CHAPTER TWO

The Revolutionary War (Part 1)

The Revolutionary War may seem a long time ago. And perhaps you think of colonial America in terms of candlelight and cobblestones, the early Americans quaint figures wearing knee-breeches, lace cuffs, powdered wigs, and three-cornered hats. But the war was something more than a pageant of muskets, Minute Men, Mount Vernon, and minuets. George Washington and his colleagues weren't cold marble figures posturing around in heroic attitudes. Ben Franklin and the others who met in the little brick building in Philadelphia weren't faces on postage stamps.

They were living Americans, those who met in Philadelphia on May 10, 1775, to open the Second Continental Congress. And they were dealing with the lives of many other living Americans-men who, like you today, loved their homes and families, took pride in their work, admired a pretty girl, liked dogs and horses, enjoyed a pipe or a glass of cheer.

It was "Liberty or Death" as Patrick Henry had challenged and those early Americans chose to fight for liberty. The men at Philadelphia voted for a Continental Army, and George Washington was unanimously chosen Commander-in-Chief. Still it was hoped the fighting at Boston would not spread, and the king would back down. Many members of the Continental Congress were against a complete break with Great Britain. As late as January, 1776, New Jersey, New York, Maryland, and Pennsylvania 'were voting to remain within the Empire.

However, events and George III decided the issue. On May 10, '75, Ticonderoga on Lake Champlain was the scene of one of the events when Ethan Allen and a band of Vermonters calling themselves "The Green Mountain Boys" captured old Fort Ti. On June 16, the Massachusetts militia seized Breed's Hill commanding Boston Harbor, and dug in. Gage sent his Red Coats to regain the height, and a violent battle exploded. The British captured the height, but it cost them over 1,000 casualties. As the original British objective was neighboring Bunker Hill, the engagement became famous as the Battle of Bunker Hill.

Although the Red Coats remained in control of Boston, the battle was a shot in the arm to the Americans. Everywhere in New England heartened patriots were unlimbering Old Betsy from the fireplace mantel and taking the road to Boston. General Washington, arriving at the scene on July 3, found a first-class siege going on, and realized at once it meant a full-dress War.

America Builds a Navy

It was going to mean a long war, and it was going to mean a sea war-Washington was aware of that. He had a keen mind, this Virginia planter who had been a frontier surveyor as a youth, had won high rank in the Colonial Army, and whose recognized ability and integrity had caused his neighbors to appoint him their military leader in this fateful hour. What were his thoughts as he took command at Boston? Personally, as one of the wealthiest men in America, he had much to lose. His Virginia plantation, his future, his life, his family were at stake. Tremendous responsibility lay ahead of him-perhaps a nation was in the balance. If he failed? George Washington set his jaw. He wouldn't fail! Other men had risked their lives here for liberty. Without hesitation he pledged his own life and fortune to the cause.

Yet his heart must have sunk as he surveyed the fight ahead-this long war, this sea war. At Boston the patriots were low on powder. They had no artillery. England had carefully confined the manufacture of arms and munitions to her own shores. And the colonists were untrained, lacking in discipline. They weren't going to want training, either, for twice they'd defeated the Red Coats in skirmishes-why train?

But the war coming up wasn't going to be a skirmish, and Washington knew from experience that in the long run trained soldiers would beat undisciplined troops. George III 'would soon send a great army to invade the colonies. And the colonies were still acting like individual countries; in Philadelphia the representatives were bickering. Where were trained soldiers, powder, guns, money coming from? As for war at sea-

George Washington saw the problem as you can see it from today in retrospect. Colonial America was largely engaged in agriculture and fur trapping. The towns-Boston, Providence, New York, Philadelphia, Alexandria, Charleston were mainly trading centers where British merchandise was exchanged for American produce. A few muddy turnpikes connected these towns, the roads were generally impassable in winter, and transportation depended largely on river traffic and coastal shipping. Britain would blockade the seaports, seize the waterways, bottle up the shipping if she could, then land troops at will. What was to stop her?

The king boasted the world's biggest navy. Recent victory over the French had sent its morale higher than its topsails. Already there were warships off the coast-frigates and sloops. Examine these vessels for a moment. They may seem antique compared to to day's, but in those days they were the mightiest things afloat and a big advance over the waddling galleons of Drake's time.

During the Revolutionary period (and they were standard until the Civil War) there were three main classes of naval vessels -the sloop-of-war, the frigate, the ship of the line.

All three types were "ship-rigged," meaning they were square-rigged with three masts called the fore, main, and mizzen. The topmost deck of the ship was called the "spar-deck." The after part of this deck, the quarter-deck, was sacred to the commissioned officers. The men were quartered up forward. Between main and foremast there was generally a well-deck with gangways leading from forecastle to quarter-deck aft.

The sloop-of-war (also called a "corvette") carried all her guns on the spar-deck. Smaller vessels of this class were designated as brigs and schooners. The average sloop carried around 20 guns.

The frigate, next in size, was the cruiser of that day. She had one gun-deck below her spar-deck, and generally carried from 28 to 44 guns.

The ship of the line was the battleship of sailing days, distinguished by having two or more gun-decks below her spar-deck. These gun-decks were indicated by broad bands of white or yellow painted on the ship's side. These big sailing ships carried from 74 to 120 guns and were the "terror of the seas."

Aboard these vessels there were powder and munition holds, great tanks for storing water, supply holds for food and gear, a cockpit where the surgeon cared for the wounded. The officers' quarters were miserable, and the men were packed in like sardines. And imagine the fire hazard on a wooden ship topped by clouds of billowing canvas. "Hot shot" to fire the enemy's rigging was a standard projectile.

The cannon on these vessels were cast iron, mounted on wooden carriages which recoiled on wheels. All were muzzle loaded, and fired by the simple application of a slow match to a vent drilled in the breech. Flint-locks were sometimes used, but were unreliable. The gunners thrust a bag of powder into the muzzle, rammed home with a ramrod, then rammed in the cannon ball. The gun was run out through the port by hand, the crew backed off, and the match was applied. Wham! Training was done by hauling on tackle to move the gun around. Elevation 'was a matter of jacking up the breech with a handspike. More detail on these naval cannon later.

The cannon balls of the Revolution period were solid "round shot," classed by weight-5-pound, 10-pound, and so on. Sometimes they were hitched together on a short piece of chain to make "chain shot." Or they were heated red hot on a forge to make blazing firebrands. One hundred yards was good range for such guns, but the fighting at sea was largely close work, beam to beam, and ships locked together with grappling hooks were won by "boarding" and bloody work with pike and cutlass. Trained for this hand-to-hand fighting, large crews were aboard each naval vessel, plus extra hands to man captured prizes.

No American knew the number of ships in England's Navy, but they floated in the hundreds, and they ranged the seas from India to the Caribbean. THE COLONIES DID NOT POSSESS A SINGLE WARSHIP! That were the thoughts of George Washington?

He sent appeal by special delivery to the Congress in Philadelphia. Sailors must be recruited immediately. Ships must be sent to Boston to break the King's blockade. An expedition should be rushed to Bermuda where large stores of powder-the immediate necessity-could be seized. In short, the Americans must organize a Navy! At once!

