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FAR more romantic than the
swashbucklering adventures of imaginary heroes told by the light pen of
fiction is the plain, unvarnished tale of John Paul Jones, who, from a
childhood amid the humblest peasant environment, raised himself to
world-wide fame; had the distinction of being decorated by empress and
king; became admiral in two navies—and the lover of a princess.
A hint of mystery attends
his birth, for it is hard to believe him to have been the son of John
Paul, gardener to Mr. Craik of Arbigland, in the parish of Kirkbcan, nor
is there tangible reason for the assertion that his father was Captain
John Maxwell, governor of the Bahamas in 1780, or the Earl of Selkirk.
The parish birth records
do not solve the problem, but rather the contrary, for they record the
births of his three sisters and omit any mention of either young John
Paul or his elder brother William. Though the registration of births was
not compulsory in those days, why should the Pauls have recorded the
girls and not the boys? Nor does it seem likely that the gardener's wife
could have been absent from the parish on both occasions when the latter
were born. In
accordance with the maxim that "it is better to be the wife of a
coal-heaver than the mistress of a prince," early Victorian writers wax
indignant at any aspersions cast on the fair fame of the gardener's
wife. It never seems to have occurred to them that John Paul was the
unwanted child of some amorous dame, who had loved beyond discretion,
put to nurse at the gardener's; for Jean Macduff had been lady's-maid to
Mrs. Craik, and, it is said, in those halcyon days ladies'-maids were
discreet—sometimes. Who can tell what happened in that tiny thatched
cottage in the middle of the eighteenth century?
John Paul, the gardener's father, kept a
public- house, or, as it was called with Scotch niceness, a "mail
garden" in Leith. His son showed no aptitude for the business, and we
find him some years later as gardener to Mr. Craik, where he remained
till his death in 1767. "A gardener was understood to be a person of
better education than a common operative mechanic in ordinary
handicrafts" at that time, and John Paul laid out the gardens at
Arbigland with some taste and skill, combining these duties with the
office of bailiff and gamekeeper, which was not unusual on small
estates. He was a man respected by those with whom he came in contact,
following his unexciting daily round conscientiously, but it is
difficult to reconcile his personality with that of the dare-devil
fighting sailor, who has, perhaps, gained more renown for his exploits
than any hero of ancient or modern times.
Soon after entering Mr.
Craik's service he married Jean Macduff, the daughter of an Argyll
Highlander, an armourer by trade, who, since coming to the Lowlands, had
turned farmer near New Abbey. These Macduffs are erroneously described
as small landed proprietors who had lived in the parish of Kirkbean for
an "immemorial period"; but what of this "respectable rural race" before
they had tamed their Highland blood to plough and reaping-hook? The name
of Macduff invokes brawny Highlanders, flaunting tartan, dangling
sporran and the clash of two- handed sword on bull's-hide iron-studded
shields; hoarse, guttural cries of men who fought for death to their
opponent. The name of this "respectable rural race" had figured across
the pages of Scotch history from the days of myth and legend; been
glorified by the Bard of Avon's pen, and followed the fiery cross o'er
many a hill and dale. They rallied to royal Stuart in the ill-fated
invasion of '45. If Jean Macduff was his mother, it is to her ancestors
he owes his good blood. John Paul was born on July 6, 1747, before the
echoes of the "pibroch, savage and shrill" had ceased to shriek through
the glens of Scotland. Ills mother —of high or low birth, who
knows?—like all women, loved Bonnie Prince Charlie; and her heart
followed him when the men-folk flocked to the standard of their rightful
sovereign. John Paul was born while the land was still stirred by a
turmoil of loyalty which no rigorous cruelties had ever been able to
stamp out. His mother thrilled to the stern memory of a thousand years.
Such were the prenatal influences of John Paul, destined to win fame
under the name of a chance benefactor.
Throughout his life he displayed marked
Highland characteristics, being sensitive as to his honour, quick and
fiery; but not quarrelsome, proud to a fault without being arrogant. If
some of his letters, written with perfect confidence in his abilities,
are open to criticism, it is admitted that Nelson's epistles do not
suffer from undue modesty; that Drake and others, had they not been
successful, might have been called braggarts. Glory and ambition
gratified were the sole rewards asked by John Paul Jones, who fought for
this end, displaying an indifference to monetary compensation which is
generally considered the prerogative of the nobly horn.
