Lady Pirates: "She was of a Fierce Temper"

The life of Anne Bonny, famous lady pirate who disappeared into a misty past after living through a sensational trial and giving birth in jail, has been hashed and rehashed. But it never hurts to hear from a contemporary source, no matter how familiar the story. Here, then is Captain Johnson aka Daniel Defoe's short but engaging description of Mistress Bonny from his A General History of the Pyrates:

She was of a fierce and courageous Temper, wherefore, when she lay under Condemnation, several Stories were reported of her much to her Disadvantage, as that she had kill'd an English Servant-Maid once in her Passion with a Case-Knife, while she look'd after her Father's House; but upon further Enquiry, I found this Story to be groundless: It was certain she was so robust, that once, when a young Fellow would have him with her, against her Will, she beat him so, that he lay ill of it a considerable Time.

While she lived with her Father, she was look'd upon as one that would be a good Fortune, wherefore it was thought her Father excepted a good Match for her; but she spoil'd all, for without his Consent, she marries a young Fellow, who belong'd to the Sea, and was not worth a Groat; which provoked her Father to such a Degree, that her turn'd her out of Doors, upon which the young Fellow, who married her, finding himself disappointed in his Expectation, shipped himself and Wife, for the Island of Providence, expecting Employment there.

Here she became acquainted with Rackam the Pyrate, who making Courtship to her, soon found Means of withdrawing her Affections from her Husband, so that she consented to elope from him, and go to Sea with Rackam in Men's Cloaths: She was as good as her Word, and after she had been at Sea some Time, she proved with Child, and beginning to grow big, Rackam landed her on the Island of Cuba; and recommending her there to some Friends of his, they took Care of her, till she was brought to Bed: When she was up and well again, he sent for her to bear him Company.

The King's Proclamation being out, for pardoning of Pyrates, he took the Benefit of it, and surrender'd; afterwards being sent upon the privateer Account, he return'd to his old Trade, as has been already hinted in the Story of Mary Read. In all the Expeditions, Anne Bonny bore him Company, and when any Business was to be done in their Way, no Body was more forward or courageous than she, and particularly when they were taken; she and Mary Read, with one more, were all the Persons that durst keep the Deck, as has been before hinted.

Her Father was known to a great many Gentlemen Planters of Jamaica, who dealt with him, and among whom he had a good Reputation; and some of them, who had been in Carolina, remember'd to have seen her in his House; wherefore they were inclined to shew her Favour, but the Action of leaving her Husband was an ugly Circumstance against her. The Day that Rackam was executed, by special Favour, he was admitted to see her; but all the Comfort she gave him, was, that she was sorry to see him there, but if he had fought like a Man, he need not have been hang'd like a Dog.

She was continued in Prison, to the Time of her lying in, and afterwards reprieved from Time to Time; but what is become of her since, we cannot tell; only this we know, that she was not executed.

Header: Pirates Abroad by Don Maitz

Booty: Arrr! Go to Sleep!

Over at io9, the good folks who keep up with all things new and unique have said it all with the title of their article: "This pirate-themed bedroom set is the greatest thing ever." Seriously; I hardly need to continue.

From the good folks at Beyond Bedding, the above room set is a buccaneer's dream. Literally. Look at the details; there's not only bedding and window dressing but a laundry hamper for all love. Beyond incredible this set may be, but perhaps the best thing is that the items are remarkably affordable. The comforter, which fits a full/queen size bed, and two Jack Rackham flag inspired pillow shams will run you just over $100.

The only thing better would be to fine 'em aboard a prize!

Header: Pirate bedroom from Beyond Bedding via io9 (thanks to original member of the Brethren and awesome mate Dwight for bringing this to my attention)

Lady Pirates: The Intriguers' Accomplice

Today's lady may not have actually been a pirate, but she certainly assisted one of the most famous lady pirates of all time - Anne Bonny - into her infamous career.

Mrs. Anne Fulworth is not much talked of in the literature of pirates. In fact, only two chroniclers of the freebooting profession mention her: Philip Gosse in The Pirate's Who's Who and even more briefly, Captain Johnson aka Daniel Defoe in his A General History of the Pyrates.

