History: Inquisition of the Galleys

Galley slavery has been a high seas reality since ancient times. Everyone from war captives to convicts and heretics have been used by both navies and pirates as labor to move ships along the water. The lives and futures of these unfortunate men were usually bleak. Though galley sentences might be limited, few survived their ordeal and those who did were either denied release or so broken by their experience that they were left few options for the future.

In Europe, France and Spain were particularly attached to condemning criminals to galley service. Under Philip II of Spain (reigned 1554 to 1598), the policy was taken to the New World under the so called "Inquisition of the Galleys." Major Arthur Griffiths describes Philip's policy in his book In Spanish Prisons:

Philip wished to extend the sway of the Inquisition and planned a naval tribunal to take cognisance of heresy afloat. He created the Inquisition of the Galleys, or, as it was afterwards styled, of the Army and the Navy. In every sea port a commissary general visited the shipping to search for prohibited books and make sure of the orthodoxy of crews and passengers.

Those unfortunate enough to be deemed "unorthodox" would be brought before a local tribunal. Conviction was often a foregone conclusion and the captive would be forced into the "celebration" of an auto de fe; literally "act of faith."

Griffiths goes on to quote the memoir of a Seville goldsmith named Carcel who was swept up by the Inquisition, or so he claimed. In describing his own auto de fe, Carcel speaks of his own punishment:

My offense, I found, was having spoken bitterly of the Inquisition, and having called a crucifix a mere bit of cut ivory. I was therefore declared excommunicated, my goods confiscated by the king, I was banished Spain and condemned to the Havana galleys for five years...

It appears that Carcel survived his ordeal having been able to write his remembrances down. Most of those condemned as Carcel were not so lucky given the miserable conditions and potential violence from war and piratical attack that they faced on a daily basis.

Griffiths finally notes that the Inquisition of the Galleys fell out of favor after Philip II's death. Considered an impediment to "business on the High Seas" it "fell into disuse" and was, by the mid-17th century, given no more than lip service in the New World.

Header: Convicts on a galley's benches; exhibit from the Barcelona Maritime Museum via Wikipedia

Booty: Perfect Bookends

A quick one today as I've lots of business to attend to. I want to share, though.

Behold, these amazing bookends from the good folks over at the ever fabulous Fab dot com. Made by the otherwise mid-century modern folks at Daily General, these sturdy metal bookends are painted an appealing shade of charcoal. The detailed galleon on both brings to mind the days of the buccaneers on the Spanish Main. Just the perfect pieces to hold your General History of Pyrates or perhaps those swashbucklers featuring Errol Flynn.

My thanks to my friend Eric Grant who sent me the link via Twitter. That's what friends are for! (Follow him here.)

Happy Friday, Brethren! We'll spy ye tomorrow for SMS.

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Pin

There aren't a lot of pins at sea, if I'm honest.  Pins and needles, of course, have always been handy for sewing and sailmaking is sewing elevated to fine art.  So a sailmaker would certainly use pins, and happily.  But there are a number of words associated with sailor-speak that begin with p-i-n.

Most lubbers are familiar with a maul, which is essentially a hammer made of heavy iron.  The seagoing variation was known as a pin-maul because it had the familiar flat hammer head on one end of the iron and a pointed spike on the other.  The pin was used to dig things out of wood, such as nails and old tar and oakum when re-caulking was in order.

Pintles, along with braces, are the mechanisms from which a ship's rudder is hung.  The two working in tandem connect the rudder to the ship while still allowing it to swing free and steer the ship.  As Admiral Smyth notes in The Sailor's Word Book:

The braces are secured firmly to the stern-post by jaws, which spread and are bolted on each side.  The pintles are hooks which enter the braces, and the rudder is then wood-locked; a dumb pintle on the heel finally takes the strain off the hinging portions. 

A pin-tail is not only the familiar duck with a long tail and exceptional down, but also the iron pin that connects a gun-carriage to its axle-tree in artillery.

