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

Lady Pirates: "She was of a Fierce Temper"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Header: Pirates Abroad by Don Maitz

Seafaring Sunday: Old Fort Nassau

January 27, 1776: Continental navy forces invade the city of Nassau, New Providence, to retrieve ammunition stored at Old Fort Nassau. Though the Americans are successful in capturing the fort and raising their flag over it, they find nothing but 100 guns. The British had already moved the ammunition and a good deal of black powder to Boston. All the same, the Governor of New Providence was taken hostage; a small but not unincidental blow to British sovereignty in the Caribbean.

Header: Fort Charlotte, Nassau, the Bahamas via The Bahamas website

Lady Pirates: The Intriguers' Accomplice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Header: The New Baby by John Rettig via American Gallery

People: The Curious Captain Condent

Christopher Condent is a name that gets tossed around a fair amount when discussing the Golden Age of Piracy. Condent, apparently another native of that great breeding ground of sailors, Devon, has his story told with the same consistency we find in tales of bigger names like Blackbeard, Roberts and Morgan. From Charles Ellms to Philip Gosse, all the high points in Condent’s life are hit consistently. Does this mean that they all occurred as they have come down to us? No, but it certainly makes them a bit more creditable.


In The Pirate’s Who’s Who, Philip Gosse does not give a date of birth for Condent. As he was quartermaster aboard a New York merchant when Governor Woodes Rogers sailed into New Providence in 1718, it is probably safe to place his natal year some time in the 1690s. It is a consistent point in Condent’s story, regardless of who is telling it, that his anonymous captain saw fit to hightail it out of the Bahamas when privateer-turned-pirate-hunter Rogers showed up. This is probably a good indication that the New York “merchant” was already a practicing pirate at the time.

According to Gosse and Ellms, the ship was not a happy one. A Native American aboard her had been mistreated by other crew members and, in his rage, decided to take his revenge by blowing up the ship. The sloop had a fair amount of black powder aboard – another good but not altogether telling indication of piratical activity. The injured sailor locked himself in the powder magazine with intent to ignite the powder and blow up the ship. Condent took it upon himself to curtail the man’s plans, jumping into the hold through a hatch and dispatching the malcontent with a pistol shot to the face.

The rest of the crew, still obviously harboring a grudge, hacked the man’s body to pieces. Both Goss and Ellms tell us that the gunner went so far as to remove the man’s heart from his chest cavity, boil or roast it and serve it up for supper. This consistently retold vignette has a curious ring of truth if for no other reason than it is never thoroughly explained. Why eat a man’s heart? The answer, one imagines, might be why not.

After this bloody episode morale seems to continue to flag aboard the merchant-cum-pirate. An English prize, Duke of York, is taken in the Atlantic and a dispute over something to do with it splits the crew down the middle. The captain and his faction take the prize and sail away, while the remaining crewmen elect Condent their new captain.

Condent sets a course for the Cape Verde Islands and manages to take a number of small ships from the “salt fleet”. Next he is cruising near the island of St. Jago where he takes a Dutch ship. He likes this vessel more than his old sloop and trades up, naming her Flying Dragon and hoisting a black flag decorated with three skulls and crossed bones.

Heading back to the New World, Condent begins cruising off Brazil, taking Portuguese ships and torturing their crews. His ruthlessness earns him a reputation but he is clever enough to continue taking prizes in the area by pretending to be a harmless and friendly English merchant. Eventually his tactics earn him a firefight with a Portuguese warship, and Gosse tells us that Flying Dragon is lucky to escape.

Condent sets a course for the Indian Ocean and arrives at the island of Johanna near Madagascar. Here he runs into the former crew of Captain John Halsey who died in 1716. These men were probably happy to join Condent, and Flying Dragon proceeded to take more than one East Indiaman, using the nearby Ile Sainte-Marie as a base of operations.

It appears that the greatest prize of Condent’s piratical career was a galley carrying the Viceroy of Goa. What became of the official is not mentioned, but Gosse indicates that Condent and company took their prize to Zanzibar where “they plundered her of a large amount of money.”

Back home on Sainte-Marie, Condent seems to have second thoughts about piracy. He pays off his men, some of whom chose to settle on the island. Condent and a few others petition the French Governor on Mauritius for a pardon. The Governor is amenable as long as the pirates will break up their ship when they arrive on his island. This they do and they are allowed to settle down. Christopher Condent, now on the straight and narrow, courts and marries the Governor’s sister-in-law.

