History: Instructions for Privateers

On May 2nd of 1780 the Continental Congress of the fledgling U.S.A. did something that hadn't been done by what they would have termed a "civilized nation" for close to 400 years: they issued instructions to the captains and commanders of private armed vessels carrying Continental letters of marque. This essential act of congress would be referred to in evaluating the conduct of U.S. privateers until the Civil War with only one small amendment in 1781.

The document, which you can view in high resolution at the Library of Congress website, is thoughtful and specific. There is very little "wiggle room", so to say, as there would be in a straight letter of mark - for instance this one issued during the War of 1812. The instructions include guidelines for the taking of enemy ships (only Britain is mentioned here), the treatment of persons aboard those ships, the libeling of ship and cargo and other issues of conduct.

Of particular interest here is the treatment of passengers aboard captured ships. From Article VI:

If you, or any of your officers or crew, shall, in cold blood, kill or maim, or by torture or otherwise, cruelly, inhumanly, and contrary to common usage and the practice of civilized nations in war, treat any person or persons surprized in the ship or vessel you shall take, the offender shall be severely punished.

That's a key factor that should, in theory, separate a privateer from a pirate. Aside from the proper legal libel of any captured vessel and it's cargo, the mistreatment of so called prisoners marked the rogue vs. the gentleman sailor.

The amendment of 1781 changed the following piece of Article I which excepted the capture of:

...ships or vessels, along with their cargoes, belonging to any inhabitant or inhabitants of Bermuda...

At the time the U.S. held, albeit very shakily, the capital of Bermuda, New Providence, and probably had aspirations of including the islands as a future state. Also excepted:

... such other ships or vessels bringing persons with intent to settle and reside withing the United States...

New people were a welcome commodity for the new nation. Despite this, the commanders are instructed to search these vessels and, should the man in command prove hesitant or false in his description of his ship's intent, seizure is implied to be permissible.

All in all the document, which is handsomely preserved, is a commendable attempt at keeping U.S. privateers from slipping into the habits of piracy. Over all, it seems to have had the intended effect.

Header: USS Revenge via Wikipedia ~ she is flying the famous "Don't Tread on Me" flag favored by U.S. privateers during the Revolution

Booty: Documents Fit for a Pirate

So you've a pirate or privateer in the family (lucky you) and you're looking for just the right gift to put a smile on their face this holiday season. Clearly you enjoy seeing that golden tooth of theirs gleam. Well look no further, mates because Pirate Documents has absolutely everything you could want - and more.

Need an authentic letter of marque? They've got that. From the very early days of anti-piracy legislation in the 15th century to the Civil War, PD covers it all. An example of the handsome document purchased for me by the First Mate is featured above; it's probably very similar to the one acquired by my dear Uncle Renato for his schooner Spy.

Looking for ship's articles from the Golden Age of Piracy? You'll find that, too. Or how about maritime quotes? What says serious seafaring quite like having a quote from William Bligh hanging in your cabin?

But don't stop there. For the more quirky folks on your gift giving list you might consider a marriage license circa 1800, a vampire hunting commission, a pact with the devil from 1633 or - my new personal favorite, the Code Duello of 1777 which was generally recognized in Britain and the U.S. That's good stuff.

Click over and roam around Pirate Documents' wonderful site. I can personally vouchsafe the quality of the items they offer. Enjoy, and happy Friday!

Header: United States Letter of Marque c 1812 via Pirate Documents

Lady Pirates: The Vengeful Privateer

It was probably fine weather on the Bay of Bicay when, some time around 1400, a merchant ship from Coventry was making her way toward Bordeaux laden with goods for trade. Her cargo may have been largely wool, but just like the weather that, at this late date day, is pure speculation. At some point close to her destination, the little cog was overrun by a band of Spanish pirates. The freebooters, who sailed from the port of Santander, were the bane of the Cinque Ports league in England. They took the merchant vessel's entire cargo, which was later valued at 800 "lambs of gold", disabled the cog and left the crew to fend for themselves.

The merchant managed to limp back to Coventry, although the seamen aboard were the worse for wear upon return. It doubtless fell to the master to explain what had happened to the owner of the ship. Once the story was out there was no question in the mind of that owner as to was she had to do.

