John Paul Jones: Finding the Forgotten Patriot

By Robert Saunders

You don't need to be a history or nautical buff to truly enjoy the fascinating characters in this historical novel. The author has written the dialogue in such a way as to make the reader feel a part of the conversation; part of the scene. It would be as if they were standing right next to John Paul Jones as he got down to the real issue, which is trying to figure how he's going to win the battle aboard the sinking Bon Homme Richard; with rotten oaken sides and holds that are filling with sea water. While at the same time, the HMS Serapis, commanded by Captain Pearson, is ready to finish him off and strip him of his ship and crew.

The astonishing life of John Paul Jones has been forgotten through the ages. He is but a footnote; seldom mentioned as a respectable peer among the honored land generals of the Revolutionary War.

Maybe this story will help enlighten a few grey cells among the citizens of the USA. Just maybe they will welcome this extraordinary historical character into that inner circle of supreme and brave men who fought so diligently during the American Revolutionary War.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Saunders
• Release date: Feb 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458136855

Robert Saunders

Robert Saunders is a retired US Navy officer with thirty years of active duty experience in six warships and a variety of stateside and international shore-duty stations. Robert’s military career began as an enlisted sailor where he advanced through the ranks and ultimately earned an officer’s commission. Robert earned a bachelor’s degree from Excelsior University and a graduate degree from the University of Oklahoma. He lives in Westminster, Colorado, with his wife, Sandy, and has seven children, two of whom are adopted.

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John Paul Jones: Finding the Forgotten Patriot

Published by Robert L. Saunders

Smashwords edition

© Copyright 2009, by Robert L. Saunders

All rights reserved.

ISBN 9781439236772

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Although the story is based on true characters, the characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This book is available in print at most online retailers.

Novels by Robert L. Saunders

Tommytown

The Monopoly Factor

Tommytown 2: Helen’s Song

Gathering of Cans

John Paul Jones: Finding the Forgotten Patriot

This book

is

Dedicated

To Dawn, My little berry

Daughter of my wife, Janet.

A lovely young lady fighting to overcome colon cancer;

in whom the fighting spirit of John Paul Jones truly lives.

Author’s Note:

This was like no other novel that I had ever attempted.

Here is our hero, John Paul Jones, and a wonderful collection of men and women. I see these human beings as they lived; not as historians would like to pretend they had lived.

Historians tend to choose a significant event and examine its causes and consequences. They study and replay decisive battles to see if they could conceivably have been won by the losing side. Or they find a historical character and dissect every facial feature over and over again.

Yet history is not a true palindrome. We can’t really run it backwards and end up with a clean start. Too many of the pieces are lost; also we are already aware of the outcome.

I, as a fully conscious writer, can only try to be the ideal voyager and press my nose to Time’s glass window.

I could never actually be there with John Paul Jones as he got down to the real issue, which is trying to figure how he’s going to win the battle aboard a ship with rotten oaken sides held together by oakum fibers soaked in pitch and holds that are filling with sea water. While at the same time; the enemy is ready to finish him off and strip him of his ship and crew. I could never join in those moments of supreme exaltation or supreme grief. My re-creations are at best just my imagination churning through scenes in order to portray a story for the reader’s edification and pleasure.

The thing about historians and novelists is that there are always replacements. But there is only one John Paul Jones scavenging the sea for the next British ship-of-war.

When I viewed the material of the characters’ wonderful lives, I found laughter, honesty, meanness, love, kindness, jealousy, vanity, foolishness, egomania, bravery, and deceit. Just about all the human traits that make up the centrifugal force that seems to hold the cosmopolitan of the human race together as a mass on our little planet, Earth.

They walked this Earth during a very different time period. These were brave men fighting a war to give birth to a new nation: The United States of America.

Many have been forgotten through the ages. John Paul Jones is but a footnote and many times seldom mentioned as a respectable peer along with the honored land generals of the Revolutionary War. Maybe this novel will help enlighten a few grey cells among the citizens of my country and just maybe they will carry their relationships with John Paul Jones, like a turtle shell throughout their lives. Then maybe someday this heroic man will be honored properly along with the other notable historical figures of the United States.

* * * *

For clarification, Jones did meet Marie Antoinette, the Queen of France, several times. I expounded upon their meetings but I did adjust the dates a bit. I apologize to the French people, but I have found them to be such kind and understanding people that I’m sure they will forgive me. Only those that are sticklers for dates will go into a tizzy. So be it.

Here is my compromise of the two.

R.L.S.

Epilogue

There is an element of sheer mischief in history, I believe. You have wicked joy and outrageousness for its own sake. But none of the historians ever mention it; this quality of hide-and-seek. They want the past to be serious; sometimes too serious.

