Tools of the Trade: Nice Ride!

Its a little hard to be a pirate without a ship. Really, if you're stuck on land all you are at that point is a highwayman and the end result of that profession is, it seems to me, far more severe and direct. Plus you're working by land. Land. Only lubbers enjoy that and you, my Brethren, are no lubbers. So today, let us discuss the two (three semantically, but two in point of fact) favored flavors of boat for the pirates of the Golden Age, and the privateers of the Revolution and South American liberation.

The go to ship of 18th century buccaneers and pirates was what was then referred to as a sloop. This was a small craft with one mast that could carry what amounted to an enormous press of sail when measured to the size of the hull. This ability to pack on sheets gave the sloop an advantage in speed over almost any other ship. Besides speed they had superior maneuverability and could move fast even tacking into the wind. This made escape from pesky naval vessels surprisingly easy. The ships had a shallow draught, meaning that their hulls were high and relatively flat at the bottom so that they could navigate shallow bays which larger frigates could not hope to enter. Another handy escape mechanism. A Jamaica or Bermuda built sloop, both of which were favored by buccaneers like our buddy L'Ollonais, could carry a compliment of up to 75 men and a 6 to 8 small guns. From 1700 to about 1750, this was the pirate ship of choice (Blackbeard's massive frigate Queen Anne's Revenge being a fluke of an ego as big as the ship and a reputation to match).

By 1730, a variant of the sloop was starting to show up in the Colonies. Called a schooner, this similar ship had two masts, generally speaking, and was lean and mean from a standpoint of draft and hull size. These ships, frequently made of the coveted white oak that grew in North America and was so difficult to penetrate with a cannon, were a real innovation in terms of speed and safety. The problem was that a schooner did not have the hold space available in a proper sloop, limiting the amount of stores and plunder that could be packed aboard. Once again, though, about 75 men and 8 small guns were viable on a schooner, and many American pirates found them handy for short expeditions around the Atlantic coast and the Caribbean.

In the very late 1700s and on to the 1830s, the brigantine or brig came into her own. Sloops and particularly schooners were still in use in the Gulf but the ideal ship for those waters was the hermaphrodite brig, pictured above. Hermaphrodite refers to the ship's rigging: the foremast (at the front of the ship) carried square or "ship" rigged sails while the mainmast carried fore-and-aft (literally "front and back") rigged sails. Most of the Laffite brothers' Baratarian pirates chose these ships since they were ideally suited to taking advantage of the frequently changing wind conditions in the Gulf. Brigs could also carry more men (up to 120) and arms (up to 12 cannon) than a sloop or schooner and their wider construction allowed a larger though still relatively shallow hull. More stores and booty could be brought aboard making expeditions farther afield possible. Renato Beluche sailed more than one brig from the Atlantic around Cape Horn to the Pacific.

Just remember now, pirates didn't, generally speaking, sail into the bay and haggle with the used schooner dealer. A ship was a prize just like her cargo which is why all this movie nonsense of blasting away at the prize with all guns white hot rarely happened. Freebooters tended to trade up. If the prize was more suited to your purpose than what you were sailing, you left the prize's crew on your ship and sailed off aboard theirs.

So take that prize and fair winds, Brethren. I hope your sloop comes in soon.

Movies: "Climb the Mainmast You Monkeys!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

People: Scourge of the Spaniards

A happy Monday to you, Brethren. I hope that another week finds you well. To help us all through the day that is most likely to find at least some of us thinking we hate our stinking jobs, let's talk about buccaneer, megalomaniac and sociopath Francois L'Olonnais, shall we? Sounds like fun!

Born Jacques Jean David Nau some time in the first half of the 17th century, the young man who would change his name to L'Olonnais (after his birthplace in Brittany, Olon) went off to the Caribbean in 1650 to become an indentured servant on a Spanish sugar plantation. Indentured servitude, either voluntary or imposed for some criminal act, was extremely prevalent in this era and area. Men and women looking for a better life in the New World signed up to serve wealthy families or corporations for a set number of years in return for passage by ship and some supplies such as a cow or a piece of land promised as a reward when their time was done. It all sounded good at first. If a person wasn't afraid of hard work they could get to the Americas and potentially be set to start their own farm or business when the contract of indenture was over. The problem was that indenture was tantamount to slavery with a time limit. A kinder master was still Master, and a sadistic one could cripple or kill at a moment's whim. Hate the job? Tough. Your in it, perhaps for life.