It probably goes without saying that we know next to nothing of Mrs. Fulworth's background. She steps onto history's stage in the second decade of the 18th century. It is then, probably around 1715, that she is serving as escort to the very young Anne Bonny who is fleeing her home and family to elope with her seaman beau.

Mrs. Fulworth and Miss Bonny arrive at New Providence where Anne and her new husband, according to Johnson "a pardoned pirate, a likely young fellow and of a sober life," are not destined to grow old together. Young Anne meets the notorious Calico Jack Rackham, sparks fly and Gosse tells us that "when Captain Rackam and Anne Bonny were intriguing to run away from the latter's husband... Mrs. Fulworth offered sympathy and advice to the lovers.

Gosse goes on to say that the "intrigue" of the two lovers did not get past the local authorities:

The scandal being brought to the ears of Governor Woodes Rogers by a pirate called Richard Turnley, he sent for the two ladies, "and examining them both upon it, and finding they could not deny it, he threaten'd, if they proceeded further in it, to commit them both to Prison, and order them to be whipp'd, and that Rackam himself, should be their Executioner."

This little bit of melodrama is probably more apocryphal than true, but it does stand out as a juicy tidbit from the already salacious story of the rich girl turned pirate.

There is a very high likelihood, however, that the shadowy Mrs. Fulworth - if she truly existed - stood by Anne once she made the fateful decision to leave her "likely young fellow" of a husband and bunk in with Calico Jack. Most historians agree that Anne became pregnant by her pirate lover at some point and was left by land during her confinement. The stories of Rackham's small harem of women on the island of Nevis not withstanding, it is more probable that the gravid Anne was left in the capable hands of motherly Mrs. Fulworth. It is certainly not unreasonable to imagine that the same woman served as midwife when Anne's time came, and perhaps even looked after the baby girl born of Anne and Jack's unseemly if passionate union.

What became of Anne Bonny, Mrs. Fulworth and the unnamed babe is one of the greatest mysteries handed down to us by the Golden Age of Piracy. Of course, fiction can fill in the blanks but the real story will probably never be known.

Header: The New Baby by John Rettig via American Gallery

Lady Pirates: A Poor and Pitiless Death

Some time in the first week of April, 1721, Mary Read died in a Jamaica prison.


This infamous pirate, who had become a sensation on both sides of the Pond due to widely circulated broadsheets, stood at the bar with her now equally infamous mates, “Calico” Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny. After sentence was passed and the three pirates were remanded to the gallows, Read and Bonny pulled their trump card. Both claimed to be pregnant. A quick examination proved them right, and the lady pirates were sent back to jail to await the births of their babies. Thereafter, the sentence of death would be carried out.

According to legend and fact, both women cheated the hangman but in very different ways. Charles Johnson, who was probably Daniel Defoe, says in his History of Pyrates that even he cannot say what became of Anne Bonny. She disappeared from prison, alive and hale evidently, and was never heard of again. Mary Read, on the other hand, meets a much less romantic end. Both Johnson and the legal records available show that she died before she could be hanged, of “feaver.”

At this point the mystery of Mary’s death becomes almost as intriguing as that of Anne’s disappearance. Just what type of illness was it that this by all accounts strapping, even masculine female seafarer succumbed to? Some writers say she died before giving birth. Others split hairs – but very important hairs – by either carefully choosing or carelessly confusing their wording. In these instances Mary died either in childbirth or of childbirth.

While separating fact from fiction is impossible at this late date, short of a body to forensically examine, let us evaluate each of the possibilities. From there, opinions and fantasies can fly away into the ether.

First and foremost, Mary’s situation as a prisoner – and a pregnant prisoner at that – must be considered. Not only Johnson but one of those famous broadsheets tells us that it was Read and Bonny who put up the final fight aboard their sloop, William. The men, according to generally accepted accounts, huddled below decks with their captain, either too drunk or too scared to participate. This would have left both women, at the very least, somewhat weakened as they entered the jail in Jamaica that would end up being Mary’s final home.

The conditions in prison, probably needless to say, would not have been in the least savory. In a tropical climate, dank, perpetually warm cells would probably have been the norm. Whether or not prisoners were kept in individual confinement is not clear, but most probably at the time and place prison would have meant crowded, unsanitary rooms where everyone would have been lucky to be away from whatever part of the space people used as a privy. Lice, fleas, ticks and other parasites would have had a field day. The cases of so called gaol fever probably would have been high.