I’m not a learned historian with umpteen letters after my name, but I do crave history and I do admire John Paul Jones. What you read here is real history, the people and the events are true and the facts are reasonably correct. I, as a writer, tried to turn Jones into a living breathing person with senses, feelings, desires, anger, love, and pain; not just a stoic marble statue staring straight through you.

John Paul will become part of you and you will adore him as I have over the years, from the first time I boarded the USS Iwo Jima and a fellow Marine gave me a hardback on the Life of John Paul Jones. It was then that I was hooked on this great patriot.

Although John Paul Jones: Finding the Forgotten Patriot is fiction, many of the elements and incidents of the story are based on actual events from publications that have furnished authentication and facts for the novel. However, there are certain licenses that an author may take to produce a novel.

Chapter 1

The year was 1792 and the month was March. Wolfgang Mozart had finished his final opera, The Magic Flute, and his piano concerto, the Clarinet Concerto. The address was 42 Rue de Tournon, Paris, France and John Paul Jones lived here. It was a street which began at the gate opening upon the building now occupied by the French Senate in the Gardens of the Luxembourg. One hundred plus years later this address would be renumbered 19 Rue de Tournon.

The building was made of stone covered part of the way with ivy and had smoke swirling from the chimney. The enormous two room apartment where Jones lived was on the third level, reached by a wide sturdy pine stairway. His living area consisted of two sections that run the full length of the building and the walls in both rooms are plastered white and the pine floors are stained a deep black color and protected with a glossy resin.

The first room was divided into a small reception area, a dining area, and a study. In the dining area there was a small dining table with five chairs and a sideboard with mirror; there are closets, cupboards and shelves that contain candles, linen towels, dishes and glassware. In the study there was an area set aside for a large writing desk, a bookcase, a storage area for papers and writing materials and a secretary desk for his assistant, Madame Aimee Telison. The second room consisted of a large bedroom with a four-poster bed, a tall armoire and another study area with another small desk and chair.

John Paul awoke in this cool apartment. Throwing off the blanket, he cautiously began to straighten himself out; apparently he had slept without a change in position. There was an ache or two in his back but he ignored them and rose.

Wearing a loose-fitting cotton night-shirt, he rolled his legs over the side of his enormous bed and stuffed his feet into his leather slippers. It was dark in the room and he lit the candle standing on a small table near the bed. Yawning, he shuffled across the room; his shadow making a silhouette on the wall. He opened the large window, breathing the fresh air, feeling its crispness fill his lungs. His eyes scanned the rear yardage and he noticed a dog sprinting across the lawn, the frosted hardened grass crunching under its paws. He smiled, thinking of dog’s vitality.

There is a wooden fence near the building where chickens are kept. They were already outside scratching up the dirt. The old henhouse is off to the right and it tilts a little. It had one door for the hens, a small square with a ramp going down; and another for the owner.

He stood there a moment longer and stared at his landlady’s vegetable garden situated to the far left corner. It is a large garden and the soil is rich there. He suspected that she loved her garden; kneeling in the dirt with both hands deep in the ground, probably thinking about nothing. Certainly not the sea, like he would be.

She dug there with her two daughters and her son; using shovels every spring and fall. It’s almost time to do it now.

Only once or twice in the last couple of years had he actually spent any time with Flora. They had met by chance in the foyer. It was early in the morning. He was about to leave for a trip to Russia and she was leaving to go to the fish market. By mistake he had asked her how she was feeling and this touched off an unbelievable reply.

Sir, she said, her eyes large in her round face, everybody’s got to live their own life. And she looked at him in that way that expressed her belief that he knew what she was talking about.

I suppose, was all he could think of to say.

And we all do, she said. Me and Charles. And my son, of course, and my girls. Everybody. I don’t understand it. And I’ve never claimed to. But I know it’s right and Charles has just got to get used to the idea. Him and me, we don’t agree on lots of things. And never have. Well, that’s all right. But when it comes to this, we have to agree. That’s all there is to it. And that’s the way it should be.

Suddenly she stopped talking. Almost as if she had received a signal from outer space telling her to take a breather.

He hadn’t the foggiest idea what she was ranting about; he only wanted to exit this conversation as quickly as possible.

He nodded slowly and merely said, I see. Well, it’s been…

She cut him off. "No need to worry about these things. No matter what we say, he’s going to do what he thinks he wants to. And nothing nobody else ever says to him will make a difference. Anyway, I’ve got work to do. You have a fine day, monsieur."

Thank you, he replied quickly and hurried out the door.

