Scarborough Fair - Chris Scott Wilson [13]
What did the French have against John Paul Jones? He was a fine captain with an impeccable record. Entering the merchant marine at thirteen during wartime he had not lacked courage even as a boy. Working his way up to mate, his chance had come at the age of twenty-one. Traveling home to England as a passenger from America on the brig John, he had stepped willingly into the breach to take command when the master and first mate both died of fever. Nobody else on board was a competent navigator. On docking in Kirkcudbright in Scotland, not far from his hometown, the owners had appointed him captain, sailing the trade routes to the West Indies. Four years later he was master of Betsy, a large square-rigger which also traded in the Indies.
It was also to his credit that as soon as Congress had aired an inclination to seek independence from mother England, Jones had volunteered for America’s non-existent navy. He had gained an appointment as first lieutenant when the Navy was formed and posted to Alfred, a 22-gun frigate where one of his duties was to command the lower gun deck. Only a short year later as the navy acquired more vessels he had been given the temporary rank of captain, commanding the sloop Providence. Quickly amassing an impressive record of engagements and victories, he had proved his worth. Although in Franklin’s opinion, nepotism in Congress had robbed Jones of his rightful seniority on the captains’ list. That situation had been rectified the following year when they had given him the newly built Ranger. And everybody who mattered in France knew what he had accomplished in that ship.
That was what Franklin found so irritating. The French knew all about Jones’s exploits and yet Sartine and de Chaumont were trying to force deals in which the major stipulation was Jones should cease to use France as a base. More clearly they wanted him an ocean away, back in America. Somebody needed something badly if they were prepared to lose a man who might make all the difference in the war at sea. And without doubt, whether they could see it or not, ocean supremacy was a major factor in gaining victory. If that could be engineered, then anything was possible. America could become an important power in its own right. Franklin knew all too well that Jones had collected a few enemies. It was often the case with naval captains who were a law unto themselves at sea, literally masters of all they surveyed, to the point of life and death over their crews. That sort of training, unfortunately, did not lend itself to the more subtle approaches required in politics.
Franklin sighed as he picked up the resume of Jones’s career once again to study it. Damned Frenchmen. Why should he lose the best opportunity America had of striking hard against the English?
Somebody knocked at the door. Franklin continued to scan the sheet then dropped it and instead stared blindly out of the window, lost in thought. When the knocking began again, he blinked, remembering he had dismissed his secretary for the day. “Enter!” he called.
“Good afternoon, sir,” the quiet voice without any trace of accent said behind him.
He turned to look up. “Ah, Captain Jones.” He extended a hand, too tired to rise from the chair. After the handshake he gestured vaguely. “Find yourself a chair.” With a glance at the window he raised his eyebrows. “And not such a good afternoon after all. Winter is almost upon us.”
“I count each and every day,” Jones said dryly.
“How long is it now?”
“Almost five months, sir.”
“It appears you give offence.”
“Not to you, I hope, sir.”
Franklin waved a dismissive hand. “Of course not, but you are somewhat persistent. I meant you have managed to fall foul of the two Frenchmen best qualified to help you secure a ship. I do not know what you have done, but I do know many find de Chaumont’s wife very personable. A man of my age and commitments does not notice these things, but…” his voice trailed away in speculation.
Paul Jones waited for Franklin’s customary chuckle, but