John Paul Jones - Part II

The Father of the U.S. Navy

We continue our article which celebrates the birthday of the U.S. Navy on October 13 with a brief biography of John Paul Jones, the Scottish-born American naval officer widely hailed as "the father of the U.S. Navy." The first part of our article (Read our earlier article) covered his early career and the beginning of his service in the Revolutionary War aboard several ships, most notably the Ranger. His expedition to harass British shipping along the coasts of England, Scotland and Ireland ended with him capturing a British warship and returning to France as a hero.

After his rise to fame, Jones was given command of a new ship, much larger and better armed than the Ranger: the Bonhomme Richard. Originally built as a merchant ship, it was rebuilt as a warship and donated to the American cause by shipping magnate Jacques-Donatien Le Ray de Chaumont, one of the major French supporters of the American Revolution. Originally named Duc de Durat, the 42-gun ship was renamed Bon Homme Richard (usually spelled in the grammatically correct way "Bonhomme") by Jones as a tribute to his good friend Benjamin Franklin, and the latter's famous Poor Richard's Almanack. ("Poor Richard" was translated to French as "Bonhomme Richard.")

On August 14, 1779, Jones led an American-French squadron to Ireland as misdirection while a much larger French-Spanish invasion fleet sailed directly for England on a mission that eventually ended in failure. Jones's force included the Bonhomme Richard, the American-built frigate Alliance, the French-built frigate Pallas, and two smaller ships, along with two privateers (one of which quickly split from the group after a disagreement with Jones). Both frigates were commanded by French captains, and one of them, Captain Pierre Landais of the Alliance, quickly became a major problem for Jones. Landais was insubordinate, petty and repeatedly disobeyed orders. On one occasion during the voyage, he went against Jones's explicit instructions and sent three prize ships captured from the British to Norway, where the Danish government (which ruled over Norway at the time) promptly returned them to Britain.

On the prowl for prizes, Jones's force happened to be near Flamborough Head on the east coast of Northern England on September 23, where, to paraphrase F. D. Roosevelt, he had his rendezvous with destiny. Investigating two vessels spotted the night before, the afternoon hours saw Jones's squadron bear down of a British convoy of around 50 ships, mostly carrying iron and timber, escorted by two warships. The main escort was the 44-gun fifth-rate (the second smallest category in the British rating system) HMS Serapis, and it was accompanied by the smaller, 22-gun "hired armed ship" (a privately owned ship hired out to the Admiralty) Countess of Scarborough.

Richard Pearson, captain of the Serapis, placed his ship and the Countess between the Jones's squadron and the convoy ships, which turned and headed for the nearest safe ports. Jones ordered his two frigates to form a single-file line of battle with the Bonhomme Richard so they could concentrate their firepower on the two British ships as they sailed past them. Captain Landais of the Alliance ignored the order and sailed off to one side the move around the British ships and intercept the fleeing convoy. The one good thing that came of his insubordination was that the Countess was also forced to peel off to intercept the Alliance, leaving Serapis alone against Bonhomme Richard and Pallas.

Jones didn't like the chances Bonhomme Richard had against the Serapis. They had a similar number of guns, but the British ship had twenty 18-pounders (the heaviest caliber present in the battle), while Jones only had six, mounted so they could turn and fire either side. Those six were bought second-hand and two of them burst from the strain early in the battle, killing several men standing nearby and forcing Jones to forego using the rest of his heavy guns. Additionally, the Serapis was built as a warship from keel up, and was more maneuverable than Jones's converted merchantman. Jones realized that his only chance was to get in close, grapple the Serapis and board her before the British ship could sink the Bonhomme Richard with superior firepower. Closing the distance, however, also meant that neither Pallas nor Alliance could support him, as the risk of devastating friendly fire would have been too great. Conversely, Pearson tried to keep out of the reach of the Bonhomme Richard while bombarding until she sank.

After several attempts, Jones managed to accidentally ram the Bonhomme Richard's bow into the Serapis's stern, but neither side could take advantage of the crash. Pearson cheekily shouted a pun to Jones, asking "Has your ship struck?", referring to both the collision and to the striking of the colors in surrender. Jones famously (and apocryphally) replied "I have not yet begun to fight."