William Paul, the eldest son of the gardener
and his wife, emigrated to Virginia and died at Fredericks- burg in
1772, leaving a wife and considerable fortune. There were three other
children : Elizabeth, the eldest daughter, died unmarried; the second,
Janet, married a Mr. Taylor, watchmaker in Dumfries; the third married
twice, first Mr. Young, and secondly Mr. Lowden. Her name was Mary Ann.
There was nothing in all these pleasant,
commonplace people to suggest the buccaneer spirit which caused Paul
Jones, years later, to make his famous descent on the Scotch coast,
during which the Selkirk plate was seized, and, after endless scandal
and correspondence, returned to the family with ample explanation on the
part of Jones, who bought it back at his own expense from his crew. In
all, John Paul and his wife had seven children, if one includes John
Paul Jones, who was the fifth. The two born after him died in infancy.
It is easy to picture the circumstances of
his early childhood. The unexciting, steady occupation of the gardener,
the busy, toil-worn hands of Jean Paul, whose growing family and
household drudgery left her no time except for the most practical of
duties. From the early hour when the family porridge was vigorously
stirred, to the end of the lingering twilight when her husband came
home, the gardener's wife had enough to keep her fingers out of the
mischief created by ennui, had she known the meaning of the word.
The primitive cottage where John Paul spent
his childhood fell into ruin some years after his death, in which
condition it remained until rebuilt by the generosity of Lieut. Pinkham,
U.S.N., in 1831; and it stands at the present time under the shadow of
an uncompromising slate roof, in place of the thatch that sheltered the
young sailor. The situation was romantically picturesque. Far above the
shores of the Solway, with its terrific inrush of tide, Mr. Craik's
house occupied a site commanding splendid views of land and sea. At the
foot of the promontory ran the river Nith, on the other side the Esk of
Lochinvar fame flowed into the Solway. The coast rose sharply, merging
into a granite mountain, Criftal by name. To the seaward stretched the
shores of Cumberland, with the peaks of Skiddaw, Helvellyn and the
Saddleback-. The cottage, overgrown with creepers and sheltered by trees
and shrubbery, was never free from the sound of moving waters.
Little John displayed small partiality for
the games of his playmates. His passion was to sail a leaf, a bit of
wood, anything resembling a boat—in the duck- pond, on the horse-trough,
on a pool of rain dripping from the roof—always to play at the mimic
game of ships. On occasions he eluded the family and headed for the
seashore. But the tides of the Solway were too dangerous, he was
reproved by voice and hand, and sternly forbidden to go there alone. As
the time went on, and he grew into a sturdy lad, his chief delight was
to sail in the fishermen's boats, as they worked the sea for a living.
What he dreamed, what he planned as he watched the far horizon, no one
knows, for he was of too little moment for any one to heed him, except
when he made himself useful in casting and hauling in the nets, with
their glittering, squirming freight. It is difficult to say of what his
early education consisted, or if he was idle or industrious. Of
"pot-hooks and hangers" he must have had his share, also the rule of
three; and he could read. Excessive education for his class in Scotland
of the eighteenth century was not common. He could write, and his
letters, at the age of sixteen, well expressed and showing a knowledge
of grammar, do not fall into localisms, or the plentiful abbreviations
found in the correspondence of the day.
Like all the children on Mr. Craik's estate,
he was kindly treated, and the playmate of the sons of the family. With
the democracy of boyhood, they joyously climbed everything in the
neighbourhood, from trees to the sides of 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, drinking in tales of elf and goblin—too
frightened to go home in the dusk, till the servants of the big house
finally hunted up and retrieved them.
But life was not all play, and he had his
tasks, which the thrifty Scotch discipline did not allow to be shirked.
From the first, love for the sea was so strongly marked that Mr. Craik
listened to his arguments, and advised Paul to let him follow the only
life for which he was fitted. He had no wish for the total destruction
of his peaceful garden, which he foresaw, should young John Paul be
forced to delve in the earth for a living, as the lad knew not a dock
from an oak, and cared less.