Gaol fever, also sometimes called ship fever because it was virtually endemic on the prison hulks popular with the British Admiralty, was what we know today as typhus. This disease is caused by a bacteria spread by vermin, usually lice, and encouraged by cramped, unsanitary conditions. The first symptoms are generally flu-like with chills, cough and joint pain. A high fever up to 104 degrees ensues causing delirium, light sensitivity, stupor, low blood pressure and finally death. A rash can develop at any time and in severe conditions this can cause gangrene. Gaol fever, then, may be the thing that took the life of both Mary Read and her unborn child.

Perhaps not, however. In some accounts she did live to give birth which even today is no easy task under the best of circumstances. How and where a birth in prison might have been undertaken is not reliably recorded, but it is probably safe to say that privacy was at a premium. The process of giving birth would have been stressful enough, but the added stresses of unsanitary conditions, bad diet and the potential lack of professional assistance – at the time a midwife – would have compounded the situation.

If the birth of Mary’s child, alive or dead, was successful yet more trouble with “feaver” loomed large. Puerperal fever, also known as childbed fever, was a very real problem. As Judith Walzer Leavitt puts it in her book Brought to Bed:

The raw wound of placental separation combined with the trauma of delivery created a ripe environment for the introduction of infected material and its rapid entrance into the blood stream.

Though cases of puerperal fever were surprisingly uncommon in home births during Mary’s era, giving birth in prison would have created a perfect storm of conditions for contracting and quickly dying of this dreaded condition.

Whatever the case, it is a sad end to a story of an unusual and interesting woman. She may have known the famous “short and merry” life of a freebooter, but she died a poor and pitiless death.

Header: Imaginative engraving of Mary Read from Johnson’s History of Pyrates

Seafaring Sunday: End of the Ladies' Man

November 20, 1720: "Calico" Jack Rackham is hanged for piracy in Spanish Towne, Jamaica after a very brief trial.  His lover, Anne Bonny, famously told him "If you had fought like a man, you wouldn't be hangin' like a dog," as he was being taken to the gallows.

Header: Jack Rackham by Peter Copeland from his Pirates & Buccaneers Coloring Book

Women at Sea: Birthing on Wave

Women aboard ships, regardless of the nature of a vessel’s business, were much more common in times past than popular culture would like us to believe. Though many women did dress as men either to join with a husband or lover at sea or simply to go to sea on their own, just as many showed up in skirts and petticoats. Anne Bonny famously walked onto her lover Jack Rackham’s ship in a bright cotton gown complete with corset and panniers.


On navy ships, warrant men in particular – gunners, carpenters, etc. – tended to bring their wives to sea well into the 19th century. This practice ceased only when the influence of Queen Victoria, with her staunch belief that a woman’s place was in the kitchen, reached its zenith.

Many of the cruises of naval ships were years long undertakings and, then as now, where there are men and women procreation cannot be far behind. Accounts of births at sea are numerous in ships logs and men’s memoirs from as early as the 11th century. Alvin the Bard writes of a woman named Avrid giving birth to a healthy baby boy aboard one of William the Conqueror’s ships sailing for England. This is his only mention of Avrid, however; why she was aboard ship is never explained.

In the 18th and 19th centuries, the birth of children was regularly documented, particularly on men-of-war which had large crews and plenty of room. Henry Wadsworth, a midshipman aboard USS Chesapeake, was with her in 1803 during the First Barbary War. The frigate left Algiers in February of that year and, according to Wadsworth’s memoirs, the captain of the foc’sle’s wife gave birth on the 22nd. The baby, a strapping boy, was born in the bosun’s storeroom which would have been relatively warm and dry. Another of Chesapeake’s mids, Melancthon Woolsey, organized a christening party and the baby was named Melancthon Woolsey Low in his honor. Chesapeake, it seems, was full of women and a bit of “Real Housewives” drama accompanied the celebration. Wadsworth tells us that the wives of the carpenter, bosun and Marine corporal were not invited to the christening. Snubbed, they huddled in the corporal’s quarters and got roaring drunk.