Meanwhile, the Alliance briefly engaged the Countess, which she greatly outclassed; and yet, Captain Landais pulled the frigate back after a few broadsides for no clear reason and sailed over to the Pallas to wait for a chance to intervene in the main duel. The Countess also pretended to prepare to do the same, and managed to attract the attention of the Pallas, which followed her into a separate lengthy engagement.

Jones eventually managed to grapple the Serapis when the British ship's bowsprit got caught in the rigging of the American vessel's mizzenmast – not a moment too soon, as the Bonhomme Richard had been already holed under the waterline and was taking on water and becoming sluggish. After some quick maneuvering using the momentum of the collision, the two ships ended up side-by-side, their guns touching the other vessel's hull planks. The Serapis continued firing devastating broadsides at literally point-blank range. Meanwhile, Jones positioned his Marines, armed with small guns and incendiary grenades, up on his masts, and had them fire at the British sailors to force them belowdecks. His three remaining light 9-pounders joined the effort, loaded with grapeshot and bar-shot (solid iron bars which spin in the air, cutting in two anything and everything they hit).

Sometime around 8:30 p.m., with the two ships locked in a mortal embrace and the Pallas and the Countess having their own separate fight, the Alliance got underway to help the Pallas. She passed Jones and Pearson on the way, and poured a broadside into the bow of the Serapis, also hitting the stern of the Bonhomme Richard, located right next to it, killing several of Jones's crew.

Savaged by her own ally as well as the enemy, the Bonhomme Richard was fighting a losing battle – at least until fate intervened. According to Jones's campaign report, one of his grenade-throwers climbed out to the very end of a yardarm and dropped a grenade straight through an open hatch on the deck of the Serapis, igniting a gunpowder charge next to one of the heavy guns. (Not all accounts agree on this. Captain Pearson speculated that the grenade might have been thrown through a hole in the hull, or the charge might have detonated due to an unrelated accident.) Whatever the cause, the result was spectacular: a gunpowder chain reaction tore through half of the lower deck, killing many crewmen and setting others on fire.

Further away, the Countess saw the Alliance catching up. Realizing that the small British ship had no chance against two frigates, the captain of the Countess struck the colors.

By the late evening hours, Serapis and Bonhomme Richard both reached the breaking point. Both ships were on fire, and Jones's vessel was also taking on water. Jones himself slumped on a chicken coop in exhaustion, giving rise to a rumor that he was dead or dying, and almost leading the crew to surrender before he realized what was going on. Pearson shouted over the rails to ask if Jones was ready to surrender. Jones replied in the negative, but Pearson couldn't hear the reply in the noise, and sent over a boarding team to make sure. These British boarders were, in turn, repulsed by the American crew. The mainmast of the Serapis was severed by gunfire, and only didn't collapse because it was entangled in the rigging of the Bonhomme Richard.

At around 10:15 p.m., Alliance returned, and Landais ordered more of his helpful cannonfire into both ships. After 15 minutes and two of the Landais's indiscriminating broadsides, Captain Pearson struck the colors on the British ship.

The battle was over. Serapis was grievously damaged, Bonhomme Richard sinking and beyond repairs. The next day, Jones had Captain Pearson and his lieutenant placed ashore, then occupied the Serapis, which was returned to sailing condition with herculean effort. The French captains in Jones's squadron convinced him to take the limping fleet not to France, but to the Netherlands, which was friendly to the American cause but officially neutral. This plan ended up saving the squadron, as the Royal Navy ships in pursuit assumed Jones would be heading to France and tried to intercept him along that route.

Jones was furious with Captain Landais for his obstinacy and his irresponsibility during the battle, but took no action against him for the time being. Captain Cottineau, the captain of the Pallas, was less restrained: he called Landais a coward, and the resulting duel almost ended with Cottineau's death. Landais was eventually relieved of command, had to be dragged off the ship, and was kicked out of the service.

The Netherlands was formally neutral and under British pressure to oust Jones and his squadron, with Royal Navy ships waiting to attack as soon as it happened. Most of the squadron was eventually formally transferred to France and could leave that way, while Jones took command of the Alliance and slipped through British blockade with a group of Dutch vessels.

On a brief vexillological note, Jones's lost the ensign of the Bonhomme Richard in the battle, and needed a new flag for the Serapis. The Dutch made him one based on a written description by Benjamin Franklin and future President John Adams, but got it wrong, resulting in a unique, incorrect but internationally recognized flag.

