The Pirates Own Book: When Charles Ellms Met Henry Avery

Most of the stories told of our favorite pirates have trouble at the beginning. No one is really sure where the gentleman rover in question came from. What is more certain is the grisly death met by the dread fellow; from Bartholomew Roberts to Jean Laffite, from Francois L’Olonnais to Thomas Tew, spilled blood and guts come before the end of the story. In other it must be said less frequent cases, the pirate in question fades from history never to be seen or heard from again. From Christopher Condent to that fiction about the Laffite brothers, they simply stop being pirates and “blend in”. Henry Avery was among those “lost to history”, but Charles Ellms tells us that was not at all the case.


In The Pirates Own Book, Ellms begins his chapter on Avery with the usual story of the Captain’s exceeding wealth and marriage to the Great Mogul’s daughter thanks to his capture of one of the ruler’s treasure ships. Ellms quickly sets us straight, however, by informing us that Avery was “… actually starving without a shilling” at the time of his death.

Ellms then launches into the usual routine. Avery was born in Devonshire, he tells us, and went to sea in merchant ships at an early age. Avery was mate aboard the vessel of Captain Gibson when, in 1715, he began to foment mutiny among his fellows. He clearly had the itch to go a-pirating and the rest of the crew, according to Ellms, was just as eager. Gibson was fond of the bottle and one night when he was sleeping off a drunk, Avery and his men cut the ship’s cable and headed out from Corunna in the West Indies. When Gibson awoke, Avery informed him that he had taken over the ship. “You must know that I am captain of this ship now, and this is my cabin, therefore you must walk out; I am bound for Madagascar, with a design of making my own fortune, and that of all the brave fellows joined with me.”

Gibson decides against joining Avery, and is set on shore with a small group of like-minded sailors.

Once in the waters around Madagascar, Avery recruits the captains of two armed sloops to join him in his pirating venture. They form a little flotilla and take a galley of the aforementioned Mogul in the Indian Ocean. The ship is bound for Mecca where the Mogul’s daughter is making a pilgrimage, and it is packed to the gunnels with more riches than can reasonably be imagined. As Ellms points out: “It is a well known fact that people of the east travel with great magnificence…”

Avery and his cohorts plunder the ship of all its wealth and the ship limped home to India where the Mogul immediately protested to the British government. “The noise which this made over all Europe,” Ellms says, “gave birth to the rumors that were circulating concerning Avery’s greatness.”

Meanwhile, Avery was duping the two captains of those sloops out of their share of the Mogul’s treasure. Through assurances of his own ship’s superior sailing and fighting power, he led these captains to understand that their booty would be better off aboard him. When they agreed and transferred their wealth, Avery sailed for the West Indies under cover of night, leaving the unfortunate captains behind.

Convincing his men that their wealth would now allow them to live like kings ashore, Avery first considered settling at New Providence. He then moved on to Boston but was concerned that he would not be able to sell the gems of the Great Mogul without raising suspicions. He sailed for Ireland and eventually ended up in Brideford, Devonshire, according to Ellms.

At this point, most historians agree that further information on what became of Avery is unattainable, but Charles begs to differ. In a wonderful plot twist – which the reader has to hope wasn’t true – he has Avery casting about Devonshire trying to sell his cache of diamonds. “When he unbosomed himself to [a speculator] and other pretended friends,” these men, posing as merchants, assured Avery that they could sell his treasure for the highest possible price. Leaving a deposit with former pirate, they took the diamonds and disappeared with no intention of returning. As Ellms so eloquently puts it: “… the merchants thus proving themselves as good pirates on land as [Avery] was at sea.”

The end of this story is poignant in the extreme. Avery sets out for Ireland in search of the con men. Having no luck, he is reduced to walking home to Brideford from Plymouth. “He had been there but a few days, when he fell sick and died; not being worth so much as would buy him a coffin!”

Thus the man once known as Long Ben and “the Arch Pyrate” ended up buried in a paupers’ field in Devonshire. Or so Charles Ellms tells us.