The Boston Gazette of October, 1811 has a brief piece about a baby girl born at sea who was left at a foundling hospital with money raised by the crew. Her mother died in childbirth and the baby was cared for by various members of her ship’s people for five months until the reached shore. The little girl’s name was given as Sally Trunnion.

The Royal Navy, much like her U.S. daughter, carried women to sea often. Records of births are just as numerous there as in America. One young man, John Nicol, was aboard HMS Goliath at the Battle of the Nile in 1798 where Nelson achieved a decided victory. David Cordingly, in Women Sailors and Sailors’ Women, notes that Nicol was on a gun crew and after the battle he wrote:

I was much indebted to the gunner’s wife, who gave her husband and me a drink of wine every now and then which lessened out fatigue much. There were some of the women wounded and one woman belonging to Leith died of her wounds, and was buried on a small island in the bay. One woman bore a son in the heat of the action…

On another occasion, again noted by Cordingly, a ship’s surgeon approached his captain with the news that one of the ship’s women had been in labor for twelve hours. The surgeon requested that a broadside be fired so that “… nature would be assisted by the shock.” The broadside was duly fired, and the lady was doubtless much relieved to give birth to a son.

When a committee in Parliament decided to award medals to Royal Navy men who had participated in the Battle of the Glorious First of June, it was Queen Victoria herself that stepped in to clarify the issue. Regardless of their service, no woman’s name would appear on the medal roll. One young sailor was literally listed as “Baby” on the roll, he having been born a few days before the battle. His mother however, and all her sisters who were there as well, are nowhere to be found.

Header: The Glorious First of June by Philippe Jacques de Loutherbourg c 1795

Lady Pirates: Before the Siren's Song

The story of Anne Bonny (or Bonney, or Cormac, or Fulford) is relatively well known to a wide range of historical interests. Students of women’s history use her as an example of the free-thinking, “scandalous” woman who by her very existence proves that not all of our distaff ancestors were crop hoein’, clothes sewin’ baby machines. Students of nautical history point to both her and her shipmate Mary Read as evidence that more cross-dressing women were aboard ships in the great age of sail than most books would have us believe. Students of pirate history just plain love her and, I will admit, frequently overlook how inherently sad her story is in favor of a swashbuckling, sword-wielding female hero with her boobs out. All of this scrutiny has lost who Anne probably really was and some of that, I think, is due to the fact that her “back story” has been misplaced. It is a shame really, because the story has a lot to recommend it.


In 1724 Captain Charles Johnson published the first proper account of female pirates Bonny and Read in his anthology A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pyrates. Johnson, according to many scholars, was a pseudonym for Daniel Defoe who, though not himself a seagoing man, wrote of the sea most capably. Defoe also had a reputation for fact checking in a time when writers rarely bothered to spell the names of their “true life” characters correctly, which brings up a point I feel compelled to make. Whether or not Johnson was Defoe is still and issue for debate and I sometimes wonder if scholars cling to the idea simply so that they can jump to the next obvious conclusion: the stories in Pyrates are reliable because Defoe was reliable.

Regardless of actual author, Pyrates tells us a lot more about Anne Bonny’s family and childhood than any book that came after. According to the book Anne’s father was a lawyer in County Cork, Ireland who lived in comfortable circumstances thanks to the wealth and influence of his lady wife. The details of William Cormac’s personality are missing from the story but one gets the impression that he was a rogue.

Cormac and his wife had no children when they hired a maid named Mary Brennan. Johnson calls her a “handsome young woman” but says nothing of her origins. The girl had suitors calling almost immediately and according to Johnson she attached herself to an apprentice tanner who would visit her frequently. The young man supplemented his income by stealing and one afternoon while Mary was otherwise engaged he “whipped” three silver spoons into his coat pocket.

Mary, who may very well have been given responsibility over a very precious household collection, noticed some of the silver missing. She confronted her boyfriend who denied the theft. She pressed him, even threatening to get the law involved if he did not return the purloined items. Johnson tells us that the tanner relented, though not directly to Mary. Instead, he put the spoons in her bed with the thought that she would find them there. She did not.