Congress was startled. Fight the British on the sea? Why, the Royal Navy was invincible! A cold chill invaded the little hall in Philadelphia, and the representatives, who were mostly lawyers, began to argue.

There was talk of appeasement and conciliating the King. But that mulish monarch had already issued a proclamation declaring the Americans rebels. In September, '75, his envoys hired 20,000 German Hessians to fight in America. And the Royal Navy was on the way.

Early in October British warships descended upon Falmouth, Maine, and burned the fishing village to a cinder. Congress woke up with a shock. George Washington was right.

On October 13, Congress voted to establish a committee to handle naval affairs. This body, called The Marine Committee, was the great-great-granddaddy of the present Navy Department. It began with three members-John Adams of Massachusetts, John Langdon of New Hampshire, Silas Deane of Connecticut.

Imagine that-three men setting out to construct a navy from scratch and send it into action against the world's greatest sea power. But one of those members made up for a hundred ordinary. This was doughty John Adams, a nutmeg of a character with a blue spark to his eye and the fire of independence in his soul. He was a lawyer, but he knew how to stick to the point-the point now-was an American Navy. He drove the committee into action, and he launched the project on the same day the committee was formed. Historians put him on the book as the founder of the American Navy.

It is common in the naval service to refer to Congress as the "Father of the American Navy." It was Congress that had to legalize. this fledgling and provide it with food, 'weapons, and clothes.

Certainly it was an infant on that October 13th, 1775, when Mr. Deane, prodded by John Adams, stood up to propose that the colonies equip, "a swift sailing vessel to carry ten guns, for intercepting such transports as may be laden with warlike stores for the enemy."

Did Congress take kindly to the infant? Well, hands were raised in alarm. A Pennsylvania delegate said he didn't like it at all. Such naval force, he said, would be sure to anger King George. The Royal Navy would blockade the entire American seaboard. "I am clearly against any proposition to threaten," said Pennsylvania's Dr. Zubly. "The people of England will take it we design to break of] or separate."

At this, Mr. Chase of Maryland wanted to know if it was any more threatening to fight the enemy at sea than on land? Many members of Congress thought it was-the King would declare that sea war was piracy. This aroused John Adams, whose sarcasm could rasp like rosin on a string. Why mince matters? The fight for Freedom was on. And with a few war ships of their own the Americans could force Great Britain to keep a large fleet on the job and expend much to gain little.

So in truly democratic fashion-all sides being heard-the Navy was born.

1776-!

The year opened grimly 'with the British burning Norfolk, Virginia, while late news arrived to further dishearten Philadelphia-a campaign under Generals Montgomery and Benedict Arnold had failed at Quebec.

Pro-British Tories were deriding the patriots and there was talk of appeasement again. Bnt George Washington was holding his ground. In J\1arch, 1776, his troops broke the British line and forced the Red Coats to evacuate Boston.

America cheered the news. Fife and drum sounded on the village greens where recruits tramped, singing "The Girl I Left Behind Me," and the new. tune, "Yankee Doodle." It was this fellow in the song that popularized the nickname for the New Englanders-Yankees.

And throughout this spring of 1776, the Americans were getting some more encouragement-encouragement in the form of an extraordinary little book entitled Common Sense. This book was written by a recent comer from London, an Englishman named Thomas Paine. Though called radical and atheistic, Paine sounded the keynote for American Independence. His book, discussing such subjects as the "Origin of Government" and "Monarchy and Hereditary Succession," made mincemeat of royalty in all its aspects. As an argument for democracy, it still stands like a granite monument.

Paine called on the colonies to unite and break from England. "Everything that is right or reasonable pleads for separation!" He urged all Americans to stick to their posts in the fight for Liberty and not lay down on the job. His book brought Americans everywhere to their feet. George Washington expressed gratitude for its publication. John Adams wrote to Jefferson, "History is to ascribe to Paine the Revolution."

Spurred by such thinkers as Paine and Benjamin Franklin and the valor of such patriots as young Nathan Hale, the Congress moved to separate from England. On July 4, 1776, it was presented a soul-stirring document which was drawn up by Thomas Jefferson.

"When, in the course of human events-"

THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE announced the founding of a nation dedicated to the proposition that all men were created equal and that "governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed." Its signing marked a milestone in the progressive history of mankind. It was the birth certificate of the United States of America.

First Sea Battle

The first sea battle of the American Revolution had already been fought by a crew of lumberjacks. And they made it a symbolic fight. To Jeremiah O'Brien and his wood-choppers goes the honor of waging and winning the earliest American naval engagement.

The fight took place off Machias, Maine, a few weeks after the Battle of Lexington. In May, 1775, British General Gage sent two sloops and an armed schooner to Machias to commandeer a load of lumber for the Red Coat garrison in Boston. Instead of lumber, the British got a load of O'Brien-a fighting Scotch-Irishman with hair as red as their coats.

Entering the harbor of Machias, the British war-schooner, under command of a haughty young midshipman, was surprised to find this O'Brien and a crowd of some forty-odd loggers waiting on the wharf. The young mid directed his two sloops to tie up, and then, holding His Majesty's schooner off-shore, he hailed to learn what the crowd on the wharf wanted.

For answer there came a bellow from O'Brien, "Surrender!" and the lumberjacks brandished muskets, axes, and pitchforks.

The English sailors had to laugh. His Majesty's schooner was armed with three 3-pounders and four swivel-guns-enough to blow the whole village of Machias to match-wood. With a sneer for the rabble on the wharf, the Britons simply turned their backs on the scene and sailed out to the harbor entrance to stand by. So a knight might have refused to do battle with a serf, considering the fellow unworthy of his steel.

This irritated O'Brien and his boys into seizing one of the lumber sloops and giving chase. Piling up lumber along the gunwales for protection, the loggers worked. furiously while O'Brien steered the craft straight for the enemy. In the harbor mouth, the schooner turned to fight, her guns roaring out, like a lion wheeling on a small and annoying badger. The Americans replied with a rattle of musket fire and sharp marksmanship that, at first volley, didn't strike the Royal Navy men as so funny.

Cannon balls vs. bullets, the one-sided battle raged for over half an hour-one-sided for the Americans "who riddled the British gunners at their gunports, shot the daylights out of the crewmen, and dropped the young midshipman on his quarterdeck. The sloop, protected by its jerry-built bulwarks, closed in. Swinging axes, rifle butts, and pitchforks, and led by indomitable O'Brien, the lumberjacks swarmed aboard the Englishman like timber wolves, and down came King George's flag.

Up went a strange new flag-a fitting flag for valiant lumberjacks-a white flag on which a green pine tree stood above the legend, "An Appeal to Heaven." The first American naval encounter had ended in victory for the Americans.

Considering the odds, it was something to be proud of. And it was symbolical, this victory achieved by "made in America" valor, sharpshooting, and New England pine. The lumberjack of Maine had felled a long-standing giant-the tradition that the King's Navy was invincible-and reared in its stead the Tree of Liberty.