Header: Captain Avery receiving the three chests of Treasure on board his Ship from The Pirates Own Book

Home Ports: Saint Mary's Island

Just north and east of the island of Madagascar is a small group of islets that are perfectly situated. Perfectly, that is, for a pirate looking to score some of the fattest prices in the 18th century world. The islets sit on the edge of the Indian Ocean and just south of the Red Sea and the Gulf of Persia. Using any of them as a port, a clever pirate could take a fat East Indiaman returning to England or Holland one evening and then cruise north the following day to snatch the treasure galley of some Ottoman pasha. All this and home in time for supper. Or so the rumors that circulated in places like the West Indies and the Guinea coast said.

Ile Sainte-Marie is the largest islet of the group in question. As piracy became a target of aggressive persecution by the various European powers in the early 18th century, the men who plied the sweet trade turned their eyes to the wealth of the East and set sail for Africa. They found Sainte-Mary quite to their liking. Not only was it abundant in fruits and game, its native people were friendly – particularly when they found that most of the pirates had not come to enslave them – and the island was surrounded by shallow cays and inlets. These were perfect for hiding from aggressors, evaluating a prize or simply pulling a ship up on her keel and giving her a good careening. It seems, at least on the face of it, a veritable pirate paradise.

This idea caught the imagination of European writers and one in particular, the man who fancied himself Captain Charles Johnson, devoted a good deal of paper to writings on the piratical community he call Libertalia. Johnson, the author of A General History of Pyrates, has come down to us as either an eye witness authority on piracy or a complete crank. It just depends on who is commenting on his work. The idea of Libertalia, which is often reputed to have been based on Ile Sainte-Marie, has caught the imagination of many moderns because of its very modern take on community. Whether or not it actually existed is the point that must be questioned.

Libertalia according to Johnson’s book was the brainchild of a merchant seaman turned pirate named James Misson. In his vision, which was spurred on by his association with a “lewd Priest” from Rome named Giacomo Caraccioli, the Frenchman saw all men as brothers, no organized religion as valid, and slavery as the cruelest of human ills. His pirate utopia was established under a white flag and Libertalia’s motto was “For God and Liberty”. The pirates cruising out of Ile Saint-Marie called themselves Liberi and shared all goods and prizes in common. They routinely set any slaves they came upon free and so their numbers were increased rapidly by the grateful Africans joining up right away. According to Johnson’s description, Libertalia lasted 25 years and welcomed such famous and infamous captains as Thomas Tew, Christopher Condent, Henry Avery and William Kidd. The end of Libertalia is as egalitarian as its founding was revolutionary. Eventually the pirates grew weary of their lives at sea and settled down with the local girls to farm land where “… no hedge bounded any particular man’s property…” and the fruits of their labors were “… carried into the Common Treasury”.

No one would deny that the idea of Libertalia is delightful. Of course, we would all like to imagine the lion lying down with the lamb and beating swords into plowshares. The reality, however, is that Johnson chose unwisely in his fantasy populace. Pirates, though in many ways more democratic than the societies they preyed upon, were also ruthless brigands who were far from altruistic. Slaves were more often than not prizes to be sold, other pirate crews could be a threat to the amount of loot each individual might get, and the last thing these sailors were cut out for was farming. In many cases, getting away from the drudgery of agriculture was why they went to sea in the first place. Then, too, there’s the harsh fact that to take a prize or prizes, some killing will probably have to be done and that seems a poor way to treat a brother.

Ile Sainte-Marie was certainly a pirate base during the heyday of the “pirate round” from approximately 1690 to 1725. There can be no doubt that men like Tew, Edward England, Avery and Kidd at least touched at the island and several shipwrecks dating from the era have been found in the waters around Sainte-Marie. One in particular, sunk in Baie des Forbans not far from the island’s capital, is thought by the explorer Barry Clifford (of Whydah fame) to be Christopher Condent’s Flying Dragon. There is also the old cemetery that overlooks the bay (pictured above) known as le Cimitere des Pirates where modern residents continue to leave offerings for their freebooting ancestors. That seems to me a far more factual legacy than any pirate utopia could ever be.