Many small ships begin with the word pin.  A pingle was a boat usually found on the northern coasts of England and Scotland and often used for fishing.  A pink was a form of launch, with a narrow stern.  It was popular as a gunboat in the North Sea up to the mid-19th century.  Pink can also mean to catch a stow-away. 

A pinnace is a small vessel, usually two or three-masted and schooner rigged, that often featured among ship's boats.  In general, it was comparable in shape to a barge, if slightly smaller.  The French used armed pinnaces to patrol their northern coasts during the Napoleonic Wars, but the pinnace's history is much older.  Shakespeare mentions it in Henry V, and it may be from this mention - in connection with Falstaff - that the word pinnace came to mean someone who cared little about most things others find important. 

Pintados is an old word for chintz, particularly the brightly colored cloth that was imported to England from India.  Early in the career of the East India Company, the cloth was very expensive and a prized bit of booty for pirates.

Of course, the most recognizable pin of all - speaking of pirates and movies about them - is the belaying pin.  Again, in the words of the Admiral:

Short cylindrical pieces of wood or iron fixed into the fife-rail and other parts of a vessel, for making fast the running-rigging.

And, I hasten to add, a handy weapon in a pinch for the likes of Errol Flynn.

Header: Breezy by Franklin Dullin Briscoe via American Gallery

People: The Quicksilver Doctor

As today is the anniversary of the birth of Errol Flynn, one of the greatest pirates ever to grace the silver screen, I’d like to tell the tale of a doctor turned privateer turned author: Thomas Dover.


Born in Britain in 1660, Dover attended Caius College, Cambridge to study medicine. According to his own book, The Ancient Physician’s Legacy to His Country, Dover was a good student who found his studies easy and graduated with honors. Dover hung out his shingle in Bristol where he practiced his art on the local sailors. He was fascinated by their tales of high adventure and particularly Spanish gold to the point where he took it into his head to go to sea. In 1708 he made the acquaintance of privateer Woodes Rogers who was soliciting backers for a voyage to the Great South Sea. Since Dover was not lacking for funds, he became Rogers’ primary backer and, despite his lack of seafaring experience, was made lieutenant aboard Rogers’ Duke.

The expedition was eye opening for Dover as Rogers cruised the Atlantic coast of South America, rounded the Horn and came up on the island of Juan Fernandez. It was here, in February of 1709, that the crew discovered that famous marooner, Alexander Selkirk. Dover would himself administer to the man who would become Rogers’ quartermaster and later inspire Daniel Dafoe’s Robinson Crusoe. Not long after this incident, Rogers took a Spanish brig which he renamed Bachelor, putting Dover aboard her as captain. This would not be Dover’s biggest endeavor on the voyage, however.

In April, Rogers reached Guayaquil in the Spanish Provence of Quito. The city was famously sacked but, despite the wealth acquired, many of the crew fell ill with plague. Dover set to work, dosing the men with Peruvian bark and bleeding them profusely. He tells us that he took 100 ounces of blood from half as many men, to “… less their fevers and rid them of the ill humors brought on by a Tropical climate.” Dover was proud to say that most of his patients survived.

Dover turned the Bachelor homeward before Rogers followed. On the way, he took a Spanish ship full of silver which he valued at a million pounds. The good doctor returned to Bristol in 1711, considerably wealthier for his time and investment.

Thomas Dover moved his medical practice to London in 1713, where he wrote his book. In it, he recommended dosing with mercury as a virtual cure-all. The book was popular, running into seven printings, and his advice earned him the moniker “The Quicksilver Doctor”. He also developed a well regarded purge known as Dover’s powder which, according to Philip Gosse in The Pirate’s Who’s Who, was still in use in the mid-1920s.

Dr. Dover died in 1742 and is buried in London. His long life, though not much remembered now, was certainly an eventful one.