Prompted by a certain self-interest, the
good laird did his best to smooth the path of the impetuous boy, and the
die was cast. At the age of twelve he was apprenticed to "Mr. Younger, a
merchant in the American trade," but remained for some time before
sailing at Whitehaven, just across the Firth of Solway, in sight of his
home. There is a
story to the effect that mere chance caused Mr. Younger to take young
John Paul in his service. Mr. Younger, one of the most enterprising
ship-owning merchants of Whitehaven, was at Arbigland in the summer of
1759, looking for sailors to man one of his ships, ready to sail for the
Chesapeake. There was a high wind and tremendous sea, and, attracted by
a knot of idlers, he stopped to see what they were looking at. Out, far
out, bobbing like a cork, struggled a small boat, striving even to live,
much less make headway, on the mountainous waves. Buffeted by a tearing
north-easterly gale as she tried to reach a sheltered cove, even the
stoutest-hearted fisherman had his "doots" that the little craft could
live. Make the shore she did, or there would have been no Paul Jones to
give colour to the book of history. The lad at the helm was the future
commander. Intrepidly he clung to the tiller, shouting his orders above
the howl of the tempest, his black hair streaming in the wind, his eyes
snapping with excitement, every fibre of him glowing with the fight he
waged with the elements. All sense of fear was lacking in his heart, and
he brought the boat to shore after he had been resignedly consigned to
the tender care of Davy Jones by the waiting crowd, who clapped the
young captain on the back as he hurried home to change his dripping
clothes, and, with the cocksureness of twelve, planned greater
achievements to be carried out when he was "grown up."
There is not much information to be gleaned
about John Paul on his earlier voyages; life before the mast in 1759 was
a hard routine, not calculated to foster idling or effeminacy, and he
began at the foot of the ladder. The merchant ship plying for trade was
not fitted with the refinements of a modern hotel; 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 descriptive and picturesque. "Salt Junk and Pork" and "Lobscouse"
have a twang of the sea; " Pillaus of Rice" sounds oriental, and "Dog's
Body" and "Sea Pies" speak well for the inventive brain of Jack afloat.
"Pea coffee " explains itself, but the component parts of "Hurryhush "
are not so easily arrived at.
With our steam and wireless to-day it is
hard to realise the complete isolation 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 hailing distance of the
captain's brazen-throated speaking-trumpet. Often becalmed for days at a
time, with nothing to break the endless sameness of rolling wave and
nebulous horizon, the most trifling incident furnished endless food for
conversation. Was it unnatural under these conditions that superstition
held the forecastle in its tenacious thrall when the thousands of weird,
unnamed sounds, exaggerated by the stillness of a sailing craft, assumed
alarming proportions, not to he explained away or scoffed at by a mere
landsman The incessant moaning and whistling of wind through the
rigging, the unrelieved monotony day after day, were bound to make their
impression on the strongest nerves.
In time of war the constant chance of
meeting or being chased by the enemy constituted an ever-present
excitement, for privateering played an important part in the life of
nations, being a recognised, and often well-requited, form of gambling;
and every ship was armed.
It is not to be supposed that John Paul
escaped the rough horse-play so freely indulged in aboard ship; there is
no reason to assert that he failed to enter into it with all the hearty
enjoyment of the normal boy, for he was not in the least a prig, though
he tried to improve himself by study whenever the chance offered. Used
to being at sea from the time he could walk, perhaps he was untroubled
by the pangs of sea-sickness, and the remedy urgently advocated by his
messmates— "Just a
wee drap o' saut water,
And if a piece o' fat pork, after,
Tied in a string ye tak' and swallow,
Yell find that mickle change will follow";
and did not listen to the suggestion, always
gravely offered, that the sufferer should make his will, which did not
seem amiss, so awful were the pangs of that first hour when the novice
was afraid he would die— and the second, when he was afraid he would
not! The pranks of
old Father Neptune on crossing the equator are well known, but that of
sending the greenhorn on deck—
"As soon as ever it was dark
To hear the little dog-fish bark,"
has the charm of novelty, for, while the
youth awaited this interesting exhibition of natural history, two of his
shipmates, perched in the rigging, drenched him with pails of salt
water, jeering at the spluttering victim, who refused to listen to their
consolation— "That
the unsavoury stew
Was only what the grampus blew."