“A few years later,” Gosse says in summing up his entry on Condent. “The captain and his wife left the island and sailed to France, settling at Saint Malo, where Condent drove a considerable trade as a merchant.”

A rare and curiously happy ending to the story of another brutal freebooter.

Header: Replica of Christopher Condent’s flag via Black Flag Trading Co.

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

Seafaring Sunday: A Costly Loss

March 18, 1781: Continental Navy sloop-of-war Saratoga was lost with all hands in dirty weather off the Bahamas.

Header: CN sloop Providence by W. Nowland Van Powell via Naval History

People: The Pirate Corso

When we speak of pirates and privateers during the age of buccaneers we tend to gravitate to British, Dutch or French names. Henry Morgan, Laurens de Graff and Michel de Grammont come to mind readily. It is rare that a Spaniard – whose holdings in the New World were usually the targets of plundering buccaneer from England, France and Holland – comes to mind. So it was with surprise and delight that I sat down to read a chapter in Benerson Little’s most recent book about a freebooter who called himself Juan Corso.


Corso’s moniker in and of itself is something of a pun. Though, as Little notes, Corso was a common surname in Spain, it also translates literally as “privateer”. Corso’s name is the equivalent of a Frenchman calling himself Jean Corsaire or an Englishman going by Johnny Privateer. Since we know nothing about Corso’s childhood or early life, it is not a stretch to say that his name is an alias if not an out and out joke.

Much of the action that made up Corso’s career is educated guess, but he appears first on the historical record cruising under the command of Captain Felipe de la Barrera y Villegas. Barrera was at the head of a small flotilla of light, shallow draft “half-galleys” that were searching the inlets and lagoons off the Gulf Coast of Mexico for illegal logwood cutters. Men from the British island of Jamaica in particular made a living cutting down, chopping up and selling logwood surreptitiously in these areas. The Spanish, who considered the costly resource theirs alone, hunted these men without remorse. Even during peace with England, Spain marked the men criminals regardless of written passes they may hold from English lords.

This was the case in 1681 when Corso, along with his frequent partner Pedro de Costa, was among Barrera’s men as they cruised into Laguna de Terminos on the coast of Campeche. The logwood cutters were surprised and, though one of their number in the form of a British sloop named Laurel managed to escape, they were rounded up or slaughtered, their camp burned and their goods seized. Though Barrera initially promised the Englishmen safe passage, they were in fact packed into the holds of his ships and taken to Campeche where they were sold to the city as slaves. Most would be worked mercilessly in the sodden swamps around the city with little water and less food, their skin burned black by the sun, their feet riddled with parasitic worms and their bodies infested with fleas and lice.

Barrera made a tidy profit on this enterprise of human misery and Corso and de Costa may have decided they wanted to rake in the same kind of cash. The two men received a commission from the mayor of Campeche and, with a group of small ships or canoes probably amounting to no more than three or four, they headed south for the Gulf of Honduras. Here logwood smuggling was particularly heavy, and Corso and his mate planned to increase their odds of catching larger ships by the capable use of stealth.

Rather ironically they ran into Laurel, the British ship that had escaped Barrera, near Trujillo, Honduras. This time the Spaniards were victorious, boarding Laurel and seizing her small crew. Her captain, Robert Oxe, would later write that he fought two hours with the freebooters and that, when they did board, he offered them his legal commission from the Earl of Carlisle. Corso and de Costa, unimpressed, disposed of the papers. Oxe says:

They said that they would come to Jamaica, too, presently, and that they had taken five hundred English prisoners.

Though Oxe and his men would not fair as badly as the unfortunates who labored in Campeche, he was ordered tortured and beaten by Corso. He complained of being hung up “… at the fore braces several times, [and beaten] with cutlasses…” about the body and face. Little tells us that Oxe and eight of his men were finally set free in a single canoe.

Doubtless aboard their prize ship, now called Leon, Corso and de Costa managed to re-capture a Spanish treasure ship that had been taken off Honduras. They renamed Nuestra Senora del Honhon the Leon Coronado. With these two ships they went to work clearing the Gulf of Honduras of the logwood cutters, tallying up a fortune in prize goods. When they headed back to Campeche in triumph, they were sadly disappointed to find the mayor eager to accept their prizes after which he unilaterally sent them off to Veracruz. Despite Corso’s protests – for which he was briefly jailed – it would be months before the Governor of Mexico finally awarded him and his mates a share of their booty.