Margery Russell was the recently widowed wife of a prominent member of the Cinque Ports league. Upon John Russell's death, Margery became the owner of a small flotilla of merchant cogs and, together with her sons, she ran the family business just as efficiently as her departed husband had. The pirates of Santander were a known risk in Margery's line of business but, judging from the small amount of information we have about her trade, it was not one that the Russells had run into before. Margery, much like her later counterpart and fellow merchant Agnes Cowtie, was not about to stand by and put up with the ransacking of her ships. So she decided to turn the tables on her enemy, and go out freebooting herself.

Margery marched into court and asked for a letter of marque and reprisal from the King. Letters of marque appear to have been first introduced in England over a century earlier by Henry III, so it is not surprising to find an English ship owner requesting one, even in 1400. The surprise, of course, lies in the gender of that owner. It probably shouldn't, however. Modern views of history, at least in the West, are unfortunately filtered through a Victorian lens. Women often worked along side their husbands, and inherited the businesses when those husbands died, to one degree or another right up until the early 19th century. Margery Russell does not appear to have been the only one among her female contemporaries to hold legitimate letters of marque.

Sending her ships out in search of plunder rather than trade, Margery made a tidy profit taking and plundering Spanish ships from all known ports. Rumor has it that her men may have raided a French ship or two along the way, but who was counting after all? The Spanish government complained vehemently when more Cinque Ports merchants followed Margery into the privateering trade. One can only imagine that the English government, in this era before established navies, only shrugged its collective shoulders and then continued to hand out letters of marque.

It is doubtful that Margery Russell ever sailed out to capture her enemy's ships. What is not in doubt, however, is that she ruled over a small fleet of privateers just as surely as that Frenchman in America, Jean Laffite, would later do.

Header: The Moneylender and His Wife by Quentin Matsys c 15th c via Wikimedia

People: Captain Jonnia and Lieutenant Bolivar

Today's individuals are mentioned not only by Philip Gosse in The Pirate's Who's Who but also by our old friend Charles Ellms in The Pirate's Own Book. It is probably safe to say that they were real individuals who sailed together in the vast Caribbean sea, but how much their brief life stories have been altered for the sake of entertainment is up for speculation.

Jonnia and Bolivar (or Bolidar according to Ellms) were in that last wave of piracy that sprang up out of the revolutions in Central and South America. When nations like Argentina, Chile and particularly Simon Bolivar's Grand Columbia discontinued their habit of doling out letters of marque against the Spanish, many a man turned from privateer to pirate. While that cannot be said to be the absolute case with our current subjects, their years of operation - 1821 in particular - hint at such goings on.

Gosse tells us that Jonnia, a Spaniard by birth, commanded a "fast schooner in 1821." He carried a crew of 40 men and for a small ship he appears to have been armed to the teeth. A curious aside in the short paragraph that Gosse allows for Jonnia notes that the schooner "had three Mexican negresses" aboard. Whether or not the ladies were wives or paramours of crewmen or were actually a-pirating themselves is not discussed. What a wonderful piece of historical fiction could be made of their possible adventures, however.

Jonnia's schooner took a Boston merchant, Exertion, on December 17, 1821. Gosse notes that the crew was "considerably drunk at the time" and plundered the merchant with reckless abandon:

The pirates took everything from their prisoners, even their clothes, but as a parting gift sent the captain a copy of the "Family Prayer Book" by the Rev. Mr. Brooks. The prisoners were marooned on a small mangrove quay, but they eventually escaped.

This torturous disposal of the prisoners - imagine being marooned naked on a sun baked, mosquito infested salt water quay - seems to have fallen to Lieutenant Bolivar, whom Gosse describes in particular and amusing detail as:

... a stout, well-built man of swarthy complexion and keen, ferocious eyes, huge black whiskers and beard, and a tremendously loud voice.

Jonnia and his crew took the booty they had carried away from Exertion to Principe, Cuba, doubtless to sell and/or trade. Their next cruise was not so felicitous, however, as Gosse ends the entry: "Jonnia and some of his crew were afterwards captured by an English ship and taken to Kingston, Jamaica, and there hanged." Whether or not the jovial Lieutenant Bolivar was in that batch, Gosse does not say.

Header: Pirates by Howard Pyle via Wikimedia

History: The Crafty Spy

With the celebratory goings on over the bicentennial of the War of 1812 here in the U.S., I’m feeling the itch to get back to my roots and talk a little bit about the contributions made by a certain pirate ancestor.  Since the war was initially about insults at sea and fought on wave to a large degree, it only makes sense that Renato Beluche would want to get in on the action, so to say.