Washington's Raiders

Six months later, while the three-man Marine Committee was struggling in Philadelphia to bring a tiny navy into existence, George Washington was pacing his headquarters in anxiety. There at Cambridge, Massachusetts, where he'd taken command of the American Army, the situation was desperate. His troops were out of powder and military stores. Boston (this was in the autumn of 1775) was in the hands of the British, and they were using the port as a base for unloading transports and military supplies. Munitions must be obtained and those transports must be stopped. This called for naval action, and the infant navy in Philadelphia was slow aborning. The Father of his Country couldn't wait.

"It is not in the pages of history to furnish a case like ours," he wrote to Congress. "To maintain a post within musket shot of the enemy, for six months together, without powder, is probably more than was ever attempted."

While his men rigged up phoney cannon to fool enemy scouts, he set out to organize a fleet on his own initiative. Early in August he'd requested the Governor of Rhode Island to send an armed ship to Bermuda where the people were sympathetic to the colonies and military stores might be obtained. Delay-delay-delay. In September, combing the Massachusetts fishing villages, he recruited a few small vessels to go out as privateers and raid enemy shipping in Massachusetts Bay. Finally six little schooners were fitted out, manned with officers and soldiers. Carrying four to six small guns apiece, and flying the Pine Tree Flag, they were contemptuously referred to by royalist Tories as "Washington's fleet." Bouncing over the waves, they sailed out to do battle with the whole Royal Navy.

In command of this squadron Washington placed John Manley, a Marblehead fisherman, one-time boatswain mate in the Royal Navy and now flaming to fight the King.

Obstinate, high-handed, and imperious as the King he wanted to fight, Manley was also an able schooner captain and the best commodore available in emergency. Pounding through wintry November gales, he took the miniature fleet down the New England coast and promptly captured the British supply ship, Nancy, a lucky bag of military stores including a brass mortar reported as "the noblest piece of ordnance ever landed in America."

This exploit made Manley a legend overnight, and when his "fleet" followed through by capturing thirteen more small enemy transports, the colonies cheered him from Maine to Georgia. All in all, the little mosquito fleet accomplished much. Washington had a cannon and enough munitions to bluff through the winter and mount his spring offensive which won Boston. Equally important, the fleet showed a dubious Congress what an ounce of sea power could do, thereby convincing the members they should buy a pound. And patriotic fishermen, schooner skippers, and sailors of America's seaboard made a rush to enter the service as privateers. Dozens of little smacks and brigs put out from American ports carrying small arms and "letters of marque," empowering them to harry British shipping.

This last was not so good, for the Revolutionary privateers, although government-commissioned, were allowed to operate "on their own." The vessels remained under private ownership; and there were endless squabbles between government agent and privateer, arguing the value of "prizes." Finally, the privateers competed with and sometimes fought each other over prizes, and the system, lacking central leadership, became a free-for-all with every captain for himself. Washington himself could not hold them in line.

"The plague, trouble, and vexation I have had with the crews of all the armed vessels is inexpressible," he wrote. "I do believe there is not on earth a more disorderly set."

In justice to the privateers of the Revolution, they did hound the British up and down the Atlantic. They captured many valuable merchant ships and supply vessels, and they served to scout the sea lanes and bring in much information. Among their captains were such valiant patriot as John Barry, Gustavus Conyngham, and the incredible Joshua Barney. But these great sea fighters, serving as raiders, were individualists who operated as "lone wolves," more like the knights of old on private mission. It could be called only a makeshift.

The need was a national Navy, an organization of fighting ships with centralized leadership, unity of purpose, and standard regulations-ships with crews of military, fighting sailors who had uniform discipline, training, and pay. Such a navy was in the mind of John Adams in December, 1775, when, steering the Marine Committee, he helped put a bill through Congress calling for thirteen American warships and "the Navy of the United Colonies."

Such a navy was also in the mind of a young sailor from the West Indies, an unknown, seafaring exile, who pad come to Philadelphia to volunteer his services in the now fast-growing fight for Democracy.

His name was John Paul Jones, though we meet him in our story first as John Paul.

The Adventures of John Paul

The story of John Paul is right up any Navy man's alley. Adventure, romance, mystery, action, all blended with seafaring to make his career one of the saltiest on record and livelier than anything in fiction. And no character in naval history better exemplifies the qualities of leadership, the fighting spirit, the combination of brains, training, and discipline that go to make up a real American Navy man.

Records show that John Paul was born on July 6, 1747, in a rough stone cottage in Kirkbean, Scotland, where his father was a gardener, his mother a Highland maid. They also show he left school at twelve to ship before the mast. But, lacking much hook learning, John Paul seems to have embarked on his nautical career with a cargo of native intelligence remarkable for his or any year and time.

He went through the school of hard knocks without skipping a day, and graduated from the college of practical experience with a master's papers in capability. And he emerged as a man who could do everything from handle a naval squadron to write poetry, debate with statesmen, design ships, quote Shakespeare, outwit some of the craftiest plotters in Europe, win one of the greatest sea battles in history, and leave a name that still burns as bright as Liberty's torch, a living inspiration to the world's greatest navy. Pretty good for a penniless boy who left home at twelve to ship out. Symbolic of Democracy, that this small, smudged figure could end up as the U. S. Navy's greatest hero. Any sailor who strikes for a rating can remember this. John Paul was strictly a mustang.

Sailing on some collier or coastal schooner, pint-sized John Paul got his sea legs. Then he signed aboard the sailing vessel Friendship, bound from Scotland for America, where his older brother bad gone ahead of him to the Virginia Colony.

Aboard a sailing vessel in those days you learned your ropes at rope's end. Crack! across the knuckles, and you'd bend a sheet at double time. Whack! across the shoulders, and you'd go up the shrouds as if the devil were after you, as he usually was. In his first and later voyages to Virginia, John Paul learned his ropes-hundreds of them-and he also learned something of America.

"My favorite country from the age of thirteen when I first saw it,'"' he wrote afterwards.

He made a number of these trans-Atlantic crossings as a ship-boy; then, seeking better service, he joined the Royal Tavy. Apparently he served out an enlistment as midshipman, but he did not reenlist. The Royal Navy was too royal for his Highland blood.

In the early days, as you know, each warship carried a number of young lads who acted as messengers, rushing orders from the officers aft to the men up forward. These "midshipmen" as they were called, were generally regarded as officer material and treated with a trifle more consideration than were the unfortunate mess boys and powder monkeys. But Midshipman John Paul must have endured plenty; and if he wasn't flogged, he saw other sailors stripped to the waist, bound to a cannon or net, and lashed by the lead-tipped cat-o'-nine-tails until their spine bones gleamed through the welter. Thirty lashes-fifty lashes - sometimes a hundred. Death by flogging was not uncommon in the early navies.

Perhaps he saw some sailor "keel-hauled"-that barbarous punishment in which the victim was lowered overside on a rope and hauled underneath the ship to the opposite side to come up drowned, as often as not, or with his back sliced to ribbons by the jagged barnacles on the keel. But with these cruelties commonplace, regard it all the more remarkable that John Paul never became calloused, never brutalized his own crews. To the end he remained a defender of the men's rights, often paying them out of pocket when their money failed to arrive, always sparing of their lives in battle. Strict discipline was necessary in the Navy, yes. But note the distinguishing thing about his idea of discipline. It applied to officers as well as men-to those in authority as well as those below. He demanded top performance from those on top, an unusual idea in that day.