Tools Of The Trade: The Big Score

Yesterday we spoke of “Long Ben” and his enormous treasure ripped from the Grand Moghul’s ship Ganj-i-Sawai. But Henry Avery was not the only pirate to profit in the extreme from prizes in the Red Sea and Indian Ocean. Here, courtesy of The Wordsworth Dictionary of Pirates, is a surprising list of enormous booty taken by ships from 1690 to 1725 that worked the same round as modern Somali pirates. The new kids only wish they could do so well.

First, Avery himself, whose booty in jewels, gold and silver taken in his 40 gun ship Fancy amounted to approximately 105 million in modern dollars.

Dirk Chivers commanding Soldado and Robert Culliford commanding Mocha took Great Mohammed in the Red Sea in 1698. The total haul was in cash amounting to about $190,000.

John Bowen in Speaker raided what may have been an Indian Pilgrim vessel off Arabia in 1700 and came away with $175,000. In 1703, while working with Thomas Howard in command of Speedy Return, Bowen took two Arabs in the Red Sea for a total prize of $100,000.

Edmund Condent (sometimes called Christopher Condent, although the two pirates may be different people all together) sailing in the Flying Dragon in 1720 brought down an Arab merchant carrying specie, silk, spices and opium to the tune of $200,000.

Also in 1720, the unfortunate Edward England took the East Indiaman Cassandra with his Fancy and Victory, netting about $100,000. The prize was taken not far from the port of Johanna, Madagascar and not long before England’s crew dumped him to beg in the streets of that same port.

Finally, in one of the last great strikes in and around the Indian Ocean, John Taylor in Cassandro in consort with former buccaneer Olivier La Bouche in Victoire took the Portuguese treasure galleon Nostra Senhora de Cabo in 1721. The total prize, including a large chest of diamonds along with other salable goods may have amounted to nearly 100 million dollars.

For those brave, or crazy, enough the money was good. When the Royal, French and later the American navies cracked down and began a system of escorts for merchants in and around India and Arabia, the well dried up. But the prizes are still spoken of, often with awe. Most of us could find a lot to do with our share of a million dollars.

People: The Arch Pyrate

In his own era, late in the 17th century when the buccaneers had faded into memory and the Golden Age of piracy had not yet dawned, Henry Avery was the very model of a lucky pirate. He was written and rumored about; there was even a wildly successful play about him called The Successful Pyrate on stage in London. Then, too, he was never caught or tried. He slipped out of the public eye just as mysteriously as he jumped into it and was not to be heard from again.

Where Henry Avery came from is a mystery. In fact his name may very well have been an alias as he sometimes went by John and Ben and he used the last names Every and Bridgeman as well. In this he is typical of many pirates and privateers. So much confusion has arisen out of aliases used by freebooters that it would make one’s head spin. Avery was almost certainly British and he surely had a background in seafaring but beyond that speaking of his early life would only be speculation.

By 1693 Avery was First Lieutenant aboard an English privateer named Charles or Charles II. Her Captain, Charles Gibson, held a letter of marque from the Spanish to harass the rich French merchants sailing to and from the islands of Martinique and Guadeloupe. At some point, apparently early on in his cruise aboard Charles, Avery decided to turn pirate. He convinced the crew to back him, or perhaps they convinced him to step up to the lead, and a plan was hatched. One night when Gibson was drunk, the trap was sprung. Gibson was killed and Avery became Captain. He renamed the fast privateer of forty guns Fancy and, per his agreement with his crew, charted a course for Africa.