He continued to stare at the garden patch, thinking that she never used gloves. She weeded everyday unless it rained. She loved her garden and for that reason she produced an abundance of crops: carrots, potatoes, onions, Swiss chard, beans, corn, and more odd-shape squash than he had ever seen. When it’s so hot outside that the air shimmers, she picks beans with both hands at once, not even looking at the vines. Crouched down like she is, he could almost see her, because the bean plants are so big. But, the sunflowers watch her with their huge brown eyes and yellow petals. Yes, she is a master gardener.

He turned and went to a small corner table and poured himself a two finger shot of rum. Now he would wait till the depression passed; for the pain to ease.

Was it old age, he wondered. He didn’t know much about the digestive system, but he had an uncomfortable feeling that his wasn’t quite on course and functioning as it should be.

No one realized that Jones had a case of nephritis; an inflammation of the kidneys also known as Bright’s Disease and jaundice. Jaundice most frequently resulted from liver diseases, including viral infections. Prominent features are the discoloring of the skin and the whites of the eyes with yellow pigment.

Jones’ stomach felt a bit queasy. He dismissed the nauseous feeling and attributed it to the drinking of too much wine the night before.

The sun had just begun to rise and on the fireplace mantel, the old clock with its circular face and arrows ticked loudly. He poured another drink and sipped at it. If there was anything he hated to do, it was to wait. Dawn was the worst time of day for it, too. It always seemed to be the time of day in which he had stood on the quarterdeck of a ship waiting all alone for sun to rise in the east.

Then there was the wind; always the wind. Always, sniffing the wind eagerly. Always, savoring the smell of the wind. Always, searching for the direction of the wind. Was it nor’ east by north or more westerly than that? Always gauging the force of the wind; and estimating the strain on the rigging. Without the wind, his ship-of-war and his crew were nothing more than a floating log bobbing along the vast ocean going absolutely no where; accomplishing absolutely nothing. Even a slight southerly breeze was just enough to send one hundred plus trained pairs of legs racing aloft; a hundred pairs of arms letting loose of the canvas and the ship would pick up speed. She may be creeping along at no more than three or four knots but at least the ship was moving, heeling slightly to the gentle breeze and a welcomed fresh breeze would be sweeping across the faces of the crew. He just missed the wind. He even missed the wind blowing into his face and ruffling his hair over his ears.

With a stab of longing, he continued to remember the sea.

Sometimes when he held his spyglass in one hand there would be a frantic call come bellowing down from the masthead, Sail ho!

The crew would become instantly alert.

Where away? he would ask.

High above on the masthead, a sailor screamed, On the port bow, sir!

The mist was parting and the outline of a ship of the line was emerging from it, less than a half a mile away and on almost the same course as his own ship. Frigate, sir! I think an’ standing straight for us, but she’s right in the eye of the sun, might come the reply.

Yes, a frigate, sir! a midshipman from the top gallant masthead confirmed. Square-rigged and three-masted, sir. She’s right to windward, running down on us, on all sail, sir!

The heavy sound of cannon shot reached his ears, and close on their starboard quarter, a ball threw up a fountain of water as it plunged into the side of a wave just ahead. Another ball tore through the air close by with its usual terrifying noise.

Those aren’t warning shots, he thought.

In that moment the alarm would be given. Beat to quarters! Beat to quarters!

There would be a rush of feet, an instant bustle, the beating of the drum, and another look through the eyepiece to determine the distance of the enemy ship.

The ship was closing fast, getting ready to unload a full broadside.

* * * *

God, he missed the sea and the excitement of sailing aboard a ship! The spine tingling absolute thrill of the engagement; everything about it made him come alive. It had always remained vivid in his memory.

The sea was very special to him. The sea did something to him. It opened him up. He could sit and think about the sea for hours.

It was never the same memory in a row. They were always different and they just flowed on and on so smoothly every time he thought about the sea. Even now he could visualize the breeze being moderate; the waves, sparkling beneath the sun, cresting here and there with a little foam; the Ranger sailing along at perhaps nine or ten knots as the helmsman spun his wheel. On deck under sharp orders of the midshipman, the laboring crew hastily slacking away on the lee sheets and bracing the ship’s canvas.

But he could not reach the sea or the ships now. For the past eight years he hadn’t once set sail aboard any ship. Dejected, he sighed and just by chance he glanced at the marble bust and then stared at it for a moment.

The marble bust of himself, commissioned by King Louise XVI, and sculptured by Jean-Antoine Houdon, sat on a small table in the far corner. He considered it to be the best likeness of him ever made. He remembered having twenty of them made and sending them to his friends in the United States. He had sent one each to George Washington and Thomas Jefferson. Washington was the only person to send him a thank you note.