In 1682, the Spanish government reclaimed their treasure ship and Leon Coronado was made part of the Armada de Barlovento, the official pirate hunting fleet of New Spain. Probably frustrated at being slighted not only by the loss of his ship but by failure to be asked to join the Armada, Corso gathered a new set of small ships and headed for Cuba. There he began a systematic round of attacks on British and French buccaneers who stopped at the island for water and provisions. Corso sailed under a red flag of no quarter, according to Little, and he made a habit of torturing and killing the crew of ships that dared resist him. His depredations were so successful that the Governor of St. Domingue (modern Haiti) began issuing commissions against Spain at Petit Goave and Britain threatened to declare war against Spain once again. The sack of Veracruz, usually considered to have been mounted after the fate of the unfortunate logwood cutters from Laguna de Terminos was discovered, may have been just as much the result of Corso’s unchecked success in the Caribbean.

Corso retaliated for the brutal raid at Veracruz which, though largely the work of Petit Goave corsairs, he seemed to blame on the British. He raided the island of New Providence in January of 1684, leaving only a handful of people alive and free. The island sat uninhabited for three years thereafter according to Little. Corso also managed to virtually shut down sea turtle harvesting in the Caribbean causing a shortage of meat particularly in Jamaica.

Pressure from the Royal Navy in particular drove Corso away from Cuba and, by early 1685, he was back in Mexico and once again with his old mate de Costa. The two were sent out by the Governor to try and find the Gulf Coast settlement of French explorer Rene Robert Cavelier, Sieur de La Salle. The Spanish were antsy about any encroachment on their vast holdings around the Gulf. Who better to send as a destroying force than two notorious privateers? Though Cosro and de Costa seem to have thoroughly searched the shores of the Gulf, they missed de La Salle’s sad tent city at Matagorda Bay.

Corso kept up the search and landed at several points in the Florida. At Cape San Blas his flotilla hit rough weather, possibly a hurricane, and was wrecked with the loss of all ships. Little says that approximately 35 men walked ashore alive but without supplies, firearms and little in the way of clothing on their backs. Most died of starvation, injuries and exposure including Corso and de Costa. The rest, Little tells us, set upon the bodies of the dead, carving them up and cooking them “without wasting even the heads.”

Though Corso’s success against just about every nation who colonized the West Indies at the time was matched by very few, he is largely forgotten today. He was, to my way of thinking, a Spanish version of the notorious corsaire Francois L’Olonnais whose hatred for the Spanish led him to torture and murder. Corso, a strident Spaniard if not by birth certainly by nationalization, vented his wrath in turn on the British and French.

Header: Dead Men Tell No Tales by Howard Pyle

The Pirates Own Book: "A Great Villain"

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Booty: Semper Fidelis

Wednesday, November 10th was the 235th Birthday of the United States Marine Corps. The USMC was formed to serve as infantry units aboard U.S. Navy vessels. The Sergeant at Arms (in charge of the Marines on any given ship) was responsible for not only defending the ship and her crew during boarding or landing actions, but also the safety of the ship’s officers in the event of mutiny. The USMC – like the U.S. Navy and the Royal Navy – was patterned almost directly on the British Royal Marines. Why reinvent the wheel, after all?

Being a Navy brat (from long back in my ancestry and, in fairness, not just of the U.S. variety) I feel compelled to point out that the USMC claim to being the “oldest military branch” in America is a bit erroneous. Both the Marine Corp. and the Navy were established in 1775 and disbanded by Congress after the Revolution. It wasn’t until the 1790s that the two branches were reinstated, again by act of Congress.

From the beginning, Marines were frequently part of landing and raiding parties abroad. Their first remarkable success came during the Revolutionary War when Navy and Marine forces took a large British munitions depot at that old pirate haunt, New Providence, The Bahamas. Marines served during the Quasi-War with France and were an enormous factor in American success during the First Barbary War (1801-1805). The culmination of that action saw William Eaton lead 500 Marines and mercenaries into Tripoli to liberate the captured sailors from USS Philadelphia (Triple P favorite David Porter among the latter). This aggressive response to hostility abroad showed the world that the U.S. was more than capable of standing up for herself. It is also the event that led to the “shores of Tripoli” line in the Marine hymn and the distinctive Mameluke Sword carried by Marine officers.

Marines were once again in the thick of it during the War of 1812. Their involvement in the legendary frigate actions that characterized the war at sea were too numerous to mention here. USMC fame was sealed at the Battle of New Orleans, where they held the very center of General Andrew Jackson’s line on Rodriguez Canal. With the close of the War of 1812, the U.S. Marine Corp. held a reputation world wide for their marksmanship, both at sea and by land.