Francois, who was probably one of those slightly unbalanced kind of guys to begin with, drew the short straw in the Master department. Once he arrived on what is now Cuba he experienced starvation, beatings and round the clock work for three years. When his time was up the promise of land was forgotten. Francois was set adrift, penniless and nearly naked in a foreign country. He was angry and now certifiably insane. Like so many of his comrades, he turned to the occupation of buccaneer and his particular hatred of the Spanish earned him the moniker Fleau de Espagnols: Scourge of the Spaniards.

Francois settled on the island of Tortuga where small expeditions with a handful of men earned him the admiration of the French Governor La Place. The Governor shared Francois' hatred for the Spanish and in 1660 he gave the new buccaneer a ship to captain. Francois rounded up more sailors and set out to not only earn his moniker but prove that he was indeed a sociopath.

Savvy if touched, Francois pursued only Spanish ships and killed all but one or two people aboard to ensure that his horrible tortures would be talked about around the Caribbean. Spanish merchant seamen got to a point where they were so terrified of L'Olonnais that they would simply abandon their ship rather than face his sadistic wrath. Needless to say, this made getting rich easy for Francois and keeping crewmen remarkably easy too. Although there was no love lost for Francois back on Tortuga, men readily signed up for his ships in order to partake in some of his tremendous wealth.

When another war between France and Spain broke out in 1667, Francois saw an even broader opportunity for plunder and torture. He began raiding port towns along the Spanish Main. Eventually acquiring a fleet of ships, Francois notoriously sacked Maracaibo on the Venezuelan coast and then Gibraltar off Spain. The now infamous pirate was fearless and feared and tortures such as pulling out fingers and removing still beating hearts were part and parcel of these exploits. No one was spared and women and children were particularly targeted because L'Ollonais believed they would give up the locations of treasure more readily.

Update: Your humble hostess was looking over a map of the Spanish Main this afternoon and realized that the Gibraltar in question is not The Rock off Spain but the small port town on Lake Maracaibo in Venezuela. Sorry, Brethren. Carry on.

Like a modern day celebrity, Francois began to believe his own press. He assumed that he could not be defeated and took risks that led to just the opposite of success. In 1668 he made the decision to take six of his ships and raid the vast silver mines of Nicaragua. He landed and trekked well over 500 men inland where he successfully raided the mines. On the way out, though, the buccaneers were overcome by a group of warriors from the Darien tribe. These men, who lived on the coast and were familiar with Francois and his atrocities, showed no mercy to the brutal pirate.

L'Ol0nnais was painstakingly cut into pieces by the warriors who took care to keep him alive as long as possible. His parts were thrown onto a fire while he watched and some of those who escaped the horror reported that the warriors cannibalized the pirate's body. I'm thinking they probably wouldn't have troubled themselves to eat such bitter meat but who knows. Either way, its an end fit for a sociopath. Don't you think?

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Cat

Ahoy Brethren and welcome once again to Sailor Mouth Saturday. Its time to briefly discuss naval discipline and that ubiquitous tool of same: the cat o' nine tails.

Called simple the cat by seamen, the thing was a wicked combination of rope, knots, sometimes sharp objects and human muscle. Swung with enough force, the cat could flay a man's back in ten to twenty strokes. This was followed by a nice dousing of seawater and then a return to duty if the victim was capable, which he generally was not. Most cats consisted of nine ropes tied with nine knots each, and that alone would do enough damage thank you very much. Particularly sadistic bosuns and captains - and notoriously pirates as well - would add things like hooks, barbs or broken glass to the knots. I don't think further detail is necessary.

The old saying about the Royal Navy and its appetite for rum, buggery and the lash not withstanding, what is interesting is how many of our modern phrases have descended from the vocabulary of applying the cat.

First off, the cat was hung in a bag from the main mast. Different navies used

different colors of cloth. For instance, the Royal Navy used red cloth while the American Navy used green. Pirate like black or purple. When a flogging was in the offing, sailors would alert one another by passing the word that the "cat was out of the bag". The ritual of shipboard discipline involved most if not all members of a crew witnessing the punishment and superstitious sailors were ritually quiet before, during and after a flogging. Chiding officers would ask them if the "cat got their tongue" as a way to remind them what falling out of line would mean. "You could be next," they were saying.

A small ship might not allow enough space on deck for the bosun or his strong man to truly make the blows count. Ships like this were said to have "no room to swing a cat". The fact that the origin of this term has been forgotten by many became obvious when people started adding the word "dead" as if the term implied picking up Whisker's cold body by the tail and flailing it over head.

Considering that every blow was actually multiplied by nine, flogging with a cat could be particularly horrific. Sailors who had particular friends, and who were in a position to use the cat if necessary, would make pacts with their mates to go easy on each other should the dreaded moment present itself. A simple scratch that drew blood for the officers' benefit but didn't pull meat from the bone would ensure a sailor's well being after the fact. Thus, promises of "you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours" were born. The sailors would suffer only flesh injuries and walk away "no worse for the wear."