Beluche, who was at the time of his birth the oldest son of “Big” Rene and Rose Laporte Beluche, took to the sea at an early age.  His father died sometime after Renato’s eighth birthday leaving a pregnant wife and a mound of debts.  The young man went where he could get work, down to the docks, and by the age of 16 owned and captained his own vessel.  By the time the U.S. declared war on Great Britain in June of 1812, Beluche was a seasoned privateer and a lieutenant in Bolivar’s Cartagenan navy.

Probably close to half of the ships that cruised under an American flag during the war were privately owned and holding a letter of marque from the U.S. government.  According to Dr. Jane Lucas de Grummond, who published the definitive biography on Renato Beluche in 1983, six of those commissions were issued out of New Orleans in August of 1812.  One of these went to a schooner named Spy.

Spy was nominally owned by a New Orleans merchant named Stephen Debon, according to the commission.  Debon turned command, and the letter of marque, over to Beluche.  This is perhaps a less curious turn of events than it may appear.  Throughout his career, Renato Beluche owned one or more privateers, sometimes captaining them himself and sometimes turning command over to others among the loose-knit band of pirates and privateers who called Barataria their home port.  Ships were then and still are vulnerable things and, in a pinch, it was always better to sail for someone else than not to sail at all.

Beluche had recently lost his own brig, L’Intrepide, along with a prize to a hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico.  Doubtless Debon’s offer of a ship and a commission was too good to refuse.  Therein, however, may lay the conundrum of the business relationship between Monsieur Debon and Captain Beluche.

In November of 1812, Stephen Debon brought suit against Renato Beluche in a New Orleans court.  The complaint claimed that Debon, as owner of Spy, had been cheated out of his share of prize money by Beluche.  This had occurred, said the complaint, because Beluche had taken more than one prize into Barataria rather than bringing them into New Orleans as specifically outlined in Spy’s U.S. letter of marque.

On the face of it, Debon appears to be in the right. In order to lawfully libel a prize, the captain of the privateer must bring said prize into the port from which he (or she if you will) received his commission.  Unfortunately for Monsieur Debon, he was dealing with a man who had learned his craft well and whose close friends and associates, the Laffite brothers, had connections in court.

Beluche engaged one of those connections, former New Orleans District Attorney John Randolph Grymes, who went to work rebutting Debon’s complaint immediately.  Grymes argued that of course Beluche had taken prizes into Barataria, no one was disputing that.  Those prizes were Spanish merchants, however, taken under Beluche’s commission from Cartagena.  Should Spy capture a British vessel under the auspices of the U.S. letter of marque, he would bring it to New Orleans for legal libel and Debon would promptly be paid his share.

Another Laffite sympathizer, Judge Dominique Hall, saw things the way Grymes outlined them.  He dismissed Debon’s complaint and, probably in the same pen-stroke, authorized the libel of a British merchant, Jane, recently brought into New Orleans as prize by none other than Beluche aboard Spy.  Perhaps his share of her cargo of mahogany and logwood, which the Louisiana Gazette estimated at “35 to 40$ per ton”, was enough to make Debon realize he needn’t trouble himself further.

The legal wrangling, which only went on until February 1, 1813 when Judge Hall announced his decision, is an excellent example of the crafty use of letters of marque by the men who sailed out of Barataria.  As William C. Davis notes in The Pirates Laffite, international law forbade the holding of more than one country’s letter of marque at any given time.  With this in mind, Debon’s argument was legally valid. 

But, as my dear Uncle Renato clearly knew better than Monsieur Debon, nothing gets shit done like having powerful friends who have friends in high places.

Header: Ship at Sea by Marcia Woodbury via American Gallery

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Let

Let is a word heard aboard ship in conjunction with an order, more often than not.  But it is also the first three letters in one of our favorite terms here at Triple P: letter of marque.  More on that in a minute.

Let draw was the order to let the sails draw wind over the lee-side when tacking.  Let go and haul, a similar order, meant it was time to haul the head yards around by the braces to facilitate tacking.  This might also be verbalized as afore haul .  Let run was an order to cast a boat off and let fall to drop a sail in preparation for setting it. 

Let fly is sometimes used in nautical fiction and movies as an order to reveal a ship's true colors or, more commonly, to fire cannon.  This was in fact an order to quite literally let go of or drop a rope.  Let drive is a more period accurate order for firing the guns up until the late 19th century.