In 1766 he was out of uniform, and sailing as chief mate aboard the brigantine Two Friends, plying between Africa and Jamaica in the West Indies. The Two Friends was a slaver, and John Paul couldn't take much of that, either. At that time the slave trade paid the highest wages on the sea. Credit John Paul for washing his hands of this filthy money, and, with nothing in his ditty bag save character, going ashore in Jamaica to try his hand at any better enterprise. He had the courage of his convictions, this lad of nineteen!

Kingston, Jamaica, was the gem of the West Indies, a rich, colonial seaport with all the glamour and color of the tropics. With indolence in the air and rum a penny a glass, it was just the place for a nobody to stay on the beach. John Paul, who was already somebody, didn't stay on it-he caught a brigantine bound for Scotland.

There was drama at sea before he was a week out. The captain and first officer died of fever. The crew and other passengers voted John Paul the best mariner aboard and urged him to take command. Nine years before, he had sailed to America as a shipboy. Now he sailed into his home port as a captain.

The owners of the ship made it a permanent appointment, and the following year Captain Paul sailed her back to the West Indies to Tobago. Here the curtain rose on a grim drama, with John Paul as the central character. Only in recent years have historians managed to unravel conflicting accounts and bring to light what seem to be the facts.

Ship's carpenter aboard the brigantine was a Scotchman from John Paul's home county, a fellow named Mungo Maxwell. Lazy and incompetent, he apparently gave the young captain a bit of his lip, and John Paul had him whipped as insubordinate.

When the ship reached Tobago the carpenter went ashore and complained to the Court of Vice-Admiralty. It couldn't have been much of a flogging for the Judge Surrogate found only several "stripes" on Maxwell's shoulders, and adjudged the punishment not only slight but warranted. Growling and scowling, Maxwell went across the wharf and signed aboard a Barcelona packet bound north up the Caribbean.

Doubtless John Paul was glad to be rid of the fellow. But six months later word came from Scotland that Maxwell had died aboard the Barcelona packet as a result of the flogging dealt him aboard John Paul's ship. As Maxwell had left Tobago under his own power, the accusation hardly appeared well founded. But the rumor grew. "John Paul flogged a man to death unjustly." And when John Paul made the return voyage to Scotland, he found a warrant out for his arrest. He reported to the authorities at once, and was charged with murder.

John Paul stood by six months awaiting trial, then sailed under bail bond, once more heading for Tobago. While there, in September 1772, he received word that his name had been cleared by the captain of the Barcelona packet, who testified that Mungo Maxwell had died of the fever.

This Maxwell affair was hardly over when the drama quickened into dark melodrama-one that almost cost John Paul his life. Having saved his earnings, he was able to buy the schooner Betsy, which he took to the Caribbean as an independent trader. Oddly enough, the scene was again Tobago-moonless night-the harbor black in silhouette-men moving catfoot on the Betsy's quarterdeck-mutiny!

Possibly it was inspired by the rumors lingering over the Maxwell affair. Unquestionably it was fired by shore leave and Caribbean rum. The first John Paul knew of it was when he discovered an open cabin hatch and a figure lunged out of the pitchy dark, swinging a bludgeon. Quick as light John Paul whipped out his sword. There was gleam of steel in the midnight, a grunt, a crash, and the mutineer was down.

John Paul wheeled in time to see shadows retreating forward. Bare feet whispered, running across the wharf, and the Betsy's deck was cleared. Only the dead man, a ruffian who had towered head and shoulders above the captain, remained in open-mouthed testimonial of mutiny.

John Paul knew when the odds were all against him. On top of the Maxwell affair, this mutineer, slain without witnesses, would stand to ruin him. Strange quirk of fate that a man so humane should, at the outset of his career, have his name over-clouded with rumors of murder. He must have been sick at heart when he went ashore to put his case in the hands of the Tobago authorities.

He had friends in Tobago-the Judge Surrogate who acted in the Maxwell case, and the Lieutenant Governor. They told him the Admiralty Court would not convene until the following season, and it would not be necessary to surrender himself until the court was in session. They advised him to leave the island until such time as the rumor-mongering would blow over and he could return to stand fair trial. Why didn't he go north to the American colonies, take another name for awhile?

He did. The name he took was John Paul Jones.

The Adventures of John Paul Jones

John Paul Jones arrived in Fredericksburg, Virginia, late in 1773 (or early in 1774) apparently in time to settle the estate of his older brother, William. Try to put yourself in his place -a man who had climbed the hard way to find the top of the ladder treacherous-who had fallen to the bottom, and now must climb all over again, with a way to make and a name to clear.

He must have learned, then, that old, exacting law of the sea that accidents permit a captain no excuse. It must have been bitter medicine, for he contemplated leaving the sea and farming a plantation. But winds were blowing in Virginia-winds that stung the cheek and quickened the blood, that soon rose to the height of a gale, stirring the hearts of liberty-loving seamen and making it impossible for John Paul Jones to "swallow the anchor."

The Revolution. And suddenly it was April, 1775. The "shot heard 'round the world" had been fired. The Minute Men had stood at Lexington. The Red Coats were coming.

There was no chance now for John Paul Jones to return to Tobago and stand trial for a crime of which he was innocent. For eighteen months, as he wrote a friend, he had waited for word from the West Indies. Now the word that came was war with England and the closing of American ports to West Indies merchantmen.

John Paul Jones had made friends among the colonists. Among others he'd become acquainted with Joseph Hewes, an enterprising shipper in the West India trade, a patriot and a delegate from North Carolina to the Continental Congress. You can see Hewes' signature today on the Declaration of Independence.

Hewes invited Jones to accompany him to Philadelphia that summer of 1775. America was going to be in need of good sailors. Would Jones be willing to join a Revolutionary navy and help fight a War of Independence? But his seabag was already packed. America had befriended him, and serving her, as he said later, was an obligation of "gratitude and honor."

At Philadelphia, John Paul Jones bided his time, listening and observing. Sponsored by Hewes, he was probably introduced to Franklin, Adams, Jefferson, and other statesmen on the scene. He was also introduced to the workings of Democracy, that state of affairs in which all points of view are freely aired. With all his sailor's love of order and direction, he saw that this method of government, seemingly hurly-burly, was a government of, by, and for the people, dedicated to individual freedom and men's rights. It was a government he could believe in, a government he could light for. He didn't have long to wait.

The Marine Committee, beginning with three members on October 13, 1775, had by the end of October grown to seven. Along with John Adams, Langdon, and Deane, it now included Christopher Gadsden, the South Carolina financial expert, Richard Henry Lee of Virginia, Stephen Hopkins of Rhode Island, and Hewes, the North Carolinian. Originally granted an ounce of authority, it now was awarded a pound-$100,000 to spend on four warships.

A Marine Committee of seven, four warships, and $100,000-so the American Navy, christened "The Navy of the United Colonies," was launched. Great oaks from little acorns grow. Regard your Navy Department of today, the world ocean battle fleet, and the $100,000 cost of a single modern Navy plane.

But there in colonial Philadelphia men wondered if the little acorn could sprout at all. The four warships were on paper. The $100,000 had to be raised. Not a single sailing ship was under construction in America, nor was any shipyard equipped to build one.

