given the conditions of the harbor. This prompted the locals to alert the fire brigade, who immediately dispatched to the port and extinguished the flames.
While the fire was being put out, the saboteurs returned to their sloop and set off for their next target – the Earl of Selkirk. Taking him hostage would surely guarantee the release of impressed sailors.
It was April 23rd, 1778, and the Whitehaven Raid, as it came to be known, was a campaign that yielded mixed results. Though the captain, a man now known as John Paul Jones, and his men did not cause the damage they sought to wrought, the mission not only set off a shockwave across the town but the entire country. To wit, Lloyd’s Evening Post ran a sensational headline that proclaimed the safety of the Atlantic barrier was no longer enough – the rebel colonists had struck their home country of England.
That very day, John Paul Jones and his crew had already crossed the Solway Firth to the coast of Scotland, landing the USS Ranger off St. Mary’s Isle. Jones’s plan was to kidnap the Earl of Selkirk. With the nobleman taken prisoner, the Continentals could demand their prisoners of war be freed by the English Crown. But, the aristocrat was away in London. Frustrated by the circumstances, the crew looted the estate, taking silver and other valuables.
The failed abduction caused other newspapers to proclaim the tiny isle was now under constant threat from the “Pirate Jones,” portraying the young captain as a marauding privateer, a thief and terrorist, and not a formidable, sophisticated gentleman of war. The pejorative moniker angered the officer, who wanted to make his mark as a great strategist.
Unsatisfied with previous results, and wanting to deal a real blow to the British crown, Jones ordered his ship to sail along the coast to find a prize of honor to take. So, the USS Ranger sailed across the Irish Sea, arriving in Belfast Harbor on April 24th, 1778. It was here the young commander found exactly what he was looking for – the HMS Drake.
The British sloop-of-war was a relatively even match. Weighing 275 tons and equipped with twenty 4-pound guns, the vessel had been in active military service for nearly a year, making its maiden voyage as a warship on May 24th, 1777. Her mission was to protect the packet boats between Harwich and Gorée.
Seeing the craft alone, Jones ordered his crew to raise the British naval ensign on the flagpole, allowing them to nonchalantly approach the Drake. Unaware of the threat posed by the Ranger, which appeared as a friendly, the crew of the English sloop simply went about their daily routines.
As the Ranger made its way closer and closer, Captain Jones sent men, armed with grapeshot, up to the tops to position themselves high above in the masts of the Ranger. Just as the Continental craft neared the Drake, Jones gave the order to open fire.
The Drake, surprised by the attack, immediately retaliated, and within minutes, the two ships exchanged broadsides, firing all their cannons at once. As the Ranger unloaded its eighteen 6-pounders, its strategically positioned sailors rained grapeshot downward, ripping the masts of the enemy ship and tearing limbs of its crew. The tactics worked, and within an hour, the Drake raised a white flag in surrender.
Triumphant, Jones wasted no time taking his prize and sped off to France to evade the Royal Navy who would soon be in hot pursuit. On May 8th, 1778, he delivered the captured Drake in Brest, France, and was then credited with the first and most complete, Continental naval victory in British waters. As a result, the Crown put a bounty on his head – Jones was a wanted man. But, he is now one of the most revered figures in the colonies. And, it’s still not enough. Jones wanted more – a lot more.
Humble Beginnings
Born in Arbigland, Scotland on July 6th, 1747 in a tiny cottage simply as John Paul, the young man fell in love with the sea at an early age. He dreamed of taking command of a big ship one day and larger-than-life adventures on the open ocean. What made the adolescent so different, particularly during this period, was his determination to make his ambition a reality – something quite unusual in the eighteenth century.
Before the twentieth century, people’s stations in life were predetermined. The sons of blacksmiths became blacksmiths. Children of farmers became farmers. Boys of cobblers or wagonmakers became shoemakers or carriage builders. But, John Paul did not conform to those contemporary societal norms. He was set on becoming a person of notoriety, and not a mere gardener, like his father.
At the age of thirteen, an opportunity came along he couldn’t pass up – an apprenticeship with the British Merchant Marine Corps. His first assignment, the merchant ship Friendship, sailed out of Whitehaven – the very port he would later return to attack. Jones would go on to sail upon the King George in 1764 as a third mate and thereafter, Two Friends in 1766 as a first mate.