Had Polonius been aboard ship he would have
recoiled aghast at the total disregard of his much- quoted advice, for
borrowing went on at such a pace that the newly-arrived "griffin"
disgustedly found his well-furnished kit a hollow mockery and himself
shirtless, and obliged to resort to the elementary manner of his
comrades- "And wash
his shirt in the pea-soup kid."-
the latter, despite its dark and evil name,
being nothing more dreadful than a small wash-tub, which, it is likely,
served in its idle hours as an accessory to the batterie de cuisine. The
threadbare joke of putting salt water in the "plum-duff" when the cook
was not looking, and rewarding that luckless wight with a lusty whacking
from the "Dog's body squeezer" a stick used to stir a mixture of
"squeezed pease" known by the illuminating name of "Soldier's Joy "was a
source of perennial mirth. The rough pleasantry of applying a hot iron
to an undefended portion of a person engaged in performing an elaborate
toilet usually resulted in a free fight, lasting until stopped by the
appearance of the first "luff."
If artists and writers of that day are to be
relied upon, discipline became much relaxed as soon as the anchor was
let go. The captain, relieved of responsibility, had his own affairs to
occupy him ashore, as did the other officers. The "Little Butter- cups"
and "Black-eyed Susans" were not shy of swarming over the side as soon
as the gangway was lowered, and contemporary prints depict joyous
merry-makings, with no puritanical atmosphere to mar the light-hearted
eighteenth-century abandon of costume and attitude, in which there is
more than a suggestion of revelry, fast and furious. These visiting
ladies had a sly habit of concealing skins filled with rum beneath their
ample petticoats, and carrying many a drink to their "fancy men"; but
this being forbidden, a ship's corporal was told off to search for the
contraband. All of which led to much pleasantry in the rollicking days
of our forefathers, though one cannot but wonder what effect it had on
the morals of the rising generation.
Undeniably life at sea had a broadening
influence, and a sailor returned very much more the man of the world
than his stop-at-home brother. He gathered on these voyages a store of
extensive and varied information relating to the many feminine types
found under tropic as well as northern skies; and having been in
localities never before penetrated by the ubiquitous white man, could
yarn uncontradicted, unchallenged in his Iunchausen-like proclivities.
It had its advantages. Nevertheless, there was a rope's- end and tarry
smell, a smack o' the sea clinging to the Sons of Neptune in those days,
which, like most things, is fast disappearing. The modern steam-driven
craft can never be surrounded by the romance of the full- rigged
man-o'-war scudding down the Channel before a spanking breeze with her
bright work glittering and crew thirsting to man the guns and fire a
broadside at the interloping "Frenchie," or who might be the foe of the
hour. The only repining heart was that of the midshipmite, parted for
the first time from a loving mother, and bravely resisting a desire to
yield to that unknown emotion, due to the nervous motions of the good
ship, on which at this moment he was, despite the smart new uniform,
dubbed by his mates that dreadful thing, a landlubber.
Paul was an attractive lad, high-spirited,
frank, quick to anger at injustice, open and honourable, and keenly
eager to master every detail pertaining to the life he had chosen. He
devoured what books he could get bearing on naval history, and pored
over the lives of the great commanders whom, some day, he hoped to
emulate. At the age of twelve he sailed from Whitehaven, watched by the
anxious eyes of his sisters.
The strange destiny which wove his life
under the spell of the Three Sisters sent him to America. It was his
maiden voyage; he was a Scotch boy with no experience of life, and went
there with a mind as wax to receive those impressions which ultimately
caused him to play his brilliant part in the world. His ship, the
Friendship, Captain Benson, dropped anchor in the Rappahannock, and
young Paul made his first acquaintance with the society of the new world
as found in Virginia, the home of the revolution. While there he stayed
with his brother William, who had been adopted by a gentleman, said to
be a connection of his mother, provided he took his name, Jones. This he
did, and Mr. Jones offered to buy the younger brother free from his
indentures if he would remain with him and become a planter. But the
call of the sea was too strong, and John Paul was loyal to the roving
life he had chosen. The property left to William was to come to him
later, as William died intestate without heirs, and his widow was
provided for; so in 1773 Paul inherited the plantation, cattle,
buildings, live stock and slaves. There was the simple stipulation that
he assumed the name of Jones, which is the reason for this
much-discussed action.