The Marine Committee got to work. And those seven members worked a lot harder than portraits of them sitting around might suggest. They had to argue, dig, and sweat it out just as you do when you're up against a tough problem. Like Hewes, who wrote that he worked "from six in the morning until five or six in the evening, without eating or drinking," they stayed on the job.

Gadsden raised some money. John Adams devised naval laws and regulations. Congress W8S persuaded to add nine more warships to the original four, making, in all, five 32-gun frigates, five 28-gunners, and three sloops. All very fine, but still on paper, and the Red Coats were on the way. You can't fight an enemy with paper ships, but if you're a desperate committee you can use the wooden ones at hand. Luckily there were a number of stalwart merchant vessels right there in Philadelphia, including a salty, tea-carrying Indiaman titled Black Prince. The committee jumped to convert these cargo carriers into warships.

They found the ordnance somewhere. Old cannon from the French and Indian War, new cannon from a rustic foundry, a battery picked up here, another there. Black Prince became the flagship Alfred, with 30 assorted guns. The other redecorated merchantmen became Columbus, with 28 guns, Andrew Doria and Cabot, 16 and 14 guns respectively, little Providence, with 12 guns, and three armed craft not much bigger than their names, Hornet, Wasp, and Fly.

In December, 1775, they were ready to sail-four warships and four escort vessels-the original American Navy. Against them stood the Royal Navy of Great Britain, the world's champion sea power. Talk about odds!

"The first beginning of our Navy," John Paul Jones wrote later, "was, as navies rank, so singularly small that I am of the opinion it has no precedence in history."

Nor did John Paul Jones, himself, have any precedent in history. The Marine Committee, at the urging of Hewes, offered to make the unknown volunteer the captain of Providence. John Paul Jones declined the commission. He lacked military experience, he said, and asked no more than a chance for training aboard the flagship Alfred. This from a man who'd held master's papers at twenty! John Paul Jones entered the Navy as a first lieutenant, asking nothing of the service but a chance to serve.

The fleet must have a Commander in Chief, so Stephen Hopkins, the Rhode Islander, put forward the name of his brother, Esek, a retired sea captain. Nobody bothered to find out whether the old skipper had acquired any barnacles during his retirement. Rhode Island carried a lot of weight, so Esek Hopkins became Commander in Chief of the Navy of the United Colonies.

Command of the flagship Alfred was given to Dudley Saltonstall, a brother-in-law of Silas Deane.

Captaincy of Columbus, the next biggest ship, went to Abraham Whipple, a robust mariner who, three years before, had led a raiding party across Narragansett Bay to burn a British revenue vessel.

Nicholas Biddle, a young patriot of twenty-five who had been seasoned as a midshipman in the Royal Navy, was made captain of Andrew Doria.

John B. Hopkins, the commodore's son, was given command of Cabot.

And command of the armed sloop Providence went to one Tom Hazard, nicknamed "Sailor Tom" to distinguish him from the two dozen other Tom Hazards in the colonies.

With the exception of young Biddle, who hailed from Pennsylvania, all these top commissions went to New Englanders, and the majority was obviously "political." Little Hornet and Wasp came up from Baltimore with Southerners aboard, but the Navy was largely Yankee-an example of the "sectionalism" and favoritism that almost beached the Ship of State at the outset.

Now you can notice that John Paul Jones, a favorite son of none, was not helped by any political backing. A stranger on his own, he stepped into the Navy picture with no personal axe to grind save the bright, clean battle-axe of Freedom.

Don't Tread on Me!

As a lieutenant he boarded the flagship at Philadelphia early in December. With Saltonstall absent, he found himself the senior officer aboard. Lying in midstream, Alfred was taking on men and supplies. Jones set immediately to work and began putting the men through gunnery exercises. In a few days he had them trained so well that he could write at a later date, "They went through the motions of broadsides and rounds as exactly as soldiers generally perform the manual exercise." He saw to the vessel's stowage and the enlistment of volunteers. There were Marines aboard, Congress having established the Marine Corps on November 10, 1775, and he drilled them on the double. The men knew they had an officer in this little Scotch lieutenant.

Since Captain Saltonstall was still absent from Philadelphia, the honor of raising the flag aboard Alfred fen to John Paul Jones. The exact date is blurred in the records, but it was probably December 3, 1775, when he rowed out to Alfred with the new American flag in his hands.

The flag that John Paul Jones hoisted aboard Alfred has been described as "a Union flag with thirteen stripes in the field emblematical of the Thirteen United Colonies." In the upper left corner, however, it retained the crosses of St. George and St. Andrew as a sort of last, lingering tie to the mother country. George Washington raised a similar Grand Union flag a few days later at the front at Boston. The canton of the British Union was soon to fade out under a haze of battle smoke, to be replaced by thirteen stars. But the flag hoisted by John Paul Jones was the Mark I original with the thirteen red and white stripes-the first American flag bearing a resemblance to Uncle Sam's.

Some historians believe the flag hoisted aboard Alfred was a combination Union Flag and Rattlesnake Flag with the snake rippling diagonally across the stripes. However, the Gadsden design of the Rattlesnake Flag-yellow flag with coiled snake-was the personal standard of Commander-in-Chief Hopkins. Probably both flags were flown, the Grand Union at the hoist of honor, and Hopkins' standard hoisted later.

The sailors stood at attention, the Marines on the quarterdeck fired a salute, one of Alfred's guns boomed, and the red and white stripes fluttered in the wind above the icy river. A crowd massed on shore gave a resounding cheer. The American Navy was launched.

"I hoisted with my own hands the flag of freedom the first time it was displayed on board the Alfred in the Delaware."

Leave it up to John Paul Jones.

He never liked the Rattlesnake Flag. "For my part," he wrote, "I could never see how or why a venomous serpent could be the combatant emblem of a brave and honest folk, fighting to be free. I abhorred the device."

He was soon to raise another flag-the one you salute today. But, although he disliked the Rattlesnake Flag, its motto was certainly a good one for Jones. For he, perhaps more than any Revolutionary warrior, personified the warning, ""Don't Tread on Me!"

No man in the Navy was more frequently stepped on. Fate, itself, tried to tread him under at the last. And each time he came up fighting-for the Navy.

The Navy Learns A Lesson

Down in Virginia, the Tory governor, Dunmore, had remained loyal to the king. He favored hanging these revolutionists who talked about men's rights and a democratic government. Liberty or death? All right, he'd give them death; and he mobilized a flotilla of small warships to deal it out.

So the first orders given to Commander-in-Chief Hopkins were to proceed to Chesapeake Bay in Virginia and seek out and fight Dunmore's flotilla. After which he was to go without delay to Rhode Island to "attack, take, and destroy" all the enemy's naval force he might find there. This was the first battle-order given to the American Navy. For a newborn Navy just starting out to get its sea legs in a fight with a giant, it sounds like a large order.

As a matter of fact, it wasn't so large. The giant wasn't awake as yet. A few British 'warships had started across the Atlantic, including the 28-gunner H.M.S. Liverpool on its way to head up Dunmore's little fleet. But Hopkins' squadron had a good chance to deal Dunmore a hard blow before reinforcements arrived.

