  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. PAUL JONES'S LAST BURIAL |
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