The Pirates Own Book: "A Great Villain"

Charles Vane was one of those who stole away the silver which the Spaniards had fished up from the wrecks of the galleons in the Gulf of Florida, and was at Providence when governor Rodgers arrived there with two men-of-war.


Thus begins the 22nd chapter in Charles Ellms’ The Pirates’ Own Book entitled “The Exploits, Arrest and Execution of Captain Charles Vane”. This particular chapter is surprisingly accurate in its brief retelling of the life a Vane, an Englishman who began his piratical career under Captain Henry Jennings. Jennings is most noted for his 1716 attacks on Spanish wrackers who were pulling up the riches lost when their treasure fleet sunk off the coast of Florida in 1715.

Ellms is usually pretty shy about giving specific dates but he speaks of Vane being at the helm of his own ship by May of 1718. He goes on to note that Vane arrived at New Providence, The Bahamas just as the new Governor was sailing into the bay to put down piracy. Vane, who refused to take the King’s pardon, sailed out to the Caribbean again “… with their piratical colors flying, and fired at one of the men-of-war.” Though in the end Vane would be branded a coward by his own men, he started his pirate career with a defiant lack of reverence for any authority.

Ellms tells us that Vane and his men went out on a prize-taking spree and, as usual, details each prize as if he has a checklist in front of him. In short order, though:

… Vane went to a small island and cleaned; where he shared the booty and spent some time in a riotous manner.

By the end of the summer Vane is leading a small flotilla of prizes that he has given to his various lieutenants to command. Ellms notes that Vane “… always treated his consorts with very little respect…” and his attitude begins to rankle among the men in charge of these ships. The men “…caballed together…” and determined to part with Vane as soon as an opportunity arose. Led by Captain Yeates, the ships did just that and headed for the outer banks south of Charleston in what is now South Carolina. It is here that Yeates petitions for the King’s pardon and in the process appears to inform the Royal Navy of Vane’s favorite hunting grounds.

One Colonel Rhet is dispatched to find Vane and bring him to justice but he was given false information by a merchant ship previously taken by Vane. This was not through any fault of the seaman aboard the merchant but in fact a clever ruse by Vane: he had fed his prisoners incorrect information on purpose. As usual with Ellms, the plot thickens.

Meanwhile, heading in the opposite direction from Rhet, Vane has met up with Blackbeard himself, Edward Teach. Both pirates having had good luck with prizes, they decide to take a break from plundering “… and mutual civilities passed between them for some days.”

Back out at sea in October, Vane’s ship meets a French man-of-war. Though Vane and his First Lieutenant Robert Deal want no part of the Frenchman, quartermaster Jack Rackam and several members of the crew argue otherwise. Though the French Navy ship is avoided, the discussion turns to argument and Rackam accuses Vane of cowardice. A vote is called for and the majority decide with Rackam, who is made captain in Vane’s stead.

Vane and his few remaining followers, including Deal, are given a provisioned sloop and sent off on their own. They head for the Bay of Honduras and have a little luck there, finally deciding to winter at the Island of Barnacho. Setting out in February, Vane’s sloop is hit by a hurricane and wrecked. Ellms tells us that “most” of the men drown but that Vane survived “… reduced to great straits for want of necessaries.”

In fact Vane’s sloop did wreck off Honduras and he and one other man were cast ashore on an unpopulated island where they survived alone for some time. Ellms adds a nice twist to this final stretch in Vane’s career by having a ship captained by an old “acquaintance” of Vane’s put in at the little island for water. Captain Holford immediately recognizes Vane but refuses to rescue him saying:

“Charles, I shan’t trust you aboard my ship unless I carry you as a prisoner, for I shall have you caballing with my men, knocking me on the head, and running away with my ship pirating.”

Vane, of course, wants no part of being taken prisoner and makes a show of outrage at Holford’s accusation. A rather amusing exchange ensues in which Vane asks Holford how he should get off the island and Holford tells him to steal a fishing dory from one of the locals. When Vane says he couldn’t steal a boat Holford replies:

“Do you make it a matter of conscience… to steal a dory, when you have been a common robber and pirate, stealing ships and cargoes, and plundering all mankind that fell in your way? Stay here if you are so squeamish!”

The point is well made but this entire interlude appears, unfortunately, to be a piece of fiction. Needless to say, Holford sails away leaving Vane to argue with his conscience. Another ship soon appears and rescues Vane but the pirate’s luck has run out. Wouldn’t you know that this ship’s captain is a close acquaintance of Captain Holford, and that the two friends’ ships meet, and that the captains get together for a meal, and I’m quite certain you can figure the rest out.