However, Hopkins was given permission to use his own judgment, and he judged that the ice in the river was too thick for the squadron to start out. He received the orders to move on January 5, 1776, and he didn't get under way until February 18th.

Then he judged that the squadron could round Cape Henlopen in a nor'east gale, with the result that the small craft Hornet and Fly, collided in the storm and had to leave the squadron, disabled.

His next judgment was that the waters off the Virginia Capes were too rough for action, so he headed south for the balmier Gulf Stream on a plan to attack the Bahamas. This 'vas a daring enough plan, calling for an attack on the Bahaman forts, Nassau and Montague, known to contain large stores of powder. And powder, you'll remember, was Washington's rush order.

But it was up to Hopkins' judgment again, so he sailed in to attack by daytime instead of night, and lost the advantage of surprise. He also wanted to attack Fort Nassau first while his officers pointed out that it would be better to first take small Fort Montague, which would provide extra munitions for attacking the larger citadel. But Hopkins said that in his judgment the approaches to Fort Montague were too shallow for safe navigation.

Meantime, John Paul Jones aboard Hopkins' flagship had been doing some judging. He judged that Esek Hopkins was something of a fuddy-duddy.

"Mr. Hopkins displayed neither zeal nor talents," he wrote of the campaign later. "He lost so much time that his squadron was frozen in the Delaware."

Now he went to Hopkins to urge that the Bahama attack should begin against Fort Montague. As for the shallow approaches to this fort, he offered to pilot the squadron himself.

He did pilot the squadron, and he was aloft in the crosstrees of Alfred, directing navigation, when the ships moved in to the attack.

Had Hopkins not waited for daylight it could have been a brilliant surprise. As it was, the British were alerted, and the fort's batteries were ready. Guns boomed in the dawn, and cannon balls splashed the peacock waters of the bay, throwing up fountains around the American ships.

But the British gunners were poorly trained, and two hundred Marines under Captain Nicholas plus fifty sailors under Lieutenant Weaver stormed the fort with great valor and took it handily. This was the Navy's first amphibious action, and the first battle fought by the American Marines.

Then Hopkins, delayed again, and it wasn't until the following morning that the jubilant Marines swept across to take Fort Nassau. The fort surrendered without a shot, and the Americans captured eighty-seven guns, some military stores, and a few casks of gunpowder.

But where was the main powder supply? Well, during the night the Bahamans had loaded a merchant ship with all the powder they could rush from the arsenal, and sent her kiting away in the darkness to race down the West Indies and warn the British that the Americans were coming. Hopkins hadn't judged it necessary to guard the western side of the island.

So the enemy scored a "safety" on the winning team. Hopkins consoled himself on the powder loss by taking the governor of the Bahamas and a number of prisoners as hostages. On March 17, 1776, the squadron started north for Rhode Island.

Three weeks later, passing Block Island, the Americans ran into the schooner Hawk and the bomb-brig Bolton, convoying two small supply ships under the British flag. The outnumbered Britons surrendered, and the two supply ships were found to contain liquor stores for an English squadron reportedly operating off Newport, Rhode Island.

Hopkins accordingly judged it best to head for New London, Connecticut. Prizes in tow, the squadron tacked westerly in the night.

Now it seems there was some celebrating with the captured liquor cargo. And the early Americans were soon to learn that basic military lesson-there's many a slip twixt the cup and the ship.

Sometime around 0100, Andrew Doria spied a sail in the moonlight off to starboard, and Captain Biddle signaled the alert to Alfred. By 0200 the stranger, coming on, was recognizable as an enemy warship. Evidently she took the Americans for British.

Esek Hopkins signaled the squadron to clear for action, and rubbed his hands in prospect of another easy prize. His son's brig, Cabot, was nearest the enemy ship which now identified herself as H. M. S. Glasgow, 20 guns, under Captain Howe.

Aboard Cabot, Captain John Hopkins hung out his battle lanterns and opened fire with a hasty broadside. Glasgow replied with a furious blast, and immediately the American brig found itself no match for the heavier British vessel. Young Hopkins went down, badly wounded. Another blast swept Cabot, smashing through her rigging and killing her navigator. A third blast brought down a tumble of canvas, and sent her off listing and disabled.

Enraged at this disaster, Old Esek crowded on sail and brought Alfred beam to beam with the Britisher. Exchanging broadsides, the two ships rolled along, while the remaining American vessels jockeyed for position.

John Paul Jones, aboard Alfred, was in charge of the main battery, and he directed his fire with telling effect. But he was short-handed. There was smallpox in the squadron, and a number of his gunners were in sick bay. Also a number of Alfred's crew were in sick bay with something not as serious as smallpox, but you can't fight a battle with a hangover.

The fact is the Yankee crew had done too much celebrating off Block Island, and the seamanship wasn't what it should have been. Jones' gunnery gave the enemy warship a pounding, but Alfred got a savage hammering in return. She also got in the way of Columbus, veering in to her support.

Young Captain Biddle maneuvered Andrew Doria smartly, but Doria's guns were outranged although she did score several hits. Finally Providence, opening fire at even longer range, missed the enemy entirely.

For three hours the clumsy battle went on, one British corvette standing off the four-ship American squadron. At dawn the Britons punched a shot through Alfred's quarter and wrecked her steering cables. Another broadside raked the American flagship, killing twenty of Hopkins' men. Alfred drifted, her rudder helpless. Columbus, unable to close in, fell back, winded. Providence hung far astern. Cabot was out of it, and Andrew Doria, despite Biddle's smart handling, was too small to carryon single-handed. So H. M. S. Glasgow got away.

When Hopkins reached New London with his battered squadron, he found news of the sea fight ahead of him. The town cheered the Americans, home from the Navy's first cruise. Then, at sight of the damaged flagship, the cheers soured somewhat. They died out entirely when it was learned the enemy warship had escaped. And when the report reached the Continental Congress that Hopkins had missed the powder in the Bahamas, there was demand for an investigation.

It was a stiff investigation. Commander-in-Chief Hopkins was censured for not proceeding on his orders to destroy Dunmore's Virginia flotilla. Captain Whipple of Columbus was criticized for being lackadaisical in the Block Island battle. Whipple angrily countered by placing the blame for the lost battle on Hopkins' seamanship, and for himself demanded a court martial. He was exonerated, with John Paul Jones testifying in his defense. Finally Captain Saltonstall was also criticized, and '''Sailor'' Tom Hazard was dismissed for faint-heartedness aboard Providence.

All in all, it might seem as if the Navy's first cruise ended in a fiasco. But even a fledgling eagle must learn how to fly. The Navy was learning discipline was necessary, that politics and salt water didn't mix, and that it was responsible to a higher authority than itself.

Two names emerged as stars on the Navy's horizon.

Nicholas Biddle was lauded for his good work in the squadron.

John Paul Jones was made captain of Providence.