The USMC has gone through their ups and downs but consistently throughout America’s history they are the ones to call when the tough jobs need doing. It’s not always a popular business they are in but, as we like to remind the kids around my house, freedom isn’t free. I will close then with a hearty Huzzah! for the USMC, her veterans, current actives and reserves and for all who serve. Thank you.

Oh, and if you’re a realist like your humble hostess, hop over to the always interesting and informative Navy Historical Blog and enjoy their tribute to the Marine Corp.

Sailor Mouth Saturday will be up tomorrow; I’ll spy ye then, Brethren.

Seafaring Sunday: Two Giant Seamen

July 27, 1718: Former privateer and pirate Woodes Rogers (seated at right) arrives in New Providence, the Bahamas at the head of a flotilla of four warships. He is sworn in as Governor of the British colony immediately, and effectively ends the use of the island as a pirate stronghold.

July 25, 1866: Captain David Glasgow Farragut of "Damn the torpedoes!" fame is commissioned the U.S. Navy's first Admiral in recognition of his heroism and leadership during the Civil War.

His adoptive (rumors said natural) father, Commodore David Porter would have been proud.

Pathetic Pirates: The Ladies' Man

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

People: Bahamanian Governor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pathetic Pirates: Bad Company and Good Intentions

Today's entry under the Double P title is not as pathetic as some of our previous guests. He seems like a diligent sort, brave under fire and capable of command. All the same he ended up far worse than many less famous than himself. His two fatal flaws - neither of which might have bothered him much in another profession - were being a bad judge of character and lacking natural cruelty. And so, a brief look at the life of Edward Seegar known as pirate Captain Edward England.

Born some time around 1700 and probably in Ireland, Edward Seegar joined aboard a merchant ship as a young man. Like so many others whose stories will never be told, Edward was just doing his duty when his ship was taken by pirates. In 1717, Captain Christopher Winter captured the merchant vessel in question and took it back to New Providence, Bahamas as prize. It seems that Seegar voluntarily joined up with Winter and then changed his last name to England.

England crewed with Winter until that fateful August in 1718 when Woodes Rogers showed up and kicked the pirates out of their base on New Providence. England, perhaps seeing an opportunity in the chaos, took a prize sloop with a small crew and became Captain. Shrewdly seeing that the Caribbean would be crowded with displaced pirates, England set out for the west coast of Africa to plunder the rich slave trade.

The new Captain cruised the African coast for some months and took several prizes. He began to amass a small fleet as he went along, always moving to a larger and more heavily gunned flagship as he captured them. Eventually he headed south and rounded the Cape of Good Hope, intending to begin plundering the merchant fleets in the Indian Ocean.

By now, England had given a captured sloop - Victory - to a man he thought he could trust, John Taylor. The two Captains put in at Madagascar for victuals and the careening of their ships. Some surviving documentation of their extended visit recalls that they partied hard with the spoils of their hunting and "...[made] free with the Negroe women." Good times, evidently. But not for long.

Back at sea, England's little flotilla captured his new flagship Fancy of 34 guns. She was certainly a frigate and therefor unusually large for a pirate ship. Taylor moved into England's former ship, Pearl, and the hunting continued. In August of 1720, England and his boys ran into three East India merchants off Johanna Island, north and west of Madagascar. Two of the ships chose to run but the largest and best armed, Cassandra, stood her ground.

While Taylor gave chase to the other ships, the fighting between Fancy and Cassandra was brutal and bloody. The ships exchanged broadside for broadside at close range. Hours later, Cassandra was forced to limp off to Johanna where her Captain, James MacCray (or Macrae) beached her and off loaded those of his crew that survived. Cassandra suffered 37 dead and Fancy lost upwards of 85 men.

While MacCray hid in the jungle, England's men ransacked Cassandra. Goods inside were estimated at a worth of 70,000 English pounds but the magnitude of the prize did not quell the blood lust of the pirates. Some of Fancy's crew grumbled about revenge for their lost mates.

By the time MacCray and his men were forced to reveal themselves for lack of fresh water, Taylor had returned. England took the merchant crew as prisoners and Taylor suggested death for one and all. England put his foot down and, as commander, allowed MacCray to leave the island with his remaining crew. This set Taylor's teeth on edge and he began to suggest mutiny to England's pirates.