There is not the slightest doubt that Paul
was from the first one at heart with the discontented colonists. Why not
They were his countrymen, not aliens, and they were under the rule of a
king against whom his people had fought. His sturdy Highland blood and
his fighting temperament made him ready, at a word, to throw himself
heart and soul into their cause; but the hour had not struck, and he
sailed away, his brain teeming with new ideas.
His voyages now were mainly to and from the
West Indies, and his rise in the merchant service rapid. At the age of
sixteen his indentures were returned to him by Mr. Younger on his
retirement from business, and young Paul, a lad of sixteen, and his own
master, solicited and obtained the appointment of third mate on the King
George of Whitehaven, a vessel engaged in the slave trade.
"The licence to act for himself would have
been, to a boy whose purposes of living were not in some measure fixed,
and whose will was undecided as to the future, a passport to obscurity,
and if not to disgrace. In Paul's case it was sumpta prudenter.
He availed himself of it, wisely having confidence in himself."
After some time aboard the King George, in
1766 he went to the brigantine Two Friends of Kingston, Jamaica, as
chief mate. Paul was at this moment nineteen years old, and known as a
sharp and resourceful seaman, equal to the emergency. He is said to have
disliked the slave trade, but from 1766, when he shipped as chief mate
on the Two Friends, he must have remained until 1771, according to the
following item dated-
"Dantzic, Nov. 11. A week ago a meffenger
from Peterfburg going through Copenhagen, brought advice that an account
had been received at the former place, that a fhip called the Two
Brothers [Two Friends?], Capt. John Paul, laden with wollen and thread
goods, had failed from Smyrna, infected with the plague. This advice was
immediately notified to all the ports of the Baltic, that they may avoid
receiving that fhip, and all the neceffary precautions are taken to keep
her off if he appears."
If this is correct, allowing for an error in
name, it appears that the Two Friends traded in other than human goods
and chattels, and is also interesting, as Paul's relatives declare he
"became so disgusted with the business of stealing human beings, that he
left the ship on its arrival in the West Indies." This would be three
years before the Two B7otizers was sighted off Copenhagen. According to
their story, after leaving the Two Friends in disgust, he took passage
in the brigantine /o/in, of Kirkcudbright, Capt. Macadam, and, both the
captain and mate dying of fever, brought the ship home, for which the
owners, Currie, Beck & Co., immediately made him master and supercargo.
Paul's first seriously unpleasant experience happened on one of the
early voyages in this ship.
Of course his good fortune and rapid rise in
the world had made enemies for him, and these seized on the story,
spread to his detriment, with the greatest avidity, causing him much
annoyance and unhappiness; for, it must be remembered, in years he was
little more than a boy. An insubordinate carpenter named Mungo Maxwell
being flogged, as was the custom in the merchant service, complained to
the authorities "that his back was sore, and that his feelings were
hurt; both of which representations they seem to have beleved, without
feeling themselves called upon to heal the one, or soothe the other."
The sworn statements of the governor of Tobago are, in themselves,
enough to refute the calumny that the man was beaten in such a manner as
to cause his death. If this was not enough--
"James Eastment, mariner, and late master of
the Barcelona packet, maketh oath, and saith, That Mungo Maxwell,
formerly on board the John, Captain Paul master, came in good health on
his, the deponent's, said vessel, then lying in great Rockley Bay, in
the Island of Tobago, about the middle of the month of June, in the year
one thousand seven hundred and seventy, in the capacity of a carpenter
aforesaid; that he acted as such in every respect in perfect health....
after which he was taken ill of a fever and lowness of spirits, which
continued for four or five days, when he died aboard the said vessel
during her passage from Tobago to Antigua. And this deponent further
saith, that he never heard the said Mungo Maxwell complain of having
received any ill usage from the said Captain John Paul, but that he
verily believes the said Mungo Maxwell's death was occasioned by a fever
and lowness of spirits, as aforesaid, and not by or through any other
cause or causes whatsoever."