Header: Errol Flynn as Dr. Stephen Blood from IMdB

Booty: "... We Must Fight"

In Rafael Sabatini’s archetypal pirate novel Captain Blood, the titular hero sails his ship between two Spanish galleons, guns blazing both larboard and starboard. The scene is nail-biting in the book but the risk pays off; Blood is successful in his fight with the larger, better armed Spanish foe. The scene was translated nicely to the big screen in the 1935 film of the same name, with Errol Flynn as Blood exhorting his crew through the struggle to ultimate victory.


Though Sabatini claimed that physician turned slave turned pirate Peter Blood and his exploits were inspired by Henry Morgan, it bears noting that Blood is a far better sailor than Morgan ever was – or cared to be. As more than one writer has noted, Blood actually resembles none other than Triple P favorite Laurens de Graff. The tall, handsome, Dutchman whose bravery was legendary among the Brethren of the Coast actually did sail his ship between two galleons of the Spanish Armada and came out the better for it. As all good writers know, you can rarely best history with fiction.

Before de Graff and his crew of French, Dutch, British and African pirates met the famed Armada de Barlovento of the New World, Laurens gave a rousing speech to encourage his fellows to action. Some of de Graff’s impromptu words were documented by Alexander Exquemelin and they ring as true today as they did over 300 years ago:

You are too experienced not to understand the peril we are running and too brave to fear it. It is necessary here to be cautious of all yet to risk all, to defend and attack at the same time. Valor, deception, fear and even despair must all be put to use on this occasion; where, if we fall into the hands of our enemies, nothing awaits us but all sorts of infamies, from the most cruel torments to, finally, the end of life. We must escape their barbarity, and to escape, we must fight.

No matter what life throws at you, Brethren, today or any day, remember the words of Laurens de Graff. Be cautious of all yet risk all but above all: fight.

Header: Errol Flynn as Captain Peter Blood c 1935

Booty: Duel!

Sometimes piratical things just fall into my lap, which is why Triple P has Friday Booty. What started out as a way to share hilariously random stuff like this has turned into an experiment in the absurd and wonderful connections between our modern world and the freebooters we love. That said, is everyone ready for dueling?

Yesterday the First Mate sent me a YouTube video from a new ad campaign from Captain Morgan Rum. The ads feature Marisa Miller (whose name is curiously trademarked, just as an aside) as the Captain’s First Mate. In this sequence we find her alone on a beach, her ancient galleon at anchor in the harbor behind her, going through a stack of casks that one has to assume are full of Captain Morgan (the rum; not the dude). To her seeming delight, another pirate shows up no doubt after her booty (the rum; not the… oh never mind) and the cutlasses start flying.

While I’m no expert, I did take fencing in college and my instructor – affectionately known to us as “Mr. P” – would have had a good laugh with that one. So much is wrong with it that it’s impossible to pick a place to start. Don’t get me wrong, I get the point; we’re not watching the fencing, are we?

All the same, and by way of comparison, go to this post to see real fencing in a piratical context. Or, just watch this clip from one of the best movies on swordsmanship ever made, Ridley Scott’s The Duellists. Harvey Kitel, who plays the driven Feroud, learned to fence for the movie in a very short time and is clearly a natural. He also illustrates one of Mr. P’s favorite injunctions to his students: “Get your hair out of your face; it’s another weakness your opponent can manipulate.” Are you listening, Marisa Miller ™?

Booty: Duel In The Sand

It's New Years Eve, of course, and as a special gift to the Brethren I’d like to share my very favorite sword fight from any pirate movie ever made. That’s right! The battle between Basil Rathbone as the evil (and you will note, French) Le Vasseur and Errol Flynn as our hero (British, of course), Stephen Blood in Captain Blood. I love this scene from the much lionized movie for many different reasons but for one in particular: Basil Rathbone.

Yeah, you were expecting me to say ol’ Errol, weren’t you? Don’t get me wrong; I love Mr. Flynn. Rathbone, though, was probably the greatest fencing movie actor of his or arguably any age. Unlike Flynn, who is all muscle and athletic prowess with very little of style mixed in, Rathbone is a study in technical precision. Every thrust and parry, even on those ridiculously dangerous wet rocks in Laguna Beach, is surgery perfect. He’s a vision of Dumas’ D’Artagnon come to life as a pirate villain.