It didn't take long for the men to be convinced. England and three others still loyal to him were marooned on a small island not far from Madagascar. Somehow the men managed to make it to the pirate port on the larger island but the damage had already been done. His spirit broken, England was reduced to begging on the streets at Madagascar. In 1721 he died, either of some illness or outright starvation.

Edward Seegar England appears to have been a thoughtful, intelligent and inappropriately kind hearted man who simply couldn't pick a trustworthy second in command. Unfortunately, his shortcomings in the pursuit of pirate glory eventually made him pay the ultimate price.

Home Ports: Better In The Bahamas

Evidently, one of the things that pirates took note of when hunting for a good base was scenery. At least if today's home port is any indication. The picture above is Salt Cay in Nassau, The Bahamas and back in the early 18th century this gorgeous spot was a tent city with a pirate driven economy that quite literally never slept.

The island of New Providence, where Port Nassau is located, is almost smack dab in the middle of the island chain known collectively as the Bahamas. It has a number of major bays around its small perimeter but the one at Nassau was perfect for pirates and privateers. The water depth was perfect for sloops, schooners and brigs but too shallow for naval frigates and men-of-war. The harbor could hold hundreds of ships and there was ample beach to preform repairs and careen ships. The sand was white and beyond it was jungle and hills full of wildlife and fresh water. The native population had left the island after repeated raids by the Spanish in the 16th and especially 17th century. The place was a pirate paradise rivaled only by the French buccaneering island of Tortuga.

New Providence was a British holding but it had never been properly settled. The island's theoretical Governor was located on Eleuthera to the east and he paid no attention what ever to New Providence. When the pirate Henry Jennings sailed into port in 1714, he knew he was home.

Nassau quickly became a loose "city" formed by tents and huts made with local driftwood, palms, discarded wood and sails from ships. It was only a matter of a year before a relatively stable if freewheeling economy was establish. Carpenters, shipwrights, armorers and blacksmiths out of work elsewhere in a post-war economy could make a living in Nassau building and repairing ships and guns. Smugglers posing as merchants put in to port to buy stolen goods for resale in wealthy cities like Charleston, Baltimore, Boston and New York. Tavern keepers set up their tables and put out their shingles. Brothels sprang up and the ladies got their share of the pirate booty.

By 1716 a veritable who's who of pirates could be found in port at any given time. Edward Teach, Charles Vane, Sam Bellamy, Benjamin Honigold, Jack Rackham and a host of others called New Providence a base. The men and women who lived "a short life but merry" worked hard and played hard on the white sands of Nassau.

Of course, hygiene was non-existent and trash heaps full of anything imaginable (and probably some things unimaginable) littered the beach and forest. There was no rhyme or reason to the tent city, you just put up your tent where there was room. Arguments resulting in injury or death were very probably a daily - and nightly - occurrence. It would take a strong constitution to live in Port Nassau but some 3,000 individuals did so at the height of her popularity.

The British government eventually got fed up with the predations of the Nassau pirates and they decided to establish a Governor on sight. The Crown sent Captain Woodes Rogers to New Providence as the new Governor of the Bahamas with orders to break up the nest of thieves and establish a British colony on the island. Rogers, who had been a privateer for England for several years, is a post in and of himself. As a teaser, his ship Duke was the one that rescued Alexander Selkirk from Juan Fernandez Island in 1709. Selkirk is the castaway on whom the fictional Robinson Crusoe was based.

Rogers arrived in New Providence in August of 1718 and was welcomed by many of the residents of Nassau. Pirates like Rackham and Teach had left the island and, though Charles Vane fired on the Governor's ships as he left the harbor, as many as 600 pirates took the pardon offered by Rogers. Henry Jennings and Benjamin Hornigold even agreed to turn pirate hunter and helped Rogers defend the Bahamas against Spanish attacks a few years later. Rogers stuck to his guns with regard to zero tolerance for pirates and piracy. He ordered a mass hanging of pardoned pirates who had returned to their old ways in December of 1718.

Governor Rogers did his best to make the Bahamas a center of trade and agriculture for England but, once the freebooting was eradicated, London lost interest. New Providence's boom town days were over. Governor Rogers died in Nassau in 1732. I hope his room had a nice view.

Today, Nassau town and its port thrive on the pirate heritage of New Providence. Hotels, restaurants, bars and beaches capitalize on the history of a short but successful run as a pirate home port. I bet its a fun place to visit but I like to imagine that bright day in 1714 when the port and her beaches must have seemed utterly new.