This was sworn at the Mansion House, January
30, 1773, "before me, James Townsend, Mayor," and duly signed by the
master on whose ship Maxwell died, John Eastment.
Like a snowball this ridiculous story grew,
to crop up at intervals during Paul Jones's career; revived in the days
when he was rear-admiral in the Russian navy, with Prince Potemkin and
Prince de Nassau racing him neck to neck for Imperial favour. This time,
however, the supposed victim was a nephew, tortured to death with
ingenious cruelty. It would be most interesting, even after so long, to
know how such a story was kept alive, and by whom; for why, in those
days when flogging was a recognised part of the naval code, did the case
stir up such a hornet's nest? Just then John Paul was by no means the
conspicuous personality he became later. He was an obscure skipper on a
small vessel, so unimportant that it is a wonder the incident ever saw
the light of day. Without doubt we must put it to the account of that
hardy perennial, the busybody, who flourished as gaily then as now. But
it was a dastardly way to try and spoil his career, and worried him
greatly, as this letter to his mother shows—
London, 241h September, 1772
"My DEAR MOTHER AND SISTERS,
"I only arrived here to-night from the
Grenadas. I have had but poor health during the voyage; and my success
in it not having equalled my first sanguine expectations has added much
to the asperity of my misfortunes, and, I am well assured, was the cause
of my loss of health. I am now, however, better, and I trust Providence
will soon put me in a way to get bread, and (which is by far my greatest
happiness) be serviceable to my poor but much-valued friends. I am able
to give you no account of my future proceedings, as they depend upon
circumstances which are not fully determined.
"I have enclosed you a copy of an affidavit
made before Governor Young by the Judge of the Court of Vice-Admiralty
of Tobago, by which you will see with how little reason my life has been
thirsted after, and, which is much dearer to me, my honour, by
maliciously loading my fair character with obloquy and vile aspersions.
I believe there are few who arc hard-hearted enough to think I have not
long since given the world every satisfaction in my power, being
conscious of my innocence before Heaven, who will one day judge even my
judges. I staked my honour, life, and fortune for six long months on the
verdict of a British jury, notwithstanding I was sensible of the general
prejudices which ran against me; but, after all, none of my accusers had
the courage to confront me. Yet I am willing to convince the world, if
reason and facts will do it, that they have had no foundation for their
harsh treatment. I mean to send to Mr. Craik a copy properly proved, as
his nice feelings will not perhaps be otherwise satisfied; in the
meantime, if you please, you may show him the enclosed. His ungracious
conduct to me before I left Scotland I have not yet been able to get the
better of. Every person of feeling must think meanly of adding to the
load of the afflicted. It is true I bore it with seeming unconcern, but
Heaven can witness for me that I suffered the more on that very
account.... The
"ungracious conduct" of which he accuses Mr. Craik was that gentleman's
attitude in the Max- well' case. Although it was cleared up, and Paul
proved blameless, and exonerated by Mr. Craik, he never afterwards
corresponded with or met him. This was purely the result of
circumstances; indeed, after 1771 he never saw his mother and sisters.
Paul has been accused of smuggling, and some
contemporary tales of his exploits teem with thrillingly unreliable
details. This accusation was one he always denied hotly, and there is no
foundation for the assertion that the first entry in the customs books
of the Isle of Man, after "that nest of smugglers and centre of the
contraband trade was sold to the Crown, stands in his name at Douglas."
But his career in the Merchant Marine was
soon to end. In 1772 he obtained command of the Betsy of London, a ship
trading with the West Indies. He was successful in saving a considerable
sum of money, and in 1773, went to Virginia to settle his brother's
estate. Thus Fate for the time turned John Paul into a Virginia planter,
a character about which there clings still a halo of romance, nankeen
trousers, lavish hospitality, and a semi-tropical charm difficult to
describe. |