During the last decade of the 17th century Madagascar was a favorite pirate haunt. It offered safe harbors and easy access to the rich Indian treasure ships and East Indiamen that sailed through the Indian Ocean. Avery put in at the port of Johanna, Madagascar some time in 1695 and got right to work. He captured four vessels, one a French privateer who joined in consort with Avery and the other three English merchants. Bold as brass for his first heady success, Avery sent one of his prizes back to London with a letter he instructed the captain to have published. It stated that Avery was the big dog in the Indian Ocean now, that he didn’t want to take English or Dutch merchants but that his men were “…hungry, stout and resolute, and should they exceed my desire I cannot stop myself.” The letter was signed: “As yet an Englishman’s friend, Henry Every.”

Later that same year all thought of small British prizes paled in the face of Avery’s next adventure. Hearing that the Indian Pilgrim fleet, which ferried Muslims from India to Mecca annually and returned home with not only the pilgrims but enormous wealth in payment for silks, teas and other goods previously delivered to the Arab nations, was about to head home Avery pounced. He rounded up all the pirate captains he could and headed up the coast for the Red Sea where he hoped to capture one or more of the grand treasure ships.

Avery’s flotilla almost missed their prize when the Pilgrim fleet slipped past them in the night. Fortunately, a lookout spotted the tail of the fleet as dawn broke and Avery gave chase. A small consort ship, Fath Mohammad, surrendered quickly but one of the huge treasure ships, Ganj-i-Sawai, put up a tenacious fight. And well they should have; the ship belonged to the Grand Moghul and one of its many passengers was the Moghul’s own sister.

Despite the Moghul’s men’s bravery, Avery and his pirates took Ganj-i-Sawai. Angered by their own loss of life and prejudiced against the Indian Muslims, the pirates gave themselves over to horrific savagery. Though Avery himself managed to protect that Indian princess, the other women aboard were used repeatedly for the sexual entertainment of his men and most of the Indian men still alive were slaughtered. Many of the women committed suicide by jumping overboard and several more died when the week long ordeal was over. The pirates stripped the treasure ship of everything aboard, leaving her without sail or mast to limp back to India as best she could.

The total haul was an astounding amount even for pirates used to huge prizes. The Ganj-i-Sawai is estimated to have yielded over 100 million in today’s dollars. Each sailor went away with over $100,000 dollars in their pocket, an unimaginable sum in a time when a laborer might be lucky to make $5.00 for six days of work. Captains and officers probably took an even larger share. Avery’s flotilla disbanded and he took Fancy back to the Caribbean where she pulled into the Bahamas some time in 1696.

By then word had reached Britain’s colonies that Avery’s attack on Ganj-i-Sawai had driven the Grand Moghul to revenge. He had the leaders of the British East India Company chained and tortured and confiscated their lands and goods. Henry Avery was no longer “an Englishman’s friend”; he and his men were now outlaws. The East India Company even posted a 1,000 pound reward for the capture of any man involved in the taking of Ganj-i-Sawai.

Thinking quickly, Avery approached and probably bribed the English Governor for temporary immunity. He sold Fancy and bought a small sloop which he crewed with Fancy’s men. Avery then began calling himself Bridgeman and set about the task of sailing from the Carolinas to Canada, dropping off handfuls of his men as he went. He probably reached Halifax, Nova Scotia some time in 1697 and some historians believe he left his sloop and the roving life behind, booking passage to Ireland.

Where Henry Avery actually went and what became of him is not known. He certainly seems to have given up the pirating life, knowing enough to stop while he was winning. So the “Arch Pyrate” known as “Long Ben” sailed into obscurity and legend with his life and a nice chunk of one of the most impressive pirate treasures in history.

History: The Middle Passage

Growing up in the United States and going to public schools, there were some things that were given as far as your education no matter where you lived. We moved a fair amount when I was young so I know this for fact. Even though math and spelling may have been taught differently in Seattle than they were in L.A., history was largely set in stone. The issue of American enslavement of Africans was particularly unassailable: it was a national sin, almost specific to the U.S. and bred of the infamous Triangle Trade: rum, slaves, molasses. The individual humans packed like boxes into slave ships were passive victims. The slavers were slavering sadists who took every advantage through the middle passage. And that was how it was, children.

