There is some dispute concerning his birth, but it seems pretty certain that he was the son of John Paul, head gardener on Lord Selkirk’s estate near Kirkcudbright. Paul Jones first saw light in the year 1728. Brought up on the shores of the Solway Firth, it was only likely that he gave up being assistant to his father and preferred the sea to gardening. In his character there developed many of those traits which have been such marked characteristics of the pirate breed. To realise Paul Jones, you must think of a wild, reckless nature, burning with enthusiasm for adventure, yet excessively vain and desirous of recognition. He was a rebel, a privateer, a pirate and a smuggler; he was a villain, he was quarrelsome, he was petty and mean. Finally, he was a traitor to his country. When he died he had lived a most varied life, and had seen service on merchantman, slaver and man-of-war.
After making several voyages to the West Indies in a merchantman as ordinary and able-bodied seaman, he was promoted to rank of mate, and then rose to the rank of master. Soon after the rupture between England and America he happened to be in New England, and then it was that he succumbed to the temptation to desert his own national standard and to throw his aid on to the side of the revolutionists—for which reason he changed his real name of John Paul to that of Paul Jones. Notwithstanding that Jones has been justly condemned by biographers for having been a traitor, yet my own opinion is that this change arose far less from a desire to become an enemy of the British nation than from that overwhelming wanderlust, and that irrepressible desire for adventure to which we have already called attention. There are some men who have never had enough fighting. So soon as one campaign ends they are unhappy till another begins, so that they may find a full outlet for their spirits. To such men as these the daily round of a peaceful life is a perpetual monotony, and unless they can go forth to rove and wander, to fight or to explore, their very souls would almost cry out for freedom.
So, I am convinced, it was with Paul Jones. To such a man nationalities mean nothing more than certain artificial considerations. The only real differences are those between the land and the sea. He knew that in the forthcoming war he would find just the adventure which delighted him; he would have every chance of obtaining booty, and his own natural endowment, physical and mental, were splendidly suitable for such activities. He had a special knowledge of British pilotage, so he was a seaman distinctly worth having for any marauding expeditions that might be set going. So in the year 1777 we find him very busy as commander, fitting out the privateer Ranger. This vessel mounted 18 guns as well as several swivel-guns, and had a desperate crew of 150 able men.
He put to sea and made two captures on the European side of the Atlantic, sending each of these prizes into a French port. The following spring he went a step further in his character as a rebel, for he appeared off the Cumberland coast and began to attack a part of England that must have been singularly well-known to him. He had made his landfall by daylight, but stood away until darkness set in. At midnight he ran closer in, and in grim silence he sent away his boats with thirty men, all well armed and ready to perform a desperate job. Their objective was Whitehaven, the entrance to the harbour being commanded by a small battery, so their first effort must obviously be to settle that. Having landed with great care, they rushed upon the small garrison and made the whole lot prisoners. The guns of the battery were next spiked, and now they set about their next piece of daring.
In the harbour the ships were lying side by side, the tide being out. The good people of the town were asleep in their beds, and all the conditions were ideal for burning the shipping where it stood. Very stealthily the men went about their business, and had laid their combustibles on the decks all ready for firing as soon as the signal should be given. But just then something was happening. At the doors of the main street of the little town there was a series of loud knockings, and people began to wake and bustle about; and soon the sound of voices and the sight of crowds running down to the pier. The marauders had now to hurry on the rest of their work, for the alarm had been given and there was not a moment to lose. So hastily the privateer’s men threw their matches on the decks, then made for their boats and rowed off quickly to their ship.
But, luckily, the inhabitants of Whitehaven had come down just in time. For they were able to extinguish the flames before serious damage had been done. What was their joy was keen annoyance to the privateer’s men. But who was the good friend who had taken the trouble to rouse the town? Who had at once been so kind as to knock at the doors and to despoil the marauders of their night’s work? When the shore party of the privateer mustered on deck it was found that one man was missing, and this was the fellow who, for some conscientious or worldly motive, had gone over to the other side, and so saved both property and lives.
So Jones went a few miles farther north, crossed his familiar Solway Firth and entered the river Dee, on the left bank of which stands Kirkcudbright. He entered the estuary at dawn and let go anchor off Lord Selkirk’s castle. When the natives saw this warlike ship in their river, with her guns and her formidable appearance generally, they began to fear she was a man-of-war come to impress men for the Navy. It happened that the noble lord was away from home in London, and when the men-servants at the castle espied what they presumed to be a King’s ship, they begged Lady Selkirk for leave to go and hide themselves lest they might be impressed into the service. A boat was sent from the ship, and a strong body of men landed and marched to the castle, which, to the surprise of all, they surrounded. Lady Selkirk had just finished breakfast when she was summoned to appear before the leader of the men, whose rough clothes soon showed the kind of fellows they were. Armed with pistols, swords, muskets, and even an American tomahawk, they inquired for Lord Selkirk, only to be assured his lordship was away.
The next request was that all the family plate should be handed over. So all that was in the castle was yielded, even to the silver teapot which was on the breakfast table and had not yet been washed out. The silver was packed up, and with many apologies for having had to transact this “dirty business,” as one of the officers called it, the pirates went back to their ship rather richer than they had set out. But the inhabitants of the castle were as much surprised as they were thankful to find their own lives had not been demanded as well as the plate. The ship got under way some time after, and put to sea without any further incident. Now the rest of this story of the plate runs as follows, and shows another side to the character of the head-gardener’s son: for, a few days after this visit, Lady Selkirk received a letter from Jones, apologising for what had been done, and stating that this raid had been neither suggested nor sanctioned by him. On the contrary he had used his best influence to prevent its occurrence. But his officers and crew had insisted on the deed, with a view to capturing Lord Selkirk, for whose ransom they hoped to obtain a large sum of money.
As an earnest of his own innocence in the matter, Paul Jones added that he would try to purchase from his associates the booty which they had brought away, and even if he could not return the entire quantity he would send back all that he could. We need not stop to wonder whether Lady Selkirk really believed such a statement; but the truth is that about five years later the whole of the plate came back, carriage paid, in exactly the same condition as it had left the castle. Apparently it had never been unpacked, for the tea leaves were still in the teapot, just as they had been taken away on that exciting morning.
But to come back to the ship. After leaving the Solway Firth astern, Jones stood over to the Irish coast and entered Belfast Lough, amusing himself on the way by burning or capturing several fishing craft. But it happened that he was espied by Captain Burdon of H.M.S. Drake, a sloop. Seeing Jones’ ship coming along, he took her to be a merchantman, and so from her he could impress some seamen. So the officer lowered a boat and sent her off. But when the boat’s crew came aboard Jones’ vessel they had the surprise of their lives, for instead of arresting they were themselves arrested. After this it seemed to Jones more prudent to leave Belfast alone and get away with his capture. Meanwhile, Captain Burdon was getting anxious about his men, as the boat had not returned. Moreover, he noticed that the supposed merchantman was now crowding on all possible sail, so he at once prepared his sloop for giving chase and prepared for action, and, on coming up with the privateer, began a sharp fire.