r firing one gun as a salute to
the new-born nation.

The son of a Scotch gardener of Arbigland, Parish of Kirkbean, the
youthful farmer had emigrated to America, where his brother owned the
large plantation upon which he now resided. He found his kinsman dying
of what was then called lung fever--in our time pneumonia--and, as he
willed him his Virginian possessions, Jones was soon residing upon
"3,000 acres of prime land, on the right bank of the Rappahannock;
1,000 acres cleared and under plough, or grass; with 2,000 acres of
strong, first-growth timber." He had a grist-mill; a mansion;
overseer's houses; negro quarters; stables; tobacco houses; threshing
floors; thirty negroes of all ages; twenty horses and colts; eighty
neat cattle and calves; and many sheep and swine. Thus lived the
future sea-captain; in peace, plenty, and seclusion, at the outbreak
of the American Revolution.

John Paul Jones had gone to sea at the early age of twelve. As a
master's apprentice upon the stout brig _Friendship_, he had sailed
from Scotland to the North American Colonies, the West Indies, and
back again. He had kept to his seaman's life, and--so improved in
knowledge of his profession--that he became second mate; then first
mate; then Captain. At twenty-one he had amassed a fortune of about
one thousand guineas ($5,000) in gold,--then equal, in purchasing
power, to three times this sum. Besides this he had studied French and
Spanish assiduously, so that he could speak the first like a native.
It was to be of great help to the ambitious mariner. And he had plenty
of nerve, as the following incident bears full witness:

Upon one of his many voyages, the crew was reduced, by fever, to five
or six hands. One of them was a huge mulatto named Munro--or
"Mungo"--Maxwell. They became mutinous, and, as Captain Jones was the
only officer who could keep the deck, it was found necessary to subdue
the refractory seaman.

"Will you obey my orders?" cried Jones, picking up a belaying pin.

"You go sit down," cried Maxwell. "I no like you. _Pish!_ I could kill
you with one crack."

John Paul Jones did not answer, but walking towards the big black, he
struck him just one blow with his pin. "Mungo" dropped to the deck and
lay there. He never rose again.

Upon arriving at port, Captain Jones surrendered to the authorities,
and asked for a trial. It was given him.

"Captain Paul," asked the Judge, "are you, in conscience, satisfied
that you