So put the cat back in the bag, Brethren, and remember the seamen who suffered every time these terms slip from your lips. Stop by again soon, and enjoy your flogging free Saturday... (I mean, unless you're into that sort of thing).

Toys: Chick Pirates to the Rescue!

You know what I like? I like surprises. I'm not talking about those big, jump-out-from-behind-the-furniture SURPRISE! Birthday party kind of things. That's overkill, it would probably give me some kind of paroxysm and I'm way too old for that. No. I'm talking about the little, unexpected stuff that people do intentionally to brighten up someones day. Maybe even their whole week, or month, or life.

As an example, I will frequently swing by the toy department of my local Fred Meyer first thing on grocery day (its Wednesday for me, so if you want to run into Pauline on Wednesday morning, you'll know where to look!). I head straight to the stuffed animals and pick out a small guy that catches my eye. I like elephants, hippos, dogs and pigs but I have to admit that monkeys are my preference. Then, off the critter and I go to shop. At some point, I find a shelf I like and I leave my friend there next to the bleach or juice or salad dressing for someone I don't know to find. It injects a little fun into a mundane task, and I hope it makes someone smile.

Its like this little gem here; the Anne Bonny Action Figure. My friend Laurel, who is a very talented gift giver, brought Anne to me last Holiday season when I was hosting a get-together at my home. Completely unexpected but totally appreciated, the gift both surprised and delighted me. Anne's arms and legs are movable, she can stand on her own and she comes dressed as you see with a boarding axe, a cutlass and two pistols. I cannot think that diamonds could be more of a friend to a girl. The toy also comes with some fun facts about Anne including her real name - Anne Cormac, her date and place of birth - around 1700 and listed as County Cork, Ireland (but in fact she was born in Charleston, S.C.), and her weapon of choice - boarding axe. Hell ya!

Anne Bonny sailed with Calico Jack Rackham in the early 18th century, and by all accounts she was a virago of the first order. Now she is lovingly molded in plastic and she stands, weapons at the ready, next to my bed right by my alarm clock. Thanks to that surprise expert, my friend Laurel, I have a kindred spirit to greet me each and every morning. How cool is that?

If you want your own little Anne Bonny either get yourself a great friend like Laurel or hop over to Archie McPhee at www.mcphee.com. They have Anne and lots of other action figures for her to hang out with (I like to pair her with my Edgar A. Poe and Jane Austen action figures, and then imagine what they talk about). Enjoy, Brethren, and check in tomorrow for Sailor Mouth Saturday!

The Pirates Own Book: You Can't Make This Stuff Up... Or Maybe You Can

Look, everybody knows chick pirates are hot. From actual flesh and blood women like Anne Bonny and Cheng I Sao to fictional lasses like Morgan Adams and Paulette Flynn (if you don't know that last lady yet, keep coming back to Triple P; you will!), nothing gets the blood pumping like a swinging sword and a flash of boob - all at the same time! Cha-ching! So today's topic comes as no surprise.

In 1837, at the fair beginning of what would blossom into the full silliness of the Victorian era, Charles Ellms wrote "The Pirates' Own Book: Authentic Narratives of the Most Celebrated Sea Robbers". He published it in all earnestness, saying that what he had written down was exact and true and maybe he thought it was. What comes across today as a decidedly lurid, "you can only imagine" style of story telling that was clearly meant to titillate the sheltered audience he hoped would devour his prose. Grungy pirates carry off innocent maids and use them to death, toothless villains hack up heroic sea captains without a flinch, tortures abound and eventually the menace is put to the sword, drown or hanged for his black crimes. Its too good to just review. We'll be visiting this again and again. I highly recommend this book, which is currently in publication by the Marine Research Society of Salem, Massachusetts. If you have a true interest in pirate history, this one is worth the price of admission for its complete lack thereof. Bless you for a storyteller, Mr. Ellms.

The first entry in the book tells us of the she-pirate Alwilda. The picture above is from the book, and it shows our Viking heroine curiously dressed in the oddly hermaphrodite garb of a confused 1830s sailor. Not very flattering, but I'm thinking the illustration may have influenced Amelia Bloomer's "reform" costume. Anyway, Ellms tells us that Alwilda was the daughter of a "Gothic king" listed as Synardus. Her father insisted she marry Alf, prince of Denmark. Alwilda would have none of it and so she dressed as a man and, accompanied by a band of like-minded babes, set to sea in her own ship. What rocks harder than a lady pirate? A ship full of lady pirates! She had so much success that male Vikings joined her band and she was "so formidable, that Prince Alf was despatched (sic) to engage her." If you can't see what's coming, you haven't read much Victorian prose (or a modern romance novel).