Although a profitable position, John Paul left the latter, being repulsed by the conditions aboard the slave ship. His humanitarian sensibilities were so offended by the treatment of captives through the practice he quit and sought passage back to Scotland from Jamaica.
On the voyage back from the West Indies to Britain, fate would intervene. After accepting a free ride on the tiny brig John, the merchant vessel fell into utter chaos. The craft’s master, suffering from a fever, died. As was custom, the chief mate took command. But, shortly after taking the helm, the second officer was also struck with a fatal fever. This left the entire crew in an outright panic as none of the merchant marines were able to navigate – a very complicated and nuanced skill that took years to learn. That is, no one else but the nineteen-year-old passenger John Paul.
The adept teenager guided the brig back to its homeport without further incident and the vessel’s owners were so grateful, they placed him in permanent command of the ship – officially making him a full-fledged captain. Regardless, John Paul did not think it was enough – he yearned for far more – to have his name go down in history as one of the most important people of his time.
With some solid real-world experience under his belt, in 1772, John Paul purchased a ship of his own in Tobago. But, the following year, trouble reared its ugly head. While sailing on a routine trip, his crew threatened to mutiny. Faced with certain death in a confrontation with the ringleader, John Paul, acting in self-defense, killed the instigator. Afraid he would be unjustly prosecuted or become the victim of revenge, he chose to flee the islands to Fredericksburg, Virginia, and change his name to John Paul Jones.
When the revolution broke out, John Paul Jones, as he was now known, traveled up to Philadelphia to join up with the cause and was commissioned a senior lieutenant in the new Continental Navy in 1774.
A single man until this point, Jones met Dorothea Dandridge in 1775 – the love of his life. She too fell in love with him. But, her family would not approve of their relationship.
Dorothea eventually went on to marry Governor Patrick Henry of Virginia – the same patriot who proclaimed in a speech he gave to the Second Virginia Convention on March 23rd of the same year, “Give me liberty, or give me death!”
A Commission, and, a Strategy
In 1776, as the American Revolution heated up, Jones spent most of his time as a first lieutenant aboard the Alfred, a converted merchant ship. The highlight of this stint was a surprise raid on Nassau in the Bahamas. The Continental Navy gave him command of the slu Providence. Jones was given orders to use this vessel to conduct similar campaigns in Newfoundland, where he could target a number of British fishing boats.
The reason for such harassment was one of practicality. The Royal Navy was the most well-equipped of the day, with two-hundred-seventy ships of war. The other great powers of the time also had impressive fleets, such as the French, Spanish, and Dutch. Meanwhile, the colonies had to rely on a rag-tag group of sailors who served aboard hastily converted merchant vessels, most of which were no match for the average British craft.
Due to this severe imbalance, the Continentals awarded letters of marque to anyone willing to take on the enemy at sea or in port. This benefited both parties, the cause of independence and the privateers who profited nicely from the arrangement. But, this also had the unintended consequence of making it extraordinarily difficult to recruit sailors to the new American navy because life and pay aboard privateer vessels were far more preferable.
Another problem for the Continental marine force was Jones himself. The head of the force, Commodore Hopkins, received a plethora of complaints about Jones. It was not only his quick temper and strictness, but also, he was a foreigner who the colonists found hard to trust.
In order to placate the fledgling sailors, John Hancock, the President of the Continental Congress, proposed sending Jones to France to join Benjamin Franklin who was on a diplomatic mission to strike an alliance with King Louis XVI. Hancock intended for Jones to take command of a French ship.
However, the French monarch was skeptical about handing over ships of war to his new allies. After all, the French still needed to protect their assets and be able to fend off the British if necessary.
While aboard in Europe, Jones and Franklin became friends, and both delighted in its high society. Both men learned the language and formed a strong bond. It soon became evident that King Louis XVI needed proof of the American’s capabilities to be properly outfitted.
So, Jones came up with a plan. He told Franklin that with the right ship, it would be possible to take the fight right to the Redcoats where the Royal assets were weakest. The inevitable response would force Britain to deploy ships to chase down the rebels, stretching the English fleet thin.
The Continental leadership agreed with this assessment and put Jones in charge of the USS Ranger – a 308-foot, 313-long ton sloop-of-war, boasting eighteen 6-pound guns, built at the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard on Badger’s Island in Kittery, Maine.