To let out a reef, sometimes to shake out a reef, is to untie the points to allow more sail to catch the wind.  Let pass is an order or, in some cases, simply a allowance for one ship to pass another.  This was usually an issue of hierarchy; a commodore's ship would pass a ship carrying only a captain, while a rear admiral's or admiral's flag would pass the commodore's ship.

Let go under foot was a maneuver specific to the dropping of a ship's anchor while she is still moving.  Admiral Smyth describes it in The Sailor's Word Book:

An anchor is often dropped under foot when calm prevails and the drift would be towards danger.  To drop an anchor under foot, is to let it go and veer a little of the riding cable when the coming home, or parting of the one by which she is riding, is feared. 

All navy ships kept and continue to keep what was known as a letter book.  This held copies of all letters and orders written by the captain for the duration of any given cruise.  This would document the captain's performance should any irregularities be found or reported upon returning to port.

A letter of marque, also appropriately referred to as a letter of reprisal or a letter of marque and reprisal is every pirate's fondest dream.  Issued by governments during war time, this document made legal the taking of enemy ships as prizes by any ship holding one.  According to what we might today refer to as international law governing the granting of letters of marque, no ship could hold more than one letter of marque at a time, and only ships from the enemy country state on the letter of marque could be legally taken.  These ships would need to be brought to the home port of the letter of marque ship to be libeled by a court of law.

In practice, of course, the gray area between which ships were legal prizes and where and how they had to be libeled became very broad indeed, particularly during the age of great revolutions.  Roughly from 1775 to 1825, and most noticeably in the Americas, who was a pirate and who was a legal privateer became more of an issue of government opinion than international law.  Because of this, most governments discontinued the practice of issuing letters of marque and reprisal by the mid-19th century.  The last great surge of privateering occurred during the American Civil War, largely because the Confederate States had no navy and needed to rely on private ship owners carrying Confederate letters of marque for such duties.

And that is a good place to let today's post go, so to say.  Happy Saturday, Brethren; swift chases and fat prizes may you always find.

Header: A particularly lovely Caribbean sunrise via our mates the Under the Black Flag team

Seafaring Sunday: Governor Modyford's Action

March 4, 1666: In retaliation for raids on isolated coastal plantations, Governor Thomas Modyford of Jamaica declares war of Spanish territories in the New World and begins issuing letters of marque against Spain to Port Royal's buccaneers.  One of those who receives a commission is the now infamous Henry Morgan, who will go on to become Lieutenant Governor of the island.

Header: Replica of the letter of marque issued to Henry Morgan and signed by Modyford from the wonderful craftsman at Pirate Documents

History: On Stormy Seas

During the War of 1812, which began and to some degree ended at sea, both sides gave out letters of marque to virtually any sea captain with an armed ship and a little experience who chose to apply. My own ancestor Renato Beluche was one of the few (in fact, he may have been the only) Baratarians who applied for and was given a U.S. letter of marque. His brig Spy, which he captained, was relatively successful against the British in and around their Jamaica Station. She was also patently illegal according to international maritime law as she carried not only her U.S. commission but one from the free state of Cartagena as well. This got Uncle Renato in trouble in the Bay of Biscay in 1813 when he dismasted in a storm while being pursued by a British frigate. He was boarded and Beluche lost his ship and got a few months in jail at Plymouth, England. I’m sure he would have agreed that some time in a dank British gaol is still better than a hanging.

Around the same time American Captain George Coggeshall found himself in a similar situation aboard his privateering schooner David Porter. Named after the Continental Navy hero and father of Commodore David Porter, who himself sired naval heroes David Farragut and David Dixon Porter, the schooner found herself caught in a terrifying blow in the Bay of Biscay on this day in 1814. Here is Coggeshall’s log entry from that day:

It blew a perfect hurricane, which soon raised a high cross-sea: at 8 o’clock A.M. I hove the schooner to under a double-reefed foresail, lowered the fore-yard near the deck and got everything as snug as possible. At 12 o’clock noon, a tremendous sea struck her in the wake of the starboard fore-shrouds. The force of the sea broke one of the top timbers or stauncheons and split open the plank-sheer, sot that I could see directly into the hold from on deck. As the gale continued to rage violently, I feared we might ship another sea, and therefore prepared, as it were, to anchor the vessel head to wind. For this purpose we took a square-sail boom, spanned it at each end with a new four inch rope, and made our small bower cable fast to the bight of the span, and with the other end fastened to the foremast, threw it overboard, and payed out about sixty fathoms of cable: she then rode like a gull in the water.