During a "severe action in the gulf of Finland, Alf boarded her vessel, and killed the greatest part of her crew, seized the captain, namely herself". She was wearing a helmet so he didn't recognize her but when the helmet came off he "persuaded her to accept his hand, married her on board, and then led her to partake of his wealth, and share his throne." It seems his valor in battle - I mean he killed all those women, right? - totally threw Alwilda over and she swooned into his arms. Like butter, baby!

The history is a little less defined and a lot less romantic. According to the Danish historian Saxo-Grammaticus (I am not making that up) writing in the 12th century, Alwilda was the daughter of the Goth King Siward. What turned her to a life of sea roving is not mentioned in her brief history, but some Viking women went to sea, either with their men or on their own. She may very well have been one of those people who fit the "pirate model" over all. Alwilda may have been different and she wasn't going to try to fit in.

The history reports that Prince Alf eventually defeated Alwilda in a sea battle and took her as his wife. How she felt about that is not recorded. Perhaps the lack of care for her opinions and desires was why she went to sea in the first place. Or maybe she just had the itch. I'll leave it to you to decide my Brethren. Leave me a note and let me know what side you fall on. I'll look forward to hearing from you!

History: Ain't That Pretty At All

I don't generally hear anyone who does the pirate "thing" talk a whole lot about slavery. Granted, its not really one of those topics that lends itself to conversation over a mug o' grog and a deck o' cards but the reality is that pirates on both sides of the Atlantic were intimately familiar with slaves and slavery and sometimes that is worth remembering, even if its just for the sake of the nameless thousands who lost their lives at the hands of a brutal system that is - even more unfortunately - still with us in our world today.

The pirates of the Caribbean and Gulf had rather an ambivalent attitude towards human bondage. More than a few pirates were black, either free by law or runaways. There was certainly more than one black corsair Captain, although many of their names are lost to history. One of the most notable was Diego Grillo, an African slave from Spanish Cuba who escaped the killing fields of the sugarcane plantations in 1668. Nicknamed "Lucifer" he terrorized Spanish shipping for a number of years. Many crewman of both buccaneer and privateer ships were black. It is estimated that as many as 30% of pirate crews were black during the so called Golden Age in the early 18th century, and in the trade escaped slaves were considered excellent mates. They would fight to the death to avoid recapture, where - particularly in the Spanish and French islands - they could face hanging, flaying or burning alive for running away. I'd fight like hell, too.

The privateers of the early 1800s had large percentages of blacks among their crews as well. In many cases, however, particularly where the ships were working from a Laffite base such as Barataria, the blacks were free men. Many of them were refugees from the Haitian revolution who had been forced to flee along with the white population. They were looked on as no more trustworthy by the new Haitian Republic than a white person, and many free people of color owned black slaves themselves.

Despite this seemingly egalitarian attitude toward an otherwise unrecognized group, Caribbean pirates and Gulf privateers thought nothing of selling the human cargo for profit if they captured a slaver. The juxtaposition is astounding in many ways. For me, it is another example of how our ancestors perceived the world so much differently than we do and its almost impossible to really wrap one's brain around.

Across the water, on the northern coast of Africa, the pirates of the Barbary Coast (what we now think of as Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia and Libya) were sailing with slaves as well. In this case, though, color was not the issue. Religion was.

The Barbary pirates enslaved Christians - mostly sailors taken from ships they had plundered - and put them to work at their galley and xebec oars. The life
expectancy for a man rowing a Barbary galley was six months at most. If the
man was not ransomed by his family or country, he could expect to die of drowning, disease or shear exhaustion. Men were chained by the ankles, seven to an oar which was approximately fifty feet in length. The bench beneath them was ten feet long, four feet wide and covered with sheepskin because it helped create a smoother rhythm as the naked rowers worked.

There were no potty breaks, the rowing area was not sheltered from the sun or wind and at least one overseer strolled the bridge between the two gangs of rowers, his whip at the ready. The slaves could be expected to row up to twenty hours a day, depending on where the galley was headed. Since the Barbary pirates made raids as far north as Iceland, I don't think I need to elaborate on how plausible that pace might be. Food and water were got on the fly, with the most usual fare being a biscuit or bread soaked in wine stuffed into your mouth while you rowed. Ben-Hur it wasn't... That looked vaguely like a pleasure cruise by comparison.

My point? I'm really just trying to pass on information here but I want us all to remember that these "pirates" we like to talk like, dress like and admire weren't always nice guys. In fact, many of them were sociopaths who couldn't have fit in to society if they tried. And then too, some institutions just encourage that kind of behavior. Like slavery.