Setting out to sea in April of 1777, Jones used the vessel as a one-ship raiding campaign, capturing any vulnerable merchant ships, and burning enemy supply craft. Approximately one year later, the daring commander sailed the USS Ranger to the English coast, led the raid on Whitehaven, then captured the HMS Drake.
Fame at Flamborough, but Not Fortune
Though Jones’s plundering did harass the British Navy, it did little else to help advance an ultimate victory for the cause of independence from the Royal Crown. The Continental Army had pulled off some big wins, such as the Battle of Trenton in December 1776, The Battle of Princeton in January 1777, and the Battle of Saratoga in September of 1777, but the colonies simply could not sustain a long-protracted war with the world’s largest military power.
This was made evident by one of the darkest moments in the war for independence at The Battle of Germantown. During the same month the Americans pulled out a stunning victory in Saratoga, the British army dealt the cause a serious, sobering blow, when General Howe’s troops entered Philadelphia on September 26th, 1777 – the capital city at the time.
Unnerved by the presence of the Redcoat division, General George Washington decided to mount a surprise attack in order to free the capital city. On October 3rd, Washington – who had already suffered a number of grievous losses – attacked Howe’s troops near the village of Germantown. But, Howe’s forces retaliated. Regardless of this quick response, the Continentals managed to push the enemy back.
However, this advance was short-lived. British Colonel Musgrave ordered a fortification and although the Americans attacked again, a larger number of Redcoat regulars descended on the scene and repulsed the assault.
Seeing the fortification was too difficult to penetrate, even after an all-out bombardment, the Continental soldiers attempted to enter the building past the barricades, but all those who entered were immediately stabbed with bayonets.
When the battle concluded, Washington’s Army suffered 152 fatalities, 521 wounded, and 438 captures. Meanwhile the British only lost seventy and four-hundred, fifty wounded, with no prisoners taken by the colonists.
Now, the effort to gain independence was in as much doubt as ever. Reeling from the devastating loss, the Americans continued to court the French for greater sums of help. Four months later, on February 6, 1778, the Franco-American Treaty was signed, requiring the European Kingdom to provide the colonies with what they needed most – seapower.
Following the treaty between the Americans and the French, John Paul Jones sailed the USS Bonhomme Richard, a refitted merchant vessel, north to the coast of Yorkshire, England in mid-August, 1779. The Bonhomme Richard was a gift from the French, previously called the Duc de Duras, but renamed after Benjamin Franklin’s pen name Poor Richard.
Jones led a small contingent of ships, including the Pallas, Vengeance, and the French Alliance. On September 23rd, 1779, the tiny fleet spotted forty British merchant boats being escorted by two deadly ships of war: the HMS Serapis and the Countess of Scarborough.
“There! There’s our prize!” Jones yelled from the helm, signaling his men to get ready for a big battle. Bringing up the Bonhomme Richard behind the convoy, the craft’s crew loaded the cannons with double shot and grapeshot. The men also loaded their muskets and sharpened the blades of their swords as Jones commanded the Pallas to ride in his wake, thereby deceiving the British as to the size of the rebel numbers.
As the dark of night began to fall around 6:00 p.m., the Serapis became aware of the trailing fleet, alerting its captain, Richard Pearson, to a possible threat. Just as the sun disappeared over the horizon, Captain Pearson, unable to clearly determine the circumstances, shouted to John Paul Jones, “What ship is that?!”
“I can’t hear you!”
Angry, Pearson forcibly repeated, “What ship is that?! Answer at once or I shall be under the necessity of firing into you!”
But Jones stood on the deck of the Bonhomme Richard stone-faced and silent.
Infuriated by the non-response, Pearson stared back, attempting to intimidate the upstart.
Tensions instantly rose and almost simultaneously, the two ships opened fire on one another, ravaging each ship’s façade with big holes and scattered, splintered wood.
The Battle of Flamborough Head had begun.
A moment later, the HMS Serapis sped off, and Jones immediately realized just how easily his boat could be outgunned and outmaneuvered.
The USS Bonhomme Richard was a refurbished merchant vessel, built nearly a decade and a half earlier in 1765. It was used to make two long, arduous voyages to China from France, over 4,430 nautical miles each way, for a total of 8,860 in its first few years. The vessel was not only older than the HMS Serapis, but it was also much slower and far less capable. In fact, when Jones ordered the cannons fired in the first volley, many of the guns exploded within the ship itself.