The staccato prose does not diminish the anxiety that must have been felt by every member of the crew in that storm. Coggeshall’s David Porter road her out, as he said like a gull, bobbing in the green water with his ship safely secured to her bower anchor. Thank goodness he had new cable. David Porter managed to slip past the blockade at Brest, France – to which port Renato Beluche was running when Spy was overtaken – and refit before heading back toward home. Every man aboard her would have a tall tale to tell, with the need for very little embellishment, once they got back to Baltimore.

Speaking of Baltimore – and completely off the subject – Happy 202nd Birthday to the inventor of modern horror as well as the detective story: Edgar A. Poe. Rest well, Laureate.

Header: Norwegian Harbor of Refuge by Hans Gude c 1873

Booty: Fair Winds And A Valid Commission

When the fledgling U.S.A.'s second war with Britain, the War of 1812, started in the year from which it took it's name the U.S. and her navy began handing out letters of marque against the enemy. There is no limit to the number of privateering commissions a country at war can legally issue and the U.S., with a navy consisting of mostly sloops and schooners, wasn't shy about the process.

Down in old New Orleans, Louisiana had just become a state and the Naval Station, established in 1809 by Commodore David Porter, was giving letters of marque away like dentists gave out gum when I was a kid. I frequently see historians scratching their metaphorical heads about why the Laffite brothers didn't get in line for a commission or two. Shows how much research they've done.

First of all the Laffites had valid commissions from Cartagena. Sure, that government still wasn't recognized by half the countries in the world but tell Jean that and he would have laughed condescendingly I'm quite certain. Second, and perhaps more importantly, both Jean and Pierre had outstanding warrants for their arrest at the time. Walking in to the Cabildo, then the seat of the navy, army, state and local government and gendarmerie, would have ended in an indefinite stay in a cozy 8' by 8' cell in the Calabozo. The Laffites were probably certifiable but they weren't stupid.

There was a renowned Baratarian, however, with a squeaky clean record and a knack for prize taking who decided to sign up with the U.S. That lucky Captain was none other than my own dear Uncle Renato Beluche. At the time he was sailing a beautiful schooner he named Spy. She was fast first and foremost and particularly so when handled by her gifted Captain. The U.S. was lucky to have him. And he was lucky to escape the English in the Bay of Biscay a year later. Luck was all the motto that man needed.

So imagine my delight, as a lover of Baratarian privateers and a proud descendant of Beluche, when I found the replica letter of marque pictured at the header. Signed and endorsed by James Madison, it is virtually an exact copy of the kind of commission Beluche would have been given for Spy. How cool is that?

You can own a letter of marque just like it - and plug in your own ship's name, captain's name, etc. - simply by clicking over to Pirate Documents.com and telling them what you want. Rather like my Uncle did with the U.S. government. They have commissions from other times and places too so if you'd rather be Drake or Morgan, go for it. It's a wonderful site that I found because I'm a pretty lucky daughter of a privateer.

And now for the meta (nice segue, Pauline!). This is the 200th post here at Triple P and as you can see, I spent last night blinging out the blog a little for this occasion. I also want to take a moment to acknowledge all of you out there in Internet-land who keep me going, keep me honest and make me so happy.

First a big thank you to those of you who have bravely staked your claim to a place among the Brethren of the Coast. From first to last I appreciate each and every one of the people who publicly follow Triple P. You all are the best!

Second, many thanks for all comments past and future. I've been told I don't know what the hell I'm talking about, asked for further information, challenged and enlightened and it is all 100% appreciated. Keep 'em coming.

Third, I want to acknowledge some amazing folks who include Triple P on their links pages and blog lists. Click on over and spend some time with some knowledgeable, talented and truly amazing people:

The Pirate Guys at International Talk Like A Pirate Day have this site on their links page now. Triple P can be found under "Other Kindred Souls" and that's made of awesome.

Cindy Vallar has included Triple P in her History of Maritime Piracy links. Find me under "Treasure Troves: outstanding gateways to pirate info". I get four out of five piratical thumbs up.

Mike Burleson is an expert on all things military and a great writer. His New Wars website includes Triple P under "Research" as well as linking back to many of my posts. You are pretty cool, Mike.

The amazingly talented Munin at Munin's Sketch Blog keeps track of Triple P, too. If I ever get to be one of "those" authors, Munin will be the only artist doing my book covers.