I frequently fall into imagining this sequence as a romanticized retelling of the infamous duel between Laurens de Graff (Flynn) and Nicholas Van Horn (Rathbone) and I even imagine a similar exchange of words as they duke it out on the sand. In fact, Rathbone notoriously gave Flynn lip during the filming of another famous movie wherein they dueled to the death over Olivia de Havilland: The Adventures of Robin Hood. While filming that duel, Flynn chuckled that he “always got the girl.” Rathbone pulled up short, saluted Flynn and said – doubtless in that steely monotone that only Vincent Price could do better – “Yes you do, but I could actually kill you.” And given his fencing skills, and the obvious points in both duels where he backs off and allows Flynn to get the better of him, it is quite clear that Rathbone wasn’t bragging. Or lying.

Best wishes for a happy and safe New Years Eve, Brethren. Enjoy!

(Note: When I went to the YouTube video of the complete duel, embedding was disabled so here, as a poor substitute, is the short AMC doc on the staging of the duel. Pull the movie out tonight as part of your celebration and enjoy the duel in its entirety if your appetite has been wetted. You’ll be glad you did.)

Tools Of The Trade: Sleeping Aboard Us

Ah, the hammock. The lazy summer day lounger that swings in that light if sweltering breeze on the porch, deck or between two sturdy trees in the backyard. Storied hammock enthusiasts include artists like Gauguin, writers like Hemmingway, swashbucklers like Errol Flynn and pirates; Jean Laffite allegedly had a red hammock suspended on the deep porch of his Grande Terre home where he would lie of an afternoon strumming his guitar.

It all sounds very idyllic until you run into the utilitarian thoughts of hammocks at sea. The picture above, via the Life Magazine online archive, gives a standard portrait of what most people imagine to be the sleeping accommodations aboard ship for hundreds if not thousands of years. In this, most people are correct. But some distinctions should be made.

The original seagoing hammock was an invention of the Greeks. Made of netting of natural fibers, usually hemp, the seabed was slung very much like the ones we are accustomed to today with a blanket placed inside for the sailor to rest on. When Columbus "discovered" the New World he also rediscovered the hammock and gave the handy device it's current name. The Carib Natives slept in slings of cotton or palm fiber that kept them up off the buggy ground and made all the available breezes accessible during sleep. They called their beds hamacs, and so our word hammock was born.

The traditional hammock is a piece of canvas six feet long by four feet wide. Note the length in particular; if our ancestors were height challenged, why waste precious below deck space on a six foot hammock? The two ends gather up via the use of clews from which they can be suspended under the deck. Most ships of brigantine size or larger had space known as a berthing deck where the sailors slung their hammocks. In men-of-war the allowance between hammocks was from fourteen to twenty inches. Hammocks were hung in a regimented order that resembled the positions Marines and sailors would take during inspection. Aboard a pirate or privateer, the slinging of hammocks was more about seniority then duty. The guy who had been with the ship the longest got that breezy berth under the hatchway. The boys got the ones under the head.

Hammocks, of course, had to be stowed when not in use. Particularly on smaller ships where space was at a premium, this was the first duty of a sailor upon waking. During battle, hammocks would be rolled, netted, covered with hammock cloths to keep them from getting wet and stowed under the railings as a barricade against pistol and musket fire.

A second, more elaborate kind of hammock was also available. This was less flexible and not as easily stowed, but more comfortable:
As we see hear in a screen grab from the movie Master and Commander (via this delightful website, The Dear Surprise, which I cannot recommend enough), the second model of hammock had a kind of backboard and pillow arrangement that made sitting up comfortably possible. These hammocks were frequently used in sick berths (as shown here, with Mr. Blakney recovering from the surgical removal of his arm) and by officers in sloops and schooners.