The Navy Changes Strategy

Now, to understand the events coming up, you'll need an overall picture of the war. At this point you've reached summertime, 1776. The Declaration of Independence has been signed -the Liberty Bell is ringing-Americans are fighting on land and sea to win their rights

So far the battles have been little more than skirmishes-brief bonfires on the edge of towns-mere match-flares in the vast, wooded wilderness. The Red Coats have been cleared out of Boston. The Americans have been thrown hack from Canada. The Thirteen Colonies, loosely held together by the Continental Congress at Philadelphia, are by no means united in the war effort. The Army is small, untrained, lacking in ammunition. The Tavy is jerry-built, amateur, untried. These soldiers and sailors number only a handful compared to the mighty forces of Great Britain. In America, too, there are thousands of Tories and royalist sympathizers, openly joining the British or working underground as saboteurs. It is the moment for Great Britain to strike.

The Lion struck. Struck hard. But not hard enough. The British high command underestimated the difficulties of land fighting in frontier America. These newly united States were very different then from the same States today. Colonial America was just a thin strip of seaboard-its front exposed to the Atlantic, its rear backed up against Appalachian Mountains and against a whole unexplored continent of dark wilderness. And much of the seaboard strip was thickly wooded, with villages huddled in clearings. Mountains, streams, and woods made overland travel exceedingly slow and tedious. Farms in the North and large plantations in the South supplied such towns as Boston, New York and Philadelphia with food. Roads were few and in bad condition, and transportation was mainly by water-along the coast and by way of inland rivers.

The British strategists planned to blockade the seaports and rivers to cut off seaports and rivers to cut off transport and communication. But their main blows were launched at the centers of population-New York, the Jersey flats, Philadelphia-in an effort to capture big towns. This was typical European military strategy, but it failed to recognize the fact that the American population was largely rural, widely distributed, and the pioneers were self-supporting. The loss of New York, for instance, meant little to the homespun frontiersman of Pennsylvania.

So George III, aiming his biggest blows at the towns, was to miss the mark. And strategically speaking, the Americans missed it, too. Actually they spent too much effort defending the big towns, and too little defending the waterways. A strong navy, for example, could have stopped the enemy from landing in the first place. And you'll see how the enemy was stopped when naval force finally came into the picture. But in the early part of the war naval ordnance was neglected while land artillery got a high priority. Had the English been less involved with "chess game" military tradition at this time, they might have captured armies rather than towns, and won the war.

However, the Red Coats arrived to take the field (walking targets in those scarlet jackets, too.) Down from Quebec came British General Carleton, pushing Benedict Arnold's ragged army along the shore of Lake Champlain in weary retreat.

On Carleton's Hank came Sir John Burgoyne-"Gentleman Johnny," with fresh regiments and baggage wagons loaded with champagne and finery for his Lady-driving ahead of him the tattered troops of American General Sullivan.

Down from Halifax carne General William Howe and his brother, Lord Howe, by passing Boston with an invasion fleet to attack New York.

Over from England came Lord Cornwallis with his batch of German Hessians to reinforce Howe. Over from England came General Sir Henry Clinton and Admiral Sir Peter Parker to attack Charleston, South Carolina, with two battleships, three frigates, and a large landing force.

And behind these forces, and bent on blocking the American coast, came the mighty Royal Navy.

In the face of all this land and sea power, how could the Americans hold out?

Well, down at Charleston, where the harbor. was treacherous with sandbars, there was a tight little fort made of palmetto logs banked with sand. In this fort, which controlled the harbor entrance, there was a handful of Carolina patriots under the never-say-die leadership of Colonel Moultrie.

Morning, June 28th, General Clinton and Admiral Parker sailed in to attack the fort. Nightfall, June 28th, they sailed out again. Aboard the battleship the casualties were close to 50%. One of the frigates was badly damaged, the other afire and ready to blow up. Charleston remained untaken. Colonel Moultrie and his little fort were altogether too much for Sir Henry Clinton and Sir Peter Parker.

In the fall of. that year of 1776, Benedict Arnold stopped General Carleton at Ticonderoga. Then he swung up Lake Champlain with a fleet of barges and row-galleys built out of pine trees and thin air, and delayed Burgoyne long enough to save General Sullivan.

Meantime George Washington (against his better judgment) had marched his troops from Boston to New York to protect Manhattan and Long Island. The Howe Brothers landed in August with 20,000 men, and slowly drove Washington along Brooklyn Heights, over to Harlem, up into Westchester.

Now what of the American Navy at this time? Not much, for Commander-in-Chie! Esek Hopkins had decided to hole in at Newport, Rhode Island.

Not so John Paul Jones with his sloop-of-war, Providence. While Hopkins dilly-dallied, anchoring the main portion of the little fleet, Jones obtained permission to operate on his own.

Patrolling Long Island was H.M.S. Cerebus, a big frigate carrying 32 guns. One day in July she sighted a Yankee sloop named Providence, and tried to chase. Providence ran rings around her, thanks to the seamanship of John Paul Jones.

Off New York a merchantman from San Domingo was trying to slip through with supplies for Washington's army. A sloop appeared from nowhere, and convoyed the big merchantman safely through the blockade. Jones, again.

When Washington wanted a company of specialists brought down from Rhode Island, they were brought by Providence and Captain Jones.

Presently, somewhere near Bermuda, H.M.S. Sole bay sighted a sloop, and set out in chase. Solebay got a saucy shot in her bows for her pains, but she never got her hooks or her shots into Providence or John Paul Jones.

A month or so later in the vicinity of Nova Scotia, H.M.S. Milford sighted a Yankee sloop cooly enjoying the offshore fishing. Milford rushed at the American, and Providence waltzed around her for eight straight hours, making a monkey of the British helmsmen and causing His Majestry's gunners to throw away round after round of shot. A single Marine stood on the Yankee's afterdeck, answering each salvo with a taunting musket shot while the Yankee crew uttered gales of laughter. The fish that got away again was John Paul Jones.

A few nights later he was in the Canadian Bay of Canso where he secured fresh water, burned an English schooner, sank another, and captured a third.

From there he swung to attack the fisheries of Ile Madame, where he captured nine fishing smacks. These were lost on the way home in a rip-roaring gale, but he had done all right, at that. In less than seven weeks little Providence had captured eight enemy vessels, sunk eight more, played ring-around-the-rosy with two British frigates, destroyed the He Madame fishing fleet, and avenged the burning of Falmouth. He was writing his name on the sea with indelible seamanship.

With these successes to his credit, Jones sailed into Newport to rejoin Hopkins' fleet. He found Hopkins and the fleet sitting like bumps on a log. Everywhere he saw rust, tangled cordage, and barnacles. Desertion and smallpox had thinned the crews. The few sailors on hand were sullen and disorderly.

To a seaman of Jones' caliber, this was a hellish state of affairs, and he didn't hesitate to report the same to the Marine Committee. With characteristic punch, he asked the committee to let him take three ships on a cruise to Africa where he proposed to smash up British merchantmen on the sea lanes to India. This daring plan burst like a bombshell in Philadelphia, scattering paper-work all over the place. Who was this John Paul Jones?

Then, still thinking in terms of local favoritism, the committee began to wrangle. If such a cruise did start out, it would have to be commanded by one of the senior captains, Whipple or Saltonstall. However, recognizing seamanship and leadership, the committee voted to give Jones a three-ship squadron on a mission Canada to release American prisoners in the Cape Breton mal mines.