Jessica at Miss Novelistic, a thoughtful and eye-catching blog about writing and reading historical fiction, recommends Triple P "...when your nose isn't stuck in a gripping novel". Thank you for the high praise. I can't wait to read your novels.

The terrific researchers and writers over at Two Nerdy History Girls put Triple P on their "Blogs we read" list yesterday. To say I'm flattered is an understatement.

Denis, the king of questionable cinema who writes so entertainingly about it at The Horror!?, frequently includes Triple P on his FriendFeed. Now if I could just get him to add his Lovecraftian avatar to the Brethren of the Coast...

Finally, the local Alaska Grown includes Triple P under "Other Family Blogs" and I'm proud to be there.

If I've missed anyone (and I'm certain I have) it's through forgetfulness and not spite. Leave me a comment and jog my memory. I'll edit this thing post haste.

That's enough of that, I know, but I want to be clear that I really do appreciate your support. I'll keep the seafaring adventures coming if you'll keep coming back for more, mates. Thankee indeed.

Booty: Fortune Favors The Brave

An American milestone came and went on Tuesday and I didn't say word one about it so, in all humility, I'm playing a little bit of catch up today. On March 2, 1836 the then Mexican Territory of Texas declared her independence and went forward as the Republic of Texas. It was a bold move considering that Mexico's siege of the Alamo was going on at the same time. But Texans were undaunted and one of the first things they did was set up a navy of privateers (smart Texans).

As we discussed here, the Laffite brothers proved that a handy profit could be made running a privateering operation with their boom town in Galveston. In 1836 there were still people around who remembered that golden era and the new government of Texas went straight to work handing out letters of marque and reprisal including a nice chunk of profits for themselves. By November Texas had a register of ships and Captains who held their commissions and shown above is a page from that book (courtesy of the State of Texas Navy webpage).

The Captains names, their ships and the current known state of the vessel are listed on the document, dated November 3, 1836. The list of four ships indicates that John M. Allen is the Captain of the pilot schooner Terrible, W.S. Brown captains the schooner Benjamin R. Milam, Peter Grayson has the schooner Tom Toby and a man named Moore is in command of schooner Jim Bowie. Two of the ships are out of New Orleans which is no surprise since - just like the Laffites - the privateers and the Texas government would have been selling their plundered goods in that capital of decadence and excess. The document is signed by chief clerk John Buchanan.

So there's a well established privateering tradition in the great state of Texas and it all started with our cher amis Jean and Pierre Laffite. But there's another, more subtle connection to the Emperors of Barataria here. The name of the last ship is the key.

Here is the man after whom the schooner was named: Of course that's James Bowie, who died at the Battle of the Alamo on March 6, 1836. He was an instant hero in the Republic of Texas and still is in the State. Plus he invented this grizzly bear:

(source)

Here's the thing most people don't know about Mr. Bowie, though. When he and his brother Rezin left the army in 1819, they returned to their home state of Louisiana and found a booming market in slaves. But slaves could not (legally) be brought into the U.S. via ship as was the habit of the Laffites in Barataria. Again, the Laffite brothers were way ahead of the curve, and the Bowie brothers wanted in on the lucrative action. Thanks to the U.S. Congress, their partnership worked beautifully.

The Laffites sold slaves literally by the pound at their slave market at Deweyville on the Texas side of the Sabine river. The Bowies would show up, buy a likely batch of healthy humans, and march them into Louisiana. There they would take the slaves straight to the U.S. authorities and claim that the unfortunates were cargo from a ship that Bowie associates had captured in the name of the U.S. Well done boys, the authorities would say. Now - again thanks to Congress - we'll sell this chattel and give you 50% of the profits. These sales were usually handled quickly and, since a good field hand could bring as much as $1,500 or more at auction, the Bowies made money hand over fist.

The Bowie brothers visited Galveston more than once and evidently Jim and Jean Laffite struck up something of a friendship. Old salts would later remark that the two men looked similar, to the point where some thought they might be related.

While there is not genealogical evidence of relation, in my mind they are kindred spirits. Two men prepared to look out for themselves and their brothers and step on or over anyone else. All the same managing, despite their questionable deeds, to come down to us as heroes.

"Fortune favors the brave", by the way, is the motto of the Texas Navy. Apparently it really does.