Here one must step back and wonder a bit about Mary. She was clever enough to be able to count silver and know when it was missing. Even more to the point, she knew her beau well enough to know that he was the thief and threatened him with reprisal. Yet she obviously continued to sleep with him given that he deposited the stolen goods in her bed and then, as if adding insult to injury, she neglected to find them there. Common sense, as the events that followed will prove, was not one of Mary’s strong suits.

Madam Cormac was away during the affair of the spoons and upon her return Mary reported the theft directly to her. Either word got back to him or Mary confronted the tanner’s apprentice again as he in turn went to Madam Cormac and accused Mary of the theft. Not only did he make the accusation but he told her just where she could find her missing spoons. The lawyer’s wife was incredulous until she entered Mary’s room and found the silver exactly where the tanner said it would be. Madam Cormac, who had clearly read Moliere, then feigned a raging fever and – in a wifely effort to keep her husband from falling ill – told Mary to sleep in the stable while the mistress of the house slept in her servant’s bed.

This is a curious move. Was Madam Cormac trying to find out if the tanner and Mary were in cahoots to rob her blind? Did she imagine Mary would secrete more silver in her bed even as the lady of the house slept there? Had all this bad news really made her ill? Whatever her reason, the lawyer’s wife was about to have far more revealed to her than the name of a petty thief.

William Cormac returned home that evening and evidently asked no questions about his wife. Perhaps he imagined she was still away but whatever his thoughts he went about his evening routine as usual. This routine included sneaking into Mary Brennan’s little room in the middle of the night and calling out softly to the person lying in the bed. Madam Cormac, still awake and alert to any further mischief, recognized her husband’s voice. She did not respond and so, as Johnson tells us, her “… husband came to bed and played the vigorous lover”. His wife, whom he obviously thought was Mary, “… bore it like a Christian.” Although one hates to excuse deception, that last point may explain why William was prowling around the maid’s room in the first place.

When William passed out, Johnson implies due to exhaustion, his wife slipped from her maid’s bed. She returned to the place she had been staying, either her mother’s or her mother-in-law’s house, and called for the Beadle to report Mary Brennan as a thief. Mary landed in jail without further ado.

When William was advised of all these goings on, which may very well have occurred while he snored in Mary’s bed, he became enraged. He managed to get Mary out of prison after some time and then he confronted his wife. To his great surprise, and doubtless in a scene that would have made Moliere laugh out loud, both maid and wife announced they were pregnant. The Cormacs argued, as one might expect, and Madam determined to split permanently from her unfaithful husband. In time she gave birth to twins while Mary gave William a daughter they named Anne.

Of course the problem of his wife’s withdrawal from the marriage was that William was left without a proper income. Madam Cormac did give him an allowance for a time but, when she found that he was living with Mary and her daughter, she cut him off for good. At this point, William seems to have pulled himself up by his bootstraps at long last. He sold his law firm, packed up and took Mary and Anne to the colonial city of Charleston in what would become South Carolina.

Here Cormac prospered as a planter, seemingly finding his niche at last. His happiness was short-lived, however. Mary died, very possibly of the yellow fever that often troubled immigrants from cooler climes, and Anne became an insufferable teenager. While never destined for high society – doubtless the elite class of Charleston knew the story of her family and gossiped about it behind their fans – Cormac hoped that Anne would make a good marriage. Instead, according to Johnson, she beat the first suitor her father offered her bloody then turned around and married ne’er-do-well James Bonny who promised her adventure around the world.

In a sad climax to her family story, William Cormac disowned his beloved daughter, and Anne was faced with the reality of having married a gold digger. Bonny was only interested in Anne for her father’s money after all. He dragged his new bride off to New Providence in the Bahamas, hoping to become a pirate hunter. Instead, Anne fell under the spell of handsome “Calico” Jack Rackham and the rest, as they say, is history.

Anne Bonny probably didn’t give much thought to where she came from as she sailed off a pirating with her lover. All the same, it is clear that her background effected who she became. If Johnson’s story has any truth to it, anyway. Even before the siren’s song of the sea called her to infamy, Anne Bonny was foreshadowing more than a few Americans as a bastard child in a new world who refused to follow her society’s rules.