A third hanging seabed is rarely discussed and little known, although it was used routinely throughout the great age of sail. This is the cot. Exclusive to officers and in some ships passengers, the cot was a wooden bed frame suspended from the deck above by ropes at its four corners. The usual dimensions were six feet long, one foot deep and three feet wide. If cabins were not available, a cot could be encased on all four sides in curtains of canvas with a flap on one side for access so that the cot resembled a chest. By the 18th century, cots could be custom made for captains who chose to bring their wives, or other ladies of their acquaintance, along on cruises.

Of course, whether tattered hammock or cot made to order, sleeping aboard ship was not a night at the Hilton. Most sailors got no more than four hours at a stretch in their berth and officers during battle or a long chase would see even less than that. I sometimes wonder how men could sleep packed in half an inch apart below decks in the sultry tropics. The answer is probably simple. Either they didn't, or they were so bone tired that they would have slept through anything. With luck, their hammock was relatively comfortable.

Seafaring Sunday: Birth Of A Legend

June 20, 1909: Errol Flynn, the greatest actor ever to swash a buckle, was born in Hobart, Tasmania.

Happy Father's Day, Brethren!

Movies: "The Ruthless Ambitions Of A Man"

1940's The Sea Hawk, a Warner Bros. film directed by Michael Curtiz and staring Errol Flynn as our titular privateer, is not really a movie about a freebooter. In fact it is a propaganda film designed to reference the "Nazi problem" behind a thin veil of England in peril. Americans were uneasy about all the world domination coming out of Germany and the movie was supposed to get them fired up to kick kraut ass even as it entertained. I'll have to ask my Mom if it worked.

Borrowing the title from the seafaring novel by Rafael Sabatini, and nothing else, The Sea Hawk is really just a Hollywood version of some of the exploits of Sir Francis Drake. A lot of liberties are taken - it's Hollywood after all - to the point of naming Flynn's character Geoffrey Thorpe. Why? You're guess is as good as mine.

None of these little nit-picking details detract from the movie at all. Filmed on the heels of that other Errol Flynn pirate movie, Captain Blood (and in fact using some of the footage from same) The Sea Hawk is a feast for the senses and the eyes - even when it comes off as historically inaccurate... or down right corny.

The movie starts out with an ominous scene of King Philip of Spain discussing his plans to conquer the entire world. The visual punch is evident right away as a giant map on the wall is engulfed by the shadow of the evil King. He is sending his minister Don Alvarez (Claude Rains, appropriately untrustworthy) to England to meet with Queen Elizabeth and, as it turns out, a Spanish spy in her court. The Don is taking along his niece, Dona Maria (Brenda Marshall, who comes off rather well in the soft focus lens, though frankly I was missing Olivia de Havilland), to be presented to the Queen and become her lady in waiting. Of course the young Dona has a duenna played by that usual minder of sweet young things Una O'Connor who, with Alan Hale, becomes comic relief.

Alvarez's ship is overtaken by Thorpe in his carrack Albatross (get it - like the Swan or Pelican of Drake... yeah). Of course there's some awesome boarding and sword play that is well staged and in some cases pretty authentic:
Except for those epee blades. Where's your hanger, Thorpe?

I'm not even gonna touch that one. Anyway, the Spanish ship is jam packed with English slave oarsmen. All of these are set free and marched directly past the indignant Dona Maria who looses some of her self-righteousness when she sees what her country and the Inquisition have been up to.

Soon enough Alvarez is protesting Thorpe's indiscretions to Queen Elizabeth herself. She calls her "Sea Hawks" in to be reprimanded and of course Thorpe is late. The Queen (English actress Flora Robson who chews scenery like I imagine the real Liz the First actually did) pretends outrage but then, when she gets Thorpe alone, reveals her disgust with King Philip and the Spanish in general. This allows Thorpe to tell the Queen of his plans to raid the annual mule train of treasure in Panama. Elizabeth is all for it, but advises that she cannot openly fund or condone the mission.