In fact Vane was rescued only to be recognized by one of the rescuing ship’s crew who served on a merchant taken by Vane in the not so distant past. Either way, Vane is brought in to Jamaica, tried and hanged along with his friend and former first mate Deal. Ellms ends this chapter with the thought that:

It is clear from this how little ancient friendship will avail a great villain, when he is deprived of the power that had before supported and rendered him formidable.


Header: Vane arrested by Captain Holford from The Pirates Own Book via Project Guttenberg

People: The Romantic Rover

Samuel Bellamy has come down to general history as the pirate who took a slave ship, lost it in a nor'easter off Cape Cod and drown along with all but two of his men. His story begins and ends there, overshadowed by the tale of treasure hunter Barry Clifford who found the wreck of Bellamy's Whydah and the vast trove of artifacts therein in 1984.

Of course history is easy both to over-simplify and embellish upon. Both things seem to have happened to Black Sam. There is the story as above, and then there is the yarn of the dashing young rover, a virtual bad boy hero from a romance novel, who went off to seek his fortune at any cost for the love of an aristocratic maid.

Sam Bellamy's origins are murky at best. He appears to have been born in the place that spawned so many English seafarers: Devonshire. It's a safe bet that at some point in his youth he signed aboard a merchant bound for the Caribbean and his seafaring days began. While working the islands, Sam learned of the wracking (or wrecking) trade, possibly from his friend and future associate Paul Williams.

The trade involved salvaging sunken ships and the vessels most favored by the wrackers were Spanish treasure ships lost on their way to Havana or Spain. Pearl divers, usually natives from the islands off Venezuela but sometimes Africans who were either free or runaway slaves, were employed to swim down and pick up anything of value - plate, small arms, jewels, coin, etc. The work was hard and dangerous; pirates were not averse to taking the hard earned treasure from wrackers, at gunpoint if need be.

This may or may not have happened in Bellamy's case. Some accounts say that Charles Vane took Bellamy's cargo, turning him pirate in the process. This has a certain logic to it since Vane and Benjamin Hornigold were known to sail together at times. What we do know is that by 1715 Bellamy and his friend Williams were aboard Hornigold's pirate ship.

Hornigold, like Morgan before him, was an English patriot and refused to take British ships. This rankled with some of his crew and they parted company with him, quite civilly in fact. Hornigold sailed off with 26 men and Bellamy was elected Captain of a remaining sloop. He set off in partnership with French pirate Oliver Le Bouche. (As a personal aside, I've heard it suggested that "Le Bouche" was in fact an alias for Beluche and that Oliver was a relative of my own famous ancestor, Renato Beluche. I don't buy it for a minute, but it's a nice story).

Bellamy captured several ships up and down the American coast. At least two were slavers returning from Africa or Jamaica including the brig Sultana, whose command Bellamy turned over to Paul Williams. Aboard Sultana was a young carpenter named Davis. Bellamy had no carpenter and he pressed the man into service. The story goes that Davis was promised his freedom when the next prize was found, but the crew would not allow a good carpenter to leave and so he stayed on.

Bellamy and Le Bouche parted company amicably in early 1717 and shortly thereafter Bellamy came across his greatest score to date. Off the coast of Jamaica he encountered Whydah, an 18 gun merchant and slaver with a compliment of about 45 men. She was headed either for New England or England with a dazzling cargo of gold, ivory, sugar and indigo. She also carried cash from the sale of slaves in the amount of close to 20,000 pounds (well over three million modern American dollars). Her captain, Lawrence Price, packed on all sail and tried to run.

Bellamy and his crew worked three hard days, chasing Whydah in all weather, until they finally overcame her. Impressed with Price's seaworthiness (and doubtless feeling flush with such an enormous prize), Bellamy gave the slaver's captain 20 pounds and Sultana and sent he and most of his crew off on their way.

Now captaining Whydah as his flagship, Bellamy and his flotilla of three other ships hit a storm off the coast of Virginia. They were blown considerably north and Bellamy decided to make for the then relatively unpopulated island of Cape Cod to find safe harbor and careen his vessels. On the way, his took the sloop Mary Anne which was full of Madeira wine. His men settled in to drinking up the prize as they continued northward. It would be the last party they ever enjoyed.

On a late spring evening in 1717, Bellamy's ships were struck by a raging storm. All the ships were lost. Whydah grounded near Wellfleet, was slammed by the surf and capsized with surprising speed. Only two of her men made it to shore: John Julian, a navigator from the original Whydah crew and hapless Davis, Sultana's carpenter.

The few men - nine in all - who staggered up to the beach from the pirate fleet were quickly arrested. All but Davis, who managed to prove he had been forced into service, were hanged in Massachusetts the same year. Until Clifford discovered the Whydah wreck in 1984, locals on Cape Cod would search the beach after storms, picking up coins, silverware and even silver plate that washed up from the wreck. Found out more about the ongoing study of the ship and her cargo here.