Seeing the agility of the Serapis the Scottish-born naval commander quickly came to understand the only possible way to win the engagement was to board the enemy craft and capture the crew – something that would be extraordinarily difficult, even under the best of circumstances. Jones would have to forcibly board the well-equipped gunboat and overpower far more capable crewmen who had many hours of hand-to-hand combat experience with his rag-tag motley gang.
But, before he would risk such a bold move, Jones attempted to outmaneuver the Serapis. In response, the British ship quickly steered to evade another onslaught by broadside. Pearson turned his vessel yet again, bringing it to bear down on the Bonhomme Richard with sobering intimidation. Jones reacted right away, jockeying back into an offensive position, and attempted to board the Serapis.
The ships danced around one another for three and a half hours, before Pearson finally gained a truly advantageous orientation, forcing Jones to slyly recoil to avoid being taken. Master Pearson seized the moment and demanded surrender, “Give up your ship! Strike your colors! Or, be destroyed!”
Jones held fast and stared back defiantly, not uttering a single word. Perplexed, the captain again insisted the Bonhomme Richard capitulate. Then, the Continental crew scampered about the deck, leading Pearson to believe they were about to raise the white flag, inquiring, “Is your ship about to strike?”
But, Jones stood tall at the bow, unsheathed his cutlass, thrust the blade into the air, and confidently shouted, “I have not yet begun to fight!”
Incensed by his opponent’s obstinance, Pearson ordered his men to fire and disable the Bonhomme Richard. But, with their close proximity, Jones tried to lead his crew onto the hostile craft as they became locked in hand-to-hand combat, yet still unable to board the other vessel.
As the boats collided against each other, the HMS Serapis’ jibboom became entangled in the Bonhomme Richard’s rigging, prompting Jones to instruct his crew, “Latch on, men! Latch on! We’ve got her now!”
The Continental sailors started to pull the Serapis into their jaws, causing Pearson to try and pull a clever escape, “Drop the anchor! Drop the anchor now! Don’t let them board! Do not let them come onboard!”
The desperate tactic worked because the force of the anchor plummeting deep into the sea caused the Bonhomme Richard to abruptly come about, locking both ships in completely opposite directions. However, the bloody hand-to-hand combat continued in full force and the struggle lingered on for four long hours.
At an impassable stalemate, Jones personally took control of a nine-pound deck cannon and shouted rallying cries. The Bonhomme Richard strategically placed fighters, who occupied the highest positions on the mast, rained down grapeshot and grenades, and fired their muskets with deadly accuracy — all of which ripped the Serapis apart at the seams.
The battle went on, but neither crew could gain momentum and turn the tide in their favor. Just as the clock struck half past eight o’clock, the French ally Alliance appeared from out of the horizon, firing its guns at the Serapis to the cheers of the men aboard the Bonhomme Richard. Then, inexplicably, the French vessel launched another attack, but this time, its cannonballs squarely hit the hull of the Bonhomme Richard.
Confused, Jones instantly spun about and told his men, “Be at the ready to fend off another enemy ship! They’re coming up behind us!”
The Alliance launched another volley, but this time, only at the Bonhomme Richard, sparking a fire that instantly erupted. As the flames began to engulf the wounded ship, Jones’s men realized he was no longer standing and rushed to his aid.
“Captain! Captain! All you all right, Sir?!”
“Yes! Yes I am!”
“The Redcoats have closed ranks, Captain! They’re clutching the ship in their grip!”
Jones wiped the sweat from his brow, retrieved his sword, stood up on the deck, and looked toward the fast-approaching gunboat, yelling to his crew, “It’s the Alliance, men! It’s the Alliance!”
“But, Captain, why would Le Capitainé Pierre Landais fire on us?!”
“He means to sink us my good Master-at-arms, and take credit for capturing the Serapis!”
“Oh no!”
“Fear not! All is not yet lost, men! Bring me the colors! Bring me the colors immediately!”
“You wish to give up, Sir?!”
“Master-at-arms, just bring me the flag. And, tell the men to gather all the grapeshot and grenades they can carry and conceal – then, have them stand alongside me opposite the Serapis’ munitions stowage.”
Unable to decouple from the Bonhomme Richard, the fire spread to the Serapis, and within minutes, both ships burned out of control and started taking on water – the two enemy vessels were in danger of pulling each under.