Header: the classic engraving of Anne Bonny

Pathetic Pirates: The Ladies' Man

Bless John "Calico Jack" Rackham. If you step back and look at the picture that history paints, he's actually a model for the modern mythology of a Golden Age pirate. Reputed to be charming and handsome, he took on a moniker (given, the story goes, because he favored cotton breeches with "strypes") that has come down to us as the quintessential pirate name. There would be no Jack Sparrow were it not for Jack Rackham. Glorious indeed.

But step up to the microscope and the picture turns from rosy to gunmetal gray. Rackham was nothing more than a small time bootlegger who blew his first command and sought comfort in booze and ladies. The ladies in question, Anne Bonny and Mary Read, are probably the only reason that Calico Jack's name is so widely known today. I'm not sure that's the way he would have wanted it.

John Rackham was probably a child of England's colonies in America but where and when he was born is anyone's guess. Most historians say the Carolinas or Jamaica late in the 17th century. His name first appears historically in 1718 when he is serving as quartermaster aboard pirate Charles Vane's sloop. When Rackham accused Vane of cowardice, the crew agreed. They elected Rackham Captain and put Vane in a small boat with a few loyal men before sailing off.

Rackham headed out for Cuba, which he seems to have always favored as a base, and probably managed to lose his sloop when his crew went ashore. Again this is not a verifiable story but one way or another Rackham ended up in New Providence without a ship just as Governor Woodes Rogers was handing out pardons. Rackham took his and may have made a go of an honest life.

Around the same time, Rackham met pretty Anne Bonny and her husband James. The Bonnys were in New Providence seeking their fortune (James, who is so much of a cypher that one wonders if he ever really existed, is alternatively called a sailor or a pirate). Rackham and Bonny appear to have been attracted to each other, but whether this had to do with love or money is open to speculation. Bonny, in full female dress, boarded Rackham's ship in early 1719. Their plan was a return to piracy.

Rackham's success and failures throughout the year are not catalogued but at some point, Mary Read joined his crew disguised as a man. I won't go into the details of that full-blown fiction as you can read it here. Read was found to be a woman, some say through a friendship with Anne, and Rackham's crew seems to have taken it all in stride. Rackham took some smuggling vessels and/or fishing boats off Cuba, and was back in Nassau by the summer of 1720.

For reasons one can only speculate about, Rackham stole the sloop William and sailed out of Nassau harbor with his crew, including the lady pirates, that same summer. Rackham's escapade was ill timed. Governor Rogers was out for blood and he would not tolerate any backsliding by pirates who had taken his pardon. In August of 1720 he issued a proclamation against Rackham that listed "...Anne Fulford, alias Bonny and Mary Read."

Cruising the coast of Jamaica this time, Rackham got himself into hot water with Governor Lawes when he bungled a raid on a sugar plantation or boat builder (there is no definitive documentation other than a mention of "...Rackham, pirate, raid by land"). Lawes sent privateer Captain Johnathan Barnet to bring William and her crew to justice.

On October 22, Barnet found William hove to in Negril Bay. The crew was celebrating the taking of a fishing vessel found to be smuggling a huge cash of rum. By the time Barnet called for Rackham to surrender, everyone aboard William with the exception of her distaff side was drunk. Barnet boarded and got resistance only from Bonny and Read. By the next day William's crew was under arrest. Their trials for piracy began November 16.

Rackham's fate is, by now, old news. Convicted, he was hanged at Deadman's Cay near Port Royal, Jamaica. His body was tared and gibbeted for display and the spot where he died is now called Rackham's Cay. Anne and Mary, of course, went on to plead pregnancy and escape hanging; Mary via death by fever, Anne, it is widely speculated, via the help of her rich father.

Calico Jack Rackham's career as a pirate seems to be a microcosm of what most pirates would have known. Drunken highs upon capturing a small prize, hungry lows on land and nothing to show for it at the end. His charm left us his name and his "stryped" breeches. And of course, his love for the ladies. Considering that we still know that much, maybe it's enough.

History: Democracy In The Golden Age

Ah, the Golden Age of piracy. When every pirate captain looked surprisingly like Johnny Depp, every ship was well and truly in shape, a prize was never taken that wasn't full of gold, silver and those huge pearls from Margarita, and every man jack had a say in how the ship was run.