Meanwhile, Alvarez is meeting with Lord Wolfingham, the Queen's advisor and the spy for Spain. (Though Henry Daniell does a fine job in the role, both the first mate and I agreed that Vincent Price would have been a lot more fun to watch.) They're plotting the invasion of the Armada while, under their noses, Dona Maria is falling hard for Geoffrey Thorpe.

Thorpe sails for Panama but the mission has been leaked to Alvarez who hurries off to undo all Thorpe hopes to accomplish. The New World scenes are shot in sepia tone rather than straight black and white, which gives the action in the close, humid jungles of Panama a decidedly sticky and buggy feel. I'm itchy just thinking about it.

Of course Thorpe and his men are ambushed by an overwhelming Spanish force. Remanded to the custody of the Inquisition, the Englishmen who survive - including of course Flynn and Hale - are sentenced to life in a Spanish galley. No amount of chain will hold our hero, however, and the crew of the Albatross manage to escape their inhuman bondage and return to England. (Ladies, just FYI, there's a lot of shirtlessness in these scenes and you should know it ain't 300... not by a long shot.)

Thorpe reports plans for the Armada's strike on England to Queen Elizabeth and then he proceeds to dispatch Lord Wolfingham in an exquisitely well done dueling scene. He is reunited with Dona Maria - who disavows Spain forever. The Queen recalls all her disgraced "Sea Hawks" and gives a rousing speech about honor to country and what can happen when "...the ruthless ambitions of a man threaten to engulf the world". (Philip or Hitler? You decide.)

Despite it's melodrama, The Sea Hawk is a classic film. Even more than Captain Blood, this film allows Flynn to really shine and play to his strengths. Not since Robin Hood had he been this uncompromisingly charming and swashbuckling.

Of course we all know the December holidays are upon us. A pirate lover in your life would doubtless thank you for a copy of The Sea Hawk and if they don't, keep it for yourself. You won't be disappointed.

Tools of the Trade: Is That a Flintlock in Your Pocket or...

I'm kind of a gun nut. Not like Mr. Howard in "Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World" though. (Remember him? The marine Sergeant that shot Dr. Maturin while trying to take down an albatross on the deck of the moving frigate? Yeah, that guy. Never happened in the books, let me tell you.) No, I like the history of the gun and what it has accomplished for (or against) civilization over the course of its 650 plus year genealogy. So it follows that I have a keen interest in what firearms have meant to pirates and privateers.

In the 16th century the flintlock pistol was developed in Europe, making obsolete the matchlock pistol which required clumsy slow match to ignite the black powder and thereby shoot the ball. Flintlocks were used pretty much around the world until the end of the 19th century. Even such massive movers of technology as the Napoleonic and American Civil wars didn't much change the humble flintlock, and with good reason. Though expensive, flintlocks were light, accurate and easy to shoot with one hand. A man could master shooting a flintlock pistol far more quickly than he could master swordsmanship and, in fact, the flintlock became a bone of cultural contention for just that reason, particularly in the New World. Latin men prided themselves on their ability with the sword and looked down on Teutons and Saxons for their insistence on "crude duels" with pistols. The way pistols killed more readily than dueling swords such as epees and rapiers was considered inelegant, and really what is more cultivated than fighting with some guy you just met because he looked at your girlfriend funny?

Flintlocks as a general rule had a range from three to four yards, depending on their length. They were made with either a long (about twelve inches) or short (about nine) smooth-bore barrel. A flintlock weighed in at no more than six pounds and was rarely longer than eighteen inches. This was a weapon not only for men but for women, requiring only a steady hand, a keen eye and a familiarity with the pistol that would allow the shooter to correct for pull.

Pirates and privateers loved the holy living heck out of good flintlocks and a prize that had small arms aboard was a coveted catch. In fact, among pirates in particular, a man who distinguished himself in the taking of a prize might be given first choice of the captured flintlocks as a reward for his fine work. Thankee Cap'n Roberts. I'll name 'er after you!

