Paul Jones’s popularity was still further increased by these marks of kingly favor, and he became the fashion with the nobility and the court people. No assembly was complete without him, and “_le brave capitaine_,” as he was called, was surrounded by brilliant men and beautiful women whenever he appeared in society. But what chiefly pleased Paul Jones was the popular regard the masses had for him, and the attentions paid him by the French naval and military men. These, indeed, penetrated his soul. In a very little while the honors alluded to by the king were announced to Paul Jones through the Minister of Marine, M. de Sartine. A magnificent gold-hilted sword, inscribed “_Vindicati Maris Ludovicus XVI Remunerator strenuo vindici_,” was presented him, and the extraordinary honor of the cross of the Order of Military Merit, which had never before been given to any but a Frenchman. This last, however, he could not accept, as an American officer, without the permission of Congress, and therefore the cross was sent, with a most flattering letter to the French minister at Philadelphia, with directions that Congress be asked to allow Paul Jones to accept it—which permission was afterward enthusiastically granted.
The conferring of this last honor made Paul Jones a chevalier of the Order of Military Merit, and he was already the Commodore of the American Navy. But none of these titles were used by him. His cards bore the simple but proud name of “_Paul Jones_.” He needed not titles or distinctions; and, although he appreciated them, he knew that they could not confer any title upon him that would add one iota to his reputation.
The American commissioners were so poorly provided with money that they could never secure Paul Jones a ship worthy of him, and the best they could do was to get the Ariel, a French sloop of war. But Richard Dale and Henry Lunt, together with nearly all the officers and men of the Bon Homme Richard, were available for the Ariel, so that Paul Jones had the same splendid company that had served under him in his last glorious cruise.
A singular fatality seemed to attend all of Paul Jones’s departures from port. He could never get the ship he wanted, or one worthy of him; nor could he ever leave when he wished. Contrary winds detained him in the roads of Groix for several weeks. When the wind finally changed, on the morning of the 8th of October, there was every indication of squally weather.