Wait, what? Exactly. If Triple P hasn't busted those myths by now it's time to call Jamie and Adam. But, setting Hollywood and the guys who paint pictures for the covers of romance novels aside for this morning, there is a grain of truth to at least one of these 20th century cliches. Or is there?

The idea that pirates were the first true democratic society is a subject for debate, even among pirate experts. Angus Konstam, for instance, who has written and/or edited a number of books about pirates, hardly ever mentions the subject. Meanwhile authors like Peter T. Leeson, whose treatise on piracy and economics The Invisible Hook is well worth the read, devote entire chapters to the idea. Your humble hostess falls somewhere between these two extremes. While I feel that, particularly in the Golden Age, there was a level of democracy to pirate society, I don't think it applied everywhere and at all times.

There can be no question that the earliest boucaniers who inhabited Hispaniola were egalitarian. It was a share and share alike society that spilled over into seafaring when these guys left their barbecues behind and started raiding Spanish shipping. But is equality - some might use the term anarchy instead - democracy? Certainly there was a level of democracy exercised by Pierre le Grand when he and his men agreed to take a much larger Spanish merchant in around 1620. But there was nothing democratic about le Grand ordering his surgeon to drill holes in his boat when he caught up with his prize so that the men wouldn't change their minds.

Later on in the same century, Henry Morgan held war councils aboard ship before setting off to plunder cities on the Spanish Main. His captains had a say in where they would next strike, but the average buccaneer was left to his rum punch. He would be told only after the council where his ship would take him. That's more the kind of "democracy" that one could find in Puritan New England at about the same time. Only city fathers had a vote. Men without land, men of color and women regardless of status were out of the mix.

The most famously elected Captain of the Golden Age was Bartholomew Roberts. The entire formality of electing Roberts captain was documented by those present, so we know that men stood up to speak for or against their potential leader. We also know that the issue was then put to a vote and every man and boy aboard gave their yay or nay. Roberts, it turned out, was a good choice. He kept his men in ships and booty and delegated authority skillfully. There were no further votes or reprisals for Roberts until he was killed by the English in a firefight.

On the other hand, some captains of equal fame were not to their crews' liking and were treated appropriately. Both Charles Vane and William Kidd were ditched by their men, Vane was in fact marooned on a deserted island. Edward England was put in at Madagascar by his crew. Benjamin Hornigold was "asked" to leave his ship at Jamaica. Christopher Moody was put in a boat with a few others who were still loyal to him and set adrift. In very rare cases there is documentation of capital punishment for an unsatisfactory captain. Almost to a man these leaders were voted off their wooden island because they were not producing enough booty to keep their men happy. Only a lucky captain would do.

But by it's very nature, seafaring requires more of discipline and less of democracy to make it work. Whether taking a prize or fighting through a storm, every man must be held accountable to his duty. Strong leadership is the only way to effect the kind of snap decision making that will insure success. In a life or death struggle, stopping to debate can get you killed.

And so for every Vane or Hornigold there seems to be at least one pirate captain who never saw a challenge from his men. No buccaneer ever took Henry Morgan or Laurens de Graff to task, at least not face to face. Samuel Bellamy was an unchallenged leader of his crews until the weather sank his Whydah off Cape Cod. "Calico Jack" Rackham, though he seems to have been no better at the task of captaining a pirate ship than Charles Vane, only fell when the British caught up with him. For all his alleged brutality even to his own crew, Edward "Blackbeard" Teach was not just respected by his men but their loyalty to him was almost universal. Fair winds and fat prizes make even a sociopath lovable, at least to freebooters.

The bottom line, to my way of thinking, is that there probably was some semblance of democracy among pirates. Certainly it was used in a checks and balances sort of way to ensure that no officer got too big for his breeches. All the same, it does not seem that the ideal of complete equality with authority only exercised in the most dire situations was ever a day to day reality. Nice though the idea may be.

The Pirates Own Book: "Capable of Enduring Much Exertion and Fatigue"

In our current age, when pirates are pretty much icons for an unfettered way of life that most of us can only dream of, its hard to imagine a time when chick pirates weren't doubly cool. Who can argue with boobs and guns, right? The fact is that being a lady at sea back in the day was pretty shocking stuff. Unless you came from a culture that expected strength and fortitude from its women, like Alwida the Viking or Grainne ni Malley (known to the Elizabethans as Grace O'Malley), the Irish pirate queen, you were a freak and society wanted nothing more of you than to gawk at your swinging corpse.