And Bellamy's romantic connection? Well, the story goes that young, handsome Sam was taking his prize north for more than just careening. In 1715 he'd left his love, Maria Hallett of Eastham, Massachusetts, to seek his fortune and prove himself worthy of her hand. Her father, a wealthy merchant, would not allow them to marry until Sam could provide for his daughter. Once his ship had come in, so to say, he turned toward Eastham and the promise of marriage. But fate had other plans and lovely Maria died young, probably of a broken heart. Or so they say.

Header picture: coins from the Whydah wreck
Lower right: Taking the Whydah by Don Maitz from his 2006 Pirate Calendar

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.

People: Bahamanian Governor

Woodes Rogers (right in profile to conceal his facial wound) in New Providence with his daughter Sarah (seated) and his son William Whetstone painted by William Hogarth, 1729

As we saw yesterday, Woodes Rogers had a life full of adventure. At the age of around 33, however, he was penniless, separated from his family and probably imagining a trip to debtor's prison. The sea had always been a source of income for Rogers and, as is typical of men born to the waves, he went back to it.

Little is known of how Rogers financed his next project but by 1714 he was captaining a slaver working the trade between Madagascar and British colonies along the Indian Ocean. Doubtless it was dirty work and one source attempts almost apologetically to infer the Rogers was actually pirate hunting and trying to establish an outpost on Madagascar for the British East India Company. Unfortunately the source (The Republic of Pirates by Colin Woodard) isn't clear on where this information came from.

Woodes was back in London by 1715 to find that Queen Anne was dead and King George I was on the throne. George was determined to put down the rampant piracy originating in his colony of New Providence (modern day Nassau) and he had issued an unequivocal order regarding the situation. He would send a permanent governor to New Providence to reform the "nest of infamous rascals" either via Royal pardon or execution. It seems that Woodes had some friends close to the King, or something like that, because he managed to be chosen as Governor of New Providence in 1717.

Rogers formed a company to fund this undertaking (the Crown conveniently offered only nominal backing) and investors threw money in hoping for the kind of profits that had come out Jamaica and Barbados with their sugar cane and rum. When Woodes set sail in April of 1718 he was in command of seven ships laden with soldiers, colonists, supplies including weapons and livestock. The passage took only three months, and Rogers fleet - now reduced to six ships as one was required to turn back due to leakage - cruised into New Providence harbor in July.

Captain Vincent Pearce had preceded Rogers flotilla by five months so the pirates still on New Providence (many, like our old friend Edward Teach, had already left) knew about the King's pardon. Those who stayed, with the exception of Charles Vane who tried to blow up the British with a fire ship which ultimately fizzled, planned to take the pardon and then go back to pirating once Rogers agreed to a cut of their plunder. To Rogers' doubtless surprise, he was greeted (once Vane had escaped) with huzzahs and haloos at New Providence Towne.

Woodes Rogers knew that the pirates' smiles were as black as their hearts and he had no intention of believing their oaths of fealty to King George. As he settled in, the pirates - to their own surprise - found that their new Governor had no intention of taking their bribes, either. What Rogers did next, though, should have astonished them even more. The Governor offered each man, regardless of his rank at sea, a chance to become a landowner. If a man would clear land and build a shelter, he would receive 120 square feet of said land free and clear, no strings attached. Fancy deeds had already been drawn up. The possibility of owning real estate, something none of these men could ever have done in Europe, was only a few axe swings and a lean-to away.

Rogers' intent was not to make pirates landed gentry but to give them a stake in the island. It was a critical issue. Rogers had received word that Vane was planning to put together a flotilla, breech the harbor and take back New Providence. The island's crumbling fortifications needed rebuilding, and only men who had an interest would do such work. When pirate leaders like Benjamin Hornigold and Henry Jennings stepped up and took the offer, many regular man jacks followed suit.

Shrewd and well-spoken, Rogers then dropped the bomb that the Spanish, the hated enemy of so many of the "former" pirates, were planing to attack New Providence. Work on the fortifications began immediately and in earnest. Meanwhile, he approached Hornigold and Jennings to speak privately about the situation with Charles Vane. The two Captains did a deal with their Governor: they would receive letters of marque, making them legal British privateers, and in return they would coincidentally hunt pirates on their cruises.

Neither of the new pirate hunters managed to catch up with Vane (he was later hanged in Jamaica) but they did catch others who had turned back to a life of freebooting. In December, Rogers hanged eight men brought in by Hornigold. These were pirates known to the locals, who heard one of the men say "We've a good governor, but harsh" before he met his end. The general feeling that going back to piracy might be an option seemed to fade. Men went back to work on the fortifications - and on their land - instead.