Jones was the hero of the hour and was given a knighthood by King Louis XVI. His next command, however, fell through: he was appointed as captain the new 74-gun frigate America in 1782, but the ship was gifted to France in as replacement for a French ship of similar size that sank in American waters. (The America had to be scrapped due to a fungal infection of the wood a few years later.)

The War of Independence ended in 1783, and Jones found himself out of a job. In 1787, Russia found itself on the brink of war against the Ottoman Empire, which was trying to reconquer land lost in a previous conflict, and Empress Catherine II of Russia was in urgent need of experienced naval officers. Jones offered his services and was registered as French (!) subject "Pavel de Zhones."

Serving at the rank of rear admiral, Jones took command of a 24-gun Russian ship in the Dnieper-Bug estuary along the Black Sea. He was working in concert with a flotilla led by another foreigner, French-born adventurer Karl Heinrich von Nassau-Siegen, a man talented at courtly intrigue but hopeless at naval command. 

The flotilla faced a superior Turkish fleet of over 100 ships; the Russian vessels were poorly built, crewed by impressed serfs, and incompletely armed. After an argument with Nassa-Siegen, who wanted a frontal attack, Jones had his ships form a V-shaped funnel in the mouth of the Bug River. The wind was against them, so he had the ships throw out their anchors and drag themselves into position. Once the Turkish fleet arrived, it sailed into a withering crossfire in the middle of the funnel and was defeated, while Nassau-Siegen fled to safety. Jones sent a ship to take the surrender of the Turkish flagship, which ran onto a sandbar, but Nassau-Siegen jumped in, got there first, and claimed the prize. Nassau-Siegen had a powerful mentor: Prince Grigory Potemkin, a devious statesman and Catherine II's favorite courtier; Potemkin's report of the battle gave all the credit to his mentee. Jones found himself alone in the Russian court: he was an outsider, had no allies, his talent threatened others, and he was no longer useful after the defeat of the Turkish navy.

The darkest moment of Jones's career occurred in Russia, and we would be remiss in not mentioning it. In March 1789, a 10-year-old Russian girl called Katerina Stepanova accused Jones of raping her, and the accusation triggered an investigation. We'll probably never know for sure what exactly happened, and historians are divided over the matter to this day. Two medical examinations revealed that the girl had, in fact, been raped. Jones's manservant testified that the girl visited Jones on the given day, though she apparently had been there before, as Jones had her buy butter for him. In one letter to the prosecutors, Jones claimed that he thought Katerina was older and admitted to having paid her for sex before, but denied the rape charges. When he talked to his last friend in the Russian court, the French diplomat Louis Philippe, Comte (“count”) de Ségur, however, he claimed that it was the girl who tried to initiate sexual contact on that day, and he refused. The count conducted his own investigation, and advanced the theory that Jones was the target of a conspiracy by either his enemies at court, or by Empress Catherine herself, whose advances he supposedly rejected. Whatever the truth, the Comte de Ségur persuaded the Empress to exile Jones to France, rather than sentence him to the usual punishment of death or lifetime penal labor.

Jones returned to Paris in 1790, but was unable to find his way back into society. Several attempts to return to Russian service or to seek employment in the Danish or Swedish navies were blocked by Empress Catherine, and he grew into a sick and lonely man. On July 18, 1792, Gouverneur Morris, the Minister Plenipotentiary to France, was informed that 45-year-old Jones was dying. He rushed over to Jones's third-floor apartment and wrote down Jones's will in front of two notaries. Morris didn't stay long, as he had a dinner engagement. When he returned after dinner, he found Jones dead, lying face down on the floor. Jones never learned of his new appointment from Congress, to act as a consul to Algiers and secure the release of American captives held there.

Jones was buried in an unmarked grave in a cemetery reserved for Protestant foreigners. A Frenchman paid to have him preserved in a lead coffin filled with alcohol, so that he would be easier to identify if the United States ever wanted to return his remains to his chosen homeland.

John Paul Jones returned to America more than a century after his death, in 1905, after a six-year search led by the U.S. ambassador to France that involved an old map of pre-Revolution Paris and the help of an anthropologist. His body was returned home by a squadron of four U.S. Navy cruisers, and his sarcophagus is now on display at the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis.

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