# The Story of John Paul Jones/Chapter 7

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CHAPTER VII LAST YEARS
After this wonderful victory, Paul Jones transferred his crew from the sinking “Richard” to the “Serapis,” and sailed triumphantly to Holland. As he landed, great multitudes of people crowded to the wharf to get a glimpse of the American hero, and do him honor. After remaining a little while in Amsterdam, he set sail for France where Benjamin Franklin was waiting to receive him. You may well imagine how the illustrious hero ​of the “Bon Homme Richard” was received by the affectionate and light-hearted French people. The French king, Louis XVI, who had his head chopped off a little later, presented him with a gold-hilted sword, and gave him so many honorable titles and degrees that he could scarcely hold them all. He received no end of flattery and attention. After a while, he thought that he would go to America, so he set sail in a little vessel called the “Ariel,” and arrived in Philadelphia in February, 1781. Of course, he took some prizes on the way back, and he received a welcome home that spread enthusiasm over all the land. The Continental Congress voted a golden medal to the conquerer, and great crowds cheered him, and followed him about.
It was a glorious time for the good colonists, and all were filled with hope and joy. Down in Virginia, Gen. Washington had Lord Cornwallis in a very tight place, and my Lord was beginning to feel that the only way out of it ​was to surrender. The long, hard, bitter struggle was almost ended and the thirteen colonies were soon to take their place among the great nations of the world.
But Paul Jones was not idle. He joined the French fleet that was fighting in the Colonial cause, and battled gallantly for his country’s freedom. And when all was over, when the last bugle had been blown, when the hardy farmers had lain down their arms and had gone back to their homes and fields, when the last British Regular had been packed off home, John Paul Jones asked if there was anything more he could do, for he wanted to fight just as long as there was any excuse for battle.
He lived quietly in the United States for two years. But the old house of his good brother in Virginia he never saw again. It is there that we should like to think of his ending his days—there among the rich vine-clad hills, under the ​quiet Southern sky, amid all the sweet influences of his beautiful country home.
He was born to be a rover, to fight whenever and wherever he could, and to help where help was needed.
He went back to France, and tried to collect some prize money. Then he went to Denmark, and then to Russia, where the Empress received him kindly, and made him a rear admiral in the Russian navy. Russia was then at war, and once again he took his sword in hand, and fought her battles on the Black Sea. But she did not appreciate his services. Her officers were jealous of the great man, and he was dismissed from the service without any explanation or just cause. From there he went to Paris, where he had first listened to the world’s applause, and where he had many friends. Here he lived—going into the public assemblies now and then until his health began to fail. In 1792, the United States sent a ship to France, with a commission to Paul ​Jones to fight the Barbary powers, who were causing trouble for American vessels in the far East. But it was too late, for when the vessel arrived in France, the gallant patriot and fighter was no more.
One day he sent for two notaries, who found him sitting in a great armchair. He told them that he was an American citizen, and wanted to make his will. He dictated it with much effort, for he was very ill, and then the notaries went away. Not long after, the doctor came to make his usual visit. No one was in the armchair. On going into the next room they found him lying face downward on the bed, with his feet resting on the floor. On turning him over, it was found that he was dead.
Two days after his death, the remains of Paul Jones were placed in a leaden coffin, in case the United States should ever claim them, and conducted, as was supposed, to their last resting-place.
He dictated it with much effort; for he was very ill.—Page 60.
​Not long ago, the United States did claim the ashes of her illustrious citizen, and buried them in the country his courage had defended—under the flag his own hand first gave to the skies. After the lapse of more than a century, his remains were recently discovered in a tomb at the French capital. They were brought to the United States in grand state, on one of our large war vessels. How surprised the hero would have been could he have known of the great steel man-of-war that was at last bearing him home. A solemn funeral was held, and the ashes of the restless patriot were placed in the chapel crypt of our Naval Academy at Annapolis.
But his fame lives and increases as time goes on. He fought against fearful odds, and the vessels that he captured were always better than his own. His country, now grown large and powerful, has lately turned to honor him, and future generations will come to think of him ​not only as a brave and good man, but as the most wonderful naval genius that ever fought under the American flag.