You’ve probably heard the name John Paul Jones and immediately thought of the "Father of the American Navy." Or maybe you’re thinking of the bassist from Led Zeppelin. But for the British in the late 1700s, there was only one way to describe him. To them, John Paul Jones is a pirate, plain and simple.
It wasn’t just a casual insult thrown around over gin at a London pub. It was a formal, legal, and deeply bitter designation.
The British government actually refused to acknowledge his commission from the Continental Congress. If they admitted he was a naval officer, they’d have to treat him with the dignity of a prisoner of war if he were caught. By insisting he was a pirate, they could legally hang him from a gibbet.
He was a Scottish-born gardener's son who ended up terrifying the most powerful navy on the planet. He didn't just fight at sea; he brought the war to England’s front door. That kind of audacity doesn't get you a salute from the enemy. It gets you branded a criminal.
Why the British insisted John Paul Jones is a pirate
To understand the "pirate" label, you have to look at the law of the 18th century. International law was messy back then. The United Kingdom didn't recognize the United States as a sovereign nation during the Revolution. In their eyes, the colonies were just a bunch of rebels throwing a massive, violent tantrum.
If the country doesn't exist, its navy doesn't exist.
If the navy doesn't exist, the guy sinking your merchant ships is just a guy with a gun on a boat. That's the textbook definition of piracy.
When Jones took the Ranger and later the Bonhomme Richard into British waters, he wasn't just patrolling. He was raiding. He hit Whitehaven in 1778. He tried to kidnap the Earl of Selkirk. These were "hit and run" tactics that felt more like the Golden Age of Piracy than the gentlemanly naval warfare the British preferred.
Honestly, the British were embarrassed.
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Imagine the most powerful empire on earth getting its tail kicked by a man who had fled his previous life under a cloud of scandal. Before he became an American hero, John Paul (he added the "Jones" later to hide) was involved in two separate incidents involving the death of crew members. One involved a flogging, and the other was a direct killing in self-defense during a mutiny in Tobago. He was a man on the run. To the British, this checkered past was proof. A man who runs from the law in the Caribbean and then starts shooting at His Majesty’s ships? Pirate. Obviously.
The Whitehaven Raid: Terror on the Coast
Whitehaven was where things got personal. In April 1778, Jones sailed into the very harbor where he had once been an apprentice. It was a bold, almost spiteful move. He led a small group of men ashore with the intent to burn the entire town's fleet of merchant vessels.
It was a bit of a comedy of errors, actually.
The men got distracted by a local pub. Some of the lanterns went out. Only one ship really got set on fire. But the psychological damage was massive. For the first time in centuries, an "enemy" had landed on English soil and attacked. The British press went wild. They painted him as a bloodthirsty marauder. This raid solidified the narrative that John Paul Jones is a pirate who didn't care for the rules of war.
The Battle of Flamborough Head and the "Pirate" Flag
The legendary moment of Jones’s career happened off the coast of Yorkshire in 1779. The Bonhomme Richard took on the Serapis. This wasn't some quick skirmish. It was a brutal, bloody, hours-long slog.
The ships were so close they were literally lashed together.
When the British captain, Richard Pearson, asked if Jones was ready to strike his colors (surrender), Jones supposedly yelled back his famous line about not yet beginning to fight. What’s interesting here is what happened after the battle. Jones won, but his ship was sinking. He had to capture the Serapis and sail it to the neutral port of Texel in the Netherlands.
The British Ambassador to the Netherlands, Sir Joseph Yorke, went into a frenzy.
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He demanded the Dutch seize the ships and arrest Jones. His argument? Jones didn't have a recognized national flag. At the time, the Serapis was flying a makeshift version of the Stars and Stripes that Jones’s crew had cobbled together. Yorke argued that because the flag wasn't "official," the ship was a pirate vessel.
The Dutch, being clever and wanting to avoid a fight, actually commissioned a drawing of the flag Jones was flying so they could officially recognize it. This "Serapis Flag" is now a piece of history, but it exists because the British were trying so hard to prove Jones was a common thief.
Life as a "Legal" Pirate
If you look at the letters of marque issued during the Revolution, the line between "privateer" and "pirate" was paper-thin. Privateers were essentially "legal pirates." They had permission from a government to attack enemy shipping for profit.
John Paul Jones, however, was a commissioned officer of the Continental Navy.
That’s a huge distinction.
A pirate works for himself. A privateer works for a cut of the loot. A naval officer works for a cause. Jones was obsessed with his "honor." He hated being called a pirate because it attacked his status as a gentleman and a professional. He spent half his life writing letters to people in power trying to prove he was a legitimate warrior.
Yet, he didn't help his case with his lifestyle. He was flashy. He was arrogant. He loved the spotlight. In Paris, he was treated like a rock star. The ladies loved him, and the French elite thought he was a charming rogue. To the British, this just made him a successful pirate, which was even worse.
Was he actually a pirate? The modern verdict
If we apply 21st-century historical standards, no, he wasn't a pirate. He followed the orders of the Marine Committee. He didn't keep the spoils for himself—well, not more than any other naval officer of the era did through prize money.
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But the label stuck for a reason.
History is written by the winners, but it's also shaped by the losers' grudges. The British "pirate" narrative was a coping mechanism for losing to a smaller, scrappier force. By delegitimizing Jones, they could delegitimize the entire American rebellion.
Interestingly, Jones eventually went to work for Catherine the Great in Russia. Even there, his "pirate" reputation followed him. His rivals in the Russian Navy used his past against him, eventually framing him in a scandal that forced him to leave the country. He died in Paris, largely forgotten for a while, until the U.S. decided they needed a naval hero and dug him up in 1905 to bring him back to Annapolis.
The Real Legacy of the Pirate Label
- Insurance rates skyrocketed: Jones’s "piracy" in British waters caused insurance premiums for merchant ships to jump, putting massive economic pressure on the British government to end the war.
- The birth of the U.S. Navy: His aggressive, "pirate-like" tactics became the DNA of American naval strategy—attack, move fast, and never surrender.
- A cultural icon: The image of the rebel sailor who plays by his own rules started with Jones.
Moving Past the "Pirate" Myth
If you want to understand the real John Paul Jones, you have to look past the British propaganda and the American hagiography. He was a complicated, deeply flawed man who was incredibly good at blowing things up.
To get a better handle on this history, here are a few things you can do:
Read the original letters. The Library of Congress has digitized much of Jones’s correspondence. You can see his frantic, often desperate attempts to secure supplies and recognition. It shows a man who was stressed out, not a carefree swashbuckler.
Visit the crypt at the United States Naval Academy. It’s in Annapolis, Maryland. It’s incredibly ornate—way more fancy than anything a "pirate" would ever get. The contrast between how he died (alone in Paris) and how he is buried (in a marble sarcophagus) tells you everything you need to know about how much the U.S. values his "piratical" spirit.
Study the Serapis Flag. Look at the design—it has blue, red, and white stripes with 13 stars. It’s a weird, beautiful mess that symbolizes the chaotic birth of a nation and the man who forced the world to recognize it, even if they called him a criminal while doing it.
The British were right about one thing: John Paul Jones was dangerous. But they were wrong about the rest. He wasn't out for gold; he was out for glory. And in the end, he got it.