People: The Kind of Sailor a Girl Likes

I'll freely admit to being a history geek kind of the way Alton Brown on the Food Network is a food geek. I love all the aspects of particular points in history. Its not just visceral either, although that is certainly part of it. It's also trying to imagine and envision how our ancestors thought and felt and why they did what they did. That is particularly true with the guy we're going to talk about today. Put him in a cubicle and he'd probably lose it after a week. Put him knee deep in gore in the middle of a deafening sea battle (and that is not hyperbole, Brethren) and he emerged a hero. So sexy!

The able seaman pictured above is Commodore David Porter. He was born in Boston in 1780 to an already distinguished seafaring father who was a hero in the Revolutionary War. In his teens, Porter went to sea on American merchant vessels. He was impressed by the Royal Navy twice and managed to escape both times. By the age of 18 he was a midshipman aboard the U.S. Constellation and within a year he had passed for Lieutenant. In 1803, he was aboard Philadelphia when she ran aground in Tripoli harbor while battling Barbary corsairs. Taken prisoner in Algiers, Porter was subjected to some harsh treatment due to his refusal to shut up and sit down, so to say. In 1805, a daring Marine raid which inspired the "shores of Tripoli" line in the Marine anthem repatriated Porter and his fellows. He made Master and Commander and was given command of USS Enterprise - the first one.

After rising to the rank of Captain, Porter was called upon to take the post of Commodore at the newly established Naval Station in New Orleans. Here, Porter ran afoul of just about all the locals, from Territorial Governor Claiborne (actually a Virginian, but still) to the Laffite brothers and their band. Porter wanted everything done by the rules and the frequent sales of contraband that were tacitly allowed by the local government were a constant thorn in his side. He left his post when war with England broke out. After short cruises in the Caribbean, he took command of the frigate Essex, collected his US letter of marque, and headed off to the South Pacific.

Essex was incredibly successful with Porter at her helm. She effectively shut down the English whaling fleet in the South Pacific and, adding that to her over $2,500,000 in prize money, she was the most successful U.S. ship during the War of 1812. Porter and his men finally faced British wrath in February of 1814. Essex was attacked in Valparaiso Harbor off Chile. Despite the neutrality of the sight, the British frigates Phoebe and Cherub engaged Porter. The battle, which lasted over two hours, is famous for the bravery of Porter and his men and notorious for its carnage. Captain Hillyar of Phoebe (allegedly a friend of Porter's) showed his ungentlemanly side by lying out of range and bombarding the crippled Essex with his long guns. Porter finally surrendered, and the men of his crew who were still alive were paroled by Hillyar and sent back to the U.S. aboard their tender, Essex Jr. Porter and his men were lauded as heroes and he became a member of the board of navy commissioners until 1823. At this point, Porter turned from privateer to pirate hunter.

The depredations done by pirates in the Caribbean and particularly around Cuba at this time were out of control. Insurance companies had raised their rates for merchant vessels to above the maximum levels seen during the War of 1812 and America in particular was losing more revenue than she was gaining on the water. Porter was given command of the so called "Mosquito Fleet", which was based in Key West. The fleet got its name from the small sloops and schooners it used to literally fight fire with fire. These ships could cut into the small bays that the pirates called their own and take the little ships on their own terms. Once again, Porter was unusually successful. Even over the protests of the Cuban government - who didn't like the pirates turning bandit on their shores - Porter managed to take out famous pirates of the time like Cuban Diabolito and Canadian Charles Gibbs. There is some speculation that a run-in with Porter is what killed Jean Laffite in the Gulf of Honduras, but it was more likely the Spanish Navy. At any rate, Porter effectively shut down the last of the Caribbean and Gulf pirates.

Porter went on to fall out of favor with the American Navy, much like his mirror image Thomas Cochran did with the British Navy (Thomas being the historical figure O'Brian used as a model for John "Lucky Jack" Aubrey in his famous novels). He became the Commander-in-Chief of the Mexican Navy in 1826 and remained there until 1829. He did not return to service with the U.S. Navy but was appointed U.S. Consul General to the Turkish states in 1831. He remained at this post, and was remarkably capable of diplomacy in his later years, until his death in 1843. His body was returned to the U.S. and he is buried in Philadelphia, where he maintained a home for most of his adult life.

Porter is a fascinating mix of hereditary seaman, foremast jack, successful commander and cagey diplomat that we just don't see anymore. Two of his sons, the "adopted" eldest David Farragut (who may very well have been Porter's) and David Dixon Porter, both became highly distinguished officers in the U.S. Navy. Farragut, in fact, started his career aboard Essex as a midshipman under his Dad. How cool is that? Porter had seven other children with his wife Evalina (although he later accused her of adultery and swore some of them weren't his). He was respected, even by his enemies, and he ran happy ships with only the very necessary amount of severe discipline.