Obviously, there were issues. The salt air and threat of dampness could destroy an uncared for flintlock. Wet powder was an unfortunately frequent occurrence, too, and the smart sailor kept his piece well oiled and his powder dry by husbanding his own supply. Still good advice if you ask me. Since the flintlock was made ready for use with the same basic principle as preparing a cannon - but without the hindrance of slow match - it was not uncommon for savvy sailors to wait until action was close at hand to load their personal arms. The flint was the key and the best flint, even today, comes from England and Germany. A good flint in a well maintained pistol could last through fifty firings before it would need to be changed. Pretty progressive coming off the fuse technology on the matchlock that had to be replaced and lit before each discharge.

But how to carry your precious sidearm? I'm glad you asked. Of course there was the classic stuff it in your belt and hope it doesn't go off in your pants (more on that in a minute) but pirates tended to be style mavens and sporting a gun was no exception. The simple - and fashion forward - solution was to tie two pistols to either end of a silk ribbon and drape the whole thing around your neck. Think of the possibilities for contrasting colors and textures! I'm gonna go ahead and speculate that the ladies favored this one whenever possible.

Another option, which has a far more Errol Flynn ring to it, was the baldric. This was a wide band of leather that encircled the body, falling from one shoulder to the opposite hip. There was a loop for holding a sword in its sheath at the hip and holsters could be sewn onto the front panel to hold one or more pistols. Some pirates - like Blackbeard - wore two baldrics crossed over their body with pistols on both, making shooting one after another easy. Once the pistol or pistols were spent their butts could be used as cudgels which earned them the moniker "skull crusher". Whatever gets the job done in close combat, Brethren.

Finally, pirates were notorious for wandering around aboard ship or on land with their loaded pistols in what might ironically be called the "safety" position. A flintlock had two positions for the lock-cock which would eventually strike the flint and cause the spark that would fire the weapon. Two notches back on the lock-cock and the pistol was ready to fire. Only one notch back - "half-cocked" - and the pistol was on "safety". You can see where this is going, can't you? Yep. A jostle by your buddy's annoying pet monkey and your piece goes off half-cocked. Then no amount of protestation that "this never happens to me" is going to replace your unfortunate toe. Or the monkey's hand. Or your friend's eye. And that's where we get that expression that always raises a snicker from a middle school social studies class. Always.

So be careful out there Brethren. Prime and cock only when action is imminent. You (and that monkey) will be glad you did!

Movies: "Climb the Mainmast You Monkeys!"

I'm going to go straight out to the end of the mainsail crosstrees and say that "Captain Blood" is the greatest pirate movie ever made. Its only rival to my mind is DeMille's silent version of "The Buccaneer" with Friedrich March as Jean Laffite (although the 1950 version with Yul Brynner in the role is no slouch), but I'm just a tad bias there. Errol Flynn is the definitive swashbuckling hero. He is all handsome poise and manly flair without a single dangling bead or drop of eyeliner to muck up the picture. That man was a stud.

For those of you who have not experienced the sheer popcorn and soda for a nickle delight that is "Captain Blood", I will first of all say shame on you. Go put it in your Netflix queue right now. Seriously, I'll wait.

Back? Good. You'll be glad you did that, trust me. Anyway, I'll give you a brief rundown of the plot just because its kind of silly to do a review without telling you what the movie is about. The plot itself seems a little overdone now. In all honesty though, the joy of "Captain Blood" is not necessarily in its plot, it's in the exuberant, "I dare you to call me a ham" acting of every last one of the people in the film. It's in the wonderful camera work and direction by Mr. Casablanca himself, Michael Curtiz. Most of all, it's in the fun of being able to watch two virtual unknowns turn into stars right before your eyes. How often does that happen these days?