This attitude is the reason - perhaps the only reason, in fact - that we know anything about Anne Bonny, Mary Read (or Reade) and their pirate Captain "Calico" Jack Rackham. The sensational nature of their trial, the transcripts of which were published in Europe and the American Colonies, cannot be underestimated to this day. They were celebrities, but not in a good way. Think of the last trial of a serial killer that you remember and you'll get the vibe.

It is no wonder that our old friend Charles Ellms picked up the story of Rackham and his lady pirates for his The Pirates' Own Book. The entries could have been a simple act of plagiarism from the 18th century work A General History of Pirates , and to some degree they are. What is interesting about Ellms is, though he virtually shrugs off Rackham and only gives Bonny a paltry two pages (not even so much as a picture for either!), he seems truly enamoured with Mary. He entitles her entry Adventures and Heroism of Mary Read, as if she were above her pirate cronies somehow, and follows through in his prose.

According to both Ellms and Johnson (who wrote General History), Mary was born somewhere in England on an unknown date. Her father passing away before her birth, Mary's mother contrived to get a small stipend from the paternal grandmother by passing Mary off as a boy. Mary continued to cross dress, going into service as a footman and eventually joining the British army where she was shipped off to Flanders.

Mary - and this is always the case in these stories - exceeded expectations in bravery and intelligence and was promoted to a cavalry position. Here she fell in love with her bunk mate and, as Ellms puts it: "The violence of her feelings rendered her negligent in her duty..." Her comrade took note of her behavior, she revealed her sex (a salacious moment in Victorian prose) and then demanded marriage before they could satisfy their lust for one another. This point is missing in Johnson's telling and it shows Ellms' regard for Mary. Deep down inside, she was a good girl.

The lovers leave the service and open an inn but Mary's husband dies and she is left with nothing but debt. She returns to her men's clothes and signs aboard a merchant vessel as a hand. The ship makes the West Indies but is raided by pirates and Mary is forced to join the crew. Again, Mary is inherently good and a victim of circumstance. In fact, she takes a pardon at New Providence but, finding herself desperate for money, is forced back to sea - this time with Jack Rackham.

Ellms goes through the old story of Anne Bonny falling in love with Mary as a man. Here Anne is flaunting her womanhood aboard ship, while Mary modestly maintains her cover of men's clothing. Mary eventually has to reveal herself to Anne to get the lusty wench off her back and Anne feels compelled to reveal Mary to Rackham. Once all the feminine goodies are out on the table, Mary is allowed to pursue an affair with a fellow sailor without any further immodest trouble from Anne or Rackham. What a relief... or is it?

Mary's new beau crosses another seaman and a duel is called for. Though Ellms doesn't come out and say that Mary's boyfriend is at the very least a newbie, Mary is so anxious for his safety that she picks a fight with his rival. She meets the man before her paramour's duel with him, and kills him in a fair fight (as seen in the picture above). That was close!

Soon after, Rackham's ship is overtaken by a British sloop. While the drunken men sleep and/or cower below, only Anne and Mary put up a fight. The pirates are captured and, though both Mary and Anne are given a stay of execution due to their pregnancies, the men are hanged in Jamaica in 1720. Ellms simply says that it is probable that Mary fell sick and died.

The story is mostly fiction. Where Mary Read came from or how she came to a life of piracy is truly any one's guess. More is known of Anne Bonny's early life but the two switch places at the end. Though Anne seems to have made it out of prison alive nothing else is known about her. Mary, on the other hand, did die in a Jamaican prison of "fever". Most historians agree that this was probably puerperal fever engendered by giving birth in a filthy jail.

Ellms is faithful to Mary to the end. "Her conduct," he says "was generally directed by virtuous principles, while, at the same time, she was violent in her attachments." He makes it clear that she was unusual strong for one of her sex, "...capable of enduring much exertion and fatigue..." and this, to me, is particularly poignant when held up next to what we know for truth in the story. She could sail and fight hand to hand and work a cannon, but childbirth killed Mary Read. That's not cool, or heroic. That's tragic.