Seeing the ostensible chaos of the greatly damaged adversarial vessel, Master Pearson spotted the colors in his opponent’s hands and shouted at Jones, “Do you now intend to surrender?! Your ship is going down!”
“Mr. Pearson, I may sink, but I’ll be damned if I strike!”
Just then, the Alliance fired once again, this time, dealing another blow to the Serapis.
Jones didn’t miss a beat and yelled, “Let fly!” to his crew, who threw grapeshot and grenades right into the Serapis’ gunpowder storage. As an enormous blast exploded from below onto the upper deck, Jones ordered all the prisoners in the Bonhomme Richard’s brig to be released.
When the prisoners ran out of their cells up to the main deck, Jones announced, “You men will not have your freedom long if you do not fight! Fight with us and we’ll take the day, take the prize, and all share the booty and glory!”
The Bonhomme Richard’s crew and the prisoners quickly rallied in league together and boarded the Serapis, easily overwhelming the enemy and forcing the surrender of the royal vessel.
As the Serapis was being seized, Master Pearson approached Jones. He carefully and humbly unsheathed his sword, bowed his head, and quietly said, “It is with the greatest reluctance that I am now obliged to resign this.”
With the formal surrender, Le Capitainé Pierre Landais knew he could not steal the glory of the victory and sailed off into the distance in shame. Although a thrilling and momentous occasion, there was no time to celebrate – the Bonhomme Richard was in serious trouble.
“Master-at-arms!”
“Yes, Captain Jones?!”
“I want a full count and a complete assessment of the ship!”
“Yes, Sir, right away, Sir!”
As the master-at-arms hurried off, Jones boarded the Serapis to inspect the vessel. It had sustained a lot of damage but was still sailable. Meanwhile, the Bonhomme Richard had taken on at least five feet of water and was quickly losing its buoyancy.
“Are you sure, master-arms about the condition of the Bonhomme Richard?”
“Yes, Captain Jones. Unfortunately, she can’t be saved.”
“Then, make preparations to scuttle her and we’ll take the Serapis.”
“Yes, Sir!”
Jones took command of the Royal craft and sailed it to Texel, a small island off the coast of Holland. Upon arriving in Holland, the Continental commander was greeted with glee and the Dutch gave him the nickname, “The Terror of the English.”
Jones eventually delivered the prize to the French Navy and King Louis XVI of France appointed him to the rank of Chevalier, giving him an elegant sword for the pyrrhic victory. Later on, in 1787, Jones received a Congressional Gold Medal and was then dispatched to Denmark as an official liaison. During his tenure abroad, the Scotsman turned American patriot accepted an appointment to the Russian Navy as a rear admiral.
Although now an international name and hero, Jones never gained the recognition or station he sought. So, he returned to Paris to await further appointment by the new American nation. Month after month went by with no word. Until one day, in 1792, a courier appeared with orders from George Washington and Thomas Jefferson. The assignment gave Jones charge of the protection of American merchant ships in the Mediterranean, designating the former officer as a Commissioner, with the authority to negotiate with the Dey or Regency of Algiers, the ruler under the Ottoman Empire in control of that particular region.
But, by the time the letter of commission had reached Paris, Jones was already dead, a forty-five-year-old victim of pneumonia. Still, he left a huge legacy with many important contributions.
Inferiority Breeds Innovation
Due to the colonists’ meager supplies and inferior war assets, over his long career, John Paul Jones drew up detailed plans for how to properly retrofit merchant vessels and convert them into powerful ships of war. In addition, he left comprehensive notes explaining how to improve gunboats. What’s more, he also wrote extensively about how to best recruit and train sailors, along with step-by-step instructions laying out his vision for an official school for educating and mentoring future naval officers.
The fledgling nation ultimately took all his work and put much of it into practice, eventually establishing the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland, in October 1845, just over a half-century later.
And, although he was buried in an unmarked Parisian grave, about a hundred years later, the United States recovered his remains with the assistance of French officials. Jones’s body was exhumed, and much to pathologists’ surprise, remained in a state of excellent preservation. His body was then interred in a tomb inside the chapel of the U.S. Naval Academy as a national shrine. Three battleships were named after him and in 1991, the country commissioned the destroyer USS John Paul Jones (DDG-53).
Today, John Paul Jones is considered the Father of the United States Navy for his innovation, bravery, and strategic insight.