Would I call Porter a hero? Despite the fact that my own ancestors might disagree, I sure would. Plus, I have to add stud to the list of adjectives as well. Don't you just love that handsome man in his shiny uniform? Sorry, Uncle Renato, but that's the kind of sailor a girl could learn to like.

Tools of the Trade: Do You Have Your Hall Pass, Mister?

"Letter of marque" is one of those terms that gets bonked around the piratosphere without anyone really thinking about it. I hear it referred to in

all kinds of goofy ways and kind of wonder if the people spouting the words really know what they're talking about. Now that's not to say that your humble Pauline is all knowing - far from it actually. All the same, Triple P is here to set the record straight and the reality is that a letter of marque is what separates the pirates from the privateers. Let's begin with a little history because oh! how I do adore the history.

First off the name. Marque is a word which in the Norman French spoken in England at the creation of letters of marque meant "seizure of merchandise". Now the story.

In the thirteenth century, King Henry III of England (that's him up there in all his entombed glory) had a cash flow problem. Engaged in never ending wars with both France and Spain, his treasury was getting down to that last layer of gold and England's citizens were shouldering a tax burden the would have made Atlas shrug. Then Henry, or one of his advisers perhaps, got a brainstorm. Why not give private ship's captains the right to raid enemy shipping as long as they share a portion (in this instance a staggering half) of their gains with the crown? Why the hell not! Private Captains quickly pledged their service to a handy piece of paper (vellum actually but who is keeping track, really) that allowed them to get rich and helped their King to not only swell the ranks of his navy but lift some of that clunky tax burden from the folks at home.

When the wars temporarily ceased, Henry saw nothing wrong with issuing a charming and I must say underused form of the wartime letters of marque. Known as letters of reprisal or special reprisal letters of marque, these little gems allowed a merchant captain who had goods stolen by pirates to plunder any ship from the original pirates' country of origin to recoup his losses (and then some, one has to imagine). Brilliant!

Letters of marque were a wonderful way for a cagey King with a need for cash and a few ports at hand to fill out, or even create, his naval presence. Henry VIII essentially created a privateer navy for England with letters of marque (the Henry number 3's navy having gone by the board some time before). His daughter, the clever Elizabeth, made her country rich and heroes of slavers like John Hawkins and adventurers like his cousin Francis Drake by buying into their enterprises and handing out letters of marque.

The French and Spanish were quick to sign on and European waters in the 16th and 17th century were jam packed with legal pirates taking each others' goods and chuckling as they sailed away. The gold and silver found in Central and South America by the Spanish conquistadors upped the ante by ten and it was off to the Spanish Main, papers in hand and high hopes billowing like full sails.

Here's where things got really gray really fast. By this time letters of marque had become like Butterball turkeys. They had a timer - usually set for one calendar year but there were exceptions - and when it popped up you became a pirate if you took further prizes without going back home and renewing your papers. But who has time to run back to England when you are gleefully pillaging Spanish galleons off Panama? You don't, do you? Sometimes even a trip to the nearest friendly port to find the local governor is too much and then a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. So yeah; more gold meant more pirates.

The last great purveyor of letters of marque was the Liberator of Half a Continent, Simon Bolivar. From approximately 1809 to 1820, Bolivar amassed a decidedly rag-tag navy of privateers from all over the Gulf and Caribbean states (including the U.S.). These men harassed Spanish shipping with Bolivar's Cartagenan letters of marque while he fought the war on land and then on paper to liberate Grand Columbia from Spain. Letters of marque were also issued by rebels in Argentina and Chile but on nowhere near the scale that Bolivar achieved. When his struggle, and his life, were finally fading away, Bolivar grew sickened by the majority of the men who claimed him as their benefactor. He withdrew all his letters of marque across the board and ended the last stand of the truly great privateers.

Sure, just because you could obtain a letter of marque didn't mean you were legit. There were forgeries, of course, and that "I left my license at home, officer" excuse came up now and then. For the most part, though, a bona fide letter of marque put you on track for society's smile when you came home rich and ready to settle down (maybe I should say if you came home at all).

Oh yeah, but don't think it will necessarily save you from hanging. One man's privateer is another man's pirate.