Peter Blood (Errol Flynn) is a physician in England in 1685. The movie makes it clear upfront that Blood has "dropped the sword and picked up the lancet" so we won't be surprised later when he's a fencing master. Oh yeah, and he's also Irish. He's kind of a tall, handsome, agreeable version of Doctor Stephen Maturin from the O'Brian novels, but we'll talk about him another time.

A simmering revolution is going on in the farmlands of the country as the Protestant people are upset with their Catholic king James II for being, well, Catholic. William and Mary are in exile in Holland and the people make their displeasure known by attacking the English army guerrilla style. A local skirmish causes injury to one of the rebels, and the Doctor is summoned to stitch up the wounded man. The army finds the rebels and Blood is accused of treason for giving "harbor, succor or comfort to a rebel". Despite his plea of "Its right innocent I am", guilt by associations gets Peter Blood a death sentence. In the nick of time, somebody figures out that British colonies in the Caribbean need hands to work the fields and so off Blood and his new pals go to life as slaves in Port Royal Jamaica.

Upon landing, the prisoners are subjected to a slave auction. The Governor is there, despite his horrible gout, as are plantation owners Dixon and Bishop (Lionel Atwill). We are informed that Dixon is the worst kind of master from the get go, but Bishop doesn't seem much better. Along for the ride is Arabella Bishop (Olivia de Havilland), the landowner's strong willed and beautiful niece. The usual auction fun ensues and, when Blood is too Spartacus for Bishop, Dixon steps up to buy him. Arabella saves the day. Having her own money, she buys Blood and keeps him from the clutches of Dixon.

The movie got some bad "insider" press before it was released by Warner Bros. for the amount of torture shown on film. The slaves, who would in actuality have been indentured servants, are treated to some grim miseries including flogging and branding. The first branding - done by Dixon to a runaway - is juxtaposed with the Governor whining to his incompetent physicians about his unbearable gout. If you think about it too long, it is pretty nasty and a lot closer to reality than movie goers in 1935 probably wanted to get. I like that though, and I think it probably took some doing for Curtiz to be able to avoid having to edit the thing all to hell.

Through her charm, Arabella manages to get Dr. Blood to treat the Governor and, before you can say "lay off the fat", he can walk again. This scares the pink pants off the two local doctors, who eventually supply Blood with his own ship. He plans to sail off with his fellow slaves and never see Jamaica again. Of course the plot is discovered, more brandings and beatings are implied or witnessed. When it's Peter's turn for a scourging, Spanish raiders show up and plunder the island. Peter and his boys hurry down to the docks only to find that their ship has been burned. No worries! We'll take the Spaniard galleon! And kick Spanish ass while we do! Huzzah!

Doctor Blood is now Captain Blood and he and his crew terrorize the Caribbean. He's notorious now but he is thoughtful about his treatment of prisoners and ladies in particular. Oh, Errol! Anyway, Port Royal is ransomed by the British and Arabella takes a vacation to England. On her way home, in a freaking aircraft carrier with staterooms the size of a generous loft, her ship is taken by the notorious French pirate from Tortuga, Captain Le Vasseur (Basil Rathbone). Rathbone is just as awesome as Flynn here, coming off with the threatening menace of an Edward Teach and the suave, ladies' man air of a Jean Laffite. I'd have a hard time choosing between Le Vasseur and Peter Blood frankly. Needless to say, Arabella doesn't.

Blood rescues his lady love and the two pirates duel over her on a very recognizable beach in Laguna, California. But who cares? The fencing is impeccable and when Le Vasseur is stuck in the gut he crumples to the sand, the waves washing over his dead body without Rathbone so much as flinching. They just don't make 'em like they used to.

William and Mary return to England and take the throne, the big battle at sea, against the French no less, is won and Blood returns triumphant to Jamaica to claim the Governor's mansion and the hand of his saucy lady love Arabella. The End.

The DVD has a ton of special features including discussion about the score, the original novel by Rafael Sabatini and the cast. All in all, its one of the best ways to spend a Saturday night with the family. And I'm sorry Mr. Depp, Errol Flynn is still the best pirate ever. Period.