Rescue prisoners? John Paul Jones went wholeheartedly for such a project. And Hopkins concurred, anxious to get the sandy-haired firebrand out of Newport as soon as possible. So he willingly consigned to Jones the old flagship Alfred, the brig Hampden, and the sloop Providence.

But ships and crews were in such poor condition that the start was delayed. Jones had to tramp up and down Newport's waterfront, doing his own recruiting. Where were patriots? Where were fighting Ameicans? Everywhere he found downheartedness, indifference, or self-interest. Worse, he found the Navy's reputation bedraggled. Heard Hopkins was a flogger. Sailors were never paid. Why should Johnny risk his life in the Navy for nothing when he could board a privateer and make a fortune in prize money? Hopkins, himself, had invested in privateers. Newport was hostile, and Jones had to scrape the bottom of the manpower barrel.

He scraped. He took a Marine patrol through the clutter of privateers in the bay, rounding up deserters. He enlisted a few new volunteers. Still his ships were short-handed, and he had to leave Providence behind for lack of a Crew. But the Yankee prisoners in the coal pits couldn't wait. John Paul Jones put out.

Bungle at the takeoff. Captain of Hampden was a shabby old shellback named Hoysted Hacker, appointed by Hopkins. Hacker was no sailor. The squadron was hardly out of Newport before he ran Hampden aground on a reef, rupturing her keel. The ships had to put in at the port of Providence, where Jones wrote a red-headed letter to Hopkins demanding to know why he'd elevated Hacker to a captaincy.

Hopkins replied by merely transferring Hacker to command of the old sloop Providence, and ordering Jones to start afresh for Cape Breton.

It was now November 2nd, had weather coming up, hut Jones could only obey. Short of men and stores, he took Alfred and Providence around Cape Cod in the teeth of high seas and mutiny. Ten days out he captured the enemy vessel, Active, and shortly afterward the big British transport, Mellish, with a valuable cargo of military supplies.

The weather thickened. Hacker's ship, lagging, signaled for permission to turn -back. Jo1m Paul Jones signaled, "Stay on course." Northward he drove stubbornly into night and foggy storm. In the morning-no Hacker!

Realizing the weak-kneed Hacker had run for home, John Paul Jones hit the cabin overhead. Alone, he drove Alfred to Cape Breton, found the harbor frozen over with no chance to break through, and was forced to head south with fire in his heart.

Home-bound, he captured four fishing boats, a big 10-gun raider, and had a close shave with the frigate Milford, which had almost caught him the previous summer. Signalling his prizes to scatter, he put a light at Algred's masthead and decoyed the frigate on a wild-goose-chase through the night. At midnight he blacked out, leaving Milford playing blind-man's-bull off St. George's Bank. Safe with his prizes, Jones made home base in December.

Only to find that Hopkins and his wire-pullers had done it again. While John Paul Jones had been fighting at sea, the Continental Congress had been muddling on land. Three new battleships, six frigates, and a score of smaller warships had been ordered. But, under pressure, the Marine Committee had been reshuffled and forced to play favorites in assigning captains to these vessels.

In a line-up of twenty-four captains, John Paul Jones was No. 18 down the list, and reassigned to the old sloop, Providence. Ahead of him were Nicholson, McNeil, Thompson, Alexander-captains he'd never heard of. Manley, the former boatswain, had a battleship. Hopkins junior had a frigate-after mishandling Cabot off Block Island! Why, Jones was even out-ranked by that jellyfish, Hoysted Hacker!

John Paul Jones was served with a $50,000 law suit brought against him by the deserters he had taken from the privateers in Newport. Hopkins refused to quash the suit, agreeing that Jones had done his recruiting without official recommendation. Eighteenth down the list of captains, and a law suit for $50,000! John Paul Jones blew up like a cannon. When the smoke and fire died away, he had bombarded Congress and the Marine Committee with letters that landed in Philadelphia like cannon halls. Esek Hopkins, he declared, was a "petty genius." Manley's appointment, he said, was typical of blindfold commissioning-he had served well as a privateer, but you couldn't jump a boatswain's mate to captaincy of a big man-o'-war. "He is altogether unfit to command a frigate of 32-gun." Having spoken his mind on paper, John Paul Jones took the stage to Philadelphia to speak it in person.

Then, rattling across country, he did some hard thinking. Destructive criticism was too easy. What was needed was constructive criticism. The Navy must have a plan, a basic template to build on. The fundamental necessity was leadership-good leadership-trained officers with high character and patriotic motives to inspire the men. Given good leaders, the men would follow. And Education was a requirement for good leadership.

So John Paul Jones sat down and wrote a letter which remains as a blueprint for Navy leadership to this day.

"I have sat on a Court Martial where the President of the court could not read the orders that appointed him, and a Captain of Marines had to make his mark in signing a report. As long as you have such characters for officers the Navy win never rise above contempt. IT IS BY NO MEANS ENOUGH THAT AN OFFICER OF THE NAVY SHOULD BE A CAPABLE MARINER. HE SHOULD BE AS WELL A GENTLEMAN OF LIBERAL EDUCATION, REFINED MANNERS, PUNCTILIOUS COURTESY, AND THE NICEST SENSE OF PERSONAL HONOR. When a commander has by tact, patience, justice, and firmness, each exercised in its proper turn, produced such an impression upon those under his orders in a ship of war, he has only to await the appearance of his enemy's topsails upon the horizon. When this moment does come, he may be sure of victory over an equal or somewhat superior force, or honorable defeat by one greatly superior."

Read that letter again. It applies to Petty Officers as well as those of top rank, and if you're striking for a rating you can 'well remember it. Mark those words liberal education, manners, courtesy, personal honor. Those qualities of tact, patience, justice, firmness. Such characteristics were important for success in the eighteenth century, and they're important today. A gentleman and a leader-the country needed such a man in Jones' time, and still needs him in your Navy. Jones placed his emphasis on two levels-a man's honesty with himself and his honesty with his fellow men. The letter called for an all-round man, a man useful to himself and to his country. You can recollect it was written by John Paul Jones, a sailor who worked his way up the ladder from the bottom rung.

That letter got him to the top. It was read by Robert Morris, a Philadelphian recently appointed to the Marine Committee to handle its financial affairs. Robert Morris knew men as well as money. He immediately went to bat for John Paul Jones.

Hopkins, bitterly opposed to Jones, was dismissed as Commander-in-Chief.

A 74-gun battleship was being designed-the finest vessel ever built in America!-and Morris promised John Paul Jones command of the ship. But she would take two years to build. In the meantime would Jones take command of the new sloop, Ranger, making ready to sail at Portsmouth yard?

Would he?

Congress confirmed the appointment on June 14, 1777, with Jones' orders reading, "We shall not limit you to any particular cruising station, but leave you at large to search for yourself where the greatest chance of success presents."

On the same day Congress passed a resolution providing, "that the flag of the United States be thirteen stripes, alternate red and white; that the union be thirteen stars, white on a blue field, representing a new constellation." This flag John Paul Jones raised aboard his brand new U.S.S. Ranger.

"That flag and I," he wrote, "are twins born in the same hour from the same womb of destiny. We cannot be parted in life or death. So long as we can float, we shall float together. If we must sink, we shall go down as one."