Spain did make an attempt on New Providence in 1720, but they turned away voluntarily due to problems with France on the Gulf coast. Rogers, however, was now having financial problems. His backers were no longer sending money as his island was not producing the sugar cane they had expected. He sailed to Charleston to plead his case there but only managed to fall ill and then lose a duel. Frantic for money, Rogers returned to England and arrived in June or July of 1721. He was promptly arrested and confined in debtor's prison.

Rogers, probably due to the efforts of his children and his fame as the hero of those South Sea adventures, was finally forgiven his debts and released from prison in 1722. He spent the next three years petitioning the King for redress. Though this was never afforded him, he was granted a pension in 1726 and reappointed Governor of New Providence in 1728.

Woodes Rogers, now in his 48th year or beyond, was no longer the man of action that had once swayed pirates and built fortresses. He tried to squeeze a profit from New Providence by way of farming and seafaring but his attempts at taxation and tariffs were blocked by the island's Assembly, which had been formed in his absence. His health began to fail, perhaps as much out of disappointment as simple illness. He again visited Charleston for a while, trying to find a cure for what ailed him, but nothing seemed to help. Rogers returned to New Providence and retired from public life. He died in July of 1732.

The motto of British New Providence and the Bahamas was "Piracy expelled Commerce restored", very much in honor of the man who did just that. Merchant, privateer, adventurer and Governor, Woodes Rogers was a force to be reckoned with. And certainly a man never to be discounted, no matter how low he might seem to be.

Pathetic Pirates: Voted Off His Own Ship

On this last day of November, I decided to end the month here at Triple P the way it started - with a pathetic pirate. The two men in question plied the sweet trade during the same years and in the same waters so who knows, they may very well have known one another.

Charles Vane, pictured here in a woodcut from Charles Johnson's A General History of Pirates, appeared on the Caribbean scene in 1716. What he was doing prior to that is not documented but it is probably safe to say that, like most men we discuss, he was a lifetime seaman. Vane is first documented sailing with the pirate Henry Jennings. Jennings made his mark plundering the salvage ships that worked the Caribbean in the wracking trade, retrieving treasure lost in shipwrecks. Jennings used Nassau port on New Providence in the Bahamas as his base and when, by the summer of 1718, Vane took control of his own ship he did the same.

Vane was at first successful, taking a few Spanish and French merchants, but his timing was bad. New Providence welcomed an English Governor later in 1718 and his first order of business was to boot the pirates from their den at Nassau. Vane sailed away with an attitude, burning his French prize at anchor and firing on the Governor's ship. He set a course for the Carolinas, the outer banks of which were quickly becoming popular as piratical hideaways.

Off Charleston - probably at Ocracoke Island, Vane and his crew met up with Edward Teach and his fellows. The two pirate captains hit it off, evidently, and after a short but successful cruise together they put in at the island and set to a week long party. There was plenty of wine, women and song, so much so in fact that although the fiesta started in September of 1718, neither crew managed to get back to work until October.

It was over the winter that things started to go sour for Captain Vane. First, he put one of his men - probably a Lieutenant - in charge of a captured prize. The man, whose name was Yeats, almost immediately abandoned Vane for greener pastures, taking the prize and at least some of its cargo with him. Vane then ran afoul of the rest of his crew when he chose to flee a French frigate rather then try and take her as prize. This incident so infuriated his men that they voted him off his own ship, electing "Calico Jack" Rackham as their new Captain. Harsh treatment indeed.

Rackham gave Vane a captured sloop and allowed those who wanted to stay with their former Captain to join him. Vane ended up with fifteen men, including new First Lieutenant Robert Deal. The sloop set course for the Yucatan and by early 1719 Vane and his little crew were plundering small, local boats in the Gulf of Honduras. Deal was given command of a prize sloop in the spring and the two Captains decided to try their luck in the waters around Cuba.

They never made their destination. The ships were separated in a hurricane and Vane's sloop was wrecked off a small, uninhabited island. Only Vane and one other man survived and they spent several months on the island without much in the way of supplies. They were at last rescued by a merchant ship who most probably put in at the island for fresh water. Both men seem to have signed on aboard their rescuer as crew members.

Vane's luck went from bad to worse when a chance meeting with another ship spelled his downfall. The other ship was captained by a former pirate named Holiford who knew Vane personally. Holiford had accepted a pardon from the Governor of New Providence and was now in the business of pirate hunting. When he was invited aboard the merchant he spotted Vane and arrested him. The final blow came when Vane was told that Holiford had previously captured Robert Deal who was executed at Kingston, Jamaica.

Vane was taken to Jamaica as well. Within three months he was tried and hanged in November of 1720. A short career with very little to show for it, except maybe that party. That must have been something!