I'm not here to apologize for slavery. It is a horror that humans have engaged in since probably before we were technically "human" and it diminishes us all. From Roman gladiatorial exhibitions to the killing fields of sugar cane to modern human trafficking, nothing good ever came out of slavery. But studying pirates and privateers has opened my eyes to the realities of humanity and economy as no amount of discussion in Mr. Peters' 8th grade history class ever could.

Although the initial hauling of humans from Africa to first the West Indies and a bit later the American Colonies was a gold mine for French and English merchants, it quickly became an economic nightmare for those who plied the Triangle. Indentured servitude was the first source of labor on Caribbean sugar plantations and it in itself was a bust. The Europeans dropped like flies due to heat, humidity and local diseases (malaria, yellow fever, etc.) that they had no immunity to. Then too they had by law to be allowed to walk away at the end of their indenture should they survive. Even if you didn't give them the land, money or livestock promised in their initial contract, it was still a loss for you as a plantation owner.

As the Spanish in South America discovered much earlier, Africans were far more able to survive the tropical environments and the hard work. And slavery didn't come with a time limit. By the late 1600s all the sugar plantations in the English West Indies were worked by African slaves. Barbados, as an example, counted upwards of 50,000 slaves in her population by 1680 (the European population at the time hovered around 20,000).

This discrepancy in numbers caused problems for white masters. Slave revolts were far more common than history books like to admit. Of course the most famous in the Caribbean was the San Domingue rebellion that made Haiti an independent nation. But elsewhere, less well known uprisings occurred. Over seventy rebellions have been documented in the British West Indies alone between 1685 and 1835. Some historians speculate that the reason colonies like Jamaica and Barbados did not follow the lead of the Americans and revolt against Britain was their abject need of the British Navy to help them keep their slaves in line and their butts safe.

The Andry plantation rebellion of 1811 occurred in Louisiana, north of New Orleans, and was led by a slave from San Domingue named Charles Deslondes. The slaves marched on the city but were stopped by sailors, army regulars and the city militia under Colonel George Ross. New Orleans was thrown into a panic. The Laffite brothers were blamed for the mini-massacre and the incident hurt their trade in human chattel.

Aboard the slave ships things were even harder for a merchant trying to make a buck. The ships coming from New England were always packed to the gunnels with goods for trade: rum first and foremost but also utensils, bolts of cloth, tallow, guns and gunpowder. These costly and easily sold articles made this type of shipping a prime target for both pirates and privateers. And the freebooters wanted the ships as well. Generally speaking they were well armed and under-manned. The first to keep down slave uprisings aboard ship and the second to make more room for cargo. Henry Avery, Bartholomew Roberts and Sam Bellamy - to name only a very few - made careers of taking slavers on their way to or along the African coast.

Then there was the loss of life that inevitably followed the unsanitary conditions aboard a slave ship. It was not unusual for half of the humans in the hold to be dead or too sick to bring a reasonable price by the time the West Indies were reached. Rebellions aboard ship did occur, particularly early in the passage, and the use of force of arms resulted in more loss of life and revenue. No wonder many merchants took what money they could in the Caribbean and went home without the storied molasses. They never completed the ominous Triangle, and fewer and fewer returned to Africa at all.

By the early 1800s, the importation of slaves to the U.S. was banned. The West Indies and Spanish nations continued the trade, though, so smuggling slaves into the U.S. continued as well. A slaver with relatively healthy cargo became a far more attractive prize. Pirates like Vicente Gambi and William Mitchell excelled at spotting them and bringing them in to Barataria for sale by the Laffites.

The whole history of the Atlantic slave trade is more diverse and more horrifying than our children are ever told in school. Maybe that's for the best but to me the stories as we know them now diminish the individuals involved. The slaves were far from passive victims, the merchants didn't always know what they were getting into and the pirates... Well; maybe they're the biggest stereotype of all.

Header painting: The Slave Ship by Joseph M.W. Turner