Despite John Paul’s apparent affluence, he was not doing as well as he might. His isolation from the United States showed in small ways. The draperies were faded and the furniture worn.

Chapter 2

There was a knock at the door and Jones, standing in his long white nightshirt, opened it. It was Charles Luzerne, his landlord and manservant. His services are paid for by Jones.

They exchanged formal good mornings.

Charles looked a little harder at the man who had ordered hot water at six in the morning.

Charles was a short man with a round face, mild green eyes and a habit of tugging at his large white moustache. Jones always thought he had rather a nervous manner for a man that wasn’t much older than fifty-eight. He suspected it was his nature.

Jones saw the steam rising from the large ewer.

"Ere’s your water, Capitane," Charles said as he crossed the room and entered the bedroom carrying the ewer. Once there, he placed it on the wash table and placed two clean towels from the nearby shelf on the side hand rail. He double checked the area to ensure everything was there for his master’s wash. Satisfied, he turned and lit a few more candles in the living room.

Jones watched him.

Without missing a step, he moved quickly next to Jones.

Thank you, Charles, said Jones with a grateful grin.

Charles always tried to limit discussion with his important guest within the ordinary bounds of politeness. This Captain was not a natural talkative sort of fellow anyway. He was a man who seemed content to mind his own business.

He peered toward the bed. "Do you wish me to brush your uniform off this morning, monsieur?"

Maybe later…after breakfast.

He grinned at him. "As you wish. Your breakfast will be ready in thirty minutes. My wife has prepared something special for you this morning, monsieur."

Oh my. She is so kind.

"She likes you. As we all do, Capitane. She likes to make a fuss over important people like you."

There was truth in what Charles had said. His wife did fuss over Jones. He sneezed and she accused him of having slept in the open air by the window in a draught all night. She was always offering him remedies for his ailments. He refused most of her home remedies on the grounds that they might upset his delicate digestive system. Then there are the daily dietary instructions that she insisted he must eat to stay healthy: lots of greens and turnips, cheese, and of course no red meat. Then there was her cardinal rule that he must drink only wine and fresh goat’s milk.

She wouldn’t have it any other way, Charles mumbled on. "How women think, I’ll never understand monsieur."

Jones shrugged his shoulders slightly.

They feel something that we do not, perhaps?

Maybe.

He bowed humbly. "I have said too much. I shall go out in the hall and fetch your coffee now, monsieur."

Before Jones could utter a word, Charles spun around and scooted out the door. A second later he returned with a small tray. He respected Jones’ position and he brought with him the good china. There was the porcelain pitcher with steaming hot black coffee, just the way Jones liked it, a small bowl of sugar, and a fine cup and saucer. Without saying another word, he placed everything that was on the tray in exactly the same spot that he had always done. The Capitane was a man of habit that varied little. He had done this routine for almost two years and if he were asked, he could almost do it blindfolded. Why? Because, the Capitaine was a man that never changed his morning ritual. He made one quick survey of the table and the wash stand to ensure everything was accounted for and in its place.

There now, he said smiling. I believe everything is set. He then switched his attention and asked, "Will there be anything else, monsieur?"

No, I don’t believe so. Thank you so much, Charles.

Jones could smell the strong aroma from the coffee pitcher and he savored it immediately. Pleased, a slight smile fell on his lips as he glanced backward to his left at Charles.

His guest was happy and this made Charles happy. I shall stoke your fire, sir, before I leave. The coals are low.

Jones glanced his way again, but said nothing.

Hot embers were still in the fire box, so Charles added some kindling and two thin logs. The flames fluttered and the fire was built up to a cozy level; enough to take the chill out of the air in the room. The room had a smoky smell, the smell of the ashes in the hearth. He nodded with a grin and left the room quickly.

Jones went about adding two teaspoons of sugar to the cup of coffee. He drank the coffee quickly and felt the hit of caffeine rush to his head. Feeling better with the coffee and the rum in his digestive system, he set about to get himself cleaned up.

Jones pulled off his night-shirt. He had no clothes on his lean raw body. It was an awkward business to wash inch by inch in a wash basin but it was refreshing and he meant to be clean, for this day was special; very special.

With the final pint of hot water he carefully set about to give his face a smooth shave. That shave brought about an improvement in his appearance, although the image from the mirror was very fine, it was a tired look for a man of only forty-five years old.

The face he regarded in the mirror was neither handsome nor ugly, neither old nor young. There was a pair of grey eyes, a good mouth set with all the firmness acquired during thirty odd years at sea. The tousled curly brown hair was just beginning to recede and leave the forehead a little higher still, which sometimes Jones ignored, because he hated the thought of going bald.

He was slender and well built, with long arms. He actually appeared taller than he really was. At 5’ 9 most thought his height to be an even 6’ or even 6’2. All one had to do was to study the way he held his body when he walked to see how easily most people misread his height. He always held his body straight and walked proudly. His stride was even and sure, never gangly or uneven. When he entered a room, he was quite a striking figure.

Hunger pangs reminded him that breakfast would soon be on its way to his room and he would need to be fully dressed. Not in full uniform, but at least partial attire would be appropriate. Smelling clean, he quickly put on a white shirt and secured the numerous buttons. Next, he carefully slid into the white breeches, white silk stockings, and the shoes with shinning buckles.

Chapter 3

There was a knock, only this was a different sounding knock. He went to the door, but didn’t bother to open it. Instead, he leaned over and searched the floor in front of the

Reviews for John Paul Jones

[johndiehl · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The author gave a very interesting and educational story of John Paul Jones. Thank goodness the negative side of the man's character was kept to a mere minimum and the book focused on JPJ as just a man with all his shortcomings, goodness, courage and his contributions to the founding of the USA.

[davidcrawford_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book gave me a great education as it revealed John Paul Jones the real person and Jones the sea warrior who is given to bravery, persistence, all cultivated to make Jones the master tactician and seaman. This is not a glorification of Jones, but an honest portrayal of a complex man. Social climber, war hero, patriot that establishes that Jones deserves the title “Father of the United States Navy”.Midway through the book the author portrays the battle between the Ranger and the HMS Drake. This is soon followed by the tale of the sea battle between the Bon Homme Richard and the HMS Serapis. One could tell that the scenes of these battles were meticulously researched, but written in such a way that the reader didn’t get lost in the details of the naval armaments and maneuvers.Saunders goes deep into the profile of his characters; Jones, Elijah Hull, Lt. Simpson, John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Marie Antoinette, etc., and that’s why this story is an ideal book for the John Paul Jones fan or casual historian, or for anyone who just wants a story of sea battles.

[russbingaman · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This was a great story from the beginning to the end! This book gave a riveting tale of John Paul Jones's life, his bravery on the high seas, captivating battles of frigates, tragedy, and the early death of a great revolutionary figure. Using real events, ie. Ranger vs Drake, Bon Homme Richard vs The Serapis and real characters that John Paul Jones encountered or had sailed with; the author put the story in the tone of the times. The writing style, was so informative and well written that one could almost feel JPJ's disappointments, suffering and elation. Once I started reading it I couldn't put it down.

[michaeldeavers · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

If you enjoy historical books, as I do, I believe you will find Saunders’s account of John Paul Jones a very rewarding read. Mr. Saunders gave a personal history of Jones, from his early days in Scotland and up to his death in Paris. His portrayal of the sea battles between the Ranger and HMS Drake and between the Bon Homme Richard and the HMS Serapis were just super. These accounts were so realistic and informative that I could just see myself aboard those wooden frigates during their violent engagements. So, if enjoy reading a very informative account of John Paul Jones, then check out this book. You won’t regret it.

[rudyjohnson_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Gives a deeper understanding of John Paul Jones. Excellent readThis book has a non-traditional approach on the life of John Paul Jones and the author makes him relevant to our age. As a result, I found Saunders’s methodology to be highly original and it made for an interesting read.This author's approach is new and it worked well by highlighting aspects of Jones’s career and character and the author reviewed them in depth. Saunders explained key events in a creative approach and in doing so, revealed new things about events that I thought I had knew so well.The book is well written and researched and gives the reader a deeper understanding of Jones’s, career, bravery and brilliance. It’s a great read.

[conniejackson · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

If you enjoy Historical Novels this is a Super book!I have always enjoyed historical novels and with this book I love history even more when the author gives me a wonderful, absorbing, story of a great patriot. The author did an excellent job of developing John Paul Jones’s character development, and he also paints a very vivid picture of many of the remaining cast of characters, which made this book very interesting to me, especially the chapters on Marie Antoinette.Saunders’s descriptions of the naval battles between the Ranger and the Drake and the Bon Homme Richard’s battle with the HMS Serapis were superb. I was gladly transformed back in time and my heart was pounding, as John Paul Jones fought to gain victory. The descriptions of each ships armaments and their deployment during the two major sea battles were excellent. It was so clear I could almost visualize myself standing there beside Jones as he barked off another order to his crew. The book is very well written and a great read for those history buffs that enjoy reading about the early days of the United States Navy or someone like me who enjoys historical novels.